Powerball
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AF - Power free porn video
This is an original work of TG Fiction intended for adult audiences. If
you are under 18 years, go away and come back when you are. Any
resemblance to real persons is entirely purposeful for which the author
accepts all responsibility.
Many thanks to Femur for a very generous and thorough review and edit
that helped improve the final work and prevented much grammatical
embarrassment.
*---*---*---*---*
Altered Fates - POWER
by Lorna Samuels
It is hard to accept the fact that I'm not the prettiest girl in the
gene pool. But mirrors don't lie, and if you're honest with yourself,
the truth will be seen.
I wasn't always so mediocre in the looks department. I was a fairly cute
kid, at least that's what my family and friends told me, and I guess I
pretty much believed them. My first period when I was 12 really scared
me, and even Mom's 'girl talk' didn't help much, but like everyone else,
I slowly began to accept reality and learned to live with tampons and
bras. I grew quickly but stopped at 5'7" by the time I was in high
school, then started filling out, especially in the chest.
About the same time my hormones really kicked in and I began to notice
boys. Which was all the more frustrating since the cheerleader and
'sports girls' cliques had their pick of the guys, forcing the rest of
us to compete for leftovers. I've learned since that it's not much
different from anywhere else, but the pairings among the 'in crowd' were
generally fairly stable (at least for a few months or even years), while
the rest of us seemed to be more varied in our selections. Dating was
almost a round-robin affair among the 'mid and lower classes', with
almost a caste system of rules in place where different 'levels' didn't
mix. There were always a few rare exceptions, but they never lasted. So
the fix was in and I quickly learned that I wasn't going to be the
quarterback's prom date.
But I wasn't any less affected by my body than any other girl. Learning
what made boys happy was easy to learn simply by listening in the
relative privacy of the girls' locker room, and even sometimes in public
conversations. The main rule I learned was to make sure the boys never
knew that a girl might like what they did -- every bit as much (if not
more!).
I was 14 when I gave my first BJ. I'd determined to do this at least
once, often imagining my first being every boy I dated, but the timing
just never seemed right. It wasn't something I was particularly looking
forward to. It just seemed like a necessary step in a girl's progression
in the dating arena. I tried to imagine how it would feel and taste.,
but determined to try at least once, even if it ended up being gross and
disgusting,
He was a Junior and one of the backup linebackers for our mediocre team.
He wasn't in the 'top tier', but far enough above my 'station' to make
me sufficiently grateful that he'd asked me out to a movie, so I decided
this was the moment that I'd been planning for. He'd been a complete
gentleman the entire evening, no wandering hands or lust-filled groping
as had others I'd dated. He simply held my hand or rested his arm around
my shoulders in the theater, improving my opinion of him, and my growing
urge to 'make him happy'.
It happened right in front of my own home when he was dropping me off.
He'd parked under the big sycamore that blocked most of the
streetlight's glow, so the inside of the car was pretty dark.
"Thanks for the evening, even if the movie was a dud," I beamed. I'd
just freshened my dark red lipstick, my hair was neatly brushed, and the
hem of my dress showed a couple of inches above my knees. I wasn't a
fox, but it was the best I could do, and it seemed enough at the time.
"Sure. You're a nice date. Maybe we'll do it again sometime." He was
staring at my chest, even though the high neckline of my blouse left
everything to his imagination.
I slid over to him, as close as I could. I put my hand on his chest,
then let it slowly slide down to the belt of his khaki pants. "I'd like
to show my appreciation for taking me out tonight."
His eyes widened, then a knowing grin curled his thin lips and he simply
nodded.
I leaned up and tried to kiss his smirk away, then watched his growing
smile and widening eyes as my long nails worked at his zipper and freed
the large bulge beneath, a sure sign that he was ready for my 'thanks'.
I'd seen pictures, but never a live naked man, so I only had a general
idea of what they looked like, although I did know that there was a wide
range of sizes and dimensions. I was curious to see it, but the darkness
inside the car made this impossible. It had grown to about the size of a
large, long cucumber, and I was pleased by the young man's substantial
size and girth.
In the darkness, my small hand was overfilled by the large tube of
flesh. It was firm and very warm, with ridges of veins that seemed
almost alive.
I moved my head into position and touched the soft, bulbous head with my
lips. The shaft twitched noticeably, and his hips pushed upwards,
pushing the head into my mouth. Without thinking, I licked the fleshy
knob, tasting something viscous and salty, but not unpleasant. Then it
filled my mouth and I began to massage the pole with my tongue.
I was a teenage girl in full rut. I knew about sex, probably more than
my Mom knew when she got married, and maybe more than my date. I knew,
at least in theory, how to perform a BJ, but even though I was a novice
my hand moved down his shaft to allow full 'engulfment'. It was like
having a large sausage in my mouth that tasted slightly salty, with a
mild pungent odor., and I was actually liking it.
The emotions that consumed me were tempestuous. There was an
overwhelming euphoria in the giving of pleasure to my partner.
After only a few minutes I was getting a rhythm and beginning to think
this was pretty nice. Then he stiffened and pushed my head down. My hand
cleared away as the shaft pushed into my throat, and I had to suppress
my gag reflex to avoid choking when it seemed to expand even more.
That's when I felt the pulsing, and was totally surprised by ejections
that filled my throat. It to me. All I could do was swallow and
concentrate on breathing as best I could until it was over. As his
erection receded, it left my mouth and throat filled with the salty
taste and gooey texture of his pleasure.
Later, while trying to get the residual taste out of my mouth with
vigorous brushing and mouthwash, I was left to wonder if I would ever do
such a thing again. Sure, it wasn't entirely unpleasant for me, but
virtually all the pleasure was his, except for that mild euphoric sense
that I was making him happy. Couldn't that be accomplished just as well
with a lot of foreplay, or even a handjob? (Yeah, I knew about those
too.)
But after I began having sex, it became obvious, at least to me, that
BJs had their place. They were: a quick and easy way to quiet a guy down
if you didn't want to have sex with him; the best indication that you
wanted more; the best option at the moment; and/or, a delay tactic until
the time was better for real sex.
So life moved on, relationships came (sic!) and went throughout high
school and then college. It was there that I met a friend (for the
purposes of this writing we'll call her 'Marge') who gave me my biggest
and dreamiest break.
She had a friend who worked for a very powerful man and they were
looking for an infusion of young blood, preferably candidates who were
working toward professional or political careers.
I got the referral, an interview, and within a few whirlwind days was
offered a job at the 'corporate' headquarters. Even though I was a mere
lackey, a 'gofer', college suddenly became an afterthought. This was far
too exciting, working for the top 'executives' who had direct contact
with 'The Chief', all with power of thousands of people and tons of
money.
I have to admit that I was totally smitten the first time I was
privileged to meet Him. He was middle-aged, tall, handsome, and
extremely pleasant. Even though I knew he was married, when his eyes
unapologetically raked over my body, it was obvious that he was a man
after his own pleasures. Oh, there were abundant whispers around the
water coolers about clandestine liaisons, and even some rumors of
unwanted advances. But whenever anything rose to a level that garnered
significant attention, or the woman made accusations, there was a cadre
of well-paid lackeys, lawyers, and professional character assassins who
made short work of the 'situation'. HE was untouchable, although he did
all the 'touching' he wanted. And he proved it the first time we were
alone together in his palatial office.
Late one evening, I was dispatched by my boss to delivery some paperwork
to His office. He spotted me waiting for the sign-off by his secretary
and asked me to 'discuss something with him' in his office.
I was a bit nervous when he told the secretary that he didn't want to be
disturbed, then closed the heavy door, leaving us alone together.
He took my hand and I was forced to follow as he sat behind his desk.
Still holding me, his first words confirmed his intent. "I'm always
eager to get to know my employees really, really well, Miss." His
familiar voice oozed confidence and had a suggestive lilt that was
unmistakable, especially after he purposely adjusting his crotch. "So,
how do you like the work so far? Would you like to work for me?"
I never had a chance to answer, at least not vocally. He already had his
pants down.
Now, Momma didn't raise a stupid daughter. I knew the lay of the land.
Either I did what He expected, even demanded, or I was out on the
street, my college prospects probably shattered, and only a mediocre
life to live. It wasn't a difficult choice.
So started our relationship, such as it was.
He often blamed his 'roving' on his wife's frigid refusals after their
only child was born. It was utterly without merit, even if he had been a
real man devoted to his family. In truth there seemed to be little love
there, so he sought out satisfaction elsewhere.
Strangely though, he never called it 'sex' when I was kneeling under his
desk (his favorite 'position'). It even happened a few times while he
was having meetings with staffers or others in his office. It was fun
the first few times, trying to get him to flinch or respond in a way
that would give away the 'situation'. But that stopped abruptly when he
warned me that if I ever tried that again I'd end up as fodder for the
female trash heap, joining all his other previous 'interests'.
Lesson learned. Oh, I knew I was being used and abused, but simply being
in that position, so close to that level of Power was like booze to an
alcoholic or heroin to an addict, impossible to turn away from.
Sometime during this period, my friend Marge left school and got
married. She still lived in the area, though in far superior and vastly
more comfortable circumstances, so we still kept in touch.
One day, out of the blue, she invited me for a weekend at their seaside
cabin. "Hubby's off on one of his business trips and I need some girl
company. It'll be fun. We'll 'shop til we drop', swim, and have a great
time."
By then I was ready for a break from the work and 'office tasks', so I
eagerly accepted.
By the time we arrived Friday night, after a long tiring drive, it was
too late to do much but settle in and rest up for the girly times to
come.
The early dawn light revealed a beautiful two-story 'cabin' that was
larger than the house I grew up in, and better appointed too. I even
had a large bedroom and bathroom to myself. It was an easy place to
like.
I'd grabbed fresh underwear, a sports bra, crop top, shorts, and sandals
by the time Marge called me down for a light breakfast.
While we munched on scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee, she wanted to
talk. "Kid (she liked to call me that even though she was only two years
older), before we start our little adventure, I want to ask you about
your work. I know you can't say much, but I'm getting some vibes that
you're not very happy."
"Don't worry, it's just that it's such an important place to work, and
there are a lot of pressures."
"Bull! You're stressed...big time! I can see it in your eyes. And you act
like the world's on your shoulders. They're not all that broad, you
know."
I had to laugh. "Yeah... I know. It'll be fine, Marge, I'm a grown woman.
I'll deal with it."
"Well, just in case, I think I've found something that just might help
you unwind and relieve some of that stress you seem to be enduring." She
pulled out a large jewelry box and removed a pendant on a long chain.
"This is the Medallion of Zulo," she declared, "and it might be the
answer to all your troubles."
From the two-foot chain hung a bulky 4 ? inch disk that looked like aged
(greenish) copper, but was actually bronze. On one surface was the worn-
down image of what resembled an angel or cherub, but could have just as
easily been anything with wings.
"Ha," I responded, "that's the tackiest thing I've ever seen. Look at
the back! There's nothing on it!"
Marge simply shook her head and spoke as if to a small child. "According
to my research, the image is an avatar of the young Zulo, the Trickster.
It's a very old and extremely valuable necklace. There are thousands who
want to know its whereabouts and claim its powers for themselves."
"Ah, come on, Marge, ...powers? That ugly thing?" I huffed. "You make it
sound like some sort of magical hocus-pocus."
"Exactly!" she confirmed with conviction.
"You've gotta be kidding! There's no such thing as magic, ...not the real
thing anyway."
She grinned broadly. "Need proof, do ya?"
"Like I said, there's no such.....," I tried to argue, but was interrupted
by a sharp tingle when she placed the object in my hand and laid her
hand over it.
"Whoa, that's different," was my first reaction.
[At this point anyone who knows about this object might wonder why it
would be so unusual for two women to share its magic. Well, trust me,
the differences between me and Marge are stark enough that it's a unique
experience for us both. See, she's one of those 'alpha females' that I
was subordinate to in school. Tall, long dark blonde hair, clear ivory
skin, perfect hourglass figure, large breasts, long sleek legs. In
contrast, I'm the 'Mutt' to her 'Jeff' (look it up) - slightly
overweight, uneven complexion, saggy C-cups, mousy brown shoulder-length
hair, too hippy, thick calves, and short stocky legs. Like I said, the
differences are stark. So now you know.]
Marge simply sat silently and watched me with a sniggering grin that I
was about to wipe off her face with a bitchy retort when I noticed
something odd. Her eyes had turned brown, and I'd swear they had always
been bright blue. Then her nose twitched and before my eyes morphed into
a slightly broader shape. Her lips were getting a bit thinner too. Her
whole image was changing before my eyes! When I looked down at our
overlapping hands, her fingers had lost their long red manicured beauty
and now matched my much shorter lilac nails.
I hadn't even noticed that our hands seemed to have been exchanged. My
fingers had acquired her gorgeous nails! And that's when I noticed
other, much more subtle changes in myself. Hair was brushing my upper
back, and blond strands had appeared in my peripheral vision. My chest
felt puffy, almost like when they first began to grow, and my arms were
slimming down.
"MM...Marge!" I stammered, "What's happening?"
She grinned even more broadly, but this time with my mouth! "We're
turning into each other, kid. Isn't this amazing?"
All I could do is stare at what looked like my own face, but was
different too. Then I realized that I was seeing myself not through a
reflection that I was used to but as others view me.
"Oh MY GAWD!" I squealed....and with my friends voice too!
My panties and shorts were loose now, but the sports bra was pushing the
bigger jugs up and exposing a cleavage that I'd only ever dreamed of
seeing when I looked down at my chest.
Marge was chuckling again. "I guess we'll have to change clothes. I know
you're uncomfortable, and so am I. For now we'll have to swap bedrooms,
at least until we can change back."
"Oh, thank God we aren't stuck," I responded in relief.
"Hey, I thought you always wondered what it was like to be a foxy
chick?"
"Yeah, well, that may be true, but it isn't me. Not really. I guess I've
kinda gotten comfortable in my own skin." I grinned too. "Hehe, and I
wonder what that says about me, eh? Since it took a dose of magic for
me to realize that?"
"Better late than never, kiddo. Now, what do we do with the rest of the
day?"
"Hey, wait a minute! Won't it be a bit awkward like this?"
"Well, it can't be helped. The Medallion won't work on us again for at
least 12 hours. Anyway, I figured that'd be plenty of time for you to
get a bit of perspective on a gorgeous woman's life. Not that I'm
bragging, ya know," she giggled.
It was weird hearing my own voice from outside my own ears. "No brag, my
friend, just fact." I hefted my augmented chest.
"Ha, you'll have even more fun with those when you wear my favorite
bikini to the beach."
That stunned me to silence, but not for long. I was beginning to look
forward to this 'adventure', courtesy of my dear friend. I had even more
respect and love for her too, since she had 'demoted' herself to
tagalong girl friend status.
'Marge' was right, the experience was mind-boggling and spectacular. She
showed me the research she'd done on the Medallion and explained what it
could/would do. Then we shopped, we swam and sunbathed (topless, of
course), flashed our fellow swimmers, and generally had the most fun I'd
had in a very, very long time. We probably looked like a couple of
drunken floozies, but we didn't care, and we weren't drunk, except on
the highs of that bit of life we were living.
But by the end of the mandatory 12 hours, I was almost ready for a
return to myself.
Marge had other ideas. "Ever wonder what you'd look like if you were a
man?"
"Aw, Marge, I don't even wanna think about that. It's just too....too
yucky."
"What? You don't want to know first-hand what the fuss is about?"
I watched her carefully for a moment, and realized with a shock, "You've
done it, haven't you!?"
"Well, yeah, with Hubby, actually. We found the Medallion at a flea
market and he admitted to knowing what it was. After we got it home, we
were joking around and it got caught between us, on our bare skin." To
my questioning gaze she responded, "Hey, we're married, after all! It
was only natural that we try it as each other. And, kiddo, was THAT an
education!"
"You're sick, my friend."
"No, really, being a big strong guy isn't much otherwise. Less needs
covering, and there's a lot of physical difference, but after a few
hours it was almost comfortable. Hubby had a devil of a time getting
used to my big tits on his chest, but I showed him some of their
benefits until he was more ....uh... satisfied. After all," she pointed at
me, "I know what makes that body happy."
"Fine for you, ...I guess, but I'll pass."
"Okay, but if you ever change your mind, let me know. Just do it so
there's enough time to change back before we have to go home."
The prospect of going back to those pressures put a damper on the rest
of the evening, even after we'd changed back into our original (and
admittedly much more comfortable) selves.
Sunday, we slept late, then Marge took me to her favorite spa where we
were pampered and spoiled until I felt like a queen. Then it was back to
the mall for more shopping therapy before returning to pack for the
return trip.
"Thanks for a phenomenal weekend, Marge," I said as we joined the
gridlock of all the other weekend returnees on the highway.
"Anytime, my friend." She was quiet for awhile before asking, "Kid, will
you hand me my purse?" I did, and she dug deep to retrieve what she
wanted. "Here, you can borrow this for awhile. Maybe it'll help you at
work somehow."
The box containing the Medallion was in my hands.
"Oh...no...no...please Marge, no. I don't want the responsibility. It's too
much."
"Nonsense, it's exactly what you need. Go do some creative shopping, and
use it to escape those heavy weights on your shoulders. Maybe you'll
even get up the nerve to be a guy for a while. It's not that bad, ya
know."
"Ha, maybe not, but it's not my 'thing'."
"Not mine either, kid, but it's okay for a little while. Getting totally
out of your own comfort zone can be a good thing, ya know. Almost
therapeutic, in fact."
"But you've been too generous already. I feel guilty enough letting you
pay for this entire weekend, and even buying me clothes that I'll
probably never wear."
"Hey, you found some pretty good stuff while you were me. The least I
could do was reciprocate."
"Big word for a trophy wife!"
"Yeah, ain't it?" she giggled and hefted her prodigious chest while we
were stopped at a light. We both noticed that the older couple in the
car beside us had seen her gesture, and that made us both laugh even
more.
"Okay."
"Okay what?"
"Okay, I'll borrow it, but you can have it back any time you want it."
"Fair enough. I know ou'll put it to good use."
Well, as you've already guessed, I did use it, and often. It was just
too appealing to resist. The changes I made were small at first, a cup
size or two, a different hairstyle and/or length, taller, shorter,
prettier. The big jump came when I finally got up the nerve to make a
purchase 'for my boyfriend'. I hadn't a clue about the size so guessed
and returned to my shabby apartment with a packet of 34" boxer briefs.
The experience was strange, wildly educational, and even wonderful,
especially that extraordinary sensation of total focus on just one place
and the resulting explosion of pleasure. But it didn't last long enough,
and I was soon pining for my longer, more full-bodied experiences.
Weeks passed and although we were often meeting for lunch or just
talking on the phone, Marge never even asked about the bauble. I finally
admitted to using it as she had suggested, but she didn't ask about the
details and I didn't offer them either. It was just too private an
experience.
Meanwhile, the pressures at work were increasing. HE was getting more
demanding, taking risks of overt discovery that I considered reckless.
But he was in charge and I was too weak to resist his demands, no matter
where or when.
But it couldn't last, and guess I knew that from the start. There was
just too much activity and too many people involved who knew, or
suspected what was going on. So I had done some planning.
Still, when the end finally came I was so clueless that I didn't even
notice until it was almost too late.
There seemed to be a lot more snickering and whispers that day when 'the
call' came from Him that I was needed in his office immediately. That
had never happened before, since our 'connections' had always been
indirect, while I was there on errands related to my actual work (such
as it was). So there was no denying something was wrong.
Alone with Him once again in his lavish and by now very familiar office,
not a word was spoken as I took my 'normal' place, kneeling between the
large desk and his seated position. It was a rush job, over quickly, and
there was an air of finality
But I had planned and prepared for this moment. As I knew firsthand,
it's a wildly distracting sensation for a man. He loses focus, except on
what's happening between his legs (yes, I learned that too). So it
wasn't difficult to remove the Medallion from my purse and cup it in my
hand as I grasped his member while vigorously tonguing it.
He never even noticed the slight jolt of power, but I did.
Thankfully, the end soon followed, and He was still a bit unfocused when
he began speaking. His first words confirmed that I'd done the right
thing. "M...my dear, it appears that th...things have gotten too
compli...complicated. I'm sorry, but this is the last ti...time. You're a
liability now, so ...go clean out your desk and vac...vacate the premises
immediately." He hadn't noticed yet that his voice was up an octave
already and mousy brown hair was brushing his ears.
"I thought we had something special, sir!" I cried, playing the petulant
victim even as my own tone lowered and my dress got terribly tight. But
I was smiling within, knowing that I was about escape the fate that had
been perpetrated on all his previous victims.
While he shrank into my bodily form and I grew into his, he was somehow
out of sorts, like he was on some sort of relaxant or even a mild
narcotic. He was what I liked to call 'zoney', so what was happening to
his precious manhood went largely unnoticed. It was easier than I had
anticipated to get him out of his clothes, then quickly removed my own
before they burst at the seams. It was quite comical to see him (quickly
becoming 'her') play 'bouncy bouncy' with her growing breasts.
I'd donned his suit and was tugging my dress down over her head when she
finally realized something definitely was not right.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing, mister? Where's that girl...and...oh
shit." He was staring at the fulsome chest that filled 'her' hands.
I knew where the call button was and pushed it, then smiled down at her.
Just as the security men appeared, I leaned in close and gave her my
parting words. "You meant this for me, so now you'll get real familiar
with the plight of all the women you've tried to destroy for telling the
truth about you. Don't make any trouble. It won't do you any good.
You're better off learning to be a good girl, and learning it quick!"
She was stunned into a silent, voiceless stupor as the escorts took her
by both arms and removed her none too gently from the office. My last
visual image of my old body was a quite pleasant sway of generous hips
in a rumpled dress.
I was in a place I could never have imagined, and the challenges would
be many. She, however, was in a worse mess. She'd lost her precious
Power along with her manhood. It would be a long and difficult
adjustment, of that I was certain, and would probably last well beyond
the misery that was sure to befall her immediate future. But I didn't
wish her too much ill. She was paying dearly for her transgressions, and
I hoped she would find peace sometime in the future.
A grin passed my lips at the prospect of her actually becoming a man's
lover and mothering his children. Now that would be something to see.
But I had other priorities. The first of which was to call a certain
number. "It's done."
As planned, my friend Marge (and owner of the cell that I called), went
to the media with a story about me being "involved in something
untoward", and offered substantiated evidence.
The lid blew off with an explosion that rocked our worlds.
The aftermath was fast, furious, and as history has documented, it was
quite a show for the media and public that reverberated for a very long
time.
Much later, I was seated with my very supportive wife to face down the
media's cameras and the firestorm behind them. "I never had sexual
relations with that woman," I emphatically declared.
It was the truth!
Annalisa
- 24.01.2023
- 25
- 0
