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Be Careful What You Dream Of Part 3 free porn video
The third part in a series of bad science fiction--
Jean squirmed as the bag was forced over her head but the huge two men in black held her prone into the soft cushioned bench in the back of the of the van.
“Listen bitch,” hissed the man on her left into her ear. His voice then dropped to a hoarse whisper.
“I’m suppose to stick you with this needle and if you continue this shit I will inject the d**gs,” he said. “Be still, listen and I won’t knock you out. You have to appear d**gged. This is all I can do.”
Jean felt a needle prick her shoulder and then withdraw. She relaxed as much as she could and sank deeper into the cushion, rolling her head on the massive thigh of the man on her left. She listened in the dark of the hood as hard as she could, trying to hear every sound, every nuance.
The man on her right reached up her dress and began playing with her member.
She heard voices in the van from the seats in front of her.
“Please tell me again why you contacted us?” The voice was a smooth rich baritone, obviously polished from speaking engagements.
“We project that you and your faction will soon be in control of your government. It was logical to contact you instead of your opponents.”
“And all you want is our perverts like this one?”
“Yes, your third genders--the ones you call she-males, transsexuals, cross dressers, transvestites.”
“What about our women? How do we know you won’t come back and demand our females?”
Jean heard laughter and the unmistakable sound of a pants zipper.
“Wow.”
“Your females won’t fit , either physically or emotionally. We need your third-genders.” She heard the zipper again and her mouth instinctively watered. She gulped and the hand of the man on the right kept stroking and playing with her lace-encased penis, his fingers insistent upon the mesh black thong.
Her clitty was getting hard and that damn zipper kept bouncing into her mind and it was overloaded with sensory information. Her body took over and she writhed and moaned inadvertently.
“What is going on back there?” said the baritone voice.
“This little cunt needs another dose I think,” said the man on the right, quickly withdrawing his hand. He suddenly shifted his weight and Jean almost fell off of the bench, The movement forced the soft, black, terry cloth bag up and almost off of her head. The man holding her shoulders suddenly jabbed her with the needle again. She felt the d**gs flow into her arm.
She looked up into his face. He has short cropped salt-and-pepper hair which framed intense turquoise-blue eyes. He mouthed “I’m sorry, remember as much as you can, good luck” and the bag was popped back over her head and this time, she felt it being secured. The blackness of the hood hastened her u*********sness and she thought of the zipper and passed out.
She groggily felt herself being pulled from the van and she leaned on the man to her left as they carried/half-walked her into a building. Jean could hear her heels click on the floor as they to walked down a long corridor and into a small room. The whirring and the slight sensation of motion made her realize the they were in an elevator and her new false tits bounced a bit at the elevator stopped.
The d**gs appeared to be wearing off and she could motivate, although a bit wobbly, on her heels as they began a quick march down another corridor. Jean heard a door open and they entered a room. She felt hands work at her throat and the hood was pulled off.
It took awhile for her eyes to adjust to the light of the clinically white, long stark room. A huge mirror was on the opposite end and Jean had no illusions that it was a two-way affair. Jean was escorted to the steps of what looked like a catwalk in the center of the long room and she climbed the stairs cautiously, careful not to trip in her stilettos.
The lights suddenly went down, leaving only the catwalk in the blazing white light.
“Walk to the edge and turn around,” said the room.
Jean complied.
“Throw those shoulders back…a little more hip action….now turn…walk back to the other end,” said the room.
Jean followed the instructions, her tits bouncing as she strutted and she felt feminine. As she turned to face the mirrored wall again, she noted that a table, completed with gynecologist’s stirrups had risen at the far end.
“Turn…now walk to the table, take off the dress an get on the with your feet in the stirrups,” said the room.
Nervously, Jean strutted towards the table and when she got there, tried to take off the dress as sexily as she could. She mounted the table and put her feet in the stirrups and placed her hands over her head, grabbing the obvious handholds.
She wasn’t shocked when the thick steel cuffs appeared and clamped onto her wrists and ankles. The table seemed to come to life with little robotic arms complete with three fingers, one of which moved the thin material of her g-string out of and to one side of her ass.
Another reached into her panties and gently grabbed her clit and began vibrating, making her moan as the member became erect. She looked down and saw that a cylinder-shaped device was moving towards the firming clit and as the dick became hard, it sucked her member into it. A warm, pulsing feeling spread throughout her clitty, into her loins and up her spinal cord.
She also saw the small, dildo shaped anal probe moving towards her rectum. Jean felt the pressure of the head of it as it reached her asshole and pushed steadily and insistently against her sphincter muscle.
It forced its way into her and Jean thought she could feel it swell and grow as it buried itself deep into her intestine. Small waves of pleasure began to overtake her and for the second time that night, her body once again took over and Jean found herself fucking the prod, moaning and writhing as wave after wave of sensations coursed through her body.
She came moaning into the vacuum of the cylinder and it slurped up her jism as the anal probe slide from her ass.
“She will do,” said the room.
Jean heard the men that had escorted her leave, the banging of the door booming in the room.
What she couldn’t see or hear was the buzz of excitement on the other side of the mirror.
Jean squirmed as the bag was forced over her head but the huge two men in black held her prone into the soft cushioned bench in the back of the of the van.
“Listen bitch,” hissed the man on her left into her ear. His voice then dropped to a hoarse whisper.
“I’m suppose to stick you with this needle and if you continue this shit I will inject the d**gs,” he said. “Be still, listen and I won’t knock you out. You have to appear d**gged. This is all I can do.”
Jean felt a needle prick her shoulder and then withdraw. She relaxed as much as she could and sank deeper into the cushion, rolling her head on the massive thigh of the man on her left. She listened in the dark of the hood as hard as she could, trying to hear every sound, every nuance.
The man on her right reached up her dress and began playing with her member.
She heard voices in the van from the seats in front of her.
“Please tell me again why you contacted us?” The voice was a smooth rich baritone, obviously polished from speaking engagements.
“We project that you and your faction will soon be in control of your government. It was logical to contact you instead of your opponents.”
“And all you want is our perverts like this one?”
“Yes, your third genders--the ones you call she-males, transsexuals, cross dressers, transvestites.”
“What about our women? How do we know you won’t come back and demand our females?”
Jean heard laughter and the unmistakable sound of a pants zipper.
“Wow.”
“Your females won’t fit , either physically or emotionally. We need your third-genders.” She heard the zipper again and her mouth instinctively watered. She gulped and the hand of the man on the right kept stroking and playing with her lace-encased penis, his fingers insistent upon the mesh black thong.
Her clitty was getting hard and that damn zipper kept bouncing into her mind and it was overloaded with sensory information. Her body took over and she writhed and moaned inadvertently.
“What is going on back there?” said the baritone voice.
“This little cunt needs another dose I think,” said the man on the right, quickly withdrawing his hand. He suddenly shifted his weight and Jean almost fell off of the bench, The movement forced the soft, black, terry cloth bag up and almost off of her head. The man holding her shoulders suddenly jabbed her with the needle again. She felt the d**gs flow into her arm.
She looked up into his face. He has short cropped salt-and-pepper hair which framed intense turquoise-blue eyes. He mouthed “I’m sorry, remember as much as you can, good luck” and the bag was popped back over her head and this time, she felt it being secured. The blackness of the hood hastened her u*********sness and she thought of the zipper and passed out.
She groggily felt herself being pulled from the van and she leaned on the man to her left as they carried/half-walked her into a building. Jean could hear her heels click on the floor as they to walked down a long corridor and into a small room. The whirring and the slight sensation of motion made her realize the they were in an elevator and her new false tits bounced a bit at the elevator stopped.
The d**gs appeared to be wearing off and she could motivate, although a bit wobbly, on her heels as they began a quick march down another corridor. Jean heard a door open and they entered a room. She felt hands work at her throat and the hood was pulled off.
It took awhile for her eyes to adjust to the light of the clinically white, long stark room. A huge mirror was on the opposite end and Jean had no illusions that it was a two-way affair. Jean was escorted to the steps of what looked like a catwalk in the center of the long room and she climbed the stairs cautiously, careful not to trip in her stilettos.
The lights suddenly went down, leaving only the catwalk in the blazing white light.
“Walk to the edge and turn around,” said the room.
Jean complied.
“Throw those shoulders back…a little more hip action….now turn…walk back to the other end,” said the room.
Jean followed the instructions, her tits bouncing as she strutted and she felt feminine. As she turned to face the mirrored wall again, she noted that a table, completed with gynecologist’s stirrups had risen at the far end.
“Turn…now walk to the table, take off the dress an get on the with your feet in the stirrups,” said the room.
Nervously, Jean strutted towards the table and when she got there, tried to take off the dress as sexily as she could. She mounted the table and put her feet in the stirrups and placed her hands over her head, grabbing the obvious handholds.
She wasn’t shocked when the thick steel cuffs appeared and clamped onto her wrists and ankles. The table seemed to come to life with little robotic arms complete with three fingers, one of which moved the thin material of her g-string out of and to one side of her ass.
Another reached into her panties and gently grabbed her clit and began vibrating, making her moan as the member became erect. She looked down and saw that a cylinder-shaped device was moving towards the firming clit and as the dick became hard, it sucked her member into it. A warm, pulsing feeling spread throughout her clitty, into her loins and up her spinal cord.
She also saw the small, dildo shaped anal probe moving towards her rectum. Jean felt the pressure of the head of it as it reached her asshole and pushed steadily and insistently against her sphincter muscle.
It forced its way into her and Jean thought she could feel it swell and grow as it buried itself deep into her intestine. Small waves of pleasure began to overtake her and for the second time that night, her body once again took over and Jean found herself fucking the prod, moaning and writhing as wave after wave of sensations coursed through her body.
She came moaning into the vacuum of the cylinder and it slurped up her jism as the anal probe slide from her ass.
“She will do,” said the room.
Jean heard the men that had escorted her leave, the banging of the door booming in the room.
What she couldn’t see or hear was the buzz of excitement on the other side of the mirror.
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