Getting Stoned with Mandy
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Don't Mess With Mandy free porn video
Don't Mess With Mandy.
By
Penny Farthing.
My head was aching and my body felt as if I had no strength or
coordination. In addition I needed to take a pee pretty urgently. The
drinks I'd had last night must have been stronger than I thought or I
must have had more than I thought.
I rolled my body off the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. It was
still dark, but I knew where everything was in the holiday apartment
we'd been renting. We go home in a day or two--hence the party last
night.
It was when I went to pull my underpants down I realised something was
very wrong. I reached down to point Percy at the porcelain and couldn't
find it. Yeah, even in my stupefied state I'd have noticed that. It was
becoming desperate and I sat on the toilet and managed after a moment to
go. All I could feel down there was like fanny, yet I knew it was all
there--hadn't been cut off like. But to my fingers, it felt like a slit
and it felt hairless. Shit--I started to tremble but whether that was
with anger or fear I wasn't quite sure.
I called to Mandy, my girlfriend, but she didn't answer. She had to know
what had happened. I pulled my pants back up and stumbled back into the
bedroom. She wasn't there.
Switching on the light I realised I now had long blue finger nails--yeah,
very funny. I'd deal with those later, just after I used them to extract
her liver and made her eat it. Where had she gone it was three in the
morning?
I went to the kitchen and put the kettle on--a coffee might make things
easier to deal with and my mouth felt like a sandpit. I'll bet the bitch
super-glued me, so I'll have to go to the hospital to get the
solvent--might leave that until I get home--don't want some bloody
foreigner laughing at me--and it might work free itself if I sit in the
bath for a couple of hours--except we only have a shower--shit.
I made the coffee and thought about her. She was a very clever girl,
worked as technician in a plastic surgery unit--she was like a super
nurse and did things like tattooing nipples on mastectomy patients,
lasering tattoos off and things like that. Me--I'm just a thicko who
works in a shop selling electronic components--so why she fancied me in
the first place, I'll never know. I mean I'm not very tall, about five
eight, and skinny as a rake--I do a bit of long distance running for
exercise--done the London Marathon twice, but it's getting harder to get
a place these days.
I had an idea why she glued up my prick, Gloria. Yeah, this girl,
Gloria, used to work with me and well we got kind of friendly and--it
happened--these things do. Okay, so it happened half a dozen times and
Mandy found out--I admitted to three of them. We had a right up and
downer, I promised she could cut my dick off if I did it again--oh
shit--she hadn't had she? No, it felt as if it was all still there. Phew!
I walked back to the bedroom with my coffee--everything down there felt a
bit tight but it wasn't unbearable, just different. I couldn't wait to
get home and soak it free.
On her bed I saw an envelope addressed to me. Using one of my long nails
I tore it open; it was from her.
'Dear Chris,
By the time you read this letter I'll be long gone. I expect you've
noticed that you need to sit to pass water--don't worry, it will only
last as long as you live--you bastard. You told me I could cut it off if
you strayed again. You did didn't you? Gloria I forgave you for, but you
shit, you were screwing Marion just two days before we went away--don't
deny it, I saw you and she confirmed it.
Like I said, you won't get an erection again, so you won't betray any
other women. I gave you an injection which prevents you ever erecting
again, and I also jabbed both your balls, so they'll slowly shrink and
dissolve--which is just as well because I shoved them back up into your
body cavity. Your 'pudenda', I'll call it that because it looks quite
like the real thing, has been stitched and glued and by now the skin
will be fusing. A good plastic surgeon might manage to undo it but it
won't be any good even if he does. So if you want sex in future, you'll
have to use your mouth or arse.
Yeah, does that feel sore? It's had a stretcher up there for the past
week, so you'll be able to take a decent sized prick--oh I suggest you
use the butt plug when you go home or wear some sort of pad because it
will leak a little and you won't be quite as continent as you were
before I stretched it.
Ironic, isn't it--here you are with a stretched anus able to have sex no
bother with a man if you can find one who likes girly boys and all the
time we've been together you've slagged off my brother just because he's
gay. Well the laughs on you mister, at least he can still
ejaculate--you'll only manage it if someone pokes your prostate.
If you feel sick, it's because I've shoved so many oestrogen implants in
you your body possibly feels it's pregnant. Just to make things
interesting I also did some for prolactin--you never know--you might be
able to produce enough milk for your cornflakes when it all kicks in.
Have you looked at the rest of your body yet? Oh dear, you'll have a
surprise coming.'
I jumped up and pulled off the loose tee shirt I'd been wearing and
gasped. She'd tattooed my nipples and done something to them to make
them bigger. I rushed into the bathroom and switched on the light--I
didn't recognise what I saw looking back at me. It was some tart with
small tits.
I looked at the mirror almost fearing to go closer. I had makeup on and
my hair was platinum blonde and cut in a female style. Then I had the
urge to crap and only just made it to the toilet. It gushed out of
me--she'd damaged me down there by the look of things. I might have to
wear a pad until it recovers--do they ever recover? Shit, I have no idea.
I wiped myself and washed my hands. I went closer to the mirror. I was
wearing false eyelashes and thick eyeliner and my lips were very red and
looked thicker than usual. What had she done to me?
My gaze drifted south down to my nipples. These were standing proud of
my swelling chest, and were a dusky pink colour with circles of rosebuds
around them. No man had nipples like these, a good centimetre long and
half as wide. On the end of a female breast they'd look quite good--on
me--they looked--well, female I suppose.
My beard area was a bit red, so what had she done to that? I went back
to her letter.
'You've seen it now--I used a laser on your facial hair--do use the cream
I left or your skin could get dry. I had to wax everywhere else--just ran
out of time, girl. Oh the makeup is tattooed on, just use a bit of lip
gloss to smarten it up and you'll be ready to hit the town--don't forget
your butt plug or you'll mess your panties--I mean that, you really will.
Oh you'll need to inflate it or you'll leak.
Your nipples are beautiful aren't they--very suckable--I wonder if Marion
likes to suck other girly's boobs--too bad if she doesn't, I'm sure
you'll find some guy who does. The eyelashes are permanent--well--for
about three months, if you learn to bat them properly, guys will come
rushing to help you.
The nails are ceramic and will need to be grown out--so that will take a
few months too, be careful you don't poke yourself in the eye with
them--I was going to make them longer but relented--you'll need to be able
to get your bra and zip up your dress. I left you an outfit to travel
home in and there's a note from the clinic in your passport saying
you're a transsexual in transition, so they might let you on the plane.
Did you notice the tattooed anklet, I think it's rather sweet and should
attract the boys.'
I glanced down and saw she'd tattooed my left ankle with a circle of
flowers and butterflies in a ring about a centimetre wide.
'You've got a butterfly on your left shoulder blade and a dragonfly
tramp stamp.'
I went back to the bathroom and saw I did have a small butterfly on my
shoulder blade and the small of my back bore a larger red and green
dragonfly. Returning to the bedroom, I looked in the wardrobe and
hanging there was a black mini dress with red and green ruffles round
the hem. I took it off the hanger, it was a halter neck. How the hell
did she imagine I was going to wear that?
On the floor of the wardrobe were a pair of stiletto sandals. I looked
at my feet--shit--she'd painted my toenails as well. Never mind, I'd never
get my feet in those--surely? I bent over to look at them and had to rush
to the toilet again and only just made it. I wiped and washed my
hands--this was becoming a real problem.
I looked on the chest of drawers and found the plug she'd mentioned--it
looked huge. Alongside it was some KY jelly. I lubed it and nervously
pushed it towards my bum. It went in so easily I was shocked, then I
moved and it fell out. Now what do I do? Oh yeah, pump it up. There was
a syringe thing with a tube attached and it didn't take too much time to
work out how it fitted together and I repeated the insertion and pumped
it up.
It felt like I needed to take a shit which obviously I knew I didn't,
then it sort of settled down and when I sat down it must have pressed on
something because it suddenly felt quite pleasant.
Reaching into the wardrobe I pulled out the sandals--they had to have a
four inch heel--she surely didn't expect me to wear these? They fitted
me, and standing up I walked gingerly to the door and back. They weren't
exactly uncomfortable but I doubted I'd be able to walk far in them. I
opened the safe and pulled out my passport and sure enough there was a
letter from Dr Grossman, the chap who runs Mandy's unit. So I was
transitioning transsexual was I? Like hell. I searched the safe, my
wallet had gone in its place was a purse with about ten euros in it.
About enough to buy a snack at the airport if I was lucky.
I tried on the dress which looked silly without me having noticeable
breasts, then I checked the chest of drawers and found one of those gel
padded bra things which she'd left with the shoulder straps in the
halter position. I retried the dress and it fitted quite well, though it
was short and looked more as if I were going clubbing than catching an
aircraft.
My case had gone, all there was left was a handbag and small flight bag.
I shoved the tee shirt and dirty panties into a plastic bag and then
into the flight bag. I stripped off and showered, spraying my genitals
liberally but nothing came undone. Drying myself, I became aware of the
butt plug but I left it in situ, or risk shitting myself. The thought of
doing something in the airport or on the plane terrified me.
I tried to tidy up my hair with a brush and comb--fortunately, the style
was easy to maintain, then with towel wrapped around me like a girl
does, I made some cereal and ate it. It was now four am, I had two hours
before the coach came to pick me up--wonderful. I powdered myself,
sprayed on some very feminine deodorant--it was all that was there, added
a bit of eau de toilette--like I'd seen Mandy do, and pulled on the bra
and panties, both in black satin with red ribbon threaded through them.
Then it was on with the dress and killer sandals. My stomach felt like
it was going to throw up--I did, staggering to the toilet just in time to
call for hueey. At least I didn't get any on my dress--what am I
thinking? My dress? Well, I suppose it is--temporarily anyway.
I made some more coffee and sat down--my bum felt strangely
erogenous--weird or what? I tried to take stock of my situation--here I
was in a foreign country having been mutilated by my ex-girlfriend and
left wearing a dress while pretending to be a transsexual, oh and I had
no money or other clothes. I checked the purse--my cards had gone, so no
chance of buying something at the airport.
I fetched Mandy's letter and realised I missed a page on the back.
'The dress should show off your butterfly tat nicely and if I were you
I'd get some practice in the sandals before you leave. You should
manage--at least you won't have to take a case with you but don't forget
your handbag and your makeup.'
I felt like throwing it in the bin, but I hesitated. Assuming I managed
to get on the coach, I had to blag my way onto the flight and then
through immigration back in England. Despite it being early in the
morning I was sweating.
I finished my coffee and packed up my handbag and all the other bits
into the flight bag. There wasn't that much and I'd surrender it at the
airport to go in the hold, just hang on to my handbag. At least my house
and car keys were still with me, so I prayed she hadn't taken the car.
It was quarter to six and I heard people moving about in the complex. I
picked up my passport, plane ticket and transfer ticket. A quick coat of
lip gloss and taking my handbag and flight bag into my left hand, I let
the door of my apartment slam shut with the key on the table as
requested. From here on in, it was sink or swim time.
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