by Tina Majors
I picked up my complimentary towel and robe set and walked into the changing room area ready for my day. I surely could never have predicted what I was about to discover…
**
Removing my clothes in my large private changing area I suddenly realised that I was no longer me.
What the total fuck? I thought as I saw something I couldn’t quite comprehend.
I had…
A woman’s body???
I looked at myself in the mirror and felt a mixture of emotions.
Yes, I was scared.
Yes, I was confused.
But boy oh boy I couldn’t deny how turned on I was, and it was a sensation that was building up inside of me by the second.
Let me take a second to describe the new me I was seeing in the full length mirror.
I was shorter, probably five foot three. My face was slender, cheekbones to die for, and plump and soft lips that were exactly the kind I would go for. My hair was a perfect blond shoulder length bob.
Let me continue.
I had a frame that was sturdy but petit. My new breasts were not too big, not too small. You know the kind of titties that you don’t need a bra for but will jiggle all over the place? The kind that you dream of squeezing and fondling, making you hard as a rock within seconds. That’s right, absolutely perfect.
Yes, that was me now.
Continuing.
My waist was small, neat and toned. This was great but it also served to super emphasised the curve of my hips and ass. Strong but soft thighs and a chunky booty were my new style and I loved it.
My ass was incredible. It looked like the kind of booty that gym freak babes on Instagram spend months and months of hard work to build up, exercising every single day, focussing on the glutes and many, many hundreds of squats and lunges in an attempt to achieve. And here I was, with exactly the kind of booty that would guarantee a thousand likes within minutes of a hashtag!
I imagined briefly the kinds of clothes I could wear with this body. Sure, I drooled at women who wore tight yoga pants that left nothing to the imagination or old style mom jeans that emphasised curves in the female form.
And, of course, the bikinis.
Would I go for a classic 80s bikini? A thong bottom? Or a super high cut that would reveal my sculpted thighs?
But as well as desiring the women, I also knew that deep (or maybe not so deep) down I wanted to be able to wear these clothes.
Sure, this was the kind of body I had lusted after previously but I also knew now that this body would be in demand with men, men who had the confidence to handle a fit, curvy, well turned out woman.
This made me feel a mixture of total fear and ecstatic excitement.
I did a turn in the mirror, spinning around on my heels and watched as my perfect titties bounced, my booty wobbling perfectly in contrast to my tight body.
I felt like I looked... absolutely incredible... and.... absolutely horny.
Of course I would get turned on in my male body, but my first experience of sexual arousal in a female body was proving to be overwhelming.
I was like an animal.
I couldn’t control myself!
Almost in some kind of out of control experience I burst out of the changing room naked, looking for a well built stud to take me. Every single sexual position was running through my head at this point and instinctively I knew I needed dick in my tiny wet pussy.
I wanted to be pounded relentlessly, my big booty up in the air, my nipples pulled, my pussy being filled up with the meatiest, hardest cock going.
I could feel the heat in my tiny, unused pussy building up to what was fever pitch.
I needed dick in every hole, and I needed it that second.
But suddenly reality hit me.
I couldn’t just do this in a private members health spa. I could get arrested! So I went to turn around and quickly duck back into the changing room.
As I was shutting the changing room door, now with my sense partially restored, I felt it jam. I looked up and saw a large hand stopping me from closing the door.
“Move away from the door now”, the voice said, in such a manner that failing to comply simply wasn’t an option.
Nervously I stepped back and stood with my back to the wall and my hands covering my breasts and my pussy, my legs bent at the knee to minimize the exposure.
I felt totally vulnerable and even more so when this happened:
The man in front of me shut the changing room door. He was enormous, muscular, tall, and with the kind of sophisticated sense of power that an alpha just exudes naturally.
And oh yeah, he was just wearing a bathrobe.
Which he then proceeded to let slide off his body and onto the floor.
The alpha male stood before me, totally naked.
My jaw dropped open, I honestly couldn’t tell you if any drool came out because my head was spinning and my new body was reacting in so many pleasurable ways.
“Tell me what you see,” He said. “And make it detailed or you’ll be in even more trouble.”
In more trouble? What for? Oh wait, I guess I had just run out into a public zone of a mixed changing area totally naked. He had me on that.
Nervously and trying not to stare too hard, I began to describe him.
“I see a big man,” I said. “I see a big man who is well groomed. I see a body that knows its way around a gym, big muscles in all the right places, excellent definition to the shoulders, biceps, abs, and pecs. I see a strong man who probably has excellent stamina. I see a man with strong legs. I see…”
“Yes, go on, no one said stop,” He said. “And remember I want every detail.”
“I see a slim waist with a long, thick cock hanging down between the legs. A cock that is already big, and looks like it is getting bigger.” I said, stumbling over my words, nervous, excited, in a trance almost.
As I was saying this, I really could see his dick getting stiffer and stiffer. It was rising like a tent pole and as horny and desperate to touch it as I was, I could feel myself a little scared of what it could do to me.
The alpha male beckoned me over.
I obeyed, because… well, just because he was an alpha male and I was a silly little bimbo.
Without him asking I kneeled in front of his rock hard cock. I began to touch it, squeeze it, slowly jerking it up and down. I so desperately wanted to put it into my mouth and taste it.
But I wasn’t sure I actually could do it.
Ultimately I wasn’t given the choice. The man moved his cock and began to rub it over my face. My pussy dripping wet, my clitoris tingling like crazy, I just kind of automatically opened my mouth and took the dick in.
It tasted amazing.
It felt amazing.
Within seconds I was bobbing my head up and down on it, really taking it all in, getting high from the sensation of a big muscular dick pumping away in my mouth.
And then it happened.
Yeah, you know what I’m talking about.
I felt the alpha cock explode into my mouth. In fact I thought the cum was never going to stop flying into my throat. It was so hot, so salty. The man groaned and grabbed my head, pushing it up and down to maximise the drainage of his cock, which will still very hard even after it had cum.
Finally, the man stopped and pulled his dick out of my mouth.
“Now, listen,” He said. Y”ou will be my bimbo bitch from now on. You will report to me, and you will do as I say. Understand?”
I couldn’t believe what was happening. As silly as it sounds, I actually enjoyed him talking to me like that. I got off on the fact that he saw me as a bimbo sex object he could boss about and use as he pleased. So I nodded my head and told him I was his.
“Good,” He said. “We’re going to have a lot of fun together. Now get yourself off for me and record yourself doing it. I’ll watch it back later and there’ll be a spanking for you unless you impress me.”
With that, he put his rob
e on and walked out.
I realised I hadn’t even asked his name, but here I was about to record myself jerking off for this absolute God.
This day had been crazy and bewildering so far, I guess I was just kinda going with the flow at this point. And enjoying it more than I could ever have imagined.
**
The ride back from the hotel and spa was an interesting one.
In an attempt to take my mind off things I put on some music. I didn’t care what it was, of course as long as it wasn’t salsa, which I absolutely detested with every fibre in my body. I settled on a station that seemed to be combining talk with music, the best of both worlds arguably. I tuned in to a little bit of contemporary pop, the new release from Duran Duran. It was an interesting tune, a couple of nice moments of synthesizer mixed in with a nice catchy hook that I would find myself whistling for a few days.
Heck, I might even stream the song from time to time but I wasn’t going to buy the CD or anything like that.
After Duran Duran finished the talk segment returned and the topic of the day appeared to be relating to whether political correctness had gone mad. I hadn’t heard anyone discussing this before and had always assumed that political correctness was universally viewed as being excellent and essential for a progressive society.
Well I was shocked to find that not everyone agreed with me.
Shoot all dissenters! I shouted out loud, having a joke to myself, subtly parodying both myself and the debate itself on some levels.
Anyway, the conversation ebbed and flowed with credit going to the presenter for providing a fair and even handling of the callers, despite it being clear that his own personal preference was almost certainly that political correctness had not, I repeat not, gone too far.
What I found interesting was that while my overall opinion hadn’t changed over the course of the debate, it was noticeable that I could find shared moments of agreement with those who thought political correctness (or PC to use the shortened version) had in actual fact gone too far.
The idea that the enforcement of PC could be at times draconian and anti-debate and stifling for debate was one that I conceded, although only with the caveat that we take the position that not everyone can debate honestly and without bringing in their own prejudice.
But this also opens up the can of worms that is: who decides who is ‘clever enough’ to debate a topic?
Well, it certainly prompted a lot of high level thinking from me, a perfect distraction all things considered.
As the debate came to a close I was glad to hear the presenter play That’s Not My Name by the Ting Tings, a really brilliant pop song that meant a lot to me for reasons I might go into later but not right now. But from a musical point of view I was of the opinion that it was close to the mythic title of perfect pop. I loved the sparse sound, the catchy hook, the involving lyrics. It really evoked a lot of emotions to me as the lead singer made her way through the names that she was called that actually were not her name at all.
In many ways I think the fact that it was pop, and by an unknown band at the time of release, made people overlook how good it was.
Had it been released by Elvis Presley or Frank Sinatra we would be raving about it for years!
So I continued on my drive back.
The radio began playing a song I didn’t recognise and to be perfectly frank with you, I wasn’t feeling it.
Not one bit in fact.
What is the deal with this sudden plethora of banal lyrics and strangely incongruous beats? Well, I suppose I sound like my parents sounded to me now? Anyway, I guess it is all a matter of taste anyway.
As I say, the radio wass playing a song I’m not especially vibing to (to put it mildly) when some absolute moron attempted to overtake me on the inside lane. Now, not only is this totally illegal, it is also incredibly unsafe and morally reprehensible.
So I my hand down on the horn long and hard, there is no way I am going to let this villain get away with this unnoticed.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
I did briefly consider putting my foot down on the accelerator and making it a struggle for him to pass, but a quick look at his car and I knew this would be borderline pointless. You see, his engine was a 3.3 turbo injection and mine was a more modest 2.6 diesel fuelled beast.
Now don’t get me wrong, my car could shift and had even been known to overtake the odd supercar in its time, but in a situation like this, I knew when it was pointless to try anything out of the ordinary.
I lifted my hand off the horn and maintained my steady speed. But although I was calm and totally unfussed by this utter moron, I couldn’t help but wonder what compelled people to drive so crazily?
What was the need?
What was the burning desire inside them to put their lives at risk like that, not to mention the lives of others?
Me, I was an excellent driver all things considered.
One of my particular strengths was changing up and down the gears. I was efficient, never crunched, always changed at the perfect moment and I know because the rev counter and engine noise made their approval quite clear to me every time.
I had passed my test on the second occasion. Unfortunately I failed my first attempt because a youth threw a carton of pasteurised milk at my windscreen and I veered off the road and on to some poor individual’s front lawn. Unfortunately this counted as a fault complit and the adjudicator ruled that the test should come to an end.
I never did catch up with that unruly youth, I imagine he is rotting in a jail cell or leeching off society now. What kind of living excrement throws a carton of pasteurised milk at a moving vehicle, let alone a vehicle that is clearly being used for a driving test?
The mind does boggle, it really does.
Anyway, people were sometimes a mystery to me, whether they were making disgusting inside overtake manoeuvres or projecting cartons of milk, I just couldn’t get inside their mentality. And believe me, I was an open minded person, so it wasn’t from a lack of trying or empathising.
Wow, it felt good to get that off my chest.
Thing is, we often bottle things up don’t we?
And that actually serves to make them seem worse than they really are at the end of the day. Well, I now operate a policy of letting loose. In the rare event of something bothering me I just let rip with my complaint and speak my mind.
Don’t like it?
Deal with it.
Ultimately though, I actually think that as difficult as it may be for people to initially accept this approach in the end they always see that I was right because the issue is nipped in the bud before it turns into some long winded dispute or grievance. I mean come on, who really wants a load of long term beef and mental strain to deal with?
I know I don’t, and I’m pretty certain that you don’t either.
Thing is though, some people are addicted to drama.
You may have heard the term drama queen?
No? Well, let me explain. It means someone who revels in dramatic situations, and no I don’t mean a professional actor treading the boards or up on the silver screen (an old term for a movie). What I mean is the kind of person who almost goes looking for conflict or something to get all rile dup about and then spends their time endlessly replaying the issue for any poor sap who is in earshot.
Well, I aint got no time for that as, a famous singer once sang.
As I say, I like to let it all out, let it go (another musical reference for you!) and move on with my life. Take a moment, look around, smell the flowers. Life is too beautiful and too short to worry about the small things. We need to appreciate the wonder of this medium sized planet we call home.
It was only this morning that I was eating a bowl of healthy cereal and noticed that there seemed to be way less hardened strawberry pieces than were suggested from the on box photograph. So rather than get all steamed up about it I merely banged my fist on the table a few times.
There we are. Done! Problem solved, and no more worrying or letting it grind my gears all day. Previously I would have called the cereal manufacturer’s office and demanded to speak to a manager or production line operative.
But that was before I got enlightened.
Now I just blow my top and move on. It is a very healthy way of looking at things and dealing with the world. Every single person I have advocated this method to has agreed with me entirely. I haven’t heard or even sensed a single rebuttal.
Well, I know it’s a game of opinions but when every single person wholeheartedly and unequivocally agrees, I guess you can confidently say you are one hundred percent correct.
So, yeah, the system works.
And that is why when I walk around with a wide smile on my face, I do so in the knowledge that I am on the journey to enlightenment.
**
So here’s the thing.
I left the Health Spa and kinda got used to being a woman. I was more or less able to just carry on with my life as normal. Which may seem weird, but it’s the way it was.
As I’ve just been describing, my personality was kinda the same. But it also felt a little like the femininity was wearing off. I noticed I wasn’t as curvy, I didn’t quite fit my female clothes so well. And I was a little less submissive and ditzy.
Well, I had received another special voucher to go back to the Health Spa along with a tiny pink bikini in the mail and a rather intriguing note that read:
You are expected back at Change Spa at 11:59AM tomorrow. Do not be late.
What was the meaning of this? I mean, I did suspect it was something to do with the hot stud who I, ahem, met last time I was there on my first magical experience.
But who knows, I thought.
So I got myself ready and packed my new bikini and made my way into the health spa. As I went through the security gate I got that same strange feeling as last time, my eyes blinded by strong lights and a rather intense sensation, almost as if my body was topping up on some kind of specific energy.
Well I walked into the changing area again, still feeling that strange energy but not noticing anything different in a tangible, physical sense at this moment. I was about to walk into a changing cubicle but suddenly found my pathway blocked by two men. I turned around and saw another two men behind me.
