Subclasses Ch. 03

We giggle at each other for a moment. Giggling feels, surprisingly, much more natural in this body. It's not that I haven't wanted to giggle when in the body I was born with, but in this body, I don't feel foolish doing it.

"Why didn't that note you sent require the boy's consent?"

"Because I wasn't targeting him," she says, "I wasn't forcing him to do anything or to believe the contents of the note. I was just placing the information there and he could do with it what he wanted, the same as if I had walked up to him and told him she likes him."

I consider the implications of that. "I'm surprised that people with your ability don't abuse it to gain political power. After all, that much authority would make their battery recharge fast enough that it's practically limitless."

"I suppose they could," Beatrix says hesitantly, "but it would be harder than you might think. While I could send the boy the sticky note, I wouldn't be able to send him misinformation. If he accepted it without fact-checking it, that would violate his free will, and the info wouldn't appear at all. If he would fact-check it—somehow the universe just knows whether he would or not—the info would appear, but he would also realize someone was trying to manipulate him and be more wary."

"That's... reassuring," I say. I realize I've been absentmindedly caressing the top of her hand with my thumb, and discontinue the intimate gesture.

"Don't stop," she whispers breathlessly. I look at her, and she smiles shyly at me. Then, with a nonchalant shrug, she says, "It feels good." I begin again.

We continue chatting about the small things that people getting to know each other do. At some point, Beatrix notices that we're the only two people left in the cafeteria. "Are you ready to go?"

No, I think. "Yeah, I suppose so."

Together, we put our trays away. "Follow me back to my dorm room," she commands in that life-ending British accent. My ears perk up like a dog hearing the mailman. Heel, girl, I think to myself. As if reading my mind, she whispers a quiet incantation—the only word I catch is "invisible". I feel a collar form around my neck. I search it with my fingers for an idea of its shape. There's no clasp. My internal persona's legs go weak.

She whispers again, something I can't pick out. The front of the collar feels heavier. Beatrix gives a tentative yank on the invisible leash she has attached, the motion mirrored by my neck. I feel my vulva dampen again as desire takes root in my chest.

She gives me a look, one eyebrow raised, half-wicked, half-question. "Arf arf," I yap, in a teasing monotone. She smirks, pats my head, and leads me back to Nash Hall.

* * *

"So not that this isn't the most excitement I've felt between my legs in ... well, ever, actually," I say once we've entered the dorm room, "but was there a reason you wanted me to come with you, or do you just enjoy my company as much as I'm finding I enjoy yours?" As much as I might want to, I can't spend the night, I add in my head. I don't speak that thought aloud, lest it be too presumptuous. We had, after all, only met this afternoon.

Beatrix smirks and dismisses the leash with a flick of her fingers. The collar remains in place, the perfectly wrong tightness so it remains constantly in my attention, driving me mad with arousal. "I really don't want to disappoint you, but I need to greatly reduce the effects of your body transformation before you head back."

I nod, fearing this was the case, but I get it. We need to keep her ability secret, and it would be strange if I returned to my room an inch shorter than Gabi when I'm normally four inches taller.

Seeing understanding on my face, she says, "I won't take it all away, and I'll renew the effects you can keep. I don't think it would be too noticeable if you were a quarter inch shorter than normal, for example, and some of the roundness of your face and butt can remain. Over time, if you continue to be my sub, we can probably slowly work our way toward the body you belong in. If the change is gradual enough, people probably won't notice. Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do about your dick while also keeping myself safe." I wince at the word "dick", and she says, "Oh, I'm sorry. What word would you rather I use?"

"Nah, 'dick' is fine. I just don't like being reminded that I have one, is all. No way around that, though."

"I get that," she says. "You ready?"

"No," I say, "but yes."

She Speaks, and I feel myself grow taller, my hips shrink back close to their original width, and my dick, regrettably, grows back to its normal size. Everything nearly reverts to how I was when I woke up this morning, but just slightly closer to me, to my body.

It's enough, I decide, just grateful to have this opportunity that no other trans person in the world has.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" Beatrix asks. I look down at her face. Hope, pleading, and desire are written all over it. It appears today has been as pleasurable for her as it was for me.

"Hmm, I don't know," I say playfully. "I suppose you could always pull me by my collar back to you,"—without thinking, I raise my hand to the collar and give it a gentle tug—"but I doubt you could get me there faster than my own legs will. Lunch again?"

She nods enthusiastically, kisses me on the cheek, and playfully shoves me out the door.