Gwen laughed as she watched her former husband Chris frantically pull up his dress while teetering on four-inch heels. (What a cad, she thought.)
“Look, Krissy, you can keep checking if you like, but I guarantee that you’re not gonna find a cock there ever again. Not after how you humiliated me on our honeymoon—our honeymoon, gosh darnit!—by sleeping around, you cheating prick,” Gwen said. “But keep on checking if you want to flash your pussy to the whole world; and…whoa there, girl! You’d better learn to balance on those heels and get used to wearing them. Now pull your skirt down, woman!”
Chris tried to protest, but he could only grunt in response, although it sounded more like a whimper. Gwen giggled. “Sorry, but it’s a quirk of my aunt’s magic spell; you can’t talk back to a woman. Your voice only carries when you proposition men for sex, which I think you’ll be doing quite frequently from now on, since that’s the kind of girl you’d always wanted. Well, I’m off: enjoy your new life, Krissy,” she said, sashaying across the walkway.
As the dress dropped back down across his thighs, Chris became fully aware of his predicament. “I’m fucked,” he said in his new soft voice, still struggling to balance on his heels.
