DIRTY SWAPS: Hardcore Gender Swap Bundle Page 5

  They had to be durable.

  They had to prove cost effective and, how shall I put this, not overly appealing to hard core cycle criminals who target hot cycles to steal, spray, and then sell-on on the black market. Sorry, I should have said, and you’ve almost certainly guessed, I hate bike thieves.

  Why?

  Well apart from the obvious moral issues, I myself have been victim of such thieves. It’s not a nice feeling and I don’t recommend it to anyone. Not that anyone would intentionally have their cycle stolen so they could see what it felt like, but you catch my drift.

  That said, there are some odd people out there, so maybe this is some kind of fetish.

  Imagine that.

  Now, I’m not one to kink-shame, but enjoying the feeling of having your bike stolen is just too far for me. still, I suppose it’s true what they say: it takes all sorts!

  I jumped on the bike and after a brief wobble – totally not my fault but I won’t make excuses, I pedalled out of the enclosure and onto the road. Holding my cell up in one hand to look at my map app, I made a blind turn onto the main road.

  It was busy, with several lanes seemingly merging in and out of each other.

  I kind of ignored the cars and chose the best lane that suited my route.

  I would need to stay in a straight line for a little while before making a hard right onto a large boulevard, just after a busy junction.

  I saw that I had received a message from an old friend but conscious of road safety I only opened the app to read it, I didn’t reply, and wouldn’t until I was on a quieter part of the city centre road.

  I really enjoyed the busy vibe of the city.

  Of course, it was world famous that the Big Apple has a certain feel to it that just isn’t replicated anywhere else on the globe.

  I mean, the noise was just immense.

  All the cars tooting their horns, the foul language being spouted by drivers as they passed me.

  Really there is nowhere else you could go for this kind of tough talking bravado.

  Well, I continued for a couple of blocks before my turn off. When the time came, I made a quick switch onto the right road.

  I felt a little hungry and saw a food stall selling some kind of street snack. I made the stop and bought the snack with my cell’s payment system, some kind of wholefoods style wrap with a generous amount of filing.

  I must confess, I wasn’t expecting it to taste so good.

  I was highly impressed and would go as far as to say it was probably the best wrap I had ever purchased.

  It went without saying that I could make a better wrap myself, but this was certainly a brilliant example of a wrap made by another person.

  The vendor seemed ecstatic that I was enjoying his fare so much, and all I could do was compliment him. He asked if I could leave a review on TripAdvisor. I told him I would think about it, because I didn’t know whether there would be any less than favourable after effects, if you catch my drift.

  The vendor didn’t seem overly impressed by this comment, so rather than talk to him for a second longer I hopped on my cycle and was away, pedalling quickly as he gave chase.

  I turned around and saw that he had stopped, screaming something about my payment.

  What an odd person he turned out to be.

  Still, I couldn’t deny that he made a mean wrap.

  I looked at my phone and saw that I wasn’t that far from the hotel. In actual fact, there was a short cut I could take through a small park. All I needed to do was make a small jump over a metal barrier.

  I knew I could do it – I was a tremendous cyclist, so I got my approach right, pedalled fast, and… success.

  I cycled calmly through the park, pretty pleased with my skilled map reading and cycle skills, and exited to the welcoming sight of my destination.

  Now, who says cycling in the city is dangerous?

  I pulled up to the hotel entrance and as the concierge, an old man but in impressive shape all the same, approached me I pointed at my cycle and gave him the indication that I wanted the cycle parked in the cycle check-in station across the road.

  This simple instruction was taken on board by the concierge although I couldn’t help but notice he seemed a little irritated, rolling his eyes as he crossed the busy road, pushing the bike back in the direction I had just come from.

  Well, another thing he could park was that kind of attitude, I thought, amused at my wordplay but also seriously annoyed by his terrible customer service.

  Anyway, a far friendlier concierge approached from inside of the hotel entrance and pointed me in the right direction. I thanked him and offered him my fist to bump, which he accepted with gusto.

  He stood there smiling for a second, a strangely expectant look on his face.

  What was he after?

  Who knows.

  I certainly didn’t.

  Anyway, I walked into the main reception and took a moment to take it all in. This truly was spectacular, real classic architecture from times gone by if you know what I mean. Wood panelling, caricature paintings on the walls, a thick, patterned carpet on the floor.

  This was pure class and not even the most elegant and sophisticated traveller could dispute that.

  The reception desk was a large oak affair, with ornate carvings around its edge. The carvings appeared to be of men and women, all entangled in each other, a fluidity of gender that seemed like an intriguing artistic choice at the time. I took a quick photo of it on my cell and didn’t think any more about it.

  With a bold filter, that could real pop off on my Instagram, I considered briefly.

  Well, at this stage I became aware of how busy the reception area was. People seemed to be pushing and shoving. I really hated that kind of bad mannered behaviour and made sure to glare as each one of them manoeuvred around me towards the desk.

  All I wanted to do was take a few photos from a decent angle!

  Why couldn’t people just show some appreciation for others. Oh well, not my problem. It wasn’t as if I worked here and had to be around them all the time.

  I took my place at the back of the queue and made sure that my unhappiness was seen by everyone.

  Why shouldn’t I tut or roll my eyes?

  So what if I wanted a photo?

  As I waited I noticed the grumpy old concierge in the lobby, talking with some other members of staff. Call me paranoid, but I had a feeling they were talking about me.

  Well, they could talk.

  It wasn’t as if they were in a position to make me face any consequences.

  No, they could say what they wanted.

  Finally, the queue of people dissipated, and I stood face to face with the receptionist.

  **

  “Yes, sir, how can I help you?” The receptionist asked.

  I was immediately taken aback by how hot she was. I mean, it wasn’t as if the reception staff at this kind of place were ever anything less than well made up and presentable, but this was next level.

  She looked like she could just as easily be modelling in New York fashion week. Perfect hair, ultra sleek and shiny, and distinctive makeup that highlighted a spectacular bone structure and emphasised her plump, red lips.

  I must have been staring.

  “Sir?” She asked again.

  I looked at her name badge. I should probably say something, I thought, a little flustered.

  “Ah, yes,” I said. “Sorry. Tiffany, I’m here from Flax, I’m here to interview the management about the refurb?”

  “Of course,” Tiffany said. “They’re expecting you. Follow me please.”

  There was something about tiffany I just couldn’t put my finger on. Something about her perfection, it was almost as if she had been created as the perfect image of a sexy, polite, subservient woman.

  Whatever, I thought.

  I decided to enjoy the view as I followed her. The tight, yet shapely ass, swaying from side to side, the subtle muscle in her thighs, her long legs.
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  As I say, she was kind of perfect.

  As we approached the meeting room, I noticed that to me at least, the hotel didn’t look like it had had that much of an upgrade. I guess it was pretty classic, retaining that old school air of sophistication, but in terms of recent upgrades I wasn’t seeing any.

  Odd, I thought.

  Tiffany knocked on the large oak panelled door and as we waited for a response, she turned to look at me.

  “This is a fantastic opportunity for you,” She said. “I certainly don’t regret it. In fact, it’s the best decision I ever made.”

  I nodded politely, almost absent-mindedly.

  Wait, what? I thought.

  “Oh, no, I’m not hear for a job,” I said. “Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? The interview, right?”

  “I was the same as you,” Tiffany replied. “Don’t worry, all will become clear soon enough.”

  A buzzing noise and Tiffany opened the heavy door.

  I was about to find out what she was talking about.

  **

  Entering the room, I could see that this wasn’t going to play out like I had expected. But quite what would happen, I still had no idea.

  As a journalist, this was exciting.

  As a person, I felt a little unnerved.

  “You must be from Flax?” The woman said.

  She stood up from the L-shaped mahogany table and beckoned me over. As I walked towards the table, I scanned each person sitting before me. A mix of men and women. The women all seemed to have one thing in common, namely their totally flawless appearance. There were less men, three in total, and they sat in a row in the middle of the table.

  Each one could be described as physically imposing, that was for sure.

  Two of them were dressed in very expensive looking suits, open coloured shirts, evidently with very athletic physiques.

  The other man was a little more casual, like he had just stepped out of a work out session, followed by a relaxing spa session. As with the other two, he looked supremely fit and in shape, the outline of his powerful shoulders very evident underneath a tight-fitting sports t-shirt.

  “I think there must be some confusion,” I said, turning to gesture towards Tiffany in the hope that she would explain I was here to interview them, not the other way round.

  “No, everything is as it should be,” The man in the sportswear said, standing up from the table and walking towards me.

  Standing directly in front of me, he certainly towered over me, his physicality causing me to feel a bit flustered, something that clearly did not go unnoticed.

  “My name is Mr Maxwell,” He said. “You have been selected to be a part of our team, we just need to get the contracts sorted before we can begin in earnest. Don’t worry, we have been tracking your progress, and this will be the making of you.”

  “Excuse me,” I said, a little helplessly. “I don’t know what you’re talking abo-“

  Before I could finish my sentence I felt myself being picked up from behind, two sets of hands lifting me up at the armpits. I turned my head and saw the faces of the concierge staff from earlier, both grinning with some satisfaction as I fruitlessly tried to fight my way out of their clutches.

  “Put me down!” I said. “You can forget a good write up now, I’ll go to town on you!”

  With a nod from Mr Maxwell, the two men carried me over to a large oak table on the opposite side of the room.

  As I lay down on the table, held in place by the two concierge staff and a couple of the other women, I realised that struggle was useless and decided to try and reason with them to release me.

  “Don’t bother,” Maxwell said. “You see, we have been tracking you since an article you wrote about online feminization came to our attention. Yes, that’s right. Well, we placed a track on your internet usage and it seems like your interest wasn’t only professional. Since writing the piece you have been logging in on various sissy and hypno-sissy sites, haven’t you?”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  It was true, I had been. But it was only fantasy, something different from jerking off over big booty sluts getting pounded doggystyle.

  “I’ll take you silence as confirmation we haven’t made a mistake then,” He said. “Well, our project here at this hotel is to provide men like you with an opportunity to transform into the person – the woman – that you truly want to be. In exchange for this transformation, you will work for us.”

  I was shocked to my core. But suddenly it made sense. Wait, was Tiffany actually a man? I looked at her, and she nodded in acknowledgment.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Maxwell said. “But as you’ll see now, Tiffany is 100% woman now. Tiffany, strip and present for us.”

  With that, Tiffany very calmly and without fanfare began to remove her clothes.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

  My heart was racing.

  I didn’t know where to look, but I couldn’t help but ogle as Tiffany now stood in my line of vision, in a matching black lace bra and panties. Her body looked phenomenal, a perfect kind of slender athleticism but still with highly sensual, feminine curves.

  You know what I mean.

  Pert, milky breasts – with stiff nipples prominent underneath the see-through lace.

  A tiny, svelte waist.

  Hips and thighs that looked like they could just as easily rock climb, squat, run, swim – any kind of physical proposition you could imagine.

  “Turn for him,” Maxwell said, calmly but with an air of authority.

  Tiffany turned around to reveal a juicy, perfectly rounded ass. The high cut of the panties emphasised her shapely cheeks. There was more than enough for any man to grab and squeeze, that was for sure.

  “Now, you answer me this,” Maxwell said. “I see you looking, drooling. But, tell me, what do you really desire? What is your true preference? Do you desire to fuck her, or do you desire to be her?”

  I was stunned.

  My heart was still racing, I mean, I did always lust after women like Tiffany. That was for sure, there could be no doubting it. Part of my daily life was to jerk off to women who looked like this, their perfect bodies, their glamourous style. But…

  I also couldn’t deny that a part of my fantasy, a part that was sometimes buried deep in my subconscious but had been coming more and more to the forefront of my thoughts, was indeed the idea that actually I would like to be one of these women. The thought of experiencing their body if it was my own. My delicate, feminine hands caressing, squeezing, probing my perfect female body. I couldn’t deny that I had more often than not, especially recently, reached my climax when imagining this.

  Of course, this isn’t where it ended. When I was being even more candid, more explicit at the height of my fantasies, I would begin to wonder what it would be like to be fucked as a woman – and I don’t mean fucked by a normal dude, or a nerd, but what it would be like to be fucked by an out and out alpha male.

  A boss.

  A leader.

  The kind of guy who could parade around a gym, looking confident and strong. The type of man who would hold court confidently in a business meeting, getting his point across in a firm, masterful way.

  These kinds of men would just know exactly what to do to please a woman. They would have the experience, the body, the mindset to just send a woman – of their choice, naturally – into total ecstasy.

  Of course, they would also surely be well equipped to fill an eager, slutty bimbo’s hot, pulsating pussy with their large, throbbing, meaty cock.

  Even thinking about it as I hesitated to answer Maxwell was getting me hot under the colour, my cock beginning to twitch and strain in my pants.

  “Answer me,” Maxwell said. “You will answer me and you will tell us all the truth.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I desire to be her, or to be a woman like her. Please-“

  I was still panicked, not fully aware of what was happening. But before I could say any mor
e, it seemed like my acknowledgment of my desires had taken this situation to the next level.

  Maxwell appeared to motion to Tiffany, who then walked over to me and stood next to the table, in nothing by her bra and panties.

  “Sir, shall I administer the serum?” She said.

  “Yes, we have our confirmation of consent,” Maxwell said, running his hand over my face.

  It felt strange. I was totally helpless, in a situation where I had no real idea what was going on other than the fact that an organisation seemed to have been monitoring me and had explicit knowledge of my sexual activities and fantasies.

  The two concierges approached and without instruction began to remove my trousers and pants and cut away my shirt. Before I knew it, I was totally naked, lying exposed on the table. My cock was by now fully erect. It wasn’t a big dick, far from it, and I noticed both concierges having a sly giggle about it. I felt humiliated.

  “Don’t worry,” Tiffany said. “I didn’t have a very big one when I was a man. For us, this is a brilliant opportunity to become the best versions of ourselves we can be, to live out our real sexual destinies.”

  I still didn’t truly know where this was going. I was a little scared, but the thrill I was feeling running through my body could not be denied.

  On some level, I just knew a change was coming.

  “Lift your legs up, part them slightly,” Maxwell said to me.

  I did what I was told. He just had a commanding voice that I found irresistible. Also I was beginning to realise something.

  I was attracted to him.

  I desired him.

  I wanted him.

  Maxwell put his hands on my ankles and held them in position. This was thrilling, I couldn’t deny it. Then it happened.

  Tiffany positioned herself in between my legs, kneeling down.

  I strained my neck to see what was going on.

  Then I saw it.

  What looked like a butt-plug, clear but filled with a pink serum, with a plunger at one end like medical syringe.

  “W-w-w-w-what?” I said, my nerves getting the best of me.

  “Don’t worry, darling,” Maxwell said. “It will feel a little cold, then you’ll drift off to sleep. But when you wake… well that’s when the fun will begin.