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Lainie Lee: Spellbound in the Seventies 3 and 4
Posted by: Admin on Wednesday, July 31, 2002 - 02:12 AM Printer Friendly
in the Seventies
Chapters 3 and 4

by Lainie Lee and Brian Matthews

Disclaimer: This story contains scenes primarily of interest to adults, and is intended solely for adults. If you are underage, or reading adult-oriented literature offends you, or if doing so is illegal in your jurisdiction, please go read something else.


Chapter III -- My Submission to Fate

"Janice!" I squealed. I felt suddenly happy. Janice was a witch! She could use her magic to take us both home again! My mood swung suddenly upward, and left me feeling a bit giddy. The rapidity with which my moods could change would continue to plague me, but right now, I didn't notice.

She shook her head again. "You'd better call me Pam. And you are Amy." She walked around the room to look at me in profile. "Little Amy, looking good."

I felt myself blushing. "Janice! Pam, I mean. Can you, is it possible, I mean, you can, can't you?" I knew I was babbling, but I couldn't stop.

Pam, Janice, frowned. "Maybe." She paused by the dresser and picked something out of the jewelry case. "But I'll need your help."

"Sure, sure, anything, anything you want."

"That's right," she said, stepping over toward me. "You are going to have to do just exactly what I tell you to do, or we are both stuck."

"Okay," I nodded vigorously enough to jiggle my brand new boobies on my teenage chest. I hardly noticed.

"Now, this is really important, Amy. I can't risk you stepping on a chalk line again, or something worse. You'll have to promise me you'll obey me in every command." She walked over toward me, and put out a hand.

"Uh huh," I guessed that she wanted me to put my hand in hers. I did so, noticing the femininity of both hands, the softness, the shaped and painted nails; mine softly, sweetly pink, hers a deeper passionate rose.

"Say it then," she ordered. "Swear that you will obey me in everything, or we will both be trapped in these bodies for the rest of our lives." She took what she had in her hand, a cheap costume jewelry brooch, and using the pin of it, stabbed me in the end of my left ring finger.

"Ouch." It hurt and I tried to pull away.

She held my hand fast and bent her head. "Swear it," she ordered again. "Swear to your obedience." She paused, her head poised above my bleeding finger, her green eyes boring into mine, the tip of her pink little tongue waiting to taste my blood.

As blood slowly dripped from my finger, I realized it was the least of my concerns. How could this all be happening? At first, I thought I had finally gone over the edge -- cracked up -- just like my wife said I would. "Those crazy hours are going to break you," she had said on more than one occasion. Maybe she was right, maybe this was all a delusion.

"All right! All right! I'll do anything you say, I swear I will," I said, keeping my voice low, but I felt close to new panic. Janice had definitely scared me. Then she scared me even more by smiling as she lifted my punctured finger to her lips and tasted my blood with the tip of her pink tongue.

I snatched the hand back, and startled myself again by the feeling of jiggling the sudden action caused in my chest.

My finger. My blood. My hand. My chest. My breasts. Amy's breasts. The hammer blows of realization landed over and over again. I am Amy. Or I would be, until Janice could get us out of this mess.

When I looked back up at her, Janice, or Pam rather, was ignoring me to scribble quickly on a pad of colorful paper she had taken from the top of my, Amy's, teenage desk clutter. She discarded the papers right and left, almost as rapidly as her pen could move. Some of them had only a mark or two on them. It all seemed very mysterious, and probably magical.

But as I tip-toed around the room, careful not to step on any of Janice's etchings, I was reminded just how real all this was. My new breasts swayed and jiggled with every movement. The image of my new self in the mirror was normally proportioned for a teenage girl, but on my chest, the pillows seemed as large as those of any starlet or stripper. Evidently, I would need to wear a bra, and the thought repulsed me. I had no experience with these things.

I liked being a man, and knew I would soon come to miss my lost manhood. I resisted the impulse to grab myself there knowing what I wouldn't find.

Janice, or Pam until she could work her magic to get us out of this, continued to scribble, occasionally glaring at me with eyes that burned deep into my soul. I shuddered, then wondered why she seemed so upset. I mean, she had always been a woman, so what if she were younger, she was still a knockout.

I would never have admitted this to anyone, but I felt attracted to Janice in the way that most men my age were attracted to younger women. Now, don't get me wrong, I loved my wife dearly, and would never act on the feelings I had developed for Janice, but how could her healthy, vibrant beauty not draw me to her?

Young and attractive, incredibly smart and capable, I must admit that my ego took a fearful blow when she won her promotion to become my supervisor. After all, she was 12 years younger than me, and I felt I had certainly paid my dues. But all it took was five minutes with her to see that she commanded respect.

Now, I would have to depend on her more than ever...or risk losing everything I had ever worked for. And now she was even younger, 18 or 19 perhaps.

She looked up at me suddenly, "What are you doing, woolgathering?" She still had that executive crackle in her new voice. "You are supposed to be getting ready for breakfast, and school. Amy." She pronounced my new name pointedly.

"Janice," I protested, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do." I didn't mean for it to come out as a whine, but I'm afraid it sort of did.

She smiled. That surprised me. "I told you not to call me Janice anymore, I am Pam and you, young lady, are AMY, my ditzy little niece who is still in high school."

"Niece?" I squeaked. The word couldn't apply to me, my mind rejected it. Intellectually, I knew I was a female now, a young girl, but every new reminder hit me where I lived. Besides, I had thought she was my sister.

"Come here," she snapped. I did so reflexively, even meekly. My new hips waggled, my new breasts jiggled, my long blonde hair swayed. I looked up at her from only a few feet away. She was easily several inches taller than me now, and I wanted to keep my eyes on her face, not let them stray to her breasts.

The robe had fallen open a bit, and I could see more evidence of her greater maturity compared to mine. Her tits must have been twice the size of Amy's. Mine. Large and almost globular, Hollywood titties that promised passion and sexuality and abandon and...

"Can't you keep your mind off sex?" she complained.

How could she have known? Or had it been obvious on my face? I blushed, and felt myself almost pushed over the edge into tears, yet again.

She smiled, "I guess I might as well use it. It'll help me keep you under control." She reached out for me and pulled me toward her lush body. I relaxed to her urgings and pressed myself against her. It felt strange, softness against more softness, but I liked it.

Keep me under control, I wondered vaguely? I then lost the thought to the feel of her lips on mine, her breasts against mine, her arms around me, her fingers tangled in my hair. She was older, taller, stronger than my new body, and she knew what she was doing, she controlled the kiss, and me, completely.

Helpless in her embrace, I surrendered to the feelings I had for her. She was my hope, my salvation, my doom -- would she also now be my lover?

I felt something break inside me, a feeling of dampness between my legs, a sweet anticipatory pleasure swelled my lips and tongue and roughened my breathing. Had I just come? No, but I might if this kiss went on any longer, I decided in some small analytical corner of my brain where I was still Brian Matthews watching two young women fondle and kiss each other.

"Dear little, Amy," murmured Janice, Pam. "I knew you wanted me, and now, I HAVE you." That didn't really make sense, I thought, but neither did anything else in this crazy situation. She squeezed one of my sensitive teenage nipples right through my nightgown, and I wished she had done it harder.

"But you are obviously not ready to go to school today, and be Amy for everyone else," she went on. "I'll have to do something about that." She pulled us both to the floor amid the colorful debris of her bout of scribbling. Taking up the papers, one by one, she crumpled them and stuffed them inside my nightgown where the rough edges scratched my delicate skin, and made me itch and squirm.

I wanted her to kiss me again, but I had to giggle at the silliness of the image we must make.

She smiled at me. "That's right, darling, giggle like a schoolgirl. 'Cause you are one, you know."

I blushed at her patronizing fondness, she had to have said it just to embarrass me. I heard myself giggle again.

"Giggling is now part of your job description. Amy, sixteen, a high school sophomore, giggles when she is pleased or embarrassed. She drinks Cokes, she does homework, she gossips with her girlfriends. She ogles boys."

I blushed and giggled again. Inanely, I thought about putting such a description on my resume. But that last thing really disturbed me. Boys? I knew I didn't want to ogle boys, I wanted to ogle Pam, Janice. Or even myself.

"And you know what?" Pam-who-once-was-Janice, went on. "Amy does whatever her Aunt Pam tells her to do, doesn't she?"

I nodded submissively. I knew I had no power at all in this body, this situation. Only Janice's witchcraft could save us. I squirmed a little as the paper edges annoyed the soft flesh of my tender, young titties. I felt the moist warmth between my legs spread along my thigh and I felt a new pressure. A full bladder, my analytical Brian-brain decided; it would have to be dealt with soon before there was a serious accident, but right now, the hot little pang near my groin felt erotically pleasant.

"Now keep your eyes closed, honey, Amy, and don't make a sound, or move a muscle while I cast this spell to keep you out of school today," Pam ordered.

Obediently, willingly, I closed my eyes and prepared to stop my voice from any involuntary outcries. I squinted and pressed my lips together like a five-year-old waiting for a candy surprise to be put in her little hand.

I felt her lips brush against mine, her nipples rub against me near my own little fleshy points amidst their covering of scratchy, crumpled paper. I willed my eyes to stay closed and my mouth shut, but they did so on their own. She had paralyzed me with her touch, and I could not even squirm to relieve an itch or an impulse.

Just as well, for the sudden flash of heat as all the paper burned away ashlessly would surely have made me scream in panic, and probably run from the room. But I could do nothing. Pam had commanded silence and immobility, and I must obey her. It was more than strange, my helplessness made it all seem erotically charged, and once again I felt myself near to orgasm, a female orgasm I had never experienced before, nor ever thought to experience.

Nearer even than I could have believed. Pam whispered to me, "Do not cry out, but you may speak and move and open your eyes. And here is your reward for being a good little girl." I felt her hand inside my gown, inside my panties, her fingers inside ME.

Chapter IV -- Pleasures and Surprises

"Come now, Amy," she commanded, as she stroked my pussy lips and found my little button. Something I hadn't yet had the nerve to go looking for. I jerked and shuddered and moaned softly, helplessly, as pleasure from her touch, and her command, filled me and emptied me.

Pam stood, leaving me kneeling on the floor. Her long delightful legs so near to my face where the robe parted. Her crotch, in lacy sexy panties almost right in front of my eyes.

Pam smiled down at me. "Did you like that, Amy?" she asked, sweetly.

"Oh, yes," I murmured, gratefully. I had just had an orgasm, a teenage female orgasm, my first. I liked it a lot. I felt boneless, floaty, feverish. I itched all over. Could this be normal after orgasm, I wondered vaguely? Surely not. The heat of the burning paper remained with me, I felt hot all over and my skin seemed about to erupt in little painless blisters.

"With the spell of your blood I put on you earlier," Pam explained, "I can command you, and you must obey. I can give you an orgasm when you're ready for one just by telling you to come."

From my knees, I goggled up at her. "You can?" I squeaked. "Umm. Would you?" I hadn't known I was going to ask until I had done so. I blushed and giggled in girlish embarrassment, and rubbed my arms and sides where the feverish itch seemed worst.

"Can you say please?" she asked, smiling at me, reminding me of our new roles.

"Please?" I begged. Had I become her slave? Or even her toy?

"Put your left hand inside your panties, use the two middle fingers inside your twat." I was already squirming again as I obeyed. The word twat had shocked and embarrassed me, completely unexpected. "Come then, Amy," she ordered.

I did. Another shuddering, moaning release, pleasant, but this time a little shameful. Had I really asked, pleaded with her, to do this to me? Yes, I had.

Guilty sex is better, I've often heard, and never understood, but it now seemed to be so. Deeper, more satisfying, a second orgasm in less than a minute? Maybe being a girl wasn't all bad. Maybe I would like it. Maybe I did. I gasped, because I wanted to scream and could not. Pam's earlier order still constrained me.

The pleasure of coming didn't stop, I may have come two or three times kneeling there, until Pam ordered sharply, "Enough!" I came near to swooning; swooning being the right word when a girl faints from pleasure, isn't it?

I collapsed almost senseless on the floor of Amy's delicately decorated bedroom. My bedroom. What was going to become of me now? Would I ever get back to my safe, boring little job in the city? Part of me definitely hoped not.

Pam suddenly, quickly went to the bedroom door and opened it, calling out, "Marie, come quick, Amy has a fever and a rash and she's fainted."

The heat. The itching. But had I fainted? Apparently, I had. Marie hurried into the room and the two of them helped me back into my bed.

"You are not going to school," Marie decided. She must be my stepmom, I decided. She was too young to be Amy's mother. "Get back in bed and rest; you're going to the doctor if you aren't better by noon."

I tried to protest, why I don't know. Perhaps the thought of a doctor examining my new body disturbed me. But Pam silenced me with a new command when I was settled into my bed with my stuffed animals tucked around me. "Sleep now, Amy," she ordered, and willy-nilly, I did.

I woke up in the strangeness of Amy's room, all teenage, girlish cuteness. Little stuffed bunnies and kitties and mousies piled around me, pink walls and kitschy decorations. It took me a while to remember where I was, and why. Then I pulled the covers back up over my head and tried to hide.

I couldn't hide from my own thoughts, though. I tried to sort out what had happened to me, and what was going to happen to me. And how I felt about it all.

As I lay on the bed, I marveled as the sensations that had filled me washed through me. As a man, I had felt short, deeply intense orgasms. Sort of like a volcano erupting. Massive build-up, then KA-BLAAM!!!

But, as a woman, I found it to be a lingering orgasm. Not quite as intense, but more long-lasting and somehow deeper, if that made any sense at all. And the afterglow was astounding. I had still shuddered and twitched several minutes after being put back to bed.

My mind wandered at the thought of my predicament. Yesterday, I was an average man trying to make a buck and support his family. Today, I was a girl close to my own daughter's age and experiencing things no man had any right to.

Yet, I found myself rather enjoying it. I giggled under the covers, embarrassed to admit such a thing even to myself, and further embarrassed by the giggle. Where had that come from?

I had been made love to by Janice, or Pam, or whatever she called herself now. I guiltily admitted to lusting after her at the office, and despite the obvious changes in our looks (and also to my sex), that lust remained. In fact, I now felt more drawn to her than ever. Perhaps it was because she held my fate in her hands. And I mysteriously found myself enjoying my new, submissive status.

I felt myself squirming and giggling again, teenage hormones I decided. This body, Amy's body, my new body, was in the process of becoming a woman's body, and everything was doubly new and strange. New to me because I had been a man, but many things would even be new to Amy, for she was only a girl, not yet a woman.

Soon I heard the front door open and close several times, as well as various cars starting up in the driveway below. I suspected that what had awakened me was my bedroom door closing after someone had checked on me. Now I gathered that I was finally alone.

Although I still felt flush and feverish, I was anxious to explore my body once more. Gently, I reached up toward my new breasts and cupped them. My hands quivered as I felt the nipples. They were amazingly sensitive, even tender, and I flashed back to how my wife would react during foreplay. I bit my lower lip, just like she did, then tweaked them gently and felt pangs of sensation race through my body.

I wandered lower, past the curve of my hips and inward toward my new womanhood. I was still moist, or moist again. I explored a bit, put two fingers into the opening that led to my womb, pulled out the fingers and smelled of them. Sweet, musky, girl smell, that was what I smelled like inside.

I put the fingers back inside me. I lay on my back with my knees almost impossibly far apart for my old body. I rubbed gently, then faster. Then the rhythm caught me and held me, I could not desire to stop, could not stop. I felt something building toward a crescendo, and I knew I would soon feel another sweet, deeply satisfying orgasm.

I trembled and moaned as shivers racked my body. I whimpered, and still the river of sensation continued, not a male cataract but a female ocean of pleasure. And me, little Amy, lost at sea. "Oh, stop!" I ordered myself. But it didn't stop, and I still couldn't stop.

In another moment, pleasure would become pain, I felt sure. How could it just go on and on like this? I finally managed to stop rubbing myself and lay there, still in orgasm, still pleasured like men could never feel.

It finally ended, of course. But not the way a man's climax ends, like getting off a bus and knowing you've arrived, your journey over. No, my orgasm ended with a gentle feeling like when you are small, and your parents have carried you home and tucked you in, where process and goal were almost indistinguishable.

I felt so happy I think I must have cried.

Then I decided I was hungry. Kid hungry. The bottomless pit of teenage growth pattern hunger. I marveled a moment that even girls felt hungry just that way, I hadn't known that. I threw the covers back, and shivered in the sudden chill, and then almost retched as the smell of what I had been doing actually hit me.

Do girls have more sensitive sniffers? Must be, I'd never smelt anything like this before, rank animal lust, sweat-soured bed clothes and musky, dirty, *guilty* girl. My God, I decided, I couldn't let anyone else come in and smell that, they'd instantly know what I had been doing!

I panicked. Stupid, but being a kid is more than just lack of experience, even the brain isn't finished changing yet. Besides, I had had enough shocks in the last few subjective hours to push anyone over the edge, even counting the fact that some of them had been pleasant shocks.

Hunger forgotten for the moment, I decided that I had to get myself, the bedclothes, and my room clean and smelling nice before my new mom, or stepmom, Marie, that is, or Pam or Janice or Amy came in and found it this way. No wait, I'm Amy, I reminded myself, and almost had a fit of hysterical giggles.

First, I stripped, planning to come back later and strip the bed. The ersatz rash that Janice's magic had caused was gone, and my skin was clear and smooth and...Down, girl! I wondered if I could bathe without molesting myself. I tossed girlie clothes in a loose pile, and went naked down the hall into the bathroom.

The sight of the toilet almost caused me to wet on myself before I remembered that I had to sit down. I hadn't known just how badly I needed to pee, until I saw the water in the bowl. I dabbed carefully at myself when I was finished; luckily, I had taken care of a baby girl, my own daughter, and I knew which way to wipe. "Front to back," I thought with some satisfaction, but I didn't dare linger on the job.

"A shower," I said out loud. Then winced at the sound of my voice. "I need a shower." A voice made for singing in the glee club and...

I was thinking of sex again. What was wrong with me? I had just had one of the most marvelous, scrumptious, delicious, long-lasting, satisfying sexual experiences in two lifetimes -- and I was horny again ten minutes later.

Then I remembered something Janice had said. "Is sex all you can think about? Never mind, I'll use it to control you."

Had she done something to my mind, was I now a teenage nymphomaniac? Panic struck again, and I leaped into the shower and turned the cold water on full force.

Just before the icy water hit, I heard the front door of the house opening, and I realized that I was naked, two doors down the hall from my, Amy's, room and I had no idea who had just come into the house.

Daddy Arthur, who called me "Princess"? Some uncle or older brother or grandfather I hadn't met yet? Amy's boyfriend, surely she had one, and I felt confused about the possibility of meeting him. A delivery man, a meter reader, the guy to fix the furnace? Why was I thinking only about men?

Who *was* at the door? Would this water be cold enough to cool me off? And then what?

The cold water hit and I stifled a squeal as the chilling drench turned me into a mass of goosebumps. With two big ones on my chest. I shut the water off quickly, and shivering, my teeth chattering a bit, I listened for footsteps. I heard them, lumbering, heavy footsteps coming through the front rooms of the house.

Definitely a man, I thought. But who? Instinctively, I covered my breasts and started to cower in the corner of the shower. God, I thought, just like a girl. But I felt like a girl ought to feel, I supposed, a little helpless, weak and alone. Also wet and cold and scared. I didn't quite start crying, but I could feel a sob building up in my throat.

Following the footsteps through the house toward the hall, my mind drifted to the countless slasher movies I had watched in my teen years and later. Titles like "Prom Night," "Halloween," "Scream." Mostly movies that hadn't been made yet, here and now.

My mind raced, as did my imagination. Would I react like a typical girl and run screaming hysterically into the clutches of some knife wielding madman? Or could I be brave and strong, like Jamie Lee Curtis, who broke the tradition of female victimhood?

The footsteps got closer now, just outside the bathroom door. Then I heard a doorknob rattle. Someone was moving down the hall checking doors! Omigod! I hadn't set the latch on the bathroom door! Stupid! Just like a girl in a horror flick who goes to take a bath and doesn't lock the door! Not that it did much good if she did, maniacs would just go right through a locked door, BAM!

I flinched and quivered in fear, then realized that my breasts were jiggling from my shivers. Fear was actually turning into eroticism, I was getting turned on! This is too much, I thought. In that second, I decided to be strong. To go down fighting. I may now be a girl, but I certainly wasn't going to act like silly one.

Carefully, I climbed out of the shower, then looked for something to arm myself with. Spying the vanity, I saw little that would help. Somehow, I didn't think a mascara wand could inflict much damage. Then I noticed the blow dryer, big and bulky, not like the streamlined ones of the 90's.

Taking it in my hand, I crept closer to the door. Listening, I heard the footsteps in the hall. Taking hold of the door knob, I turned slowly, leaped into the hallway and pounced, slugging the intruder over the head and sending him crashing to the floor. His surprised expression turned to total disbelief as I kranged him with the hair dryer.

I thought I might have killed him, but he just lay there for a moment staring up at me, rubbing his fresh welt, looking at my naked, dripping body in front of him, trusty Conair 2000 held high for another blow.

"Ungh...your mother said you were having a roach problem?" he said, tentatively.

I screamed and ran from the bathroom down the hall to the sanctuary of my room, with my stuffed animals and my posters of David Cassidy.


Note: Chapters 1 & 2 or Chapters 5 & 6 or Chapters 7

Spellbound in the Seventies 3 and 4 | Login/Create an account | 1 Comment
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Re: Spellbound in the Seventies 3 and 4 (Score: 1)
by pjladyfox on Sep 10, 2004 - 11:26 AM
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Hmmm, well this is interesting. I'm glad at least she had the presence of mind to make him/her swear to obey. Goddess knows they're in enough trouble as it is without him causing another mess. But, again, in his/her defense he really did'nt know any better. Still some thoughts mixing around in my head but I'll hold onto those for now.

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