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  • You first discover your shapeshifting powers.

    Chapter by shapeshift7777 · 18 May 2025
  • You first discover your shapeshifting powers.
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  • Then one day my wish came true.

    "The first time it happened was when I shapechanged into a friend by
    accident," I admitted, reluctantly.

    "How did that happen?" asked Jo. She was starting to relax a little,
    her head canted slightly so that her wavy red hair draped languidly
    into her face. She'd taken her goggles off since the fight, revealing
    eyes that were large, gray-tinted and beautiful. They were familiar.
    I'd once looked through those eyes and I remembered the crystal clarity
    of their vision. "Was it some kind of big, colorful manifestation?" she
    insisted.

    "No, nothing like that." I stopped to clear my throat before going on.
    "Only I knew anything had happened. I was hanging with my pal and just
    patted them on the shoulder, all friendly. Then there was this 'zap'
    feeling as I touched them, like a small electric shock. Suddenly I
    could feel their shape in my head. It was like I held the blueprints
    for their body in my mind. It made me feel weird. I didn't actually
    shapechange properly until later. Not 'til I got home."

    There was a lot I'd left out of this description. The friend had been
    Bill, my bud at school. He's a smart, funny guy. Good grades. Good
    enough at sports and the social round to be at the centre of several
    circles. He hung with the nerd crowd and played in our World of
    Warcraft clan. He was our natural leader and the organizer of many
    online raids and stunts.

    That time I'd felt the zap, the experience had left me feeling so
    queasy and sick that I crawled home, leaving Bill at the arcade where
    we'd been hanging. I stumbled into my bed complaining of a stomachache
    and asked Mom to stop fussing and leave me alone. I dozed off and when
    I woke up I was in Bill's body--or at least a copy of it--looking
    through his eyes and breathing his air.

    "Who was this friend of yours?" Jo asked, trying to gently lever her
    way past my defenses. I licked my dry lips and tried to fend her off.

    "Can we leave my friends out of it, Jo?" I briefly felt assertive and
    defensive of my privacy. "They have nothing to do with this. I
    discovered I could touch people and get an impression of their form
    from the physical contact. Once it was in my head I could change into
    that imprinted form and back again."

    Jo wisely let it drop. "Did you use the power much once you'd mastered
    it?"

    "Uh, yeah. I experimented."

    Yes, I experimented. A lot.

    Of course, there was Bill's body at first. I wasn't really sure how I
    had come to change, and after the initial panic it was a while before I
    realized that my mind seemed to hold imprints of my old and new bodies.
    I could focus on the ghostly shape there and swap between his body and
    mine as easy as moving from one train of thought to another. It didn't
    take more than five or six seconds to transform and it was painless. My
    entire body would bubble with a weird energy, then it would flow and
    gel into the new shape and become solid again.

    I soon discovered the power's first limitation. It didn't work on
    clothes, leaving me wearing whatever I had on before the change. That
    would be a source of occasional embarrassment in the times to come.

    As Bill it was disconcerting to have his bulk, his muscle, his senses,
    and even his man-parts. Yeah, that felt icky at first. But once I felt
    comfortable shifting back and forth between forms I test-drove his
    body. I was impressed by how different a climax felt; it seemed to go
    on longer than in my own physique.

    All this, of course, was in secret, in the warm privacy of my bedroom
    or the shower; anywhere my parents couldn't see me. There was no way I
    was going to tell Mom or Pop about this and I was never going to admit
    amything to Bill.

    I spent a week trying to figure out the power, trying to master it. I
    wondered if it was a one-off so I tried imprinting other friends from
    school. All it took was some handshakes and backslaps and I soon also
    had the imprints of three other friends. Having four phantom shapes
    floating at the back of my consciousness was distracting and made it
    hard to concentrate. I was glad when, after a few days, they began to
    fade away.

    However, while I held their imprints each change catapulted me into an
    exhilarating new world of sensation. Each body had its own signature
    characteristics, slightly different from my own. John's vision had an
    acuity that profoundly changed the way I looked at the universe. The
    colors I saw through his eyes seemed so much more vibrant. Tanc was
    blessed with sharp hearing and I could make out sounds and voices more
    easily from the tumble of background noise, while Raul possessed a
    sense of smell so fine that I could make out olfactory notes I never
    knew existed.

    There were other unexpected differences. Muscles stretched and twanged
    in unfamiliar ways. John's body seemed more flexible than the others
    while in Raul's form my hands felt pudgy and clumsy. Tanc's legs seemed
    so long compared to my own that I kept stumbling as I walked. Shifts in
    height or reach could be a minefield, as they changed my perception of
    distances and space. Even mundane alterations could be striking. In
    each body I had a different heartbeat, an alien breathing rhythm, the
    altered tang of saliva in my mouth and the feel of a new set of teeth
    against my tongue.

    Practicing the changes I found I could control the imprinting so that
    it didn't happen on every physical contact. The transformations were
    coming easy now and the overwhelming rush of the impressions didn't
    make me feel sick like the first time.

    I felt I was ready to try the biggest change yet. I wanted to become a
    girl.

    This was something I didn't want to mention to Jo. This was all about
    sex, okay? Pure gratification. I was this lanky geek, a horny teen
    who'd never dated yet was forced to swim in the hormone-charged
    environment of high school. I felt I was missing what other guys at
    school seemed to be getting, and that was pussy.

    But now I could change my physical form to whomever I was able to touch
    and imprint. Who needed to date a woman if you could become one? This
    fever dream began to exterminate all rational thought. I started to
    fantasize about transforming into a hot chick and checking myself out.

    As soon as the idea of changing into a girl began to careen across my
    imagination, I began to form a plan. I wanted to become someone foxy-
    looking, of course. By a shaky process of logic I concluded that I
    should imprint a person I'd never met and who didn't know me. So I set
    my trap at the Mall.

    If this sounds like stalkerish behavior, well, I plead that this was a
    victimless crime. I wasn't going to attack anyone, just touch them for
    a moment, imprint their physical pattern and then I'd be gone. However,
    I didn't want any awkward questions, so to disguise myself I changed
    into John's tall, rangy body. His was the closest shape to mine, I
    wasn't too clumsy in it and I could wear the same clothes in both
    forms. I biked down to the Mall and hung about the marble air-
    conditioned concourse, watching people walk by and rating the women on
    a one to ten scale.

    It took a while to find the right subject. Most of the women were too
    old or too young, too fat or thin. There were lumpen women, saggy
    women, girls with lived-in faces. There were some who looked great at a
    distance and as they walked closer did not look so hot. And there were
    some who were pretty, but not pretty enough. I had this great power and
    arrogantly felt I could afford to pick and choose.

    Eventually I saw what I wanted: she was definitely a nine out of ten, a
    lovely brunette with lustrous, shoulder-length hair. The woman was a
    twenty-something, with an oval face and dazzling eyes that were kissed
    with a dash of green. She had a small, straight nose and a generous
    mouth with inviting lips. Her figure was slim-waisted and wide-hipped,
    with what looked like shapely legs beneath her pants, and she wore a
    stretch top that barely contained her generous breasts. I watched them
    move as she did, bobbing in sympathy with her walk. The woman's well-
    tanned arms were bare, which was ideal for me to make contact, and she
    was alone, window shopping outside the chic clothes stores with a bag
    swinging from her shoulder. Heart in my mouth I approached her from the
    side.

    "Hi Julie!" I said to her, all enthusiasm and bonhomie. I had no idea
    who Julie was; it was the first name that came to mind. I lightly
    touched the woman's arm, just long enough to feel the zap and rush of
    the imprint. Startled, her head snapped to look at me, hair whirling
    and mouth open. I was momentarily transfixed; she looked really
    beautiful. But before she could say anything I immediately launched
    into an apology. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I said, backing out of her
    personal space. "From a distance I thought you were my friend. My bad,
    I'm real sorry."

    "No, uh, it's okay," she said and gave an embarrassed laugh. Her voice
    was light and friendly. She hadn't felt the imprint process. None of
    them ever do, though I saw her hand absently brush the skin where I'd
    touched her.

    "Look, I'd better go!" I said, thumbing toward the exit. "I gotta find
    my friend Julie. Again, I'm sorry about the mistake!" Heart-in-mouth I
    dashed outside to the lonely concrete post where I'd shackled my
    mountain bike. I took a moment to morph back into my own shape and then
    pedaled back home as fast as my legs could take me.

    I almost never made it. My limbs were shaking from the adrenalin rush
    of what I'd just done. And then there was the imprint of the woman's
    body, which was beginning to fill my senses.

    It's hard to articulate how an imprint feels. It's like a new sense, a
    spectral memory of a body shape on the edge of my consciousness. On
    that bike ride I could feel the outline of this woman's physical form
    and it was making me horny. My dick was so hard I could barely pedal.
    This was different from the guy forms I'd impressed. Almost as if it
    could touch them my mind could make out the fleshy physicality of
    breasts, the curve of a waist and an unfamiliar space between my
    thighs. It's a wonder I didn't orgasm in my shorts.

    Back in the house, I ran thumpety-thump upstairs and locked myself in
    the antiseptic privacy of the bathroom. I stripped in a hurry, clumsily
    hurling off shoes, shirt and pants until they were strewn across the
    floor. Then my hands, on autopilot, pushed down my shorts and began to
    stroke and jerk my dick, which was hard, hot and sleek. I felt an urge
    to ejaculate before I transformed. But the weight of the strange,
    feminine imprint on my psyche was too great. My mind kept flicking to
    the ghostly sensations of tits, ass and clit. The feeling of male
    orgasm began to build, but I couldn't stop the deep desire to change
    from overwhelming me. Just as I was about to come I began to morph and
    my penis shrunk back out of my hands. I was suddenly robbed of my
    ability to orgasm, leaving a momentary ache where my balls had been. In
    seconds, I was all woman, standing naked save for the shorts pooling
    around my ankles. In the bathroom mirror I could see a bloom of sweat
    across my heaving chest while the hand that had held my dick now
    grasped at empty air in front of my pussy.

    Not for the first time I was to discover that there's a disjoint
    between looking at a pretty girl and actually occupying her body. This
    is especially true when your only experience of hot women comes from
    airbrushed photos on the internet. There's a rude reality you have to
    face up to. This close I could see the myriad tiny flaws of a real
    woman's form. I had fine hairs on my arms, enlarged pores on my skin,
    tiny wrinkles near my eyes and a barely perceptible bend in my nose,
    along with a dozen other irritating defects. Already my long, dark hair
    was wandering into my face to itch and scratch at my nose and my hands
    rose up to flick it away with long-nailed fingers.

    Suddenly I was aware of padding in places that were unfamiliar. My ass
    and thighs felt unusually plump, as if the world around my tuchas began
    a long way away. Then there was the mass of flesh tugging at my chest
    muscles. I had breasts that were big, but without a bra to hold them
    they just sagged back against my body and looked uneven, one larger
    than the other.

    My cans were nothing like the firm mountains I'd imagined they'd be.
    They shivered like jello and yielded to the slightest touch. A tracery
    of veins tracked across a skin that blazed with pale bikini triangles.
    My hands mashed my boobs then lifted them, feeling their heft and
    fleshy weight. Something carnal stirred in my chest and crotch as
    fingernails brushed the hardening blobs of my redcurrant nipples and
    their large surrounds. It was different from a hard-on. This arousal
    was more like a heavy heat that made my skin more sensitive, that made
    me conscious of the secret new spaces inside of me.

    Suddenly the flaws didn't matter any more and my hands were all over my
    body. It was almost like I didn't have enough fingers to stroke, touch
    and pinch at all the parts of my new physique. Playing with my breasts
    was sensational, feeling a horny thrill prickle back from behind the
    teats and make its way to my cootchie, which became tremendously wet. I
    hadn't anticipated how rapidly this warmth and moistness in my loins
    would build. My face flushed and I felt as if I was starting to glow.
    As the excitement increased I caressed my flat belly, with its firm
    abs, and cupped the swell of my ass. It was a lovely peach-skinned
    behind, soft and satisfyingly round.

    And then, after exploring the slick sensitivity of my inner thighs,
    which staggered me and almost made me fall on the floor, I began to
    quest at the soft folds of skin around my vagina. I was about to slip
    one nailed finger gingerly in to the hot wetness when a voice from
    downstairs rose up and drenched me like a cold shower. It was Mom
    calling me down for lunch. I cursed a streak in a soft soprano and then
    stood there, staring angrily around the spotless expanse of the
    bathroom. The spell was broken and the exquisite sexual heat of my
    girl-body was cooling. Reluctantly, I focused for long enough to shift
    back to my own shape, feeling its bony angles develop and my balls
    drop. I felt a deep resentment at having to give up the exotic
    experience of being a woman and return to my original form. I wiped
    myself where girl-juices had dripped a slick, solitary trail down the
    inside of one thigh, then got dressed and went downstairs to a
    miserable meal.

    From that day on I would have to hunt for private moments to explore my
    feminine form. Often this was at night when I was safe in bed and the
    house was suspended in sleep. In the stillness, with the warm urban
    nightlight filtering through the blinds, I'd transform beneath the
    sheets. My skinny awkwardness would subside and swell into supple
    curves, reshaping the bedclothes. My head would suddenly be pillowed by
    a mass of soft hair.

    I'd lay there for a while, absorbing the new rhythms, the breathing and
    heartbeat, of this limber body. I'd taste my sweet saliva and explore
    my perfect, regular teeth with my tongue. Then slowly, in an act of
    seduction, I'd start to play with myself in the dark. Slim hands would
    flutter across my breasts as they puddled on my chest. Fingers would
    delicately pluck at my sweet teats, teasing them rigid and making my
    body writhe in response before my hand slid down across my belly and a
    ragged thatch of pubic hair to reach the entrance to my vulva. There,
    sliding into the folds of flesh, I was able to explore the hot
    moistness, hunt out my clitoris and press it to make my back arch. Then
    I'd enjoy the sensation of my fingers inside of me. I liked to withdraw
    a wet digit and taste myself; lapping with my tongue at the hot musk of
    my sex.

    The first time I climaxed it was difficult to keep the noise down and I
    lay in bed, gasping, feeling buzzy and blissed out. It was nothing like
    the urgent surge of my male orgasms. This was more like a tide, a rise
    and fall of sensation and emotion. Exhausted, I dozed off, still
    encased in a female body. I was fortunate not to be discovered before I
    woke and could change back.

    I kept this pattern of exploration up for almost two weeks, excited by
    my female shape and entranced by its otherness. I'd lock myself in my
    room all evening, enjoying the experience of being a woman. I felt more
    relaxed in this form, and was becoming increasingly comfortable with
    it. As the sensation of breasts and vagina became familiar, I started
    to appreciate the rest of what I thought of as my 'Julie body'. I loved
    the line formed by my slim waist and broad hips, and the way my center
    of gravity seemed to shift downwards. I admired the shapliness of my
    legs and how even the back of my knees seemed to be an erogenous zone.

    I would spend some evenings playing World of Warcraft in my Julie
    shape, typing chat messages to friends. They couldn't see me, of
    course. They didn't realize that I was now a hottie, sitting at a
    screen clad only in a bathrobe, a stray boob just poking out from
    behind the towelling. That gave me a secret thrill for as long as it
    lasted, but I'd always have to change back whenever we raided, as our
    guild used voice chat to communicate. I contemplated creating a new
    game account, a new identity in which I could be a woman all the time,
    and I wondered how differently my friends would respond to a girl's
    voice.

    Now I could turn into a sexy girl at will, I became obsessed with
    clothing and tried to see how much of my wardrobe would fit a figure
    that was shorter, but curved in new places. I pulled on a T-shirt that
    squashed my chest flat, then fondled my boobs through the taut fabric.
    That was so arousing that I tried my swimming briefs on. They stretched
    pleasingly over the plumpness of my ass but bunched into unsightly
    folds at the crotch. At least there was plenty of space there to reach
    a hand inside and rub my vajayjay.

    My boy clothes were all the wrong cut and didn't feel comfortable or
    sexy enough. I wondered what it felt like to try on some women's
    clothing. One Saturday afternoon, while my parents were visiting a
    distant uncle, I stayed home and nervously snuck into the sacred space
    of my mother's wardrobe. Mom was in her late thirties and, my friends
    reckoned, had kept her looks. Amongst the racks of clothes I found
    something that I thought I could squeeze my girl form into.

    I took it down from its hanger, a simple knee-length dress with a
    conservative floral pattern. I stripped nude, unzipped the back and
    stepped into it, feeling a thrill as I pulled it up. The dress slid up
    my legs, but then got stuck at my ass. I had to spend a few minutes
    working my curves into it, inch by inch. By the time I'd managed, with
    some effort, to zip it (mostly) up the back, everything felt
    constricted and fit to burst. I could barely move for fear of something
    ripping.

    I found Mom's shoes in the wardrobe and was disappointed to find, after
    forcing my feet into a pair of pumps, that they pinched badly. I stood
    in front of the mirror, wrapped too tight to move, my bust squashed to
    overflowing while wobbling precariously on Mom's heels. I was not
    comfortable, and yet the whole experience of dressing as a woman made
    the experience more thrilling, more sexy. I was turned on by the sight
    of myself in a dress. When I clutched my breasts through the fabric my
    body responded with strong arousal, straining at the confining apparel.

    There was no way I could diddle myself like this, so I levered off the
    dressâ€"an operation as difficult as getting it onâ€"and looked for what
    else I could try. Mom's underwear drawer netted a pair of silky panties
    that stretched satisfyingly over my smooth behind. I was disappointed
    to find that her bras were far too small for my capacious chest, but in
    another drawer I found a striped bikini top that could just about be
    made to fit, though it barely cupped my boobs

    So in this mismatched outfit of bikini bra, panties and two-inch pumps,
    I flopped onto my parents' bed and began to touch myself. I was now
    expert in arousing my girl-body. I swiftly felt the wetness come and
    then rammed my hand down the sheer front of Mom's underwear to start
    the gentle stirring and flicking that would bring me to climax.

    This shape was addictive. But there was something else, besides the
    erotic sensation of girl flesh, that brought me back to this body. I
    was now an attractive woman. I felt desirable. Who would reject someone
    who looked at hot as me? People would at last pay me the attention I
    never received as a guy.

    I climaxed and lay panting, legs akimbo on the bed. The bikini bra was
    askew on my chest, the panties were pushed down across my thighs and
    those too-tight high heels dug into the bedcover. I must have looked a
    mess. As I lay in the afterglow I contemplated going out dressed as a
    woman, but I hadn't the guts and I had nothing that fitted.

    Days passed and I soon discovered a new limitation of my powers. So
    long as the imprint remained fresh, the change was easy. When I
    transformed each night I retained a pristine memory of the body shape.
    It would even retain changes from the night before, such as the time I
    tried shaving my pubic hair, creating a stubbly patch and a couple of
    small razor nicks that reappeared each time I changed.

    However, if I didn't change into a form regularly, its imprint would
    degrade. School and chores and late nights hanging with my friends
    online in World of Warcraft finally got the better of me. Exhausted, I
    began to go straight to sleep without changing as soon as I hit the
    hay. So when, after skipping a couple of nights, I tried to shapeshift
    again I realized that my memory of 'Julie' had partially faded.

    I focussed on the imprint and felt the usual tingle of morphing, but
    the result petered out into an incomplete change. It felt all wrong.
    When I stripped and looked in the mirror I appeared to be half man and
    half woman. I checked my face and it was partly feminized with Julie's
    and nose and the mass of her soft hair framing my features. Though my
    hips had widened and my ass had swelled into its familiar proportions,
    my waist was still thick and below the abdomen my genitals remained
    male, though shriveled and weeny. My narrow chest sported a pair of
    tiny, pointed mounds like those of a pubescent girl.

    I tried to play with this androgynous physique, but it didn't function
    properly. My unfilled breasts ached slightly, as if in
    growing pains, and rubbing them only made them sore. It took an age to
    bring my tiny dick and balls to climax. It was really difficult to jerk
    myself when my penis was so small. At the moment I came barely anything
    came out and the pleasure it gave was miniscule and unsatisfying.

    The realization that I'd lost the woman's imprint was like a
    bereavement. I had become accustomed to that body's comfort and poise
    and cursed myself for letting it disappear. I'd never find that woman
    again and so I sulked for a day, wondering what to do. Then I resolved
    to search for some new bodies to replace hers. I picked out the most
    attractive girls in my classes and found ways to imprint them without
    getting too touchy-feely. I could now handle three imprints without
    much distraction. It wasn't long before I had a new parade of imprinted
    shapes. I could feel their exotic forms at the edges of my
    consciousness.

    With three girl bodies stored safely away my nights became a carnival
    of solo sex, enjoyed between the sheets of my bed. The experience of
    wearing the new bodies was mind-blowing.

    The first shape I tried on was that of a girl named Tani. She was an
    ash blonde with a nondescript, almost homely face, but her incredible
    curves meant she was much in demand with the boys. It took a gentle
    touch of her hand in class to capture her form. Back at home when I
    changed bodies that first time I had the brief sensation of feeling
    inflated, like a Michelin man. As I adjusted to the shift of fleshy
    ballast my sense of balance was thrown. Then I looked in the mirror to
    check myself out. Tani possessed a fabulous hourglass with a broad
    carriage and heavy breasts sagging down her ribcage, aureoles like
    bruised circles.

    It didn't take long to put Tani's nimble fingers to work, exploring and
    circumnavigating my new frame. Tani was not fat, but her voluptuousness
    was such that transitioning from my lean male body to hers was like
    being zippered into a padded suit. I began to play with my tits, which
    hung like ripe eggplants from my chest, but found they were less
    sensitive than in my last girl body. The doughy masses seemed to get in
    the way when I moved and were hot and a little uncomfortable. However,
    as my hands slid down below the slight swell of my/Tani's belly, I
    discovered her vulva. Even before I could enter myself, I felt
    something dilate and in moments I was in flood. Tani's clit was a
    beautiful instrument to play with; a sleek knot of nerve-endings that
    slipped beneath my fingers. Its responses were so acute that in my
    nocturnal explorations I had to be careful not to moan as I stroked and
    worked it towards a climax. My middle finger sucked and popped as I
    thrust it in and out of Tani's, no MY wet vagina. I worked it hard
    with rapid little motions, tension brewing until I crested the wave and
    came. In Tani's body orgasms were vast and emotional, washing over me
    in great beach-breakers, leaving me quietly sobbing, unable to staunch
    the tears.

    Over the days that followed I kept coming back to Tani's pillowy form.
    Her pussy became mine each night and it had me entranced. I began to
    use bananas, whisked from the fruit bowl, as improvised dildos,
    slipping them between my lips then pushing them gently and deeper
    inside until the sensation was so great I could barely breathe. Jerking
    the fruit back and forwards in my vagina I seemed to discover new
    spots. These broadcast dizzying thrills that made my limbs jerk and my
    hips squirm. Here was a luxurious body that screamed for sex. It was a
    peak I needed to come down from.

    By contrast with Tani, Shelley was a slender, apple-cheeked girl with
    the beautiful, elastic body of a ballerina. In class I had fallen for
    her smiling eyes and toothsome grin, framed by a bob of dark hair. It
    took a momentary touch when handing her a book to steal her imprint.

    When I morphed into Shelley's frisky form I discovered she had the most
    amazing boobs. They were small, high and barely needed any support.
    They came with delightful cherry nipples that, when aroused, broadcast
    intense pleasure. Immediately after changing I would rub my body
    against my bed so that my tiny teats would begin to buzz.

    It was the closest thing I'd yet tried to my male shape: an energetic
    body with a boyish figure that was tight, taut and toned. Shelley had
    shaved her pussy and it was lovely to slip my finger into her snug,
    moist vagina and tenderly quest for pleasure. It was as Shelley that I
    discovered how different women's bodies could be from each other. Her
    clitoris was a fleshy bean that needed careful caressing. Orgasms were
    less overwhelming than in Tani's form. Rather, they were like sharp
    peaks of erotic sensation coursing from tip to toe and winding back up
    between my legs. But unlike Tani, where each climax would leave me
    spent and emotionally wrecked, as Shelley I could rouse myself to
    consecutive orgasms, and often did.

    I developed a new masturbation technique in Shelley's body. I would
    bring myself close to climax and then change back to my boy form.
    Suddenly my dick would rear up, aroused and coated in Shelley's girl
    juices. With a few slick jerks of my hand I would orgasm, spurting
    thick ropes of semen onto my stomach. Immediately I would change back
    into a girl and lay there, cum pooling on my baby-soft belly, using my
    fingers to rub the sour-smelling semen up onto my tiny
    boobs, where I'd lubricate the tips. I once even tried a taste and
    found it wasn't that bad. I briefly fantasized about making Shelley's
    body pregnant with my own seed, until cold reality dawned and made me
    drop the idea like a lead anvil. I had no idea of what havoc pregnancy
    would play with my power and I feared getting stuck in that form.

    The last of the trio of imprints was that of Lita, a beautiful Asian
    girl with a heart-shaped face and full, kissable lips. It was odd to
    look in the mirror and, with a finger, gently trace the sharp
    epicanthic fold above my dark brown eyes. Her body was well
    proportioned, with elegant lines and shapely legs.

    Lita's chest was a modest pair of ice cream scoops, with up-tilted
    nipples. But I found her boobs thrilling to fondle and they felt
    comfortable in a way that Tani's enormous knockers had not. Again, the
    response to sex felt different than in my other shapes. In this lithe
    body my orgasms were relaxing releases of nervous energy that made me
    want to sink into drowsy torpor.

    The best thing about Lita was that she was the same height and slim
    shape as my mother. I waited until my folks went away again before I
    stole once more into my parents' bedroom to play with Mom's clothes.
    Naked, I slipped on a pair of four-inch pumps and discovered that Lita
    could wear Mom's shoes. With a little practice I could walk in them
    comfortably, my trim fanny figure-eighting as I strolled across the
    room. Mom's bras were just the right size to pack my perky bosom into
    and I soon found myself encased in an underwired lace brassiere and
    matching panties. I felt so hot and sexy it was all I could do to stop
    myself dancing.

    Dresses, pants and blouses fitted perfectly and I spent an exciting day
    dressing up. I learned to walk in a skirt, which felt so strange
    compared to pants. I marveled at the sheerness of a peach color silk
    teddy sliding against my skin. I admired myself in a side-tie bikini
    while still wearing those shiny heels that seemed to elongate my nice
    legs even further. I put on a black party frock and paraded up and down
    the bedroom, feeling it swish around me. I knew I had here a wardrobe I
    could go out in, even if it was for someone a little older.

    With three bodies at my command this was the happy time. I was sorta
    getting sex, even if it was by masturbating. I would change two or
    three times every night to keep the imprint of each girl-shape fresh.
    The power did wonders for my self-esteem and I found that even in my
    male body I was beginning to act more confident and assertive in
    company.
No more chapters.
anon_9578ed1ef80e ∙ 29 Jun 2025