By Mindi Flyth
In Mindi Flyth's new pair of brief tales we pass backstage at a mysterious position the place misbehaving males are reworked into women.
We commence with the darkish story, "Orientation." A merciless guy pressured his Asian girlfriends to decorate up in schoolgirls clothes for his kinky thrills, yet now he unearths the tables have became and it's his flip to get schooled.
In the titular tale "A Day on the Feminization Factory" we meet Myra and Amanda, captivating, sadistic women who use bizarre technological know-how to alter unwilling males into girls and women. Breast growth, race swap, even age regression is all simply a part of the activity. It's a wierd approach to make a living... yet those girls love their paintings.
Both tales contain grownup subject matters and are meant for a mature viewers. Approximate note count number 8100.
Read or Download A Day at the Feminization Factory: 2 Transgender Transformation Tales PDF
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Additional info for A Day at the Feminization Factory: 2 Transgender Transformation Tales
He snakes his arms around me and crushes me to him. “Oh, Ana,” he breathes as he buries his nose in my hair. We sit, our arms wrapped around each other, listening to the music—a soothing piano piece—mirroring the emotions in the car, the sweet tranquil calm after the storm. I snuggle into his arms, resting my head in the crook of his neck. He gently strokes my back. “Touching is a hard limit for me, Anastasia,” he whispers. “I know. ” After a while, he sighs, and in a soft voice he says, “I had a horrific childhood.
I mutter, flushing with nerves. ” His eyes darken. Oh crap. Why am I so nervous? ” he asks softly as he walks toward me, all feral and hot. “I know what I want to do,” he adds in a low voice. I back up until I bump against the concrete kitchen island. . Well, maybe not so mad. ” I ask. He nods slowly. “Yes. You,” he murmurs. Everything south of my waistline clenches. I’m seduced by his voice alone, but that look, that hungry I-want-you-now look—oh my. He’s standing in front of me, not quite touching, staring down into my eyes and bathing me in the heat that’s radiating off his body.
As I scramble out of bed, I dislodge my pillow, revealing the deflated helicopter balloon underneath. Christian reaches for it and gazes up at me, puzzled. “That’s my balloon,” I say, feeling proprietary as I reach for my robe and wrap it round myself. . why did he have to find that? ” he murmurs. “Yes,” I flush. ” “Lucky Charlie Tango,” he says, in surprise. Yes, I’m sentimental, Grey, because I love you. “My balloon,” I say again and turn on my heel and head out to the kitchen, leaving him grinning from ear to ear.