Carlyle Turns Me Into a Girl
That Carlyle guy is making me...
"...not reading it, Bianca?"
Carlyle is smiling. His low, deep voice sent an inexplicable shiver through her body.
"Uh, y-yeah..."
For some reason, it feels chilling, though she has no idea why. But when Carlyle gets like this, why is it so hard to refuse him? Even as questions swirl in her mind, Bianca tries her best anyway. Anything to avoid losing this little contest.
Smack!
"Eek...!"
After that, Bianca's butt takes another three or four light swats. They're not hard at all—just a gentle tap. Still, her body trembles for some reason. Deep down, she knows why. She's getting excited by this situation.
Why the hell?! It's just a spanking! And not even a hard one—pretty mild, really. Or maybe... it's Carlyle's attitude that's turning her on.
Smack!
"Hyah—!"
"Not reading properly, Bianca?"
When her usually gentle lover flips the script like this—turning commanding and forceful—Bianca finds it impossible to resist. She knows it's not his true self, that the caring side he usually shows is the real him. And knowing that only makes it weirder. Her body reacts anyway.
"Keep reading, Bianca?"
His tone demands it even as his face stays soft. Red handprints bloom on her small, delicate butt—skin so pale and fragile to begin with.
"U-uh-huh!"
But with Carlyle gripping her hips, Bianca's face burns crimson as she stumbles through the workbook.
"The tax system's reform was achieved by unifying thirty-seven currencies into the gold coin known as the Trion..."
The words are right there in front of her, but she can't read them.
"Hah... y-you...!"
She's utterly flustered, her body quaking. Carlyle's hands have seized her waist, rocking her back and forth.
Her woman's hips sway every which way, helpless against his strong grip.
"Ahhn... ugh... ah, wait..."
"You're doing great, Bianca."
"Ahh... you...!"
It hits her anew: no matter the position, her body is ridiculously sensitive.
"So lewd... insanely so."
"D-don't... say that... eek... hyah...!"
Being on top like this only makes her feel more embarrassed and exposed. And that shame just amplifies the pleasure, making it impossible to hold back her moans.
Plus, every so often, Carlyle lifts his head and nips at her breasts—what can she do about that?
"Nnh... ahh... why keep going for my chest...!"
"You're leaning forward. They keep jiggling right in my face."
"Th-that's...! 'Cause you keep rocking my hips...!"
She can't admit it's because the pleasure makes her arch forward. Her face ignites.
"And besides... delicious."
"Y-you... die...!"
Her tiny fists pummel his chest, but Carlyle Schultz doesn't stop thrusting.
So of course, it isn't long before Bianca climaxes again. Her swaying hips shudder violently.
"Aahn... ugh...!"
"You're pathetic, as expected."
"N-nooo...!"
"You are, though."
Thrust—thrust—
From then on, Carlyle picks up the pace, and even after two orgasms, Bianca peaks repeatedly.
"Hah... ahh...!"
Her limp female body slumps. Carlyle pants, catching his breath. Slick sweat and fluids coat them both. Her soft curves mesh perfectly with his hard lines, leaving no gaps.
Overwhelmed by affection, he pulls the collapsed Bianca Shama into his arms, stroking her hair and spouting nonsense.
"Looks like you need practice riding on top...?"
He chuckles teasingly. It irks her enough to snap her out of her daze—her pride stings.
But then Carlyle gently tilts her head and claims her lips, stealing her breath away.
"Haa..."
"Ha..."
Deep sighs escape them. As usual, Carlyle grabs some water, then teases her mischievously.
"That was kinda lackluster. Shall we go again?"
No way, again?! Exhausted, Bianca stammers before he's on her once more.
Thud—thud—
The room's air is thick with heat.
"Aaaahn...!"
Bianca's moaning mouth is sealed by his lips.
"Mmph... hyah...!"
They've abandoned studying for this distraction, completely lost in each other. She's climaxed about four times already. Carlyle seems extra aroused today, pushing her relentlessly, barely letting her breathe.
Bianca can't think straight.
"Ah, wait..."
Whenever she starts to recover, he kisses her. When their lips part briefly, he suckles her breasts. Her slender shoulders, nape, cute navel—even her most intimate spots. No part of her escapes his lips and saliva.
"So lewd... way too much."
At his words, Bianca desperately thinks: No, no. I'm not lewd. I can't help it right now. My hips lift on their own, my heart won't listen. Pinned under his huge body, I can't escape.
Slide—
He enters her slowly again.
"S-stop...!"
Tightly embraced, breathing is hard. She begs Carlyle between gasps, but he moves leisurely, ignoring her. Pushing in deep. The foreign sensation fills her, her lower belly tingling strangely.
"Ugh... ha..."
Her words dissolve in her mouth. Another deep kiss disarms her mind. By the time she regains her senses, she's on her stomach. Heavy weight presses down again, drawing a moan.
"Hahk—! What..."
How did this happen? Her slim thighs are pressed together. Her small hands clutch the pillow, trembling uncontrollably. With Carlyle astride her, bearing down with his full weight, thrusting deep.
And whispering low in her ear.
"...So warm inside you. All soft and melty."
"Wh-what can I... hyah... ah...!"
Carlyle sweats profusely. Very slowly. With heavy pressure. He sinks his length into her bit by bit, burying himself deeper, as if claiming her completely. Her squeezed thighs quiver faintly.
"Ahh... ha..."
Her feet kick at the bed helplessly.
"Wait... Carlyle..."
It's too much—way too weird!
"Hyah... stop...?!"
She tries to speak, but can't form words.
"This is punishment for provoking me today."
He strokes her hair as he says it. Instinctively, her walls clench around him—against her will.
It was in the nurse's office. He'd figured it out then. Doggy style like this? Bianca Shama is especially weak to it. Gripping her small, cute ass with both hands and pounding with his full weight makes her lose it completely.
"Hah... Ca..."
She can't even say his name anymore. The woman shakes her head desperately.
"St-stop..."
She's telling him to stop, but Carlyle knows: when women are really into it, they unconsciously plead like that. It's not sincere.
So he doesn't stop, sweating as he drives deeper.
Squish—squish—
Pressing deep, crushing the smaller woman beneath him.
"Haa..."
A groan escapes him. His mind is spinning. It feels too good. If even he's like this, Bianca can't even moan anymore—just convulse all over. Her back arches, her face flushed with fever.
Her tight insides grip him relentlessly.
...Driving me crazy, Bianca.
Clenching his teeth, he brazenly asks.
"Did you do wrong, or not?"
She can't answer.
"Kyaa... ugh..."
Just stifled moans. Completely out of it.
Carlyle pulls out. Seeing the white cream on his length, he thinks how risky it'd be without a condom. He wants to finish inside—natural for a guy. Lately, the urge hits him hard, but he shakes it off.
Not even worth debating.
He's nearing his limit anyway, so he pushes her further. He knows her tastes well enough to satisfy her.
"If you don't say you did wrong, I'll keep going like this."
He slides back in. Her body shudders.
"Ngh... st...!"
Her small hands flail desperately, like begging him to stop.
Squish—squish—
Ignoring it, he thrusts deeper. Pulls out.
"Did you do wrong, Bianca...?"
"Y-yes...!"
If she doesn't answer fast, he slams in again.
"Hahk... hngh—!"
Bianca gasps, mindless. Legs together, ass gripped, hands clutching the pillow—shaking nonstop. No thoughts, reason flown, head blank. Terrifyingly good.
"Heek... ahh."
Writhing, she barely regains her senses. No, stop! Too much! One thought: make it stop.
"Won't say it?"
"I... did wrong..."
Again. Just before he enters, she yells.
"I did wrong—!"
Tears well up. Ironic—they're from pleasure.
"You did wrong, Bianca?"
"Y-yes...!"
"Did wrong but still talking casual...?"
His dominance excites her more. Naturally, she switches to polite speech.
"Yes. Yes... I did wrong. I did."
"Good girl, Bianca."
And that was the end. They face each other again. From there, Carlyle moves slowly. Stroking her hair, gentle kisses.
"...You're beautiful, Bianca."
Back to tender. Then their lips meet, and they climax together—like perfect, loving lovers.
Exhausted, they cling, feeling each other. Carlyle hugs her tightly—unilaterally, but still.
Another storm passed. In the dark, he strokes her hair.
"Hey... earlier. You're not upset, right...?"
His touch is so gentle. Too drained to speak, but it feels good, so she nods faintly.
Overwhelmed by afterglow and fatigue, a realization dawns on limp Bianca. Similar to before, but distinctly different. Her body stiffens.
That night, Bianca tosses and turns, unable to sleep. Carlyle's gone—thank goodness. Otherwise, she couldn't even think like this.
Something's off...
She stares silently at the city lights outside. Lately, these identity crises hit often. She knows the situation is weird. Yet she gets swept up every time.
Is her mother's words true? That a woman's body makes the mind follow suit?
Suddenly, she feels it deeply. Those emotions from earlier. The contest with Carlyle—though is it even a contest anymore? Her mind went blank mid-challenge. And after.
Curiosity stirs. She's curious about Carlyle. She barely knows him—what he likes, what he hates. Yet he reads her unspoken thoughts effortlessly.
It scares her, first off. Unreal. Like she's really become a girl. She even asked Carlyle Schultz outright.
—Um, you...
—What, Bianca?
—What do you like normally?
—You, obviously.
She flusters, but doesn't hate it.
—Th-then... what do you hate?!
—What I hate... me...?
—Yeah, what you hate.
After a long pause, he replies.
—That's a secret.
Totally unexpected. His next words are cryptic too.
—What I hate most is the complete opposite of you.
Her reason for liking her clashes with what he hates. She catches herself wondering about it.
Secondary fear hits. It shouldn't matter. Why do I care about this guy...?
So Bianca Shama starts fearing the situation.
What am I...?
What is she really? Wasn't she a guy originally? She'll turn back eventually—can she keep this up?
This is the second time in her own room. No more excuses.
She doesn't understand her heart. Honestly.
...Not a bad feeling, though.
Carlyle Schultz. No clue why, but hard to refuse, easy to waver.
But it's weird. In front of Carlyle...
Only with him does she know her reactions. She's dimly aware, ignored it—but now faces the truth.
Carlyle Schultz turns her into—
That Carlyle guy makes me...
A girl.
She keeps feeling it. Realization dawns; her expression clouds. Is this right? Really right? She bites her lip.
She accepted the contests herself—pushing him away now feels wrong. But continuing like this... something's off.
That night, sleep evades her long. Fortunately, a turning point awaits tomorrow.