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Desire and Compulsion From my seat near the server's station, I could hear the beautiful young waitresses giggling together. It was a vivacious musical sound, and I felt a stirring of desire--not that I expected to be able to act on it. My days of picking up beautiful women had all but passed, just like my hair. I was dining alone, as had become my habit. In the booth across the aisle from me, there was a slightly sagging woman who was obviously dying her hair, and probably had been for a few years. She kept glancing my way with shy smiles. Most likely, she was a single mother whose children had gone and now she needed to fill the void in her life. It would be easy to get her to come home with me, especially if she knew how many figures my annual salary was. As a young man, I had worked hard in the stock trade and made a fortune quickly--a fortune that I used to play as hard as I worked, if not harder. I had spent my weekends visiting the hottest clubs in major cities, seducing beautiful women or occasionally throwing my own week- long festivals of wild debauchery. With all that, there hadn't been any time left for family. For many, that might be a regret, but I was content. I had made my choices, and they had brought me plenty of happiness. But now I was aging. All the money I had could not stop that eventual process. And while I wouldn't be considered ugly, I was no Clooney either. I had started to have trouble with my cock as well. There was nothing worse than finally picking up the beautiful twenty- something with daddy issues, only to find that I couldn't keep it up long enough to finish the job. Women like the one across the aisle generally didn't mind all that. They seemed to find it endearing, but their reassurances still didn't give me the nights of wild pleasure that I so missed. Still, you have to take what you can get. I was returning one of her smile when all of the sudden, one of the waitresses passed by--she was leggy with fair complexion and long, blond hair which flowed behind her in a wavy ponytail. With more artfully applied makeup, she could have been a model. The woman across the aisle looked pitiful by comparison. Of course, she probably thought the same thing whenever the young waiters passed by with their cocksure grins and lean muscles. I sighed and drained my glass of scotch. My waitress returned with a perky smile and even perkier tits. God, they stuck out like torpedoes, straining the buttons of her white blouse. What's more, the fabric of that blouse was sheer enough that I could see the distinct outline of the woman's bra. Having seen much more than my share of naked bodies, I could easily imagine what hers would look like. I envied all of the men in the world still young and handsome enough to have a shot with her. "Are you ready to order?" she asked in a smooth voice. Handing the menu back to her, I ordered the surf and turf: a prime rib steak and a whole lobster. The girl's dark, manicured eyebrows arched in surprise. "That's the most expensive thing on the menu," she said. "Oh, is it?" I said casually. It was an old habit I had picked up early on when I discovered that the easiest way to impress people about the amount of money you have was to pretend not to notice it. "And I'll have another Jonny Walker Blue," I added, knowing full well it was their most expensive scotch, "and make it a double." At least aging hadn't diminished my ability to get shitfaced. "Right away," the girl said, heading back to the kitchen, her tight, round ass swinging hypnotically beneath a black skirt. I had thrown away any thoughts of the woman beside me. Tonight it felt like, even if I got it up just fine, fucking her would be just too damn depressing. Fittingly, my drink arrived just as I had that thought. The waitress had an even bigger smile on her face as she approached the table. She set a hand on my shoulder, bent across the table with her back arched and her tits thrust forward. Allegedly, she was just setting the drink in front of me, but I had seen this move hundreds of times and knew that what she was really doing was letting me examine the goods, and fuck were they good. Her perfume swirled around me like a cloud of incense, stimulating and intoxicating me. She had the most incredibly smooth complexion, a rich, olive skin tone, dark reddish-brown hair, and shockingly green eyes. Her plump, glossy lips, came near to my ear and said in a breathy voice, "I hope you enjoy it." Judging by the growing pressure in my crotch, I was already enjoying it quite a bit. I could see her ass sticking out behind her, and the curve of her hips as they sloped into her narrow waist, accentuated by a thin black belt over the white blouse. And of course, there were those breasts. Peaking down her blouse, which seemed to have been unbuttoned just a little lower, I could see the plump swell and deep cleavage of a gorgeous rack. The girl was gone quite suddenly, but her presence seemed to linger, just like the scent of her perfume. Maybe she was a gold digger, and I might have a fun night ahead of me after all. Judging by the effect she had had in that brief interaction, I would have no trouble performing if that exquisite beauty was my playmate. I took a swig of my whisky and started scanning the restaurant to see if I could get another glimpse of her. That's when things started to get weird. I felt a strange creeping sensation over my skin, almost like it was being tugged away from my body. Then there was the headache, sudden and intense. I reached for my glass, but couldn't seem to be able to grab it. But when I looked at the table, I could see the glass in my hand, even though I couldn't feel it. Then my vision started to get blurry. I wondered if someone could have spiked my drink. I heard a clatter of falling dishes and raised voices, but it seemed to be an echo, distant and fading. Then my senses ceased. I felt like I was in a void--not darkness, but emptiness. It was terrifying. I welcomed the sudden return of sensation, painful and disorienting as it was. I opened my eyes and saw an array of shoes. I felt the rough floor against my face and dull aches in my shoulder and hip. There were other feelings too that I couldn't place, tingling and pressing and tugging and wet. Had I spilled my drink on myself? For some reason, I must have passed out and fallen. I started to lift myself of the ground, but that sharp headache was still splitting through my head, and I almost collapsed again. I felt disjointed. And maybe it was my dizziness or my still blurry vision, but the whole room seemed to have shifted around. As the world came slowly into focus, I realized I was surrounded on the floor by broken glasses and heard someone telling me to be careful. Another deeper voice said, "Don't worry, I'll help her." I wondered if I had collided with some woman and started looking around. I still hadn't found when a pair of strong arms scooped me up below the arms and brought me quite suddenly to my feet. "What happened?" I asked. My voice sounded wrong for some reason, but it was difficult to place. I didn't get an answer. Whoever had helped me up still had an arm around my waist and seemed to be guiding me somewhere. I stumbled along beside him on shaky legs. I didn't like the idea of another man carrying me along, but in my strangely discombobulated state, it did seem necessary. This was especially true with the jolts of pain which jabbed at my feet which seemed to be clumping along and unable to hit to ground properly. I wondered if I could possibly have glass cutting through my shoe, so I looked down at my feet. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. I couldn't even see my feet at first. Instead, I was looking down the slightly open blouse of a young woman. I could see the black lacy bra cupped around her generous breasts which jiggled with each step--with each of my steps. And I quickly realized that I could feel those breasts moving, I could feel the tug of the bra straps on my shoulders. As I was jostled around and one of my feet came into view, I saw a petite limb wrapped tightly in black heels below what seemed to be long, smooth legs. With that sight, I suddenly became conscious of the feeling of loose fabric around my thighs and a draft between my legs. I hadn't been able to interpret the sensation at first, but understanding clicked that I was wearing a skirt. This lengthy series of realizations actually came rushing over me in a matter of seconds, crystallizing into the simple idea that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong with my body. I started to scream, but the high pitched cry that came out of my mouth frightened me back into silence. I was plopped down into somewhat less than gently in a booth the seat across from where I had been sitting. I thought, then, that the trauma was over. But then my helper sat down across from me, and I recognized his face as my own. I was about to scream again, when he... or I... or whatever it was with my face and my voice said quickly, "Be calm; be still; be silent." To my own surprise, my whole body immediately responded. My mouth snapped shut; I sat upright in the chair with my hands in my lap; and, most surprising of all, I could feel my heart rate begin to drop. All of this freaked me out, but I seemed to have lost the ability to panic. Again I heard the strange sound of my own voice saying, "Tell the manager that you're fine, but you need a minute to recover. Don't say anything else." It was all very confusing, and suddenly there was someone else beside the table. It was a fairly tall (or was I just shorter?) attractive black woman, dressed nicely, looking very official and wearing a concerned, sympathetic expression. She was clearly the manager. "Are you alright?" she asked. "What happened here?" She was looking somewhat suspiciously at me--or rather, at this person impersonating me. I wanted to scream out that this person had done something, that they were stealing my identity, that they should call the police or an ambulance or SOMETHING, but all that came out of my mouth was a strange, lilting voice, saying, "It's alright. I'll be fine, but I just need a minute to recover." "If you say so," the manager said. "I'll be back to check on you in a minute." But I didn't say so. At least, I didn't mean to. Unfortunately, I couldn't seem to say or do anything of my own volition. The manager was gone, and I was alone with... myself. "That's better. Here, dry yourself off," he said, passing me a napkin. Apparently I had spilled some drinks on myself, accounting for the wet feeling. Fortunately, they seemed to have all been water. I dabbed with the napkin at my wet blouse, somewhat horrified to discover that I really did have tits, but that the water had made the white fabric almost transparent as it clung tightly to the foreign orbs. "Now we can talk," he continued. "You're probably wondering what happened to you." It was a severe understatement. Unable to do much else, I simply looked down at... I hesitated to call it MY body--the body that I somehow inhabited. Even just the hands in my lap were astonishing--small and refined, decorated with a vibrant shade of purple--they seemed utterly foreign. Of course, it didn't help that I was looking at them gently folded over a skirt. That obviously feminine article of clothing was tight enough to let me know that there was nothing masculine hidden beneath it, just two long, shapely legs. They were silky smooth and encased in nearly transparent tights, and at some point, I had crossed them at the knee without even realizing it. But of course, these were only passing observations. For the most part, I couldn't look past the enormous tits that thrust out from my chest. They were full and firm, and worst of all, I recognized them. It was only a passing glimpse earlier, but I was something of a connoisseur of beautiful breasts. With their deep cleavage and dark, rich complexion, and the black lace brazier, these could only be the tits of my waitress. I couldn't possibly have become her, could I? "... and then my being would be able to transcend planes and move in a direct path from my physical coordinates to yours. Once your being was displaced..." He had been talking that whole time, but I hadn't heard a word of it. Even once I realized he was talking, I couldn't follow it. I was still too disoriented by the new body, by the strange vantage point, by seeing my own body from the outside and hearing my voice saying words that didn't make any sense. He must have seen my confusion because he stopped mid-sentence and said, "You don't understand this, do you?" Of course I didn't understand. Again, I wanted to scream. I wanted to slap this creep, to yell and curse, to get as far away from here as possible. But again, something within my own consciousness restrained me. I simply shook my head. He sighed. "Let me simplify it," he said. "I was your waitress, but I exchanged bodies with you. You might think of it as stealing, but since we each gained and lost, I prefer to think of it as a transaction. That surely makes sense to a businessman such as yourself. Yes, I know all about you, Marcus Reichardt. I have access to your memories. You will have access to some of mine, but an undeveloped mind such as yours will not be able to explore them at the conscious level. Although, based on your posture, it seems you are already subconsciously drawing on them. He was referring to my crossed legs. Suddenly self-conscious, I uncrossed them, only to cross them at the ankle and tuck my feet below the chair--an equally feminine and demure gesture. My own face grinned with mild amusement. "Let's test just how far your consciousness has merged," he said. "Tell me your name." Without even thinking I said, "Meira Fitzpatrick." It rolled quite naturally off of my tongue, and it was only a moment later that I realized something unusual had happened. That grin on the other person's face widened into a smile. "Good," he said in a voice that it was getting harder and harder to recognize as my own. "It seems like you are adjusting well. You never know for sure how someone is going to react. That's why I developed the drug." The description that followed was difficult to process and understand, but I was able to comprehend that before the waitress had somehow switched our bodies, she had taken a drug that would make her extremely receptive to suggestion. Only now that we had switched bodies, that drug was affecting me. It was why I had so completely submitted to his directions. Apparently, it would wear off in a matter of hours, but until then, I would feel compelled to follow any instructions. Not only that, but I would respond to people's expectations, even the subtle, non-verbal ones. If people expected me to be a woman, I would act like a woman. He demonstrated by directing me to fix my makeup. I didn't know the first thing about makeup, but my body moved almost involuntarily, pulling a small compact mirror from my apron. Suddenly I was looking at a radiant face, what I both recognized and rejected as MY face--the face I was now stuck with. Any lingering doubts about whether I had entered the waitress's body had to be dispelled. Without even needing to think, I smoothed out the foundation on her gorgeous olive complexion. I applied a fresh layer of lips stain to those plump and already richly hued lips, giving them a quick pucker that would have made most men go week in the knees. And I touched up the eyeliner around those incredible and unmistakable piercing green eyes. I was her alright, and I was gorgeous. I finished up these operations, unsettled by my involuntary skill, then put the materials back into the apron from which I had drawn them. Meanwhile, my old face was staring at me with an exultant grin. "You see?" he said. "It makes matters much easier, especially for me, since I can guarantee that you won't go about resisting or trying to tell people what happened. And by the time it wears off, I'll be gone, and your being will be integrated with your body." It was starting to get confusing again, but then he stopped explaining. Instead, he asked, "Do you have any questions?" There were a million, but one clearly rose to the surface. "Why me?" "That's simple enough. For your money. You may have gathered that I was not the real Meira Fitzpatrick any more than you are. I have been at this quite a while, and I have gotten used to a certain standard of living. There is nothing quite as pleasant as a wealthy retirement. Of course, youth has its own perks, so I always switch into a nice youthful body for a year or so before picking another life to take over. Fancy restaurants are a good place to find new bodies like yours. Now I plan to enjoy your golden years and all the wealth you've accrued. Is it unfair? Perhaps. But think about it, you are now thirty years younger. Isn't that worth a fortune?" I had already spent considerable amounts of money trying to preserve my youth, so he had a point. But despite that strange logic, the whole situation was too convoluted for me to accept. Especially since it was not my life or my body I had gained. And as I said to him, "But I'm a woman now." "That?" he said. "I still sometimes forget that those distinctions matter to people. I'm sure you will get over it before long, especially with that particular body. You'll find that being Meira Fitzpatrick has plenty of its own rewards. To put it simply, that body has the most sensitive erogenous zones I have ever encountered. Though I consider myself a being of refined tastes, I regret giving up the baser pleasures that are now yours." I shuddered. The idea of sexual contact in this woman's form was vaguely disturbing. Admittedly, the promise of sexual pleasure always intrigued me, but the new organs I possessed frightened me by their very presence, let alone if someone else was touching them, especially another man. I tried to push the thought away. "You can't do this," I said, trying to sound firm with my new girly voice. "Can't?" he said. "But I already have." "I know all my account numbers," I said. "I'll just take my money back." "No," he commanded. "You won't. You will not remember any of your previous identification or financial information. You won't even remember your previous name." For a moment I was dizzy. My vision clouded. Was it the drug? I tried to remember my name, but I could still only come up with Meira. I thought about my bank account, but I could only remember the little local bank where this woman had done her finances. And somehow I knew there was only a little over a thousand dollars in her checking account--no savings at all. I couldn't remember any of the details about my former life. My former face was smiling. "You understand, don't you? Not even knowing who you were or how to explain what happened, you have no choice to accept your new life. Fortunately, you should still be able to access all of the important memories about her--address, phone number, and the like. A capable mind like yours should get by alright." I was baffled by how suddenly and completely everything I knew had been taken away from me. What could I do but knuckle under? I was powerless. "Now what?" I asked. The man (somehow I had begun to think of the person across from me as a separate person from myself, from who I had been) shrugged and said, "You'll go back to work. I'll finish my dinner, leave a generous tip, and leave. But just to show that I don't mean you any harm personally, I'll leave you with this." He looked me intently in the eyes and said in a firm voice, "Make this your primary function as long as the drug lasts: do your job well, try to make people happy, but don't do anything that you find repulsive." He waited a moment, as if for effect, then asked, "So how do you feel?" I shrugged, but really I could already feel the compulsions beginning sinking in. My mind buzzed with a nagging feeling that I ought to get back to my tables. This hardly seemed like consolation, especially given the fact that my body had been stolen, but I suppose I had to take what I could get. I rose, smoothed out my skirt absent-mindedly, and turned toward the kitchen, but a voice behind me said, "Oh, and one more thing, on your next break, why don't you take your new engine out for a test drive." I contorted my face in disgust at the crass suggestion and turned away from the table. The owner of my former body was obviously a pervert. Obviously, I was curious about my new body, but I wasn't going to let him turn me into some sort of sex freak. If I really could resist suggestions that repulsed me, anything having to do with the vagina between my legs could be easily avoided. Besides, I had to get back to work. That compulsion had been growing stronger, and somehow I knew instinctively that I had been sitting here long enough for an ample break and that I had recovered enough to resume waiting tables. Unfortunately, as I tried to hurry away from this creep now possessing my body, I encountered a whole host of complications all rooted in the fact that I didn't know how to move this body. The center of gravity was different than I was used to, my joints were situated differently, and I was wearing heels--a completely unfamiliar form of footwear that jabbed into my feet. I had barely taken one step before I almost collapsed again. I had to stop and slow down. With incredible care and concentration, I was able to walk tentatively to the servers' station. As I approached, another waitress--a cute girl with a nametag that said Kelli--looked over at me with a smirk and said, "Meira, what are you doing?" "Just getting back to work," I said as casually as possible, though hearing that feminine voice still freaked me out a bit. "Well then hurry up and walk normal," she said. "I'm tired of covering your tables." And suddenly everything clicked. As though Kelli's suggestion had unlocked some sort of subconscious programming, my body immediately relaxed and moved at a normal pace, striding in the heels like I had been doing it for years. They still hurt a little, but not the strained, stabbing pain I had felt initially. The next few steps, I was practically gliding. It was a terrifying, fascinating magic to me, but Kelli didn't seem to notice anything. Of course, once I was standing beside her, I realized another problem. "So, um... which tables are mine?" I asked. Kelli rolled her eyes. "Quit kidding around," she said. "You know which tables you've got." Again, the information clicked. Suddenly I had access to a memory telling me exactly which tables I was responsible for. This became the pattern. I went about my new job somewhat fumblingly at first, but improved quickly thanks to the hypnotic juju that was buzzing around in my brain. Comments from coworkers and the manager, like "Quit wasting time," "Relax," "Get those orders in quicker," "Don't forget to tell them about the specials," "Make sure to check on refills," and other suggestions of varying specificity soon had me waitressing like an expert. At some point, the real waitress left with my body, but there wasn't really anything I could have done with it. All of the suggestions, expectations, and obligations had me entirely preoccupied anyway. I was also walking with a slight wiggle in my hips, talking with a feminine lilt, and writing orders with a florid cursive--all of which seemed to make me stand out less, but which made me nervous about just how much further my life would be altered. I had already lost my body. How much more would I lose? Things started to get a bit scarier when I came back to the servers' station with my latest tips and found Kelli there with hers. She had clearly earned much more, and it wasn't the first time that night. Even though I had quickly gotten the hang of the job, attending tables promptly and delivering orders promptly and accurately, I couldn't seem to earn the big tips Kelli was getting. When I asked about it, she replied, "I'm just flirting with them." "You are?" "Of course," she said. "You ought to know that. I mean, you're the expert." "I am?" Kelli laughed. "I don't know what's with you tonight, but it's cracking me up. Come on, you taught me everything I know. You must just be getting all the gay guys tonight. I bet if you keep showing those tits of yours and sooner or later the tips will roll in." She walked away too quickly to see the deep flush that suffused my cheeks. So far, despite the feminization I had experienced, I had maintained my dignity. But I knew what would happen next. Kelli had given me a suggestion, and I would follow it. Sure enough, the next time I approached a table with refills, I mimicked the motions I had seen this body perform for my eyes, leaning across the table with my back arched, poised specifically to allow the male eyes in the booth to get a good view of my outstanding cleavage. I gave them each a smile that was a little more than friendly and put a little extra swing in my step as I walked away. The indignity of it all was mortifying, but I hadn't had any real control over the situation. The new Marcus had told me that I wouldn't do anything that really repulsed me, but apparently this hadn't fit the bill. Perhaps my desire for better tips had somehow outweighed my sense of masculine pride. To that end, I was rewarded just a few minutes later when I collected my biggest tip of the night from that table. It was depressing to realize that this was my life now. Once, a fabulously successful and wealthy stock broker, in just a few hours, I had been reduced to debasing myself for a few extra bucks. I was practically a whore. Fortunately, I did receive some encouragement not much later. I had continued to play the flirt, whether I really wanted to or not, and men had been paying attention. While delivering food to one table of slightly drunk businessmen, one of them motioned for my attention. "Come a little closer," he said, "I want to tell you something." I played along, even allowing my boobs to press against his shoulder as I leaned my ear toward his mouth. "Why don't we head out to the alley so you can suck my cock?" I was offended, shocked, utterly repulsed that this creep should say that to me. Something inside me which was entirely the old Marcus took control as I reared back and punched the guy right in the face. It wasn't a particularly powerful blow, but I had given it all I had, and the dick head was surprised enough that he actually fell out of his chair. The commotion naturally drew a lot of attention. Once again, the tall, attractive manage--Joan--was checking up on me. The man was blabbering on about how I had asked for it. Fortunately, the other guys had more dignity than their friend and confirmed my side of the story. She nodded, escorted the furious and flustered man from the premises and told me that we would talk when my shift ended. The whole experience was somewhat traumatizing, but I came out of it feeling rather positive. Maybe I had some paperwork to fill out after work, but I had come out on top in the altercation. I had also regained some bit of personal confidence, even though I was still stuck as a woman. I could still get the better of another man, and I had finally resisted a suggestion. Maybe the drug was finally wearing off, but at the very least it confirmed that I really could resist suggestions that repulsed me. Of course, I was unwilling to think about the implications of all the other suggestions which should have repulsed me but apparently didn't. Fortunately after that incident, it was finally time for my break. After getting someone to cover my tables, I headed straight for the employee women's bathroom in the break room. Though it contained multiple stalls, I locked the door for privacy and chose my own stall. Like a practiced expert I had pulled up my skirt and pulled down my panties--a thong, I was horrified to discover--and sat down at the toilet. Only, instead of peeing, I quickly thrust a hand between my legs and started fingering myself. I found my new clitoris almost immediately and felt a jolt of electricity crackle up my spine, set my brain on fire, and illuminate every nerve ending in my new body. A need stronger than any I had ever known trust itself into my mind, demanding that I be touched anywhere and everywhere. I didn't even have time to question this sudden behavior, the need was too strong. The hand between my legs started to massage back and forth and in small circles, while my free hand started roaming over the contours of my body, caressing my limber, stocking-clad legs, sliding over my delicate facial features and plump lips, spending an especially long time on my new tits as I lifted, pinched and squeezed them. Meanwhile, sparks kept leaping from my groin where a hungry fire was growing hotter, and demanding to be fed. Barely hesitating, a finger already coated in the juices flowing from my pussy slipped inside that hot, dark cavern. I gasped out loud--a shrill feminine noise that echoed sharply off the tiled floor and walls of the bathroom, coming back to my ears and making me acutely conscious of what I was doing. It was only then that I remembered what the fucker who stole my body had said right before leaving. Up until then, I had been too busy to think about his parting instructions: to try out my new plumbing. Obviously I was still responding to suggestions, because instead of stopping, like I told myself I wanted to, suddenly I was slipping another finger into vagina I hadn't had a few hours ago. Whatever sort of hypnosis this was, I was glad I at least had the sensibility to lock the bathroom door, because as the sensations continued to build up, soft gasps gave way to long moans. I wasn't supposed to be enjoying this. I was supposed to be a man. But of course, that idea had been difficult to hold onto as the night had progressed. Walking in heals, swinging my hips, touching up my lipstick, answering to the name Meira--all of it had made me feel like I really was her. And now, with one hand cupped around a breast and the other swirling around my clit and slipping into my vagina, hearing my high pitched voice echoing, and what is more, finding that I was enjoying it; I started to lose my sense of self. Enjoying playing with myself was really what did it. Obviously the idea had not repulsed me. In fact, I find it incredibly hot when women masturbate, apparently even if I'm the woman. And a lover of pleasure like myself had been instantly curious, especially after hearing that this body was such a good ride. However much I had wanted to hold onto the idea of myself as a man, I had also wanted to experience what this body had to offer. And it certainly lived up to the promise. Almost immediately, it was the best masturbation I had ever experienced. Whatever misgivings had entered in my mind were soon driven out by the pleasure that was consuming every nerve cell in my body. It didn't take long before I was thrashing back and forth on the toilet seat trying desperately to shove my fingers deeper, faster into my steaming wet cunt. My moans had escalated into short, sharp screams like an actress in a porno. Finally, the pleasure got to be too much. I felt my vagina clamp onto my fingers as my knees grew weak. When the spasm of pleasure shook me, I almost fell into the toilet. Fortunately, I had a nice set of wide hips and a round ass that kept me from sinking too far. Screaming and sighing with my fingers still rubbing slowly, I felt my body relax as my breathing slowed. "Holy shit," I exhaled. "That was fucking... AMAZING!" I didn't have long to bask in the glow since my break was quickly disappearing, and I needed to get myself together. I grabbed some toilet paper and wiped off my hand and my pussy, hoping that the pungent scent of those juices wouldn't be too noticeable when I went back to work. I slipped my underwear back on and fixed the clothes which had been thrown into serious disarray in my frantic desire to grope myself. Finally, I left the stall and checked the mirror. It was my first proper look at myself since the transformation. Of course, I had seen this body when it belonged to my waitress, and I had looked down at myself and checked my face in a compact, but this was my first look at the total picture from inside. "God, I'm hot," I said aloud. Of course, the body was incredible, lean and toned, but with just the right curves. The outfit also accentuated all the best features: the skirt wrapped tightly around hips and ass while just a bit too short for work, the silky thin white top, unbuttoned enough to show off the swell of my enormous tits, and the dark purple bra which showed faintly, but undeniably through my blouse. This package was further enhanced by my post-orgasm face. With my hair ruffled, my cheeks flushed, my eyes glaze with lust, and my lips parted in a satisfied grin could feel warmth starting to build again in my crotch just from looking at my own reflection. But I had to get back to work. I wiped some sweat from my brow and the back of my neck, fixed my hair and touched up my make-up. By the time I was done, I had used up my entire break, though of course, it had been worth it. Unfortunately, I had to get back to work. It was also well past time to unlock the bathroom door. But just as I reached for the lock, I heard something completely unexpected. It was a moan, low and sensual, the same type that had crossed my lips not long before. With horror, I remembered that I had not even thought to check if someone else had been in one of the stalls. There was another moan. I realized that what I had taken to be the sound of a toilet refilling was actually the soft squelching of someone playing with herself. I carefully bent down to look under the stalls and saw a pair of stylish but refined black heels. Someone had been in the bathroom the entire time I was masturbating, and now she was getting off herself. There was another cry, louder. The woman moaned, "Oh fuck!" Feeling terrified and embarrassed, I dashed out of the bathroom and went back to work. For a long time, I was afraid to even look in the direction of the break room, so I never saw whoever it was come out. I just hoped they didn't know who I was either. The rest of my shift continued much as the first half had. I did notice that the clientele shifted gradually from groups and couples having dinner to singles and parties having drinks. There were definitely more eyes watching me walking through the restaurant with what had become a naturally sultry sway. I hadn't needed to think about my walk for a while, so I didn't notice it getting even more confident and sexy as my subconscious continued to absorb the attention. Similarly, my posture increasingly thrust my boobs forward or dangled my cleavage temptingly in patrons' views. Embarrassingly, I had also continued exploiting my new looks. Under Kelli's suggestion, I was flirting ever more forwardly with customers for better tips. It was effective, and so I started pouring it on even thicker, smiling brightly, initiating playful physical contact, and offering the occasional suggestive comment. Thanks to all these slight behavior modifications, but also because the clientele was getting drunker, I experienced an increasing amount ass- grabbing, lewd comments, and the occasional wolf whistle. Most of this annoyed me. But some of it, and this frightened me, gave me pleasure. The continuous attention was nice, even if it was from men. Eventually, even the barflies started to disperse. The staff started some of the tasks of cleaning up for clos, even though the sign still said "Open." I was feeling exhausted from the hardest day of work I'd had in decades. Why would anyone stoop to such a position? Even if I was stuck in this body, I didn't have to be stuck in this job. I still had the mind of a stockbroker after all. I could start all over. It would take time, sure, but I was young again. The toughest part would be getting some startup capital, especially since I was working this crap job. It was in the midst of this contemplations that Joan appeared again. She guided me to her office so that we could have a chat. "An exciting shift for you, eh Meira?" she said when I had taken a seat in front of her desk. "How are you feeling?" "Alright," I said vaguely, knowing that there was no way I could possibly explain the bizarre mix of feelings I had experienced in the last few hours. "That fall earlier seemed pretty bad." Any lingering injuries we might have to take care of?" The loss of my own body seemed like too much of a stretch to bring up, so I shook my head. Joan said, "Well don't be afraid to mention any issues. We want to take care of our employees. Now," she said, quite officially, "this sexual harassment." "Right. Sorry about overreacting." "Can't say I've never thought about doing the same," Joan said. "Guys can be real creeps sometimes." It felt odd to be excluded from that statement, to realize that whatever generalizations someone ever made about men, they would never again have me in mind. Conversely though, it was kind of nice to realize I was "one of the girls." I already had some sort of bond with my boss all based on that simple distinction. It was all sort of convoluted, so I just nodded. But then the manager said, "Although, the guy did say that you were asking for it. Why do you think he said that?" I swallowed hard. Suddenly it seemed like I might be in some sort of trouble. It seemed like I might be moments away from being not just a woman, but unemployed as well. Having held disciplinary meetings with my own employees before, I knew that honesty went a long way, so I decided to be up front with Joan, as embarrassing as it was to say. "Well, I was flirting a bit with some of the customers," I admitted. "But I was just trying to be friendly, maybe earn a bit more in tips." "Ah," she said ambiguously. Her intensely dark eyes looked me over. "Perhaps it also had something to do with your appearance. You ARE dressed a little provocatively." I knew she was right, but I hadn't even been the one to dress myself. And it wasn't even my body to begin with. But how could I explain that? To my relief, Joan suddenly shifted the subject, saying, "This is why sexual harassment can be a tricky subject, can't it? It's all a matter of whether or not someone really wants it." I had often thought so myself, but that was because I had often been the one shagging secretaries, generally believing that they did want it. But I wasn't sure what Joan was getting at, so I again refrained from commenting. "Personally," she continued, "I don't mind your outfit. I think you look gorgeous in it." I felt my face flush. Though I had enjoyed getting attention, I was still a bit uncomfortable with being complimented for this body's appearance. "The shoes are very cute too." "Oh," I said, looking down at the uncomfortable black heels. Finally, I stammered out, "Thank you." "Yes, and I remember thinking that earlier too," she went on. "I'm certain I saw those shoes when I was in the employee bathroom earlier. In the stall beside me." And then I froze. I knew someone had overheard my compulsory masturbation, but I could not have imagined that it was my boss of all people. I stammered, "Um... that was..." "It was 'fucking amazing' I believe you said. Yes, I know it was you," she said. With no excuse or escape, I again went with honesty. "I guess so." "Which means that below that skirt of yours, you're wearing a sexy little thong. Aren't you." I was getting very uncomfortable for entirely different reasons and just wanted to get out of the situation. "This seems a little personal," I said. "You must understand that I heard everything in there," she said. "Rather inappropriate at work. I could write you up for that." "I can explain," I said, knowing full well that I couldn't. "I don't care." I looked down, and as I did, I saw Joan's stylish black heels, and something else occurred to me. "You know," I said, "I... I heard you too." She cocked an eyebrow. "Did you?" "Yes," I said with growing confidence. "I could report you too." Joan nodded slowly. "Then it seems like we're at an impasse. Which means there's only one question left." "What's that?" She grinned "Did you like it?" "What?" "You heard me," she said. "Did it turn you on?" "I..." I couldn't look at her intense gaze or I'm sure I would have revealed how attractive I found her. I tried to look down, but stopped at her chest. Had she undone a couple of buttons at some point? I could see the deep swell of her cleavage, so entrancing that I couldn't look away. Still I was stammering for an excuse, "I... I..." "You're staring at my rack," Joan said. "I'm sorry," I said, finally tearing my gaze away. "Who said I was complaining? I'm proud of it." Joan clutched her bust with both hands and hefted the sizable boobs. "Would you like a better look?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she stood and walked around the desk to stand in front of me. Her breasts were right in front of my face. I could smell perfume wafting off of them. "They're beautiful, aren't they?" Joan said, her voice softer, lower, sexier. "Not as nice as yours of course." I wasn't sure. My tits were huge, but Joan had what could only be called killer curves, and she knew how to carry them--how to use them. I was entranced by those plump breasts. "They're... they're really nice." Joan stepped closer, then paused. A smile spread across her lips. She spread her legs to straddle me in the chair. I was inches from her lips as she asked, "Do you want to touch them?" Actually, our enormous boobs were already pressed together, but I was desperate to take hers into my hand--into my mouth. "I... yes, but... I don't... are you sure we should be--" "Shut the fuck up." With that, she pressed our lips together. I don't think I had ever been kissed so aggressively. Immediately, her hands were all over me, gripping me firmly at the back of the neck, sliding across my sheer tights, groping my exposed breasts, sliding up below the hem of my skirt. It was all intensely arousing, and I almost immediately felt a warm wetness starting to spread beneath my legs. The idea of sex in this body at all should have been repulsive. Unfortunately, Joan incredibly attractive. She was long and lithe with a confident carriage. Even more so, she was old enough to be experienced, but young and healthy enough that her body still looked magnificent. It didn't help that, having masturbated once already, I knew what sort of pleasure this body was capable of feeling, and I was already hungry for more. I responded to her ministrations somewhat tentatively at first, but with growing confidence. I welcomed her tongue into my mouth, caressed and tweaked the nipples that stood out proudly through the fabric of her bra, used my new longer nails to scratch gently at the back of her neck and firmly across her back. When our lips finally parted for the first time, she simply panted, "God, you're so fucking sexy," before again smashing our lips together. Her hands were working quicker, almost frantically but for how clearly determined they were--casting aside my blouse, almost ripping off my bra, and reaching up my skirt to grab the soft flesh of my ass. There was stimulation coming from so many sources and an increasing warmth building between my legs. It was too much to process, too much to handle, and I started to moan. Joan quickly hissed for me to be quiet. I grabbed myself at the thigh, digging in deeply with my nails to try to keep myself from crying out loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear me. Quite suddenly, Joan pulled back and climbed off of my lap. Looking over my flustered and partially undressed form, she wore with an exultant grin, apparently pleased with the effect she was having on me. Resuming her authoritative tone, she said "Take off your skirt." Nervous, but eager, I complied. Joan's eyes were filled with lust as she said, "And your panties too." I swallowed hard. Of course this moment had been coming. That had been obvious long ago. I had missed my chance to escape the situation. Of course, it was probably still possible to get out of it if I really wanted to, but the compulsion to stay, to let this woman see me, to find out what heights of pleasure I was capable of experiencing--it was all too strong. I hooked my thumbs below the thin strings of my thong and started to pull them down. The thin triangle of fabric covering my sex clung briefly to the wetness of my already swollen labia before it peeled away, exposing that sensitive skin to the cool air. I shivered, but kept going, barely noticing how I bent sharply at the waist so that the round cheeks of my ass stuck out proudly. When my panties had made it to my ankles, I straightened up slowly and stepped out of them. All I had left on were my tights and my shoes. Never in my life had I felt so exposed, or so aroused. This body seemed to feel everything more intensely than I had ever experienced. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once. Joan walked around me, looking me up and down, a hand reached out and slid across my skin. "So beautiful," she said. It felt like fire everywhere she touched, and I began to squirm in nervous anticipation. Those fingers glided around the narrow curve of my waist, down my flat stomach, across my wide hips, and lower. My pulse was quickening, my temperature rising. Those fingers slid gently but determinedly across my labia, already slick with my own juices. "My, my," Joan said. "So wet already. You must really enjoy fooling around at work." Her fingers had lingered between my legs, sliding ever so slowly over my wet pussy lips so that I was squirming where I stood. Then suddenly, she grazed my clit. I couldn't help but let out a high- pitched gasp. "You like that, don't you?" Joan said with a devilish grin. "Do you want this?" "Want what?" I said, feeling thrilled and afraid. "You heard me," she said. "Do you want to fuck?" I knew I should be wrestling with myself over this, but between this woman's beauty, my love of pleasure, and all I had experienced already, my answer was easy. "God, yes." Joan smiled. "Such a bad girl." SMACK! I gasped again. Joan's other hand had whipped forward and smacked me across my round ass. I could still feel the flesh jiggling. "But such a nice ass," she said. Now she grabbed it firmly and shook the flesh. "So beautiful. Especially when you wear those tight little skirts of yours. You know, I really ought to talk to you about dressing more professionally, but what can I say? I have a thing for bad girls." And she spanked me again, and I yelped. The spot where she had struck me stung a bit, but I was surprised to realize that it didn't really hurt. In fact there was something arousing about being a "bad girl." Apparently Joan could pick up on this. "What am I going to do with you?" she asked. Ideas poured through my head unbidden, several of which made me a bit nervous, but each of which turned me on more than the one before. Joan was still grinning as she said, "I think I know just the thing." She promptly sank down to her knees in front of me. Without any build-up at all, she clamped her lips around my pussy and began licking and sucking more ferociously than she had while we were kissing. It was an explosion of sensation, so strong that my knees buckled slightly. Only the sensations didn't fade at all, but continued to build each time her hot, wet tongue slid over my clit. Her hands groped at my ass, her nails digging into the skin. Almost delirious, I pawed at my own enormous tits with one hand while the other was clamped over my mouth to keep me from screaming out. And still the pleasure kept building. It was ten times better than the best blowjob I could remember, 100 times better than when I had explored this new body a few hours ago. My hips were thrusting against Joan's face as she continued to lick and suck. Then suddenly, there was another feeling. I had been too overwhelmed by feelings to notice that one of Joan's hands had started to creep up my thigh until there was a finger resting at the entrance to my pussy. Then suddenly, with one of my frantic thrusts, that finger plunged inside. It was like a boulder dropped in a lake. An orgasmic tidal wave washed over me and continued to sweep me away as ripples radiated out from my cunt. My knees finally gave out, and I collapsed on my ass in the boss's office. But before the waves of pleasure had even slowed, she was on me again, still licking and sucking while her finger thrust in and out of me at a furious pace. I couldn't think, barely knew how to react. Every nerve in my body was on fire and soon they were bursting with another orgasm. My vision seemed to stop working. For a moment, it almost felt like I was transcending my body again, but then the world started to come back into focus. Joan was standing over me. I'm not sure how long I had been in that orgasmic haze, but it had clearly been long enough for her to remove all her clothes. Without the stiff formality of her work attire, she was revealed as a goddess of sexuality. This was a mature form which had not yet started to decline. Her dark brown skin was rich and smooth. Her curves were sensual and graceful while her waist remained narrow and her breasts rip and firm. Tight, black dreadlocks cascaded around her face and down her chest like small tentacles slithering down to grasp her tits. And best of all, with her long toned legs slightly spread, I could look straight at her puffy labia, slick with the fluids of her arousal. I've always considered a wet vagina one of the most beautiful sights man is capable of witnessing, and Joan had one of the most beautiful pussy's I'd ever seen. I could feel myself heating up at the sight, though of course this meant not an erection, but more wetness of my own. It was a feeling I was growing to appreciate, even if it was still a bit odd. "My turn," she said, resting her plump ass on the desk and spreading her legs wide. Her pussy opened up like a flower. The scent of her arousal, or more likely the blended aroma from both of us, was a drug that entranced me. Without any more coaxing, I crawled eagerly across the room, knelt before -----'s beautiful body and shoved my face into her crotch. She was perfectly smooth down there, just the way I had always liked my women, and I was soon eagerly lapping up the juices that flowed freely from that hot cunt. Confident fingers ran through my hair, pulling me even deeper. Joan's hips started to rock back and forth. She refrained from moaning to keep others from hearing us, but she still breathed in sharp hisses, occasionally whispering things like, "Oh yeah Meira, right there," or "That's right, eat me out you little slut," or sometimes just, "Holy shit!" Then suddenly, her legs clamped tightly around my head. I looked up at her, as much as I was able, and saw Joan arching her back, clinging desperately to her tits, with her mouth parted in a soundless scream of ecstasy. A fresh gush of fluids confirmed that she was orgasming. Finally, her legs relaxed and her breathing slowed. "What a great cunt sucker," she said, and I smiled with a curious pride, glad that something I had learned as a man was still useful. Then Joan said, "I need some more of that." She changed her posture so that she was now bent over the desk with her gorgeous plump rear sticking out toward me. "Kiss my ass," she said. Anal stuff hadn't been my cup of tea as a man, either receiving or giving, but when Joan ordered, dutifully, almost eagerly, I complied. Most likely, that drug still had something to do with it, but there was something incredibly erotic about the power she had over me. I was also spurred on by this woman's boundless sexuality. It was intoxicating and held the promise of more pleasure for myself. So, I pulled apart those plump ass cheeks and kissed the tight hole that I found there, occasionally pausing to kiss and nibble the beautiful flesh that surrounded it. Meanwhile, Joan fingered herself frantically. At some point, I heard a rattling noise. Still bent over her desk, she was fishing for something in the drawers. And then I saw what it was. The hand at her crotch was no longer rubbing; instead it was thrusting a bright purple dildo in and out of her slick drenched pussy. And fuck, was it hot. Even Joan was letting out a few soft gasps now, and just the sound was driving me wild. One of my hands slipped down over my body, down all the way to my own increasingly wet pussy. I was already falling in love with my new anatomy, with the incredible well of pleasure it offered. God it felt good to finger myself. Suddenly, I felt Joan's muscles tighten. Her ass clenched, and she thrashed on top of the desk in the throes of an orgasm. I tried to push myself over the edge again, but couldn't quite get there. My mind was buzzing with sensation, with need, and with hunger. I kept running my hands over my skin, pinching, groping, and caressing, hoping to find that extra bit of stimulation that would give me release. Joan was sitting on the desk now and was licking her own juices off of that little purple dildo. Then she slipped the whole thing into her mouth, sliding her glossy pink lips over its whole length. Part of my mind was thinking about how hot it would be to have those lips closed around the dick I once possessed, but a much louder portion of my mind was thinking that if I could just be filled with something like that, I might get the release I need. And then Joan was smiling at me. "You need something special, don't you?" I nodded in mixed shame and desire. She reached back into the desk drawer and pulled out something new. It seemed to just keep coming--a long, knobby rubber shaft with bulbous tips at either end. She knelt down on the floor with me. She kissed one tip of the two way dildo, then held that tip out to me. "Go ahead," she said, "give it a lick." In spite of my desire, I hesitated. There was something incredibly visceral about this action. For all my love of pleasure, I had never been very kinky. Even sticking a finger into one of my own orifices had been too far. Now I was face to face with this absolutely phallic object, contemplating sticking it into my own body. The idea terrified me. But there was that burning need inside me, and the longer I stared at that rubber shaft, the stronger it grew, and the more certainly I understood what I had to do. I didn't just lick the dildo; I practically inhaled it. My lips closed tightly around the shaft while my tongue lapped at every surface. I nearly gagged taking so much of it into my mouth. On the other end, Joan was performing similar actions, staring at me all the while with lust glazed eyes. Through some unspoken agreement, we both withdrew. Now we were guiding the dildo lower. My hips were already twitching, as if my body couldn't wait any longer to be penetrated, to obliterate any sense that I was actually a man. Still, I might have been able to back out, but Joan's hands were also on the dildo. She pulled it into herself. There was a squelching of her body receiving the rod. Her eyes widened and lips parted in wordless pleasure. And then I felt pressure. I don't know who was guiding it, but the dildo was pressed against my opening, and then there was a precise, but determined thrust, and I was split open. "Ooohh, fuck," I sighed as a whole new wave of sensations passed over me. To my surprise, they did not abate, but simply kept growing, spreading to every corner of my body. I started to shake, said again, "Oh, fffuck!" And then a single burst of blissful agony leapt from my body in a delighted gasp as I discovered the ecstasy of multiple orgasms. When I came down, Joan was looking at me with a pleased grin. I didn't even have my bearings back when she started to move. She had one hand on the dildo and was thrusting over it, but it also moved the dildo inside of me, sending bursts of pleasure with each movement. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced or been able to experience as a man, and I needed more. Soon, I was thrusting as well. Joan and I settled into a scissoring position, thrusting back and forth, occasionally vigorously enough that our hips slammed together, delivering a burst of sensation to my oh so sensitive clit which I rubbed furiously the whole time. My eyes were locked with Joan's, at least when the pleasure wasn't so intense that it forced them shut or when I wasn't getting smacked in the face by my own enormous boobs which flopped around wildly with each thrust. We had given up any pretense of quiet as our pussies squelched around the dildo, as our asses smacked around the floor, and as our moans of pleasure escalated in volume and frequency. Our pace increased as well. I don't know how I possibly managed the coordination, but apparently it was not the first time this body had been in such a position. Not only muscle memory, but visual memory came flooding back. I saw glimpses of myself, or of my new body, locked in frenzied passion with several different women. Even though it wasn't quite the same as them being my own memories, the extra stimulation was strong enough to push me over the edge one more time. "Oh, God!" I cried. For a moment my body went rigid, arching my back and thrusting my breasts into the air; then I collapsed. My body shook and convulsed for a moment as electricity crackled through my body, setting every nerve on fire, but I no longer had the mental capacity to think, let alone control my limbs. Joan was still going, moving frenetically and managing to still thrust in and out of me, which kept me gliding on the edge of bliss. The sight of my release seemed to be the golden ticket for her, as she let out a long, low moan that shook her whole body. Holy shit, she was hot. Before the dildo withdrew, I felt one, final wave of heat, like my body had turned into a kiln, which took the soft clay of my mind and in that furnace of pleasure transformed it into something strong and beautiful. Joan was lying across from me, panting. "You'll... uh... have to leave first," she said. "Pull yourself together if you can." But I had recovered more quickly this time, stood up and started getting dressed. It wasn't that the orgasm hadn't been good. Actually, it had been the best yet. But instead of draining me, it energized me. And while I had felt vulnerable with Joan before, now that I saw her gazing at me in desire, almost in worshipful adoration, I felt a reversal. Yes, she was my boss, and that authority she held gave me a buzz, but even more erotic was my control over her. My body and my sexuality gave me power--power that could be used to bring me more of that incredible pleasure. "See you next time," she said. I certainly didn't enjoy the job, but clearly it had its perks. Maybe I would hold onto it for a little while after all. The restaurant was dark, obviously closed down by now, so I headed to the break room area. There, I was met by a cluster of women--my fellow waitresses. Kelli was at their head. "THERE you are," she said. "We've been waiting for you." Before I could even make up an excuse, she continued, saying, "We're all ready. Get yourself dressed up and we'll go out." "Go out?" "Oh come on," another girl said. "Don't flake out on us." "Yeah," someone else, I think her name Chihiro, said. "Besides, I saw that sexy little number you brought in your locker. It would be a crime not to show that off tonight." "Really?" I said, completely unaware I even had a locker, though for some reason I had walked up to one in particular. I was even spinning the dial. Of course, I had no idea what the combination could be, but as soon as I tried the handle it swung open. More leftover knowledge, apparently. As soon as the locker opened, a chorus of squeals erupted from the girls. "That settles it," Kelli said. "You have got to put on that dress and come out with us tonight." Sudden excitement welled up inside me. "Okay!" I said. "I can't wait!" Another squeal of delight from the girls. They started talking about different bars and clubs, while I hurried into the bathroom to get changed. Eager anticipation sped all my actions. I could no longer tell whether my desires were my own, or if they were just created by the drug. Regardless, I was obviously not repulsed by this idea. In fact, now that I knew how good sex felt in this body, the opportunity for more had my heart racing and an increasingly familiar warmth growing between my thighs. I quickly got undressed, taking off even my underwear. I could already tell that the dress was one that would have to be worn without a bra, and my panties had already been soaked through twice today. As sexy as the thong felt, taking it off was even more of a rush. And for the first time, I could gaze at my naked reflection. It was a whole new look at the person I had become. Earlier, in my formal but flirty uniform, I had been hot. Now, completely nude, still flushed from sex with Joan, and with my hair flowing freely around my face, I was an image of radiance. Even though I had begun to accept that the girl in the mirror was me, I almost fell in love with her image. More than that, I nearly indulged myself with another bout of masturbation, but I really did feel eager to get dressed. Of course, I had to figure out how the clothing actually functioned. It seemed absurd to call the tiny swath of purple material I had found in the locker a "dress." There didn't even seem to be enough fabric for a skirt. And yet, through some miracle of engineering, it stretched to cover me. "Cover" being a loose term. In reality, it was little more than a miniskirt and bra held together by a few crisscrossing straps that managed to expose my navel, most of my back, deep, deep cleavage and even a bit of side boob. As someone who had been a man when he woke up that morning, I should have been uncomfortable, but I was beginning to feel exhilarated. The locker had also held accessories to complete the outfit, all in gold. I snapped half a dozen bracelets around my wrists and strapped on shiny gold heels an inch and a half taller than the ones I had worn while working. I also touched up my makeup, adding metallic gold eye shadow that made my bright green eyes glow even brighter against my dark complexion. The final touch was vibrant purple lipstick. My hair, I left untouched. I had smoothed out the "just fucked" hair a little, but it kept that hint of wildness that went with party girl I had dressed up as. Once more, I looked at my reflection. Once more, I saw an entirely new person. First, I had looked a bit slutty, but hot. Naked, I had been a vision of radiant beauty. Now, dressed to accentuate my assets to the fullest, I looked like the embodiment of sex. "Hott" couldn't describe me. "Sexy" fell short. "Beautiful" was only a start. There weren't enough "X"s in the world to rate the things this body could put into a person's head, even my own. I could picture this woman on her back, on her face, covered in sweat, writhing and moaning, surrounded by other women, surrounded by men. I could see myself bent over, kissing and licking and thrusting and getting penetrated over and over again. In spite of my earlier resolve, I had started squeezing the plump tits that strained the dress's straps. Another hand had reached up below the dress (admittedly, that didn't take much effort) to shove a finger up my aching cunt. I came immediately, collapsing onto the sink. Thank god, I had already decided to go without panties. I wiped myself up and applied some fresh perfume, though I liked that there was a lingering scent of arousal underneath. Finally, I was ready. The girls fawned over how good I looked when I reappeared. Somehow, I now understood that each of them, even the straight ones, had a tiny part of themselves that wanted to fuck my exquisite body. And then the