University Transformation

University Transformation is an X-rated story following 19 year-old Brit, Samuel, on a new and unexpected chapter of his life; a chapter which will define him forever.

Like similar stories in the genre, University Transformation contains depictions of sex, humiliation, blackmail, non-consent/reluctance and forced feminisation. Reader discretion is advised.

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Chapter One

Following an embarrassing incident at university, Samuel makes a mistake which will change everything.

***

Samuel was supposed to be listening to his professor, Miss Brighton, deliver an induction presentation. But instead, he was staring at an old classmate's face. Her face was the only face he recognised from the hundreds of men and women surrounding him. It was the first day of university; something which he had been looking forward to since starting secondary school, but which had made him especially nervous this morning nonetheless.

There was something about the way his former classmate now looked that he could not put his finger on. It fascinated him, in fact and had been occupying his attention for close to 10 minutes now.

It had only been a summer holiday since he saw her last but even at the angle from which he watched on (two rows forward, 11 seats to his right) Samuel could tell she was a whole new person. She had transformed.

'But how?' He asked himself. As far as he could see, she had the same set of blue eyes. Same button nose. Same red lips. Same pierced ears. Same straight brown hair.

Make no mistake, he wasn't in love with her. He had never been attracted to her at school...certainly not like he was now. He pondered how despite 11 years of sharing classrooms together, he barely even knew her.

What he was sure of, was that throughout their time at school they had moved in different circles. She was a popular athletic type, who avoided teachers and classwork alike. From what Samuel knew of her, she lived for dance class, not maths class. She'd had boyfriends and was popular with her many girl friends.

Whereas Samuel was... 'Actually, what was I?' He asked himself. 'How had I spent my years? If Georgia was a little show-off who spent her time in class tapping on a mobile phone, how had we ended up at the same university together? I spent 11 years concentrating! I didn't text friends in class!'

Whereas Samuel was an anonymous British 19 year-old who had flown under everyone's radar. He had done just enough to secure a place at a red brick university - but this was more due to the fact that he had little else to distract him than being the proud owner of some great intellect. He had few friends and, at a grand total of zero, had had even fewer girlfriends. And unlike what he could deduce from looking over at Georgia, he, unlike she had, had not undergone some profound metamorphosis over the summer break.

This got Samuel thinking of his achievements to date. 'Yes, I have made it to university. But so have millions of students up and down the country. Let's face it: in today's age, university is less an achievement for the academically gifted, and more a holding pen for the uncertain before life started proper.'

'I still live at home with mum. Anyone would say I waste my days in front of the television, or more accurately my laptop. I hadn't bothered to get a summer job. I've never been involved in sport groups or band camps.' On top of that, Samuel still only reached the same middling 5' 6" height and hadn't grown for the past few years: something which he had come to accept would probably be the tallest he ever grew. For the longest time, he had thought that was the average. But looking around the room at a whole new set of peers, he could tell he was wrong to think this.

'I don't look average. I look small! Certainly not compared to the men on my left. How had they grown so much? What were they eating or doing that had put them at such an advantage over me in the growth department? Had they arrived here from towns and cities with a better school curriculum? Maths, English, Science...and press-ups followed by squats followed by burpees followed by sit-ups... I would have listened. I would have done it too...'

As he continued his self-assessment, Samuel realised his hair remained unchanged: the same brown mop he had had since he was a young boy. Whereas surrounding him he could see the sporty types had shorter cuts, the rich types had smart cuts, the geeky types had greasy cuts, the rebellious types had dyed cuts, Samuel had always opted to keep his brown strands fall just above his ears and eyes. Thinking about why it had gone unchanged for so long, Samuel reasoned to himself that it was...traditional. He liked it that way.

'Admit it...your hair is...oh, it's like everything about you, unremarkable! I bet those girls behind you don't know if they're looking past a boy or a girl. You should get it changed. Go for something more interesting. Something that would make you more interesting. University is the time to re-invent yourself...'

And, he supposed his dress sense hadn't improved any means either. Although he was, Samuel didn't quite yet look like an adult; like a man. He was still clinging to the safety of skinny jeans ('Did they always feel this tight? Too many iced lattes methinks..!') paired with the same non-descript T-shirt and hoodie combination. In fact, now he was thinking about it, he was certain he was wearing the same clothes (even down to the baggy boxer shorts) today as he had during his school graduation.

All of which had Samuel obsessed with this one question: 'How has Georgia managed to change so much in the space of a summer holiday when I have stayed so remarkably unremarkable?'

Pondering this question and sipping on his iced latte, Samuel made a pledge to himself: change. University was to be a fresh start for him. He would make friends. He would get involved in extra-curricula activities. He would become popular. Maybe now was finally the time he would attract a girl. It wouldn't be like it was at school. He would blossom here. He would transform!

***

Pledge complete, Samuel turned his attention back to the stage and to prim and proper English voice of the tutor proudly standing before them all: Miss Brighton.

"Which is why, as our latest cohort of students, you are expected to conduct yourself in a manner becoming of this institution". The thirty-something explained matter of factly.

'She's impressive.' He thought as he watched on from the distance of his seat.

"Your actions in these lecture theatres and classrooms will define everything about you. If you listen and apply yourself, you can expect to leave here and walk into careers at the country's top financial institutions, media broadcasters, insurance brokers, manufacturers...". Miss Brighton went on.

'I bet you wish you had the confidence to hold the attention of an audience.'

"Fail to act in the right way. Fail to uphold our values. Fail to engage with our processes. Well...then I hope you enjoy stacking shelves or pulling pints". She warned as she moved away from the podium and took centre stage.

Even as far back as he was in the theatre, Samuel was still able to detect the sound of her heels clipping and clopping against the dark wooden floor. He thanked the on-stage microphone for being powerful enough to detect and project the noise of each heeled foot as it hit the floor. There was something about the femininity of this sound which he found so sexy.

Miss Brighton continued: "We want you to be the best. Believe me, there is nothing more disheartening than a student who throws away the opportunity I will give to you."

'Hang on a minute...' Samuel panicked. 'Is she talking to me? Can she tell I haven't been listening? There's no way she could tell...right?'

As the professor continued her journey away from the stage and up the central walkway, Miss Brighton started to stare down on Samuel. As she drew closer, he was able to see streaks of what he presumed were white chalk marks on the cuffs of her navy jacket. Approaching closer still, he could see a single blonde hair resting on her navy jacket. A jacket which housed...

'...a bulging cleavage. Oh... those tits look so big. And that blouse... it's so very tight. Should she be wearing something so tight? I bet if she stretched her arms just one inch too far, her tits would just spill out. I bet you would love to see that? Watching this uppity slut lose all dignity as her bra-covered breasts burst free. Students would be dodging the buttons of her expensive blouse as she desperately scrambled to close her jacket, hiding her bra from hundreds of amazed eyes. Imagine those red lips forming a perfect 'O'. Her eyes wide with shock, fear and surprise.'

...A jacket which housed a white blouse and a classy pearl necklace. "Concentrate on me. And nothing else...". At this point Miss Brighton had stopped almost directly besides Samuel. With no other student sat on his section of the centre aisle row, he could almost feel the warmth of her body and smell the scent of her perfume. He didn't dare meet her gaze and could only assume she was staring him down.

'This is it. She's going to throw you out. She's going to expose you. Everyone will see. Everyone will know. It's just like school.'

For Samuel, in his state of internal panic, time stood still and he froze with it. The best he could manage to do was just stare blankly at the ground. At her heels. All he could think about was how very back and how very clean they were. Whereas her blouse had collected traces of chalky white streaks, her heels were impressively spotless. 'They couldn't be in better condition if they were new. I wonder if they were new? Or had they just been cleaned?' What a strange thought to have right before he would be thrown out and publicly laughed at, he thought to himself.

Still locked on to her heels, Samuel watched as she transferred her weight from one leg to the other. Her heels shifting on the spot to point in his direction. He could only assume she was set to pounce. His heart fluttered.

'This is it. She's going to make me stand up.' He stressed. 'She's giving a speech on the importance of paying attention - the first speech of university - and she caught me not paying attention. She must've seen hundreds of boys like me. Little day-dreaming slackers.'

'I hope she does do something about it. I hope she does make an example of you! I hope she shows everyone in here what happens to little boys who don't listen. That'll teach you! Then you'll really change!'

As his mental turmoil continued, he still couldn't bring himself to look at her. There was still something about women that scared Samuel. He always felt like such a...boy... in their presence. So he just sat there looking at nothing but a pair of heels and nylon clad legs. He was convinced that everyone in theatre was looking at him; at the boy shrivelling in front his pretty professor. And then...nothing. The heels disappeared. The legs were gone from his field of view and carried her towards the back of the room.

When his ability to breathe normally returned, so too did Samuel's courage to pick his chin up off the floor. Clenching his still clammy fists together, he braced himself for the sea of faces he would no doubt see smirking back at him. But he was wrong. He wasn't greeted with snickering girls whispering amongst each other or intimidating boys giving him the finger. Instead he saw only backs of heads, content with watching the presentation video which had burst into life, the video which was started by Miss Brighton at the rear of the room.

For all his panic and inner angst, Samuel realised that all but two seconds had passed when Miss Brighton had paused by his side. Having not looked at her, she could've been doing anything. But through fretting his public exposure of some unknown crime, he had dwelled on the 'ordeal' too deeply and elongated the experience for himself.

'How embarrassing. You really are a whimp!'

Annoyed with himself for slipping so quickly back into school boy mode after make a pledge to change, Samuel thought about why he always became so nervous around people...and the female of the species in particular. 'What reason had I to be nervous? Looking at someone I know? What's wrong with that? I hadn't attacked a student, or pulled the fire alarm or heckled Miss Brighton mid-speech. I'm a good boy. I listen and I follow instructions. What woman wouldn't be pleased with a man like that?'

'You were thinking some pretty dark things about Miss Brighton. Some...very naughty things! Imagine if she could read minds? The trouble you'd be in.'

'No. Everything is fine. I have to stop thinking like this. Expecting the worse. Thinking that at any moment I am going to humiliate myself.'

Remember the tightness of that skirt? Did you see how it gripped her thighs and left just enough room above the knee for two smooth nylon-wrapped legs to poke through?'

'That will be the last time I act like a scared baby.' Samuel told himself. 'It's time for the new me. I'll make-up a new me, just like Georgia has!'

And then it hit him. The reason Georgia looked so similar, but so new. Make-up! She was wearing make-up. It wasn't just new make-up. It was a lot of new make-up. Her eyelashes were thick with black mascara. Dark eye liner wrapped around both blue eyes, making them seem deeper and more intoxicating. Her face was coated in foundation, giving her skin a smoother and more tanned complexion than her natural skin tone. Her eyebrows looked more arched than they had ever been at school. And her lips...her lips were covered in bright, glossy pink lipstick. They looked so moist and inviting. She would never have put so much make-up on at school!

Samuel almost laughed out loud as he looked over her once again to discover the answer he had been looking for for what must have been over an hour now. She looked like a new person, because she wore more make-up. He felt stupid for being struck so spectacularly by such a normal thing for a woman to do, but also pleased that he had cracked the mystery. 'Evidently, make-up is the key to change!' He laughed to himself.

***

Some 30 minutes later, Samuel was still stuck in the lecture theatre listening to Miss Brighton and finding himself increasingly bored and frustrated. 'We must have been in here for almost two hours now and she's still talking at us!' It didn't look like Samuel and the other students were any closer to being released. He was getting tired and thirsty. The first feeling he could do nothing about (not without falling asleep in his seat and risk publicly snoring, anyway). But to solve the second issue, he reached for his iced latte.

He inspected the contents of the freezing cold mixture of coffee, milk, ice, syrup and cream as Miss Brighton, now back on stage, explained something about lesson structure and how students should use their free periods. Cup-in-hand, Samuel noticed how his hands were still shaking from his earlier non-encounter with Miss Brighton. He shook the plastic cup and watched the contents slosh around. A thick gloopy mixture rocking back and forth inside.

"And finally, before I let you go to your next seminar, I have one more video to show." Miss Brighton informed the room. "Worry not. It's a only a short one."

With an end of the induction class on the near horizon, Samuel bought the iced coffee up to his mouth, relieved that he would soon be leaving and listening to something (hopefully) more interesting than university admin.

His lips puckered, waiting for the straw to find its way inside as Miss Brighton fiddled with wires connecting her laptop to the on-stage docking bay. Samuel sucked on the straw, but the creamy mixture failed to find its way up the tube, clearly blocked by some sugar-coated ice ball. No matter, he thought, as he removed the straw from the cup, placing it neatly on the wooden desk.

"Oh do come on. Nearly there..." Miss Brighton said through gritted teeth, almost as encouragement to herself, as she persisted with her laptop wires and the docking station, evidently failing to connect the correct prong into the right receptacle. Samuel's hands, now trembling somewhat less than they had been earlier, gripped the cup and bought the whole thing to his face; opting instead to just tip the contents directly into his mouth. With eyes closed, he relaxed and anticipated the joy of swallowing the mixture. His mouth widening further still as the creamy gloop slid towards the open and eager hole. The contents were just making their way over the precipice of the cup's rim when an ear-shattering boom blasted out from every speaker in the theatre!

All hundred or so students jolted in surprise. Samuel, having done the same as every other startled student, clenched his fists in shock and surprise. With his head still tilted backwards, his lips formed a perfect 'O' as his eyes shot open with shock and surprise.

As the sound dissipated, every student - except for one - began to laugh and murmur as they realised they had been surprised by static feedback emanating from Miss Brighton's now connected laptop and docking station, and not a dangerous explosion of some other kind.

The one student who did not laugh or talk was, of course, Samuel. As his senses moved somewhere towards normal, his eyes focussed in on the still-clenched fist he held in front of his face. Then he saw the cup; crushed and shattered from his grasp. His breathing began to sharpen as the realisation of what he had just done (literally) washed over him. The crushed cup was empty. But he hadn't drunk a drop.

Then he felt it. The cold droplets of milky-white coffee on his bright red face. He slowly looked down and saw more droplets dribbling from his chin and running down his black hoodie. Unfortunately for Samuel, the worst part was yet to enter his field of view. It was sat waiting for him further below.

'Oh no. Oh please no!' He cried. 'Please don't be happening. Please don't say this is real!'

A puddle of ice-filled milk and cream sat collected on his crotch. Milk, ice and cream all soaking through the fabric of his tight skinny jeans. He didn't dare move. He couldn't believe what was happening now. It had to be a nightmare!

'Fuck that's cold!' He moaned as the first third of the milky concoction started to make its way through his skinny jeans, drenching his boxer shorts and wetting everything between his bare thighs.

Thankfully, everybody around Samuel was blissfully unaware of the drenching he had given himself, their attention now returning to Miss Brighton.

'How the hell do I get out of this?' He worried to himself as more of the ice cold gloop soaked through his clothes. 'I'll be a laughing stock if anyone sees me!'

His cock was becoming increasingly wet and slippery with runny milk and sticky caramel sauce. Placing the now empty coffee cup back on the desk, he pondered his options. Should he get up and sneak away? Perhaps use the film as distraction and hope he could make it to the fire exit without anyone noticing Or should he wait? Let everyone leave before him and then slink out of an empty room.

As milk and caramel reached his knees, Samuel's heart raced with embarrassment and disbelief. 'Oh this can't be happening. It's so cold and wet. Everything feels so creamy down there.' Frantically he looked to his left and saw a group of men immediately across the walkway. There was no way he could get past them without just one of them seeing, he figured.

'I bet they'd laugh. They'd make everyone look. I hope they do make everyone look! I hope they shout it from the top of their lungs to make everyone see the little boy who's publicly creamed his pants!'