You pull them on

Visions of this new you getting dressed for work at the bar enter your mind as you slip on the first shoe. Long white socks, a tiny kilt, white tied off top, and the shoe changes to a 6” platform heel peep toe pump. The voice from whatever creature is looking through the dildo says, “Oh, I made one tiny change. Hope you like it. If not just come back and we can play some more.” Your foot slides all the way into the second shoe and the world rushes around you. A little smirk appears on your new sexy face. You are standing in the bathroom of your little New York apartment looking in the mirror.

“Cute. I’m Vikki again after all, born Victor Ivanovich. Your fingers gently feel the 3” or so soft cock hiding in your soft white panties. You lift the kilt, you can’t even see a bulge. You shift and move a bit. Ya, if you were staring, you could tell you had a little bulge. “I wonder how big it is hard?” You tap the phone to see the time. 4:10. Work in 50 minutes, your phone says it is an 11 minute drive, possibly twice that with traffic stoppages. “Oh fuck this crazy bitch drives a motorcycle in this outfit in downtown New York.” You tap the button on the phone. 25 minutes by subway, including a quarter mile walk.”

“So I’ve got time then. If I want.” You pull down the panties and drop the kilt to around your ankles. Smiling at your sexy self you take hold of your rather nice looking tit and give it a squeeze. “Oh I think that’s an implant. But really nice. No wonder people like squeezing it.” Your other hand begins stroking. Staring into your new sexy eyes, stroking, and fondling your nice body has you hard in very short time. You are able to conjure the memory of the last time this body had sex. Last weekend after work this new you let a very strong, very cut, male model just pound her ass. Your cock basically doubles in size to a rather respectable 6” and is adequately chubby. You spank it focusing on the memory of getting just hammered, the sound of flesh slapping flesh echoing in your head. You let three pretty nice streams of cum fly into the sink, wash up, apply new deodorant and a spritz of perfume, and once more you are ready to go. 4:32. Still time to go either subway or motorcycle. “So are you a good driver?” You ask your reflection. Visions of bobbing and weaving through traffic on your sporty little motorcycle, clad in leather, pop in your head. “Okay, fuck it, let’s go.”

On your way out you grab your satchel like purse and see it holds a helmet and gloves. Neatly folded on a cute bench like seat are your riding pants, with boots by the door and a heavy leather jacket on a peg on the door. “So you don’t always drive in a skirt eh.” Looking it over you tap the stud piercing your lip a couple of times. “Ya, I should probably be safe…”