A Week In

A week into the hormone rewiring, you had become unrecognizable from the woman who left the clinic. Your body felt permanently tuned to a high-frequency hum of feminine lust. Your lips were plush and glossy, skin glowing, curves accentuated by the constant flush of arousal. Men were utterly repulsive now—a brief glimpse of one on the street made your stomach twist and your pussy dry up instantly. Women, however, especially soft, feminine, lipstick lesbians like the ones you now craved exclusively, turned you into a dripping, needy mess.

You had discovered The Velvet Kiss, an upscale lesbian club downtown, on day three. By day seven you were a regular slut there, known by the bartenders and many of the patrons as the eager new girl who couldn't keep her hands out of her panties.

Tonight was no different. You stepped into the dimly lit club wearing a tiny black dress that barely covered your ass, no bra, and a thong so soaked it clung to your swollen pussy lips. The bass of sensual music vibrated through your body as you scanned the room: dozens of beautiful women in tight outfits, glossy lips shining under the lights, curves on full display. Your clit throbbed visibly beneath the thin fabric.

You ordered a drink at the bar and immediately felt eyes on you. A stunning redhead in a tight emerald dress smiled your way. Your nipples hardened to points. Instead of approaching her right away, you slipped into one of the dimly lit booths along the wall, the perfect spot for what you needed most.

Your hand slid under the table as soon as you sat down. Legs parted, you pulled your thong aside and sank two fingers deep into your dripping cunt. The wet squelch was masked by the music, but you could hear it clearly in your own ears. You fucked yourself slowly at first, eyes locked on the redhead as she danced with another femme. Their bodies pressed close, hips grinding, hands roaming. The sight made you add a third finger, stretching your greedy hole while your thumb attacked your swollen clit.

"Mmm... fuck yes," you whispered under your breath. Your hips rocked subtly, riding your own hand in the booth like the desperate lesbian slut you had become. Juices coated your fingers and dripped onto the seat. You imagined crawling between them on the dance floor, tongue out, ready to worship both their pussies.

Your first orgasm of the night hit fast and hard. Your pussy clenched rhythmically around your fingers as you bit your lip to stay quiet, thighs trembling. A small squirt leaked out, soaking your thong completely. You didn't stop. You kept fingering through the aftershocks, eyes glassy with lust as you scanned for more women.

A tall blonde with perfect fake tits and glossy pink lips noticed you. She smirked and sauntered over, sliding into the booth across from you. "Enjoying the view, pretty girl?"

You didn't remove your hand. Instead, you pumped your fingers faster, letting her see the motion under the table. "I can't stop... women make me so fucking wet now."

She watched with hungry eyes as you masturbated openly for her. Your dress had ridden up, exposing the slick mess between your thighs. You rubbed your clit in frantic circles, moaning softly as she described exactly what she wanted to do to you later. The dirty talk—pure feminine filth about tribbing, facesitting, and strap-on fucking—pushed you over again. You came with a shuddering whimper, eyes locked on her cleavage, pussy gushing onto your hand.

After she left with a promise to find you later, you made your way to the bathroom. The club's restroom was luxurious, with large stalls and full-length mirrors. You locked yourself in the biggest one, hiked your dress up to your waist, and braced one foot on the toilet seat. In the mirror you watched yourself like the vain lipstick lesbian you had become—perfect makeup slightly smudged from sweat, lips parted in constant arousal.

You pulled out the small bullet vibrator you now carried everywhere and pressed it hard against your clit while three fingers fucked your hole. The buzz combined with the stretch sent you spiraling. You rode your hand viciously, free hand mauling your tits through the dress, pinching your nipples until they ached.

"Only women... only pretty girls... I'm such a lesbian whore," you gasped to your reflection. The words fueled you. Another powerful orgasm made your knees buckle. You squirted forcefully onto the floor, the clear fluid splashing as your cunt convulsed. Still, you kept the vibrator pressed tight, overstimulating your clit until a second wave hit immediately after.

You cleaned up just enough to return to the main floor, but the night was far from over. You danced with several women, grinding your soaked pussy against their thighs, feeling their soft bodies and perfume drive you insane. Each grind brought you close to the edge. Between songs you slipped back to your booth or a dark corner to frantically rub yourself to another quick, shuddering climax.

By midnight you had cum at least eight times, each one more intense than the last. Your thong was ruined, thighs shiny with your juices, and your mind was a fog of sapphic lust. You finally let the redhead from earlier pull you into a more private lounge area. There, surrounded by other making-out couples, you sat on her lap facing her and rode her thigh shamelessly while she kissed your neck.

But even as her hands roamed your body, your favorite part remained the masturbation—your fingers sneaking between you both to rub your clit while you ground against her. You came again like that, soaking her dress, moaning into her mouth about how badly you needed women's bodies.

Later, back at home after the club closed, the real marathon began. You stripped completely and spent hours on your bed recreating every sight from the club. Dildo buried deep in your pussy, vibrator on your clit, you fucked yourself senseless while replaying the images: the redhead's tits, the blonde's ass, the way women kissed with glossy lips sliding together. You came over and over, talking dirty to yourself the entire time.

"I'm a total lesbian slut... addicted to pussy... can't even look at men anymore..."

By dawn you were exhausted, sheets destroyed, body marked with hickeys from the club, and your pussy sore but still twitching with need. A week in, and you were exactly what the hormones had made you: a beautiful, insatiable lipstick lesbian who spent every night at the club acting like a desperate slut before coming home for even more masturbation.

The changes were complete. You couldn't imagine any other life.