Illustrated Transformation Story: The Gate-Crashers

I realised I had not done a captioned story for such a long time. Then I came across some stills and gifs from this old Marilyn Manson video and it seemed perfect for a short story of the geeky young woman feeling out of it at a party until the vampire gate crash and feel she is ideal to become one of them. I have included a gif at the top to give the spirit of the story.

Illustrated Office Stories

This is a series of illustrated office stories, featuring women being transformed in a number of ways and features leather, latex, lesbian, heterosexual and transracial stories. The common theme they share is that they have an office work setting.

Transformation Story: Permanent Parking Place Part 1

This was a story that I had begun, set in a UK city after seeing a couple of women interacting in this way, there. However, I was then contacted by a reader and I agreed to alter it so that it reflected her life in the USA to a greater extent.

While not a sequel to these other stories, this one exists in the same ‘universe’ of avatars and altering reality which features in 'Hahsni', 'The Replacement Lover', 'The New Version' and, to some extent, 'More than an Ally' and 'That Personal Experience'.

Permanent Parking Place

Part 1

Danielle turned away from her computer. It was another job rejection. While she had enough money to cover rent, utility bills and the rest, even some luxuries, for a few months to come, Danielle was eager to get a new job. The downsizing at Waller & Black, she guessed now, should not have been a surprise and maybe it had not been for some of her colleagues. However, it had been her first job as a lawyer after completing her course and maybe, as a result, she had expected it to be her workplace for years to come.

Wandering over to the window, Danielle gazed idly at her weak reflection. Her hair reached to her shoulders in waves. It was a dark brown shade but she tended to have blonde highlights. Her face tapered from a broad forehead to cheekbones which gave it definition when she smiled. Her nose was strong and straight pointing down to a gently rounded chin. Her eyes were a dark brown which complimented her lightly tanned complexion. It was the angling of her brows and her sensuous, full lips that gave her what she had sometimes felt was a mischievous appearance. She wished now, though, that there was a bit more mischief in her life.

Danielle stared down at the street at the flow of young people she could see. Looking at her phone she saw it was approaching ten o’clock and she realized they must be heading in for lectures. No-one seemed to start before ten these days. While she knew, rationally, that these students were of the same generation as her; some might even be her age, as a “worker” she looked on them as being different; perhaps as even naïve and feckless. 

There was that short woman with the long chestnut hair she had seen before, clad in a purple puffer jacket and what looked like black leather leggings. The way they seemed to ripple like a pool of oil around her bum and thighs, Danielle knew now, was becoming something that almost entranced her. In the States there were still those who balked against women who wore them like pants, but Danielle saw a lot of young women who she felt looked great in them.

As she watched the young student until she had gone from sight, Danielle wondered if she should admit she was being attracted by a woman. Had she missed the same-sex strand in her sexuality? Was it simply bi-curiosity; some kind of frisson to pass the dull days of job applications? As she thought about it more, though, Danielle realized it was less that she was attracted by the woman as by what she represented. Perhaps it was no surprise that she felt nostalgia for her student days. Maybe she had not been wealthy, but there had been a greater freedom than she had now. Perhaps too, even in these nervous times, there had more chance of sex and even exploring what it meant to be sexy; sexual.

As she finally understood that she did not want to be with that woman she watched, but simply to be that woman, Danielle felt a kind of release. With that thought came a kind of determination. Though she had more overheads, she had decent savings. She was not yet looking at the poor house. She was young enough to be among those students without standing out. As it was, Danielle knew she could have taken a postgraduate course, anyway. Pulling on her rather plain coat, she decided to walk among the daily flow of students down her street. Perhaps it was some kind of pretense, but it was doing no-one any harm and, if it gave her even a little boost, then it would be doing her some benefit. Naughtily she considered simply going out and buying a pair of leggings like those woman’s and seeing just how good she looked in them.

Stepping clear of her apartment block, however, Danielle was faced with something which riled her about the students. A woman who she was sure was one of them, had parked in one of the rare slots in front of this place. They were meant to be for residents but no-one seemed to police that. It meant that Danielle was too often compelled to park some streets away from where she actually had a permit and it seemed, particularly when it was pouring with rain. Quickly Danielle recognized this woman as a repeat offender. She would have confronted her before, but typically by the time Danielle got down to the sidewalk, she would already be off well down the road. No matter how irate she might be, Danielle knew that anyone running down the street howling about parking breaches was hardly modeling a good look.

The woman was around Danielle’s height and had long, sleek auburn hair falling straight behind her left shoulder. She was dressed stylishly in a chocolate shearling jacket over a plain black scoop top. Her skinny black jeans were second-skin tight. Her slip-on Oxfords were a patent shade to match her jacket. If asked Danielle would have guessed she was Latin American or Middle Eastern. The way she worked her mascara suggest to Danielle the latter; making rich dark brown eyes appear entrancing. Her lips were painted a medium rose and they looked to smile easily, but it was a smile that was somehow distant; serious rather than lightly offered. The woman walked around the car to where Danielle stood and clearly anticipated some kind of encounter. As she stepped closer, Danielle knew, seeing her at this proximity, she would have to admit this student’s beauty.

‘Morning …’ Danielle began uncertainly. ‘You know these places are for residents.’

The woman grinned. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said as if that resolved the matter.

‘Well …’

Danielle tried to muster all the indignation she felt when she traipsed back to her apartment with bags of shopping in the rain. Challenging the woman, down here, however, she found it hard.

‘Let me remind you something: you know nothing about my life and you never will until you have walked a mile; one hundred miles, in my shoes. Perhaps not even then.’

‘Oh …’ Danielle was immediately put on the back foot, feeling quickly that it was she who had done wrong.

‘Okay …’

‘I’m Neda,’ the woman said softly as if they had started on good terms.

‘Well, Neda I …’

‘And you are?’

‘I’m Danielle, Danielle Gregorio,’ she responded. However, she then emphasized, ‘I live here: up there.’

Danielle pointed to the window of her small apartment.

‘Nice apartments; easy to go out around here.’

‘Yes if … if students didn’t park in our places.’

‘Is it that much of an issue? Isn’t this more about you not liking a woman like me, parking here?’

‘No, no, of course not. I would say this if you were … a white man; a middle-aged white man who had driven into town. We get them too.’

‘Okay, but then you might understand his life better than mine.’

Danielle realized then that perhaps this was about more than the car parking. She saw in that second that Neda might have had all her own sleights as a foreigner in the USA. Then she realized that as she had sought a channel to pour out all her irritations with getting through the day onto Neda, the student might see such an opportunity in return.

‘Okay, okay. I accept that, but surely you can see my side too?’

Neda tipped her head and smiled but it quickly faded. ‘Maybe. However, as I say, I think you have got a long way to walk to really understand. Perhaps not exactly in my shoes, but in those of women like me.’

Danielle held back from saying she liked Neda’s shoes and wondered if her bi-curiosity had now flipped to this attractive though challenging woman.

‘But is that even possible?’

‘For some of us; some with a gift … we can arrange it.’

Now Danielle wondered what the woman was getting at. She began to wonder if she was a little crazy or was just trying to wind her up in some way.

‘Sounds good. Alright, come here tomorrow …’

‘I have no sessions tomorrow; Wednesday, we will make it Wednesday.’

‘Okay, Wednesday. Come here with this “gift”; this “arrangement” and I will walk your mile; your hundred miles. Does that sound a deal?’

Neda’s gaze looked intense for a moment and Danielle felt unsettlingly that she was being locked into this deal, even though she was uncertain if it meant anything more than some kind of political or cultural statement. Neda stretched out her hand; silver bangles clanging as she did. Danielle got the message and reciprocated, shaking it. She was a little surprised when Neda raised Danielle’s to her lips and places a kiss on the back. Danielle found the kiss made her tingle.

‘I’ll see you on Wednesday. But be careful, this might be more of a pleasure than a challenge.’ Neda said, smiling again and then quickly stepped away.

It took some moments for Danielle to realize that the woman had gone. She found her irritation about the parking had evaporated and instead she felt a little excitement and a real determination to engage with whatever challenge Neda produced on Wednesday.

****

The following day had been filled with applying for jobs and searching for more vacancies. At times Danielle remembered her conversation with Neda; at others it felt as if it had been something she had dreamt of or perhaps simply imagined having. Now it was Wednesday morning and as she heard the sound of a car horn giving a short signal from down in the street, the memories flooded back into Danielle’s mind. Somehow, she knew it would be Neda hooting the horn. It suggested that the student had decided to up the stakes in terms of this confrontation. Danielle tried to hope that she could win through and eliminate the problem, at least with this driver. However, as she hurried down the stairs to the street, she found, in fact, that she was fascinated to see what the woman would do next. Ideas of them sitting down and resolving this peaceably; even, in time becoming friends, surprisingly followed into Danielle’s mind.

Neda was standing close to her car when Danielle arrived, looking as if she had come to pick her up. Today she had on a long dove grey top hanging down from beneath an olive-green leather jacket. Her soft leggings were a darker shade but soon fed into long dark green leather boots. Danielle tried to be critical about how much money students had these days. However, she could not pretend that she was unaware of the high fees they paid, especially if coming from abroad.

‘I wondered if you would hide away,’ Neda said, but not harshly.

‘You don’t know me well enough, then. Anyway …’

‘Anyway, what?’

Danielle shrugged. ‘I am curious to know what all of this is about; what “magic” you can do.’

‘I think it will blow your mind. Meet Diambal.’

A young black woman with flawless skin stepped from the passenger side of the car. She was Danielle’s height and there was something about her features that surprisingly seemed familiar. However, Danielle doubted she could come close in beauty to this woman. Her face tapered from a broad forehead to cheekbones which gave her face definition as she smiled. Her nose was strong and straight pointing down to a gently rounded chin. Her eyes were a dark brown; her brows were angled and her lips looked wonderfully smooth; sensuous even. Diambal’s dark brown eyes were incredibly alive. Her hair was in a mass of long, broad pale violet twist braids hanging far down her back. The woman looked at Danielle and she felt as if the newcomer’s gaze was penetrating deep into her mind.

Embarrassed, Danielle looked down; then to the side. That angle still allowed her to see that this woman was dressed no less trendily than Neda. She had on the popular biker-style leather jacket and, Danielle noticed with a little envy, just the kind of leather leggings she had fantasized about trying. She wore over-the-knee black suede boots. The black of her outfit was broken up by a tight-fitting top in purple with geometric designs and a loose scarf of slightly lighter shade.

‘So … this walking in someone else’s shoes or is it boots?’

Neda nodded to that. ‘You understand, yes. When I said meet Diambal, maybe I should have properly said be Diambal.’

Danielle imagined she should be irritated at more of these word games and she looked to the black woman for some kind of confirmation; some clarity. However, as she did, Danielle felt something was different. Madly, the woman seemed somehow flatten, her features become less defined.

‘Are you alright?’ Danielle asked, stepping a little closer to this Diambal.

As she did, however, she realized that, now, somehow, she could see Neda’s car growing clearer by the moment. It was as if Diambal was becoming transparent; fading away like a ghost. Then Danielle realized she felt peculiar too. She had been dressed in the tee-shirt and joggers that had become her go-to outfit since her job ended. Coming down to the street, she had slipped on a pair of sneakers. Now, however, she felt as if she was in very different clothes. Glancing down she saw she wore leather leggings and suede boots. She looked up then, worrying that she was hallucinating. Seeing that Diambal was no longer there, did nothing to reduce her dismay.

The glint of light of shiny leather drew Danielle’s attention as it was reflected in the window of Neda’s car. As she stepped towards it, however, Danielle could not believe that it was not simply Diambal’s jacket but Diambal herself who was reflected. There were those moments of her lifting her hand and moving her head to show her the reflection was her; confirmed then by looking at her own smooth very dark brown skin.

‘What … what have you done?’

Danielle asked but, somehow, she knew this was the “walking in another’s boots” that Neda had promised. The fact that her question, she realized then, had come out in Senegalese French, just hammered home that recognition. Danielle glared at Neda expecting some kind of answer. However, she realized she could not be angry with the woman; with her lover. Neda was too beautiful, too fascinating, too clever, too sexy to really even get annoyed with.

Without thinking, Danielle closed on Neda and gently touched her cheek then dived in for a kiss. As she broke from her, Danielle realized how much she loved the very touch and scent of this woman. Then, sharply, she reminded herself, that this was not her; she was not Diambal from Dakar.

‘So, this is … this is showing me what it is really like? I am hardly poor and struggling, even as a student.’ Danielle forced herself to speak in English, even if it came out in a Francophone accent.

‘No … it has to work; it has to make sense in this world, even if I can conjure up a new life. Your family would have to be rich for you to be here in New York.’

Danielle was still finding it hard to believe that this woman could work magic to bring about this transformation, but having taken that step, it was relatively easy to accept that there were rules the sorceress had to work under. As she thought through Neda’s words, Danielle found herself thinking back to her parents or rather, Diambal’s: the Gadjigos; her brothers and sisters and their house in the suburbs of Dakar. It all came to her as if it had been her life. Still, she tried to assert that her parents were the Gregorios and then understood what else Neda had done here.

‘But still, a lesbian; your lover.’

‘Yes, why not? I always wanted a black partner and anyway this is all meant to challenge you. Being a black, foreign lesbian in New York, that is still going to bring you some challenges, isn’t it, even these days?’

‘What about the real Diambal Gadjigo? Won’t she get upset that I am riding around in her body?’

‘There was no Diambal Gadjigo; the Gadjigos have never had a daughter named that until today.’

‘You have the power to make a new person, fully grown and with a history?’

The more she thought about it, the more Danielle could indeed access the memories of that woman’s history as if it was her own. Quickly she guessed that, incredible as it might seem, it was answering the question strongly with a “yes”.

‘You have made me into … into your dream lover?’ Danielle asked then with some indignation.

Neda smiled and shrugged in that way Danielle now thought she had long found cute.

‘Then sue me. Anyway, surely it is better to feel that you are with the woman you find so sexy, you can’t keep your hands off her, than one pine for one you would hate?’

As she heard Neda’s response in her own version of French, Danielle realized it was what they spoke between them. Neda was from the second generation of her family to have been born in exile in Paris.

‘So, you have reshaped me into being this … admittedly hot, sassy black woman from your dreams …’

‘And I am pleased it has worked out well. I checked with my grandmother but I was worried that I would mess it up. You are my first.’

‘And I trust your last … your everything,’ Danielle added inadvertently. ‘But do I get no say in this?’

‘You did. I can’t impose the changes that come from an avatar on anyone who does not want them. But, remember, you agreed. Or are you forgetting so quickly being Danielle Gregorio and what you said?’

Danielle did recall she had agreed, though obviously not envisaging anything of this kind happening. She then began to worry about Neda’s had said next. Danielle fought to overcome the simple assumption that her Diambal elements was making that her believe anything that Neda did would be well intentioned; from love.

‘So will I forget I was ever Danielle Gregorio and be stuck as Diambal Gadjigo?’ she demanded.

‘No, it is not permanent. This was only meant to be a lesson.’

‘But how long does the lesson last? An hour? To sunset? Until I have walked a mile – no, one hundred miles, in these boots?’

‘Ma fée,’ Neda used an affectionate term they shared. ‘I do not know. Are you angry with me? Do you forgive me?’

Neda had closed now and was speaking softly. While Danielle had the distant sense that these ideas; these sentiments. had been planted in her head, she realized she could not resist them. The history of “her” life in her mind encompassed days of intimacy with this woman that she found she could not deny.

‘No, ma louloute, I cannot,’ Danielle responded softly.

The couple kissed again. Deep inside her, Danielle knew all of this was strange; was wrong, but now she found such views were being buried under so many layers of Diambal that the personality she had just some minutes earlier, now stood right at the back of the queue in controlling what was going on. The fact that she currently had a sleek, Senegalese woman’s body that was easily aroused by Neda, made it harder still.

‘Come on or we’ll be late for that reading.’

Neda stretched out her hand and automatically Danielle took it. This was the twenty-first century after all and two women, who after all, might be wives, walking hand in hand, was nothing peculiar. Yet, it still seemed to assert something that Danielle struggled against enjoying.

It turned out Neda was not even going to a lecture or class but heading down to a bookshop for a poetry performance. Once there, Danielle soon actually found she was enjoying it. However, the pleasure she got from sitting next to Neda, their hands interlaced, however, pleasurable, she knew was something that had been put into her by this woman’s magic. She had been enthralled and yet, while there were parts of her that kept insisting it was wrong, every time she caught sight of her body, let alone when her long, full Senegalese twist braids, the sense that this was precisely right for Diambal; the woman she was now, kept on being reinforced.

By the end of the event, Danielle found herself snuggling against the woman she found it hard not to see as her girlfriend and then kissing her. Kissing a woman passionately was new to Danielle, though she did wonder if it was building on the perhaps awakening bi-curiosity she had found growing in her. If Neda had asked her out on a date when she was in her previous form, would she have given it a shot? Certainly, housed in this body that was clearly into women, and specifically found Neda a turn-on, there was no resistance.

As they walked from the store, Danielle battled with what she was thinking and worried that even though it looked as if they were partners, Neda would want something different.

‘Ma louloute ... I need …’

Neda gently pressed her fingers to Danielle’s full lips. ‘I know you do. I’ll give you what you need.’

Danielle reached forward and kissed Neda again, feeling pleased that this woman understood her. While her thoughts wanted to say that she had little idea beyond some things she had read online, how two women actually had sex, there was almost a constant retort that she knew very well and knew well too what Neda liked.

It was only when they were in the taxi, kissing and giving each other those touches that were a precursor to sex - and seemed to be highly entertaining to the cab driver - that Danielle wondered why they had not walked back to Neda’s car. Now she was settling into this body, she increasingly found it difficult to recall that it was magic that had made her this way; that she had not woken up this morning as a Senegalese student. Neda’s ability to get a taxi on time in New York and with a polite driver who knew his way, she began to reflect, perhaps should have reminded her that this woman had special abilities. That then was followed by pride; gratitude that she had connected with such a capable woman.

The taxi pulled up at one of those historic places that could have been put up, in Danielle’s eyes, any time throughout the first half of the twentieth century. She had the sense that she was in Williamsburg but maybe it was Greenpoint or Red Hook. She realized then that she could not remember what college Neda was at. It was probably one of the independent ones over on Manhattan which was why, if she lived over here, she commuted. Danielle tried to recall where she studied herself. Memories of the FIT campus on Manhattan; lectures on business were vague in Danielle’s mind now, but felt to be becoming well established.

Soon they were up into Neda’s loft apartment. It had a nice bohemian feel to it; all that Danielle realized she had imagined would be the case when she had arrived in the city from Dakar. There were tasteful pieces of art on display which looked to be a cut above what an even well-off student could afford. The latest high-tech equipment was dotted around the place. With voice commands, Neda had the blinds closing automatically, a bit of low lighting on and some unintrusive jazz playing. Danielle found herself smiling now she recalled how she felt sometimes that Neda was like a man in kitting out her “pad” but, saying that, she would be far from the first lesbian to use what she might from any gender stereotype, if it got her into a woman’s pants.

Now there was no time for doubts; for questioning. Danielle shucked off her leather jacket and closed on her lover. They started kissing tentatively again, at a slower pace than before. Danielle’s breasts had always been generous and easily excited. While the skin she was in had changed, their dimensions had been retained. Her excited nipples now were hard; pressing against her smooth bra and even visible in the tight top she wore. Slowly she brushed them back and forth over Neda’s; pleased that her lover’s body was reacting the same.

It was a slow strip in the middle of the living area of Neda’s apartment. Danielle removed Neda’s jacket and then her dove grey top. Neda took off her bra. Though Danielle saw to her own, she found it was one that unclipped at the front as if intentionally making it easier for a lover to do it. Naked to the waist now, she took in her sleek, dark-skinned body, her breasts with wide areolae and dark-berry nipples.

Neda lounged back on the long sofa and Danielle found herself going down to her knees to strip off Neda’s long boots, then to help tug down her green leggings. Then Neda deftly removed her panties and spread her thighs to show off her mound; her lower lips, kept smooth to present no obstacle to a woman who was going to be licking there. The sight triggered a string of thoughts; of urges in Danielle that she could not resist and without instruction she crawled between her lover’s thighs and then started long, slow licks up her opening lips. At first the tang; the scent surprised her but quickly her mind told her that she loved both and could not get enough of pressing her face into the soft folds of Neda.

Soon Neda’s hands were guiding Danielle, bringing her tongue and lips to where she wanted them most at each stage. So directed, Danielle had Neda’s clitoris at the tip of her tongue working it each time until her lover gave a moan or a grunt or gently pressed back her forehead. Danielle was increasingly distracted by the demands of her own sex, throbbing beneath her leather leggings. However, she recognized that denial of attending to her own lust would make that ultimate step, so much sweeter when it came. Then, even as Danielle slackened her licks, Neda became louder shouting exclamations in what Danielle knew was French and what she guessed was Farsi. Neda then bucked and convulsed on the sofa, now reduced to simple sounds of pleasure.

Danielle was trapped between Neda’s legs. Still, she adored the confinement of this female skin and soft flesh as her partner fired out all that had been provoked in her by Danielle’s attentions. Being able to deliver such an orgasm, perhaps a series of them, pleased Danielle. All her worries about her knowledge and her competence were dismissed and there was a spark of pride that she could bring off a woman as well as a lesbian at it across many years. With Neda subsiding, Danielle extricated herself. This scene had fired her up and she was hungry to receive what she had just given. Quickly unlacing and removing her long boots then easing down the shiny leggings she realized just how ready she was. Her panties were soon cast aside and her slick lips were ready for attention. As she sat back down on the sofa, however, she realized Neda had gone from it. There were sounds from the kitchen area as if the woman was preparing coffee; perhaps even food.

Despite being left alone, Danielle could not hold back any longer. Deftly, perhaps with even more accuracy than before, as if she had had a refresher course in her body, Danielle easily slipped a couple of fingers into her pussy. The other hand teased her unsatisfied nipples. However, it was as she envisaged Neda between her thighs; her tongue gently pressing; her lips trapping and softly sucking her clit, that Danielle truly began climbing to a climax. Her beautiful, ebony body was stretched out in front of her. She could feel the sweat and imagined her braids would need attention after this. However, the pleasure was simply too much to resist now. While she did not let herself moan aloud the way Neda had done – it seemed rude in someone else’s apartment – she too was soon making French and Wolof exclamations. This orgasm that came kept firing one burst then another which ran the length of her body until she was slumped back, breathing heavily, her head spinning.

****

Not sure of how much time had passed and whether she had slept or simply been dazed, Danielle was stirred by Neda’s words.

‘Go have a shower before you get into the bed. What have you been up to anyway?’ Neda asked but did not wait for an answer.

Danielle sat up and then rose, catching sight of Neda’s back in a russet silk kimono disappearing into what she now knew to be the bedroom. Danielle looked at her body, lithe and smooth and felt a real pride in it. Oddly there felt to be something new about it, but as she headed to the shower cubicle, she dismissed that as ridiculous. Surely this was the body she had been born with; had grown into; now pleasured to its delight.

The shower felt good and Danielle spent quite a while in there. As she came out clad in the most comfortable towels, she padded to the bedroom. Neda was naked, in the bed, fast asleep despite it being early afternoon in the bed. One hand tossed back looking as if conducting an orchestra in her dreams. Danielle quickly shed the towels and hung them over the chair. Then she crept in beside her lover and reached out to rest one hand on her beautiful body. Neda stirred a little but did not wake. Soon Danielle was asleep herself.

****

Danielle awoke. She was naked. Sitting up slowly, she found her mind was busy with so many flashbacks from the day before, or had it been earlier this day? Uncertain, Danielle clambered from bed and tracked down her phone. It told her that it was now late afternoon on the same day. Danielle padded to the kitchen trying to process what was in her head. There seemed to be so much about that woman in the street and an African woman. There were sharp pleasant sensations as she thought of sex with one or other of them. Pondering whether job hunting was taking its toll, Danielle wondered if, from exhaustion; from tension arguing with the Iranian woman, had led to something like a hallucination. Had she crawled into bed and the visions she had seen had then morphed into an incredibly vivid dream?

Looking down at her body, Danielle confirmed for sure now that it was the rich, lightly tanned pink shade, she remembered it as; her hair was highlighted from dark brown, had a slight wave and reached a little beyond her shoulders. Her breasts were as in the dream, though of course with a different skin tone; the areolae perhaps rather smaller. She found too that while the hair on her mound was clean and well-tended, it was not all smooth down there as it had been in her dream. With no lover at present to be pressing his – indeed her – face into it, there was not a need. That thought reminded Danielle of what she was coming to see now as being bi-curious. Perhaps, she considered, it was simply all about the frisson of the “other” – being a lesbian; being an African. These things were different from what she was now and she knew that such differences would often excite people sexually.

Unused to moving around her apartment naked, Danielle went back to her bedroom to look for some clothes. A tight-fitting top in purple with geometric designs was draped on the chair over her favorite pair of leather leggings. Searching for underwear, Danielle tried to recall when she had got these two items. She liked them both, she knew that, but just could not recall when or where she had bought them. Soon she was in them, liking the snug feel of both and the shine of the leggings.

Restless, Danielle wondered about going out for a meal; calling up a friend from her previous job and seeing if they were doing any better. Perhaps she just needed a walk to clear her head. By the front door, almost without thinking, she reached down her biker-style leather jacket and saw her long suede boots had been left there. Again, as with the top and leggings Danielle knew she liked these, but they felt new, even unusual. Maybe, Danielle thought then, rather than heading out, she needed a quiet night in.

Trekking back to the area she used as her home office, Danielle fired up her computer. At first, she found herself searching for information on hallucination and very lucid dreams. Then, almost without realizing it, she was on erotic fiction websites and reading stories about women turned into lesbians. Then she was sliding into ones that featured racial changes too. None fitted her dream precisely, but she found that she was getting hot and wet reading what was there.

Almost without noticing, Danielle had her hand under her leggings and was toying with herself. She retreated to the bedroom and was quickly naked again. As she re-ran the incidents from the stories in her head details of the dream came vividly back to her, Danielle quickly found she was unashamedly playing with her body, slipping fingers inside her, trapping her clit between two others but being unable to shake the sense of a woman lapping at her sex bringing about the climax that finally came.

****

Some days had passed since she had encountered the woman she thought of as Neda. However, Danielle found it difficult to accept what had followed had been true. She was sure she had had some kind of encounter with that woman and it had pushed up her blood pressure or something, then led her to hallucinate. She had tried to throw herself into applying for jobs and even thought about locating to another city. Yet, she still kept looking out for the Iranian woman parking down below. In part she wanted to know how much – if anything - had been real and how much had stemmed from her fetishes, as she now knew them to be, protesting at being neglected for so long and pushing themselves right into the front of her mind.

Idly Danielle watched those walking along her street that she felt had to be students. She was ambivalent when she admired some of the women, not certain if that was her genuine sexuality coming out or had been triggered by some kind of excitement in envisaging herself as very different from what she was. Then she saw her – Neda. The Iranian looked to be heading to a parked car, though Danielle could not see any she recognized from before. Quickly pulling on her ring-and-stirrup ankle boots and throwing on the leather jacket which was her “go-to” one now, Danielle was quickly down in the street. She rushed to where she saw Neda opening a car door despite being sure now that it was different to the one before.

‘Neda,’ Danielle called.

Neda looked up sharply. It took a few moments for her to smile. Today she was in distinctive leggings, a terracotta shade with bold lateral patterns. Her cropped jacket was over a black, buttoned shirt, and was patterned in wavy shades of brown. Neda’s boots were chocolate brown snakeskin with a block heel. Her long dark hair was simply pinned back but still cascaded to her shoulders. If she had had any doubts before, Danielle now had it confirmed that this woman was beautiful.

‘Hi,’ Neda said at last. ‘Wasn’t that lesson enough?’ she then added slowly.

‘It was … well, what was it? It wasn’t … it can’t have been real. But … but it felt so real.’

‘Of course, that is what I can do,’ Neda responded quite imperiously. ‘But it was a lesson and lessons run for a set time and then they finish.’

Danielle swallowed and realized now that she had to confess something she had not even really admitted to herself.

‘But I want … I need more. I need to do it again.’

Neda held up a hand as if to stop Danielle; to dismiss her request, her demand. However, then, abruptly, she appeared surprised. Danielle felt unsettled in herself and then looked down. A simple glance at her hand, let alone running it along her broad braids, showed Danielle that she was back in the body of Diambal Gadjigo; in fact, once more, for all that the world knew, she was Diambal Gadjigo. Returning to that form, immediately reignited her affection; her lust for Neda.

‘That … now, that was not me; not my doing this time,’ Neda said with an air of bewilderment. ‘I … I,’ she stuttered.

Distantly Danielle had the sense that something about the magic had got away from Neda. However, she had no complaints as she admired; enjoyed her Senegalese lesbian body. To Danielle it felt as if she had unlocked a door and stepped through into where she belonged. Diambal was unapologetic at being an African woman and one who loved to have sex with women; indeed, to have sex with the woman across the car from her.

‘Come on, ma louloute, you know we are good together. We are wasting time here when we could be having fun,’ Danielle said unselfconsciously.

Without any further thought, Danielle opened the passenger door and climbed in. Neda hesitated but soon joined her. Then they were driving away and Danielle soon recognized some of the route they had had in the taxi. It was not long before they were at Neda’s apartment. They had not spoken much in the car, but Danielle had rested her hand on her lover’s thigh and Neda had not removed it. Once in the apartment, whatever attitude Neda had chosen to adopt, for a reason Danielle could not understand, they were quickly kissing. Neda was then taking off her clothes as she headed to the bedroom. Danielle followed, finding that even more than she had anticipated; even more than she had fantasized, this return visit was exciting her.

While Neda stood doing something in the closet, uncovering her body, Danielle relished its rich dark-brown tone, its smooth skin, including over her mound. She stroked her long fingers across herself as if she had got back into a favorite outfit. However, as she slipped beneath the bed covers, her braids like a mane around her, Danielle knew it was much more than that: it was her. As Diambal, she could admit openly what she wanted; who she was. It seemed highly ironic that she could do that now that she was a clear outsider here, far more than when she had been a New York City insider.

‘You are going to enjoy this,’ Neda said.

Stepping from the closet, Danielle saw that around Neda’s waist was a kind of harness and from the front of it protruded a large black rubber phallus. Danielle remembered once some man telling her this was the only way that lesbians could have sex. She had been skeptical back then, but now, having read through so many stories and advice online, she had come to know it was far from the truth. While she would not have claimed herself as an expert on tribadism, she certainly knew what it was now and how best to do it for your and your lover’s pleasure. Still, some lesbians did this and Danielle thought it worth finding out if she enjoyed it herself. Neda certainly appeared to be deep into the idea.

Neda came and threw back the covers and with firm but gentle instructions got Danielle to remove most of the pillows beyond those she needed to support her head and neck in the middle of this large bed. Then she spread Danielle’s thighs and clambered on to the bed to kneel between them. Danielle knew she was already excited, but, as before, she held back from touching her opening lips and her clit, despite them being eager for attention. Then without any warning, Neda leaned forward. Danielle gasped, glad that she was already slick down there. Sex with men seemed very distant to Danielle, even alien to Diambal so the rubber cock felt very insistent inside her pussy, filling her up in an unexpected way. As she became more familiar with it, clasped her pussy as best she could to it, Danielle found it was stimulating enough.

Soon Neda was sliding in and out with regularity. Danielle was not sure, but she felt sure that part of the dildo attachment had to be stretching into Neda for her to get anything out of it. Then she was leaning forward and tweaking Danielle’s hard black-cherry nipples and she stopped analyzing anything they were doing. Instead, the rhythm of the sliding of the slippery rubber, which she was slowly coming to like in her, the clasping of her nipples and her lover’s face moving in close as she rode Danielle, were soon enough to start raising her to climax. It was very different from before, but it built slowly and steadily and again, whispering then calling profanities; encouragement in French then Wolof, pushed Danielle further. She deserved this pleasure and she was driving her lover on to deliver it.

Neda then seemed to tire, resting back on her heels and rolling clear of Danielle to slay beside her, panting heavily. However, Danielle knew she had done enough to build her to orgasm. She looked down at Neda, her tortilla-shade skin was almost golden and contrasted with the far deeper brown of Danielle. The view of the two female bodies lying side-by-side was enough to slam that mental trigger into Danielle. Perhaps having sex with a woman once was an experiment, but it now becoming what seemed like a weekly event, surely made her a lesbian. Once she might have shied from that; even denied it, but now, due to this magic which had made her so different, in so many ways, surely it had become a truth about her. That acceptance swept over Danielle like a wave and she issued a long moan of satisfaction as her back arched and her body quivered with all that she was; all that she was doing.

By the time Danielle had come back down and caught her breath, Neda was sat in the chair, a purple vibrator grasped in her hand.

‘Back with us, Diambal?’ she said laboring the name to make a point that Danielle guessed she had missed.

Danielle licked her lips wondering what they were going to do next. She shunted the pillow up the headboard and sat up with her back against it.

‘Now something for me,’ Neda said.

She switched on the vibrator and slowly maneuvered it between her pussy lips; aligning the “ears” to capture her clitoris.

‘Tell me who you are; what you are.’

‘Je suis Diambal,’ Danielle found herself responding naturally in French.

In the next few minutes Danielle was describing how she was a lesbian, that seemed the prime thing; that she was a fashion business student from Senegal who loved tight and shiny clothes and then that she had a lover called Neda and that they had great sex. It all came from Danielle as if it was genuine. Every time she tried to add in elements about being a lawyer or her previous style, she slipped instead on to something else like the fashion designers she admired or what she looked for in a woman.

For a moment Danielle thought that Neda had fallen asleep but then as she gave out a sigh and her body appeared to be shuddering, she realized the words had been contributing to the pleasure that the vibrator had been providing. She now changed tack.

‘You are Neda,’ Danielle said fluently in French she never would have managed before, ‘an amazing sorceress who can take a white lawyer only bi-curious and turn her into a black lesbian student.’

‘Oui, oui, oui!’ Neda almost howled in response to that.

Neda slid from the chair and was on her knees, the vibrator deep within her, her eyes fluttering; her body shaking as if it was too much to cope with. Danielle had a quick aftershock herself as again she was reminded of how precisely she had been rendered by Neda’s magic and how much she enjoyed being Diambal.

Soon it was all at an end. Neda picked herself off the floor. She cleaned and put away her vibrator and strap-on kit. She restored pillows and covers to the bed, moving Danielle where she needed her to be. Then she disappeared off to the shower. Danielle sat patiently her mind wondering if she was slipping deeper into Diambal and whether Neda had been wrong that first time to say that the Senegalese lesbian identity would not overtake the New York lawyer one. Quickly, though, Danielle realized that, in fact, she might quite like it to do so.

****

As before, Danielle woke to find she was neither Diambal nor at Neda’s apartment, but naked in her own bed as white, or at least tanned pink, as she had been before. She told herself that it was all fantasy; that how she saw herself was really only some kind of elaborate hypnosis trick, made even easier this last time by her recognizing how exciting it made her to step into that alter-ego. She did not know how long things might go on with Neda but felt certain that if their relationship did not grow, she had to reassess what she was looking for in a partner. She imagined it would be frustrating to be with an African woman and yet still be herself, but perhaps there were some women of Middle Eastern background she might connect with. Then she thought of the beautiful women from India, or of that heritage, that she had seen in the city down the years. While perceiving no need to rush out there into the lesbian “marketplace”, especially if she could have very close encounters with Neda regularly, Danielle was feeling her future, if not fully lesbian, would have to recognize its bi side.

Transformation Story: Permanent Parking Place Part 2

Permanent Parking Place

Part 2

It had been a fortnight since Danielle had seen Neda. She was worried she was becoming a little foolish, looking out of her window; walking in her neighboring streets trying to locate a car that she thought was Neda’s. Danielle had tried but failed to avoid “happening to pass by” various private colleges, even SUNY campuses, at least those relatively nearby, just in case she saw Neda emerging. One evening she had even taken a cab over to where she had worked out Neda’s apartment was. However, she could see no lights on and naturally there was no response to ringing the bell to that place. Danielle felt herself foolish for not getting a cell phone number for Neda or even finding out her surname; what college she attended; what course she was on. There was so much that could have helped her. The fact that she was heavily distracted whenever they met, seemed a rather feeble excuse.

Almost instinctively, Danielle looked now and almost could not believe when she saw Neda emerging from a car. While it might be the same size as the ones, she had seen the woman drive before, it seemed to be a different color. This time Danielle was ready. She was in her favorite leather jeans running into those new laced-up knee-high boots. Above was the dark blue sleeveless moleskin top. She pulled on her shiny quilted leather jacket. By the time she reached the street, Danielle saw that she was back in her Diambal form, the sleekness of the Senegalese lesbian really accentuated by the clothes she chose.

Neda was out of the car but looked to be talking to someone in it.

‘Hey, Neda.’

The woman turned quickly with her face taking on a scowl the moment she recognized Danielle. ‘Hi, Diambal … Danielle.’

‘What are you up to? Busy today?’

Danielle spoke calmly, trying to conceal that at this moment she wanted to be doing nothing more than speeding away with Neda for a night of sex. Perhaps, she hoped, she could persuade Neda up to her own apartment this time.

‘Uh, well, look Diambal – Danielle – I guessed you’d sort of got the message.’

For a moment Danielle thought there was a phone message, an email, something on social media she had missed, but then quickly realized she was being brushed off.

‘The lesson … maybe I was reckless. I was angry at the time and I was … overconfident,’ Neda said; that last statement seemed to be something painful to confess. ‘I had planned it as a one-off, but then …’

‘But then when I see you, I am Diambal again and you made me … well, basically you made me as the woman who wanted to be with you; who lusted after you.’

Danielle guessed it was some consolation that she was not really besotted with Neda; did not completely see her future with her and her alone.

‘I’ve tried,’ Neda’s comment seemed to more from frustration that seeking to apologize. ‘If you stay away from me then … in time, it should fade.’

‘Should?’

‘Well, do you become Diambal when you are not around me?’

Danielle knew she would have to confess she did not but did not voice it for now.

‘So, there’s your answer,’ Neda said. ‘I moved on from it; you need to do so too.’

Danielle knew she should feel anger at what this woman had done to her. However, her mind was still fogged by warm feelings for Neda; a delight in what they had done together; what she had been while with this woman. The two stood in silence but then the passenger door opened behind Neda and she moved aside. Out stepped a strong black woman with closely cropped hair. She was a head shorter than even Neda, let alone Danielle.

‘Hi,’ she said tentatively.

Danielle felt the way that the woman looked at her, she was into women. In return, she could not help admiring the maroon leather blazer and trousers she wore, almost like a suit cut perfectly to match her stature. Then she was thinking of the smooth-skinned muscles beneath.

‘This is Mbali,’ Neda introduced.

Danielle wondered if in fact earlier she had been a white woman, perhaps an Asian one and Neda had continued to work her magic having more confidence than competence in her skills. While this might be short-lived, she hoped this Mbali would have some good sex and perhaps learn more about who she was.

‘Hi, Mbali, I am Diambal,’ Danielle said, with the words coming out differently from what she had intended.

Danielle wondered if, after Neda had dropped Mbali, she and this Zulu woman might meet up; might find they took a liking to each other. She thought too of two strangers on a bus or in a museum triggering the residue of Neda’s magic and transforming on the spot into a pair of sassy lesbians.

‘Come on,’ Neda insisted and began to step away.

She reached back to take Mbali’s hand.

‘Move on Danielle,’ Neda said, almost over your shoulder. ‘Go back to … I don’t know, whatever you were before. That’s not my concern.’

For a moment Danielle felt like chasing after Neda, howling at her; demanding that their relationship continued. It was a jolt to realize that she really wanted that; she wanted to be Diambal having sex with Neda. Then, turning away, Danielle told herself that these thoughts and feelings were just the residue of what Neda had done to her. Her mind ran through lots of things very quickly, wondering if she could approach the authorities; indeed, if there was some organization that regulated the practice of magic. She laughed bitterly at that. It would be more likely that she would be accused of being crazy and it would do her no favors to be confined. Still, Neda seemed to have powers that were more than she could control and had been using them recklessly, largely out of some sense of arrogance; perhaps spite.

Walking slowly back to her apartment block, Danielle let go of the anger. There was no point holding on to it. She knew that Neda had tired of her and imagined that if she had been able to do so, she would have removed this spell from Danielle. Perhaps her suggestion had been the only feasible one and Danielle had to simply stay clear. It might be hard to forget about Neda and not look out for her, but Danielle guessed if she clung hard to how riled she had been by the woman, that would help the process of getting beyond her.

Danielle now realized she had more immediate problems. While she was in the clothes, she had put on to come out here, she found a large shiny leather tote bag recklessly abandoned on the sidewalk and it seemed familiar. The phone in it opened to her facial features – here as Diambal – but none of the names listed were familiar. Even though she was able to get back to her place, the keys hanging from her belt did not fit the apartment and Danielle guessed it would be difficult to convince the super that she was in fact Danielle Gregorio, or even that she was a friend of hers who deserved being let into the apartment.

Retreating to street level, Danielle guessed she had nothing to do until being Diambal wore off. Presumably somewhere she had one of those small rooms in student accommodation or shared an apartment with other students. For the moment, Danielle recognized she had nothing to do but be patient. Making sure to head in the opposite direction to the one Neda had taken, she was soon in a nice coffee shop, looking through her social media accounts – well her as Diambal - on the stylish tablet she had. Then she was actually reading a couple of books on business theory and practice on the e-reader the bag held.

It was only after heading to the ladies’ washroom after all the coffees she had downed that Danielle saw in the mirror that while she was still in the clothes that she had worn from her apartment she was back to the Caucasian tones and hair that she had woken with that morning. The tote bag was gone, but the familiar keys were zipped in the pocket of her leather jacket.

As she headed back home, Danielle trusted that it would be the last time she would see herself as Diambal. While she knew that form really meshed with the fetishes that she had come to identify herself as having, it was downright unnerving to morph that way. Though remaining bitter towards Neda, Danielle understood that it was best if their paths never crossed again and she kept thoughts of ever being an African lesbian to her private fantasies when getting aroused in front of her computer.

****

There had been times over the past three weeks in which Danielle had thought of Neda; quite a few more when she had thought of Diambal. She had even dreamed up roleplay scenarios involving that persona, while she lay in her bed. However, not seeing Neda again and having her familiar features reflected to her every morning, made it increasingly easy to separate those personalities from her life. She certainly had come to understand that a relationship with Neda would have been a nightmare. At best she would have ended up as some kind of servant to the woman or simply picked up and dropped when and as often as Neda wanted. The answer to Danielle’s question whether she was into women herself, remained uncertain, but she guessed a lot of people were undecided about their sexuality, and who attracted them, could vary quite a lot month to month.

Danielle had persisted with the job search and had been pleased to get through the first-stage interview with Dalton & Pelser. As a little reward, while she waited to hear when she would have to go for the second stage, Danielle had dropped into one of the places she had not been in since that “phase” when she had been hanging out around various campuses. However, she remembered that they did good lunches as well as coffee and today that was what she felt she needed. As she savored her eggs benedict with smoked salmon, Danielle looked away from her phone and around at the customers. Not surprisingly a number appeared to be students. Some parts of Manhattan and Brooklyn seemed to have a private college, or some chunk of one of the bigger universities, every block you went. 

Then Danielle realized what had particularly caught her attention. A young woman at the counter had on an oversized silver puffer jacket. Below were tight, coated black jeans adorned with zippers and pointed bright purple ankle boots. Slung over her shoulder was a bag that reminded Danielle of the one she had carried when last she was Diambal. The young woman had jet-black hair which was cut perfectly. As she turned, Danielle saw that she was East Asian, though whether Chinese, Korean or Japanese, she could not tell. What was apparently was that she was stunning. Her heart-shaped face was accentuated by the haircut which bracketed it. Her features appeared to combine a mix of cuteness with defiance. Her nose was slender and came to a small button. Her mouth was small but Danielle could not stop herself envisaging kissing it. Her slightly pointed chin was where the defiance came from, but it was the dark brown eyes, so mobile and with such life and curiosity in them that captured Danielle and meant she could not look away.

As the woman picked up her drink and food and smiled at the server, her dimples made Danielle felt she would melt. Then a couple of lanky sports types lumbered in and blocked Danielle’s view. Still, her mind coursed with thoughts of the woman she had seen; how she might get to talk to her; what she might say and indeed where she, let alone the woman herself, might want this encounter to go. Before she had really begun to process these frantic thoughts, the young woman was in front of her. Danielle swallowed deeply, worried at what she had potentially unleashed with her thoughts.

‘Hello,’ the woman said in clear English but with an accent. ‘Can I sit here; with you?’ she gestured to the table with her bowl of food.

Danielle coughed and felt that she should be blushing. ‘Sure, yes, please,’ she stuttered, her voice sounding peculiar.

The woman gave that smile again but direct to Danielle this time and she worried she was going to faint if she kept it up. In the next few moments, the woman had shed her bag and Danielle could see protruding from the top of it a file with the FIT logo. That college was not far from here, and then with a jolt, she remembered it was where she thought Diambal attended. The woman sat down, taking off her bulky jacket to reveal more of a plain white sleeveless buttoned shirt below.

‘I am Aoi,’ the woman said. ‘I have seen you. Not so recent, some weeks. Are you at FIT?’

She nodded to the book which Danielle now found sitting by her plate, a well-used copy of a classic by Valerie Steele on fashion and power.

Slightly confused by this “evidence” that someone must have left behind, Danielle spluttered and came out with ‘Yes … no, I am sort of on … you know.’

The answer was a mess, but Aoi welcomed it with her smile.

‘I am from Osaka, in Japan and you are … from Africa?’

Danielle was about to shake her head and then wondered why Aoi had assumed that. Self-consciously she looked down to see that the hand which held her fork was that rich dark brown of Diambal. As she shifted awkwardly, the squeal of her clothes demanded attention. In style, the jacket and jeans she wore might have been denim, but instead they were rendered in tight black vinyl. It only took the turning of her head to show Danielle that her Senegal braids had returned.

Then she spoke without really thinking. ‘Yes, I am from Dakar in Senegal.’

The words came out with that Francophone tinge that Danielle knew she liked hearing.

‘Sorry, my name is …’ Danielle tried to focus on saying her real name and then when ‘Diambal’ came, she realized it was right because it was the real name for this body which she was in.

‘Very good,’ Aoi said. ‘And you like women? … I mean to kiss?’

Again, Danielle wanted to indicate that she was at best ambivalent; uncertain about it. However, she knew whatever part of her was running this show wanted to kiss Aoi and indeed these days, lawyer Danielle might have wanted to give it a shot anyway.

‘Yes … yes, I do,’ came very easily.

‘And you have girlfriend?’

Then Aoi blushed herself and looked down, taking a mouthful of smashed avocado.

‘No, I do not,’ it was the truth.

‘I am sorry, that was … I saw, though: how you looked. I like to kiss women but … I thought New York …’

She looked uncertain and Danielle felt immediately protective towards her. She stretched out her hand to clasp Aoi’s. The woman looked up and smiled in a way which was so sweet that it thrust deep into Danielle.

‘Hien – we both like to kiss women and … other things, I am sure.’

Aoi giggled at that but Danielle felt she knew it. They were both adults and perhaps, if they did go down this path, it would be less pressure if she had a partner who was, in practice, as inexperienced in the world of female-to-female sex as she was herself.

‘Are you busy now, Aoi? Why don’t we, I don’t know, go for a walk, have a chat, see what we might both like?’

Aoi nodded energetically. ‘I’d like that Diambal.’

Danielle realized she did too. Whether she would find herself back in her old form; whether that would not be until she woke tomorrow, Danielle found she did not care. For now, she wanted to spend time with this cool, sexy, Japanese student who had had the courage to go for what she clearly wanted.

The two women finished their lunches but sat chatting over more drinks before stirring themselves and setting off at random. They ended up in Greenwich Village and into Washington Square Park. There they sat down on a bench to listen to the assortment of musicians whose tunes the breeze picked up at random. They talked. At first Danielle worried that she would let slip that the woman she looked like was not the woman she was, so encouraged Aoi to speak about her life in Japan; her studies and plans.

Steadily though, almost in response to each point Aoi made, Danielle found she had a memory of the Diambal equivalent. Her knowledge of the fashion business appeared to be growing from minute to minute as if she was an assiduous student on the course she was taking. Whether she was losing the legal knowledge, Danielle was not certain. However, she knew that she enjoyed being with Aoi; was feeling a physical attraction for her that was growing and she could not shake off. Almost without noticing, they had started lying on the grass when Danielle realized Aoi had slipped into the crook of her arm and her hand was casually resting on Danielle’s vinyl-clad thigh.

Evening was approaching and Danielle knew she and Aoi had to decide what would happen next. She realized it would be hard to walk away from this woman, even with promises that they would meet again. Abruptly, Aoi sat up and then dipped down to kiss Danielle’s lips.

‘Diambal, I want to sleep … no, I want to stay up with you; but in private; in a bed.’

Danielle smiled in response and found she could not give any answer except, ‘I want that too. Come on, let’s get some supplies and get somewhere private.’

Danielle wondered if the encounters with Neda had made this all so much easier to envisage. However, she also realized that something far stronger was here, she simply wanted to be with this beautiful, bold, delightful woman in all ways. Did she have sex on a first date? Perhaps the question was: did Diambal? Danielle chased such thoughts from her mind. They were for no-one to decide except her and Aoi and it seemed that Aoi had made her decision. As she rose from the grass, her glistening vinyl clothes creaking in a way she liked, Danielle realized she had already made the same decision too.

As they went to find some take-out food, Danielle worried that she would have no idea where to go; whether she should prompt Aoi to take her to her place. However, as they moved on, especially in the direction of FIT, Danielle found these streets were more familiar than she had realized. As she dug into her memories, soon she was recalling her – Diambal’s – address. Unsurprisingly it was in one of those swish student accommodations which now seemed dotted all over the city. Soon she was opening the door to her room, though she was uncertain what she would find inside.

Perhaps as might be expected, there was a lot which would be found in every room in this building, but the instantly-familiar photos of Gadjigo family members were distinctive. A couple of the pictures on the wall, Danielle was sure she had had in her apartment; those showing naked women, tastefully done, at first seemed striking, but quickly she knew in fact she had bought them. That muddied things in her mind. Was this not where she lived? Naturally they would be here. She went to hang up her jacket in the small wardrobe and found it contained the biker jacket; the leather leggings, the purple top; the suede boots; the stirrup and ring ones; the laced knee-length ones, all the clothes she knew for sure she had worn in recent weeks.

Aoi shed her jacket too and soon the two women were getting out of their boots and on to the bed. They then started on the thin-crust pizzas which proved to be delicious. Perhaps Danielle should have expected that soon they were feeding each other; wiping, then licking sauce away from their faces. Then she was shedding her top and her bra and Aoi was rushing to match her. It was awkward to get out of all of their clothes on the bed but the giggling and tugging was soon a fun game and once a ring of discarded clothes were around the bed, they moved to slide beneath the covers. Danielle stopped to look over her body in the low light from the lamp. It had that wonderful smooth dark skin; the distinctive breasts; the mound ready for any encounter she was going to have with Aoi. Then she was with her, the sensation of the Japanese woman’s skin across her Senegalese skin was so delicious.

They were quickly kissing and their fingers exploring each other’s bodies; the similarities and differences between them, as they had been exploring their interests, their background in the preceding hours. Danielle understood now that it had all been a kind of foreplay and taking it slow meant that they were both now more than ready for the final step. Aoi’s slender smooth thigh slipped between Danielle’s as she reached out for Aoi’s pussy which felt so slick beneath her touch. Danielle realized this was so different from being with Neda. This was a meeting of equals; this was each seeking to do all what she could to please her partner. That thought sent a lovely chill through Danielle as she envisaged Aoi was quickly becoming her partner in so many ways.

Danielle’s fingers slipped inside Aoi and gently began to curve and pulse. She looked to see if she was going too far, too fast, but the satisfied sounds coming from Aoi suggested she was getting it right. In turn, she pressed down on to Aoi’s thigh, loving the pressure across a wider area. Then she arched down to suck on Aoi’s petite nipples contrasting them to her own but loving the taste and weight of them. Aoi caught one of Danielle’s between her fingers and it fired new sensations hard into Danielle. Gasping, she struggled to cope with all that was happening but realized that nothing would take her away from this.

How long they played with each other’s bodies, Danielle did not know; did not care. They took turns to be on all fours and fingers and tongues went to so many corners of them: from neck to lips to nipples to midriff to pussy to clit and even down to feet. Nowhere was off limits as the two women explored around each other’s bodies. One would come and her pants; her gentle moans would trigger the other. They would lie back spooning, but only for some time to pass before Danielle was again reaching over to stroke at all the parts of Aoi that she was coming to love. Then Aoi went into the curve of Danielle’s longer African body and plied her with touches, licks, strokes, clasps with fingers, with tongue, with elbows and thighs and then with her own slick pussy and so-excited clitoris. As another orgasm swept over Danielle, following hard on the one Aoi in her cute way had sounded out, she felt spent. It was no surprise that sleep soon took them both.

****

As Danielle awoke and felt the warm skin beside her; heard Aoi’s gentle breathing, she realized that this morning something was different. The query of whether she had a class today then shook her and she switched on the beside lamp and twisted it to where she had an old-fashioned planner on the wall. She was reassured to see that the day was clear. However, she realized that, though they had spoken of so much, she did not know Aoi’s schedule.

First, though Danielle slipped from the bed and headed into the shower cubicle. Soon she was soaping down her body, loving the sight of her ebony skin as it shone with water and gel. She tended to her braids but knew not to wash them too intensely so as to lose the shape and the shade. She was out quickly and drying down her body, trying not to concentrate on her nipples that felt so sensitive and so easily reminded her of Aoi’s lips closed around them.

Quickly Danielle was into leather jeans and an iron-grey silk camisole. She then had on the patent slip-ons she kept for use around this place and headed to the shared kitchen. It looked to be early as none of her fellow residents were around. She decided against millet porridge and ndambé beans in tomato paste that she might eat back home. Checking her locker, she found she had brioches so split and buttered these, then made coffee. Balancing everything on a small tray someone had left lying around, she carried it all back to her room. Coming through the door, she was greeted by Aoi’s smile.

‘Just getting breakfast,’ she said and her lover nodded.

Clambering naked from bed Aoi came over to the small round table, fortunately equipped with two chairs. She stopped to kiss Danielle and while she dreaded what her breath smelt like she welcomed the gesture. Soon they were tucking in, brushing crumbs off each other and talking about their day ahead. It was only once she had helped Aoi dress; they had checked each other’s cell phone number and had seen Aoi down to street level, that Danielle stopped to question what was happening.

Back in her room, where she felt she was indeed at home, Danielle tried to recall where she actually lived, or at least where she had lived when she appeared as a Caucasian lawyer rather than an African student. Things kept distracting Danielle from those thoughts. As she dressed for the day ahead, having agreed to meet Aoi for lunch, Danielle found she was thinking about her course; the books she had to read; the exhibitions and shows she had planned to see. She struggled to hold off the tide of such ideas; such convictions that these were things to do. Then she realized she could not recall the name of the law company she had a second interview with. Quickly though, that concern faded as she could not recall why she had even been thinking about a law job.

Danielle felt torn between loving all that had happened since meeting Aoi the day before and the sense that this was not genuinely her life, but some extended hallucination; a vision only created by hypnosis. In consequence she went to her desk and on a message note, wrote “I am Danielle Gregorio. I am Danielle Gregorio”. She then strained to remember the address of her apartment and ended up settling for what the nearest convenience store was to there that she could remember. Then she tried to recall her phone number only to realize she still had it but it was connected to the cell phone in front of her, the one encased in swirling pinks and purples which initially looked peculiar but soon found she loved.

Danielle sat, trying to decide what she wanted; what she needed. She did not want to lose Aoi, that was clear. They might not end up as wives, but this was a great thing which had burst into her life and she was loath to give it up. Uncertain about the next step, Danielle found herself getting changed again. Then, as she pulled on a café racer style leather jacket in maroon and found out the ribbed leggings that matched; put on the black Mandarin collar shirt and then decided on her laced ox blood Doc Marten boots, Danielle started envisaging that she could have it all. She could be a were-lesbian, vibrant and professional in both forms, but with different skin tones, hair and styles in each. She felt certain now that whenever she encountered Aoi, she would morph into this Senegalese form.

Soon Danielle was out on the street trying to work out how to get back to her old district. In the end she took a taxi and gave the driver the convenience store address. Getting out, she saw the apartment block she guessed she needed to head to. However, as she walked towards it, Danielle felt it was all a little vague as if she had seen this place just in passing, perhaps in a movie or even a dream. Soon, though, she was stepping inside and looking along the mailboxes for her name. However, she could not see any that came close. Even the one that she increasingly felt sure had been hers now said “Philip Bouras”.

‘Hey, miss, can I help you?’

The supervisor came into the lobby. Danielle imagined he was rather surprised to see a stylish true African woman in there.

‘I am here to see a woman who lives here,’ Danielle said as she was quickly reminded that she looked nothing like the woman that he would know.

‘Who is she?’

For moment Danielle struggled to speak; to say her own name. With a degree of panic, she tried to rein in, she pulled out the piece of paper from her pocket. ‘Man laa Diambal Gadjigo. Je suis Diambal Gadjigo,’ the paper read, giving it in Wolof and French, as if there was a need for both. The address below it was the one back in her student accommodation; the phone number, well that was her phone number.

‘Yes … I have it here,’ Danielle struggled to focus but managed to do it. ‘Danielle; Danielle Gregorio … she’s a lawyer.’

‘I don’t recognize the name at all. We have one lawyer, but he’s Mr. Bouras. Are you sure you’ve got the right building? Let me see that paper.’

Danielle did not know what else to do and handed it over.

‘It must be the handwriting. Who wrote this for you? You said “Danielle Gregorio” but this looks more like, I don’t know Diam … Diambal … Gad … Gadjigo. Diambal Gadjigo, but there’s no-one of that name?’

‘No, I’m … I’m Diambal Gadjigo.’

As she uttered those words, the last of Danielle went. The choice had been made and the final part of the magic locked into place. The woman standing here was no-one else more than Diambal Gadjigo, a lesbian student from Senegal.

‘I am sorry … that must be the wrong piece of paper. I am sorry,’ Diambal said apologizing briskly before turning and scurrying to leave the block.

Glancing back, she saw the super looked bewildered but said; did, nothing more. Soon Diambal was out on the street, walking quickly away, a little uncertain about why she was here. Then her phone rang and she saw it was Aoi.

‘Hi,’ she said.

It was as if now that Aoi had reached out to her, all the uncertainties were dismissed. As Diambal headed off down the street looking for the right bus; thinking whether she could get a cab, the two women; the two lovers discussed lunch plans, and Diambal thought of what delights an afternoon together would bring them.

THE END.

Transformation Story: In The Story. Part 1

In this story text marked ‘=’ is from the novel written by Louise Fairbank rather than being the narrative of this story itself.

In the Story

Part One 

“The flat is along here.”  Mrs. Burgess said.

She was a woman who was probably in her early fifties, was taller than Gabrielle and almost a little too slim.  Gabrielle gazed past the landlady, along the corridor.  It ended in a window looking out across the skyline of South London.  However, it was only as they came close to it that she saw the door inset into the wall to the side.  Only now did she accept that Mrs. Burgess was neither mad nor had made a mistake.  The landlady, unlocked the door.

“It’s a bit musty; it’s not been used for a while.  Once you get the window open and there’s someone living here, it will be fine.”

Gabrielle stepped in.  The flat was very small, little more than a bedsit.  The main room had a bed against the wall, bracketed by the doorways to the bathroom and kitchen.  The bed was one of those supposed doubles that were only wide enough for two people as thin as Mrs. Burgess, but it was suitable enough for Gabrielle now she was single again.  Close by was an armchair next to a small electric heater.  The chair pointed in the direction of the television aerial socket and the old desk and office chair which sat beneath this room’s only window.  The view through it was little different from the one from the corridor.  Gabrielle manoeuvred into the tiny kitchen that was full the moment she stepped into it.  It did have a fridge, a sink as big as its washing up bowl and a small electric cooker.  The bathroom was crowded with a slender washing machine, a narrow bath and the toilet.  Given how crowded the flat was, Gabrielle felt that, as a result, it was snug.  She had everything here without need to go out to the laundrette or for constant takeaways.  Coming back into the main room she noticed the empty bookshelves above the bed and fire and a narrow cupboard against the wall.  There were drawers under the bed and hooks on the door, probably enough for Gabrielle to accommodate her not too numerous clothes.

“I know the bed’s a double, but there’ll be no overnight visitors, not that you look like one of those who has a man in her bed that regularly.”

“I just split from my boyfriend.”  Gabrielle said with emphasis to counter the landlady’s suggestion that she had no chance of finding a man.

“Really.”

Gabrielle was uncertain if Mrs. Burgess was questioning the statement or was simply surprised.  She dismissed it as not worthwhile fussing about.  Let Mrs. Burgess think what she liked.  This flat, these rooms, they were about all that Gabrielle could afford to rent at the moment.  They might be old fashioned but at least they were clean enough and she had her own kitchen and bathroom unlike if she became a lodger.  Gabrielle gave the flat one last look and noticed a cardboard box under the desk.

“Oh, that.  I thought everything from the previous tenant had gone.  It was a real pain.”

“What was?”

“Well, your predecessor, Louise, Louise Fairbank.  She disappeared.  It was not that she ran off, her bank account kept paying me even after she had gone.  But she left all her stuff here.  I had the police in and everything, but there was no trace of her.  You do wonder what happens.  She never went out much.”

“What did she do?”

“She was on some course; filled those shelves with books.  I also think she was a journalist, she said something about writing some articles.”

“Is it safe round here?”  Gabrielle asked rather abruptly; until this moment it had not featured in her thoughts.

“Well, I imagine it’s safer than a lot of other places in London.  I grew up in Stepney, you know.  You have to be careful of course, just like everywhere these days, but it’s no more dangerous than the rest of London.”

Gabrielle realised that despite the indirect route she had had to take on the train she was probably in fact only a few miles away from Sydenham where she had been living.  The story of this Louise had drawn her up short, but she guessed Mrs. Burgess was right and she was at no greater risk here than anywhere else in South London.

“What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”  Mrs. Burgess prompted.

“I’m a nurse.”

Once Gabrielle had said it with pride, but now it was in a weary tone.  These days she was too tired to even mentally brace herself for the hackneyed questions she expected to follow that statement.  Despite almost three years passing since qualifying she felt that had career had not progressed since the day she had started.  In fact given the toll it had exacted from her physically and in terms of relationships, perhaps she had been going backwards.

“Oh, at which hospital?”

“Erm, no I work for an agency.”

“So you’re part-time?”

“I try not to be.”

“I’d have though hospitals would be crying out for nurses.”

“I thought that once.  They can’t give you a contract.  There’s quite a few of us who find it hard.”

“Seems mad.”  Mrs. Burgess was not the first to observe that to Gabrielle.

“Yes.”

“So you work shifts?”

“Yes.  I take what I can get.”  Gabrielle responded worried it might alter this woman’s view of her desirability.

Gabrielle’s irregular working patterns had been a key thing in her relationship ending with Adam.  As he had risen quickly in accountancy he had increasingly wanted a partner who could guarantee to accompany him to work events and arrive not smelling of diluted vomit.

“Good thing I give you a key to the back, out there.  The big one is for the gate and then that one for the back door.  Saves you having to come in through the front and waking everyone up.”

Gabrielle was going to protest that she was more than adept at creeping into a house at all times of the day or night, but just could not be bothered to challenge Mrs. Burgess’s assumption.  Then she realised that, even before that, Mrs. Burgess had simply assumed she was taking this place.

“I’ve got all the papers here.”  The landlady said holding up a rather crumbled bundle of documents.

“How did you know I was going to take it?”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“Erm, yes, yes I will.”  Gabrielle said hurriedly now worrying she would be rejected and have to start hunting again.

“I thought so.  This is the place for women like you who’ve got nowhere else left.  I see renting this flat out a bit of my civic duty, you know.”

“Erm, well, I’m grateful.”

Gabrielle said uneasily, rather put out that Mrs. Burgess saw her as some kind of charity case.  After all, the rent might be reasonable, but it seemed certain this landlady was turning a decent profit.  The electrical goods and furnishings downstairs in her own part of this large house had already suggested that that was indeed the case.

“Good, good.”  Mrs. Burgess bustled over to the desk and put down the paper work and rested a pen on it.

“If you’ll just sign, here and here.”  The landlady jabbed her finger on the pages.

“Right.”  Gabrielle responded.

She felt a little rushed into this, but guessed she had to be grateful that Mrs. Burgess had not turned her nose up at her and dismissed Gabrielle with a ‘I’ll let you know’.  With competition for rooms being so difficult in London, she guessed that she had to take what she could get.

“I’ll give you the keys once I have got your deposit and the references all through.”  Mrs. Burgess explained, ushering Gabrielle out of the flat back into the corridor.

Gabrielle had worried about a reference as she had rented the flat in both her and Adam’s names and he was now the sole tenant rather than moving somewhere else.  Fortunately her friend from work, Priyal had agreed to be her fake ‘former landlady’; making Gabrielle laugh when she had put on the Asian matron act she promised to use if telephoned.

****

Gabrielle closed the door and slumped down on her bed.  The last few hours had been exhausting.  Madeline and Priyal had been invaluable in the trek carrying stuff down to the car, emptying it all out and bringing it up the stairs and along the corridor to the flat.  She had promised to take her fellow nurses for a drink later in the week as a thank-you.  Gabrielle had hung her clothes as they had been brought in, but there was still a lot to unpack and there was only a narrow pathway between the boxes and her assortment of bags.  Gabrielle was grateful that Priyal had given her a food parcel so there was no need to go out now and locate the nearest convenience store.  She made herself some coffee and nibbled on one of the flapjacks Priyal had baked for her.

As she sat back on the bed and looked around to where she might hang up her favourite pictures, mainly photographs of Greek churches, Gabrielle noted that behind the armchair was not a wall, but another door.  Shifting the armchair into the centre of the room she was able to open it to reveal an additional room.  There was a step down into it.  It had space for a single bed in there, but the only furniture it held now was a wardrobe.  Gabrielle opened it and was surprised to find a ladies black, blazer-style leather jacket hanging from it.  She tried it on.  It was a little too short for her.  However, it had a rich aroma that she liked, not a musty one she would have expected.  Gabrielle ran her fingers over the soft smooth leather, thinking that she might be able to sell this jacket off.  Whilst it seemed most likely it had been something belonging to this Louise Fairbank, from what Mrs. Burgess had said, she was never going to come back and reclaim it.

Gabrielle was glad to have found this extra space.  If she could get a bed in, she could even put up a friend visiting London from the country; though she was certain Mrs. Burgess would want to charge her more for doing that.  For the moment, however, the room would be a useful dumping ground for empty boxes.  Refreshed from her snack, Gabrielle turned to more unpacking, getting the bed covered and digging out the kitchen utensils.  Fortunately Priyal had prepared her some dinner, so she simply had to reheat it.

Within an hour, Gabrielle had unpacked sufficient that she could function.  The bath had turned out to work and the water, surprisingly for a place like this, was warm.  She changed into her baggy pyjamas and thick fluffy dressing gown and slippers then heated the chilli-con-carne Priyal had made and ate it with thick chunks of bread.  Then she fired up her laptop, again pleasantly surprised that the wireless connection password worked.  She was able to get up some online television and enjoyed the noise of a mindless programme.

Full of food and with her washing done, Gabrielle sat at her computer, wondering how to pass the evening.  Idly she slid open the drawers of the desk, not really knowing what to expect.  They were empty but at the back of one she found a computer disk.  She pulled it out.  It was in a transparent plastic sleeve and on the disk itself was written: ‘L.C. Fairbank – Stories’.  Gabrielle guessed this was something left by the missing woman and wondered why it had not been taken by the police.  Intrigued by her predecessor, with some searching, Gabrielle was able to find details of Louise Fairbank on a couple of social networking sites.  There seemed to have been no updates in a number of weeks.  Louise looked vibrant in the images and Gabrielle wondered what had happened to her.  Gabrielle hoped she had been swept off her feet by some suave millionaire and was now on an expensive yacht in the Mediterranean.

Curious to learn more about Louise, Gabrielle now inserted the disk into her laptop but found there was only one file on it, labelled ‘Doorway’.  Gabrielle clicked on it and it opened to reveal what she could immediately see was a story.  Perhaps this Louise had been an author as well as a journalist.  Gabrielle knew from various programmes she watched when off in the afternoons that writing fiction was now a major hobby in Britain, particularly for women.  Gabrielle was interested to see what this woman had written.  From the screen she read.

= Louise knew the place immediately, it was the other world or planet or whatever it was, she had dreamed of.  This time as she felt the floor beneath her and could hear the noises around her she knew somehow she had come here for real.  However, instead of looking for a way back she knew she had to see more.  She was standing in a corridor, lit by amber coloured lamps and looked as if it was made of black marble and had curved walls.  As she had seen in her dreams at one side was a viewing window looking down on to a circular room.  Along the far wall were two levels with five transparent tubes as wide as a person on both.  On the top level she could see the men dressed in those long leather coats that reached to the floor with small groups of women wearing only few clothes, shepherding them into the pods. =

= Louise knew that the pods would change the women, putting them into shiny latex clothes and changing their minds so that they became sex-slaves that would be sold to those wealthy men on this planet who wanted to own and use them.  Rather than feel frightened by this, Louise felt a thrill.  She guessed that came from her dreaming of this process so many times.  Now she watched as openings appeared on each of the tubes and she realised that they were pods.  Five women were guided into the pods and the doors closed.  Through the doors Louise could see them clasped in place and moved so they all stood in the same position with their arms stretched out on each side and their legs slightly spread. Then they dropped from sight and Louise knew that soon they would come out on the lower level where more men in the long coats waited. =

= Louise waited with her breath held until one by one the women appeared in the lower pods.  Each had had her clothes replaced by a skin tight shiny black latex outfit.  Boots and gloves were attached so that their entire bodies from their feet to the top of their necks was covered in clinging rubber.  Their bodies looked changed too, their hair was longer and more intense shades, their waists were more tapered and their breasts had been enlarged.  However, they were not let out from the pods immediately.  Louise could see dildos in black rubber just like the clothes the women wore, come from the inside and one slid first into their pussies and then another into their mouths and they sucked on them as if it was a man’s cock.  Louise imagined what sensations they were feeling and realised slightly embarrassed that she was getting aroused by what she was seeing. =

Gabrielle broke from reading.  She guessed that she should have realised that this was going to turn into some kind of fetish sexual story.  It was certainly not the kind of thing she usually read, but then again she had never thought herself as prudish.  She guessed that the fact that it had been written by a woman meant it was probably alright.  She had to admit she was interested to see how it would all turn out.  She had seen women dressed in black latex or vinyl clothing occasionally when going through London in the evenings.  She was sure that one of the night clubs where she used to live had run fetish nights.  Her own sexuality tended to be pretty straight forward, but now that she thought about it there had been something quite intriguing, perhaps even exciting about those women.  She guessed it had something to do with them looking strong but sexy at the same time, like some kind of alien creatures descended to Earth, very different to the people she typically met.  She could see there might be an excitement of dressing like that and at the same time appearing publicly sexy but also a bit intimidating, like putting up two fingers to nosy old ladies simply by what you wore.

Gabrielle realised that whilst she could guess what was going to happen to Louise in the story, she was eager to have it confirmed.  There was nothing wrong in reading a story like this, she told herself, in fact it could be fun.

= One by one the women orgasmed and as they subsided, the dildos drew back and the door of the pod opened.  The woman at the end took longer than the others but eventually she also had an orgasm and her head jerked back.  The women stepped out carefully and Louise could see why.  The boots which were joined with their catsuits had extremely high heels and platforms that meant that their feet were at an angle almost pointing straight down to the floor.  Quickly though the women seemed to become accustomed to their new boots and were striding around showing off their tightly clothed bodies to the best.  Louise felt envious of them as they all now looked like exotic creatures, precious pets of some powerful alien.  The fact that they were owned like pets was quickly shown as the men waiting for them came up to each of them and attached a leash to the ring fixed to the collar of their catsuits.  Then one of the men took all the leashes and led the five transformed women through a wide door as if they were a litter and out of sight.  Louise knew from her dreams, that they were being taken immediately into the auction room to be sold. =

Gabrielle stopped reading again.  It was clear that not only did this story involve women being dressed up in extreme boots and skin-tight rubber clothes, but being led like pets and sold like slaves.  She knew that all kinds of things turned people on, but these aspects seemed pretty out there.  Saying that though, this was a science fiction story and she imagined that they had to have something unusual in those stories to make them appear science-fictiony, if that was even a word.  Was it really any different to what she had seen in ‘Star Wars’ movies or one of those vampire movies like ‘Blade’?  She also found that now, even more than before, she was willing to push aside these concerns, partly because she was keen to see what happened next to Louise.

= "What are you doing here?" =

= Louise turned around, startled.  With her attention being on the women being enslaved, she had not noticed the man in the leather coat coming up behind her.  He was a little taller than herself with pale skin and light blond hair.  His eyes were an unusual shade of blue.  There was something strangely entrancing about him simply standing there.  Louise did not think how she could understand what he was saying to her.  It had been a question in her dreams, explained by the fact that some device inside the high round collar of his coat meant that whatever language he or the person he was talking to spoke, what he meant would get using a brain wave analyser and sub-sonic signals.  Louise panicked as if she had been doing something wrong.  She struggled for something to say, but steadily she knew that she had to say the truth. =

= "I was looking at the women.  I was looking at the slaves." =  Louise said.

= Louise wondered why she could not think of some lie, but then remembered that the translator communicated very effectively what the man was saying and also what he wanted the listener to do. =

= "This batch is one short.  You must be the one we need." =

= Louise shot a glance down to the upper level where four women were being moved to the pods.  Briefly she thought she should shout or try to run away and escape, but the man spoke again. =

= "You will come with me.  You will be placed into a pod and you will become a slave." =

= Louise was breathless as those words sunk into her mind.  The device the man wore turned those words into the truth and Louise knew that within minutes she would be no different from those blank-eyed women dressed in their skin tight rubber, striding in that elegant, erotic way in those fantasy boots. =

="Yes I will come with you.  Yes I will go into a pod and I will become a slave." =  Louise, unable to lie in this man's presence, told the truth.

= ”You will be Seressa.” = The man said.

= Louise did not know if she had been given this new name at random or if there was some pattern.  However, as with everything else the man had told her, in moments it did not matter instead she just accepted it as the truth, something that was obvious and she had no thought about arguing about it. =

= ”I will be Seressa.” = Louise repeated, not even asking now why she could do nothing except do so.

= The man’s face grimaced a little as if he was rather irritated by what Louise had said this time.  As she recognised his expression Louise found that she felt disappointed herself and eager to correct whatever mistake she had made.  She felt she had to show how loyal and obedient and what a good slave she was. =

= ”No, you are already Seressa.”=

= The weight of the words made Louise feel that this was a process she had no ability to stop.  More than that, the words put what she had just been thinking into a bright light.  She realised that she had been thinking how to show she was a good slave.  Somehow she had entirely jumped over thinking about whether she was a slave, her mind, clearly affected by the man’s device, had simply assumed that that was what she was.  Now she had her slave name that was a further confirmation to the change. =

=”I am Seressa.” Louise said again knowing it was the truth.=

Gabrielle sat back again; coping with the buzz she was feeling in her pussy and from her breasts.  Though she would never have considered it, there was something very exciting in reading about this woman being renamed and becoming someone very different, far sexier than she had been before.  Rationally Gabrielle thought that she should somehow be angry with what was being done to the character, but far more powerful was a delicious frisson about seeing it all unfold.  This aspect of the transformation, not simply changing what the woman wore but her entire identity, was a new kind of thrill for Gabrielle.  Quickly she refocused on the words, wanting to hold off from seeing to her arousal until she had reached the climax of the story.

= The man smiled at the words and the woman who had been Louise felt as she had been specially rewarded. =

= ”Follow.” =

= For some reason, Seressa felt a brief reluctance to do what the man ordered.  However, she then felt that that attitude was not typical of her, instead she was always quickly obedient and there was no reason to change from that.=

= “Now you will be dressed and transformed into a perfect slave.”=  The man said as he walked a short distance along the corridor to where lift doors now opened.

= Now understanding that she was about to processed and put into those lovely shiny clothes, Seressa hurried to catch up with the man.  She was soon stepping into the lift beside him.  As she did, the doors closed and the lift moved not only down but sideways as well so that when the doors opened Seressa stepped out among the four women about to be moved to the pods.  Like herself they were showed a mixture of obeying the orders they were given but were clearly excited about what was going to happen to them. =

Gabrielle sat back hardly wanting to read on.  The feeling of arousal as she knew that Louise was soon going to become one of these erotic women, was almost too much to cope with.  She gave up trying to resist and eased down her jeans.  Her panties were already wet in a way she had never experienced before.  Quickly she discarded her jeans and the panties followed.  With one hand to scroll further through the document, Gabrielle slid the other, fingers clasped together like a bud, into her pussy; pulsing them as she read more.

= One by one the women were sent into the pods.  The doors closed and they were soon going down out of sight.  None of the women struggled and when her turn came Louise realised that she knew her fate.  As far as these people saw it she was already Seressa and part of Louise had no desire just to be Seressa.  She did not really care if her mind was being manipulated.  All that she had dreamed about had become real and meaning this was her true fate.  Perhaps she had become Seressa when she had first had a dream of this place and all that happened here and what women became here.  The man pointed for Louise to enter and she did.  The pod door closed and quickly clasps locked around her body.  Louise knew that there was no turning back and that she would only be allowed out of this pod once she had become a sex slave. =

= Louise felt herself being lowered down the tube but it quickly she realised she was being let down into something that clung to her legs tightly and quickly covered them and then her bum.  As she looked down she saw that she had been slid into a latex catsuit which small robot arms were lifting up her body.  With her own arms stretched out they were able to pull the suit up over her shoulders and slide it steadily along her arms from her fingertips, passed her elbows, up to her armpits.  Now her arms and hands were coated, the latex came over her breasts and around her neck.  Louise felt really aroused being dressed this way and it continued further as from in front of her she saw two of the shiny metal hands grasp the zip.  They shut the glossy black latex tight over her middle, her breasts and then her neck. =

= Louise knew that once the dildos slid into her she would begin to be changed.  Unless she fought against them she would be transformed into a slave just like she had seen in her dreams.  Held in place, there was nothing she could do as the large rubber cock moved between her splayed thighs and into her pussy, which she found was surprisingly already aroused and moist.  She guessed that being slid into this catsuit had boosted her arousal, perhaps it was something else too.  From what she had seen in her dreams she knew that whatever identity the slaves had before was taken away and replaced with a submissive sexual one.  She guessed that that was what was about to happen to her. =

= As she began to enjoy having the hard and now vibrating rubber deep in her pussy, Louise wondered if her personality was already being changed.  Rather than panicking or worrying about what was being done to her by this machine, she was enjoying it and wanted it to continue no matter how much it might change her.  After all, it had already put her into the sexiest clothes she had ever worn.  Then the dildo came out close to her lips and Louise felt that she had no choice except to begin sucking it as if it was the cock of the man she wanted most to please.  As she began, surprising herself at her skills, a loop of sensation began to flow through Louise.  Her submission shown by her sucking on the dildo the machine had offered was rewarded by greater pleasure in her pussy.  The sensation rose quickly and forcefully meaning it was increasingly hard to concentrate on anything but what the machine wanted from her. =

= The name Seressa echoed through Louise’s head, only Seressa was allowed to be like this.  Only Seressa was allowed to be dressed this way.  Only Seressa could feel as good of this.  Only Seressa could exist in this pod at this moment. =

= Seressa orgasmed quivering, jerking back against her what held her and then found it had gone.  Seressa stood free in her latex clothes, a sex slave ready to serve.   The pod opened and Seressa stepped out on her high boot heels, loving how she looked and felt.  She loved what she was.  Any memory of who or what she had been before had gone. =

There was more of the text to read and Gabrielle could see it detailed the sale of Seressa.  However, she could get through no more.  As she brushed her fingers across her pussy lips a climax was triggered one that fired again and again through her entire body.  As the sensation subsided, Gabrielle was surprised at herself.  She would never have imagined that she could get so turned on by such a story.  It suggested that there were hidden depths to her sexuality that she had had no inkling of before.  That concerned her a little, as she felt it was wrong to get turned on by reading about a woman being turned into a sexual slave, well, in fact, even more than that, some kind of living sexual robot.  However, as she thought about it, Gabrielle felt her arousal rise again and she gave a pleasurable jolt.  For now, though, she was strict with herself and closed the file, removed the disk and put it back in the drawer.

****

Gabrielle woke, or she assumed she had.  She sat up in bed realising that she had been disturbed by the bright light and the sounds that were coming the small room down the step.  Now she thought she had only dreamt she had woken up.  Rather than the room she had gone into the day before, beyond the doorway was now a room on the same level and with black marble floors.  It was lit by amber-shaded lamps set into the curved walls.  For some reason this seemed familiar and in her erratic, sleeping mind, she struggled to remember why.  She clambered from the bed, not really aware whether that was a conscious decision.  She guessed in most dreams you had little control over what you could do anyway.  This one was not a nightmare and she found no desire to even try to wake herself up.  As she walked to the doorway and stepped into the corridor, she realised she could feel the change from the carpet to the stone beneath her feet.

Gabrielle now walked out on to a gallery overlooking an area where there were a series of pods.  As Gabrielle saw men in long leather coats directing the women into them, she knew that this was a manifestation of what she had read.  What was alarming was that rather than it feeling like a fantasy, this was all too real.  Gabrielle went to the edge of the gallery and looked down at the five pods.  Gabrielle could see through the glass of one pod that the woman she immediately identified as Louise was undergoing the final stage of her enslavement.  The large rubber dildo emerged and slid deep into her; another came down to her lips and she took it into her mouth and sucked on it the way Gabrielle knew she would soon be doing for her master.  Of course, these actions were not only pleasurable for Louise, they showed truly what she was becoming.  Iin fact, through the signals Louise’s mind was now being fed, that appearance was becoming a reality throughout.  Gabrielle watched Louise shudder and jerk even pinned in place and knew that this was the moment when orgasm erased her identity as Louise the journalist and replaced it with that of Seressa the slave.

Gabrielle could not look away and saw the changed Louise emerge and a leash attached to her collar.  Gabrielle studied Louise carefully, fascinated by the skin-tight rubber she wore and the long boots, but more than that the expression on her face as she sauntered behind the man who led her.  It showed a mixture of being salacious and distant.  Gabrielle found herself walking along the gallery into the next room.  From here she looked down on to what was clearly an auction.  She saw Louise led into a cage with the others who had been converted.  There were already a number of other women in there, dressed the same.  In front of a stage were a crowd of people, male and female dressed exotically: many wore leather of various shades; some were in lace and others in metallic clothes.  Some had slaves kneeling near them already.  The auctioneer was another of the men in a long leather coat, shouting out numbers that Gabrielle guessed were prices.

Then Louise was brought forward and seemed to sell very quickly.  She was soon led off the stage and Gabrielle watched a man rise from his seat in the auction room and head through a door, presumably to settle up.  The man was tall with cropped hair and a trimmed beard.  He wore a long leather sleeveless coat revealing his strong arms and chest.  Below he had tight black latex trousers that were detailed with gun metal studs.  His laced heavy boots reached to the knee.  Gabrielle felt a frisson as she thought of this man using the newly transformed Louise.  She hurried along the gallery into the next room.  Looking down here she saw it was segmented into a number of chambers each with a mesh ceiling.  She caught sight of Louise’s buyer.  He went to a circular counter staffed by two men and a woman dressed alike in the long leather coats.  The buyer handed over rectangular pieces of what might have been plastic or indeed carved stone.  Gabrielle took these to be currency.  Then a smaller man in a long coat but of maroon rather than black came up to the buyer.  He led him to one of the chambers and Gabrielle saw that this was the one that held Louise.

Like many of the other slaves, Louise knelt with her thighs splayed.  As the buyer entered she raised up and nuzzled his crotch with her head.  However, with clear strength he lifted her up on to her feet.  Releasing his cock from his trousers he adjusted something on Louise’s catsuit and then thrust in, holding her with both his hands and, within a few thrusts, lifting her from the floor; sliding her back and forth on his flesh as if she was a ring.  Then he let her go and she stumbled back but kept upright.  He ejaculated, spraying his jism over Louise’s pristine rubber.  He jerked again and again.  Louise grinned and wiping her hands in his seed, took it to her mouth and licked off her fingers.  Gabrielle shuddered at how debased Louise had come to do this, yet she quickly realised her own sensations came not from disgust but from a strange sense of jealousy.