The Politics Of Sex (Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Being A Big, Beautiful Woman) free porn video

The Politics of Sex (Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Being a Big, Beautiful Woman) Author's note: Sorry I haven't been around, but I basically write these as the fancy takes me. If that's been an inconvenience, please don't hold it against me. Anyway, here's one I just felt a bit inspired to jot down after gawking at some pics of the unfairly sexy BBW model Syrianna. Enjoy! Obviously, this isn't intended for anyone under 18, etc. etc. The chime of the elevator stirred Alex Rivers from his silent musings. Here he was: the twenty eighth floor of one of the nicer hotels in the city, part time campaign headquarters for his candidates' rival, Pat Driver. It wasn't a complete shock that Alex had been contacted by Driver's people; it wasn't like it was completely taboo for members of rival campaigns to communicate with one another, perhaps to make "gentlemen's agreements" about potentially dicey issues, or to strike a quick deal that could be mutually beneficial to both sides. But why would Driver's people want Alex, who held a pretty high position in the challenging campaign of Driver's primary rival, Louis Maxim, to step foot into their home base? The young strategist had to admit that it had him somewhat baffled. Maxim had been rapidly closing in on the incumbent Driver in the polls recently, his spot on the ticket as their party's candidate for senate ripe for the picking. It stood to reason that now, as the days before the primary began to dwindle down to small double digits, the two camps would likely keep their distance from one another. 'But then, maybe I'm just not well versed on that part of the game, yet,' Alex thought as he strode down the hallway towards the luxury suite Driver's people had set up. Alex was a fresh faced kid, basically, not far removed from college, and still driven by enough idealism that Maxim's campaign, which promised to bring some fresh air to what had become a pretty stale office for their state, seemed like a logical cause to rally behind. But his knack for picking up on political machinations before an opposing campaign could pull something off had given Alex a seat on the fast track towards the top. Maxim himself had said, on more than one occasion, that if he should win the nomination, he owed tons of it to Alex. It made Alex smile a little, despite his serious situation. He knew that people were ready for a new face, and though Maxim was flawed, people still responded to his vivacity and character. A few well thought out campaign stops here, some Internet know-how there, and Alex had helped him craft a highly competitive race for the senate seat. Driver's people could want any number of things, he knew. Perhaps they'd try to convince him to tell Maxim to concede early; they had momentum, but catching Driver was still going to be a challenge. On the other hand, they could promise that they might adopt some of Maxim's platform policies. At the very least, he knew, there wasn't much they could actually do to scare him; though nobody knew exactly where he was, it'd be pretty ugly if word got out that Maxim's right hand man had vanished somewhere in the vicinity of Driver's temporary HQ's. Armed with this confidence, and knowing full well that any questions concerning dropping out would be greeted with a swift "No", Alex knocked on the door to the enormous top floor suite. Instantly he was taken aback. Standing right in front of him was none other than Pat Driver himself. The incumbent senator gave a bright grin to the young man. "Mr. Rivers, a pleasure." "Um, the same." Alex hadn't expected this. He hadn't heard at all that Driver had been seen around here, only some of the big wigs of his campaign. He quickly composed himself. "Senator, if I may, can we get down to business quickly? You understand that time is neither of our allies right now, of course." Driver chuckled. "Of course. Come in, have a seat on the sofa. Promise, this won't be long." For somebody who had been in the game quite awhile, Driver still had the appearance of a young man. To be fair, he had gotten into politics pretty early, so it wasn't like he was an old man at this stage. But his hair was pretty strikingly dark, his face free of most age marks, and also still shaped and contoured like that of a man in the prime of his life. "Quick drink?" Driver set a couple of glasses down filled with what appeared to be a small amount of whiskey. Alex mulled it over for a second. "Well, why not, thanks." As Alex took a small sip, Driver leaned in, his face still somewhat friendly, but with a business-like air about it. "Mr. Rivers...Alex, if I may, I'll get to the point. There are no reporters here, I've been told you didn't tell anyone you were coming here, so I have nothing to lose by being blunt. Simply put, you guys have put on a hell of a campaign." The young strategist held back a grin. "That's very kind, sir, and appreciated." "No need to thank me; without guys like you, Louis Maxim would just be a nameless millionaire who one day got the urge to put on a failed attempt at political office. You young guns of his have made him much more than that." The corner of Alex's vision got cloudy for a moment, but he blinked and brushed it away before taking another sip of whiskey. Driver continued, "The writing's on the wall, kid; Mr. Maxim has all the momentum as we speak, and you're a rising star for guys of his ilk. To be honest, I was hoping I could convince you to possibly switch sides some time down the line, but the fact that, and it's hard for me to say this, you have your guy poised to actually win, means that you'd have no need for that." A sharp thud hit Alex's ears. 'What the hell was that?' he thought, furrowing his eyebrows. A quick glance down caused his eyes to widen: his hand was shaking, and had dropped his now empty whiskey glass. The cloudiness returned to his vision again, and no amount of blinking or rubbing could make it go away. "So, I figured it was finally time to put my foot down." Driver's soothing, charismatic tone continued to ring through, despite Alex's newfound problems. "While I know that I probably have no chance of winning right now, the polls are still close enough that the public doesn't know any better. That being the case, I'm going to take the initiative, and take away one of my opponents' greatest strengths: his chief strategist." 'Oh God,' Alex's mind raced, 'he drugged me. I don't believe this! Are they going to kill me? How could they kill me?! He can't possibly get away with something like that!' Alex worked to force control over himself, to get some kind of sound out, but it was too much. He slumped in the deep leather seat, dazed. The next few minutes seemed unreal. He saw a sheet of paper, indecipherable letters typed on it, too blurry to mean anything to him. A pen forced into his hand, his signature somehow finding it's way near the bottom of the page. Finally, feelings of being picked up, moved, multiple hands, something soft against his skin, then something, some jolt, triggering numbness, and, ultimately, sleep. * * * With a sudden snap, Alex awoke, his eyes darting around, a sense of dread and danger hanging over him. Gazing around, his eyesight now clear, he realized he was still in the same exact hotel suite, laying down on the same exact couch he had been seated on before. In an odd way, it was a relief; he hadn't been dragged out, tied up, and dumped in a river, and, going by feel, it felt like all his toes, fingers, and other extremities were in place. He sat up a bit, then froze. Something didn't feel right. Slowly looking down, Alex was shocked to see what appeared to be a pair of black boy shorts on his lower body, as opposed to the suit pants he had been wearing earlier. He brought a hand down; the boy shorts were tight, and they were small, probably coming down to not even the middle part of his thigh. They were very smooth, though, made of some material he wasn't at all familiar with. Alex had never really been one to wear anything tighter than maybe a one size too small pair of jeans or cotton t-shirt, so the feeling was very alien. He tried to stand up, but in leaning, he felt a small crease in the middle of the pants, running along, well, the vertical part of his small behind. The whole situation just felt completely uncomfortable, highly threatening, and all Alex wanted to do was get his suit, through it on, and get out of this damn place. He surveyed the area: the couch faced another couch, the one Driver had sat in earlier. A glass coffee table rested between them, with a flat screen TV mounted on the wall to the side. The color scheme included a lightly colored rug by the sofas, and what appeared to be marble tiling across the room, closer to the kitchen area and entrance of the suite. Needless to say, touches like that and what looked like imitation marble columns made this a nice place, but still not exactly a spot he had any desire to be in at the moment. 'Well, whatever the hell's going on, I'm pretty sure I'd rather not get out of here looking like this.' He looked down at himself. His body was trim, tight, and his frame was rather small. He wasn't the shortest person, though his height was unremarkable. He looked around, hoping to spot his clothes, but his eyes were instead drawn to a full length body mirror across the room. Humoring himself for a moment, he flexed a bit. 'Huh,' he thought, 'I don't look half bad.' Immediately following that thought, Alex heard a small click and whirring sound. He looked around for the source, baffled, before his eyes settled down below: the shorts. A quick jolt! Alex let loose a yelp, as a surge of what felt like electricity ran through his entire body. His heart raced for a moment from the shock, and what followed was a warm feeling, a strange one, a... pleasurable one. Alex hunched over, trying to catch his breath, but his heart started pounding once again. Alex knew this feeling; it wasn't exactly the exhaustion triggering heart pumping that comes along with running five miles; it felt more like a surge of excitement, the kind one gets right before a sexual encounter of some sort, the sort of anticipation that makes ones nerves stand on end. Alex kept trying, but the pounding wouldn't stop. He tried to let out a yell of frustration, but all that came out was a low moan of helplessness. He threw his head back and straightened his back out as yet another jolt was sent firing through him, and then felt something he had never, not once in his wildest dreams, ever expected to feel. It was as if his skin had gained a life all it's own. All over the place, Alex could swear he felt it moving: the skin on his back repositioning or something, the skin on his legs tingling, even his scalp tickling, among other places. It wasn't just the skin, though; all over, he began to feel a bit of a draft, a chill that hadn't been there before. Through his rushed, hurried breaths, he got his hands down, to feel that his skin had become smoother, very soft, and, most strangely of all, hairless, at least where he was able to feel. Even his skin tone, which only seemed to darken in the heat of the summer sun, now came alive all on it's own, darkening, going from vanilla towards caramel. All efforts to gain control of his racing heart were in vain at this point. Despite his attempts, Alex couldn't help a wave of fear washing over him, afraid of whatever it was they had planned for him. A quick jolt, a bit smaller than the others from before, shot through him again, and this time his eyes caught sight of something he had not expected. It was the room itself. Everything in it, columns, tables, sofas, shelves, chairs, the bar in the corner of the room, everything...seemed like it was getting bigger. Alex figured the room growing was an unlikely scenario (though, at this stage, very few things would surprise him), which left one other option: that he was shrinking. And shrink he did. Quite a bit, in fact; maybe a little more than half a foot. But it was enough to throw off his perception considerably. His heart fluttered once more, though, as a series of small jolts seemed to pop throughout his body. His height may have just been reduced, but he watched with surprise, his eyes once more drawn to the mirror, and a seemingly opposite change swept over him. His shoulders, his hips, his chest...it looked as if they were getting...broader? Alex had been a bit lanky at 5'11'', very thin frame, and while this current growth didn't seem like much, it wasn't a body frame he was at all accustomed to. The jolts continued, as did his haggard breathing and pumping heart. While his shoulders seemed to broaden ever so slightly, his hands, in contrast, looked like they were beginning to shrink. Feeling a sharp pang in his feet, he glanced down and watched as they followed suit. Again, not significant yet, but the differences were more than striking. The rearranging of his entire body structure continued, different parts contracting and expanding, different sets of bones growing or shrinking as designed. As that happened, though, a quick flow of the electric vibe shot straight to Alex's scalp. If Alex could have known it, he would've seen the roots of every hair on his head begin to thicken significantly, his blond, straggly locks beginning to be overcome by a darker hue. After a few seconds, seconds that felt more like minutes, his hair, much to his surprise, began to lengthen and cascade down in waves. It seemed as if his hair had become a dark, jet black ocean, as it shimmered down to his shoulders in waves, each wave thickening and adding to the amount of hair already on his head. He let loose a small moan; as shocking as it was, the tingling felt incredibly good. It brushed down against his shoulders, then began its path down his back, stopping only at the middle of his now smaller spine. Alex staggered for a moment, his adrenaline working overtime, his body trying to deal with the trauma it was receiving. He stumbled over once again to the mirror, needing to know what was happening. His hair now laid straight, dark, thick, and vibrant, tickling his shoulders and back and covering every millimeter of his scalp. He ran a hand through it, watching with amazement as it seemed to bounce and reassume its place, his fingers running through it like water, no signs of tangles, knots, or any visible sign of being mussed up. As he brought his hand down, he stopped. The fingernails on his hand had begun to assume a different shape, as well as his now definitely smaller hands themselves. He had sometimes had issues about remembering to cut his nails every few days, but what he had now bordered on ridiculous, as his fingernails attained a length of probably a full inch away from his finger. It was like he had claws! He brought a fingertip down to one of them, his hand working overtime to remain steady as his adrenaline continued to flow. The shell of his nails almost seemed to harden even more at his touch, like they had been forged or something. "Aaagh!" Alex, for the first time, was able to scream. He didn't welcome the release, however; instead, he couldn't ignore the shots of dull pain that now wracked his body, a mix that felt like a sadistic blend of pain and complete pleasure. His nerves were alive and on fire, there was no denying that, and despite any small aches, any quick pangs, or any jolts that the device undoubtedly planted in the shorts shot through him, he could not ignore the overbearing, overwhelming eroticism of every sensation that sang through his body. It was then he noticed something even stranger. He reached down, his soft, smaller hand coming down onto the front of his shorts, and almost recoiled; his penis, which he figured should've been ready to explode by now, was completely flaccid. All the sensations, all the pleasure, all the adrenaline and blood pumping through him, and yet his cock remained unaffected? Before he could dwell on that fact another second, his face felt numb for a quick moment. His head flew up, his eyes going straight towards the mirror. His eyes, still brown, popped extra wide at the sight. His lips! While they weren't "cartoony" huge, there was an obvious difference in size and color; they were noticeably bigger, and a very soft, very, well, no point in mincing words, "cute" pink color. That was only the beginning; his entire face seemed to shift, as contours shifted, sharpening or rounding, depending on the area. His cheeks, typically normal and straight, puffed out, the tops of them becoming the definition of apple-cheeks. The hair along his eyebrows, some of the only remaining hair he could feel on his body, thinned out significantly, becoming two thin, subtly contoured lines. His chin even took on a new shape, becoming well defined, yet understated. The last few changes had finally brought the reality of his situation to the fore; there was no getting around that, for all intents and purposes, he looked just like a woman. His face had all the classic feminine curves, his hair was lush and thick, and his frame had CRACK! Another yelp, and Alex found himself helplessly falling forward. He threw his hands out just in time, grabbing the top of the suite's bar, struggling to catch a grip. He gritted his teeth; with the loud cracking sound he had heard, the surging electric pleasure that was rapidly becoming a part of him seemed to triple in intensity. His body had already shifted, his bone structure taking on a new shape; his ribs tapered off a bit more near the bottom, he could feel it, and his hips had assumed a wider stance. But as the surge of pleasure set his body into a white fire of eroticism, those very hips, already larger than they had been when Alex had been nearly six feet tall, began popping, adjusting...expanding. The jolts were coursing through him like a machine gun as the final rearrangements of his skeletal structure began taking place. He arched his back a bit, hoping to feel relief when he straightened it out. POP! It only caused them to grow wider! POP! It happened again! POP! Again! He could feel the shorts straining, getting wider, simply adjusting to any changes. The strange crease in the middle of it nudged him, feeling like- POP! 'I'm not in control! I don't even know what I'm doi-' POP! Again and again, each time more electric than the last, his hips spread outwards, inch by inch by oh-so-sinfully-pleasurable inch. As they popped once again, Alex was shocked to feel them bump against the two bar stools that were on either side of him...barstools that stood, he estimated, probably a few feet apart. A few new feelings now washed over him. The electricity began to subside a bit, much to the relief of his heart and energy. He panted nonetheless, noting, he could swear, that it was coming out a bit more high pitched than normal. His heart calmed a bit, but something new was creeping into his consciousness. The shorts he wore were now stretched out, no longer near the middle of his thigh; more like towards the tops. The mirror showed him all he needed to know: as the shorts expanded, subtle patterns of flowers could be made out. 'Like a set of panties.' In an instant, Alex began to shake once again. It wasn't as violent as when he had been drugged, but it was definite. At this stage, his exhaustion was thorough; he felt barely any will to continue standing, let alone a will to fight. Inside of him, he could feel things move, things changing; the same outward sensations that had bombarded him as he began his transformation now occurring and coursing through him on the inside. His change, he could tell, was going to be thorough, both in and out. His crotch began to tingle, as he could sense some pulling and tugging at various parts of his manhood. His plumbing was now rearranging, and he could almost sense a strange wideness within him beginning to take form, some sort of emptiness that surprisingly gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling. It was the beginning of the creation of a womb. Before he could concentrate any further on that, he blankly stared down at his chest. Just as with his crotch, inside, he knew that something was going on within his chest. Cells flowed there, cells that acted as receptors for body fat. Glands that had been dormant all through his life, not activating during puberty, suddenly awoke, and began going to work. Another strong warmth spread through his entire chest. Fat deposits were forming, a strange budding, and as he gazed down, he noted that his nipples, once so small and lightly colored, had taken on a dark hue, with a small nub on each now sticking out maybe half an inch. Curiosity immediately got the best of him. Alex knew breasts when he saw them, and what was sprouting on his chest was most definitely a set of female breasts, albeit very small ones, at the moment. Using the one-inch claw on his right pointer finger, Alex rubbed against the corners of his left areola. He hissed immediately through his teeth, taken aback by the sensation. Not content, he now brought his nail lightly, almost teasingly, across the nub of his darkened nipple itself. The moan that issued forth from his pouted, enlarged lips immediately after was certainly not that of a man. * * * Something irked him...her, though. 'Am I a her? I don't think I know...' A sharp pain. Well, not too bad, but certainly discomfort. What was it? 'My chest, and my feet. I don't feel right, I feel awkward.' A glance over; there, on the coffee table, something that had gone unnoticed. A bra. The label says "DD". Black, open toe pumps, too, with silver colored soles and black straps across the ankles. Had to be about five or six inches. Had to get relief. The tingling wasn't as comfortable now as it was before. Unnatural, almost naked, needed relief... The bra was soft. It was black, with floral patterns. Pressed close...ooh, it felt nice against aroused nipples. The straps were thin, but it was easy to hook. Immediately, relief, a warmth, a rush of being closer to feeling whole... The pumps followed quickly; feet in, straps laced. 'Such relief for my poor little feet.' Words came to mind, words that felt comforting. "Natural." "This is right." "Pleasure." "Soft, tight clothing, high heels." "The best makeup, the nicest dresses." "Relax, nothing to fear. Embrace it." Conflict. 'Who am I? Why is this happening? I can't keep up. I can't continue. I-' Another sense like shaking. It was too much. Needed to relax, somewhere, somehow. Even on the floor. Back-first onto the cold marble. It sends a quick shiver. The shaking now is taking a new feeling. It's like...it's like pumping. Arms go first. A wave goes through them, and then a swelling. Lean muscle falls and seems to disintegrate beneath layers of newly formed body fat. They round out, plump. Even all ten fingers swell a bit, more skin there than there had been before. Wrists rounding out, elbows seemingly sinking into an overhang of soft flab. 'My face...I can feel my face, my neck...' Not significant, but enough to round both out. Another series of words in the mind, 'Face like a smooth oval.' It continued everywhere. Bones had restructured, had thickened, strong enough to support a mass of body weight. Who knew how large? Moaning. Loud moaning. The pumping was everywhere. In his belly, which swelled, which grew outward and wide, spreading and bouncing, jiggling every which way. Into his thighs, which shook, which seemed to almost spasm, jostling against the cold marble tiles, smoothening him, extra skin becoming extra sensitive. In his chest, the fatty deposits, the mammary glands, now fully awake, fully alive, fully ready to perform their feminine, natural, proper responsibilities. Two orbs swelling outwards, filling the black bra cups, straining them, nipples rustling against smooth, silky material; complete excitement, heart aflutter. The breasts now nearly overflowed the cups, bounteous flesh that rippled with each short, nervous, anxious breath. It was like being consumed, like falling beneath a wave and allowing it to rush over, complete haplessness. All the pounds and pounds of jiggling, oh-so-soft, so incredibly smooth, plentiful, overpowering fat, resting on a prone form on the floor, moving with a will all it's own, unconscious movements, uncontrolled movements, nerve endings sending sensations completely against the brain's will. Had to explore. HAD to explore! Hands groping everywhere, grabbing the sides of his new tummy. Squeezing the cups of the bra. Dreamily running along the smooth, enormous curves of enlarged, overflowing thighs. One thigh came up straight, while the other, bent at the fat-encased knee, slowly rose, rubbing along it's side. Such softness, unspeakably soft. A squishiness, as the two thunder thighs met and melded together. A sudden feeling of rising. Still laying down, but rising. His hair was strewn about, like a black halo, as his hips, widened, were now filled. Pound after pound, it almost felt soothing. Nothing but pure, unfiltered, uncompromising fat pouring into both ass cheeks, taking the widened hips and flaring them out even more dramatically. They squished against the cold of the floor. Bringing his arms down straight, he couldn't even touch the floor, as his hands met the sides of his hips. The shorts...no, the panties...the panties enrobed every enormous inch, so soft and sensitive to the touch, enticing and teasing. The purpose of the crease in the middle of them became clear, as it nestled comfortably and welcome, into the crack of those gigantic cheeks. A thong. The fat seemed to melt around him, pooling underneath, a womanly cushion, a natural sofa, so wide, so big, so jiggly, so enticing, so completely feminine...and then a moistness coming from below, a strange, foreign feeling. A warmth, spreading, engulfing him. Not hardness, not firmness...just moist, wet, and sublime. She couldn't help herself. With a low, sultry moan, she shook briefly, settled, and once more passed out. * * * She awoke in the same spot, but she could tell something was different. She brought her hands into view, noticing now the rings on two of her fingers, and the jingle of thick, silver bracelets on her wrists. She still felt weak, trying to sit up, still attempting to find equilibrium. A jingling by her head, underneath her thick mane of jet black hair, told another story: dangling earrings. A scent gave away her perfume, and a taste around her mouth told her that she now wore makeup. She knew her name was Alex. She really did. But she just couldn't accept it. It didn't feel right. It didn't feel natural. It wasn't what a woman should be called. And, for good or ill, there was no denying reality: she was completely, totally and fully, one hundred percent female. She was all woman. But a helpless woman. A lost woman. She heard a sound; a door shutting, then footsteps. There, before her, stood Pat Driver. He grinned. "Don't be afraid. Don't worry about the how's and why's, either. It's not important. What's important is making sure you're alright." She felt something. His grin seemed to speak to her. At that moment, probably, the presence of any strong individual, somebody stronger than her, at least, would have caused relief to wash over her. Here was Pat Driver, a strong willed man, somebody with power, somebody who could make sure that she wouldn't have to stay afraid, confused, and alone. She smiled back at him. A set of white teeth glistened. Driver began to walk over, and stood over her. "You're clearly not Alex anymore, are you?" She finally managed to stir, and lean up, propping herself on her elbows. "I...I thought I was. But I know I can't be. It's...it doesn't feel right." "Of course it doesn't, angel." His voice was soothing, comforting. "You look nothing like him. You sound nothing like him. In fact, I bet you feel nothing like him, either, don't you?" She closed her eyes, and sighed. It was true; this wasn't anything like being Alex. "How do you feel, by the way?" Driver's voice again. "Compared to being Alex, that is." She sat all the way up. Her ass poured all around her. She lifted one thick, enormous thigh up, bending her knee; when flat, it seemed like her knee was sunken under the quicksand that was the lard in her legs. She ran her hands across it slowly, from her knees, to her inner thigh, right down to the softness of the panties that graced her knockout hips. She closed her eyes and shuddered a bit, unable to deny how it made her feel. "This feels...I feel so much better like this." Driver's smile was wide enough to take up multiple highway lanes. "That's good, honey. Now, how about we make it so you can feel like this forever?" Her eyes lit up. She hefted her considerable bulk up, now leaning against her hands, and staring him straight in the face. "I'll do whatever it takes." Driver's grin didn't move. He crouched down near her, placing a hand on her soft, smooth shoulder. "As you can see, babe, you've changed. Again, don't worry about how it was done; you know those panties you're wearing aren't exactly a typical Victoria's Secret catalog option. We knew you had to achieve complete transformation. We knew that, once you were complete, you couldn't resemble Alex Rivers, a blond Caucasian male, whatsoever. "Going by what we've done, we've now given you all the features, secondary and primary, all the full genetic makeup of a woman with Pacific Islander and Hispanic features. You've got the size, the considerable hips, and all the best facial features consistent with those cultures. We took the liberty of measuring you when my people applied your makeup and jewelry: your bust is a 44 DD, your waist comes out to forty inches, your thighs are as wide around as a grown man's waist, about 38 inches, and, well, your behind is the coup de grace. A full 71'', with room to grow. Very smooth, too, considering the size and possibilities for cellulite." She took it in, but couldn't process it all. One thought just kept running through her head, kept dominating all others, making focusing on anything else a difficult task: 'I am female. I have breasts. I have a vagina. I can become a mother. A wife. A sister. An aunt. 'I...am a woman.' 'A big woman.' 'No...a Big, Beautiful Woman.' Driver's voice came through once more. "So that's what we did. I was afraid there might be a part of you that resented us for doing this to you, but we, well, I think you're going to realize shortly just how much the benefits outweigh the disadvantages here." She looked straight at him once more. The smile she had shown before, one of hope and a hint of helplessness, was now replaced. Her lips curled, her apple cheeks, covered in rouge, plumped out, and her eyes, now lightly shadowed and wider than before, narrowed down to sexy, inviting slits. One enormous thigh slowly lifted and descended, landing in a perfect cross-leg position on top of it's opposite. A pink, adorable tongue slipped out, wetting lipstick-glossed, plump, kissable lips. Her voice came out low, almost a purr. "So...do you think you can show me these...'benefits'?" Driver couldn't have been more ecstatic. "How about we give you a new name, first? I'd love to hear your voice speak it first." She giggled softly. She closed her eyes for a moment in thought. So many options, so many possibilities. But she knew what she wanted: something unmistakably feminine, something beautiful, something romantic...something that implied smooth, sexual feelings at the sound. Her luscious, sultry voice came forward, low, cock-teasingly low. "Mmm...Serena." "Can you say it again?" Her smile grew. "It's Serena." "One last time, please." A new realization washed over her. The look on his face betrayed him. His confident smile was there, but something lay behind his eyes. A slight weakness, a vulnerability. 'Good Lord, was I this easy to read, or are all men like this?' the newly-dubbed Serena mused. Driver was going wild, even if he was trying to hide it. She could tell. He was easier to read than a child's picture book. Driver was going crazy over the fact that he had gotten to watch someone born a man go through a complete, thorough, mind-body-and-soul transformation, and it was turning him on like nothing else. 'He probably likes us big girls, too.' Serena stifled a giggle as her hand moved down to cup a cheek of her 70+ inch ass, squeeze it, and let it jiggle freely and playfully. Yes: she was definitely going to enjoy this. "I think you need to wait a bit, lover. I want to do some more exploring, first." The next hour or so was comprised of posing, primping, and strutting around the enormous luxury suite, as a form that could only be described as a living fertility idol discovered itself fully for the first time. A natural instinct within Serena told her to use Driver's excitement to her advantage, and she did, taking time to gaze at her reflection, mimic her favorite model poses, to do some tease dances and feel up her new- born body even more, and even take a moment to step on the bathroom scale, thrilling as the numbers raced past for what felt like forever before resting comfortably on exactly 335 pounds. Her face bore a smile that couldn't be erased. It was settled, then: Alex was no more, and Serena was all that mattered. "Mr. Driver?" she asked, her eyes fluttering innocently. He turned towards her. She pretended to play a bit with her hair, then her fingernails. "I just want to thank you for what you've done to me. I know I should be mad; you took my identity, my old life, even my gender. But...", she paused, feigning nervousness, "But this," she indicated down to her entire body, popping one knee out and allowing her hips to shift in an intensely sexy pose, "This is something beyond my wildest dreams. It's only been a few hours, and I feel like I couldn't even begin to imagine life as a man anymore, without my breasts, my hair, my hips, my thighs, ass, everything." Driver's excitement was more and more visible. She continued. "So, I guess what I want to say is..." she leaned in slow, pressing every inch of her bountiful breasts and hefty tummy against him, and brought her lips close to his ear. "How in the world can I repay you?" In an instant, they were on the suite's king sized bed, clothes tossed aside, shoes kicked off, a tangle of limbs and passions. Driver started on top, while Serena, unflinching and without a moment of hesitation, spread her meaty thighs as far as she possibly could. Much to her delight, she found she could spread them completely apart, her legs going away at what seemed to be a 90 degree angle, leaving her new, still virgin womanhood ripe for the picking. As they went at it, Serena slowly but steadily took the initiative. As Driver pumped away frantically, Serena's moans could likely have been heard all the way in the hotel lobby, his nicely endowed penis taking her to heights of white hot passion she had never thought possible as a man. Nevertheless, she knew what she wanted; after a few minutes, she began shifting around, their bodies turning until her wide bulk was straddling his chest. He looked up, his eyes like saucers. Her magnificent breasts hung slightly, but still had lift in them, and rested contently against the large bump of her forty inch waist. Her thighs and her gorgeous ass flowed all around him, pinning him down. Slowly, she began dragging her entire weight up his chest, her sweet, glistening pussy enjoying the sensation of rubbing against every inch of him. Finally, she nestled down slowly over his face. The scent of her sex was intoxicating, a scent which implied only unbridled passion and the utmost feminine sexuality. She cooed softly. "Now, lover. Pleasure me. Pleasure me, and I won't just tell you my name; I'll scream it to God himself." She could feel him shudder, lost in the pleasure of surrendering to his personal fetishes, and within seconds his tongue whipped out, snaking its way towards her vagina. She brought her hips down hard against him, probably smothering him, her ass bouncing wildly as the deepest, loudest, most pleasurable and satisfied moans of pure lust billowed up from deep within her very utterly transformed and reborn soul and being. It came out once again, first in gasps. "My name is Serena." More flicks of his tongue, electric shockwaves when he discovered her clit. "I am a big, fat, beautiful woman." The shocks didn't stop, and she let loose a groan that mixed with a rapid shudder. "I'm your thick, sexy Mami, I'm everything you want, I work for you!" Her clit was bombarded, her entire pleasure core nestled deep inside her being rocked for all it was worth. Her eyes were clenched tight, her teeth gritted, her breaths ragged and haggard, as her hips continued their bouncing, the sound of their bounteous, fleshy cheeks and thighs slapping against the man pinned under her driving her nearly insane with happiness. "My name is Serena!" Louder. "Serena!" So much louder now. "MY NAME IS SERENA!" This time, it pierced the night. * * * It had all happened so quickly. Alex's resignation letter, complete with his signature at the bottom, had appeared in Louis Maxim's office within a few days. Word spread through the media that a chief campaign strategist had abandoned him midstream, sending a wave of doubt throughout the community. Then the next bombshell. Pat Driver had often had to work to drive up his popularity among women, as his tough political shell rarely gave way to a sensitive, caring interior that some female voters seemed to care about. That all changed with the campaign stump appearance of one Serena Epenesa Riviera, a young 20-something Hispanic/Islander girl who brought claims of a downtrodden past, one that was saved when Senator Driver's generosity had lifted her up and allowed her to gain steady employment and attend college. The full story proved heartwarming, and seemed to open up a new side of Senator Driver to the entire public. It was a political homerun, something, it seemed, that only a true campaign genius could've cooked up so close to the day of the primaries. The race did prove a tight one, but the results proved uncontroversial. Maxim had put up a fight, but Driver had won the day, his newfound support among women carrying the race for him. Maxim's phone call and concession had come quickly. He still had a future in politics, and the two men shot the breeze for a few minutes. Inevitably, the topic of the lost campaign advisor came forward. "I wish I knew, Louie," Driver reclined back in his office's fine leather seat, letting out a long, slow sigh. "It's absolutely crazy that such a promising young kid like that could up and disappear." He glanced down at the mane of thick, luscious, long black hair that bounced up and down under his desk, allowing himself to enjoy the wonderful tongue work that his new secretary and part time advisor has proven so adept at in these few short weeks. "Kids...what can you do?" He continued for a few more moments before hanging up. He leaned down and lightly tapped Serena on her shoulder, beckoning her to stand. As she did, she smoothed out the XXXL sized business suit and skirt she wore, who's buttons strained to contain the smooth-as-silk curves that threatened to pour out of every available opening. Driver had liked the way she had put her hair up and taken to wearing glasses; not that she needed to, but the sexual effort was more than appreciated on his end. She stood over his seated form as he ran his hands across her belly. "We need to celebrate fully, babe. You know what to do." "Of course I do, lover." Quickly, she removed her glasses, carefully folding their sides and laying them on the large wooden desk. She reached up, her left hand freeing her hair fully, allowing her to swing her head down and throw it back, the dark waterfall cascading all around her tan, cherubic face. Bringing her hands down, she began to slowly, one button at a time, undo her skin-tight suit jacket, revealing the rippling mounds of beautiful, curvaceous, womanly roundness that barely hid beneath, as well as her generous breasts, encased in a velvety bra of deepest, darkest crimson. And then she stopped. "So, lover...how about that healthcare bill I mentioned to you?" He took a deep breath. "Of course. I'll bring it up first thing as soon as I get back to work." She gave a friendly, content smile. "Good." She began unclasping the strained mini-skirt that contained her greatest curves of all...and froze. "Oh, and what about that women's health and privacy bill you promised a few years ago and 'haven't gotten around to' yet? You know, the one with the allowance for private, open access to birth control?" "Uh, uh, yes, naturally. Not a problem." Still smiling, she brought her skirt down, revealing a set of French-cut panties of the same deep red coloration and velvety material, encasing the sinfully sexy hips and ass of a love goddess. She turned around, her hands lightly brushing on the wooden desk top, and she began to lower her back. Once more, however, she froze, as her head turned around. "One more thing." She stared him straight in the eye with the sexiest, most faux-innocent look imaginable. "Anti-trust laws and measures against corporate welfare and cronyism?" She asked in an intensely cutesy, girlish voice. "Done!" Driver was nearly screaming. Without another word, the new secretary bent all the way down, allowing Driver to nearly rip her panties right off her skin. In less than a second, his manhood was inside of her, riding her as she bent and leaned against the desk, a dazed, ecstatic smile plastered on her face. Life could not be any better. A few weeks with Driver, and she had already began being showered with the finest clothing, designer dresses, upscale jewelry, trips to four and five star restaurants, rides in limousines, and sex more wild than anything conceivable for a mere man. Closing her eyes and reveling, she basked in her femininity, unwilling to ever part with it, her choice made completely obvious by the life which had been gift-wrapped for her. The entire idea of regaining her manhood, her old identity, her whole life, was enough to induce nausea. It took a trip to the other side to realize it, but every one of the simplest aspects of womanhood did more to thrill her than anything she could've done as a man. The feeling of lace, silk, satin, smooth nylons against your bare skin, garter belts, the finest, sexiest lingerie designed to drive anyone who saw it beyond the limits of arousal...she had never experienced it as a man, which, to her, negated anything positive manhood might have once held in her mind. She loved the heels she wore even now, which shaped her round calves, thighs, and ass even more than they naturally were, another feeling alien to her old male self. Sure, she had been given suggestions during the change, suggestions that made the transition to life with a vagina easier. But, at the end of the day, her willingness to dive headlong, to fully embrace her new life, to throw her old life away like the man-tinted garbage it was, was completely, one hundred percent, her own conscious decision. Serena was all woman. Serena was here to stay. And Serena wanted even more. When Driver finally finished, he collapsed, pants still at his ankles, to his chair. As he breathed deeply, Serena delicately replaced her panties, pulling a little extra hard to enable them to creep higher and higher into her ass and against her pussy, something that always gave her a nice jolt of pleasure. She turned, her head turning first to allow her hair to flow about her, and sat down, bringing her near 350 pound bulk atop of him. "Now, lover, let's talk about those panties you used to change me." Her coo was high, innocent sounding, but dripping with raw sexuality. "The day I put them on was the greatest day of my life. Remember, lover," she reached down, her hand cradling his penis and his scrotum, "I'm the one in control here, and I'm going to get what I want. You bring those bills to the Senate floor, but you're also going to show me how the panties worked. Don't be afraid; I have zero intentions of changing back. I'll be your secretary and love every blissful minute of it." Her eyes narrowed a bit, as her smile grew coy. "But I want to enjoy my new and improved life to the fullest. And I want a few new playmates around to enjoy it with me..."