Be Careful What You Wish For

"Well, Mr. Hendricks might not like it, but I think I know someone who does," she said, looking directly at me. A coy smile played on her lips, and the tip of her tongue touched her upper teeth.

Fuck yes, she is definitely coming on to Maggie. And not for the first time, by the look of things.

I did my best to present a mature, professional expression. "When are you finished up with rehearsals today, lovely? I want you to return then so we can finish here—your fitting might need more time." I felt an odd flutter deep in my belly as myriads of lascivious thoughts raced through my mind.

"We are nearly done," Ravenhair said. "They're towards the end of the last number, so I only have one more section to dance. Most girls are already getting ready to head out; the rest should be done—gone—in about 45 minutes." She waited patiently. Or maybe obediently?

"Good then," I said. I gestured to the unitard. "Now, off with this and get back to work then." I waited to see how she would react to that instruction, whether she would actually strip nude in front of me and walk back like that into the dressing room.

I wasn't disappointed.

Ravenhair locked her eyes on mine, then slowly slipped the unitard off her shoulders and slid it down, over and off her boobs, then to her waist. I watched as if seeing a painting created in real-time—the top of her light brown areolae and nipples appeared, which hardened in the cooler air. Then her bare beautiful tits were presented to me; firm, soft, round, and delicious, with nipples crying out to be kissed and sucked. It took all my willpower to resist cupping, squeezing, and caressing them.

Damn, I love ballerina boobies; they are my new favorite thing.

She continued to peel the skin-tight garment down, revealing her tight, toned abs, waist, and hip bones. I watched, mesmerized, as she slid the fabric lower; a tightly trimmed landing strip of dark pubes led down to shaved labia. Her inner lips extended slightly further past her outer and were somewhat crinkly. A beautiful, perfect pussy. She had a gap between her thighs up by her crotch, and her larger outer lips made two prominent mounds—as if designed to maximize a camel toe in tight clothes.

Slipping the unitard off her legs, Ravenhair turned, fully nude, and handed it to me. She smiled tantalizingly, then turned and walked away. I simply gawked at her backside as she sauntered naked into the other room. Her ass was—not surprisingly—perfectly toned, and her firm muscles rippled as she walked.

I again felt an unfamiliar flutter in my gut and a clenching between my legs—it took me a moment to remember I was currently in a woman's body. I felt what a woman would feel when aroused. I missed my cock, which would have been ramrod straight up by now, but I loved the new sensations that Maggie's vagina and other feminine bits provided.

With a deep breath, I checked the time: it was almost 4:00pm. Should have a good two hours or more left of my "wish" transformation—plenty of time to play with . . . wonder what Ravenhair's name is?

I searched inside the unitard and found a tag with the name "Lavinia B." Lavinia. A lovely name for a lovely girl. Unless that's someone else's name. Wonder what her last name is?

I folded the unitard over a hanger and hung it with a group of other colorful costumes; I seemed to go on auto-pilot and knew where it went. Apparently, if I didn't overthink, I would respond or act like Maggie and know things she knew. Speaking of Maggie, I decided to look closer at my temporary body.

I went to a mirror, ran my hand along my hair and through my ponytail, then turned sideways to admire the line of my bust. Then, after glancing at the doorway to ensure I was alone, I cupped my tits, squeezed them, and mashed them around.

Weird. My boobs, but touching them is so different—and feels nice. Sexy. I like it. Wonder if Ravenhair—Lavinia rather—ever plays with or sucks them? I wish I could see me/Maggie nude; she looks so sexy. I could touch her—myself—all over, feel what fingering a pussy feels like, touch bare boobs. Maybe in a while. But first, I've got a roomful of gorgeous dancers to ogle.

I was greeted by a delightful sea of mostly nude ballerinas in the women's dressing room. The rehearsal was close to the end. As each group finished, they changed, showered, and chatted; most seemed comfortable walking around or sitting topless. And I enjoyed seeing quite a few totally naked, though usually while changing or coming from the shower rather than parading about au naturale.

Occasionally a dancer would ask for help with her costume or ask Maggie/me a question. If I didn't think it through and started to speak, I would somehow say the answer. Often I didn't even understand the meaning of things I said—but I enjoyed interacting with the dancers through my Maggie facade. And I really got a kick out of my posh English accent.

I sat half on a counter by an empty dressing station and observed. A ballerina with blonde hair peeled off her costume and walked nude to hang it up; her long, toned legs ran up to her bare pussy, and her ass and thigh muscles rippled as she walked. She had bigger boobs than most others, but they probably looked more prominent against her lithe frame. Her nipples were on the small side and stood at attention up from her mounds.

Another girl sat at her dressing station topless. She removed her make-up, arms lifting and boobs wobbling. Then she took her ginger hair out of her bun and let it cascade loosely down her back. It was longer than I expected, falling well past mid-back. That is amazing. I wonder if her pussy hair is the same color? Ginger pubes—that would be hot as fuck. I'd definitely love to see if her carpet matches the drapes. I'd love just seeing her pussy at all—man, I'm getting greedy already here.

Two other ballerinas came out of the showers, chatting and oblivious to my stares. They both had towels wrapped around their hair, like a turban, as women seem to do, and wore nothing else. One was a Carmel-colored petite black woman with small tits, dark nipples, and trimmed pussy. The other dancer looked Hispanic or Italian, with tawny skin, dark hair and eyes, handful-sized tits with pink-tinged brown nipples, and a bare pussy. Mmm, I'd love a side-by-side taste test of these two pussies . . .

"Hey, Maggie, did Linnie finish her fitting before?" I was brought out of my reverie by a sudden voice. I looked over to see a pair of soft brown eyes, then a face with flawless skin, then the figure of a topless ballerina standing next to me wearing only her off-white/pinkish tights. It took me a moment to tear my eyes off her petite boobs, upturned nipples, smooth skin, and sexy hips and legs. I could clearly see the outline of her trimmed landing strip of dark pubic hair through her thin tights.

I physically shook my head to refocus, thinking. Who the hell is Linnie? How do I answer this?

"Oh, ok, then," the dancer said. "I'll check with you in the morning about coordinating the color match after she's finished."

She must've mistaken my head-clearing shake for a "no" shake. I smiled at her. "Good plan; we'll connect then." I had no idea what she was talking about but figured that would be the real Maggie's problem. "How'd everything go for you today?" I wanted to keep her there longer to relish her extraordinary body. Somehow seeing the dark of her pubes through her tights was particularly intriguing and sexy.

"Rehearsals went great," Miss Brown Eyes replied. "Mr. Hendricks seemed pleased and said we were ready to perform." She gave an enigmatic smile that I never found out what it meant. "Gotta run now, see ya in the a.m."

She skipped away, and I noticed I could also make out the line of her ass crack through her tights. I decided that light pinkish ballet tights with nothing under or over were my new favorite thing.

The dancers soon finished and cleared out of the dressing room, leaving me in solitude for a few minutes. Then, I wandered back into Maggie's—my—workroom, sat at a table by a sewing machine, and let all the wild images of nude ballerinas replay in my mind.

A voice calling in a loud stage whisper echoed through the empty room. "Maggie, you still here? It's Linnie." I heard footfalls approach the workroom.

"In here," I said, looking towards the dressing room. Appearing in the workroom doorway like an angelic vision stood Lavinia . . . or Linnie apparently. It must be her nickname, or the tag was wrong, and she is just Linnie. Either way, my face lit up with a big grin when I saw her. "Hello, lovey; here for your fitting, I see. In you come now."

Why am I talking like this? I try to say things, and they come out all flowery and English.

Lavinia/Linnie came into the room. She was in street clothes; tight jeans, a soft fuzzy sweater, and sandals. With precisely zero experience with women, let alone dom-sub interactions, I instinctively understood that Linnie obeyed my commands. She walked towards me, her eyes crinkling and hips softly swaying.

"Up on the fitting box you go," I said. "I believe we need to double-check some of your measurements and ensure everything is accurate for your unitard." The obvious pretense of our little "take unnecessary measurements" game did nothing to douse the heat I was feeling.

Linnie—Lavinia . . . I had gotten used to her name being Lavinia in my mind, despite never having ever called her that. Flip a coin, and pick a name; who cares? But she used Linnie, so I guess that's her preference. Linnie stepped up and looked at me expectantly. "Ok?" She asked.

I looked at her petite, toned figure, beautiful chocolate brown eyes, and black hair. "Now, how do you suppose I can get proper measures with all those bulky clothes on? Be a good girl, now, off with the junk." I had no idea what she would do; I knew what I'd hoped.

Without hesitation, Linnie pulled her sweater up and off; she wore nothing underneath, and I was thrilled to again gaze upon her perfect tits. I felt a ripple of pleasure deep in my—or Maggie's—gut. I wanted to rub my crotch and scratch the itch that had become prevalent.

Linnie unbuttoned her jeans and slipped them down and off; I had but a moment to glimpse a tiny blue satin thong before it, too, was removed. She stood fully nude before me, a twinkle in her eye, crinkled areolae, and hard nipples exposing her arousal.

Holy shit, I can't believe this. I'm about to touch my first tits, my first nude woman.

I placed the palm of my hand on her toned abs, then slid up and cupped her boob, carefully monitoring her reaction to see if I was going too far. She bit her lip playfully and smiled.

"So, your unitard lies nicely flat along here," I began as I caressed one tit and the other. I felt Linnie's hard nipple against my palm; my own nipples constricted, and my/Maggie's vagina quivered. I ran my hand—then added my other hand—from her boobs down her sides to her waist. "Don't remember a problem here." I reached around to her ass and cupped both cheeks; my nose was inches from her belly as I did so.

"Mmm, that's nice; I'm glad you're thorough with your measurements," Linnie giggled.

I continued my pseudo-measuring by running both hands down the outside of her legs to her knees, then placed both palms on the front of her thighs, thumbs towards each other. "The thigh area fits very nicely, so no problem there." I continued sliding my hands up towards her pussy; Linnie shuffled her legs further apart as I approached her labia.

My eyes were glued to the body before me; I couldn't believe I was touching, stroking, and seeing a gorgeous, sexy, perfect ballerina. A naked ballerina.

I took one hand off and squeezed my own tit—it felt sensitive and receptive and sent a wave of pleasure into my belly. Finally, I couldn't resist any longer; I pressed my hand into my crotch, my fingertips into my cleft. I just copped my first feel of a pussy. My own, but not mine. Does that count, then? This is so confusing.

Turning back to the embodiment of sex-engendering desires, I put my hand back on Linnie's thigh and looked straight at her pussy. My thumbs rested at the bottom of her labia, framing the image with my fingers along the sides. The living picture of my first close-up real pussy.

"This seems to be the area of trouble, I suspect," I said in my professional Maggie voice. I traced around Linnie's labia, up through her trimmed landing strip on her vulva, and lightly down along her slit. I watched with fascination as droplets of her juicy arousal smeared and coated my fingers. My own pussy fluttered in response.

Linnie's labia were swollen, and her inner lips responded to my stroking by staying pressed open to the sides. I was having trouble maintaining the obvious pretense of measuring or fitting anything. Instead, I wanted to taste her. Taste my first pussy. Taste her juices; her pussy was so inviting, so tempting.

"And, I seem to have solved the mystery of the moisture problem we encountered earlier—with the unitard getting damp. Clearly, this area . . ." I ran my fingertips around, over, and along her pussy lips. Linnie gasped at my touch. "Has become too swollen and wet, causing the uni to get damp. So, in my learned opinion, we can either make the uni crotch looser or maybe address this issue of swollen wetness. Let's see if I can work out a way to clean up some of this excess moisture."

I felt my own vagina gushing with arousal. Time to lose the fake narrative and taste the rainbow. I leaned close to Linnie's pussy, breathed in, and relished her aromatic scent. I actually salivated at the faint odor; maybe Maggie's response, but oh, so hot.

I slid my tongue between her labia, up and pressed it flat against her clit; I could feel the engorged nub on my tongue. Linnie's belly undulated with her soft moan, and mine flipped in synchronistic pleasure. I licked along her delicate inner lips, along the edges, and gently suckled them, then pressed my tongue into her vaginal opening, feeling the pulsating walls. Linnie put her hands on my head, pulled me into her, and pressed her pelvis forward. I flicked my tongue rapidly on her clit, alternating with tiny pulsing sucks with my lips. I simultaneously pressed a finger into her vagina, causing her to moan.

I'm eating my first pussy, holy shit. I love this. I love the taste and the feel. Licking pussy has become my new favorite thing.

My tongue seemed to know what to do, even if I didn't. Thank you, Maggie; I love you! I circled, rubbed, flicked, and suckled Linnie's clit, while my finger—then two—slid into her sopping vagina, feeling the slightly ribbed walls. Her breathing became short and ragged, and her moans were louder and more intense. With each ripple and quiver of her belly and vagina, I felt wetness, clenching, and pulsing in my own groin. Women have fantastic sexual sensations—who knew?

Linnie suddenly forcefully pressed my face into her pussy and thrust her hips. She sharply contracted down, clenching her belly, loudly moaned, then cried out. She began to tremble, then shuddered throughout her whole body. Her vaginal muscles clamped down on my fingers as her orgasm ripped through her in massive waves of ecstasy.

"Oh, yeah, oh." Linnie stammered through her orgasmic tremors. "Fuck, yes, oh, mmm."

I shoved my hand down the front of my pants and felt my—Maggie's—hot wetness. I rubbed between my labia, pressed two fingers as deep as possible into my sopping vagina, and pumped them in and out. I wanted to feel the rough friction slamming into me. I was so aroused I could feel my loins churning and an unfamiliar pressure building.

I felt cool air on my tits as Linnie pulled open my blouse and pushed my bra off my boobs. I hadn't noticed she had stepped down from the fitting platform and was sitting on it, her face level with my chest. The cool air was replaced by warm wetness as she took my nipple into her mouth, sucked and licked it while squeezing and caressing both tits with her hands.

My hand furiously finger-fucked myself, then I ripped open my pants and rubbed my clit with my other hand. My pussy undulated and gripped my fingers; my engorged clit sent electric jolts radiating through my body. Linnie's sucking and squeezing my nipples and tits caused me to tremble with pleasure.

I couldn't believe how all-encompassing the sexual feelings were, the total stimulation, the deep surging power erupting from within. Jerking off my cock was pretty limited to that spot; nothing like this. Damn, women are lucky. I'm surprised they don't want to fuck all day long; this is incredible.

I was roiling with sexual pleasure, stimulation enveloping my whole body. I fingered and rubbed my pussy, while Linnie sucked one nipple and played with the other. Then she suddenly squeezed, pulled, and twisted my other nipple with her fingers—pulled with force.

The shock and extra stimulation pushed me over the edge. Fire shot down into my pussy, and my entire body exploded with orgasmic pleasure as I came. I contracted my belly and bent forward, then arched back, eyes clamped shut and toes clenched, as tremors crashed through me. I cried out loudly, but it sounded like some other voice.

My head spun, and I felt darkness press over me. My body quivered with orgasmic aftershocks, and my pussy gushed wetness. I was covered with sweat, breathing heavily. I felt heavy, as if my body had melted into the soft cushions I was lying on.

Soft cushions? What the fuck?

I froze. Listened. Reached to my side and felt . . . pillows. I slowly forced my eyes open; the lids felt like they were glued shut. I looked up and saw the ceiling—my ceiling. I was in my bedroom. Back where I started the transformation. I sat up and looked around. The crystal lay on the floor, my "wish" paper and the incantation parchment just where I had left them. But I was naked. I was covered with sweat, and sticky semen coated my belly.

That wasn't just a dream—it couldn't have been. What happened? Was I somewhere else? Was that real?

I realized I was holding something; I opened my hand and saw a crumpled cloth tape measure. A tailor's tape measure. I grabbed my laptop and Googled the ballet company's website—I had only found the company's name and where they performed when I'd looked them up earlier. I clicked "About" and then "Our Artists."

Rows of familiar faces smiled back at me as I scrolled through the company dancers. I grinned inwardly as I recalled the nude bodies corresponding to the photos. Finally, I stopped at one—a beautiful ballerina with raven black hair and olive skin: "Lavinia Bianco, First Soloist."

I scrolled further through the Directors and Ballet Master Phillip Hendricks, then stopped and zoomed in on a picture. A familiar smiling face—a friendly face—looked back at me: "Margaret Hollingsworth, Wardrobe Mistress." Maggie.

Well, I'll be just damn fucked. It worked. I'm one of the Attuned. I can't wait to talk to the old man about all this. I can really transform myself, though I hadn't intended to turn into a woman. And I had my first sexual experience.

I just found my new favorite thing . . . .

END

______________________

I want to thank my good friend Lydia for giving me a peek behind the scenes of the theater and ballet world, and helping clarify some ballet attire terminology. Any inaccuracies are either my mistake or the result of fanciful embellishment.