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Charisma free porn video
Charisma
By Cal Y. Pygia
Tiffany De Vine wondered whether the ladies' dressing room in which she
was about to try on a brassiere was under surveillance by some fat,
obese fucker with a day's stubble of beard and a cum-stained crotch.
Probably, she thought; it would be just her luck. Well, if some slob
was drooling over her image on a "security" monitor somewhere, she'd
give him a little something to remember after she'd tried on the bra.
A fancy item of clothing, pink and frilly, it was adorned with lacy
lavender bows and ribbons--and the tag attached to it promised that the
bra would "lift and separate" to provide "cleavage enhancement."
Despite the hormones she'd taken for the past year, Tiffany was a
little on the petite side, with "B" cup breasts. She'd never had any
complaints, but, well, like a lot of women, genetic girls included,
she'd like to have bigger boobs--provided that she didn't have to
undergo more surgery. She'd had quite enough operations lately; she
didn't want any more.
She looked around the small, curtained cubicle once more, looking for a
hidden camera. She didn't see any sign of such an instrument, but she
wasn't reassured. Shrugging, she unbuttoned her blouse, removed the
top, and hung it on the hook that had been provided for this purpose.
She wasn't wearing a bra of her own, so, if anyone was watching her, he
(or she) would be feasting his (or her) eyes on her tits right now.
Tiffany glanced at the smooth, creamy mounds that rose from her chest,
topped with puffy, pink areolas surrounding her stiff, swollen nipples.
She had beautiful breasts, she thought. She was proud of them, even
though they were, perhaps, a little small. She smiled. If the bra
performed the magic that it promised, in lifting and separating her
boobs, it would give her plenty of eye-catching cleavage.
She lifted the cups to her breasts, slipped her arms through the
straps, and secured the clasp behind her back. The bra fit wonderfully,
and, Tiffany saw by consulting the mirror, lived up to its promise. She
looked as if she'd gone magically from a "B" to a "C" cup, and her
sleek, firm breasts jutted from her chest like rockets. She grinned at
her reflection, deciding to buy the wonderful brassiere regardless of
its seemingly exorbitant price. A bra that could do such magic to her
figure was worth whatever the manufacturer charged. Who was the
manufacturer, anyway, she wondered? She looked at the attached tag. The
manufacturer's name, Charisma, and address were printed on the label.
The address was right here in San Diego! She'd never heard of such a
company, but she was going to pay a visit to its corporate offices. She
wanted to thank the president for offering such a splendid bra to the
public. She also wanted to see what other items of apparel, innerwear
as well as outerwear,
the company might offer.
She removed the bra, replaced it on its hanger, and put her blouse on
again. She parted the curtain and was about to step out of the dressing
room when she remembered that she'd promised herself to give whoever
might be watching her over a closed-circuit television camera a little
something to remember after she'd tried on the bra. She hung the hanger
on the hook, unfastened her jeans, slipped the denim over her smooth
ivory thighs, and lowered her silk panties to reveal the soft, limp,
circumcised penis that dangled before the small pouch of her scrotum.
She grinned. That ought to give any secret admirer a bit of a shock,
she thought. Smiling, she tugged up her panties and jeans, reclaimed
the brassiere, and hastened to the front of the store, where she
purchased the bra.
On her way home, Tiffany turned every man's head; quite a few women
also ogled her. Unlike the men, who gazed with naked lust and longing
upon her cleavage, the women looked either disgusted or envious.
Whichever feeling the women displayed made Tiffany feel good, and the
men's obvious desire to do more than simply look at her tits made
Tiffany's nipples stiffen and her cock swell. By the time she arrived
home, her breasts were sore, and her balls ached. She loved her new
bra!
Charisma was located at 1111 North Highland Avenue, which was about ten
miles from Tiffany's apartment. She was there in twenty minutes--or was
she? She checked the address again; sure enough, it read 1111 North
Highland Avenue. Had she copied it incorrectly? She frowned,
remembering the numerals and words on the tag that had been attached to
the brassiere. No, she'd gotten the address right, she was certain. If
that were the case, though, why was she looking at the office of Silver
Shield Insurance? A terrifying thought occurred to her. Maybe Charisma
had gone out of business! She gulped. Please, God, don't let that be
true! she prayed. Telling herself that there was only one way to find
out, she entered the insurance office.
An elderly gray-haired man wearing horn-rimmed spectacles and a three-
piece suit looked up at her as she entered. Standing, he smiled,
offering her his hand. She accepted it, and they shook. "I'm Martin
Fenner," he announced. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm trying to locate a company named Charisma," Tiffany replied. "It
used to be located here."
Mr. Fenner's smile faded as he realized he wouldn't be selling an
insurance policy to his visitor. He frowned. "Charisma?"
Tiffany nodded, hoping against hope that the elderly man could help
her.
The insurance agent nodded, raising a forefinger. "Ah, yes! Charisma!"
"Can you tell me where the company moved?"
Mr. Fenner chuckled. "Charisma's not a company," he said.
Now, it was Tiffany who frowned. "I don't understand," she admitted. "I
mean, I bought an article of clothing from them just this morning, and
the tag had this address on it."
"Charisma's a lady," Mr. Fenner announced. "A wonderful, charming lady-
-and a hell of a seamstress. Her shop was located here, before she
moved."
"Oh!" Tiffany blushed at her mistake. "Can you tell me where she's
relocated?"
Mr. Fenner nodded. "As a matter of fact, I can," he declared. "Just a
moment, please." He returned to his desk, consulted a file, and
scribbled her new address. Handing the slip of paper to Tiffany, he
said, "She's one of my customers."
Tiffany beamed. "Thanks."
"My pleasure," the insurance agent said, his eyes taking in the bounty
of Tiffany's magnificent bosom.
She saw him staring, and her smile broadened. They never get too old to
admire a pair of tits, she thought, especially when they're enhanced by
such a wonderful product as the bra she wore beneath her tight silk
blouse.
The new address was on the outskirts of town. It was still early in the
day. Rush hour wouldn't start for another couple of hours. She could
make it to the new address in half an hour or less. She was excited,
because she wouldn't have to settle for complimenting some executive
about the wonderful bra; she could thank its creator, Charisma,
herself!
The next address wasn't home to Charisma, either. It was occupied by
Blanche Deevers, a beautician. Blanche, a tall, striking redhead, was
busy teasing the frizzy blonde tresses of a willowy blonde when the
bell tinkled above her shop's front door, announcing Tiffany's
entrance.
"Be right with you," Blanche called.
"Oh, I'm not here for a haircut or a makeover," Tiffany said.
"What do you want, then, honey? A manicure?"
Tiffany blushed. "Just some information, I'm afraid."
Blanche's features hardened. "You a cop?" she demanded. It was obvious
to Tiffany that the beautician didn't care for police officers.
"No, nothing like that."
Blanche addressed her customer: "Do you mind?"
"Go ahead," the blonde replied.
Blanche left her client in the chair, came to the counter at the front
of the store, and addressed Tiffany from behind the cash register.
"What do you want to know?"
"I'm looking for a lady named Charisma," she said. "I went to the
address where she was supposed to work, but it turned out to be
occupied by an insurance agent. He gave me your address. He said it was
Charisma's new place of business."
Blanche took in this information with a deadpan expression. The
beautician's eyes swept over Tiffany's body, sizing her up. Blanche's
gaze lingered upon the jutting cleavage. Blanche didn't seem to be too
friendly, Tiffany thought. It seemed unlikely she'd be cooperative.
Maybe she'd wasted her time in coming here.
After a long pause, Blanche demanded, "What do you want with Charisma?"
Blushing, Tiffany explained.
Blanche surprised her with a smile. "Charisma sold me this place a week
ago. She decided to retire, she said. I guess she hasn't notified her
insurance agent yet."
"Do you have her new address?"
"I have a phone number." Blanche scribbled the exchange onto a notepad
beside the cash register, tore off the top sheet of paper, and handed
it to her visitor. "Charisma can decide whether she wants to give out
her address."
Taking the phone number, Tiffany smiled. "Thanks."
Blanche watched Tiffany as she walked to the door. Her visitor's ass
was as fine as her perfect pair of tits. If it hadn't been for her
customer, Blanche would have asked Tiffany for a date. She'd loved to
have sucked those firm, round breasts and made the beautiful young
woman's clit stiffen and swell under the lashes of her tongue. Sighing
deeply, she returned to the young blonde in the chair. They kissed, and
Blanche cupped one of her customer?s pert breasts, giving it a friendly
squeeze before she picked up the comb and resumed teasing the blonde's
frizzy hair. If Charisma had friends like the babe who'd just left,
Charisma was one lucky bitch, she thought.
"Tiffany Lawson," Tiffany identified herself in response to the
question that the lady at the other end of the line had asked her.
"Why do you want to see me?"
"I bought one of your bras," Tiffany explained. "It's fabulous! I just
have to meet you." After a long moment of silence, Tiffany added,
"Please."
Charisma gave her the address at which she could be found--at least,
Tiffany hoped it was the address, finally, at which the superb
seamstress could be located and not just another dead end.
Driving like the wind down the broad boulevard that fronted the Pacific
Ocean, Tiffany was soon driving up to the huge wrought-iron gate in
tall brick wall that enclosed Charisma's ten-acre estate.
After she'd identified herself to the butler who'd responded to her
pressing of the bell beside the gate, the massive gateway opened,
admitting her, and Tiffany drove up the quarter mile driveway that led
to the mansion at the top of the knoll. Charisma's chauffeur met her,
whisking her car away as she walked up the wide, steep flight of marble
stairs that led to the porch at the front of the massive stone house.
She stood before the tall, heavy black doors with their gold-plated
knocker, knob, and frame, and rang the bell to announce her presence.
The butler answered. "Please, do come in," he incited in the same
arrogant tone of voice he'd used in communicating with her over the
intercom when she'd been parked outside the gate. "Madam will see you
forthwith."
Tiffany followed the tuxedo-garbed servant through the luxuriously
appointed lobby and into a parlor full of antique furniture. She seated
herself on a large, comfortable couch upholstered in red velvet,
surveying the room. The furnishings were elegant and opulent,
indicating the wealth of the mansion's mistress more eloquently than
words or reputation could hope to have done. Tiffany glanced at the
sapphire necklace, the violet velvet blouse, and the black leather
mini-skirt and matching thigh-high boots she wore, hoping that Charisma
would not think her hopelessly gauche and vulgar. Her breasts, enhanced
by the wonderful brassiere that Charisma had created, gave her some
confidence. She knew that many men--and women--found her costume sexy
and her physical charms sexier. She hoped that Charisma would also find
her attractive.
"Hello, my dear!"
Tiffany rose, blushing, as her hostess entered the room.
"My, but you are a lovely young thing," Charisma said, her eyes
sparkling as her gaze swept over Tiffany's figure. "Oh, but your
breasts are superb!"
Tiffany blushed. "Thanks to you," she said. "Your brassiere--it's
amazing."
"Nonsense. It can enhance only those charms that belong to you by the
grace of God."
"In my case, I had a little help," Tiffany demurred. In answer to her
hostess' arched eyebrow, Tiffany explained, "I'm a shemale."
Charisma studied Tiffany's cleavage. "You haven't had surgery there,"
she concluded.
Tiffany smiled. "No, just hormones."
"They're lovely."
"I have you to thank for that."
"Nonsense. As I said, my brassiere can enhance only those charms that
belong to you--whether by God's grace or through a little hormonal
assistance."
"When I saw what your bra does for my figure, I just had to thank you,"
Tiffany gushed.
Charisma sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her. "Please,
sit."
Tiffany sat.
"Seeing what it does for you--both the inner and the outer you--is all
the thanks I need," Charisma declared. "I would like to see you without
the bra--and without the blouse--if I may."
Tiffany reddened, but she did as she was bidden, removing the velvet
blouse and the lavender brassiere beneath and placing both carefully on
the cushion between her and her hostess. She was shocked when she
realized that her breasts remained as full and pronounced as they'd
been while she'd been wearing the brassiere. She stared at her enlarged
breasts, confusion, fear, and delight on her astonished countenance.
Charisma grinned at Tiffany's confusion. "I'm a sorceress," she
confided, "and my apparel is enchanted. Once its effects occur, they
are permanent. Your breasts will remain forever their new, increased
size, whether you wear the brassiere or not."
"But how? I mean, really? I mean--"
Charisma laughed. "I told you," she said. "I'm magic. My clothes are
magic. Now, you--or, rather, your breasts--are magic, too."
Tiffany cupped her enlarged breasts in her hands and squeezed them.
They were real, not an illusion. They were genuine, not a fantasy.
"Wow!"
Charisma?s hands swept over Tiffany's breasts. The enchantress' long,
slender fingers curled as they compressed the silken mounds, making
deep indentations in the ivory flesh. Tiffany moaned, letting her own
hands fall from her bosom as she squirmed on the couch, angling her
upper body toward her hostess. "I was impressed," Charisma confided to
her guest, "by your perseverance in locating me, just so you could
thank me for having fashioned the brassiere that gave you these
exquisite breasts."
Tiffany groaned, feeling her nipples respond to Charisma's fondling
hands and stroking fingers. Her cock also bulged, forming a tent of the
front of her black leather mini-skirt. "How did you know I'd--
persevered?" Tiffany asked.
"Mr. Fenner and Ms. Deevers--Martin and Blanche--informed me, of
course."
The real estate agent and the beautician, Tiffany identified Charisma's
informants. "I see," she said. She felt the stiffness of her cock,
insistent beneath her mini-skirt, and she was aware of how it jutted
from her groin, just as she was conscious of how her nipples protruded
from the centers of her swollen areolas. She swallowed, embarrassed.
But Charisma not only seemed not to mind these exhibitions of her
guest's ardor, but also to enjoy them.
"What I didn't realize," the sorceress said, smiling, "was that you are
a shemale."
Tiffany gulped. She hoped that her transgendered status wasn't
offensive to her hostess. Tiffany sure didn't want a sorceress to be
annoyed at her. "I hope that's all right with you," she said, her voice
trembling.
While she continued to knead and squeeze and stroke first one and then
the other of Tiffany's new and improved breasts with her left hand,
Charisma reached up Tiffany's mini-skirt with her right hand and
caressed Tiffany's genitals. "Nonsense," she said. "I think shemales
are the sexiest creatures on the planet." Charisma's lips found
Tiffany's, and the sorceress seamstress kissed her shemale visitor hard
before slipping the tip of her moist pink tongue into the soft red
cavern of Tiffany's warm, wet mouth.
...to be continued...
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