It was as if all the hairthat had receded into her skin from the rest of his body was now spillingfrom the top of her head. The chocolate brown locks rapidly lightened,the colour fading away and becoming a silvery white.The transformed doctor let out one last groan as she slumped against thewall and slid to the floor. He panted again, her hands trembling as helooked down at herself. Grunting, he pushed herself to his feet. Shewobbled a little bit as she slowly made his way over to the mirrorhanging on her wall. She gulped, fearing what he may see.And in the mirror, he saw... a woman.A pale-skinned, argent-haired beauty stared back at her. Her full, poutylips were practically begging to be kissed while her once-green-now-purple eyes peered out from her long, thick lashes. Her delicate, doll-like face was framed by the long silvery tresses that cascaded down tothe small of her back. She glanced down at her body, the doctor'smasculine physique long gone in favour of slender limbs with. She did not give voice to anything, but the varying tone of her breath was all he needed as it pulsed against his throat and his fingers moved. He played her like an instrument, her breaths the chords his fingers strummed from her. When he carefully dipped lower, a small sound escaped her throat, a tiny mewling sound that echoed intimately in his ear and he felt her lips brush lightly against his flesh as she moved and hooked her knee over his. Please. There was no voice, merely the push of her breath that formed the word as he drove his fingers home, felt them engulfed in the warmth and the wet, the fire and the ice that rested inside of her. Her nails trailed lightly over his chest, pulled absently at the buttons of his shirt with no intention of undoing them. He felt the press of her breasts against his side, the fall of her hair over his shoulder as she dipped her head, rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and bit her lip as she tried not to cry out. A woman paying for her.
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