Savannah Tullio's marriage had been sexually and emotionally dead years before the Great Change, and the Change had done nothing to revive it. Innanna, being a goddess, knew this. She amused herself by arranging for Tullio to be approached by a beautiful and seductive operative of the Russian Occult Secret Service, a born-lesbian named Katerina Ivanova, nicknamed the Black Widow by some of the fans of American superhero movies in the R.O.S.S. Let's see if that gets the stick out of her ass and teaches her a little something about the awesomeness of the female form, the goddess thought.
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"How does this look?" asked Millie, giving a spin to show off a wedding dress.
"Awesome." replied Juliana "Like the most beautiful woman in the world."
"That's what you say about everything I try on!" said Millie "I know I'm the most beautiful woman in the world, but that doesn't help me pick out a dress!" She stamped her high-heeled foot and grimaced, cutely.
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Shelly gave a tentative smile as she lay on the bed, face to face with an equally naked Carrie. After weeks of therapy and recovery, Shelly was once again ready to be touched with love. Carrie knew that this was not typical, that Shelly's recovery after years of torture had proceeded with a speed and completeness that was unbelievable, but she suspected, as did a lot of psychologists and counselors, that the new bodies came with vastly improved psychological as well as physical healing capacity.
Carrie laid a hand on her lover's breast, and the ten years they had been apart seemed to melt away. She intended to proceed very slowly and gently, ready to withdraw at any time if Shelly wasn't completely comfortable, so Carrie was a bit taken aback when she found herself flat on her back with Shelly on top of her and Shelly's tongue halfway down her throat. Shelly went at her former boyfriend like a starving dog on a ham sandwich, and Carrie found it surprisingly gratifying.
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It was Mandy's eighteenth birthday. With trembling hands, she opened her present from Mistress Kira. It was a webcam.
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Kayla, Martha and Jo had returned home, none the worse, or the better, for their fruitless quest for Greta. But to Jo it didn't matter so much. It was taking an effort to think like Joe D'Amico, and not like baby Jo, Martha and Kayla's infant daughter. It felt good to be held and to be nursed, and even to be burped. It felt natural to lie down in a crib, and to have her diaper changed. It was fun playing peek-a-boo with Mommy Kayla. It didn't feel fun to be Joe, seething with resentment and the desire for revenge.