OCD GOD 2 free porn video

So, a second OCD GOD story to follow the second part of The Determined Man. As promised this is silly and sexy to counteract the lack of action (so far) in The Determined Man. Please do read both! This follows straight on from OCD GOD 1, but it pretty much stands alone. The concept is about a low level functionary god who has a compulsion to make patterns and balance amongst the people he's responsible for. That's about all you need to know OCD GOD 2 So it turns out that a junior level god really isn't supposed to just make life changing alterations to a person (like changing their sex) without it being a part of the Great Plan. Or something like that, I wasn't really listening as I was too busy cowering from Arnold, God of Transport, as he told me what was what. He may only be middle management, but Arnold has a voice that could shake the heavens. I have to tell you, I feared for my life. I mean it's not as if he doesn't have form in matters of punishing disobedience. Just ask Jonah. I'd rather not be spending my time pottering around the inside of a whale. I suppose I did know that what I was doing in that train carriage was wrong at the time, but can you really blame me? It's in my nature to yearn for order and patterns, and all those guys along one side, and the girls on the other........well. In the end I guess mum or dad pulled a few strings. I was reassigned but stayed within the transport team. They reasoned that maybe carriages were a little bit too chaotic for me and didn't have enough routine tasks to keep me busy. So I got moved over to escalators; nice uniform lines of people, stand on the left, walk on the right, and an awful lot of repetition: step follows step follows step follows step..... I was pretty happy there for a while. Sure, my parents were disappointed; Mum, God of Flight would swoop in unexpectedly in the form of a piece of paper hovering suspiciously on the wind, and I could always see how concerned she was, assessing and second guessing every move I made. I was only glad that dad, God of Fire, was explicitly banned from most places where I worked, like stations and such. He really can have quite the temper, and when he stares at you with those eyes...... My colleagues had a bit of a jest at my expense as well. Patrice, god of fashion, inspired the designers to send a lot of androgenous trends out into the world that year (Yes I know, the likes of me knowing the god of fashion! But you see there are a lot of escalators in shopping malls). "Is it a girl, is it a boy?!" he'd tease as another cropped fitted jacket with severe shoulders paraded up the steps "Oooh, isn't it just so frustrating and disordered not to know?" All the jokes were in pretty good humour though, and most gods just accept that sometimes mistakes are made, and sometimes you just have to go with it. Even my old mum isn't immune. I still laugh every time I see a helicopter and everyone just has to pretend that something like that could actually fly, just because mum got a bit carried away that one time and then couldn't find a way to back down. Anyway, so like I say I was just getting on with things, making sure the laws of physics behave themselves in placing step after step after step on all those escalators, ironing out the occasional wildcard that gets thrown up by those pesky quarks and bosons interacting unpredictably like they are prone to. And yes, it was a relief that even the people on escalators mostly acted with some form of structure. Generally they'd just stand there looking forward, the picture of stability. In other places there were nice uniform rules like standing on the right and walking on the left. I got to know all the different ways that people use escalators in different countries and circumstances. I felt in control. And then....Well, then there was that damn marketing gimmick and.... oh dear god.... ....it happened again! _____________________________________ Lyle took the tube to college everyday. Every morning he put his jacket on, hooked the straps of his backpack over his shoulders and set off on the Victoria line. So used to the journey was he, that Lyle often acted as if on autopilot, his body moving like a robot along its well-known path, allowing his mind to wander to other things. It wasn't a long journey, but he had to change trains at Oxford Circus, and that meant having to brave the crowds drawn to London's biggest shopping street. The mix of busy commuters, browsing shoppers and gaping tourists made for quite a bit of friction as the express-way streams of locals going about their daily business attempted to penetrate through slow moving clouds of day trippers. Lyle was firmly in the former category, and when he saw out of the corner of his eye a group of young ladies gathered, unmoving, at the top of the escalator he needed to take, he didn't even look at them long enough to really register that they were all wearing bikinis or some other form of swimwear. If he had registered their attire then he might have recalled having seen a promotion for a new health spa in the newspaper offering a free massage to anyone who took the tube to the spa wearing swimwear. But Lyle didn't think. To Lyle they were merely another obstruction in the way of his journey to college. Sensing the need to get ahead of the herd before they blocked up the escalator, Lyle dived through the group and made to get through to the escalator. He was just too late. The girls at the head of the group began to move onto the descending steps before Lyle fully broke through the crowd. Having just stepped onto the moving platform ahead of him, Lyle now found his way blocked by dozens of attractive women and he quickly realised that he was quite unable to nudge past them as he might do to others blocking his way. With their smooth bare legs open to the air and with the rest of their lovely bodies protected only by the flimsiest of garments, Lyle felt unable to push through them for risk of brushing against something inappropriate. Instead, he was forced to simply stand there, as the giggling gaggle of women slowly realised the presence of an interloper within their midst with little gasps and coos. "OK, spread out ladies!" came a loud call from the lower level. "I want a shot of you all coming down the escalator." Lyle turned his head to the sound and saw there a man with a large professional looking camera. His heart jumped in his chest as he panicked slightly at the prospect of this rather awkward situation being preserved for posterity. The women began to spread out ahead of him, taking up positions on both sides of the descending walkway and spreading out along it's length. Eventually, gaps began to open up around Lyle and he made to dart through, hoping to clear the group and be on his way. "OK, that's it!" shouted the photographer. "Just stay right where you are!" Lyle couldn't have told you why exactly he responded to this instruction. It certainly wasn't intended for him, but maybe there's just something in us which instinctively complies with an order that's loud enough and clear enough. Whatever the reason, Lyle's legs froze, and he even found himself looking up goofily at the photographer as the flash fired. Lyle was maybe fifty feet from the photographer, but somehow the light from the flash seemed so bright as to dazzle him. He blinked hard and shook his head. But his response spectacularly failed to provide him with the clear head he was hoping for. Instead his mind spun even more as he found that his shake of his head had caused long hairs to wrap around his face. Pulling them away he stared at them in his hands in astonishment. Blonde. And very long. Entirely unlike his own scruffy brown mop. His hands followed them upwards but found no explanation there. They were attached to his head; Firmly, he discovered to his pain after a strong yank. He held the hair again in his hands, and it was at this point that he realised that something was also wrong with his fingers. Well, not his fingers per se, (they were still as thick and calloused as ever, scarred from years of dragging them over guitar frets) but rather the nails. Each was three quarters of an inch long, painted a light pink with bright white french tips. He turned his hands over and then over again in astonishment. A knot of worry dropped in his stomach like a stone. It was several seconds before Lyle noticed something even more incredible. Looking beyond his oh-so-pretty nails, he realised for the first time that everything around him was moving more slowly. Much more slowly. The girl in front made her way into a cute little pose, hand on hip and Lyle watched as her knees bent inch by inch and her smile extended millimetre by millimetre. Something was very seriously wrong, and Lyle bit his bottom lip in fear. Cherry. His lip tasted slightly of cherry. It was very much still his lip, but now it seemed to be covered in some slightly tacky substance. He put his fingers to his mouth and they came away stained red. Was he wearing lipstick? And now he thought about it, it wasn't just the lipstick. He could feel it on his face. His rough pockmarked cheeks were smoothed over with a little powder; His stubby eyelashes were covered in mascara. He raised his fingers again. Yes, it was as he feared; His normally bushy eyebrows were thinner now, plucked and shaped into high, narrow arches. Lyle had no idea how it had happened, but it was clear that he had undergone some kind of makeover. He checked, with success, that he was still wearing all his normal clothes, but it gave him precious little relief. If anything, his normal jeans and jacket just made his make-up, hair and nails seem even more ridiculous. He looked again to the photographer and saw with horror that he was leaning down to his camera again, the man's thumb extended upwards as a signal to his subjects (including Lyle) that everything was OK. He was going to take another shot, and Lyle would be captured, standing amongst these women, with all the accessories of femininity adorning his very male, slacker student body. Flash! Another picture. And once again, Lyle found himself startled. This time it even took his breath away. He placed one hand on the rail beside him, and his other to his side, trying to stablise his breathing. For a moment, his hand on his ribcage helped Lyle to get a grip. The next moment though, it had entirely the opposite effect. It dawned on Lyle that his hand, rather than resting upon the fabric of his jacket, was instead directly touching his skin. He moved his fingers and felt his fabulous new nails tickle and scratch. In a panic, he looked down at his body. How could this be! Lyle was now standing on the elevator in the middle of the tube station, in nothing but a tiny baby blue bikini and matching heels! He could feel the cool air passing over his exposed belly and legs, the feeling lessened slightly by the generous covering of body hair that remained. His package was now very prominently displayed in the little thong that wrapped around him, and it wasn't a man's posing pouch with extra space for his equipment. No, this garment was tiny, designed to fit snugly over a woman's flat crotch. It barely covered even the front of his dick, and anyone standing side-on would have been able to see the lot. He was loathe to disturb the delicate balance of the thong, but he had no need for the top that sat on his chest. He pulled at one of the large empty cups which flexed before snapping back into place. Again, the world was moving more slowly around him, but this time the photographer didn't even look up between shots. He yelled out some words, presumably encouragement, but the time distortion made them unintelligible to Lyle. Lyle could do nothing, knowing that he was about to be captured in women's clothing and accessories on camera. This would go viral in minutes, he thought to himself. His social life was over. Flash! A third picture. This time Lyle was expecting the disorientation that followed it and he kept his eyes closed for a moment and took a deep breath. Gingerly, and with his eyes remaining closed he reached out his hand again, this time to his waist. What could possibly happen that was worse than what had already occurred? His hand settled upon a hip. Lyle screwed up his face in confusion. Something was definitely strange, but he wasn't sure what. Why would this be strange? He'd always had hips. Or had he? Sure he had a middle and a pelvic bone, but this was different. This was a HIP. He could feel with his hand that this hip was a feature: A part of his body that wasn't content with just carrying out a function, but which instead was there to be noticed, flaring out generously for all the world to see. His heart started to beat harder in his chest, but still he couldn't bear to open his eyes. His fingers moved along, almost without instruction, exploring this new reality inch by inch. His belly was gone, and in its place his fingertips encountered a waist. This wasn't just a narrower version of his own middle. Just like his hips were something new altogether, so it was the case here too. What was now beneath his touch was smooth, firm and warm to the touch. He played along the skin with his fingers and then gathered the courage to place his whole hand against it. It was small. Ever so small. The reality began to dawn upon Lyle: He had the waifish middle and sweeping hips of a goddess. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer in his chest now and his breath deserted him entirely, but still his hands continued onwards, as if drawn to their destiny. He brought both hands to his lower back, fingers pointing towards the ground, and then began to move them downwards. His pressure was firm, but his movement, battling against the paralysis of fear, was ever so slow. His middle was small and firm, but as his fingers descended things began to feel different. The curve was gentle at first, but then increased exponentially, and as he passed a tiny band of skin-tight fabric, the flesh he found there was progressively softer to his touch and blossomed outwards. Soon his hand were resting on twin buttocks, his fingers splayed to cradle the semi-spherical shape of each. He could imagine exactly what his bottom looked like, and he knew instinctively that it was the kind of rear that hypnotised men would line up behind him to follow. He couldn't help but give one cheek a small slap and felt his plump rear bounce like a beach ball for just a second in response. The tap caused a little tremor over the rest of his body, and Lyle knew for sure that nothing was the same as it had been. He had felt movement on his chest and, eyes still closed, he raised his hand. He shuddered as his hand made contact. It was still several inches from where he was used to his chest beginning. He opened up his hand and cupped what could now only be one of his new breasts. For the moment, he limited himself to exploring its shape, and moved his hand gently around the surface of the new object. The bikini top was smooth and cool to the touch. It curved elegantly and evenly, following the pert, rounded form of the form beneath. Lyle found the edging of the bikini and stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Slowly he extended a finger and laid it gently directly onto the skin of one out of his new pair of fantastic boobs. He felt his touch like a little shot of electricity. There was no mistaking it. He was touching a tit. His tit. Spreading out his fingers he cupped his breast and gently squeezed it. It yielded to his touch, just as a good tit should. Lyle could wait no longer and opened his eyes to see. He was greeted by the sight of two incredibly welcoming, full but soft looking boobs, nestled snugly inside a pale blue bikini that tied around the back of his neck. He looked at his long thin arms and at delicate shoulders that were draped with long blonde hair, but his eyes kept wandering back to those tits. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. He moved his hands back down and felt between his legs. The thong that had previously done so little to contain his manhood, now fitted like a dream over the modest flat little mound between his legs. Running his hands over the fabric he could just distinguish the sensation enough to become aware of each of his new pussy lips. So he was a girl. How? His big blue eyes were open wide with terror and his sweet rosebud mouth twisted in anguish. What was this? He didn't believe in magic and he could think of no reason why he'd be the target for some kind of hyper-advanced technological hit. But Lyle didn't have long to think. Flash! A fourth picture. Lyle once again closed his eyes tight shut in reaction, but this time the usual racing heart and sense of confusion failed to materialise. Instead he paused, struggling to understand what he was feeling until he noticed a smile begin to play across his sweet cherry red lips. He felt good. Warm, and full of energy but also calm, contented somehow. He opened his eyes and took a look around. There were girls all around him in swimwear. They all looked soooo pretty! And so did he! Yay! But he shouldn't be wearing a bikini here! He was on an escalator! On the tube! It was, like, so funny! He giggled. A light lilting sound that made him even happier. But wait; Should he be wearing a bikini anywhere? The question seemed utterly ludicrous to him (but I have such a hot body, of course I should wear a bikini! a part of him thought) and completely terrifying at the same time. He thought like, really, really hard about why the question should scare him. Was it because bikinis are out of fashion right now? Because that would be so, so bad, cause he, like, had to be seen to keep up with the latest styles. No, it couldn't be that. Bikini's never go out of style. He giggled again at how he'd had such a stupid thought. Was it because he was a boy? That did seem strange. Boys don't wear bikinis. Sexy girls like him wore bikinis....... But wasn't he a boy? He looked himself up and down. He didn't think that he looked like a boy. He had smooth flawless skin, lovely bouncy boobies and a cute little pussy. Also, he was surrounded by lots of pretty girls like him, so that probably meant he was a girl too. But yet, he could remember being a man. Yes, he definitely had been a boy called Lyle. He thought hard for a bit, but then got tired. No need to think about the past, he thought. So what if he had been a boy called Lyle, now he was very clearly a girl, called....ummm....Lyla! She giggled again with excitement. Why should she worry about the past, when the present was so, like, deliciously funny, and the future was......was.....Oh yeah! She was going to get a free massage! Wooo! --------------------------------------------------------- So, yeah. That happened. Pretty much as soon as I'd done it I knew it was wrong. No, that's a lie. I knew it was wrong before I did it. But I just couldn't help myself! I simply wasn't prepared for such an opportunity for uniformity to present itself, and then be so cruelly ruined by some random bloke with a backpack. So yeah, I changed him to her. And I knew I shouldn't have. It gave me such a thrill to see that uninterrupted line of all those beautiful girls, posing happily on my escalator. But soon that thrill turned to panic. I remembered how angry Arnold, God of Transport had been at me last time. I tried to recall what he'd said, but it was all a bit of a blur. I could just remember something about The Greater Balance. How, even though what I did looked like it created order, it actually upset a wider balance that was bigger than I could see. In my state of panic, that little phrase kept coming back to me. And it made sense to me in a funny kind of way. By changing this male to a female, I had unbalanced the proportion of men to women in the world. There was now one female too many, and one male too few, making for an overall imbalance of two. Now I knew that I really shouldn't try to change any women into men, as that approach had not worked out for me so far. What my panicked little mind thought of though, was other ways of righting that balance, maybe in a way that wouldn't be noticed as too much of a departure from the norm. And so I came up with my plan. Really, this god business is just like a lot of other hierarchies. The folks upstairs want the job to be done the way they'd do it, but they actually want it done by someone else. And so we get processes, templates, standard tools to make sure the job is done the way they want it. As with any business though, those processes are only as appropriate as the minions who apply them. Standard tools provided for one part of the business get left around in common areas and then appropriated by staff from other parts of the business and used in the wrong way. Happens all of the time. So, what I did was to think about what sort of standard tools (or in my case, standard miracles) might be available for use, that could help me restore balance, without the use of that tool looking suspicious. It didn't take me long to think about it. One of the most common miracles around. Used by my kind thousands of times every day. The miracle of sexual attraction, conception, pregnancy and child birth. Just apply twice for perfect boy twins, and hey presto, balance restored! ___________________________________________ Lyla was loving her free massage. It felt so nice to have a big man kneading his strong hands into her back. She felt so little, so soft, like putty in his hands. Occasionally an errant thought came to him, and it suddenly felt all wrong to be wearing a little bikini and having another man rub oil into his skin, but those worries only lasted a few seconds, before Pablo the masseur again took her in his firm grip, making shivers and sparkles go whizzing up her spine. She felt relaxed, but also a little invigorated. ....Actually, maybe it was about an equal measure of relaxation and invigoration. ....In fact, come to think of it, she felt full of energy. More than would be expected from a simple massage. She felt great! Something was stirring within her, and she was enjoying it. All her senses seemed a little heightened. She could feel the air on the bare skin of her legs and back but, despite wearing nothing more than her cute little bikini, she didn't feel cold at all. No, she felt strangely warm, as if a little fire were lit inside her. The massage table she lay upon felt good too. She wriggled into it a little, enjoying the feeling of something large and firm beneath her. She only wished it could wriggle back. She found herself longing to be embraced. Her hearing was sensitive as well and she became increasingly aware of her own soft moans as Pablo drove his hands deeper into the muscles of her back, following her spine up to her shoulders and then caressing their way back down the feminine curves of her sides. Most noticeable though was her sense of smell. She realised that she could almost taste it. The flowers on the windowsill were sweet and light; The oil being rubbed into her skin was fresh and invigorating. But there was a scent that affected her far more than either. She had to think for a moment to work out what it was. Earthy.... Musky..... Heavy.... .....Pablo. Yes, it was Pablo, and she couldn't help but inhale him deeply as he moved around in front of her and leaned in to work on her neck. Some worry flickered briefly in her mind. He shouldn't be noticing another man's scent. He certainly shouldn't be savouring it. And yet.... Mmmmm she thought.... It is delicious. It smelled like strength, like raw physical power. She glanced upwards and noticed a slight glistening of sweat on Pablo's bicep. She almost wanted to lean up and lick it from his skin. His arm bulged as it flexed to press his fingers into her flesh once again. She purred with pleasure, feeling his touch and keeping her eye on the source of the intoxicating scent that was filling her up. Lyla's daydreaming was making her oblivious to the appearance of her actions and soon her contented, fixed gaze caught Pablo's eye. He smiled back at her and gave a quick wink. Lyla dissolved into a puddle of mixed emotions. Somewhere in that cocktail was a large dash of shame at having been caught looking longingly at this big man who now gently massaged her head with his strong, yet ever so gentle hands. This emotion though was lost in a flood of excitement and arousal. He liked me looking at him! She thought. Maybe he fancies me!! The thought swirled around her head and even seemed to escape it and run amok over the whole of her body. Was he enjoying touching her supple skin? What might this big man want to do to her? Was he getting turned on by her body? Like she was turned on. Oh yes, she knew it now. There was no mistaking the energy building within her. She was getting horny. And it was all new. She knew what it was like as a man, but this was her first time as a girl. She hadn't even thought about sex since the change happened. She had been too busy giggling and laughing with the others. Of course, she'd looked at herself in every reflective surface that she passed. And of course she was thrilled with how sexy she looked. But that was all just for her; for fun. This time there was very definitely a man involved. A real man. Pablo. And now Lyla was the girl. The chick. The babe. The idea thrilled her so much that she surprised herself. Yes, she was the girl, not the one that did the fucking, but the one that got fucked. Now she would be at his mercy. She would be held, maybe lifted or carried, perhaps even positioned as the man desired. It would be her body that would be devoured with a man's eyes. She would be the one to seduce, to pose, to invite him to overwhelm her. Lyla had never thought about wanting these things before, but now she couldn't imagine how she had ever wanted anything else. She wanted it so much. She wanted Pablo. Pablo was still in position at the top of the table, fingers teasing between the luxurious hair on Lyla's head, massaging her scalp, using his expert hands to send waves of thick satisfying pleasure crashing over her body. Lyla raised her eyes and found them directly level with his crotch. She bit her lip. Oh yes, he was enjoying this all right. The bulge in his trousers was clear for her to see and only inches from her face. Almost involuntarily her hand snaked out in front of her towards Pablo's crisp white trousers. For his part, Pablo paused just for a split second as he noticed her movement, but he regained his composure almost immediately and resumed his task. Lyla, meanwhile, set about hers. She wondered whether Pablo could sense her heart pounding as her long elegant fingers slowly unfastened the row of buttons that served as a fly on the front of Pablo's trousers. One by one they came undone and Pablo's member twitched slightly upon each little success; Each step that brought Lyla's hands closer towards their goal. She looked up with her big blue eyes framed by her gorgeous long lashes, but Pablo remained focussed on her massage. She paused. She so desperately wanted to be seen by him. To be acknowledged in his eyes. He refused to look at her, but she continued anyway. If anything Pablo's detachment drove her on further. She had to please him, to be made his by his gaze. Finally the last button came free and Lyla could see the full extent of Pablo's manhood, covered only by loose fitting boxer shorts that did nothing to restrain it from reaching its full elevation. Maybe it was just because she was smaller now, or because she was looking at it more closely but it seemed huge. Much bigger that Lyle's own had been. That thought brought another wave of confusion and shock. What was he doing? Memories flitted back into his mind. Of seeing his own dick; knowing how to use it. Memories of being the man. But there was no stopping now. Her desire was too great. She slipped her hand inside Pablo's shorts and delicately pressed her fingers to the hard rod of man-meat that she found there. She was surprised at how warm it felt. It felt good. And even more than that, it smelled amazing. Pablo's scent had doubled and doubled again in intensity, so much so that all of Lyla's other senses became fuzzy and indistinct. Her small hand encircled Pablo's cock and again she looked up, hoping for a smile of encouragement. Pablo didn't even stop what he was doing, continuing to stroke and press upon her head and neck. Lyla though clearly sensed a shift in the intensity of the massage, Pablo's grip on her becoming tighter and the thrusts of his hands more powerful. She smiled. Pablo was so strong, so in control, but she knew she was beginning to influence him through the pleasure she could bring. She moved her hand slowly along his member, softly at first and then gripping tighter as she grew in confidence. Pablo continued to massage her and soon they found a rhythm together, back and forth, up and down. It was all so natural. All remained unspoken but they found a perfect harmony. Lyla's breathing quickened with excitement as Pablo grew even harder in her hands. By now she had pulled it free entirely from his shorts and she watched as his uncircumcised foreskin rolled and back and forth along the shaft with her oscillating grip. It was almost hypnotic and she wanted, no, she needed, to get closer. She shifted herself forward on the table and inched her plump juicy lips towards the glistening tip of Pablo's dick. She paused, half an inch away, something stopping her from committing. Something old, important somehow, but becoming undefined. She fought against the resistance. Her lips parted and her tongue hovered between, half extended towards Pablo's hot cock. Still she felt held back. She looked upward again, towards the face of her desire, but he continued to ignore her. And that was what won the fight. She needed to be seen. She needed to be approved of by this powerful man. Her tongue pressed gently against the tip of his dick. It tasted good. Soon she was licking greedily around the tip, swirling her tongue around the circumference. She looked up again and this time she saw with her heart aflutter that Pablo's eyes were firmly shut. He continued to massage her head, but his strokes became uneven, less focussed as he struggled to maintain control. Yes. She would get there. She was giving him pleasure and she would gain his attention. She knew that she just needed to do more. She needed to take all of him inside her. The angle from the table to his dick wasn't favourable, and so Lyla swiftly slid down from where she lay, sensing deep loss for the moments that she was away from Pablo's dick, and then positioned herself kneeling before him. She couldn't wait any longer, and after circling him a couple more times with her tongue she soon wrapped her juicy lips around his shaft. It felt huge in her mouth and she began slowly, inching more and more inside her bit by bit. It was almost too much and she thought about withdrawing. Instead though, she looked upwards and there, joy of joys, was Pablo's face, dark eyes shining at her and white teeth showing in a broad smile. Yes! He was looking at her! And he was happy! Happy with her! All thoughts of discomfort vanished from her mind and Lyla pressed onwards. Keeping her lips clamped around his cock, she massaged him with her tongue simultaneously and brought her hand back up to stroke the base of his shaft. She could feel it twitching in her throat and it made her shiver with excitement. Pablo's hand was now in her hair again, and she looked up at him while she serviced his dick. "Take your bikini off" he said in his deep exotic accent "I want to see your tits bounce as you blow me." Lyla didn't hesitate. She had been given an instruction and it was her pleasure, her great honour to obey. She reached around behind her and untied her bikini at her back and her neck. Her boobs fell free and began to bounce in rhythm to her sucking. It felt strange to Lyla, ever so new and strange. And yet she knew that Pablo would be enjoying it and so it brought her great delight. Pablo groaned deeply and began to rock his hips. Lyla for the first time, realised that he would cum. A final wave of confusion and disgust came over her, but was then subsumed within the great tide of desire. Yes, he would cum. For her! "Mmmmmmm......" She moaned at the thought of it. "Nnmmmmfff..." She closed her eyes and increased in pace, willing him to fill her mouth with his semen. Wanting it. Desiring it. Needing it.... But then, suddenly, she was being pulled back. Away from HIS cock. Away from HIS scent. She opened her eyes and found his hands on her shoulders. In a moment they were under her arms and she was lifted, effortlessly, into the air. She looked into his face but he gave no response. The look she saw in his eyes was beyond human communication. It was animal. Primal. She was not being asked her consent for these steps. She wasn't even given an explanation. No. He wanted her and he would manipulate her in any way in which he pleased. In one swift motion she was lifted from her knees, upwards to a standing position and then off her little feet altogether. Pablo finally placed her down into a sitting position on the edge of the massage table. His big hands circled firmly around her exposed breasts, his thumbs flicking over her thick sensitive nipples. Lyla gasped and threw her head back as bolts of electricity coursed through her from Pablo's touch. Pablo was now grinning wildly and his eyes consumed her body as much as his hands. He tugged hard on her little bikini thong and dragged it down so that it stretched ludicrously between her knees. Lyle swung her freely dangling legs and caught sight of the flimsy sky blue fabric. Something inside her jumped at the ridiculousness of it. Clothes like that are no cover at all. Part of her shrivelled in shame. Part of her just giggled. Pablo didn't hesitate. He took a firm grip of Lyla's jutting hips and positioned himself between her parted thighs. He took a hold of his rock hard dick and positioned it at the entrance to her pussy. Lyla moaned loudly at his touch. Her virgin cunt exploding with sensations as it was stimulated for the first time. It was a cry of both pleasure and yearning. Every moment that his dick wasn't inside her felt like an eternity. With a mighty grunt, Pablo thrust himself up inside Lyla's sopping wet pussy. She gasped, feeling her need satisfied, her emptiness filled. Pablo held his position for a few moments and Lyla experimented with her new equipment, finding that she could squeeze down harder around the thick hot rod upon which she was impaled. Pablo pulled back a few inches. Lyla grinned maniacly at the feeling of his skin sliding moistly against her inner walls. She looked up and down at this man. This great monument of masculinity, large and strong, muscles twitching as he simply took her. Mmmmmm.... He was just delicious. She savoured every movement as he ploughed into her again and again, slowly but with absolute inevitability and no hesitation. There was great, quiet power behind it, like the movement of a continental shelf. He wanted her and he had complete confidence that he had her, completely. "Oooooo!!" she moaned "Mmmmmm!!!" feeling pressure building up inside her, tension growing in the region between her legs but also across her whole body, causing her to arch her back and hold on ever tighter to the sides of the table beneath her. Lyla could feel her own juices escaping between her folds and beginning to run down the soft skin of her inside leg. She marvelled at how good this felt. By how much she wanted this. So much more than Lyle had ever wanted a woman. "Yes!" she, screamed throwing back her head in rhythm with another powerful thrust. Waves of pleasure crashed over her whole body as she came loudly. "Oh, YES! Fuck Me!" she squeeled. And so he did, increasing in pace and beginning to grunt louder. Oh yes, he was going to cum. He was going to fill her up with his spunk. With his seed. Still in a continuing blissful, orgasmic state, a realisation came over Lyla that this was what she wanted more than anything. To be infused with Pablo's baby making love offering. She wanted to receive it inside her, to welcome it, to nurture it. She wished to be the vessel of his reproduction. The arc for the new generation of Pablo She wanted it. She wanted it. And she became it. Pablo exploded inside her, planting his seed in her fertile womb. She somehow knew instantly that she would become pregnant. That she would give birth to Pablo's twin sons. She felt that the whole world was right and a look of complete serenity spread across her face; A look that spoke of perfect balance.