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Description
I had once asked a witch if I could be turned into a women's magazine, as I liked the thought of being used by women as an object, for them to treat my body as they saw fit.

She could not see the point, "It is a one way ticket, you understand, once you change, you cannot change back."

I nodded and handed over the cash, and the deal was done.

All I had to do was say the words "Me now" whilst touching a magazine, and I would be turned into it.

Naturally, she explained, you have to be nude, unless you want people finding a pile of your clothes when you change.

The problem was two fold: where to become a women's magazine so that I could 'live' as long as I could before being disposed of; and how to make sure I was used by women, and not some bloke.

The ladies hairdressers in the high street seemed to fit the bill nicely.

It was always full of ladies having their hair done, even the three staff were female; and no self-respecting chap was going to be seen dead in there. Real men went to barbers !

I had even spotted a pile of women's magazines in the shop, which the ladies used so that they could have something to read while they waited.

Some of the magazines in there, which I could see from the shop window, appeared to be somewhat old, so I might even spend some quality time in the arms of the many different women while they read me.

So I made plans to break into the hairdressers under the cover of darkness.

I arrived at the rear car park, on foot, and took off all the clothes, and hide them inside a nearby dustbin.

My heart was racing so hard I thought it was going to explode out of my chest. I was so, so, so very afraid as I never attempted anything like this before.

I had even managed to open a downstairs window, and make my entry into the now closed premises.

I raced over to the pile of women's magazines, but all the normal glossy monthlies like Cosmopolitan, Vogue, Glamour and Elle, that were normally on display to the customers, were no where in sight.

All I could see was a pile of around thirty weekly gossip magazines like Hello and OK !

Whilst I do not normally read these, there were no others to be found.

"Damn and blast my luck !", I said to myself.

But worse luck was to follow.

To my horror, I heard a girl's voice, as one of the shop attendants lived in the flat above.

"Hello, I say, is anyone there ?" she said, as she nervously descended the stairs to enter the rear of the shop. She obviously had heard me and thought I was a burglar.

Not wishing to explain why I had broken into her shop, in the nude; I touched the top copy on the magazine pile, and whispered "Me now".

She entered the shop and was relieved to find no one there.

"I could have sworn I heard something", she said out loud to herself, "Perhaps it was only a dream or my imagination".

Then she discovered the window slightly open, bagging against the window frame, due to the fresh breeze blowing outside. I had failed to shut it properly in my haste to get in.

"That blasted window, we ought to get it fixed. No wonder I worry about burglars !", she said. With that she closed the window, and went back upstairs.

Meanwhile I was now an OK ! Magazine on the top of the magazine pile.

I had done it, but it had not exactly gone to plan.

The next day, the shop opened for business, the staff arriving earlier than the opening time for the hairdressers, in order to get ready for the day's work.

The three women chatted about the open window the previous night and how scared the flatmate was.

Next the first of a hundred or so women customers arrived for their booked hair appointments. One of them reached for the OK ! Magazine on top of the pile, and I was read alive as a women's magazine.

When she finished turning my pages, the next customer picked me up, and so forth, until my body had been used by over thirty women. The next day was more of the same. The hairdressers were open every day, except Sundays.

By the end of the week, I was getting a bit tired and worn, with all this constant attention.

Then one lady came in at the end of the day. She was a teacher at the local art college for mature students. She enquired whether the art college could have the magazines after the hairdressers had finished with them.

"Anything for a quieter life", I thought to myself when I heard her suggestion.

"Of course you can," the hairdresser owner said, "Here, take this pile, it was only going to be thrown out anyway".

With that, I was unceremoniously handed to the women teacher as she left the hairdressers, along with the other women's magazines in the pile. She took me home with her and I was read some more. Then she inserted the pile of magazines into a large plastic carrier bag, and I was taken to the Art College.

Hopefully, I thought, I would spend my last days, in the company of the women there to be read and looked it.

The college teacher placed me and the pile of magazines on a table.

Around twenty students arrived for that day's lesson.

A lesson in Paper Mache !!

Oh no, this was not part of the plan either !

"Now ladies", she said "I want you each to chose a magazine. You are to tear out some pages, and then cut the paper into strips using the guillotine over there. Then get the glue paste, and we shall be ready to begin".

To my horror, the twenty ladies lined up to chose their magazines for what would be torture for the magazines themselves. The inanimate objects had no feelings and it did not matter how they were treated. But one of the magazines, could feel what was done to it.

I prayed no one chose the OK ! Magazine, hidden in the middle of the pile.

"I want the OK ! Magazine", one of them shouted, and I was picked up.

I was taken back to her desk, and the girl started to read me, just as before.

"You are not supposed to be spending time reading, Sarah, get on with it. We have not got all day you know !", said her teacher.

"Sorry, miss", the student replied, before she ripped me in half.

“created by daffy“

Description
I had once asked a witch if I could be turned into a women's magazine, as I liked the thought of being used by women as an object, for them to treat my body as they saw fit.

She could not see the point, "It is a one way ticket, you understand, once you change, you cannot change back."

I nodded and handed over the cash, and the deal was done.

All I had to do was say the words "Me now" whilst touching a magazine, and I would be turned into it.

Naturally, she explained, you have to be nude, unless you want people finding a pile of your clothes when you change.

The problem was two fold: where to become a women's magazine so that I could 'live' as long as I could before being disposed of; and how to make sure I was used by women, and not some bloke.

The ladies hairdressers in the high street seemed to fit the bill nicely.

It was always full of ladies having their hair done, even the three staff were female; and no self-respecting chap was going to be seen dead in there. Real men went to barbers !

I had even spotted a pile of women's magazines in the shop, which the ladies used so that they could have something to read while they waited.

Some of the magazines in there, which I could see from the shop window, appeared to be somewhat old, so I might even spend some quality time in the arms of the many different women while they read me.

So I made plans to break into the hairdressers under the cover of darkness.

I arrived at the rear car park, on foot, and took off all the clothes, and hide them inside a nearby dustbin.

My heart was racing so hard I thought it was going to explode out of my chest. I was so, so, so very afraid as I never attempted anything like this before.

I had even managed to open a downstairs window, and make my entry into the now closed premises.

I raced over to the pile of women's magazines, but all the normal glossy monthlies like Cosmopolitan, Vogue, Glamour and Elle, that were normally on display to the customers, were no where in sight.

All I could see was a pile of around thirty weekly gossip magazines like Hello and OK !

Whilst I do not normally read these, there were no others to be found.

"Damn and blast my luck !", I said to myself.

But worse luck was to follow.

To my horror, I heard a girl's voice, as one of the shop attendants lived in the flat above.

"Hello, I say, is anyone there ?" she said, as she nervously descended the stairs to enter the rear of the shop. She obviously had heard me and thought I was a burglar.

Not wishing to explain why I had broken into her shop, in the nude; I touched the top copy on the magazine pile, and whispered "Me now".

She entered the shop and was relieved to find no one there.

"I could have sworn I heard something", she said out loud to herself, "Perhaps it was only a dream or my imagination".

Then she discovered the window slightly open, bagging against the window frame, due to the fresh breeze blowing outside. I had failed to shut it properly in my haste to get in.

"That blasted window, we ought to get it fixed. No wonder I worry about burglars !", she said. With that she closed the window, and went back upstairs.

Meanwhile I was now an OK ! Magazine on the top of the magazine pile.

I had done it, but it had not exactly gone to plan.

The next day, the shop opened for business, the staff arriving earlier than the opening time for the hairdressers, in order to get ready for the day's work.

The three women chatted about the open window the previous night and how scared the flatmate was.

Next the first of a hundred or so women customers arrived for their booked hair appointments. One of them reached for the OK ! Magazine on top of the pile, and I was read alive as a women's magazine.

When she finished turning my pages, the next customer picked me up, and so forth, until my body had been used by over thirty women. The next day was more of the same. The hairdressers were open every day, except Sundays.

By the end of the week, I was getting a bit tired and worn, with all this constant attention.

Then one lady came in at the end of the day. She was a teacher at the local art college for mature students. She enquired whether the art college could have the magazines after the hairdressers had finished with them.

"Anything for a quieter life", I thought to myself when I heard her suggestion.

"Of course you can," the hairdresser owner said, "Here, take this pile, it was only going to be thrown out anyway".

With that, I was unceremoniously handed to the women teacher as she left the hairdressers, along with the other women's magazines in the pile. She took me home with her and I was read some more. Then she inserted the pile of magazines into a large plastic carrier bag, and I was taken to the Art College.

Hopefully, I thought, I would spend my last days, in the company of the women there to be read and looked it.

The college teacher placed me and the pile of magazines on a table.

Around twenty students arrived for that day's lesson.

A lesson in Paper Mache !!

Oh no, this was not part of the plan either !

"Now ladies", she said "I want you each to chose a magazine. You are to tear out some pages, and then cut the paper into strips using the guillotine over there. Then get the glue paste, and we shall be ready to begin".

To my horror, the twenty ladies lined up to chose their magazines for what would be torture for the magazines themselves. The inanimate objects had no feelings and it did not matter how they were treated. But one of the magazines, could feel what was done to it.

I prayed no one chose the OK ! Magazine, hidden in the middle of the pile.

"I want the OK ! Magazine", one of them shouted, and I was picked up.

I was taken back to her desk, and the girl started to read me, just as before.

"You are not supposed to be spending time reading, Sarah, get on with it. We have not got all day you know !", said her teacher.

"Sorry, miss", the student replied, before she ripped me in half.

“created by daffy“