Overflight free porn video

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Overflight by Trainmaster In my former profession, I did a lot of international business travel. Now I'm afraid to. Consider me "hodophobic" -- having an intense fear of traveling -- and call me retired. No, revise that. I'm okay with flying for days at a time, even across burning deserts and oceans. Just don't ask me to take the SleepShuttle ever again. I did it before -- but I did it once too often -- and now it freaks me out. Because of it, I've taken up another profession -- more of an avocation really -- that fills my time. The SleepShuttle concept is simple. You enter their station, let yourself be drugged into a sleep state, then your atomic entity is dissolved and reconstituted on the other end into your exact image. You're drugged so the process doesn't hurt. It takes about 20 minutes to induce the sleep state, less than a minute for the electronic scanning and transmission, and an hour or so to reawaken. That's how it was first explained to me. Admittedly, a longer explanation is most certainly infinitely more complex and sophisticated. As technologically knowledgeable as I am, there's so much about the process I can't even imagine. The real work is driven by a large system that uses tomography (medical scanning) and a huge mainframe, because the most important part of the process is to create discretely separate transmissions for each individual cell, so liver cells reappear as liver and not bone marrow, for example. The deconstruction and transmission process is called "image" -- as a verb -- so the public won't be upset knowing their original body was torn apart and they were awakened into an identical but fresh one. Saying that you were imaged sounded better than being duplicated -- and in truth, being duplicated doesn't fit either. There can only be one of you at any time, even if part of that time you're only atoms of different elemental groups. Dissolved? Dissipated? Dispersed? Destroyed? Please don't blame me if I just don't care anymore. Traveling by SleepShuttle is expensive. Still, for business journeys overseas, where speed is essential, SleepShuttle is a corporate lifesaver. It makes sense instead of hugely time consuming long distance intercontinental flights, with their incredible loss of productivity. Most companies insist their staff go by SleepShuttle. Several years ago, mine did. The system's flawless. In the history of SleepShuttle operations, there's never been a mishap -- an enviable track record not shared by any other form of transportation. They're proud of that. Yeah, I can only wish ... I can tell you the exact date I last traveled by SleepShuttle. It was Monday, March 19. The trip was a rousing business success and I can remember every single second of it. The aftermath left my life a living hell ... and I can remember every second of that, too. It's integrating two sets of overlapping personalities, making sense of two sets of memories, that's confusing. I can't be who I was and yet I am. I can't be who I am, either, and yet I was. I can't possible know the former but I do. The former can't possibly know the later, but I do. Confused now? Think about me. I'm trapped in a truth that's a lie and in a lie that's true. What I was and what I am have become indistinct; hazy; ambiguous. I remember kissing my wife goodbye and taking a taxi to the SleepShuttle station. The ride downtown was about 35 minutes, so I reviewed the presentation I was to make for a very tony client in Marseilles who was in the market for a highly secret military system for an undisclosed Central African customer who preferred anonymity. I was in sales then. I worked for a company that has deep connections in a lot of places and knew people who might not want the United States government to know them. A lot of this goes on all the time; major U.S. companies market goods in ways that skirt the edges of the export laws. It's not deliberate; it's just a fact of global diversification. When a company grows to be huge in a lot of places around the world, it transcends each country's ability to regulate behavior. There are some very competitive companies that are large enough to thumb their multinational mega-conglomerate noses at Congress and the military. But every sale starts with a business proposition and ends with a negotiation. That was my job. What I knew -- still know -- could get me in trouble, deep trouble, if anyone ever delves. Other than that, I lived a normal life; carefully separating my professional side from my personal side. I was a happily married man with two kids in a suburban Craftsman home with just enough lawn to make us smile on sunny days but not break my back in upkeep. I'm not smiling now and I don't mow lawns any more. In college, I dated a lot of girls and wasn't exactly virtuous. I had a lot of fun playing the field -- jumping from one girl to another -- a real love-'em-and-leave-'em Romeo. I gained a reputation for -- well, thinking with my dick. But when my future wife and I met, it was for life and I remember gladly taking up the role of a loyal, loving, heterosexual, totally monogamous, deeply smitten, henpecked husband. In truth I can say such a thing now, and remember it distinctly and clearly. But I am no longer able to believe it. The college lothario, the henpecked husband, the dad with two boys, the suburbanite with a lawn to mow -- that's not me. And I can't comprehend how it could have ever been -- even knowing that it was. Like I said before, there's never been a SleepShuttle mishap ... Everything was in order when I checked in and very soon I was under the needle and the watchful eye of the expert medical staff at the SleepShuttle terminal. It seemed only a moment and I slowly opened my eyes in Marseilles. I knew immediately, even in my groggy state, that something was wrong. "There you go," said the medic who revived me, as he turned away from his diagnostics. "Ready to go enjoy the town. Oo-la-la. Thanks for traveling with SleepShuttle." I remember rolling on my side and sitting up. My butt felt wrong. I looked at my hands and they were fat, masculine, and unmanicured. My panties were rough, and bunched around -- uh -- around a cock and balls. And -- and -- I wanted to throw up -- my breasts weren't there. It took me by surprise. I must have gasped. "Are you okay, sir," asked the medic as I ran my hands over the foreign flatness of my chest. My beautiful sensitive breasts were -- gone. "Is there someone I-I can talk to? Customer service ..." I asked, disturbed by the alien masculinity of my voice. "I seem to be mixed up a little." "A little? How?" "I seem to be a m-man." And I started to cry. The other me, the one I remember but was not, and could never have been, even though I remember him clearly, wouldn't have cried. Cut off a finger and not cried. Fallen into a blazing fire and not cried. The me that I remember -- also remember, overlaid with crystal clarity on top of those horrid other memories -- cried. Big wet tears with huge wracking sobs. It wasn't long before I was hustled into a business office where I was questioned extensively. Then I went to a room filled with diagnostic equipment where I was given a body scan, compared against the pattern that was retrieved from my originating point in the United States. Then an EEG that verified me as identical on the French side of the Atlantic as on the American side. I had the same brain, the same genes, the same body that I started with. I cried again. They gave me a psychological battery; I lost track of the number of questions. After that, I answered more questions in person with a psychologist. She was nice. She kept telling me how sympathetic she was and kept apologizing for the trouble. And the result verified that I am -- I see myself as being -- female, so they gave me a different set of questions and I gave more answers, and they got the same results -- I am female. I cried even more. The change was so -- abrupt. One part of me had taken the SleepShuttle on business. The other part of me had taken the SleepShuttle for pleasure and as a much needed time away, so my fianc? and I would know if we really love each other and should continue planning our wedding. Two parts, totally opposite, totally inseparable now. One man's body; one girl's mind. Still, they just couldn't identify why I thought I was in the -- in the wrong gender. Shit! It was so obvious. There I was, a real female, suddenly and inexplicably trapped in a male body. That upset and confused everyone. I got the distinct feeling that SleepShuttle wanted to wish the problem didn't exist but with me there in person, they couldn't. I weighed the options, even though they didn't offer any. I wanted badly to go home, not knowing exactly where "home" really was anymore. They said it was in the suburbs with my wife. I insisted it was in the bohemian quarter, where I lived with my fianc?. I realized that my engagement ring wouldn't fit on the fat ugly fingers. My head ached and when they gave me aspirin, I gulped it down gratefully. I hoped I had the right to be re-imaged and sent home. What I didn't know was if I would be me: the happy, sexy, vivacious girl on her continental holiday, or me: the contented married father on business. Or me: some other combination of disorientation, anger, emotional wreckage -- the miserable, tearful girl in the man's body. The SleepShuttle people made me call my wife. They insisted she was my wife, as absurd as that could be. But even more absurd was that I remembered two lovely little boys. Well-mannered little boys; the kind of boys I wanted to have after the wedding. I remembered being there when they were born. I remembered giving them their first baseball mitts and taking them to their first big-league baseball game. I remembered cheering the college baseball team, doing headstands and splits in my cute little pleated skirt and feeling my breasts bounce under my cheer squad sweater. Mitts and breasts? What the hell am I? What happened? I almost never phoned home from a sales trip -- so it didn't make any sense. It was only about four hours since I'd cried out in distress to the technician in Marseilles. If I was a husband and a man, which I'm not, then I'm sure the same thought must have run through the woman's mind -- why was I calling? I could tell that she could tell that something was terribly wrong. But she didn't speak her suspicions and I said nothing about my condition. I asked how the boys were doing. She said they were fine. "You're away so often but you never stay very long, so they haven't learned to miss their daddy." No, no, no, I screamed inside my head -- "I'm not a daddy. Not a daddy! I want to be a mommy." The dangling balls scrunched in the stupid boxers were an aching reminder that pregnancy was out of the question. It was her pregnancy and my sperm, and I could remember it. It should have been my ovaries ... But instead, there was I, talking to a woman I didn't know but knew intimately and sexually. Not me, I screamed silently. Making love to another woman was wrong. Making love to my boyfriend was normal. Normal? What the hell was normal? We ended the call with both of us in tears. Both of us. Bawling our heads off. And I burst into tears again when the SleepShuttle people told me there was no way to reverse something that didn't happen. "Didn't happen!" I screamed, pounding my fat ugly hands on the table. "Don't your tests show something happened?" Yes, they admitted, something had changed. I was very different, emotionally. Not physically. Not genetically. Not hormonally. Not mentally, at least as shown by their brain scans. When they ran their diagnostics, they couldn't find anything amiss. As far as the equipment was concerned, the image process worked flawlessly, exactly as they advertised. I wanted desperately to call Eddie, my fianc?. I wanted to cry out to him to identify me to these SleepShuttle doctors and frightened business people. I wanted him to calm me down and tell me everything would be all right. No one asked if I should, and in my anguish, I didn't ask if I could. It was probably better that I didn't; it might have terrified Eddie. Just to make sure, they consulted their attorneys. The form I'd filled out, with that man's information, destination, and important details, also had a contract printed on the back. It was very thorough. My being in a male body freed them from being sued for any problems with the imaging. Basically, I was screwed. So finally, there was no going back. With my life in shambles, with my body and mind totally inside out, I slunk out of the SleepShuttle terminal. I had a job to do and I needed to get going. Once I left SleepShuttle, I did the best I could to imitate being a man. I straightened my tie. I checked into the hotel and signed the credit card retainer with a shaky version of a signature I knew was mine but not as surely as the signature I held myself back from signing. In the business center, I gathered up the materials I'd sent myself under a secured password, and printed them out. How the hell did I know the password? At the meeting room, I looked at his -- my -- watch and timed my entrance. Appearing too soon showed an eagerness that could be used against me. Too late showed disdain for the client and his busy schedule. I gave my presentation and listened with genuine interest to the other side. I discussed a tiered approach and a base price and the broker made a counter-offer. At one point, I had to make a -- umm -- pit stop. I almost went into the women's room -- in Marseilles it might not have mattered but I had to be careful not to blow this very important sale. In the men's room, there was a communal porcelain trough. I fumbled with the fly of my trousers and had a moment's fear holding - - it -- the awful thing between my legs. I feared that that it wouldn't work. Another man came in while I was in the process, and I felt a blush rise as I found myself inspecting his penis. Of course I did. I am a woman and he was a man. I waited until he left before I washed my hands to rid myself of whatever stuff rubbed off of -- it. The broker took me to dinner and I met the real client for the first time. He was in civvies but he carried himself with a military air. He disavowed any connection to known terrorist groups or the Chinese government. Though he was clearly African, he pointedly avoided being tied to any African sovereignty. I couldn't keep my eyes off of him. And he knew I was looking. I could tell he was a man at ease around women. Even though I did my best to be the man they perceived me to be -- as he returned my stare, I felt naked inside. My handsome African business adversary was tall. His shoulders were, as I would expect, broad and his chest was muscular. His head was shaved bald but he had a pencil thin moustache. He was darker than most, so his teeth were almost florescent. And oh, those eyes, hooded deeply in that coffee brown face, they were wary but gentle. They fascinated me. In the room light, they were almost black, deep pockets of unfathomable knowledge. Every woman watches her counterpart's eyes -- it's part of being a female. And in the course of selling those not-so-legal goods, I'd become an analyst of eyes. These enthralled me, captivated me -- and frightened me. After dinner, he and I made another round of counter-offers about cost, value, and quantity. Finally, we reached what we needed from the negotiation. I took home a reasonable price that gave my company a nice profit. He took possession, at least on paper initially, of the goods he wanted. Since, strictly speaking, he wasn't my customer, the deal was as legit as my involvement could make it and we stood to shake. As I came around the table, he gave me a sly wink. I couldn't suppress the urge to give his butt a subtle tweaking. I knew immediately that it was a very stupid thing to do. He didn't flinch and no one else saw it, but the room was suddenly very warm. Back in my own hotel room, I phoned the office and left an innocent but coded voice message. They called back immediately on a scrambled circuit to prevent eavesdropping. I gave them the names and contacts for the shipping jobbers in the middle who would obscure the cargo on its way to Beira, Mozambique -- the requested incoming port. As I hung up, there was a knock on the door. Outside was the African customer. He smiled and greeted me cordially. We chatted for a moment and he asked politely if he could enter. I didn't want to blow the deal we'd just made, so I invited him in. I pointed to the sitting room's plush divan -- when I'm on a sales assignment, a well-appointed suite is not out of the question. He told me what he drank and I poured it for him. I was again dismayed at being a woman trapped in a man's body, in a man's world. I -- the woman -- had never tasted his choice. I looked around unsuccessfully for something I recognized. Finally I shrugged and awkwardly poured myself a glass from the same bottle. It was very much stronger than anything I'd ever had before. After we silently and motionlessly toasted each other, he patted the cushion next to him with a large hand. "A problem -- ah -- it seems, has crept into your traveling arrangements," he said in softly accented British English. I was dismayed. "What do you know?" I asked in a slightly worried voice. A revelation like that could lead to a dangerous outcome, fraught with precarious consequences. I'd already said too much to the SleepShuttle people. And he knew. "I have people everywhere. One can never be too careful. There seems a slight mishap on the SleepShuttle this morning. I must say, you cover for yourself very well," he smiled. "Very well ..." I remembered the tweak I'd inadvertently given him on his behind and blushed. "I'm sorry. I meant nothing by it. Forgive me please ..." "Ahhh. And yet, my dear, you did it. Perhaps the lady could not help herself? Perhaps it was her subconscious way of exposing herself, her secret?" I shuddered. Too much was at stake. "I-I meant nothing," I repeated. He smiled, showing those beautiful alabaster teeth again. "You need not worry. I am a man of secrets. I share little with anyone. I find it is much safer when they do not know. Your private hell will remain confidential." "Thank you, sir," I said, but I knew my voice lacked confidence. "You do not know me?" he asked. I shook my head, no. I had no idea until tonight that he existed, though I suspected my boss did, and the CIA might have a dossier, too. "I am a man of many threads," he said. "I call them opportunities -- to create a better world, to reduce strife and end misery, to make people happy." "To make money?" He shrugged. "I do that, too. Yes. And I get some pleasure out of what I do." His hand was on my inner thigh, stroking one well-manicured finger on the tip of my -- of that ugly thing inside my pants. And damn it, it was responding. I didn't try to pull away; couldn't have -- it felt good. He laughed. "You see, already I give pleasure. And we have exchanged nothing except a few words together. You appreciate the delicacy ...?" Slowly he undid my belt and unzipped my fly. He wiggled his hand down to cup the whole ugly uncomfortable package, his warm flesh against my warm flesh, his strong fingers around the raging stiffness of something I couldn't control. When I look back on it, I realize that my reaction was classically female. A strong dominant male made a sexual move toward me and it made my brain release the right kind of triggers -- hormones, I suppose. Apparently it didn't matter that the body was male. The fact that I was patterned so deeply female made all the difference. Where I would have wet my panties in my female body, where my nipples would have stiffened in anticipation, in the male body he was stimulating, it was my -- ummm, cock that stiffened. The entire focus of my attention narrowed to the area inside his hand, the area of skin that was slipping up and down in his grasp. It was all I could do to breathe, much less even think. I had no idea the sensation was so powerful. It built up and waned, built again and again faded, built and built and -- and built. It was such a totally unexpected reaction. Soon there was no denying the obvious. He let my cock spill milky white semen into his palm. I didn't understand why the caress of being nursed by his hand drove me to something I'd never known before. But it did. And it was beyond knowledge. It was instinctual, genetic, inborn, deep-seated -- it reached into the roots of the species. Words cannot compare what I had previously felt as a woman to what had just happened. This was collectively the stroke of a lubricated finger along my clit, the insistent pressure driving into my vulva, the mounting response of my vaginal muscles, the steady rhythm of the consummation against my labial lips, the lightning storm and skyrocket release at the moment of orgasm, the paralysis racing upward from my crotch to my abdomen to my breasts and into my brain, and finally the afterglow -- but so different from all that. It was all captured in one brief, powerful ejaculation. I closed my eyes and laid my head back on the sofa cushions until my heart slowed down again. I thought back on my upbringing. Visions of a young girl attending Confirmation in my pretty white dress flooded my head. Visions of sorority orgies boiled up. Visions of hoping that my boyfriend in the city would wed me, bed me, and fill me with his baby-making seed -- were shattered by what my African client just done -- by what I'd just let him do. I'd never been a blushing virgin in college and had shared my bed with a variety of boyfriends, but for the first time, I finally understood why men were so hung up about sex. Despite all that I hated about my new body, despite the hopeless angst of having my life ripped apart and turned upside down, despite all the confusion of finding myself transformed and trapped -- in that moment of ejaculation, none of those mattered. His hand was powerful and -- I -- I wanted more. The sun was shining through the window when I shook myself awake. I was laying on the sofa with a blanket from the bed wrapped around me. Beside me was a handwritten note on hotel stationery in a neat-as-a-pin script: "I will call for you" it said. Under the door was an envelope, a standard office sized white linen envelope with my horrid male name on it. Inside was an airline ticket and a note in the same handwriting: "I doubt that you are prepared to take the SleepShuttle yet." Shit, I hadn't thought of that. Here I was in Marseilles, having concluded a deal that would earn me nearly fifteen thousand dollars in instant commission plus a sizable bonus, and I really didn't have a home to go home to. Yes, I knew there a home in the suburbs but it belonged to some man who -- who wasn't me. There was as apartment in the city where a loving man would grieve for the disappearance of his - - I started to cry again. As I dried my tears, there was a knock. I zipped up my fly and gave myself a brief glance in the mirror. My coat was rumpled, my shirt was wrinkled, and my face had lines from the couch. I shrugged and opened the door. A bellhop gave me a clipboard to sign and then handed me three large flat boxes, like one gets at a fine clothing store. In them were ... I was staggered. In the first box was a stunning turquoise sweater and a matching skirt. Expensive garments -- the kind I'd always dreamed of wearing. He already knew me better than I knew myself. In the larger box was a blazer that matched the skirt. Even cut to fit a male body, it conveyed a remarkable sense of femininity. The tears came again, along with a stirring of something else -- appreciation, perhaps a little passion and a sense of melancholy for the irresistible. Love? No, it couldn't be. Could it? My stupid penis stiffened again. And in tissue paper in the last box was a pair of satin panties, a pair of panty hose, a pair of low open-back wedge slings, a cute little skull cap trimmed in mesh, and ... Again I was stunned. It was a darling little lacy bra. I fingered the soft, delicate cups lightly, imagining how they would look on -- on -- the body I remembered. On the curvy, smooth body I left behind. There were small slips pinned to each piece, in the same handwriting. The bra said: "It will get better." I wondered what that meant. It was a promise, but of what? In the same box was a pair of latex lumps with simulated nipples. It took me a moment to recognize them as fake breasts. I lifted one and rubbed it against my face, against the scratch of my stubble. The note said: "Your pride can be restored." The panties said: "You will feel more comfortable." The shoes said: "I don't think you are ready for taller ones yet." The hat said: "Now no one will notice." I raced to undress from the heavy male suit I'd slept in. I sighed in heavenly relief as I fastened the bra behind me and fitted the breast forms carefully into the cups. They made me about an A, but as he'd correctly perceived, that was enough to raise my comfort level. I pulled the panties up -- and discovered they were man-cut briefs that cupped my awful package of unwanted goods in a very natural and comfortable way. Smooth and satin -- and for the first time in 24 hours, I felt better. Again I realized my benefactor really knew me well. I recognized that I did not understand his game at all and wondered if I ever would. In fact, the only mistake he'd made was the panty hose. No matter, I just wouldn't wear them, not over the hairy legs I'd acquired with the body. I shuddered. There'd been a girl in college nobody liked, because she refused to shave her legs. The hair poked out of her nylons in ugly patches and the hairs that stayed inside looked varicose. Finally I had everything on, brushed smooth, and ready. I looked at myself in the mirror. What a nice ensemble he'd assembled for me. The airline ticket lying on the desk called to me. I knew I was on an adventure, one I would never have chosen but one that had been forced on me by the mishap on the SleepShuttle. Well, there was no choice but to push forward -- nothing in my past remained, except painful memories. I also felt a sense of teenage excitement, like going to a scary movie with your boyfriend and expecting to be startled. The ease that he'd shown in purchasing several million dollars in military goods made him someone to be wary around. And yet, as I'd been gripped in his hand, I'd enjoyed a taste of forbidden fruit and damn it, I wanted more. Much more, which my receptive, alert penis liked as it rubbed against the satin of my panties. A knock came at the door again. The bellhop handed me an unlabeled plastic sack and didn't wait for me to sign anything. In it was ... I sank back into the divan with a sigh. It was a thousand dollar Louis Vuitton clutch handbag. I'd seen it in a store once in New York but even with my commissions, had to pass it by. The note said: "I think you will feel more complete." He was right; a woman without a purse is naked. I took all the cash out of my -- the -- wallet. I studied the face on the driver's license and then looked in the mirror. They were the same; one wore a white shirt and tie, the other a very expensive turquoise sweater covered by an elegant, yet subtle, blazer. I added the driver's license to the pile I was keeping. The credit cards? No, the woman I'd cried with yesterday, the one in the suburbs with the two children, she didn't deserve to have me running up bills she'd have to cover. I found a pair of scissors on the desk and cut them into small pieces. I put the cash and license into the purse along with the notes and airline ticket, and kicked the male shoes into the corner of the room. I left the rest of my old male clothing in a heap. Laying the plastic room key on the desk, I closed the door on an old life I didn't know. As I exited the hotel into the bright Marseilles day, I didn't know my new life any better. What was I getting myself into, accepting gifts that fit my body so perfectly I could blend into the streets? The hat covered most of my mannish haircut. I glanced at myself in the reflective window of a store and was relieved at what I saw. I walked over to a taxi, feeling the slight alien shift of my cock and balls with every step. At Marseille's Provence Airport, I was glad I'd kept the driver's license. The customs agent matched it against the electronic version of the man's -- of my -- passport on his screen. Then he winked and said "Aller appr?cier quelque chose diff?rent, mes ami?" I just smiled as he handed it back, translating in my head, "so we appreciate something a little different, my friend?" Buddy, you don't have any idea how much different. The aircraft was an unmarked De Havilland Canada Dash-7. It was a noisy little bastard with a very short take off and a flying range of only about 750 miles. I settled back in my seat. There were several other passengers but we left each other alone. I had no idea of my ultimate destination. The ticket was marked Nairobi, which I knew was at least 6,500 miles away, or at the plane's top speed of 270 mph, about 24 hours if I was lucky. I deplaned at the first stop, Cartagena, Spain, to find a restroom and snack bar. I used the women's facility to keep up the pretense and bought some kind of Spanish candy with nuts from a vending machine. I had to trade American dollars for Spanish coins at a considerably steeper exchange rate than I'd have liked. I watched clouds over the Mediterranean as we jumped due east to Algiers, and remember dozing a little. I used the women's room again in Tripoli, where I bought something native to eat and a cup of coffee from a -- hmmm -- Starbucks vendor in the departure concourse, illegally trading on the name, no doubt. It was not bad. I fell asleep over the Gulf of Sidra and slept through our stop in Cairo. The sun woke me up as it came up over the Red Sea. I'd gotten myself cockeyed in the seat as I slept and was embarrassed to discover one of my breast forms lying in the aisle; the other was under my seat. I hoped no one saw me straighten myself up and pop them back into my bra. We flew toward Addis Ababa; hovering for hours over the never-changing red-brown highlands that skirted the Eritrean escarpment. I was awed at how the erosion patterns looked like Mandelbrot's fractals as the region responded to its massive deforestation and desertification. There were several refueling stops, which also meant, fortunately, places with restrooms, no matter how unsanitary. Everyone deplaned at Nairobi and took a rattling taxi into one of the better hotels for lunch, while they serviced the plane. My fine outfit was looking rather rumpled and I felt gritty from the dust that sifted into the plane despite its filtering system. I was the only one who continued past Nairobi -- the taxi driver was insistent that I return to the airport with him. There was a new crew; they invited me to sit between them and we conversed in reasonably good English. I suspected they were in the employ of my dark chocolate benefactor. The sun was setting in the west as we hopped, skipped, and jumped over whatever god forsaken puddles of civilization passed under us. The crew had a leather bag with rations, which they shared with me. Finally -- "Lusaka," said the pilot. "Zambia. Go find your car." He pointed to the near end of the tarmac where there was, indeed, a limousine waiting with its lights shining on the concrete for me to make my way over. I was glad the shoes weren't high heeled because it was still a fairly long walk. The driver escorted me into the back and then took his place in the front. The glass between us rattled as we bumped through the city but if he could hear me at all, he gave no recognition. I slept again, for how long, I don't know. A long time, because I had several dreams. One was a man with a wife and two adoring children mowing a patch of grass around a house in the suburbs. The other was Eddie's hand wrapped around my cock, silently and tenderly bringing me to ejaculation. I experienced the explosion and when I shook myself awake, I felt a damp patch inside my panties. Finally the gentle rocking of the limo stopped. I looked groggily around. There were lights everywhere. It was beautiful. If Coleridge had been alive in our day, it could have inspired him to write "In Xanadu did Kubla Khan/A stately pleasure dome decree." It was as modern a complex as I'd ever seen. We passed a two-story hotel of at least four-star quality, from the look of the outside appointments and the people coming and going. Then there was a casino, one that Monaco might have envied. And a brothel. The winding path was subtly lighted with demure little globes that twinkled as I walked, almost like Disneyland. The plantings were professionally maintained and imported from many other places to form self-contained storybook landscape scenes of their own. I confess I didn't really take all this in at first glance. Hidden mist nozzles sprayed just enough to make the still warm air comfortable but not humid or muggy. It was an unexpectedly delightful touch. I was escorted to a little house with two rooms. The living room was just a greeting place, where a couple might sit on the tiny sofa and talk, or silently enjoy the beating of their mutual hearts. The paintings on the walls were reproductions of several famous lovers in their trysts. The bedroom was a boudoir -- a place where a woman might -- no, must -- please her guest. The large bed was firm but covered with soft flowing quilts and lacy-fringed velvety sheets. A closet covered most of one outside wall, a window the other. A small vanity fit into the nook between the closet and the door frame. I picked up some of the cosmetics, whistling at the wise choices and obvious large bankroll of their provider. A moment of sadness fleeted through my mind as I touched my rough beard-stubbled chin. I longed for a close shave and a chance to apply these delights. The bathroom was designed to look quaint, but with the most modern conveniences. A water jet tub, a shower that needed no door, a toilet, and the wash stand. The fixtures were not steel or silvered but a subtle, polished, almost-pink metal that might have contained real gold. There was no kitchen. And only the front door to exit. It was obviously a crib, a place where a smart man could place a favored courtesan. That -- that would be me. "Do you like it?" said a familiar voice from the living room. I smiled at him. "It's nice. You've put a lot of effort into making this a little bit of heaven." He laughed. "I like that. My own heaven, carved out of the wilderness. A place where others can share my vision for a better world." With a sophisticated lifting of the knees of his tailored trousers, he sat down on the sofa. "Well said." "Why thank you, my dear. I fancy myself something of a poet." I thought about my memory of Xanadu and Coleridge upon my arrival. "You are a poet of the mind," I said. "And of the flesh?" "Is that an invitation?" He leaned back on the sofa, one arm casually thrown along its back. His shirt was open, revealing a strong chest covered thickly with black hair. "Not tonight," I answered. "It's been a long day -- two days -- and I'm tired and dirty and -- tired." He stood up. "Very well. Get some rest, dear lady." As he brushed past me, I stopped him. "N-no." I pressed the breast forms into that strong chest and wrapped my arms around his body. "Stay here. I need ..." Unexpectedly, I felt a little drip of pre-cum re-wet the panties, so I let the statement dangle. He took my shoulders and smiled. Without a word, he undid the button of my jacket, letting it fall. I released my grasp around him and he slowly, sensuously lifted the sweater off my shoulders and over my head. With a single practiced motion, he unclasped and dropped my skirt to the floor, where I could step out of it. With my barely covered body, he took my hand and led me into the bedroom. He unfastened the bra and I let it slide down my arms until he stopped me, lifting the left cup back up with his finger but with the strap still around my bicep. The left breast form had started to slip so I settled it properly back in place, hugging both of them by their bottom edges with my arms pressed against my own chest -- awkwardly, not crossed where they would have hidden my silicon charms. For a moment, he studied me. Then he smiled and nodded and I let the bra fall. The breast forms popped out and bounced away somewhere. I wiggled free of the panties, releasing my now raging massive erection. A little sticky thread of cum stretched and snapped as the panties fell. I started to say "I hope you don't mind making love to a dirty girl" -- but he stopped me at "you" with a soft touch of his finger on my lips. He lifted my face and leaned in. I wrapped my arms around his neck and we kissed for a very long time. All the while, his fingers gently worked my cock to relief. In the bright sun of the morning. I found the energy to shower. I fluffed my hair so it was rather spiky and not so mannish. I discovered an electric shaver in the vanity drawer and used it gratefully. With my face smooth again, I eagerly applied my makeup. I found a patterned djelleba hanging in the closet and pulled it over my bra. The breast forms were laying on the vanity. I wondered -- what had I given him in return -- in, uhh -- in return for all his generosity. What would I have to give? Why was I here? And why did it seem so wonderful? What call to pay back awaited me? There was a pair of sandals that fit my huge feet, so I wouldn't have to walk barefoot on the hot pavement. In the daylight, the place was all white. The windows were open, without glass, but with shutters that made them seem like images from a thousand safari movies. The chairs in the casino lounge were stacked neatly and the gaming tables were silent. I stepped into the hotel lobby and the desk clerk smiled. With a sweeping hand, he gestured toward the restaurant. It was decorated in an array of delicate florals and planter boxes with real flowers hung on the backs of every booth. The African waiter silently handed me a menu. I noticed right away that it listed no prices, nothing to indicate costs, a very subtle and continental way of saying to the consort, "order anything you like; money is no barrier." Only the man's menu would have prices. So they considered me -- while I was here I could be -- a woman, no matter what I looked like. Well, that suited me just fine. Since I desperately wanted to be a woman, I was glad for the pretext. After breakfast, which was not accompanied by a check, I wandered through the set-piece gardens, marveling at the intricacies of the little stories each setting told. That led me finally to the door of a two story office building I had not noticed the night before. The young Nubian receptionist smiled as I stepped into the well-appointed lobby. It was a man's domain. With my work done in Marseilles, I didn't belong there. I smiled back and let the glass door close as I walked out. I saved the brothel for the last. It was so lavish and lovely it made my heart ache. I wanted to be soft and dainty, too, and worthy of the incredible beauty. For a moment, I sat in one of the love seats -- two plush sofas twined back to back, where a lady and a customer could talk and get to know each other before consummating. Nothing stirred and there were no sounds except the soft spray of the mist nozzles from outside, so I wandered away. After noon, things changed. There was a charge in the air, an energy that spoke of an industry coming to life. The chairs came down off the restaurant and lounge tables. In the casino, croupiers stacked boxes of cards under their games. I learned that no deck was used for more than two hands, to eliminate dirt affecting the odds and to demonstrate that the cards were not marked. The tellers inserted their cash drawers under their counters and stacked their chips neatly. The hotel lobby acquired an efficient team of bellhops and guests began queuing at the concierge's desk or waiting to check in or out. The brothel buzzed, literally, as the girls stored away their personal belongings and pulled sliding false walls across the dormitory to create small soundproof chambers around their beds. I closed my eyes as the images blurred into a freeze-frame series of stop-motion pictures overlapping each other helter-skelter. I wandered through the scenes a stranger. No one acknowledged me unless I approached them directly, and then there was a slight hint of controlled irritation, as though I shouldn't be there. At first it bothered me. I'd always thought of myself as an outgoing person, friendly and open. Then I realized that my body was coloring my judgment. I wasn't being nice, to myself or to them -- not that I did anything wrong or nasty. I was just -- well -- just out of the upbeat swing of the place. The days passed, the same and yet, not identical. Always something was different, new guests, new items on the delightful menus, new shouts of joy when the slot machines lined up three sevens. I was never stopped from entering any of the buildings, and the croupiers nodded politely whenever I stopped to watch, though always with that subtle downward twitch of their mouths. The gorgeous international call girls were pleasant and talkative when I asked them questions. I didn't know anything about their lives or how they came to be in the same place as me. I was just a naive city girl adrift in a new land, and they graciously answered my clumsy questions. I suspected, though I never followed up, that my patron would have allowed me to consummate with any of them had I wanted to. The nightly interludes with my patron were only just shy of heavenly. I had no concept of being a male consort but it gradually dawned on me that I was something more to him than the cum he collected in his cream-colored palm. Just what, I didn't know but the sensations he evoked were blissful. Beyond the office building, I discovered an electric generating plant, the source of the power that made the place so delicious and thriving. Later, someone told me his modern Xanadu was in this location because directly underneath was a pool of high-quality petroleum for boilers that drove the turbines. And the other way, past the hotel, was a paved airfield. Two Boeing 737s constantly came and went, bringing guests and business associates, making me wonder why my journey suffered the indignity of that old Dash-7 and its faltering air filters. Perhaps it was a message about my status. Again, I wondered what I had that he willingly suffered my presence in his garden of Eden. Though he provided the gratification I craved, he never asked for anything in return. Without his ministration, I think I'd have gone completely crazy. There was also an aging high-tailed three-engine Tupolev TU154, fitted as an aerial tanker, that left twice a week and came back to resupply the field's aviation fuel. I wondered why the Tupolev fascinated me. I never studied anything technical or mechanical in high school or college. That was guy stuff and fashion was more to my liking. Yet I knew beyond a doubt what the various kinds of aircraft were as they landed and took off from his private airfield. Where I grew up, girls didn't do that. We recognized our places and studied things that wouldn't inhibit our futures as wives and mothers. And then I remembered my benefactor had forced me to fly the long trip from Marseilles to Lusaka via Nairobi. Hadn't I instantly recognized the stubby little Dash-7 when I saw it in Marseilles? Where did that knowledge come from? And I'd sold him millions in military goods -- how did I even know what I was selling? Yet I hadn't given it a second thought. Was I simply imagining that I'd been a woman? I'd known, looking out the De Havilland's window, exactly where we were from the position of the sun. The sorority girl with the bohemian fianc? didn't know anything about geography and couldn't have cared. Yet it had meant enough to me that I did know, even though I hadn't recognized at the time how my brain processed the information -- in a masculine way. But still, the instant I'd stepped into the foyer of his office headquarters, I'd known it was not to be my place. In a single momentary flash, I'd recognized that no woman belonged there. I wasn't comfortable -- in a feminine way. It was a gulf I would never cross again. The bra I clung to so desperately, that wrapped so delicately, meant I would never again compete in a man's domain. It meant a lot to me that I remembered the opening lines of Coleridge's beautiful poem, Xanadu, and could subjectively compare this place to that stately pleasure dome. What did that mean? That I was interested in the arts, in the literature classes where none of the jocks ever ventured? Where we coeds fantasized about the pampered lives we'd lead as blissfully wedded princesses? Yet knowing this Xanadu sat on a huge pool of low-sulfur petroleum tickled my fancy, too. I knew the uses, dangers, and advantages of all the military hardware I'd sold my handsome African lover. I knew what he would do with the goods; stockpile them against a raging out-of-control world, or sell them to the very entities that wrestled for control of that world. But I liked the pretty clothes with multihued fabrics that mysteriously appeared when I wasn't looking. I often stood in my bungalow in front of the mirror, modeling blouses and skirts, wrapping myself in bright silk scarves and designer dresses, prancing around in high-heeled shoes, and batting my eyes dreamily over dainty bras and satin panties. Did that make me a girl? So -- was I man or woman? Did it matter whether a TU154 attracted me, or a lacy little bra? If my rational mind was feminine but the cells of the brain housing it were masculine, couldn't I appreciate both? Along with the two Boeings and the Tupolev, he owned an impeccable, very swank Gulfstream G650. With its 7,000 mile range and nearly speed- of-sound cruising speed, a plane like that could fly from here to New York non-stop. Over the next 20-something months I came to love the Gulfstream for its incredible freedom, as we resculpted my body as closely as possible to the image of the young woman I carried in my mind. His generosity constantly overwhelmed me, as I took plastic surgery from the best doctors in the business, in Bangkok, in Beverly Hills, in Brazil. I came home with an ever-growing supply of female hormones to soften my skin and change my physical appearance. I grew firm pre-surgery breasts to replace what SleepShuttle had robbed from me and spent a lot of time in good spirits as they implanted silicon globes to increase my bust line even more. The surgeons narrowed my waist with a girdle of mesh wrapped around my abdomen under the skin. They inserted silicon crescents into my butt to plump me out so I could sashay again. They shaped my legs and feet and arms and hands into the perfect embodiment of femininity. Gradually, I stopped looking like a silly cross-dresser and more like the lady I deeply, earnestly desired to become. My whole attitude began to change. I smiled more. I participated in the complex's activities more readily, and finally made myself part of the family, as he liked to call his staff. He was pleased with the results, too. I became a picture he was painting with his money and my body. I had long ago accused him of being a poet of flesh, and now he approved my prescience. As I stared at myself in the boudoir's mirror every time I returned from abroad, I sighed happily. The surgeons shaved my Adams apple and my larynx, so my throat didn't bulge and my voice was higher and more delicate. I could no longer sing on pitch because of the scar tissue but it was a small price to pay. They narrowed my face to reveal real cheekbones. They thickened my lips into a Cupid's bow. They planted hair plugs in the small bald spot on the back of my head and did massive electrolysis on my face and neck. There was only one thing he would not let me change, refused to let me remove. At first it made me angry. It struck me as a cruel slap of his hand. It made me feel exposed. Then I realized my penis and testicles were actually a badge of his esteem; a way of saying "look down there; be it known by all that this is MY girl." Gradually, I accepted that my quarterly examinations by the reassignment doctors would always stop short of that final snip. And when I accepted that inevitability, then his lovemaking became a sweetness I craved even more. I could still dimly, vaguely remember how a female orgasm felt. But the closeness we shared, the intimacy of his nightly visits to my little bungalow, the hot proximity of his hand on my tense swollen cock, was everything. To ejaculate -- that was the fundamental essence of my pampered life. One morning, he was sitting on my sofa when I came out of my shower wrapped only in a large towel. The timing was so out of routine that I knew immediately something was wrong. He held out an envelope. I sat heavily beside him and took it. It was from SleepShuttle, intended for the man on the driver's license that I kept hidden in the vanity drawer. The address was a place in the suburbs. "My agents intercepted this." "Did -- did she see it?" "No," he said. "We extracted it from the postal system before it reached her." "Thank you," I breathed softly in relief. "There was no reason to awaken old ghosts," he replied. I tore the envelop open and pulled out the letter inside, on its elegant SleepShuttle letterhead: "We have discovered a small miscalculation in our software that caused your self-image to be replaced by that of a young woman from another journey. We sincerely apologize for the mistake and the anguish we know it has caused you." "Our engineers have solved the problem and made sure it will never again happen. We would like to make amends by offering to restore your original self-image, so that you can continue with your life." I laid the letter in my lap. I fondled my expensive breasts through the towel. Then I angrily crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it to the floor. "Why?" I shouted. "Why me? Why now?" I started to cry, letting great sobs wrack my body. He pulled my head to his shoulder, wrapping his arm tightly, gently around my body, letting my tears splash on his shirt. For a long time, I poured out my grief. "Would you like that?" he whispered when I had no more tears to cry, no more aching sobs. "It can be arranged. Then you can resume your life as a father and husband in the suburbs. We can explain away your absence." It was such a sweet offer; so like him. I raised my wet face and kissed him on the cheek as I pulled his hand inside the towel. "No. This is my life." Copyright © 2011 by Trainmaster. All rights reserved. This story is a work of fiction. No resemblance to any individual, living or dead, is intended.

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MILF Slut Sequel One

A week passed and Sandy had not heard any fallout from the hacked videos. Jacques was under scrutiny at the college and as he had predicted, his deanship was rescinded. The perpetrators had not been found but the videos were being blocked as best the computer science department could manage. Sandy was starting to feel a little more secure until she was at the club one Wednesday afternoon. As she walked toward her friends sitting at the bar, she saw that they were all talking to each other in...

MILF
2 years ago
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Flexible Morals Ch 02

The kitchen was filled with the glorious smell of frying meat. It hung in the air like a cloud, hinting and teasing at the tastes to come. There were other smells, too, though none quite so pleasing as that of the sausages cooking over their fireplace. Phyre watched them, her mouth watering. For now, she had only a bowl of porridge to sate her appetite. She took great care not to eat too much of it. No need to fill up while the best was yet to come. There was music in the kitchen, too. Her...

1 year ago
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I saw Uncles affair with our maid at our home Free Sex Stories and Adult Erotica Stories

I have always heard or read about the extra-marital status bit had never been across any real incidents in my life until a few years ago. I am Nikita and I am 23 years old now. This incident happened when I was 19. I accidentally witnessed my uncle, father’s brother, having an affair with our maid. I have no idea when it had started and why. My aunt was pretty and sexy and every man’s wet dream. And still, my uncle was sexually attracted to our maid. Ours was a huge house, three floors, one for...

Extra Marital Affair
2 years ago
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Birthday Breaking

I had no idea what my girlfriend had planned for me that day - and if I did, I'd probably still have gone along with it. My birthday wasn't that special an occasion for me. I had no family and having recently moved, I'd no real friends in the city. But Gen was determined to give me a time to remember, and said she'd arranged a small gathering with her friends coming along. I have to admit, she had some beautiful friends and so it was hard not to look forward to being the centre of...

4 years ago
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A History Lesson

The bus had taken us 50 kilometers east from Krak?w in Poland to the museum of the holocaust at Auschwitz-Birkenau. Many buses, several taking our party and others with other groups dropped us and we walked to  the iron gate crowned with the motto "Arbeit macht frei".  "Three Million Jews walked through this gateway to die" lied the guide"My Grandfather was here," I muttered to no one in particular, I remembered when he told me of it, a lovely gentle man with his collection of Cuckoo clocks."All my...

2 years ago
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Predatory

Sitting in her patrol car she was parked just near the old quarry. Lights off, watching the small car roll in to the quarry along the dirt road. Teens, never change she laughed to herself. Having grown up here she knew they came here to do one of two things, smoke and fuck. Either way she loved catching them. Watching the car roll in she saw it go toward the quarry. lights cutting out she saw two figures move into the back of the car, probably going to fuck she laughed, perfect....

3 years ago
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Annies WayChapter 8

Spencer read the thought in her eyes and knew that one kiss would hurt, so he smiled and said, “I don’t know if I have ever had cobbler that good before, but I do know that it was never made by anyone as pretty.” Annie let go of her breath and smiled. “Why don’t we get started on these dishes and when Slone comes back, he can just lock up the barn and we can head out?” Annie asked rinsing the plates. The dishwasher was all loaded and Spencer was washing the last of the pots when Slone came...

3 years ago
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Tale of a Bored Housewife

It was a cool gray, November afternoon. I was walking down the quietupper middle class, suburban street I lived on, on the way to Gloria'shouse. It was fairly windy, a gust whipped up and I had to reach down tohold my skirt. I suppose my modesty wasn't really in jeopardy but theskirt was considerably shorter than what I was accustomed to wearing.Gloria had asked me to assist her with a party she was throwing forDave's boss. He had just started a new job she really wanted to impress.Part of his...

2 years ago
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Heaven Sent Chapter 1

He was walking his dog as he did every day about this same time. He had a particular path through the park by his Allentown, Pennsylvania home that weaved it's way through the park and ended up being a measured mile when the circuit was completed. He had just reached the halfway point and was on his way back home when suddenly his dog started behaving very strangely. "What is it, Maggie? What's wrong, girl?" he asked his three-year-old German Shepherd. She had frozen in place, looking straight...

Supernatural
2 years ago
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My Perfect Life Part Three

"One more minute?" he pleaded."One more minute!" I replied.He lay on his back and said, "You can have this last minute to do anything that you'd like to me."This is where my "Perfect life" took another turn.I pushed him onto his back and kneeled next to him. I returned the kiss that he had just given me. I loved tasting his saliva; I loved licking his tongue. His hand was on my cheek as I pulled his tee-shirt up and caressed his chest. His chest was smooth and muscular. The light reflected off...

Interracial
3 years ago
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Fifth PlaceChapter 15

People wandered into and through and out of the house. It was our first annual open-house birthday party. Getting people to come to this one was easy: they wanted to see Jacob, just nine days old. All three of our kids' birthdays fell in less than a three-week span. Given that we are homo sapiens, I discounted an annual cycle and chalked it up to chance. It was attended by relatives, neighbors and friends. Alexander and Melinda each had their own parties with their own friends. He was...

2 years ago
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Headlights Girl Part 11

HEADLIGHTS GIRL PART 11 BY CATHY_T_ Well, the rest of the week just flew by. Once I'd decided to really DO this, I just threw myself into the learning processes and it seemed to make things flow a lot more smoothly. Eric and I did go out a few times, but he never used the "extreme Holly" part of the training again, nor did he have to. It seemed like the more I WANTED to do this, the easier it got. Sunday arrived much sooner than I wanted it to, though. Of all the feelings I was...

4 years ago
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Kates BIG Surprise

Kate had a strange taste for certain things, which you could tell if you saw her porn collection. Breast expansion, belly expansion…but she had a lot of weight gain (or just very fat) pictures of women, and other where they grew taller..and wider and…great..tits… Kate shuddered, gripping the chair behind her head while her fingers had slipped under her panties and worked furiously at her clit, climaxing. “Fuck! Every time,” she muttered, surprised at how hard she came each time she touched...

Fetish
4 years ago
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The Woman of the House and her girls

The Woman of the House and Her Girls. We would have been some sight for any boy from my old school passing by, our mum and her three daughters. Only, what would any such boy be doing in our living room? Mum was wearing a nightie, which suited a sophisticated woman of her age and which was rather less provocative than the red lace neglig?e that my older sister, Cara, was wearing or the white silk and lace slip my younger sister Sharon was wearing or the black silk and lace slip I w...

3 years ago
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justin cant pay the rent

'andy i'm really sorry but i can't afford to pay my rent this week since i lost my job and i'm finding it hard to get another i'm sorry mate' justin says'well justin when i agreed to let you stay i told you that you have to pay rent at the start of every month or you have to leave i'm sorry but you did agree to it''yeh but look mate i am good for it just give me a chance to find another job i don't have anywhere else to stay please''no i won't back down on this you agreed to pay at the start of...

2 years ago
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Caught in a New Life Pt4

Chapter 7 While sleep hadn't come easy for Monroe he slept deeply once he managed to fall asleep. So deep that he didn't even notice when Lena got up in the morning only about an hour after she had gotten up did he finally wake up as well. It was with a loud groan, his morning wood was straining hard against the way too restrictive cage. It painfully reminded him of his lacklustre performance yesterday. Monroe sighed as he got out of bed and headed to the shower. During his whole...

4 years ago
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Midnight surprise

Thomas was at his local coffee shop flirting with Teri. They were setting up an encounter later on that night. Jenny was making all the drinks for the customers. She kept giving him that he is a bad man eye. Thomas told Teri bye and walked down to the end of the counter to pick up his coffee. ‘Why do you always come here to pick up girls here?’ Jenny asked. “I really come here cause all of the hot girls that work here, especially you Jenny,’ he responded. ‘I’m not stupid if you want a one night...

2 years ago
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Hotel Sex

We'd like to share a little story of what we did last weekend in a hotel room. But before we do, we would like to point out that we are both consenting adults, that do like a little rough sex and dirty talking and we know how to turn each other on. We have a password so that if either of us feels uncomfortable with what is going on we can say and everything stops. Read on:First we got a cracking deal of £10 per person per night at a B&B so the male is well happy already! Then we drank...

2 years ago
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TNWS01 The Girl With The Voice of an AngelChapter 16 The Birth of Something New

Twenty minutes after leaving her best friends house Jessie harper found herself lying alone on top of her own bed in her own bedroom. The door was closed and she was still completely naked. She was staring up at the ceiling and feeling just so amazed at how she had gotten away with making it all the way home and up into her room without being seen by any one other than Kate and Paul Terrence. Those two - also completely naked - had accompanied her all the way home before returning back to...

3 years ago
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Stalkings and Lace

The trade show was over. Long Beach had been a blast. Who knew there was so much fun to be had once I lost the shy, quiet me? Oh my, oh my...the sexy stories I can tell. I cannot wait to see what possibilities await in the land of surf and sea. So, San Diego, here I cum! Well, fingers crossed at least.At the rental desk I waited patiently while the associate helped the man in front of me.  He kept glancing at me and smiling, then glancing again.  "I'll be with you in just a minute."Laughing, I...

Exhibitionism
2 years ago
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Amazing Night

It started out when my boyfriend Joel invited me to his house. His parents were out of town for the weekend, so we had the house to ourselves. We had never really gone very far with each other, but this was because I was his first girlfriend. He was kind of scared to go farther than we had, and wanted things to go slowly. As he was not my first boyfriend, and I was incredibly horny, tonight I was going to make him to things to me he never dreamed of. I was kind of nervous, but all that went...

2 years ago
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Master PCPart 4

I. Wendy stood outside Heather's house trying to catch her breath and calm down the bouncing movements of her newly enlarged boobs. The jog had been relatively short, but she had sprinted most of the way and now she was paying for it. "Can I help you?" a woman asked from the doorway. She assumed it was Heather's mother. "Is Heather home?" Wendy blushed when the woman's eyes left her face and moved down to look at her 'tee shirt'. "Is this a joke?" the woman asked. With...

2 years ago
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PenthouseGold McKenzee Miles A Kinky Date With Mckenzee Miles

Blonde beauty Mckenzee Miles’ date with Kris Slater takes an unexpected orgasmic turn when he presents her with a remote control vibrator that he wants to try out right then and there at the restaurant. The busty babe is worked up to such a horny frenzy, that she’s soon imagining herself naked and getting her pussy licked and fucked on top of the table. With the cook looking on to make things even kinkier, the Penthouse Pet gives a blowjob and gets pounded hard until she’s...

xmoviesforyou
1 year ago
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Tinder changed my life

This story is crazy 100% true but crazy, and I had no idea that when it started. I really wish I could have had an idea that the app that led to my second marriage would also haunt me nearly 10 years later. After winning my divorce case against my child abusing ex-wife, I found myself on tinder looking for dates during her parenting time. There is a great deal of nonsense on this app but what the hell it’s free, but after a few failed attempts a meeting someone for a date, I met Annie. Annie...

4 years ago
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Mad Cowboys and Alien FucktardsChapter 10

We paced round and round the open campfire for most of the night, anxiously awaiting the return of Jimmy, Clyde, Carlos and Manuel. Nobody could sleep, not that anyone tried, as a dark presence kept everyone awake and on edge. It seemed pure evil had invaded this land and was simply waiting for us to drop our guard before consuming us at our most vulnerable moment. So instead of slumbering we took turns keeping watch while the others ate or rested momentarily by the open flames. At long...

2 years ago
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Eric Olafson Neo Viking Vol 1Chapter 2 Ragnarsson Rock

5009, OTT The days after her death were like a haze. I woke in the Union Clinic. It was the first time I could remember being away from the Burg. When I first regained consciousness I was floating in some kind of gooey liquid, whatever I tried I could not move and through the liquid I could see people moving. I was certain one of the shapes was father. When I woke again, I was no longer in the liquid but in the same room. All was gleaming white and clean. A man with a broad smile greeted...

4 years ago
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Bass Ki Cebin Me Bharpur Pyar Rajkot

Hi my sweet sweet friend ..apka sexy indian rangile rajkot wala handsome raj apni dream girl ke suhana ke dream ke sath khush he or ap kese ho sab khush na ok ..bass thoda udas hu indino ..kyu vo me last me kahunga take apko first me hi bor na ho agar mere bare me janna acha na alge to . or me apni adhuri story likh raha hoo to pahele me apni story ka first step past karunga take new log jisne ye story nai padi vo first se pad sake usko ageki story me jana na pade or jisne first step pad liya...

2 years ago
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BBC Ki Sahafi Ki Hudai2

Madem ki gari men larkana ki taraf rawana ho gae.takreeban 40 minute k safar k baad ham larkana hotel per punhch gae.aur ham dono hi hotel men book kiye hue room men aagey.room men punhchte he madem mariya pehle to apni books aur camera table per rakhen aur fresh hone k liye bathroom men chalee gaen .aur men chair per bath gaya.aur ye soch raha tha k madem mariya se aj jee bhar k piyar karonga madem ki asi chudai karonga k wo bas is raat ko barson tak yaad karegi.aise he sochon men gum tha to...

2 years ago
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First Married Woman

Upon request, a story about a married woman. Only happened once and most of the embellishments here aren't for the sake of sexiness, but rather because it happened almost a decade ago. My stories are long but worthwhile; if you don't like the buildup, skip to the middle.I was working for a moving company one summer(no, really) and I got an easy gig one day because my boss figured I wasn't a moron (up for debate) and could be polite enough to not offend the high class client. It was an easy gig...

2 years ago
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Highlander Code DuelloChapter 4

(The Present) "One thing you said earlier I wondered about Deirdre." "What was that Duncan?" "You mentioned the Hunters. How did you know about them?" A merry smile danced across the woman's impish face. "Because Fitz told me about them." "Fitz? When did you see him?" "A couple of years ago. I was participating in the annual Renaissance Faire. As usual I was a strolling singer accompanying myself on the lute, which is not exactly my favorite instrument. I was singing, of...

2 years ago
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Close Teacher part 2

  I have a secret.   My secret is that I’m a teacher that has had sex with one of his students, a beautiful and intelligent blonde cheerleader named Tiffany.   If Tiffany keeps this secret between us, then I wouldn’t worry about my job or my reputation, not to mention jail time, and I trust that Tiffany will.   Unfortunately, I’m paranoid that a third person will find out about my secret … that is if a third person hasn’t already found out.   You see, the door wasn’t closed when I was...

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