I became her to pay my debt, but this is going way too far.
Dumped. Broke. Trapped. My landlord caught up with me a week after my girlfriend walked out and he laid down the law for me. He told me a truth that I think I’ve always known.
Becoming my ex was the only way to pay him. He told me that he wanted me to play at being her, to cook and clean and obey him. He said it didn’t have to be anything more, but it was clear from the way he looked at me when I was in her body that more was exactly what he craved.
And the truth is that from the moment I became her I could feel the desire building in me. Things had always been good when I was with her, but there was always something missing and I know what I really needed now.
I never wanted to be with her, I wanted to be her. I wanted to live in her body, to have her confidence, her beauty, and her life. I wanted to feel the world through her skin, to see it through her eyes, and to know what it was like to be wanted.
When my landlord turned me into her I got a glimpse of everything I could have and I found myself craving it. Needing it with every bit of myself. I need to be her, now and forever, and I’ll do anything to make that happen.
Even if that means giving myself to him.
Excerpt
I didn’t feel like a man now, and I felt better as her than I had in years.
So what did my inner thoughts mean? What was driving them forward? What did my inner soul want a real man to be?
The answer shocked me, coming to me the moment that Hank looked up from the book he was reading and set those cold and calculating eyes on me.
Quite literally I stumbled, my ankle rolling as I tilted forward and fell down to the ground before him. The glass, well I managed to keep a hold on it but I didn’t manage to keep it upright and it tilted forward as well, the whole contents of that liquid spilling into his lap in the chair.
When bad things happen I freeze up. My body goes solid, neither fight nor flight taking over. It’s been the reason I’ve gotten punched more than a few times, the world slowing down as I watch it approach but I can’t do anything, can’t block it or dodge it, because I can’t move.
It is a testament to how different things are now that I didn’t freeze up. Instantly I leaped forward, pulling the towel I’d brought with me on my journey through the house and pushing it forward, blotting the liquid in his lap as best I could. I pressed it down, again and again, mumbled apologies spilling out of my lips as I did so.
“I’m sorry,” I squeaked in her voice which sounded so much like it belonged to me, “Oh I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so clumsy I can’t believe I did that. I’m sorry.”
And over and over while I did my best to mop it up knowing that I would always fall short. Thinking and worrying that he would be so mad at me.
Not worried, though, that he’d kick me out. Not that it wasn’t a possibility, more that it wasn’t a concern. I was worried instead because I didn’t want to disappoint him, didn’t want him to be disappointed in me.
But when I looked up at him finally he was just staring down with a sly smile on his face, as if this was fully expected of me. My clumsiness and something else, my unflinching obedient supplication.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I cooed, my voice changing from a squeak to a husky rumble as smooth as warm silk, “What can I do to make it up to you? Please, Sir. I want to be good for you.”
My hands were pressed in his lap, the bulge in his pants growing and warm beneath me. I could feel it moving, coming to life with the sight of me because what a sight I must have made.
A woman on her knees, skirt spread out around her and breasts pressed between her arms as she pushed her hands into him. Her face cherubic and innocent but wanting so badly to make him happy, to make him feel the way he makes her feel. To make him feel good.
I called him Sir because Sir was a title that belonged to him. Because I was his servant and his hopeful lover. Because I wanted this man to show me how much this body of mine could take.