Figuring things out

Driving was weird. She had to adjust her seat , the mirrors and the steering wheel. Nothing was it it’s right place. The seatbelt pressed against her chest and she adjusted it multiple times until it felt right. She had to take off her shoes. Her feet were tiny, just like the rest of her. No muscles, no height, no … her cock was gone, replaced with… she blushed. Women’s parts!

The drive home was an eternity and she didn’t dare examine herself as she changed out of her too large suit. She took a couple of sleeping pills, crawled into bed and tried to sleep. She finally dozed off.

The next morning, John, refusing to think of herself with a feminine name, dressed, ate some toast washed down with black coffee and drove to a discreet clinic. She wore the same oversized shirt and rolled-up slacks from the night before, looking like a child playing dress-up in her father’s clothes. Every bump in the road made her aware of her new breasts shifting and the empty, sensitive space between her thighs.

The doctor, a no-nonsense woman who had seen everything related to use and **** of x-change pills, ran the full panel of blood and DNA tests.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, sliding the results across the desk. “It was an X-Change Plus pill. Permanent variant. Your DNA is completely locked. Female. This body is yours now. There is no reversal.”

John stared at the genetic report in her small hands. “My cock… it’s gone forever?”

“Yes. Permanently. You are now biologically and genetically female. The donor template… you’re stuck with it. Did you want me to alert the police.”

“They’ll be no help. They’ll just ask embarrassing questions,” John opined. The room spun. John’s delicate shoulders began to shake. Hot tears spilled down her soft cheeks. She cried openly, not the stoic tears of the hardened ex-military Dom she used to be, but soft, gasping, feminine sobs that embarrassed her even more.

“My masculinity … it’s really gone,” she whimpered, voice high and breaking. “I’m stuck like this. This tiny, sexy, fuckable little body. Fuck!”

The indignity burned. She had railed Lina multiple times, bent her over, fucked her senseless doggy-style, made her moan like a whore. Gorgeous and cute. A perfect little sub. And now she was Lina. Same height. Same perky tits. Probably the same tight, hungrily responsive little pussy. The thought made her new clit throb traitorously.

She cried harder for several long minutes before forcing herself to stop. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her oversized shirt and stood up, small fists clenched.

She stood outside the clinic, worrying that she was lost. That she was just like Lina now. She shook her head in denial and spoke to herself firmly and with all the scant certainty she could muster. “No. I’m still John. Still a Dom. I’m not letting this fucking body beat me.” She went shopping.

First, basic day-to-day clothes. She stood in the fitting room of a women’s boutique, staring at her reflection. Petite, curvy, undeniably sexy. She tried on soft panties that hugged her new mound. Jeans that clung to her round ass. Simple blouses that accentuated her small breasts. Bras that held her breasts. Ashamed, **** and angry. Each new garment felt strangely intimate. Erotic. It pissed her off. She hated it.

Even so, she caught herself lingering, running her hands over her hips, feeling how the fabric moved against her sensitive skin. Admiring Lina’s beauty. It was complex and humiliating… but also exciting in a dark, confusing way.

Then she moved to the more daring shop. A BDSM store that she had enjoyed frequenting as a male dom. She had chosen clothes and costumes for sub partners. Toys. Like she looked like now. The male section was useless now. She found the right sort of dom BDSM outfit almost immediately, a black leather corset with steel boning that cinched her tiny waist and pushed her breasts up invitingly. A short leather skirt that barely covered the bottom of her ass. Thigh-high boots with just enough heel to give her a little presence. She stepped out of the changing room and looked at herself in the three-way mirror.

She looked like a perfect little Domme. But she also looked incredibly fuckable. Her nipples were hard. Her pussy was wet. The sight of herself as this tiny, sexy clone of Lina dressed to dominate sent a confusing rush through her body. She turned, admiring the way the leather hugged her curves, the way her ass peeked out when she moved.

On the way to the counter, she passed a display of collars and leashes. Small, dainty ones. Ones that would fit her slender neck perfectly. Delicate leather, some with little silver rings for attaching chains. Her eyes lingered. A strange mix of excitement and disgust twisted in her stomach.

No. I’m buying these for subs, she told herself firmly. Yet her mind flashed to the image of one locked around her own neck while someone much larger bent her over. She squeezed her thighs together and quickly looked away, face burning.

She paid for everything, the perfect leather Domme outfit, and, after a long internal battle, one delicate black collar and matching leash “for play.” Her hands shook slightly as she carried the bags to the car.