Nandita To Nandini
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Eight Vials And A Syringe free porn video
Eight Vials & a Syringe
By Jen Moore
I was given eight vials and a syringe. The instructions came printed and
I read them over three times. I couldn't wait. But that didn't mean I
didn't have my doubts. Of course I did. If it worked though...if there
were even a small chance that it happened...then it would be worth every
penny, every risk.
I reserved a room for three nights. Just in case it worked. The
instructions said that the first time, with just one vial, the
transformation would take several hours. That is, if it worked ...and
'if' was a huge word.
I didn't jinx myself by bringing anything other than bottles of water,
clean underwear, my toilet kit and a change of clothes. I didn't want to
get my hopes up too high and if I brought anything unusual -- anything
that a woman might have brought -- I'd only feel foolish afterward. It
was sort of my way of conditioning myself for the worst. But I did bring
my camera - just in case.
I checked into the hotel at 3:30 p.m. At 4:20 I took the first vial,
swabbed alcohol on the fleshy part of my inner thigh and with shakey
hands injected it into me. By 4:50 I had passed out on the bed.
For 20 hours I was near comatose. Deep, dramatic changes were happening
to my body. My chromosomal structure shifted from Y to X and with it,
changes in my skeletal frame, my internal organs, my skin, my body. I
was told that essentially I would become the sister I never had. It
would reflect my gene structure yet everything would respond in kind to
this new chromosomal directive.
Sometime in the early afternoon I awoke slowly. I was so groggy I had no
recollection of where I was or even why I was there. My first feeling of
consciousness was simply a tremendous thirst. I lied there for some
time, thinking of water and how I might muster the energy to get it.
Thirst was the my only primal feeling. I felt detached from myself, from
my body. I felt spent from the exhaustive changes I'd experienced
although I had no rational thoughts as to why I felt all this.
It was only as I was finishing that first liter of water that I focused
on the unfamiliar hands holding the bottle. But gradually, realization
came over me. That hand, smaller, with long delicate fingers was a
woman's hand. It had happened. I held both hands up and watched
transfixed as I willed them to move, to turn, to wiggle those fingers.
I remembered where I was and why I was there. It had happened!
Monday morning I awoke, restored to my former sex. The past weekend had
been exquisitely exhilarating. Although I was completely exhausted, I
felt charged by the utter experience of being a complete and total woman
for those few hours. I hadn't left the room since that Friday, but it
was though I had traveled to another realm. I took a shower and
carefully packed my things. I looked in the mirror as I had done so many
times during that past weekend. The only sign of anything was the fact
that my hair was shabby, my nails were unkempt, both having grown, the
byproduct of the dead cells from the transformation.
Now, I knew the vials were real. I knew of their promise. I knew of
their potential. I locked them in a strongbox and put them in the back
of my closet, together with the instructions and my camera - with the
pictures from that fateful weekend.
I struggled to concentrate on work and I didn't call my girlfriend until
Wednesday. But it was important that I focus and that I give no
indication of this other life. Nevertheless, I began to plan my next
time. There would need to be time for my body to rest from its ordeal.
Two months would be adequate. Could I possibly wait two months? I had
to. I had to be careful. Besides, waiting, planning, preparing would
only make it more exquisite.
I had a new appreciation for my wonderful girlfriend. If she noticed
anything different, it was how much I loved lapping her pussy. My senses
were charged just in watching her dress, tracing the outline of her
breasts, kissing her labia, teasing her clit. Tasting her. I was
supremely sensitive to her every reaction. I entered her slowly each
time, intent on her reaction as she felt my cock inside her. I watched
her every response. I was driven by her every response.
The days passed and occasionally we'd return to our separate apartments.
That's when I would allow myself to relive it all. Locking the doors,
I'd go back to my bedroom closet and carefully retrieve that strongbox.
Opening it, I'd recount the vials, re-read the instructions and then
remove my camera.
Checking once more to ensure the doors were securely locked, I attached
my camera to my computer and relived every moment.
There were nearly 50 shots from that room all just taken by me - of her.
I looked at her closely. I saw her dressed in the oversized business
shirt or the robe from the hotel. I saw her naked.
It was as if she were posing for me. I saw the gentle slope of her
shoulders. I marveled at her full breasts, one somewhat rounder than the
other. She had large areolas with dark, crimson, noticeable nipples.
With her slender waist and full hips, her body curved enticingly. I saw
her bush, her labia. I saw the nub of her clitoris. I peered into the
pink, fleshy opening of her vagina.
In her face I saw the hidden desires of a woman. I saw a woman who bore
a resemblance to me, but was clearly not me. The nose, the set of her
eyes, the expanse of her forehead, were all so subtly different. Her
cheeks were more prominent and her skin was smooth, hairless. Her
hairline was lower although her hair was cut short. Those lips. Those
lips were fuller, clearly not mine. I remembered how differently it had
felt to run my tongue across them. I'd lose myself in those moments.
I carefully began to plan my next visit. I wanted to see her again. To
be her again.
Meanwhile, there was one change that had happened to me that was still
apparent. My girlfriend even noticed it, but commented on it positively.
Perhaps because of the hormones, my hair was fuller now, even my hairline
had not receded to its previous state. I told I was taking something. I
told her that was also why I was letting it grow.
I wondered each day about that woman in the pictures. I wondered how
she'd dress, how she'd wear her makeup; who she was and the secret
desires she held. Although I didn't normally smoke, I began doing so as
I looked at those pictures.
In preparation, I let my hair grow longer over those 8 weeks. I began to
accumulate little items that she would need. I estimated as best I could
her size yet was unsure of her preferences. I bought a new suitcase and
slowly began packing. If my girlfriend had been more observant, or had
seen cause to be, she would have noticed items that began to disappear.
At first it was only little things. I took a hairband, an elastic that
she'd tie her hair back with, some cheap bracelets that she never wore,
two emery files. I took one of her disposable razors from the shower.
One time I "accidentally" knocked my girlfriend's make-up bag behind the
sink as she was getting ready. Casually apologizing, I put everything
back except one of the many tubes of lipstick, an eyeliner pencil, and
mascara. As my plans progressed I became emboldened. I took one of her
black dresses, a pair of slacks, a white blouse, a cotton top and a pair
of mules. I took two different pairs of her panties and one pink bra. I
wanted to take her vibrator. But I didn't.
Walking into the hotel, carrying that suitcase, I purposely held back the
utter excitement I felt. Minutes after the earliest possible check-in
time I was getting my key, walking down the hall, unlocking my door.
Without delay, I placed the suitcase on the bed and took out the syringe
and one vial. I looked at myself in the large mirror over the desk and
injected myself once more.
The transformation happened more quickly this time and by 8 a.m. I was
awake, thirsty. After 30 minutes or so, I was up, standing before the
mirror, standing before her again. I must've spent an hour watching her
in the mirror, lying on the bed, tracing her body.
Slowly the exhaustive effects of the change ebbed away. My head began
clearing and gradually I gained subtle sensations in these new nerve
endings that were now mine. Time was of the essence. I had perhaps
another day or two or maybe even three. The directions said that it
wasn't predictable. Although each vial would last a little longer, it
impossible to guess how long it affect me. And if, for some reason, I
were to take two vials it would be even less predictable.
I stepped into the shower and stood under the spray, still somewhat aware
of a lessened sensitivity in my body. I wet my hair, conscious of how
another inch or two had grown from the night, as I felt it graze against
my shoulders. I lathered my breasts. My glorious breasts. I soaped
their smooth, slippery roundness, lifting them, squeezing them. There
was no heat from my pussy, or any arousal in my clittie, but I was
exhilarated. I languished over my legs, lifting one leg up onto the
tub's edge, conscious of my slit, my labia, and gently shaved. I passed
the broad lady razor over my legs, my thighs. I carefully trimmed around
my bush, leaving it in neat triangular fullness.
I stood before the mirror, transfixed. She was there, again. She was
me. I was her. It was time to see who she was, what she was capable of.
I put on a robe, retrieved my make up bag, my cigarettes, an ashtray and
returned to the vanity table. For ten minutes, I blew it dry as I
brushed it out, excited by its new length. I brushed it, teasing it
full. I watched my slender fingers patting it, adjusting, teasing. I
saw her longer nails. My god. She was emerging further before me.
The nails needed attention. I filed them, rounded them. I awkwardly
covered them in a clear lacquer and blew them dry, sucking eagerly on a
cigarette. I felt my body awakening.
Squeezing out the succulence of every single moment, I went back into the
room and picked up the phone. I needed food and energy. I called to
room service but was hardly able to finish my order as I heard the sound
of my voice. Someone would be up in 20 or 30 minutes. Someone would be
in my room. Someone would see me.
I put on the eyeliner. The mascara. What about the eyebrows? I had
tweezers but I had to be careful. I couldn't trim them too drastically
or that could be a problem later when I reverted. Still, I suppose I
could do a little. There were still a few icecubes in the bucket from
yesterday and I wrapped them in a washcloth. I numbed my eyebrow area
and began carefully plucking. Thirty minutes later, when I heard the
knock at the door, I realized how much I had shaped them. But it didn't
matter. Not now.
"One second," I said, taking a mental assessment of myself. I held my
breath and opened the door.
An elderly black man pushed the food cart in and cheerfully said, "Good
morning ma'am. Where would you like this?"
Ma'am. He said ma'am.
I stammered a little and pointed to the small table. He quickly set the
things up and turned to hand me the check to be signed.
So self-consciously I saw my hands, my nails as I scribbled out
something. And ten bucks for a tip.
"Thank you miss. You have a great day."
This wasn't just my illusion. He saw me as a woman.
I looked in the mirror as he left. I opened the robe. I saw my breasts
as they hung, my tummy pouch, the curve of my hips, my pussy.
It was time now to dress. But I needed to eat. I didn't even realize
how hungry I was until I started. I ate everything eagerly. I went to
the toilet. I peed, feeling the spray from my urethra. I defecated and
cleaned myself.
I had long wondered if my girlfriend's bra would fit. She had beautiful
breasts but I held a notion that my breasts were slightly larger. I took
off the robe and put on the panties first. They were tight. My butt
must be bigger than hers. But, it was the smoothness of the fabric over
my vulva, the barest shadow of my pubic hair through the fabric, that
completely enraptured me. I lost another hour before I was in front of
the mirror again, preparing to put on that bra.
I pictured her in mind's eye. She'd put her arms thru the straps, hold
the cups over breasts and attach it in back. She'd jiggle and adjust.
She'd do it all efficiently, effortlessly. I struggled to attach it,
unable to reach back and catch the clips. I concentrated. Finally they
clipped. It was tight. Without even looking in the mirror or even
looking down, I felt it was tight.
Then, I finally looked up, into the mirror. My breasts were squeezed,
spilling out some from the sides. And there was a line of cleavage,
inches and deep. Real, erotic, sensual cleavage.
It wasn't until sometime around 5 pm that I got up and finished dressing.
I was growing more sensitive but not inclined to masturbate. But I
couldn't help touching, exploring and for the first time put a finger
inside myself.
I had planned to get out much sooner than this. To leave this room and
to walk into the world. I lit another cigarette, adjusted the tight
black dress, exhaled the smoke into cloud. I fussed a little more with
my hair. I put on the bracelets. I wished I wore earrings. I looked
once more and walked out of the hotel room.
You cant imagine what I felt as I walked through that lobby. It didn't
matter that I was wearing ill-fitting clothes, that I had on those clumsy
mules, or that my hair was unstyled. I was a woman. Maybe 5'5", 5'6",
with breasts, curves, vagina. I was a woman and there was so much I
needed to do.
"Taxi, Miss?" asked the doorman.
"Yes. Bloomingdales please."
Gert
- 26.01.2021
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Eight Vials and A Syringe Part II
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Eight Vials and A Syringe III
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