Time Shift

By Gregor Daniels

After an antique store robbery leaves two clumsy thieves evading the police through a dark train yard, random luck will bestow them with a unique opportunity to raise the stakes. With the assistance of a magical hourglass that allows them to change their bodies, the pair of shape-shifting criminals set their sights on a city bank. Getting out with millions just might end in absolute chaos.

Length: 23,600 words

This work of fiction contains adult material and explicit scenes with erotic descriptions. Themes include gender transformations, age regression, magical objects, body copying, extreme growth, a giantess, public nudity, and other perverted fantasies. For mature audiences only. All characters over 18 years old.

Excerpt:

With one more deep breath to clear out the shivers, he retrieved the hourglass from the bench, eyed down the wide arrangement of clothing not suitable for his current body, and stared at his own reflection one final time. His fingers grasped the object as if it were the most fragile thing in the world, waiting to be broken from holding it the wrong way.

Hank cleared his throat and pictured the woman in his mind. "I am Veronica Cartwright." He turned over the hourglass.

Four words was all it took. The only proof of magic in the universe required a simple phrase, and no calculated scientist working in his laboratory or a gypsy with a crystal ball between her fingertips. Hank was just an average man with wild ambition, and a plan that was decidedly impossible had he not had the hourglass in his possession.

It began as short, intermittent tingles in the center of his body. They were felt deep inside of his abdomen, and then in the center of his chest around his ribcage. Not long after, they quickly spread to his arms and legs, and then up the neck into his skull.

Hank slowly placed the magical object on the wooden bench, admiring the trickling of sand into the lower chamber before stepping back and hesitantly returning his gaze to the reflection. There was no evidence of changes just yet, but he certainly felt the invisible strings plucking away inside of his body, and the hidden hands molding and contorting his insides.

Though his body was merely putty to whatever force was changing him, it was gentle and soothing, with not even a hint of pain hitting his nerves. The hands worked with masterful craft and calculation, responding exactly to the words that had come from his breath, and operating under the control of a magic that he didn't fully understand. After receiving the biggest payday in his career, Hank knew he'd have plenty of time to learn about the hourglass and its history and secrets. Right now, he was anxious to use its power to his advantage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gregor Daniels
• Release date: Dec 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311338143

Gregor Daniels

Gregor Daniels is an erotica author that specializes in gender swap and erotic transformation fetishes. New stories are typically released weekly and feature a variety of themes. Have you ever had fantasies to be a girl? Then look no further ...Contact the author directly on Twitter to discuss stories, share your favorite ideas and fantasies, scenes, and characters, or to just talk about nothing in particular.

Book preview

Time Shift

Published by Gregor Daniels at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Gregor Daniels

For ADULTS Only. All Characters Over 18.

"Come on! What are you, like eighty? Move it along, grandpa!"

Mitch scampered over the fence and jumped down to the other side, and then turned to wait on his partner. His feet anxiously danced around in the dirt as his partner trotted to the bushes and tossed the duffel bag over the fence towards his side. Several twenty-dollar bills fluttered out and landed in the bushes.

"God."

Hank huffed and puffed as he climbed the fence, wincing as his fingers pinched against the metal links and hoisted his tired body over the top. At the peak of the climb, his hands slipped from the cold metal, and he tumbled to the dirt, shouting in short-lived agony as his back slammed against the soil, erupting a cloud of dust into the air.

Up above, the night was dark and starless, covered by a thick layer of clouds. The air was cool, and the sound of police sirens reverberated off of the nearby houses and closed businesses.

I'll have you know that I'm forty-four, Hank panted, wincing as he propped himself to his feet and dusted off his trousers. The sirens were closer.

"Whatever, man. Mitch tossed him the duffel bag of money. Just fucking keep up. I ain't going to wait around for you."

The pair hustled over the empty train tracks and further away from the whirling red and blue lights off in the distance. The sirens sounded like they were right behind them now, and Mitch repeatedly looked over his shoulder in fear of finding the men in blue right on their tails. Thankfully, he hadn't see a single police officer just yet, but waiting around wasn't going to improve their chances.

Mitch reached the fence on the far side of the train tracks and turned to see Hank moving at a pace barely over a brisk walk. The duffel bag was over his shoulder, and he had one hand firmly placed against the side of his abdomen. Even from here, Mitch could hear the hurried breaths exiting the man's mouth. He was practically wheezing.

Any day now, man. I don't really feel like going to jail again.

Hank dropped the bag to the dirt and stopped, holding his hands against his knees and bending over towards the ground. His breathing was accompanied by a fit of coughs.

I don't think ... I can go ... much further.

The house is another half-mile dude, Mitch insisted. If we stay here, we're going to get caught!

Hank's hand shook as he pointed to the duffel bag of money. Just take it. Go on ... This isn't ... for me.

Mitch paused, while his eyes darted between the bright lights on the other side of the track, and the bag of money next to a man bent over and on the brink of puking out his entire digestive system. Hank had no chance of keeping up, or even running for the next thirty feet. He was a man in dire need of a treadmill, or a gym membership.

Hank nearly stumbled as he was grabbed underneath his right armpit and yanked backwards. He adjusted his glasses to see the other man opening a nearby boxcar door and throwing the bag of money inside.

In here, Mitch said quickly, flinging his arm towards the interior frantically.

Hank got the idea and crawled himself inside with one last breath. His heart was on fire by the time both of them had entered the boxcar and after Mitch had closed the metal door, causing an irritating racket as it slammed shut.

I ain't going back. I ain't going back. Mitch paced around the dark interior, listening to the muffled sirens outside. They hadn't gotten any closer, but they also hadn't gone away, either. There's got to be like twenty of them out there. Why did I do this?

Hank propped himself up against the side and listened as well. There's only one or two. It's no big deal.

Even in the darkness, Mitch's wide eyes were easily visible. No big deal? They're going to find us! They have those smart dogs that sniff us out, or some kind of thermal camera that can see us inside of here! We're fucked, man!

Hank held back a laugh. "Don't be so ridiculous. There's one or two cars, and they're searching the perimeter. We made it probably half a mile; they won't look out that far. Minor robberies like that don't get a lot of attention compared to other, bigger crimes."

Mitch knelt down. "And how the fuck would you know? I've been hitting stores since I was fourteen, old man! What you've seen on television ain't mean shit out in the real world. We're both in for it in the next five minutes."

Hank didn't show any hint of anxiety. In the next five minutes, the sirens will be gone, and you won't hear a single thing except a small blurb on the local news. We didn't shoot anybody, and we didn't rob the government. As far as everyone but the store owner is concerned, they really don't care at all.

Whatever, dude. I'm blaming it all on you when they knock on this thing. Mitch returned to his makeshift post by the sliding door on the other side. There was a small slit that cast a thin strip of hazy moonlight on the floor of the boxcar, and it offered a limited viewpoint towards the direction that they had ran from.

Five minutes had passed and Mitch slumped against the side of the car and slowly fell to a sitting position.

Well? Hank asked, taking off his black ski-mask and adjusting his spectacles. Clothing items to conceal one's identity just weren't very considerate of someone with prescription glasses.

I don't see the lights anymore. No sirens or anything. It's dark as hell out there.

Hank clapped his hands together. Ha! See? I told you so. They don't really care about us. I bet they got a call to check out some shooting or domestic violence or something. Husbands beating up wives are more important than some old lady having her antique store robbed. Even the senator's charity ball has half of the units working tonight.

Mitch clasped his hands in front of his mouth and exhaled into the ball, reducing some of the shivers that had contaminated his body. Fine. Whatever, man. Just laugh it up. What are you trying to be? Some new expert robber to hit the streets?

Hank imagined himself as such, a new kingpin of organized crime all over the city. In his fantasy, he dreamed of dozens of men serving under him, delivering big bundles of cash to his feet, and fancy sports car stolen from mansions on the rich side of town. He'd work under an alias that no one could track, and be constantly on the move