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Carlton Cline free porn video
CARLTON CLINE by Throne
It was a simple enough case, at least on the surface. Carlton Cline got
the call and a sultry female voice told him that her lover had gone
missing and that it would be his job to find her and bring her back.
Well, he thought, a lesbian couple would certainly make for an
interesting job. He had always had a special attraction to lesbians,
probably because they were ultimately unavailable. And the idea of two
lovely women together, being physically intimate, was his secret turn-on.
So of course he took the case and arranged to meet the woman who had
hired him, Vanessa Mondell, at her home. When he got there he was
immediately impressed by the scale of the estate that confronted him. He
went to the hand-carved teak doors, knocked, and waited. His attention
was captured by the intertwined figures of naked women that were the main
design of the carvings. Just as he was taking in the details of a
particularly erotic depiction of three females simultaneously pleasuring
each other, the door swung inward and he was confronted by a tall
imposing butler -- a woman with short hair, serious mien, and the body of
a voluptuous stripper. She looked down at him and said, "Yes?"
Cline caught his breath and managed to say, "I'm here to see Ms. Mondell.
On business." She gestured toward the interior and said, "This way,
please." He was awed by the opulence of the furnishings and d?cor. His
new employer was obviously wealthy and he saw visions of an unlimited
expense account. Not that he would abuse it but, well, why eat hamburger
when you could suddenly afford steak? He followed the liveried female
through a long hallway to a great room that featured tall book cases and
a wide fireplace. Sitting catlike on an antique sofa was an elegant
woman wearing lounging pajamas that suggested an earlier era. She said,
"I certainly hope you can help me, Sir."
"Oh course," I said in my most professional voice. "I'll do everything I
can. My rate of success is very high. And I do specialize in cases
concerning delicate matter of an... intimate nature."
"That is why I called you. A dear friend gave you her highest
recommendation." I asked her a dozen or so questions and got a pretty
clear picture. She was older than her lover, whose name was Joyce Miko.
The younger girl was rather adventurous and had run off like this before.
Vanessa said, "I might be able to go to her myself but, you see, when
she's in one of these moods, she's like a petulant child. I'm the last
person she wants to talk to."
"I understand. Now from what you've said, she likes to go to a private
club. You said it's called Club Indigo. I've heard about it. And as I
imagine you know, only women are allowed to enter."
"Yes," she said resignedly. "I'd rather you went yourself, but I know
you'll have to use someone who works for you."
"Actually," I said with a note of resignation, "I won't. You see, Ms.
Mondell, I have someone who can transform me so that no one short of a
medical doctor giving a full examination would be able to identify me as
male."
"Really?" she said disbelievingly. "Yes, Ma'am. It's a lot for me to go
through, naturally. Not something that I seek out. But when it's
necessary to get the job done, well, I'm willing to do it."
"Fascinating," she responded, putting a strong accent on the first
syllable. We agreed to terms and she gave me a generous retainer to get
matters started, as well as the cost of having myself made over as a
female. I left and drove halfway across the city before I parked and
made the call as I had twice in the past, to Missy Jones, the expert on
making men into completely passable women. She said she would be happy
to help me but then chidingly reminded me what had happened during that
case involving the prostitution ring and then the one with the
professional Mistress. I didn't like thinking about either of those
happenings and told her, a bit brusquely I'm afraid, that she only had to
be concerned about doing her job.
When I got there she was prepping things for what needed to be done. I
went into the small changing room adjacent to her work space and stripped
down. I've always been touchy about being seen in the nude but knew it
was unavoidable. Not that I have anything to be ashamed about. I'm a
bit shorter than average, not carrying any extra weight, with somewhat
fine features and a full head of thick brown hair. And I'm quite manly,
if I can be blunt, where it counts. Even so, I'd rather keep my clothes
on. That what I was thinking as I finished getting naked and stood there
calming my breathing. Then I pushed aside the red curtain and tried not
to let my discomfort show as I went toward Missy. She gave me a
professional smile with just a hint of mischief behind it. I wanted to
apologize for being abrupt with her earlier but she had her apparatus set
up and ready to go. A moment later she was holding a plastic bottle with
a nozzle attached. A rubber hose ran from it to a small pump. "This is
a change from when I had to put the depilatory on you by hand, isn't it,
Carla?"
"I... My name is Carlton," I said a touch too firmly. "Mee-ow," she
jibed as she adjusted the control on the device. "And you should get
used to your new female name as soon as possible. Don't you think...
Carla?" This time I didn't take the bait. As calmly as I could I told
her, "Just do what you have to." She laughed softly and depressed the
handle, sending a jet of spray against my chest. I'm not particularly
hairy to begin with, but I do have natural male pride in what I've got,
and always hate it when I have to forfeit my hirsuteness to go
undercover. Still, I was looking forward to a big payday.
Missy happily directed the hair remover all over my body, paying special
attention to my privates. Then she pointed me toward the shower stall
where I washed myself, regretfully watching all that hair accumulate
against the special collection mesh she had over the drain. I emerged
all pink and smooth. The towel wasn't on the bar nearby where I had seen
it on my way in. Instead, Missy had it in her hands. Again, my innate
modesty came to the fore. I blushed. All over. She giggled and held
the towel out toward me. When I went to take it she pulled it away. I
reacted angrily, telling her, "Give me that. NOW." She pouted
theatrically and complied. Then she went and got the equipment for the
main, and most drastic, portion of my make-over. There were several
hypodermics, along with large vials of liquid. As I stood there with the
towel held in front of my hairless genitals she professionally filled the
first needle and then stepped very close. She swabbed my chest and made
an injection below one nipple, set that needle aside, and repeated all
the steps on the other side. Then she turned me around and did both
buttocks with a different formula. I stood there feeling warmth spread
through those areas as she filled a much smaller hypo, which she
proceeded to use on my lips.
I was a bit unsteady as the drugs took effect so she put her arm through
mine and led me to an examining table. I was very aware of being fully
unclothed while she was entirely dressed. Missy aided me in getting onto
the sheet-covered table and lying on my side. She said impishly,
"Wouldn't want to interfere with your new curves by putting your weight
on them." I was liking her attitude less and less. We had experienced
some disagreements after my previous case that had involved her. There
was an unexpected side effect from the treatments and, while I was
involved with that Mistress, well, let's just say that I got a bit too
far into my role as a submissive. For nearly a year. Missy swore that
it wasn't her fault. And now there was no one else I could go to who
could give me what I needed, so I was with her again. She used an
atomizer to spray something into my throat. I felt drowzy as she got a
curious looking appliance from a sterile case and brought it to me. I
wanted to say something but couldn't make my voice work. Missy busily
went to work on my crotch. I was used to her simply applying a merkin, a
pussy wig, over my taped down organs. But she was telling me this was
the new state-of-the-art replacement for that. I was dimly aware of my
penis and testicles being compressed and packed neatly into it. She
applied a bonding agent that I knew to be extremely strong, in fact, not
removable without the use of an expensive, hard to acquire solvent.
When I came out of my induced stupor it was all at once. I felt fine and
stood up without assistance. Missy gestured proudly toward a full length
mirror. I managed to say, "Oh,no." My voice was a girlish squeak of
alarm. "That's... too much." Facing me was the image of a sexy female.
I had wanted a subtle look, with a waifish figure and ordinary face. But
what I saw was a sexpot who possessed oversized boobs and, when I turned
to check my bottom, a protruding ass. My mouth opened in a startled 'O'.
Except that it wasn't my mouth. I had pillow lips that would have been
more at home on a Black woman. "Missy," I said in my almost cartoonishly
high voice. "What have you done?"
"Well," she said, "you're such a know-it-all and so quick to blame me for
things I can't control, I figured I'd give you something to deal with
that your big brain can solve and that I'm more than happy to take the
blame for. But if you don't like it," she went on, her tone softening,
"I know what I can do." In desperation, I asked, "What?" To which she
replied, "Nothing. Oh, and those terrific boobs aren't done growing.
They'll add a few more inches and a cup size or two. You'll be a real
hit at Club Indigo. Now I haven't impaired your super smarts, so the
deal is that you have to think your way out of this one. Oh, and solve
the case while you're at it. Now how about if I do your hair and make-
up, and put you into a sweet outfit that'll have all the girls asking you
for dates."
Feeling trapped, I could only agree. I asked for something to cover
myself with but she said she wanted to admire her work. So I sat in a
padded swivel chair while she fussed with my hair, saying that she was
glad I wore it collar length. Then she came after me with cosmetics,
except that they were applied with a tattoo type needle. When I tried to
protest she explained that they were part of her game. If I didn't solve
the case, or got myself into trouble -- trouble that was my fault, like
last time -- she would leave me that way. It was unthinkable but what
could I do. I meekly let her continue until she was thoroughly satisfied
with my new face. Only then did she rotate the chair and let me see my
reflection. I was stunned. Gaping back at me was a girl with her hair
swept back and sprayed into place, as well as a face with puffy lips
covered in carnival red lipstick, eyes overdone with fake lashes, too
much shade, and way too much liner. My own brows were gone, replaced by
drawn on ones that were arched high. There was rouge and everything else
a woman might use, but it was the more dramatic effects that upset me.
As I tried to gather my wits she filled the air around me with sweet
perfume that settled onto my satiny skin. Missy offered her opinion
that, "This is a good look for you. The hair is kind of butch but the
face is definitely fluff. You look like someone who thinks she's tough
but isn't. Those dykes will eat you alive. Or rather, make you eat
them." This time her laughter was long and loud. I said something about
paying her but she told me, "Let's see if you make it back. In the
meantime I'll hold onto your clothes. And wallet. And cash. And credit
cards. And of course, your male ID. Now let's get you dressed."
What Missy had picked for me to wear was shameless. First there was a
pair of panties, high cut, with a very snug crotch that pressed against
my faux pussy. She made me move around and I couldn't prevent being
stimulated by the snugness of the panties. Then came a bra, or rather
half a bra. There were partial cups that went under the bottoms of my
new breasts and supported the heavy globes. Both pieces of lingerie were
pink and trimmed with lace. Then came a mini-dress that showed maximum
cleavage and left my now-shapely thighs exposed almost to their tops. I
wanted to start sobbing when I saw how slutty she had made me look. At
the same time I still had that babyface make-up. I would be absolute
lez-bait when I got to the club. Missy put herself directly in front of
me and asked, "Do you know what's great about that bra?"
"No," came my high-pitched whisper. "What?" She snickered and said, "It
leaves your nipples accessible." With that she reached out and lightly
pinched the ends of my breasts through the material, rolling the nubs of
flesh between her fingers. It was as if there was a taut wire running
from the tips of my boobs straight to my penis. But I couldn't get an
erection with that damnable fake snatch containing and squeezing my
genitals. I moaned as my organ attempted unsuccessfully to erect. I was
awful. I squirmed my hips helplessly. She didn't let up for several
more minutes. When she at last released her grip I was breathing hard,
making my big bust rise and fall dramatically. Then she had me step into
a pair of candy apple red shoes with three inch heels. She said, "Have a
good time -- Carla."
Missy sent me out the door without even cab fare. She slapped my rear
and said, "Mmm. Love that padding." Club Indigo was halfway across
town. How was I going to get there? I walked along, gingerly taking
small steps, trying to get used to those heels. I was on a narrow,
poorly lit side street. As I passed under a street light a car slowed
down and the driver, a middle-aged guy wearing a sport coat over a
flannel shirt and sporting a baseball cap, called out, "Hey, sweet
cheeks. How much for a blowjob?" I froze and refused to make eye
contact with him. This was a dreadful development. Of course I looked
like a hooker to him, in that revealing dress, the push-up bra, and those
bold shoes. Then a car going to other way did the same thing and a Black
guy with a shaved head, wearing sunglasses at night, grinned lasciviously
and made kissing noises before he moved away. I was totally aware of the
sight I made and the risks that had suddenly developed. Step by cautious
step I moved toward Club Indigo. Once I got onto a larger avenue the
drive-by remarks ceased, but not the appreciative stares and occasional
horn honk. I raised my chin to try to look like I was above all that,
and had even managed to tell myself I would be all right, when a drunk
who was leaving a bar spotted me and said, "Whoa. Sit that thing on my
face and ride me to Cleveland. I huffed and hurried away, realizing as I
did how much I was behaving like a woman.
Then an expensive luxury car with darkly tinted windows pulled up to the
curb not far ahead of me. At last, I thought, some good luck. I tugged
down the hem of my tiny dress and made sure my ripe melon boobs weren't
in danger of popping free before I walked closer, the heels adding a sexy
swish to my hip movements and shaping my calves. The back window on my
side slid down and a handsome man smiled affably at me. He was middle-
aged and very well dressed. With a hint of concern in his voice he
asked, "Are you all right, dear?" I told him, "I... I'm kind of stuck,"
hating the sound of my new voice, and then went on, "I have to get to a
place across town. Could you... maybe... give me a ride?"
"I'd be happy to." To his driver he said, "George, please open the door
for this lady." George turned out to be a hulking figure with a bull
neck. I shuddered inwardly as he swung wide the door on the street side
and I hurried around to slide in. As he closed the door I looked at my
host, who was smiling. It was a leering, predatory smile.
END PART ONE.
Libbie
- 20.02.2020
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