E V Daymuir
Betwixt Natasha
Copyright E.V. Daymuir 2011
CHAPTER ONE.
When Barrie Billingsgate awoke without an erection, the significance was not immediately apparent. The previous night had been a good one. An early session with rugby mates at the White Swan, followed by a dinner party with vast quantities of good wine and an expensive cognac. When they arrived home, he had a great session with Natasha. He gave her a really good seeing to.
A light breeze stirred the curtains allowing intermittent shafts of early morning sunlight to touch and flutter over his face, painting colourful patterns through reluctant eyelids. The cooling breeze provided welcome relief from the humidity and heat of recent nights. It felt good. He felt good. Yesterday’s storm had cleared the air and there was no sign of a hangover. He opened his eyes to focus on the corner of the curtain as it billowed gently into the room. The pattern of tiny summer flowers appeared to sway, as if they too were blowing in the wind. He had never noticed them before. Were the blue flowers delphiniums or forget-me-nots? They could be anything for all he knew; Natasha was the one with an interest in such things. The flowers danced to a silent melody as cognitive thought overcame slumber. What was he doing on Natasha’s side of the bed? Why was he lying on his left side when he always slept on his back? He felt for his penis. His ‘old boy’, as he affectionately referred to it, had been the main focus of his life for as long as he could remember. Stroking the bulbous head as he stirred into consciousness was a comforting reassurance of his manhood but, on this particular morning, for some reason or other, it was under performing. He slid a hand down over a belly, which seemed smaller, softer and smoother than usual. The tip of his middle finger found a mound?, a probing finger inserted itself into a damp orifice and an unbelievable truth began to dawn. Where was Natasha? He turned to his right, anticipating her exquisite face – but found his own! The shock sent his pulse racing. A tight band encircled his body. Sharp pains arrowed through his chest as he fought for breath. A heart attack? Surely not – not at thirty-one. He forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. Steady now, he told himself, this is a dream. You have had them before. Remember the recurring dream where you watch yourself playing rugby; running at the opposition; shrugging off tackles from some of the best players in the game to score a fantastic try. Is this dream any different? The deep breathing was having an effect. The pain receded, his heart slowed and the suffocating tightness in his chest relaxed. Perhaps, this was a dream he could influence? He forced himself to take a longer look at his own face, noting with some satisfaction that in sleep he looked calm and relaxed, although his large bushy moustache did engender a sinister, almost evil appearance. Natasha liked the moustache, but he was never sold on the idea. It would have to come off. In the meantime, he would take this dream to the limit. He pushed Natasha’s finger deep into her vagina and used her thumb to search for the clitoris. Once located it responded instantly, returning pressure to his thumb. It felt wonderfully sensitive, arguably better than stroking the end of his penis first thing in the morning. So, if this was a dream he could influence, could he take it wherever he chose? He pressed finger and thumb together and moved them in unison. The action provided intense pleasure. Could he achieve the feeling of a female orgasm, or would that be asking too much? He kept the action going as he moved his free hand over a smooth belly to find the left breast. He caressed the nipple, which tingled and hardened. Then he moved the hand across to cup the right breast. That too was firm, the nipple erect. He would know those pert little beauties anywhere; they were, without doubt, Natasha’s breasts. So what if it wasn’t a dream? What if Natasha’s wish had somehow or other been granted? What was it she said, as he rolled off her the previous evening?
'I’m so pleased you’re satisfied Barrie, although I do sometimes wish we could change places – and I don’t mean just by me coming on top.' She had a great sense of humour did Natasha. He took his left hand from under the duvet; it was Natasha’s hand. It responded to his wish to find Natasha’s blonde curly hair, which tumbled down over slim shoulders. Her hand held it out for him. It could best be described as fair, rather than blonde. It was thick and healthy – the curl was natural. It was Natasha’s hair, no doubt about it. Unless this was the dream to end all dreams, he was definitely in her body. A second panic attack threatened but he repeated the deep breathing exercise and regained control. Would it be so bad if, for just a short while, he remained in Natasha’s body? He often wondered how Natasha felt when he was giving her a good seeing to. The orgasm he was working hard to achieve should give him a clue, except the pleasure was threatened by the needs of a full bladder. It was not quite the urgent feeling he was used to, but even so, he had to go. He raised the duvet to look at the body lying next to him. If this wasn’t a dream, then he really was in another body, looking at his own which was lying on its back, with, as he would expect, a massive hard on. His large, hairy right hand lay across his stomach, poised to take hold of his prize possession. He imagined Natasha’s surprise when she woke-up to find that a large – no don’t be modest – a gigantic cock had sprouted out from between her legs overnight. The discovery would be followed by a period of panic, then the slow realisation that somehow or other her wish had been granted and they had swapped bodies. He tried to suppress a chuckle but, it emerged as a girlish giggle – one of Natasha’s. He carefully lowered the duvet and removed his finger from Natasha’s vagina. Or should he now think of it as his own? He gave another girlish giggle as he swung her gorgeous legs over the side of the bed and padded softly to the bathroom.
After quietly closing the door, he sat down on the toilet, which was not a new experience in itself, but using toilet paper after a piss certainly was. The bathroom had one small window covered with a Venetian blind. Rather than raise it, he switched on the light to admire his new body in the bathroom mirror. He posed with Natasha’s left breast cupped in her left hand and the other hand resting on her shapely right hip He smiled and Natasha smiled back. He bobbed the breast up down, then took his hand away and watched as it settled pertly alongside its twin. He had inherited a wonderful pair of tits. The mirrored reflection was cut off just below her naval. Desperate to view her entire body, he tip toed back to the bedroom, carefully drew back one of the curtains and crept over to stand in front of the full-length wardrobe mirror. He placed Natasha’s delicate hands to her breasts and caressed the nipples with the tips of her fingers. That felt good. He moved her right hand down to follow the line of waist and hip and turned in profile to stroke her gorgeous bum. Her body looked fantastic and he felt good.
On the bed, Natasha felt heavy and hung over as she stirred into consciousness. A bright light dazzled and she held up a hand to shield her eyes. 'What’s going on?' In her befuddled state, it sounded more like Barrie’s voice asking the question. Then she heard her own voice, distant, not following her line of thought at all.
'I’m admiring my new body, what do you think of yours?'
She heard herself laughing. What was happening? She was lying on her back, which was most unusual. When she moved her other hand down over her stomach, it felt strange and Barrie’s penis was there. For heavens sake! Couldn’t he give her time to wake up? She tried to push it away – but it would not go away – she could feel it! When her hand progressed down the shaft, it produced a pleasant sensation. But where was her sex? She continued down to where she expected to find her vagina and prodded at a pair of hairy testicles. 'Ouch!' She heard her laugh change to a helpless guffaw. With an effort, she propped up on the pillow to see her own naked figure doubled in mirth in front of the wardrobe mirror. This was surreal. She could see herself and a reflection of herself – but she was in bed? Then she heard her own voice again.
'Don’t you realise what’s happened? We’ve changed bodies. The wish you made last night came true.'
'You must be joking.' As soon as she heard her reply spoken in Barrie’s rich baritone, she knew that somehow or other, her wish had been granted.
The bed bounced as her body jumped in beside her. Her own slim hand quickly found the penis sprouting out from between her legs and gave it a firm squeeze.
'What do you think of this then?'
'I – I – I’ve not had time to think.' She closed her eyes. This had to be a bad dream, she would will it away and when she opened her eyes again, all would be normal. The hand on the penis moved up and down massaging the head, which was wonderfully sensitive.
