The Morning Grind free porn video

Note: The author encourages unauthorised reposting, sequels, and blatant plagiarism of this work. Another Note: I'd like to give an acknowledgement to Tainted Sins - undoubtedly one of the greatest TF writers ever, whose utterly merciless, oddly-literary, depraved splatter-punk style influenced this story more than it probably should have. THE MORNING GRIND By Wyrdey The boss-man's name was Graham Masterson. He was exactly as much of a paunchy, stuffy hypocrite as you'd think. He'd obviously decided to just rush through this interview, it was just a formality. Looking into his cluttered, pompous mind, I could see that he'd long since decided to give the job to the big-tittied blonde that he'd seen last week. "So, you're interested in a Personal Assistant position here at Smythe and Associates?" he asked pleasantly. I leaned forwards. "Oh no - of course I'm not," I said slowly. He looked slightly uneasy. They do sometimes. It's almost as if they can somehow feel it. "...Why would I want to take your job?" And then, suddenly, Graham found himself sitting behind a very different desk. He put the phone down, glad to have ended that unpleasant call. He was shifting uncomfortably in his cheap, itchy, ill-fitting suit when Herb from the Mailroom walked past. "Hey, you! Get me some coffee!" Herb shouted over his headphones. "Sure thing, Mr. Green," Graham said with a helpful smile. The pimply kid just cleared his sinuses and continued on his way without looking back. Graham sighed as he eased his bloated body up. Where had it all gone so wrong for him? He'd showed so much potential. But now, here he was, a middle-aged peon. He shook his head sadly... ...And he was back. He blinked in surprise, his mouth flapping like a surprised fish. God, this is fun. "It's for the best really," I continued, putting my feet on his desk, "I don't think I'd ever be quite as... Ah... POPULAR as an assistant as you..." And Graham was walking into work this morning. He gave the doorman a sexy little kittenish 'thank you'. He was never anything but polite to a guy with a cock that size... He licked his lips at the memory. All the male eyes drifted towards him as he sashayed into the room, dramatically shedding his cute coat at just the right moment. He knew how good he looked, braless and in this kind of clubwear. Pastel pinks and sunshine yellows, his little halter top barely covering the bottom of his gorgeous teenage tits, his little hotpants letting his big, creamy asscheeks bulge out into easy view. He caught a dirty look from one of those Plain-Jane secretaries, but just went strutting right past her, pretending he didn't notice. He saw that old janitor really checking out his ass, and somehow managed to put a little bit of extra wiggle into it for his benefit. He couldn't blame the old fart - his six-inch heels REALLY made it poke out scrumptiously. Another woman was giving him the death-glare, so he started girlishly fiddling with one of his cute little braids to piss her off even more... Working here was SO much better than all those other places, with their dumb 'Dress Codes' and stuff, besides, his boss was REALLY... Graham gaped as he came out of it again. This time on the other side of the desk. I could see from the look of his face that he wanted nothing more than to scream and run out of the room, or at least reach down and check that the fat tits dancing on his little chest were real. But he was only able to sit there quietly as I scrutinized him from behind my big, imposing oak desk. "Well..." I glanced down, as if to check his name. "...Muffy... You really don't seem to be in any way qualified for this job..." The shocked look on his little face as he began talking in that ridiculous breathy voice was truly priceless. "Oooh, Mister!" he cooed, unconsciously fluttering his long eyelashes. "I like REALLY want this job!" He slowly rose to his full, tiny height and began to slink around the desk. "Besides," he simpered. "I mightn't be too good at all of this boring office stuff, but there are some things that I'm, like, *real* good at..." He reached out a tiny hand and ran his long, pink press-on nails along the lump in my pants. His sparkling little eyes, already blazing with horror and confusion, actually bulged as the realised the meaning of his own little assertion. "Like, REAL good...!" he repeated, running a tongue along his plump pink lips... ...And we were sitting in a meeting. Or at least, I was sitting. With the hiring of our little assistant now solved so quickly, this is what the boss would have been doing if he hadn't had to see to that matter. Reality is so delightfully resilient. Muffy's eyes crossed momentarily as she tried to glance past her cute little button nose to verify what she already knew. I looked down at her through the big glass meeting table that myself and the other bigwigs were seated around. The enthusiasm that she was putting into sucking my cock was truly exemplary. She would surely have to worry about carpet burns on her knees, the way she was bucking her body in an attempt to ram as much as possible of me down her hot little throat. Her heavily arched back must have made a truly delightful sight of the ass bulging out of her ridiculous little hotpants. I certainly saw no sign of disapproval on the faces of the various men sitting around the table. "One thing before we start... Muffy?" The slurping girl managed to glance up from where she was staring in cross-eyed disbelief at the cock she was thrusting so deep into her eager little mouth. Her eyes widened in horrified recognition as she saw my face glancing down at her through the glass. "When you're quite finished here..." And the look in her eyes as she somehow suddenly knew without seeing that every fly around this table was open and each cock was long and hard in anticipation of her eager attentions was truly, truly precious. "...Would you mind going back into my office and bringing those costings on my desk?" She stared up and, unbelievably, without in any way slackening her efforts, tried to talk around my cock. "Mmmmmph. Slurp. Slurp," she gargled, her big, pretty eyes wide and staring. Laughter broke out around the table at her 'dedication'. I allowed it to run its course because, as a good manager, I understand the importance of occasional workplace levity. Smiling myself, I turned smoothly back to the subject of the meeting. "So as we all know, our first-Quarterly report is..." And Muffy, the happy office plaything, gargled and 'Mmmmmph'ed desperately (but at a respectful volume) under the table as I exploded thickly in her hot and hungry little mouth. ********* You might think that it wouldn't inconvenience me - I grab a new life for myself every few months anyway - but it did. I hate being forced to move into a new cover, even if only because I hate being forced to do anything. That is why I so desired what the Syndicate offers. That's why I joined, all those years ago. Absolute Power over any and all is quite the drawcard. I won't pretend that it wasn't often hard, but I won't pretend that it wasn't worth it either. And I won't pretend that I've ever regretted it, even for an instant. What's the alternative, anyway? If you're not in the Syndicates, then what are you? Nothing. A bug. A plaything for whatever Wielder seeks an afternoon diversion. There are the Whitehats, of course, but they're rarely more than a casual nuisance. They lack the will to really exercise the Power in the way that it likes to be exercised. Their loss. Their inestimable loss. But, even so - and my irritation aside - I can never afford to let even the niggling annoyances of the Whitehats pass unpunished. The Syndicate is based on loyalty, and if an underling is disloyal, then steps must be taken. I knew who had blown my cover. I'd known of his treachery all along - it amused me to toy with his ham-fisted schemes, his inept 'espionage' of our organisation. But now he would have to be taught a lesson, have to be brought back into line. ...Also it would be fun... I knew how to hit him, how to make a spy of my own out of him. One of the first things my Mentor taught me was that, for maximum pain and control, you never go after a man... You go after his family. ...So much fun... He has two sons... I saw his older son sitting in class. He was the spitting image of his father - dark, and with a serious air, he wore the blazer of his exclusive prep school well. He was maybe 18 and had already passed the awkwardness of adolescence and entered into full, confident manhood. A strapping young lad and any father's pride. He was leaning over, writing in a book when the change began. He didn't seem to know quite what was happening when the long, lightening hair snaked thickly around his face and shoulders. It took him longer to realise that anything was even happening than you'd ever expect - it always does. When he finally did realise, he quickly and reflexively grabbed and pulled at the sudden wave of gleaming hair, trying to get it off his head, trying to determine what it was. He glanced about quickly, a slight smile on is face as he tried to decide who was responsible for the gag. His pulling only succeeded in convincing the now full and impressive length to slip down silkily over his face. He made little choking sounds as he floundered about comically, knocking his pen to the floor in his struggle. The rest of the class sat as silent and straight-backed as ever. He finally succeeded in parting the thick locks, one hand tracing them back incredulously to his hairline, before his face reddened and both clutching hands flew to his chest. He looked mighty uncomfortable, squeezing and running his hands over his now soft and flabby skin, the suddenly firm and perky nipples and the hard little swellings that STRAINED against the flesh and... He gave a little voice-broken high-pitched squeak, as might be given by a boy on the cusp of puberty, and two immense fleshly orbs burst from his chest, popped his blazer, and sat high, bouncing triumphantly on his dwindling frame. Before he could even fully run his hands over the new mounds jutting pertly from his shirt, his clothes dissolved and shrivelled, like cobwebs at a flame. His shirt shrank down to a tiny, stretchy little wisp, tied by its trailing ends between his still- dancing assets, the thin, dwindling substance of it pulling tightly against his soft, firm flesh, lifting it even higher and letting it spill and bulge out mouth-wateringly high up beneath his waspish little shoulders. He was sitting there, the gaping mouth, the popping eyes visible in the slice of his little face poking out between the two lengthy streams of shimmering golden hair. I think he was almost as shocked by the absolute disinterest of everyone around as he was about his own changes. Judging by the look on his face, when he felt the tingles down in his backside, I think he knew what was coming next. Smart lad. Not for long. He must have felt the musculature all melting away, leaving only that inviting softness, his asscheeks swelling up plump and proud like two dollops of bread dough in the oven. His hands left his tits wobbling about slutty and unrestrained as twisted his tightening waist and thrust his chest out hard so that he could reach back quickly and grab as his yummy little bumcheeks. By the time they got there, there was nothing in the way. His straining pants melted and moved in some impossible way, the fibres separating and flinging themselves about in a ballet, most dissolving away, some shortening and changing and knitting themselves back into something new. His hands slapped unintentionally at the acre of creamy ass bulging out beneath the mocking little whore-skirt in the school colours, sending his newly acquired booty jiggling playfully. Baby got Back... He gave a snivel in his breathy little-girl way, his face warping and shrinking down to petite pouting delicacy beneath his grimace of horror and anguish. The girl sitting beside him, a brunette that he'd wanted to ask to the dance, yawned and turned to glance at him briefly before turning back to her books. He was evidently aware that he wasn't wearing any panties beneath his slutwear skirt, and unconsciously tried for a moment to close his long, coltish legs, clad only in translucent white knee socks pulled up as high as fetish required. That stopped fast when he felt that first tinge. Actually screaming for the first time as his friends and peers quietly continued to work, unconcerned, around him, he spread those smooth sexy legs as wide as he could - and I'd assured that that was wide even for a gymnast or a contortionist - and plunged a delicate little hand down between his hot thighs, mewling all the while, and flipped the front of his pleated little microskirt up so that he could see as he grabbed at... A long, girlish squeal rent the air. His cock was already only a few inches long, and now felt like what it was - a droopy little shriveled sac of baby-soft fat. It looked for all the world like a huge, pink, moist caterpillar, its skin ill-fitting and puckered hard with deep wrinkles. The slightest squeeze would leave the whole thing flat between his fingers, and bring him neither pain nor joy. He whimpered loudly as he felt his once pride-and-joy continue to be pulled into the little, dripping orifice that had opened up in the tightening skin of his empty ballsack. There was an audible slurping of liquids as the hot, moist slit kept swallowing the sticky pink wormish thing down. The teacher made a little joke about Polynomials to polite and scattered laughter as the once-boy in her second row screamed hysterically, his legs spread wide under his desk as he displayed in plain sight the repulsive spectacle of him sobbing and yanking hysterically at a flabby, stretchy little gag-penis as he madly tried to save it from his remolding innards. The tiny, slimy thing stretched like taffy in his hands. He succeeded in keeping it the same length for a time, though he knew that was just because it was stretching out like rubber, a smaller and smaller nub maintaining the same exaggerated length. He didn't realise how small a nub until, when it was just a little quivering cable of pinkish flesh, thinner than any of his fingers - or even his bulging nipples - it finally snapped out from his straining hand and slapped hard against the modified flesh of his crotch, the end nestled in his new slot as an tingling little clit, as tiny and adorable as a button. He threw his head back, hair streaming sexily, and opened his mouth to scream as he had never screamed before... But instead found himself chewing mindlessly, like a cow on its cud, on a fat wad of gum that appeared in his mouth. His eyes stared in blank horror, his mouth still chewing, as his hair suddenly fluffed itself up and sexy arranged itself with a number of ribbons and clips that appeared from nothingness. Big, shiny hoops suddenly dangled from his delicate little ears, slutty make-up spread across his blank, pretty face, circling his big, wide eyes and staining his plump, pouty lips. As his shoes finished changing into big, adorably clunky, stripper-esque versions of a schoolgirl's footwear, he suddenly seemed to become aware of the pen that he had knocked to the floor in his earlier vain struggling. He leaned over hard at his waspish waist, reaching for it. The brunette sitting to the left of him looked away in revulsion as that creamy bare ass thrust out at her, though the boys sitting nearby glanced over as casually as they could and crossed their legs with a different reaction. The kid sitting on the other side, the one that he was leaning over towards, was not even bothering to pretend that he wasn't gaping at the almighty knockers swaying and almost falling out of her skimpy top. He wore that oh-so-exclusive blazer rather differently now, forced oh- so-wide-open by his unrestrained and monstrous breasts, somehow just seeming to make the nearly translucent little crop-top and sexy bared midriff even more slutty and appealing. The kid continued to gape until it was obvious to everyone but him that the leaning and reaching and jiggling was being done just for his benefit, and then the super-skanky wet-dream of a girl suddenly looked up and caught his eye. Holding his gaze steadily, she stopped snapping her gum for just that moment, and ran a pink little tongue across her swollen, cocksucking lips... You'd think that my job would have to eventually become just that - a job, but I can tell you that reaching into the depths of existence, into the very fabric of the mystery that controls who we are, who we are destined to become, and stretching and twisting and rewriting all that some poor bastard is or has ever been... It's the best fucking rush that's there can be. I glance forward in time, my lip curling in amusement. An hour later, some dumb jock - Garry, his name is - is walking down the school hallway - probably going between classes. There's a smattering of people about, he doesn't pass too many. Then he looks up and sees the Stenovich sisters swaying towards him. His dick spasms in his pants out of reflex. Brandi and Bambi... the two sexiest most shameless trollops that the school's ever known. Brandi is busting from her normal stripper-parody of a schoolgirl's outfit, plainly obvious that she's not wearing any underwear of any kind. Bambi dressed very similarly to her big sis, but instead emphasising her youth and faux-innocence. Her angelic face looked if anything younger than her reported age of 16 - barely 16... at most - but her figure was almost as ridiculously overdeveloped as her sister's. And just as on display. At least the tops of a teeny pink g-string and a matching little joke of a bra could often be seen rising from where her own schoolgirl-fetish parody gamely tried to conceal her bounteous, freely jiggling figure. Her big, perky nipples could be easily seen poking through the front of her stretchy little spandex top. She was growing up to be SO like her big sis. 'Juggs and Jailbait' the boys called them. Garry swallowed heavily as they languorously approached, their big twin bubble-butts wiggling energetically and in unison beneath their tiny little flippy skirts. Brandi was snapping her big mouthful of gum and casually tossing her long blonde locks, as always. Bambi was just as characteristically making a show out of licking at a pink lollipop, a wayward finger unconsciously twirling at one of her mammoth blonde pigtails, her crystal eyes all innocence and rainbows. Garry swallowed again. Almost like cats sensing their prey, the two girls turned their sparkling blue eyes on him, and, as one, moved in his direction... I glanced forward several short minutes. The three of them were now in some quiet, out-of-the-way room. Brandi was on all fours, her blazer missing, her little crop-top ripped open, and her big, perfect ass aimed high as Garry fucked her mercilessly and enthusiastically from behind. "Mmmmmmmmm!" Brandi squealed in that breathy little bimbo voice. "Fuck me! Mmmmmmm! Fuuuuuck me! Yeah! Yeah! Fuck my slutty little cunt with your big fucking cock! Yeah! Harder! Haaaaaarder!' She squealed and whined, bucking hard into him like a bitch in heat. Her immense, perfectly rounded tits sway and bounce incredibly beneath her sexy little body, swinging with every quick thrust with such energy that if her back wasn't so arched they could almost slap her in her pretty little face. "Ooooooooooooh! Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck meeeeeee! Harder, Stud! HAAAAAAAARDER!!!" Momentarily irritated by her whining, Garry frees one of the hands that he's got wrapped almost right around her miniscule waist and slaps down hard on her jiggling buttocks. "Shut up and take it, Slut!" he grunts before ramming into her perfect little flower all the harder. Brandi throws her head even further back and moans like an absolute whore. How did he know that spanking and abuse get her little cunny so FUCKING HOT?!? But Garry isn't looking at Brandi. His eyes are locked on her trollop of a sister. He can only wonder where Jailbait learned to dance like that... The things that girl can do with her ass! Bambi spins towards him, tossing her fluffed hair perfectly over one eye as she pouts her sexy little kitten face up at him. She continues teasing her little lollipop in her hot little mouth as she bounces her little ass for him again, sending her teensy little joke of a skirt flying high with each quick little thrust of her girlish hips. World-class strippers dream of dancing like this wide-eyed little schoolgirl. Bambi gives a cute little giggle when she finally realises that she's popped one of her big pearly nipples right out of her pretty little top with that last bounce-and-shimmy. She skips around playfully in her huge platforms, her shimmering, ass-length pigtails flying, one hand still twiddling the lolly in her mouth while the other happily teases her exposed little rosebud nip. "Mmmmmmmmm! Yummy! Yummmmmmmy!" Brandi coos deliriously as she orgasms explosively once again. Gary gives a grunt. He's on the verge of coming... Suddenly Bambi stops her girlish skipping. "Hmmmmm," she breathes thoughtfully, one of her tiny fingers sneaking up under her skirt. The skirt lifts to reveal where the gossamer-thin lacy fabric of her little g-string tightly outlines the sweet little lips of her girlish womanhood. "Hmmmmmmm...'" Bambi says again, her adorable little face creased in thought. She pulls the lollipop from between her swollen pouty lips, her lolly almost the same colour as her baby-pink glossed lips. A tiny hand-movement between her thighs, and her wispy underwear flutters softly to her ankles. Bambi gazes blankly off into space, her face so sweetly innocent it breaks Garry's heart. ...The hand with the lollipop slides down to meet the other one under her tiny skirt, curiously prodding at her sensitive little lips, and... Garry's bloodshot eyes bulge and Bambi's crystal-blue eyes open impossibly wide as she thrusts her little lolly hard into her girlhood. "Mmmmmmmm....!" Bambi says, almost as loudly as her sister did earlier. She pumps her hands, sending the glossy pink treat deeper and deeper into herself. There is an audible squelching of juices. "Mmmmmmmmm! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmm...!!!" Her pouty, swollen lips are pulled into a little moue of surprise and delight. Still pumping, she suddenly seems to become aware of Gary again. She looks up at him with her big, liquid blue eyes. "Mmmmmmm! Bambi's wittle pussy's all hungwy!" she lisps girlishly up at him, her face ecstatically sweet and innocent, her tiny little tongue playing over those swollen lips. Gary grunts and comes like a volcano. Bambi giggles to herself at the sight. Then she squeals, then moans, wetness trickling down her long, coltish legs. The lolly is finally pulled free with a long squelch, then a pop, and Bambi gives a happy little murmur as she slides it, dripping, back into her moist little mouth. Her panties still looped about her ankles, there is nothing to prevent a glimpse, as she fiddles absent-mindedly with her teensy skirt, that the new, girlish little lips underneath are shiny and candy glossed. Sweet, pink and sticky... I smiled to myself as I glanced forward to the moment when my treacherous underling found out what I'd done to the strapping young apples of his eye... I could tell it was a sight I'd watch again and again and again... He was about to learn the difficulties and embarrassments of having two shameless nympho whores for daughters - why, even tonight they'd both be sneaking out to gigglingly fuck and suck anonymous men in back alleys. He'd be calling me soon enough, BEGGING. Begging to be allowed to betray his office, his colleagues, his country... He'd happily send the rest of his life diligently working to destroy everything that he held dear, just out of the small, slender hope that one day I might undo what I'd done to his former sons. No rush like it... ***************** Office work is so fucking dull. What happy luck that there's an office-full of drones here to do it. It gives me the time to do more fun things, swat more fun things. I like moral crusaders. The real type: the kind who can stand up for the perceived good of their community and never back down despite a world of bribes or threats. They're such fun. Fun in the way that it's always more SATISFYING to flatten a bug that's been irritating you personally. ...And you take away not just the satisfaction of the sight of that mess of goo, but the impetus that it gives you to really stretch yourself and put some 'OOMPH' into your swat. Such fun. There is a particular curse that Practitioners fear above almost any other. It's a good day when I can find an excuse to use it. It amuses me so. I saw the busy-body do-gooder sitting at his desk. He was a distinguised-looking middle-aged man, his silvery hair brushed neatly back from his slightly receding hairline. For the parts of the country over which he had jurisdiction, he was one of the toughest opponents of pornography and the sextrade. His strong religious convictions and the easiness with which he used words like 'pervert' and 'sin' made him extremely popular with his conservative electorate. The most nauseating thing about him was that, unlike a good 95% of crusaders like himself, he wasn't a hypocrite. He actually was just as much of a joyless family-man puritan as he seemed to be. There are few fates awful enough for such a man - though, fortunately, I have all of them at my command... He was blissfully writing an editorial denouncing the porn industry when it started having an effect. He was writing a description of a section of some particularly shocking film that he had seen in his capacity as a film censor, in which a young girl was forced into acts including copraphagia, bestiality, and incest. His first clue of what was happening to him came when he suddenly realised that he was sporting a massive hard on - harder than he'd had in years. He pushed his chair back and just sat staring at the bulge straining his pants for quite a few moments. What was causing that? He hadn't had an experience like this since puberty. Odd that it should happen while he was writing about things like... He gasped and his cock strained even harder. He thought back to the subject of his writing and, without his noticing, a finger began to rub at his bulging purple head through his pants. The memory was still exactly the same, every detail identical... So why did it suddenly seem SO FUCKING HOT??? Scenes from other films that he had disgustedly campaigned to have banned popped into his head. He blushed and breathed harder, bluish veins popping out on his forehead. He was now fapping at his crotch desperately. What was wrong with him? These things were filth! They were revolting blasphemy! His mind agreed totally even while his other hand began to paw at his fly to give him better access. His thoughts were reeling. He was actually sitting here, beating off to this stuff. It just made him feel so horny that he couldn't stop. What kind of person would react that way? Only the filthiest-minded pervert! He grunted in ecstasy as the thought of how sickening his behaviour was sunk into his mind. No! NO! Something was very wrong here? He wasn't like this! He wasn't like this at all! He looked around his office and, suddenly, it seemed somehow different. Everything still looked the same, exactly the same, but somehow... His eye fell on the needlework scripture that his late mother had made for him. It had proudly hung on his wall, reminding him of the scared duty that he was performing, ever since he had entered politics... and yet, somehow now, he couldn't stop sneering in derision when he saw it... ...And his mother... Why did that gentle, caring lady suddenly seem so different to him...? A shrivelled puritan old bitch, she could have used a good fucking to loosen her up and knock that stick out of her ass. When she died, her cunt was probably stuffed full of cobwebs... For an instant, a mean smile spread across his face at the image... Oh God, no! What was happening? His eye fell on the picture of his family which had pride of place on his desk. His eyes carefully tracing every loved inch of his favourite family portrait... And it made him just wanna fucking puke. Look at them, all grinning and smug. White bread from a cookie cutter. That wife of his - in their twenty-five years of marriage she'd never done more than moan softly on those increasingly rare occasions when she finally let him fuck her. She was probably already pretty cobwebbed herself, unless - yeah, she probably fucked herself raw with a carrot every morning, standing in front of the sink in her fucking apron like a stuffy 50s airheaded joke, cramming the full length of the longest, pointiest vegetable that she could find hard up her dribbling slit, drooling and squealing and giving little cross-eyed yips... His lip twisted cruelly. That's probably why her stews always tasted fishy. ...And those fucking little kids, girls all as frigid and little- princess-precious as their prude of a mother, boys still fucking virgins, never even licked a boob, so ashamed as they sat on the toilet and jacked off to some grimy underwear catalogue... He didn't want this. His life had never seemed this way before... He looked around his office as he squeezed at his wrinkled old cock. What a boring fucking joke. Had he really sat here all these fucking years, bleating about 'sin' and 'filth' like some sour-faced killjoy? God, it made him nauseous - the thick, sticky atmosphere of goody-goody, Mr. 1950s nicey-husband stuffed shirt... He felt his cock suddenly soften, deflate, shrivel back in his hand... Some final dying remnant of the man he'd been screamed somewhere at the very edge of oblivion. Fuck, he just wanted to get out there and... Such an array of filthy images washed through him. He smacked at his fattening lips. Such a pressure was building inside him, such a strange, firey twisting force... He found he didn't mind what happened to him, in fact, he found he craved it. The shrunken body. The two torpedo-like badly fake joke tits that popped into his shirt. The fluffy explosion of tackily bleached blonde hair. The plumping of his face into a ridiculous porn-star parody... He came for the first time in his new form right there, his entire hand lost up his well-used pussy. No-one ever worked out what happened to him. Those empty clothes found scattered about his office, the Y-fronts found saturated with girl- cum... No one saw the paragon of trashy, shameless slutdom who strutted, absolutely naked, ass and tits bouncing, out of his office. Barely twenty years old, but already so obviously seedily well-used and cartoonishly enhanced with cheap surgery, her sleepy eyes always blazing with an unquenchable lust for filth and degradation... Like all of the victims of my little Curse, he had become the exact type of person that he'd always hated above all others. Passersby all reacted differently to the sight of that naked slut of a girl wiggling her sexy ass past them. When one college kid honked her swaying tits, she yanked down his pants and hungrily blew him right there. He was surprised and embarrassed, but looked far from unhappy. A young mother with two small children, a boy and a girl, flew over and screamed her outrage while her two young charges just stared, limp and goggle-eyed, their mouths still wrapped around candy. The naked girl just smirked, not even looking the furious woman in the face, but instead spread her legs wider and shoved her ridiculous chest out even further for the benefit of the gawping kids. She shocked the mother into silence for a moment by shoving her hand into her face, middle-digit firmly outstretched, but still grinning at the children. She managed to make the shocked silence last rather longer when, just a second later, she moved her hand and shoved her firmly outstretched finger somewhere else. The woman just gaped, open-mouthed and stupid, as she watched the hussy in front of her grinding and thrusting her hips hard, grunting and moaning and licking lasciviously at her over-plump lips. When that deep, strangled cry of ecstasy finally went up, thick globs splattering on the pavement and gushing down long, tanned legs, the finger was finally yanked loose with a loud squelch, and the girl smirked again as she wiped it across the dumb-faced woman's tits. She sauntered off then, hungrily licking the remnants off of her finger, winking at the silent, staring kids... I looked a few days forward. She was vaguely dressed now, albeit in the scantiest slutwear ever devised. She loved crawling through fetish shops for scandalous nothings that tested the borders of the street-legal, financing this new interest by robbing the occasional flabby office-worker when she sucked them off in an alley. She'd used her knowledge of the city's debaucheries well, and had had quite the time in the past few days... But now that was beginning to pall. She needed something special... The kid walked past right when she'd known he would. On his way home from school. He was alone too - the loser didn't have many friends, certainly no girls. "Hey," she breathed at him oh-so-casually. He turned and froze slightly as he saw her. She looked... She looked exactly like... A few months ago, his father had belted him after he caught him beating off to a dirty magazine. The particular picture had been of a 'Naughty Co-ed' who looked exactly like... She lazy teetered towards him in her ridiculously high fuck-me platforms, her ass poking out beneath her tiny rubber skirt, her impossible tits spilling out both above and below the tiny pink tube top with 'SLUT' written across it... She was licking on the most phallic icey pole she could find, letting her slurping lips play across it. As she wiggled closer to her former son, she could see the new worry lines in his face. Evidently, his family was taking the disappearance of their frowny daddy hard. A little smile tugged at her overly made-up lips. "My name's Cherry," she said kittenishly. "Wanna fuck me?" "Errrrrr..." the boy blushed violently, trying to work out if he'd heard right as he watched her slide her pink little tongue up her big, red icey pole. "I SAID," she repeated, just as silkily, "Do? You? Wanna? Fuck? Me?" He sucked in his breath and looked around at the empty streets. "Ahhh... Well..." he began. Instantly her expression turned to utter digust. "God, why didn't you just tell me you were a fag!" she said, turning on her heel. "No - wait. I'm... I'm not..." She sneered at him, her lip twisting. "Yeah right. I bet you beat off every night just thinking of a dude creaming in your mouth." She started to walk away, the creamy cheeks of her perfect - and almost entirely visible - ass wiggling mouthwatering beneath her tiny skirt, the clipping of her stripper shoes echoing down the empty street. "No... Wait!" he called. She stopped and turned slightly, a questioning look on her face. That tongue teasing her ice lolly... "I... I just..." he stumbled, not really sure what he was trying to say. "What?" she snapped. "I just thought you looked cool, but you're acting like some sniveling little virgin." She laughed cruelly. "Oh God! I bet that's it! I bet it's your first time and you want it to be all spwecial-wecial... Oh! Or even better! Maybe you're 'saving yourself'" she burst out laughing again, tossing her hair. "No... No... No, I'm... It's not... It's not!" he said lamely, blushing even deeper. She stared at him in mock confusion. "Well, if you're not a fag or some prissy virgin, why don't you want to fuck me?" He swallowed heavily, looked back and forth again, hefted his schoolbag. "I... I... Well, I..." "I mean," she cut in "don't you think these just look fucking great?" Her free hand went to her miniscule tube top and, as the boy looked on - his palms sweaty - she gave it the tiniest, most casual yank. The only two boobs not belonging to his mother that the boy had ever seen exploded out and wobbled perkily before him. A man with more experience might have been turned off by their blatant fakeness, but to a teen whose entire knowledge of such things came from quick, guilty glimpses of porn mags and websites, they were the most amazing things ever. He tried to speak, but his mouth was utterly dry. "Don't they?" she teased. "Don't they just look fucking great?" He was finally able to nod. The bulge in his little school pants looked painful. "So you DO wanna fuck me...?" There was only the slightest pause before he nodded again, glancing about guiltily. "Well then..." her smile was luminous, but her overly made-up eyes had a disturbing hunger in them They were behind a dumpster in an alleyway. The kid was looking more and more nervous. She grinned carnivorously up at him as she dropped to all fours on the slimy ground. He swallowed heavily and began to undo his belt. "Hurry the fuck up!" she whined, wiggling her ass invitingly. His pants dropped from between his numb fingers as she arched her back tightly and made it perfectly plain that she wasn't wearing any underwear. She grinned as he came up behind her, and placed his quivering hands on her perfect hips. He swallowed, and almost jumped as his tip touched her soft, warm flesh for the first time. She moaned softly, he lined himself up and... "Nooooo!" she whinged loudly. "My ass! I want you to put it in my ass!" She was pouting over her little shoulder at him, loving the look of slight revulsion on his face. "Errrr..." Her eyes flashed. "Fuck! What is it with you whiny little virgin fags!?! I bet you wish it was YOU getting a nice cock up your..." He coloured and thrust in hard, just wanting to shut her up. Her face contorted as she felt his young, virgin meat forcing its way into her... it hurt, but that just made it feel so goooooood... The kid's face was flushed, he pulled back and thrust again... and again... and again... It really felt wonderful, something so warm and wet and tight wrapped hard around you... She made satisfied little grunts, her tits flopping and swaying around beneath her. It felt as wonderful as always to have a cock rammed into her little pooper, but something was missing... It had felt better when he first thrust in, because he was angry and almost trying to hurt her... She flicked her long hair back casually and looked over her shoulder, a cruel, mocking smirk on her face. "Is it in yet?" she asked, her eyes laughing. "'Cause it just feels like there's some teensy little worm tryin' a climb up in there. I bet a toddler's pinky could..." He reddened, his jaw setting, and rammed his dick into her as hard he could. She gave a strangled squeal and began to buck her hips back wantonly, trying desperately to force that piece of meat as deep into herself as she could. She could feel all the veins and knobs rubbing against her sensitive anal tissue with his every thrust. "Oooooooh fuck yeah!" she cried shamelessly, her head thrown back, tits bouncing. "Yeah! Yeah! Fuck me! Timmy, shove that little cock WAY UP Daddy's ass!" Fortunately, he was rather distracted, and only vaguely wondered what the squealing slut he was pumping meant... or how she knew his name. "OOOOOOO! Fuck Daddy's tight little ass harder, Timmy! Harder!... HARDER, ya whiny little virgin fag! Get it up there! Fuck! Timmy, I need you to cum in Daddy's ass!!! I wanna have trouble shitting for a week! Hurry up and FUCK DADDY'S ASS HARDER!!!" she whined in her ridiculous little-girly voice. "CUM IN DADDY'S BIG SLUTTY ASS, TIMMY!!!" He began to pant, his eyes bulging, and... Virgins never have much lasting power. She screamed as she felt the spray of spunk gushing so far up into her. The pressure sent thick globs burping out her anus and sliding down to mingle with the gushing from her pink little flower... ...and then she came. She arched her back impressively, thrusting her pop-eyed head to the sky. Rivers of cream spurted from her fevered pussy, her hips bucked and spasmed, her eyes rolled right up into her head, drool gushed from her gaping mouth. She came loud and enthusiastically, like the most overacting porn star, only genuine. The sound that came from her mouth as she shuddered in release was almost a piercing bray, as if she was a rutting animal in heat. ...And the thing that had happened to her every time she had orgasmed since her change, the second and perhaps crueler part of the Curse kicked in... Squatting there, spasming, on all fours in an alley, her son creaming in her ass... her original mindset returned for just a moment. Her screams changed slightly. She could remember everything she'd done - every greasy cock she'd sucked, every time she'd rubbed her tits in a guy's face, every time she'd flashed her ass, all the slutty clothes she'd wiggled herself into and out of, all the time she'd spent in alleyways... every filthy, degrading thing she'd done along with just how fucking hot it had made her. ...And she knew that was going to do it again... And love it. She knew that she was going to get every last one of her sons to fuck her... one after the other... Then she was going to go to places where bestiality shows were a reality and volunteer... and then... But the worst part... The thing that sent a wave of bile rushing up her throat, the thing that made her very soul burn, the thing that made her scream to the God that she had once believed in... It was the fact that squatting there in this filthy backalley, ass thrust high to submissively receive, her son's cock crammed hard and painfully and still spurting up her little anus, thick, impossible-to- conceal waves of stickiness cascading down her thighs and legs... Was the best fucking feeling she'd ever had. ...And when that teenage cock was shortly yanked from her tight little ass with a squelch, little ropes of her son's oozing cum dribbling down and splatting across her jiggling, exposed buttocks, when her shameless whore moaning finally stopped... There was no force in the universe that would stop her from spinning around and cleaning every thick, bitter drop from her son's cock with her hot, talented mouth. And she'd probably explosively come again from the smell alone. ...and the next time her original mind returned for just that sliver of agonisingly ecstatic time, it would be her next son with his cock rammed hard into her... and then the other... and, then, probably a horse. Her eyes rolled down from her head again, and, as she felt him withdrawing, she slowly smacked her fat, pornstar lips at the thought of... ******* I'm probably a sick, sick bastard. Let me rephrase that: I am a sick, sick bastard. It's hard for me to even get it up these days - occupational hazard, I suppose. I gave Muffy some truly world-class cocksucking abilities in exchange for all of the things that I emptied from her pretty little head. She's kneeling before me right now. Even she had to really tongue and tease the tip of my cock furiously to get it hard enough to suck down. To help I even gifted her some more experience: pushing her first deep-throating experience back a few more years. I made her stepfather a real piece of work. She's as good a cocksucker now as anyone ever has been. But no better than I get every morning, every evening, and whenever I'm in the mood. To tell you the truth, it doesn't really get me off any more. Tits... Ass... Pussy... Orgies... Twins... The most imaginative and skilled sexual acts and depravities imaginable... Don't get me wrong - it's certainly PLEASANT. It's like a cup of coffee in the morning. Nice, but not day-making. Only one thing really gets me off anymore. One thing makes me feel like I've swallowed dynamite. It's the looks on their faces. When Muffy first stared up at me, eyes dead with horror and hunger as she realised what was tickling her tonsils - and how much she CRAVED it - it was so easy to pop down her throat. SO easy to give her what she desperately didn't want to want. ...And now, with the look on that killjoy whore's face as she felt her son's cock so very deep and spurting in her aching asshole still crystal on my retinas, with the matching look on the kid's face as his once- Daddy slurped so hungrily at his filthy dick, I can once again give Muffy what she was built to need. Her whole jiggling little body's so adorably electric as I grab hold of her pigtails and ride her roughly home. The problem, the one tiny and absolute problem with infinite power, is how hard it is to make yourself still FEEL anything. If everything is instantly available and the only limit is your imagination - what happens when you hit that limit? How many novel new nightmares can one mind invent? It's an endless grind. Despite arguments to the contrary, I think that's what's made the shape of the Syndicate what it is today. ...But then, it's only lunchtime, and who knows what I'll be able to think of by the end of the day.