Gulliver's Planet 3: Little Girl Blew (Part 3) free porn video

Tales from Gulliver's Planet: Little Girl Blew Part III By [email protected] She opened her eyes and saw the segmented prene ceiling of a ship's cabin. She was in a bed. There was someone beside her. She looked over and saw Marsham, smiling, eyes glittery with greed. She hummed a little tune, rolled toward him, spread her fingers out in his chest hair and grinned a wry little grin, lowering her eyes to half-mast. "Good morning, Baby." "It took you a really long time to reboot. I was afraid maybe you were broken. It would figure you know," he grumbled, his voice extra deep and gravelly because of the early hour, "my luck. Spend everything you got on a doll and she's be broken." She squirmed against him, somehow squeezing herself beneath him. His erection beneath the thin sheet was so obvious that she automatically parted her thighs and closed them around it, sighing because it was hard, long and warm. She could feel a gentle pulse in it, and found herself dedicated to accelerating it. She began to squeeze her thighs in time with his pulse, gently at first so he wouldn't notice. The subtlety was lost on him, however, because before she could utter a whisper, he rolled on top of her, captured her wrists beneath his rough hands and penetrated her. She squealed and gasped, let her jaw drop, her eyes showing a female in full bloom, in full pleasure, in absolute want. He fucked her for a good ten minutes without stopping before she heard his breath catch in his throat. She could feel so much of him with her pussy, the pulse, the veins, the exact degree of his stiffness. She released her insides, let her inner walls relax, making it difficult for him to find any friction. He pumped her faster and faster. When she felt his heart slow a little, heard his breath release from his throat, she tightened her inner walls and matched his pace, milking him, squeezing him until his breath caught again. She released him, squeezed him, released him, squeezed him until he was moaning, complaining, "Let me CUM already!" By now he'd let go of her wrists and had planted his hand on the mattress beside her head to support himself. He had her legs up around her ears, yoga-style, having rolled her into a tight fuckable ball, ramming into her as fast as he could manage. She hummed and giggled. "You wanna cum, Baby?" He nodded feverishly, already on the edge. His sweat rained over her and she reveled in it, soaking it in, rubbing it in to herself, feeling her head driven into the mattress when he smashed his lips into hers. They were wet all over, sweat, saliva and her juices. She relaxed her inner muscles to keep him from cumming, but playfully gave him a one second squeeze. He froze, mouth agape, eyes closed, growling. After a moment, he looked at her with a desperate expression and began to ram her again. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, sooo close!" "Let's get you closer!" she giggled, and beamed with joy. "How close do you think you can get?" He shook his head and gave her the expression of a tortured man. "You're fucking killing me!" She gave him a three second squeeze. She could feel his balls so tight they had practically drawn up inside him, his cock so stiff it was hot with blood and almost vibrating with nerve energy. She giggled and gave him a four second squeeze. He began to make noises no man should make, desperate whiney, pleading noises. She gave him a four and a half second squeeze, sensing how close he was. He reached down and slipped a hand beneath her neck and gripped her hard, sending her reeling with pleasure. His every touch was a buzz, a tingle, a tickle, sending wave after wave of pleasure through her. She gave him a four and a three-quarter second squeeze and he began to moan and growl like a wild animal. For a second, she thought he was about to have a heart attack. There was a loud thumping, but then she realized it was someone pounding on the door. She relaxed her muscles and placed her hands on each side of his sweaty, hot face. "Shh!" He gasped and looked at her, confused. "Wh-what?" "The door," she whispered. Someone was calling his name now. "Fuck it," he whispered and rammed into her again. She squeezed him with her muscles until he tensed, froze in place, arched his back, head stretching toward the ceiling, and let out an exhausted scream. She rippled beneath him, surprised that his orgasm had somehow triggered one of her own. Her nipples seemed to burst into small berries of ecstasy on her chest. Her lips tingled, and it seemed like everything that was fluid in her was squirting in powerful spasms out between her legs. She buzzed all over and heard her own small voice matching his in an exhaustive shriek of pleasure. He rested for a whole three seconds before he picked her up and effortlessly threw her into a small closet. She frowned, still buzzing from head to toe, still spasming, convinced it would never stop. She could just make out the voices from the cabin. Someone was asking Marsham what he was doing. Marsham told them it was porn on the wave. It didn't sound like they believed him. It ended up with a "keep it down" and a slam of the door. Suddenly, the closet door whipped open and Alex frowned angrily up at her new owner. "I'm not a pair of shoes, you know!" Marsham looked taken aback for a moment, then he blinked his eyes and chuckled. "I know, Baby. I know." She pouted and crossed her arms, pressed her knees and thighs together. But then he'd tucked his arms beneath her and was hauling her out of the closet and back onto the bed. "Shit, you smell like a woman who has just had sex! How do they fucking do that?" She tried not to break, but she couldn't help it. His fresh sweat and the smell of his cum whittled away at her resolve. She found herself pouting, feeling more aroused than angry. She nuzzled against him, climbed on top of him, felt his limp cock beneath her. Without even meaning to, she started making slight movements back and forth on it. He gazed up at her in wonder. "I've never had a fuck like that before." She went wide-eyed and began to smile and blush. "Really?" "You're fucking amazing! But we gotta keep it down or someone will hear." She let her lips part to envelop him, wetter than ever, taking his pulse again. She moved so subtly, she was certain he didn't even notice it. He yawned. "Best fucking money I have ever spent. I'll tell you that much." He closed his eyes for a moment, but couldn't quite nod off. He blinked, looked up into her mischievous smiling eyes then down at his growing cock. "You've got to be shitting me!" She giggled and began to speed up her motion, back and forth, painting the length of his cock her slippery wetness, making longer sweeps as it grew. He shook his head. "I... I don't know, Baby. You wore me out." She fell on top of him and began kissing his lips, nibbling his neck, lifting her ass and dropping it back down the length of his pelvis with a sweep, catching his cock in herself like a fish in a net. He moaned as he popped inside her and she sighed. "Don't worry... this time I'll do all the work. Besides, what's better than being fucked to unconsciousness?" He was already out of his mind, his cock aching like an overly stretched tendon and buzzing with ecstasy all over again. That was when, to his shock, she began to vibrate inside. # # # She blinked when she realized she didn't recognize the man or the room. He had a narrow face and big eyes. He was smaller than Marsham, but sort of bigger, too, shorter, but broader. She smiled and gave him a little wave. "Hello." He grinned from ear to ear like a shark. "What's your name?" She giggled. "Guess." "Is it... Ariel?" She went wide-eyed. "Oh my-How did you know?" He chuckled, his hands already on her breasts, touching softly at first, then flicking a nipple. She squealed and crossed her hands over them protectively. He grabbed her by the wrists and forced them apart. "Lucky guess." She was watching his eyes. No, she was studying his eyes, but that was a surprise. He likes someone who struggles, a voice inside her said. She didn't know how she knew that, something in the way he was standing over her, ogling her. She tried to pull her wrists away from his iron grip, and almost made it, but he caught her. He fell on top of her and crushed her beneath his weight. Before she knew it, she was full of tears and whimpers. "P-please don't hurt me-" He grinned and for the first time she saw the remainder of a scar across his neck. She shivered. "That depends on what you're willing to do for me." She let the tears fall down her cheeks as she bit her lower lip. "Wh- what do you want?" "I want you, Bitch." She trembled, tried to squirm out from under him and was shocked when his hand whizzed through the air and slapped her across the cheek. She cried out and began to sob quietly, nodding. "O-okay, j-just don't hurt me-" He released his pants with one hand while the other trapped her arms above her head. She couldn't help warming to his skin, tingling where it touched, feeling a delicious, naughty pleasure as he threatened her with his glare. "I'll do whatever I feel like. Maybe I'll cut you." He showed her a long ononium knife. She cowered while simultaneously tilting her hips forward, spreading her lips open for him, feeling herself already wet. She shook her head. "P-please... I'll be good." Then he was inside her and he was brutal. She whimpered for awhile, before she let herself shift cleverly into moans. "Tell me you want it," he demanded. She let more tears trickle down her neck, into her mouth where she let them wet her tone into a barely audible wheezing croak. "... no... please...." He thrust into her hard, pinched her nipples until she screamed. "Tell me!" She sucked on her bottom lip, face wet, pussy wet, thrusting up to meet him, giving him a hard squeeze and feeling his cock respond. "I... I want it-please don't make me-" He slapped her hard across the breasts. She squealed with pain and let out a fresh round of sobs. "Tell me you love it." She nodded, shook her head to let more tears leak out, then nodded again, letting her face turn into a miserable frown, a grimace of anguish. "I... I love it." She squeezed his cock inside her, but he was clever and did not accelerate his pace. Instead, he preferred to pull almost all the way out and thrust into her hard. She let the air out of her lungs each time, giving him a cute "umph" and the slightest hint of a gasp. He began to moan then, and mumble. "Oh... you're a slut, aren't you. Aren't you, you fucking slut? Tell me you're a slut." She hesitated just long enough, then let it out in a rush. "I'maslut." "Again!" She squeezed his cock inside her and began to buck her pelvis at just the right time, giving him the sensation that he was driving in extra deep. "I'm a slut!" She stopped whimpering, stopped crying and began to moan and squirm. "Again," he breathed. He was beginning to pant, beginning to thrust quicker. "I'm a slut!" She took the pulse in his cock. It was hot, just the right temperature. She did not release him, did not relax her muscles, but somehow knew he was not the kind of man who wanted to be teased in that way. "Again. Louder. Say it, Bitch." She let her body convulse and twitch. "Oh, I'm a slut! I'm a fucking slut! I'm such a slut." He erupted inside her, froze for a moment or two, then collapsed on top of her, muttering, "Damn...." Somehow, she knew the game was over. She wrapped her arms up under his, around his back, wrapped her legs around his waist, enjoying the feeling of his limp cock inside her. She pulsed it with her muscles, long squeezes that had him moaning. Then there was a pounding at the door. She gave him a curious, quizzical look. "Wassar! You give me back my damn doll!" It was Marsham. She felt her new owner tense. He jumped from the bed and she turned on her side and draped her arm over her hips, smiling, blushing, humming. Mmmmm... men. # # # The news got out. There were only 12 crew members, so it didn't take long. It was a small ship, but each of them knew about her and began bartering for privileges. Marsham was becoming rich and she was getting properly used. They marveled at what she could do. She had an intuitive sense for what they wanted, maybe even what they needed, and she gave it to them. Sweet and demure, helpless and submissive, bitchy and demanding, victim, tease, girl next door. She could do it all. She was passed around, usually curled up in the duffle bag, from room to room for an evening of fun. There were the occasional fights, which she disliked. She didn't understand why she couldn't be with both men. She could please them both at once and they could use her however they wanted. That's what she was made for, after all. Pleasure. Some just fucked her. Others had her for the whole night, and they talked, they whispered, laughed, cried. She listened, had a weird way of drawing them out. She was just so open. She couldn't have judged them if she tried. She was in heaven. So much pleasure. Every night, a new game, a different man. She doubted she would've had this much fun if she'd been delivered to Gulliver-9 on schedule. But there was the advice. She sometimes told them things, things she shouldn't have known. She didn't know how she knew such things. She gave them insights into each other, showed them how to get along with each other. Her men fell into two cliques. Marsham and his crowd. Wassar and his crowd. They didn't hate each other, but they didn't like each other either. They seemed to always be arguing with each other, finding ways to get back at each other, to make each other look foolish in front of the captain. Actually, the captain was the only man on the ship that didn't know about her. The men had taken great pains to hide her from him, certain he'd sell her at the next port. At the very least, he'd be pissed and assign them all to sixteen hour rotations to punish them for smuggling her on board. "The captain sounds like a real spoiler!" she'd told a few of her men. One or two laughed, but it was a shocked laughter. It was the kind of laugh you saw when someone told a cop to fuck off. The others turned white and warned her never to make such comments again. About anyone else, sure, but not the captain. Then she met Hume. He was young and fresh-faced. He was lonely, and he scurried about being everyone's gopher and whipping boy while they ridiculed him and pushed him around. Wassar's crowd treated him with cruelty. Marsham's crowd treated him a little better. In fact, one night she found herself in the duffle bag (yet again), curled up and wrapped in a red ribbon. She waited for the boy in his cabin. When he opened the bag, she sprang out and proudly displayed her ribbon, which discreetly hid her nipples and pussy. He fell backwards, sprawled on the floor, scared witless. She looked at him and slapped a hand over her mouth to hide her giggle. "You're all white!" He frowned at her. "You scared the shit out of me!" She covered her mouth with both hands. "I'm sorry, but they told me to do that!" "Sure," he sighed, "just another prank." She stepped out of the bag and knelt beside him. "Not a prank. A birthday gift." He blinked, confused. "Whose?" She blinked, tilting her head to the side. "Huh?" He sat up and couldn't help staring at the broad red ribbon that just hid her nipples. "I mean... whose birthday?" She crawled into his lap and stuck her face in his, smiling with wet, glistening lips, purring, "Yours, Silly." He blinked, his eyes sacrificing his first glimpse of a nipple for her eyes. "But-it-it's not my birthday." She grinned. "They said they didn't know when your birthday was. So I told them I found out. I told them it was today, then I convinced Marshy to give you a gift. Y'know... me!" "But-but-" he fidgeted nervously, "I don't know when my birthday is- wait... how did you convince-he's never given me anything!" She ran her fingers through his hair, gave him a soft, wet kiss on his chin. "Marshy likes being persuaded. And I like it, too. It's fun!" She straddled his lap, took his hand and wrapped his fingers around the end of her ribbon. "Pull." He was a hungry little wolf-cub staring at her breasts, pulling the ribbon. When they were finally revealed, he actually shuddered. She licked his nose and purred in his ear, "You're sweet." She'd had men, but she'd never had a boy before. He was nervous, uncertain and she got to teach him... everything. There was something she found that she liked with him better than any other man. He might cum quick, but he was ready for it again and again. He was a starving man and she was a buffet. He could touch her however he wanted, and she wanted him to, she showed him all her buttons. She showed him all his buttons. He wasn't quite up to spankings and tie-up games, but he wanted her like no male had ever wanted her before. With some of the crew, she felt like a woman. With some, she felt like a little girl. With Hume, she felt like a Goddess. Something in her responded to him in a way she couldn't quite put into words. She felt... maternal, somehow. She wanted to take care of him. Hume was amazed. Under her tutelage, he got tough and stood up for himself at the right time, backed down at the right time, kept his mouth shut at the right time, and made the right suggestion at the right time. And he did something else that none of the others did... he listened to her. Not that she had a lot to say, though somehow she did seem to know a lot about the Universe. It was another mystery. She and everyone else assumed she simply had been programmed to know things. After he'd finally cum and cum and couldn't cum anymore, he wrapped his arms around her and held her and listened to her breathing and chatting away about everything under any Sun. She may have started out as a birthday gift, but it didn't take her long to persuade Marsham to lend her out to her boy whenever she wasn't busy with the other guys. One night, when she'd been chatting away while Hume idly played with her nipples, watching them harden and soften and harden again, she noticed he was staring at her. She blushed for a bit and tapped him on the nose. "Why are you looking at me like that?" He shook his head. "You don't even know, do you?" She giggled went in for a hot, but dry kiss, rubbing her powder soft lips across his until she felt the first hint of his awakening cock on her hip. "What do you mean?" "Me, Mr. Marsham... everyone, this whole crew... we all like each other a lot more. Everyone's getting along a lot better. There hasn't been a real fight or, I mean, even an argument in months." He crawled on top of her and she wrapped her arms around his neck, going soft, shrinking down a little to make him feel bigger. "The other day Wassar made a joke about someone's home planet and Marsham laughed! He actually said, ?Good one'. I mean, they're not best buddies or anything, but they used to act like they were always trying to kill each other." She nipped his lips and opened her legs, slipping him in between them without him even really being aware. "So?" "Holly or Jenna or Amy or Lania or whatever you want to be called... that's because of you!" She blushed and turned her head to the side as if it were all too much to believe. She grinned like a happy toy. "Stop." Then added, "And you know I love it when you call me Holly." "Holly," he said, eyes twinkling, "you've done the impossible. You've turned a bunch of cutthroats into... well... people." "Really?" She went wide-eyed. "Nuh-uh!" Somehow he was inside her before he even realized he was hard. He'd had her and had her but he couldn't help wanting her again. But Hume had told her the truth. If she loved each and every one of her men for using her, fucking her, they absolutely adored her. They traded her like a valuable jewel, and she gave them more than any woman had ever given them. Then one day, it all stopped. There were no trades, no using, no being pressed down into the duffle bag and waiting with anticipation while it was unsealed to see which man she'd get to service. It was only her and Marsham, and while she didn't feel any desire to complain, part of her missed them. She wondered if she'd done something wrong, if all that goodwill Hume had claimed she brought had suddenly faded. She thought about bringing it up, but she couldn't seem to find the right time or the right words or, well, frankly the nerve to complain. In fact, one morning even Marsham resisted all her efforts to get him between her legs. She even tried getting him into her mouth, but he didn't want any part of her. Then she knew something was wrong. She realized what had happened right away, well, after the voice inside her told her. They're tired of you. She was an old toy that they'd played with, had, and now the were bored. But she had so many more tricks up her sleeve! Things she'd thought of, come up with, things that would surprise them! Things that surprised her, though they shouldn't have. How could you be surprised by yourself? She knew it was all over when the morning came and even Marsham didn't wake her with his cock. She smiled and saw him off to work, then bawled her head off in the cabin, feeling old and weak and useless. After a long time, she fell asleep, only to be awoken by Hume. "Hi, Beautiful." She sniffled, yawned, cheeks blushy from sleep. "Hi, Baby." "Come with me," he ordered. She blinked, being dragged from bed and out of the door. She was in the corridor! She'd never actually seen the ship's corridor. She resisted. "Hume! No! The Captain-" "-is out on a supply run," Hume told her. "But-but-but" she stuttered, stumbled, blinked, launched into skip-step to match his pace. "Marsham-" "-set it all up. We all did." "Set what-" He pulled her into his arms and gave her a long, hot kiss. She fell against him, went soft and began to automatically search for the seal to his pants. He pushed her hand away, laughing. "Wait, already!" "But-but-but," more stuttering as Hume pushed her, stumbling, through a doorway. She saw them, all twelve of them, standing around, waiting for her. She felt so small. They all towered over her. She'd had them all, had known them in very intimate ways, but she'd never been with them all in one room before. They were almost like strangers to her now. "What's- what's going on?" But she knew. They were selling her, getting rid of her, maybe just shipping her off to another ship. This was the final goodbye. Tears sprang to her eyes. Her chin quivered. She wouldn't cause any trouble. She wanted them to be happy, and if that meant they'd be happier without her than- "It's your one year anniversary, Honey." It was Marsham, grinning from ear to ear. Suddenly, she realized they were all grinning, eyes twinkling. She went wide-eyed and blinked repeatedly. "My-my-" "It's been one year since Marsham brought you on board," Hume told her. Wassar stepped forward, looking uncomfortable and blushing. She'd never seen him blush except when he was raping her, which was too delightful for words. "We... uh... we got you some gifts." She looked at them all, unable to fathom what was going on. "You... got me gifts?" Teriam, the tall, well hung one who loved fucking her ass probably more than anything else in the Universe, waited for Marsham's signal, then opened a closet door. She peered inside and froze. She stopped breathing, stopped blinking, stopped doing everything. Then after a long while, she blinked, and blinked again, taking it all in. "Oh... oh... OH!" Marsham explained apologetically. "They're not Gulliver brand. They're knock-offs, but they're just like the real thing!" She lunged at them and exclaimed, between her infectious joyful giggles, "GIRL CLOTHES!" And they were, skirts, hose, dresses, halters, bras, lacy, leathery, pink, black, blue, red, then her eyes fell on the floor and she exclaimed even louder. "SHOES!" Heels, boots, stilettos, wedges, sandals. She was overwhelmed. She backed away too choked to speak. She could tell by their shocked bashful expressions that even they hadn't expected such a reaction from her. She launched herself at Marsham and Wassar, somehow winding her arms around them both, kissing one, the other. Finally, after awhile she managed to squeak out, "th-thank you!" Hume laughed. "Shit, maybe we shouldn't give her the other thing." She turned and stuttered some more, "O-other thing?" Hume pointed to a white sheet draped over something, wrapped with the same red ribbon she remembered wearing. He placed the end in her fingers and told her to pull. When the box opened she dove her hands in and pulled them out, dancing around. "Hair! Girl hair!" Shiny new wigs, red, blonde, brunette. "Hume here outdid himself," Wassar told her. "He-he did?" she asked, enjoying the way his soft boy cheeks turned red. "Yeah," Marsham chimed in, "he was the one who went in and got them to help them pick out everything for you. He even hacked the A-alarm. After they did their lay-a-way thing, it was easy pickings." She blinked. "You... stole them?" They were silent. Finally, Hume said, "Well, yeah, how else could we afford all this?" She blinked and tears trickled down her cheeks. "You stole them... for me?" Marsham frowned. "Aw, she's gonna cry again." And she did, but not before slipping into the long, curly blonde hair. Finally, she looked like a girl and not an android. The effect was mesmerizing. They couldn't take their eyes off her. # # # They couldn't keep their hands off her. She quickly discovered the power of the blonde haired bimbo, the magic of the sable haired vixen, the seduction of the red haired tart. With a little creative mixing and matching, she turned a closet full of clothes into an entire department store: a white shirt could be knotted into a halter; a black skirt could get hiked, shortened and shortened until the soft cheeks of her ass just peeked out. She learned more about her men as well. Tamian wanted to win over a young cheerleader type. Amaran wanted a sluttier than thou shoozer alley tramp. Marsham, she noted, like the sweet, innocent blonde, wide-eyed and trusting, but helpless to his manhood when the ass hit the bed. Wassar wanted the temper and passion of a wild redhead. She'd show up angry and yelling, cheeks inflamed, skin lightened to a pale cream with freckles. He'd get fed up with her, of course, take her by the hair or arm and throw her across the room into the bed, where she would become indignant, but a little scared. He'd have his way with her and she'd be a warm, purring kitten, because she was helpless to be anything else. Hume didn't know what he wanted, so she had fun trying on one look after another. He sat on the bed, dropping his jaw again and again, producing that delightful lump in the pants that she had begun to equate with male joy. She pranced out. "How about this?" Diaphanous scarves had become a harem girl's silks, leaving her in a red bra and panties. She judged his reaction: he sat up and moved his leg, shifting his ever growing erection into a more comfortable position. She grinned, let her lips go wet and shiny, let her eyes go dreamy, slipped across the room on dancer's toes and knelt before him. Whispering, seeing his breath quicken, seeing the blood rise in his cheeks, smelling the rise of his musky boy scent, "I think this one is a winner." He nodded. His cheeks were already on fire when she ever so slowly crawled her way up his body to wet his lips with her own. She pressed her cheek against his and enjoyed the fall of his hot breath down her neck. "Want to try it on?" Some part of her wondered why she'd asked that. He blinked, shifted his eyes. "Uh... uh...." She touched the tip of her tongue to his chin and left a wet trail down his neck to his collar bone, wandered over and made wet circles around each nipple. He held his breath. She gave him a little nip and he jerked and laughed. "C'mon," she teased, "it feels so sexy." A fresh line of sweat appeared on his forehead. "No, uh, they're, y'know, not for me." She gave him a soft, wet kiss. "They could be. They're so soft, so silky, and they just slide around my skin." She stood and lifted a leg ballet style, letting the diaphanous material slip slowly away like a curtain, revealing her smooth, shapely leg, pointing her painted toes at him. He was gulping now, fidgeting nervously, droplets of sweat appearing over his face. "No... if they find out-" "They wouldn't. I'd never tell. I never talk about what I do with them, do I?" He shook his head, felt trapped, started to refuse again, but she cut him off. "Bolt the door so no one can come in, even with a passcode. I know you know how to do that. Then we can have some fun." She was on her feet and slinking away. He watched the cheeks of her perfect ass shift back and forth up and down, so soft and jostling with each step. "No, uh, I don't-" She peered over her shoulder at him, eyes dreamy and seductive, black hair shining with blue highlights."I'll pick out something cute for you." He disconnected the door key synapse and grounded it. No one would be coming in or out; unless they could figure a way to budge a ton of metal. He was in a trance, disconnected from he was doing, so unbelievably aroused his balls ached with tension. He turned and she was standing directly before him with a hanger full of soft pink blouse and black skirt. He thought he saw hose and heels in her hands. He tried not to think about it. He opened his mouth one final time to resist. "I see how you look at me," she whispered. "And you have such good taste, color, and style. That's why I come here. All the others look at my body, can't wait to get me undressed, but you like to see what I'm wearing. You enjoy me more than they do. You know me better than they do. Be my girlfriend for awhile and see what it's like... we can kiss and taste each other's-" she rubbed her lips across the ridge of his ear, whispering so soft he could only hear the clicks and clacks of the consonants, "-taste each other's... lip... stick!" He was boyish and didn't have much body hair, and what he had was blonde and nearly invisible. He imagined that's why the other men treated him so horribly. If they ever found out what he was up to now.... She had him in panties and a bra stuffed with leker gel, the stuff they used to lubricate the -N chambers. It stuck to anything, but after only a few seconds it would skin over and gel, both hard and soft, and it jiggled delightfully. She helped him into the skirt and the blouse. She helped him into hose and heels. He practiced walking while she worked on the wig, tossing his hips a little too wide to be taken seriously, holding his wrists ridiculously limp. She'd have to work with him, but it would help once she had the makeup and wig on. Once he began to see himself as a girl, he'd feel like a girl, and everything else would come, helpless and natural, which pretty much defined a girl by her standards. It was all about advertising: let people see what they want to see, talk them up a little, broad scale hypnosis, give them their desires then perform the old switch-a-roo and suddenly they desired whatever you were selling them. It.... She blinked, looked blankly down at the wig, so blonde and straight. She'd pressed the tab beneath and changed the follicle shape. Voila, no more curls. Luckily she knew about girl hair. And advertising. How did she know about advertising? Why would she think about advertising? How peculiar. Where had that come from? Hume laughed in the background, clomped up to her, steps too wide, looking like a boxer on stilts. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. "I don't think this is going to work." She turned and smiled. It was a good smile, too, the one he liked the best, she knew. The bright-eyed, you're-so-cute-what-a-good-boy-you-are smile. "That's because you're incomplete. Us girls are a package deal, you know." He swept up her long straight black hair that shined like cobalt steel and kissed the back of her neck. She swayed backwards, leaning back against him, her fingers naturally finding his hardness poking out the front of his tight skirt. She gave it a soft rub, up and down its length, feeling the ridge of his head even through the skirt and panties and hose. His moan matched hers. She turned and swung the wig up onto his head, settling it in place, tucking here and there then pressing the seal tab. It gave out a barely audible little whoosh as it attached to itself. He shook his head, felt the tickle of his soft, blonde hair on his shoulders. She took him by the hand and brought him to the bed, sat him down, gazed deep into his eyes. "This is only going to tingle for a few seconds. Don't freak out or anything." "What-" But before he could say another word, she put the mask over his face and pressed the "go" button. It slipped out its little membranous wings and buzzed quietly for ten seconds. His body jolted a little, but he was a good boy and he sat still. When the mask decompressed, she tipped it down and removed it, then blinked and dropped her jaw. "Oh... oh my." She touched him up here and there, but there wasn't much to do. His face twisted with concern. "What?" She blinked. "I... uh... wow." His face twisted more. "What? What did you do?" He was on his feet, on his toes actually, clomping painfully, clumsily over to a S-wall. It went shiny and rippled into glass and he noticed her sitting on the bed behind him. Then he raised his eyes and saw a stranger. A familiar stranger. A stranger with shiny, glossy pink lips and a soft rose of blush on her cheeks, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulder, one strand hung delicately on her lip. She reached up to remove it and blinked her long, pretty lashes. Her lips parted, so sweet, so cute, so sexy. Her eyes--enveloped in warm lavender colors, a sprinkle of glitter here and there-went wide. "Oh my... I... I can't believe it." She giggled in the background. "I know! I thought you'd make a cute girl, but I had no IDEA!" She rushed over to him and showed him how to pose. "To the side, like this see? Make it casual, let your hand just kind of hang here, then... turn your head, a little more down, see? Like mine, like you're secretly going to look at his cock." Hume turned a bright red. "But instead of looking at down there, you look up at him, see? Like this, then you just kind of feel all warm in the eyes and you smile, not too big, just a little. Not a grin. See? A soft, sweet smile." Hume did his best, but even the best of girls can't complete with a Gulliver-brand pleasure doll. For a boy though, she had to admit, he did really well. They posed, giggled, and she brought him by the hand to the clothes and realized something wasn't right. She stopped, tapped her chin and shook her head. "Okay, don't walk around like you're wearing your work boots. See? Watch me. You feel small inside. You feel like a girl inside. You feel delicate and sweet, and you just kind of slink a little. See? You don't jump up and down, and you put out your leg just until you feel the little tight skirt reigning you in. Isn't that sexy? You can feel your clothes ordering you around. Obey them, Molly." Hume's glossy pink lips parted again. "M-Molly?" "Well, sure, we're sisters aren't we? Molly and Holly. Or um, maybe just best girlfriends, since you secretly have a little school girl crush on me. You can feel your heart pitt-patt in your chest every time I'm around, wondering how naughty it would be if you kissed me. Would I freak out? Would I push you away? Or would my breasts melt against yours, our nipples poking each other, warming each other, slipping over each other. Mmm, maybe a soapy shower." He wasn't just blood red in the face. His skirt had developed a serious problem. He looked at her like a starving man, a man in desperate need for water and she was an oasis. He started for her, but didn't get past a single clomp before she stepped back and shook her head. "No. You don't get anything from me until you do it right." She put on her serious face, which was a struggle since it usually came off as a pout. She wasn't really programmed for bitchy, but somehow, she was pulling it off. She was more than a little amazed by it since she knew there were limits to what she should be able to do. Her behavior protocols only allowed a certain kind of kittenish behavior, but here she was feeling all strong and powerful and commanding. She shouldn't be able to do that. And its effect was powerful. "Molly" had a shocked expression. "What- what do you mean?" "I only kiss sexy girls, Molly. If you're not sexy, you don't get me." His heart thudded in his chest, in his ears and strangely into the gel that she had so carefully molded into breasts. He felt like she was being a little mean to him, like the men, making him feel useless and weak... but strangely, he'd never been more turned on. She curled a finger at him, asked the cabin to put on a little tune, which turned out to be oddly perfect on its first try, jazzy and dreamy at the same time. "C'mon, girly, let's see you get your kiss. I'm waiting for you." She swirled her curves, closed her eyes, leaned forward and moaned, then lifted her blue eyes and gazed at him as if he were the sexiest girl in the world. He tried three times before he felt the beat. Three times, she backed away, twirled her finger at him and said, "No. I don't like boys. Go away." Then she'd turn and give him a sideways look, with the smallest grin parked in the corner of her mouth. "Try again." Then it just worked. He felt his toes touch down, felt his heel turn up, heard the quiet little click on the floor, felt his hips tilt forward, felt his ass sway, remembered how much he loved watching her ass move, shifting, jiggling, felt the bounce in his breasts, and he knew how she felt. He moved like a sweeping willow, liquid like oil, hands falling just so, arms sweeping out until he was finally in her arms and tasting her lipstick, just like she promised. Molly felt like a girl in a girl's arms, kissing her sweetheart. Alex for the first time felt a strange sense of overwhelming power. And she had an idea. Even while she was fucking, moaning, squirming, a part of her began to form a plan. # # # Twelve horny men stood around, milled about, gabbing like girls, gossipers, fighters, grumblers. Who had called them here? The message had come over the First Mate's wave, but the First Mate was offship with the captain, which meant someone else with access had called them. They had been looking forward to going offship themselves, but now they were stuck here, an entire crew of rough necks, as pissy as women. What were they doing here? Who had ordered them here? When the doors slid open, it was Hume who marched in and blew the Captain's whistle. In the normal ship's tradition, the men were to line up and come to attention, but this wasn't a normal kind of ship. The men who served on this crew were here because they didn't follow rules so well. It was Wassar who growled first, speaking for the lot of them. "Hume, if you fucking pushed us here, I swear I'll put you in the first evap tube and let the wash strip you down to you skeleton!" Hume grinned, blushed, and did not appear worried in the slightest, which only made Wassar's lips curl into a feral snarl. The broad-chested sailor only got two stomps into his enraged march before he heard a voice from the door. "At ease, Mister!" The group of them turned to the door. The high-pitched cheerful voice could in no way be mistaken for the captain, but there was at least an attempt at grumpy authority. Alex leaned against the open doorway, one hand on her hip, her nails painted full blood red, her lips somehow redder and glossier than her nails, her hair styled in an ever undulating mass of auburn curls. Her eyes had been painted in browns and lavenders dramatically, but more importantly, she had somehow gotten a hold of the captain's jacket. She was swallowed practically whole by it, but she wasn't wearing much else, which was what men usually thought when they saw scantily clad woman. In fact, she was decked out in an outfit designed to appear as if she were wearing practically nothing at all. Red thong, red garter belt clamped on to red, shiny glittering stockings, red open-toed strappy heels, one silver anklet, two silver bracelets, dangling silver ear rings, matching red netted skirt and top, push up bra.... In some ways, she was more dressed than they were. They could catch a glimpse of the shape of her long legs, but not actually see skin. They could catch glimpses of her soft belly, but only under the netting, and probably were too distracted by the shining navel ring to pay it any real attention. In fact, they were far too busy reacting to her skimpy clothing to really see her, but that was the way such girly things worked as Alex understood it. She grinned at them, all of her men. "I believe I called my crew to attention, did I not, Mister Hume?" He clicked his boot heels and saluted her, grinning from ear to ear. "Yes, you did, Captain!" She lowered her eyelids until her green eyes pierced them all like emerald knives. "Then why are they not so?" The men glanced around at each other. Hume pointed to a place on the floor. "Come to attention!" Marsham looked at Wassar and grinned. The two of them picked a spot on the floor and stood next to each other, and to Hume's amazement, they both stood at full attention. Alex's heels clicked as she approached them. For the first time, she created dimples in her cheeks and smiled sweetly; she'd been saving them for a special occasion the moment she'd learned she could form them. With eyelashes full of glitter, she looked up at Marsham. "Do you not know how to come to attention for your captain, Mister Marsham?" He showed her his teeth, his eyes falling to her generous cleavage. He swallowed and shuddered slightly. He stiffened, straightened his posture, but somehow managed to keep his eyes on her breasts. She flowed against him until it felt like they were a single warm body, letting her perfume envelop him as she traced the shape of his ready-to- burst cock from with one small hand. A giggle left her before she could stop it, nearly ruining her attempt at a commanding presence. "There's only one part of you I want standing at attention, Mister. I thought you knew that." She deftly unfastened his pants and found him, hard and hot and strong. Wassar stared at them, noticing his friend's erection, while no doubt feeling his own. Alex glanced at him over her shoulder, smiling, nodding. "You're next, Mister." He turned blood red from head to toe, and a fire lit in his eyes. "In fact," she said to the room, "you're all next, but only if you're at attention. A girl ?s got to have respect, after all." She sauntered away from Marsham, to the center of the room where they could all see her, lifting the captain's uniform jacket as she went as if it was the most natural of actions, letting them witness the miracle that was her ass, shifting side to side, lifting and falling, her heels, garters and thong working their magic. She heard the mad rush of them behind her, clomping boots and whispering. When she turned around, they were properly lined up with their pants down. She frowned. Not all of them were quite at full attention she noticed. "Such bad bad boys." # # # She had them, and they had her. She started out very much in control, but lost it somewhere along the way. Maybe she wanted to lose it. Maybe half the fun was sinking beneath them, winding them up then letting them go, taking charge of them so they would take charge of her, hoping that the more she teased them, the harder they would use her in return. She had danced for them at first, as an appetizer, to whet their thirst, stoke their hunger. These seasoned sailors had seen nothing like her. She didn't dance per say. There was no word for what she did. She knew things she shouldn't know. She didn't have the life experience to know, but somehow it was there, lurking in her mind, bubbling up at the most opportune time. She knew that sometimes strippers liked to dance when they should've been eyefucking their men. Sometimes they liked to take ballet steps. Sometimes they delicately dipped their outstretched arms in an arch over their head as they did the splits and whipped back their hair, displaying their skill. She also knew stripping was not about dancing; it was about teasing, not quite exposing oneself, tickling the senses of the men, catching the light with her soft, round flesh, allowing the shadows to shape her. It was an illusion: appearing to give them glimpses at what they most wanted while showing them nothing at all, which only increased their hunger, though they never could understand why. Alex didn't dance. She posed. She arched her back, sent soft mesmerizing tremors through the flesh of her ass and thighs, let her eyes shine with lust and need while keeping them mostly hidden by fallen auburn locks. She swam somehow on the tiles in her heels. She raised their erections to full sail one by one, sauntering close, letting the silk of her stockings glide up the underside of one while her fingers danced playfully down another, while her bottom coaxed another, letting it settle into her crack while she gently stroked it. She pulled out all the stops. Tricks came to her in slow revelations. She didn't know how she knew them, but she did. It was as if she'd sat and watched strippers for decades with a man's eyes, a man's mind, a man's cock, and could identify to the most minute detail that shook a man to his core. When they were ready, struggling to remain at attention (since if they moved, she'd stop her little dance and wag her finger at the offender), she came down the line and sucked them one by one, never letting them cum, of course, which turned them slowly into animals. She tickled their wants, played on their need for her, making them ravenous, until their hands could no longer caress, but only grasp at her, clutch her, until their lips could no longer kiss, but only grab and bite and chew on her most tender of areas. She carefully and with deep consideration and perfect strategy drove them into a state of lustful beasts. She amazed them by performing tricks they'd never seen or felt before: For Tamaran, who'd been so nervous being naked among the others, she'd let her tongue go spicy as she kissed him, which had the strangest effect, both hot and tortuously tingly. He forgot about the others quickly and began to gasp words in a language she didn't understand. Amaran had been a little soft as well, at least at first. He'd been quick on the draw, she remembered, stroking himself off while she danced (naughty boy). She swallowed him whole, his entire cock, and let the walls of her throat vibrate, lightly at first, but soon strong and heavy until he was erupting with an ungodly scream, calling her terribly slutty names, which only made her spasm with joy and delight. He was her biggest fan then, her best salesmen, rushing around telling everyone else what she'd done and insisting she do it for everyone else. They fell on her then with some special group mind... and raped her. She found the most perfect joy she'd had ever known in that moment, the moment they took everything from her, freedom, choice, and replaced it with simple purpose. She was being used, absolutely and without reservation. She had six of them at once, and considered it not so much a miracle as a goal. While she laid on top of one of them-she couldn't be sure who- and was penetrated in the ass, another stood between her legs and had her, while another stood over her head and fucked her mouth, while she stroked another with her right hand and another with her left, while still another straddled her and squeezed her breasts almost painfully around his cock. When it was all said and done, she'd been disappointed she hadn't thought to press her feet together and take yet another. She could've had seven. She was a dirty girl. She liked thinking that, liked thinking she was the perfect slut for them, the tender nurse, the dancing slave, dedicated in all ways to inflaming their lusts, to relieving stress, to easing tensions... providing therapy. She was covered in cum, ribbons of it, splats of it, dribbles, glazing her skin and somehow making its way into every crevice and hole. She squirmed with smiles and moans and a strange kind of cooing she'd never heard come out of herself before as she bathed in it, soaked it all in, rolled in it, caressed it into herself. At least at until she heard the Captain's voice. "What in the HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" Then the party was over. In more ways than one. To be continued