It was in somnewhere in Turkey in tour of the old temple<br />...<br />She was dressed in a manner that showed zero appreciation of cultural sensitivity: a dress fitted her figure, barely covered her voluminous rear, and a red shoulderless top showing the silhouette of her well-filled bra beneath. She, like her son, seemed bored by the whole experience, but nodded along dutifully whenever her husband threw a look in her direction<br /><br />Ahmed's eyes locked on the handbag thrown over her shoulder. She had left it gaping open, and sticking out of it was a designer purse. If it was real, rather than a counterfeit she'd picked up at the bazaar, then the purse itself was worth at least as much money as he would make in a month. Who knows how much more money was sitting within it?<br /><br />His eyes darted once more between tourists, and then, with pounding heart, his fingers snuck out and grabbed the purse.<br />...<br />Ahmed twitched with guilt as the handbag he was stealing from fell to the floor with a thunk, leaving him holding the purse, his crime evident to all. Half a second later, the compact the woman had been using to fix her makeup followed it with a loud clatter, further drawing attention to him.<br /><br />He dropped the purse as if it were a hot stone, then looked round in panic to see who had caught him in the act.<br /><br />This woman was not here. Tourists looked at him in surprise. He thought that they would arrest him now and wanted to run away, but the tourists only looked, someone laughed, and that&#8217;s all. They again began to watch the temple.<br /><br />Ahmed bent over to pick up the purse, and then everything seemed to hit him at once.<br /><br />The edge of some piece of fabric pulling up the backs of his thighs, leaving the entire length of his legs naked, and his underwear showing to the world.<br /><br />The sight of the compact mirror reflecting the female tourist's face as he looked into it, even though she had disappeared from the room.<br /><br />The feeling of his chest swinging as he bent over, two pendulous orbs of flesh wobbling around inside some sort of tight vest that he now wore around his chest.<br /><br />The sight of the hand that stretched out for the purse; white, feminine, decorated with golden golden rings and long red nails, yet attached to his own arm.<br /><br />His hands flew to his rear end, trying to cover his nakedness, but what they found there bore little resemblance to the body he was used to. Large, plump thighs, with silky smooth skin, and the edges of a lacy pair of underwear.<br /><br />"Whaaa?" He squealed in a voice that could no longer be imagined as male. He shot up straight again, and once again his chest swung and bounced wildly. He grabbed for it, and found each hand full with something large and soft; something that spoke directly to his male libido. A woman's breasts. His breasts. They reported back the feeling of being roughly cradled in his hands; a sensation which was not entirely unpleasant.<br /><br />"Oh, God no; I've been turned into that awful woman," he cried in her voice, in her accent, and in perfect English. He tried to think of a word in turkish, and found he couldn't. A hot tear of shame ran down his cheek, then dripped onto the upper surface of one breast.<br /><br /><span>If you want see a continue and support me:&nbsp;</span><a class="external" href="https://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?https://www.patreon.com/greentg">www.patreon.com/greentg</a>