tagSci-Fi & FantasyTroubled Transformation

Troubled Transformation

byoggbashan©

Copyright Oggbashan June 2015

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

This story refers to an older oggbashan story Miranda The Witch but stands alone.


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Rebecca and I are married witches belonging to a local coven. We had heard something of Miranda and Josh's exploits with a spell that transforms people temporarily into clothing (story Miranda The Witch).

Unfortunately for us, we hadn't heard the full story, nor the pre-conditions of that spell. There was a version of the spell circulating on the local witches' intranet and Rebecca downloaded it. She didn't look at the comments from others who had used it because she was too impatient, as she usually is.

Although we had discussed it idly one evening after a meeting of the coven, I had no idea that Rebecca actually had a copy of the spell, nor that she intended to use it on me.

A few days later we were getting ready for bed. I was tired. So was she. My commuter train had been delayed by a couple of hours -- again. She had spent most of a rare mid-week day off from her local job in an Estate Agents doing a thorough clean of our kitchen. I hadn't asked why. Normally we would have done that sort of clean together.

As I was about to pick up my pyjama jacket to put it on, Rebecca came up behind me, wrapped her arms around my waist, and leaned her head against my bare shoulder. That was nice. I enjoy an unexpected hug. She was holding something flimsy in her right hand, panties I thought.

But Rebecca was saying something very quietly, under her breath. I couldn't really hear what she was saying, but what I could hear didn't sound like English. I thought it might be a spell, perhaps to take away my tiredness?

It wasn't. I felt an unpleasant wrenching sensation. My pyjama trousers slid to the floor. Rebecca's hand seemed enormous, holding me scrunched between her fingers.

"It works!" she squealed. "It really works. Sorry Malcolm. I should have warned you. I've transformed you into a sleep bra. Like this one. See?"

She held up the bra she had held in her right hand. I was in her left hand until she carefully fitted me around her breasts that I like so much.

Often I had been close to Rebecca's breasts many times but never like this. My whole body was cradled her breasts and my arms and legs had turned into the shoulder straps and back fastening, as if I was hugging her.

Rebecca put on a Victorian style long cotton nightdress. It was much larger than she needed. It was usually a signal that she wanted me to kiss her lower lips, and there was enough room for my mouth to nibble her tits. We had spent many happy hours with both of us inside that nightdress, even sleeping all night with my head in her cleavage. But now I was much closer to her breasts inside that nightdress.

I relaxed and enjoyed the sensation, trying to remember what had been said about Miranda's spell. I thought that the transformed person could move. I pulled with my arms and legs. I was squeezing Rebecca's tits. I tried, harder this time.

"Wow! That was too much, Malcolm. Be gentle with them. Caress them if you want to, but don't squash them. We're going to bed. You can have all night to love my boobies."

All night? I thought. A few hours would be nice, but all night? While I could enjoy the sensation of being filled with her breasts, what would happen if she rolled over? Would I be the squashed one? Or suffocated?

I wasn't. As she moved around during her sleep, I woke up with an erection I couldn't do anything about. I'm a breast lover and this was bliss, frustrating bliss, but enjoyable.

In the morning Rebecca muttered more unintelligible words and I was myself again, stuffed inside her nightdress, my head in her cleavage. I moved down to between her thighs. My lips and tongue aroused her to a squealing ecstasy before she rolled me over, straddled me, and impaled herself on my insistent erection.

We hadn't coupled in such a frenzied manner since our honeymoon. She wanted me. I wanted her. We could have gone on for hours but it was a work day. We needed to get dressed, breakfast, and leave.

We even discussed the possibility of calling in 'sick' but our consciences wouldn't let us. We had good employers who deserve better.

"I can use that spell again," Rebecca admitted, "but I think we should wait until Friday night."

She was right. Another night like this one and we would really be unfit for work.

If only Rebecca had read the 'ifs and buts' of the spell. She hadn't and that embarrassed both of us.

On Sunday the weather was hot so she decided we would go swimming. That would have been pleasant. But Rebecca wanted to be different. There was a 'ladies-only' session in the morning. She would wear me to the swimming pool, change me into a swimming costume, and wear me back home. I could see the minimally clad women while I was her swimming costume. I wasn't desperate to see the ladies-only swimmers. Most are middle-aged matrons. The younger ones want to swim in the mixed sessions or with their children.

Rebecca didn't know the limitations of the spell. That was disastrous.

She changed me into a shift dress and wore absolutely nothing underneath. She took her skimpy one piece swimming costume, a towel and a small purse just large enough to hold the coins for the admission to the baths.

Once in the changing cubicle Rebecca took me off as her shift dress. She said the spell to return me to my normal form. She held her swimming costume in one hand, touched me with the other, and changed me into a copy of her swimming costume. She rolled her purse and unused costume inside the towel and put the roll in a locker. She pinned the locker key to me in her cleavage. She went into the pool.

I was trying to tell her that she had made a real mistake. I couldn't. As a wet swimming costume I hadn't got a voice. Any attempt to signal her could be embarrassing. I became more and more worried as the time went on. A few minutes before the end of the 'ladies-only' session Rebecca left the pool and showered. She unpinned the locker key, retrieved the rolled towel and went to a cubicle to change.

Once the door was shut she transformed me back to myself. Only as that was happening did she realise the mistake she had made. She had worn me, as a dress, to come to the swimming baths. She had changed me into a copy of her swimming costume. Once she had done that I was no longer a dress. She couldn't wear me back. She didn't have a dress for the spell to copy. All she had was a dry swimming costume, a towel and unisex flip-flops..

The two of us were stark naked in a small cubicle when there should only be women in that area. She could put on her swimming costume but even with a small towel wrapped around her she couldn't walk through the streets like that. And I would be left naked in the women's changing area.

Frantically she tried to change me into the towel. She could wear two towels and go to the reception desk to see if they had any clothing she could borrow. The spell didn't work. I remained as I was -- a large naked male hiding in a small cubicle in the women's changing area. She tried to change me into the flip-flops. That didn't work.

"What do we do, Malcolm?" she whispered.

"Find something, anything, for me to change into that you can wear home. But do it soon. It will be very awkward if I'm seen here."

"But if I leave you to look for clothes anyone could walk into the cubicle and then all hell will be let loose."

"How about asking someone to guard this cubicle while..."

"That might work. I'll try."

Rebecca wriggled into her dry costume and stuck her head out of the cubicle, making sure that no one could see in.

I heard her approach a woman and ask. I assume the woman agreed because I could see bare feet and legs outside the door. I was crouched on the small bench. My large hairy feet mustn't be seen.

It was a very long five minutes before Rebecca returned. She thanked the woman and slid around the door clutching a plastic bag. We whispered to each other.

"They've lent me some lost property. They're very worried that my dress has been 'stolen'. I told them not to worry. It was a tired old rag and I won't miss it. Of course I won't. It's at home."

"So what have you got to wear or for me to be changed into?"

"I won't change you into anything I'm wearing, Malcolm. I don't want to be naked in the street. I've got some track suit bottoms and a T-shirt. I'll wear them. But I'll turn you into this."

She held up a pink scarf.

"If you turn back into yourself, I'll still be decent."

"But I won't be, Rebecca! If I turn back, I'll be naked in the street."

"If that happens, I'll turn you into something else out of the bag. Come on. Stand still while I say the spell."

I changed into a copy of the pink scarf. She stuffed me into the cleavage of her swimming costume and quickly dressed herself. We wanted to get away from the baths and home as quickly as possible.

Inside her swimming costume and under the T-shirt I couldn't see anything. I tried to relax and enjoy being next to her breasts again. It was beginning to work until I felt myself slipping.

Rebecca was walking so fast that her breasts were bouncing around. I, as a flimsy scarf, had nothing to hold on to, and each bounce was pushing me further out. As long as I was still inside her T-shirt and against her body...

But the T-shirt was far too large for Rebecca. I could see her legs below the hem of the T-shirt. If I slipped further, the T-Shirt wouldn't stop me falling to the ground and transforming back into my naked self.

Rebecca stopped suddenly. I could see the pavement. It was the edge of a Zebra crossing so we must be nearly home. But only a tiny corner of me was still inside her costume. One more jiggle of her tits and I would be out, falling to the ground as a naked man.

Rebecca pulled the neck of the T-shirt open slightly.

"Are you OK, Malc...? Oh shit!"

She had seen how close to disaster I was. She put her hand up the T-shirt from underneath and shoved me deep, under her breasts. I would be safe, at least until we got home which was only a few hundred yards away.

Rebecca rushed indoors and up to our bedroom. She pulled the T-shirt off and said the spell to change me back. I landed on the bed. She ripped off the track suit bottoms and her costume before jumping on me. She rode me fiercely, bouncing up and down with excitement. We were desperate to make love because we had been so close for so long.

Later, much later, we crawled down to the kitchen for a much-needed coffee break. I opened my laptop and searched the witches' intranet for details of the spell Rebecca had been using. I swore, before turning the screen around to show her.

"See? You didn't look at the detail, Rebecca. It will only work to turn a man into a copy of a piece of feminine clothing, and only ONCE for each piece. That's why you couldn't turn me back into a copy of your swimming costume. You'd used it once. I couldn't be a towel. That's not feminine. I couldn't be the flip-flops. They're unisex. Even if you had taken your shift dress with you, I couldn't be that dress again. I could have been ANOTHER dress, but not that one. And I have to be in contact with your skin all the time. That's why panties and bras are popular versions. If I had slipped further as that scarf..."

Rebecca stopped my tirade of complaints with a kiss. Eventually she did apologise. In bed. When I was wrapped around her hips as a pair of satin panties that just happened to have slid in between her labia and were rubbing her unmercifully.

We still enjoy Miranda's spell but in the privacy of our home. It's too risky for me to be part of Rebecca's clothing when we are out in public.

What will I be tonight? Rebecca went to a lingerie party recently so I know she has some new sensuous items she wants me to be. We have even bought her a second wardrobe with shelves. One wardrobe is for daily wear and clothing I have been. The other is for clothing I might be soon. That wardrobe has piles of satin, silk and lace underwear and formal gowns, even a couple of bridal dresses. Most Sunday mornings we search the local boot fairs for new-to-us clothing that I could become to excite Rebecca. We usually find more than enough for next week's experiments.

Except for her formal office wear, the clothes I have been are on the way out. But I'm not going out as clothing. Never again are we going to take the risk of me becoming naked in public.

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