Sins of the Ancestor Pt. 01

I thought about Jenny. How long had she stayed? Did what happened mean something? Fuck, did I even want it to? If so, am I gay? Surely I can't count as gay, I'm literally a guy in a woman's body. Plus, I'd fancied Jenny for years, fancied doing her with me as the guy. So there, I'm straight. For a man. With a pussy.

Argh.

Fine. Lets look at the other side. Do I want cock? Of course not. What would I do with it? Have a suck on one. Umm, how about no to that. Get it nice and solid then guide it to the entrance my pussy? Maybe I'll loosen my grip enough that he can push forwards an inch. Just enough to take the tip.

Uhhh...

Just enough to feel his cock stretch my opening for him. How different would it be to Jenny's fingers? Thicker, of course and unable to bend. More solid though, I bet, and with a better ability to...

Well damn. I'll give you ten guesses who just noticed that aching-longing feeling of arousal as they had thoughts about getting some dick? What, you only needed one? I'm shocked.

I rested my forearms against the tiles in front of and breathed deeply. Was it me that wanted this or my body that wanted it? Fuck, was there even a difference between the two? Wait, was I still changing? Would I stop liking girls soon? Would it even end, might I end up fancying the tits off some goats or something?

I thought of Jenny as I sat astride her, remembering the image of her peeling off her top and afterwards, how her tits had filled out her bra with creamy flesh, pale against it's black fabric. Her knowing smirk just moments before she realised the reason for my hesitation. I felt a wave of heat that had nothing to do with the shower. Yep, still liked women.

I stared at the tiling, afraid of the next thought but knowing it was there. Knowing I had to face it sometime. I reached a decision and felt something in me harden with the resolution. This had happened to me. I could either seize it or be dragged along by it. I decided to seize it.

I cupped my tits, slowly pulling at my nipples. Dan, my housemate and wingman, is six-four and could probably bench press me right now. I had seen him on Friday strolling from the shower to his room, towel about his waist. He was still damp from the shower, his shoulders, biceps and pecs glistened. Yeah, that'd do for this mental sojourn.

I felt another wave of heat and groped harder at my breasts. I could picture him now, moving with that slow confidence, his muscles rippling and shifting as he moved. His pecs were solid, with enough bulk to show through when he wore a shirt. His bicep was bigger than my thigh. My clit throbbed.

How would his body feel against mine? All warm skin and hard muscle against my willowy frame. I had loved the feel of tits pressed against me, feeling them move as I thrust. How would it be to press mine to a man? To feel my nipples scrape against his chest, would the hair scratch at them? Would I like that?

My right hand slid down the side of my body, over stomach and hip until my fingers delve into my snatch. My index finger parts my lips, stroking up and down length of my slit.

What about his dick? Would I feel it swell and press into my hip, hard and simple in it's desire. I can touch a cock, right? I mean, I handled my own for years, this is just another, albeit with a different owner. My hands are smaller now, I'll have to squeeze a little tighter as I close my fist around him. The thought of holding another man's erection would have been the ultimate mood killer days ago. Now I revelled in the details.

Would his hips buck as he tried to fuck my fist?

Would he moan deep in his chest as I pump my hand up and down his shaft?

Would he whimper when I squeeze just under the glans, desperate for the release I can give him.

Another spike of lust lanced through me at that thought. My finger, wet with water and my juices, zeroed onto my clit. I indulged in the radiating pulses of pleasure that tiny organ was giving me before I returned to my fantasy.

I pictured Dan pressing against me, my clothes and his towel discarded as the backs of my knees hit the bed. I fold onto the covers. He follows, his hands finding my wrists and cock hot against my stomach. His meat would leave a slimy track on my belly as he shifted, trailing towards his reward: my tight, sopping cunt. My body would twist beneath him, trying to press my lithe form into his hardened one. He could kiss my neck, bite my shoulders, suckle my nipples as he pleased, his cock ready to plunge into my eager body...

Mmmm, not bad for a first attempt but it's not grabbed me like sex with Jenny did. Of course, she was right there and this was just in my head. Still, I decided to try something else.

I reset the image. This time he's backing up. I give him a shove, smirking as he topples to the bed. His cock stands proudly from between his legs: his own miniature peak. I will conquer that, I decide, and it'll be when I choose. I plant one knee beside his on the bed. He doesn't know where to look, splitting his gaze between my face, tits and cunt. He's riveted by me, I find that I thrive on that feeling.

I can capitalize on his indecision, planting my other knee the other side of his lap and straddling him. His arms are busy holding him upright, mine are free to glide over his biceps and shoulders, to wrap around his head as I shove my tongue deep into his mouth. Just a little shift of my legs and I have his cock pinned between his abs and my cunt. Then I could grind my clit onto his cock until it is time and I mount him.

Or I could abandon the foreplay, moving onto his lap and impaling myself immediately. I could use his shoulders for leverage and slam my pussy down on his cock at a relentless rate, not seeking my orgasm so much as demanding its immediate and unconditional arrival from his abused cock.

Or I smile evilly into his eyes as I take him in hand. He's desperate to get in me but I demand he prove his staying power first. I pump my hand relentlessly over his meat, my fingers gripping tight to overstimulate him. He's torn between getting lost in the moment and splattering his jizz over his stomach and chest or gritting his teeth, resisting the pleasure now for the hint of a chance at my cunt later. He will resist and I will reward.

Possibility after possibility flashed through my mind, each more intoxicating that the last. My hand was a blur, moving so fast over my clit that it had practically become a vibrator in its own right. I imagined us fucking at my command or at his, I saw me standing, demanding his tongue in my snatch. I saw me drop eagerly to my knees, leaning forwards with my mouth open... I moved on there. Somethings I wasn't quite ready for.

I had given up on pinching at my tit. The precariousness of wanking under a running shower combined with the sheer energy I was putting into the act had me unbalanced. To cope, I wedged myself into the corner against the cool tiles, the knuckles on my left hand white as I gripped the shower shelf.

That's how I held myself up as my climax hit me. It lacked the power of the transformation-induced climax and I lacked the skill Jenny held to manipulate a woman's cunt but damn was it satisfying to feel my body convulse from my own efforts. That orgasm had no magic fuelling it, no experienced lesbian showing me what my body could manage. Just me, my fingers and my imagination.

It was only when the tremors of pleasure were fading that the real implications of my climax struck me. In those fantasies, not only was I the only woman but I was active, willing and hell, sometimes even demanding of the men and their cocks (and tongues, and fingers...). It had excited me to distraction, my focus had been the filthy images flitting through my mind's eye and not the mechanics of how to work my clitoris, cunt and tits.

I had never wanted to go gay. I'd once heard a guy claim he'd fuck another man. His logic was that he'd take a woman up her arse and it's just another butt. I disagreed, the butt had a guy around it, that made it totally different and a deal breaker for me.

Not any more. Whatever had morphed my body had done something to my mind as well, changing me from desiring just women to liking both genders.

Fuck I had a lot to figure out.

***

That thought plagued me as I finished my shower (an act which began fishing out the razor I had dropped and completing the shaving of my legs and armpits and ended with confusion of what hair products I actually needed). After a brief, startling mistake involving yanking a towel across my chest, I dried myself with careful motions.

The walk to my room was less disturbing, I was adjusting swiftly to the changes in that regard at least, and I absently noted that I seemed to have kept the height I held before. Seems I'd been wrong before to assume that the magic would shrink me, though it had seemed like I a decent chance of being right with that one. I had been average height for a guy, I guess that made me a little on the tall side now.

Sara had been busy in my room during my shower-wank. On my bed were multiple sets of stonewashed jeans, fitted T's, knickers, bras and socks, along with a few pairs of trainers sat next to the bed. On my desk sat an envelope and a cooling cheese and ham toastie, Sara's best dish and one greeted by an appreciative rumble from my stomach. I fell on that first, inhaling it as if I'd not eaten for days. Oh wait, I hadn't.

On the second toastie, I slowed enough to regard the choices before me. The bras could fuck off, that I knew. My tits were small and as young as they could be, I'd spare myself dealing with them today. The knickers were all plain and functional. I thanked Sara silently for sparing me frills. I may have tits and a cunt, but I wasn't that much of a girl now. I popped the final corner into my mouth and snagged a dark pair from the bed. Stepping into them was fine, as was sliding them up my newly shaven legs. The issue came when settling them into place. Men's underwear was never so... so... snug, these almost felt like I was being groped by the fabric. I shivered, making my tits shake. I settled for a huff of consternation and moved to the jeans.

The first two sets wouldn't do up, the third I could yank off without unbuttoning them if I tried hard enough. That left the fourth and final pair which, thankfully, fitted pretty damn well. I snipped the label and heading back to the bed, ignoring the urge to check out my butt.

The T-shirts made me smile. I cannot be bothered to wear plain Ts with just the designers name stitched in like a walking advert, instead I generally wore ones with retro images and logos emblazoned on them. I settled on a Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles one (hero, ninja isn't retro) and pulled it on. My nipples were obvious through the yellow fabric. I decided I simply didn't care. Socks and shoes followed (second pair fitted, if you're playing at home), and I was ready. Well, as ready as I would ever be.

I made it to the bottom of the stairs. I could hear Sara shifting things around in the living room. I knew she was waiting, expecting us to have some big talk. Maybe go on that promised shopping day. Both prospects were wearying yet had to be done. I squared my shoulders, lifted my hand from the bannister and spotted Sara's car keys on the side.

I stared at them.

I had five hundred pounds in one pocket and my mobile in the other.

Sara had lied to me.

I acted on impulse and grabbed the keys. A moment later I was outside, locking Sara into the house. Then I was getting behind the wheel of her car, pulling the seat in a notch and starting the engine. I hesitated. I had no plan or destination, this would do absolutely nothing to help me.

Movement ahead drew my attention. Sara had pulled back the curtain and was staring at me, eyes widened in surprise. In all my life with her, I had never rebelled against her. Sure I had pushed the limits at school and, after Jenny came out, had been pretty reckless in my love life but I had never tried that at home. Sara and I had each other. We had a deal.

Sara had lied.

I slammed the car into reverse and got the hell out of there.