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He, good grief, he was wearing make-up and lipstick. He leaned forward and reached up to touch his -- her? -- face. He saw his fingernails, long, manicured, and painted with a red polish.Now his clothes began to change. First they shrank to fit his new body. Damn nice figure, Harry thought. He turned and posed, looking back over his shoulder. He had a killer ass. Too bad it was on him.The clothes seemed to ripple. The short sleeves disappeared from his kelly green shirt, as the cotton altered to a clingy light green lycra. He could see the faint outline of the bra he was now wearing through the fabric.His slacks ran up his legs to just past his knees. Then they seemed to grow together into a tube that changed into a matching skirt. The shirt fused with the blouse to become a single dress that hugged the curves of Harry's new body.He felt a coolness around his crotch, and he knew somehow that his jockey shorts were now a pair of lace panties. His socks ran up his legs,. Although she loved Sister Admonition as one loved anyone who was equal in the eyes of the Lord, sometimes as she gazed at her dozing cellmate as the sun sunk beneath the horizon she was reminded of another love: one which she had forsworn. A love which she suppressed while regarding her cellmate's bare shoulder, her head resting on the thin bolster which supported their heads, a possession which neither were allowed to own exclusively as was only right in an order which forbade any material avarice. Sister Admonition was a delicate, pretty young thing, slim and pert-breasted like herself, but whose flesh was as forbidden to her as the pleasures of the touch of her own skin.She wished only that Sister Admonition had as strict a regard for the privations of the order as herself. So often in the night she would be awoken by her cellmate's soft moans as she stroked her crotch or nipples, perhaps unaware that Sister Divine might also have sleepless nights. This knowledge was not something.
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