We have a special visitor today with a very strange and very sexy story to tell.
Do you have any questions for our visitor?
I know what you’re thinking.
“That’s a cute pair of panties.”
First, thank you. Second, I’m no ordinary pair of panties. I’m a MAGICAL pair of panties!
I mean, you probably guessed that much. After all, I’m talking to you, and you probably don’t know a lot of underwear with such a particular talent. But that’s not even my most exciting skill. See, I can turn men into women.
You’re skeptical. I get it. It’s hard to believe such a thing is possible. But it’s true, I swear! I’ve done it dozens of times. Aren’t you the least bit curious how it happens?
Ever since my mistress created me, I’ve understood a singular purpose. Transforming men into women is the reason I exist.
Oh, my mistress? Well, I was going to tell you about-
Well, I suppose I can tell you a bit about her first. She’s beautiful and ageless. You might call her a witch, but she prefers the term ‘Enchantress’. My mistress is the most powerful magic user that’s ever existed.
Anyway, she’s a magnificent woman who’s made it her goal in life to punish men who cheat or otherwise mistreat woman. That’s why she created me!
She puts me on before her date. I feel the heat and the warmth from her snatch grow as the date proceeds. Her wonderful, sweet pussy, soon to be defiled.
“Do you want to go back to my place?”
They always ask. My mistress always says yes. They pull me off with rough, single-mindedness, flinging me to the corner, where I settle on the floor or behind a piece of furniture.
Grunting, moaning, tragic, necessary sex commences.
Uncouth slobs, lustfully lunging at my mistress. She engages them with amorous clamor, a feat she describes as “Pity Sex”. A pity because they won’t ever be using that penis again… not if I have my way.
When the moon sets and the sun rises, my mistress is gone, but I remain. They don’t always find me right away, but when they do, it’s the scariest part of the cycle. Some men intend to keep me as a trophy, but others want to eliminate the evidence before their partner finds me.
Fortunately, when I touch skin (other than my mistress’) I can make suggestions. They’ve never suspect the ideas are not their own, but I can’t always ensure my safety.
“Don’t you want to remember that fantastic night?” I might ask. “You should keep me as a keepsake.”
“Does your girlfriend wear sexy panties like this for you? Keep it and maybe she’ll wear it!”
“It still smells like her sopping wet pussy. Maybe you should hold onto me a while longer.”
They always end up keeping me.
Sometimes it’s a long while before they remember me. But, when they do, I make the most of the opportunity.
“She was so confident and sensual. Maybe you should try it on. No one has to know.”
My powers are weak and severely limited while they hold me with their hands. Once they put me on, their fate is sealed, however they don’t usually put me on right away. Tet once the seed is planted, they keep coming back. The same suggestion, bubbling up every time they touch me, is impossible to resist. Eventually they always try me on. My power is multiplied a thousandfold.
At first, it’s experimental. Feeling my silky texture slide up their legs, nestling around their manhood, stretched by their inappropriate anatomy. It must be corrected, but my primary goal is to ensure they wear me more, and for longer stretches.
“This feels amazing. You can do anything!”
Eventually they all wear me out of the house. Hidden under work slacks, or even disguised under a conventional pair of boxers for the most conservative targets, I begin a campaign of confidence.
“You got this.”
“No problem, you can handle anything.”
“These panties are lucky.”
“You fucked the hottest girl ever. Nothing can stop you.”
It’s not unusual for the first day to mark the most successful work day they’ve ever had. Or if their goal was athletic, an unparalleled individual achievement. Don’t underestimate the power of a cheerleading squad in your own head. Of course they try it the next day with similar results. And the next day, and so on. After all, I’m their lucky little secret.
Before they know it, they’re wearing me every day and my real work begins.
My primary ability begins to alter their body gradually, bit-by-bit. I begin by smoothing blemishes and softening hair. It helps my target’s confidence without presenting any obvious evidence of my true aims. If they’re not already fit, I help them lose weight, too.
“Your hair would look nice if it were longer.”
“You should shave your entire body smooth, the ladies love it and your panties would feel even nicer!”
I help ensure they don’t need to shave very often.
For the most part, they go on living their lives while I slowly tweak their bodies into a more feminine shape. Day by day, their facial features soften, their shoulders draw in, their waists narrow. Bulging muscle is replaced by sinewy, lean structures. Over the course of months, my changes are so subtle, few even notice the ways I alter them.
However, it’s not just their bodies I change. Along with the nudging encouragement, I offer less subtle ideas, blurring the lines of gender and sexuality. By now they’ve separated with their partners who have long since tired of my target’s disinterest in sexual intimacy.
“You don’t feel like sleeping with woman, you have more important things to do.”
Then things really start to get fun.
“You love wearing panties, maybe you should try wearing some other woman’s clothes… I bet you could even pass as a girl.”
I don’t expect them to march off to the nearest Victoria’s Secret, but you’d be amazed how excited they get, browsing the web for their first skirt. I’m spread taught across their erections as they squeeze their thighs together in acute arousal, but it’s a significantly smaller erection than it would have been 6 months earlier.
Waiting for that first package to arrive is thrilling. When they open it to find dresses and skirts they ordered… all manor of girly clothes. They’re always so excited!
Of course they can pass. By now they’re as much woman as man. Androgynous, but still technically male, they try on clothes alone before the mirror experimentally flashing feminine poses, rock hard the entire time. Next they start experimenting with makeup.
“You look so cute, you were meant to be a woman.”
By the time they start leaving the house in women’s clothing, things are mostly running on autopilot. I’m busy granting their unvoiced wish, gifting them the vagina they so desperately pine for. With supple curves, ample breasts, and an ass to die for, a tender nub is all that remains of my target’s masculinity.
My power of suggestion is relegated to convincing my subject to avoid wearing any of the other adorable panties they’ve purchased by now. The transition I begat is now a runaway train, ultimately bound for true feminine desires.
After a few weeks, they’ll discover the virgin slit beneath my silky cover. Sometimes it begins with curiosity and I get to feel their first experimental touches through my fabric with slender fingers on one side and a moist, drooling cunt within. Nothing makes me happier that to feel my target touch themselves with me on! I love feeling their thighs quiver as they moan and quake with their first female orgasm.
Other times, they discover their femininity an entirely different way. The first time my target gets hit on, I feel a trace of pride. Having men admire my work of art, brings me such joy!
“There’s no harm in going on a date with a man.”
“One more glass of wine couldn’t hurt.”
“Kiss him.”
I feel her grow wet with desire.
By the end of the date, she’s begging for him to suck her nipples or to plunge his cock in her wet pussy just one more time, clutching at his hips, urging him deeper and harder, squealing with delight.
I admire my work with a trace of sadness as she forgets her lucky panties at her mysterious new lover’s apartment. But, as the handsome suitor transforms back into my beloved mistress, my excitement rises.
We are ready to begin the whole cycle one more time!
Emily Cummings' TG Fiction 