Thangaiku Theriyaamal Amma Magalai Oothen
- 1 year ago
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Like A Hole In The Head free porn video
Don't read this if you shouldn't, or think it'll damage your mind. It's
a pretty dark one, I blame the heat. Enjoy!
Sushi
xxx
Like a hole in the head
By Sushi Radical
I couldn't tell you exactly how it started, it happened so gradually
that for a long time I didn't really notice anything wrong. At first,
it just seemed like drifting off, like when you lose track of a
conversation, and suddenly 'snap together' with no idea of what the
other person had been saying. I'd never really been one to do that, but
it didn't really worry me at first, apart from me making a mental note
to lay off the weed.
The first time I recall anything really being wrong was when I started
blanking out in the middle of conversations, then snapping back with
people giving me looks like I'd said something weird. Obviously, I
didn't want people to think that I was going crazy, so I kept quiet,
covered up by saying I was feeling a bit off.
I talked to my boss at work, who I'd always gotten on well with, and
she was happy to give some time off to get my head together, so at
least I knew I wouldn't lose my job until this was sorted.
I started spending most of my time sitting about the house, just
watching TV, and smoking more weed. My head didn't seem to be getting
better; in fact the opposite was true. I started losing hours at a
time, like when you've been out drinking heavily the night before, and
you have no idea how the evening ended. When it got to the point of
losing a few hours every day, I decided enough was enough, and went to
get medical help. I explained what was happening, but after all sorts
of tests and scans, the doc couldn't find anything physically wrong
with me, and made me an appointment to see the local shrink.
As I waited for the date of the appointment to roll around, things went
from bad to worse. I was smoking huge amounts of dope, and losing a
good four or five hours every day. But what worried me was that I'd
started finding evidence that I was doing things while I was 'away',
receipts for a new gym membership, food in the cupboards that I
couldn't remember buying, that sort of thing. It really freaked me out,
but at least I seemed to be taking care of myself while I was out, the
food in my cupboard was a lot healthier than I was used to, and, to
judge from my washing, I was getting a decent amount of exercise now.
If it hadn't been so damned scary, it would have been great to get
exercise without actually having to do anything. I'd started losing the
few extra pounds that the munchies had given me, and was generally
seeming a lot healthier.
Of course, that doesn't change the fact that I was really scared, I
mean, I was acting in ways that weren't like me, and I couldn't even
remember it! If I'd had any warning of when it was going to happen, I
could at least have done something about it, but there didn't seem to
be any pattern to when my 'attacks' would come on, and there didn't
seem to be anything I could do. I'd picked up some handcuffs from a
local army surplus store, and tried cuffing myself to my chair, but
then it happened again, and I 'came to' sitting in a different seat,
uncuffed.
It was only a few days before my appointment that things started to
take a really weird turn. One morning, I woke up as normal, not really
surprised by now that I couldn't remember going to bed, and sat up
before I realised I was wearing a girl's nightgown! What the hell was
going on? I quickly changed into some more normal clothes, and threw
the gown out (OK, I had no idea if it was even mine to throw out, but I
was scared!), before trying to calm down with a spiff, and definitely
not thinking about what it could mean. I couldn't ignore it when the
next morning I woke up in a similar gown. I went to change again, but
this time I had gone a step further while I was out, all my male
underwear was gone, replaced with pairs of knickers and thongs!
Obviously, I went commando for the day, but was more than a little
surprised when I found my old underwear in a pile in the kitchen, cut
into ribbons. What the hell had I been doing while I was out? It looked
like I'd taken revenge on myself for throwing out the nightgown, but
that made no sense, I mean, I'd never had the slightest wish to wear
this sort of thing, I had thought about it when I was younger, but it
was just curiosity, nothing I'd ever want to do. This was getting
really weird, I wasn't sure where it was going to end, and I was
getting scared. I couldn't keep all this girl's stuff, so I cut it up,
and chucked it out like I had the day before.
I came to handcuffed to my bed, wearing another nightgown, and I had no
idea where the keys were... This was getting pretty damn terrifying
now, it was like I was someone else half the time, some sort of Jekyll
and Hyde thing. As I lay there, I realised something that scared me
even more, if that was possible: my 'other half' obviously had my
memories, if I could have uncuffed myself before, but I had no idea of
it's memories, I didn't have a clue where the key was, and a couple of
hours of searching didn't help before I went under again...
To come to standing outside my door, dressed normally (thank god!), but
carrying bags of women's clothing of all sorts, vest tops, jeans,
skirts, dresses... Weirdly, my first thought was that would be doing
some real damage to my credit card, but then I noticed a folded piece
of paper, some sort of note, on top of one of the bags. I put the
shopping down, and unfolded the note. It was done in my handwriting,
saying simply "Don't damage this lot, or you'll regret it. Put it
away." Oh fuck. I was quite clearly utterly out of my tree, fruitloop,
nuts, a screaming madman. Thank god the appointment was tomorrow.
I was sitting in my favourite comfy chair, wearing a pair of tight
jeans, obviously girl's jeans, and a cut-off top that would have looked
really cute on a girl. But not on me. Shit. Shrugging, I went upstairs
to change, before I realised it was late afternoon, well past the time
when the appointment was! A quick look at the clock by my bed confirmed
it, I had long missed the appointment. I ran to the phone, thinking I
could explain and get another appointment, before I saw another note by
the phone. I hung my head, reaching for it like a doomed man (which I
was, in a way, becoming), and started reading...
"Thanks for making that appointment, it sped things up a lot. The
psychiatrist was very interested in your 'condition', and gave you lots
of good advice on how to deal with your transexuallity. She even told
us, off the record, of course, about a great web site to get female
hormones from, won't that be great? Now, what do you think we should
change our name to?"
It was even signed, with my signature, of course. I cried. This had to
end, now. I couldn't cope with this anymore, and I knew what I had to
do: I grabbed a pair of scissors, and took them to my wardrobe. It
killed me that I had to leave at least one pair of girly jeans, and the
pink and white trainers (my most 'male' clothes now) so I had something
to wear. Somehow that wasn't enough, and, as I saw myself in the
mirror, I knew what I needed to do. I had been proud of my hair for so
long, but now it was an asset to my other half, so it had to go. I
hacked it away, leaving only about an inch, and hated how I looked, but
at least it was slightly more masculine.
I was sat in a chair, wearing full women's lingerie, suspender's,
stockings, bra, and open-crotch knickers, all in black, with tons of
lace... well, you get the idea. Both hands were cuffed to the arms of
the chair, and both of my ankles cuffed to the legs. The chair was
positioned in front of the TV, which was playing some sort of porn
vid... Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That was me. On the screen. In full
makeup, wearing a long blonde wig, but still obviously me. I was giving
head to another guy, and was obviously enjoying it. I threw up down
myself, and had no choice but to sit there covered in vomit, tears
streaming down my face, and try not to hear the slurping sounds coming
from the TV.
It had won. My fight was gone, and this seemed to make my other half
even stronger. I was lucky if I was myself for an hour a day by now.
Every time I tried to show a spark of resistance, I was punished,
humiliated, made into more of a girly slut.
There was the time when I threw away the hormones I had bought, the
ones that were making my bras slowly begin to fit, to make my jeans
tight on my growing ass. When I next came to, I had breast implants.
And not small ones, either, huge, porn star breasts, heavy basketballs
of skin stuck to my chest.
Every time I was myself, which was maybe a few minutes a day now, my
reflection was less and less me, more and more my other half, the
transsexual slut, the porn queen... Huge blonde wigs, lip implants, the
works. And the worst thing was knowing that I couldn't stop it
happening.
My 'life' became almost a series of snapshots, fragments of time, the
broken shards of my life. I was humiliated by the life I led, by what I
had become. If I couldn't become myself again, I wished I could just
fade away for good, but it never happened...
Opening the letter containing my new official ID, my new name "Princess
Slut"...
A photo shoot, me tied up, gagged, clamps on my huge nipples as the
greasy middle-aged photographer took the chance to take a quick
grope...
On a stage, I stumble on towering heels as I become 'me' for a second,
falling to my hands and knees as my now ridiculously-sized breasts rub
on the floor, the audience staring and cheering...
Being fucked by a street-gang in an alleyway...
A dog, I'm pinned on all fours, and they're all laughing...
Sat at a table, I just have time to see my parents, shock on their
faces, I don't know what I've said, don't want to know, and I'm gone
again...
Moments rushing together, an endless stream of humiliation and horror,
and I begin to realise that the only reason I'm ever me is so that I
can punish myself...
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