Wife, Witch, Switch…BITCH! – Transgender Erotica

Transgender erotica. A man should never argue with his wife is a simple statement and sound advice. But unfortunately for Ed it is sound advice that he only partially takes. And, when he ignores such an incontrovertible truth the repercussions for him are incredible, supernatural and utterly disastrous!

To squabble with an ordinary, female spouse is always trouble but to quarrel with the mercurial, magical, Marcy is definitely most unwise. She is no ordinary woman or life partner; she is mysterious, enigmatic, devious, and unfortunately for Ed she is an actual, practising, real, living, Witch! Their rare row leads to spoken regret and an irrational, impossible wish that results…in an EXTRAordinarily, scintillating, sensual, astonishing surprise!

The X chromosome stories; we are more alike than we think! The difference between male and female is a single chromosome, the subtle link between domination and submission or humiliation and satisfaction!

transgender-fictionDaisy Boon spins another fantastical yarn about gender change, horror, shock, discovery and sullied, sordid, grubby, debased, sexual, adventure that will keep you on the edge of your own…erotic, private, pleasure!



I was struggling with my conscience; my mind, twisting then spinning over and over in concern for my daughter and it was becoming increasingly difficult to understand my wife’s laissez faire attitude to her forthcoming trip.

My mouth spoke in justifiable tension and anxiety; she had just come upstairs to get ready to go out and I had been thinking deeply and was anxious to debate and discuss with her these matters that were so troubling and concerning me.

I began exceptionally cautiously; I always had to with Marcy.

“We should know what she’s doing, Darling?”

My wife looked at me strangely and it was patently clear I was interrupting her apparent good humour and positivity towards her forthcoming, evening adventure and she mumbled distractedly in my direction!

“What, Ed?”

I simply had to finally say my piece; the issue had been turning over and over in my turbulent, muddled mind.

“Her going away…Fran is only 17, Marcy!”

She breathed in deeply in demonstrable exasperation with my obviously unwelcome interfering and meddling and her repost was tart and extremely short.

Francine is nearly, 18…only a couple of weeks off!”

Normally I would have stayed quiet but his was one of those extremely rare times when finally I had to speak my mind and put my anxious and nervous, timid foot down.

“I still think she needs to be watched…she’s so very, innocent and young.”

My wife was acidic, dry and very droll.

“Maybe you want to go with her and her friends…act as chaperone…?”

She virtually spat in her building irritation and annoyance.

“…For goodness sake, Edward…”

She called me by my full name when she was at, or near, the end of her rope and tether with me and went on in her increasingly sarcastic, caustic manner.

“…I was almost married at her age…grow up for goodness sake…you’re like a Silly, Old Woman!”

Her acrid words stung and burnt me, unusually, into the blind courage for initial, unwise confrontation with her.


My wife’s patience was steaming like heated mist and becoming exhausted, clearly demonstrated by her dismissive, curt tone and ever more intemperate attitude.

“Just shut the fuck up… Edward…don’t you even dare mention it again…ever…do you understand…!”

I went to speak but my supercilious, superior spouse tapped me on my lips and smiled falsely and meaningfully; it was her normal way of control and telling me that she’d heard enough of my interference and I bit my lip as she then tried to make up and be conciliatory

“…Now do you want to assist me or not, Darling?”

I was maddened, feeling slighted, peeved and somewhat miffed at her hurtful, disrespectful treatment of me.

“Not really!”

She laughed at my attempts to play the sensitive, withdrawn and hard to get husband suddenly, and perched her lovely, mature, blonde form on the edge of our expansive, white bed and whimpered to me playfully and seductively.

“Please, Sweetheart…my night out is not the same without your special, delicious, help, treatment and expertise…!”

She stroked my hair and I began to soften and melt, like ice on a warm summer’s day as always with her; she continued to entreat me and I needed so little encouragement to change my mood as privately and possibly perversely, I did so enjoy this little play and theatre we had.

In recognition that I was being, somewhat petulant and childish and in keeping with my actions, she whispered to me like a juvenile.

“…Please, Darling…will you not complete your normal jobs…?”

Her dark eyes and eyelashes blinked and fluttered to me teasingly.

“…pretty please!”

Her longest finger drifted to my lips and I obediently sucked it gingerly and whispered weakly in agreement and submission to her as always.

In truth I simply loved to help her get ready and she was so especially nice, receptive and complimentary to me when I did, and that in itself was something to treasure as it was an infrequent occurrence nowadays.

“I always do, Marcy…you know full well I would not disappoint you!”


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Transgender erotica