Chapter 2: The Change

Bess awoke the next morning to the rooster’s crow. She was still lying on the stable floor but tucked in a fine cloak of velvet. The last night’s encounter quickly popped into her memory and she bolted upright. She reached down and pressed her hand to the front of her dress over her sex. Something felt strange; inside her; in her womb. She struggled to her feet and found herself dizzy and very weak.

The stable boy, a half-wit, rushed into the stable and passed her. “Cheery day, Goody Bess. Cheery day.”

She looked about her for any trace of the mysterious lady from the dark. As she staggered across the courtyard she wondered if last night had really happened. She had that cloak still wrapped around her but her mind was so dull and everything so difficult to recall. It had to have happened, she had the cloak but the details were too hard to believe. She went to the privy to relieve herself and found to her horror the dried blood of her stolen maidenhead. For deeply personal reasons she could not quite recall, she mourned the loss. She reasoned the woman must have plied her with some kind of intoxicating brew and then took advantage of her.

There was no time to delve on the injury. She had her chores and duties, the house was waking and there would be hell to pay if she dallied. She forced herself to rise against the heavy weariness and dizziness. Sick or not, she had work to do. She hung up the cloak and set about her day.

As the day passed and she set about her work, her mind kept drifting back to the lady she had met in the night. When she did, her hand always strayed to her lips as if trying to recreate that enchanting kiss.

The weary, dizzy feeling dragged on her and made even the easiest of her daily chores an enormous strain. As the morning wore on, some new sensation arose from the midst of her sense of weakness. It was a strange new awareness that was far too indistinct to really focus on, much like an itch she could not scratch. If she tried her best to describe it, it was like having an extra hand but not knowing where it was. She felt it most strongly when she wanted to touch an object to determine its texture. It felt like she had an inner urge to use some more suitable appendage to feel with. She dismissed it as a passing anomaly and tried to ignore it.

The feeling persisted, though, and by afternoon it started to become more distinct. It seemed to come from her lower body; to be precise, from her womb. She actually felt compulsions to press her hips against things she would usually test by touching with her hands, like the laundry drying on the lines. As silly as it seemed, it felt to her like an urge to reach out with her womb.

It began to become alarming to her during the early evening when responding to this urge, she felt something move within her, within her sex. What really puzzled her was not just the sensation of something moving within her but that she felt what the thing felt. It was faint, at first, just barely noticeable but the more she concentrated on it the more distinct it became. Eventually, at the time the evening supp was served, she felt absolute control over it. If she willed it to push to the left it did so, she urged it to the right and it obeyed. She not only felt pressure upon the left or right side of her inner sex, but she felt what the moving appendage within her felt, she felt the subtle intricacies and contours of her birth canal. She felt it as certainly as her own tongue in her mouth. She should have been frightened into shock and self revulsion at what that strange woman had obviously done to her but she was not. Curiosity overwhelmed her. She became hungry for an opportunity to examine herself and to test her yet unconfirmed suspicions and see the extent of changes in her being.

She got her chance after serving supper. Excusing herself from the other servants she took with her a taper and secluded herself in the privy, lifted her skirts, sat down on the pot and held her open hand in front of her sex. Following her same urge to feel and pressing outward with her new found sensory organ, she felt the pangs of pleasure as a firm presence slid through her birth canal. Outward toward the mouth of her sex it pushed and she gasped aloud at what she saw. Emerging in a sudden rush, a pinkish-red finger poked out from her hairy maiden’s nest. It emerged the length of her middle finger and almost half again as big around, tapering to a point and wet like a tongue. It was like the thing she saw emerging from the woman who loved her the night before. The instant it emerged she felt a coolness like a draft on moist skin, she was feeling the sensation through the red finger. The thing was of her own being! She reached her hand to touch it and in joint ambition she pushed the finger outward and it met her hand. She was astounded beyond fear, she willed the finger to feel its way over her palm. She noticed, of course, the feel of the pointed finger wet in her hand but more acute was what sensations the strange appendage returned to her. It was so finely sensitive as she bade it to deftly wrap around her thumb and rub gently over her skin. She could feel with it the coolness of her hand, the smoothness of her nail, and even count the tiny ridges and swirls on the tip of her thumb.

She marveled at what she could make the weird little finger do. She pushed it out to its fullest length, stretching it out to nearly as long as her forearm, its girth filled her sex. She gently stroked its length with her hand and shivered with delight at the rewarding sensation the tail returned to her. Curious of its potential, she coiled it around her wrist and squeezed. The grip was firm. She balled it up within her palm, closed her fingers around it and then tried to push her fingers apart with it. It was soft but strong and her fingers felt so course and rugged to its touch. She tried to see what the tip could do. She pushed apart two of her fingers with it and then pushed between them. It oozed its own spittle to ease its passage, mostly from the tip. She touched the tip to the tip of her finger and found she could spread the tip open. The tip flared out into a gaping mouth. She opened it wide, wide enough to swallow three of her fingers and then engulfed one of them. The long worm-like tongue slid down easily over her digit all the way to her knuckle. She drew upon it and it suckled gently on her encased finger. In spite of the coarseness of her hand’s flesh, the sensations were very pleasurable to Bess and she was enjoying this unearthly new appendage very much when suddenly the door to the privy was jerked open.

“‘ beg pardon, Goody Bess,” said the scullery maid as she quickly let go of the door and turned away.

‘Impertinent wench, ‘ thought Bess, ‘I shall use her most sorely for that.’ The maid had not seen anything. Bess had drawn in her protruding red tail before the maid had even poked in her head, so fast Bess could scarcely believe it was ever out. Her temper cooled as she assured herself that she had not been discovered. She quickly rejoined the rest of the house staff and rushed to finish her evening’s chores but she kept playing with that strange serpentine finger, testing its prowess, feeling its way inside her and outside her, tempting herself with its pleasurable possibilities, and stirring her curiosity with what it all meant.

When her chores were done, she begged her leave and set out as usual to meet the coach in front of the inn, just like she had done thousands of nights before but this time with a fine cloak of velvet around her shoulders. As she approached the market square she slowed her pace and peered into the darkness looking for and hoping to find last night’s lovely lady. She felt disappointed to not see her but pressed on. At last she came to the inn and stood under the lamppost to wait for the coach. Her aching weariness froze her in place and in the still silence she became part of the night.

Then, piercing the silence, there came a sweet voice from somewhere amid the dark shadows behind her, “I pray this night finds thee well.”

Bess did not move, she almost expected the maiden to be there. Through the numbness of her tired, overworked mind Bess felt comfort and joy to be joined again with the companion of her last night’s wanderings. There were so many questions she wanted to ask and so many more feelings she wanted to share. “Aye, good lady. And thou as well. I have brought thee thy cloak.” Bess turned slowly to meet her companion, moving like in a dream. She found before her the same beautiful young lass this time clad in the leather jerkin and woolen skirt of a simple servant like herself.

“‘tis thine, sweet Bess,” said the lady stepping forward from the dark and taking Bess’ hands in her own. “Thou hast many a question and I shall answer them all. But soft, thou hast much to learn and I have much to teach thee this night.”

“Aye, dear lady. I am yours. What am I to call thee,” asked Bess, relieved to find compassion amidst all her wonder?

“Thou might call me Kate,” she offered, smiling and stroking Bess’ cheek.

“Well met, Kate,” said Bess and they hugged each other warmly.

It was Kate who pulled back and bracing Bess by the shoulders said, “There is no time to tarry. I will resolve thy questions when leisure suits us. Now, thou must do exactly as I bid thee for thy need is dire and thy time very short.”

Bess was alarmed by Kate’s tone. “What must I do, friend Kate,” she pled?

“Prithee bide thy tongue and attend me. We must feed thy hunger ere dawn,” said Kate and she led Bess away by her hand at a quick pace.

They wove their way carefully through town by way of dark alleys and backstreets, cautious to avoid the town crier and the watchman. At last they came to the back stable of the blacksmith’s shop. Kate produced a key and employed it on the lock. Bess began to protest but Kate warned her to silence and pulled her in through the door telling her quietly, “We come to steal naught but dreams.”

Bess was in grim fear of the jailor for this mischief but she followed as Kate led her to the loft above the smithy where they found the blacksmith sleeping soundly on his pallet. “Behold, his head is clouded with strong drink.” said Kate, “He frolics at the banquet of Bacchus and shall not waken. Come, assist me.”

In spite of herself, Bess helped Kate seize hold of the prone man’s hose and pulled them down to his ankles. Kate lifted the man’s blouse up to his chest, baring his manhood. Bess was shocked and embarrassed but she kept her silence and waited for Kate’s instructions.

Kate pulled Bess to the bedside and then stepped behind her. She bent down and took hold of Bess’ skirts and lifted them up to her waist. Confused, Bess stood still and let Kate lead their actions. Kate then reached her hands around Bess’ waist and cupped one hand in front of Bess’ sex while the other hand gently stroked her hair, lightly teasing her. “Pish my sweet, render thy jharum,” Kate whispered. “Come-come, good maid. Meet thy friend’s hand.”

Bess didn’t know what she meant at first but then put all of the strange pieces of this puzzle together and realized that she wanted her to bring forth her new pink tail from within. Bess reasoned no one should know more of its presence and purpose than Kate and she obligingly pushed her sensitive new organ out into Kate’s waiting hands. Bess was delighted by Kate’s touch. Kate’s hands were soft and tender and she plied them with expert control. Bess was quickly lapsing into a lustful disposition, orchestrated by Kate. Bess grappled with the loving hands, enjoying their pleasure-inducing treatments. She entwined the fingers, rolled and twisted the surface of her red, tongue-like appendage over the gentle digits. The moist, slick, nubile rope of flesh made obscene plopping and slurping noises as it tangled and wrestled with Kate’s fingers. Kate indulged her and used her hands to push Bess close to her rapture. And it came, an overwhelming climax that made Bess weak and nearly swooning to the floor. Kate held her firmly and soothed away the tumult with tender kisses and soft words.

When Bess had sufficiently calmed down Kate whispered in her ear, “Kiss him, Bess. Bind his lust to thy will.”

Bess was again confused but she remembered Kate’s kiss from the night before and the effect it had on her. She understood she was to now do the same thing to the sleeping blacksmith. She bent over the man who smelled strongly of barley and mead and kissed him deeply, pushing her tongue into his mouth. Kate moved with her, her hands still entwined in Bess’ coils, coaxing her onward.