The Dangerous Desires of Simone Cutler revised
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The Dangerous Desires of Simone Cutler
by DKB
2012
I'm lying on my front, my head on the pillow, eyes closed. I can almost
sense Dave hovering behind me even though he hasn't touched me yet.
"You ready, honey?" he says.
"Fuck yes," I say. "I want it now."
I feel his big hands against my shoulder blades, then moving down my spine.
He could be giving me a beautiful back-rub if only he didn't move so quickly
to my buttocks. He kneads them firmly, rolling and pressing my flesh in his
fingers. His thumbs take turns to stroke over my arsehole and I feel a warm
tingle of anticipation. Under his touch all the tension leaves my body. I
can feel my sphincter relax its hold, as if conditioned to open for him. I
hear him spit on me, but he needn't bother because I've already thoroughly
juiced myself up with lube. Now I can feel something nudging against me
that isn't a thumb or a finger, but something much thicker. In a single
movement he pushes all the way into me and I feel that sweet familiar panic
that always comes over me when he impales me on his meaty cock. He starts
thrusting vigorously and I start panting and I feel my heart racing. I feel
lost in sexual ecstasy. The energy with which he drives into me, over and
over, drowns me in sensation so intense that I can't tell what I'm really
feeling. I only know that I want it. I yearn for it. I need it. And I
feel lost without it.
An exquisite fire sears through my innards and burns with lust, hotter and
hotter until I can't take any more, then hotter still. Dave is bouncing me
off the bed now, my arms are flailing, my tits are bouncing off the
mattress, my head is banging against the bedstead, but all that matters to
me is that I can feel his cock pounding into me like a piston, until... With
a sudden, sucking squelch he pulls out of me, turns me over on my back, sits
heavily on my chest (knocking the wind out of me), and wraps big handfuls of
my titty-flesh round his cock, twitching and jerking madly until a great
gush of his spunk pours out over my chest and throat and chin. With a
desperate urgency I bend forward and stick my tongue out to reach him and he
gets up on his knees to cram his shaft into my mouth so I can suck every
last drop from him. I gag horribly. His cum is foul and sticky in my
throat, but still I have to have it all. I feel a desperate need to kiss
and lick and suck at Dave's cock until he has nothing left to give me and as
he pulls out I can only moan, "More! More!"
He laughs. "Simone, honey, that's all I got. A guy got to take a break
sometimes." Then he turns the light out, rolls over with his back to me and
quickly falls asleep.
I lie on my back in the dark with my eyes shut, hoping to drop off quickly
so that when I wake up Dave will have an erection again for me to wrap my
lips around. Instead, as happens increasingly often now, I lie wide awake,
crazy thoughts racing round in my head. I stick my hand down between my
legs to feel my wrinkled little penis. It is bone dry. I can't remember
when I last had a proper orgasm of my own. Yet even so I feel daily an
overpowering need for sex that only Dave can satisfy. I need him so badly
it's almost painful. He wants me to get my cock cut off and turned into a
pussy. It's the logical next step, but the idea horrifies me. It would
mean losing the last miserable vestige of the man I once was. I would,
finally, be utterly lost to myself. Yet there would surely be advantages.
Dave would have another hole to fuck me in. Maybe my poor, abused arsehole
could take a rest after all these years. And maybe Dave will fuck me from
in front more often if he doesn't have to look at my penis. I do so love to
watch as he plunges into me. But my opinion will make no difference. If
Dave wants it, and I know he does, it will happen sometime, probably soon.
I have no choice. There's nothing I can do.
Now I am sitting in the living room the next day, waiting for Dave to come
home. When I got back from work I got half way through preparing dinner
before I remembered that Dave is having a night out with colleagues and so
doesn't need feeding. Normally the only thing that gets me through the day
is thinking about the blowjob I can give him when he gets back from his lab,
but if that isn't till later then I face a bleak, empty evening by myself.
I threw out all the cooking and made myself a green salad and a glass of
tomato juice. I can never be bothered cooking just for myself and it's good
for my figure to go hungry sometimes.
So now I've eaten, done some vacuuming and watched a couple of soap operas
and there's nothing else to do but sit and wait until Dave comes home to me.
I think about the girls he must be drinking with and chatting up right now.
He always says, "out with the boys", but I know there are girls as well,
cute young graduate students that he has taking instrument readings, washing
flasks and sweeping floors, just for the chance to work with the great
chemical genius. He tells me all about them, how they laugh at his jokes,
what clothes they wear, how big their tits are. I know he does it to make
me jealous, make me work all the harder to keep him, but it works. I don't
know that he actually fucks them, but I bet he does, at one-to-one seminars
in his office, or when he goes off with them to conferences. He always
comes back to me though. I'm always there for him.
Dave never tells me exactly what he does at his work; I only know that
whatever it is he's one of only a dozen people in the world that know how to
do it. Or so he tells me. I work as a clerk in a solicitor's office. They
don't let me type the complicated legal documents because I make too many
mistakes. But I usually manage not too badly with letters to clients, and I
do all the basic, everyday things around the office, ordering stationery,
opening the mail, filing, making tea, and so on. I make little mistakes all
the time and people treat me as the office airhead. But the truth is I find
it difficult to concentrate when I'm constantly obsessing about Dave's cock.
My mind is forever filled with images of his erection, eight inches long and
four inches in girth, his foreskin peeled back to reveal the tip, shining
red and glistening with precum, then spurting his goo on my face. Sometimes
I'm amazed I get anything done at all. It was the same when I dropped out
of university. I couldn't focus on engineering for all the time I spent
thinking about sex with Dave.
So my days are spent stumbling through work as best I can and my nights in
blissed out ecstasies of sucking and fucking. At least, they are when
Dave's actually with me. When he isn't, I'm lonely. I don't have any
friends, nobody else I like to be with. I've lost all interest in women and
men repulse me. Except for Dave, obviously. Or rather, except for his
penis. The rest of him, frankly, isn't that hot. I don't have any friends
at work. I don't talk much because I'm not very good at sounding femme.
The best I can manage is a sort of fey, embarrassed squeak. So I just keep
my head down and try to look busy. Sometimes I think they only keep me on
because I have the biggest tits in the office.
I've had my implants for about two years now. Dave swore I'd get used to
them, but I don't think I have. They feel horrible to me, floppy bags of
meat and plastic. I hate having breasts. I hate how heavy they are and how
they flop about, especially when Dave fucks me hard. When I first got them
he was constantly feeling them up, sticking his hand down my top and rubbing
and squeezing them, which I find annoying and humiliating, though I always
suck him off afterwards, and in bed he'd spend ages playing with them and
kissing them, which drove me mad with frustration because I only want him to
fuck me. But then, thankfully, the novelty wore off and he doesn't fiddle
with them quite all the time now. Actually I do like it when he rubs his
cock on them and spunks over them. But the best thing about having tits is
that Dave lets me sleep in his bed with him so all through the night his
cock is just there, next to me. If I wake up feeling anxious I can just
reach out and stroke it and that calms me down and helps me get back to
sleep.
I can remember when he suggested it. I was dressed for sex, as I always did
in those days, in a pale-coloured basque with fake tits in the cups,
stockings and suspenders and four-inch heels. I was kneeling in front of
Dave with spunk on my lipstick where he'd just deposited his load on me.
Normally at this stage he'd go back to his room and I'd clean up, strip off
and get to my bed. But instead he just sat there, looking at me oddly.
Then he said, "How would you like to sleep with me, in my bed?"
I wasn't quite sure what he meant.
"Just like a proper girlfriend," he explained. "So when we're together, at
night, I'll just fuck you right there, whenever you want. No messing
about."
I said, "Do you mean I won't have to dress up like this every time?"
He smiled. "Yes, that's it exactly. We can roll around together naked,
flesh to flesh."
I said, "In that case," I was smiling as well, "I'd love to Dave, I really
would."
Like a fool, I thought I saw it. I could just be gay for him without the
ridiculous girl underwear, and the wig and make-up. I'd come to accept that
I was gay for Dave, even if for no-one else, so if Dave accepted it as well
we could be happy together.
He said, "Great! That's settled then. I'll arrange for you to get
hormones, then implants."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I said, "What?"
"Tit-ties," he said, enunciating each syllable carefully, as if he thought I
just hadn't heard. "Real boobies." (Yes, to him implants are the same as
real.)
There was so much wrong with this I didn't know where to start.
I said, "I can't..."
He stroked my wig and said, "Of course you can. Don't put yourself down
like that. I think you'll be great."
That wasn't quite what I meant.
"Listen," he explained. "When I say I want you to be my girlfriend I mean
it. Not just a quick fuck twice a week, but together all the time. But I
am a normal guy, which means I like girls, which means you have to be a
girl, I mean properly. Ok, I admit, you are a bit sexy in your corset
thing, but hormones'll make you all cute and girly, you can grow your hair
long, get electrolysis, the works. And I promise you, Simone, I will fuck
you every day."
I felt my will weakening. Something in my head was chanting, "Cock, cock,
cock" and I felt I was losing focus. But I struggled to put another
objection. "I do like pretending to be Simone for you, you know I do, but
I'm Simon really, remember? I have a job, and stuff." (Even to my ears
this was beginning sound weak.)
He pouted. "Just tell them you're transitioning. No problem."
I worked at Burger King then and the thought of swishing around in skirts in
front of those neanderthals was like a horrendous nightmare suddenly opening
up in front of me. No problem indeed! They'd laugh at me or molest me or
sack me, or probably all three.
He said, "When you're Simone I fuck you. Why wouldn't you want to be Simone
all the time? Don't you want big, beautiful, bouncing boobs?"
"Er, not really."
He said, "I can give you titty fucks."
And then I knew he had me. Suddenly I could see it in my mind's eye, his
thick shaft gliding smoothly back and forth in my creamy cleavage. Once
again he had put an image in my head that I knew would haunt me night and
day until I could make it a reality. So I sighed and accepted the
inevitable.
But I wasn't going to stay at Burger King. I resigned over the phone
without telling Dave and when he found out he was furious. It seemed that
being a serving girl in a fast food joint had been part of his plan for me.
But then he calmed down and everything seemed ok. The next morning he told
me to dress up as Simone, in miniskirt, blouse and heels, and I thought I
was getting an early morning screw, but then he dragged me to his car, drove
me to the job centre, threw me out and drove off. I had to arrange to sign
onto the dole and get a bus back home in full drag. Then I found out he was
taking two weeks leave and every day he forced me to go out dressed as a
girl. The first couple of days he came out with me, but he got angry about
people looking at us, so then he just kicked me out and refused to let me
back in again unless I had some shopping, preferably nice clothes, to prove
I'd actually gone somewhere and done something as a woman. He threw out
everything I had that could be worn by a man. So I was Simone from then on.
Then a lawyer friend of Dave's told him they were looking for junior clerks,
so I got my current job and they only know me as Simone the glammy tranny.
So that's how it is now. I'm a glamour girl in the office, a dutiful
housewife at the supermarket and a sex kitten in the bedroom. But I feel
like a horrible fake and I hate it. If it weren't for the constant sex I
couldn't take it. I hate wearing women's clothes. I hate bras. I hate how
they squish me and how the straps rub me. I hate wearing skirts and I hate
heels (of course). I hate wearing tights because they make my legs feel
sweaty and uncomfortable and I hate going bare-legged because my legs look
pale and blotchy and I hate when men look at them. I hate pretending to be
a girl and I hate that I generally seem to be good at it. People tell me
how pretty I am and guys come on to me all the time. But it's what Dave
wants, so I have to do it.
I have a rubbish therapist that Dave got for me who doesn't understand
anything about me, but just keeps telling me how great I'm doing and
increasing my hormone levels. And every time he does so I think my cock
shrivels up a bit more. Dave sent me to a transgender support group once
and I hated that most of all. They were so friendly and kind and eager to
help and they told me that I didn't need to have any secrets from anyone any
more. My secret, which I can't tell anyone, and especially not them, is
that I'm not one of them. I don't feel like a woman and I never have done.
They all seemed very elegant and gracious and feminine to me and I felt like
a clumsy, awkward fool next to them. Even Cheryl the trucker, six foot five
and built like a brick shithouse, has more natural femininity in each one of
her immaculately painted nails than I have in every ounce of my plump, pink,
36Ds put together. I couldn't bear to stay. So I stopped complaining until
Dave thought I was happy with my new life and let me stop going.
So every day I feel trapped in an alien body, playing a part in somebody
else's fantasy. But I have to admit the sex is fantastic. When I get to
strip off my bra and knickers and just be me, even with my tits, and Dave is
thrusting into me, I feel so good it makes up for everything.
My greatest pleasure in life is that I get more and more of Dave's cock. In
the early days I sucked him off once a week when he came back from the pub.
Then came the wig and the make-up and then he didn't have to be drunk to do
me and I got to suck him more often. I still got erections myself then and
I used to come by the bucket-load after every session, though I had to wait
until Dave left the room to wank off because that really disgusted him.
Then he had me get my body waxed and he started buying me lacy underwear,
basques and camisoles and so on, and I knew he was getting ready to fuck me.
The thought terrified me and appalled me and I could hardly wait. I can
remember being on my knees, in a basque, and then there was the most
indescribably horrible feeling of some large thing forcing its way up my
back passage. The really awful thing was not to be able to see his dick,
not to have it in front of me. When I shouted at him to stop he knew I
meant it and pulled out. But the moment I laid eyes on his dick again was
the moment I really, really wanted it in my arse. I pushed him down onto
his back and squatted over him, but he wouldn't have that because he didn't
want my willy waving around in front of him. So I turned my back to him,
then lowered myself onto him. I could hold his shaft as it entered me and I
could see it going in and I went into absolute ecstasy. I came
spontaneously and spunked over my stockings, but fortunately I don't think
Dave really noticed. He was too busy grabbing my arse and thrusting up into
me.
After that we got a big mirror so I could watch Dave fuck me. And now he
fucks me daily and I can take him from any angle without difficulty. I can
close my eyes and feel him in my bowels. And it makes me feel like I'm in
heaven. It gives me the greatest joy to take him inside my body, whichever
orifice it is, and make him come into me.
But oh God, where is he? I can't stand it when he's not with me. I don't
think I can take much more of this. I feel like I'm pushed to the limit.
He can make me get a sex-change if he wants and I suppose I'll put up with
it. But what then? I've got no life left of my own. I can barely manage
one day to the next without crying out in despair. I feel like I'm trapped
in a living hell and I'm sinking ever deeper into the abyss. Or I might go
completely mad and just snap and I don't know what will happen. Oh my God,
what's that? It's the door opening. He's back!
I almost run to the front door and launch myself at his groin. In a moment
I've got his zip undone and I'm tugging his cock out. He lurches drunkenly
against the door and says, "Christ, woman! Give me a minute. Haha! You
just can't wait, can you? Hang on a sec and let me get my coat off."
He makes it to the living room and sprawls on the couch and I bury my head
between his legs. Because he's been drinking it takes a little while for
him to get hard, but I savour every second. I roll his cock around in my
mouth until it grows to full erection and it presses against my tongue, the
roof of my mouth and the back of my throat. I swallow him down as deep as I
can, then I start fucking him with my lips. After a terrible day, finally I
can feel good again. I've got nothing to complain about. For as long as I
can have this beautiful thing sliding between my lips I am in paradise. His
hot spray gushes down my throat, sending me into rapturous bliss. I feel so
good, so happy. I just wish I could stay like this for ever.
2008
The weirdest thing in my life has happened and I don't know what to do.
It's driving me crazy. I feel like I might explode if I don't do something
about it, but I don't know what.
I was up on Tuesday for an early lecture and I showered and breakfasted in
good time to take my bike to the campus. My flatmate, Dave, was still
asleep, but his door was slightly ajar and as I passed it I saw something
and now I can't stop thinking about it. I saw his penis. He was lying
sprawled out on his side with his duvet sort of scrunched over to one side
so his dick was hanging out, almost erect, morning wood. And though I've
never had any gay feelings before I suddenly felt like it was the most
incredible, exciting, beautiful thing I've ever seen. Obviously I have seen
other guys' cocks sometimes, in porn and so on, but they never had this
effect on me. I couldn't help staring, though of course I was afraid he'd
wake up and catch me there. He had a curly, black bush and then a smooth,
thick, silky-looking shaft. I felt disappointed that he wasn't circumcised,
but I could see that he had a big, meaty head under his foreskin. I felt a
powerful urge to go over to his dick and touch it and stroke it and kiss it.
Only with great difficulty could I tear myself away from the sight of it.
That was three days ago and I've been in a permanent daze ever since. Every
night I've had intensely vivid dreams about sucking Dave off. In the dream
I'm always deep-throating him down to the root, with my nose buried in his
pubes. And then I wake up before he comes, leaving me with a raging hard-on
and a desperate sense of frustration. Every minute of the day I find myself
obsessively thinking about that cock, wondering what it feels like, what it
tastes like, what it smells like. I've tried looking at gay porn on the web
and it disgusts me. I've tried tasting my own semen and it sickens me. But
I just can't get Dave's cock out of my mind. And I can't think of anything
else. I've come out of lectures with no notes and no memory of what they
were about. In tutorials tutors have asked me questions and my mind has
gone completely blank. I was out with my girlfriend at a restaurant last
night and I don't think I heard a single word she said. I must have seemed
totally out of it, or something, because she wondered if I was ill. I said
I thought I was, so we finished the meal quickly and I went home on my own.
How could I tell her I was thinking about my flatmate's cock all evening?
And sharing a flat with Dave is a nightmare. I can't look at him without
going red and stuttering and I'm getting raging erections just from being
near him and thinking about what's in his trousers. He hasn't said
anything, but he must think I'm going nuts. I've been trying to avoid him
as much as I can, but I can't stay away for ever because I live with him for
heaven's sake. And anyway, the longer I spend away from him the more I get
obsessive, deranged thoughts about his penis.
I just have to do something. It's been less than a week and I feel like I'm
going completely out of my mind. I think that nothing less than actually
getting my hands on Dave's dick will do anything to help deal with this
desperate craving. But how do I do it? Can I just come straight out with
it ? "Hey, Dave, can I suck your cock?" Should I sneak into his room at
night and feel him up when he's asleep? Maybe I should get him very drunk
and then try coming on to him. Maybe I should get myself very drunk. He's
been trying to get me out to the pub all week but I've resisted, out of
embarrassment. He's out drinking tonight and maybe I should have gone too.
If I go and buy a half bottle of vodka and try to get completely plastered
before he comes back maybe I can throw off all inhibitions and just go for
it. Maybe if Dave is drunk enough he'll let me. I don't know what else I
can do. And what about after that? If I do suck Dave's cock, what then?
Will I get it out of my system and then go on as before, or I will I never
lose this terrible hunger? I don't think I care. All that matters to me
now, all I can think about, is getting to feel his shaft on my lips and his
spunk on my tongue. I can deal with the future later. For the present I
just need cock.
***
When David Cartwright made his greatest breakthrough he was afraid his work
might go completely to waste. He couldn't, honestly, think of any ethical
uses for it. Some mad shrink, or maybe an intelligence agency or two, might
be interested, but otherwise his discovery seemed destined to go
unrecognised except as a footnote somewhere, if that.
For his doctorate he was supposed to be working on techniques for
synthesising neurochemicals, but as a side project he was analysing a
certain protein that was active when infant animals imprinted on their
parents. He had produced a powerful derivative of this compound in a
concentrated solution that, he believed, should have a much stronger effect
than anything natural. In his head he called the substance Cupiderol, after
the love god, and it was, basically, a love potion. Ingesting it would make
anyone powerfully attracted to the next living thing they saw. He had
already fed it to mice, with startling results, but he knew he hadn't a hope
in hell of getting permission for human trials. So he decided on a secret
trial of his own. The Cupiderol had been slowly filtered over a weekend, so
on the Monday he took a small quantity in a stoppered test-tube and
discreetly removed it from his lab.
He considered trying it out on some random girl in a pub, but was concerned
she might turn into a stalker and start following him around. Then he
realised he was living with the perfect test subject. He suddenly got an
amusing image of his studious, straight-laced flatmate Simon transformed
into a sex-hungry maniac. If he could make straight-as-a-die Simon willing
to, for instance, suck cock then he'd know how truly powerful Cupiderol was.
After setting his alarm early he woke the next morning before his flatmate,
then waited until he could hear Simon pottering about getting ready. While
Simon was in the shower David sneaked into the kitchen with his test-tube to
dose Simon's carton of orange juice. He was suddenly unsure what the
correct dosage should be. Simon was of course a lot bigger than a mouse.
Also he realised he had to take into account how diluted the solution would
be in the orange juice. He put in five drops, then five more, then thought
to hell with it and poured in the lot.
Then he sneaked back to his bedroom. He left the door slightly open, wanked
himself half-hard then hid under the duvet with only his cock showing and
waited quietly to see what would happen.
2012
STOP PRESS ? BREAKING NEWS
CHEMIST FOUND MURDERED
Police have identified the mutilated body of a man discovered yesterday as
that of David Cartwright, 27, a research chemist. He is reported to have
been castrated and stabbed to death in the early hours of yesterday morning
by an unknown assailant. Cartwright's detached penis has not been located
and it has been suggested that it may have been retained by the killer as a
trophy. Cartwright's partner, 25-year-old transsexual woman, Simone Cutler,
has not been seen at the couple's dwelling house since before the assault
and her whereabouts are currently unknown. Police have appealed to her to
come forward to assist them with their enquiries.
Leela
- 10.02.2022
- 19
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