I now own this slut Part 5
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Methamphestrogen free porn video
Methamphestrogen
by Bailey Thayer
I could see my neighbor's clothesline clearly from my second-floor
bathroom window. It was Saturday, laundry day, and my neighbor's live-in
girl friend was just starting to hang up wet clothes to dry. There she
stood, barefoot, wearing a set of daisy-dukes and a white cut-off tank
top. I could see the outline of a purple bra under her shirt. A bra
strap hung lazily off her left shoulder, and when she bent over to
retrieve something from her laundry basket I could clearly see the
whale-tail of her matching purple thong.
Several years back I lost my wife in a car accident and these days I
found my relief quietly on Saturdays, using the imagery of this young
woman to assist my imagination. My jeans were unbuttoned and my hand was
stroking myself slowly through my loose boxers.
When the young woman started to hang lingerie, the pace of my self-
satisfaction quickened. She draped brightly colored bras and panties on
the line as if she was decorating a Christmas tree. I greatly missed a
woman's company, especially the trappings, such as seeing lingerie in my
wife's dresser drawers or laying out on the bed. This lingerie was a bit
different from that of my wife's. My wife had preferred a higher quality
of garment and she a refined sense of style. My neighbor's girl friend
wasn't as sophisticated and her lingerie struck me as being more slutty.
Well slutty wasn't the word. It was intentionally too fancy and of lower
quality. She was different from what I had known, but I craved this
Walmart Princess all the same. I knew exactly how long it would take her
to finish and I timed my release just as she picked up her empty basket
and wiggled her ass back indoors.
A few hours later I emerged from my house to mow the lawn. It had once
been a nice house in a nice neighborhood, but times had changed, and
what had once been a place of promising middle-class families had
slipped into being a place of older folks on fixed incomes, lower-income
families, folks who were down on their luck, and I guess old widowers
like me. I thought about this change as I propelled the gasoline mower
forward and cropped row after row of grass. My neighbor had moved in a
few years ago. We never talked. I didn't even really know his name. I
only knew that he called his girl friend "Shelby Lynne" because I
sometimes heard him yell for her.
The mowing was complete, and I grabbed the weed-eater and began to trim
the fence line. A chain-link fence divided our two properties. As I
moved down the line, I caught a glimpse of something red. It was a lacy
bra, laying in the tall grass on my neighbor's side of the fence. I
don't know how it got there; I had to have it. I intentionally wiped my
brow giving me a chance to look around. I didn't see anyone. Pretending
that the weed-eater needed some attention, I got down on my knees and
hunched over the device. Two seconds later I quickly reached two fingers
through the fence and caught hold of a strap. Carefully, I drew the bra
through the fence guiding the underwires through the gap. When the
entire garment was clear of the fence, I hastily folded my new treasure
and put it into my back pocket. Nobody had seen me. I breathed easier.
The next day I was reading a book when somebody knocked on my back door.
I wasn't expecting anyone, but since it was the back door it must be a
friend stopping by for a visit. As I opened the door I was greeted by a
flash of red. I instinctively caught what was thrown at me, and
discovered I was holding a pair of lacy, red, boy-cut panties. Confused,
I looked up and saw my neighbor was the one to have thrown them. He was
standing in the door. He must have seen me, yesterday. I was caught. I
didn't know what to say, and fumbled for some words. But he didn't wait
for words. He stepped forward and plunged a syringe into my arm.
Whatever words I had found, escaped. My focus changed to just trying to
stay on my feet. Dizzy. I lost control and collapsed into a heap.
My body was tingling all over and wanted to move, but I was without
coordination, just wriggling on the floor. He pushed me back into the
room and closed the door. I quivered, bounced, and otherwise tried
hopelessly to stand. He started to strip me. I wanted to punch him, but
all I could do was flail about, making his task harder. He resorted to
ripping off my shirt. Eventually, I was nude. My spasms had slowed and I
was still full of energy but unable to control my muscles. To make
matters worse, I was transforming. He didn't seem concerned. He left the
room and I could tell he was rummaging around in my things, upstairs.
My transformation took about thirty minutes, and I suspect it was the
reason I could not control my muscles. With all of my energy, all I
could do was twitch and pay attention. The first thing I noticed
changing was my legs. As I kicked about, the hair would fall to the
floor in little clouds. My legs were a bit more slender and shapely. My
feet became smaller and narrower. My arms slowly lost muscle and my
shoulders rounded. My rough hands softened. I now had delicate fingers.
Still, I didn't understand the nature of these changes until later in
the process. My penis retracted within, my buttocks ballooned a bit, my
waist contracted, and my hips expanded. Simultaneously, the hair on my
chest fell out and the extra fat I carried melted away and then grew
back as a pair of larger, well developed breasts. My transformation into
a young woman was complete.
Then I began to gain control over my new muscles. I stood up, and was
overwhelmed with new feelings. My balance was completely different, and
I wasn't used to the mass of my breasts moving about under their own
momentum. I hadn't noticed while I was laying on the floor, but I now
had a head full of curly blonde hair. Now that I was standing, it was
all around me. It seemed like any move I made was followed with a second
of jiggling breasts and a wave of blonde curls cascading into view.
I had to find and confront my neighbor. Two steps into the next room I
found him. He had been waiting on me, caught hold of my right arm and
twisted it behind my back. He was taller than I remembered, or rather I
was a couple inches shorter, and I had probably dropped from 200 pounds
down to 120. He could throw me around if he wanted to. My arm hurt and I
pleaded with him to let me go. He threw the red, lacy bra and panties
onto the floor before me, saying something like, "You wanted these, so
put them on."
I pulled on the boy-cut panties. I wasn't really sure how high to pull
them up, but up around my waist felt right. Putting on the bra was more
of a struggle. I started by slipping an arm into each strap with the
idea being that I'd fasten it behind me, but that left the cups out of
place. When I tried to put my boobs into the cups, they slipped out a
bit when I then tried to fasten the back. I remembered my wife would
start with the back clasps in front of her, hooking them together. Then
she would spin the bra around so the cups were in the front, lean
forward, and dangle her breasts into the cups and finally put on the
straps. I tried that approach next and it didn't work very well for me,
but I eventually got everything into place. Then he handed me one of my
t-shirts and sweat pants. I put those on as well.
He took my hand and pulled me to the door. I had lots of energy and
resisted. He liked that. I broke away, but he tackled me three steps
later. I was pinned. I struggled, but he was too strong. He liked that
too. I had little choice but to give in and hope to be able to break
free later. So he took my hand again and towed me next door to his
place. Once we were out in the back yard, I tried to pull free, failed,
started to scream, and he hit me in the jaw, hard, and I blacked out.
I awoke in a basement. I assumed it was my neighbor's basement. I was
stripped down to the red bra and panties and strapped to a table.
Another young woman was here too. It had to be Shelby Lynne. She was
sweeping the floor. I begged her to let me free, but she ignored me. I
started to look for a way to escape. Looking around the room, I saw
typical things you might find in a basement along with scientific items.
For instance, alongside a washer and dryer was a table with a black
marble top upon which a variety of beakers and test tubes could be seen.
Upon a shelf with detergents and bleach were books of chemistry. A bunch
of boxes marked "clothes" were stacked along a wall upon which the
periodic chart of elements had been attached. A white board had a few
notes scribbled on it, none of which I understood, other than to know it
had to be some sort of chemical process or reaction involving C10H15N
and C18H24O2, whatever those were.
I spent a week on the table. They fed me, cleaned me, and above all,
kept me high with injections every 12 hours or so. The injections kept
me wired and full of energy, which made being strapped to a table
excruciating torture. After that week I found I craved the drug.
Anticipating the injection was almost a better high than the drug
itself. I was no longer strapped to a table the entire time, but I was
confined to the house under my neighbor's watchful eye. In exchange for
the drug, I made myself useful by cooking or cleaning. When there was no
work to do, I'd lay around the house in my underwear and watch daytime
television. For some reason I liked Jerry Springer. The extra energy I
got from the drug's effects was countered by being tired from lack of
sleep.
By the time the third week started, I had completely fallen into the
routine of this new life and largely had forgotten my own. Somewhere
along the line I had started to respond to the name "Missy Mae", and I
had started to call my neighbor "Lou." I think that was the same night
Lou popped my cherry, but I don't really remember. I was thinking too
much about my next fix. He was always slapping my ass or copping a feel
of my tits when we'd pass each other around the house anyways. Sex was
just the next stop along the line. Letting him have a taste of me was a
fair exchange for the magic he crafted in the basement.
A few months later, Lou and I were in a truck stop. He kept me
perpetually high and that was fine with me. He left me sitting in a
booth while he went off to find a friend of his that we were supposed to
meet. I passed the time by winking, or blowing kisses, at truckers
trying to draw out a smile. Some did, and others just ignored me. Some
rolled their eyes. I guess they didn't approve of my attire. The straps
of my lacy purple bra were clearly visible as they emerged from under my
stretchy orange tube top. The top of my tiny jean-skirt was denim, like
from cut-off jeans, but the bottom half was a white-cottony blend of
pleats and ruffles. I had gotten used to wearing thong panties,
especially the feeling of my skirt swishing back and forth across my
bare ass as I walked. I was happy to be sitting because I wore a set of
bright red platform mules with four-inch heels, and I still wasn't used
to walking in them. My makeup was over-the-top. A more modest girl might
have called me a circus clown. Lou liked a trashy look, and I gave him
what he wanted.
Lou returned with his friend, Carl. They talked business and I kept
winking at truckers as they passed. It was funny when a trucker blushed.
I only partially followed Lou's dealings because I really didn't care.
Lou was trading me to Carl and promising that regular shipments of
"pink-meth" would continue as long Carl kept they money coming. They
concluded business quickly, and Lou left me with Carl, telling me Carl
would take care of me from now on. I wasn't worried. I've never seen Lou
again. Carl is a nice guy, too. He's a real teddy-bear. I dance in his
strip club and take care of a couple of Johns a night, while he protects
me, takes care of my fix, provides food and clothing, and gives me a
place to stay.
Jayla
- 10.09.2022
- 15
- 0
