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Plan Ahe a d by Jordan Holder Ken and I were having a few drinks after work. Maybe more than a few, considering how late it was getting. "So, Dale, what did you get Cassie for Valentine's Day?" "Oh, I'll pick up something for her tomorrow, on my lunch hour." "Tomorrow? Man, you're toast! Valentine's is today, buddy!" "Naah," I said, "it's only the 14th." "Exactly. Valentine's Day is February 14th." "You sure?" "Damn straight. That's why I sent Lisa a dozen roses at work -- and a note promising her a big dinner on Saturday, since she has that project due Friday and is working late every night until. You better figure something out before Cassie gets off work." By the time he finished telling me that, he'd pulled out his pocket calendar and opened it to February. Sure enough. Somehow, I'd thought it was one of those Monday holiday things. No, that was President's Day. At least I had time, since she was on the evening shift at the ER this month. And that meant I hadn't blown taking her out to dinner this evening. "OK, so what do I do? A little late to get florists to deliver, even to her at the hospital; the flower shop in the lobby closed at 8." I checked my watch; it was 9:45. "Beats me. Not much open at this hour. Maybe you can find a drug store. They might have a heart-shaped box of candy left. Write a card. Promise her dinner later on." "Yeah. I can leave the box at her door for when she gets home. Maybe she'll enjoy the surprise." "If she doesn't twig to your having almost forgotten altogether. Birthdays, anniversaries, Valentine's. Sure death if you blow one of those." "Never mind. Tell the bartender I'll be back in a few." I grabbed my coat and dashed out the door. Except for another bar and a couple of restaurants, the shops were dark on both sides of the street. I went down one block and then another, turned a corner, and still nothing. Wait a minute. There was something on the other side of the freeway, maybe a neon sign. I took the footbridge and closed in. Sure enough, it was a drug store. Not a chain -- most of those would certainly have been open to 11 at least, but I couldn't find one. But this one still had the "OPEN" sign lit. Along with the name in neon. "Spelling's Rx USA." Never heard of them, but I usually shopped near work or at the mall, not around this part of town. Probably one of a kind. I got in the door at 9:58, noting that the sign on the door stated a 10 PM closing. Just made it! The store was deserted, except for an old guy behind the counter. Looked like they were serious about closing at 10 -- he was already in his dressing gown -- or was it just a bathrobe? Seemed a little shabby for the former. "Ah...sorry to keep you up, mister," I said, "but it's kind of a last-minute urgency." "Need a Valentine's gift, hmm?" Right on the mark. Did I look that obvious? "I'm afraid so." "We don't have much left," he said. "That's what happens, Dale -- lying around." Had he called me by name, almost? "I wasn't dallying; I just got the date wrong." "I'll bet your girlfriend has been dropping hints all week, and you just haven't been paying attention to her. Now you're going to just beat midnight, and try to convince her you wanted to surprise her." "You a mind-reader or something?" He cleared his throat. "I've just been around long enough to know about careless guys. Look, it's past 10. You want to pick something out?" He pointed toward the candy display. He'd made me feel guilty, so I hastened down the worn tiles of the indicated aisle to pick out the most expensive heart-shaped box still left on the shelf. $15.95 didn't seem like a lot. Certainly wouldn't have bought many pieces of Godiva. "Cash only," he said, when I offered my credit card. I didn't have a lot with me, but I could use the card at the bar. So I gave him my last $20 bill. "Do you have a note card for it?" "There's one under the ribbon." He pointed. "Oh, thanks." I scribbled a note along the lines of what Ken suggested, and tucked it back in. "You really think she's going to be fooled by this?" "Come on," I said. "It's only Valentine's Day." "Young man, you need a better understanding of how women feel about men who treat them like objects." "Like you said, it's after 10, and I still have to drop this off. Maybe you can tell me about that some other time." "As you prefer. Oh, by the way. These are free with a purchase over $15." He handed me a small, brightly colored package. I had to get over to Cassie's place before she got off shift, so I only glanced at the bag. Some kind of novelty candy for Valentine's. I took my change and left, as he was turning out the lights. Without the lights in the store windows, the area by the store was poorly lit, and I had to pick my way carefully past some broken pavement. I looked back and saw the last lights flick out, some of them in the store's sign itself -- the "ing," the "x," and the "A." Wonder why the rest stayed on. Well, it was an old store; bound to be a few things not working right. I crossed the freeway bridge again and hurried over to Cassie's. I had at least half an hour before she was due home, so I left the candy box where she would be sure to find it and headed back to the bar. I'd had a few more drinks than she might have liked, so I figured we could do without meeting tonight. Ken was still there. "That took you long enough," he said. "The bartender kept trying to get me to pay your bill." "Sorry. Took me awhile to find a place that was open. Then I had to drop off a box of candy at Cassie's." "Hope she doesn't believe it's the thought that counts, considering how much thought you put into it." "That's what the druggist said." "You tell him?" "He said it was obvious. Although I didn't see anyone else huffing and puffing into the store at the last minute. Tried to give me a lecture on considering the woman's point of view. About being treated like an object." "Pushy guy. But why'd you say it took you awhile to find an open drug store? Didn't you go to the 24-hour CVS across the street?" He gestured toward the window by the front door. I looked out the window, and there it was. "Damn! That's odd. I could swear I looked up and down this street. I ended up in the old part of town on the other side of the freeway." "I didn't think you'd gotten _blind_ drunk," Ken said. "Very funny. I just don't understand how I could have missed it." My glass was empty, and now I definitely needed another drink. I waved to the bartender, who poured me a glass, serving it with an apology for the hassle with Ken about my tab. After a couple more rounds, Ken said he wanted to call it a day. I was still ruminating about the odd occurrences with the candy expedition and decided to stay awhile longer. I.e., I could use another drink. I also was hungry. The kitchen had closed at 10:30, while I was delivering the candy to Cassie. The bowl of peanuts within reach was pretty much dust, and the one farther down the bar was the same. As I reached for that one, I heard a rustle in my pocket. Oh, yeah, the free bag of candy from the drug store. I took it out of my pocket and opened it. Candy hearts with little phrases on them. What did they call them? Oh, yeah. Conversation hearts. I picked one out. It was orange, and the message was "HEY STUD." Seemed a little stronger language than I remembered from my elementary school days. I popped it into my mouth. That was different! I'd remembered conversation hearts as being kind of chalky, but this one tasted great. Not quite Godiva, but way above average for candy. Were they all this good? I was still hungry, so I tried another. This one said, "HUGE TITS." OK, definitely not for little kids. No wonder the store was giving them away. They couldn't have been big sellers in the family market. Maybe they'd got a shipment intended for an "adult" store by mistake? It didn't matter to me, anyway. So I ate that one, and found it tasted as good as the first, maybe even better. I took out a couple more. "NO PANTIES" and "GREAT ASS." That made me look closely at the package. It was labeled "Naughty Hearts." I guess so! They still tasted good. So I kept going. Those two were followed by "BOUNCY BOOBS," "TIGHT SKIRT," "WIGGLY ASS," and "NO BRA," which were naughty enough, I suppose, but then came "HOT CUNT" and "LET'S FUCK," which were pretty raw indeed. I was starting to feel nervous that someone might come along, even at this late hour, and see what was printed on the candy I was scarfing down. I considered tossing the rest of the bag, but I was really hungry. The sugar hadn't kicked in yet, I guess. Besides, eating them would get rid of the evidence. So I finished the bag. There must have been three or four dozen, many of them well beyond naughty. Some, like "FETISH HEELS," didn't seem to make sense, but others were pretty explicit and hard to mistake. I didn't even read all of them; that kind of thing wasn't really of interest to me. Gone, now, anyway. I wadded up the bag and made a perfect shot into the waste can behind the bar. That got the bartender's attention, which was OK, because I was ready for another shot. It was still awhile to last call, but I was planning to leave before then, anyway, since the place was already emptying out. I finished my drink slowly, signaled for my tab, and waited for the bartender to run my credit card. Suddenly I felt very sleepy. I'd spaced out my drinking, so I didn't think that was it, and I was used to late hours. Maybe the sugar from the candy? Shouldn't that produce a high? I was too blotto to think. I signed the credit slip, barely able to keep my eyes open, slipped it into my wallet, and then just had to put my head down on the bar. No way I could drive like this. I was out like a light in a moment. * * * And then I was awake again. The clock on the wall showed maybe fifteen minutes had passed. Or less; I couldn't recall when I'd last looked at it. I'd have thought a catnap would have left me feeling much better, but I felt strange all over, like nothing I'd ever felt before. Was I catching that bird flu that had been in the news? I had slumped over to put my head down for my forty winks, so I straightened up to go get my coat and go home. Or tried to. Somehow, the bar was in the way. Had I caught a shirt button on something? I looked down. The first thing I noticed was that my arms were bare. What the hell? I'd been wearing a jacket and tie over a long-sleeved dress shirt. Where were my clothes? Had I been rolled while I was out? Then I noticed that there was hair all over the place. On my arms and on the bar. No, not like it had been cut, or like it was growing from my arms. Long, long dark hair. I shook my head, and the hair moved. How could I have grown two feet of hair in ten minutes? And my arms didn't look like they used to, either. They were skinny, like I'd lost all my muscles. I'd been in this bar, drinking the same whiskey as tonight, dozens of times. It had to be something about the candy. What had it done to me? I looked up from the bar, to see what the mirror behind it showed. I couldn't see myself at all. There was an attractive brunette hunched over at one place, and a couple of stools down was a guy finishing a martini. I turned my head to see where my reflection was, and the brunette's head moved that direction. I raised my arm -- and so did she. This was impossible. There had to be something wrong with the mirror. That wasn't my reflection. I decided to get up and find a better mirror. I'd forgotten I was stuck, though. What was keeping me from standing up? Felt like something on me was bumping into the bar. So I leaned back. And back. And back. What was under the bar was an enormous pair of globes of flesh, barely restrained or covered by a low-cut, stretchy light purple or lavender top. There. Jutting out of my chest. Breasts. The size of basketballs, at least. Gripped by a wave of dizziness, I had to lean forward again before I fainted. Skinny arms, long hair, mammoth breasts. I looked at the woman in the mirror again. There was nothing wrong with the mirror. There was something wrong with _me_. Realizing what was keeping me stuck, I figured I'd better move the things, at least. Reaching down, I picked up the breasts -- and realized I could feel my hands on them. They were no fakes someone had glued on. I could tell, too, that they were unrestrained by a brassiere. I couldn't sit there holding them, which would have been pretty lewd looking, not to mention that they were _heavy_, so after thinking a moment, I set them down on top of the bar, where they extended halfway across to the other side. Not much better effect than holding them. Maybe worse. The mirror now showed an attractive woman with enormous breasts. I could see her -- my -- nipples pushing out the fabric. They were enormous too. Like two thumbs sticking out. I was in so much trouble. Hadn't the Naughty Hearts said something like that? I hadn't paid a lot of attention after eating the first dozen or so, but I was sure I remembered that among them were ones that said "HUGE TITS" and "NO BRA." Oh, no. There was one that said "NO PANTIES," too. I reached down under the bar to find I had on a skirt of some kind of stretchy stuff that reached at most halfway to my knees. Sliding my hand up under it -- good thing it was fairly dark in the bar -- I almost fainted again when I touched the female organs between my legs, sure enough uncovered by any undergarments. Now I was really frightened. I felt tense and hot all over, and I was concerned that some of that had come from touching myself, not just from the unknown dangers of my suddenly having become a woman. From the reflection in the mirror, I realized I had the rapt attention of the martini guy to my right. Had he seen me with my hand up my skirt? The immense breasts were probably enough to have gotten his attention, once I plopped them on the bar -- that had been dumb, should have left them where they had been. I couldn't imagine what I was going to do in this situation, so I turned to him and said, "Please help me! Something terrible has happened to me!" Or that's what I meant to say. What I actually said was, "HEY STUD." I was horrified! Things were bad enough without giving this guy ideas. As if my -- I had to accept the word -- breasts with their big, erect nipples weren't sufficient to give any guy in the world (well, any straight one) plenty of "ideas." And what if I accidentally gave him a look up the skirt? "Hi. I'm Steve. What's your name?" "I'M EASY," I said. I hadn't intended to say any such thing. I didn't even have an idea of what to say; I certainly wasn't going to tell him my real name, even if Dale was conceivably a girl's name. "Really? OK, Easy. Kind of an odd name for a girl to use. Haven't seen you here before." I shook my head. I tried to say something specific in response, but nothing came out. What was wrong with me? The bartender came by. "Last call," was all he said. "Buy you a drink, Easy?" "SLOW SCREW." What? Why'd I say that? "I'll have another martini, and a sloe screw for the lady," Steve told the bartender. A sort of reddish-orange concoction appeared in front of me. I needed a drink badly, but this girly cocktail didn't come close to providing what a shot of whiskey would. Steve kept talking, but I was hardly listening to what he said, which didn't seem to bother him at all. My mind was racing in circles. You suddenly turn into a woman -- a super sex-object woman -- with nothing but the clothes on your back, and not very much of those. What do you do? Worse, you can't even ask for help because only weird things come out of your mouth. Not weird -- obscene. My car and house keys had been in the pockets of my now-disappeared suit. How could I get home? How could I get in if I got there? I had no answers. I finished the drink as the bartender began flipping off lights on the bar signs, and turning up the lights in the room. Now what was I going to do? Steve was saying, "You know, Easy, I find your, uh..." "HUGE TITS," I said. I couldn't believe my own ears. Everything I was saying must have come right off one of the Naughty Hearts candies. I sure did remember the one that had "HUGE TITS" on it. There wasn't any question in my mind that the damn free candies were responsible for this -- what else could it be? But I had no idea how. "Yeah. I'm glad you don't mind talking about them. Anyway, they're very attractive." I felt him slide a hand onto my right breast, briefly. "Stop that!" I tried to say. What came out was "NO BRA." And worse, a giggle. "I noticed. Makes me think you're looking for some fun tonight. Anything you want to do in particular?" "GET LAID," I said. Hell and damnation! How was I going to get out of this? "Anything to please a lady," he said, getting up. I got up, too. What else was I going to do? The bartender was making little shooing motions with his hands; we were the last two people in the place besides the help. As I got down from the bar stool, I saw that my slut image was complete with red fishnet stockings. The tight skirt I'd only handled but hadn't seen earlier was white; I was sure it looked sprayed on from the way it felt across my otherwise naked behind. Then my feet hit the floor, and I almost fell over. What was wrong with my shoes? I looked at them. Bright red, matching the stockings, with freakishly high heels, but not like most women's shoes -- pumps? -- I'd seen. The toes weren't bent flat on the ground. Instead, I was balancing -- or not, to be precise, as I tottered back and forth -- almost on tiptoe, which made it possible for the heels to be something like -- could it be seven inches? I regained my balance, which wasn't easy, given the weight hanging off my chest. I took a couple of steps -- and almost fell over again. "Hey, you'd better hang on to my arm," Steve said. "Too many drinks, or is it just the shoes? Those things are a lot sexier-looking than they are practical. They don't look like most women's shoes." Just as I'd thought. "What do you call them, anyway?" "FETISH HEELS." Yeah, I remembered being puzzled about that on one of the Naughty Hearts. Not that I was real pleased to have the answer. "Yeah, I could see why you could call them that. What do you do with them, though?" "GET FUCKED," I said. Oh, GOD! My mouth was so far out of my control. There was no question where this was going to end up. I'd been a woman for maybe fifteen minutes, and I was on my way to having sex in maybe no more than another fifteen. No way was I ready for that. Intellectually, that is; the overall trembling hot feeling was intensifying, concentrating between my legs. Naturally, I had no idea what sexual arousal felt like for women, but I suspected this was it. "Well, I'll try not to disappoint you." He held the door as I tottered through it, still not steady in the awful-to-wear shoes. "I see why you wear those," he said from behind me as the door closed. "They do something for your..." "GREAT ASS." Damn, damn, damn. "Yeah. Almost as nice as your tits, I'd say." I couldn't blame him for the vulgarity; nearly every word I uttered was giving him permission. He had his arm around my waist by then, but shortly slid it down from there. What I'd been feeling intensified further. Yeah, this body was loaded for bear. Or bare. "My car's over this way," he said. I clung to his arm as I did my best to stay with him on my tippytoes, while he kept a firm grip on my butt, moving his hand around occasionally, which wasn't helping my feelings of arousal go away. Nor was the bouncing and swaying of my breasts, which accentuated every step I took. Not to mention the rubbing of the fabric on my huge, hard nipples. He held the door for me, which I found surprising in these times -- I never bothered for Cassie, and I think she would have found it insulting. But maybe not -- I'd never tried or even asked her. Made me think about what the old guy in the drug store had said. I wasn't used to getting into cars wearing a short skirt, and sure enough, as I slid into the seat, it rode up far enough that if his grip on my GREAT ASS had him thinking I might be wearing a thong, now he'd be sure I was wearing NO PANTIES. If he was looking. But I thought he was walking around to his side of the car. I pulled down my skirt as best I could, and then I had trouble getting the seat belt fastened because of the shoulder strap, which didn't want to fit around my HUGE TITS. Great -- I was starting to _think_ in phrases from the candy. And was there anything about this body that wasn't awkward? Other than lying passively in bed, I suppose? He got it fastened for me, managing to grope just about every square inch of each of my breasts doing so. To be honest, I suppose I'd have done the same if the situation were reversed. Each time he rubbed one of my huge nipples, little electric shock-like sensations went through my whole body. Did ordinary women feel this, or was this just for my "benefit?" It was a short drive, although I didn't notice much on the way, there being too much else to occupy my thoughts. I had somehow been turned into a woman -- not just a woman but a sex object of the first order, I was about to have a sexual encounter, which most women had sixteen or eighteen years, rather than minutes, to prepare for, I didn't want to, and there was no way to stop it. Every time I opened my mouth, I dug myself in deeper -- and I couldn't keep from doing that, either. It was a long walk across the parking lot to his apartment or condo. Managing a little better in the FETISH HEELS, I was able to become aware of all sorts of other unpleasant differences in my new situation just inherent in walking. The bouncing and swaying of my HUGE TITS I'd already noticed; their weight was also making an impression on my mind now. The way my hips had to move, showing off my GREAT ASS. And most of all, the missing sensation of male organs between my legs. Dammit, just thinking about male organs was making the female ones feel hot. I may not have wanted to GET LAID, but this body sure did, and I had no choice but to go along for the ride. Distracted, I stumbled a bit getting up the curb, and he gripped my GREAT ASS more firmly. He pulled out his keys with the other hand and opened the door, ushering me in with the hand on my butt. Turned out to be a townhouse. He paused for a moment to flick on a light and then instantly had his hands all over my BIG BOOBS, which were still inside my top. My body was responding to it, no matter what my mind wanted to do. I could hear my voice repeating, "FEEL ME. FEEL ME," over and over again. Not that he seemed to need any instructions. He stopped just long enough to pull my top off over my head. It was my first look at my HUGE TITS naked, and I was shocked by them all over again. The air was cool enough to make my nipples pucker even harder. Now I was saying, "SUCK ME! SUCK ME!" He promptly obliged. I realized I had begun grinding my hips against his leg -- not so easy to do without losing my balance in those damn shoes -- which he took as a cue to slip one hand up my skirt, while the other kept one of my boobs in sucking position. "Wow!" was all he said when his hand reached paydirt, so to speak. Guess he didn't want to take too much time away from sucking me. Obviously he hadn't gotten a view when my skirt rode up getting into the car. "NO PANTIES," was all I could say. Or needed to. He picked me up with both hands on my bare buttocks underneath my skirt and dumped me on the sofa. While I was still bouncing to a stop on the cushions (and my chest continued bouncing well after that), he was taking off his pants. And then his shorts. I'd had one all my life... well, up until about an hour ago, and I'd never thought of a penis as huge before. Realizing that that...thing...was going to be going inside me in another few seconds had me really frightened -- except that my body was betraying me with a flowing wet sensation between my legs. And I heard myself saying, "NEED COCK." "Got what you want right here," he said, getting onto the couch, pushing my skirt up into a bunch around my waist, and spreading my legs apart. "FUCK ME," I began saying over and over. He obliged. Long and hard. Intellectually, I was being raped, since I certainly didn't want to have sex with a stranger I'd met barely an hour ago or maybe less, and in a body I hadn't had more than minutes longer than that but not a shred of evidence of it would have appeared to any onlooker. I experienced what must have been orgasms several times, detesting the way this body was violating my male sensibility. Finally, he reached his and relaxed. That left the full weight of his sweaty, hairy body on top of me. Ugh. I wanted to push him off...but what I said was "MORE FUCKING." Dammit. "Sure, babe. In a few minutes. I see why you go by 'Easy'." He caught his breath for another minute or two and then got up. "This couch is kinda uncomfortable, but you seemed in a hurry. Let's go upstairs." "MORE FUCKING," I said again. Then, "NEED COCK." I could see him getting stiff again. He yanked me to my feet then, but rather than wait for me to mince upstairs in the FETISH HEELS -- which I was still wearing, along with the fishnet hose -- he picked me up and slung me over his shoulder, carrying me up the steps with my BIG BOOBS bouncing on his back, leaving me with a view of his hairy behind and legs. Ugh again. I didn't get to see much of the bedroom before he tossed me on the bed. After that, I saw a lot of the ceiling. But first, I got a look at what I no longer had. "NEED COCK. FUCK MY CUNT," I found myself saying. There was a lot more room on the bed, and he didn't have to keep a grip to avoid falling or sliding off the couch, so he grabbed hold of my BIG TITS while he filled me up again. I didn't think that was so comfortable, but my mouth was saying "FEEL ME" and "SUCK ME" again. Was this never going to stop? Well, yes it was, because after the fourth time (third time upstairs), I heard something new come from my mouth: "FUCK MY TITS." I didn't remember eating that one. I had a sudden shudder of real fear as he was moving up to straddle my waist: Had there been a "FUCK MY ASS" candy I also didn't remember? God, I hoped not. "SUCK YOUR DICK" was probably too big to fit. I hoped. After he finished with my boobs, he was pretty well tired out. Thank goodness. So was I, but I felt so sweaty and sticky and generally dirty that I had to have a shower. Fortunately, I didn't have to say a word to find it, because it was clear where the bathroom was as soon as he got off of me and I could sit up. I stripped off my stockings and rinsed them out in the sink. I thought it would be a relief to get out of the damn shoes, but there was something wrong with my legs -- like they had cramps. I was still walking around on my toes. The skirt had a label that said washable, so I washed that too. I hung my things over the towel rod and stepped into the shower. That was when I found out what a nuisance so much long hair could be. I found some shampoo to clean my mop, but no conditioner, which it would probably need. I dried off and tiptoed back to the bedroom. It was after three, and I could barely keep my eyes open any longer, no matter how frightened or agitated I felt. It would just have to wait until tomorrow. Although then I caught my fully nude reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door. The part of me that was still male was riveted. Better than anything Hugh Hefner had had in his magazine. I'd pretty much seen my HUGE TITS, but not in profile before, and I wasn't sure what kind of GREAT ASS I had, since it wasn't easy to see from my point of view. But it was obvious I could expect to be hit on just about constantly. I was getting cramps in my legs from not even having the little support those evil shoes had provided, and I needed sleep. I fell into bed. Steve didn't leave much room, and he snored besides, but I stuck my head under a pillow and fell asleep, although not after struggling for some minutes over the issue of where to put my HUGE TITS -- sleeping prone, as I was used to, was simply no longer an option. * * * Hunger woke me up about 7:30, assuming the time on the clock was correct. Not quite five hours of sleep, but I was definitely awake. I used the bathroom -- another new experience -- and put my skirt and stockings back on, as they were mostly dry. It took awhile to figure out how to do the stockings, which were nothing like wearing men's socks. Rolling seemed to do the trick. Then I put on the shoes. Wearing them was easier than going without, although not by much. Then I went downstairs to see if I could find the kitchen and make myself some breakfast. I was topless, of course, so I spent a minute or two trying to find the stretchy purple thing I'd been wearing. Not that it would have stopped the bouncing that marked every step down the stairs. Only a bra could help with that, and I was NO BRA girl still -- where could I find a bra to hold these monsters anyway. Where had what's-his-name...Steve, that was it...tossed it? There was no sign of it. No way I could get out of here bare-breasted. I'd have to figure out some way to get his help finding it. Meanwhile, my stomach was growling again. I found a pan and some butter and eggs. Also bacon. It didn't take too long for me to figure out I had to handle the pan and spatula at arms' length to keep my boobs from getting too near the burner. And if I stood too close, they also kept me from seeing what I was doing. I'd found a plate and fork and was just about serve my modest breakfast when I nearly decorated the ceiling with the eggs. He'd come up behind me and grabbed my boobs. "FEEL ME," I couldn't help saying. Nevertheless, I tried to finish what I had been doing. I got the food onto the plate and turned off the stove, although it took a lot of concentration, considering what he was doing to my nipples. Not to mention what my hips had started doing against him. He hadn't bothered to dress at all, I could tell. Having him grip my boobs at least kept them out of the way. I figured I'd better eat while I could and stuck a forkful into my mouth. "PUGGH MULGH," I said as soon as I did, though. "What?" "PUT IT IN!" He didn't have to be told again. I don't recommend eating while bent over, being screwed from behind. It's messier than sex by itself. But at least I wasn't starving any more. Now I needed a shower again. But he had already nipped up the stairs and was in the bathroom taking one himself. Followed by the sound of a hair dryer and then an electric shaver. I didn't want to interrupt him; I'd probably say something like "NEED COCK," and we'd be at it again. So I went back to searching for my top while I waited for my chance in the bathroom. I found it underneath one of the sofa cushions. It hadn't just been tossed or dropped there. I suspected he'd hidden it in hopes it would keep me from leaving. I decided to leave it there and stay topless so he wouldn't move it somewhere else, take it with him when he left for work, or throw it in the trash. I was pretty sure none of his shirts would be buttonable around my HUGE TITS. Even a t-shirt might not stretch enough. He came downstairs fully dressed and went into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. Fortunately, he didn't say anything to me, so no two-word lewd remarks came out of my mouth. I went back upstairs -- man, stairs were hard on my boobs, not to mention my legs and feet -- and got cleaned up again, although this time without doing any laundry. I did find where he kept his hair dryer and used it myself. On the trip back down the stairs, I tried holding my boobs. That kept them from bouncing but imperiled my balance, and my shoes nearly tripped me up. I grabbed the handrail, dropping the breast on that side. This was harder than I'd have thought. He was putting on his coat and picking up his car keys from a table by the front door when I got downstairs. He walked over, ran his hands over my naked boobs, and said, "'Bye, Easy. See you later." "MORE FUCKING?" I heard myself say hopefully. "Not now. See you." And he was out the door. Fortunately before my body betrayed me by getting unbearably aroused again. OK, I was alone. It didn't matter what I said, because no one was around to hear it. I took a couple of deep breaths and sat down, waiting for the surges of energy from my breasts and crotch to subside. What to do now? I had no intention of being this guy's -- oh, yeah, Steve -- sex slave. I had to find the Spelling's Rx USA drug store and get an antidote (anti-curse?) for the damn candy. First: Get these BIG BOOBS out of sight. I went back to the sofa. Good; the purple stretch top was still under the cushion. At least Steve hadn't guessed that I knew what he was up to. He'd be coming home to an empty townhouse. I might be cursed with acting like a nympho bitch, but I wasn't _his_ nympho bitch. Bastard thinking he could treat me like property! I guess I _was_ learning a few things about how women thought about men. I slipped it on. OK, I was as dressed as I was going to get. Now, how was I going to get to the old section of town? I didn't have a penny to my name. The outfit the candy had provided came with a purse the same way it came with underwear. No ID, no wallet, no credit cards, nothing. I made another trip upstairs. What an ordeal! I decided not to let any guys pick me up unless they had a ranch house... Nothing up there in the way of money that I could find. Too bad. I could use bus fare. No way I could take a taxi; I couldn't give a destination without it coming out "GET LAID" or "LET'S FUCK." I could also use lunch money, if I could order by pointing -- and before the counter guy asked something that would result in my mouthing off. Steve wouldn't have missed a $20 bill; what he got from me last night and this morning would have cost him a thousand bucks from a hooker. And he wouldn't have dared hide her clothes, either. So I was still broke. I was leaving anyway. I wasn't quite sure how far I'd have to walk to get to that drug store, and I wanted to be there before dark. I took a last look around to see if there was anything else useful I could grab but found nothing. Then it was back down the stairs. I took a rest at the bottom before heading out the door. And then I was out in the daylight. I caught my reflection in the front window and stopped. I'd already seen this body nude upstairs; this image left very little of the other to be imagined. I rotated -- I only wish I had been graceful enough in those damn shoes to call it a pirouette -- and checked out all the angles. There was no hiding my nipples without being obvious. Should they really be hard all the time? I had no idea, but I was in no position to pay a doctor, not to mention the difficulty explaining my complaint. And for those without a front view, the skirt showed off every curve in the back. Just standing there was enough to make me look like a sex object; I had no doubt what adding motion would do. Well, there was nothing to do but get moving, even so. I had no real idea of where I was, so I needed to find a main road. I made my way through the parking lots towards what sounded like traffic. It was the farthest I'd walked in my new body and shoes, and, although I wasn't stumbling quite so often, it wasn't getting any easier. I was still aware of there being nothing between my legs and of my butt moving up and down, back and forth. I'd noticed women often folded their arms, rather than swinging them like men did, so I tried that. My boobs didn't bounce so much that way, but the weight was making my arms numb. And I had a harder time keeping my balance without using my arms. OK, let 'em bounce. It was uncomfortable, but not as much as falling over would have been. It took me ten minutes on tippytoe to get to the main road; as a man, it might have been three minutes, assuming I was wearing even half-way sensible shoes. OK, where was I? Cars were zooming past in both directions, although a couple slowed down to honk. Did they think they could pick me up that easily? Well, yeah, they _could_. But they didn't know that. Heaven help me if someone pulled over to talk. I made my way down the block until I could read the street sign. Henway Turnpike and Finch Lane. OK, I knew Henway, but the cross street was too insignificant to register. From the sun, I knew which way was westbound on Henway, which would take me toward the Spelling's Rx USA store, so I set out in that direction. I knew eventually I'd get to an arterial road which would tell me how far I had to go. Another three long blocks brought me to Henway and Ledge Road. Now I knew where I was, about three and a half miles from the bar and five miles or so from where I'd found the drug store last night. Seemed like a lot longer than eleven hours or so. At the rate I could walk -- and I needed a break right now, and would certainly need a lot more -- getting there was going to take most of the day. I shook my head. There was a bus bench at the corner, and I had to get off my feet. Five miles to go, and the bus bench was as far as I got. A guy walked out of the donut shop on the corner across Ledge, ogled my HUGE TITS, and crossed the street to join me on the the bench with his coffee. By the time I figured out where he was headed, it was too late. "Hi, chickie," he said. "HEY STUD." He smiled and put his hand on my leg. Can't say he didn't hear an invitation. Of course, we weren't in a bar late at night, so this guy was a bit more discreet in his language than Steve had been. Not that it mattered much; it was only a few more sentences into his monologue that he introduced himself as "Don," and asked my name, and "I'M EASY" came out. "Nickname, I suppose. Maybe I could work you into a story. I'm a free-lance writer. I was just taking a break. How about I get you some coffee, too?" I nodded; nothing in the candy vocabulary seemed to be called for. He helped me to my feet and started us across the street, his hand moving from my arm to around my waist...and then lower down. I didn't say anything, knowing that would only make it worse. I used my idea of pointing at menu items to get a cappucino and a donut. I'd have liked an extra shot and some hazelnut flavor, but they weren't pointable. Bacon and eggs earlier, coffee and a donut now. I was set for awhile. I was preparing to disengage myself from his arm and head back down Henway when he said, "Anything else you need?" "NEED COCK," escaped my mouth. That tore it. He tightened his grip. "Sure thing, Easy. I have all day. No deadlines this week. Come on home." He was running his hand all over my butt now. "You have a really great ass," he said. "GREAT ASS," I heard myself agreeing, nodding my head as I did so. "BIG TITS," I went on. "Yeah, those too, although I'm more of an ass man myself," he said, continuing to demonstrate. "Glad you're wearing a thong," he went on. "NO PANTIES," was the obvious response, which I did not fail to make. "Really? You're a real..." "HOT CUNT," I finished, although that might not have been quite what he was going to say. And that pretty much settled the course of things. Not that I'd had much doubt about where we were headed, based on my earlier experience. He put me in his car, which was in the donut shop parking lot, but this time without any games involving the shoulder strap of the seat belt and my boobs -- just his hand on my butt pushing me in. I guess he figured he was going to get anything he wanted when we got home, and I was pretty sure from the last few hours that such an assumption would be correct. No stairs this time; there was an elevator up to his flat. My feet were happy about that, but I was seething inside about not making any progress toward the drug store and getting this spell or curse or drug reaction or whatever it was reversed. The first guy...Steve, that was it -- he had hardly registered and I didn't think I'd even recognize him again, so much for claiming I was raped -- had done me from behind mostly because I was trying to eat breakfast at that moment. For ...uh, Don... that was about the only idea he had. I spent the rest of the day on my hands and knees right there in the living room, except for a couple of breaks. He did let me eat a sandwich -- as long as I used the coffee table, so I was still on my knees with my GREAT ASS sticking out. I lost count of how many times he did me. Didn't this guy ever run out of steam? Eventually it began to get dark, which he finally noticed. "Geeze. Is it almost 6 already? I gotta get some work done. You can let yourself out when you're ready to go." Just like that? What a jerk. At least he could have bought or made me dinner. I didn't really want to leave; it was too late to be wandering around, let alone trying to make my way back to the drug store. I wanted to say, "Please, I have no place to go." What I actually said, of course, was "MORE FUCKING." "Not now. I'm beat. Maybe later. Sheesh. You could wear out a pile driver. Anyway, I gotta do some writing. Go amuse yourself for awhile." He hadn't even undressed me, just pushed up my skirt. So I didn't have to hunt for anything he might have hidden. While he started up his PC, I found the bathroom and took a shower. My clothes were sweaty, so I rinsed them out next and left them to dry on a towel bar in the bathroom. This was almost getting to be a routine. He might not have offered me dinner, but that didn't mean I couldn't forage in his kitchen. As long as he was intent on his computer screen, I didn't have to talk and behave like a sex machine. He'd left the window shades open, and I was completely nude except for the shoes, but we were on an upper floor. I didn't want to bring the police, because I was sure they wouldn't like any explanation drawn from the candy heart inscriptions. At least I hadn't heard any sirens by the time I'd put together and eaten a sandwich. It wasn't all that late, but I was tired. I hadn't walked very far this morning before being picked up by Don, but it was enough to make me feel fatigued. How was I ever going to cover the distance to that drug store? Anyway, I found the bedroom. I noticed that my clothes were still damp, so I just slipped off my shoes and fell on the bed, still naked. Once again, I had trouble finding a comfortable position to arrange my HUGE TITS. How did women manage these things? Of course, most women weren't anywhere near this busty, so maybe it wasn't an issue for them. Or they got used to it as they went through puberty and they grew bit by bit, rather than instantaneously. I also noticed -- because it went away when I lay down -- that the weight was beginning to give me a backache. I struggled around for awhile and finally drifted off. I don't know how long I'd been asleep when I was awakened by Don running his hand over my butt. Not my choice of alarm clock. I should have pretended to be asleep, but I stirred in response. "You awake?" he asked. Naturally, the question required an answer. Why couldn't there have been just one of those candy hearts with "NOT NOW" or "NO" on it? Since there hadn't been, nor was I struck with a sudden attack of laryngitis, what I said was "FUCK ME." I don't think I'd used the F-word as much in my entire life as I had in the past day or so. Well, I'd asked for it, even if I hadn't wanted to, and I got it. Just once, though, and without another word, he rolled over and fell asleep. I was now wide awake, though. I slipped out of bed and walked -- tiptoed -- around to his side to look at the clock. 2:42. Well, I'd fallen asleep before eight, so I'd had most of a night's sleep. What to do now? I was all sticky again, so I took another shower, trying to make as little noise as possible. That took awhile, low water flow making it take a long time for the water to get hot. Then I had to get all this hair dry again. Another nuisance. While I did so, I tried to think of how I could get it cut without being able to say anything of the sort to a hairdresser. Maybe it would grow back instantly, if I did; I didn't know what changes the cursed candy might allow. I wandered out to the living room. The computer was still on, and it appeared to have a broadband connection. OK, maybe I could get help from some online source. I clicked on his bookmark for a search engine and typed in "Naughty Hearts." No, I didn't. The page that came up said "Search Results for BIG BOOBS." I'd even typed it in all caps. A second try brought up a selection of "NO PANTIES" web sites. I suppose I should have expected it. No point in the curse limiting spoken vocabulary, if one could get around it by writing. The most I could do with the computer was select bookmarks and click on links. No way I was going to find information on cursed candy by that method. I wondered if my disappearance had been noted, but I couldn't find a bookmark for the local paper. I did find quite a few porn links in his bookmark list. Not all that surprising for a single man. My own computer had a few. None of the sites in his list had women with HUGE TITS like mine, though; this guy was really into butts. I wondered how my ass stacked up against his stash of fantasy women. I hadn't really checked mine out when I looked in the mirror; dealing with my boobs required most of my attention. I guess he liked it well enough, based on my experience so far. Then I shook my head; was I thinking I _wanted_ to compete with other women for sexual attention? Maybe _I_ wasn't thinking it, but the body part between my legs, which had pretty much taken over my life, had ideas of its own. I found a link for a news site and spent some time catching up on national and world events. It was a way to pass the time, at least, until it was morning and I could try to resume my trek to the mysterious drug store. Not too much of it made an impression; my own problems were preoccupying me too much. Still, I was surprised when a couple of hands grabbed my BIG BOOBS. I jumped to my feet, which caused him to lose his grip, and they bounced all over. Not too comfortable, that. Surprised, too, that he'd grabbed my boobs and not my GREAT ASS. "You been up all this time?" he asked. "Hope you're still horny. I always am when I get up in the morning." He was running his hands over my butt while he talked, more what I expected from him. Not much of a seduction line, but I was a sure thing; my ass was just as much an erogenous zone as my boobs. "FUCK ME," I answered -- as if I really could have said anything else. He didn't need any more encouragement; in a moment I was back on my hands and knees, getting done from behind. Just as well; he hadn't brushed his teeth or used mouthwash yet. Inconsiderate bastard. No way I could mention it. Unless I pointed to his mouth and held my nose, I suppose. When he had finished -- at least not before I had a couple of orgasms, the only good thing about this whole mess -- he said, "Why don't you fix some breakfast? I'm going to shave." Another reason I was glad I hadn't had to do it with him face-to-face. Well, I _was_ hungry, but it was presuming a lot to expect me to cook for him. I figured I could scramble four eggs as easily as two, though. First, I wanted to get dressed, to the extent I could. I followed him down the hall to the bathroom, where I'd hung up my clothes to dry, and found the door locked. Damn. At least I could get my shoes from the bedroom, where I'd left them. No longer barefoot, but otherwise nude and still on tiptoes, I went to the kitchen. There were nine eggs in a carton on the refrigerator door. I decided to poach them instead of scrambling them. I liked 'em that way, and I hoped he'd find it annoying enough to want to let me get on with my search for Spelling's Rx USA. As I started heating a pot of water to boiling, I heard the shower going. Which meant he was doing that before shaving. Hmmm. Had I hung my clothes outside the tub or inside? And if inside, would he have had the decency to move them before turning on the water? I guessed I'd just have to wait to find out. I located the bread and made some toast. There was also half a carton of juice in the fridge, more than enough to pour two glasses. I noticed the water boiling as I was putting the carton back and got distracted, resulting in my sticking one of my boobs on the cold water pitcher. Ouch! These things were so awkward. Now they felt different. I looked down. My nipples looked even bigger than I remembered them being in the cold yesterday. They looked harder, too. I felt them to check... Oh, god, I shouldn't have done that. Waves of arousal coursed through my body. I had just enough presence of mind to turn down the stove before I had to give full attention to my nipples and then my pussy. I was one hand short, though. Finally, I figured out how to rub one nipple with my arm, while doing the other with my fingers, leaving the other hand free to explore between my legs. I was on my fourth or fifth orgasm when ...Don, that was it, came down the hall from his shower and shave. "Got breakfast ready, Easy?" He stopped and looked at what I was doing. "OK, you couldn't wait for me, huh? I never met a bitch horny as you. Well, breakfast can come later; I can come now.." His bathrobe had come open, and I could see he was ready to do me again. He grabbed me around the waist, picked me up, took me to the living room, and tossed me onto the couch. I was trying to keep my boobs from flailing around while he did so, and having no success at all. This time he did me missionary position; I guess he liked a little variety. Or maybe it was my cold-stimulated nipples, which were still as huge as when I'd gotten into the fridge, because he paid them a lot of attention this time. Which they needed, because they finally returned to normal. Normal for this body, not normal for most women. "OK, that was good. Now, how about breakfast?" He got up, yanked me to my feet, pointed me toward the kitchen, and swatted me on the behind. I bit my tongue to keep from saying anything; much as I would have liked to say, "Screw you, bastard," I knew something else would surely have come out instead. I just wanted to escape from this jerk. I reheated the toast, got the water boiling again, and served the poached eggs. Sure enough, he wasn't expecting that. "What the hell are these?" The candy hearts hadn't had an answer for that, so I got away with not answering. Why couldn't they have had a "FUCK YOU" as well as a "FUCK ME?" I actually got to sit down and eat my breakfast while he was sulking over the eggs. Which he ate anyway, I noticed. I hadn't made any coffee, because all I could find was some instant. "I'm going out for a latte. What did you get yesterday? Oh, yeah, a cappucino. I'll bring you back one; you clean up the dishes." He left the kitchen to get dressed. Yeah, like hell I was going to clean up his kitchen for him. By the time he returned, I was hoping to be long gone, although I'd have to take a roundabout route to Henway Turnpike so as not to meet him coming back. At least nothing he'd said required a response, according to the rules of the candy-heart curse, so I wasn't begging to be fucked again. I waited until I heard the door slam behind him and headed for the bathroom, which I needed to use anyway. Sure enough, my clothes had been hung inside the curtain, and they were wet again. I was stuck for another couple of hours. OK, so I'd clean the dishes. What else was there to do? An hour went by. Maybe he was having a second latte. I decided to borrow his computer again. Maybe I could find a useful link or bookmark I'd overlooked last night. I sat down at the desk in the living room. Something wasn't right, though. There was a keyboard, mouse, and monitor, but they were all inert. Then I looked closely. Under the desk, where the minitower would have been, was instead a docking station. Empty. He'd taken his portable with him. I guess he wanted to get some work done without being interrupted by the slut. So he might not be back for awhile. Good thing I wasn't desperate for that cappucino... I probably had a bit more time than I'd expected, but still, I needed to be trying to get to that drugstore. Back to the bathroom. My clothes were damp, but not wet. I could probably wear them and get away from Don. I slipped into my clothes and noted that wet, they stuck to my body even more than usual. There wasn't a curve that wasn't obvious, as I could see in the bathroom mirror. I figured it wouldn't make much difference. There was no disguising my HUGE TITS, whether my top was wet or dry. I just needed to find a way to avoid places where I would draw attention. Too bad that walking along the highway toward the old part of town wasn't such a place. Don could be back any minute, although I suspected that he'd be gone until his computer's batteries ran down, which would be something like two or three hours, at least. I decided to err on the side of safety and get moving. I remembered the route he'd driven from the coffee and donut shop, so I knew how far and which way I had to go to get back to Henway. I needed to detour somewhat to be sure I didn't walk past the donut shop, or encounter him driving back. I noticed a number of road maps on a shelf in the living room and checked out the neighborhood. Ah! That was a back road out that connected to Henway. Longer than the way we'd come in, but just what I was looking for. I pulled my skirt down to cover as much as I could and walked out the door. The chill February air and wet fabric had an instant effect on my nipples, of course. This time, I knew better than to touch them. I'd be in big trouble, sitting on his front step in public, playing with myself. Also, the wet fabric clung to my boobs, so there was no stimulation from it chafing at me as I walked. I almost made it to Henway, when a car pulled up from behind. I could hear it slow down and a power window roll down. I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go; the walk was lined with dense brush, and I couldn't make any speed in my FETISH HEELS. A voice came from the car. "Hey, chickie!" "HEY STUD," I heard myself say. * * * It took me some two weeks to get to the old section of town. I kept trying to walk there for most of that time, and I could never make more than a couple hundred yards of progress a day before some guy would pick me up, resulting in a day and night of sex. More than one tried to hide my clothes, like the first guy -- who cares about their names any more? -- did, to keep me around. One guy actually brought me home to his girlfriend for a threesome. That time, I learned that there were some phrases on the Naughty Hearts I hadn't used until then. Likewise, the one time in those fourteen days that a girl picked me up. Had there really been a heart with "MISTRESS" on it? But mostly it was one-on-one with guys. Finally, I realized that walking was never going to get me there. So the next time I got picked up, I fucked the guy to complete exhaustion -- I don't know if I could have done that the first day, but by that point, I could probably do it nonstop forever. And almost needed to. Anyway, once he was out for the duration, I took his car keys and left in his car. I figured I could bring it back after I got the curse lifted. Two weeks trying to walk to my destination, and I'd made maybe 3/4 of a mile. Fifteen minutes in a car, and I was there. Or was I? I was sure I knew where the store was, but I couldn't find it. I drove around the area for awhile, until it got dark, with still no success. Then I decided things would look more familiar from my shopping trip of Valentine's Day if I followed the same route, so I went back to the bar where it all started. It had only been two weeks, so I remembered which way I'd walked. Driving, it only took me three minutes, although I had to cross a different bridge and backtrack to the footbridge I'd used on the 14th. Then a few blocks down and one over. There I was. There it _wasn't_. An empty lot. No drug store. No _building_. No sign that there had _ever_ been a building there. A landlord's sign that said "Build to suit." Debris on the lot, including a December newspaper page that was half under a brick, looking as if it hadn't been touched in weeks. Spelling's Rx USA didn't exist. Had never existed. Now what was I going to do? I wanted to sit in the car and have a good cry, but I'd walked only halfway back to it when a voice from behind me said, "Yo, bitch." "HEY STUD," I said. * * * It's early October now, and the air is getting chilly, which is getting my nipples even more attention than during the summer, if that's possible. I had hoped that the curse or spell or whatever might wear off after a month. Or two months. Or six months. Now, I'm hoping for a year. But I don't really expect that. I guess I'm stuck until the drugstore reappears, if ever, and the guy who runs it decides he's had enough, or I have, or I've learned my lesson, or whatever. Other than that, it's pretty much like the first day, except I have a lot more backaches from carrying around my BIG BOOBS, and my legs and feet are killing me from the FETISH HEELS -- except when I'm lying down, and that means some guy is banging me. I still haven't gotten used to my HUGE TITS bouncing around, or my GREAT ASS wiggling, or going without underwear, or having nothing but filthy language, in two- and three-word phrases, come from my mouth, or being endlessly ogled, groped, and fucked by just about everyone I meet. I suppose if I could get used to it, it wouldn't be a curse, right? So, guys, some advice that I can only give in my thoughts here (because written or spoken it would come out "HEY STUD" and "LET'S FUCK"): Don't eat the Naughty Hearts, even if you get them free. Or better yet, when it comes to getting your girl a Valentine's Day gift, _plan ahead_.