Vale Ch. 04: Out of Sequence

This series started from a prompt in the Forum by ScrappyPaperDoodler: "As Many Tropes as Possible (A Tribute to Literotica and Smut in General):... a guy... who's hung like a horse and inherits a billion dollars from a father he never knew he had. He falls in love with his sister... after somehow winning... a game of poker... here's the twist: the sister is an alien-vampire and all the friends are cyborgs (see 'fem-bots')... his high school bully ends up banging the hero's mom... we all know revenge is a dish best served anally... the use of a time-machine..."

Me being me, I took the absurd as a challenge, and with a lot of help and ideas from Scrappy I've written an amusing tale of wishes and wanton lust.

Content Warning: All characters are at least 18 years old.

*

Carl woke from a particularly delicious dream. A deeply erotic dream most frustratingly interrupted, and one that had his cock throbbing with urgent demand for attention. Wrapping a hand about the hard shaft, he stroked gently while trying to lose himself in dream once again. He was round at the nerd's house again, John's MILF of a mother bent over the kitchen table, her sweet pussy heaven for Carl's plundering length.

That had happened for real the day before. Carl had been flirting with her for months now, and claiming her at last had been the perfect way to humiliate John on his birthday. John the nerd, the loser, the dickhead. He deserved whatever he got. That was the way of the world. Carl came from a good family and had practised hard to be an athlete, and that's why he got to date a hot cheerleader like Tiffany Thomas, and that's why the local MILF was just gagging for his meat.

Such a sweet dream. Such a sweet memory.

Sighing, he stopped. He was too close to finishing, but there was no sense doing it in bed and having to clean up the mess. He'd finish in the shower instead.

Carl pulled the sheets away and made to stand up, but sat again with a shock and a startled cry. Sitting at his desk was a girl - or a young woman, perhaps - with long, black hair and pale skin. Her dark eyes studied him curiously and there was no doubt she had watched him masturbating. "Who are you?" he demanded, gathering the bed sheets around his waist and his prominent cock - although part of him was tempted to leave it on display. His was a good cock, above average in length and more than enough to satisfy his cheerleader girlfriend and John's horny mother. It would be good enough for this girl too, whoever she was.

"A better question," she said, "is who are you? Are you Carl the Asshole, Fucker of Women? Or are you Carla the Cheerleader, MILF in the Making?"

For a brief, anxious instant, Carl worried that this strange girl - strange in both senses of the word - knew somehow of the perverse, secret thrill he got sometimes out of imagining himself as a cheerleader. But then he stamped down on that absurdity. He was a man, damn it, and no one was allowed to question that. "Get the hell out of my room," he snarled, pointing the way.

The girl laughed and made her way out, pausing briefly in the half-open doorway. "Let's find out," she said, and was gone.

Carl locked the door behind her, glad that his was an ensuite room and that he could shower and change without worrying about bumping into her again. Something about her really upset him, maybe the way she seemed to be gently mocking him the whole time, maybe the way she didn't seem at all interested in him as a man. No doubt she was a lesbian. Carl never liked lesbians. They always acted so superior.

His erection had subsided completely and now just hung there leaking a string of precum that stuck to his thighs. Her fault again - but as he imagined himself forcing her onto his bed, spreading her legs and thrusting his aching cock into her virgin lesbian pussy, showing her that nothing was as good as a man's cock, that nothing was as good as his cock, he hardened again and his good spirits returned.

In the shower he brought himself to a welcome climax, and imagined the girl on her knees worshipping his cock, telling him that she adored him and that he was so much better than any of her girlfriends.

*

In the wake of that orgasmic release, a dizziness overcame her, and for a long time she just sat against the wall beneath the shower with her eyes closed. Her thoughts were muddled and her feelings chaotic, and slowly it dawned on her that something was very wrong. It didn't make sense that her blonde hair was so long, and it didn't make sense that she had breasts - at all, let alone such huge and perky breasts that were bigger even than Tiffany's - and it really didn't make sense that between her legs there was no cock, and no balls, only - yes - a virgin pussy amidst trimmed blonde pubes.

"The fuck?" she shrieked, stumbling out of the shower, out of the bathroom with its overpowering floral scent, into a bedroom with pink walls and posters of BTS. It was definitely her room. The view from the window was the same. The shape of the room was the same. But pink and K-pop? It was a girl's room!

Just as the reflection in the floor-length mirror was a girl's reflection. Or a very sexy young woman, rather, sexy despite the soaked curtain of blonde hair that framed a face that resembled her own in an attractive but feminine way... but, sexy or not, it wasn't her. It wasn't the man she had been only minutes ago. "Fuck!" she whispered. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

And as if that wasn't bad enough, she burst spontaneously into tears, and sobbed helplessly as she studied her transformed self in the mirror. It made no sense. None of it made sense. People don't just change sex between one moment and the next, and rooms don't redecorate themselves either.

*

A little later, a little calmer, a lot dryer and wrapped in a silvery silk dressing gown, she conducted a quick search of the room, uncovering credit cards and ID that reflected her new reality as Carla, not Carl; a calendar with what she guessed was Carla's monthly cycle marked; drawers and wardrobes full of girl's clothing, including a cheerleader's uniform; a box under the bed with a pink vibrator concealed beneath an assortment of pom poms in different colours; and a smartphone that she didn't recognise but thankfully her fingerprint unlocked.

There was a message from Tiffany, but it was just about practice being cancelled. She was sure there was something special about the day, an anniversary dinner or something, but there was nothing in Tiffany's messages to suggest any sort of relationship between them. Carla's message history with her best friend Jake, on the other hand, was flirty as hell.

A thrill of subtle excitement stirred an unfamiliar tingling within her. (Why did the thought of being Jake's girlfriend have that effect on her?)

Everything in the room suggested that she had always been Carla, that Carl had never existed. Either this was all a grand and impossible trick being played on her, or this was some kind of alternate reality. (Wasn't there a Star Trek thing about an alternate universe where everyone had an evil twin?)

It had to be something to do with that girl, the one she had wanked over in the shower... Carla squirmed uncomfortably. She remembered clearly having a cock, but was oddly relieved not to have one any longer. She remembered fucking that MILF the day before, but found herself wondering instead what it must have been like for John's mother, how it felt to have a hard cock ravishing her like that with youthful vigour.

Carla stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a tangled mess, but her body was both toned and athletic, and gorgeously curvy. She just needed a touch of makeup and all the boys would be after her - an idea that somehow failed to disgust her the way it should.

She finally did what every boy does when magically transformed into a girl. She cupped her breasts with her hands, weighing them as if to measure them for pure sexiness. She had breasts! She had fucking breasts! Beautiful and amazing, with thick nipples that were sensitive to the touch and incredibly erotic. The tingling heat within built as Carla lost herself in self-adoration, massaging the flesh that had the potential even to make milk one day, and were certainly big enough to wrap about the hard cock of a well endowed lover. "Ugh!" she said, and burst out laughing.

Sitting on the floor in front of the mirror, Carla spread her labia wide and examined the entrance to her vagina. How deep had the transformation gone, she wondered. Did she have a womb? Could she get pregnant? Was she still technically a virgin and was her hymen still intact? Would sex hurt? Did she have a clit?

That last was easily answered, with some clumsy prodding of her fingers. And she wasn't wet. Weren't pussies supposed to be wet? They always were in porn.

Carla sighed irritably. Who knew girls were so complicated. What she needed was an instruction manual - or, better, a YouTube video.

Snatching up her phone, she jumped into bed and typed 'how to be a girl' into the app.

*

Simple hunger for food induced Carla to emerge at last from the safety and sanctity of her room. First, though, she had to get dressed, and if the simple act of looking through a drawer full of girl's underwear felt erotically charged, that was nothing compared to sliding the chosen black, lace knickers up her legs and into place. Figuring out the bra, on the hand, was a serious pain, but with determination she managed at last to fasten it at the back. She was sorely tempted to skip the bra entirely, but knew her mother disapproved of even the suggestion of nipples.

Taming her hair was another whole ordeal that required wetting it in the shower and then brushing the knots from it. It sucked just how much time and effort it took compared to the short hair she was used to as Carl, but in the end it was worth it and it was easily tied back into a ponytail. After that it was a case of jeans and a T-shirt. Though she was tempted briefly to wear the cheerleader outfit, she wasn't quite ready to brave the world in a skirt.

She hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. Her dad was watching sports on television and her mum was in the kitchen. It was exactly the picture of her normal life. What if they were part of her old world? What if they had a son and not a daughter? How would they react to her?

But the smell from the kitchen was too good. Garlic bread and bolognese, and Carla was starving. She had to find out. "Hi Mum," she said uncertainly, walking into the kitchen.

"I thought you had practice today," her mother said after a brief, critical glance at Carla's choice of clothing.

"Cancelled." Carla relaxed a little, but she was startled by the different dynamic between them. She was used to her mum being proud and affectionate, not this sense of reserved judgement.

"Lucky for some," her mum muttered. "I suppose you'll be out with Jake later?"

Carla really hadn't thought that far ahead. As Carl she would naturally have hung out with Jake and her mother wouldn't even have thought to mention it. The implication was clear, though. Jake was supposedly her boyfriend, and her mother disapproved. And as much as Carla wanted to hang out with her best friend Jake, her boyfriend Jake was a whole other realm of complication. "Maybe," she said.

Jake would want to kiss her. Maybe he would want to do more. (Of course he would.) Maybe he had already done more. Maybe Carla was a total slut.

The idea of sex with a man confused her. It excited her the way it had always secretly excited her but had seldom dared to admit even to herself. As Carl, the idea of being attracted to men was completely wrong and gay. As Carla, it would be completely expected for her to be with men, despite the worry that it might go all wrong and she might end up pregnant - and Carla certainly wasn't ready for that development.

Being a lesbian would be so much simpler... She frowned in sudden thought. "Was there a girl here earlier? Long, dark hair."

"Just the florist." Her mother pointed to a vase with a dozen red roses, a card beside them. "Beauty must be rewarded," the card read. The only indication of who they were from, or indeed for, was the signature 'V'.

*

Feeling much better for having eaten, but also resentful of the emotional distance between her parents and herself, Carla locked herself in her room once again. Where she had felt free as Carl, more or less able to do as she wished, as Carla her parents seemed to view her as trouble waiting to happen. The way her dad kept staring at her tits was disconcerting also.

Not that Carla could blame him, but it was still weird.

Jake had sent a text asking her out. A cinema date. It was sweet and tentative in a way that suggested they weren't an official item - yet - which took some of the pressure off her. Learning to be a girl was hard enough without navigating a relationship she had no memory of. And while she wasn't really in the mood for watching a film, it was a dark and controlled space in which to get used to being a girl on a date with a boy.

No doubt there would be kissing, and of course he would be all over her breasts... but what if he wanted more? Should she play hard to get? What if the reality of being hit on by a boy was nothing like the fantasy? What if he forced himself on her and she couldn't get away?

It was all so complicated!

Stripping out of her jeans and T-shirt, Carla reached instead for her cheerleader uniform, a red, white and blue ensemble that had always excited her. In a skirt at last, and with pom poms in her hands, she danced in front of the mirror, the movements coming naturally to her as if her body remembered what her mind did not. Her phone was paired with the speaker in her room, and the dance playlist filled the room with energy.

It was a dream come true. She danced for hours, or what seemed like it. Exhausted at long last, she collapsed onto her bed laughing, increasingly aware too of a throbbing urgency within. Her fingers confirmed it. She was aroused, and wet now too.

Pulling off her lace knickers, she massaged her pussy with curiosity. Penetration proved uncomfortable, but circling her clit gently with her fingertips sent shivers of electric pleasure through her whole body. For a while, it was enough to tease herself like this, but it wasn't getting her to where she needed to be.

Reaching into the box of pom poms, she grabbed hold of the vibrator and switched it on. "Let's see what you can do," she whispered, and pressed it carefully against her clit - and cried out in astonishment. Thankfully the music was still loud enough to cover it, and soon she was moaning repeatedly as the tension built to breaking point.

Music or not, she covered her face with a pillow as she climaxed with a scream of ecstasy, waves of pleasure like nothing she'd ever experienced before, washing out from within her as the vibrator hummed determinedly at her clit - until she was done at last and so over-sensitised that she couldn't bear to be touched at all.

"Fuck," she said, laughing. "Fucking amazing."

*

Carla's initial plan to wear high heels and stockings was quickly abandoned. She was too unstable on the heels and they were painful to wear, and she ended up tearing two pairs of stockings in the attempt to get them straight. "Fuck it," she muttered, and settled for jeans and trainers. Putting makeup on in a way that didn't make her look like a clown proved to be an ordeal, despite helpful guidance from a dozen YouTube tutorials.

Jake was ten minutes late picking her up, much to her annoyance. Carla had made the mistake of waiting downstairs, and had to put up with her mother's disapproval, which ranged from, "Are you really wearing that?" to "You could do better than him," via, "You'd better be home by eleven."

Carla fumed silently. Why were rules so different for girls? As Carl, she could have worn whatever, got away with brushing her hair and teeth, and borrowed the car for the evening. Her dad had laughed at her earlier when she suggested that.

But at last Jake was there, and Carla dashed out, away from the suffocation of her home and into the passenger seat of Jake's car, her heart pounding with excitement. It was so weird to be thinking about boys and not worrying about how gay it was. Still, as soon as her seatbelt was fixed, Jake was right in her face, French-kissing her. The seat prevented her retreat and she had to push him away.

"What's wrong, babe?" he said, puzzled.

"My makeup," she said, thinking quickly. "You'll ruin it."

Carla could still feel his lips, like an echo, and the scratchiness of his face that needed a shave. He was entirely unlike a girl, firm and rough instead of gentle and smooth. He smelled of sweat, antiperspirant and minty freshness. He grinned at her and she smiled back, thinking it would be fun to kiss him again, properly.

The film was The Suicide Squad, which Carla had watched with Tiffany the weekend before, and which Tiffany had only agreed to see because of Harley Quinn. In the back row of the dark theatre, Carla was only interested in kissing Jake. She loved how much she loved being a girl, and how natural it felt to run her hand down Jake's chest. She loved teasing his tiny man-nipples, and she loved his clumsy attempts to squeeze her new, thick, sensitive nipples through the materials of her shirt and bra.

When he pushed her hand down to his crotch, she didn't resist, and she felt the heavy, swollen bulge of his cock beneath the denim. It was fun to tease him for a while, but they were only halfway through the film and she was impatient. "Take it out," she whispered.

"Here?" he asked, confused or maybe just shy.

"Here," she said. His reluctance amused her. She had often tried to persuade Tiffany to do this, and had assumed it was just something boys wanted and girls refused to do.

Self-consciously, Jake shuffled his trousers down about his knees and freed his cock from his Y-fronts. Carla wrapped her hand about it, thrilled to finally hold a cock that wasn't her own. Jake's wasn't as long as hers had been, but its thickness was astonishing.

She rested her head on his shoulder, half-watching the film while stroking her boyfriend's erect member. It was almost like a pet, a living creature that pulsed and twitched and wept as she gave it the attention it craved. "Are you enjoying this?" she whispered in his ear.

As if in answer, he stiffened abruptly in her hand, and she laughed hysterically - but as quietly as she could manage - as a seemingly endless stream of cum splashed across the seat in front.

~~~

Three words echoed in Tiffany Thomas's head.

Worst. Night. Ever.

Bad enough that she had been stood up; worse, it had to be obvious to everyone else in the restaurant. Bad enough that she had just been dumped - by fucking text; worse that this was a special occasion - their anniversary dinner! Bad that that shithead Jake had dumped her for someone else; worse, it was that fucking bitch Carla, of all people. Fuck!

"If you had three wishes..."

Tiffany looked up, startled. There was a waitress looking at her, no doubt impatient to take an order or free up the table. It was a different girl from before. This one had a gothic vibe, what with her near-black hair and pale skin. "I wish my boyfriend's cock would shrivel up and disappear," Tiffany said bitterly, but too quietly to be heard. Louder, she added, "I think I'll just go."

"I think you should stay," the waitress said. "I promise you won't regret it."

~~~

In the park, behind a bush, Carla paused and regarded the cock she had been happily sucking. All the times she'd had her own cock sucked, back when she had one, she'd never imagined she would enjoy giving as much as receiving. She loved the glide of a hard shaft through her lips and the impatient thrusting of the lover it belonged to. She loved the interplay of control and desire.