{"loaderData":{"4":{"story":{"id":"64df0fc7-9a5a-4fd9-8156-3bdb795c0cf1","seriesId":null,"seriesName":null,"currentUserId":"00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000","added":"2024-12-03T10:09:19.452Z","title":"Academic Makeover","slug":"academic-makeover","shortId":"Fd5NNtXK","authorNote":"I release all my stories for free; however, if you enjoy what you read and would like to support me, please consider subscribing to my website, where I release my chapters up to two months before publicly releasing them. \nhttps://www.bhfun.com","disclaimer":"Although the story itself is written entirely by me, the book cover art is AI generated.","type":"Novella","paidUrl":null,"synopsis":"Alex Fawkes has taken a new job and hopes for a fresh start. But after an unexpected wish from a genie, his start becomes much fresher than he ever wanted.","partCount":2,"parts":[{"partId":"068a00cc-2993-471b-bc3d-6a630543890d","title":null,"summary":" Chapter One “Those disgusting,\nretched little shits!” I slammed the front door shut ","wordCount":5543,"readTime":28,"number":1,"state":"Published"},{"partId":"63e6408b-5067-4c6b-89a0-01a78702c1e1","title":null,"summary":" Chapter Two “Lexxi dear, can you\ndeliver last week’s attendance report?” I sighed as","wordCount":5358,"readTime":27,"number":2,"state":"Published"}],"currentPart":1,"contentTitle":"Chapter 1","content":"

$\"\"$

Chapter One

“Those disgusting,\nretched little shits!”

I slammed the front door shut and threw keys on a nearby\ntable; I needed a drink. I removed my tie and tossed it on the dining room\ntable as I stormed past. I opened my fridge and browsed the scarce contents\ndisappointingly; I must have finished the beers last night.

Scanning around my kitchen, my eyes settled on an\nunopened bottle of Pinot Noir. It was cheap shit, but anything would do to take\nmy mind away from the horrible day I had just endured. I cracked the bottle\nopen and poured myself a glass, filling it all the way to the top.

I trudged over to the sofa in my compact living room,\nunbuttoned the top three buttons of my white shirt, and absently turned the\ntelevision on; why did I have to go and take this damn job?

My name is Alex Fawkes, and I’m a\n37-year-old Mathematics professor at Stonebridge Community College. I moved to\nStonebridge four weeks ago after I accepted a promotion and lucrative pay\npacket with the mission to turn a failing education system around.

Before my new role, I lived in the affluent town of\nDaisybrooke, just a few miles north of this rotten little garbage dump. Despite\ntheir close proximity, Stonebridge and Daisybrooke were complete\nopposites—poles apart in every way.

Stonebridge was a low-income, forgotten settlement in\nBedfordshire, with few economic opportunities and rampant crime. Just across\nthe County line in Buckinghamshire sat the quaint, picturesque town of\nDaisybrooke. It has won multiple awards for its high productivity and household\nhappiness ratings and was the source of jealousy in the surrounding areas.

Daisybrooke Academy was an exclusive private school that\ndelivered the highest-quality education. Its graduates have become top judges,\nCEOs, politicians, and even two prime ministers. The children were taught\ndiscipline, structure, critical thinking, and a top education without\ndistractions. Misbehavior and truancy weren’t tolerated, and the\nschool operated a three-strike system before the poorly behaved student was\nexpelled.

I had been employed at the Academy for seven years,\neventually working my way up to Head of Mathematics before a new opportunity\ncame calling. As part of the school’s philanthropy\nefforts, they set up numerous community colleges in struggling neighboring\ndistricts, including the underachieving further education school in\nStonebridge.

Stonebridge Community College was designed to give\ndowntrodden young adults a second chance. They offered grants to anyone who had\nrecently failed their GCSEs and lived in the community. The college aimed to\nallow those students to obtain critical secondary education qualifications and\ngive them better prospects than their parents had. Now these ‘kids’\nhad grown and matured a little, perhaps they would take their second\nopportunity a little more seriously; only they hadn’t matured, not by a long\nstretch.

Four weeks into my new role as a Mathematics professor, I\nwas at the end of my tether. The scumbags had no intention to learn or improve\nthemselves. They happily accepted the grants on offer, but their main priority\nwas to give me a permanent migraine, it seemed.

The men competed in arm wrestling contests, flicking\nrubber bands at each other and chatting on their phones during a lesson. The\nwomen were arguably even worse. They trotted in, wearing their skimpy little\noutfits and caked-on makeup. They all looked like hookers in training. They\nwere more focused on staring at their own faces in their compact mirrors and\ngiggling at the latest social media gossip on their phones.

The final straw came this afternoon when Becky, the\nbiggest tramp in school, heavily came on to me as I attempted to teach algebra.\nWhen I rejected her advances, she complained to the headmaster that I was the\none who accosted her. To make matters worse, the entire school backed her up,\nand I was given a formal warning.

And the faculty members were no better. The moment they\ndiscovered I had been transferred from Daisybrooke Academy, their hostility\nshowed no bounds. They were convinced that I had been sent to spy on them. All\nof that was false, of course, but if it had been true, I would have had plenty\nto report back.

The teachers had no interest in actually improving their\nstudents’ lives. They all happily took their paycheck and played\non their phones while the young men and women in their charge ran amok. Some of\nthe personnel actively joined in with their students, happily smoking marijuana\nin the bathrooms during break time.

The janitor staff took little pride in their work. Every\nday, they each clocked off three hours before their scheduled finish time, and\nwhen they left, the college was still in a disgusting, scummy state.

Before I joined the ranks, the only man who seemed to\ntake his word seriously was Billy Childs, the Physical Education teacher, but\nall for the wrong reasons. He wouldn’t accept any excuses\nfor a female student not to partake in his lessons, and he enforced a strict\ngym uniform policy. There had been several complaints made about him, but the\n30-year-old PE teacher seemed to be untouchable. He was the son of Martin Childs,\nthe headmaster, and the complaints were promptly swept under the rug.

I had attempted to socialize with the unrefined faculty\nstaff, but they wanted nothing to do with me. A couple of weeks ago, I\ndiscovered they had all arranged a Friday night meeting down the pub to\ncelebrate one of the teachers’ 40th birthday, and I tried to secure an\ninvite. A couple of days before the event, I was told the celebration had been\ncanceled, but it only took until Monday when I found out that I had been lied\nto and that my colleagues had partied without me.

I thought about quitting on the spot. However, my old\nposition had already been filled, and the money offered was too much to give\nup. I was trapped in a soulless, thankless job with no prospect of things\ngetting any better.

The lack of intimacy in my life contributed to my\ndepressing outlook. I had just gotten out of a loving 7-year relationship after\nI caught my girlfriend sleeping with my longtime best friend and colleague, Max\nClarke. Max and I met at university and followed similar career trajectories.\nWe both landed jobs at Daisybrooke Academy as Maths teachers, and we both\npushed for the department head role after Mr Cunningham retired. I landed the\nrole, but we never let the competition get between us, or so I thought.

As far back as I can remember, the red-headed Max was\nalways the wilder, extroverted one between us. He sometimes allowed his\nexuberance to get in the way of his work, which ultimately led to my promotion.\nThat friendship came crashing down when I walked into my bedroom one evening,\ngreeted by my best friend’s shaggy red hair nestled between my\ngirlfriend’s legs. To make matters worse, Max showed no shame in what he had\ndone. I was offered the new role shortly after, and I used it as an anchor for\na fresh start, away from any reminders of the last seven years.

Back to the present day, I absently picked up my phone\nand loaded up Tinder. Getting back on the horse was easier said than done in a\nsmall town full of chavs and drug addicts. I had attended a couple of speed\ndating events when I first moved in, but they all ended in disaster. The women\nI came across appeared to have four children, tattoos all over their bodies,\nnoticeable drug addictions, or all three.

My prospects on Tinder weren’t\nany better. Michelle Harris, 32, seven children, looking for a sugar daddy;\nswipe left. Tiffany Alcock, 27, a dancer at Stonebridge Spearmint Rhinos; swipe\nleft. Ruby Hall, 28, looking for a sweet submissive man to finance a new boob\njob; swipe left. Chrystal Vine, 31, Onlyfans content creator, currently has 17\ntattoos but looking for more; swipe left. Since when were porn stars labeled as\ncontent creators? I wondered.

How can an entire town be filled with the scum of the\nearth? I thought. I was on the verge of quitting the app in frustration when my\neyes settled on the most gorgeous face I had ever seen. The woman had\nfree-flowing black hair that seemed to shimmer against the light source. She\nhad exotic olive-colored skin and large eyes with dark pupils that seemed to\nstare directly into my soul. She had pretty cupid bow lips and high cheekbones.\nShe had an Egyptian charm to her appearance, and her smile was innocent and\ndisarming; the woman was perfect. She wore minimal, understated makeup and didn’t\nfeel the need to deface her body with graffiti disguised as tattoos. I looked\nat her biography. Ginny Amari, only three miles away. Strangely, her age wasn’t\nlisted.

I dug deeper and read her intro. ‘I\nam looking to make the world a better place. I am searching for a selfless man\nwho needs a guiding soul to join him on his journey.’ Her words were written\nwith such eloquence. She was perfect. I swiped right before moving on to the\nregular schedule of chavs when a notification suddenly popped up; I had a\nmatch.

I nervously returned to the gorgeous woman’s\nprofile and sent a private message.

Me: Hey, how are you doing?

What kind of an introduction was that? I thought. There\nwas no way she would reply to such a bland message. She probably has hundreds\nof guys messaging her on the app. As I continued to berate myself, I received a\nnotification that Ginny had replied to my message.

Ginny: Hi, I’m glad you messaged\nme. I am doing great, thank you. It’s nice to meet someone normal on here.

I breathed a sigh of relief. She must have the same\nthoughts I have about this degenerate town. My finger hovered over the virtual\nkeypad momentarily. I didn’t want to mess this up.

Me: I’m glad you replied.\nSo, what do you do for a living?

It was a dumb question to ask someone you had just met on\nTinder, but my mind was shooting blanks. Ginny was the first woman I had\nactually messaged on the app. After being in a relationship for seven years, I\nhad forgotten how to flirt.

Ginny: Ohh, I kind of make people’s\nwildest wishes come true.

I chuckled at her answer. It gave me more questions than\nanswers.

Me: That’s neat. It must be\nsuper rewarding work.

She must work for the Make a Wish Foundation or\nsomething, fulfilling the final wishes of terminally ill children—either that,\nor she’s a stripper, I figured. It would be just my luck that\nthe beautiful woman turned out to be another cheap, tactless exotic dancer, but\nI had a good feeling about this one.

We texted back and forth for a couple of hours, talking\nabout hobbies, aspirations, and goals. Her answers were abstract and vague, but\nher illusiveness kept me intrigued and pushed me to ask for more. I told her\nthat I had caught my long-term girlfriend in bed with my best friend of 19\nyears. I remarked that I wished Max was still in my life somehow, but there was\nno way I could ever forgive him for what he did.

The conversation was free-flowing, and I was enjoying\nmyself. Then, suddenly, the topic moved toward today’s\nevents, and the stress and anxiety I had felt earlier came rushing back.

Ginny: You seem a little tense. Have you had a\nbad day?

Me: Oh, it could have been better. That’s\nfor sure.

Ginny: What happened?

The question was a loaded gun. I had just met this woman,\nand I wanted to impress her. But since I had moved to this delinquent town, I\nhave had no one to truly talk to, and it felt good to finally release my\nfrustration to someone who’ll listen.

I told Ginny about how the last four weeks had panned\nout. I spoke about how I accepted the job to make a difference in young people’s\nlives and struggled to get through to them. I really layered my selflessness on\nthick. I omitted the part about the huge pay rise and my desire never to lay\neyes on my former best friend ever again. Once I had started, I found it\ndifficult to stop.

Me: I just wish I could hold the students’\nattention. I wish their eyes were focused on me whenever I entered the\nclassroom. I want my male students to get off their phones when I’m talking to\nthem and speak to me rather than treating me like shit. I wish I could inspire\nmy female students, encourage them to become better versions of themselves, and\nsteer them down the right path.

Ginny hadn’t replied. I was\nunsure if she was listening or simply tired of my whining, but I continued to\nrant nonetheless.

Me: I wish my colleagues respected me more.\nThey think I’m some posh secret agent who’s been parachuted in to spy\non them all. Every single one of them would have accepted the money if they\nwere given a chance, and unlike them, I’m actually trying to make a difference\nin people’s lives. Hell, scrap that; I don’t even care if my colleagues\nrespected me, to be honest. I just wish they were friendlier to me and actually\nwanted me in their social group.

I finally halted the assault on my phone’s\nkeypad. I felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest. I hadn’t realized\nhow much I needed someone to talk to about all this. There was a momentary\npause after I had finished typing. I thought I had laid it on too thick, and\nshe was ghosting me, but a sudden

❖

The\nsound of my alarm rose me from my slumber. I smacked the snooze button before\npeering at the clock on my bedside table. 5 am. Why the hell did my clock wake\nme so early? I’ve\nnever needed to wake up at 5 am for work in my life. I contemplated going back\nto sleep, but something felt off; everything felt off.

My bedsheets were damp. It felt like I had been suffering\nfrom a fever all night, and my sheets had taken the brunt of the illness, but I\nfelt no shivers or feverish symptoms.

I received the biggest shock of my life when I sat up in\nbed. As I shifted position, I felt an unusual pull on my chest. As the duvet\nfell away, I was presented with two huge mounds of flesh encased in a\nlilac-colored lacy half-cup bra. I brought my hands toward the unwelcome\nadditions to my chest, and my arm brushed against a lengthy strand of platinum\nblond hair. The sensation tickled and caused my entire body to shudder.

My unusually small, dainty hands cupped the breasts\ninside the bra. I stared at the long fingernails styled with soft pink cuticles\nand a pretty white French tip finish. Was I still asleep? I squeezed the\nbra-clad boobs and shuddered. They were definitely attached to me.

I groggily stepped out of bed and began tiptoeing towards\nmy ensuite bathroom. My heels refused to fall flat on the ground, my hips\nswayed with every step, and the weight on my chest forced me to pin my\nshoulders back as a counterbalance.

When I eventually reached my bathroom counter, I stared\nin the mirror and screamed in horror. It was the highest-pitched feminine\nshriek I had ever heard, and it emanated from my mouth.

The person staring back at me was not the same one I had\nknown for the past thirty-seven years of my life. It was even close. I was\nlooking at a female. Even with her wiry, frazzled hair and lack of makeup, she\nradiated sexuality.

She had long platinum blond locks reaching as far down as\nher lower back. The dark roots informed me that blond was not her natural hair\ncolor. Her dazzling blue eyes were wide and expressive, currently expressing\nabject horror. The dark, thinly penciled, high arching eyebrows above her eyes\nadded to the cartoonish expression.

The woman had a small, cute button nose and high\ncheekbones. Her puffy pink pornstar-styled lips parted into a surprised O\nshape. An image of those enticing lips wrapping around my cock immediately came\nto mind. Strangely, nothing stirred in my groin as the image appeared.

My eyes gazed down below the slim neck and found the two\nbasketball-sized mountainous mounds of flesh on the woman’s\nchest, encased in a lacy bra. They weren’t just basketball-sized; they were\nround and sat perfectly high. There was no way these breasts were natural.

The waist tapered dramatically before flaring out to\naccommodate a round, fleshy bubble butt and wide child-baring hips. She wore a\npair of lilac high-cut briefs, and a red pair of lips with the phrase ‘Kiss\nMe’ was tattooed just above her pubic area.

Her bare skin was flawlessly smooth, without a single\nhair in sight. Her arms and legs were slim and toned but showed zero muscle\nmass. It was clear this woman was shorter than I. Even on her tiptoes, I saw\nthe noticeable height difference as I stared in the mirror.

I began hyperventilating as it dawned on me that the\nyoung sexpot in the mirror was me. How had this happened? Why had this\nhappened? None of this was possible. I pinched myself and gasped in an\nexasperated soprano. Not only did I feel the pain, but my skin was far more\nsensitive than it had even been as a man. As I stared hopelessly at my\nreflection, I was taken out of my reverie by the sound of a notification on my\nphone.

I tiptoed back to my nightstand and checked the message.\nIt was the woman I had been chatting to last night. My mouth dropped open when\nI read what she had written.

Ginny: Good morning, princess.

Did she have anything to do with this? Why else would she\nbe messaging me at 5 in the morning? Nothing made sense.

Me: What happened to me?

Ginny: What do you mean?

Me: I think you know.

There was a long pause after my previous message. My\nbreathing hadn’t yet calmed down, and I needed to sit on my bed to keep\nmy balance. It felt as though the bra was starting to suffocate me as anxiety\nrose in my chest.

Ginny: I granted your wish.

Me: What wish? What are you talking about?

I wasn’t in the mood to play games with her. I\ndidn’t care how attractive she was; I needed an explanation.

Ginny: Everything you wished for last night has\ncome true. Why don’t you check your Tinder profile?

I took her suggestion and loaded up the profile. My old\nprofile of Alex Fawkes had disappeared, and I was greeted with a photo of the\nbeautiful face that had stared back at me moments before. The woman in the\nphoto was more put together, with her hair teased out and makeup caking her\nface, but she was definitely the same woman.

I browsed the profile. Lexxi? Was that a play on my name?\nMy eyes widened; 20? She was sixteen years younger than me. I browsed her\nintro. She was the definition of a pick-me girl. Everything she had written was\nintended to grab a man’s attention. She enjoyed eating lots of\nsausage? What the hell was wrong with society these days?

Me: You better start explaining.

I struggled to type with the lengthened fingernails\nobstructing me and had to focus on tapping each letter with the tip of the\nnail, something that didn’t come naturally to me.

Ginny: Look, okay. This is what you wanted, okay?\nI just gave you what you wanted.

I was about to rip into her when she promptly returned\nwith a longer explanation.

Ginny: You didn’t exactly leave me\nmuch choice, Lexxi. I can’t alter free will, and you wanted the boys in your\nclass to listen to you, for you to have their attention. Who do young me listen\nto? Girls, hot ones.

Her words were not calming me down.

Ginny: And you wanted to inspire your female\nstudents. Who do you think the girls in your class look up to the most?\nTeenaged women are neurotic bundles of insecurity and hate their bodies &\neach other. They all want to look perfect, they all want the procedures that\nwill give them that idealistic body, and you’ve had pretty much\nevery cosmetic procedure known to man. It’s not my fault they all watch Love\nIsland or trashy American reality TV. I’m just a genie, not the arbiter of\nBritish culture.

There was so much to unpack in her rant. Did she call\nherself a genie? Had she actually transformed me into this buxom bombshell\nbecause of a misinterpreted wish? And does she really have such a low opinion\nof pop culture?

Me: I’m sure most women\nwould like a touch-up. But look at me, I’m a freak!

Ginny: Well, maybe you’re\nright. But you’re not a freak. You are the perfect specimen of femininity. Your\ncolleagues will definitely be friendlier to you moving forward. And look at all\nthe upgrades to your body. You’re totally hairless below the eyebrows. Do you\nknow how much money that will save you? You’re a rib down, giving you a waist\nmost women would kill for. I’ve also made your tendons quite a lot shorter and\nkilled the nerves in your soles. So many women struggle to walk gracefully in\nthe tallest heels, and you’ll practically live in them. You’re so damn lucky.

The longer I read Ginny’s words, the further\nI felt myself slipping into a panicked spiral.

Me: This isn’t what I asked for.\nNone of this is what I asked for. You need to change me back.

Ginny: I’m sorry, no can do. I\ncan only grant one wish a month. I know, it’s a sucky rule, but rules are\nrules.

I was irate. How could this ‘genie’\nmisinterpret my unintended wish so dramatically?

Me: You mean I’m stuck like this for\na month?

I tried to calm my breathing. I couldn’t\nbe stuck in this body for an entire month.

Ginny: Well, no. I am only allowed to grant one\nwish a month. There’s no way I’m going to waste two wishes on\nthe same person. That’s so selfish of you!

I wanted to throw my phone against the wall but stopped\nmyself. I felt helpless.

Ginny: You better start getting ready for work,\nLexxi. It takes a beautiful woman much longer to prepare herself than you’re\nused to.

Was this bitch crazy? There was no way in hell I would be\nseen in public looking like this, much less parading in front of my students.

Me: Absolutely no way. I’m\nnot leaving this house until you change me back!

Ginny: Oh, that’s too bad. But don’t\nworry; one of your new traits will ensure you show up right on time.

I didn’t like the ominous sound of her message,\nand her elaboration afterward didn’t help matters.

Ginny: I gave you an irrational fear of showing\nup late to work. No one respects a tardy girl, and this will ensure you’re\nalways at work on time. I also removed your ability to get sick or contract\ndiseases as a bonus. I gave you that one for free.

Me: You can’t do this to me. I\ndon’t want my students to see me like this!

Ginny: Your students? How many twenty-year-old\nMaths teachers do you see these days? No. The school just hired a brand new\nmaths teacher, and they’ve hired you as his secretary?

Secretary? I had two degrees. That witch couldn’t\njust rewrite my life.

Me: Change all this back now. I am a teacher,\nnot some scatty-brained assistant. You can’t just alter my life\nlike this!

Ginny: Sorry, Lexxi. I can only revert a wish up\nto two hours after it was granted. Your transformation occurred over six hours\nago.

Me: But I was asleep!

Ginny: I don’t make the rules,\nLexxi.

I don’t know what unnerved me more. The fact\nthat this genie was constantly using my new adopted name or that it didn’t feel\nstrange at all.

Ginny: I wish I could have made you a teacher,\nbut it would have raised too many questions. I can’t\nalter memories. I can’t just award a twenty-year-old woman a degree. Too many\nquestions would be raised. It’s just better to remove your qualifications\naltogether.

My plump lips parted in horror, and I audibly gasped.

Me: All my qualifications?

Ginny: Yeah, but don’t\nworry. You still have all your knowledge. You just don’t have a piece of paper\nto confirm it. Now, you better start getting ready, or you’ll be late. I’ve\ngiven you plenty of other compulsions to help you transition. See, I’m one of\nthe good ones.

I started furiously typing my response when I saw the\nclock on my bedside table; 5:30 am. Shit, she was right. An overwhelming sense\nof anxiety swelled up inside my chest. I couldn’t be late on my first\nday. “Son of a bitch!” I screamed out in my new sexy soprano tone. She really\nhad done a number on me.

Standing on my toes, I sauntered back to my ensuite\nbathroom and started getting ready. I removed the bra and panties and got a\ngood look at my naked body for the first time. Despite the lack of bra support,\nmy new tits defied gravity in all kinds of ways. They looked as though an\ninvisible force was magically holding them up. My bare pussy didn’t\nhave a single hair surrounding it, and it started to give me a severe case of\npenis envy.

I stepped into the\nshower and discovered an array of bottles I had never seen before. My hands\ninstinctively knew which bottle to use as I washed myself. Fifteen minutes\nlater, I emerged from the steamy shower and wrapped a towel around my\nsexualized body before using a second towel around my wet, blond hair.

Facing the mirror, I instinctively grabbed a body scrub\nand began exfoliating the dead skin from my body. Once complete, I rubbed in\nanother lotion until my face, arms, legs, and chest all had an extremely\nsmooth, glossy texture. I brushed my perfectly white teeth for a good four\nminutes before using a minty mouthwash to freshen my breath.

I strutted back into my bedroom and sat on the end of my\nbed, picking up my hairdryer. I began to blow dry my platinum blond hair. I had\nnever used a hairdryer before, but my body seemed to know exactly what it\nneeded to do to give the blond locks a new lease of life, naturally curling\ninto a sexy, loose, wavy style.

Once my hair was perfect, I opened my closet and gasped.\nAll of my outfits had been replaced by extremely tight and feminine garments.\nClothes of every color of the rainbow appeared to decorate my wardrobe. My\nhands reached in and picked out a top and skirt set. I approached my dresser\nand pulled out my underwear for the day.

I slipped the white g-string up my legs and into place,\nfeeling the thin material nestle between my ass cheeks, giving me a horrific\nwedgie. The matching bra came next, a lacy white half-cup piece. While the bra\ndidn’t do much to change their appearance, it definitely took\na burden off my back. I sat back on my bed and gently slid the white semi-sheer\nstockings up my sexy legs. I shuddered. The erotic sensations of the thin\nmaterial sliding up my hairless, shiny legs felt incredible. I straightened the\nseams of the holdup stockings before moving on to the main outfit.

The white button-up blouse looked innocent enough at\nfirst, but as I grabbed the distinctly smooth PVC material and began buttoning\nit up, I noticed how it pressed tighter against my body. My breasts were so\nhuge that it was impossible to button the top four buttons, which showed off an\nabundance of creamy cleavage.

I picked up the sturdy light pink leather skirt and slid\nit up my stockings-clad legs. The skirt sat just above my hips and left a tiny\nslither of bare skin between my upper and lower garments. It showed up the\ncurvature of my new sensual butt, and the lower hem came down to my mid-thigh.\nThe leather material was thick with minimal stretch and would force me to take\nsmall, mincing steps as I walked.

My body tiptoed to a vanity table, and I sat down. I had\nnever seen this table before, nor had I ever owned the vast array of makeup\nmessily strewn over it. I expertly applied a light layer of foundation. Next,\nmy hands grabbed a contour palette and heavily contoured my cheekbones,\njawline, and nose.

I worked on my eyes next, creating a dramatic, smoky\nlook. I applied a shimmering champagne eyeshadow on my lids and blended in a\ndark, smoky gray shade on my crease. I finished the look with bold winged\neyeliner and used a mascara pen to darken my naturally curly lashes.

Moving on to a bold pink blush, I applied it heavily to\nthe apples of my cheeks and blended it upwards towards my temple. I then moved\non to my naturally pouty lips and carefully lined them with a dark pink shade.\nI filled them with bold candy-pink lipstick before finishing them off with a\nglittery gloss. I stared helplessly at my reflection in the mirror and found a\nsexy bubblegum pink bimbo staring back at me.

Finally, I doused myself in a potent, overpowering\nfragrance. Generously applying it over my body, the sweet, flowery scent\nassaulted my nostrils. There were definitely tones of vanilla and peach mixed\nin with a touch of jasmine.

I tiptoed to a multi-layered shoe rack filled with\nhigh-heeled shoes. I must have estimated that over a hundred shoes were stored\non the rack. With my body on autopilot, I picked out a light pink 5”\nstiletto pair that matched the tone of my pencil skirt. I slipped them on and\nbuckled them up before twirling around in them. I was gobsmacked at how\neffortlessly I stood on the heels. They felt incredibly comfortable as if they\nwere built for my Barbie doll feet.

I peered at the clock and found it was now 07:30. How had\nit taken me two hours to get ready? I tugged on my shirt and contemplated\nfinding something else to wear, but a new anxious feeling came over me. This\nwas the perfect outfit for work, a voice in my head informed me. I couldn’t\nbring myself to argue with the voice.

I tottered towards the living room and prepared to take a\nseat, but I felt nervous. If I relax too much now, I might be late for work. “For\nfuck sake,” I cried out. Hearing such a sweet voice cuss like a sailor felt\nstrange, but it perfectly summed up how I felt.

I desperately tried to will myself to stay behind and\nfight the compulsions. Still, the tougher I fought, the larger the anxiety\ngrew. Eventually, I gave in. I slipped my phone into a pink clutch bag and left\nmy house, starting my journey to work.

❖

I heard\nthe click-clocking sounds of my stiletto heels on the pavement and\nself-consciously felt like I was on public display. The cool autumn air breezed\nagainst my smooth skin and sent a sensual shudder down my spine.

It was only a short ten-minute walk to the college, but I\nwas forced to take tiny, mincing steps, and my shoulders pinned back to keep my\nbalance, which doubled the journey time. I heard various catcalls from the cars\npassing me by as I traveled along the main road. I felt disgusted over being\nobjectified, and yet I also felt butterflies fluttering inside my chest. If I\never found that genie face to face, I was going to kill her.

Eventually, I made it to the front exterior of the\ncollege, where a small group of teenage students were smoking. A blond man was\nthe first to notice my approach and immediately tapped his friend on the\nshoulder, pointing in my direction. I tried to ignore them until I walked past.\nI turned my head and formed a big bimbo smile, my dainty hand waving in their\ndirection flirtatiously, “Hi, boys.” I remarked with a sweet tone\nbefore heading inside the college. I could hear the comments behind me as the\nmen joked around.

“Fuck, who is that?”

“I’d like to look\ninside her skirt.”

“Did you see those\nlips? I want me some of them.”

They were foul creatures, but why didn’t\ntheir comments fill me with fury? That bitch had done a number on me, for sure.

There was still a little under an hour until lessons\nofficially began, so the large building was mostly empty. The acoustics of the\nvacant corridor emphasized the clicking of my heels. I tottered past the\njanitor, giving him a friendly smile as I walked by. I eventually found myself\nin the faculty break room, which I had been in plenty of times over the last\nfour weeks.

I began making coffee, but strangely, the ingredients in\nmy head didn’t match the milky beverage I usually prepared for\nmyself: two tablespoons of coffee, no milk, 4/5 boiling water, 1/5 cold water,\nsimmer for thirty seconds before stirring, two sugars before stirring again.\nWhere the hell had these instructions come from?

I picked up the warm coffee and headed to the Mathematics\ndepartment. As I walked, I was self-conscious of the tight blouse hugging my\nskin, the overflowing cleavage entirely inappropriate for an academic setting.\nIf a student stepped into my classroom showing this much of her breasts, I\nwould have sent her home. I felt my legs tug against my skirt with each step,\nforced to take the smallest of steps. The entire visage created a pornographic\nview of femininity. I tottered past Billy Childs, the PE teacher, and felt his\neyes silently zoned in on my ass. Was this what women really went through, I\nwondered. Then, it dawned on me that I wasn’t any ordinary woman.\nI was in the body of a teenage boy’s wet dream.

I strode past several classrooms inside the mathematics\ndepartment and ascended the stairs to the second level. It baffled me how\neffortlessly I was walking in the extreme 5” strappy shoes. I\nnoticed a small pink desk outside my office and read the nameplate across the\ndesk: Lexxi Foxx. My eyes widened. Was that my desk? My situation couldn’t get\nany worse, I thought to myself.

As I tentatively knocked on my ‘old’\noffice door with my spare hand before letting myself in, I immediately knew\nthings could get much worse. Like a deer in headlights, I had frozen to the\nspot. “Well, hello there. You must be Lexxi,” the familiar voice came from my\ndesk as the redheaded man stood up. My former best friend, now arch-enemy, Max\nClarke, was grinning in my direction, clearly appreciating my current\nappearance.

Before I could react, I found myself working on\nautopilot. “Yes, Sir. I made your coffee how you like it.” I heard\nmyself saying before tottering forward and placing the cup on my former desk. I\nfelt Max’s eyes stare appreciatively at my plunging neckline as I leaned\nforward.

“Very good,” he\ngrinned. He picked up the cup and took a sip. “You know, I wasn’t going to take\nthis job until the Principal showed me your photo. As soon as I laid eyes on\nyou, I knew I would take it.” He explained, his eyes never leaving my\nmountainous breasts. Fury welled up inside of me, but I found it challenging to\ndemonstrate the anger. Max pointed to the chair opposite him. “Why don’t you\ntake a seat, Lexxi, and we can get acquainted.”

‘He is your boss. You\nshould obey your boss,’ I gasped. An unwelcome voice reappeared in my mind.\nSuddenly, the idea of sitting down seemed appealing. I knew it was an unnatural\nthought, but I couldn’t fight it. I obediently took a seat and crossed my legs.\nThat damn genie was going to pay for this.

\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

End of Chapter One

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