Sarafina
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Sarafina Quatre free porn video
Quite a busy day. It was nearly nine o'clock and I was walking down a
wet pavement towards a side street that was supposed to be along here
somewhere. Down that side street was a club which I held an invite for,
and that Lucy had made it clear she wanted me to visit. I was dressed
in gold hot pants matching my gold purse and gold sandals, with a three-
quarter length, drop neck, white angora sweater covering my boobs, and a
three-quarter length white puffer jacket over the top. My hair was in a
loose pony and large gold hoops dangled down from my ears.
I hadn't looked like this all day. In the morning I wore jeans and
sensible shoes to the local clinic, where I was measured and weighed,
asked a few questions and had my blood taken. I would have liked to
have seen a doctor straight away, but I was assured that there were no
appointments available, and that the earliest was more than a week away.
Following the doctor's I headed over to the offices of the detective
that I'd looked up the day before. I wasn't going in on spec, I had
called ahead, and Gloria Heybridge was happy enough to see me. It was a
small set of offices on the third floor of what might have once been a
large townhouse. The offices I passed as I went through to Gloria's
were all open, and all floor to ceiling with files, centrally occupied
by one or more people typing away on computers or talking on headsets.
Gloria's office, the only closed door that I had to knock at to enter,
was immaculate, clean and spotless, with not a file sticking out
anywhere, and only a laptop and a mobile phone on the desk.
"Miss Saint," Gloria had greeted me, "drag up a chair. Can I get you a
coffee?"
I declined. She got straight into business, asking me what I needed her
services for.
"I'm not quite sure," I replied. "I have a vague idea, but you can
probably tell me more of what I need than I can put into words."
"Go ahead, honey, spill."
I liked Gloria, a no-nonsense, no frills woman in her mid to late
forties. She was a smoker, but stuck to her own rules of not smoking in
the office, inviting me downstairs with her when she needed a break. I
told her my recent life history, and she wrapped up with what she
thought I needed.
"Information on Lucy and John Hung, a biography, where they are and what
they're doing. Information on Lucy's company you can pull together
yourself. Lucy's little black book of boyfriends, where, and who they
are now. It sounds simple, apart from the fact that they're all based
in Hong Kong. That'll cost you. Any idea what you're going to do with
this stuff?"
I admitted that I had very little idea of what I was going to do with
the stuff, but everything was ammunition that I was somehow going to use
to hit Lucy. Hard. Unfortunately, the cost was prohibitive, but Gloria
agreed to begin investigations as a sideline until I could come up with
the money.
As my heels clicked down the pavement towards my destination I wondered
what I was going to do with the information. Something else had worried
me in the office, and that was Lucy's mention of private detectives.
Something about having an army of them, or something similar. If I ever
wanted to do anything to her, I had to make sure that information wasn't
being sent back to her about me, otherwise she'd counter whatever I
could get started. Next thing I knew there'd be an invite to a private
clinic somewhere involving a few big, burly Chinese guys and I'd be
dumped back out on the street in a basque with basketball sized boobs.
The thought did turn me on, I had to admit. Unfortunately, getting
turned on made me realise that I'd left my dilation equipment at the
hotel, and suddenly I started to get a real craving for it.
I turned down the side street, and immediately spotted the queue of
girls standing at an ornate doorway between two smart looking bars. The
bars were full, and the girls were definitely getting watched through
the windows. I had to walk past the line, so I got a good look at many
of them, blondes and brunettes, slim and sizable, mostly busty, some
good looking, all tarted up and dressed to kill. As I took my
invitation out of my purse I slipped in a small puddle. I reached out
and happened to grab the bag of a girl I was passing which almost pulled
her down with me. I sorted her spilled things back into it, and passed
it back to her as she swore at me. "Ta, Bitch, now everything's gonna
be fucking wet!"
I apologised as I stepped away from her to the back of the queue, and
heard her muttering to her friends about me. Five minutes later the
bouncer escorted her into the club and I was lucky not to see her again
that night. Ten minutes after that, nearing half past nine rather than
nine, the bouncer took my invitation from me and checked out the name on
the back, escorting me past the front desk, down the stairs, across the
floor, past the side of the stage and into the changing rooms behind,
where he left me at a chair by a dressing table and told me that Shahid
would join me shortly. I think he said Shahid. Of course, it was a
strip joint. Lucy had sent me, just as I guessed, to try out as a
stripper.
Shahid came in a moment later, a slim, young, Indian looking guy dressed
in black and dripping with chunky gold jewellery. He looked me up and
down like a piece of meat. "Drop the coat," he ordered. I took it off.
"The rest is fine. Follow me." He headed out of the door and back to
the floor. "Any music you prefer?"
I thought back to Hong Kong, but couldn't remember anything about the
music, what it was or how it went. For some reason, Bon Jovi came to
mind. "Have you got 'Lay Your Hands On Me'?"
He looked back at me quizzically. "What's that?"
"Bon Jovi."
"I'll ask the DJ. You get up on the stage and listen out for it. It's
a single set. Can you strip down to that one song?"
"Sure."
I climbed the steps to the stage and stood by the pole. The lights on
the stage meant that you could barely see past the edge of it, so I had
no idea who was out there. I knew that this was an easy thing to do.
Somehow I had confidence that as soon as the music started I would know
exactly what to do, everything seemed so familiar. I was intrigued to
see what I could do, and I looked forward to dancing, but there was also
something else in the back of my mind, something to do with making
money, like cash was important to me. I could feel that dancing like
this would provide cash, and that made me feel good. There were vague,
good memories in my head of seducing men to part with their cash, and a
good sense of competition, of making more than everyone else.
As the music played I wondered about this, but I could only think that I
did need money, so making it was a good thing, however it happened. As
I removed my clothing I felt comfortable in the routine of what I was
doing, and I believe that as a man I had far less inhibition about the
process of removing my clothes, about getting naked. As the music came
to an end I wondered that my thoughts were not more conflicting about
what I'd just done. Perhaps, as a man, I had fantasies about working as
a stripper whilst studying to become an accountant, or sitting in the
manager's office in a bank branch, slowly working my way up through the
most classic of boring jobs. I picked up my clothes now and realised
that only the big, bouncing boobs felt entirely out of place in my
fantasy, the rest was quite exciting.
As I stepped from the stage Shahid came round to meet me. "That was
great. Come back here tomorrow at six and we'll give you an induction
to the club. You can stick around tonight if you like, drinks are free
for employees and tips are good." He walked off with a smile and left
me in the company of another young Indian who had something like a photo
in his hand which he pushed into his back pocket. He was larger than
Shahid, more muscular.
"You're Sarafina, right?"
"Everyone calls me Tiffany," I responded. "Who are you?"
"That's right, Sarafina Tiffany." He smiled to himself, ignoring my
question. He gently took my elbow and steered me towards the back
rooms. "Shahid wanted me to check out your private dancing skills." As
we came to the first door he reached forward to open it for me, placing
his other hand gently on the small of my back to move me in. "There
will be something in it for you if you're good enough." He smiled,
closing the door behind us and setting the sign to 'Occupied'. That
made me smile slightly, perhaps there would be something of value to
take away from this odd evening.
First I dressed again. When I was ready he asked if I could pass him my
purse. I did, and he pressed the play button on a cd player before
starting to rummage through it. I started to gyrate slowly, just a foot
or so away from his seat. He wasn't looking at me, which wasn't good,
so I moved over his knees and started to take off my sweater. As I did
so I heard him grunt in satisfaction. I dropped my sweater to the
ground as he put my purse down and held up one of my condoms. "I was
told you'd have a few of these," he said, smiling.
That worried me slightly, but he didn't do anything with it except put
his hands down on his thighs, the condom in his right hand.
I stepped back and slipped my skirt off. He looked down at my thong and
I stuck my thumbs inside the elastic to wiggle it and tease him that I
was going to take it off. I stepped back in close without doing so, and
raised my hands to my bra enclosed breasts to squeeze them in towards
his face. As I did so, I felt something brush against my pussy lips and
just press against them slightly. I dropped my hands there and stepped
back straight away, but he just sat there smiling. Did his hand move?
"What's up?" he questioned, still smiling. "This is part of the job
interview, you know. I don't want to have to fail you after such an
erotic strip. You do have to have this job, don't you?"
The way he asked that. What did he know? Who was I in a room with? I
lowered my guard and started again, but noticed something else, that
touch against my vagina reminded me that I hadn't dilated in a long time
now, and an instant craving came upon me. So strongly, in fact, that it
took me more than a moment to realise that the pressure was against my
lips again, and that I was pushing my crotch down onto it. I stiffened
up. The man looked up at me still smiling. He showed me the condom
packet, and ripped it open. Then he undid his flies and freed his cock
from his jeans. It grew quickly, and he rolled the condom down over it.
Covered in the near white rubber it looked sterile, plastic, just like
my dilator. He appeared to be sitting there with a dildo on his lap. I
touched it, gently, between the tips of my thumb and index finger. It
was hard, and warm, and necessary.
"Keep on dancing," he suggested. "Think of the money you'll get for
this." And there it was, just keep dancing and take the cash from him.
It was a clever, good thing to do. So I began to dance on his lap
again. And there was that hard, plastic feeling object in my hand that
I could slip inside to satisfy my urgent craving. I closed my eyes and
imagined that I was in my room, practising with a chair. Practising my
dancing, and enjoying the feeling of a long, thick cock sliding in and
out of me.
I started to feel a little dizzy, a little heady and excited, but also
like I was on top of the world. I felt so relaxed, and so in control,
and so complete as I rode up and down on this huge tool. I felt warm
and fuzzy, and put my fingers down between my legs to pleasure myself,
quickly bringing myself to a gasping, grunting orgasm. I came down, but
still felt full and warm and cosy and relaxed. I slipped backwards away
from him, and sat down on the warm rug in front of the chair.
I clocked the guy looking in my purse again and quickly pulling out
another condom. He rolled one off, rolled on the new one. He stood up,
and dropping his pants fell to his knees between my legs. I wanted to
say something, I really did, but I'd just fucked the guy, so how could I
stop him? He simply laid me on my back and slid himself inside me. And
slowly, gradually, slightly with each thrust it came upon me again, that
feeling of contentment, relaxation, warmth, dizziness and dreaminess.
As he thrust faster and harder I pushed my hips against him
automatically, as though in a dream, but a great, sexy, complete,
fulfilling dream. With a corner of my brain I heard and felt him cum
inside me. I barely felt him slip out of me and out of the room,
leaving me alone.
Some time later I dressed. I was beginning to feel nauseous, and the
relaxation was gone. I stepped out of the room, out of the rear area of
the club and towards the door. Some other girl was dancing on the stage
now, but I wasn't quite in the mood to look. I climbed the stairs
again, heeding the call of fresh, slightly chill night air. Being
outside hit me like a blast. I suddenly felt sick and almost fell to my
knees on the wet pavement. Supporting myself against the glass window
of one of the bars I breathed carefully and tried to push the feeling
back down. As I succeeded, I looked across and a table of girls in the
bar was sneering at me, looking at me in disgust, like some cheap hooker
with a few too many inside her. I looked away and stood up, gathering
myself for the journey, but I did feel like I had a few too many inside
me, just momentarily. A fading feeling. It felt like the end of an
afternoon drinking session, back at work, as the fun becomes a headache
in the face of mounting work. And, also like a drinking session, the
details were fuzzy, fading as I kept them away from conscious thought.
Home, home first, then sleep. I could really do with sleep, I was
really tired. Exhausted. All I had to do was put one foot in front of
the other until I reached the taxi rank. One high-heeled, painted-toed,
gold strapped foot after the other. The earrings brushed my shoulders
and tugged on my lobes so I reached up, slid them out and dropped them
into my purse. My hair was loose, so I stopped and tied it back again.
I wiped my eyes. I didn't know why I was crying. Was I angry? Was I
sad? What was it? I wiped my eyes and kept moving towards the taxi
rank and home.
The next morning I found myself walking through a cemetery. It was
local, and it looked quiet and somehow inviting. I couldn't stop
crying. Jan was coming over later, to pick me up and take me out
somewhere. We'd talk. She'd ask me how things had gone, whether I'd
thought about my decision at all, whether I'd got a job. I'd admit that
I had a craving for shoving things in my pussy that meant I'd not
resisted sex with a man within just a few days of realising that I'd
been turned into a woman, and within hours of protesting that I was
going to be a man again. I'd explain that I'd interviewed for an escort
position, and tried out as a stripper, both positions that a regional
bank manager generally wouldn't consider. I'd note that my tormentor
had threatened me with major bodily modification if I attempted to avoid
her set path for my life. I smiled to myself as a thought crossed my
mind, I could just be discussing the mortgage with her, but how boring
would that be?
Gravestones were interesting, or, even if they weren't interesting
themselves, they could incite curiosity. I liked the inherent history
in a cemetery, and tried to figure out who people were, and what they'd
done with their lives. I challenged myself against some stones,
promising that I would live longer, and live better, that my stone would
be more interesting and incite more curiosity than any other in the
yard. Sometimes, with a particularly intriguing stone, I would note the
name and dates and spend some time seeing if the person had a history
somewhere, usually in the local library microfiche. Sometimes I had
some spectacular hits, like the memorial to Fred Simms, whose name I
could now never forget, though my reading up on him discovered he'd
probably had his ashes spread over the Alps. He was very interesting if
you like cars. But spectacular hits weren't always the special ones.
Sometimes it was the guys who'd given their estates to charity, or sat
on councils for many years, or contracted malaria exploring the African
jungles. There were the touching tributes to boy soldiers, and then the
survivors, who were interred with their DSOs and MCs and bars and whose
obituaries were like reading a Boy's Own magazine from the fifties or
sixties.
So as I wandered I took note of a few names, and dates. I guess I
needed the distraction of a few days of research in the library.
Inspired by my own musings, I took quite a few names and dates, many
more than I usually would. Eventually I got excited about the next
stage, and managed to stop jotting things down on scrap pieces of
tissue. I headed out towards the library, and decided to tell Jan to
pick me up from there.
Lucy stretched like a cat then slid out of the silken sheets as the sun
billowed softly into the bedroom from the lightly rippling surfaces of
the pool and the sea. She looked over at John, still sleeping, still
exhausted from the workout she'd given him just a couple of hours
earlier with the moon sinking from the sky. John was a business
decision, the controller of assets that would add new dimensions to her
strategy. He was also a treasured find of Lucy's, who from their first
meeting had incited something in her that she'd rarely felt before. He
had the ability to turn her into a warm, fuzzy-headed pile of quivering
flesh, sometimes even before they'd undressed together. His large arms
around her made her feel entirely enveloped like in a warm duvet on a
cold night. She was surprised at the intensity of her emotions at these
times, and wary of the dulling of her faculties.
As she detached herself now from the man she knew she loved she
considered the implications of the power that he had over her. It
needed to be controlled in case, as had happened before, it was taken
somewhere else, away from her. Lucy needed John's contacts, she would
benefit from his manpower, she would guardedly invest in his operations,
but she wanted him, and he wasn't going to get away from her.
So she'd constructed her cage. Oh, sure, he had her, too. She could
handle herself, but he could break her with a flick of his wrists. It
excited her so much when those powerful arms were around her. Yes, he
could break her, or damage her, but that was too coarse, and though she
didn't doubt that he could do it if he had to, it would end him too. He
wouldn't be able to escape the law on that one. Neither, therefore,
could he arrange for something to happen to her, again both coarse and
risky. Strange thoughts anyway. She would never make it necessary for
him to have to think of her in those ways, coarse or otherwise. No, she
had built her cage delicately. She had taken healthy, vigorous, normal
men and unmanned them. She had made their own bodies betray them and
take them captive. Each male psyche was now exposed in the raw, with no
masculine defences remaining to protect it. Each male life was diverted
into portraying the antithesis of emancipation, bound, imprisoned,
subservient. Male minds trapped in female bodies trapped in feminine
lives. What true male would not understand that threat? What alpha
male would embrace becoming another man's plaything? There was no legal
defence, no chance of escape, no parole.
She poured herself a glass of fruit juice from the fridge. Her thoughts
were still on her activities of the last few months. Just yesterday
afternoon she'd had two calls from London, one to confirm that Tiffany
had been offered a job and accepted, the other to separately confirm
that her responses were well conditioned. Exactly that, Lucy laughed to
herself, well conditioned. She wondered about dropping a man into
Tiffany's life, to keep an eye on her and ensure that she remained well
conditioned. She visited London often herself, on business. Perhaps
for the Annual Review period she would invite John along with her and
take him to watch how her favourite ex was getting along.
She looked out of the window over the beach as she sipped her drink.
She started as his hands slipped around her in a warm embrace. She
hadn't even heard him coming. She smiled as she settled into him,
feeling his nakedness against her soft back. Oh, she thought to
herself, he would never leave her, never. This was too good. She
softly bit her lower lip as she wondered about starting on the figures
that she had to get through. But it was her honeymoon, she could afford
another hour in bed. Maybe two.
Elissa
- 23.12.2022
- 4
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