The Second Test

by Sarah Bayen

 

Adam shut his eyes and held tightly to the woman as she thrust deeper and deeper into him. His knees held firmly to her hips, forcing her further into him. She groaned, quietly at first, and then louder, and then louder still. He felt waves of energy flowing from between his legs, upward to his womb, and further into his stomach and chest. He never knew that he could feel as good as this.

Then, with a primal shout of release, she pushed herself even deeper within him, and he felt her jolt hard, once, twice, and then with less force a further five or six times. Her head fell forward, and her arms, holding her torso upright above him, began involuntarily to shudder. He rubbed his palms across her buttocks, pushing her inwards again, hardly believing that the moment should be over so quickly. He felt his nipples tighten, as her hair brushed against his face like a waterfall.

She lowered herself down onto him, still taking some of her weight on her arms, and he moved his hands to stroke her broad back. So this was what it was like to be a woman, he thought to himself, a real woman, celebrated by a lover. She had made him a maiden against his will, but this transformation, from maiden to woman, he had made voluntarily. He smiled to himself, as he felt her mouth plant eager kisses onto the soft skin of his neck, turning his head to make her access easier. He felt himself holding tightly to that part of her that was still inside him, his body tugging on it, squeezing every last drop of her gift to him. A warm glow filled him upwards from his womb, and he lost himself in her musky smell, the warmth and closeness of her body, and the ecstacy she had driven him to.

Suddenly the warmth and joy were all gone. He opened his eyes, and saw his knees raised. The woman, now in female form was standing between his legs, and gazing intently into the place she had just planted her seed. He opened his mouth to speak, but was overcome by a spasm of cramp and pain in his stomach. Where he had so recently experienced such joy, there was now a tearing intense agony. He gasped for air, and slowly the pain subsided.

"You're doing well!" she assured him, still with her dark eyes fixed between his spread-eagled legs.

"What's happening?" he managed to splutter, as another wave of agony began to sear itself around his abdomen. He did not hear her reply; it was drowned by the scream of pain that issued from his mouth. The spasm went on longer this time, and he eventually found himself panting for breath as it at last dissipated.

"What's happening to me?" he heard himself say again, through the fog of pain, in the brief respite between contractions.

"You're having a baby," she told him brightly, looking into his tear filled eyes for the first time. "Don't be surprised. You're not a maiden any more are you?"

Before he could compose a repost, the pain circled around him once again, gripping his muscles with involuntary pulling, which only increased the feeling of his sexual parts being ripped asunder. Once the wave of pain subsided, he heard her voice again.

"You're nearly there now!" she told him, eyes fixed on his exposed vagina. "I thought I'd spare you the early stages. Two or three more big pushes, and you'll be there."

He wanted to tell her that she had spared him nothing, but again, the unstoppable surge of pain overcame him again, this time even harder. He screamed, and felt his body buck with the force of its own strength.

"Oh I can see her head!" the woman said excitedly, "You're doing well!"

He did not even bother to try and speak, as his head fell weakly to one side. Salt tears fell from the corners of his eyes. How could she do this to him? He had hated her once, when she first made him a girl. Then, over the course of months, he had grown to tolerate her, and then, a secret even to himself, to love her. Then, not an hour ago as he remembered it, he had made himself available to her. Why had he done so? He felt so stupid now, so angry with himself, for being so weak. She had told him that she would never force herself on him until he asked her to do so. He had asked, and she had delivered on her promise.

The pain began again, worse still this time. He felt as if his body was being ripped in two as his lower body pushed down in an act of expulsion. "Very good," the woman encouraged him. "Very good, keep going!"

He screamed again, and felt an uncontrollable desire to push down further. The tearing sensation increased, and became almost exquisite in its intensity. "Her head's free," the woman told him, "She's beautiful. Just one more push, come on."

Huge waves of fatigue began to drown out the pain, and he felt himself drifting to unconsciousness. "One more!" the woman urged again, rousing him, just as another burst of pain, such severe pain, captured his lower body. A curious slithering feeling emanated from between his legs, and holding his head aloft, he saw the woman jump forward and reach out.

"I've got her, I've got her!" she announced in triumph, snatching a bundle of wet flesh from him. "Oh she is so beautiful!"

Adam lent backwards, and a surge of relief swept across his consciousness, mixing with the memory of the pain, and the waves of tiredness. He shut his eyes. At least it was over. She had forced him to give birth to her daughter for some devious purpose of her own. Perhaps that was what all this had been about. The unlooked for meeting at the old ruins, when he had first met her as the she-wolf, and tried to save the new lamb from her jaws; the invitation, when she had told him she wanted him to be her priestess; his refusal, and her transformation of him into a maiden.

She had explained to him, as he ranted at her to change him back, that he would have to undergo three tests. If he passed them, then he would be her priestess. All he needed to do to return to his maleness was to fail any one of them. He had been weak, and succumbed to her to surrender his maidenhood. If this birthing had been the second test, it seemed to him he had no chance to fail it. The whole process had been involuntary; his body had been taken over by forces of nature old even when the woman who had been his lover and his midwife had been born.

"Take her," the woman's voice said, rousing him from his thoughts and slumber. She held the bundle towards him, still attached by its cord to his body. His arms, feeble from fatigue, reached upwards as she lay the bundle on his chest, so small, and so in need of his care. He stared at the small, scrunched up face, as it mewed to announce its arrival to the world. "We'll call her Celestra," the woman announced, without thought of consultation. "She might want to suckle," she added, and then, pausing briefly, she went on. "Although you should know, if you let her suckle, then that's the second test. You'll be the mother, and a step closer to what I need you for."

He pushed the baby away from his swollen breasts in fear. So that was the test, to make him suckle the baby! Well he would resist that. She was evidently so proud of her daughter, and now, she had breasts of her own again. She could suckle the creature herself, rather than he. That way he would be able to return to his boyhood, free from her designs on him and his fate. He looked down at the baby, and kissed it.

"We've got to wait for the afterbirth," she announced again, waiting between his legs. He felt strangely inelegant, lying in front of her like that, exposing himself to the woman who so recently had been his first lover. He tried to bring his knees together, or to lower them, but the fatigue of his lower body just allowed him to wobble them preposterously. "Stay as you are darling," she coaxed him. "We need to make sure it all comes out."

He relaxed slightly, and his nose filled with the scent of the baby, his baby. Without thinking, and driven by a desire so strong that it knew no name, he rubbed his cheek against the baby's head, as fresh tears spilled from his eyes. The woman was right; Celesta was beautiful, painfully beautiful in a way that made his heart ache. He pulled the baby gently up to his face, and kissed her again and again, wrapping his arms around her to give her warmth and comfort, and to keep her safe from the world.

"If you let her feed, it might speed it up a bit," the woman suggested, with a note of impatience in her voice. His breasts ached for the touch of the beautiful mewing mouth, and he shuffled her down a little, ready to place her close to his stiffening nipples. But no, he told himself. That was the test! The woman knew exactly what she was doing, making him want, even need, to feed the baby, exactly the way she had made him need her seed. He had to resist, or he would be further down the road of the eternal womanhood she had promised him. He had to resist.

He held the baby up to his chin again, and kissed her head. He would not give in, he could not give in. His mind began to wander, back to the days before he had met the she-wolf. Then he was Adam, the simple shepherd boy, looking after his small flock, away from the troubled village where the soldiers of the Empire now camped. He had seen them once or twice, on the rare occasions he went down from the slopes, clad in their dark foreboding uniforms, leering at the local girls, and demanding free beer and victuals. He had been glad of his quiet life, free from them, up on the slopes, sleeping in his simple hut. Once, three of them had climbed and demanded a lamb from him. He had complied, but the climb was difficult enough to persuade them that the effort was not worth any repetition. He had been pleased the previous season, when he had driven the flock across the border to a town, rather than the village, and had got a decent price, free of the Empire's exorbitant taxes. It had been a good life. Then one of the lambs had wandered into the old ruins, and it had all changed.

"It's not coming," the woman announced, with a certain amount of concern. "You'll have to feed her or something. Don't you feel the need to push?"

He shook his head, and stroked the baby, now clad in a soft woollen blanket against his chest. He kissed her again, and croaked some nonsense to her, as she seemed to sleep, eyes pressed tightly closed against even the half-light of the room they were in. He drifted to sleep again, remembering the months he had spent with the woman, then in her man phase. She was such a good hunter, no doubt slipping into wolf form to achieve the kill. They had never gone short of meat, in spite of the severity of the winter. Deer, game birds, rabbits and even once, an ox, she had brought them all back to their hut in the middle of the old ruins. She brought firewood too, to keep them warm, and to provide a place for him to cook. Somehow, she had even found a sack of flour, which he had used, after some disasters, to bake bread for them both.

She had provided them with clothes too. For the first week, he had shared the stock of trousers and jerkins that she wore, but they were far too big for him. He had seen that there were workday dresses in the cupboard at the back of the hut, but he had resisted them. Somehow, despite her assurances, he felt that had he put one of them on, he would be further down the path of womanhood where he did not want to tread. Then one day, because the weather had been so foul that he had been unable to dry the washing, there was only one pair of trousers left. He had awoken first, and slipped them on, before preparing their breakfast. He had waited with trepidation for her to awake, and demand them from him, since she was hunting that day. She had not, however, and got herself ready to go outside barelegged, naked from the waist down in spite of the bitter frost. Something in his heart had given way, and, biding her wait, he had put on his first dress, handing her the trousers to keep her warm. She had smiled and thanked him. He had not worn trousers since. It meant washing less often, leaving him more time to make the hut warm and comfortable. He found it easier to urinate too, wearing a dress, rather than having to take off his trousers before squatting over the pit behind the hut. All in all, it was a practical solution, one he had chosen, rather than having had it forced upon him.

He felt a twinge of pain in his stomach, and a further contraction of his womb. "I think maybe it's coming now," the woman said. "It's taking a long time. It'd be quicker if you fed Celesta you know."
He ignored her temptation, and his breasts' urge to comply arising from the wriggles of the beautiful baby on his chest. Her little fists flayed the air, and her eyes gazed silently and sightlessly into his face. He smiled at her, and kissed her soft head again.

He remembered then waking one morning, still in his nightgown, and making the breakfast while the woman slept on. It was still dark, and he had lit two candles over by the stove so he could see what he was doing. He had been feeling a little irritable for a couple of days beforehand, and generally cross with the woman and his situation. He had snapped at her the evening before over dinner for some imagined misdemeanour, and immediately felt guilty for doing so. The following morning, however, he had felt a sense of relief, a lightening of his spirit, as if some weight had been taken off his shoulders. He put the pan over the flames to prepare for the bacon, and sliced some bread from the day before. She would enjoy her breakfast that morning, he decided.

Suddenly she was behind him. The sound of her laughter made him jump, and he turned, wide eyed to face her. Her eyes were on his exposed legs, and she smiled at him, proudly rather than in mockery.

"What's the matter?" he had asked her.

She smiled even wider, and nodded down at his legs. "Now you're truly a maiden my darling," she had cooed. Wondering, he had looked down at his own legs, and seen the small rivulets of blood trickling down the inside of his thighs. He thought for a second that he had injured himself, and then realised the true import, a maiden he was. She had assured him that so he would stay until he gave himself to her. He had thought then, as the shame of his condition burnt colour into his cheeks, that that day would never arrive. He would never be so weak as to demand she take him.

Another muscle spasm aroused him from his memories. He opened his eyes, and looked down at the now resting baby, and an involuntary smile came to his lips. His belly ached again, and the woman, still intently watching between his legs, smiled to herself. "I think it's coming now," she told him. He jerked again, and something came out of him. The woman grabbed it, and he saw that a cord linked whatever it might be to the precious bundle on his chest. He leant forward to kiss the baby again, as the woman fussed with the newly arrived thing.

He closed his eyes, nestling his face into the infant, smelling the fresh scent of the newborn, and felt an ache within his chest. She was so precious and so beautiful, and he vowed to himself and to her to ensure that no harm ever became her. He felt the woman move, and opening his eyes, saw her standing over his stomach with a pair of scissors in her hands. Instinctively he held the baby closer to him, away from her and the threat of the metal.

"I'm only going to cut the cord!" the woman protested, shaking her head in wonder at his reaction. With some reluctance, he lessened his grip on the baby, and watched, as she performed the deed, tying a knot in the stump on Celesta's small frail body. The baby began to mew again, and his breasts felt warm and tight. The woman smiled down at him. "You did well," she told him. "Really well. I've known many a first time mother who'd be amazed at how well you did. How do you feel?"

"Tired," he replied, still holding the baby, and closing his eyes once more.

"Let me take her off you and clean her up a bit," the woman went on. He immediately held the baby closer to himself, and looked at the woman in alarm. "I won't hurt her!" the woman told him, seeing his expression. "I am her father after all."

He was torn between an intense desire to hold on to the baby, the new centre of his universe, and the overwhelming need to rest and sleep. The woman held out her hands to receive the baby, and slowly, he handed Celesta over, and was immediately overcome with a huge pang of loss.

"You can have her back in a minute," the woman said, smiling again. He must look awful, he thought to himself, smelling his own sweat, and feeling blood and other fluids around his legs. Not that it mattered then, he told himself. He could look as unattractive as he wanted, he would not let her have him again. The woman took the baby across the room, and out of his sight, and he closed his eyes once more.

He had wanted to look attractive for her once. That had been his downfall. He had bled three times before the thought had even crossed his mind. He had been preparing for bed one evening, brushing his now long hair, and wearing a simple sleeping smock. He became aware of her eyes on him, staring at his back from the cot they shared. He knew that look; he had been a young man himself once. He was at once entranced and repulsed. As he turned to face her, the woman quickly looked away from him, and lay down to sleep, but he knew that she desired him.

It had become a game for him. She had so much control over him, keeping him there, in the little hut in the ruined temple, turning him into a maiden and getting him to keep house for her. His ability to inspire lust in her became his retribution; the way he could exercise some power in return. He began to search the cupboard for different clothes to wear, particularly in the evening when their day's work was done. He had found some dresses which exposed more of his chest, which were made of softer materials, or were more brightly coloured than the drab brown things he had worn until then.

His choice had the desired effect. She would stare at him endlessly in the firelight, watching him sewing or darning. Her eyes bore intensely into his exposed chest, where the tops of his breasts were now visible. He found that if he was careful, he could sit in a way that accidentally exposed his calves and ankles, which, once free of the skirts of his dress, would attract her eyes like loadstones attracting metal. He remembered smiling to himself, and pretending that he hadn't noticed her gaze, or the fact that she had stopped preparing her arrows, or whatever she was doing that evening.

He remembered their first kiss. It had been his idea. He had climbed into the cot one evening, when her obsessive watching of him had been particularly intense, and, on a mischievous whim, had planted a kiss of friendship on her cheek. Her eyes had opened in startled surprise, and, he could tell from the way she quickly turned over, that her adopted manhood must have stirred for him. Yes, he held power over her, and it pleased him.

The game went on for weeks, and he became adept at it. He could cause any number of garments to reveal just that little bit extra flesh. He could find so many reasons to come back into the main room of the hut while washing, and semi clothed. He could find so many excuses to ask her to check his back for scratches or bites, pulling down the top of his dress to his bosom and revealing his arms to allow her to do so. He knew all this inflamed her. He could see it in her face, feel it in the race of her breathing, and sense, and on occasions see as a bulge in her breeches, the engorgement of her manhood in response to him. All this made him smile, and invent new tricks to play.

And yet not once did she so much as touch him without his request. Not once did she take him in her arms and smother him with kisses, as he knew she wanted to. His tricks became less and less coquettish, and more and more obvious. He would ask her advice on the shape and form of his breasts, showing them to her, and mouthing his concern about some hair, or pimple on the skin. But she clenched her jaw tightly, before responding that they were perfect, the most perfect she had ever seen. He knew that she was ready to take him then. He lent so close to her that he could feel the warmth and pulsing of her manhood. He wondered whether he should take it in his hand, and allow her some relief, but did not do so. She should make the first approach, he decided. She not he, and yet her desire for him gave him an intense sense of pleasure.

What pleased him less was the way he had began to stare at her in return. She had been a devastatingly attractive woman when he had first met her, and not all of that beauty was lost in the transition to male. Dark, dark eyes, that if he looked into them, seemed to expose the whole night sky to his view. Thick lustrous hair, jet black, that, although shorter, still begged him to run his fingers through it. Her skin too, tanned, and flawless, although now rippling with taut muscles, rather than curving with womanhood.

He told himself at first that he stared only to remind himself of what he had lost, but he knew deep inside that this was not so. He wanted to run his fingers along the lines of the muscles on her arms, to feel the width of her shoulders. He wanted to feel her lips on his body, and the pulse of her manhood within the moist folds of what had become of his.

At first these desires repulsed him as much as they enticed him. He reconciled himself with the thought that in many ways she was still a woman, and he still a young man. Still he resisted however, knowing that he was being tested. He had already become a maiden however, by bleeding. Surely that was the first test. He knew that there were to be other tests, but she had already told him that the next test would be in a different place and time. Slowly this convinced him that there would be no harm in allowing their feelings to take their natural course. He hesitated for a few days more, still feeling that she, not he, should initiate, but finally, gave in.

He had climbed into the cot beside her, and rested his head on her strong shoulder. After some time, he allowed his hand to stray down her body, and take her engorged organ into his hands. He had stroked it gently, before raising himself, and climbing astride her, with his knees by her thighs. She looked up at him with concern on her brow. "Are you sure about this Adam?" she had asked, sententiously.

He grinned back at her and nodded, bending to kiss the tip of her nose. Almost immediately, in a frenzy of desire, she had reversed their positions, and with an experience built of knowing how to give as well as receive, had entered him gently, and filled him with her love.

"She's sleeping now," he suddenly heard her voice. He opened his eyes, and looked at her, now back in female form. Briefly, he wished he could adopt a male guise to take her in a different way. She smiled at him again. "We really ought to clean you up as well," she told him. "Sit up, and I'll see what I can do."

"Is she all right?" he asked, surprised at how weak his voice sounded.
The woman nodded, as she proceeded to mop at his legs and lower body. Slowly he relaxed again, stung briefly at the indignity of his position, but beginning to relax and float again, as the intense waves of fatigue filled his body and mind.

How long he slept, he did not know, but he awoke suddenly, and was immediately filled with dread, and an intense desire to hold Celesta again. Opening his eyes, he raised himself, and looked around the now darkened room. The woman was sleeping in a chair over by his left, and further away, behind her, was a small crib, swaying gently, and creaking. Celesta must be in there.

He pulled himself upright, and felt twinges of pain all over his body. He wanted to lie down again, but the need to see and to hold Celesta was too strong. He swung his legs beneath him, out of the bed, and sat for a moment on the edge, trying to summon the strength to walk across the room. Then he heard the baby's cry, slow at first, and then more insistent. He jumped to the floor, and felt agonies between his legs and across his now flabby belly. Inching forward, and holding his stomach in front of him, he moved towards the crib, and the infant child that called to him.

He looked inside, and saw her uncoordinated flaying, and her brows furrowed. Her little mouth puckered for a moment, searching and not finding, and then resumed its crying. With his heart aching from a thousand emotions, and yet just one, he lent forward, and gently picked the baby up, holding her to his face, and swaying from side to side. Her cries diminished somewhat, and he began to croon a tuneless song to her, perhaps long forgotten from his own childhood.

He paced the room quietly, rocking the child, and kissing its head, with tears of joy streaming from his eyes. He loved the baby, loved her like he had never loved anything before. She had sprung from him, was part of him, and needed him like no other could need him. He would die before any harm would come to her, he told her.

"She needs to feed," he heard, and startled, turned to see the woman, still sitting but now awake. "You're a mother now, feed her."

A mother! The appellation echoed around his mind. The woman was right; he was now a mother, with a mother's responsibilities. He rocked the baby again, and held her tightly to his face. She was getting restless again, and he could sense that the woman was right. And yet if he used his breasts, he would be further along the road the woman had marked out for him, whatever that may be. He was a boy, male, and would not let her force him to take the woman's role.

"You feed her," he said at last, moving towards the seated woman. She looked startled at first, and then smiled and shook her head.

"No, I can't."

"Yes you can. You've got breasts as good as mine!" he went on, holding the baby out for her.

"Yes but I've got no milk, not now. I've fed half the human race in my time Adam, but just at this moment, I've got no milk."

"Well nor have I," he retorted.

Her eyes fell on his chest, covered by a loosely fitting smock she had changed him into after his wash. She smiled gently again. "I don't know about that."

He wondered what she meant, and, holding the baby a little further away from himself, looked down at his chest. There were damp patches arising from his taut nipples, dribbling down the front of his chemise. He was immediately aware of a sensation of wetness, and the tightness and pain emanating from his breasts.

"Don't worry," the woman said reassuringly. "It's perfectly natural."

"Not for a boy," he retorted, querulously. He turned away from her, so she would not see the tears in his eyes, and walked back across the room, resolving to place the baby back in her crib. She mewed again, and he rocked her gently, his resolve evaporating like the dew on a summer's dawn.

"Adam, you have to feed her," he heard the woman's voice behind him. "You have to feed her or she'll die."

He shut his eyes, and felt tears streak down his cheeks. He held little Celesta to his face, and one of her tiny fists beat against his eye. Her mouth turned sideways at the touch of his cheeks, and he felt her lips attempt to lock to his chin. How could the woman do this to him, he asked himself in outrage? The dribble from his nipples became a torrent for a moment, and his breasts burnt and felt ready to burst.

He turned to face the woman, with rage in his heart and on his face. "You won't let her die!" he snapped. "You're her father!"

The woman smiled, and shook her head slowly. "I'm her father Adam, but I have a thousand children. She's your first."

New tears burnt his eyes, and he turned away again. He kissed the baby intensely, and her mewing only increased. He looked through his tears at her tiny face, with its eyes wildly searching for comfort, and eventually fixing on his, locking his soul with both trust and demand. A sob burst from his throat. He had promised her that he would take care of her, ensure that no harm would come to her. Now all she was asking was that he allow her some sustenance, allow his body to function as it screamed to do, its cries echoing around his soul in harmony with Celesta's.

"If I do this, I'll have breasts forever won't I?" he quietly asked, not turning to face the woman.

"Not exactly," she replied. "It'll mean that your chest belongs to me, like your belly already does. It'll make you two thirds mine, only your head will belong to him."

"Him?" Adam asked, kissing Celesta again, and almost uninterested in the reply as wave after wave of maternal desires swept through his body.

"My brother," the woman answered obliquely. Adam heard her stand, and walk across the room to him and the baby. She stood by his side, while he turned away from her, and held Celesta close to him.

"If you're not going to feed her, then give her to me," she said, coldly and calmly. A white lightning flash of concern traversed his mind, followed by its own thunderclap.

"Why?" he demanded, holding the baby tightly. "You said that you won't feed her."
"It's not that I won't," she explained, still cold and calm,"I can't. But if you're not going to feed her, we need to," she hesitated, and met his eyes. "help her in another way."

He turned to face her, with terror written across his face. She held her arms out for the baby, and he at once sensed what she meant. He backed away several steps, and held the baby even tighter. "No!" he gasped.

"Adam, if you don't feed her, she'll die anyway." She took a few steps towards him, slowly and deliberately. "She'll die slowly, and in pain. If you're not going to feed her, give her to me, and I'll make it quick."

"No!" he screamed again, frantically looking for something to defend himself and his daughter with. There was nothing, but he would have killed the woman at that instant, and she knew it, as a feral look came over his face. She halted her advance.

His mind raced. He wanted, even needed, to feed the baby, but what did she mean by saying she would own his chest as she now owned his belly? Who was this brother she had mentioned? He did not know, and he did not care. His only concern was for Celesta, now screaming loudly to fill her stomach. It would mean the end of his manhood, he knew, but he could not let the little one suffer, let alone die.

Glaring at the woman in sullen anger, he shifted the baby a little, and allowed his left breast, heavy and swollen, to fall from his chemise. "You should sit down," she told him, gesturing to the seat she had vacated. Silently he complied, and, holding Celesta on his hip, moved across the room, before lowering himself into the seat. Still he glared at the woman, his midwife, his lover.

He looked at the baby again, now screaming louder, and lowered her gently into the crook of his arm. Guiding her face, he introduced her to his pendulous heavy breast, still dripping pale liquor from its tip. The baby's face made frenetic jerks as it searched blindly for its grail. Adam wondered for a moment whether the baby was too weak to find it; perhaps he had left it too long, and she would die anyway, because he was too selfish to surrender his manhood for her. New tears filled his eyes as he regretted his selfishness. Manhood seemed such a paltry thing compared to the need to feed and protect this child.

Then, suddenly, he felt an exquisite pain shooting inwards through him from his nipple. It traversed his body, through his womb to his vagina, and pinned him still in the chair. He gasped, as the baby's mouth latched to him and suckled. Both baby and mother closed their eyes. He could feel his milk seeping through his ripe breast, out of the aching nipple, and into Celesta's eager mouth. A boy he would never be again, nor a maid. Now he was a mother.

He sunk into something akin to a slumber as Celesta suckled. Time stood still. Suddenly he was awake again, his legs akimbo, with the woman, back in her male form between them. She juddered to completion, as he felt himself gasping from a different sort of pleasure, then she threw herself off him, and lay by his side. He looked around himself. They were back in the hut in the ruins of the temple.

"Where's Celesta?" he urgently demanded, aching from the loss of his baby, and their intimacy.

The woman stirred slowly. "Outside, with the other four." He pulled himself upright, ready to go and find his charge, his darling, his purpose, but the woman's strong hand restrained him. "Don't worry," she said, still gasping from her release. "She's fourteen now, she can look after herself."

"Fourteen!" he shouted. "Nonsense, she's only just been born!"

The woman laughed gently. "Time's not the same for everyone Adam. She's fourteen. Alandra's twelve, George is ten, Pallina eight, Sabrina seven, and sweet little Melinda is four. You've given me four beautiful daughters and a son, mother Adam. I couldn't have hoped for anyone more fertile than you."

Adam looked around the room. It had certainly changed. He looked down at himself, and saw that he had changed too. His breasts were no longer heavy and laden, and in fact, sagged a little on his chest. His waist no longer as thin as when she had first turned him into a maiden.

"So this is the last test?" he asked.

The woman smiled, and laughed gently, without opening her eyes. "No," she said. "That comes later. This was," she hesitated for a moment. "Just a gratuitous celebration for you passing the second." She opened her eyes, and smiled at him. "The third test comes later, but don't worry about that, Let's just rest awhile."

She held out her arm for him. Confused, dazed, he resisted for a while, but then, slowly, allowed her to pull him onto her broad shoulders once more. He really should rise and check on the children, he thought, hearing the sounds of them playing outside. But that could wait. He allowed her to put her strong arm around him, and play with his hair, with strands of grey now showing as silver in what was once gold. What was the third test, he wondered? But smiling in the comfort of his lover's embrace, the question seemed irrelevant.

  

  

  

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