Roman Holidays, Part 3

 

The next morning, Max groaned and rolled out of bed, his mind still foggy from a difficult night. He stumbled to the balcony, where he found Gianna, his father in a new form, standing in her underwear, the morning sun casting a golden glow on her voluptuous figure. Her breasts, full and heavy, were on full display, barely contained in a gigantic black bra, and her hair cascaded down her back and on her cute face. She was wearing a pair of pants that clearly didn't fit her. 

"Dad...ehm, Gianna," Max said nervous "Good morning."

Gianna just nodded at him, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks. The previous night they split after dinner. Max felt exhausted, still too used to his Mid-Western lifestyle to go out until after midnight like every Italian seem to be doing. Gianna was still bustling with energy and really didn't want to go back to their apartment. She came back much later in the night. And she almost couldn't go to sleep thinking back about the previous night. 

"Max," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think we need to talk."

Max stepped closer, his eyes fixed on her. He could see the embarrassment in her eyes, but there was also a hint of sureness, of strong-will despite the wimping tone. Gianna bit his pouty lip.  

"I'm sorry, figlio. But I can't help anymore who I am now. I can't control my...voglie, my desires, my needs. I think I'm a woman now, and for good." 

"Shit, dad," Max replied immediately, sounding in denial "How can you say that? How can you be content to remain like this? You look like...Shit, I didn't want to say it, but you look like a total slut!"

Gianna burst, her voice cracking with a thicker Italian accent: "Well...Maybe I like being a troia! Maybe I like to have huge tits and a fica! It's better than be an old man with broken knees! Sono giovane, di nuovo! Maybe for you it's not a big deal, but I feel so young and...bella!"

Max looked at her speechless. He may feel a bit sympathetic to her desire to be young again, but he couldn't get over the idea that his own father, the man that thought him how to be virile was now a short woman with huge tits and pouty lips. He excused himself and went out, trying to avoid getting to emotional or mad. 

Gianna remained seated in the balcony. She moved up leaning on the table, to see her son leaving the apartment. The movement made her baggy pants almost fell and made her white thong pull between her ass cheeks. Gianna thought about running to Max, trying to comfort him or explain to him more, but decided against it. 

"Max will never understand...I think I'm losing myself in this body, in being Gianna...but frankly it's not that bad, isn't it?" she thought. 

Her mind wandered to the previous night. Her old male mind still was conflicted about what happened. She had a hook-up in a club she entered in with a big, strapping man named Marco (or Matteo?). Just thinking back to him made her wet. She still couldn't believe how good it felt to be kissed and groped. They were barely legal in how they were dancing. Matteo (or Marco?) had started massaging her clit while she ground her ass to his ever growing manhood. 

"Che cazzo... I've never felt anything like that," she murmured, her hand drifting unconsciously to her chest, cupping one breast through her bra. The nipple was hard, sensitive, even now. She squeezed gently and a shiver ran through her.

After, he pulled her inside the man's room and inside a private stall he commanded to suck his dick. And Gianna did it. With abandonment, touching her wet pussy while deepthroating the lucky guy. He complimented Gianna for her skills and held her head steady as he cummed, forcing the former man to swallow it all. She almost had an orgasm herself during that. Once they finish, Gianna had a last moment of clarity and basically jumped back home and had been thinking about her future ever since. 

"Porca puttana," she breathed, shaking her head. "Yesterday was so hot. I need more."

The thought should have horrified her. The man she used to be, Jack, the accountant, the dad who grilled burgers and mowed the lawn on Saturdays, would have been mortified. But that man felt like a distant cousin now, a half-remembered dream. She was Gianna. Gianna con le tette grosse e la fica bagnata. Gianna who made men stare and women jealous. Gianna who had a cunt that clenched at the memory of a hard cock.

She thought about the night ahead. The bars she'd pass. The men who'd approach her, eyes dropping to her chest before they even said hello. The ones she'd choose, the ones whose cocks would slide into her waiting cunt. She thought about the way she'd moan, the way she'd gasp, the way she'd leave them breathless and spent and hungry for more.

What was there to miss about her old life? The 401(k) meetings? The Thursday night bowling league? The way his knees had started aching in the morning, a grim preview of decades to come? No. No, grazie. This body was young, and ripe, and full of want. And Rome was full of men who could satisfy it.

"Stasera mi faccio scopare come la troia che sono," she promised herself. Tonight I'll get fucked like the slut that I am. Max will have to make his peace with her decision. 

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The idea for this story was given to me by gmbcw on Deviantart. Follow me there too!