Two Tiny Tool Tales free porn video

TWO TINY TOOL TALES by Throne For years John had considered himself an accomplished cocksman. Many women had succumbed to his considerable charms and he had bedded them all. Then he picked the wrong woman and found himself in trouble with The Revenge Court, an all female group dedicated to vigilante justice for egotistical cads like himself. Their sentence had been simple. He was to have his eight inch tool reduced to a mere hint of its full glory. John was stunned. His life revolved around a cycle of love them, fleece them, and leave them. Now that was all going to change. He was taken to the Court's secret facility and stripped naked. The two women who handled him were experts at martial arts and, when he made the mistake of trying to stop them, he was kicked hard in the nuggets. That not only incapacitated him but also began his psychological descent from the attitude of male superiority he had so long held. Next he was taken to their surgery and strapped to a cold stainless steel table with his feet in stirrups. The similarity to a gynecological examine situation was not wasted on him. The doctor, a tall busty woman, entered the room and got into position. A face mask hid half of her features but her eyes projected the hatred she had for a man like him. She said to one of her assistants, "What are the instructions for this case?" The other woman consulted an electronic screen and said with grim satisfaction, "You are to remove all of his penis except the head, which will be reattached to the site. He is to be left with complete sensation in that area. His testicles are to be inserted into his groin and sealed there. You will also be implanting a stimulator into them so that they will produce certain substances." The doctor looked directly at John and explained, "Which means you won't have your precious tool to use on women, but you will still get horny, more than you ever have in the past. A proper fate for one like you." He gasped. "Please. No. Not that." She shook her head at his belated contrition. "And I'm also given certain leeway with other procedures that can be done while you are here. I have chosen some that I think will provide a certain... poetic justice... for you." He tried to object further but she put a spreader into his mouth and opened it wide. That was followed by a series of injections to his groin, which immediately began to numb him there. She chuckled as she called for another series of hypodermics and used them on his chest, buttocks and thighs. There was also an anesthetic spray that she used inside his throat. One final shot followed, into his bicep, and the doctor said, "I insisted that we use this drug. It will paralyze you but allow you to be awake while I perform for the next several hours. Prepare to meet Justice." He had to watch as she cut and tucked and sewed. Her practiced hands took small instruments to perform delicate procedures inside his throat. She even did a bit of cosmetic work on his face. He was horrified to know that he was being made over so drastically but there was nothing he could do about it. At long last she was done and he was transferred to a gurney and wheeled to a private room where he slept for the next 48 hours. The doctor herself came to check him when he was revived. Along with her was the Judge who had sentenced him and two of the women he had victimized. The onlookers watched with gleeful satisfaction as his bandages were removed and a stimulant was administered. John stood up uncertainly and looked down at his unclothed body. "Omigawd," he squeaked. He had absolutely no body hair. His chest was dominated by a pair of shapely round breasts and his hips flared out. He felt his bottom and it had attained feminine fullness. "No," he said fearfully, his voice still much too high. They walked him to a mirror so he could see his face, which he didn't even recognize. John's visage resembled... "Not that." ...that of exactly the type woman he had so frequently seduced, robbed and abandoned. It was a heart-shaped face with sweeping eyebrows, distinctive cheekbones, and a naturally puckered mouth with bright red lips. It appeared that he was wearing eyeliner. But worst of all, he saw as they tilted the mirror to give him a look at his crotch, was that his penis was now reduced to a mere nubbin, just the head protruding from his bald crotch, with no manly balls on display below. He whimpered at how completely they had ruined him as a man. The Judge, a middle-aged woman whose dark hair was streaked with grey at the temples, said, "The sentence has been carried out successfully." She grinned wickedly as she added, "And you deserved it, along with what comes next." His mind reeled at the thought of even more to follow. They gave him a short terrycloth robe with a belt, which he tied to try to hide his shamefully unmasculine body, though it did him little good. He made an effort to wipe off the bright lipstick on his plush lips but one of his former lovers laughed and told him that it was permanent coloring, adding, "Though you can add darker shades over top of it. I can see you choosing magenta." He was hustled through several corridors and roughly loaded into the trunk of a long black car. There followed a ride of indeterminate length before the trunk was opened and he found himself in an underground parking garage. They walked him across the cold concrete and shoved him into an express elevator. He glanced at the indicator buttons and saw that he was going to the penthouse. When they got there his robe was snatched off him and one of the women pinched his ear and led him along by it while he yelped and tried to protest, all in that upsettingly high voice. They reached a closed door and rang the bell. It was answered by two tall women, both heavily built and visibly strong. They were wearing only flimsy dressing gowns that fell barely past their broad hips. One of them seized his upper arm in an iron grip and yanked him inside. The other smiled at his delivery team and said, "We'll take him from here. And how long is the Court giving this one to us for?" She was told, "One year, with an option for unlimited extensions." "Oh, good. The longer we have them, the better we can break them and retrain them. There's nothing we like better than tough men who have been made over into weak girls." The door closed and John felt a rush of doomed finality. The threatening women crowded him back until he was standing against the wall, trying to cover his attractive breasts and shamefully altered genitals with his smooth hands. They each took one of his wrists and held them out from his body so they could get a better look. "What do you think, Dan?" one of them said. "I can't wait to start on her, Mike," the other replied. John guessed that their names were really something like Danielle and Michele, but that they had taken male versions of them by preference. He shuddered at the thought of being a prisoner to these obviously cruel and vindictive women. Still holding him, they led him into their bedroom and threw him onto a wide bed. Both of them slipped off their single garments, revealing figures that were both athletic and sexy. He instinctively got aroused. His penis head grew firm and from inside he felt his hidden testicles tingle. A wave of need swept through him. At that moment he would have given everything he owned for relief from his overwhelming need. But now he no longer owned anything and he doubted that relief was even possible with his altered physiology. He remembered what the doctor had said about how he would have more desire than he ever had before and the implications of that terrified him. He also heard, in his mind, one of his captor's words about breaking him and retraining him. With his runaway sexual needs he would be that much more vulnerable to whatever they wanted to do to his psyche. John managed to find his voice and said, sounding like a scared girl, "Please, don't do anything... don't..." Mike laughed at him. "Oh, we're going to do plenty." Dan patted the side of his face, telling him, "And we're going to have fun doing it." The pair gave each other a passionate kiss. He quivered and hugged himself, but the picture of helplessness he made only got them more aroused. They got onto the mattress on either side of him. "Now," Mike told him, "it's time for your first lesson in Pussy Eating 101. How much independent study have you done of that?" "Done...? Eating...? OMG, I've NEVER done that. The thought of it makes me ill." "Oh, jeez," Dan sighed, voice thick with passion, "A made-over girl/boy who hates to go downtown. This is making me SO wet." "I know," Mike told her. "When you get worked up I can smell your gash." "Yeah, I should use some of that feminine spray down there, but that would spoil the taste for John. Or should I say... Jen. Right. This one won't ever hear his original name again. That okay with you, Jen?" John managed to whimper, "It's o... okay." He was afraid to say anything else. Obviously it was in his interest to never disagree with these two rough lesbians. Mike got on her back and flung her long legs apart lewdly. John gagged at the sight it made. Even so, his level of arousal continued to rise. Dan clamped strong fingers on the back of his neck and grinned at him. "We have to get your hair made pretty. It's already kind of long so that should be easy. We'll have someone stop around to do it. For right now, though, you have to get your sweet mouth busy on my partner's box. You want to do that, don't you? You want to lick and suck all the pussy you can get." John managed to whisper, "I... I do." She told him, "So get busy," and pushed his face into Mike's open pungent gash. He choked as he began lapping and having to swallow the fluids his tongue collected. The lezzies gave him detailed instructions and told him not to worry because they would give him lessons every day until he became a total expert. He began to weep and that only got them more enthused. They traded him back and forth until he was half crazy from the endless sexual servitude. Their libidos were enflamed by the 'fresh meat' they had in their spacious apartment to take advantage of and abuse. His concealed balls ached. He knew he would have the taste of pussy in his mouth almost non-stop, especially after they told him that he wouldn't be allowed to rinse or use a toothbrush for hours after these sessions. When John started to sob at that news, Mike said with mock sympathy, "Jeez, wait until Jen finds out that she's going to be eating our asses, too." They laughed at his breakdown upon hearing that unsavory news. The 'pussy party' went on and on, with the harsh women alternating their sex games with punishment time, which involved slapping him around and putting him over their firm thighs for prolonged spankings. He could understand already that their retraining of him would be impossible to fight back against. At the same time, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from trying to resist what they wanted to do to his thinking. It would be a long battle that he was fated to lose. Several hours later, with both females satisfied from multiple orgasms and John defeated and shamed, the doorbell rang. The pair looked at each other and laughed. "Almost forgot," Mike said. "Yeah," Dan agreed. "It's time for Bricktop to get here. We've got an evening at the club planned." Mike smacked John's blazingly sore ass and snapped at him, "Get the door, Jen." Not wanting to be seen the way he was, naked with his body hairless and pink, sporting jiggly boobs, a plump butt, and a ridiculous miniaturized version of the main male part, he nevertheless went to the door, already conditioned not to give his new owners any backtalk. As he swung the door inward, John found himself having to look up to see the face of a towering Black woman. She had on a tank top, jeans, and motorcycle boots. Her skin was very dark, her features thick, and her reddish hair worn short and natural. She peered down at him with undisguised dislike. Her broad hand went to the middle of his chest, just above his breasts, and she shoved hard, sending him stumbling backward. The women greeted her cheerily as 'Bricktop'. Bricktop glowered at John and said, "Yo, you better get in line and stay in line, little white bitch, or I'm going to take you apart. I'm not soft and friendly like Dan and Mike here. Understood?" He piped, "Yes, Ma'am." "Yeah," she said with a nod. "You better show respect, girl, or you'll feel my boot up your pretty pink ass." John looked to his jailers for help. All he got was an explanation, from Dan, that, "Bricktop is going to babysit you tonight. Mike and I own a club downtown and have to be there most nights. But don't feel bad. Once you get more trained, once we've got your head where we want it, you'll be going along with us sometime. You will LOVE the ladies you get to know there. Especially the ones who dress in leather and want to put you in collars and cuffs... and worse. You're going to be a real hit at Club L." As they got ready to leave, Bricktop used John to practice throwing punches at. He had to dodge constantly. She made sure not to do more than graze him, but he knew that if she wanted to, she could land every blow on his defenseless form. After five minutes of that he felt exhausted and willing to do whatever she demanded, if he could avoid having her turn him into a personal punching bag. Bricktop knew exactly how to intimidate someone and bring them under her absolute control in record time. It was going to be a long evening for John and plenty of fun for her. Especially when she made him serve as her body slave. Already she could feel his mouth on her unwashed feet... and several other sweaty locations. Yeah, this was going to be good fun for several nights a week, probably for the next month. By the time he got transported to Club L he was going to be a different person. And hey, for what he had done to innocent women, he deserved it. ****** Dennis was going to enjoy this. He always took pleasure from throwing people off properties he owned, but the idea of personally evicting a woman from what she called The Magic Shoppe, would be the ultimate in fun for him. Not only did he hate her ideas about women possessing any kind of power, but he especially despised the stupid idea that magic could be real. Yes, he thought happily as he opened the door of the tiny business, this was going to be prime entertainment for him. His lip curled as he eyed the interior of the cramped space. There were deep shelves crowded with supposedly occult items, tables filled with bogus artifacts, and a back wall packed with jars of what purported to be powerful herbs and whatever. He snorted derisively as he approached the counter. At least the woman working there was young and kind of sexy. She would be a lot more attractive if she wasn't wearing that shawl and hand woven shirt along with that billowing skirt with the primitive art on it. He couldn't see her feet but felt sure they were clad in sandals, if not bare. Yuck. He went up and put his hands on the counter, leaning slightly toward her in his expensive three piece suit and overpriced haircut. Dennis grinned, which made some people think of snakes or reptiles. Maybe a shark. The woman pushed back her thick, unstyled hair, which fell to her shoulders, and asked in a friendly way, "May I help you?" "Yes," he said with a predatory leer. He opened one hand and slid forward the paper it had been holding. "You can help me -- and yourself -- by vacating these premises within two weeks. Sooner would be better than later." She touched the paper and said, "This doesn't look like an eviction notice." He scowled at her, picked it up and said... nothing. On the single page was an ad for Fernwell's Fabulous Fun Fair, with a drawing of a clown decorating it. He was visibly puzzled. Then he recovered and said, "Listen, wiseass, I don't know how you did that. Some amateur magician's slight of hand. Big deal. I can have a fresh copy here in an hour. Maybe less. And I will. In fact, maybe I'll make sure that you can't open up again, anywhere in this city. I can do that, you know. I have connections. You could end up a few blocks from here, with the cheap hookers that flag down drivers over on Redwell Street. Although I don't think you'd get much business with that hippy dippy look of yours." He laughed nastily. "Well," she said. "It looks you're holding all the cards." As she spoke she reached under the counter and came up with a small box covered in red leather. When she opened it, Dennis saw a deck of curious looking cards, kind of like those tarmac ones, or talcum, or whatever they were called, that were supposed to tell fortunes. More bunk. She slipped them from the box and fanned them out in front of her. In a changed voice, deeper and with new power behind it, she intoned, "Touch the cards, Mr. Wilmont." How did she know his last name? And what was she doing giving him orders, he thought as he reached out to lay his fingers atop the colorful cards. A tingle ran up his arm and he withdrew his hand. As he did, three cards slid out from the others, perhaps because he had moved them, or maybe on their own. She turned over the first card and it showed a gorgeous female figure, scantily dressed. The second was a broken sword. And the third was a pair of hourglasses, with sand running down in one and, in defiance of gravity, upward in the other. Still using that unnatural voice, she said, her words measured, "The first card is The Beautiful Woman, and because she is facing right side up, it indicates change. The second is the shattered weapon, which is facing the opposite direction, meaning misfortune which will arrive very soon. The third is..." She took a breath and closed her eyes for a moment. "... is the circle of time, which always faces both ways at once. It means that whatever the other cards bring will continue for a long time, perhaps without end." Dennis had been frozen in place while he listened but suddenly the spell was broken. He shook himself and stepped back, though not, he told himself, because he believed any of that nonsense or was afraid. He told her firmly, "I will be back -- sooner than you will like -- and see to it that you are shut down and gone post haste. And I don't need any idiotic cards to tell me that." He stormed out, trying to convey anger and calm at the same time. Dennis was pissed. He needed to unwind. Why not drive over to Redwell Street and get himself a piece of something sweet, like that girl he'd had his eye on, the one with the huge knockers and supersized ass? Yes, that was what he would do. It would make a new man of him. He got back into his car and pulled out from the curb, made an illegal U-turn, and headed for his destination. On Redwell there was the usual assortment of midday hookers. They were all acceptable but he couldn't stop thinking about that one. He had noticed her before but now, for some unknown reason, he was obsessed with her. And hey, after he had humped her he could pay her less than they had agreed on. What was she going to do about it? She was just another stupid helpless woman. And there she was, wearing a snug top with nothing under it, which really showed off those whoppers. She had on short-shorts that let her butt cheeks peek halfway out. And the shoes on her small feet were perfect for a slut like she was, red ones with towering heels. He sniggered at her, at how she had to demean herself to attract men who would insult her further, so that she could turn most of her earnings over to some bastard of a pimp. Yes, Dennis was feeling much better already. He cruised to the curb and lowered the driver's window with the push of a button. She started toward him immediately, heavy tits bobbing, wide hips swinging exaggeratedly, and licked her bright red lips, saying, "Hey, how'd you like to have this mouth around your cock?" He thought for a second and said, "What about the whole package?" She pouted, which for some reason he found wildly stimulating, and said in a little girl voice, "Aw, baby, I'd love to but I have a... condition right now. How about just the best blowjob you've ever had. I've got tricks you've never even heard of." She licked those lips with a pink wet tongue and he experienced another rush of sexual energy. "Yeah, sure, all right," he said, overcome. "How much?" She gave him an extra close look and said, "For you, handsome, whatever you want to pay." Whoa. She was not only hot looking but dumb as well. Just the way he liked them. Dennis was thinking of all the ways he could take advantage of her as he opened the door and she slid in, leaning toward him to show off her deep cleavage. He also got a look at some kind of medallion she wore on a short chain. They got to a cheap motel he liked to use for these types of assignations, and he paid for a room for the hour. As soon as they were in there she did a sort of strip tease, getting down to just her black, high-cut panties. When he told her to take them off as well she cited her 'condition' again. He was too much under the power of whatever weirdly strong turn-on he was being affected by to care. He looked her up and down, those overblown curves, the only things she wore now being the panties... and that odd medallion. She saw him noticing it and said, "Mmm, baby, why don't you touch my lucky charm? Maybe it'll make you a winner." He strode up to her and put his hands greedily on her plump milkbags, saying, "These'll give me all the good luck I need, ho." She used her innocent voice again as she said, "Pleeease. All my guys touch it for me." He sighed and put the tip of his forefinger against the disc of worn metal. All at once, Dennis couldn't move. The slutty sexpot's eyes went wide. "You're the one," she said in disbelief. "After all these years. They found someone who is rottener than I was when I was a man." She laughed, the sound full of relief. "After all these years, I'm finally going to be free." She unhooked the fine chain around her neck and placed it on his, fastening it with care. Then she held the medallion and said, "I'm going to be... Dennis Wilmont. With a big house and a fine new car and... holy shit... a huge bank account and endless assets. Woof. Just give me a minute while the rest of your memories download into my mind. Sorry you're not going to get any of my experiences. You'll have to figure out how to keep your customers happy all by yourself. They call me Blow Job Betty so you can be... Downtown Denise. You know, how 'going downtown' means giving head. Anyway, get yourself out of those fancy clothes before the big change takes place." Against his will, Dennis began to undress. She wriggled sexily out of her panties and he was stunned to discover that she possessed a tiny penis. Betty explained that, when she had provoked a magic user into putting the curse on her, she had been transformed into the plush figure he now saw, but with this one disgraceful reminder of who and what he had been prior to his downfall. Two minutes later the air in the small room shimmered and they both began to transform. She grew slimmer and taller. He became fuller of figure and shorter. To his horror he had to watch her assume his physical form and himself take on hers, though the face was still partly his own, enough that anytime he looked into a mirror he would be reminded of who had been. When it was over he was a big-titted prostitute and she was a wealthy and powerful business man, although somewhat shady, which she told him she would change, having learned her lesson over the past years. She touched the medallion he now wore one more time and gasped. "Oh my," she said, but now in his voice. "Looks like you're scheduled to be Downtown Denise for a long long time." She chuckled wickedly and began to get dressed in his clothes. Then she took the cash that was in her tiny, heart-shaped shoulder bag and added it to what was already in his overstuffed wallet. She decided out loud, "I should be able to control you for a few more minutes, so let me have a bit of fun." She opened her bag and took out a pink cell phone, then hit a pre-set number, telling him, "I'm calling your pimp, Hardcase. Here's what you're going to say to him." She gave him the instructions and then stood back to listen. Dennis -- now Denise -- said in his new voice, "Listen, Hardcase, you sorry-assed piece of trash. I'm not working for you anymore. I'm going independent. If you want to try to stop me I'm at the Palm Tree Motel. Room 7. Come over right now if you think you still have any hold on me." John was horrified to hear himself, knowing what was likely to result. He looked at his transformed self in the spotty mirror on the dresser and saw the zaftig woman he had become, and the tiny dick, almost not there, that would sentence him to pleasing his customers only with oral sex. Now he knew why Betty had to have become so proficient at that art. It made him sick to think of what was to come. She strutted out, leaving him alone and naked. Numbly he began to dress... in her blatantly exhibitionistic clothing. Dim memories were slowly surfacing. He knew where his shoebox of an apartment was. He knew the names of the extra customers who he took on the side, when his pimp wasn't around. He would recognize Weird Bob, who liked to have his balls licked while he was told how much the licker liked to do that. And he would know on sight Creepy Cal, who wanted to have a whore kneel behind him, reach around to manipulate his cock while she used her mouth to... UGH. Dennis was trying to banish those unsettling mental images from his confused mind when the door was thrown open and then slammed shut. Standing there was a tall, rough looking man in leather, with a studded metal band around his wrist. He slid the band over his fist and came toward Dennis/Denise, who recognized this person from the limited portion of Betty's memories that he had inherited. In a small feminine voice, wearing only panties and those tiny shorts, John said, "Um, Hardcase, I can explain." "You can explain, all right, bitch. You can explain while I work you over some and then you can explain while you suck my cock. You can finish explaining while I put you on that bed, flip you over, and fill your ass with my meat. I know I ain't never done that to you before but you have to learn you can't talk to your Man like you just did. And then, to make sure you don't forget your lesson, I got a whole fraternity house full of frat boys that want something different. I told them I got a girl with cow tits who will do anything -- and now that's gonna include taking it up the old chocolate highway -- except she won't let you touch her pussy, cause she's mental and thinks she's got some kind of 'condition'. Yeah, you're gonna get a couple lessons and reinforcements and stuff, like you ain't never gonna forget. And from now on, Blow Job Betty..." He sneered the name. "... old Hardcase is gonna give you all his hardest cases, all the freaks I didn't used to let use my girls, cause from here on in, you are at the bottom of the bottom." He hesitated to give her a closer look. "And whatever you did to your face, whatever is making you look kind of different... well, it won't matter when you have a fat cock in your mouth." He laughed with sadistic pleasure as he rushed at her and landed a dozen blows with his metal- wrapped hand. Hardcase was careful not to damage his merchandise while causing as much pain as he could. When he was done, John stood there swaying, desperate to avoid any more punishment. John's instinct for preservation kicked in. He said meekly, "Whatever you say, Hardcase. You are my boss. I'm sorry, baby. Do whatever you want to me. And sell me to whoever you please. There's just one thing." "What?" he demanded angrily. John said, still projecting extreme surrender, "From now on, baby, could you call me... and tell all the john's to call me... Downtown Denise. I'd really like that." "Whatever, you crazy bitch. But right now you goin' downtown on my cock. So don't bother getting' the rest of the way dressed. Just let them big boobs wobble around while you swallowin' my rod. Do your deep throat thing and then finish me with your hand so I can watch my spunk shoot into your filthy mouth." Still eager to please her new owner, Downtown Denise said seductively, "Oh, Hardcase, I love it when you control me this way. I'll do WHATEVER you want, all the time." "Yeah, you suck-off cum-catcher, just do it." Hardcase snorted. "And then I'll rip those shorts off and plow your fat ass." So John went from being a john to servicing johns, lots of them during extra long working hours. Hardcase treated him horridly. John learned... quickly... all the tricks that Betty had perfected. He became a full time receptacle for anonymous men's spunk, and brought to life some very twisted fantasies. It was an endless sentence of degradation and disgrace, that would go on for he didn't know how long. And it was all because he had been a prize bastard... and because he had messed with a woman who understood and used potent magic. Every time he would sadly finger his shrunken cock, feel himself become uncontrollably stimulated and not be able to do anything to gain relief, he thought about her. Years later he would still occasionally venture off of Redwell Street, get within a block of The Magic Shoppe, and stare longingly at its windows, sometimes glimpsing the oddly dressed woman inside. He just wished that it wasn't part of his curse to not be able to go any closer. Those magic users thought of everything. THE END.