The Greatest Transexual Wank Story Ever Told: The Startup That Never Had An IPO free porn video

The Greatest [Transsexual Wank] Story Ever Told: The Startup That Never Had An IPO. By Melissa Virus (C) Copywrite 2000 Note: Sorry if the editing in this story sucks. It got to the point where I hated it so much I just couldn't be bothered. But hmmMaybe you'll like it. It's a comedy. ----------------------------------------------- "A two-minute song is just one minute and fifty-nine seconds too God-damn long." from "I Hate Jimmy Page," by rock band Mindless Self Indulgence I was fucking hardcore. I could design web shit better than just about anybody. I knew all the languages, I could control the back end, and I could make a web page do anything. I knew it, and a lot of other people did, too. So I was unsurprised when, at a conference in San Diego, a little smartly dressed man invited me to be involved in a top-secret start-up. Hell yeah I wanted to be involved in a top-secret start-up, and he was cryptic enough about the company itself that I was enthralled. He was involved in some kind of e-commerce thing, I don't remember; this was 1992, and the web thing hadn't quite blown up yet. Nobody really knew what to do with it. The company turned out to be quite a scam, but for now, this is all you need to know: he asked me to be involved in a really promising, bleeding-edge tech start-up company, and I couldn't resist. When you get involved in a start-up company, you have to give up just about everything. It consumes about a hundred and twenty hours a week. So I told my girlfriend of three years I was going to have to take some time to get this thing established, like a couple months, and she was cool with it; we were comfortable in our relationship, and this could be the thing that put us in the money. She understood that  she was a smart girl. Cute, too- her name was Steph. She looked exactly like Stephanie Seymour, just shorter. So I left home to go work in the office space they'd gotten for the company, out in the desert. It was set up so that the one main guy had a big fat desk on one end of the room, with his computer and all, and then there were about ten other smaller desks with computers on them, facing him. Behind him there was a huge white dry-erase board. It created quite a classroom environment, but on my first day, that didn't occur to me; it was too new. There was a door leading to some bedrooms off to one side. I guess all the designers started on the same day, because there were ten of us there the day I got there. The main guy, the little guy who'd recruited us all one at a time, welcomed us and took us out to breakfast at a little restaurant nearby. I got to sort of meet a couplh of the other designers. All ten of us were male, and we all had skills. I'd crossed paths with a couple of the other guys before; I'd spoken with one guy, "ChurchBurner," in IRC a few times before. His real name turned out to be Steve. Steve had long black hair and was pretty big. He was into the whole black metal scene, all the fucking insane scary Norwegians who ran around burning down churches, killing each other, and making scary music. He was the type of intense guy who wasn't big on jokes or taking things lightly. Still, he was charismatic, in a Viking sort of way, and we got along. After breakfast we all went back to company headquarters and shortly, almost in unison, all fell asleep. The little guy had drugged our food. I assume everyone else went through the same thing I did: for the next week or so, being mostly unconscious, occasionally surfacing to intense confusion, then passing out again. The first morning that I regained lucidity was disorienting, but in a different way. I woke up a girl. I woke up on my back and felt weak, so instead of just getting up, I looked down toward my feet, and I had breasts. 32B Breasts. (I didn't know this at the time, of course; I got it off a bra label later on. You can't tell that shit by sight.) I'd never been a particularly small guy, but now my rib cage (below my breasts, anyway) was probably 30 inches around. I'd somehow been shrunken and given titsI reached down and felt, with new slim arm, wrist and fingers, that I no longer had any kind of nuts or cock. My hips of course flared out, and my stomach was flat, and I certainly had ass, but no junk. I felt weak, but suddenly had strength from shock. I sat up. My tits jiggled, so I held them with one arm. I was in a bed room; . There was only one bunk, and nobody else was around. There was a full length mirror, though, to which I tried to walk. I was really shaky, from weakness or lack of muscle, I didn't know. But I made it over and saw myself, the girl. I was the same height I'd always been. But my boring shaggy brown hair had been bleached to the point that it was almost white, cut pretty short, and gelled onto my head, then held in place by four little plastic barrettes; kind of a raver chick haircut. The bones in my face had clearly been reconstructed, because now I had a cute little upturned nose, high cheekbones, a much less obvious brow, and a much girlier chin. My eyebrows had been all but shaven off, and my lips were puffy, and pink. Not painted pink, just naturally a different color than before. I was pale as hell, too; my lips stood out on my face. My shoulders had been thinned, and my arms were about ten inches around, at their thickest. My fingers were all thin, as were my wrists, and my nails were painted a darkish, weirdly opaque green. My breasts stood out proudly from my ribs, and my whole torso had been just about halved. I thought I looked emaciated, but in retrospect, I wasn't as thin as I thought. I just wasn't used to my new physique. My waist came in to 24 inches, and then my hips flared out to 32 inches. To this day I don't know whether it's possible to stretch legs somehow, but my legs certainly looked longer. They also tapered in a more feminine manner than I was used to. Even my feet had been reconstructed. They were tiny: a women's size four. That's a men's six. Basically, I had been made into a petite little woman, just on a 5'10 frame. I had to sit back down on the bed. Then, I had to lay back down. I was sore everywhere, and too weak to really do anything. I was weak as a chick. . . All I could do was lay in bed and ponder my predicament. Being a pretty sharp tack, I realized that I had received a lot of major surgery, and that was why I was so sore all over. This was not a magical transformation; it was all science. Of course, after thinking about how I had become a girl, my main concern was that I'd become a girl. I was pretty used to being a guy. I felt vulnerable, and, by the look of my arms, I was going to be really weak even once I regained my strength. I had soft tits, soft hips, a soft ass, and a tight little tummy. I had a little tuft of blonde, blonde hair right above . . . I had a vagina. I had labia, I had a vaginal canal, and I presumably had a clitoris. And I had no hair except for my head and crotch. I laid in bed contemplating my new situation for a long time. I was too tired and sore to do anything else, and there was nothing else to do. The door to my Spartan little room was wide open, but the ten foot walk to it was inconceivable. Eventually, as I lay, a voice came over a loudspeaker system I hadn't realized was there. "Girls, it's time for lunch. Please look under your beds for a box containing clothes for you to wear. Put on everything in the box and meet us down the hall." I realized that part of the reason I felt so weak was that I was really hungry. My belly stung. I had to assume that I hadn't been fed while I was out. The anticipation of nourishment pulled me out of bed like a cartoon cat being pulled out of bed, nose first, by a tempting aroma, looking like steam but forming a beckoning finger. I floated to my knees next to the bed and pulled out a little Rubbermaid box. I took the top off and, to my dismay, found a bunch of girl clothes. There was a matching bra and panty set, made of sheer white nylon. The panties were bikinis and the bra was a lacy nylon half-cup thing. I got both on without any real problem. The shoes in the box were a simple pair of Dr. Marten's Mary Janes. They had a tiny little heel, about an inch, so they weren't hard to navigate. Finally I put on the dress that was in the box. It was a sheer gray silky thing that looked like it had come from Delia's or Alloy or something. It had short little sleeves and a V-neck, and came down almost halfway to my knees. It was very "young teen." I barely even noticed the weirdness of the situation, though. I was thinking about food, fantasizing about tater tots and hash browns and eggs and burgers and crisp, fresh salads and potato chips and French fries, and not much else. The last thing in the box was a little choker, a black ribbon about an inch wide with a little silver heart in the middle of the throat. I put it on, not wanting to disobey, and left my room. I walked in a daze down the hallway with other girls straggling around me. I didn't wonder who they were, and they were as zombie-like as I was, so there was no confusion. They must all have been as hungry as me. They all looked like they'd gotten their dresses from the same catalogue as mine. We got to the little cafeteria and sat at the two tables that had been set up for us. There were tuna sandwiches set out for us, and a huge bowl of potato chips in the middle of each table. Every single girl in the room chowed down as soon as she sat down. I found that I was full three quarters of the way through my sandwich. My stomach had shrunken. I looked up and saw that the other girls looked as surprised at their inability to finish their sandwiches. As the food got to my stomach, something clicked. My brain defogged and I realized that the other girls in this room were the other programmers hired for this little, thus-far-nameless start-up company. Except that instead of the cocky motherfuckers we'd been, everybody looked pretty meek, probably since we all had breasts, dresses, and vaginas. Better situated having eaten, everyone started to realize the weirdness of the situation, and a commotion started to develop. However, though fortified with food, none of us had the strength to really rebel properly, and I'm sure everyone was as sore as I. The little recruiter guy entered the room. We all quieted down, none having the energy for a confrontation. It was weird to be moving in such near-unison, but that's the way it went. It was disorienting. "Hello, ladies," said the man, "How are we feeling? Weak, no doubt. That's because this is the first you've eaten in almost two weeks. We've been busily performing surgery on you all to make you foxy women instead of headstrong, think-with-your-dick programmers. We want to foster a sense of community, not competition, amongst our programmers, and I trust you all feel a certain sisterhood with the girls around you." He was right, of course. When you go through something really fucked up, and then you find out that someone else has gone through the same thing, you feel a certain kinship with her. So we all had a certain built-in bond, already. He didn't have to say "sisterhood," though. "Of course," he continued, "That's all peripheral. The real reason I took you all out here and then turned you into beautiful women is for me. I love to see you all, uncomfortable in your dresses, wearing girly frillies, all but powerless, with your faces reconstructed and your legs exposed. I like controlling you, controlling what you wear, how uncomfortable you are, and seeing you try to hide your panties from me. But girls, I know you don't know how to sit. I like the fact that while you look like gorgeous women, you're not going to be able to behave like them. Girls, you are what you are for my sexual entertainment. From now on, my little ladies, please call me Sir." A girl with long curly black hair stood up. She wore a tight red dress that came down to just below her knee, with four little spaghetti straps. I could see panty lines through the skirt, and red bra straps. She was wearing a similar choker to mine, and on noticing this, I looked around; so were the rest of us. She didn't say anything, she just went up to the guy and took a swing. She connected, her fist doing exactly nothing. The man wasn't hurt. He wasn't even perturbed. He just calmly told her that she'd have to be punished for that. He took a black remote box from his pocket and pushed a button, and a big guy wheeled in some kind of torture device chair. I couldn't tell what it was for, except that it looked vaguely familiar and that there was a lot of intimidating-looking metal. "Young lady, take off your panties," said Sir. She shook her head and squeaked a no. He took out his black box again and pushed a button. We all received an electric shock through our chokers. The girl up front fell down, as she was standing, and the rest of us probably would have too, if we hadn't been seated. The shock wasn't that bad, just, weak as we were, we were all pretty controllable. Sir picked the girl up and made her stand. He told her again to remove her panties and she did, first attempting to wiggle them down without pulling her skirt up, failing, and then pulling her skirt up to her waist and removing her red print cotton panties. She handed them to Sir. "Now then, Missy, please seat yourself in this chair, and put your feet in these stirrups." She did as commanded. I realized that the reason the torture device looked familiar was because it was basically a sinister gynecologist's chair. It was more complicated, but that was the machine's soul. The black haired girl's feet were strapped into the stirrups, and the chair was raised until her hips were at eye level to the rest of us. Slowly, her legs were parted by some mechanism of the chair, holding her knees, until they were spread ninety degrees, exposing her empty crotch, pubic patch and vagina. She was exposed as a woman, more than a lot of women would be able to bear, and she was not used to being a woman. She tried to maintain her dignity, but no woman can maintain her dignity with her legs spread at eye level to nine other women and two men. Sir went on to tell us that we were not just toys for him. He really was starting an internet company, and he really did need our skills. It was to be, what else, an online store for teenage girls. He wanted to sell clothes, makeup, accessories, shoes, bags, novelty furniture, and anything else that could go with a teenage girl's lifestyle. He was going to use us as models and as programmers. We were going to wear the clothes, since he was going to get them cheap. We were going to decorate our rooms in these things. We were to become his target demographic. He'd feed us and all, but there was going to be a lot of work to be done. This was still a start-up, of course, and so we'd be sitting at those desks for 12-15 hours a day, uncomfortable in our dresses, coding. "Now, my little girls, I want to tell you an idea I had that I think will be a lot of fun. Fridays and Saturdays will be Halloween. Doesn't that sound like fun? You'll all dress up in costumes, and I'm sure it will bolster morale" The curly black-haired girl was squirming around in her chair, mainly just like wiggling her ass, since she was restrained everywhere else, and I couldn't help but look. It was sexy. I knew I was an asshole, but bondage is a turn on for many people, including me, and so is seeing elegantly dressed women behaving with impropriety. And um, so is seeing a girl's twat up her skirt. My pussy started to get warm, and I figured it was getting wet, too. I couldn't be sure, at that point, because I was in public and couldn't check, but I was definitely warm. From what I knew about sex-change operations, which was admittedly little, I thought that they couldn't give you a properly functioning vagina, but here I was, wiggling a little to try to control myself. Moving my ass around on my seat seemed to help a little, but what really made me calm down was the realization that the girl up front in the torture chair was Steven, a.k.a. ChurchBurner, poor girl. He'd been such a stoic, intimidating type the last time I'd seen him, and he still kind of was, except that he really wasn't very intimidating- more like foxy- and as hard as she tried to be stoic, the dismay at having her pussy so exposed was obvious. Since we'd all eaten, we were sent back to our rooms, and I lay down and fell asleep. As soon as I lay down I felt wonderful; that twilit feeling of finally laying down when you're more exhausted than God, you stretch your back and arms and legs and feet, finally shrinking back to rest position. AhhhI caught myself moaning a little, cutely. I didn't even take off my dress. I was too beat. It felt kind of good, though, its slippery fabric rubbing against my cute butt and my stomach, moving around with me as I rolled. When I tugged on the skirt, I could feel it pulling at my shoulders, and that was a new experience. I didn't even think about what had happened to Steven; I just fell right asleep. ~ I woke up in the morning, on some morning. The speaker was telling us to put on our robes and come to the kitchen room for breakfast. Someone had been kind enough to take my dress off for me, and instead of wearing a bra, I was wearing a camisole. I knew from experience with women that nobody wanted to wear a bra to bed, because it was just uncomfortable, and I was thankful. The camisole was white and so were my panties; I pulled a white satin robe around me and walked over to breakfast. The robe only came down to my thighs, but once again, I didn't care because I was too hungry. In the kitchen room it looked like sex. All nine girls there had rumpled hair and sexy robes on, like mine, and looked very much like it was the morning after a night of fucking. I figured I must look that way too; I hadn't looked in a mirror. There was coffee, so I took a mug that said "Princess" from a table and poured myself a cup. As soon as everybody arrived, dressed in their different-colored robes, Sir appeared. "Well, my girls, today is Friday. It's time for our first Halloween! We're going to eat breakfast, set you all up with costumes, and then it's off to your first day of real work. Soenjoy breakfast." He looked out at us with a lot of sparkle in his eyes. I knew the costumes were going to be humiliating, and that he was going to love it, but I wasn't into the idea of being the object of somebody's wicked sexuality. While I thought this, breakfast was put out. It was bagels, that's it. I figured out right away that we were going to be eating not much, because when you're hungry, you don't start shit. We all ate our bagels and drank our coffee, and then it was off to line up outside the "Halloween room." The door was decorated with pumpkins and witches and black cats and stuff; Sir was into his Halloween. This was our first chance to really talk to each other, since we were all together but not being directly addressed as a group. But even though I think everybody wanted to talk, there wasn't much to say; "nice kimono?" "You really turned out hot?" "I wish my tits looked a little more like yours?" So we waited in a line and one by one went into the room. Girls didn't come out though, after going in. Either there was another door in there, or they were putting on their costumes and waiting inside. The result was a lot of anxiety about what the costumes would be. We figured they must be complicated, or else it wouldn't be about a half hour between admissions into the room. We hoped they were complicated costumes, because if they weren'tWe all knew what was going on in there, we just couldn't admit it. I was in the middle of the line; when the door opened and it was my turn to go in, I was terrified, probably more so than logic would dictate, but I couldn't help it. The Halloween room was not very Halloweeny at all. It was brightly lit, and there was a table in the middle; it looked kind of like a medical exam table. Sir was the only one in the room. "First up, you need a name," he said. "Let's seeyou can be Ariel, like the little mermaid. Ok?" He came over to me and put his arms around me. He felt up my ass, and he cupped my left tit in his hand. He ran a hand up my side, feeling the curve from my ass, up my hip, up my waist, up to and over my soft tits. His head only came up to around my breasts, and he put it between them, one hand around the small of my back at my waist, the other gently squeezing my ass. And know what? It turned me on. I knew he was repulsive, and it was horrible what he had done and was doing, but his hand, feeling for itself how soft my breasts were, squeezing, kneading, using me for himself, got my pussy feeling all wet. He asked me to take off my robe. I complied. I stood proudly in my panties, tall; he was feeling me up, like a 16 year old girl in the back of somebody's dad's Buick. I felt soft and cute; the parts of me he was playing with were almost like fat, if only because they were the opposite of muscle. He asked me to take off my bra. I complied. He put his head back between my white breasts, and squeezed them against himself. His hands were never quiet, they kept moving, squeezing my tits against his head, his hair, and he put his cold tongue on my soft pink nipple and started to lick. It surprised me, and he gently laid me back on the examining table. He continued to lick and suck my nipple with his mouth, kept one hand on the small of my back (it made me feel well-supported and secure), and kept the other gently rubbing up and down my taut belly. It was amazing. After a little of this, Sir moved his hand down the front of my panties. His hand would move down an inch or two, then back up again, then down a little more; he was showing me why girls like to be teased. It was intense. When his hand finally made it down to my pussy, I was so wet I was begging for him to fuck me. I was actually begging for him to fuck me He didn't though. Instead, he chose to fuck with me. He slid his finger up and down my vagina exactly twice, then pulled it out and pulled the elastic at the front of my panties away from my body and let it snap back. It didn't hurt. He wasn't going to let me come. I was so horny I could barely think, and I was offering to suck him off or anything, just please, let me come He told me I was a whore, and that it wouldn't be tolerated. He picked me up, put me over his knee and spanked my ass. I still had my panties on, but it hurt. Soon I was crying, real girl tears. He was making me feel all these emotions; I was powerless. He was so in control it was scary. I was so little, so inconsequential, an object; I was someone to whom things were done: humiliating things. I was not the man I had been. He put me back up on the table and told me to strip. It was Halloween, remember, and it was costume time. He pulled out four big cloth diapers and told me to pick up my ass from the table. I stripped off my panties, and he pulled the diapers up over my new vagina and my cute ass, and pinned them up. They were bulky as hell. I couldn't close my legs properly, once all the diapers were on, and I felt exposed, because there was something about having a vagina to protect that made me want to keep my smooth legs together. The diapers made it impossible for me to comply with this urge, and I knew I'd feel uncomfortable for the rest of the day. He put his hand on my stomach again, and it was oddly reassuring. He pulled a pair of opaque white tights up my legs for me, and then a big pair of little girl panties over those. The panties were oversized, so they'd fit over the diapers, and they were yellow. He pulled the panties over the tights so he could see them if I didn't cover up properly, which he knew I couldn't. Tights are weird. While they do cover up your legs, they really don't even remotely feel like pants- they're too thin, and they don't really give you much warmth or anything. Also, if someone strokes your leg through them, it almost feels like there's nothing there, just not quite- it's actually pretty exciting, maybe like some kind of low-grade bondage. You feel confined, wearing them, but still exposed. My tits were still exposed, I realized with a start; I'd been theorizing about my tights. I was still pretty turned on, and that blocked out the modesty impulse, and my tits suddenly seemed like my best route to sexual fulfillment, my cool soft white breasts. Instead of covering myself up, I started playing with my nipples, grabbing handfuls of my tits with my skinny fingers. It felt wonderful. He looked over at me, laughed, and went back to getting me my dress. First came the petticoats: petticoat after petticoat of stiff, soft, transparent skirts. He pulled a bunch of layers up to my waist, one after another, until they stood out at a forty five degree angle when I stood up. The petticoats were thick; It wasn't like there were just a couple to hold my skirt up. There were probably about 20 of the soft things, and they formed a solid mass of frill around my legs, down to my knees. When I stood, the diapers were too thick for me to stand normally, so I had to keep my legs kind of apart. It was awkward, and it was impossible for me to forget how I was dressed, because I couldn't get comfortable. I felt it in the front of my crotch. Last came the dress. It was purple, and satin. It was a baby girl's dress, obviously, but big enough for me. He didn't give me a bra to wear under the dress; I thought that was pretty sick. The bodice of the dress was pretty tight, so whenever I moved, my tits would sway under the satin. It was stone foxy I could see my nipples standing up through the dress. I was actually rubbing them through it, and the satin rolling over them felt good; squeezing them in satin was a jolt. An amazing, stars-inside-eyelids jolt. The dress itself was purple, getting kind of close to pink, but not too close, and there was a lot of white lace on it; the sleeves were puffy, and only came down to just past my thin, bony shoulders- m y skinny arms were completely exposed. A little zipper zipped up the back, and when it did, it was really tight right at the top of my ass, but it felt secure. There was a white bow at the base of my back, an oversized, silly, girly trifle. He gave me a pair of simple, elegant but intimidating black high heels. I'd learn to walk in them, he said; they weren't that high, maybe three inches. They weren't stilettos; the heel fattened out at the bottom. Somehow I managed not to break my ankles in them, with my legs splaying out of my diaper. Sir sat me on a chair and did my make-up. There was a lot of it: foundation, thick waxy lipstick, cold liquid eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, blush. When he was done, he showed me a mirror, and he'd done me up real slutty-like; my make-up was totally incongruous with my dress, and the effect was disgustingly sexy. I was kinderwhore, I was hot. My lips were bright red; my eyes were dark black; my cheeks were hot post-orgasm girly intense. I wanted to fuck myself. Sir told me to go wait in my room until everyone else had gotten their costumes, and then it was to the first day of programming. I left out the other door I'd suspected existed, and headed to my room. When I got there, I was still so horny that I knew I had to masturbate. I laid on my bed, pulled up my skirt, and was about to pull down my panties and stockings and undo my diapers when I realized I wouldn't be able to get it back on, and I didn't want to get in trouble, so I left everything on. I left my skirt and petticoats pulled up to my chest though, and put my slender hand down the front of all my diapers. I could touch my cunt, and my clit, but I had to push against the front of the diaper too hard, and my hand started to hurt after about twenty seconds. I was so horny, and I couldn't get off . . . I took my hand out and squirmed on the bed; it seemed to alleviate the almost-pain I had in my crotch from being unable to get off, if only a little. I was so horny, so turned on. I was manic with sex. I needed something in my pussy soon, and I wasn't going to get anything. I pinched my nipples until they were sore, and squirmed in my diapers. The rest of the day was agony. I kept squeaking and squirming and wiggling, unable to get comfortable. It didn't help that my diaper kept my legs spread the whole time, or that I could feel my unsupported tits jiggling whenever I moved, whenever I squirmed, which was always. Of course, the fact that I couldn't get any satisfaction was a turn-on too, so I spent the day spiraling downward in horniness. Also complicating matters was the fact that sir insisted that I use the diaper as my bathroom. I didn't have to do anything more than pee, thank God, but still, when I peed in my diaper, sir took me back to the Halloween room and changed me. That was probably the most humiliating thing that's ever happened to me  having my diaper changed at age 26, by a man. And while he changed it, he felt me up again, rubbing my ass, and I just lay there, owned; he rubbed my ass, smacked it a little, and kissed me some. He told me that maybe he'd let me go back out there with no diaper, no panties, just with my pussy there for the world. As he said this, he traced a hand up from right above my pussy, up toward my flat stomach, around my belly button, back down toward my pussy, down my thigh, almost to my pussy and then back upmy eyes closed, I couldn't do anything but gasp for air. The whole time he spoke a monologue to me: "Little girl, you're going to go back out there without any panties, you're going to sit in your chair, and after a while you won't be able to resist, and you're going to put your hand up under your skirt and finger yourself . . . You're not going to be satisfied until you're laying on the floor, with your baby skirt around your hips," stroke, slo o o o wly back down toward my pussy, "thumb on your clit, three fingers up in your pussy, up inside you," back up, now he had his palm on the lower part of my stomach, nearing my pussy again, pushing a little harder, "and I'll see you on the floor, and I'll put my dick into your mouth," (I eeped, unintentionally). I felt like I could come without him ever even touching my pussy, the way his hand felt on my stomach, "and you'll suck it, because you're a girl, a sexy little girl who wants to suck my dick. . ." he trailed off. I was trembling. He hadn't even touched me, at least not anywhere special, and I was unable to move, just shaking with need to be fucked. He stood back and looked at me; I couldn't do anything but look up from the table at him, eyes wide with need, trying to beg him with my eyes. I couldn't talk, though my mouth was half open. I was way past speech by this point. He reached down and gave me a hug, like a father, and made me pick my ass up off the table and put four new diapers on me. He didn't pay any attention at all to my pussy, even though it felt like it must have been literally dripping. The inside of the new diapers were wet and slippery as soon as they were on. I was never going to be comfortable again. He didn't put the tights back on me, so my smooth legs were exposed out the bottom of the diaper. He didn't give me any panties, either. Just diaper. He decided that I should crawl back to the work room. If I was going to be dressed like a baby, then I could act like one. Humiliating, but arousing. This man was pushing sex buttons in me that I didn't know I had; maybe he was creating them. I was a baby, a whore, a little girl, and I was helpless, and I was sexy. I stepped off the table and got down on my knees. There's no way to be comfortable or cool doing that; you just bend your knees and put your hands on the ground, and crawl. I went slowly; you can't crawl quickly, especially not in a dress like that. I'm sure the other girls had on costumes, also, that first day, but I sure don't remember any of them. I think I wrote about four lines of code that day. ~ One other thing I apparently did that day, in my sexual delirium, is to use a few tricks I knew to e-mail my girlfriend Steph. I found this out the next day when she was presented to me in handcuffs . . . The next day, Saturday, I woke up still wearing my baby dress. I'd mussed it all up while asleep; the skirt was up around my waist, and basically just messy. My diaper was showing; I looked absurd. What can you do, though, eh? The intercom told me I could strip and take a shower, so the first thing I did was to undo the diaper I was wearing. It felt great to take it off, kind of like when you're been wearing heavy roller-skates all afternoon and then take them off; My whole lower torso felt cold and light. I pushed the skirt of my dress into my crotch and rubbed it around; it felt all smooth-on-smooth and wonderful. Then I managed, after a good deal of squirming and contortionism, to unzip the back of the dress, and get naked. I felt better than I had in a while; I'd slept well, I was naked, and I was horny. Every thought about being a man had completely left my pretty little head. I put on a thin chrome-y silk robe and walked to the shower room, to which I hadn't been yet. It turned out to be a biggish room, with six or seven shower heads. There were already two girls in there. They were making out. Uh oh. I took my own shower and started to wash myself, doing my best to ignore the other two girls. But then a girl who was about five inches shorter than me, with huge black eyes and straight black hair down to her chin, all hips, tits and lips, walked into the showers. I looked at her, she looked at the two other girls, she looked at me, and she walked right over to me. I was rubbing soap off my tits. She was a little ball of energy. We were underneath the hot shower head, getting all soaky and slippery, squeezing and grabbing and kissing. She put one hand on the back of my head; I couldn't get my hands off her ass, except to grab a breast. Her ass was so round, tight, softher tits were just soft. And big. Her mouth was soft, but now my mouth was soft too, and it felt as good as I'm sure it looked. Picture it: A tall, skinny, short-hair bleach blonde fox, dark eyes closed, cupping the ass of a shortish, buxom, dark-haired, dark-eyed firecracker of girly sexuality, hot shower water flowing all over them . . . Now back up your minds eye, and notice the two other girls, who were making out when I walked in. I opened my eyes and saw the other girls, without disentangling myself from this black-hair girl. I wondered for a second what each of them had been yesterday, for Halloween; I pictured my new girlfriend as a French maid. I pictured my slender hands crawling up her skirt, into the back of her black silk panties, feeling her warm pussy, all wet and ready for my fingers; as I was thinking this, eyes closed, I felt her hand reaching behind my own ass, underneath, and start sliding in my pussy. I eeped. My legs were going weak, and I had to sit down. Roles were becoming apparent; I was the one to receive the sex, and black-hair girl was going to give it to me. That was fine with me. I put my ass on the ground, my back against the slippery tile wall, and spread my legs. She didn't fuck around. Somehow she knew exactly what to do, and her tongue went straight to my clit. I didn't black out from pleasure; I didn't even make a noise. It wasn't a zap; it was more like every muscle in my body relaxed. It was like a pill of ecstasy kicking in, where all you want to do is stretch your muscles and revel in your endorphins, but that moment only lasted a second, because shortly my girl was flicking her little tongue over my clit. The absolute relaxation slowly left, replaced by a weird, out of control heat on the side of my neck. As her tongue flicked about, she gently put one finger, then another, into my pussy, and after a moment, started going in and out, fucking me. Fucking me. The heat on my neck spread to my throat, and blood rushed up my neck to my face. I was so hot, not just down where she was eating me out, but up into my nipples, up my chest, my neck, to my face. All the blood in my face was making it tough to think, and so all I could really do was pant. I knew my tongue was sticking out a little bit, but I couldn't help it. My muscles, centered around my vagina, were tensing up again, and I just went with it. I got tighter and tighter, less and less relaxed; her fingers fucked me faster and faster, her tongue worked quicker and quicker, until all at once she started licking at about half speed. I got so tense I moaned for her to fuck me harder, and she sped up again- fast. I came. It was as more than I was ready for, and I screamed. Great- I was a screamer. I managed to dig my red nails into her back somehow. I pulled her head into my pussy and gasped. Then I screamed again. Afterwards, I grabbed her head and pulled her up between my legs and held her, pressing my cunt into her. All I wanted to do was hold her, and so I squeezed as tightly as I could. She looked up into my face, and kissed me. She tasted like pussy, and we kissed with tongues for a minute, while my orgasm subsided. We sat with the hot water flowing over us for I don't know how long. I had to lay down on my side. Every muscle in my body was slack. I held her tight to me. Eventually I realized we had to get up, and we showered. I was so overtaken then that I forgot to offer to reciprocate. That's probably for the better, since the other girls had already left the shower and we were probably late to breakfast or whatever. We washed each other off though, soaping each other up, rubbing smooth wet skin, playing with each other's bodies. I wasn't so turned on now; I felt relaxed and comfortable. I washed her hair for her, and she did my short hair. Then we turned off the water, wrapped towels around ourselves, and headed to out rooms. "You're beautiful," she told me. "So are you," I said, "my name's Ariel." "Ariel? I'm Janice," she told me, heading off to her room. Blowing me off. Wow. . . I went to my room. I guess we'd missed costume handing-out, because there was a cheerleader outfit laid out on my bed for me. That was what I'd be for Halloween today. I dried myself off and pulled up a red nylon string bikini they'd put out for me. I looked in my mirror. Maybe it was just the post-orgasm inflated sense of self-esteem, but when I looked at myself, I thought I was gorgeous. I had pale, pale skin, long, long legs, a long torso, and two amazing breasts that stood out on their own, pert and white. I put my hands under my tits and cupped them, posing in the mirror . Even with messy hair and no make-up, I thought, I could have been on magazine covers. I pouted, I smiled, I looked surprised. I'd do me. Then I realized that I was already running late, and I decided to get dressed. This was not an old-school cheerleader uniform; As I pulled up the thick white pleated skirt, it became apparent that it only fell about three inches below my pussy. I'd be showing a lot of leg today. I put on a white bra that lifted my breasts up even higher than they were naturally, and pulled the tight red sweater over my head and down my tight stomach. I looked in the mirror. The sweater pulled down to just over the top of my skirt, so if I raised my arms, my belly button would show. I walked to my little make-up mirror and put barrettes in my short hair. Then I put on bright red lipstick, to match my sweater, and did my eyes. I didn't put blush on my cheeks; at that point I didn't need to. I walked down to the work room and saw that I was the second to last girl there, only to Janice. Everybody looked significantly happier today than they had yesterday morning- I hadn't been the only one to get lucky. I poured myself a cup of coffee and took a seat on a bench on the side of the room. I crossed my legs and the amount of thigh that showed was scandalous, but I dug it. I was getting looks, even from girls as cute as me. She walked in wearing exactly the Maid's uniform I'd pictured her in: not some cheap costume shop job, it was real silk, with real lace apron and a white petticoat. She wore sheer black thigh highs, and the little choker we all wore fit right in; it was really the only part of my costume that didn't fit. But I guess they needed to discipline us, or whatever; I knew I wasn't going anywhere anymore. She walked straight over to me and sat on my lap. Just about the entirety of my legs was exposed, since my skirt was so short- I felt her legs rubbing mine, up and down. I put my arms around her waist, feeling her silk uniform, and she started grinding her ass into me. It was wonderful. I knew I couldn't show what was going on, though, since we'd be talking to Sir soon, finding out what we did on weekends. So I stayed stoic, and got all wet. Sir came in and told us to get to work. We did. I was better able to write code that day, since my sexual frustration had subsided, a little. I didn't feel uncomfortable as I should have- I felt normal in my little skirt. I'd already developed an instinct that made me hold my legs together. I crossed them and re-crossed them. Every once in a while I'd sneak Janice a look, and blow her a kiss. I thought about my lipstick lips all puckered up. She blew kisses back, and even surreptitiously rubbed her tits for me and stuff. We were about as subtle as leprosy. Soon I was all turned on again. Try working on a God-damn motherfucker of a shopping cart program when there's a girl like that making eyes at you, and you panties are nylon, so they just get slippery instead of absorbing your pussy juice. Good luck. Apparently, what we did on weekends was work. When lunchtime rolled around, Sir called me into his back room. I think I was his favorite, although I can't stress enough how oblivious to everyone else I was, in my little sex world. But I hadn't noticed him calling many other girls in. Hmm. I stood in the middle of the room. He told me to lift my skirt, and I did, all dainty, like a curtsey, just higher, so that my panties showed. He nodded, and told me to hold my skirt like that, and walked around me, looking at my panties from all over. Then he told me to pull them down. Now, when you lift your skirt to show your panties, you feel uncomfortably exposed. It's unavoidable. But the fact is, you're not really exposed at all; just your panties are. Pulling them down is what really exposes you. I pulled my wet panties down around my knees, sticking my ass out some to get them down. My skirt fell to cover me, but as soon as my panties were down I pulled it back up. I knew Sir wanted to look. I showed a white hairless expanse of skin; of course, I'm actually pretty petite, but it looked like a lot. And my little pussy was safe between my legs, so I guess the absence of a dick and hair is mainly what made it look so empty. It was weird. Also, with your panties around your knees, you can't really run; it's kind of like bondage, in a way. He knew I was getting wet. He told me to lay down on the table, and I did. I pulled my panties up to walk over, lay down, and pulled them back down to my knees. He told me to masturbate, and I did. I put a long finger into my pussy first; I wasn't ready for the clit yet. I rubbed up and down, all slick and smooth and wet; my lips parted. I closed my eyes. I thought about myself, my vulnerability; there was no fantasy, because my situation was turn-on enough. I was small, in the middle of a room, being watched, being forced (sort of) to masturbate for this weird man, just because he enjoyed it. I couldn't do anything but finger myself- with the hand that wasn't in my pussy I squeezed my tit, massaged it. Rubbed it. I put my hand under my red sweater and squeezed and turned my nipple, through my bra- that was intense. That made my pussy moisten up even more than it was already, and I tenderly touched my clit. That didn't last long. Soon I was screaming again in orgasm, bucking my hips. When I regained my composure enough to open my eyes and look around, I noticed my girlfriend, from back when I had a dick, bound at the hands on the floor. Sir told me to eat her pussy. She'd been watching me masturbate. . . This was disorienting, and at first I was freaked out. But I had just come and everything was wonderful, so I did as Sir said, reasoning that since she had always been the bottom in our half-assed S & M sex games, she was probably pretty turned on. I pulled her panties down to her ankles, put my head up under the skirt of the dress I'm sure they forced her into, since she hated to wear dresses and skirts. She was tied down and couldn't really escape, but my instinct was right and she was already all wet. I was down on all fours, with my panties totally exposed from under my short skirt, and she was on her back, when she started really getting into it, grinding into my face. I licked at her clit; I put fingers inside her. She couldn't help but enjoy it. Sir told me that was enough, before she had come. I obeyed and stopped, but I knew that Steph had to be about to explode, if she didn't get off. And I sympathized, having been there as recently as yesterday. Steph whimpered disconsolately. "Do you know who has been eating your pussy, little girl?" Sir asked her. "Yes it's my boyfriend but now he's a girl and he's so hot but he's a slut but she's so good at eating my pussy please let me come please eat my pussy like a good girl. . ." she rambled. She was too horny to be freaked out. "Well, Ms. Stephanie, Ms. Ariel here is just as horny as you are. Don't you think it would be fair for you to make her come first, before we allow you to have your orgasm as well?" She nodded furiously. He keyed open her handcuffs and she almost knocked me over, diving for my pussy. She all but shredded my panties pulling them down, and ate my pussy fast and hard and intently and furiously. I hadn't even had time to prepare, before I was on my back with my ripped panties at my ankles and my girlfriend's head buried in my pussy, my legs spread out; her ass was in the air now, and she had one hand in her crotch. She was moaning as she ate me. I'd forgotten about the absolute abandon with which she could attack sex, having been with her so long, and to see it explode like this was awesome. It's weird how, if you know someone well, it's so hot to see them completely abandon herself for sex. It's amazing. Soon I was coming, and then I knocked her over and ate her the fuck out, until she was satisfied. Then she put her arms around me and we hugged on the floor. Sir let us do this for about five minutes before he made us get up. We both pulled up our panties, and Sir told me that since I was in fact his favorite girl in the office, he wasn't going to do anything drastic to me for having contacted my girlfriend. I should be punished, but the fact is, he liked the abandon that the both of us showed toward sex. But since Steph didn't really know much about computers, what could she do? I assumed that he meant she'd be a whore, but he didn't. He said that she would just be like a secretary/gopher/odd jobs person in the office. He could afford to have her on the payroll, and he thought that having a REAL girl around would be good for morale. I flinched when he implied that I wasn't a real girl. I didn't want for it to hurt, but it did- I had a pussy, and it kept getting eaten out, and I hadn't worn pants since I'd woken up from my mini-coma, just skirts and dresses, and I wore make-up, and I was fucking gorgeous. But I didn't say anything. He was being nice to me. We went back and Sir explained to everyone that he'd hired a new girl, not saying what I'd done, and that she was biologically a girl, but she couldn't program, so she'd just be there to help out with copying, coffee, things like that. Everyone seemed cool with it. They all of course knew that since we'd come in together, that meant we'd probably been fucking, and that we had a connection; they didn't have to know that Steph had been my girlfriend months ago. As he talked I looked around the room, at the girls' costumes. I was a cheerleader, Janice was a maid, the girl who'd been [email protected] was now a bride, there was a nurse, a slut, there was Wonderwoman, one girl was a cat (you know, that sexy black suit that chicks wear on Halloween, that only works because it accentuates femininity, not because it has much to do with cats), there was a pirate wench, a gypsy who looked a lot like the pirate wench, and somebody else was the baby tonight. A weird crew, no doubt. I sat down at my computer and got back to work. Janice was making pouty, angry faces at me, because she knew I'd been fucking around with Steph, but she looked way more cute than intimidating. I didn't know what would happen with her. Steph followed Sir out of the room. I thought about her. She was my age, and she was gorgeous. Her hair was black, cut in a modified Rachel- from-Friends do, just shorter. She had dark green eyes. She was pretty tall for a girl, about 5'9, and skinny like me. She had bigger tits than me, and I must admit, a better ass than me. Her ass was amazing. While I was thinking this, the roof of the work room blew off into the sky. Boom. Dark clouds swirled above, to intimidating effect. The voice of God spoke: "Steven Ormsdorfgersen, you are guilty of crimes against My ass and My people; you are guilty of murder, of sloth, of blasphemy, and of sodomy. On top of this you have committed other sins of a sexual nature that are against Me. Steven Ormsdorfgersen, I sentence you to eternity in Hell." With that, the hand of God came down from Heaven and, with one finger twice the size of any of us, He squished Steve. I was absurdly reminded of those Terry Gilliam Monty Python animations. All that was left, when the finger lifted, was a white dress soaked through and through with blood and squished guts. The voice of God spoke again: "The rest of you are guilty of aiding and abetting a fan of black metal, guilty of sexual sins against Me, and various other things that pissed Me off. I sentence you all to eternity in Hell. Transvestitism and Transsexualism are unforgivable, mortal sins. You're worse than regular homosexuals. " One by one he squished every girl in the room. Eventually, Sir came into the room to see what was going on. "Oh shit- fucking God," he said when he saw. God squished him. Eventually, I was the only one in the room. God's finger headed toward me, but instead of squishing me, he picked me up by the back of my sweater. My skirt flapped all about in the wind; I was sure God could see my panties. He picked me up way above the building, hundreds of feet up, and spoke again: "I always liked you. It's too bad you turned out to be a sissy little queer." He flicked His wrist and threw me up into the air like an M&M, or a piece of popcorn, and I landed in His mouth. He swallowed me whole, and as I was devoured by his omnipotent stomach acids, I wished I had become a priest, instead of a computer programmer.