I thought I got away. I was wrong.
I have always belonged to Eric, in some way. So much of our lives have been spent with him grinding me into the dirt, bullying me into submission and making me beg for mercy. So when I found out that he was the new neighbor who had been keeping me up at night, I was barely even surprised.
Eric hasn’t changed a bit. He’s still strong and terrifying. He can still leave me at a loss for words with a glance, can make me beg without even having to ask.
This time was supposed to be different. I had a plan to catch him up in an affair with the wrong woman and have her jealous husband wreak down vengeance on him. It was all supposed to work out perfectly, until it all fell apart right in front of me.
I couldn’t get her to do it, so I did it instead. I changed my body in every possible way, becoming indistinguishable from her beautiful frame, and then I seduced my bully and got him into just the right compromising position.
What I never counted on was how good it would feel for me. How much being a woman could thrill me to my core and just how much all those feelings intensified when I was in his arms.
Because Eric is my bully and my tormentor. Eric is my worst enemy and I should hate every last moment of it. Eric is demanding, pushing my every limit.
Right up until the moment I break and I’m lost to him forever.
Excerpt
Lizzie Edwards stood in the mirror. She moved when I moved. She spun when I spun. She was me and I was her.
And naked she was every bit as glorious as I could have ever possibly imagined. She was beautiful in her petite form, her small breasts nearly unbearably perky and firm and capped with the most delightfully kissable pink nipples. The small mound of her sex was invitingly warm and blushed with the heat of my realization, a slight bit of softness to her already soft firm.
Her pale pink thighs. Her toned but soft tummy. Her curves that were so gentle you could never go off their edge and her flowing blonde hair which was so bright it was almost white.
She smiled in the mirror. No. I smiled in the mirror and my heart melted.
I’d always been able to understand she was beautiful, been able to understand that all women are. But my understanding had always been sort of objective. It was the same comprehension I applied to fine art and truthfully the same sort of objectivity that I’d always applied to men as well.
Not that I was attracted to men. Women had always represented far more of a draw to me than men did and though I couldn’t claim some sort of expertise from experience all of my experiences had only been with women.
No the objectivity that I viewed them with had little to do with gender or sex and even less to do with sexual compatibility, attraction, or desire. I knew on a very real level that someone as beautiful as her was out of reach for me. Frankly I knew that most people were out of reach for me and so I long ago separated the beautiful from my life and stopped viewing them as something to crave.
No sense pining for something you cannot have and all.
And I couldn’t have her now, not really. I wasn’t having her in the same way that a man would have a woman and this view of her, exposed as it was, felt a little too close to a betrayal of a relative stranger for me to ever ascribe some intimacy to it.
But when I stared at her I couldn’t help the stirring feelings in my belly, the warmth in my inner thighs. The way my skin prickled, reminiscent of the effervescent bubbles of change beneath the surface of my skin. The way my fingers twitched and I watched as goosebumps slowly appeared on her skin like someone was steadily turning the temperature dial down. The way my nipples hardened and my breath quickened and her pale skin so easily showed the blush of her need.
I started to touch myself. I kept my eyes open and I knew it was just me touching myself but god I could feel it thrumming through my veins. I could feel the power and the pleasure, the sensation of touching and of being touched playing a confusion in my mind that I couldn’t make the least bit of sense of.
It felt like a thrill, like a pleasure I could never truly grasp. It made me gasp and shudder and as I pressed on for more, my fingers coming achingly close to those places which are most sensitive, I felt the panic seize me again.
My fingers stopped, the tips of them barely brushing against the mound between my legs and the brushing tips of my nipples. My hands pulled back as if I was burned and I clenched my fists tight and set my jaw, shaking my head for emphasis and ducking my chin forward with a serious look on my face that was hard enough to take seriously given her adorably cute features.
Because her lips, my lips, were pouty and pink. Her brow was furrowed and her pale blue eyes were locked centered on my gaze. But she was just too cute to take it in as anything but petulant.
“No,” I said firmly, her high voice almost squeaky, “Don’t do it, Andrew. Don’t do it, Lizzie.”
I had a job to do here. The timeline for how long I was her was depressingly short considering the price of admission and while I had more than enough time to theoretically do my job I still had to focus and make sure that I got it done. Once I had Eric on camera doing what he did best, namely being a complete and utter asshole, I could come back down here and indulge. I could look at it as a reward, as the carrot on the end of a very long and very hard stick.
I had to focus now because just that briefest of brushes made me feel that if I started to indulge I’d probably waste every last moment I was her in my bed enjoying her body.