Seducing a telephone repairman
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Another Pair Of Shorts free porn video
Here's two more stories that were written as Phlick captions. Some pictures
are worth 1000 words, I guess. Let me know what you think these stories
(1400 and 1200 words, respectively) are worth.
Wise Guy No More
By Ellie Dauber (c) 2003
"Tommy, I think my dad knows." Emilina Sciavoni whispered. She was in bed
with Tommy Giordano, relaxing in the afterglow of a wonderful sexual
experience.
"So," Tommy said, gently stroking her breast. "You're over 21. You got a
right to your own love life. This is 21st century America; we ain't in
Sicily in 1900."
"I know... and he says he doesn't mind _what_ I do. He just doesn't like me
doing it with his men. He thinks you're just using me to get close to him.?
She pouted as she said it.
Tommy tried not to show any emotion. He _was_ trying to get in better with
his Mafia don, but the fact that Emilina was a tall, leggy brunette, with a
limber athletic build and a 38D-25-36 figure certainly made it worthwhile on
its own.
"I do want to get close to a Sciavoni." He pulled her to him, but _he_ isn't
the one I want to get close to." Tommy was tall and broad shouldered with
black hair and the chiseled features that seemed to go with his Italian
heritage.
Emilina giggled and rolled on top of him. "Just be careful. He's... he's got
ways of dealing with people he sees as a... problem."
Tommy nodded. He knew. He was one of those ways, though he wasn't about to
let her know it.
***
The next day, Tommy was told that Don Sciavoni wanted to see him.
On business.
"You wished to speak with me, sir," he said softly as he reported to the
office of his gang lord. It looked like the office of the CEI of any large
firm. The Don sat behind a dark cherry wood desk. He'd been looking at a
spreadsheet when Tommy entered.
"Yes," the man said. Don Carlo Sciavoni was a tall, muscular man, his slate
gray hair was perfectly combed, and his Armani suit was impeccable, but he
still had the air of the trigger man he had once been. "I understand that
you are seeing my daughter."
"I... I am, sir. We've been seeing each other for about a month."
"Is it serious, do you think?"
"I don't know. It's a little early. I like her very much, though, and I
would never want to hurt her, no matter how things turn out."
"Because she is my daughter?"
"Because she is a woman... a person I like. I don't hurt people I like."
"Unless I ask it of you." The man smiled at his own joke.
"Unless you ask it of me, of course, sir."
"Good... good answer. I like that." Don Sciavoni took a breath. "And, of
course, you have no other motive in seeing my daughter beyond getting to
better know a... person you like."
"What other motive could I have?"
"What, indeed. Perhaps you also wished to get to better know her father, to
get to know his secrets, so you could use them to your own advantage."
"Sir, Don Sciavoni, I would never..."
"Yes, Tommy, you would. Do not ask how I know this, but know that I do."
"If you don't trust me... if you _order_ me not to, I will not see her
again." He left silent the threat that he would tell Emilina the reason why.
Both men knew how the headstrong young woman would react. 'The next time we
talked,' he thought, 'it might be as 'Godfather' and son-in-law."
"No," the older man said, as if in answer. "The next we meet, it will be as
owner and _owned_." He took a breath. "Take off your clothes."
"What? Are you serious?"
The Don put a hand into a drawer in his desk. When he showed it a moment
later, he was holding an odd-looking, black glass rod. It was about a foot
long, tapering almost to a point at one end.
"Most serious. Now, do it." Sciavoni pointed the thing at Tommy.
"This is the stupidest... what the hell!" Even as he argued, Tommy realized
that he had untied and removed his necktie and was now unbuttoning his
shirt.
The Don smiled. "My father -- and his father before him -- they both were of
the Brotherhood. 'Wise guys', as the younger punks used to call us. My
grandmother, Rosa, though, she was from another heritage. She was one of
those Sicialiano Wise Women."
"You mean those 'witches' our parents used to scare us with when we were
kids. C'mon, old man." Tommy saw no need to show respect to a man who was so
obviously delusional. Getting power for himself was going to be easier than
he thought. Only...
"Only, if they're just a fairy tale, why are you standing before me almost
naked." The older man laughed. "There are male Wise Ones, too, Tommy, and
reading the minds of those around us is one of our simpler talents."
Tommy began to feel fear. He was wearing only his boxers by this time, and,
as much as he was fighting it, he was pulling those down from his hips. In a
moment, he stepped out of them.
"So that's what my Emilina thinks of as her 'Big, Bad Tommy Gun.' It is not
so big now."
"What... what are you going to do to me?"
"You were told that I wished to see you on business. That is true. I am
transferring you to another job. You will be working for Georgio DiNapoli
from now on."
"Georgio?" He shook his head. "No way you're making me the bouncer in one of
his hook joints."
"Oh, you'll be bouncing in one of Georgio's places," Sciavoni said, making
an odd gesture with the crazy wand. "But not the way you think."
Tommy felt a jolt, like an electric shock run through his body. He looked
down. His body hair was gone. He couldn't see a single hair anywhere, not
even in his groin.
His groin! As he watched, his prick was getting smaller. So were his balls.
In a moment, he couldn't feel them hanging down. He did feel something, like
a worm moving inside, from his groin up towards his stomach. The empty sack
tightened turning into a pair of thick lips that his prick, no more than an
inch long, seemed to be sinking down into. It only took a few more seconds
before Tommy was looking down at a shaved, and thoroughly feminine pussy.
"No!" he shouted. His voice was higher now, moving up into the alto range.
He grabbed his throat. His Adam's apple had already vanished.
He looked down again. He was thinner, especially at the waist, though his
hips seemed to be getting wider.
Then his view was hidden as something grew out from his chest, a breast. It
was nice and firm, with a big nipple that begged to be played with. A second
one grew out moments later.
His view of the room was shifting, too. He -- no, not with a pussy -- _she_
was getting shorter. Her hair was growing, hanging down over her eyes.
"Please..."
"Please," Sciavoni laughed and looked at the new woman. "Yes, with that
body, I'm sure that you will. Now, get dressed, Tammy."
Tammy? She was... no, that was her name, Tammy Giordano, 18, new in town,
and eager to work in the best house in town. "You like what you see then,
sir?" She posed for her new boss, smiling, hoping that the man would want
her... personally.
"I do," Sciavoni said, "but only in the sense that I appreciate quality when
I see it. Now, please get dressed. I have other things to attend to." His
tone clearly dismissed any chance of a sexual liaison with the young woman.
"Yes, sir." Tammy looked around. Her clothes were scattered on the floor,
transformed from the male items they had been before her memories changed.
She wriggled into a pair of electric green silk panties and a matching
bustier.
As she sat on a nearby couch to carefully put on her cling-top sheer
stockings, Sciavoni reached for a phone. She had no more presence in his
mind than the couch she was sitting on, and he knew that she wouldn't _dare_
listen to his conversation.
Emilina would no more remember Tommy than Tammy remembered her, and he
wondered whom she now thought she was seeing. He pressed her number on the
quick dial. He would invite he to join him at the opera tonight and find out
how the world had changed over a pleasant family dinner.
***
Wood Chipee
By Ellie Dauber (c) 2003
Carl loved camping, and every summer he'd try a new place. This year, he was
headed for a camp called "Mystic Woods."
But there was trouble as soon as he arrived. "Hi," he said to the woman in
the administration building. "I'm Carl A. Brookings. I sent you a check for
a tent site."
"Oh, dear," the woman, a brunette with olive colored skin said. "I thought
you were _Carla_ Brookings. You can't stay here. This campground is for
women only. I'll write you a check for what you paid us."
"And where am I going to go? I sent you my money two months ago. It's the
height of the season. Every place that's worth a damn is booked solid."
"But there's no place here for a man to stay." She was getting nervous, and
an odd accent was creeping into her voice.
"No place for a man? Your brochure said that you had over thirty square
miles of land. I read it a half dozen times. What it did NOT say was that
the place was restricted. Now, I've got food for a week in my jeep, so why
don't you just send me off to a corner of the park where nobody ever goes."
"I don't think..."
"Ma'am, I'm trying to be accommodating. If you want, I'll leave, but I'll be
back here with a lawyer, and I'll sue your outfit for so much that this'll
be MY campground here."
The woman glared at Carl for a moment. "Very well, you've brought this on
yourself." She reached under her desk and pulled out a map and opened it on
the counter. "All of our campsites are off in this direction." She drew a
line along a wide roadway.
"But there's this other trail that lead down to the Founder's Grove at the
heart of the woods. There are a few places in there that you can choose
from." She drew a line along a narrow road that branched off from the main
one and went deep into the woods. The map showed woods with a small lake.
"That'll be fine. See you in a week."
"Or sooner," the woman said with an odd smile on her lips.
Carl looked at her for the first time. She was tall, with a tanned, athletic
body that filled her uniform delightfully, especially her breasts, size 40D
at least. She had an oval face and a pair of thick pouting lips. Definitely
somebody he'd want to see again.
He smiled back. "I hope I do see you again. I'd like to apologize for how I
acted. It was a long drive up from the city, and then you say that I can't
camp here. I guess I lost my temper."
"The matter is settled," the woman said, "but it grows late. You had best be
on your way."
"Tell me your name, first, okay."
"I am Ariadne. Now go." She made a gesture as if shoo-ing him out the door.
"Until later, Ariadne." He bowed and left.
Carl found the turnoff onto the smaller road and followed it about two miles
into the woods. It ended at a clearing surrounded by a ring of oak trees,
all at least fifty feet high. A small stream ran through the woods jut at
the other side. It was clear and looked deep enough to have fish. "Man. oh,
man, what a place," he said.
He unloaded his gear and pitched his tent. Camp was set up just in time to
cook supper. He decided to have rations tonight and check out the fishing in
the morning.
Carl was awakened by a loud noise. He picked up his watch from beside the
air mattress. Midnight. He lay still for a bit, trying to get a hint if the
sound was human, raccoon, or -- worse -- a bear.
Bears don't giggle, but someone outside the tent did. "Ariadne," he said to
himself. He stood up. He was only wearing a khaki shirt and boxers, but a
woman who comes by your camp at midnight doesn't expect a whole lot more.
He opened the tent flap. Ariadne was standing a few feet away. She was
wearing something that looked like a babydoll nightie. The material was so
sheer that he could see her nipples through it. Nipples, hell, he could see
a dark patch at her crotch. "Well, this is a pleasant surprise," he said as
he stepped out of the tent.
"Aye, but not for you."
Carl turned. There were six other women, all dressed like Ariadne and
looking enough like her that they must be family. 'This is going to be one
_great_ week,' he thought to himself.
Ariadne took his hands and pulled him into the center of the clearing. "We
had not planned on this, Carl Brookings, but you insisted. Now you shall
join with us."
"Join with us? You mean... have sex with you all?"
Ariadne laughed, a high, tinkly laugh. "Oh, no... no. Sisters, he thinks..."
She said something in another language.
The other women laughed. They joined hands with Ariadne and began to dance
around him. As they danced, they chanted in that same language.
Carl felt as if his body had been dipped in some warm, honeyed, soda. His
skin tingled all over, and tiny sparks of pleasure seemed to be bouncing
around in every part of him.
He closed his eyes and moaned in delight, and, as he did, he felt his body
changing. His hair grew long; he could feel it on his shoulders. His shirt
got bigger, and the material felt rougher on his skin, especially around his
chest. He'd had an erection from the moment he saw all those beautiful,
almost naked women, but now he couldn't feel it any more. He moaned again
and noticed that his voice sounded higher and softer.
"You are most welcome to our circle, Coriola," a voice said. Carl opened his
eyes, and his mind was filled with a new awareness.
Carl... no, Carl was the mortal he had been. _She_ was Coriola, now, one of
the band of near immortal dryads charged with protecting these woods. The
Native Americans had respected this site, but the Whites -- the Europeans --
had not. After years of fighting, they had established the camp in the
surrounding woods to protect their Grove at its heart. Only women were
allowed because they sensed the truth in their hearts and respected the
woods they camped in.
She looked down in delight at the curves of her body, the swell of her
breasts, the soft downy patch that protected her feminine center. This was
the form she would wear for 1,000 years. Then she would die, and her spirit
would pass into one of the trees.
It was wonderful. Coriola joined her sisters in their laughing dance. "And I
don't even have to pack up the camp and go back to work on Monday.?
Hester
- 13.02.2020
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