Author’s Note: This is an organizational reworking of previously published work (resetting it into novel-length chapters)
At some point, about two years before the start of this work, there was a change in women. The vagaries of this change — dates were unclear as were causes and long-term effects led to the ill-defined event being referred to simply as “the change”. There was no sudden “flash in the sky” or some similar event to broadcast that something had happen. The differences were noticed — and accepted — at different times in different places.
After “the change” women started to exhibit, well, changes. Women developed higher levels of strength and physical durability. Their speed increased while their reflex and reaction times decreased. Women’s physiologies were altered giving them considerably more robust and efficient metabolisms, vastly increased endurance, some increased resistance to disease, and more rapid healing. Women also started displaying significant increases in intelligence, speed of mental processing, and over all mental capacity. Coinciding with these “enhancements”, women affected by “the change” also began to demonstrate vastly increased sexual appetites and aggression.
The change impacted all biological women from puberty through menopause. It would eventually become clear, over time, that girls who hadn’t been of an age to be impacted by “the change” would realize its effects as they hit puberty. On the other end of the age spectrum, women who had been affected would see those changes carry on after menopause (though some noted reduction occurred as they aged).
As mentioned, no one is quite sure what caused “the change” There are many theories ranging from DNA modification by vaccine to divine intervention to aliens. One prominent theory was that the change represented some sort of imbalanced evolutionary leap forward that, somehow, left men behind. As such a leap was previously unheard of, society was a lot slower to change than the women’s minds and bodies. This led to a turbulent period of societal upheaval in the ensuing years as both women and men became accustomed to the new reality
More than women had changed. The world had changed. My name is Simon Jones. This is my story. It is the story of a man and the woman he loves living in a changed world.
My early thirties found me teaching physics at a small private high school. I had landed there after leaving my professorship at a large university. Such positions are dependent upon producing research more than teaching. Most of the new faculty were women. Their volume of research far outpaced mine. I was no slouch. I mean, “Hello, PhD in theoretical physics and quantum mechanics.” but the women that came on board behind me were head and shoulders above me in brilliance. They also seemed to work 20-hour days. That was a combo beyond my ability to compete. The writing was on the wall. The department chair let me down gently that tenure was not in my future and helped set me up with a teaching job at her alma mater.
I was pretty smashed at first, but I came to like teaching. Income was less of an issue as my wife, Nadia, found her new software engineering firm taking off and we had other sources of income. I’ll get into that later. We settled into a new town and that was that. The schedule disruption was something, so some things changed. For example, Nadia and I used to go to the gym together, but she suggested that she start going to a new women-only gym near her work and I could work out at the school’s weight room. Little things like that aside, it was a pretty good life.
Like a lot of men at the time, I knew that things had changed with women. Just how much they had changed was not something most people, well, most men anyway, really understood. I thought it was something like a new diet or exercise program — women got stronger and healthier. Nadia, the main — really only — woman in my life had always been strong and healthy, so I guess I just didn’t notice. Some on the other things — like my entirely female AP Physics class maintaining solid “A’s” I just attributed to other factors. [It was a lot easier to believe that I was just a really great teacher than it was to believe that women had become so much more intelligent than us guys.] In sum, I really didn’t understand how much women had really changed.
I was about to find out.
One Autumn Friday, I was finishing up some light tutoring I was doing with a senior named Becky. Becks was about 18 (I don’t actually know, but, for the sake of legality and my conscience, I want to believe she was). She stood a little shorter than me (I measure a manly 5’8″), was of a slight build – maybe a 110lbs, had light blonde hair and pale blue eyes. She dressed in the regular private school plaid-skirted uniform She was a bright student but had asked me for some help on some simple problems. I was surprised, because siirt seks hikayeleri she seemed to grasp them in class, but girls in those days still questioned their abilities in math and science – a holdover from a different time.
We were just finishing up. We were seated at a table in my classroom working the last problem. She reached the end, and I told her, “Great job, Becks. You have this down.” We were seated very closely; her on my left. Faster than I could react, she put her right arm over my shoulder and around my head and kissed me. This was no chaste peck, but a full-on, open-mouth kiss. Stunned, I tried to pull away, but found, to my disbelief, that I couldn’t. Her arm and hand locked my head in place with surprising power. Her tongue plunged into my mouth and she moaned a little. Try as a might, this little 110-pound girl trapped me with seemingly little effort.
My left arm pinned against my body, I put my right hand on her shoulder and tried to get enough leverage to push myself free. Again, it was like pushing against a wall. In high school, I had wrestled (and lost to) a three-time state champion who was solid muscle. As badly as he’d handled me, I never felt so trapped as I did by Becky at that moment. I was starting to panic. I tried to say something, but her mouth covered mine; her tongue pressing mine into submission.
It was about to get worse.
Noticing my hand pushing feebly at her, Becky brought up her left arm, and grasp my wrist with her hand. Her grip was incredible – like someone had put an iron clamp on my wrist and keep cranking it down. First, she pulled my hand over her left breast. Her hand pressing mine into the firm B-cup. I could feel her hardened nipple through the fabric of her uniform shirt and lace of her wireless bra. She moaned again and tightened her iron grip around my wrist. I continued struggling to free my hand, but I was easily outmatched by her uncanny strength. Then Becky brought my hand down to her lap and started pushing it up her pleated uniform skirt. Freeing my lips, I tried begging meekly, “Becky, stop this. I can’t. I won’t…”
She loosened her grip around my head just slightly and in a breathy whisper replied, “Make me cum, Dr Jones.” With that she locker her lips to mine in a voracious kiss, pressed my cuffed hand against her panty covered sex, and began moving it rhythmically. I could feel the cotton material of her panties already moistened in her excitement. The damp cotton tight over a felt of soft light pubic hair. I continued to try to pull my hand away, but she was just too strong. She pressed my hand into her. I could feel the folds of her wet teen pussy parting. I was in shock. This little girl had overpowered me without much more effort expended than one would going to get the mail. Now she was using me to pleasure herself, and I was helpless to stop her.
After a few moments of grinding my hand against her cotton covered pussy she broke our violent kiss and started to gasp, “Oh god. Dr Jones, I’m cumming.” She pulled me tightly against her body. I could barely breath as she started to convulse with orgasm. I thought my neck would break as she climaxed. Her legs slammed shut around my aching hand. It was as violent a sexual explosion as I had ever seen in a woman in person or, even, in porn. I began to fear that she would actually injure me in her unconscious bliss.
As she crested her orgasmic hill and started to descend, she relaxed her grip around my neck and on my wrist. I took the opening to wrench myself away. The struggle left me exhausted. Becky looked like she could go run ten miles. “Becky, what the hell? Have you lost your mind?”
Gathering her own wits, Becky looked up, “Oh, come on, Dr. Jones. You know you loved it. You wouldn’t have stayed after with me if you didn’t think something might happen. You were asking for it. I bet you want even more. I know I do,” She started to get up. Fearing what “more” might mean, and it having been demonstrated that I had no chance of resisting her physically, I grabbed my coat and keys, and fled to my car hoping she wouldn’t follow.
I pulled into my driveway at home. My neck had become stiff during the ride, and I tried to twist and stretch for some relief. I found little. My neck was sore – my wrist just hurt. I looked at it, and there was a profound circular bruise encompassing it. I still couldn’t get over what had happened. Moreover, I couldn’t believe how strong that little girl was and how utterly defenseless I had been. Set aside the ridiculous sexual aggression, that I couldn’t escape it scared me a little. I knew something of what had been going on with women since “the change”, but this was nothing like what I’d come to expect. I meant; Nadia didn’t display that kind of muscle power nor did she seem so insatiable. She certainly hadn’t displayed that kind of raw strength despite being taller, more athletically built, and having a good thirty or more pounds on Becky.
Nadia’s car was in the driveway. She had worked from home today, I recalled. Usually, that was something I loved, because it meant an afternoon tryst in the bedroom in addition to our nightly romp. Today, I was in no mood for sex — I just didn’t understand what had just happened.
One thing I did know, at least in term of my married life was that I might have been the luckiest guy in the world. My wife was a fit thirty. She stood 5’11” — well over six feet in the heels she loved to wear because they made her toned legs and fit round ass look amazing. That she towered over me in them was more a source of humor for both of us than a matter of insecurity. She had a washboard of abs thanks to a lifetime of athletics but maintained a womanly curve. Her 34B breasts literally defied gravity. Her light brown hair went past her toned shoulders and fell down her back on the softest faintly tanned skin I’d ever known. Her deep brown eyes always lit up when she saw me. She was a successful engineer with a quick wit and moreover, she loved me like no person ever had. I loved her as much. She’d been my world since grad school and my everything since my academic career fell apart and we’d moved here away from friends and family.
Then there was the sex.
We’d always had a good, active, sex life. (I mean, look at her, right?) We’d been married five years, and, in the last year, running counter to the usual trend, the tempo of our physical relationship picked up. At the time, I chalked it up to a move to a new town without much in the way of a social life. We had nearly nightly sex, with added afternoon goes when time allowed. This augmented by weekend wake-up sex, shared showers a few times a week, rounded out with the occasion cuddle sessions that usually led to mutual masturbation or oral pleasurings. I was a lucky, if sometimes sleep-deprived guy.
I rubbed my neck one more time, flexed my aching wrist, and got out of the car. It had been a bizarre turn of events, and I was still processing it as I entered the house. We had a full-length mirror in foyer. I stopped in front of it to neaten myself up. Objectively, I was a pretty average guy, I thought looking in the mirror. I straightened to my full height of about 5’8″. I wasn’t “short” per se, but about average. I was also of pretty average build. I ran about 160lbs those days and was a fairly fit 33 years from three or so trips a week to the school’s “Boy’s” gym. The school was well-endowed and had built separate workout facilities a year ago – to keep the younger folks from being distracted in their fitness routines was the explanation. I ran a hand through my mussed dark brown hair. I was greying a bit and my hair had become noticeably thinner in the last year. I gave myself one last look as steeled to meet my wife.
I didn’t get out of the foyer before Nadia met me clad in her normal “work at home uniform” – a royal blue sports bra (like those babies needed support), pair of stretchy black yoga pants (gawd that ass), and a pair of chunky soled workout shoes that gave her another inch on me she didn’t need but loved to have. She tossed her ponytail around and gave me the usual joking bear hug welcome. I winced in pain as she squeezed.
Nadia sensed something was wrong, loosened her hug, and stepped back. “Good lord, what happened to you? Where you in a wreck? What happened to your neck?” I was becoming aware of redness around my neck where it met my shoulder that was starting to become another bruise. “And your wrist?” she continued, “Is it broken. Do we need to get you to the hospital?”
I didn’t know what to say. How was I going to explain that I’d been assaulted by a little teen girl? There was no way Nadia would believe it possible – or even credible – that a skinny teen girl had used me to pleasure herself. That the same girl locked me in a steely grip that I couldn’t break with all my effort. I found it hard to believe myself that had been rendered so defenseless by a Becky. My head was spinning. And everything came crashing down. I sat on the living room couch, with Nadia holding me as everything came gushing out in a torrent of sobbing words and tears. When I finally finished and gathered myself, I braced for Nadia’s incredulous response.
It didn’t go like I thought it would.
“I was worried something like this might happen. I should have warned you. There’s no way you might have known this could happen. I mean, we hardly know anyone in this town, so, how could you? And with how I’ve been holding back to protect you, there’s just no way.?” Nadia said, trying to comfort me.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, “and what do you even mean ‘holding back’? Protecting me from what?”
“I just don’t think you’ve had a chance to grasp how much things have changed,” she started. “We haven’t had much of a social life here, so I hadn’t worried. You’re going to need to start being more careful around women, and I guess, girls,” she paused seeing my incomprehension.
“Careful?” I responded incredulously, “Careful that I’m going to be assaulted by random girls and women on the street? I think this is just crazy. Surely, you all haven’t become sexually insatiable superwomen. If that’s the case, why haven’t there been women arrested?”
Nadia rolled her eyes, “So your plan was to call the police and tell them a teen girl tried to rape you?”
She was right. My male ego was as fragile as any guy’s. This story wasn’t going any further than our living room. It was an absolute certainty that my plan for Becky’s Monday AP Physics class would be to try to avoid eye contact and act like nothing happened. The thought broke me a little more.
“I wasn’t raped” I muttered feebly.
“Because you got away. Trust me, that little minx wanted you inside her. She probably went home and Jilled herself off for an hour or waited for some unsuspecting football player to finish practice and threw him around a few times.” She could see the hurt on my face as she finished. It wasn’t her intention, but she seemed to obviously know something of Becky’s drives. Then it began to dawn on me.
“Are you – are you saying you are like this too? You can’t be serious. You’re not some insatiable sexual dynamo.” Becoming irate, I stood to emphasize my point. “I mean, we have a lot of great sex, but you aren’t pulling guys off the street and screwing their brains out. And, while, my dear, you are built like a brick house, you’re not bending bars or anything. This is some kind of – “
I was cut off. Moving faster than I could register in my brain, Nadia had crossed from her seat on the couch, clasped her hand across my mouth, and pressed me against the far wall; my feet touching the floor maybe once on the way there. I grasped her wrist first with one hand then with both of mine but found I couldn’t budge her hand. I struggled to push her away, but that was also fruitless. “Are you sure about that?” she smiled that mischievous grin that I fell I love with. She pressed forward a bit, pushing herself against me and me against the wall. I struggled to breathe as my soft flesh yielded to her steely muscular frame.
“Mmef me gnnnn,” I struggled to get out, “Es cnt bfff”
“Was that, ‘Ok, dear, I’m ready to listen, and thank you for protecting my delicate male ego and not breaking every fragile bone in my weak pathetic body every time I’ve angered you for the last year or two’?” She laughed. “No, okay then.” She started to press forward more.
“Uhkey, Uhkey,” I gasped, signaling my “willingness” to listen.
She moved her hand off my mouth, stepped back, and caught me as I started to collapse. She eased me over to the couch and calmy went to the kitchen. She returned with an ice pack, a bottle of water, and some Advil – more like a dutiful 1950’s housewife than the warrior princess that just threw and held me against a wall. I put the ice pack on my now screaming neck/shoulder and took the Advil.
“I’ve wanted to talk to you about this for a while,” she began as she sat down next to me. “At first I thought it was just me, but, then it became clear it was pretty much all biological women.” I raised an eyebrow. “Women talk to each other when something is up with our bodies, honey. I know men would rather die than do that, but women do.” She put her arm around me. “I should have known, as randy as the women at the gym are, that some inexperienced hormonal girl wouldn’t be able to control herself.”
The gym. “You started going to the gym without me. That’s part of this, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Well, I realized I could hold back in the bedroom, but couldn’t really exert myself and still keep this under wraps.” She smiled. “Today, I was benching 600lbs for reps. No way to be subtle about that.”
“Six – six hundred pounds?!” The numbers in my head telling me that was somewhere well north of the world record max bench-press for a man her size. “Is there anything else?” I asked, hoping there wasn’t
She started, “Well, you usually go to sleep, so you probably haven’t noticed I don’t go right to bed after we have sex. I just don’t tire out very easily. A couple of days ago, I went out to try running a 10k practice. I ran an even 24 minutes – beating the men’s world record by more than a minute. And then…”
I interrupted, “And then you went and ate three bulldozers.”
“No,” she replied sternly, “Then I went and masturbated for an hour. I came, like, ten times.”
I was floored. “But, but we have sex all the time.” I was near collapse at this point.
“I know,” she said, “And it’s really good sex, but I have to hold back because I’m afraid I might hurt you. And, well, I need a lot more.” She went to our bedroom and brought back a box “Look,” she told me, opening the lid.
The box was an assortment of dildos and vibrators of various sizes ranging from about the same size as my dick up to some that were impressively – almost comedically – large. They were in various states of disrepair a couple were broken in two. One was bent over nearly double. Another, this one a gleaming stainless-steel model, was, no shit, dented and crinkled. I started to get the picture. “You use these a lot,” I said to no one in particular,