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Little Miss Rainbow

By Amy Estes

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 Pink Leash Publishing with Estes Erotica

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Disclaimer: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic, adult language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable which might include: male/male sexual practices, multiple partner sexual practices, strong BDSM themes and elements, erotic elements and fetish play. This e-book is for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/Fetish titles without the guidance of an experience practitioner. Neither the publisher nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles. Please note that this is a work of complete fiction; it is intended as fantasy only. No act or description is officially endorsed by the writer, publisher, editor, or distributor. No character is under the age of 18. All characters give their consent: secret, tacit, or explicit.

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First Edition


It is too early to wake up, so I keep my eyes closed and I drift away from dreams, heading back into my last, most vivid memory.

"Every woman is a little girl at heart. That is the sad truth. You want to know why you have such a hard time finding a girlfriend or a wife? Well, the answer is simple," I said, standing on that stage. Hundreds of eyes were directed up with me, a young man who wanted to hear the truth.

Maybe they found me online. Maybe a friend or brother or father suggested they read one of my books. In any case, these guys understood the truth. Or if they didn't, they were about to become much better educated.

I paused, letting those first words sink in. I could practically feel the tension and energy within the room. "Every woman is a little girl. Every woman wants to believe that she can be herself and that she will somehow find a magical prince charming who will tell her what she needs while somehow magically giving her everything she wants. Women are chaotic. Women are erratic. Maybe part of that comes from psychology or physiology. Frankly, I'm not a scientist. I don't claim to be."

I stood back, resting my hands on the edge of the podium. Then I stepped away from the wooden façade. I strode up and down the length of the stage, letting my focus wander over the different parts of the room. This was an incredible turnout. I was going to sell a lot of books and make a lot of money.

My voice boomed through the room, amplified by the microphone I wore. "Men are often honest enough to admit what we want in a partner. We need someone who is going to be physically attractive, someone energetic, and someone who is smart enough to keep up. As men, we are able to admit the truth. But women? No."

At that moment, I could've flipped a coin, and the sound of it hitting the floor would have reverberated through the entire space. I continued. "Women pretend that they are only interested in romance. They want you to believe that they are looking for a good guy, whatever that means. But that's not all true. Women want someone who is going to be rich, someone who is going to be handsome, and someone who's going to do whatever they want. And when they can't find it, they call us jerks."

Someone raised a hand.

Although I hadn't planned on it, I pointed to that guy. "You have something to add?"

"I—” he began to say.

Interrupting him, I commanded him, “Stand up. If you're going to talk to everyone here at least be brave enough to stand up for your convictions."

"I, I'm not sure we can make these kinds of generalizations," he said to me. This guy seemed nice enough, and I asked for his name. "Danny,” he answered, doing his best not to appear nervous.

"Danny, I appreciate your honesty. I also appreciate your bravery," I said, stalling for time. "If you are asking me whether or not there are exceptions, I don't know. I haven't met every single woman on the planet. For all I know, there is some really great girl out there ready to be a good wife or a good girlfriend or a good friend even. But to be completely blunt, I haven't met her. Like I said before, I'm not a scientist. I am writing about my own experiences. I'm discussing what I've learned in my travels and my interactions. Danny, if you're not interested in hearing any of this, you can leave right now. In fact, I will ask my manager to make sure that you get your money back."

He licked his lips, clearly nervous. He had probably never been confronted like this before. After all, I was a celebrity. But more importantly, I gave him a fair hearing. I considered his point of view, and I returned with a rational suggestion.

"No thank you," he said, taking his seat again.

A different member of the audience started to clap, and I gave a little bow. Danny's face probably turned bright red, but I was no longer paying attention to him. Instead, I enjoyed that moment of adulation.

Then I continued with my lecture.

The memory jumps ahead. Different men asked me different questions, and I gave them honest answers. I told them about how various conceptions from the media could skew what women wanted from the men in their lives. I talked about what could be done to modify a woman's behavior, though I always cautioned my listeners to realize that these were just suggestions. What worked with my wife might not work with their women.

That’s right. I have a wife.

But for them, there wouldn’t be any magic book.

Unfortunately, magic just isn't real—at least, that's what I told them.

After the lecture concluded, I signed hundreds of copies of my book. It started out as a self published piece, but major publishing houses had started to take an interest in my work. It helped that I could fill lecture halls just like this one.

Once I finished, I shook the hand of one more guy, and I started back toward my car. Exhausted but excited, I wondered how long it would take before I started hearing back from the major publishing houses. Fantasizing about advances and negotiation tactics, I didn't see her at first.

She was seated on the hood of my car, her weight rested on her palms.

"Please tell me you’re not a journalist," I said, with an exasperated sigh.

"Nope." She smiled at me, sliding off of the vehicle. She took several steps closer, and there was something about this girl, something I couldn't quite pin down.

"Are you here to tell me that I'm some misogynistic jerk? Or maybe you are here to prove your maturity by throwing some cold coffee in my face?" It wouldn't have been the first time, not that I really cared about such petty acts of rebellion. As far as I was concerned, those instances of female psychosis only proved my point.

"Aiden Render, right?” she asked. She came closer, holding her hands behind her back and swaying from side to side.

Frankly, she didn't appear to be the usual feminist whacko.

Let me look into your eyes.”

O-kay…so maybe she was the usual feminist whacko.

Look, I don’t know what you’re hoping to find, but I’m going to get in my car and leave. Good day.”


The word rippled through my body. Electric tingles danced through my skin. They started at my toes, and my feet rooted to the asphalt.

At first, I turned my attention down toward my shoes, thinking I must've stepped in something. This had to be some sort of bizarre trap. The image of a bear trap shot through my brain, but when I looked down, I only saw my feet on the ground.

"You really are a piece of work," she said to me.

"Who are you?"

"Well, I've had quite a few names over the years. But tonight, you called me Danny. Of course, right now, Danielle would probably be more appropriate."

I opened my mouth, trying to figure this out. She strolled up to me, and she cupped my cheek in her palm. She forced me to look up at her. As I did so, her body started to change. Her hair got short, her jaw got stronger, and her clothing shifted. Before I knew it, I was looking at Danny, the guy from my lecture.

In another moment, she started to change back. Her blonde hair, straight bangs, and vivid green eyes all came back. Diamond earrings sparkled at her earlobes, and she had on a heart shaped pendant. Her knitted dress clung to her body, and a black, leather belt circled around her waist.

"What kind of trick was that?" I asked, my voice quivering despite my best efforts not to sound impressed.

"No trick. Magic."

"Magic isn't—”

Real? Oh yes, it is. And I'm going to show you just how real it is. Not only that, I'm going to punish you, Aiden. I'm going to teach you what it means to really, truly irritate a witch like me."

A which? She had to be kidding me. I attempted to turn my head to the left or right, expecting to find a camera crew. This had to be some kind of joke, I told myself. It had to be some kind of prank or game. But somehow, this young, live woman managed to hold my attention.

She looked into my eyes. "Aiden, when you wake up, you're going to be in an entirely different life. You aren't going to be some strong man who can get others to listen to him. You're not going to be big or strong or intimidating."

A gulp ran down my throat. My Adam's apple bobbed.

"Ask me what I'm going to do to you."

At first, I attempted to purse my lips. I tried to the best of my ability, which just wasn't good enough. As she looked at me with those green eyes, I couldn't help but stare into her emerald irises. I could feel the pressure from her will as she exerted her desires upon me.

It was strange, having this girl inside my head. She was trying to control me, and then she succeeded. "What, what you going to do to me?"

"I'm going to transform you. When you wake up, you're not going to be big or strong anymore. You are going to be small and cute and dependent. You're going to be so very pretty, and I'm going to have fun playing with you. Now sleep."

Exhaling, I don't think I want to open my eyes. Now that I'm back in the waking world, I don't want to believe those memories are real.

Along the inner recesses of my mind, I keep trying to tell myself that it was a dream. Those memories are far too realistic to be fake. I can tell the difference between a dream and a memory.


Okay, I'm going to open my eyes, and when I do, I'm going to be back in my bed. Alexandra is going to be next to me. And after I do all of this, I'm going to climb on top of her, I'm going to pin her beneath me, and I'm going to look into my wife's beautiful face. I'm going to tell her that she belongs to me, and I'm going to enjoy the way she smiles nervously when I take command.

When I opened my eyes, I'm looking up at the ceiling, but there something wrong. This room is too small. Not only that, I catch the hue of cotton candy pink from the corners of my eyes.

Immediately, I sit up, refusing to be intimidated by a dream. Only this isn't a dream and this isn't my bedroom.

Right away, I recognize the dimensions of the guest room. But the decorations are all wrong. The walls are a bubblegum shade of pink, and there are framed posters from princess movies. There is one of a girl with long, blond hair and big, round eyes. In another picture, a girl with brown hair is dancing with a prince. Not only that, I sit up on my knees, and I find a little desk. I spot several stuffed animals along the floor. There are two shelves covered in girls’ books about horses and child detectives.

Then there's my bed itself.

Normally, I wake up in a king size bed with my sexy wife. She only sleeps in her panties. When we first got together, I told her I didn't want her to wear anything else to bed. If she gets cold, I can always warm her up.

Now, I'm in a twin, and it seems so big to me.

I don't understand, not until I look down at the rest of my body. First, my gaze turns to my hands. They are small…they are really small. Gulping, I sit up all the way, and I look down at my tiny frame.

This isn't the body of a man. This isn't the body of someone strong or intimidating.

I'm wearing a pink nightgown with a purple pony stenciled along the front. I pull back my sleeves, and my arms are so thin and tiny!

In the corner, there is a full-length mirror next to one of the dressers. Right away, I force myself off of the bed, I trudge across the room and take off my gown, hating it and all it represents.

Then I am looking at my own reflection, and my breath catches in my throat.

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