Eight Vials and a Syringe
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Eight Vials And A Syringe, III free porn video
Eight Vials & a Syringe - Part III
By Jen Moore
It had been 14 days since I'd last woken up in my own apartment. For
nearly two weeks the hormones of a woman had been coursing through my
system. I had checked out of the hotel after reverting back to Michael,
feeling completely delirious. I stumbled into a cab at 2 a.m. and had
slept a long sleep back home.
My answering machine was blinking, the mail had piled up. I'd left two
suitcases, utterly incriminating suitcases, in the hallway unable to put
anything away before I'd fallen into bed. Those two suitcases held the
entire life of Jen, one of them was a brand new one I'd purchased to
accommodate all the new things I ...or rather she...had bought during
that time, not to mention the pictures and videotapes.
My head and body ached as I got up from the bed. After so much time as
a woman, this transition had taken a lot out of me. I shouldn't have
taken that second dose. But it was easy to say that now.
I had to figure out how to explain my absence to my boss and to my
girlfriend. I didn't want to listen to those messages just yet. And
all the bills. I had stayed far longer in that hotel than I should
have. It actually felt a little strange holding my penis, my nails too
long, pissing into the toilet. I was very conscious too of the bulk of
my body, compared to the past two weeks. I felt my hair spill forward
as I leaned into the sink and splashed some water on my face. I didn't
feel that reminiscent shift in my breasts.
I looked into the mirror. It was me again. But that hair. It was a
thick mane of chestnut brown hair, slightly past my shoulders now. It
still showed the feminine cut I'd gotten the day after that second
injection.
***
When I took that second injection my body was still reverberating from
the orgasms that Marcie and I had shared. As the liquid from the vial
surged through my body I felt extraordinarily empowered as a woman. I
put on some makeup, exaggerating my eyes, coating my lips with that
glossy red. I began to feel like caged lioness in that hotel room that
Sunday afternoon.
I put on the prettiest of bras that Marcie had recommended, the jeans, a
low cut top and the black open-toed heels. I continued to smoke. I
took a few pictures, then gathered some things into my purse and left
the room.
I didn't really know where I was going and just started walking in the
May sunshine of the city. But I felt glorious. It was that afternoon
that I walked past an open hair salon and decided that I would get that
cut. They did manicures too. My nails were buffed, polished with two
coats of a deep red, and lacquered with protective clear coat. with two
coats of a deep red. I felt an insatiable hunger when I held up my
hands admiringly, my long fingers holding my cigarette.
As sublime as it was to have my hair styled with those layers and
flairs, and to have my nails so expertly shaped and polished, it was
beyond all that when I held up the mirror as she attended to my
eyebrows. This was a risk. She plucked them cleanly, tapering them in
a noticeable arch. This was not Michael. This face that looked back at
me was a beautiful, confident, seductive woman.
When I came to a shop selling jewelry I tried on a number of rings. I
bought three, including a fake diamond for my engagement finger. I
bought two pendants too.
"Do you pierce?" I asked the young, pretty Hispanic woman.
I'd promised myself I wouldn't make any permanent changes to my body
that I'd have to deal with as Michael. My eyebrows could be a very big
problem but I didn't care. And at that moment I felt absolutely no
regret when...Pop...Pop...there were two standard gold studs in my ears.
I was a fucking glorious lipstick lesbian.
By the time I met Marcie again on Tuesday I felt voracious for her
wonderful body. And I felt starved for her to take mine.
"You seem so different from that first time I met you," she said as we
lay entwined in each others' arms. "You seemed so innocent. When I saw
your nipples erect I wanted to just bite them right then. But now, Jen,
now you just exude this delicious power over me. I want you to fuck me
everywhere."
We gave each other dozens of orgasms. Big, powerful orgasms. Orgasms
that were so new to me, how they could languish and then build, one on
top of another to a shuddering crescendo. Tiny, buzzing orgasms as we
kissed in public. Continual orgasms that seemed to persist even as we
went out to eat or danced or shopped. Whole body orgasms that she'd
give me simply by sucking my breasts, my toes, licking my ears, my face.
I adored 69.
She brought a vibrator. We used ice. One afternoon we bought a big tub
of pudding and lathered ourselves in the large bathtub and then lied
there afterward for hours in warm, soapy water. We shaved. We
explored. I'd lie there running my finger slowly up and down her labia,
examining it closely, peering, giving it a tiny lick, my own elegant
fingers tracing her, going inside her. I shared in a way I'd only
dreamed. I felt such an unexplored passion for her that its affect was
contagious on her.
I saw this woman in such a previously unknown, intimate way. She peed
confidently, unselfconsciously in front of me as she'd talk to me. We'd
dress together. I became adept at quickly fastening my bra. She was
adept at unfastening it, licking my nipples, my soft, tender areola.
We'd stand side by side at the mirror, doing our hair, mascara, talking,
lipstick, pinches, slaps. She loved my hair.
I asked her if she thought my pussy was pretty. She said it was
beautiful. Then, just as if the suggestion of it had aroused her, she
went down there and caressed it and tasted it, sucking and biting. As
she did, she described how it wrinkled and pouted. She spread my fleshy
outer labia over my slimy smooth wetness. She'd tease more wetness from
my dark, inner lips. She'd press inside, reaching toward a spot that
would make shudder convulsively.
"You make my cunt feel so beautiful," I told her.
She loved my cunt but I loved it more. I loved its smoothness in my
panties. New panties she'd bring me everytime she returned from work.
My wide expansive vulva. My crease visible, alluring. My vagina.
***
It was Thursday when she brought out a dildo shaped and detailed like a
real, large penis. I balked at that immediately and covered myself with
my hand.
"Come onnnn," she laughed, poking it against my hand.
"No, I cant," I said. I rolled over on my side momentarily lost in
thought and said, "I can't."
She nestled against me and that's when she told me she had a boyfriend.
She told me how long they'd been together, what he did, how she loved
him. She told me how she'd foresworn women until that day in the
dressing room.
I laughed. "Why do you work where you do then?"
She laughed too and said, "Because I love lingerie?" "But I don't
know," she said. "I really have been good. For two years until you."
Then, spooning there, with my back to her breasts, she pulled me to her
and buried her face in my hair. Again, our heat, our passion began to
rise. She reached down and squeezed my breasts. I pressed myself back
against her. She ran her hand underneath me up and along my vulva.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I felt her press and rub the head of the dildo
against me.
I lied there, with my eyes gently closed as I felt it circle and circle
my opening. Then, I felt its big head as it spread me with its solid,
firm entrance. She stopped it just there and gave me a sudden slap on
my butt cheek. I moaned. She began pushing it deeper.
She left it still, motionless, deeply inside me. Its presence, its
pressure, the tension, in this new hidden place was completely
indescribable. I rolled onto my back and spread my legs to see. She
gracefully positioned herself on her knees and began working that dildo
slowly, up and down, creating a gentle suction I'd never ever
experienced. My wetness oozed over it, glistening, as she gradually
increased the pace. She began pulling it completely out, then quickly
back in. Fast and slow. I'd see it there in all its detail and then
she would hide it back inside me. Again and again.
"You like this big cock. Don't you?" she said in that breathy voice.
She licked my wetness off it, watching me. "I love it. I love how you
taste on it." And then she'd put it back inside me.
It was the guiltiest, most thundering orgasm I'd felt. I squirted,
leaving a huge spot on the bed.
"You can be such a fucking horny bitch," she growled as she made taste
my own wetness on it.
Both our hands held it and brought it to my mouth as she said "I bet
they love your mouth on it."
I came again.
***
It was near then end when she gently warned me she was menstruating. I
whispered that I wanted to put her tampon in. I'd never even unwrapped
one. As she squatted, I softly teased it into her, straightened the
tiny string and gave her clittie a tiny kiss.
She hugged me tightly. "I want you to call me when you have yours," she
whispered with her tongue in my ear.
"I will," I lied.
On what I thought would safely be the last day, I met her after work in
a bar. I wore a tight, satiny one-piece dress that pressed up my
breasts and extended only a few inches past my crotch. I wore my hair
back, gold, shimmery bracelets and gold hoop earrings. We sat in a dark
booth talking. I smoked.
"I don't want to wait two months to see you," she confessed.
I told her it would go quickly but I had to go. She asked if there was
someone else. I told her I had a girlfriend.
"I want to get another tattoo for you," she said solemnly. "I want you
to get one for me, too."
A tattoo was out the question.
It should have been out of the question. But it was tiny, beautiful,
hidden.
We said goodbye.
Two days later I reverted.
***
Back in my apartment, I started to get things in order but I still felt
so detached. I called my boss and managed to plead my way back into
work. As a magazine journalist, my profession was full of free spirits,
drunken bingers, long exploratory trips. I started to put away my
bags, waiting, trying to decide how I would deal with my girlfriend. I
checked the locks again and I put the suitcases up on the bed and opened
them.
I put the camera with the pictures and some of the videotapes into my
strongbox. There were too many to fit them so put some carelessly out
in the back of the closet. Without even realizing it, I smoked one of
her cigarettes. I put the suitcases, with their flimsy suitcase locks
in the back of the closet as well.
The phone rang but I didn't pick it up. It was my girlfriend. She
wouldn't be happy. It will be much harder getting back into her good
graces, explaining my absence.
She was pretty, very disciplined and very fit. She was a killer
attorney in the city and didn't like surprises. She could be strong-
willed and vindictive. We'd dated for four years now and I loved having
sex with her. And she knew it. She intended us to be married.
I'll call her tomorrow. I needed time to acclimatize myself first. I
would need to do something with this hair. I had to be careful. It was
clearly too long now, too styled. But what about the other changes? I
pulled my hair back over my ears and could see the two gold studs
shining. And my eyebrows. They'd hardly grown back. Maybe she
wouldn't notice. I took out the studs and placed them into the
strongbox.
But how do I explain this I thought, as pulled down my boxers. There,
just my under my pubic hairline was that butterfly. That colorful
butterfly tattoo that had been near my pussy.
I missed her. I missed Marcie. But I missed Jen more.
Fawn
- 30.10.2021
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Eight Vials and A Syringe Part II
- 3 years ago
- 7
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Eight Vials and A Syringe Part IV
- 1 year ago
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