Twists and turns - you fight back

It is a strange mixture of sensations. The first, naturally, is the embarrassment triggered by the crowd’s whoops and the lascivious stares of the men. However, it is tinged with delight: looking down at yourself, your new body, and the small, proud breasts surmounted by little pink nipples. As a man, you cannot but admire them but it gives you something of an existential crisis, having found yourself inside the form of your younger sister. It also makes you wonder if, somewhere (in time? In space?), your sister has suddenly found herself transformed into your body, and what she would make of that?

Those perky little breasts, pretty as they are, are a bit of a dirty little secret in real life. You haven’t seen them in a while, but seeing them now takes you back to when you used to play as brother and sister up in the woods, stripping off and diving into the cool waters of the lake. Although your sister, despite being younger, was always the more open, nay brazen. Unafraid (eager?) to flaunt her naked beauty and always ready to tease her older brother regarding the tumescence the playful swimmming sessions, and the sneaky looks at her breasts, aroused in you.

Such a playful nymph, cavorting in the woods, diving into the water and springing out to dry, sunbathing naked on the rocks. Entertaining (teasing?) you with the tales of her exploits with boys and men, her sexual peccadillos recounted in detail, the images it conjured up as she gave herself up so freely, contorted herself into positions that her size,, her gymnastic athleticism, her sexual desires lent her to so well.

And the thought of her in those positions both excited and angered you. Jealous of their attentions upon her, but enjoying the sordid imagery nonetheless. But now it gave you an idea, too...

Scant few moments had passed as you lay there pinned to the ground unable to hex with wrists grasped and your body trapped twixt firm thighs, but the thoughts swirled around in your head and inspired you.

Now more familiar with your sister’s firm yet flexible body, you braced against the woman above you and slid downwards between her thighs. You didn’t get far, and you felt the delicate chain of your lower garment catching against hers, the links twining,, but it gave you some purchase. You sucked in your breath and suddenly pulled your legs and feet up under you, compressing your body into an impossible ball, before pushing upwards and outwards in a single, coordinated, explosive movement. The **** took you up and away as your feet found purchase on the dirt, your clothing’s dragging roughly up her body, and you tucked and flipped and twirled in the air to land triumphant on the balls of your feet, facing her once again.

The startled look on her face was priceless. As were the hoots from the crowd, although there was an undercurrent of something else. As you shifted your weight from one foot to another, awaiting the next move, you assessed yourself, and found that you were unharmed, aside from the blood on your nose. And the fact that you appeared nude before this boorish crowd. The sudden movements had clearly torn the remaining chain mail from you, which lay in a tiny heap on the floor between the two of you. Leaving you not nude, but seemingly so, dressed only in an ornate thong, surely of your sister’s choosing. A slender gold chain hung snug around your boyish hips, so slender it would not be seen from a distance. It descended at the back to disappear between your rounded buttocks, you could feel it uncomfortable taut against your anus, before rising again at the front, parting your lips there, before culminating in an elaborate fine mesh, again not visible from afar, that pierced your clitoris before rejoining the chain around your hips.

You saw your adversary looking at you, and between your legs, taking this all in simultaneously. Again the pulse between your legs as you felt her eyes upon you. Down there. Coupled with the sound from the crowd, the air was charged with more than **** now: there was a sexual frisson rippling through the crowd that made your body tingle.

Sensing your foe tense as if to move, you started to move lightly around her in a circle, ever watchful. Occasionally gyrating your body, twisting and turning in the sensual manner you remembered of your sister’s tales. Never taking your eyes off her, ready to pounce if need be, but dancing, balletic at times, other times crude, demonstrating your control of the situation, and her. Twists. And turns.