Don't Blink free porn video

Don't Blink By Daphne DeYoung "Put that away, young man." You startle, surprised that someone would bother to comment on the vid on your screen. Okay, maybe surfing porn on the bus isn't the coolest thing you've done recently, but it's not like you were holding it up trying to show everyone, right? But no, some old biddy has to make a big stink out of it. At least her voice isn't that loud. Yet. "It's okay, lady, just look away." You glance up to see an ancient, stooped lady wearing a shawl, for all the world like some ancient russian grandma. But her eyes don't look old. They look fierce. Stern. Angry. "Ah c'mon. Don't get huffy." You try to make light of the situation and wave your hand at the screen. "Look at her. She's obviously enjoying it. No harm, no foul." "What? You should show more respect for the gift she's bestowing on those men." "Oh hell no. Lots of chicks are like this. Totally hot, horny and ready to go. They couldn't keep the porno industry alive without them. They're all totally insatiable." The old crone pauses a moment, as if taken aback by your comment. She smiles to herself, nods, and just before you're about to turn back to your screen, secure that you won that argument somehow, she taps your shoulder, hums an odd bar or two of a song, and says "Enjoy your visitor." You get this odd warm feeling across your body suddenly and you could swear you heard a faint but cute giggle from somewhere. You shake your head, but the lady stays quiet after that and you try real hard to not even glance her way after that. Your stop arrives, you grab your tablet and walk down the block to your apartment building. The bus encounter starts to slip from your thoughts because you can't really make sense of it anyway. That lady was weird. And that giggle too. You head inside and you can tell by the quiet that your roommate isn't home. The one thing you haven't really stopped thinking about since the bus was that video you were watching with the chick giving that hot blow job. You grin and head back to your bedroom. It really is a good video and you'll be damned if it doesn't look like that slut is really enjoying what she's doing. You can't imagine looking like that and not enjoying it. No actor is that good. Thinking about how much fun it would be to fuck a truly insatiable chick makes it even better and pretty soon you get down to business. It doesn't take you long to climax, in fact, it's almost a ridiculously short amount of time. Even so, you cum a lot harder and with a lot more quantity than normal. It seems to go on forever and you get pretty covered in it. It's a phenomenal feeling and you do everything you can to keep it going. A bit of your cum eventually hits you in the face and mouth. It tastes...great...and after a moment of hesitation, you taste just a bit more, licking it from the corner of your mouth. And then more. Damn. This stuff is great. Why does no one talk about it? You immediately sense that you're standing naked in the kitchen looking into the open refrigerator holding the door handle with the cold air rolling down your body. You feel weak in the legs like you just had an orgasm, but there's no mess. You feel absolutely awesome, but seriously, you must have slept walked or something. That's not good. You worriedly scan the fridge for signs that you did something you'd regret, but there's nothing like what you feared. Confused, you close the fridge slowly and look around, unsure what might be around you and not certain of anything. You grab a chair and relax a second to catch your bearings. That doesn't work at all, because when you lean over to catch your breath, putting your hands on your knees, you can't help but notice the silky smoothness of your legs. There's not a hair on them. Or on your balls. You jump to your feet, your hands searching your body for signs of stubble or hair. But no, you've been denuded. Your mind twitches a bit trying to make a joke of what's happening and you consider that maybe you've been "more-nuded" instead. The wall clock strikes the top of the hour and the chimes just keep ringing beyond where you know they should have stopped. You glance at the clock only to realize it's 5pm now. It was 1:30 just a second ago. Your mind takes a back flip. You lost three and a half hours and all your body hair. What. The. Fuck. But if it's 5pm, you don't have time to think about it. You're on the evening shift tonight and you need to get moving or you'll be late. You rush upstairs, grab your clothes and head to the job. There, you're almost too busy to think about it, but the feeling of the fabric moving smoothly across your skin is a constant distraction and it makes you seem really absent-minded at work. By the end of the evening, your co-workers are jokingly accusing you of being drunk. The night finally ends and you grab a couple of slices and a salad to take home. When you get home, you decide to avoid thinking about the blackout for a bit and just eat dinner. You grab a coke and some salad dressing from the fridge and come back to eat. Pepperoni. Uninspired, but the king of zas. It'll do. You try to imagine how the blackout this afternoon happened. Sure, you had just cum, but it's not like it was the first time you'd ever done that, and you don't feel bad or wrong at all write now. You smile into the mirror. Nope. Your smile isn't crooked. Probably not a stroke. You crack the box on the salad and pour some dressing on it. The last thing you remember was the smell and taste of your cum on your hand. In fact, damn, this salad dressing kind of smells like it. Damn. That's good salad dressing though. In fact, it does taste the same. The refrigerator! You're in the living room sitting on the couch. The TV's on and an afternoon talk show is droning on. Its late afternoon and you've lost the night and most of the next day. It's almost time for work again! You don't remember going to bed, waking up, or anything at all up until now. You clearly need to see a doctor. Not later, but right now. Screw going to work, this is crazy. You head to the bedroom to grab your wallet and keys, but decide to grab a glass of water in the bathroom on the way. There, arrayed neatly across the counter next to the sink, in front of the mirror, is a neatly-packed makeup kit, a small rack of brushes, cotton balls in a corset-shaped container, and every conceivable makeup appliance. That definitely wasn't there yesterday, but you figure your roommate must have hooked up with some hottie and she left her gear here. She certainly came prepared though. Weird. You reach for the glass at the sink and freeze immediately. You don't want to look but you know instantly. Something is wrong with your face. You slowly rotate to see and you're shocked beyond measure. Your face is made-up flawlessly. Your pores seem to have vanished under expertly applied foundation, your eyes are sculpted into passionate wings of light, and your lips are so expertly painted they seem larger than life trapping your eye as you gaze at them. It's still definitely you with makeup on, but the makeup is nearly perfect. It's incredible. It's also weirder than shit. First the hair and now this? Are you doing this to yourself, or is someone doing this to you? But how could they possibly black you out like that? Some date rape drug you don't know about? The salad dressing was definitely spiked with something though. That's for sure. Weird that it tasted so damned good. And then you realize your mind is going in circles and you struggle to break the loop. First thing's first. You need to go to the hospital. No. First thing is to get that damn makeup out of the apartment. Your roommate will be home any moment. You run to the kitchen and grab a trash bag, head back to the bathroom and sweep it all into the sack. You can't stop yourself from glancing up at your reflection, finally forcing yourself to break away when you realize you've been staring. You run into your bedroom, thinking to throw it all in the closet to deal with it later, but you stop dead as soon as you enter. Because there all over your bedspread, are the empty shopping bags and boxes that all that makeup had been in recently. Either you bought that makeup, or someone is trying hard to make you think you did. You find receipts buried in all that trash. It's your signature. You bought it all. You sit down on your bed. You don't do anything at all for a while. Not a thought. Then you hear the front door open and your roommate yells out "Dude!" You jump to your feet to get your bedroom door shut quickly and yell back the customary "Yeah, but what's mine say?" He yells "Sweet" and you hear him toss his stuff down by his computer, probably already lost in thought about whatever game he was going to play. Safe for the moment, you look at your wall mirror and take the time to really study the makeup on your face. There is no way that you did this. You have no idea how to do this. No idea at all. But it's expertly done. Your lashes are long and lush, the colors in the eye shadow blend like they've been airbrushed, your eyes themselves look enormous. Your cheeks and nose have been highlighted just so to accent them properly for maximum effect. The lips you could write books about. The color looks so deep you could fall in and wet enough to drown in. You have no idea how many levels of color are involved. Seriously. If you met a gal this perfectly made up, you'd wonder where the movie was being shot. On you, the look is patently ridiculous. But there must be something you like about it, because you get can feel yourself getting aroused at how feminine your face has become. Sure enough, before you know it, you're pretty hard just from looking at your reflection. You know it's wrong, but that doesn't really matter. You're going to the doctor's in just a minute, but you need to wash up first, and before you do that, well...stress relief is probably good for you now, right? So you lay on your bed and you watch yourself in the mirrored closet doors. WIth one hand busy, that leaves the other free to roam your hairless body and the sensations are amazing, but your eyes are riveted to what the makeup has done for your face. You watch that feminine version of yourself get more and more excited. You even pout those amazing lips and coo a bit at yourself quietly. It's amazing. You cum and you cum and you cum all over yourself. Spent, you realize you need to clean up and get your face clear of the makeup, but you weren't really thinking and don't have anything handy to wipe up all that cum. Without really thinking about it, you scoop up some in your hand and bring it to your lips. The smell is incredible, but the taste when it hits your mouth is like pop rocks going off in your brain. You look up to see that feminine face holding the cum in her open mouth, obviously savoring the moment. You're still standing in front of your bedroom mirror. Your face is still made up, but it's different. The eye shadow is blue now, and your lips are a deeper red than before. It's still perfectly applied however. You're also wearing panties. Nothing else. Just these little red lacey boy shorts with tiny little pink hearts sculpted along the top and leg edgings. You force your attention elsewhere. It's night time. You glance at the clock. It seems like not much time has passed this time. Good. You have no idea where the panties came from, but enough is enough. You take the panties off and kick them across the floor. Everything else seems normal and all the trash is still on the bed. Is there more than there was before? That doesn't make sense. Time to get some clothes on. Enough of this nudity. You reach into your dresser drawer to pull out some underwear. But it's all gone. Instead, there's a drawer full of panties. All kinds, all colors. There must be 10 or 20 pair in there. You look at the clock. You start to get a really bad feeling. There's no way all this happened in only half an hour. You head to the closet to see if there's any makeup remover in all that mess. But the bag isn't there. Someone has taken it. Panicked, you look around, but nothing else is obviously missing. Just the bag. You decide to sneak into the bathroom to see what you can do with just soap and a washcloth. The first thing you see is all of the makeup is back up on the counter, all lined up and ready for use. You stop in absolute panicked shock. If your roommate saw this. Oh shit. You poke your head out the other door and into the hallway. You listen carefully and don't hear a sound. "Thank god. Maybe he's out today and I'm okay" you tell yourself. You lock yourself back into the bathroom and dig through the gear until you find a bottle of makeup remover. Ten minutes later, you're looking mostly normal again, although a little wild-eyed. You feel like that's pretty understandable. Now it's time to get rid of all this stuff. You find the bag you used (yesterday? last night?) in the bathroom trash can, so you sweep all the makeup back into it and then detour back into your bedroom to grab all the panties out of the drawer and cram them into the bag as well. Feeling like some sort of weird Frederick's of Hollywood Santa Claus you walk quietly out into the hall. Your roommate's door is closed, so you definitely lucked out and he's not home. You quickly lug the sack out back, over a fence and dump it in the neighboring apartment complex's dumpster. Next thing on the list, the doctor's. But of course, now you're very aware that you have no body hair and you're wearing panties. You can do something about the latter, so you jump in the car and head toward the mall. It won't take long to get some briefs. You head into the anchor store and beeline toward the men's department. You grab a package of briefs and are headed toward the counter when you see a real knockout of a girl folding clothes in the next department over. You know she probably gets hit on all the time, but you just can't resist, so you walk over and say hello. "Can I help you find something?" she says. She smiles at you openly, and you feel a quick rush of "game on!" You brace yourself not to screw this up. "Well, to be honest, I was just here for these," you say as you show her the underwear. "What do you think of my choice?" You smile disarmingly and hope she bites. She does! "I suppose that depends on how often you're going to show them to other people." She stares you right in the eye as she says it and you're surprised enough you lose your grip on the briefs, dropping them to the floor, bouncing back behind you. She laughs warmly at the expression of surprise on your face and moves as if to pick up the briefs for you. You turn quickly, kneel down and grab them yourself, trying to figure out how to recover. While you're bent over, her laugh cuts off suddenly, and you hear a quiet little "oh!". When you stand up, she has this half-smile on her face. "You're cute," she said. "And you need help. Do you have some time?" After fumbling your first chance so awkwardly, you leap at this one. "Sure I do. What do you have in mind?" "Fashion advice. We've got it and you need it." "We?" "You bet. Lydia! Come over here!" She glances at you. "Just a sec. I'm Dani. Don't move." Dani walks over to a girl behind a nearby counter and whispers a few things quickly. The other girl smiles brightly, looks at you enthusiastically, and nods. They both come over excitedly as if giving you fashion sense was the most fun they could possibly imagine. Despite everything that's happened, you're feeling great right now and who are you to argue with beautiful girls? You let them lead you around picking a few shirts and pants here and there, and then they lead you to the dressing rooms. They flirt with you outrageously, and you have a semi-chubby most of the time wandering around with them. These girls know exactly what they're doing and they know that you know it. It's a huge amount of fun. They send you into one of the rooms to try on the clothes they picked. You skinny down quickly and then remember...damn...those panties. And yeah, you were totally supposed to be headed to the doctor's. You've seriously been derailed here. You start to come up with excuses when Dani says, "If you want, I can also find some new panties for you, sir." You stare at the door, once again frozen in shock. "P...p...p..." "Don't worry. I saw them when you bent over earlier," she whispers close to the door. "I didn't tell anyone except Lydia. And we won't tell anyone, will we, Lydia?" Lydia responds just as quietly, "Well, I definitely won't. Well, that is, as long as, y'know..." I was being blackmailed. Right now. Me. "...as long as he lets us see him wearing them." I thought I was frozen before. Now there were two cute strangers wanting to see me naked in panties in a department store dressing room. But seriously. Why the hell not? If this is going to happen, then it's going to happen. You might as well make the most of it. You force a chuckle and then say "Sure, why not? Come on in!" And so they do. They slip in through the door and turn to face you, stopping quickly when they see you in all your hairless boy-shorts glory. They giggle quickly, but then look at each other, getting mischievous looks in their eyes. As one, they practically ooze toward you, looking at you as if lost in passion. They mash their bodies against you, sandwiching you between their luscious curves, moving their hands across you as if desperate to feel every square inch of your nakedness. You're rock hard in half a hearbeat and you stand in wonderment as the feelings move across your skin and the graze of their lips touch your shoulders and chest. Then suddenly, their hands are moving into the best possible places and you realize that today is going to be a day you remember forever. Hands cup your ass and explore along the crack. They tweak at your nipples. And at last they gently cup your balls and trace the stiff stem of your cock. A finger lightly twists around the head of our outrageously hard prick and you hear Lydia chuckle throatily and say "Someone likes coming out like this." She moves her hand from your cock to your mouth and you realize just as she places her finger in your mouth that you really shouldn't let this happen. That the smell and the taste of that wonderful cum is really something you should have avoided. But it's so very good. You're back in your bedroom again, standing in front of your closet door mirror. Really. This is getting out of control. What the hell are you saying? This is way past out of control. Your face is entirely made-up again. It's every bit as immaculate as it was before and heavily exaggerated as if you're hitting the nightclubs on a special night. If you were a girl, that is. Which you're not. Seriously. Fuck this. Because you're pretty sure you're also wearing panties again. I mean why not? You can see in your reflection that you're wearing heels, nude stockings, a dress, and definitely a bra, so why not panties? And your hair. It's long. And curly. And highlighted with blonde streaks to create an exotic frame for your made-up face. The long hair comes over your shoulders, framing a delicate gold chain necklace which hangs above the swoop of a neckline. A neckline leading to a black sheath of a dress plummeting downward, sheer nude stockings descending below that, ever downward until at last reaching the patent black pumps. What you're wearing and how you look would be completely appropriate if you were a babe on the social night circuit. But you're so not. You're just you, dressed exactly as a hot chick would be dressed. It's really, really not right. And yet... But no. No way are you going down that path again right now. Focus, man. You cleaned yourself up last time this happened. It won't take long to do it again. You listen for your roommate and still don't hear him. You wonder where the heck he is, but count your lucky stars. Let's get this done and then go see that doctor. The makeup remover is right where you left it. Or rather where it would have been if you hadn't dumped all this stuff in the neighbor's garbage already. So where the hell did this stuff come from? There does seem to be less of it this time, mostly just eye shadows and lipsticks, it seems. Maybe that's progress? Your mind works furiously as you scrub. Did someone go get that stuff and bring it back? Isn't it maybe time you stop trying to pretend this is "someone else" and own up to the fact that you're doing this to yourself? That every time you blink out, this situation seems to get more and more extreme? Holy shit. It really is happening that way. You realize it's been happening that way since the beginning! You remember feeling like you had just cum when you woke up in front of the refrigerator, and then the salad dressing tasted exotic later that night. That has to be connected! You're doing this to yourself! Somehow, tasting your cum is causing the blackouts! But...but... ...okay. That sounds completely looney tunes, but it fits the facts. What else could it be? But even so, how? And why would you do this to yourself? You realize you've been scrubbing for a long time now, but nothing is coming off. You check the bottle, but it definitely says makeup remover on the label, and you just did this yesterday, so you know you're doing it right. Except that you've been scrubbing a while, and your appearance hasn't changed at all. The towel you were using as a scrubber doesn't even have a bit of makeup on it. You feel the realization crawl over your skin. You get as close to the mirror as you can and you stare at the makeup. You can't see anything on your skin. All you see is skin that's been stained that color. Your eyes, your lips, the light splash of color on your cheeks. They've all been tattooed. Your face has permanent makeup. That's when you notice how plush your lips are. They are definitely not the lips you had before you . How long was the blink this time? How much time has passed? What the hell is happening? You dash to your bedroom and pull at your hair along the way. But it's either glued-down wig, or as you strongly suspect, it's your real hair somehow. You go straight to your phone to see what time it is. Its early morning. What day? It's been... ...five days. The only thing that keeps you standing is how hard it would be to collapse in that tight sheath dress. Five days. Five. You move forward on autopilot, sliding the closet door open as your mind stutters. Days. Work. Do you still have a job? You try to figure out how to remove the dress. There's got to be a zipper on the back somewhere. Hard to reach. Oh man. Roommate. Five days. Makeup. Shared bathroom. Clothes. Oh crap. There's going to be some really uncomfortable, embarrassing-as-hell talks happening soon. You look up to see your closet. It's filled with dresses, racks of tights and leggings, rows of high-heeled shoes and several cute little nighties. There isn't a single piece of your normal clothes anywhere in the closet. Or in any of your dresser drawers. You've done it right this time. You really have. You're screwed. There's also a big pile of receipts on the end table. There are receipts for all the clothes, the new makeup, the permanent tattooing, and even a manicure/pedicure. A glance at your fingers reveals french tips, sure enough. They're really nicely done. Dude. First thing's first. You tally the receipts in your head. Holy crap! You've spent practically everything in your meager savings account! You've gone insane! And laser hair removal? Are you kidding me? You stop considering a change of clothing. From the looks of your closet, this is about as modest as you own now. You listen again, but hear nothing, so you walk out into the hall. Your roommate's door has a piece of paper tacked to it. It says in big block letters, "FUCK YOU". You knock and listen, but there's nothing, so you open it a crack. Then you open it all the way because it's obvious you're not going to bug anyone. There's nothing there. The room is completely bare. Your roommate bugged out. You have to know. You have to know why he left. He's your friend. What did you do? You call him. He lets it ring through, so you redial. And again. The third time he picks up. "What?" he barks. "Ummm...dude?" "Yeah, no. We're done with being friends, man. Don't call me anymore." "But wait! We've known each other for years? What could I have done that was so bad?" "You know what you did! You asked to suck my cock while you were dressed like some slinky slut whore! You're an asshole, man. We are done. I'm out. Don't call again. You're blocked." The call ends. You stand there, in your little black dress and your immaculate makeup, completely broke, probably out of a job, in a stunned silence because your best friend just said you begged to suck his dick. Your phone pings at you as a new text arrives, so you reflexively glance at it. "Hi from Lydia and Dani!" it says. "We had an absolute blast with you, sissy boy! When you come out of your shell, you really come all the way out, don't you?" There are pictures of you naked in your panties in the dressing room at the mall. This is quickly followed by you being handed other feminine garments. In fact, there are even shots of you putting on the outfit you're wearing now. Apparently, you're also wearing a garter belt under your(!) dress. Then follows shot after shot of you posing in various dresses and state of undress, all of it with you being exaggeratedly female and completely free of any shyness or hesitation. There's a video clip of you asking for a beautician to "make you beautiful" and then shots of you getting hair extensions, highlighting, your permanent makeup sessions, all the while being smothered and surrounded by the girls, encouraging you every step of the way. There's no need for an "after" picture for the montage. You're standing right there in the mirror. "You do realize we own you now, don't you? We'll be collecting you soon, sissy boy." And that's all. You don't dare to text back any further, not wanting to provoke the women into any distribution of those photos. You can't help yourself. You drift back to the mirror in the bathroom again. It's still you in there. Your face is changed. Maybe forever. But it's still your face painted differently. Maybe you don't have any other clothes to change into, but you can still take these clothes off. All hope is not lost. You can do this. You can handle this. You know there's such a thing as tattoo removal. Maybe it even works for face makeup. Although you look at the eyeliner and the plumped lips pretty doubtfully. Later. Think about it later. You know you're in shock so get as natural as you can. Get out of the dress. You guess that it has a zipper in the back and you reach back to tug at it, struggling to move the long mass of hair aside and clear of the zipper area. Your long, rounded nails feel oddly slick to you as you grasp at the dress, trying to find a way to grip the zipper. Eventually you manage and you haul up at the rest of the dress so you can finally get the zipper down far enough. Eventually your struggle succeeds and you shrug it up and over your head. Your long mane of curls falls back over the back of your now-exposed bra, torso-shaping garter belt, panties and stockings below that. That didn't help you feel less feminine. Hell, if anything, you look damned sexy. The rest of this stuff has got to go. It takes you a while, but you eventually unsnap the garters, unhook the bra, shimmy out of the garter belt, and unroll the stockings. The relief at stepping out of the shoes is amazing. You're just trying to figure out what to put on instead, when you hear the locks on the front door unlocking. Someone's coming in! You do the only possible thing. You hide in your closet and pull the door quietly closed. "Yoo hoo! Sissy boy!" You can tell it's Dani. She's looking forward to seeing you again. You know if they find you here, its game over, man. You're not going to be able to say no to them with those pictures. Your only choices, and you can't believe you're even considering it, are violence...or submission. You consider the options. You ball your fists up. You hear the girls come into your room. "Where has the little girl gone?" Lydia lilts in a sing-song pouting voice. "We have presents for her because she's been so much fun lately! Where are you little girl?" You hear one of the right outside the door. "Is she hiding in the closet again? I think she is, Lydia." "Won't she ever learn? That ship has sailed." The closet door opens. They see you standing there menacingly, fists balled, naked but determined, glowering through your perfect makeup. "Oh poo. It's him again." Lydia raises a taser from her side! What the hell? Why is there a weapon involved suddenly? "We know you're confused now darling, but don't worry. That won't last long." "I love this part, Lydia." "I do too Dani. My turn." With that, Lydia passed the taser to Dani who stands guard. Dani says "Don't get any funny ideas about grabbing one of us. I won't hesitate to unload this into you for even a second." With that, Lydia moves quickly toward you, pushing her body against yours, writhing against you. She rises up until her lips are a breath away from yours and whispers, "Service me, sissy. Get on your knees and lick me." You stare at her. You doubt you can clear your way free of her before Dani shocks the hell out of you instead. You'll just have to play along for now. Besides, there are worse fates. It's kinky as hell to do it at taser- point, but you've never minded going down on a girl. You like blow jobs. It always seemed fair to trade tit for tat. (Dick for twat? Your mind is skittering again.) You decide to go with it and sink to your knees. Dani pulls up her skirt and you can see that she's excited by this whole idea. Her scent hits you immediately. It's completely intoxicating. It reminds you a bit of an exotic perfect version of your own scent. You touch your tongue out to taste it and it's suddenly the best thing you have ever had in your life. You plunge your entire face forward and dive into the job with abandon. You feel her quiver above you in what seems no time at all and she gets even wetter. Oh shit. It's not just your cum. It's anyone's cum. You closed your eyes as soon as you realized you had blinked. You're pretty sure you're back in your bedroom again though. You saw that much at least. First...time check. You look at your phone. Oh god. Another week. Mirror check. Hair, face, the same. The dress has a neck plunge and a higher hemline. The heels you're wearing are an inch higher. The red platforms make them more dramatic to the eye. There doesn't seem to be anything else different. Maybe you've lost a few pounds. It's hard to tell. You decide to take a shower and almost completely lose your mind when you find a tiny little surgical scar on your stomach as you wash and another mark on your right butt cheek. Something has been done to you. Internally! You dry off from a shower and as you towel off, you notice an ornate tattoo across the small of your back. You now have a tramp stamp that in a wonderful calligraphical style says "Sex is Life", embellished with hearts and flowers. You wrap yourself in a towel and head to the kitchen. There's mail on the table and you flip hesitantly through it wondering what you'll find next. Your eye falls on envelopes from a local hospital and you open them to find surgery receipts. Almost certainly authorized by you. You read through it. A gastric band. Isn't that the thing people use to lose weight without needing willpower? There's also a letter from Dani and she explains your butt cheek too. Apparently, she knows someone who knows someone and now there's a hormone implant in your butt cheek. Estrogens and anti-androgens. Apparently, the girls, and whatever is causing these blink-outs, want you to become more and more feminine. These new steps are even more permanent. You're being physically changed now. You're afraid of what might come next and you're determined to stop it even though it almost has to be you that's doing it to yourself. This might be your last chance. The doorbell rings. Is someone going to show up every time you're naked? This is ridiculous. You jump back to your room, graqb a robe from your closet (it's leopard- print, ridiculously thin, and surely not something you bought for yourself!) and scurry to listen at the door, hoping the person will just go away. The doorbell rings again. Then there are three heavy knocks. You wait. A key scrapes in the lock. Dammit! Does everyone have a key now too? You jam your bare foot against the door. There's a pause and then the knob twists and there's a big shove against the door. Your foot pinches against the door and you barely muffle an outburst at the sharp bite of the pain that forces you to draw back quickly. "Hi there. I'm Scott. Lydia and Dani sent me over to check on a few things." He eyeballs your ridiculous appearance and smirks. "They said you'd look like this, but I didn't really believe them. You just stand here, I'll be done in a minute." The dude is huge. If he was never a football linebacker then some coach didn't do his recruiting very well. His muscles have muscles. Some guys just reek Alpha male. This is one of those guys. Born to work with his hands. And he's friends with the girls that...own...you. At first you do what he says and you stay right in the same spot. A minute or two later, you move a few feet to avoid looking whipped and then also realize how lame it is that you did that but you wait anyway. Eventually the guy comes back. He sees you sitting there and he walks over to you, standing a bit uncomfortably close while you're sitting there. "There's only one other thing I'm supposed to do while I'm here." He looks down at you and he smiles. "I'm not supposed to leave here until you're done sucking my cock. And even though you're a freaky freak, I would imagine that you'll do as good a job as you can so that when I see the girls again, I have nothing at all negative to say. Right?" Suck. His cock. You're being told to do it. Not asked. Told. And the consequence of saying "no" is to have every person you've ever known see all the pictures and videos those girls took. You know that no one would ever believe your version of the story. You lived through it and still consider it impossible. Or you can suck his cock and then work real hard to pretend forever that it never happened. But you're sure that if you do, you're going to blink again and that's never good. They guy is grinning above you as if he can see the thoughts moving through your mind. He knows you're going to give in almost before you do, and you know that he does because the sudden swelling in his pants mere inches from your face is a dead giveaway. You can't see a way out, so the only hope is to play along. You're going to suck that cock. You reach out with your manicured nails and you grasp the zipper to pull it downward. "Good sissy," the man says. "Your mistresses are going to be so happy." He's not wearing any briefs. The irony that this guy went commando is not lost on you. Why, oh why, didn't you go commando to the mall? You pull open the gap and a truly monstrous cock springs out toward your face. You are not looking forward to this and yet...that thing is amazing. It's a foot long and thick. Veins throb along its side and the helmet shines and glistens in the light. You start to back away but an iron grip that feels like it could crush girders grabs the back of your head. "Uh uh. No shy girls now. Let's do this thing." You are drawn inexorably closer and then suddenly, you can't really remember why you're resisting. That smell is amazing and you can remember the taste from before. You remember the silky texture and the musky, manly taste that lingers on your tongue. You suddenly realize there's nothing more that you want in the world and you plunge forward, forcing your lips around the beast and sucking for all you're worth. You're not in your bedroom anymore. It's definitely a bedroom, but it's not one you've seen before. You're lying on your back on a round bed with a red velvet bedspread and you're looking up at a ceiling full of mirrors. And oh how you've changed. You're naked, so you can see everything. You're wearing a corset bustier and its enhancing curves you didn't used to have. You definitely have breasts now. You don't know a lot about sizes, but they're pretty amazing looking on your much thinner body now. You've lost a lot of weight. Except in the ass and hips though. You guess is that there are more implants there. And your face, well, it doesn't look so ridiculous anymore. Your nose is smaller. Your teeth are dazzingly white and straight. Your chin is a cute little point now if you've got an adam's apple still, you don't see it. You've still got your cock though, and it's standing straight up at attention. All this change has obviously gotten Mr. Happy's rapt attention. That's it. You have no idea where you are, you don't look like yourself at all anymore. Even your mother wouldn't recognize you and nobody's going to believe that crazy nightmare of a story. You're just about to get up and try to find out where you are when a nearby door opens and a woman walks in, hair up and dressed quite elegantly. "Oh, I see you're awake. That's excellent. And just in time. Your next guest has arrived. Are you ready? Oh wait, silly me. Of course you're ready. The implant makes you always ready, doesn't it?" You're not sure exactly what she means by that but she couldn't be any more right. If no one else was in the room you'd probably be whacking off already. Your cock has really begun to demand attention. Hell, it feels like the breeze in the room is giving you a hand job. You've never been this sensitive. You start to ask questions about "Why me" or something, but as soon as you start to speak, you can hear the little girl voice that comes out and you stop. "Oh that expression was priceless, my little sissy. I'm so happy I got to see that. Girls become jaded so quickly here." You understand what happened to your voice box now. It must have been shaved down. She pauses for a moment and decides you're ready to hear more. "I saw you admiring yourself in the mirror just now. You've had quite a bit of work done. Most of it is obvious. Some of it, like the libido implant, is less visual, but you definitely won't miss it." She was right. You keep finding excuses to touch yourself, pinching and stroking because it feels so nice. It's hard to keep your hand away from your cock now. Even just brushing it sends amazing sensations through you from head to toe. You manage to focus enough to control yourself and look up into the mirror. You're...well...you're kind of cute now. Sexy even. The facial changes they made were the right ones. You never thought of yourself as feminine before, but you certainly look it now. And with the thinner body and new curves, there's simply no way you wouldn't see yourself as totally female if you saw you on the street. You're hornier than you can ever remember being, you look like a sex toy, and you know that the next time you taste cum, it's only going to get more involved. This has gone way past the point of being able to escape. You're sure that if you asked the questions, you'd find that your identity was changed, that you owed this lady money for all the operations, that they still have all the blackmail material anyway (and probably much more of it by now) and this is only going to get worse from here. You hang your head. When you hear the lady chuckle and leave, you don't even react. Then the door opens again and you smell the first brief hint of that wondrous scent. Your mouth starts salivating and you wonder what will happen next as you move hungrily toward the man that comes through the door. It can't have been long. You're still in the same room. But you're pretty much coated in cum. It?s in your hair, on your face, your tits, everywhere. There must have been many men involved. And it smells fantastic. You refuse to move, knowing the dangers of the cum that coats you. You focus really hard and keep yourself from licking your swollen lips and you try not to think about the wonderful silkiness coating your body. Just. Don?t. Blink. As you do that, you hear a voice. ?Well, that was fun.? You look up to see where that sexy alto is coming from, sure that the body must match it and you just have to look despite yourself. The room is mirrored, so you don?t have to look far to find her. She?s behind you, standing between your legs as you lay against the bed with your curvaceous ass propped into the air. And it?s obvious that she?s not all she. You cannot avoid seeing the massively erect shaft looks poised to claim your ass for queen and country. It?s like the visual equivalent of a black hole and it takes effort to tear your gaze away and look up at the shemale behind you. She looks down at you and smiles wryly. ?Hi there. It?s nice to finally meet you after being in your body all this time.? Confused, you try to take that in, a light slowly dawning in the back of your brain. ?I see you?re not totally dim yet. Well don?t worry. That will come.? She smiles again and rocks forward against your ass. Your mind doesn?t feel fast. The gears are turning slowly. You can almost hear the ideas click into place one at a time. The idea you?re considering is absurd, but, it fits. Those long gaps where you seemed out of control doing crazy things completely out of character. ?Wait. So I?m possessed?? ?You were possessed, sweetie. You?re 100% in control of your wonderful she-male body now. No more co-pilot.? She pauses, turns and glances back coyly. ?I?ve had a wonderful time. I barely even minded being forced to do this by the hag.? ?Hag?? ?It doesn?t really matter if you remember. She?s a vindictive old bitch and she calls on spirits like me whenever someone spites her.? Spirits? Like magic? So possession and magic? A sudden flash. You mean that old woman on the bus? What the hell? ?You mean you turned me into this?? She laughed. ?Well no, technically you did it all. You convinced the doctors, told all your friends, went through the surgeries, and had a grand old time during the entire process. Let me help you remember.? And suddenly, you do remember. You remember every extremely sissified, very public moment. You remember cumming into the salad dressing and then smiling before letting yourself wake up. You remember asking to suck your roommate?s dick. You remember doing a pole dance at work and getting fired. You remember telling your family and friends befofre the surgeries and the nightclub scenes and sex?lots of sex. ?Okay, sure, the hag gave you a trigger and a yearning for cum that?s just never going to go away. And until now, tasting cum was the key that let me take control, but only until I feminized you, each time more and more irreversibly. But you always got to take a turn too! It?s funny how your turn never seemed to last long did it? You just couldn?t stop eating cum, you slut!? You gape. It?s too much and you can?t take it all in. Without pity, the spirit girl continues. ?Your new form is wonderful though and from now on you?ll be totally in control of your own destiny.? She pauses and laughs shortly. ?Well, almost in control. Your libido is definitely out of control, and like I said, you absolutely positively love cum in all its forms. Nothing turns you on more. The smell, the taste, the touch. Once you get started, you never want to stop. So you?ll have to work hard to not get too horny if you ever want to get anything done.? You look down at your body. The enormous mounds on your chest, the long nails, the feeling of your lips bouncing as you pout, the sweep of your lashes as you blink. You look back over your shoulder at the mirror above and see the curves of your sweet, sweet body, the tiny waist over the heart-shaped ass leading to long, clean legs ending in dainty feet with perfectly painted nails. The permanent and sensual makeup and the long, wavy and silken hair. Your eyes open wide as you meet your own gaze and you realize that not only are you the very essence of your own wet dreams, but you?re completely turning yourself on just by staring at your reflection. Your cock grows hard against the silk sheets below and you hear the sexual nymph giggle behind you. ?Willpower has never really been your thing though, has it?? You feel her lean forward, her cock sliding between your ample buttocks, as she trails a finger along your cheek. ?Let?s get things started now, shall we?? With that, she slides her long nail and cum-coated finger into your mouth and your tongue leaps at it, pulling the savory silkiness into your mouth and down into yourself. You feel your cock harden even further, and it?s as if your whole body becomes focused so that you erotically respond to her touch, no matter where she brushes or plunges. You not only can?t resist this, you have absolutely no desire to even try. The last resisting part of your brain tries but fails to find a way out of this. There is none. This is who you are now. Forever. You push back against her cock, yearning to feel the hardness in your ass. You hope it never ends. You?re insatiable.