“You coming to the party later?”

“Maybe,” Sam said casually. “I haven’t decided yet.”

His sister, Melinda, shrugged. “Then maybe we’ll see each other later.”

“Yeah.”

Sam watched as his sister turned and left the room, leaving a waft of scent behind her. He waited until he heard the front door slam before leaving his room, crossing the hallway and watching through a window as she strolled down the road. He felt a little nervous, a tightening in his stomach. He could never be quite sure she hadn’t forgotten something. She’d almost caught him once, but most of the time he got away with it.

Anyway, this was what he wanted, the house to himself; Melinda meeting up with Sarah and Jane before going on to a party which she probably wouldn’t return from until tomorrow morning, their parents off on a weekend trip to Tuscany.

He returned to his room, thinking that there was no rush, but finding it hard to control himself. In his room the letter was still lying on the bed. It was the third “reminder” he’d received in as many days. A weird and stupid joke, some kind of prank.

Dear Recipient!

We must urge you in the strongest possible terms to accept the gift that has been bestowed on you. The gift of living your deepest sexual desire. You will not regret it. A failure to accept the gift means that the chain is broken, and you deny other people the joy of living their deepest sexual desire. We urge you to kiss the figurine you received three days ago and to recite the incantation at the bottom of the sheet.

Enjoy!

It was ridiculous. Sam ignored it completely, as he had done the other letters. Like he needed any help in that department anyway. He was as good looking as he was smooth talking, and he knew it. Finding willing lovelies to provide satisfaction wasn’t a problem. Fuck, they practically lined up for him.

Before pulling the curtains, Sam took a look out of the window. The woman next door, Mary her name was, was checking on the bushes in her garden, looking a bit aimless. She was fit though. Sam imagined he could get her to sleep with him no trouble. The thought appealed to him. It would serve her boorish husband right for always calling him Sammo.

Leaving such thoughts aside, Sam pulled the curtains. He drew a box out from under his bed and extracted two plastic bags full with flour, checking to make sure they were in good condition. He dumped those on the bed before checking a few other items and pondering for a moment. Then he got up and stripped naked. Taking the bags of flour with him, he left the room.

Melinda had the room next to his. He stood in the doorway surveying the mess. His sister had to be the untidiest person on earth, but that was all for the best. If things went missing, she just assumed they were somewhere, but that she couldn’t find them. Since she’d gone up to uni, there’d been less to choose from, but still more than enough.

The bed was awash with clothes. He assumed Melinda had dragged them all out and spent at least an hour trying things on for the party. His eyes fell on a black lace bra that he liked the look of. A lot of the girls he’d shagged had been impressed by his way around a bra. Little did they know that his familiarity with the garment came with wearing it himself whenever the opportunity presented itself.

It took him no time to put the thing on and fill the cups out with the bags of flour so that they were close to overflowing. Then he checked the items on the bed again. Sometimes he wore tights with no knickers, but now his eye fell on a pair of mauve undies that he’d not seen before. Panties were always a problem, because women’s underwear was obviously not dimensioned to keep his male bits in place, and some always spilled out.

Pulling on the panties, he was surprised at how well they actually fit and how much they covered, being more substantial than most of the stuff Melinda wore. He was always a bit nervous that things would rip. At 20, Melinda was two years older than Sam, and though she was hardly skinny, Sam wished she’d been a size bigger. Her clothes always felt tight on him. Not that that was a bad thing. His mum was closer to his size, but that was more of a risk, and her clothes were nowhere near as attractive.

Tights or stockings? Sam had a pair of tights in the box under his bed, but now that he was in Melinda’s room he decided to check what she had. He saw nothing on the bed, but her underwear drawer yielded results in the shape of glossy looking hold-ups. With practised ease he rolled the black nylon up first one leg, then the other. The way the soft material encased him was one of the most sensual experiences he knew. He ran his hands up and down the nylon, and now he began to twitch where it mattered. He could feel tiny pricks where the hairs on his legs poked through the mesh, but the smooth, luxurious feel of the fabric was what mattered. His cock filled with blood, trying hard to keep within the restricted space offered by the panties.

He transferred his attention to the knickers, tracing a path across the smooth, silky fabric, teasing the hardness within. As a little thrill rippled through him, Sam cast his eye across the rest of the garments spread out on his sister’s bed. The white skirt might provide a nice contrast, he decided. It was a little too tight around the waist, but Sam decided it was worth the discomfit. He’d already got his eye on a nice, black, gauzy top. It was big enough to hang a little looser than most. Its big advantage was, however, that the semi-transparent material didn’t do very much to hide the bra underneath.

Melinda had a full-length mirror in her room, and he regarded himself in front of it; the swell of contained flour within the bra, visible beneath black gauze, the white skirt just about concealing the stocking-tops, the black nylon stretching across his legs. He ran his hands up and down the nylon. Again his cock twitched from the thrill of it. There was a bump on the front of the skirt, betraying his gender. Turning, Sam bent forward a little and, looking over his shoulder, patted his own bum.

Really he needed shoes to set things off, he thought, but he knew from experience that there was no way he could get either Melinda’s or his mum’s shoes on. Facing the mirror he cupped the bags of flour and thought that a bit of make-up might dampen the obvious masculinity of his face. Melinda had tons of make-up he could try, but he hesitated. On the odd occasion when he’d experimented in the past, the result hadn’t been great. Besides, there was the issue of washing it off if he decided to go the party later, about which he was still undecided.

He left Melinda’s room and returned to his own, flicking on the computer for it to boot up. He liked to go on-line and chat as Samantha. It wasn’t the most inventive alias in the world, but that way, if he inadvertently called himself Sam, no-one was any the wiser. As Samantha he ran a strict no-camming policy, and refused to chat with men about what he wanted to do with them – after all, it wasn’t like he was gay, was it? But he liked to get into character as Samantha and invent exploits she’d been involved in. That was fun. Samantha was a very naughty girl.

The dykes were the best, though. They were really good. There was one especially, who called herself Lolly, who had incredible ideas, writing that she wanted to shove her fist up Samantha’s arse and piss in her mouth. Sam felt that was a bit much, even for the ultra kinky Samantha, but he played along. Lolly was great fun.

Before settling down, he decided to do a tour of the house, as Samantha, just to get into character. He ran his hands down his legs again, acutely aware of the way the nylon was clinging to them. He loved the feeling, his cock straining as his eyes once again fell on the strange note from the anonymous sender. It occurred to him that Samantha was the kind of girl who wouldn’t think twice about kissing that stupid figure, wherever it was. She probably thought there was some truth in it. Certainly the promise of fulfilling her deepest sexual desire would appeal to her, even if there was hardly anything she hadn’t tried. A minute or so of rummaging later, he’d found the original padded envelope, extracted the cheap figurine, kissed it, recited the incantation, and placed the figure next to his computer.

He went downstairs, pouring himself a drink in the kitchen, then walked through to the lounge, sitting in an armchair, stroking his legs while he tried to think what Samantha had been up to lately. It had to be something kinky, a little bit out of the ordinary. After all, Samantha was that kind of girl. For some reason he decided eventually that she’d been out flashing. The idea appealed to him. Maybe she’d even been out walking with a dildo stuffed up her twat. That would be fun. Not the most daring thing Samantha had ever done by any means, but amusing enough.

He went back upstairs, now throbbing with expectation. There was nothing at all to prepare him for the sight of the young woman sitting at his desk, with her back to his computer, legs crossed, jaws going to town on a piece of gum, tight fitting sports gear covering a mass of bulging flesh, a tangle of dark tresses falling all over the place.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “How did you get in?”

Unfazed, the woman smiled at him. “Hello, Sam,” she said. “Or should that be Samantha? You can think of me as your fairy godsister of the figurine if you like.”

Sam just stared, his mind trying hard to work things out, but any sensible explanation unforthcoming.

“I know,” the woman said. “I’ve been telling ‘em it’s a bit naff, this figurine lark. I told ‘em; I said it would be, like, brilliant if we could, like, be the genie in the lamp, you know? Just appear in a puff of smoke.”

Sam shook his head. “What are you talking about?” he said. “And who are you?”

As if she hadn’t heard, the woman said. “They’re not buying the idea, though. They say as it would cost too much, the postage, sending a lamp to people. Crock of shit, I reckon.”

“Would you please just tell me what you’re doing here?” Sam asked, feeling as if his entire world was dissolving.

“You people really are slow on the uptake,” the woman told him, chewing hard on her gum. “It’s simple. You kiss the figurine, you get what you’ve always desired. What’s the problem?”

“The problem?” Sam exclaimed, waving an arm in her direction. “What do you think is the problem?”

The woman gave a little frown, her jaws relentlessly working the gum like a particularly tense football manager with ten minutes left to rescue a draw. “Look, doll,” she said. “You entered into the deal by kissing the figurine. That means something; it always does.”

“Samantha…” Sam began, feeling the need to explain.

“Sam, Samantha,” the woman cut in. “What’s the difference? Now if you was a schizo, that would be different, and we wouldn’t send you the offer, but…”

“Of course I don’t have a split personality,” Sam corrected. “I just…”

“Whatever, Mr Nitpick,” the woman said with a dismissive wave. “I know what you do and what…”

“How?” Sam demanded, feeling a hot sweat come over him. “How do you know?”

“You people ask too many questions,” the woman replied.

“What people?”

“Look, love. We’re wasting time here. I’ll be right mad if you bottle it now. I’ve got my kit with me, all ready to do your nails and face. What do you say?”

This struck a nerve. Sam had occasionally attempted to do his face, but nails… The thought appealed. But what if the stuff wouldn’t come out? At least not in time?

“Don’t worry about that,” the woman said. “I’ll see you’re alright.”

Sam stared at her open mouthed.

The woman smiled. “Yes,” she said. “I do know what you’re thinking. Now, what colour do you want your nails? Red? Pink? Maybe black or metallic blue, a goth kind of thing?”

“Why ask if you know what I’m thinking?” Sam said.

“Red it is!” the woman replied.

After that, everything just happened. Sam was sitting down, the woman chattering and chattering non-stop, the squish of gum that broke up her sentences annoyed him, but he didn’t want to complain. He didn’t hear half of what she said, though he picked up that her name was Chloe. He was amazed that those chubby fingers could apply the nail varnish so delicately and precisely. As Chloe set to work on his face, he sat, flexing his fingers, admiring the bright red on the ends, wishing he was alone so he wouldn’t feel embarrassed stroking the nylon on his legs with his newly manicured fingers.

Maybe Chloe read that thought and said something, but if so Sam didn’t hear. He was almost in a world of his own until the woman stepped back and surveyed her work. “Lovely!” she decided. Then, before Sam could get a word in edgewise, “I brought some shoes with me too, in your size. You might want to practice walking in them before we go out.”

That gave Sam a jolt. “Go out?” he said. The idea of being seen in public, the risk of being recognized; how could he go out?

Chloe smiled indulgently. “Yes, go out,” she said. “You don’t think I’m going to just sit here with some loser all night, do you? We’re going out. Or don’t you have the balls?”

The way she said it alerted Sam to the fact that something was wrong. Whenever he wore Melinda’s underwear, he was always acutely aware of the way his bits were all squished up, or spilling out. He was feeling none of that now.

Chloe was giving him a wicked look, her jaw still moving rhythmically. “Why don’t you have a look in the mirror?” she said.

So Sam got up, nervous bile rising. Chloe followed him into Melinda’s room, where he regarded himself in the full length mirror.

It was too much to take in at once, as if existence were caving in on him. It wasn’t even his own face staring back at him, and that had nothing to do with the make-up Chloe had applied. The angles were softer, the nose perkier, the lips fuller, the cheeks more rounded, the eyes heavy-lidded and seductive. And the hair… Where his dark thatch had been, he was now blonde, airy whisps floating down to his shoulders.

“Blondes have more fun,” Chloe told him, but he hardly heard. Through the gauzy top, he saw to his shock and amazement that there was real cleavage peeping out of the bra. Waves of heat washed over him as he realised he’d developed real breasts. As modestly as he could, he checked how things were further down. There was neither hide nor hair of any kind of male equipment; the panties felt incredibly snug. Sam turned, poking his bum at the mirror. He was definitely fleshier, but the skirt was somehow a better fit.

“Goodbye Sam, hello Samantha!” Chloe said.

“But, but…” Sam stuttered. “How…? Look, you can’t just… Whatever it is you’ve done… You can’t just do that to a person!” His heart sank immediately. His normal voice was much deeper. The voice he now spoke in was deep too, but for a woman, and huskily seductive into the bargain.

“Like I said,” Chloe told him, “you kissed the figurine. That means something, it always does.”

“Will you stop saying that? Kissing it was just…”

“An impulse? Sam trying to be Samantha? Well you’re Samantha now all right.”

Sam tried to calm down, be a bit more conciliatory. “Look Chloe…”

She cut him off with a wave of a hand. “You people never know what you really want, do you? Well believe me, Sam, you’ve got it now, so make the most of it.”

“No, really,” Sam said. “This isn’t what I…” He was getting agitated again, but there was no authority in his voice whatsoever.

“Do you want me to spell it out for you, Sam? ‘Coz I’m not the one who’s laid on my back on my bed with my legs in the air, a finger up my own arse and nylon round my cock while I wank off panting, ‘Fuck me! Oh yes! Fuck me!’”

Sam flinched. The thought of anyone knowing about that dirty little secret was unbearable, even a fairy godsister, if that’s what this creature was.

“What’s the big deal?” Chloe said. “Here are the shoes. You know you’ve always wanted to.”

To Sam it seemed as if the pair she was holding had appeared as if by magic. Perhaps they had. They were black with ankle straps and two inch heels. What Chloe had said was true, of course, he’d always wanted a pair of shoes like this. Chloe was offering them to him.

“You can wear the shoes,” she said, “but if you do, we’re going out.”

Thoughts blundered through Sam’s mind. What if he never got his male body back? What if he did, but couldn’t get the make-up out? This was all so fucking out there.

Chloe smiled. “It’ll be fine,” she said. “Trust me. You’ll be back to normal, everything in its place tomorrow morning.”

How could you trust someone who appeared just like that and made your body change like this? Sam wondered. But now he was looking at the shoes. So often he’d wished he could get hold of a pair.

He reached out his hand.

The shoes were a perfect fit, but when he stood up, he almost toppled over at once.

Chloe gave a little smirk. “Looks like you need a bit of practise,” she told him. “Off you go. I’ll find you when you’re done. Practice makes perfect.”

So Sam set off through the house, clinging to the handrail from grim life as he made his way downstairs, finding it hard to walk without worrying about every step being a potential ankle-twister. How did women do it? But that was the least of his problems. Was he really going to go out like this? Not just dressed as a woman, but trapped in a woman’s body? Somehow he sensed he didn’t really have a choice, though he wasn’t sure why.

Amazingly practice made, if not perfect, than adequate. Shortly Sam found that he could balance on the heels well enough to feel confident of not toppling over or doing himself an injury. He needed a piss now. That was going to be a new one as well.

He managed without any great disasters, though it felt weird sitting down. Once he’d wiped himself, he couldn’t resist having a quick exploration. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t touched a cunt before, but having one himself was an experience so bizarre he still couldn’t get his head around it. Even stranger was the twinge of arousal he felt when his finger grazed the clit. As if something terrible had happened, he pulled the knickers up and arranged the skirt properly. But then he couldn’t resist taking top and bra off to feel the breasts. The soft, round flesh was something else entirely compared to the bags of flour. When he touched the nipples it was like an electric charge as he watched them begin to swell. Again, slightly scared by this, he pulled the clothes back on.

Chloe was waiting for him when he emerged from the toilet, jaws working like they were inmates on a chain gang, a look in her eyes that told him she knew exactly what he’d done. She was holding Melinda’s leather jacket, the one that came down to her waist. “Time to go,” she said. “We’ll slip out the side gate, shall we?”

That was a must, Sam thought. There was no way he was going out the front where the neighbours might see. The side gate opened on to a road that wasn’t overlooked. Even so, he had to ask, “But what if someone recognizes me?”

“Reckon they’re likely to?” Chloe asked in a slightly mocking tone. “Come on, you’ve seen yourself.”

He had, of course. And Chloe was right, of course. There was perhaps a slight residual resemblance, but nothing more. Even the hair colour was different. That didn’t stop his nerves from jangling when the latch on the gate fell back into place as they slipped out into the road. More shocks were to come, when Chloe said, “By the way, I think it’s only fair to tell you that I’m a prototype?”

“A what?” Sam said. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“A prototype,” Chloe repeated, teeth grinding down on her gum. “I’m one of the first of my kind. You’re supposed to be the only person who can see or hear me, but I’ve never actually tested whether it works or not.”

“What?” Sam said again. “So I’m some kind of fucking guinea pig?”

“Depends how you look at it,” Chloe said casually. They were coming out onto a slightly wider street now, lined with houses, but also a bus route. An elderly man was walking towards them with a carrier bag in his hand. “But we could always give it a try.”

Before Sam had time to stop her, Chloe was careering towards the man, chunks of flesh wobbling under the tight-fitting outfit, arms flailing, shouting loud enough to wake the corpses of centuries, “Oi! Mister! How do you fancy shagging my friend back there? She goes for older men. Might even let you stick it up her bum if you’re good! I know she’ll suck you dry for sure!”

Sam was mortified, but to his amazement the man made not the slightest sign of noticing Chloe, continuing steadily along, even when the woman waved her hands directly in front of the man’s face and shouted, “When was the last time you got to shag a hottie like that, eh?”

She was obviously crazy, Sam decided. So much for a fairy godsister. She could probably get him into all kinds of trouble if she put her mind to it.

When he caught her up, Chloe was beaming. “Like a charm,” she said.

“Just don’t do that too often,” Sam muttered.

Chloe spat her gum out, producing a new stick immediately, which she popped into her mouth before saying, “What’s the matter? Getting nervous, lovergirl?”

“Fuck’s sake,” Sam said.

Unperturbed, Chloe said, “Might as well take the bus, eh?”

“Why? Where are we going? Anyway, I don’t have my card with me. Or money for that matter.” Sam was cursing himself. He should have thought of that. No money, no mobile, no nothing.

“Check yer pockets, yeah?”

Sam stuck his hands in the pockets of the leather jacket, amazed to find a bus card and some cash. Had Melinda forgotten it?

“See,” Chloe said. “Magic!”

Sam wasn’t going to ask. The bus card was a pay-as-you-go job, so it didn’t have a photo on it. That would have been interesting. But the question was still unanswered. “Where are we going?”

“For a ride,” Chloe said.

The bus stop wasn’t far up ahead now, and Sam could see some people waiting. A group of three young women, more or less his own age. They were talking loudly in excited, high-pitched voices. A few steps further, and Sam realised he knew who they were. Shit! He’d even had a quick fumble with one of them. They must recognize him.

“Don’t be stupid,” Chloe told him. “Haven’t you got it yet? No-one’s gonna recognize you.”

But Sam couldn’t shake the feeling, slowing as he approached. He felt suddenly very conspicuous, not least when he spotted a man standing back a bit in the shadows, who averted his eyes when Sam looked at him.

“He was totally checking you out,” Chloe told him gleefully. “Mind you, I don’t blame him. You are totally hot. If I was into girls I’d jump you in no time.”

‘Just shut up!’ Sam wanted to say, but in the nick of time he remembered that the other people couldn’t see or hear Chloe. They’d think he was a right headcase if he spoke to her now. He took up position near the stop, turning his back on the assembled crowd.

Fortunately the bus arrived in less than a minute. He got on, Chloe close behind, about to move over for her when she said, “What if someone gets on and sits on my lap? Don’t fancy that.” Sam didn’t want anyone sitting next to him and remained next to the aisle.

Chloe’s jaws worked her gum as Sam sat in silence, not knowing where to look. He was finding it hard to believe that he’d ever wanted to go out in public like this, far less in a woman’s body. He just liked dressing up, that’s all. Where was all this coming from?

“Just coz you haven’t known about it, don’t mean it ain’t there, doll,” Chloe informed him, as if that explained anything. “You people all think you’re more normal than you are.”

Who were you people? Sam wondered. He shifted a little, feeling the nylon stretch across his thighs. A smidgen of the old excitement at the sensation made itself felt. Shit. Not here, not now. Just get whatever it was Chloe had in mind over and done with and go home. He saw Chloe smile and wondered what was so fucking funny.

The bus pulled in at one stop, two stops, a third stop. People got on. Sam remained seated next to the aisle, hoping that no-one would ask for the vacant seat next to him. But it also meant that he was easily visible. People looked at him as they passed, especially men. Their eyes fell on his thighs, tried to get a good glimpse through his open jacket, stared at his mouth.

After two blokes had looked him over in a very obvious manner, he heard Chloe giggle. “Samantha’s a popular girl,” she said. “She could have all the sex she wanted, easy.”

Sam pushed his legs together. Shit. Was this where this was going? It couldn’t possibly. It wasn’t like he was gay or anything. He just liked dressing up and chatting a bit as Samantha.

Chloe giggled again. Sam couldn’t see her, but he could hear her above the chatter. “You should know better than anyone what an uninhibited slut, Samantha is. You created her.”

It suddenly felt boiling hot. The bus stopped to let more passengers on. “There’s one of Samantha’s chat buddies,” Chloe said, as a young man passed, doing very little to disguise the direction of his eyes. “I think Samantha once boasted to him about how she sucked off an entire football team.”

If Sam hadn’t wanted to draw attention to himself, he would have placed his head in his hands. Instead he sat bolt upright, feeling more vulnerable than he’d ever felt in his life. He was actually relieved when Chloe said, “Next stop is ours.”

He almost took a tumble on the heels exiting the bus. They hadn’t quite made their way into the centre of town, for which Sam was grateful. This wasn’t a bad part of town, but very quiet; no clubs, very view pubs, nothing to attract visitors at this time of night. Chloe led him down a narrow street. He was aware that they were heading in the direction of the canal that bordered the town centre.

“You know,” Chloe said. “You may think all that stuff Samantha says on line is just a lark, but there’s a reason for it.”

Sam tried to block out the sound of her saliva as she chewed heavily. “You’re not suggesting I’m…”

“I’m not suggesting anything. It’s not my job to analyse. All I’m saying is… How would Samantha be feeling right now?”

“Your point?”

Chloe sighed. “You need to relax a bit, let your guard down. You’re hard work, you know that?”

“Well what do you expect?”

Chloe sighed. “All I’m saying is… Wouldn’t Samantha be revelling in dressing up and having guys ogle her? That’s the woman you created, isn’t it Sam? One who goes all wet as soon as someone looks at her? A complete nympho?”

Sam swallowed hard. “It’s just a lark,” he said weakly.

Glancing to one side, he could see Chloe grin wickedly. “So why aren’t you having fun now? Think about it, those wonderful heels, the nylon making your legs look so luscious, a fantastic arse, and let’s not get started on your mouth. Oh, and your tits are really sensitive, by the way.”

As horribly tense as he was, Sam was amazed to find that Chloe’s words struck a chord. He was Samantha as he’d always imagined her, and he was parading her outdoors. Except he wasn’t parading much. It seemed impossible to get into character, the way he did when he was at home, safe.

Except that suddenly things were happening. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. There was a young man standing in a doorway, ironically to a lingerie shop. He couldn’t be much older than Sam himself, but he was wearing some kind of long coat. He was already letting it open to reveal himself, grabbing his cock and holding it, looking beseechingly at Sam.

Sam was on the verge of acting with hostility and aggression when Chloe’s voice held him back. “Samantha wouldn’t act like that, would she? Ask him what he wants.”

He went all hot and cold. He couldn’t do that. What if the man wanted…

“Samantha wouldn’t hesitate,” Chloe told him. “She’d think it was a bit of a giggle.”

But Samantha wasn’t real, Sam thought. Then he realised that this was the whole point, that you couldn’t get more real than this woman’s flesh and blood he was trapped in. His eyes met the flasher’s. “What do you want?”

The young flasher opened his mouth, but only a terrible stutter came out, “T-t-t-t-t-i-i-i-i-i-i-t-t-t-t-t-t-hi-hi-hi.”

Sam didn’t know what to do. The young man was staring at his chest, where the bra was visible through the gauze through the opening in the leather jacket. Not chest, breasts, cleavage, also visible. The trouble was that Sam knew only too well what Samantha would do. He’d even invented a scenario similar to this during an online chat. Samantha would get down her knees and suck that cock without a moment’s hesitation. She was that kind of slut.

“Why don’t you do it, Samantha?” Chloe teased.

The young man looked nervously up and down the street. Then his hand began moving slowly as he wanked his cock, looking at the nylon-clad thighs.

Sam was seized with terror. In a way he just couldn’t explain, he felt a trickle of arousal. Get a grip, he told himself. You’re not gay. You’re all man.

“Really?” Chloe giggled. “Oh yes, you’re very manly with those tits and that cunt.”

No, Sam thought. It couldn’t be true. None of this was true. It was all a dream, a very weird dream. The young flasher was looking nervously up and down the street again, but somehow Sam understood that no-one would be appearing. He didn’t know how, he just did.

“Pl-pl-pl-pl-pl-d-d-d-d-d-d-d,” the flasher stuttered.

To Sam’s horror, the young man’s hand shot out. Fingers touched his leg, stroking first, then clutching. He felt paralysed. Just standing there as the young man felt him, wanking his cock with the other hand.

“Hitch your skirt up,” Chloe urged. “Show him your knickers.”

Sam hesitated.

“You’re Samantha now,” Chloe told him. “Hitch up your skirt and show him your knickers!”

Still Sam hesitated.

“Do it,” Chloe urged. “It’ll be a new experience for you.”

Yeah, right, Sam thought. But then the young flasher gave a soft groan, and something in Sam-cum-Samantha responded. Or rather, Sam was still horrified at himself, But Samantha gave a little wriggle and gripped the hem of her skirt.

“Y-y-y-y-b-b,” the flasher stuttered as stocking tops and knickers were revealed to him.

“Why don’t you feel yourself,” Chloe suggested.

Sam wasn’t at all sure, but Samantha didn’t hesitate. “I’m wet!” she announced. Sam was shocked and amazed, but he realised now that to Samantha it was just a statement of fact, and quite true, if damp counted as wet. The flasher’s hand moved to stocking tops, then to naked thigh. Sam wanted to feel revolted by the touch of another man, but realised to his consternation that Samantha was taking over more and more. He trembled, and not with displeasure.

“Just go with the flow,” Chloe urged. “Liberate Samantha.”

Somehow it was happening anyway. Sam couldn’t believe he was doing it, but Samantha had taken the young flasher’s hand and placed it against the knickers, parting her legs slightly as she did so. Sam could literally feel himself dissolve as Samantha came to dominate completely.

“C-c-t-t-t-t-t,” the flasher stuttered.

“Cunt?” Samantha said. “You want to touch my cunt?”

It turned out that wasn’t exactly what the young flasher was about. In a flash he stooped and turned, his head moving up between Samantha’s legs, his nose and mouth pushing into the knicker fabric. Samantha breathed in deeply, feeling a damp patch swiftly form. The flasher’s lips were moving and he was sniffing, ingesting the odour, still working his cock.

“Don’t you want to lick me properly?” Samantha asked.

Apparently the young man didn’t, groaning softly with unrestrained lust as he continued to smell and kiss the panties. An unbearable spurt of desire overtook Samantha.

“Would you like me to do something special for you?” she asked, her voice huskier than ever. “I want to do something special for you.”

The young man moved his head back and looked up at her. “W-b-b-w,” was all he managed.

Samantha beckoned for him to stand up, which he did. “Let me feel your cock,” Samantha said, and the young man obligingly moved his own hand away, so that Samantha could grab hold of it. She moved closer, so that she could push the helmet up against the ever-broader spread of damp seeping into her knickers. Gently she let her hand move. The flasher was staring at her with disbelief in his eyes, mouth open.

“You have a very nice cock,” Samantha said. “I bet it would feel really nice in my pussy.” She continued moving her hand, stroking, wanking, rubbing the bulb against her crotch. “But I’d really love to suck your cock too. It looks so delicious. I bet it tastes delicious too.”

The flasher’s eyes widened. He gave a little whimper, as if he was on the verge of crying.

Samantha pushed the hard organ into her crotch, into the damp fabric, into the labia beneath. “Would you like that? Would you like me to suck your cock? Suck hard and deep? Would you like that? You only have to ask.”

The flasher’s eyes were like saucers. He let out a new groan, and Samantha realised she’d gone too far. His cock was twitching, sperm oozing out of him, soiling her already juice-soaked knickers. She cursed herself for not realising this would happen.

“S-s-s-t-t-t-t-t,” the flasher was stuttering.

Samantha took a step back so that she could peel off her knickers. The flasher just stood, staring, looking mortally ashamed of himself.

“Keep these as a memento,” Samantha said, handing the young man the mauve garment. He looked as if he couldn’t believe his luck. “T-t-t-t-t-t.”

“You’re welcome,” Samantha said.

“C-c-c-c-i-i-i,” the flasher said.

But now Chloe was saying, “Come on, time to go.” They left the young man standing, staring after Samantha.

“What’s the rush?” Samantha asked, once they were out of earshot.

Chloe didn’t answer this. Instead she said, “Disappointed it didn’t go further?”

Samantha could feel Sam trying to reassert his authority. At the same time there was a light breeze blowing up under her skirt reminding her she was naked underneath, making her feel in her element. She felt the nylon clinging to her legs, heard the steady beat of her heels. She made an effort to force Sam back. It didn’t take much. “Maybe I’m just getting warmed up,” she said sassily.

“That’s my girl,” Chloe said.

Link 5 will resume shortly, when things really hot up