For
Real
By
Tang.
Part 2
Katherine awoke and for a few
seconds thought that the mad dream was over.
However, in moments she realised she was not alone. Then she looked over to see the tattooed
shoulder of Caitlin protruding from beneath the duvet. She tried to recall if her story had gone on
to the ‘morning after’. If it had not
then it suggested that she had locked herself into this alternate life. With the arousal subsided, Katherine felt far
more uncomfortable about what that meant.
She sat up and looked and felt her body: it was too unfamiliar for her
to be happy in it. The discarded clothes
that were supposedly hers, were unlike anything she wore. She was determined to get out of here. Katherine had no idea what magic was at work
here, but she was certain it had to do with the stories. Did that mean that writing what she felt to
be her true life could get her back into it?
She guessed there was no reason not to try. Self-consciously Katherine got herself from
the bed and put on the bra and panties even though they did not feel like her
own. The leggings and top had to
follow. It would be easier to resist
Caitlin if she was not naked when she woke.
Quickly Katherine headed to the kitchen and opened drawers to find a pen
and some paper. In the end she settled
for a takeaway menu. She scribbled on
it, “I was back in my old flat” and went to cooker to burn it. It was electric but Katherine then found
candle stubs in pots on the window sill and matches with them. She struck one and held it to the torn menu,
making sure the flame burned the words.
She dropped it into the pot.
Katherine staggered as she found
herself in a different flat. It was not
Caitlin’s but neither was it her own.
Looking down at her clothes she saw that they were the same as when she
had been back with Caitlin. Was she
trapped as Katriona? Katherine tried to
calm herself. This whole situation
seemed like a mad dream, but it did seem to have rules. Writing the note and destroying it had
transported her from Caitlin’s flat to another.
Perhaps she had to simply persist with this approach, but be more
careful. “Back in her old flat” could
make sense for her as Katriona - to bring her here. Looking around she could understand that this
would be the flat that lesbian graphic Katriona might own or rent. Katherine searched the kitchen drawers for
more paper and a pen. Finding an old
shopping list, she wrote her old address on the back and added the date and
time when she had last been there. She
even described the clothes she had been wearing. Katherine hurried to the cooker and lit the
gas. The paper burned up quickly and as
she let it go on to the hob, Katherine realised she was back where she had
started; not in the flat a fashionably-dressed lesbian version of herself might
inhabit, but in the one she had moved into only days before. Her clothes were back to the sweater and
jeans she had put on that morning.
Katherine went to make herself a
cup of coffee and then sat down at the kitchen table in an attempt to process
what had happened. Pulling out her phone
she scrolled down but still found, ‘Ember’, ‘Lu-Cee’ and finally ‘Tasha Pascoe’
in the place of Natasha Lawson. Rebecca Curtis
seemed untouched, though Katherine felt she had written a story about her as
well. However she had gained the power
to alter the universe, it seemed that the bulk of Katherine’s ‘fictional’
changes remained in place as the apparent truth. Katherine felt incredibly guilty for dragging
her friends into these events and was determined to correct everything back to
how it had been before. Being
transported to the flat of ‘Katriona’ made her cautious and she began to run
through the details of her friend’s lives to make sure that she got them
entirely right. However, as she picked
up her pen, the world around her shifted and as her vision cleared Katherine
found herself in what looked like an old Japanese house. She was kneeling on the floor dressed in the
most exquisite silk kimono. There was no
mirror around, but Katherine knew that she would be made up to look like the
most accomplished of geishas awaiting the heroic samurai who would sneak into
the grounds of this house when the man she served was asleep. They would meet in the tea house in the
garden and have passionate sex until the first rays of dawn began to penetrate
the paper walls. If she had written the
story simply from the perspective of a geisha of those times, she guessed she
would not have been affected. However,
writing herself into it as a woman drawn into the past by an enchanted fan she
found it a junk shop, meant she had to follow the same path and be altered from
Katherine to Kazumi.
There was part of Katherine that
wanted to experience life and especially sex as Kazumi, but she worried that if
she yielded to such urges she might end up being trapped in her story and that
this fiction would become real. However
romantic, these were less conducive surroundings than when she had been
Katriona. Katherine knew she had to get
back to her own time and her own life, not least, to correct everything she had
inflicted on her three friends who would have no idea how their lives had been
so changed and no power to alter what they had been delivered into. A fire burnt in a bowl sunk into the middle
of the floor of the room. Using her fan
and one of the long pins that had held her hair in place, Katherine was able to
get out pieces of charred wood from around the edge and put them on the tatami
mat. She feared she might burn down the
whole house, but they cooled quickly enough.
She hurried to one of the screens and pierced the translucent paper with
her hairpin, then tore a chunk of it away.
Her actions would have caused outrage here, but she was desperate to
have completed them before anyone, even her lover, came upon her. Setting down the paper she started to write,
but found only Japanese characters came out.
She worried that using this script she would get the year wrong and turn
up back at her flat years, maybe even centuries, into the past or future. Concentrating she battled to form English
words. She set the time some five
minutes later than last time so that she would not collide with herself
arriving back from Katriona’s. Aware of
the shadow of a large man on the screen to the garden and her name being
repeated in a loud whisper, Katherine tossed the torn paper on to the
fire. In moments it curled and turned to
ash.
Back in the kitchen of her flat,
Katherine breathed with relief, not least because the clothes she had returned
to wearing were less restrictive. She
fetched a glass of water and as she sipped it, she wondered how many more
scenarios she would have to go through before this rollercoaster ride was
done. That thought was dismissed as
Katherine looked around her and found herself in a stone-floored room lit by
ancient oil lamps. She could feel a
breeze on her skin and knew that she was scantily clad. Her hair was long, black and shaped with
beads braided into it. Heavy make-up
would accentuate her olive skin.
Armlets, bracelets and anklets of fine workmanship ringed her
limbs. A girdle was slung around her
hips hanging down over her sex. Her skin
was painted in henna with a beautiful net pattern. Once more this was Katherine as the trapped
time-traveller; on this occasion shaped by magic to fit in with the Ancient
Egyptian court she had found herself in when carelessly reading an old tome.
Katherine jumped up, hoping to
find some papyrus and some ink. Even if
she had to write it out with her fingers, she would do so. She laughed a little bitterly to think how
seductive it had appeared when sitting in some copycat hotel room to envisage
herself as the mistress or concubine of some ancient priest or a pharaoh. Now living it, though she loved the sensuous
body the magic had given her and the glossy black hair, she was having second
thoughts. She wondered if she should
take something from these incredible adventures and recognise that there was
something wrong with a woman who could only have sexual pleasure from fantasies
that involved her becoming someone very different. Was that why she remained single? As she finished skirting this area, of what
she recalled was a temple complex, she heard the door open.
The man who had come to have sex
with her, was not even original. Her
descriptions, too often, were derived from old movies she watched in the
aforementioned hotel rooms. This one had
a smoothly shaved head, was muscular and with hypnotic eyes. A long ornate robe hung clear of his broad
chest and as she looked down at the long skirt he wore, Katherine could see his
cock already pressing against it, eager to emerge. Beneath the ornamented strip of cloth which
hung between her thighs Katherine or Khumyt as she was named here, could feel
her smooth sex opening and moistening.
She tried to think of what she could say or do to put off this encounter
so that she could slip away. She was
sure in a temple she could find something to write on. Would scribbling on a clay pot and smashing
it suffice?
Katherine’s thoughts of escape
were disrupted by her arousal at this tryst with her lover from the pharaoh’s
court. As he reached out for her, his
hands strong but with a gentle touch, she knew her writing would make her be
thrilled by this encounter. Nekonekh,
the name of this man, stood over her in a way she was not used to in real
life. However, here she was gifted with
svelte body, a tanned shade and with sleek black hair hanging past her
shoulder. She loved the sensation of his
broad chest pressed against her pert and now excited nipples. Nekonekh seemed to encompass her in a way no
man in her time could. They kissed
deeply, with their tongues playing. Then
Nekonekh lifted Katherine-as-Khumyt and took her to a low couch where he laid
her down. He knelt beside it, running
his fingers teasingly across her body, stroking her cheeks, her throat and the
sides of her body to her hips. It was
delightfully tantalising because whilst the touches roamed over her, for the
moment they stayed clear of where she wanted them most. They clasped her breasts and slid between her
thighs, up to, but not touching, her dark pussy.
Now Nekonekh was grasping
Khumyt’s calves and even tantalising her feet, making her shiver pleasurably
and giggle in a way that she had not done as an adult. She expected him to pull her legs apart and
to mount her, but then realised she had scripted some more foreplay. That recognition that all of this was
foreseen; had been created by her ideas and then her words, butted in. However, as now her lover discarded his robe
and came on to the couch, straddling her between strong thighs, Katherine knew
it was a fact she could easily forget when there were other more immediate,
more pleasurable, demands on her. It was
far too easy to forget that this was a time and a place where she did not
belong; to forget even that she was not Khumyt but Katherine, a businesswoman
with a far more lacking sex life.
Resting his hands either side of
her head, Nekonekh brushed his rock-had cock between her smooth thighs and
rested it against Khumyt’s wet, parted lips.
She had no wish to beg him to enter, but inside it was all she could
think off. The weight of his shiny flesh
on the entrance to her sex made her hungry to encompass it all. Instead, Nekoneh dipped down to lick at each
nipple in turn, alternating, hesitating, licking, nibbling, varying the pattern
so that she did not know what to expect next but at each stage raising her
arousal higher. Then he slid in, deep
and hard, his cock slipping easily through he sodden sex, filling her more than
any man she had known for real, but it a way that she enjoyed. That recognition reminded her that this was
sex she had written herself and it was going to be perfect in a way it might
have otherwise struggled to come close to.
She found herself arcing up, thrusting her mound into him, grinding
against him as if seeking to squeeze every iota of pleasure from him.
Nekonekh came quickly,
withdrawing sharply so that he could ejaculate across the floor. Though she missed his weight, her thumb took
up the work and with it going inside her while her fingers caught her clitoris,
Khumyt soon found her own climax. As she
jerked forward, seeing her taut, slender, dark tanned body, its hair so black,
stretched out before her she came all the harder; the unfamiliarity of this
excited body, exotic to her eyes, pushed her that much further. Spent, Katherine slumped back, gazing dimly
up to the ceiling high above.
Katherine did not know how much
time had passed and whether she had slept.
However, in line with the story, Nekonekh had gone and she was due a
luxurious bath filled with sensuous oils.
As before, she wondered if she was trapped here. However, that was less of a fear since she
had managed to spring herself from first Caitlin’s flat and then Katriona’s
back to her own. She stood and adjusted
her girdle and straightened her hair.
The henna pattern was smudged by her own perspiration, but she loved
that mark of what she had just done. She
knew she smelt strongly of sex and found that she welcomed the earthy aroma. Did she want to remain in this life?
As Katherine walked towards where
she knew the bath would be waiting for her as Khumyt, she thought over what an
existence here in Ancient Egypt would mean.
She imagined that here she was seeing the best of it, rather than in the
dusty, crowded streets filled with livestock and unhealthy citizens. Life would be good while she had a protector,
but what happened if he lost interest in her?
Would that happen once what she had written was exhausted and yet the
conjured life rolled on all the same?
Katherine knew that she would like to come back to this, but felt now it
was no longer an either/or choice. She knew
now that she could write herself into experiencing any scenario that took her
fancy. Turning away from the promised
bath, Katherine walked through the corridors, not certain if she was indeed in
a temple or in a palace. She was able to
find and light a small oil lamp from a larger one which burned in the room
where she had had her encounter with Nekonekh.
She looked into the rooms she came across until at last she found a
scribe’s room. Of course, being night
the room was empty. She found a piece of
papyrus and some ground ink. Her slender
fingers struggled with the brush, but carefully she was able to draw
hieroglyphs. Through emphasising in her
mind the phrase she had used before, she hoped that she got the right terms
down. Nervously she giggled to consider
what would happen if something was ‘lost in translation’. She guessed that, as with exiting Katriona’s
flat, if she did not get it right first time then she could keep trying until
she did.
Taking the strip of papyrus she
pushed it into the flame of the torch and watched as it burned. As it reached her fingers she dropped to the
floor, again worried that it might trigger a fire. However, as she looked up she found herself
standing outside the block of flats where she lived, the closest, it seemed
that this magic would interpret ‘her building’.
She was glad to find herself back in the clothes she had put on that
morning and not in anything like what she had worn as Khumyt. It was day and glancing at her watch she was
glad to find that it was only some minutes she had first left here. What had been the time when she had got back
from Katriona’s flat or Japan? Could she
write herself back into her own past?
There was so much to unravel with this new-found ability, but for the
moment she felt she needed to tread carefully.
As she let herself back into the flat, she tried to recall what other stories
had been in the same collection as those that she had already experienced for
real.
Katherine did not have to wait
long as before she had even removed her shoes she found herself coughing; not
in her flat but in a savannah under a very alien sky. With a few steps across the corn-coloured
grass she realised she was on a different planet. This story had had her abducted by shadowy
aliens and transported to a world on the far side of the galaxy. Walking to the top of a rise she could see
out over a luxuriant land, seemingly untouched by buildings or pollution. However, warm air currents would bring bursts
of pollen over her and as another batch came across she coughed once more. She looked down at her herself and saw that
they were having the effect she had written.
The backs of her hands were already becoming furry and she was gaining
the leopard marking that would allow her shortly to be camouflaged amongst the long
grass.
Now Katherine panicked. She had created a world in which there was no
paper and no pens. She wondered if she
could scratch something on to a piece of bark and get a fire going to burn
it. As she ran towards the jungle around
a small lake, she was aware that her time was limited before this planet worked
its magic on her and she was transformed into a creature perfected to it. It had all started when she had seen a woman
in tight leopard print leggings and had begun imagining her dressed head-to-toe
like that; then as that becoming the woman’s own skin. The story had come from those thoughts - a
more exotic version of a ‘catwoman’ character mixed with the desire to be
someone very different, with all the mundane concerns about life and work
utterly dismissed.
Katherine came to a halt as her
steps became hesitant. Looking down at
her feet she saw that here shoes were shredding; tearing as they adjusted to
the new nature of her feet. Her calves
were hard against the suit trousers she had written herself into. She tried to continue, adapting her step to
the way her legs were altering, driven on by the pollen she could not help
inhaling. Katherine paced herself but
then fell to the floor. She tried not to
look, but the jacket and blouse beneath were breaking at the seams, the cloth
yielding as her arms became more muscular; their length appropriate for her to
walk on all fours. Katherine knew that
she would not become a leopard as such, but an anthromorphic big cat-woman;
human aspects such as her face and breasts being visible in their leopard skin
wrapping. She lifted her hand. It was still a hand, but with a thick pad on
the palm and stubby fingers that allowed it to act as a paw. Her nails were already claws and she tore at
the remains of her clothes that still clung to her. It was harder to get to her trousers. She rolled on to her back, conscious that it
was a cat-like move, but it made it easier to tear at the remains of what she
wore below.
Her panties had been wrecked by
her reshaping bum and thighs now suited for bounding across the savannah. The remaining strands were quickly cut away
and the bra, torn off her shoulders. If
Katherine had still been human she would be naked now. However, laid out on the rich grass was her
body, strong, lean and fast; white furred across her belly and exotically
spotted on her back and the outer edges of her limbs. Her tail snaked from beneath her. Struggling to keep her balance she had been
barely aware of its growth. Now the
changes seemed complete, Katherine clambered on to her clawed feet and began to
walk in the direction of the lake. She
was after all, a leopard-woman and they stood proud. As she moved, Katherine found herself feeling
strangely liberated and then increasingly proud of the body this planet had
insisted that she have.
As she came closer to the
watering hole, Katherine battled to think why she had set off in this
direction. For a moment she wondered if
she was keen to see her reflection in the water. Distantly she recalled something about a
story, but then could not remember the story she had been thinking of. All that came to mind was the creation story
that leopard-people told each other in purrs and growls. At that thought she tested her voice. She tried to speak her own name but instead
the ‘moau’ sound of a big cat came from her throat. She found she liked it and made it
again. Feeling playful now, she ran to
the water and stooped down on her front legs so that with her pink tongue she
could lap up a drink.
Then she was conscious of an
aroma and knew it instantly to be that of a male. For some reason his appearance at the edge of
the trees seemed right as if it was something destined to happen. She found herself raising her bum and turning
it in the direction of the male, waving her tail from side-to-side in a way
which she knew would signal to him her availability for mating. She was on heat and she needed the cock of
this one, deep inside her. For all her
humanoid characteristics in this season it was the more animal urges that took
over. She let out a long plaintive
mewing sound that she found excited her even more. Her sex was loose and wet. She scissored her rear legs pleasurably. Her actions elicited a low growl from the
male. She slowly turned her
feline-featured head to look over her shoulder and was pleased as she saw him
coming steadily through the undergrowth.
She continued the sound, now in a sense of jubilation that she had
brought him to her. His scent was strong
and then he was at her, clambering aboard, resting his front legs either side
of her and sliding his long and hard cock far inside of her.
Gasping she settled back into the
act of her mating, her head faced downwards to the ground, loving every thrust
of the leopard-man into her. Catching
sight of something white on her paw-hand that fluttered to the ground as she
shifted her stance brought back strange, alien memories of other worlds. For some reason she thought of her body
wrapped in cloth whatever that was; of different stories to the ones she now
knew; stories perhaps even created by herself.
These strange ideas, the leopard-woman dismissed from her mind and
focused on all that was being done to her; sounding out her lust and the pure
joy of the physical sensations. Nothing
else mattered. She wanted nothing else
and to be nowhere else than here. In
moments any thoughts unsuited to the here and now had gone from her and were
replaced by all the sparks of pleasure her mating was providing.
****
Epilogue
Rebecca scrolled through the
names on her smartphone. It was clearly
not working properly. Katherine’s name
and details seemed to have disappeared entirely and for some reason she now had
those of Tasha Pascoe. As she paused she
realised something was wrong. For a few
instants she did not really take in what it was. However looking at her fingernail she saw
that rather than the plain and short style she had for work, it was long,
manicured and painted with a complex design.
A tiny gem was fixed to it. In
seconds she saw that all the others matched.
Blinking, Rebecca wondered if she
was hallucinating. She had only been
drinking coffee. She looked at her hands
again and saw that they carried a number of white gold rings studded with
diamonds. Bracelets swung on her wrists
and indeed the white shirt she had put on this morning was replaced with a
mid-blue scoop top with devore sleeves.
There was no rational explanation for why she was dressed this way. This had to be the most lucid of dreams. Rebecca closed her eyes and willed herself to
wake up. As she rested her hands on her
thighs, she realised they were on a smooth, almost slippery surface. Rather than the loose boyfriend jeans she
knew she had selected this morning, she now wore high-waisted black wet-look
leggings. Rebecca stood up to look in
the mirror behind the café counter. The
reflection showed herself, she could see that, but altered. The tight top she wore glistened. Her hair, rather than loosely plaited and
brown, was in a sharp graduated bob with straight bangs framing her face; it
was blonde.
Rebecca saw that she wore more
make-up than at any time in her life. It
was not tarty but the lipliner, the mascara and the volumised eyelashes all
went beyond what she would do. The gem
at the side of her nose and the monroe stud above her coloured lips were
something of a style she would ever consider.
Was this someone getting back at her?
Rebecca remembered going on about some of the women coming into the
dental surgery where she worked. Their
self-confidence, their arrogance even; the style of their clothing had given
them a kind of cool sexuality. Rebecca
did not know if she was annoyed by them or somehow envied them. She could never get herself that well
organised, certainly not to have all the beauty treatments she appeared to have
now or the gym toning that her body now seemed to possess. Was this a punishment for her snootiness to
such women? Had someone taken it upon
themselves to show her what they were like for real; to emphasise that with
different choices in her life she would have been no different? Was this, she considered, rather seductively,
some kind of reward, that a fairy godmother had changed her into the kind of
woman she had secretly wanted to be?
“Bex, sorry I’m late, babe.”
Rebecca turned to see a man
coming up to her. He was the typical
sort that she saw with the kind of woman she now resembled. They had done well for themselves. They ran small businesses and so set their
own rules. They lived in new-build
houses with big televisions and all the latest mod cons. They loved spending their money on flashy cars
and their women ensuring they were dressed in this ostentatious style. They could be terse and took defence of their
families to the extreme. This one was
typical – cropped hair; in a three-quarter length leather jacket, with chinos
and chunky boots. Rebecca was
unresisting as he closed on her and pulled her in tight, kissing her and slipping
his tongue between her teeth. Part of
Rebecca shuddered at the thought of being tied up with such a man but part of
her welcomed him being so unashamedly proud of her and happy to behave in a
sexy way. His broad hand pressing on her
bum reminded her how the hours at the gym had made it so taut.
“God, you make me hard, Bex. I was thinking after we grab some lunch we
might want to warm up before meeting the club tonight.”
Somehow Rebecca knew the club was
for swingers. The thought of offering
herself around did make her feel very turned on and she knew she would be hot
enough to need sex from Darren before they even headed out. The strange worries she had been having
earlier seemed to evaporate.
“I need it, babe.” Bex responded truthfully.
Darren smiled. “I was thinking that foil dress, the one in
silver and those long suede boots for tonight.”
“Sounds good.”
Bex picked up her black shearling
jacket from the back of her chair and pulled it on tight. As she walked from the café, strutting on the
sharp metal heels of her ankle boots, for a moment she felt there was something
entirely wrong about this. However, she
walked on, knowing how good she looked as they headed to the large black Audi
in the corner. This was her and that was
a fact, if anyone had a problem with it, they simply had no taste and that was
their problem not hers.
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