Dr. Avery Johnson wiped the sweat from his furrowed brow as he pressed deeper into the ancient tomb, the musty air thick with a millennia of dust. His headlamp swept across crumbling bas-reliefs depicting the life and reign of Makeda, a little-known queen of Sheba. As an archaeologist, he knew he should respect the dead, but the thrill of discovery spurred him onward into her unplundered burial chamber.
There, in the center of the room, stood a towering gilded throne, pristine and untarnished by time. Avery approached it with reverent awe, fingers twitching with the urge to touch, to claim this prize for himself. Trembling, he reached out, the ancient gold oddly warm beneath his fingertips. FLASH! Blinding light exploded from the throne, engulfing Avery in a storm of whirling golden tendrils. They coiled around his limbs like molten shackles, sinking into his flesh, igniting nerve endings with searing pain. He screamed as the magic burrowed into him.
He could feel his body betraying him, warping to some unseen force’s whims. White skin darkened to deep brown, body hair vanishing as though seared away. Avery watched in horrified fascination as his hands slimmed and elongated into dainty, feminine shapes. His narrow male hips cracked and bubbled as they flared into a womanly cradle, his khaki shorts straining at the seams before splitting violently. “No… this isn’t right… stop this…” Avery protested weakly, voice rising in pitch. But his words dissolved into a breathy moan as searing pleasure pulsed from his groin. Wide-eyed, he saw his manhood visibly shrinking, withdrawing into his body like a snake slithering into its hole. In its place, plump hairless lips unfurled like a obscene flower, already growing slick with foreign arousal.
Avery felt the pleasure travel upwards to his chest, where he desperately groped. Instead of finding reassuring flatness, he found soft flesh that swelled against his straining shirt. Buttons popped as the growing mounds burst free, jutting proudly, nipples as dark and thick as dates. A half-sob tore from Avery’s now plump lips as he cupped the breasts, their weight both alien and achingly right. He couldn’t help but moan as his soft black hands rubbed against his darkened nipples. As his body and mind unraveled, foreign images invaded his mind: the queen on her throne, regal and resplendent. Slaves prostrating before her, wriggling their bare asses for her favor. The queen reclining as a harem of oiled eunuchs serviced her with their tongues. With growing horror, Avery realized these weren’t visions: they were memories. The queen’s memories. A queen who were bringing these changes with her will,
Makeda’s ancient voice filled his head, echoing in the hollows the intruding magic had carved in his psyche. “You dared to disturb my sanctuary, foolish man. Now, you will serve as my new vessel, born anew as I reclaim my throne!” Avery tried to resist, but his mind was melting in the heat of change, his body throbbing, tight and desperate for touch. He was simply too aroused to fight it anymore. He had to cum! He had to complete the transformation. He had to give in to his- no HER new body. With a shattering moan, she fell to her knees, plunging slim fingers into the swollen folds of her sex, fingering herself into a frenzied climax.
As the world dissolved into the searing bliss of orgasm, the last tatters of Avery’s identity washed away like mud in heavy rain. The Queen cried out in pleasure as Dr. Avery Johnson became no more. In his place there was Queen Makeda, once more clad in mortal flesh, shuddering in the throes of orgasmic rebirth. Rising on wobbly legs, she walked to her throne and settled into it with a regally triumphant smirk. It was good to be queen again.
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