|The Transformation Story Archive||The Other Sex|
It was a miracle, after Clinton's ban on cloning and its applications to humanity, that the grant even came through at all. But we weren't trying to clone anything at all. We were trying to cure cancer. After years and years of development, we finally had the software and the computing power to store all the nucleotide combinations in a human chromosome set with one hundred percent accuracy. It took a room full of computers to assemble, identify, and store the billions and billions of A's, C's, G's, and T's it took to make up a human being, and another room full just to tell what the hell they all meant. With the input of a healthy cell from a human being, we could custom-design, from scratch, a retro-virus which could invade cancerous cells and input healthy genetic code into them, effectively curing the cancer.
We were on the frontier of creating a world with no cancer, no birth defects, no genetic problems of any kind. Hell, if the theoretical staff down the hall was correct, we could cure alcoholism and being gay if we wanted to. Because the code for the virus is stored completely in the computer, we could make any necessary modifications to the genetic code in order to correct any kind of problem. Only the one stumbling block remained between us and total success: the test of the virus on a human subject. We'd wondered who would do such a thing for the several years of development and testing on animals. For me the answer was never in doubt ever since the day I was diagnosed with an inoperable malignant brain tumor three years ago.
Since the Clinton administration would never okay such a venture, it was tacitly agreed on that I would sneak in to undergo the process in secret, and then we would present the findings after we had successfully reversed the cancer. It was easier to get forgiveness than permission, so to speak. For the technician to oversee the process from the control room, I chose Joe Tyler. He worked on the team which catalogued the genetic code and found the genes which corresponded to different traits. Their goal was to synthesize DNA from scratch, hopefully ready for use on chimps later this year. Although Tyler was not attached to the actual process, he had a strange devotion to me since the beginning of the project which comforted me. At times I suspected that Tyler was gay and attracted to me, but he never acted as anything but a close friend.
The day dawned cold and rainy, fitting for all the "Frankenstein" jokes which Tyler kept making in the car. We laughed and sang along with the radio, trying to be all nonchalant about the fact that we were driving to either make history or, if caught, spend the better part of our lives in a federal penitentiary. We opened up the lab early Saturday morning and Tyler slipped into the control room while I took off my clothes and sat in the "hot-seat," the chair which would lower me into an electrolytic bath once the retro-virus was administered. The saline would carry a mild charge which would jump up my metabolism a touch and cause my cells to begin regenerating at a faster rate with the new, non-cancerous genetic code.
Naturally the seat was freezing. I shivered a bit as I attached all the monitors for my vitals.
"Comfy?" Tyler's voice asked over the intercom.
"It's fucking freezing in here," I replied.
"I know it sounds cliché, but try to relax," Tyler said.
I sat back in the chair, putting my head back into the brace and seating the scuba mouthpiece in my mouth. A small autoinjector lowered into place by my carotid artery with a soft whir and the head brace pulled my head slightly to the side.
"Vitals are good and strong," Tyler said. "Heart rate's a little high. You nervous?"
"Scared shitless, Ty," I told him.
"Don't be. I won't let anything happen to you."
"Thanks," I said, not sure how to respond.
"There's an ear-mike on the service table. Wear it, and I'll talk you through all this."
I put the transceiver in my ear. Tyler's voice sounded much closer and warmer.
"You getting me?" I asked.
"Loud and clear, Steve."
"You're the best, Ty. Thanks."
There was a small pressure as the autoinjector pressed itself against my neck.
"This first one's just a suppressant for your immune system," Tyler told me. "So your body doesn't go and kill off the virus I just spent fifty-two straight hours making."
There was a pinch on my neck and a slight hiss.
"I took the liberty of slipping a mild sedative in there, too. Didn't think you'd mind."
I laughed. "I was gonna ask for one, actually."
"Okay. No worries. We just give that last shot a little time to work, and now we're ready for the main course. We're about to make history here, Steve. Any words for posterity?"
"It is a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done..."
Another pinch and hiss.
"You're infected. Time to dunk you."
"Go," I said, groggy from the sedative.
The saline was as cold as the chair, but once the electric current began to flow, things warmed up. It was like being in the womb, I suspected. I closed my eyes and began drifting away.
"How are you doing down there?" Tyler asked.
I think you slipped me a little too much Demerol. I wasn't that nervous, I thought. I gave him a feeble thumbs-up. The gesture seemed to take several hours to perform.
"Good," Tyler said. "I've been waiting a long time for this day. We're going to be so happy together, you'll see. It'll be so much better than it used to be."
I tried to sit straight, to ask him what in the hell he was talking about, but the Demerol fought me back down. I was losing consciousness rapidly, falling into a deep sleep from the Mickey Finn I'd been given. I looked up, watching the fluorescents through the caustic surface of the saline tank, and I drifted away. The last thing I heard was Tyler's voice.
"We're going to be happy. You'll see."
I came out from under slowly. My tongue and my eyes seemed packed with sand. I was laying on the couch in the lounge, staring up at the ceiling tiles. Tyler was sitting across from me on a chair, reading a newspaper. I tried to speak, and it came out a strange groan. It hardly sounded like my voice.
"You're awake," Tyler said happily.
"What did you do?"
"What we both wanted."
I struggled to sit up. "And what was that?"
Tyler smiled. "I love you. I always have."
The shock galvanized me. "What?"
"Since I first met you. You've been all I could think about, all I ever wanted."
"You're gay? Ty, everybody in the lab knows I'm bisexual. You could have just asked me out."
"I'm not gay."
"Then what did you mean when you said you loved me?"
"Just that. I love you. There was only ever one problem."
"You were a man."
"There's nothing either of us can do about that."
I gasped. "You mean..."
"Listen to yourself."
The realization dawned that my voice was no longer the reedy baritone that I was used to, but rather a breathy, dusky alto. I stopped breathing.
"I worked non-stop for six months, hand-building the genetic code for the woman I prayed you would be. I knew I'd never get you to agree, so I had to make the decision without you. Don't worry. I'll take good care of you."
I tried unsuccessfully to stand. My legs seemed to be working strangely and I was unaccustomed to the absence of the weight between my legs. My center of balance was shifted and I was much shorter than before. I began to topple and Tyler was at my side in an instant.
"Get your hands off me, you bastard!" I yelled in my new voice.
"Don't be like this," I told him. "Everything's going to be all right."
"Take me back in there and give me back my own DNA. Right now."
"I can't. Not right now," he told me. "The shock could kill you."
"I mean it, Joe," I warned him. "Right now."
"Twenty-four hours. Please, wait just twenty-four hours."
I began to cry. I hadn't cried in years, but now it seemed the most natural thing in the world. The ease with which I began crying frightened me. "How could you do this?"
"I needed you. Desperately," Ty told me. "You were consuming my life. I had to have you, but every time I thought about being with you as a man, I was repulsed by the thought. I didn't know what else to do but this."
He straightened, letting me lean against the wall for support. "I'm so sorry, Steve. I am. I was wrong. I promise I'll reverse the process and you'll never have to see me again. But promise me you'll wait until you've recovered. I couldn't stand it if I killed you."
I took a deep, shuddering breath. "All right. Twenty-four hours. And then it's all back to normal and you're out of here, right?"
Tyler grinned. "Scout's honor."
I tried to take a step. The subtleties of moving a woman's body were eluding me. I sank back down onto the couch. "What's wrong with my legs?"
"The guys in the lab, I didn't want them to get suspicious when I was working on the conversion DNA. You know Roland and the others. They're pigs. To get them off my back, I threw in some modifications, told them I was building the "perfect" woman."
"It was mostly Roland's idea. He shortened the tendons in your calves and altered the bones in the ankles so it's difficult for you to wear anything but five-inch stiletto heels."
I groaned. "Anything else I should know about?"
Tyler looked at the floor. "Your cells are still regenerating. It'll take some time for the rest of the changes to become readily apparent. Once I administer the protein solution, it should only take a few hours for your cells to rebuild you. Your metabolism is much more rapid, so you won't gain weight. There is increased collagen and elastin in your skin to stave off aging."
"And to keep me tight inside," I finished. "What a bunch of fucking children."
Tyler went to the counter and held up an IV bag. "You want the protein?"
I held out my arm. "Get it over with. And while I'm doing this, go get me some clothes — mine will never fit me anymore. And some fucking five-inch heels so I can at least walk."
Tyler led me into one of the exam rooms and set up the IV. I lay back, fuming.
"I'm sorry, Steve."
Tyler backed through the door.
I drifted off into a fitful sleep and awoke a short time later. The IV bag was empty and there were several sacks on the floor next to the door from a nearby department store. I removed the needle from my arm and swung my legs onto the floor.
An overwhelming sensation swept through me, closing my eyes with its power. I stifled a yelp. When I'd swung my legs over, I'd ground my crotch into the fabric of the bed. It was my first experience with clitoral stimulation. There was nothing that could have prepared me for it.
I pulled at the ties of the hospital gown I was wearing and gazed down at my new body. My arms were long and lissome, smoothly muscled and without hair. My shoulder met a long and swan-like neck. Naturally Roland and his pubescent friends had given me unnaturally large breasts and a flat belly. My shoulders and chest were covered with a fine spray of freckles. My skin was satin smooth and pale. I ran long, slender fingers through the wispy tuft of auburn pubic hair between my legs. I dared not touch my vulva, given the power of the sensation that had torn through me earlier. The protein solution had even caused my nails to grow long. I was a perfect wet dream.
I tottered to the sacks and started to pull out the clothes that Tyler had bought when I heard the door open. I turned to face Tyler.
"It was touch and go with the sizes. I bought stretchy stuff."
"Bullshit. You knew exactly what my measurements would be. You and Roland probably typed them all in a few nights ago," I hissed.
"All right, that's enough."
Tyler's voice took on an edge I hadn't heard before. My heart jumped like the time my Dad had caught me in his closet reading his Penthouse magazines.
"I've given you a chance at examining one of the greatest discoveries in the history of the species. I've torn down the wall between the sexes, debunked all the mysteries. And all you can seem to do is act like a selfish little bitch."
I recoiled. Nobody had ever spoken to me like that before. I prepared to give him the tongue-lashing of his life and the fight seemed to drain out of me. My head sagged, even though my mind screamed rage. Tears welled up in my eyes again. To my astonishment, I actually felt penitent.
"My God," I breathed. "You did this."
"We discovered the gene that tends a person towards dominance or submission, yes. We decided to make you as submissive as a lamb," Tyler told me. "Roland prefers his women like that. Now that I've seen what it's capable of, I think I do, too."
I sobbed, helpless. My heart wouldn't let me fight.
"But there's something else," Tyler added.
"You like it, don't you?"
I couldn't respond. I was afraid of the answer.
Tyler raised my chin with a finger. "Don't you?"
I bawled and nodded. I could have lied, but the wetness and smell between my legs would have given away the truth to him. He took my naked body in his arms and I'd never felt safer in my life. This man, this presence, would never let any harm come to me. A huge sense of obligation came over me.
"I'm sorry," I breathed into his chest.
"I know," Tyler comforted, stroking my short, fiery red hair.
"Do you like the body I've given you?"
I nestled deeper into his chest. "I don't know. It's all so strange and new."
"Only because you haven't examined yourself. You've been too busy being angry."
I sobbed again. How could I have been so wrong? Surely this man would never hurt me. His hands stroked my hair and neck. The sensations sent waves of warmth through my body. His touch became more firm as it traced the interplay of the muscles in my back. I began to tingle all over.
"Of course you suspected that we'd set your sex drive at the level of a pubescent boy."
I nodded, smiling. His hands felt so good. His hands traced their way to my buttocks and a fresh wetness filled me and washed onto my inner thighs. I clutched him tighter, burrowing my face into his neck and moaning inarticulately.
He took my hand from around his neck and ran it down his chest to the growing bulge in his pants. I began to stroke it lightly through his pants, feeling it take on a rigidity and a length. I didn't care, just as long as he kept doing what he was doing. Knowing what I would have liked when I was a man, I increased the pressure on his penis. He groaned. The feeling that I had just given this man — my man — pleasure sent waves of satisfaction through me.
"Do you want me?" I asked him.
"Yes," Tyler breathed.
I struggled with his belt and the button of his jeans. His hands closed over mine and assisted me. I slid my hand into the warmth of his crotch and closed my hand around the veined hardness there. His hand snaked between my buttocks and his fingers began to tease the lips of my vulva. My breath caught.
"Do you want me?" Tyler asked.
He pulled away a bit. "You can only have me on my terms."
I tried to get closer, tightening my grip on his manhood. "What do you mean?"
"I want you to be mine," he said. "All mine."
"I want that too," I said. Right then, it wasn't a lie.
He slid a finger into my vagina. The soft tissue yielded to his pressure and it slid deep, filling me. My thoughts fragmented and I had trouble standing. His thumb barely teased my clitoris and I clutched at his penis as if it was my only handhold before going over a steep cliff.
"You want to be my girl?"
"Please..." I gasped.
He pushed the finger in deeper. I lost my train of thought. Surely the wetness was running down Tyler's wrist by now.
"You want to be my girl?"
"I want to be your girl. Your best girl."
He withdrew his hand and I wanted to scream, to thrash. The sexual need was not as urgent as when I was a man, but once it was in full flower the need for release was maddening. He picked me up by the waist and sat me down on the exam table, spreading my legs wide. His finger tickled the entrance to my vagina again and I threw my head back.
"Do you know what kind of girl I like?"
I thrust my crotch at him, trying to engulf his finger. He stopped me with his other hand.
"Then how can you be my best girl if you don't even know what I like?"
"You have to tell me," I answered. "Tell me. Please."
"I like it when you beg," he said with a lecherous smile.
"Please, please, please," I continued. "Tell me what kind of girl you want me to be."
"You'd be whatever I asked you?"
"Yes. Please." I found myself begging just to please him. An hour ago, I would have been repulsed by that. Now I was frantic for the feel of his fingers inside me again.
"What if I said that I wanted a whore?"
"I'd do it."
"I'd be your whore."
"Ask me. Beg me."
I threw my arms around his shoulders and leveled my new sultry, green-eyed gaze at him. "Please," I asked breathily. "Let me be your whore. Let me be your slutty little whore."
He crushed his lips to mine in a kiss that hardened my nipples to fiery little points of ecstasy. I ground my chest against his, letting the sensation wash over me. His tongue wormed into my mouth and I sucked on it as his fingers continued to tease me. I snaked a hand to his penis again, pulling it free of its confinement. If he would not enter me with his fingers, then I would find something else.
"What's that in your hand?" he panted into my ear.
He smacked my buttocks, hard. The pain and shock blended with the intense sensation and the combination made me even more insane with lust. I shoved my crotch against his hand again.
"Too clinical. That's not how my little slut would talk. Now, what's that in your hand, whore?"
"Your dick. Your cock."
"And where are my fingers?"
Another smack. I made a sound deep in my throat, one that I had for years identified with lust.
"Where?" Tyler demanded.
"My pussy. My box."
"You know the word I want. A word only a whore would use. Where are they?"
"Your fingers are in my cunt," I told him.
"Good," he told me. "Now lay back."
I lay back, tangling my fingers in my short red hair as he pinched my nipples with his free hand while drawing his trousers down with the other. "Now, I'm going to tell you the rules and you're going to listen. If you don't, you'll never get this." He stroked his dick as he tore a condom open with his teeth.
"My whore never fucks anyone else unless I tell her to. She never lets a drop of my cum go to waste. She always eats it all. She always dresses pretty for me and does her hair and make-up. She does whatever I tell her to do. If she ever fucks this up, she can't be my whore anymore. Understand?"
"Yes," I breathed. I couldn't believe how good that offer sounded.
"Do you still want to be my whore?" He began rolling the condom down his shaft.
I couldn't stand the waiting. I needed the release so badly I wanted to scream. I sat up, grabbing his manhood with both hands. "Yes!" I told him. "I'll only fuck who you tell me to and always lick up every last drop of semen..."
"I meant cum. I'll always lick up the cum. I'll always look sexy for you, no matter what. I'll do anything you say, I promise, if you'll please, please, please fuck me right now! Stuff your dick into my cunt and fuck me until I can't move anymore."
He entered me. I felt every one of the seven glorious inches. My nails raked his back and I think I screamed in ecstasy. The sensitive tissues inside me stretched and elongated over Tyler's penis — his cock — and made my eyes close in ecstasy. He set a slow, measured rhythm. My breasts — my tits — began to bounce up and down as I rode his sex.
"Your name is Stephanie now," he told me, panting.
"You're not a scientist anymore. You'll take a job as a dancer at one of the strip clubs on 38th tomorrow and be a stripper. I always wanted a stripper for a girlfriend."
"I'll be a stripper. Your stripper and your little whore."
"You like being my little slut, don't you?"
"Uh-huh." I was close to a climax and was losing the power of speech. There was a tightening in my abdomen and my orgasm spilled through me, like a cup brimming over. Evidently Roland and the boys were excited by female ejaculation as well, because I heard my fluids spatter on the exam room floor.
Tyler picked me up by the waist and carried me down the hall, his steps sending him deep inside me. As a man, I was used to being spent after orgasm and was unprepared for the fact that I was on the slow climb towards orgasm again, so soon after my last. He set me down backwards on one of the chairs in the control room and entered me from behind. I was facing the monitor for the master mainframe.
"I need you to do something for me, Stephanie."
"Delete the files containing your original genetic code."
His dick felt so good inside me, filling the hollowness in my middle.
"But, you promised..."
"You don't want to be my little whore anymore?" He took himself out of me and the sudden absence of feeling after such intensity almost made me curl fetal.
"Don't stop," I told him.
He spanked me again, hard. "Never tell me what to do."
"Please don't quit fucking me," I begged.
"Delete the files and I'll fuck you."
My mind fought, but the body was winning. It felt like if I couldn't cum again, I'd die.
"Will you fuck me while I type, Ty?" I asked him coyly.
He wheeled me to the keyboard and took me from behind again. My fingers crawled over the keyboard, typing the commands. My hand paused over the ENTER key.
"Do you want to do it, or should I?" I asked.
"I want to see you do it, Steph. Then you can be my girlfriend forever."
I closed my eyes as Tyler increased his rhythm. He began to make a noise deep in his throat, one that I'd known well from my days as a man. I felt him slam deep within me as he grunted with each unbelievable spasm.
My finger pressed the key.
I will have to admit to a certain perverse pleasure in Tyler's making me suck all the semen out of the used condom while I masturbated for him. Then he took me to the bathroom and emptied one of the sacks from the exam room. He handed me a book, titled Cosmetics for the Professional Model. The rest of the sack was filled with various cosmetics.
"You take a shower and get cleaned up." He handed me a bottle of shampoo, conditioner, and a tube of depilatory. "I'm going to go and find us some dinner and move some things around in my apartment so you'll have room."
I put my arms around him and gave him a long, snail-tongued kiss. "Don't keep your little whore waiting too long, Ty," I purred.
"I want to give you time to get yourself all sexy for me. But first, go lie down in the tub."
I looked at him quizzically and did as I was told. He unbuckled his belt and took down his pants. "I read about this once in a fetish magazine and it turned me on," he explained. "I've always wanted to try it. Do you mind?"
"Isn't that what whores are for?" I asked, smiling seductively.
I wasn't sure what to expect to feel from a man urinating on me, but I never expected it to turn me on. Whatever else Ty and Roland and the rest did to my DNA, they'd certainly touched off the gene for sexual deviance. Something in me must have died back in the control room when I pressed that key. Because for the life of me I'd never thought I would look up and smile coyly at a man who had just pissed on my face.
"Did that bother you?" he asked.
"Actually, it was kinda fun. It made me feel all... dirty. Like when you call me a whore and a slut. I like feeling like that. It's like sneaking around when you're a kid, you know?" I washed my face in the sink.
"I'd have never expected Steve to say that," Tyler commented.
"Steve is gone," I told him. "I'm Stephanie." I cracked the book he'd given me and started to read about how to apply cosmetics, something I'd never really thought about before. Tyler watched me read, transfixed.
"You certainly are beautiful, whoever you are," he said at last.
I smiled. "I told you. I'm Stephanie. I like being Stephanie. Now go, do what you need to get done. I'll be fine here by myself. Then you can come back and we'll christen some of the other labs."
Tyler stood. "Anything I can get for you?"
"Actually, could you go to my locker and get my cigarettes? They're in the pocket of my — I mean, Steve's shirt. I'm dying for one."
Tyler picked up another sack and rummaged, pulling out a Bic lighter and a pack of Virginia Slims 120's. "Here," he said. "I bought you something I thought a girl should smoke."
I tore the cellophane, figuring a girl wouldn't pack them against her hand, either. "Thanks."
"Hm?" I replied, lighting a cigarette. It was like smoking a twig, but the super-long cigarettes did look incredibly sexy in my long-nailed slender fingers. And they didn't taste bad at all. Better than the Camels I used to smoke.
"I love you."
I blew him a coy kiss. "I know you do."
He looked hurt. "Don't you love me? After all I did for you?"
"Give me time," I said. "You did just pee on me, after all."
He smiled lopsidedly. "I'll be back later."
"One more thing," I interjected. "Go to Mercy General downtown and talk to Rosie, downstairs in records. Tell her Steve sent you. Get her to make up a fake birth certificate for Stephanie Hope Mitchell so I can get a driver's license and a social security number."
I smiled. "Hope was what Mom was gonna name me if I was born a girl."
Tyler returned the grin and walked out.
Luckily the book was a quick read — I managed to get it read as I was pulling up my genetic data from the back-up I'd made two days earlier. At least Ty had trouble thinking when he was getting laid, as well, or he'd have been sure to make me delete the copies as well. Figuring that I'd not be able to survive another conversion so soon after the first, I opted for a simple partial transference of my original DNA — sans the cancer, of course — to restore my "backbone." I hid the data for the original DNA away where Ty would never find them. I had to hurry and set the machine to custom design the retro-virus, since once Tyler returned it was likely my self-control would go away again. Hell, he might even convince me to tell him what I'd done, especially if his tongue were half as talented as his fingers.
As the machine began the step-by-step synthesis of several of my genes, I galloped back to the bathroom on my tip-toes (I found that I could make good time if I went everywhere on tip-toe, like my feet were in five-inch heels) and frantically showered and depilated my legs and armpits. I was almost distracted by the shower-head massager, but I managed to get myself going after only five minutes of what can only be described as nirvana.
The errand for the birth certificate was sure to keep Tyler busy for quite some time. I spent two hours putting on make-up for the first time. The colors were fun to play with and the book helped quite a bit. I was pleased, that after my first attempt, I didn't look like anything like a whore. Tyler would be so disappointed. I raided the fridge and got some food, since I hadn't eaten in well over twenty-four hours. It was then I discovered the intricacies of trying to eat in make-up. I went back into the bathroom and reapplied what I could. I was quite disgusted with myself for being so pleased with my success with the cosmetics and finding myself hoping Tyler was happy with my appearance.
Tyler hadn't lied about the clothes — all lycra and spandex and stretch fabrics. I pulled on a pair of white silk stockings (I had never felt anything quite like the feeling of silk sliding up my hairless legs. I thought seriously about keeping my legs shaved when I was back to normal) and stood in front of the mirror wearing nothing but the lace-top hose and a filmy lace t-back with a frilly edge, my red hair tied back with a white bandanna. God, I was a knockout. My proportions were perfect and my tits, although too big, were smooth and firm. My body was finely muscled and well-curved. And I now had a blindingly white smile without the crooked tooth I'd had since boyhood, full pouty lips, eyes as green as emeralds and a tousled mop of shockingly red hair.
I pulled on a bra and chose out a simple white lycra tank-dress. Pulling on a pair of white four-inch heels, I then set about stocking a handbag. I filled it with my old wallet and keys, all the cosmetics I thought I'd need, everything I'd seen my mom carry. Miraculously, it all fit into a slim little white quilted pouch with a golden chain for a shoulder strap. I perched my Wayfarer sunglasses on my freckled nose and lit a Virginia Slims cigarette, admiring myself before I headed out the door. Not only did I look sexy, I felt sexy. I felt like I could have any man or woman I desired. And the feeling made me desire lots of men and women at the moment.
I dialed Ty's cellular from the phone in my office.
"Yeah?" Tyler's voice answered.
"Ty, honey, this is Steph," I said, trying to sound sexy.
"Hi," he said, sounding relieved. "What's up?"
"I'm never gonna be able to last on just the clothes you brought. Nothing fits. I thought I'd head over to the stores, get something to wear and get my hair done. My car's still here, so I can get around just fine."
"I can come get you," he offered, unsure.
"Don't you trust me out on my own?" I asked. "You don't trust your little whore to come back?"
There was a long silence. "I guess so. When do you want to meet?"
"We'll meet at the lab, at nine or so. I have a lot to do, I'll probably be at the mall until closing."
"Nine o'clock at the lab. Do you have money?"
"Yeah. There was a bunch of cash and credit cards in my old wallet. Might as well max ‚em out since I don't exist anymore, don't you think?"
Ty laughed. "Be safe, babe. I'll see you tonight. Do me a favor?"
"Come tonight dressed trashy. Like a real whore. I'd like to see you like that."
I swallowed bile and hung up. There was no telling what he'd have me doing tonight.
The mall was an experience... I'd never had so many eyes on me. The high heels made me walk with a sway that drew every set of eyes in the place to me. At first it was uncomfortable as hell, but soon I came to like and then even love the feeling. I had never been desired before. I exaggerated the sway in my hips and found several excuses to drop something and then bend over to get it. It was just shy of a power trip. I thought about all the hard-ons I was creating and it made me wet all over again.
My hair was long for a man and the protein had made it longer still, but too short to do much of anything with as a woman, and I knew Tyler would want me to have a high-maintenance haircut. The woman at the salon in the mall cut my hair in a much shorter version of the signature Nicole Kidman mop-of-curls which looked devastating on me. I bought all manner of bows and scrunchies and the like for it and bought several books on hair-styling at the bookstore downstairs. I trolled through the mall, drawing the lust of every man in the place and jealousy from every woman, buying or trying on everything I'd ever wanted to see on a woman when I was still a man. I maxed out both credit cards on skimpy lingerie and midriff-baring dresses, skin tight blue jeans and thigh-high spike heeled vinyl boots. Between the new clothes, the new hair, the new body, and driving around in the white Miata I'd bought on a whim several years before, I'd never felt as sexy or desirable as I was now. I sat at a traffic light on Buena Vista boulevard, where I'd sat at lights for the last eight years, idly smoking a Virginia Slims held between freshly manicured long acrylic nails and made truckers forget that the light had changed. I can't remember ever having that much fun. Ty should have never let me out. Ty didn't realize he was no longer good enough to be seen out with me.
I discovered something about myself every minute. I found out that the lingering soreness from sex only bothers you when you bend over. I found out that Sarah McLachlan sang right in my vocal range. I found out how good I look in green. I found out that tits make you sit up straighter, and how hard it is to dial a telephone or open a can of Sprite with long fingernails.
I returned to the lab about six thirty, a good two and a half hours before I was expected. I injected the new virus into myself and administered another protein infusion. Then I gathered up everything I'd bought and took it to my apartment. The cats still recognized me, the process hadn't changed my scent. I was still basically the same person, except that I had 38D breasts and a deep-seated slavery towards sex. It gave me an idea. I made a few phone calls before it was time to dress up for the evening.
Ty was quite appreciative of my outfit. My hair was piled in an elaborate coiffure that had taken me nearly an hour to make look so tawdry. I wore far too much eye make-up and lipstick which only seemed to inflame Tyler's lust the more. I wore a way-the-hell-too-tight spandex halter, a black vinyl miniskirt which didn't cover the garters supporting my lace-top fishnet stockings. The black thigh-highs with the six-inch heel and platform set off the ensemble to perfection. I had gotten a real thrill from driving to the lab looking so trashy. I knew how many men were turned on by sluttiness but I could physically feel the looks I'd been getting. Now that my submissiveness was gone from my DNA the power-trip was sending waves of delicious warmth through my throbbing pussy.
I took a final drag from my cigarette and ground it out on the loading dock. "Hey, baby," I said seductively. "You want a date?"
"Come on in," he told me, holding the door open. "I have a surprise for you."
I went in to find a young couple waiting in the lounge. He was tall and lanky, with limp blonde hair pulled into a short ponytail. His features were severe but pleasant as he regarded me with lusty blue eyes. His companion sat on his lap. She was a statuesque brunette with big brown doe-eyes and bee-stung lips. Her thick brown hair fell in luminous waves over her shoulders and down her back. She, too, wore too much make-up but somehow it looked good on her. She wore a halter top and a pair of second-skin PVC pants which set off a set of curves so delicious that the man in me rose in desire. I stared at her hungrily as she took my hand in hers.
"Steph, this is my stepbrother Michael," Tyler said. "He's a photographer for Penthouse. I told him about you and he said he had to see you for himself."
Michael shook my hand. "Joey didn't do you justice. I'd like to introduce you to my friend, Jami. She was Miss September this year."
"Jami," I said.
"Nice to meet you," Jami told me, smiling. Her eyes left no doubt as to her intentions. My wetness returned yet again as I gave her a tight but polite hug. Her body was as firm as mine.
"I was telling Mike about how you just moved here," Ty said. "Where was it you said you moved from again, Steph?"
"Texas," I answered. "I was an exotic dancer in Austin, at the Yellow Rose." I said, remembering a place from my old home town, before I came to the West Coast for research.
"What brings you to California?" Mike asked.
"Oh, the usual. Mostly the ocean, and Hollywood. I'd like to get into the movies."
Ty was obviously pleased with my glib answers, since he placed a hand on my rump.
"So," Mike continued. "Joey tells me you're interested in posing. Why Penthouse?"
I used an answer I'd long used as a man. "I prefer your treatment of the women. You search out the correct models instead of relying so heavily on the airbrush to take out flaws. I respect that."
Mike addressed Ty. "She's definitely got the right attitude. I think we could have a Pet of the Year on our hands if she's as beautiful naked as she is clothed."
"Of course she is," Jami interjected. "Anybody could see that."
Ty smiled. "I was telling Mike how very much you want to pose for his magazine, baby."
I began removing my blouse. It was difficult with the long fingernails. "Very much."
"Not just anybody can pose for our magazine. We turn down hundreds of beautiful women a year. The women we want have to have something special. They have to want it badly."
I stepped close and ran a light touch down the zipper of his faded jeans. "I do. Would you like me to show you how badly I want it?"
Mike smiled. "I think we might be on to something here, Joey."
I was careful to look at Ty for the okay to seduce another man. Ty nodded happily.
I pushed Mike onto the table and kissed him for several minutes. In a nearby chair Jami sat, massaging her magnificent breasts through her blouse. The sight drove me crazy with passion. I opened Mike's shirt as he rid me of my bra. He took my nipples between his teeth and teased the ends with his tongue, causing me to throw my head back and dry-hump him frantically through his jeans. He unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving me naked in his lap except for my garter belt, stockings, and boots. Mike began to fumble with his fly. I helped him and his erection sprang free. He would have been one of those men that inspired jealousy in me when I was a man. His penis was a full nine inches, thick and covered with ropy veins. I took the purple head into my mouth, teasing it with teeth and tongue. Mike moaned and tangled his hands in my hair.
Behind me, Jami had disrobed until she wore nothing but a pair of red skyscraper heels. She bent over and began to kiss the cheeks of my ass, running her hand along the length of my slit. I locked my knees to keep from falling and groaned in pleasure around a mouthful of cock.
I thought long fingernails might hurt, but when Jami's fingers entered me they added a new sensation I'd never anticipated. She wiggled her fingers in my pussy, teasing my G-spot while teasing my anus with her thumb.
"You like that, baby?" she crooned.
"God, yes," I replied, inhaling Mike's dick as deep into my throat as I could. I was desperate to bury my nose in his blond pubic hair, frantic to swallow his whole dick — as if that would give me one of my own again so I could fuck Jami as she deserved.
"You like it up the ass?"
I had been bisexual before my conversion. Of course I liked it up the ass. If I hadn't, I would have probably been completely heterosexual just for convenience' sake. I nodded, adding motion from my hand to Mike's blow-job, making him buck and thrash.
"Straddle Mike's cock," Jami told me. "Fuck him while I get ready."
Wordlessly, I stood and straddled Mike's enormous member. I was briefly torn between the doubt that I could get that monster to fit inside myself and my overwhelming desire to thrust it deep inside me. Desire won. I eased onto him, fitting every delicious inch into my pussy with a prolonged sigh of lust.
"Slow and easy, baby," Mike told me. "I want this to last."
I set a slow rhythm, grinding my clitoris against him on the downstrokes. The feel of his balls nestling into the crack of my ass was wonderfully exciting. Mike sucked and teased my nipples, his breath cool on the hot flesh of my breasts. Then I felt Jami's hands on my ass, covered with something greasy and cool. Her fingers probed my anus, lubricating me with the petroleum jelly. I turned to look over my shoulder. She wore a dildo in a leather panty which stood out in an erection not suited to her smooth body. The rubber phallus glistened with petroleum jelly. Jami pushed the head of it against my asshole gently. The dildo had an attachment which extended underneath and into Jami's sex and the motion of the giant penis against me sent thrills through her, as well. As the dildo penetrated me, my cunt went virginally tight around Mike's shaft, causing him to cry out with pleasure. I collapsed against his chest in ecstasy and Jami's weight pressed down on me, her nipples hard as pebbles against my back. I motioned Ty over and stuffed his erection into my mouth, stuffed full in every hole.
The orgasm was magnificent. It wouldn't have surprised me if I lost consciousness. Mike and Jami sawed into me mercilessly, bringing a squeal of pleasure from me with every thrust. Mike's back arched and for the first time I felt the incredible sensation of a man's hot load splashing against my cervix. Shortly after Ty tensed and began to grunt the coming of his own climax. I pulled his cock from my mouth and masturbated him onto my face. The hot, sticky cum fell into my hair, eyes, and mouth, covering my face with heat. Jami withdrew her dildo from my ass and rolled me over, climbing atop me to lick the remainder of Ty's jizm off of my face. We ended in a salty French kiss as I grabbed and jerked her "dick," bringing her to a shuddering, yelping orgasm on top of me.
It didn't take long for me to get a driver's license, social security card, and several lines of credit established. I didn't have any friends to miss me, and the note I left at the lab explaining my inability to cope with being so near my only hope for a cure to my cancer every day seemed to appease everyone concerned. They all blamed Clinton's ban on the use of cloning techniques on humans for my loss of hope and resolved to try harder to push it through.
Ty kept a key to my apartment and would come in to use me at all hours. My job at the Pink Pearl kept me dancing until two in the morning, but aside from the constant fatigue the money was good. I drove north to Seattle with Jami a month later to photograph my first shoot in Penthouse, a lesbian set with her that got so intense over half of the pictures Mike took couldn't be printed in a soft-core magazine. A letter arrived a week later inviting me to Miss April.
My career as a dancer took off and I found myself dancing topless all along the West Coast. I had a following, a fan club, an entry on Danni's Hard Drive and my own web-page. My used panties began to go for thirty dollars a pair. I learned to dot my i's with hearts and stars to complete the image. I was reasonably content, sexually satisfied (Ty's proscription against fucking around didn't hold up very well on the road), and highly impatient. I used my newfound fame and influence to start a campaign for medical research, trying to rally public opinion around acceptance of the gene-therapy device I and my colleagues had labored so long to perfect. And it was perfected — how else could one explain my conversion from a cancerous, gangly 34-year-old Ph.D. to a fertile, healthy 22-year-old exotic dancer?
Finally the Clinton administration relented its position after a nationwide rally and protest march. When the documentation of a several successful cures of cancer patients reached the offices of the FDA, there was no way at all the President could refuse it to the people of the world. The human research was one hundred percent effective on all forms of cancer and a company was formed to manufacture and distribution of the machine. Chrysalis Industries became the fastest-growing stock on the market and its revenues reached into the billions within a fiscal year. The research budgets trebled overnight, and genetic engineers were beginning to catalogue the genes that caused behavior, hoping to used the process to correct habitually violent criminals and other cases which could not rejoin society. Permanently changing hair- and eye-colors was now an out-patient procedure in Beverly Hills.
And what of Steven Elliot Marchand, the inventor of the remarkable process and holder of all the patents it generated? His death in 1997 of brain cancer was a huge tragedy, but his will gave all the considerable proceeds his work generated for him went into a charitable trust which paid out a considerable stipend to the woman who had set it up in memory of the valiant scientist. The woman was Stephanie Hope Mitchell, the 1997 Penthouse Pet of the Year. Although pained by her recent painful break-up with her boyfriend Joe Tyler, she managed to give a radiant green-eyed smile to the news cameras nonetheless.
"Stephanie, there's a call for you on line four," my secretary Monica said over the intercom. I closed my eyes and daydreamed a moment about the exquisite squeals that perky voice made when I flicked my tongue in just the right place. Then I picked up the phone.
"Steph, it's David, over at Applied Research Labs. I was going through some old files, just cleaning up, when I found something strange. Hidden in the data for some of the original data on DNA experiments on fruit flies I found an entire set of human chromosome data under a file labelled ‚Gunther.' Any idea what that means?"
"I had a cat named Gunther once," I replied, surprised that my DNA had survived Ty's wrecking of the original lab once he discovered that I wasn't in his control anymore. "It's probably just trash."
"You want me to delete it?"
I looked at the 11-carat diamond on my manicured hand and remembered my upcoming dinner appointment with a member of the Swiss Royal Family. "Yeah, go ahead. I doubt anybody needs it anymore."
"You're the boss-lady," David replied and hung-up.
It was probably best that Steve Marchand did die for real, to rid myself of he guilt of taking all of the poor bastard's money. It just turned out that being a woman was worlds better than being a man, and being a little of both was the best yet. I had millions, men and women throwing themselves at me. I was on the covers of Penthouse and Forbes in the same month. Rest in peace, Steve.
The intercom buzzed again. "Stephanie?" Monica asked.
"What is it, sweetheart?"
"The new data analyst is here. Shall I send her in to you?"
I smiled. New meat. "Right away."
The door opened to reveal a statuesque blond in six-inch heels and a severe business suit which molded to her every glorious contour. She held a slim briefcase in one long-nailed hand.
I lit a Sobrani, a special slim version made especially for me. I exhaled a cloud of fragrant blue smoke. "Good morning. I'm Stephanie Mitchell. And you are?"
"Tamara. Tamara Goodbody."
"And a good body you have."
"Thank you, ma'am."
I scowled. "Ma'am? There will be none of that here. I am to be addressed in private as Mistress. Is that understood?"
Tamara stiffened in surprise and, to the trained eye, excitement. "Yes, Mistress."
"Good. I appreciate obedience, Tamara. For your behavior, you may have a reward. Would you like a reward for your obedience, Tamara?"
"Yes, Mistress. Please, Mistress."
"You may crawl to me on your hands and knees and kiss my shoes."
Tamara lowered herself to the floor and came to me, slinking like a cat. Her ass was perfectly rounded as it stuck up behind her. Tamara licked her lips and regarded me with a look of purest lust in her ice-blue eyes. She took my stiletto-heeled pump in both hands reverently and began to suck and kiss it as if it were her lover's penis.
"You like that?" I asked.
Tamara could only grunt and nod. As she lavished affection on my shoe she used her left hand to masturbate herself frantically through the linen of her skirt. She reached a shuddering climax and gazed up at me adoringly.
"You know, Tamara, I don't think I need a data analyst at all."
"You're sending me away, Mistress?" Her voice had a touch of the plaintive.
"I do, however, need a maid at my residence. You'd have to wear the proper uniform, of course."
"Please, Mistress. Anything. Please don't send me away."
I ran my fingers idly through her thick blonde bangs as I would a dog, and she looked at me with a dog's devotion in return. "Very well. Have my driver take you there and I'll be home this evening to begin your training. I am very particular, Tamara. Everything must be just so."
"Thank you, Mistress."
She rose on her beautifully formed legs and walked slinkily towards the door, recovering her briefcase. I cleared my throat as her hand closed on the doorknob, and she turned.
"It's like a kind of rape, isn't it, Ty?"
Tamara's eyes were filled with tears.
Chrysalis copyright 1997 by Nate Denney.
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