Life in Skirts

It was always a bad idea to insult a witch. And since you can’t tell if a woman is a witch by appearances only, it is always a bad idea to insult women in general. Scratch that, it’s just a plain bad idea to insult anyone these days. You never knew who you could be dealing with, like a very important person with lots of power, or a serial killer. Or a witch. In your defense you couldn’t have known she was a witch. A blonde bimbo in a halter top and micro skirt outside a club wasn’t the first thing that came to mind when one said the word witch. No pointy hat, crooked nose, warts or green skin. Just flawless fair skin, shimmering and obviously dyed platinum hair, big fake tits and ass barely covered. Who would’ve guessed? Certainly not you, or else you might have held your tongue. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t.

You don’t even remember how it started. Some petty argument for a reason or another. You had drunk quite a bit, so the details were fuzzy. You had spent a rough night, getting rejected again and again, and so there you were, leaving the club at closing time, dejected, frustrated, but mostly horny. Then you had heard her outside, complaining about one thing or an another. And it had ticked you off, a accumulation of bad booze and bad encounters, so you snapped at her, telling her how girls had it easier, just wear some skimpy clothes, a dash of make up, shake and parade what God gave them, and boys would line up, ready to serve and obey. Boys had to do all the work to get girls to notice them, do the first move, appear interesting, pay for drinks, and then ended up being rejected for one bullshit or another.

She didn’t take it well.

So she had bestowed three curses upon you, three curses of feminity, so that you may learn the error of your ways. So that you may experience first hand the pain and hardships of being a woman.

The first curse was the Curse of Feminine Body. Everything about your body would be switched over to the fairer sex. All that was masculine about you would be stripped away, becoming as feminine as can be.

The second curse was the Curse of Feminine Wardrobe. Every piece of clothing you owned would be replaced by a feminine counter part. Gone would be your days of wearing pants and tee shirts. You would now only wear the most girly clothing possible.

The third curse was the Curse of Feminine mind. It would not erase who you had been, or the lesson that these curses were supposed to teach would be lost. Instead it would give you feminine tendencies, feminine thoughts to invade your masculine mind. You would no longer be attracted to girls, only men. Shopping would give you a thrill like never before. Your old masculine activities would be dull and boring. Putting on make-up would make you feel whole and complete. Any act of aggressiveness would feel wrong and cause discomfort. Any act of submissiveness and subservience would feel right and cause pleasure.

Lastly she sealed all three curses within you, stamping them with her own magical signature. The curses would activate as you slept, one at a time. First night body, second wardrobe and third mind. And only she would be able to remove them, if she deemed you had learned your lesson. Or if she even wanted. She might keep them on you forever, if she felt like it. Anyway there was nothing you could do to change her mind for now. You had to suffer the punishment she had imposed upon you.

But of course you had scoffed and snorted in derision, even as she was uttering the incantations that would ultimately seal your fate. Who did this dumb bimbo think she was, talking about magic and curses. You laughed it off, leaving her to her mumbling and crazy hand movements. You weren’t laughing when you woke up next morning.

Your head was killing you, which you assumed was a result of dehydration due to excessive alcohol consumption. But as you went to grab your head in pain, you encountered something that should not have been there. Hair, and lots of it. A sudden clarity overtook you as panic fueled adrenaline rushed through your body. Everything felt off. You felt so weak and frail. Your arms had barely an ounce of muscle on them, with fair and unblemished alabaster skin. You reached down and grabbed your chest, fearing the worst. And indeed, there on your chest lay a pair of small breasts, topped off by pointy nipples. Your hands then travelled down, feeling your body’s new curves, thinning at your waist, flaring out at your hips. Your hands moved over your thicker thighs, still covered by the boxers you had worn to bed, now quite loose on your petite form, and cupped over your genitals, where your dick used to be. In it’s place was an emptiness. Your reached further and then felt it. An alien feminine slit, your very own pussy. With horror you cried out in your cute girly voice, removing your hand quickly, as if it had been burned.

Quickly you got out of bed, feeling how strangely your body was moving and responding. You then ran to a bathroom, screaming again as you saw your reflection. Gone was your old manly self. In his place was a demure, petite girly thing. Long hair going from brown at the scalp to blonde at the tips, cute small face, narrow shoulders, small but still present tits, dainty arms and hands. This was a nightmare! You had to find that witch and get her to fix this! The only place you could think of starting to look was at the club from last night, but it only opened later tonight. So you waited all day, watching shows to try and get your mind off of it, ignoring the vast changes your body had gone through.

Then when evening arrived, you dressed as quickly as you could, putting on some sweat pants, which were way too loose and long, so you tightened them at the waist with a piece of string and rolled up the legs up to your ankles. You put on the smallest shirt you could find, which was still way too big for your petite body. Your shoes were multiple sizes too big as well but there wasn’t anything you could do about that.

And so, you made your way to the club, trying to ignore the glares of the people staring at this oddly dressed but still very cute girl. You questioned the bouncer over and over, trying to get any information he had on that girl from last night, her name, who she was with, anything. In vain. The guy didn’t even remember who you were talking about. You asked him if you could go in and see if she was there, but he refused, saying that the establishment had a strict dress code, which you clearly did not adhere to. Dejected, you considered waiting outside to see if she would come out or come in at some point, but you felt humiliated under the glances and stares of people passing by, and so you opted to retreat home in shame to hide.

The night was a fitful one, filled with nightmares. You were in front of a mirror and your outfits kept on morphing. First you were in only a pair of boxers, but then everything shifted, and you were standing there with panties and a bra on. Next you were in jeans and a tee shirt, but that changed to become a skirt and a halter top. Office suite became pencil dress. Designer shirt and jeans became a form fitting tiny dress that barely covered anything.  Gym clothes became booty shorts with a tight secured top. You woke up early morning, covered in sweat. And, as you feared, your clothes had changed, as per the second curse. The boxers you were wearing had changed into a cute nightie, which you would have found very sexy, if it had been worn by any other girl than yourself. On you it just hammered down the fact that you were now a cute feminine woman.

Going through your various drawers and hangers you could only see feminine pieces of clothing. Gone were the shirts, pants, boxers that you had. Instead you had a huge wardrobe of dresses of all colors and style, bras for every occasion, cute tops, skirts ranging from the conservative to very daring, and panties, thongs, even G-strings. And you somehow knew that this is all you could ever wear; the curse had made it so. Try as you might to go and buy a single pair of pants, even feminine ones, you would find yourself with a skirt once at home. You decided that you would have to try the club again tonight, as it was pretty much the only way you could have this reversed. And with the clothing situation rectified, you shouldn’t have any issue getting inside to seek her out.

And so, evening came, with another day of avoiding the inevitable. Getting dressed. Fearfully you went back to your closet, trying to choose something to wear. Something not too risky, because you didn’t want to flaunt this feminine new body of yours, but still something that would get you inside the club. You settled on a skirt, that ended a little above your knees, so I didn’t show too much, but just enough. It also high waist so it hid your curves as well, because you didn’t want to show those off! Finally, a plain shirt, didn’t have much cleavage, but still fit well enough that your breasts were still apparent. You also spent over 10 minutes trying to put on a bra from this unfamiliar perspective. Who was the asshole who designed these to be attached and detached from the back? Not a girl that’s for sure. Realising that you had just thought of yourself as one of the girls victimised by this product obviously invented by a clueless man, you turned red with embarrassment, and tried not to think about it.

Finally dressed, clad in a girly pair of flats (not daring to attempt wearing heels), you made your way to the club once more. Along the way you could still feel the stares of men upon your now appropriately dressed body, looks of desire. You tried to ignore them as best you could, but you could still see them turning their heads as you walked by, one guy even whistled suggestively, causing you to turn red in embarrassment. You just wanted to go home and hide. But you couldn’t you had to find that witch and get her to undo these nightmarish curses. You made it to the club, and this time the bouncer let you in without a fuss.

The inside of the club was much more intimidating now that you were a meek little girl by herself. Most of the other girls were taller than you, and guys simply towered over you, looking like big brutes with piles of muscles. You were scared, very scared, and yet you pushed on, as this was the only way you could hope to ever regain your masculinity. Many guys asked you to dance, and you answered less and less politely, turning them down quite harshly. More than once you felt a gruff hand on one of your ass cheeks, but with the massive crowd it was hard to say if it was intentional or not. Knowing guys, it most likely was, but there was no way of finding the culprit with so many people so close together. After over an hour of searching you had to be realistic, she wasn’t here. Not wanting to spare another unnecessary second out in public, least of all this shady club, you left and went back home, to cry yourself to sleep.

Your night felt much more peaceful than the last one. The dreams returned, but this time they felt like good dreams. Going shopping with your girlfriends. Trying clothes on, styling yourself with make-up. A date with a handsome young man, who made you feel butterflies in your loins, making your nervous and excited. A night of romance and passion. It all felt so… right. When you woke up you felt rested and well. You looked around, examining your place and your belonging, but nothing seemed different. You checked yourself out in the mirror to inspect your body. Nope nothing different here either. Smiling, you did a few cute poses, admiring just how beautiful you were, and how lucky you were to be so good looking. Boys would be all over you. Wait. That was new.

This change was different. This change was not your body or possessions. This one changed how you thought, how you acted. Like a girl, a very girly one. You caught yourself throughout the day, humming the latest Ariana Grande song, stopping by the bathroom to touch up on your make-up (that you didn’t even remember applying). You were 30 minutes into doing your nails in glossy pink before you realised what you were doing. But it was too late to stop, you didn’t want to be left with a half-finished manicure! So, you kept going, applying and drying the varnish with expert feminine hands. You were still you, and still pissed at the witch for doing this to you, but you just happened to have more feminine mannerism, girly behavior. You also noticed that when you didn’t focus it was much easier to slip into that girl persona, almost like on auto-pilot. And that this girl was much happier and perkier than you had ever been as a boy. But that didn’t mean anything! You were a man, and you would make that witch turn you back into a handsome hunk. Crap.

So, for the fourth night in a row, you went to the club. This time you started super early on prep, redoing your whole make-up, trying out different club wear. What you had worn yesterday would not do! It looked like something your grandma would wear! And so, you tried different combos of skirts and tops, with dresses, posing in front of the mirror with every outfit, tentatively dancing. Occasionally you were forced to remind yourself that you were going out there to find the witch and have her lift the curses, not to dance and flirt. But this was so much fun, choosing what to wear! In the end you settled on a purple glitter dress, a little flashy and attention grabby, but hey, a girl wants what a girl wants! And you had to wear the matching heels that went with it, they were obviously a set, and one without the other would be just… sad.

You set out for the club. This time, the cat calls were numerous. Boys were whistling and cheering as you walked, almost parading yourself, hips wiggling, hair waving in the wind. You knew you should feel embarrassed, but you just smiled to them, and couldn’t help but feel a little proud. You were hot, you knew it, they knew it, and they were letting you know, wasn’t that just normal? When you arrived, you did a double take. She was there! Chatting and having a smoke with two of her friends. You accelerated the pace and walked up to confront there.

“You! You did this to me! Change me back right this instant!”

She seemed to know exactly who you were, despite your changed appearance. She looked at you, smiling.

“Now why would I do that? You look so cute! Love your shoes! And they match with you dress, how nice!”

“You made me this way! You forced me to wear these girly things!”

She looked amused. “No, you dressed yourself before coming here, you did all this yourself! All I did is reveal your inner feminine self, and what a gorgeous babe she turned out to be!”

“Fuck you, you witch! Now undo this!”

She pouted in a fake sad manner. “Awwww are you mad at me? You know what? I think you need to know fully what it is to be a woman. I will place a little temporary curse on you. This one will fade after tonight don’t worry. This one is called the Curse of Feminine Lust. Now until tomorrow morning you will be quite horny, horny for cock. And guess what! This is the perfectly place to get some. All you must do is, how did you put it again? Ah yes! Shake and parade what God, well in this case me, gave you!”

She uttered a quick incantation, and a burning desire filled you, overpowering. You had to find yourself a man, and you had to find yourself a man fast! Seeing the urgent need in your eyes, the witch laughed.

“Go on my little slut, go and find some cute guy to take home, quick! And know that if you ever seek me out again, I can make your life so much worse than it is now. There are worst things than to be stuck wearing skirts you know? I am the one who will decide if and when you deserve to be changed back. Until then, good luck in your new female life!”

With that she turned back to her friends, indicating that this discussing was over. And you had more pressing concerns anyways. You needed to get fucked. Hard. She kind of proved your point with this last curse, funny enough. Indeed, pretty much the first guy that you walked up to instantly agreed to go back to your place. Your first time as a woman was… explosive, to say the least. The female orgasm is greatly different than the male one. But still, even after finishing multiple times, you still needed more, this was most likely the nature of the curse. When your partner finally came, you were left disappointed and still needy. And so, while he was comfortably snoring in your bed besides you, you found yourself masturbating with your hands until you fell asleep from exhaustion.

The next morning, he was still there, snoring in your bed, a humiliating reminder of what you had done last night. That last curse having faded, you felt the full shame at what you had done. You had sex! As a woman! But behind the shame there was something else. It had felt so… good. So… fulfilling. You couldn’t confirm that you would never try again. Because who knew how long this would last for? The witch made it sound like it could be permanent. And she had warned you not to try to escape your fate, or she would make it worse, and she obviously had other tricks up her sleeve, simply based on that last little curse. So, you had to accept that, at least for the next while if not more, you would be spending your life in skirts.