By FoxFaceStories

A Commission for Slayerangel

Darian Mitchell is a depressed young man with zero prospects and a hidden desire to be a woman. Struggling with a toxic family and an uncaring girlfriend, Darian’s life changes when he receives a fantasy novel that seems far, far too real. In fact, Darian begins to find himself transported into this other world, where he is a gorgeous redheaded princess named Dinah. But as reality starts to become uncertain, which world will he choose? And which life?

First Parts

Next Part

Chapter 3: A New Body

I touched the bruise on my cheek and tried to part the black clouds that were coming together in my mind. Selina had tried to purchase some more clothing without telling me, only this time my bank had declined her. I just didn’t have enough money, which was exactly what I told her. Suffice to say, she didn’t believe me, and my cheek still stung from where she’d delivered the hateful blow. It wasn’t the first time she’d hit me, but it was certainly the hardest, and I’m not just talking physically. I ended up curled up in my room, weeping all over again. I tried to explain that I’d asked for a promotion at work and once more been given the run-around. I tried to explain that I was barely keeping things together. 

“Well, what’s the point of me sticking around then?” Selina snapped instead. “Because if you can’t pay for me at my best, then you sure don’t deserve me at my worst. I’ll be back when you’re ready to reach out and apologise.”

“Or when I’m ready to break up with you,” I whispered, but the words were too weak, too late, and far too quiet for her to hear. She was already gone.

“Goddamn it,” I muttered, nursing my injury. She’d really hit me for six, and I had three long scratches down my cheek that would be difficult to explain to my boss when I arrived at work on Monday. I just hoped that the weekend would be enough for any swelling to go down and the scratches to fade. I put a couple of bandaids on just in case, then settled to look at my reflection. “Why don’t you just fucking dump her, Darian?” I asked of my reflection. “Just let her go! She doesn’t care about you!”

But the truth was as obvious as it had been at the start of the week. I was too scared to deal with Selina, too frightened of how she might act out. More than once she’d said that if I let her down she would . . . say things about me. Accuse me of things. The prospect terrified me. It wasn’t just that, though. I also feared being alone. Having a warm body to hold, even if just for a moment, was enough to keep me sane. Or mostly sane.

“I can find some overtime,” I told myself. “Or maybe take out a second job. I don’t work on the weekends . . .”

What was I thinking? I couldn’t possibly consider doing that. I was tired enough as it was. I needed an escape. I needed a new book.

I reached into my drawer and took out The Shards of Freedom: A Princess’s Journey. Once again I was struck by that cover. I was wrong before, I wasn’t familiar with it. But I felt a kind of . . . affinity with it. A likeness that I couldn’t describe. I mean, I certainly wasn’t a princess, and my hair wasn’t red either. Still, I felt a little warmer just holding the book in my hands and taking in that wonderful new book smell. Not a new book in the sense of it being just made, but that lovely scent that comes with a book you have yet to open, yet to explore, yet to lose yourself into. I found a spot on the couch in the living room - I tended to read on my back when I could, holding the book above me so that it was my entire world - and opened it. 

***

I opened my eyes and groaned. I must have fallen asleep without even getting into the book. Seriously, it was like one second I’d been opening, and the next second I was . . .

Elsewhere.

I sat up straight. I wasn’t in my living room anymore. I was in some kind of fancy bedroom, the kind reserved for royalty. Only there were no modern amenities, no electric lights or screens, nothing to indicate that this place belonged in the current century. Hell, it was anything but: the wallpaper was an intricate display of flowers and vines, and the bed itself had an elaborate ceiling and cover, as well as semi-transparent purple drapes around the side. I lifted one to get a better look around me, only to stumble a bit; the bed was impossibly plush, with lush purple covers to match the rest of the design. The wardrobes and clock looked as old as they were expensive, and there were even portraits hanging in the room, mostly displaying flowers and scenic landscapes, but the larger central one depicted a very beautiful red-haired woman in a realistic style. She looked like a princess. In fact, I was fairly sure she was one: she had a silver tiara with a red gem on top of her head, and her dress was positively resplendent, this time in a lush green with a golden trim. She smiled like the Mona Lisa at me, and once again I felt that strong affinity.

“Who are you, and where am . . . I?”

I paused as I touched my throat. I had just spoken with a delicate soprano voice, my accent a royal British rather than a working class Boston. 

“Did I just talk like - oh God!”

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, and it wasn’t just my voice. My body felt strange. Lighter somehow, yet heavier and thicker in other places. I shook my head, trying to wake up from this strange dream, but it only had the effect of causing my hair to fall over my face and cover it completely, having somehow grown out long and full and . . . and ginger!

“Agh!” I cried, my newly feminised voice squeaking. I jumped out of the plush bed, but then fell over rather pathetically due to misjudging my centre of gravity, which seemed to have altered. I landed on all fours upon the long-haired carpet that surrounded the bed, and there was a distinct jostle from my chest, which bounced a little painfully.

“It can’t be,” I uttered. “It - it just can’t be!”

I stood slowly, my limbs quaking, my heart beating a mile a minute in my altered chest. I didn’t dare look at myself. I was always a coward in moments like these, when I was facing the inevitable but didn’t want to confront it. But with each heaving breath I could feel two mounds rise and fall on my chest, and I couldn’t look away forever. Slowly, achingly slowly, I peered down.

Only to see a pair of attractive and perfectly formed breasts. Not huge, but not small either. In fact, they seemed decently big from my perspective, enough to form a line of cleavage that was deep and alluring, courtesy of the silky white nightdress I was wearing that was cupping my new bosom. 

“I - ohh!”

I stumbled, only avoiding a fainting spell by clutching onto the bedpost. I was wearing a dress. I had breasts. I was a woman. Oh God, was I a full woman?

I managed to gather my senses and comport myself enough to let go of the bedpost and roam the room. Sure enough, there was a rather elaborate full-length mirror by a dresser on the other side of the room. I almost looked away, but the fear was now giving way to fascinated curiosity. The being in my reflection was not Darian Mitchell, a burned out man in his thirties, but instead a devastatingly beautiful woman who looked to be perhaps eighteen years old. Her hair was fiery orange and framed her face, with natural curls that gave it a look of deliberately stylish disorder. She had emerald green eyes, a gorgeous aquiline nose, and full, beautiful lips. Her cheeks still had some babyfat on them, showing that she was still maturing to adulthood, but that only added to her beauty, giving her a naive appearance that was emphasised by her large eyes and perfectly contoured eyebrows, which were a little darker than her hair. Her jawline was soft, but not perfectly so; it still retained a sort of quiet strength to it. I found myself adjusting my expression, turning my face this way and that, observing my new appearance from different angles.

“No way . . .”

I touched my face. Soft fingers on soft features. There wasn’t a hint of hair there. It wasn’t like I’d shaved, it was like my face simply didn’t grow hair, some very light peach fuzz notwithstanding, but everyone had that. Even my eyes were changed: I normally had blue eyes, not green. God, they sparkled. Without even meaning to, I found myself smiling and then giggling.

“God, this body! I’m really a girl!”

I looked around, but this was a private bedroom. I had no idea if this was a dream or some kind of weird hallucination or . . .

. . . or if it was real. God, was this real?

I had no idea. I didn’t know what to think. All I knew was that I was very, very curious, and if this was some kind of dream, I didn’t have much time. I quickly removed my silky nightwear, letting it slip from my shoulders and reveal this new body in its full nakedness.

“Holy shit. I’m . . . I’m fucking gorgeous.”

I looked like I was some kind of celebrity beauty, or a model, or the kind of woman from a fantasy novel. The fantasy novel I’d just been reading, in fact. The one from the cover of The Shards of Freedom. Wait, did that make me the princess? If so, what was my name? Frankly, it was hard to care, because I was too busy looking at my amazing female body. Seriously, I looked incredible.

“These are not small,” I murmured, cupping my breasts. The nightwear had hidden their size, clearly, or perhaps it was just that my new boobs weren’t in a bra that pushed them up, but I was clearly a D-cup at the least. I pushed them up and gasped. They were so soft and squishy.

“How are girls not playing with their boobs all the time? These feel incredible! Ohh!”

My nipples were quite sensitive, too. And large. And perfect and pink. I giggled again, then lowered my gaze across the rest of my form. I had a natural hourglass with a thin waist and lovely hips. My legs were long and silky smooth, and when I turned, I was kinda impressed at my butt. It wasn’t huge or anything, and I don’t think I wanted it to be, but it had a nice little bit of padding there that definitely looked pretty hot. And between my legs . . .

“I’ve got a pussy,” I uttered. “Like, a real vagina.”

I’d imagined more than a few times what it would be like to be a woman, and now here I was, a woman. A freaking woman with a freaking vagina. I laughed again, turning about and viewing myself from every angle. I slid my hands over my body, feeling my new curves. I hopped a little on the spot, and laughed at how much my boobs bounced from the action. 

“Oh, okay! Um, that hurts a little bit.”

Still, it was fun. Even my butt wobbled, just a little, as I shifted my hips back and forth. And my walk had changed, too! When I stepped, one foot went in front of the other, as if I were a refined lady of means. Seriously, I was a natural. My hips swayed a little from side to side, and I realised this was part of my altered centre of gravity, not to mention my changed pelvic structure. 

“This is crazy. I - I think this is real. God, listen to my accent! I sound like a royal! Wait, am I royal? Is this even Earth?”

The reason for the question was obvious: a globe upon a desk showed a very different world to the one I knew. There was a large central landmass that spanned almost half the sphere, but it looked nothing like Asia. Instead, it was dotted with what appeared to be kingdoms, fiefdoms, and something called the Praythan Empire. 

“Dorothy, you really aren’t in Kansas anymore,” I said in my crisp British accent. I pinched myself again to make sure, and yep, I was definitely awake. Awake and female and beautiful. I couldn’t stop smiling, and I started wiping tears from my eyes. Why was I so damn emotional over this? It had to be the female hormones now coursing through my system, or just the sheer escapism of what I was going through. Another world! Another freakin’ world!

“Varkath,” I read, noting the name of the map upon the wall. “Is that the world? Or is that the kingdom?”

Indeed, it showed a stretch of land bordering that larger Praythan Empire, roughly shaped like a very stubby starfish. It appeared that Varkath occupied a series of lowlands and major valleys, defensible thanks to the numerous mountain passes that bordered it. 

“Like Switzerland,” I noted. “Sort of.”

I shivered a little. This was all so exciting! Tila the Wandering Witch had been telling the truth. She really had given me a magical solution to my woes; a book that literally let me escape into a new reality, only as a woman. Had she known that I occasionally crossdressed in private? If so, she’d made the wrong assumption, because that was just . . . an eccentric act. A little private perversion that I needed to get over. I didn’t really want to be a woman, of course. And yet I couldn’t deny that it was fun. I turned away from exploring the worldbuilding of this new realm, and instead back to exploring my body. I cupped my breasts again and grinned. God, what a pair I had! America’s best . . . no, Varkath’s best, and with a body to match. Again, I observed my mirror reflection and smiled. God, this woman’s face could take a man’s breath away. It was certainly taking away mine. No tired wrinkles, no defeated appearance, no blue lines beneath the eyes, not even visible pores or anything.

“You,” I said, “are fucking gorgeous.”

I shivered a little as I touched my nipples again. These breasts were wonderfully sensitive. All of my new skin was, in fact. So smooth, so responsive. I took a deep breath, shuddering a little from what took me a moment to realise was arousal. My nipples stood erect and proud on my ample chest, and a warmth began to grow between my thighs.

“Ohhh,” I moaned. “That’s - woah, that’s responsive."

The warmth grew, and I realised it wasn’t just warmth, but wetness too. I was literally getting a wet pussy. Holy fuck! For a moment, I hesitated, then lowered my hand to between my legs. I felt over my new, softer pubic hair, and then lower again. I’d forgotten how ‘south’ a vagina was on the female body, despite my experiences with Selina. I was used to my equipment being a little, er, higher up. But then I touched my labial lips, caressed my dainty fingers across the entrance to my new passage. 

“Ahh,” I murmured. “Ohhh. Ohh, that f-feels different. B-but not bad. Mhmm . . .”

Something throbbed there, and it wasn’t a penis. My clitoris, starting to bulge with arousal, responded to my touch and left me squirming, my thighs rubbing against one another. My vagina was getting wetter, my fingers coated in my own juices. It only made me grow further aroused. I was no longer having to imagine the strange hypothetical of having a female body, but instead indulge in it. Just the experience was turning me on. God, what would it be like to have someone else touch it? What would it feel like to have something inside there?

“Mhmm! Ahhh! Ohhh!”

The pleasure was rising. God, I wanted to go further. I closed my eyes and slipped my fingers inside of me and-

“Princess Dinah! Princess Dinah, are you well?”

I instantly yanked my hand out of my new plumbing and ran back to the bed, practically diving beneath the covers just in time to avoid being caught in a rather compromising position. The door suddenly opened, and in walked a woman in a rather pretty green dress. She was young, perhaps only twenty five or so, and she had dark hair and a slim figure. She bowed the moment she saw me, but then broke out into a kind grin.

“My Lady, I see you have slept in, once again!”

I smiled sheepishly back. “I, uh . . . yeah.”

She cocked her head, a little confused. “Don’t let the King hear you speaking like one of the servant staff, my Lady,” the woman said.

“Thank you . . . what was your name again?”

At this, she raised an eyebrow. “Very amusing, my Lady. One would almost think we hadn’t known each other as children.”

I put on a fake laugh. “Sorry, I’m just tired and, er, silly. Um, do you know the time?”

She bowed again, this time a little exaggeratedly. “Your lady-in-waiting Mirya is more than happy to tell you that the time is Twelve Sundrops past the Twilight Hour.”

That . . . didn’t tell me much, except perhaps that I was meant to be up by this point. I sat up a little, covering my chest with the blanket just like women often did in the movies. I felt my cheeks go all rosy.

“I’m not, um, wearing any clothes, Mirya.”

At this, the woman actually snorted. “Oh, since when were you shy? Come on, up up, my Lady! Time to get you washed and dressed and ready for the day. His Highness will want to see you; it can’t be a long bath this time, I’m afraid.”

To my surprise, she actually ripped the blankets away, leaving me exposed and naked and covering myself. Mirya gave me a funny look as I lowered my hands.

“Is anything wrong, my Lady?”

“No! No, I just . . . I thought I had my period?”

At this, I received a rather comforting expression. “My apologies, Princess Dinah. I should have considered that. But your last bleeding was just ten days ago, so you should be well and fine. Let’s get you ready for the day, shall we?”

What followed was the whole princess treatment, one that I’d never expected to ever go through, not unless I paid for the day spa treatment, and even then it wouldn’t have had been so . . . so female! Mirya was, as far as I could tell, a childhood friend who was destined to be my maid-in-waiting. She spoke to me with deference and duty, but her tone was warm and familiar, and it helped me adjust to this strange new reality I found myself in. She also made me far more aware of my body and how it should be treated as well, because she was quick to ensure that I was bathed, towelled, my long red hair taken care of, and my figure perfumed and pampered. I won’t lie, it was a very wonderful experience to be so pampered, though I couldn’t keep track of the names of the other ladies-in-waiting who were also attending me. It was Mirya who directed them, and she who helped me get dressed while snapping orders at her peers. Soon I was no longer naked but wearing an elaborate dress, the same appearance and shade of purple as from the artwork of the book itself, only it wasn’t torn around the hem and I certainly didn’t have a sword in my hand. Instead, I looked utterly entrancing, the dress supremely comfortable rather than tight and compressing as I thought it would be. I remembered how in all the films, corsets made a woman struggle to breathe, but instead mine was very breathable, and it helped lift and support my new bust, showing off some rather nice cleavage, though not so much that it looked scandalous. Mirya personally set the earrings into my lobes - something I winced at until I realised they were already pierced - and fixed up my hair. She then placed the tiara upon my head and smiled.

“You look like a princess!” she announced.

“I - I am, aren’t I?”

“Last time I checked, my Lady, though your royal stepsister may have some words about you not acting like it, what with how often you like exploring the gardens and getting your dresses dirty. Please try to avoid it this time: I’d rather Princess Robyn be pleased with my performance when I see him next.”

I had to suppress the urge to smile. Princess Robyn? It was an amusing coincidence that I had a stepsister with that name, given that in my real life I had a stepbrother called Robbie. I hoped it would be the last time I was reminded of my shitty life in the real world.

“I’ll see how I go,” I said, smiling a little. “Thank you for, well, getting me dressed. I look marvellous!”

She bowed a little. “That is my job, to make you look marvellous. Ah, the life of a princess! One could get a little jealous, my Lady. But by birth my lot has been decided, and I shall be proud to lift you up so highly. I dare say you’ll make an impression as always.”

I shivered again; I was doing a lot of that. It was all so wonderful. I turned a little in the dress, feeling it shift around my feet, which were adorned in feminine shoes with slight heels. The gold trim of my dress looked like it was made from real gold, and a sparkling emerald necklace, one that matched my eyes, sat nestled in the cleavage of my bosom. When I saw my reflection again, I had to try very hard not to laugh with a whole host of emotions. Hell, I was suppressing tears as much as laughter. I was a cocktail of explosive feelings, really.

“Thank you, Mirya,” I said to her again. “You - you look beautiful as well.”

She really did. There was something familiar about her, something I couldn’t place. She simply smiled sweetly and took my arm.

“Not as beautiful as the princess,” she said, her voice all honey and sweetness. “Now come, my Lady. We must get you before the King. The great pronouncement is about to be made.”

“Great pronouncement?”

“My Lady, you have slept far too long! His Highness is issuing a royal decree to all of Varkath to announce the heir to the Aurelian dynasty. Your dynasty. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”

At this, I bit my lip. This was the beginning of my story. A new story! I was going to be a royal heir. Princess Dinah Aurelian, heir to an entire kingdom. A woman of beauty and charm, of regal manner and wealth, of respect and, hopefully, kindness as well. Just thinking about it made me shiver for the umpteenth time, my slender legs going a little wobbly just from the excitement of it all. The Wandering Witch had given me a book I could escape into! A new world I could explore and find meaning in.

This was shaping up to be the best-

To Be Continued . . .