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Keep Your Hands To Yourself free porn video
Keep Your Hands to Yourself
After I'd gently cupped her chest, Brittaney quickly reminded me that
there was no touching.
"Even if I wanted you to, Brian won't allow it," she said. "And I don't
want you to."
But there was something so irresistible about that white vinyl tube top
thing she was wearing... the sheen caught my eye and I felt like some
kind of bird, helpless in the face of anything that caught the light in
a certain way.
"Okay, that's it," Brian, the night manager, said, twisting my arm and
leading me into a back room. "You were warned twice."
I only recalled one warning, but I had been drinking, and quite a lot
more than I was used to. It had been a really shitty day. Usually when
Ted and I hit a strip club, we go to the other one across town--no booze
served, but full nudity. Tonight I needed to keep drinking, so Ted was
okay with going to our number-two spot: scantily clad, and sometimes
topless, but the bottoms never came off.
Ted wasn't around by the time I was hustled into the offices of the
club; he was off taking a phone call or a leak or something.
"Okay, okay... I'll go. I'm sorry," I said to the manager and to
Brittaney, who'd followed me back. Maybe she was still expecting a tip.
"No, you're sticking around," said the Brian. "We're serious about
protecting our girls here. You'll learn this lesson now. Maybe it'll do
you some good in the future."
There was a mild electricity, and I heard Brittaney laughing, just a
little as I struggled to breath amid internal shocks of some sort.
"I always love this part," she said.
It was like the booze had left my system completely, but it was replaced
by a different sort off perception shift. I staggered forward,
completely unbalanced, and the manager caught me by the arm. His whole
hand fit around my upper arm, from which he held me in a vice grip.
"What the fuck?" I exclaimed, first at the size of his meathook around
my too-slim arm. Then I said it again in response to my squealing
voice.
"Oh, come on, you know what this is," the manager said. "Calm down.
It'll be over soon enough of you play along nicely."
Then to Brittaney: "Fix her up and get her in the cage."
Brittaney seemed semi sympathetic, even as she painted my lips a glaring
red and caked mascara across my eyes.
"You're hardly the first person he's done this to. And they all got
their little wieners back by the next day. Some are even still
customers...they just tip a little better than they used to..."
She stood me up in front of a full-length mirror and we both took in the
new, hopefully temporary, me.
"Kind of a dikey hairdo, but they'll all be looking at these," she said,
squeezing my ample, unfamiliar chest. Brittaney helped me into a vinyl
tube top, just like the one she was wearing that I'd been so fascinated
with, just orange instead of white. I also wriggled into a pair of
matching hot pants at her say-so.
"Remember, honey, these stay on at this club."
She offered one more tidbit as she helped zip my skinny legs into a pair
of black, thigh-high boots.
"The good news is you get to keep half your tips. The good news for me
is I get the other half."
She escorted me to one of the cages just off the main stage. I walked
like a wobbly toddler on stilts in those boots and clutched onto
Brittaney for balance the whole way there. I nearly cried when she
shoved me inside.
"I don't know how top do this!" I whined.
"Wiggle your hips and bend over every once in a while," she advised.
"And when they approach the bars of the cage, let 'em reach those
thighs. Guys just love sticking money into boots like that."
It took Brian scolding me twice--the second time with an explicit threat
about getting my member back--to get me dancing, but I tried after that,
and I really did my best. Nobody saw my tears or red face; Brittaney was
right: they were looking at my chest and my tiny little behind and my
somewhat pronounced public mound, which was really prominent in the
shiny orange vinyl.
At one point, Ted caught my eye. He seemed to give a long glance, like
he recognized me. I hoped he couldn't. How could he? But he walked
around, like he was looking for someone (presumably me), then have up
and left. Looks like I'd need to find another ride home. I mean, I
would've had to anyway.
Back in the back, hours later, I was unzipping those boots, which were
practically clinging to my legs after hours of cage dancing, and Brit
and the manager were counting up my money. They handed me a small part
of the stack.
"More than enough for cab money," the manager said.
"Thanks for the money, honey," said Brittaney. "Grope me anytime."
They made me change out of the stripper gear ("looking cheap is pricier
than you think," one of them enlightened me), and sent me home in a
borrowed bra and unmatched panties, a tee shirt with the club's insignia
on it, an old pair of oversized denim overalls, and some borrowed
sneakers.
"You can have all that other stuff, but I definitely need the sneakers
back," Britt warned.
"I'll come by with it all," I promised.
As I was entering the cab, the manager hurried out of the club and
caught me just in time.
"Shit, one more thing I forgot to ask you. Do you have a roommate, or
anybody waiting for you at home?"
"No, just me. I live alone," I said. "Thank god. Wouldn't want to have
to explain all this."
"Good," he said. "Because you shouldn't let anybody...well, let's just
say lock your doors until your you-know-what is back in place, okay?"
Sounded like a plan.I didn't want any more adventures as a girl anyway.
The back of the cab was the first tone I'd had the luxury to relax since
my metamorphosis. I never thought I'd be relieved tip be wearing an
oversized tee shirt and baggy overalls, but it sure beat that other
outfit.
I was just feeling a little brave--brave enough to start exploring my
revised genitalia with a fingertip through the rough denim--when I
gasped in momentary shock from a sudden vibration against my bosom.
Quickly I realized it was my cell phone, reacting to a text message. I'd
placed it and my wallet (complete with that night's dancing money) and
keys in the front bib pocket of the overalls, since it could be zipped
closed. I'd been paranoid about them falling out of the other pockets.
I pulled the phone out of the bib pocket. It was Ted, texting to ask
what had happened. I texted back that I was fine and had just gone home
early.
When I got home, however, and walked into my living room, Ted was
waiting on my couch.
"Went home early, huh? I thought I recognized you. I've always believed
in magic, you know. Makes it easier to accept crazy sit that happens.
But, shit, Dennis, this takes the cake. Or should we call you 'Denise'?"
"Oh, dude, this is an insane nightmare," I said. "Punishment for getting
too handsy. But they said I should be fine again...you know, normal, by
sometime tomorrow."
"I dunno man. Looked to me like you were having fun up there on that
little cage. And you looked hot too. I was hoping to get a close up view
of those tight little bottoms and especially those sexy boots man."
I felt it as I turned a shade of crimson.
"Ted... Are you saying that you saw your best friend get cursed with a
pair of boobs and a pussy and your first thought is 'how do I fuck
him?'"
"And the pretty face, Dennis. I mean, I'll admit that not getting to rip
you out off the stripper gear is a little bit of a bummer, I can totally
deal with the farmer's daughter thing you got happening right now."
I sat down and took a deep breath.
"Plus your voice is really cute. So unexpected," he continued.
"Fuck, Ted...at least all this crazy shit took my mind off of the thing
at work and the thing with Layla. And I really did want to have sex
tonight."
"That doesn't sound like a 'no.'"
"It's not."
He closed the gap between us so quickly I gasped. In seconds, he'd
unsnapped my shoulder straps rustled me out of the overalls and shirt,
down to just the ill-fitting and mismatched underwear, then scooped me
up and into the bedroom. I pushed his face away when he kissed me,
though.
"None of that," I said. "We're just testing the new equipment while it
lasts... I don't want to suck on your ugly face."
"That works," he responded, and dropped me onto the bed. In minutes, he
was gracelessly kneading my chest like it was dough and expertly
grinding his rather considerable member into my brand new, and utterly
compliant, girly parts.
The next morning, by the light of day, I, still a woman, was horribly
embarrassed by the whole affair. He was all grins and giggles, though.
"Breakfast?" he asked.
"Are you kidding? I'm not leaving the house until I'm a dude again. I'm
never going to wear those damn overalls again. And I don't have any
other clothes that come remotely close to fitting."
"You can always cook for me," Ted teased.
"Never," I shot back.
"Okay, then, how about I go find you some girl clothes to wear, and
we'll get some brunch. Something's gotta be open."
"Never, never, never!"
I shooed him out, despite his protests. He had honestly believed we'd
give it another go that morning, but I was just too ashamed.... of doing
it at all, of how much I'd liked out, and most of all because I'd let my
best buddy drill me. Even if we were once again the same approximate
height, I wasn't sure I could ever look him in the eyes again.
But when 4 p.m. rolled around and I was still sporting mammary glands
and sitting down to pee, I started getting worried. Around six, nothing
had changed. I got back into the farm girl outfit, hopped in my car (I
had to move the seat way up... man, I was small!), and headed back
out to the strip club from the night before.
The manager spotted me the second I walked in.
"Oh--oh, hey. You're still a woman," he said.
"Yes. Can you do anything about this? Or did you zap me a little harder
than you meant to or something?"
"Oh, no, it doesn't work like that," he said. "It's got very little to
do with me; it's something the owner did back when he opened the place.
There's no variable; it works the same way every time: about 15 hours of
transformation, then back to normal, so long as you don't have sex."
Brian looked at me hard. I gulped.
"You... you didn't have sex, did you? That's why I was asking if
anyone was waiting for you back home."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yes, yes, I had sex. Oh, god, I am such an idiot."
I started to cry. I just couldn't help it.
"How long does it last if the person has sex as a woman?"
"Oh, uh.. sorry. It's permanent. Forever. This is you now. At least
add far as I understand it."
I just started crying more.
"What am I supposed to do about work? What am I supposed to do about
an... identity?"
"Well, that's a pretty good case for obeying the rules now, isn't it?"
Brian retorted. But, then, softer, he said, "Look, I know that this
situation sucks... I should have spelled out the consequences for you
a little better. I feel guilty."
"Oh, do you?" I retorted with venom.
"Look, sweetie, if it makes you feel any better, I am happy to have you
have you work here, for as long as you want."
"I don't think so," I said.
But then I started thinking about it. What if I had to? I sure couldn't
go back to work on Monday looking like this. Who would believe it was
me?
The manager didn't exactly apologize, but he did take pity on me. He
brought me into the back, helped me get cleaned up and into a new set of
clean (if uncomfortably feminine) clothes.
"A lot of girls leave their shit here and never come back," he shared.
"It's like Goodwill back here."
I couldn't bear to stay there, but I couldn't go home just yet, for a
night of crying and self pity. I headed to Ted's place. We drove up
right about the same time; he was just getting home from dinner.
"Dennis? Still looking like a lady, huh?" he said as he opened the front
door. "I thought I had missed my window."
"Looks like that window's stuck," I replied. "And they tell me it'll
probably never close again."
"Come again?" he asked.
"I'm stuck like this. Probably forever."
He looked at me a little differently than he had even the night before:
still up and down and uncomfortably longingly-- I noticed his gaze
lingered on my lower half -- but he was staring with less of a frantic
anxiousness.
He invited me in. I accepted.
"I never thought I'd see you in a mini skirt," he said, taking in a rear
view as he helped me out of my newly borrowed coat.
"I can't say I'm happy to be wearing it," I said back. I shared my
earlier encounter with the club's management, and how he'd sent me off
in clean clothes with something of a job offer.
"So I guess I just don't know what to do," I said as I finished. By that
point, we were sitting down in his living room, him in his recliner, me
on his couch. My legs were constantly shifting into different positions.
I just wasn't used to crossing them, but I didn't want to give Ted any
panty shots.The only good thing about the short, denim skirt was that it
took my mind off the tight and revealing gingham halter top.
"Are you sure they're not just messing with you?" Ted asked.
"What am I supposed to do about it if they are?" I complained. "I think
I might just have to go back and dance, or maybe they'll let me tend bar
or something. I can't go back to the office. And I have to pay my
fucking rent."
"Stand up," Ted said. He got out of his chair.
"Why?" I asked.
"Just do it," he suggested softly.
I stood--even in these two-inch pumps, I was only up to about his neck.
He grabbed my bare shoulders, one in each hand.
"Look... I know this is weird," he said. "But let's just roll with
it. We're best friends, we get along great, and now you have the things
I most appreciate in a person."
"Boobs and a vagina?" I offered.
"Yeah... and plump lips and nice hips. You're a little too skinny,
but we can work on that. Move in here. Let me take care of you. Go work
if you want, or just hang out here for a while. We'll go out tomorrow,
buy you some new clothes that won't make you look like a hooker, and
we'll have a good time."
Ted moved his hands lower, behind me, tucked his thumbs into the
waistband of my skirt, right above my ass, and pulled me in a little
closer. I felt part of my stress melt away.
"It would be nice not to have to worry so much while I get used to all
this, I guess," I murmured, placing my cheek against his chest. He moved
his hands into the tiny back pockets of my skirt and started massaging
lightly.
"Well?" he said. "Want to try it out?"
Only seconds later he had me pressed against the dining room wall; he
was still standing and my legs were wrapped around him. He hadn't
bothered taking any of my clothes except my panties off. It was a short
session; he shot his load in minutes, long before I even came close.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I've been saving that since I saw you next
to me this morning."
"It's okay," I said. "You can try again in a minute or two."
We went back to the bedroom and it turned out to be a good evening for
both of us. I told him, just before we fell asleep, that he could help
me move in, the sooner the better.
I don't know what I thought being my best friend's girlfriend would be
like, but if we judged only by the next day, that Sunday, it was pretty
great. He took me to brunch, then to a few stores for new clothes. He
insisted on picking most of what we bought, but nothing was so awful as
that miniskirt I was still wearing, so I was okay with that. And when we
got back to his place, I changed into something closer to what I would
have worn regularly: just some jeans and a tee shirt, with the new,
better-fitting underwear. I was finally close to comfortable. We played
some X-Box, watched an NBA game, and I gave him a blow job. That last
part was unpleasant, but I felt like he deserved it. He'd dropped a ton
of dough on my new wardrobe that day. I had no idea that women's
clothes--especially underwear--was so fucking expensive.
The next day I helped Ted tie his tie and see him out the door. I
emailed to work that I couldn't come in anymore, and to consider that
note my resignation letter. My phone rang a few times, but I didn't pick
up.
I lounged around Ted's place, wearing this disgustingly cutesy green
romper we'd bought the day before; he'd insisted that I wear it today. I
watched a little TV and grew very, very bored. Bored enough to vacuum
the carpets, clean the kitchen, and do Ted's laundry. I even ironed. I
listened to talk radio the whole time. I just couldn't stand the thought
of music; I was afraid I might start dancing... and about the last
thing I wanted to be doing was dancing around in an adorable outfit.
Even if nobody would know it but me.
At about 4 p.m. I started watching the clock, hoping that Ted would be
home sooner than later. He wasn't home until about quarter to seven, but
he ripped that romper right off of me and I fucked him from on top
before he turned me over and fucked me from behind. As much as I blushed
just thinking about it, it was pretty wonderful. And it kept rolling:
sex, boredom, new outfit, sex, boredom...
All in all, not such a bad life. And that was just the first week.
EPILOGUE
Monday, after Ted left the office, he went straight to a bar called
Casper's, a place where mostly men gathered. Not that women weren't
welcome; it was more of a coincidence, or maybe a behavioral thing:
people came to Casper's to get things done. Odd things. Unusual
arrangements.
Brian was waiting at a table in the back. When he saw Ted, he waved him
to join.
"I ordered you a beer already," Brian said.
Ted handed him an envelope and sat down. Brian counted it. Satisfied, he
placed the money into his coat pocket.
"So, it's working out okay?" Brian asked.
"You played it perfectly, man. Just perfectly," Ted said. "He never knew
this was anything but a cosmic accident."
A waitress brought over two beers, and the two men clinked and took long
sips.
"Poor fucker," Brian said. "If you hadn't been so desperate to be
married before you turned 30, he might still have his penis."
"Yeah, I feel bad about that," Ted said. "But the conditions of my trust
are really explicit. I just hope I can get her pregnant soon, because
that entitles me to even more dough."
"Funny you should say that," Brian said. "Kind of a coincidence, but I
just came across a charm that can help you with just that. You want her
pregnant, and like about to pop, within a few days? We can pretend it's
the next step in 'the curse.' Heh."
Ted drained his bottle of beer and signaled the waitress for another.
"No way, man. I just dropped thousands on new clothes for her, not to
mention on your services. I don't want to take her maternity shopping
just yet. Besides, she's waiting at home for me right now in the cutest
little number... I'm gonna do this the old-fashioned way. No need for
hoo-doo voo-doo. This time."
But then Ted stroked his chin.
"But I'll call you next week, maybe," he said to Brian.
They both had a good, long laugh.
Marisol
- 27.04.2022
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