Date: Sun, 21 Sep 2014 10:56:40 -0400
From: EricAunleashed@aol.com
Subject: EricA Unleashed - part 1 (TG - teen)




TG ARCHIVES;'Erica Unleashed #1'{EricA}( F^B slow cd )[1!3]


"EricA Unleashed"



-- Disclaimers:

  If you're offended by anything, don't read this.  If you're  under the
legal age to be reading this, don't read this.  If you're located  someplace
where it's illegal to read this, don't read this.

All the standard disclaimers apply.  I own this.  It all came  from my own
demented mind and the fantasies spewing forth therefrom.  All  the
characters are fictional.  Yadda yadda yadda, et cetera, et cetera, et  cetera, and
so forth and so on.

And oh yeah, don't try this at home.

-- Story codes:

Coding this was more difficult than I thought it would be.  It has  adults,
teens, pre-teens, though not all of them are having sex.  Some are  male,
some are female.  The teen attends school.  If not in part one,  in
subsequent parts there will be teasing, kissing, bondage, and maybe even  sex.  The
protagonist starts out as straight, is introduced to cross  dressing,
eventually graduating to transgender with the aid of drugs (hormones)  and surgery.
 Along the way, I'm not sure what constitutes "straight" and  what doesn't.
 There's incest, though it's not a story about incest.   It starts out
slow.  So, let's give this a shot:
F^B, B^b, B^B, FB^M,  FB^B, 1st, con, exhib, inc, rom, teen1, tg, cd, hs,
slow, and maybe bibl

Wow, that was confusing even for me, and I wrote the story.  Okay,  let's
try this-

-- About the story:

This is the story of the transformation of a typical awkward teenage boy
with loads of self esteem issues into a hot girl.  Unlike so many other
stories in which the boy is turned into a sissy, Erica is reborn with the
confidence her male counterpart never possessed.  In other words, she's a
manipulative little bitch, just like the sexy stepmom who transformed her.

If you're looking for stories that involve unrealistic size body parts and
even less realistic situations, this ain't it.  No unrealistically large
penisis shooting unrealistic quantities of ejaculate unrealistic distances to
 drench unrealistically large breasts.  In fact, if you're looking for
graphic descriptions of one sex act after another, this ain't the place to find
 it.  Sex happens, but it's the story you're supposed to find  arousing.  I
even fade to black on occasion.  (gasp!)  I tried to  make everything
somewhat realistic (or at least possible) and tried to give the  characters
reasons for what they did.

It starts out a little slow.  I generally don't like reading through a  lot
of fluff before getting to the good stuff UNLESS it happens to grab my
attention, so if you start reading this and get bored, I feel your pain.
Nevertheless, I hope it grabs your attention and you enjoy going through the
process with Eric as much as I did.

This is my first attempt to submit anything like this to a website.
Constructive feedback is appreciated.  Compliments are even more  appreciated.
Let's face it, I'm human.  At this time I have a couple  more installments
ready to go.  When that's done (and if there appears to  be interest from
anyone out there) I'll be soliciting ideas for where to go next  with the story.

-- Very important:

Please remember to tip your waitress - which is my way of saying we need to
 support Nifty financially for all the work involved as well as the
expenses  related to maintaining the site, etc.

Hope you enjoy.

-----

-----

Ever since my dad married Donna, my beautiful sexy stepmom was the
inspiration for the vast majority of my masturbation fantasies. Occasionally I
might fantasize about some actress if I saw her in a particularly sexy role, or
 maybe a girl from one of my classes if I needed a change of venue, but I'd
guess  95% of the time it was all about Donna.

In my fantasies she spent a great deal of time teasing me, seducing me,
using me for her perverse entertainment. In reality she was the "typical"
stepmom, only hotter. She drove me where I needed to go, attended
parent-teacher  conferences, and prepared meals for Dad and me. When he was home. And
when Dad  was home, she apparently turned into an animal at bedtime. I could
hear them  going at it practically every night he was home as I lay in bed
wishing it was  me she was with.

Dad owns a construction business that does a lot of work, both here and in
developing countries. Dad is just the opposite of me. He's tall and
muscular and  athletic, a real man's man. As jealous as I was, it was easy to see
why Donna  would go for him despite the age difference. It was also a
disappointing  reminder to me that I would never get a girl like Donna.

One other thing about Dad -- he was not only a good provider, but a good
protector. One of my first memories is of some guys talking real loud and
being  generally disruptive at a baseball game. Dad told them to "knock it off"
and  watch their language as there were women and children present. When
one of them  said "fuck you" in response, Dad grabbed the guy and threw him
what seemed to me  about a hundred feet. Maybe it wasn't that far, I was only
around four or five,  but it made quite the impression. That's when my
"real" Mom was still alive. I  remember her telling Dad he needed to mind his
manners in public, but I could  tell she was smiling, proud of what he did.

What a disappointment I must have been. I was always the smallest boy in my
 class, and my only athletic ability was running. I got lots of practice
running  from bullies. Like many bullied boys, it was too embarrassing to talk
about with  anyone, so they remained clueless as to how miserable my life
at school really  was.

The only times I ever heard Donna and Dad argue was over me. Dad was always
 trying to make a man out of me, he was clearly disappointed. There was
even talk  of signing me up for football when I was 12. Donna defended me as if
I was the  most precious thing to her, which came about the same time as
puberty. Needless  to say, my thoughts of her were not entirely motherly. The
biggest argument they  ever had was about my hair. I was a little overdue
for a haircut. Not by much,  and frankly, I preferred short hair, but Donna
took a stand and I decided to  stand with her. I decided ... we decided ...
I'd let my hair grow out as long as  I wanted. I was too young to see it
clearly, but in their third year of  marriage, things were definitely changing in
their relationship.

By the time I was in 8th grade, Donna had taken to wearing sexier and
sexier clothing around the house, and it was no longer unusual for her to send
me off to school while she was wearing sexy lingerie with only a short sheer
 robe to preserve her modesty - and mine. This only happened while Dad was
at  work, and I got the idea she was doing it just for me. Then, one evening
when  Dad was at some week-long conference, Donna came to my room wearing
one of the  sexiest black nighties I've ever imagined. She tapped on the door
and waited a  few seconds before opening it. She was always good about that
- preserving my  privacy - and more than once that hesitation on her part
saved me from a lot of  embarrassment. Dad never showed me the same courtesy.
Anyway, she just peeked in  and said she required the services of "the man
of the house" and returned to her  room. What could that mean? Anything from
a burned out light bulb to .... no, no  way, fantasies like that don't come
true, do they?

Well, this one almost did. When I got to her room, she was sitting at the
vanity and motioned me to approach. "I was wondering if you'd like to do my
nails for me. Your father usually does them.. but as you can see, he's not
here."

Dad does her nails for her? Dad kneeling where Donna motioned for me to
kneel? That was a little hard to picture.

"I uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...." I wasn't sure how to respond. Even if I'd known
what to say, the sight of Donna sitting there in that sexy nightie rendered
me  unable to talk.

"What's wrong baby? Oh, I bet you're afraid because you don't know how.
Don't worry, I'll show you everything you need to know. Something tells me
you'll do such a good job you'll be replacing your father in no time."

Replacing my father? That was the most wonderful thing, the most
inspirational thing imaginable.

Many's the time I had fantasized about those nails ... teasing and
tormenting various parts of my body. I was trembling and broke out into a sweat  as
soon as I took hold of her hand and began trying to apply the polish.

"Poor baby, you look like you're burning up. You don't have a fever, do
you?" She felt my forehead and pronounced me non febrile, then suggested I was
 probably warm because I was overdressed, and sent me off to change. Change
meant  discarding everything I was wearing and come back to her in just a
pair of gym  shorts. I took her so literally I didn't even think to put on
any underwear  before sliding into the shorts and rushing back to her room. I
was so excited,  and tried to stay positioned so she wouldn't see my little
erection poking  out.  Donna told me it was an impressive job for my first
time, and  rewarded me with a kiss on the cheek before sending me off to my
room. I'm one  of those guys who started "masturbating" at an early age,
before puberty. I  would rub it until this very pleasurable sensation stirred
down there, but I had  not yet ejaculated anything. That night, when I came,
something came gushing out  of my penis, as if the night I got to do Donna's
nails was the night my  sexuality was awakened. Maybe it would have happened
that night anyway, but at  the time it was definitely due to my being "man
of the house" for my sexy  stepmom.

Over the next few weeks, any time Dad wasn't home, I practically became her
 personal body servant. No, I didn't get to see her naked in the bath, but
I did  run her bath water for her. I'd learned to do her nails and was
getting even  better at it. Then, she'd have me brush her hair while she
instructed me in the  proper application of cosmetics. "You want me to be pretty for
you, don't you?"

For me? I couldn't believe this was really happening, but I wasn't about to
 jinx it by questioning anything. Meanwhile, my own hair continued to grow.


****************

Halfway through the second semester of 8th grade, Dad came home with a big
announcement. His company - which in the past had only gotten small
sub-contracting jobs overseas, had been selected to head up the construction of  a
dam in Africa. He said it might take a couple of years, but he promised to
come home to visit as often as possible. He estimated that meant a trip
home  every three to five months. The project would start in mid May, but he'd
be  making frequent trips here and there until then to get things lined up.
Meanwhile, Donna continued allowing me to perform my "man of the house"
duties  while he was away. God, I couldn't wait until he was gone for months at
a time!  Surely, something wonderful would happen. Didn't she just tell me
I was getting  "more and more attractive" every day? And, wasn't the age
difference between me  and her about the same as between her and Dad? Hey, it
could happen.

As nice as things were at home with Dad away, school was only getting
worse. The bullies were getting meaner, it seemed, and one trio in particular
seemed to have formed for the sole purpose of making my life miserable.  I
was coming home with dirty clothing, ripped jeans, bruises and abrasions I
had  to explain. As beautiful and intelligent as Donna was, for some reason
she  didn't seem to be cluing in on what was happening to me. I guessed that
was  because she was never bullied in school.

Then, the day before Dad was to leave again for a couple of days, Donna
pulled me into the kitchen for a little secret chat.

"I got a call from your counselor at school today. He wants to set up a
parent teacher conference regarding your grades. Do you have anything you'd
like  to tell me, Eric?"

It wasn't difficult to simply shrug my shoulders and mumble "I dunno" ...
after all, I was 13, it just came naturally.

"Well, I can let your father handle it, or... I'll call tomorrow to
schedule a time to meet. Which would you prefer?"

That was a no-brainer, Donna was always more protective of me than my dad.
"Fine, but in return you'll have to do something for me" she said.

"Anything." Yes, I know not to say things like that now, but I was only 13.

"Alright, I won't mention this to him, but tonight after he goes to bed,
you're going to tell me everything I want to know."

Well, that wouldn't be too hard. I could just make up something about the
material being over my head. And maybe I need glasses... only that might not
be  a good thing, more fodder for the bullies. I nodded, wondering what she
was  going to wear to the meeting.

While I may have been clueless regarding the way she was using her feminine
 wiles on me, I could clearly see what she was doing to Dad that evening.
Filling  him full of alcohol and teasing him mercilessly when I wasn't
looking (or so  they thought) and by eight o'clock Dad was announcing he had to
get up early in  the morning, and asked Donna to go upstairs with him to
ensure he had packed  everything he needed. They must have fucked for an hour.
Even though I couldn't  hear them when they were making "normal" lovemaking
sounds, when they got loud I  could hear. After an hour of fuck-me-baby's and
oh-god's the old man was finally  played out and snoring away. Donna came
back downstairs wearing bed clothes  suitable for a grandmother. The unsexiest
thing she owned, I'm sure. Well,  disappointed as I was I suppose it was
the smart thing to do, just in case Dad  woke up.

She poured two glasses of wine and handed me one. This was  a first.
"Alright, mister, what's going on at school?" She chose a nearby chair  instead of
sitting beside me on the sofa. I began my rehearsed impromptu answer  ... I
was doing okay at first, but then the material just got harder ... and you
know, when you start falling behind then you have to work harder to get
caught  up, but that just makes you fall behind more? .. And I really am
trying, but the  teachers just don't have time to tutor everybody that needs help,
you know?

My beautiful stepmother just sat there, expressionless, as if she was
examining me for the first time. It was very unnerving, and even more so when I
finished my list of excuses and she didn't respond for several seconds.
Dad's  snoring was the only sound in the world for what seemed like an
eternity.  Finally, she spoke.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Eric." Parenting 101 stuff. "I'd hoped while
 your father was away you could be man of the house for me, but if you
can't  trust me with the truth, how can I trust you to take care of my needs?"
Uhhhh,  definitely not Parenting 101 stuff there. The thought of not getting
to ....  touch her. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but no way could I tell
her the truth.

She just stared at me, looking disappointed. Hurt, even.

Then it happened. The first tear. I felt it rolling down my cheek, and I
knew it was time for one of us to speak. "I ...." My mouth was too dry to
talk,  so I took a sip of wine. I hoped that might prompt her to say something,
but she  didn't. "I .... can't tell you."

She looked at the clock over the mantle. "Four hours and eighteen minutes
ago. That's when you said ... what was that word you used again? Anything?"
Yes,  I did promise that ... but I wasn't thinking clearly at the time.
"Between  summer school and baseball, I doubt we'll be seeing much of one
another this  summer..."

"Baseball?" She was going to force me to sign up for baseball?

"I'm afraid your father was insistent about you playing sports. Normally I
would talk him out of it, knowing your interest lie elsewhere... but I only
do  things like that for people who appreciate my efforts. You won't even
tell me  the truth about what's happening at school."

"I ... I'm sorry, Donna... I.. c..can't."

"I'm not stupid, you know...." she said, rising from her chair and moving
to the sofa... beside me.. she placed her arm around my shoulder. "The grass
 stains and torn clothing. The bruises. I know how mean boys can be, and I
know  you're different from them, and that's why I love you."

She might as well have pulled a fire alarm, because the tears were really
flowing now. I mumbled something, even I didn't understand what I said, and
she  pulled my face to her breasts, hugging me.

"I don't want to see you hurting, baby. But I can't stop the bullying if
you don't trust me."

What was that? She can stop the bullying?

She practically snorted, only Donna would never do anything that unsexy.
"Of course I can, silly. Your father's the biggest bully of them all, and you
 see how easily I handle him."

She had a point, but I didn't want her having sex with Dan, John, and Trey.
 It was bad enough knowing she was doing it with Dad.

"Tomorrow I'll go to the meeting and pretend I don't know anything about
the bullies and talk about how I can help you study at home, perhaps arrange
for  some tutoring. Meanwhile, I want you to think about how badly you want
the  bullying to stop. I can make it stop, but you have to promise me you'll
do  anything and everything I tell you to do. This afternoon, you told me
you'd do  anything, then you completely lied and insulted my intelligence.
Tomorrow, if  and when you say it, I want you to mean it."

"I'm sorry Donna" I whimpered, "I promise, I really will do anything if
you'll just .... "

"Shush. Not now. I want you to take all night tonight and all day tomorrow
if that's what it takes, because you'll have to be 100 percent committed or
it  will only get worse. Remember. Anything and everything I tell you to
do, and  without hesitation."

"Yes Ma'am." I was on a first name basis with her ... "Mom" just didn't
seem right ... but still she was an adult and my stepmother, so I was expected
 to respond respectfully and call her "Ma'am" when appropriate.


***********


"Damn boy, your mom is fucking hot. Very fuckable indeed."

Donna wasn't dressed particularly provocatively for her meeting with the
counselor, but she did dress professionally, and she couldn't help but look
hot.  Still, I didn't appreciate Dan Fillmore saying that about her after we
both  watched her walking across the parking lot from a distance. If I was
more of a  man, I would have punched him in the face. Instead, I just walked
away as he  continued to taunt me, asking which of us had the juicier pussy,
my stepmom or  me.

Yeah, I was willing to do anything to make it stop. And to not undergo the
humiliation of playing baseball this summer.


***********

"Donna" I whispered to her in the kitchen, desperation in my voice. "Dad
thinks I'm signing up to play baseball this summer. Didn't you talk with him
about it?"

She chuckled. "Don't worry sweetie, you don't have to play baseball if you
don't want to."

"But he was just talking abou..." she put a finger to my lips to silence
me.

"I said you don't have to play. He thinks you're playing because I simply
didn't see the need to inform him you're not. In two days he's leaving for
five  months, by the time he gets back, it won't matter."

"But he'll be pis... I mean, he'll be mad at us.. mad at me."

She smiled a seductive smile as she unbuttoned her blouse. I was in a
trance as I watched. Then she unsnapped the front closure bra she was wearing
and pulled it open, exposing her breasts to me. I'd seen plenty of her in her
 provocative lingerie, but this was the first time they were completely
uncovered  for me.

"Sweetie, how long could you stay mad about anything if you were married to
 me?"

"N..n..not.. not long."

She chuckled and began covering herself back up. "And it seems you and your
 dad do share some common traits. Now, whenever he talks about baseball,
you'll  tell daddy you're going to try real hard to be a good player, right?"

I nodded, and she kissed me on the cheek. "I like boys who are obedient to
me. Tomorrow he leaves and I start teaching you everything you need to know
 about how to handle bullies."

As she returned to the living room to sit beside Dad to watch the evening
news, I reflected on how every day for the past few months the possibility
of  having sex with my beautiful stepmother - however remote - seemed more
and more  possible.


*************


Three days before the end of the school year. Three blow-off days.  Three
days when nobody gives a damn any more about academics. Three days with  even
less structure than usual in the school day. Three days when the bullies
are no longer preying on victims, but engaging in a full-fledged feeding
frenzy.

Miraculously, I had passing grades in all my classes. I wish I could say it
 was because I was smart, but I'd be lying. It's because Donna did most of
my  homework for me, and showed me ways to cheat on the tests. She even made
up some  "sample tests" for me to practice on. If only I didn't get killed
between  classes, I'd be fine.

I had a little moral dilemma when it came to the cheating, but Donna simply
 replied that "Pretty girls always get what they want, and I want you to
pass."

It looked like I'd be in for an interesting summer... but I had no idea
just how interesting it could get.


************


"High heels? Why?"

It was her first test, and looking back I'm sure she knew exactly how it
would go. "Anything. Everything. Immediately. Do you remember making me that
promise.. when you were crying like a little bitch because you're not man
enough  to take up for yourself?" The words stung, and I couldn't remember
the last time  she'd ever said anything that hurtful to me. And it was
hurtful. I loved her. I  thought she loved me. Like a mother, if not... like a
lover. It felt like I just  lost my best friend. I'm pretty sure my lower lip
was quivering when she stepped  closer and hugged me.

"I know that hurt, sweetie, but I'm not going to apologize. You need to
understand how serious this is."

"I.. I know Donna.. I just.. I'm sorry, I just... don't under.. I mean,
I'll do whatever you say, I just don't understand why..."

"You don't need to understand why. Maybe I'm doing it as an exercise to
strengthen your legs. Maybe I'm doing it for my amusement. Maybe I'm just
doing  it to see if you'll do it. It's not important for you to know why, it's
only  important for me to know you'll do as you're told."

Sniff sniff. "Okay, Donna, I'm sorry. I didn't mean I wouldn't do it."

Our relationship seemed to have changed, the moment she said those hurtful
things, but I knew she was still doing all this to help me. I still loved
her. I  slipped on the shoes with the five inch heels and did my best to
stand erect  without wobbling or falling.

"I know I could have started you out in something with a shorter heel, but
then it would be all about gradually making things harder. This way, when
you  master these shoes, you'll have no problem with anything smaller. Now,
today all  I want you to do it wear these shoes. Practice standing in them.
It's okay to  hold on to things while you walk in them the first day. I'll be
down in the  kitchen fixing dinner. I'd suggest you start down soon if you
want to eat before  it gets cold."

I always thought those tall spike heels were sexy on a woman, but I
immediately gained a different sort of respect for the women who wore them.

When I got out of bed next morning, my legs felt like they were on fire. I
could barely walk, but skipping school was not an option. I experienced the
 usual tripping and shoving and elbows to the ribs, but that was a blessing
in  disguise. I'd started out the day tempted to tell Donna the deal was
off, that I  didn't see how walking in five inch heels would help keep bullies
away. By the  end of the day, I couldn't wait to get home to see what was
in store for me  next.

What was in store for me was more of the same - walking in heels - plus ...
 homework? School was almost over for the year, but Donna had a whole new
curriculum of study lined up for me. She'd bookmarked a number of internet
sites  on cosmetology, women's hair styles, women's fashion, and teen
fashion.

"How is this.........?" I caught myself. "Sorry" I mumbled and Donna
chuckled.

"That mumbling is something we need to work on too. Later. For now, when
you're not at school, I want you either on the computer or on those heels
until  9:30, then you can shower and get ready for bed."

"Um.. Donna? I was uh, kinda thinking, uh, you know..."

It was the first time I'd seen her roll her eyes. "For gods sake just say
what you want to say."

"Well, uh, I was wondering if I could still, be, you know... man of the
house?"

She smiled. "That's a nice thought, but for now we're going to have to
concentrate on your training, not my pleasure."

Didn't she know it was more pleasurable for me than for her? Apparently
not.

"Yes ma'am." I'm sure I didn't sound enthused about her lack of pleasure.

"One foot in front of the other, sweetie... You're trying too hard to stay
rigid below the waist. Stay rigid from the waist up but just let your hips
do  what comes naturally. That's the only way to walk in heels."

******

Next day at school my legs were still hurting, and the bullies were still
bullying. I couldn't tell if either was worse than the day before, but
somehow  just knowing it was almost over made it bearable. I was feeling sore all
over,  actually, but I attributed that to my body's reaction to knowing
summer was only  a couple of days away. That and all the muscle action required
to maintain my  balance on those five inch stilettos.

Strangely enough, as Trey was behind me on the stairs thumping the back of
my head with a pen as if my head was a drum, I was looking at the girl
ahead of  me wondering if she realized the blouse she wore was all wrong for
that skirt.  Horizontal stripes? And cowboy boots? What the hell was she
thinking? Who  dressed her this morning, her little brother?

When I returned home, Donna had ordered pizza and selected a movie for us
to watch. I still had to wear those dreadful heels, but got a respite from
the  computer. She also made sure I knew what time the pizza was expected so
I  wouldn't undergo the embarrassment of being seen in those shoes. They'd
look  sexy on her I'm sure, but on me they were just ridiculous.

The movie had some scenes where some hot girls were at a club, dancing
together, rubbing up against one another teasing all the boys mercilessly, and
Donna leaned over to me and said she'd love to do that with me, but only if
I  learned to dance like that in my sexy heels. Well, it was a little
difficult for  me, a 13 year old boy, to process it all, but I knew I definitely
wanted to  learn to dance like that with her, and that meant I had to master
the heels.  Never in the history of the world has a boy my age had greater
incentive to  learn to walk in five inch stiletto heels.

*****

Last day of school. Donna gave me some Ibuprofen or something so my legs
wouldn't be so sore. I guess she knew this would be the worst day imaginable.
 Still, I wanted to look sharp. After all, it was a special occasion, my
last day  before officially becoming a high school student. I usually just
wore faded  jeans, old sneakers and a tshirt. On my last day of 8th grade, I
wore dress  slacks and a button down shirt. I even took a moment so shine up
the shoes I  normally wore only to church or other dress-up occasions.

Obviously I hadn't been thinking clearly. Between lunch and early dismissal
 at 2:15 my pants and my shoes had been totally ruined by the three
bullies. Both  knees were torn from when I was pushed to my knees on the concrete
sidewalk, and  they all kept stomping on my toes until the toes of the shoes
were scuffed  beyond repair. They even jerked my shirt open for "one last
look at your  titties" before summer break, and all the buttons went flying.

That was the final straw. I ran all the way to the principal's office
crying. Everyone was laughing at me, saying I ran like a girl. Well, it was
probably because of what my legs had been through the past few nights, but I
couldn't very well explain that to them, could I?

In the principal's office I remained inconsolable, insisting I wouldn't
leave the office until all the other students had gone for the day. Donna was
called to come pick me up. She brought a change of clothes and arranged for
me  to be escorted out a service door where my exposure to the other
students would  be minimized.

In the car I cried all the way home, babbling things about mean bullies and
 how I wish they were all dead. Donna was very gracious about it all,
reminding  me that I'd just experienced my last day of having to be bullied, and
the summer  would be all about me and my needs. I didn't understand how it
was possible she  could make the bullying stop, but I trusted her, so that
made it seem possible.

********

Two weeks after that dreadful last day of school, and I still didn't quite
understand the program. I wasn't being made to wear heels all the time, but
when  required I could strut around with the best of them. Donna was
teaching me to  dance in heels, and I was still spending plenty of time on the
computer, too.  It's amazing how much one can get accomplished when television
and video games  and texting friends is restricted. By that point I felt
like I knew as much  about teen fashion as any magazine editor, and what I knew
about women using  their sensuality to control men would put the editors of
Cosmo to shame. At  first I wanted to ask her why I was having to read all
this stuff, but then it  occurred to me I didn't want it to stop. So I kept
quiet and soaked up  everything she had me study. I was in a constant state
of arousal. And there was  one thought that Donna had pounded into my brain.
She kept saying it over and  over, any time the opportunity presented
itself. "Pretty girls get what they  want."

Well, she was definitely a pretty girl, and it looked like she was getting
what she wanted.

In my more cogent moments, however, I realized it still didn't make sense.
I was being bullied because I wasn't manly enough, so how was learning
about  women's fashions and how to apply makeup and how to be more sensitive to
what  women want and how to manipulate men going to help? Well, it was only
two weeks,  and we had the rest of the summer. I knew if anyone could work a
miracle it was  Donna, so I kept to the agreement and placed all my trust
in her.

Like a lot of kids in my particular situation, I didn't have a lot of
friends, and the friends I had were losers like me. With summer here, most of
them were off on vacation trips, or going to stay with the parent who didn't
have custody, or perhaps off to chess camp or something equally pathetic. A
 couple of guys would call or text, wanting to get together to play video
games,  but Donna had told me no friends were allowed over during the
program, nor could  I go see them. She told me to tell them I was sick. And I was
sick. An infection  in my chest, she said. That explained the soreness there,
but she had a doctor  friend who have her some medication for me to take.
I'm not sure if it was  getting better or if I was just getting used to it,
but the tenderness in the  chest wasn't bothering me that much after a while.

After we missed a couple of weeks of church, there were a couple of phone
calls. No personal visits, thank goodness. A lot of people there would have
heard about what happened at school, and my being sick was a convenient
excuse  for not going, so a couple of cursory "we've missed you at church, hope
Eric  feels better soon" calls and their duty was done, after which we were
pretty  much left alone.

**********

School had been out over a month now and I wasn't sure how to deal with all
 the changes that were taking place in my life. Donna kept telling me this
infection I had would run it's course soon enough if I kept taking my
medicine.  To be on the safe side, I had to tell all my friends (not that I had
many of  those) that I was going out of town to stay with relatives. That way
I didn't  have to worry about seeing anyone and infecting them with
whatever I had. I  guess that's the reason I never got to go out in the daytime, so
nobody would  see me. I almost never even left the house, and when I did it
was always at  night. Before this, it was my job to do all the yard work,
but Donna hired a  couple of high school guys to do that. I'd watch from my
upstairs bedroom window  while she teased them by wearing skimpy outfits
whenever they were around. It  was the source of our first "argument" -- though
it really wasn't an argument. I  was so jealous, moping around and acting
like the 13 year old boy I had been at  the beginning of the program. She was
miffed at first by my behavior, but  eventually it was all cleared up. She
explained to me she was teasing and  flirting to ensure they did a good job
for her so she would continue to hire  them. She pointed out I was the only
guy in her life right now, and those big  muscular high school guys would
kill to be in the position I'm in, and I'd  better learn to appreciate it or
she might call off the whole thing. I  apologized and was rewarded with her
forgiveness and a kiss on the cheek. God,  how I wish she would kiss me on the
lips!

******

My body felt strange all over and it was really starting to worry me, even
though Donna said everything would be okay. I was getting used to the
soreness,  but I was concerned it wouldn't go away. I also realized how emotional
I was  getting. Highs and lows. Crying over practically nothing. Donna
decided I didn't  need to stay cooped up at home 24 hours a day, as that was
probably what was  making me so emotional. Because I was supposed to be off
visiting relatives, I  couldn't go into the front yard, only the fenced in back
yard.  Fortuntely,  we didn't have any close neighbors in back and the
fence would hide anything  going on back there.  Sometimes after dark Donna
would take me for a drive  and we'd usually get something to eat from a drive
through.

As strange as it all was, inside the house was Heaven on Earth. After all,
I had almost exclusive access to Donna's attentions. I was back to being
"man of  the house" getting to do her hair and makeup and nails. She was
making me watch  all sorts of youtube videos that were almost as arousing as my
man of the house  duties. There were videos on how to kiss. Many were
extremely arousing and all I  could think of was how nice it would be if I could
practice with Donna. At 13,  I'd never kissed a girl. There were videos of
boys and girls kissing, but the  best videos, she said, were of girls kissing
girls. She was right. I also  watched videos on how to flirt - the only good
ones she found were teaching  girls how to flirt with boys. Close enough,
she said. I got turned on watching  those, too.

Soon after I'd gotten sick, she also put me on a light exercise program.
Dad had a set of weights in the basement and when he wanted to torture me and
 make me feel inadequate (not really, that's just what it felt like) he
would  make me go work out with him. I hated it. Donna's workouts were much
different,  much more enjoyable. We only used light dumbbells while doing
aerobic workouts  to dance routines. Thank goodness I didn't have to wear heels
for that. If only  Dad knew how much more beneficial this workout was, then
he'd probably have had  his little accomplished athlete years ago.

And best of all, we danced. God, that was such a turn on, to dance with
such a sexy woman as Donna. Every day we practiced, sometimes for hours. She
said it was part of my exercise regimen. It was sort of like Dancing With
the  Stars, practicing specific moves to all these specific songs. And always,
I was  in heels. She said it was better for me to be in heels so she could
have a  taller dance partner. Dancing with her was an intimate experience.
We were  always bumping and grinding and caressing during the song. It was
always such an  arousing experience that as soon as we were done, I couldn't
wait to jerk off.  I'd rush off on the pretense of needing a shower. I don't
know if she suspected  the truth or not.


*****************

"Hey sweetie, I need your help with something not related to the bullying
program."

We were over halfway through the Summer break and I was feeling much
better, the medicine really helped, and Donna said I could start going out soon.
She hadn't used my name in weeks now, but that was okay, I liked it when
she  called me sweetie. And of course I was willing to do anything for her,
even if  it wasn't related to the program. I had stopped trying to figure out
how any of  what we were doing was related to the bullying program anyway.

"I have a friend who's trying to pick some models for an ad campaign --
teenage boys -- and he's having trouble deciding who to call in for
interviews.  He's a guy, so he's not really the one to decide which teenage boys are
the  hottest, so he asked for my help."  Donna went on to explain she'd gone
through the pictures and developed some ideas, but it would really help her
out  for a teenager to look at them, too.  Even though I was a boy, I
should  still have some idea of what girls my age liked, right?  She handed me a
stack of pictures of teenage guys, probably all around 15 to 17. "Just put
a  post-it in the corner of each one, rating them from one to ten, ok?" It
sounded  a little strange, and even though I wanted to help I also sort of
wanted to bow  out. Rating guys isn't exactly my thing, and she said it didn't
have anything to  do with the program. It was just a favor. Then she kissed
me on the cheek, much  much much closer to the mouth than she ever has, and
I said "no problem".

There was about thirty pictures in the stack. A couple I gave pretty low
scores to. At first I was trying to be nice and rated them as sevens... then
I  scratched that out and wrote in sixes for both of them, and I gave them
more  honest evaluations -- a three and a four. God, why did they even think
they had  a shot at modeling? No girl would be interested in them. I found a
couple of  fives, a few sixes, then a lot of sevens. Each time I rated
someone eight or  above, I dunno, I just got this tingling feeling, like .. like
I was doing him a  favor by rating him so high. Like he owed me something.
Whenever I found a nine,  my cock twitched. I spent a long time looking,
trying to decide if he was an 8  or a 9, or if I should give him a 10. He was
so cute, and I guess my constant  thoughts of sex with Donna made me wonder
if Donna would think he was as cute as  I did. That made me jealous, so I
rated him 8. Then I scratched that out and  wrote 7. Then I changed the 7 to a
9. After all, Donna wanted my help, my  objective opinions, so I did the
right thing for her.

There were two absolute tens in the stack, and they literally took my
breath away. I actually said "OMG" out loud. I'd never done that before. I set
both their pictures aside thinking I'd go through the stack again and make
sure  my numbers looked appropriate, but I couldn't concentrate. Feeling
flustered and  blaming it on my infection, I quickly scrawled "10+" on those two
pictures then  got a drink of water before calling out to Donna to let her
know I was finished.

"Bring them up, sweetie." She quickly perused the stack, chuckling when she
 saw the 3 and 4 ratings. "I see you're not concerned with hurting
anybody's  feelings." Then she got to the really hot guys. "Mmmm, yes, I'd have to
agree  with you there." Then she laid the pictures aside and told me to go
take a  shower, scrubbing every inch of my body till it hurt, and make sure to
use  conditioner after shampooing my hair. No problem, I always use
conditioner in my  hair. "Then report back here... wearing nothing but a towel."

I stared at her in disbelief. Is this really going to happen?

"Is there anything about my instructions you don't understand, dear?"

"n...n...no..no ma'am..."

She just stared, looking a little impatient, like she was waiting for
something. Finally I figured out she was waiting for me to leave, so I sprinted
for the shower.

***

When I returned to her room, wearing just a towel around my waist, my
little penis poking making it stand out in front, I noticed there was something
on her bed. Or perhaps several somethings. I couldn't tell for sure, she'd
covered it all up with a sheet. There was also a sheet hung over the mirror
on  her vanity, so I couldn't see what she was doing to me after she told
me to sit.

She started doing something with my "beautiful auburn hair" ... I could
feel her brushing this way and that, spraying one thing then another,
occasionally clipping away with scissors or shaping with brush and blow dryer.
After several minutes, there was just silence and I couldn't feel her messing
with it any more... Then I heard a sigh as she whispered "perfect". Part of
me  wanted to ask what she was doing, but I remained silent. I was also
extremely  horny, sitting there in just a towel with my hot stepmom doing my
hair. I wished  I could at least see what she'd done, but no luck. Instead, she
began applying  makeup.

I wasn't sure how to take this, but I remained silent. After a few seconds
of lightly applying some foundation she whispered so sexy into my ear "you
do  believe pretty girls should get whatever they want, don't you?"

"Yes Ma'am" I whispered, as if in a trance.

"Please, darling, don't call me Ma'am .... we're beyond that now, we're
just friends... right? I'm not nearly old enough to be your mother, am I?"

I almost replied "no ma'am" but caught myself. Instead, I just whispered
"friends" and smiled.

"Soon, it will all become apparent ... but for now, indulge me, because I'm
 a pretty girl, and pretty girls get what they want."

"Pretty girls get what they want." I was fully conscious, but felt like I
was in a trance.

She continued with the makeup, applying blush here and there... blending a
couple of different shades, just as I'd seen her do with her own makeup..
just  as she taught me to do when I got to help. A few eyebrows had to be
plucked, but  I barely felt it. I was too excited by what was happening. In the
beginning I  was worried about my little penis sticking up, tenting the
towel. Now I didn't  even think about it.

Finally, she was done with the makeup. I could tell from the expression on
her face she was pleased with what she saw... and when she gently moved the
 sheet aside that had been covering the mirror, I was in for the shock of
my  life. Staring back at me was the most beautiful 13 year old girl
imaginable. In  fact, she couldn't be 13, she had to be at least ... 16. Thirteen
year old girls  don't like that hot. That mature. That sexy.

"Oh god" I whispered.

"Goddess" my sexy stepmom whispered in response. "You're looking at a
goddess."

"I.. I.. I don't believe..." I couldn't finish that sentence. In fact, I
DID believe it.

"What do pretty girls get?" Donna whispered into my ear, her lips brushing
the lobe as she spoke, sending shivers all over my body.

"Anything they want" I responded.

"Anything we want" she corrected me.

"Any .... anything ... w...we ... want." I smiled.

"Do you want me to complete the transformation?"

=========