Saturday Night At Magees
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One Night At Magees free porn video
One Night at Magee's
by Ellie Dauber
It was your typical Thursday at Magee's Irish Pub. About a dozen guys --
regulars mostly -- were standing at the bar, nursing their beers and arguing
about the game on the TV. A few more,some couples, some alone, were sitting in
the booths or at tables drinking or talking or both. Simon, the owner, was over
in the corner booth playing his weekly chess game with Harry Steinburg, one of
the regulars. Sally, the waitress had just brought a pitcher to four guys at
one table. She was flirting with one, a tall, skinny guy with brown hair.
"I'm Dutch Blucher, and I can lick any man in this bar!" The challenge was
given in a bellow that even managed to be heard above the TV. Just about
everything stopped as we watched the challenger walk across the room. He stood
about 6 foot 5, most of it muscle, all of it mean. He had black hair, cut short
like a soldier's; two bushy eyebrows scrunched together over half-closed eyes.
His nose looked like it was broken at least a couple of times, and his lips were
curled in a snarl. He was wearing a camouflage jacket with cut off sleeves and
an old pair of jeans, frayed here or there and with a hole near one knee. A
couple of the guys near the bar recognized his work boots -- the kind with a
reinforced steel toe.
The crowd by the bar parted and let him through. He pulled an old crumbled up
twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and slammed it on the bar. "Pitcher of
beer," he said. "And none of that pansy light crap either." Matt was bartender
on duty. He drew a pitcher and put it on the bar; took the twenty and gave his
change. Blucher wrapped fingers the size of sausages around the handle of the
pitcher and hefted it like a regular glass. He drank about a third, set it down
on the bar, and let out a belch that drown out the TV. The guys closest to him
could smell the garlic on whatever he'd had for lunch that day.
"I say it again. I can lick any guy in this bar. Anybody here think he wants
to try me."
Matt put on house smile #7, the one he reserved for calming fights. "Look --
Dutch, is it? -- look, Dutch, this is just your friendly corner bar. We don't
go in too much for that sort of stuff. If you're looking for a bar to pick a
fight at, I know a couple of places. Be glad to give you dirrections. Call a
cab maybe."
Dutch got a look on him like he'd just sucked a lemon. "Well, I didn't know
this was that kind of a bar." He made a sweeping gesture with one arm, his
wrist overtly limp. "So, none of you pussies want to fight. Maybe this'll
change your minds." He picked up a glass and threw it at the TV. It bounced
off something in front of the set and crashed at Matt's feet. We do get a
little rowdy sometimes at Magee's. When he put in the new color TV, Simon had
said he'd paid too much for the set to let it get wrecked because somebody
didn't like a show. Then he set up a little something to protect it.
"Damn," Dutch said and drank another third out of the pitcher. He looked at the
crowd at the bar, sizing each man up as a possible victim. He picked Arnie
Keller, and pushed aside the men in between with a sweep of his arm. Arnie's
about 6 foot 2. He lifts weights, and it shows. "How about you, Nancy'. You
looking for a fight?"
"I haven't looked for much of anything in years," Arnie said, lifting his white
cane from where it rested on the bar and holding it up for Dutch to see. "Not
since that explosion while I was serving over in Desert Storm got me out of the
Army."
Dutch didn't say a word. He tried to grab Jack Kaplan, the guy next to Arnie,
but Jack was too fast and wriggled away. Nobody else said a word either, but
Dutch knew for sure that they were all laughing at him.
Sally made the mistake of walking too close trying to take some empty glasses
back to be washed. Dutch grabbed her arm, knocking the tray with the glasses to
the floor. "Since none of you pansies want to fight, maybe I'll just take this
little trick back to my place and show her what a real man can do." Still
holding her arm, he began walking towards the door, pulling Sally with him.
"That is enough." Every head turned toward the sound of the voice. Simon was
mad. He got up slowly and walked over to Dutch. "You have interrupted my
patrons, tried to wreck my television, and now you propose to do harm to this
woman. I will not tolerate such behavior, and I ask you one time to apologize
and leave my bar."
Dutch looked Simon over. He saw a man who loooked to be in his early fifties,
slender with salt and pepper hair, a good six inches shorter than he was,
wearing a brown sports jacket and tan slacks. "This'll be fun," Dutch said. "I
can lick you in five minutes and still have plenty left for this doll." He let
go of Sally's arm and curled his hand into a fist.
"In the alley, if you don't mind?" Simon said. "I'd prefer let my patrons get
back to the game."
"Fine by me. Lead the way."
Simon walked over to the side door and opened it. "After you," he said.
Dutch walked through and stepped a few feet into the alley. He looked around to
see if there was anything he could use for a weapon. The alley was dark, darker
than he expected. With the buildings all around, it seemed more like a room
than an alley. Simon walked out and closed the door behind him. He waved his
arm, and the room -- for that was what it really was -- was lit by the glow of
torched hanging ten feet up on all four walls. "What the hell," Dutch said,
staring for a moment at the torches. When he looked back at Simon, he saw that
Simon's clothes were changed. His jacket and slacks were replaced by a long
dark blue robe with stars, moons, and a bunch of weird symbols Dutch didn't
recognize embroidered all over it.
Dutch had enough sense to know that something really strange was about to
happen, and he wanted no part of it. He started back for the door to the bar.
Gone. And there seemed to be no other way in or out. For the first time in a
very long time, Dutch was scared.
Simon was standing about six feet away from Dutch who was now in a circle that
had somehow appeared on the brick pavement of the alley. "You are an irritant,
Dutch Blucher," Simon was saying. "I have known of you for some time, and I
knew that you would eventually come to my bar, if you were not stopped by more
normal means. Now you will get the fate that you deserve."
Dutch somehow knew that his only chance was to try to hurt this man before he
could do anything. He tried to take a step toward Simon, ready to beat him into
the ground. But Dutch discovered that he couldn't step out of the circle. And
when he tried to reach out for Simon, Dutch found that his arms wouldn't move
out from it either.
Simon began muttering in some strange language that Dutch didn't recognize. A
glow began to form in the space between his two hands. It formed into a ball of
light that shimmered purple and red. Then it shot out of his hands flying
directly towards Dutch. Dutch tried to dodge it, but he could hardly move. The
ball of light hit him in the chest and spread out covering his entire body.
Then it seemed to sink into him.
Dutch began to tingle all over. Simon and the room seemed to grow. No, Dutch
realized that he was shrinking. He looked at his hands, watching them get
smaller. They seemed to get thinner, too, the fingers growing longer and more
delicate. His nails were also growing longer, turning a lacquered red as they
did so. As Dutch stared at his hands, he realized that his scalp was tingling.
He felt something tickle the back of his neck and reached up to touch his head.
His hair was growing, faster and faster. He felt it slide down past his neck
and finally stop somewhere around the middle of his back. He moved his head,
feeling the weight of the hair. He pulled some of his hair around and saw that
it had changed from black to brown and was getting lighter even as he held it.
Now the tingling spread down through his body. Dutch looked down and saw that
he was no longer the well-muscled man he had been. He had become much thinner.
The muscles on his arms were fading away. So, he saw suddenly, was the hair on
his arms. His arms were soon hairless and now looked slender and feminine.
Feminine! He looked down at his chest to see two breasts growing there, pushing
his jacket far out from his chest. He felt his nipples pressing against his
t-shirt. In fear, he stuck one hand down into his jeans, which now hung loosely
at his smaller waist. His prick was still there, but it was getting smaller as
he held it. He reached in with the other hand and felt for his balls. They
weren't there, and his scrotum was getting smaller, too. In a few moments, his
prick was too small to try to hold onto. He felt it settle down as the remnants
of his scrotum formed lips around it. He felt a sudden twinge within his groin
just below what was left of his prick. His fingers found an opening. One
slipped inside to discover his new vagina. At the same time, he felt his hips
and ass growing out pulling his jeans tight around them. The small beer belly
that he'd grown in the past year melted away leaving a narrow waist and flat
stomach.
"What'd you do --" Dutch stopped. That wasn't his voice. That was some dame's
voice, high and soft. It couldn't be him. Could it?
Simon was smiling now. "That's much better. You look very nice, Ms. Blucher,
but the clothes are all wrong." Simon gestured again.
Dutch felt his clothes moving along his body. His t-shirt slide up around his
breasts, the material becoming soft and clinging. The same thing seemed to be
happening to his undershorts. He felt himself lifting slightly and looked down.
His work shoes had become a pair of woman's pumps and were growing a four inch
heel. His jeans merged into a single tube of cloth, turned bright pink and
moved up his legs, past his knees, to become a miniskirt that clung to his much
wider hips. His socks followed, becoming sheerer and sheerer. Dutch saw
garters, red and lacy, slide out from below his dress and attach themselves to
the stockings. They retreated back under the skirt, pulling the stockings taut
against his thighs. Dutch was surprised at the feel of the nylon sliding
against his bare legs. His camouflage jacket became a loose pink blouse, the
top two buttons undone to show a good bit of his pillowy breasts and a little
red lace trim from his bra. His heavy man's watch changed into a slender
woman's watch with a matching gold bracelet somehow appearing on the other
wrist. He felt a pinch in both ears, and when he shook his head, he could feel
something dangling there. When he nervously licked his lips, he tasted the
sticky sweetness of lipstick on them.
"Perhaps, you'd like to see the results of my work?" Simon gestured again, and
a full length mirror appeared floating in the air in front of Dutch. The woman
reflected in it was hot. Long curly blonde hair down her back, a heart-shaped
face with big blue eyes -- Dutch remembered that his eyes had been brown -- and
full pouty lips. His nose wasn't broken now, and it was much smaller. Besides
the lipstick, he was wearing eyeshadow and mascara.
The woman's blouse was sheer. You could almost see her bra through it, and her
nipples pushed against the material showing themselves to the world. Her skirt
stopped far above her knees and clung to her hips and ass like it was painted
on. Her legs were long and shapely, covered with patterned black stockings that
stopped low enough on her legs to show a good bit of creamy thigh.
"Why -- why did you do this to me?" Dutch was pleading now. He was truly
terrified, and he wanted to cry for the first time in many years.
"Because you annoyed me. And because you deserved it."
"But I was just minding my own business. Just trying to have some fun."
"Minding your own business? Looking for somebody to -- as you said -- lick in a
fight. Well, in a moment that will be your business. By the way, what is your
real name?"
"Rich, Rich Blucher. What do you mean?"
"You will always remember who you were and what you were, but you will only
answer to the name of Rachel Block. Rich Blucher no longer exists, and no one
besides the two of us remembers that he ever did. Your body is the body of a
woman now, and you will crave what a woman's body craves. Only those cravings
will be much stronger than those of most women. When I free you, you will be
compelled to go downtown, to seek out a House that can use your talents. And to
work there for the rest of your days. You can try to resist, but the cravings
and the compulsion will only grow stronger. Now go."
Simon gestured a final time, and Dutch, now Rachel, saw a door form in the wall
near her. She found that she could move her legs, and she hurried through it.
When she passed through, she found herself on the street outside Magee's. She
wanted to go home, but her mind was suddenly filled with thoughts of men's
cocks. Instinctively she licked her lips at the thought, tasting the sticky
sweetness of her lipstick for the second time. She felt a warmth and an
emptiness that she had never known in her groin, and her nipples rubbed
enticingly against the satin of her bra. Without thinking, she caught the
downtown bus, paying her fare from a purse that suddenly dangled by a strap from
her shoulder. Without a second thought, she was heading for the new life Simon
had decreed.
Simon watched her leave from the alley, smiling. "You will keep on looking from
somebody to lick, my dear Dutch. Only they will enjoy the licking a lot more
now, even if they have to pay you for the privilege." With that thought Simon
Trimagestes, sorcerer to the Pharaoh Ramses and owner of Magee's Irish Pub,
went back inside to resume his chess game. The night was young, and he was up
by a Rook and two Pawns.
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