I fell to my knees, nearly tumbling off the podium. It was late at night: all the shoppers were gone. I was thankful I didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing or hearing me, ‘cause the moan that slipped out echoed throughout the store.
I immediately sighed after I was finished moaning. My hope that only a couple of days would go by since Ronnie and I were "frozen" had turned into twelve days of display. I was sure Ronnie was still plastic, since she would have come looking for me had someone inadvertently changed her back to human. I was surprised to see that someone would say "Nora, real," before they’d say "Rebecca, real." Or some combination of people speaking thereof.
The silk lingerie hugging my voluptuous body, I headed for the backroom. I knew Ronnie would be okay—she was still a mannequin, where the hell was she going to go? No, I was more concerned about our personal effects. We were long overdue for work, and I was afraid that someone from the store had turned our purses over to the police. If that had happened we were out of luck. And out of money. And cash. And driver’s licenses.
I made a bee line for my locker. The lock was still on it, meaning no one had been in it yet. I opened it and, viola! My purse was still there, wallet intact. I knew Ronnie’s lock combination and opened up her locker. Her personal stuff was there as well.
What was missing was my old body, the one I’d been wearing when I’d been working last, the one my head had been on before Ronnie had decided to get creative and give me this "Hot Spanish Lust on Heels" body I was now wearing. I was pretty sure that someone had put it back with the other mannequins, and there was a good likelihood that it was now modeling something out on the floor or in the window. I was stuck looking like some sexy Mexican. Not that I was complaining . . ..
I tried on a couple of items from the dressing racks we used to for the mannequins. It took some time finding something that would fit over my large breasts and newly-expanded hips and ass, but I found a black skirt and a white pullover blouse that went well with the black boots I’d taken off another mannequin. After I was dressed I grabbed our stuff and went to get Ronnie.
I found Ronnie right where I’d left her, still in the same pose. That meant no one had been messing with her. I’d half expected to find another model here and Ronnie’s body spread all over the goddamn store. She looked . . . well, like she should. I wondered how she felt. I was surprised at my reaction when I came back to life this time. When I’d first met Ronnie she’d kept me in a box for four months, but that return hadn’t been nearly as intense as this time. I could only assume that one, this body—this sexy-assed body—had something to do with it, and two, the silk I’d been wearing helped keep me super-stimulated. Not to mention all the time people touched me . . ..
Well, as they say, all good things must come to an end. I stood beneath Ronnie, my hands on her hips, getting ready to catch her. "Rebecca, real."
Ronnie fell across my shoulder. She was gasping, sucking wind. Her entire body was shaking due to what she’d been experiencing the last twelve days. I said nothing, just held her, rubbing her back, letting her come to grips with what she’d been and what she was again.
Once her breathing was back under control she kissed me on the cheek. "Hey, sexy," she whispered.
"How you doing?" I helped her down from the podium.
"Considering I was a mannequin, pretty fucking good." She was smiling. "Is that what you go through?"
"I don’t know. What did you go through?"
She considered my question. "It felt like someone was rubbing me constantly."
I nodded. "Pretty much."
"Shit . . ." She picked up her purse. "You must have really wanted me to know what it was like."
"No exactly." I explained to her that I had been frozen right after I’d put her up, and that I’d only just unfroze myself.
"So you were a mannequin as well?" she asked.
Ronnie pursed her lips and exhaled. "Shit. We’re probably out of work if that’s the case."
"We’re damn lucky someone didn’t report us missing, otherwise they might have come and got our stuff." I held up my purse for emphases.
Ronnie didn’t say a word. The implication of our curse hit her like she’d just run full-on into a wall. Having one or the other of us plastic for a while was fun, it was cool. Having both of us like that—unable to change the other—for days, maybe weeks, maybe months . . . very uncool. It would mean that we could both end up getting switched into plastic and being put on display somewhere for months on end—with no money coming in, no bills being paid, no rent being collected.
In short, we could find ourselves completely fucked.
"So, what do we do?" She looked a little concerned, but wasn’t about to start ranting and raving. She wished for something, she got it. Ronnie knew what was meant by, "Be careful what you wish for . . .."
I shrugged. "Start looking for work, I guess." I swatted her on the ass. "Let’s deactivate the tags on those clothes and get the hell outta here—"
We managed to make it back to our place okay. Ronnie’s car wasn’t where she’d parked it twelve days before. No surprises there. There was no police tape blocking our apartment door, so I had to assume that no one had reported us missing. I didn’t quite know how to feel about that. I would have thought someone would have missed us after twelve days!
We paid our bills—some of which had gone past due—and cut a check for the rent. We figured we got lucky that it hadn’t been longer than twelve days, and then something just hit me: what if we both changed when we were at home? Cops would come in, find a couple of mannequins, they’d break us down, box us, keep us in storage for a few months, then probably sell us off. The way I saw it, should that happen it could be a year or so before either of us returned to normal.
Suddenly Ronnie wasn’t finding being cursed to become a mannequin all that much fun.
So there was only one thing to do—
We had sex.
Sex in my new hotness bod was a hell of a lot different than in my other one. It was on par with my Sharapova body (which was still boxed up in the bedroom), but more . . . I don’t know. It was as if the inherent sexiness of this Latino mix had become affixed to my brain and became part of my personality. I don’t know what was going one, but everything felt like it’d been jumped up by a factor of 10.
After a particularly satisfying set of orgasms, I laid back and hummed, "Damn, that was fantastic!"
Ronnie lifted her head from between my legs and went, "Huh?"
"What did you say?"
"I said that felt fantastic."
"No you didn’t." Ronnie looked a bit perplexed as she crawled up next to me. "You said something else. Something strange."
I figured she was trippin’. "I don’t think so, honey." I rolled over and hugged her. "You must just have mannequin withdrawal," I joked.
Our conversation always kept coming back to what we were going to do. "I love that I’m like you now," Ronnie said softly as we lay next to each other in bed, "but I’m goddamned if I wanna end up in a window with you for a few months."
"Could be longer."
"No one would say the magic words?"
"It’s more than that. Hold on . . ." I rolled off the bed. "Lie on your back with your legs spread."
"Okay." She smiled wickedly, thinking something perverse was coming.
Actually, something perverse was. "Rebecca, hard." Ronnie instantly froze.
I started breaking Ronnie down. I hauled the parts of her into the living room I wanted to use to make my point. I was worried that I might change as well, but I figured the odds were in my favor and I’d stay a "real" person while I did this.
I took Ronnie’s armless upper torso and dressed it in one of her black bras, then placed it on a small display stand that I placed on the coffee table. I took her hips and legs, dressed them in pantyhose and heels, then stood them up next to the table. Lastly I took her head and put a different wig on it (a short red number that I liked) and placed it on the entertainment center. I knew Ronnie could see the rest of her body from where she was. I stepped out where she could see me as well. "You taking this all in?" I asked. I then said, "Rebecca, real," and after a moment looked around. Nothing had changed. She was still plastic broken down into her component pieces.
I said the magic phrase a couple times more before I put Ronnie’s "real" hair back on her head, then placed her head on her torso. "Rebecca, real."
The stand disappeared, leaving Ronnie head and torso upright on the table. I figured she wouldn't bleed to death, as I’d been like this with my arms and legs off. She gasped when she grasped what I’d done to her. "Holy shit!" she yelled. "Christ, don’t leave me like this!"
"I won’t." I knelt down before her. "You see what could happen? If we’re separated like I did with you, we stay plastic. We don’t turn back to flesh and blood." I tapped her head lightly. "Our head is the key. Off on its own we’re just an object. Once you attach it to something—"
"Yeah, I get the point," Ronnie said. "We turn alive . . . even if alive means being some fuckin’ twisted thing outta Boxing Helana."
"Yeah." I turned her back plastic, then put her together and turned her real. "If we get broken down like that, we might just end up mannequins forever."
Ronnie was getting a little bummed by now. "I thought this was gonna be so cool," she whispered as she sat on the sofa. "I thought we could have fun with this."
"Well . . . I think we still can."
"We need to take a few precautions for one . . . I’ve had time to think about how we can keep ourselves from ending up in a property room for the rest of our lives."
Ronnie brightened up a little. She was always a little gloomy, and right now she likely had visions of never getting to walk around at all, forever and ever being plastic. "Anything else you thought of?"
"Yeah. I think we need someone to look after us."
I could see Ronnie didn’t like that idea at all. "If you’re talking about Candi—"
"No, I’m not." I sat next to her. "I’d have no intention of bringing her into this mix." I started grinning. "I do think I know of someone who might work out, though."
First off was setting up preventive mannequin maintenance. It was actually simpler than it might first appear:
Get a CD player that has a repeat function. Get a power interruption unit that will keep the player going incase the power shuts off. Plug the unit into the wall, plug the CD player into the power unit.
Burn a CD that has one of us saying the phrases, "Nora, real; Rebecca, real" about twenty times in a row. Put the CD in the player. Turn the player on and put the track on repeat. Let it play at a very low volume somewhere in your apartment.
That’s it. That’s all we had to do. We even tested it out on each other by uttering the change phrase and then waiting to see if we changed back. Usually within seconds we were automatically turned live again after being switched to plastic. The longest pause was when the player began repeating the track, and that wasn’t that long.
Then it was time to get the car outta hock. The cops had towed it away, and they ransomed it back to Ronnie for $700. Nobody asked any question, and no answers were given. It was just pay up and drive away.
Then came work. We got real lucky there—or at least Ronnie did. She went back to work and gave them some bullshit story about how we’d taken off for Vegas the day after we’d dressed the windows, got there, started having problems with me, I left, she did a lot of drinking and shit, things got messy, she overstayed her welcome . . . while Ronnie got her ass ripped up a bit, she upside was she wasn’t fired. Apparently they figured something had happened, and while they weren’t happy with her actions, she was too good an employee to let go.
And to make things even better, she let them know that she’d met someone that would probably be able to do my job very well, since it was obvious I wasn’t coming back . . ..
Which was how "Daniela Cruz" was able to start work alongside Ronnie almost immediately. Hey, it’s good work if you can get it.
The last part of my plan came a little over a month later. I’d discussed this part with Ronnie more than a few times in the intervening weeks, and while she wasn’t wild about my idea, she saw the logic in what I was proposing. She was going out of town to visit her folks, and she asked that I "implement" this part while she was gone. She didn’t give me a good reason why she wanted it that way; it was my guess she wanted me to be the only one around for this, simply to make things less confusing than they might otherwise become.
I paid a visit to the sporting goods store where I’d been on display for a weekend. I was looking for someone in particular: the girl who’d spent a lot of time talking to Ronnie, staring at me—and whispering sweet nothings to me one morning after what I assumed had been a rather pleasant evening.
I was guessing that I might have left more than just a lasting impression on her—and, if that were the case, I might be able to exploit it a little. Why would I want to do that? Insurance. Girls these days need insurance. Particularly girls who could turn to solid plastic at any moment.
I wandered in wearing something casual: a light dress and sandals. Nothing very fancy, but just sleek enough to get someone’s attention. Considering my "attributes," however, I’d pretty much get attention in any outfit I’d wear.
I found the girl putting up stock in the shoe section. She glanced at me out of the corner of my eye as I approached. When I stopped a few feet from her she rose from her kneeling position and turned to me. "Can I help you?"
I gave her by brightest smile. "I was needing some help with a racket," I lied. "I was wondering if I could give me some information on what would be good for me?"
She smiled and nodded. "Of course. This way, miss." Miss. Somehow I don’t think she called every woman who asked her for help miss.
I followed her over to the area where the tennis equipment was kept. I allowed my eyes to fall to the podium where I’d spent a weekend. "There was a mannequin over there a couple of weeks ago that was rather stunning," I said. "Whatever happened to it?"
"The company we were renting it from only allowed us to have it for a weekend," she replied. She turned to me, looking a little wistful. "She was rather pretty, wasn’t she?"
"Indeed. Almost too true to life." I was watching the girl—her nametag said Amanda—closely. I was certain I was pressing some of her buttons hard. "There was something very intriguing about her." I smiled. "Almost makes you wish she was real so you could get to know her."
Amanda blushed. Damn, I’d not only punched the right button, I’d rolled up the jackpot. "Yeah," she said softly. "She was kinda like that."
I let a moment pass until it appeared Amanda was going to start questioning me on what I was looking for. Then I dropped the bomb. "So, what did you do that night you told her you wished she were real?"
Amanda froze as quickly as I might have had someone dropped the magic phrase. You could see in her eyes that she knew just what I was I was asking. I gathered she was weighting whether her answer was going to be bullshit or not. "How . . . how do you know about that?" she asked.
I smiled enigmatically. "Maybe she was more real that you imagined?" I told her.
She tensed up. "You . . . can’t be."
I shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not." I leaned closer to her. "Would you like to find out?"
There was no hesitation. "Yes," she softly said.
I nodded. "What time do you get off work?"
"3 PM." That was in a couple of hours.
I told her to meet me at one of the local eateries just down the road. We’d have an early dinner and then . . . well, then, if she was really interested, I’d tell her more about her mystery girl. I didn’t have to push the issue about keeping quiet and such; Amanda looked like she was about to explode, like some deep-seated fantasy was about to come true, and she was damned if she was gonna blow it now . . ..
Amanda showed up about a quarter after three. She came over, sat down, and got right to the point. "How did you know what I said?" she asked.
We were sitting in a booth in the back of the bar. I leaned back. "Because you were talking to me."
"How else would I know?" I replied. "You want me to tell you where you touched me? Tell you how you winked at me before you walked away?" She knew I wasn’t making up that last. I could see it all over her face.
"You have a mannequin fetish?" I asked.
She nodded. "Among other things." She cleared her throat but didn’t say anything as the waitress chose that moment to take our order. After she left Amanda continued. "I love all that stuff—being frozen and immobile and aware. It just . . . I don’t know. I get turned on thinking about it." She was beginning to squirm a little in her seat. "How come you don’t look the same?"
"I’ve had my parts . . . switched." She grinned. "Which one you like better?"
She thought about the question. "I don’t know. I love tall girls, but the way you look now . . . it’s sorta like a really hot Brazilian girl—"
"Yeah. You were speaking Portuguese in the store a few times. I had a friend who used to speak it, so I know it a little."
That was the first I’d known that I was speaking a different language. Ronnie had looked at me funny a few times when I’d spoke, but she’d never said anything. It was kinda cool, but it meant that perhaps something was happening with these bodies that either of us—or at least me—had ever considered. "So you like this better than the other body?"
"Maybe . . . I don’t know. I guess I’d have to see them side by side."
"You could, you know."
Amanda gave me a puzzled look. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because my girlfriend has the same problem as me—we could turn into mannequins at any moment," I said, not believing I was really saying this to a stranger. "We’re taking precautions, but the fact is we could find ourselves both plastic dummies and have no way of coming out of it—"
"You can change without having any say so?" Amanda asked.
"Yeah," I said, nodding. "It’s a long story, but it can happen."
"And what do you want from me?"
"Someone who understands us . . . and would be willing to help us out."
Her eyebrows shot up as she asked, "You want me to help you out? By keeping you alive, I suppose?"
"Can I . . . turn you into a mannequin once in a while?"
I had to know she was going to ask that question. "Yeah, sure," I said. "I won’t mind. But you can’t keep me like that forever."
Amanda stared rubbing my leg with her foot. "Well, maybe a weekend would be nice—"
That afternoon we went home and I let Amanda play with me. By "play" I mean she turned me to plastic and mixed and matched me until the moon was about blood red in the sky and the seas were nearly boiling. She dressed me. She took me apart. She put me back together. She made love to me. She fucked me raw—well, would have if I hadn’t been plastic. She rearranged my body in strange ways—arms where legs should be, legs where arms should be, no hands or feet, head on the top of my hips. She went nuts.
We both loved every minute of it.
She eventually put my head back on my Sharapova body. Amanda looked me over once I was changed back to real. "Your face isn’t as dark anymore," she told me.
I nodded. "Probably because my body is so light skinned." I felt my face. My nose and lips were the same as before, however. "It must match depending upon the body."
"Probably." Amanda lay back on my bed, sighing. "Where’s your girlfriend again?"
"She’s out of town visiting her family this week."
"They know about any of this?"
"Fuck, no. They’d probably shit if they did."
"Which is why you have the CD playing with only her name being said." I’d showed Amanda our "safety net" for preventing a change. We’d cut CDs with just our individual names being said in case we decided to "rent out" ourselves to make some extra money. "You should set all that up on a computer."
"’Cause if the power goes out and you lose your backup, when the player starts up again it won’t go into repeat mode automatically. If it plays at all."
I hadn’t thought about that. "And you can do that with sound on a computer?"
"Yeah. I could set you up with a program that will fix that problem." She rolled over. "You gonna work like you did before? Renting yourself out?"
"I don’t know." I shrugged. "We’ve thought about it."
"I think you should."
I giggled. "We probably would. I mean . . . it’s good money."
"And you could have me run the business for you."
"Well, hold on . . . I think we have to get to know you a little better, first."
"Okay. I can dig that." She got up on her knees. "Hey, would you like to try something?"
"Well . . . Nora, hard." I froze instantly.
Amanda got up and got dressed. She pulled my head off my body and stuck it in a bag. I was there for a while, just sitting, when I felt her pick me up. She was taking me somewhere, but I really had no idea where. All I know is we got in her car and started off.
We drove for a while. We stopped and she took me with her. There were keys and the sound of a door opening. Then her footsteps. Wherever we were, it was quiet and it seemed like we were the only ones around.
I could hear her messing around for a bit before she pulled me out and fastened my head onto another body. She quickly affixed a wig to my head, then stepped back to give me an appraisal. After nodding she muttered, "Nora, real."
I let the wave of disorientation that always hit when I was someone "new" wash over me. My body felt very wrong; nothing I could put my finger on immediately, but I just knew it was way different than before. "Amanda, what . . ." And I looked around. "What is this place? Is this an . . . adult store?" Everywhere were racks filled with lingerie and sexy clothes and shoes and sex toys.
Amanda smiled. "It’s my brother’s place," she said with some pride. "He lets me moonlight here once in a while so I can make some extra money."
My memory was trying to remind me of something. "I think I’ve been in here," I said. "This is out on Hormel Road, isn’t it?" Amanda nodded. "Yeah. Ronnie and I were out here once and bought a couple of dildos." I walked over toward Amanda. I looked down and noticed a pair of enormous breasts covered in a shade of dark chocolate. "What did you do to me?"
"Put your head on the body of one of the mannequins."
"No shit." My ass didn’t seem to giggle as much--probably wasn’t as the one on my regular body—but my legs felt very firm. And comfortable in the heels I was wearing. "What kind of body?"
"She’s based on a dancer my brother used to know," Amanda said. "Tall, busty . . . he thought she’d make a great mannequin."
I sauntered over to a mirror to give myself a once-over. It was my face on the body of a girl who was probably pushing 6’ 3"—when she wasn’t wearing these platform sandals that made her at least another six inches tall. My legs were muscular and toned like a dancers. My hips stuck out nicely, probably due to the corset I was wearing. My breasts were incredible; on my "Latino" body I had D cups, but these . . . Es, maybe Fs. They were big and just a tad fake looking, but they felt very good.
My hair was long and curly and something of an autumn red, the same color of my inch long nails. But the biggest change was my skin tone. "I’m black," I said. "You made me a black chick."
"Is there anything wrong with that?" Amanda seemed worried I wasn’t going to be happy.
I turned and checked out my profile. Damn. I did have an incredible body. "No. It’s just that I’ve never been a black girl before." I snorted as I turned. "Of course, up until a few months ago I’d never been a Latino chick, either."
"Whatever." I moved closer to Amanda. With the shoes I was wearing I towered over her easily. "You must have always wanted to do it with this girl, right?"
She blushed. "In case you hadn’t noticed, I have a thing for tall girls."
"Oh, I did notice." I ran my fingers through her hair. "Tall exotic girls, I might add." I leaned down and kissed her on the lips lightly.
Amanda was now trembling. "Yeah. I do."
I rubbed her shoulders. "Well, you probably need to have this body back in on display by morning, so . . ." I looked around, grinning. "You wanna drive back to my place? Or is there a cot in the back room?"
The next couple of days went by in a whirl. With Ronnie out of town I was working on my own at the store as Daniela, and then spent most of the evening making love to Amanda in any of the various forms she could put together. She did all sorts of things to me; swapping bodies, removing parts, mixing and matching however she felt. We went out to dinner Monday night with me in my Sharapova, only once I was inside her car she froze me then removed my legs and brought be back to real that way. She had a wheelchair in the truck and spent the evening wheeling a legless me round for the entire night. The attention she gave me was astonishing; I was completely dependent upon her, but in a totally different way than I had ever been before. It wasn’t until everything was over that I told her how incredibly erotic the evening had been.
Tuesday was even better. Amanda told me that she’d be working her brother’s store from six until closing at ten, and I showed up about 7 PM to keep her company. Well, it wasn’t really company; she’d asked me to come over, and I had a very good idea about what she had in mind. Especially since she’d told me to wear something "really sexy."
When I walked in the store Amanda gave me a look that sorta got me going. I stop before the counter and said, "I hear you’re looking for a girl to display," since I knew that’s what she had in mind.
"Sure do." She stepped out from behind the counter. "Right over here is where I want her." She headed towards the back where the nightgowns were located.
I walked over and posed. "Like right here?" Amanda didn’t answer. She just froze me.
But rather than take me apart and undress me she removed my head and moved me over to the body that had been modeled on the black dancer. Then she made me real again.
I looked at her and smiled. She smiled back and told me, "There’s something in the changing room I’d like you to try on. Would you?" Since I wasn’t about to say no, I headed for the changing room to see what Amanda had in mind for me.
Ten minutes later I stepped out. I was wearing the outfit she’d selected: white platform knee high boots and a white leather corset dress with a plunging neckline. "You sure know how to make a girl look good," I told her. I examined myself in the mirror, seeing how nicely my dark skin contrasted with the stark white of the outfit. "Lace me up, will ya?"
Amanda tightened up the corset just enough to give my body a perfect hourglass shape. I turned to her. "I suppose you wanna put my black ass on display?"
She nodded. "That was . . . sorta the idea." She looked down for a moment. "If you don’t mind, that is."
I moved back to where I had been standing and struck a pose with my right foot kind of on point and my hands on my hips. "You mean, like this?" I asked. "Nora, hard." And with that I froze myself in place—much to Amanda’s visible delight.
For the next few hours I got to see and hear all the things going on in the store. It was small enough that you could pretty much pick out whispered conversation from just about anywhere inside. Interesting things—like one woman asking the guy with her about how much K-Y he thought they might need for anal; like the guy who was debating on which love doll he wanted based upon if they were looking at him "like they wanted him"; and, of course, the comment directed my way saying how hot I was or how so-and-so wanted to fuck me, or how someone wanted to have my body, or how someone wanted to fuck someone they knew with my body.
Whenever no one was in the store Amanda would come out from behind the counter and rub my ass and whisper sweet nothings to me. As much as I loved Ronnie, Amanda was pushing my buttons in a way that I hadn’t felt with Ronnie up to now. Ronnie liked the idea of being like me; with Amanda, she wanted to be with me in either form. And it wasn’t just "fuck toy" playing that Amanda was into like Candi was. I believed she truly enjoy the idea of having a woman—a tall, exotic woman—whom she could make into anything she liked.
I found the whole experience highly erotic.
It was a half-hour past closing when Amanda turned me back to real. "How you feeling?" she asked.
I responded with a long moan. "Excellent, honey," I purred. "I think I enjoyed that more than just being in a regular store." I ran my hands down my curvy body. "Must be the outfit."
Amanda put her arm around my waist and hugged me. "Must be." She returned behind the counter and finished up closing out the counter. "That and the person inside the outfit."
"You like a lot, don’t you?"
She nodded. "I’d be lying if I didn’t say yeah."
"More than my other bodies."
Amanda leaned on the register, thinking. "I don’t know. I like how you are as Daniela, but there’s something about you like this . . ." Her body shook as she shivered. "I’d love to watch you dance and have you give me a lap dance and then see what happens after that."
"You don’t want me in the window?" I asked, laughing.
"Only if it’s my window at home." She counted the loose change. "And only for a while."
"You like me like this," I said. "The Mix and Match Girl, ready to be anyone for you."
Amanda nodded. "Yeah. I only wish I could be anything for you. Whatever you wanted, just to make you happy—"
"That’s asking a lot."
She nodded. "You’re worth it."
I sighed. "If you say so." I walked over and leaned against the counter. "Maybe you could turn into an outfit like this, but in red. It would be—"
Amanda vanished before my eyes.
I nearly went into shock. I stood and called her name a couple of times, then walked around the counter, not knowing what I was going to find.
Amanda’s clothes were lying on the floor. But that wasn’t the strange part. Inside her clothes—within the top and pants she’d been wearing—was the outfit I had on. Only in bright red.
I pulled the dress and the boots out and laid them out on the floor before the counter. I thought about what had happened for a moment, and then it hit me: this was the same thing that had happened to Ronnie when she’d become cursed just like me.
I looked over the counter and into the register. I spied, for just a split second, that goddamn coin once more vanishing from sight.
What am I? I thought. Some fucking magnet for that damn thing? Once again I’d been present when someone had made a wish that changed their life. And once more I’d triggered the wish.
I looked down at the dress. "I want you to be Amanda again," I said. The change happened quickly, but not so fast that I couldn’t see it happening. The boots stretched out and the dress lengthened and the arms and head popped out and everything turned a creamy flesh color. In seconds Amanda was lying on the floor—naked, but back to being a girl.
She touched herself as if to confirm she was back to normal, then smiled up at me. "O-kay . . . I guess I can be anything you want me to be," she said softly.
"You had a coin in your hands when you were making that wish," I said. "A gold coin. Didn’t you?"
She got up off the floor. "I don’t remember. I think . . . yeah, maybe I did. I remember one of the guys paying me with it—"
"That’s the coin that changed Ronnie and me. It gives people what they wish for."
Amanda thought about this new information. "And I wished I could be anything for you."
Her eyes widened a bit. "Anything?" She seemed a bit concerned—or maybe that was something else I was seeing in her eyes.
"Well, considering what can happen to Ronnie and me, I would say . . . yes."
She smiled. "Anything?"
I raised an eyebrow. "You want me to change you, don’t you?"
"Why not?" she said. "You let me do it to you all the time."
"What if I wanted you to be my panties?" I didn’t want to let on, but this was turning me on something tremendously.
Amanda put her arms around my generous hips. "Then I guess I’d get to be in your crotch most of the day."
"And you’d like that?"
She nodded. "Oh, yeah." She kissed me, pulling me closer in the process. "To be honest I hate my life. I got nothing going on in it right now. But, being with you—being something for you . . ." She rested her head against my breasts and sighed. "Fuck yeah. I’m down with that." She looked up, eyes brimming with tears. "I’ll be your fucking tampon if you like—just as long as it’s your tampon."
I wasn’t about to make her a tampon, but her honesty mingled with the sadness that came across in her words . . . it really tore me up. I thought I had things bad. At least I had something going on—even if it was just being someone’s idea of a fantasy.
And idea started to form in my brain. "Why don’t you get that register closed out," I told her, "and then we’ll see what we can do." Amanda—still naked—went back to work while I rummaged through some of the stuff on the racks.
About fifteen minutes later Amanda entered the back room. She was carrying her clothes and there was a sweet smile upon her face. I was sitting, leafing through a supply catalog. "I’m all done," she said.
"I can see that."
She laid down her clothes. "So, what do you having in mind?" Amanda was eyeing the clothes I’d laid out, a bright blue latex dress and black platform sandal which would look great on any dancer.
I put down the catalog and looked up. "I was thinking we’d go out," I said, smiling.
She knew that wasn’t all I had in mind. "And?"
"And . . . I think I wanna give you a make over before we leave . . .."
It was near three in the morning by the time we returned to Amanda’s brother’s store. Neither of us had to work in the morning, so there was no concern about having been out so late.
There’s no need saying I got a lot of attention. I did. A tall, busty black girl in a white leather outfit will always get tons of stares. But I was used to it. I’d been on display in stores, so having people look at you with a certain wanting was something I understood.
But Amanda . . . it had gone and made her evening.
She’d known I was going to do something to her. I think she’d expected I was going to fuck her up, give her a gigantic ass or stupendous tits or legs that went on forever. Well, I had thought about that, then realized there was a whole lot of time for us to play that game.
Instead, I’d turned Amanda into a slinky and somewhat bustier Felicia Tang.
I’d seen the girl’s picture in the catalog and decided to turn Amanda into her. With modifications, of course. I’d upped her bust size just a bit—I didn’t want her falling over, after all—flared her hip out a smidgen, then stretched her body a couple of inches and gave her blond hair. All of which met with her smoldering approval.
Then, once I’d dressed her, we went out—to the nicest gentlemen’s club I knew in town.
When we walked in it was as if business came to a halt and all eyes turned on us. Amanda had told me that the girl I’d been modeled on had been a dancer of some reputation here, but that a year or two before she’d left for Vegas after getting a huge offer to work a club there. I could hear the name—Ta’nee—being whispered as we entered the room. And immediately after that I could hear, "Is that Felicia Tang?" being whispered as well. We made our way to a both, ordered drinks—
And let happen what I knew was going to happen.
After fifteen minutes guys were wanting to buy us drinks. Ten minutes after that guys were wanting a little of our time—if we were available. Forty minutes after we arrived a couple of the girls came up and said some very complementary things about us, asked us how we were doing, that sort of thing. Five minutes after that the manager came over, told us everything was on the house . . . and would I consider dancing for, say, thirty minutes?
Amanda asked if he would like us both dancing for say, an hour?
The time on stage went by in a blur. I don’t remember much except really getting into the music, the people screaming at me from the edge of the stage, and seeing how much fun Amanda was having. I had been worried I wouldn’t know what to do once I was out there, but it was as if my body knew what it was suppose to do once I started moving. Amanda sure as hell didn’t have any problems, not from what I could see. We did our hour, made a lot in tips, scored a lot of points with the guys, made friends with some of the girls (most of whom refused to believe we weren’t who we said we weren’t), and finished out the evening with Amanda and I doing a "lez show" in a private room for three guys who put up $5,000 for thirty minutes of our precious time.
What I would call one hell of a profitable night.
Amanda was floating on a tiny cloud as she entered the store. "Fuck, that was . . . I mean, it was . . .."
"Words can’t cover the feeling, can’t they?" I asked.
"No." She stopped before a mirror and ran her hands over her body. "You know there was one guy who offered me two grand to suck his cock?"
I giggled. "And you didn’t take it?"
She turned to me. "I’m a porn star, not a whore." She laughed. "So, what now?"
"For one, I think we need to get back into our own bodies," I told her. "Your brother’s expecting to find, um, me standing here—" I posed where the mannequin had been, "and he’ll probably want to see his sister as she really is, instead of being a slightly enhanced Asian girl."
Amanda nodded sadly. She’d had a shit load of fun and didn’t want it to end. Of course she couldn’t see the big picture, not right now, the one that showed that the fun was just starting. What she saw was what had transpired. She turned me back to plastic, switched my head back onto my "own" body, then brought me back to life.
I walked out from where my body had been standing. "And now . . . what can I do with you?"
Amanda’s almond eyes glowed with yearning. "Something special, I hope."
"With you, everything is special." I grinned. "Strip . . . Felicia." She began removing her clothes.
The moment she was naked, her clothes laying about her feet, I said, "I think I’d like you as a short black leather dress with a deep, plunging neckline that would fit my curvy body perfectly."
There was a moment of hesitation, then Amanda started to morph. It was like watching a time-laps photo being sped up. First she was there, then her skin turned leathery, then black, then her head, arms and legs sorta shrank up into her torso which was quickly changing into something low-cut. After what seemed like maybe three seconds she was done changing, and Amanda—now a lovely black dress—quickly fell in a heap upon the floor.
I picked her up and brushed the dust off her body. "You look wonderful, honey," I told her. I walked over and put her on a hanger, then placed her on a rack towards the back of the clothing section. "And I think you’ll look even more wonderful when I come back in the morning to buy you."
I returned to the store early the next morning. I wanted to make sure that no one got to Amanda before I did. Considering that she was designed to fit me perfectly, and my body was a bit over enhanced, I figured that anyone else who tried her on would find her less than perfect. Still, I didn’t want to take any chances.
There was a guy behind the counter when I entered. I saw the resemblance between him and Amanda, and figured him for the brother/owner. He was checking me out as I headed back to where I’d stashed Amanda. She was right where I’d left her, hanging in the rack between this purple number and something in a shocking pink. I liked the hot pink number, and whispered, "I’d like you the same color as the pink outfit next to you." For a moment nothing happened, then Amanda turned the same color.
I pulled her off the rack. "You have a place I can change?" I asked, trying to sound sultry as hell.
Amanda’s brother nodded. "Dressing room over there."
I nodded then walked over by the shoes. I found a pair of boots—knee high with a thick, stacked heel—and dumped them out of the box. I took the box, and Amanda, back to the dressing room.
Before I slipped her on I laid her on the chair. "I’d like you to also make a pair of pink knee high boots," I told her, "with thick four inch stacked heels that will fit me perfectly."
The hem of her dress lengthened then separated. A pair of boots formed off the dress. The hem snapped back to where it had been, looking like nothing had ever been any different.
"Perfect." I slipped into her, feeling her hug my body and my feet and legs. I looked at her on me, running my hands over her as I saw how wonderful we looked together. "You look great on me." I wondered if I could do more than one-way communication with her. "I’d like to be able to hear your thoughts," I mumbled.
I hear a small voice in the back of my head. "–just too fuckin’ much, I love the way Nora’s body feels inside me, I—"
"I’m glad you love how I feel, honey," I told her.
"You can hear me?" She sounded surprised.
"Yep. I wanted to hear you, and now I can."
"And only you?"
"Just you, honey." I ran my hands over my Amanda-covered breasts. "How’s this feel?"
"You can’t even imagine . . ." There was a momentary pause, then I heard Amanda moaning in my mind. "Fuck. That was just . . . you probably feel that way when you’re a mannequin, I’ll bet."
"How’s that? Totally freakin’ sensual? Like your whole body is as sensitive as your most sensitive parts?"
I smiled. "You bet." I turned in profile. "Can you see any of this?"
"Yeah. It’s like—I shouldn’t be able to, but I do. It’s like my eyes are where your nipples should be."
I covered my breasts. "Can you still see?"
"Yeah . . . but I like having your hands there."
I squeezed my breasts, and Amanda with them. "Like that, huh?"
"Is that your brother out there?"
"Yeah." I could almost feel her smiling. "He’d shit if he knew what was going on."
Something evil suddenly popped into my head. "Hey, you wanna do something . . . kinky?"
"Yeah? Tell me . . .."
I stepped out of the dressing room a couple of minutes later. I posed so that Amanda’s brother could get a good look at me. "Hey, pretty nice, huh?"
Amanda’s brother looked like he’d enjoy jumping over the counter and taking me hard. "Uh, yeah. Nice."
"Pretty hot, you say?" I put my hand on my hips and cocked them to the right.
He grinned. "If you need me to tell you, yeah, pretty hot."
I walked towards the counter. "Your sister’s Amanda, isn’t she?"
"You know her?"
"Yeah. She’s fuckin’ wild." I smiled softly. "And um meio de menina demais sexy para homens."
"Just that she’s sexy." I came around to the side of the counter. I could see him full body. He was hard enough that I could probably hang my old dress on his cock. "She says that if I fuck you, that’ll pay for the outfit." I took two steps forward, walking behind the counter. "What do you think?"
While I figured this guy was thinking I can’t do this girl while the store’s open, I realized there was a part of him that knew this was a fantasy no guy could ever pass up.
Besides, I didn’t think he’d take long.
We spent the rest of the morning going around window shopping and such. We talked about what it was like for Amanda being my dress, and what it was like for me wearing her. We talked about what it felt like from Amanda’s point of view while I fucked her brother. I told her I how felt listening to her moaning in my head while her bother was cuming inside me.
Mostly, though, we talked.
I changed the way Amanda looked a couple of times while we were out. She went from the hot pink leather number to a black leather skirt and a tight gray sleeveless blouse to what I was wearing now, which was a very clingy blue knit dress. I keep the boots, though, because I’d never had a pair that had felt so comfortable. Then again, they were a custom fit.
I was having lunch at a local café, sitting outside, watching people walk by. I was enjoying my walnut salad. "You’re not hungry, are you?" I whispered between mouthfuls.
"Not a bit," Amanda said. "It’s strange. I only feel . . . excited. You know? Like someone was rubbing me—nicely rubbing me."
I chuckled. "I know what you mean. I’ve been there."
"Yeah, sure. When you’re plastic." I hear her sigh. "I suppose you could make me like that as well."
"Yeah, if I wanted it. But I’d be the only one who could change you back."
"I could be stuff for a long time if anything happened to you."
"You could be stuck forever." I leaned back in my chair and wiped my mouth. "’Course I have the same problem. Turn me plastic, take my head off, and then I’d be stuck as a display item for a long time."
"But you’d be beautiful."
"I’d like to be beautiful and alive."
Amanda hummed, "I’m beautiful and alive. Or don’t you think so?"
I patted my lap. "Of course, honey. I think you look wonderful on me."
She giggled. "I wish you could feel what this is like."
"I can imagine," I said. "But I’d love to trade places with you."
And no sooner had I finished speaking that my point of view changed.
Suddenly I wasn’t sitting there reaching for my fork, my butt planted firmly in my chair, my legs crossed and my right foot jiggling. Oh, I could feel all this going on, more or less, but it was as if I’d become a passenger in a car, and everything that was happening we outside my control. My foot was moving, but I couldn’t move it. I could feel my torso, but I couldn’t change position. And my arms and head . . . they weren’t even there.
Then I heard a voice. Slightly accented. Speaking Portuguese. "Oh, meu Deus, que o inferno somente aconteceram? Nora? Nora? Onde são?" I didn’t need to ask who was speaking. I knew what happened:
Amanda and I had traded places. Just like I’d wanted.
"Amanda, Amanda!" I called her name a couple of times, but she didn’t respond. I didn’t want her freaking out, but she was about five seconds from one of those public meltdowns that was gonna have people wondering just what the hell was going on. Then I remembered: I could hear her thoughts when she was the dress, but she probably couldn’t hear mine. "I would like if Amanda could hear what I’m saying," I said. Then I shouted, "Amanda!"
She stopped talking. "Nora?" I could feel her body moving, but I couldn’t see anything but the table and the scenery before us.
"What happened?" She was talking out loud to no one, which was starting to draw a stare from one of the ladies a couple of tables over.
"Keep it down . . . I think we switched places."
"Switched?" she muttered just under her breath. "Like bodies?"
"Well, forms is more like it, but, yeah. We did."
"Because I wanted it," I told her.
"You mean . . . you’re me and I’m you?"
"Sort of, I guess." I took in the sensation of covering what had been my body. "You’re right, this is pretty unbelievable."
"Yeah. Look . . . why don’t you pay the bill, then lets go home and take things from there. Okay?"
I sensed rather than saw or felt Amanda nod. She paid the tab, then began walking toward where I’d parked the car. And while she walked, I took in everything.
My line of vision seemed to be about where her breasts were, but I was able to change around my point of view to her hips, off her butt, under her arms . . . it was like I could see just about anywhere if I wanted to. I ever saw everything in a 360 degree panoramic view, all at once, which was pretty freaky.
Then there was just being on Amanda’s body—my old body. I never realized how much it jiggled when I walked. My butt and hips were going, my breasts bounced . . . I could feel my calves contracting and relaxing, and my toes curling with each step. All the while being rubbed all over, almost constantly . . . yeah, I came a lot just in the few minutes it took us to get to the car. It was better in a way than when I was a mannequin, because this was not only constant, but it was being caused by another. And that made it oh, so much better.
As Amanda got into the car and began to drive off, I giggled. "What is it?" she asked.
"I just realized something—"
"You better hope we don’t run into your brother—otherwise . . .."
When we got home we started testing to see just what would happen with us in our current forms. Mostly, I was curious to see if when my mannequin trigger phrase was uttered, what would happen. After all, I really wasn’t myself any more.
I had her lay the dress part of me on the bed and the boots part of me on the floor. Then Amanda said the trigger phrase.
She didn’t change, but then neither did I. Or at least I didn’t visibly change. Rather, I felt the strangest sensation pass through me, like something was trying to change me into a human-sized plastic model, but couldn’t—but that wasn’t going to keep whatever forces were at work from trying. I didn’t like this sensation. For the first time since all this crazy shit had started I felt uneasy.
Amanda picked me up. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I told her, "but something doesn’t feel right—" I explained what was going on. "Say the other phrase."
"Nora, real." The moment Amanda said that the feeling vanished. "Better?" she asked.
"Yeah. But I’d make sure you never say that first phrase if you’re wearing me. I’m not sure what would happen."
"Got it. And while we’re at it—" She laid me on the bed and disappeared for a moment. She was back a few minutes later. "I changed the CD to trigger you back. Just in case."
"Good idea." Now came the moment to see if I was going to remain a dress forever. "Pick me up, would you?"
She did. "What you going to do?"
"See if we can change back."
"You want me to put you on?"
"No, I don’t think it’s necessary," I told her. "I can do things to you without touching you, so I’m thinking that, at a minimum, I might only need to touch you to switch." I mentally shrugged. "At least I think so."
"Well, give it a shot."
I concentrated. "I’d like it if you and I switched."
And suddenly, just like before, I was back in my body, holding Amanda in my hands.
I pressed the dress to my breasts. "You okay, Amanda?"
She responded immediately. "I’m cool, Nora."
I held her up and shook her. "I thought I was Daniela."
She laughed. "I thought I was Felicia."
"You were, last night." I laid the dress over the boots. "But I’d like you to be the Felicia you were right now."
Like Venus rising out of the sea foam, the outfit that Amanda had been flowed together and grew before my eyes. In seconds the Felicia form she’d been last night stood before me. Amanda ran her hands over her breasts. "Now this . . . is more like it."
"You like, huh?"
She nodded. "Uh, huh."
"I would like you with long black hair—" Her blond hair turned raven black and instantly reached to the small of her back. "And your breasts should be three cup sizes bigger—" The visibly swelled, growing round and naturally perfect. "—with constantly erect and sensitive nipples—" Amanda’s large nipples popped up, hard and luscious. She moaned out loud. "—and your crotch should be completely hairless and smooth—" Her black pubic hair vanish, leaving her pubic mound looking as smooth as the day she might have been born. "—and your body should be seven and a half foot tall."
Amanda’s body stretched and grew until her perfect form was nearly brushing the ceiling. She sighed loudly, her eyes closed, her hands on her quivering hip. "Oh, shit, this is . . . I feel like a dream." She half-opened her eyes. "I can’t believe you want me like this."
"Oh, it’s not for me," I told her. "I’d like to switch bodies with you—"
I finished the statement with my words coming from her lips. "So you can make love to your fantasy woman."
Amanda gasped, wide eyed. My old body began to shake, and then the obvious scent of female musk filled the room. "God, you are too good to me."
"I know," I said, smiling. I wondered if I could continue changing things on her, now that "she" was inside "me". "You know, I’d love to see you with another set of breasts as large as you now have, just under what you have." To the surprise of both of us, another set grew on her lower torso, filling out in seconds. Amanda arched her back. "Oh, Daniela—"
"And I think I’d like you to have two more sets of arms—just so you can take care of everything." I had no idea how this would look, but like with the breasts four more arms and hands—two on each side of her body—popped out and grew to normal size in just a few seconds.
Amanda spent the next few moments in silence, examining her new accouterments. "Fuck, girl! You are kinky!"
"Yeah, I am." I took a step towards her. "Now, you think you can put those arms to good use?"
She slid up to me and wrapped all her arms around my large body. "You know, it’s only going to get stranger from here on out," she told me.
I kissed her on the forehead. "You think this is bad . . ." I grinned broadly. "Just wait until Ronnie gets back . . .."
To be Continued— in Les Yeux Sans Visage