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Silly Teasers free porn video
Silly Teasers
by Princess Pervette
[A few absurd and (I hope) ridiculous twists on
well-known plot devices--& related situations.]
-+-
I gasped in horror as an ugly tube of flesh began snaking its way
out between my thighs, bulging obscenely in my panties.... What was
happening to me? And my nice, new breasts...! Where had they gone?
-+-
Sarah turned on the television and loaded a cassette into the VCR.
She had taped our entire evening together! There I was, wearing
nothing but a bra and panties, giving Bert a blow job!
"If you don't want this all over school to-morrow..."
Trembling, I thought of those big, tough guys at school. Bill. Bob.
Steve. Arnie. Martin.
"Oh, but I DO...!"
-+-
I had just finished putting on my makeup when I heard a noise. I
turned around...there was my wife!
"Oh. Hi" was all she said.
"Honey, I can explain everything...," I began, but she had already
left the room.
For the rest of the day she didn't say anything about what she had
seen. Over dinner wouldn't talk about anything but the squabble that
had aborted her Saturday afternoon bridge game and brought her home
prematurely. And in the evening she returned to her current novel,
interrupting her reading only to continue her post-mortem about the
quarrel. "Agnes was winning when she started the argument," she said.
"She's done that before. I wonder whether she does it so she can quit
while she's ahead."
Finally, I couldn't stand it any more. What did she think? Was she
going to dump me? I realized that the pain of not knowing was worse
than the pain of knowing.
"Honey, about those things I was wearing..."
She yawned exaggeratedly. "Yes, yes, my darling husband turns out
to be a transvestite. Don't bore me with the details."
"But don't you...?"
"No, I don't, in fact. You like to dress up in women's clothes. So
what? I love you, George, but on a scale of importance from one to
ten, that rates a big, fat zero. I have much more interesting things
to concern myself with. That silly Agnes with her damned no trump..."
-+-
I touched the medallion to her clothes, and then to myself. Nothing.
"I think you've got to touch me with it," she said. I touched her
with it, and then myself. Nothing.
"Do you have to make a wish?"
I held the medallion in my hands, looked at it fixedly, and said, "I
wish I had Betty's body."
Nothing.
Suddenly suspicious, I held the medallion by its cord and struck it
with my pen. *Klunk!*
"Shit!" I cried. "Dozens of people in the Altered Fates universe,
and I have to be the sucker who shells out 250 dollars for a
counterfeit medallion!"
-+-
"Well!" my wife cooed, "how sweet you look in your sexy French maid's
outfit! You'd better get used to it. That's all you'll be wearing
from now on. I've dumped all your men's clothes. I've now got my own
personal sissy maid to do all the housework for me.
"As for sex, you can forget about it. You never were much in bed with
that little thing of yours. Now, Wally...there's a real man! Real
where it counts, too. Hung like a horse, and he can keep going for
hours...."
"Wally!" I cried. "I've got news for you, Hon. He and I are an item.
Have been for months. He says I'm hotter than you are. And tighter!
He says I have `a mouth made for love.' It'll be the easiest thing in
the world to take him away from you. Once he gets an eyeful of me in
this cute outfit..."
-+-
Appropriately, it was Hallowe'en that was my downfall.
I hadn't wanted to do it; I knew what would happen if I did. I knew
my secret would be found out. But she insisted. "I think you'd look
cute as a girl," she said. "It'll be a real giggle."
I couldn't talk her out of it. That evening, she had me strip to the
skin. She had me put on garter belt and nylons; panties; a bra, which
she stuffed with old nylons; a petticoat that seemed one solid mass of
ruffles and lace; the ball gown; the rented wig. She had me sit and
face her while she carefully applied foundation, makeup, blush, eye
shadow, mascara, lipstick, and lip liner.
"Now, see how you look!" Quaking inwardly, I let her take me to the
mirror. (The girl always takes the guy to the mirror once he's
dressed, right? That was what I dreaded.) Looking into it, I saw...
Nothing.
She cried out. "Your reflection! You haven't got a reflection!"
I turned to her. "I tried to get out of it, but you wouldn't take No
for an answer. Such a mistake...putting a vampire in drag."
-+-
"So how did you like your first ballet class, SissyBoy?"
"It was *horrible!* I don't ever want to go back. First the teacher
made me take off my tutu. She said girls never wore tutus in class.
Only on stage! And I had to take off my shoes. She said I was too
young for `pointe,' as she called it. Nine years old, and she won't
let me toe dance!
"Then every time I tried to do something dainty and girly, she was
right there saying things like `Straighten up! Hold your back up!'
I didn't have a chance to do anything pretty and feminine at all!
"But the worst was how hard it was. Nothing but work, work, work.
Full of tricky steps that I couldn't understand, and when we finished
I was sweating like a pig!"
-+-
She used the flogger for my punishment. She must have hit me at
least two dozen times. Maybe more; I was in a fog of pain. When she
stopped, she said, "Stand up and adjust your clothes."
Then: "Are you sorry now?"
I said, "Yes, Ma'am, I'm sorry."
"Yes, you're sorry what? Tell me why you're sorry."
"I'm sorry you stopped beating me," I said.
She burst out laughing. "Oh, you...!" she cried and threw down the
flogger. "You're hopeless!"
-+-
[Note: in New York, men regularly go through the subways, soliciting
alms for tramps. It got me to thinking: what if...?]
He came into the middle of the subway car, put down a big shopping
bag, straightened up, and began his spiel.
"I represent the United Homeless Crossdressers. We are a non-profit
organization that runs shelters for homeless men where they can dress
as they please. If anybody here in this car needs a bra or a pair of
panties to tide him over, we have some for you in this bag.
"We are an independent organization. We aren't subsidized by any
state or local government. All our money comes from people like you.
And if any of you can spare a little money--a dollar, a quarter, a
nickel, anything at all--I can assure you that every penny of the
money you give will go to buy nice little pretties for our homeless
men."
-+-
The girls' chanting rose to a crescendo, and the green flames rose
higher. "Mutatis mutandis," they sang, and the flames flickered in
time to their chanting. Then, suddenly, they gave a great shout: "O
quae mutatio rerum!" The flames roared to the ceiling, and it felt
as if an earthquake was running through my entire body. With that
shout, something in me had changed--drastically. They grabbed hold
of me and steered me in front of a mirror. Blonde tresses...clear
complexion... delicate arms and hands...breasts. I was a girl!
"That's right, `Roberta,' you're a girl now," their leader said.
"We got sick of your disgusting, chauvinistic attitude. `Robert' is
history. You're a girl for good. For the rest of your life. Nobody
is going to remember you as a man."
"How much do I owe you?" I asked. My voice was a girl's voice.
Whatever she had expected me to say, that clearly wasn't it. "Owe
us...?"
I explained. "Ever since I was little I've hated my boy's body.
I used to pray at night that I'd wake up in the morning as a girl.
Gender Identity Dysphoria, the shrinks call it. All that macho
posturing all over campus, all that "male chauvinism," as you called
it, was a pose. Protective coloration. Kept me out of trouble."
The leader turned pale. "Oh, my Goddess," she muttered.
"Your coven's little bit of magic has saved me somewhere between ten
and twenty thousand dollars," I went on. "Maybe more. Fees for the
shrink. Fees for the endocrinologist. Hormones, implants maybe,
surgery, months and months of electrolysis..."
-+-
The little shop was nowhere to be seen. As we came closer in the
still moonlight, we made out a shape hanging from the tree. It was
the Old Man, a noose around his neck, his face black, twisting slowly.
On his chest, a crudely-lettered sign: "Spells WUZ Us."
Boring pedantic note:
Ballet classes are *hard work.* Moreover, children taking ballet
must not be allowed on pointe until 11 at the earliest (until
menarche for XX girls): the bones in their feet are not fully
ossified before then, & pointe work, which is stressful at the
best of times, can do irreparable harm. Hence no pointe for
"Sissyboy." And no girly fun.
Princess Pervette
February, 2000
Mikayla
- 05.07.2020
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