Coworker s Curse
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Daughter's Curse free porn video
Daughter's Curse
At first I thought I was having a stroke. I remember thinking, you're
only 48 years old and your parents are still alive and healthy. This
can't be happening. But when I tried to get out of bed, I couldn't move
my right side. Then I realized I couldn't move my left side and for
some strange reason, that made me feel better.
My vision seemed to be fading too - everything was turning golden in a
kind of tunnel-vision effect. But then the sides of my face began to
get a tickling sensation and I reflexively moved my hand up to touch
the tickle spot and realized my hand moved, so that was a relief. But
was it my hand? It was a woman's or a girl's hand - slender, pale, with
long pink nails that had little white floral designs on them.
Incredible, I thought. Those are most feminine fingernails I've ever
seen. Too long, too pink and those flowers were pretty ridiculous. I
touched my face and realized that my face not only felt the hand, but
the hand felt the face. I screamed. A girl's scream.
Almost immediately my 22-year-old daughter ran into the room (I was
visiting her at the time) and screamed too. "Who are you? Where is my
father?" she stammered and then pulled out her cell phone and dialed
her boyfriend, a cop.
I sat up and suddenly my whole field of vision turned golden - until I
brushed my hair out of my face with my new, feminine hands. My elbow
was rubbing against something very unfamiliar and very soft, which
turned out to be my right breast. And then I fainted.
When I came to, Janet and her boyfriend Jeff were there, slapping me
awake rather rudely. What happened over the next several hours is
pretty fuzzy, but basically it boiled down to this: Janet had gone
antiquing the day before and had bought an old ring which she was
wearing while on the phone with her girlfriend Melissa. The two were
planning a group date, but they were one girl short for their friend,
Christopher.
"Gee," Janet wondered aloud, thinking of Chris's taste in women, "If
only we had a blonde bimbo here, we'd be all set."
A minute later, she heard the scream from her spare room, ran in and
found me dressed in, well, dressed in my clothes. Only now, instead of
a 6'1", 210 pound man, I was... just what she had ordered. A blonde
bimbo.
It took a lot of convincing, but since I'd raised her and knew all the
details of her life, she finally had to come to the conclusion that she
had inadvertently cursed me. She needed a blonde bimbo and the ring had
delivered one to her - and then apparently stopped working. Because no
amount of wishing by any of us would turn me back.
The physical changes were strange, yes, but the most ingenious part of
the curse was the mental aspects of being changed into a bimbo. For
example, my brain was thinking, "So, you inadvertently wished for a
certain kind of woman and somehow that was transferred to me?" (I'm a
college professor by training and I admit I sound pretty stuffy at
times.) But when I spoke, it came out: "Like, you wished for a bimbo
and, ah, now I am one?" No matter how hard I tried, I could only rarely
say a more than one-syllable word. For a professor of the classics,
that was even more of a tragedy than my body.
I was young, yes. I could have been anywhere from 15 to 20. Flawless
pale skin, long light golden-blonde hair with big bangs and wisps that
fell to frame my face, big blue eyes that always looked innocent and
slightly bewildered no matter what I was thinking, curvy legs, round
hips and bubble butt, 23 inch waist and... well... huge breasts. DD cup
and natural - I thought at first they must be implants, but they were
all fat and bounced like Jello when I moved.
Janet said that the first thing she needed to do was buy me some bras,
because they were going to start hanging to my waist any day. I
thought, "You're referring to these breasts?" But I said: "You mean my
boobs will sag? Oh wow."
Janet noticed the difference in my speech to and remarked that when she
cursed someone, she really did a number on them. I was fuming at how
casually she was taking all of this, but all I could manage to say was,
"I hate you." And then I burst into tears. Clearly my emotions were
affected as well. Oh and anger never registers on my face. I just get a
pretty pout.
A month went by. Then two. Then three. I stayed in Janet's apartment
and gradually learned that I was considered MIA by my job, my ex-wife,
my broker - everyone who knew me. Janet told me nobody would believe me
and she's probably correct. In the back of my mind, I thought that
since she was my sole heir, she stood to gain the most if I were
declared deceased, but I figured she'd just give me the money she'd
inherit.
I thought I was slowly going crazy in that apartment. Watching soaps,
reading her magazines - I tried to read academic journals at the local
library, but ones I once thought were simplistic I now found too
challenging. Besides, I couldn't talk to anyone about higher concepts.
I always ended up sounding like an imbecile.
Finally, I figured I had to get out and do something, because a steady
diet of daytime TV and Cosmopolitans were ruining my brain. You'd think
with my verbal skills, I could have landed some kind of decent
employment, but you forget that what I thought and how I spoke were two
entirely different things. Janet wasn't making much money and affording
food and clothes for both of us was taxing her. Even though Jeff knew
about the situation, as a small town cop, he didn't make much either.
Though he did manage to get me an ID through some illegal channels.
My new name: Angelina Simons. Angel for short. With that, I finally got
the only decent paying job I could find: A Hooter's waitress. Don't
laugh, women with bodies like mine make lots in tips at a place like
that. But after a few months of that, a customer gave me a business
card for a strip club he owned and I showed up there for an audition. I
was hired on the spot. It turns out that while bimbos are clumsy at
just about everything they try - I couldn't program a VCR to save my
life - we're excellent at anything that has to do with our appearance
and turning guys on. I went right to work humping the pole, grinding my
hips, shaking my breasts, flipping my hair, etc.
But the problem was, everything I did for my appearance or to turn guys
on, basically occupied my thoughts completely. It's like I was losing a
war with my own mind. I'd start looking at a magazine of hair styles at
the salon and end up spending hours there, discussing shades of blonde,
different cuts, etc., with women who acted as stupid as I spoke.
After coming home at 2 a.m. after a night of dancing, I'd pull down my
sweat pants and notice how cute my g-string looked running up the cleft
of my perfect rear. I'd shake it a little and before I knew it, it was
dawn and I'd just spent hours perfecting a new dance move.
And makeup, don't get me started. I was totally engrossed with finding
the perfect pink lipstick, the sexiest mascara, etc. Meanwhile, the
other parts of my brain seemed to be atrophying. I'd try to access
them, but each time I went back, I found less and less there. I knew,
intellectually, I had read, studied and interpreted the classics for
years, but now I could barely remember the story lines. My knowledge of
ancient languages had evaporated, too.
Of course, I wasn't attracted to men. They were just a leering pack of
dollar bill dispensers as far as I was concerned. I was more than happy
to have Ron, the big bouncer at the club, toss them out if they tried
to touch me. One thing started troubling me, though. My bimbo
programming must include a sub routine that has something to do with
being taken care of. Bimbos love being taken care of and protected. I
first noticed it when I was around Ron. He was your basic Neanderthal,
but I noticed I would blush and smile and act super sexy around him.
And then there was Jeff, Janet's boyfriend. Also, not big in the smarts
department, be he is a naturally caring person. Really too good for
Janet, who didn't treat him with a lot of respect. She also sometimes
dated people at her work, without telling him, though they were
practically engaged. Of course I couldn't tell him, because I counted
on Janet for the roof over my head and to... well... just handle things
I couldn't figure out. Car insurance, money, taxes etc. etc.
Jeff knew who I really was, but he was nice to me anyway. He always
asked how I was doing, jumped my car when my battery was dead, brought
me chicken soup when I was sick and a variety of things like that. And
all I could manage to say were things like, "Oh, thank you so much
Jeff. You are soooooooo sweet. I like when you do stuff for me." Then
I'd get all giggly and invite him in for tea or something.
Since we often both worked nights, we would do things together during
the day, like go grocery shopping or cook dinner for when Janet got
home. He even helped me pick out new hairstyles and things you wouldn't
expect a guy to do. While I tended toward bigger and bigger and blonder
and blonder hair, he told me that I should go with my natural
golden/honey blonde and to let my layers grow out. I didn't even have
bangs any more. It made me look a little more sophisticated. But not
much.
Now, when Jeff and I used to go out for errands and stuff, I first just
wore jeans or sweats. Then one day I found myself wearing ultra low
rise stretch jeans and a midriff baring top. Then a low-cut top with my
best pushup bra. Then I did my hair up. And wore perfume. And then
makeup. Pretty soon I was getting up early just to get pretty for him.
I suppose I just liked his attention - I was rewarding him for being
nice to me. But even thinking or talking about him, like I am now, made
me go into full bimbo mental mode. Switching off that mode became
harder and harder as the intellectual part of my brain grew smaller and
smaller. So weird.
Then one day, after Janet had been out the night before with a co-
worker, I felt I couldn't hold back any longer and I almost told Jeff,
but somehow being a bimbo really drains you of backbone. I just
couldn't make anyone mad at me, even Janet, who no longer treated me
with much respect, but more like a maid. She is beautiful - whereas I
just have a cute, sexy face - but I think on some level she's jealous.
While I was trying to tell him, I was, like stammering. I just could
not get the words out. "J-J-J-Jeff, I need to tell you..." I wanted to
say "something important," but those words were far too big to say. I
managed to say, "I need to tell you a big thing. I mean, a very big
thing. I'm not sure I can say this. Oh, this is so, so, so weird."
Tears started to go down my cheeks and I just knew my mascara was
running. I looked up at him (I'm, like, 5'5" and he's 6'3"), my lips
quivering.
He took me by he shoulders and said, "Just calm down, honey, I know
what you're going to say."
Wow. He knew! And, he called me honey! I had just a couple seconds to
think what he meant by that, when he bent down and kissed me. Oh wow.
He kissed me. Bimbos loved being kissed by people who take care of
them. It's like the ultimate thing. I wanted him to want me so bad just
then. To take care of me for always, so I kissed him back. A long, hot
kiss in which I melted my soft curvy body into his hard body and felt
his cock grow in his jeans.
I was wearing a short, pleated pink skirt and a low cut white, angora
sweater. My hair was coiled on top of my head, because I knew he liked
it that way because he said it showed my slender neck and cute slender
shoulders. I think he's right about that - I do have delicate features,
though my lips are a little big and pouty and of course my boobs are so
large. My ass is very round too, but I wouldn't call it huge, you know?
Where was I? Sorry, when I think about being with him, I go very bimbo.
Anyway, he pulled the clip off my hair and it all fell down around us.
By now he had lowered me onto the couch (he is soooo strong!) and was
kissing my delicate neck.
Then he pulled away and said, "I just can't do this."
I felt like my universe had exploded. Before I could say anything, he
grabbed his jacket and left, leaving me with heaving boobs and so wet
it was unbelievable. My nipples were erect for hours, so much so that
guys at the club that night commented on it. All I knew was that he was
my protector and I needed him in my life. I called him the next day and
he apologized and made me promise we'd just be friends. I did promise
that, but...
I guess even bimbos can be clever some time. He gave himself a few days
to cool off, but we made a date to go to the mall. He insisted we meet
there and I insisted he help me shop for a new bikini. After about four
bikinis, each one skimpier than the last, I figured it was time to go
back to the apartment. He didn't want to come in, but I made an excuse
about wanting him to see another new outfit I had bought. So he
reluctantly came in and I disappeared into my little bedroom and came
out in a new outfit - one I had bought for my routine at the strip
club. It was an angel outfit, with little pink wings and a super short
white dress that fell in rags just past my ass. My boobs were
practically spilling out - you could actually see the tops of my big,
pink nipples. And I had a halo on top of my pretty blonde hair.
"Do you like it?" I asked him. "I got it when you said I really was an
angel sometimes." I gave him my most innocent look and then very very
slowly began to work my hips. Just a little. "See? I think it will look
good for my act,"
I danced a little more and he couldn't move. It's like he was
petrified. His cock certainly was. I stroked it through his pants,
until it was nice and hard. By this time all I had on was the wings,
the halo and a g-string. I pulled down his pants and rubbed my hard
nipples up and down the shaft of his cock, until he pulled me up and
started kissing me again. Then I led him to the bedroom, got down on my
hands and knees on the bed and guided his cock into my pussy, doggy
style. I'd read that that was the best way to get pregnant, because I
knew he was an honorable guy and that was the best way to keep him.
He pinched my nipples while he fucked me and it was exquisite. I only
wish I could have said that do him, but that's too big a word. I just
moaned and said, "Oh, yes, mmmm. Yes yes. Do it. Fast. Fast. Fast." I
felt his hot cum in me and prayed I would get pregnant.
Eventually, I did. And he did exactly as I thought. He told Janet (she
wasn't that broken up), married me and now I'm the proud mother of two
beautiful girls. Janet didn't even seem that upset and came to the
wedding. She was driving a new Lexus, which she had bought with her
inheritance.
But I didn't care. I'm happy and I can tell that my girls are already
much smarter than I am. Good thing, too, because while being a bimbo
does have its advantages, it would be nice to be smart, too. But I'd
rather be pretty. And I love getting laid by his big hard cock on a
daily basis. Sure my boobs have finally started to sag - breast feeding
will do that - but Jeff adores me and he still loves cumming all over
them and watching me lick it off. Now that they're bigger and not so
firm, it's easy to do.
So I guess the curse really turned into a blessing.
Jeannie
- 04.06.2022
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