I cant tell no one
- 2 years ago
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You Can't Be Serious free porn video
I write little sketches... I do not weave epic tapestries. I have fun
writing these short stories, I hope you have fun reading them. That's
the end all and be all of my little romps. This is for all those who
know not to take me too seriously...
* * *
Morgana Talon was not going to get tenure. I would see to that. Being
the deciding vote, I had the power to prevent the college from retaining
her. It wasn't that she couldn't teach - she could, and she was
apparently very popular with her students. But since when does that
really matter to college administration? It was her "scholarship." More
than that, it was just her. Research topics of faculty in anthropology
can get pretty wacky, but Morgana's study of witchcraft was just too far
over the line. Maybe if she had been more careful with her sources, but
as it stood she refused to reveal some of the origins for her study. Her
claims that witchcraft was alive and well, that practicing witches
routinely changed the nature of objects, people, and events, and in ways
that could not be traced or even evaluated - well, these were just
laughable. They simply couldn't be proven and I refused to take her or
her outlandish research seriously. Moreover, our department was a
professional and dignified cohort of scholarly men and Morgana's presence
in our offices was an annoyance at best and a distraction at worst. You
see, Morgana was a not only the sole woman on our faculty, she was an
attractive one at that. Tall and dark she had a certain ethereal aura
that was made more pronounced by her loosely draped tunics that never
failed to reveal her alluring figure, despite covering most of her body.
Her eyes were an intense green-yellow and her black hair, patrician nose,
and regal posture gave the impression of a sort of raven princess. Half
the department wanted to bed her; she intimidated the other half. She
had to go.
Besides, I was doing her a favor. Academic life is tough enough, and
academics start their familes relatively late. If Morgana was advanced
to tenure, the additional work and scholarly demands upon her would keep
her too busy to marry and have children. She wasn't getting any younger.
Perhaps if she were uglier or did work I could consider more serious -
preferably both - I might vote to retain her. But as it was, she had to
go. I voted to give her the axe and had several good reasons to justify
my actions.
She swooped into my office, ignoring the cries of my secretary for her to
stop. She closed the door behind her.
"You!" she hissed at me. "Why would you block my employment here! You
know I'm a good teacher and am doing cutting-edge work..."
"Morgana," I replied, trying to act un-phased by her violent entrance.
"I think you are a, uh, very appealing colleague... but I just can't take
this witchcraft seriously."
"Then you don't take me seriously," she said huskily.
I paused. In the pause it was clear I agreed.
She went on: "I have shown you irrefutable evidence backing my findings
and you are still not convinced of either the value or merit of my work?
Answer me honestly." This last comment sounded like more of a command.
"No," I said flatly. "I am not convinced and can't take you seriously.
I think your work is trivial and inconsequential, maybe even beyond
reason. And I think it's better for all of us if you were to concentrate
on those things a woman like you should focus on - being a wife and
surrounding yourself with children."
I was a bit taken aback by my own honesty. I knew better to say such
things to someone even if I did think them. I couldn't help wonder what
came over me.
"Well, then," she replied. "If you are unconvinced by my research I will
have to use other methods to ... change your mind." She looked at me
intensely with those penetrating eyes and said in a soft sing-song voice,
"If witchcraft you would think makes me delirious, than witchcraft, make
it so you can't be serious." She waved her arms dramatically. I thought
the whole performance quite cheesy.
"Really, I think you should go," I said. But my voice squeaked as I said
it. I cleared my throat as she stood there looking at me smugly. "I
said..." I squeaked again. I reached for my water bottle and took a
nervous sip. "Morgana, you'll have to excuse me, " I began to say. My
voice sounded like a teenage girl's. High pitched, feminine, and with an
inflection of questioning at the end. No matter how much I cleared my
throat or coughed, my deep, gravely, authoritative voice eluded me.
"I don't know what kind of trick you're pulling, but..." I said, though
it sounded like I was shrieking about a Justin Bieber video. At that, a
small cyclone began to develop around my legs. I looked down in horror
as the wind enveloped at first my ankles, then my waist, and traveled
upwards. I struggled against it, but it tossed me around my chair
furiously. Soon I couldn't see and couldn't hear either. The wind
roared around my head and as quickly as it had encircled me it was gone.
My office was a mess of papers and strewn books, and there in the center
Morgana remained.
Having read some of Morgana's unpublished research papers, I knew
instantly that her findings were false. She had described people being
changed and then only slowly becoming aware of the change, but I knew it
instantly. My heart was pounding and I swallowed hard. "Oh my god!" It
sounded like I was squealing in delight, but the intent was pure terror.
I saw in the mirror I kept at the back of my office door that I was now a
rather tiny woman. I had a round, vaguely Asian face with giant green
eyes, a tiny nose, and lips that curved upwards in an almost ridiculous
natural smile. My hair was a fine brown, with bangs over my forehead and
pigtails. I could not have been more than five feet tall if I was lucky,
and I was no more than 90 pounds, wet. I was wearing a red t-shirt that
showed off as much cleavage as a woman my size could possibly have. I
couldn't imagine how small the shirt was since it was tight on me. On
the t-shirt was an image I recognized as Hello Kitty. I was also wearing
a short, red and black plaid skirt that just reached below my little
bubble of a butt. I had on black leggings and high-heeled red and black
sneakers laced up to my ankles.
I was somehow standing in front of Morgana and if she had been
intimidating and tall before, she was doubly so now as I craned to look
up at her from inside my new body. I started to panic and began to try
to tell her that I took it all back, but the words wouldn't come out. I
just stuttered.
She smiled, almost evilly.
"It's too late," she said. "The spell has been cast. All your
intelligence is locked inside there" - she tapped my head with her long
finger - "but you won't be able to express it in any way that people will
listen to. From now on, no one will take YOU seriously. If you try to
tell people what you're really thinking or who you really are, it will
come out as nonsense. From now on, everything you do and say will be
silly and cute. When you try to do anything, work, dress, talk,
whatever, it will be in such a way as to make people smile at you. The
only thing you will be able to focus on with any seriousness will be
being a wife and surrounding yourself with children."
I began to try to speak again and as I did the natural smile that I had
when my mouth was closed turned into a giant grin. I wanted to protest.
I put my hands on my hips and tried to pout and said emphatically, but in
my squeaky voice, "I don't care what you say, I think penguins are really
cute!"
I gasped and put my hand to my mouth, in an almost comical manner.
"This is impossible," I said petulantly, "how can I be out without my
makeup on?!"
I repeated the gasp and hand-clasp, but this time I giggled
uncontrollably.
"Why don't you tell me about yourself, cutie-pie?" Morgana asked in a
saccharine voice.
"My name is Bunni Hopp!" Oh my god, I thought. My brain was reeling and
torn. I was horrified, but my voice and body language was absolute
perky. I tried to rebel but my movements became even more girlish. "My
name is Bunni Hopp," I repeated. Morgana laughed. "I know!" I squealed.
"People laugh at my name all the time, but I LOVE it! I also love horses
and kids and I have a white Persian kitty-cat named Bo Peep. Do you like
animals? I love animals! I think I love animals almost as much as I love
my unborn babies. Do you have kids?" I asked Morgana breathlessly. I
knew she didn't, but my stream of consciousness squealing just continued
unabated. I somehow knew I was supposed to be in my twenties, and judging
by my ample breasts I was primed and ready, but my conversation was
infantilized. I tried to pull at my hair but my efforts just resulted in
some coy twisting of my pig-tails. I couldn't stand it and soon I turned
and fled the office...
When I next saw Morgana, it was a little over a year later. She was with
her lesbian lover who was a dean at the college, and always had been
since I had never existed to serve in that position. They were dropping
off their little one at the day care center where I worked as the lowest
paid teacher's aid. I practically would have worked there for free since
I got to be around all those cute babies. I was so proud, too. I was
wearing a little black ruffly skirt, black leggings, pink sneakers, a
pink hairband, and a pink shirt with a unicorn and rainbow on it, and it
was tight enough that you could see the little bump in my tummy that
showed off the little Bunni junior in my oven. I saw Morgana in her
luxury SUV and gave her a big smile and a little wave, even though I was
filled with anger and resentment. I jumped up and down excitedly and I
squealed with excitement when I took her baby from her partner and cooed
at the child...
"Hello you cute little witch! We're going to have so much fun playing
games today!"
"Seriously!"
Jo
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