What Youre Missing Part Two
- 3 years ago
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I Hope You're Happy With Your Life. free porn video
I Hope You're Happy with Your Life.
It was a good day. The thought came once more unbidden to John's mind as
he looked down into the constant rippling that was caused by the shopping
centre's fountain. The 24 year old was sitting on the faux-marble edge of
metal and plastic monstrosity that squatted obscenely just inside the
centre's automatic doors. In truth he felt somewhat lost.
John worked for one of the more prestigious car manufacturers, whose own
multi-storied offices were only a 10 minute walk from where he now sat.
Employed in its sales department John had found that he had a knack for
closing the firm's bigger deals, using his own unique blend of style and
utter persistence, and that was the very reason for his current mixed
emotions and why John had now sat with his mind almost blank for 15
minutes, idly watching the shoppers and browsers flow in and out of the
doors before him, interspersed solely by their hiss and click of metallic
closure.
That very morning, John had completed the signing of the company's largest
ever client. An American hauling company, that apparently recently found
it more cost-effective to set up shop in each of the major cities in which
most of its business occurred, rather than haul from a only a few out of
the way depots, had decided to revamp its image.
With reduced travelling times for a new larger fleet, built up roads to
negotiate, smaller loads for individual destinations and a requisite for
flair and style, the Yankee company had gone overnight from a large
haulers to a widely spaced courier-type service, capable of offering
greater efficiency to its customers.
John still was not entirely sure how they had found the liquid assets to
do this so fast, but in any case, had found their new-found desire for a
veritable fleet of sleek company cars for all their US branches, their
discovery of cheaper overseas imports and their contacting his company as
one of their potential suppliers all to be to his advantage.
It had led to him heading the deal with their UK representative, the
Nordic featured and entirely proper Sophia Goodleigh. Though John had not
noticed it, Sophia was almost the exact opposite to his own easy-going
masculinity, although he had noticed that the brittle, bitchy US ice-queen
almost seemed intent on disliking him from the moment he met her.
Whilst John sported reasonably short-cut, but often overgrown brown hair,
Sophia's blonde was a meticulously maintained coif, pulled sharply back
and into a harsh bun. Whilst John's eyes were dark and welcoming, Sophia's
were a piercing grey-blue, that were constantly darting and re-focusing
over a person as if contemptuously evaluating and efficiently searching at
the same time. Whilst John held himself in a relaxed and indifferent
stance; his tie often loose and his top-button regularly undone, his large
bear-like hand always happy to shake another and his large 6'0'' frame
happily draping over a chair or dominating a room or conversation, Sophia
once more presented the argument. Rigid and unflinching she loomed over a
conversation atop stiletto heels like a splinting being forced into a
finger. A woman of few words, most of them harsh she would present herself
in expensive trouser suits that advertised her executive status and found
themselves ready partners to her accent, lifted directly from the New York
elite.
Meeting for the first time, 3 months ago, John had worked tirelessly to
persuade her that his company would provide the best deal on the
ridiculously large fleet of luxury and cars her company required. From
that first forced handshake, John had tried every tactic he could think
of. He had prepared presentation after presentation, regularly working 14
hour days. He had used all the skill his mathematical degree from Oxford
had granted him to make figures dance in his attempt to seduce her deal.
He had struggled and strived to try and elucidate some element of
friendship, or at least mutual respect from her. He had even, as a last
resort dealt around her and petitioned her American based counterparts,
though to little response.
It was that morning that he finally felt he would have to tell his
superiors that he thought the deal, which had remained so long as nothing
but unsigned paper, was worth even less when she entered his office.
Clicking towards his desk where he rapidly stood to greet her, Sophia had
reached with surprising eagerness to shake his hand. For a moment John
thought perhaps she had finally decided that her animosity was pointless,
as he stared in shock at the firm grasp she had on his hand, but then he
saw her face.
As usual it was unmade-up, but her lips almost looked bright against her
perfect white teeth, hard-set into a hateful snarl.
"Congratulations, John," she sneered, her words clipped. "It seems your
underhanded method of contacting my superiors has worked. I have been
ordered to agree to your proposal and then I am on paid probation."
John was slightly taken aback by the last part. Obviously her superiors
must have thought his proposal was definitely worthwhile.
Sophia broke her handshake and dropped the thick stack of papers she held
in her other hand onto John's large and well polished desk before turning
and beginning to stiffly click from his office.
"My company will be in contact," she called without looking back. "I hope
you're happy with your life."
John could not help but be confused by her last statement, but in truth he
was too busy being elated. Quickly phoning his own bosses to tell them the
good news, John then buzzed his secretary to tell her he would be out for
the day.
And so he found that he had wandered to the shopping centre. He was out in
the hustling bustle of daytime life, outside of his office for the first
time in months. John removed his tie and folding it in his hands, stood up
from the fountain and placed it carefully into his jacket pocket. He had
learned from the last few hectic weeks how hard it was to lose careless
creases when in a rush.
Feeling satisfied and lost, he began to walk through the people around
him, no destination in mind, no need going wanting when he found himself
outside the garish front of a salon. All pink neon lights and clashing
colours, the image was complete by the young 80's dropout leaning against
the entrance's doorframe, smoking the last of a cigarette. John took stock
of her as he approached. Fluffed out, teased hair. Excessive blue eye
makeup. Long inelegant earrings. Even her attire seemed out of date with a
bright lime-green, short sleeved spandex shirt, that strained against
perky, if small breasts and a tight black micro skirt, that she wore over
a pair of baggier jeans.
"You can't smoke in h-" John began in his baritone, before being cut off
by a bubbly, "Mornin', hun!" from the woman. Her accent seemed to place
her dialect somewhere in the Midwest, but despite John's dealings with
Sophia he did not know enough about the US to be more accurate.
"You're worried about a lil' ol' smoke? Well, I reckon it doesn't seem
right in here."
For a moment John felt a shiver run up his spine.
"Tell you what, hun, as you seem so concerned about me, why don't I do a
lil' something for you. You sure look like you could use a trim," she said
as she carelessly flicked the remaining butt of her cigarette away.
"Actually, er..." For once John found himself speechless. Something about
the salon and this woman did not sit right, but he soon found a well
manicured hand with bright pink nails wrapping around his wrist. Moments
later that same hand, as well as its partner was placed on John's
shoulders as he seated himself into the overly comfortable salon chair.
"Now, hun, my name is Rachel and have I got a look for you!" gushed the
woman. "Why don't you just sit back and relax and I'll fix a lil'
something that get all the girlies looking."
John's eyes gazed around the empty salon. Something really felt off about
the place. Rachel whirled a large pink cape over his body.
"Now, we'll just get started on that ol' hair of yours."
John looked down at the bright pink cape and...
***
"Done!" announced Rachel, snapping John's head up to the mirror opposite
him. Her expectant face appeared next to his in the reflection, looking
over his shoulder. "Well, what do you reckon?"
"How could you possibly be d-" John began, before realising what 'done'
meant. His short brown hair was gone and in its place were long thick,
almost yellow, blonde tresses. The lustrous hair had been brushed into an
approximate centre parting. Gathered up on each side, Rachel had forced
the bright platinum locks into large long bunched and deftly tied neon
pink ribbons into them, near John's scalp.
"I'm certain braids would have looked lovely Candi, but on someone of your
limited intellect, they probably would have been a bit beyond what you
could maintain" said Rachel, still looking over John's shoulder.
"But, this seems completely wrong!" snapped John, not even noticing what
she had called him, or what she had implied about his mind.
"Yes, hun, I guess I did go a little too far. It doesn't seem right.
Perhaps if we..."
***
The world seemed to jump for a moment. This time it was far sooner that
John realised what had changed. As he stared at his reflection he could
see that the ridiculous hair had not been touched. However, the pink cape
had been removed, as had his suit jacket. His white shirt remained, but in
an almost unrecognisable state that left him with his mouth hanging open.
The top two buttons of his shirt had been cut away, and the shirt itself
was forced to near translucency by the huge globes of flesh beneath it.
John had breasts. No wait, that was not even inappropriate for the
monsters he now possessed. The boobs John inexplicably had were at large
DD at least, and barely contained by the flimsy neon pink joke of a bra
that he was for some reason wearing. The damned thing even allowed the
bump of his enlarged nipples to stand out through the shirt and seemed to
only be there to draw attention to the heaving, straining bosom John
sported.
"I-I-" John stuttered in incomprehension.
"Chill out, sweetie!" said Rachel in response to John's apparent
confusion. "You are rather busty for a school girl. But I suppose silly
little bimbos who get themselves held back just get longer to develop."
"Huh?" replied John, still flabbergasted, approaching outraged as he
stared down at the mounds that tented his white shirt. He had left school
a long while ago. And as for being 'a silly little bimbo'.... John's
thoughts suddenly seemed to falter... anyway, people didn't get 'held
back' in the UK, that was a Yank idea, wasn't it?
"A bit out of it, hun?" asked Rachel, a wicked smile creeping onto her
lips. "Perhaps you'll start thinking clearer if we..."
***
It happened again. The world just seemed to stop and start. John looked at
the mirror again. This time it was makeup. His entire face was coated with
the over-the-top makeup of a young teen girl. His eyelashes were and huge,
dark frames to his blue eyes. They in turn were surrounded by light blue
eye shadow, that faded through to purple and then pink, and seemed to be
laden with glitter.
John's eyebrows were plucked into extreme, juvenile arches that gave his
face a surprised, vacant look.
There was a rash of rouge or some-such on his cheeks that seemed to create
a false childish blush. And there were the lips.
John could only gaze in horror as his reflection showed his mouth. Fat,
pouting cocksucker lips that seemed to feminise his entire face. Lips that
constantly had a little open 'o' unless he really willed them closed. Lips
that were coated in a wet looking gloss, hundreds of sparkles imbedded
into it. Fuckable lips.
Fear crept into John. He no longer felt confused and unnerved, but
completely terrified.
"Rachel?" said John tentatively. His tongue felt heavy and sticky in his
mouth. His voice was cracked and dry. "I don't know what-"
"Now hold on, that ol' voice just won't do, sweetie -ooo!" she hesitated.
"I never realised how wonderfully feminine that was!" She paused for a
moment as if concentrating, and then continued, "From now on you'll refer
to everyone as Sweetie, Cutie or Honey! Isn't that just fab!"
Through the petrified fog of his mind, John tried to respond, "Honey, I'm
not, like, totally sure... Like, omygod!"
With no more than a few words from Rachel, John had some how acquired an
American accent and, at that, an over-the-top Valley-girl one. The voice
still seem to carry a shred of intelligence in this alto form, but already
John could see what his destiny was being forced to by this twisted woman.
Once more, John looked at his reflection. Perfect white teeth bit the
plump upper lip on the Barbie-doll looking back. His heart-felt panic was
being translated into an expression of vacant confusion by his made-up
face.
John bolted.
Hurling himself from his chair, he paid no heed to jiggle of chest and
didn't even look back at Rachel has sprinted the short distance towards
the salon door...
***
John was standing with his hands by his sides in the centre of the salon.
The chair he had been in had been turned around from the mirror and no
held Rachel. She sat with her knees brought up to her chest and a beaming
smile plastered across her face. John immediately knew to his growing
desperation that more had been done to him.
John looked down, only to see that his view was limited by his own
expansive cleavage. He could already see, though, that his shirt was now a
tight tailored blouse, at least a size and a half too small. It allowed
his boobs to almost spill out of the top, but then hugged his svelte
little waist to somewhere beyond what his boobs let him see. He was also
wearing jewellery now. Around his neck was a chunky bubblegum pink
necklace that spelled out 'Candi' with a little heart over the 'i'. He
could feel the pull of the large and tacky hoop earrings that were in his
freshly pierced ears.
John knew he needed to see the rest. He slowly turned, hearing the clack
of heels below him.
Finally looking at another of the salon's mirrors he could see the
remainder of what had changed.
John now appeared to be some sort of schoolgirl wet-dream. The tapering
blouse stretched tightly over his reflection's waist to a bright red
tartan micro-skirt which then jutted out with his womanly hips. This ended
after only a few inched to give way to an expanse of fantastic thighs. His
legs were hairless and perfect, stretching down to be encased in lycra
white knee socks. These completed the reflections long legs by entering a
shining pair of high-heeled mary-jane shoes. John could see now the
clacking 4" heels and knew that he must somehow be shorter, given that
even with these torture devices on, the world seemed to loom around him.
It was then that John noticed that the mirror he was looking at showed
another mirror, giving him a back profile. It showed the pristine white
panties that he wore, that, covering his huge bubble-butt prevented his
tiny skirt from hiding them. And John saw the double reflected embroidery
across his arse clearly showing in scripted pink letters "Spank Me".
"This is so, like, not cool, cutie!" squealed John, finding his voice was
now a sexy soprano, reminiscent of Marylin Monroe, or an over-excited
Jayne Mansfield.
"Now, now, don't get your pretty lil' knickers in a twist, Candi," soothed
Rachel. "I'm sure you'll se things my way once I've told you a bit about
your new life- better yet, let's have Sophia do it!"
John was aghast, and turned to the salon entrance just in time to see
Sophia walk through the door.
"Well, well. You turned out very nicely. Very nicely indeed, Candi," said
Sophia as she walked in measured paces towards the now shorter John.
"Like, Sophia, sweetie?!" exclaimed John in his breathy tones.
"I think you probably want an explanation Candi," said Sophia curtly. "You
see, I wanted revenge for you going behind my back, and I wanted revenge,
by proxy if you will, for your company taking business away from US
counterparts. All in all I think I got what I wanted. To be honest though
I don't think you will care to much about reasons once I have told you a
few more things about yourself, thanks to the brilliant Rachel-" Sophia
paused to nod towards her partner. "Who has got you well conditioned my
little Bimbo. But first let's have a few tests. What's your name?"
"Candi!" exclaimed John, in a horribly bubbly way, his voice in no way
under his control.
"And your full name?"
"Candice A. Goodleigh!" replied John, wincing as he realised his 'new'
name sounded like he was saying "Candi's a good lay!" in his new voice.
"And how old are you?"
"I'm *giggle*, like, 18 but I'm still in school, 'cos they don't think I'm
like smart and stuff, but that's sooo totally not true-" John found
himself gushing nonsensically, until Sophia raised a hand silencing him.
"Would you like some gum Candi?"
"WOW! *giggle*, like totally!" John squealed embarrassingly, eliciting a
snigger from Rachel. Sophia handed him a bright pink stick of bubblegum
and it was only a moment before John founding himself chewing happily on
the pink wad, his mouth stupidly open and his eyes a vacant partner to his
bimbo smile.
"You see Candi, we have you well conditioned. From now on, when you talk
you'll talk bimbo drivel. When asked anything academic, you'll give a
wrong answer or just a confused look. I'm going to take you back to the US
with me and enrol you at a school just long enough for you to be become
the biggest slut and most pathetic drop-out they've ever had. And when
you flunk out of school, I'm going to disown your ditzy, boy-crazy, bimbo
arse. And then it just gets better. You'll find yourself compelled to get
a job in the most degrading places for the most lecherous men you can
find. Maybe you'll be sleazy bar waitress, or a stripper slut or just a
dumb PA groped and boned by her boss over his desk. Isn't it just
delicious!"
John could only look through Candi's eyes and giggle whilst his future was
laid out. He could already see himself wiggling and jiggling and giggling
down some American highschool's halls. He could see himself throwing
himself at any male who even spoke to her. He could see himself giving
nonsensical answers to questions, and barely making misspelled notes in a
flowery bimbo script with hearts dotting his letters.
He could see it all and do nothing but smile and giggle like a true bimbo,
blowing his pretty pink bubbles in his spank me panties.
Sophia's words were suddenly repeated and cutting.
"I hope you're happy with your life, Candi."
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