The unforgettable girl at the party prequel
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Dressed For Disaster: The Prequel free porn video
Dressed for Disaster: The Prequel
(c) 2002 by Nom de Plume
Pat Summers put his suitcases on the bed, and made a quick
survey of his room. He noted with approval the full-length
mirror on the back of the closet door, and he poked his
head into the bathroom to inspect the bathtub and vanity.
Not overly luxurious, but they would do.
First things first. He opened his computer case and turned
on his laptop computer, plugging the modem cord into the
data port on the desk telephone. It was just past six
o'clock, five o'clock in Chicago, and he waded through his
e-mail messages before making a perfunctory call to his
wife, who was preoccupied with fixing dinner. After he rang
off, he pulled the blackout curtains tightly shut, turned
on every light in the room, and began his preparations.
Pat took off his blazer and slacks, and stripped down to
his shorts. His body was smooth and lean, a swimmer's
physique, which explained his lack of body hair. Hours in
the gym and in the pool had given him a flat stomach, and
he shaved down at least twice a month. Perfect cover for a
closet crossdresser.
He removed his blue dress from the smaller of his two
suitcases, and hung it in the closet. The material was
wrinkle-free, ideal for traveling. Two-inch black pumps and
a belt for the dress came next, then Pat selected his
lingerie for tomorrow: white satin panties and padded bra,
a white slip with a pretty lace hem, and tan control-top
pantyhose were placed in one of the dresser drawers. One
look at his bunched up wig sent him into the bathroom,
where he soaked and rinsed it in one of the two sinks
before blotting it with a bath towel and hanging it on the
shower head to dry. It looked like a dead rat, but Pat knew
it would brush out beautifully in the morning.
Next, he took his makeup bag into the bathroom and set out
its contents. He brought a bottle of coral nail polish back
into the bedroom and sat down in front of the TV. Pat had
surreptitiously filed his longish nails into feminine
shapes during the two hour flight from Chicago, and as he
watched the evening news, he applied a single coat of
polish to each nail, blowing on them occasionally. When
they were dry, he returned to the bathroom and started to
fill the tub, pouring a few ounces of scented bubble bath
into the swirling water.
Pat got into the tub and luxuriated in the hot suds,
anticipating what was to come. For the next eighteen hours,
the pressures of his demanding job and obscene mortgage
would disappear as he escaped into his alter ego. He lifted
one of his legs out of the water, and ran a polished nail
over the stubble. Slowly, lovingly, Pat started to shave
his legs. The only thing he could see above the bubbles was
a delicate hand holding a disposable razor, and a sleek
woman's leg.
When he was finished, Pat toweled himself off and applied
scented moisturizing cream to his smooth legs. Wrapping
himself in the hotel's terrycloth bathrobe, he gave his
face an extra-close shave, and trimmed his eyebrows a bit.
Nothing overtly feminine, just enough to remove any long or
stray hairs that might present a problem tomorrow.
Returning to the bedroom, he took a pink satin nightgown
and matching panties out of the suitcase, and stepped into
his fantasy.
Pat shimmied into the nightgown and returned to the desk.
His penis jerked against his panties as he sat down at the
computer and crossed his legs under the delicate fabric of
his nightgown. His polished nails flew over the keyboard
Pat logged on to his favorite website and began checking
the new stories added over the past week. He scrolled
through the incredible array of offerings, looking for
something to get him off. He skipped the bizarre tales
about men being magically transformed into women, and the
science fiction stories about aliens transforming the men
of planet earth into female sex slaves. Finally he found
one that interested him. Racing through the obligatory
paragraphs introducing the characters and setting up the
premise, he zeroed in on the following:
***
I woke up in a cold sweat in a dark room. My head was
throbbing and I was dying of thirst. When I tried to move
my arms, I discovered that they had been strapped down. I
seemed to be lying on some kind of gurney, under a white
sheet. My legs were also immobilized, and my head was
propped up on a hard pillow.
A door opened, and lights were switched on to reveal what
looked like an operating room. As I squinted in the painful
light, a woman in a doctor's coat approached me. She looked
vaguely familiar.
"Water," I croaked.
Without a word, she produced a glass of water, and I
struggled to raise my head and drink it. Swallowing it all
exhausted me, and I fell back onto the pillow. "Where am
I?"
"Where no one will ever find you."
"Who are you? What are you doing to me?"
"I am Doctor Vendetta Frankenwiener. You may remember me as
the slut you picked up at the Alley Cat bar last Saturday
night."
Could it be? Could this madwoman be the girl I had conned
into returning to my apartment, screwed like there was no
tomorrow, and told to get out of my bed and walk home when
she refused to take it up the ass?
"Your timing was unfortunate. I have been looking for the
perfect subject for a little experiment. Oh, how you're
going to regret they way you treated me."
"What do you mean?"
"The liquid you just drank contained a mild sedative. While
it is taking effect, let me show you my progress so far."
She tore back the sheet, and I gasped in horror. I had
breasts, real woman's breasts, which rose magnificently as
I heaved in exertion, pulling against my restraints.
"What have you done to me?"
She slid a mirror up to the side of the bed and tilted it
so I could see. "Those are breast implants. A very simple
procedure for a plastic surgeon, which I happen to be."
Lifting my head, I could see that all of my body hair had
been removed, and I panicked as I tried to see my genitals.
"Don't worry, you are still intact below the waist - for
the moment. You see, those breasts will be perfectly
capable of nursing a baby, once we fill you up with female
hormones." She produced a hypodermic syringe, and stabbed
it in one of my cheeks. "In a few seconds, your body will
have more estrogen in it than the dressing room at a
modeling agency."
I struggled furiously against my restraints. "You bitch!
I'll kill you."
"I don't think so. Soon, you will be docile as a lamb.
Castration tends to do that to a man."
"Oh my God! No!"
"If that was a prayer, it is not going to help you. But I
am not without mercy. As I said, your new breasts will be
fully functional. And I would not want to deprive you of
the joys of motherhood. Although you will never be able to
bear a child, you may want to suckle your genetic
offspring."
"You must be insane! Let me out of here. Please, let me
go!"
She ignored the interruption. "You see, my little
experiment requires that we preserve a quantity of your
sperm in case you decide later to raise your own child.
Prepare for your last male orgasm."
Before I could react, she implanted a large tube on my
penis. It was attached to wires and a rubber hose, and as
she switched it on, I realized that it was some kind of
milking device. In spite of myself, I began to harden as it
sucked on me. Over and over, I was pulled and stroked, and
through the horror of it, I became aroused as my body
instinctively readied to ejaculate. Suddenly, the mad
surgeon produced a slender wand, which she greased and
inserted in my ass. Probing for my prostate gland, she
found it and the wand began to vibrate. The combined effect
of milking my penis and massaging my prostate made me
delirious, and I heard myself scream with a mixture and
agony and ecstasy as I approached a devastating climax.
***
As the hapless character suffered through his final orgasm,
Pat erupted into the satin folds of his nightgown, smearing
it with gobs of hot semen. When his gratification had
subsided, a wave of revulsion swept over him, and for the
hundredth time, he vowed to throw away his woman's clothing
and swear off crossdressing forever. Even as he thought it,
he knew this would soon pass, and that he would be
pleasuring himself at least once more before falling
asleep, reveling in the feeling of his nightgown against
his smooth skin.
Masturbating himself to the point of exhaustion had become
a precursor to Pat's outings as a woman. He felt feminized,
almost emasculated, as he drained his male libido down to
nothing. From a practical standpoint, it made it much
easier to tuck his limp penis between his legs before he
put on his panties, although by the time he was fully
dressed and made up, the intense feelings of arousal were
sure to return.
As Pat drifted off to sleep, he had no way of knowing that
by this time tomorrow, he would have endured the most
horrendous experience of his life, his job and marriage in
ruins.
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