The loli's perspective/Then "I" woke the next morning

I don't remember if I had a dream that night. I do remember the headache and my bladder crying out for relief upon waking up. I felt so warm and comfortable though, but I knew that no matter what, I could never go back to sleep. I tried to ignore my bladder and head but, as always, they won.

When I started to come to I realized I was being spooned. It was nice, really nice. I could feel the woman's breast on my back, even through the bra's thin material and my night shirt. She was warm and her soft hands had found their way onto my sides. I was in heaven, I thought, but I had needs I had to attend to. I reluctantly broke the embrace and slid off the couch. I wasn't wearing socks so the tiled floor was really cold. It was okay, it actually helped with my head. As I was walking to the bathroom (down the first hall, second door on the right) Things were off, but for the life of me i couldn't pin it. Something was wrong, nothing was in the right spot. Of course, I was viewing everything from the perspective of a 4 foot tall little girl, but I didn't know that at the time. All the light switches and tables and such were too high, but for some reason that didn't strike me as a red flag. Rather, I guess I figured I must have one hell of a hangover. I was also stumbling and walking awkwardly, so that all seemed to fit. It was still pretty early, dawn was just filtering in. There was enough to tell this house was not mine. Oh shit, I thought, I feel asleep and I'm still in this lady's house, well as soon as I'm able to pee I will be— it was a that moment that I entered the bathroom.

Now, you might be wondering how I made it all the way to the bathroom without noticing that the parts were missing down there. Well, if you're a man, you are rarely not thinking about your junk. It's true. It’s a fact that women rarely understand, but really if you've lived with it all your life you are not going to notice it for not being there. Going back to a guy's perspective for a moment, it would be like if you woke up without your morning wood. You wouldn't notice that your dick wasn't hard, or even that you didn't have to fight with it to use the toilet. You would just go and do your business and leave without even thinking about it. I mean, maybe someone who obsesses about their morning wood may notice, but other than that you would just take it for granted that your penis is soft and easy to handle.

Anyway, it's the same concept. A guy only really thinks about his penis when he feels something about it change, especially when it gets hard on him and starts straining against the front of his pants, and maybe when he goes out without underwear on and it flops around all over the place. Speaking of which, that's exactly what was the first thing to make me discover something was up. I had just gone to scratch my butt when I noticed I had no underwear. I have no idea how I thought this at that moment in my state, but it actually crossed my mind that I didn't feel my dick flopping around. This is when I turned my head 45 degrees and noticed the full length mirror, or more importantly the image that was reflected in it. What I saw staring back at me was that little angel I had raped several hours ago, but no vision of myself was reflected.

I tilted my head slightly to the side, and then I saw the Angel's reflection tilt her head in the mirror-image same way. I moved my hand around the front of me with a slow, jerky, apprehensive movement. I saw concern, confusion, and apprehension spread across the face of the darling little black-haired girl in the mirror who was meeting me at eye level as her mirror-image hand made the same motion. This is when my brain finally clicked like a thunderclap and I grabbed the front of my nightshirt and lifted it to look between my legs, exposing the lack of a penis and the top of what had replaced it, the reddened and irritated outer labia of a vulva on a pussy that had just been harshly fucked a few hours before.

I dropped my nightshirt in denial, not wanting to see that, and then looked back up into the mirror as my brain reeled and was forced to accept that the old "me" was gone and now I was the 9 year old girl named Kathryn Gilmont.

• "And then what happened next?"
• Well, that's it for THAT story, what else do you want to hear about?