Recustomization
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Customization free porn video
I looked up at at the seedy garage as I grabbed my folder and stepped out
of the car. The sign confirmed this was the place, but I wondered for the
millionth time if chasing some stupid rumor was really a good idea. I'd
already dumped ton of money into customizing my ride, and I was reluctant
to leave it alone in this neighborhood. The last thing I needed was it
getting ripped off in some dump a few towns over from my home city.
The whole idea was crazy. I'd decided I'd been living life a little too
tight-laced during my rapid rise at the law firm, and it was time to
loosen up. For some reason I'd gotten it in my head that "loosen up"
meant "buy some sweet wheels, customize them and get a hot chick painted
on the hood so I can put the whole deal on display at shows."
From what I'd heard no one did better auto body art than this place. The
fact that I'd had to chase hearsay and play telephone with a good half
dozen people to get an address somehow added to the mystique. If their
work was half as good as I'd been told the effort would be worth the
trouble.
I stepped through a ramshackle door off to the side, and was greeted by
an overpowering odor of oil and spray paint. The little office I'd
entered was cut off from the rest of the garage, but the ventilation was
terrible. The place looked deserted, so I rang the service bell.
A few seconds later the far door opened and a pudgy little bald man in a
filthy smock strode in. His apron and clothes were stained by a cacophony
of colors. The only clean part of him was a name tag that read "Sal."
"Welcome to Fantasia Customizations," Sal said, extending a hand. "How
can I change your life?"
Strong greeting for a glorified stenciler, but I accepted the handshake.
I supposed he was allowed a bit of bombast if he could live up to his
reputation.
"Well, I was thinking of getting my car a custom paint job, and I heard
you guys were the best in the biz," I said. "I had something really
beautiful in mind, I was hoping I could lay it out and talk prices."
Sal continued shaking my hand as I spoke. The gesture lasted a few
seconds too long. It was uncomfortable, like he was investigating my
hand's contours, or maybe getting some sort of read on me.
"Well, you're speaking to the right guy! I'm in charge of our premium
work," Sal said after an awkward pause, finally letting go. He continued
sizing me up, this time with his eyes. "Give me the details of the look
you're going for, and I'll see what I can do."
Eager top give him something else to look at, I opened my folder and
pulled out the reference material I'd brought. I leafed through glossy
photos of models, porn stars and actresses, explaining the features that
drew me to each. Large breasts, tiny waist, classical face, a woman that
bridged the gap between obscene and sophisticated. If I was going through
all this trouble, I wanted to make sure they got it right. I was a little
flowery with my wording, but I figured an artist would appreciate it. Sal
took notes on a clipboard while I spoke, and nodded in satisfaction when
I was through.
"That's quite the lady you've laid out here," Sal said, peering at his
work. "Still, I think I'm up to it. If you sign here and don't mind
lending me your pictures, I'll throw a rendition together and send it
tonight. If you like it, I can have you finished within a week."
Sal offered me the clipboard. I read through his transcript, once again
slightly embarrassed by my language, but I signed. At least the wording
got the point across. I said my goodbyes and headed back to my car. It
was untouched, thankfully.
I drove home and changed, then hit up the gym and more or less followed
my usual summer weekend routine. After dinner I checked my e-mail and saw
the message from Fantasia Customizations. The body was just text
reiterating the contract, with the price at the end. Cheaper than I'd
expected.
There was also an attached image. I opened it, and was greeted by a
picture of the sexiest woman I'd ever seen. Her face was gorgeous, bold
angles offset by the softness of her big gray eyes, delicate nose and
pouty red lips. Her skin was flawless, with a creamy peach complexion.
Her generous, perfectly shaped breasts were stuffed in a little blue
bikini and seemingly defied gravity. Her body was fit and tight, but
somehow found room for some seriously distracting curves, followed by
slim legs that went on forever. Completing the piece was perfectly
straight blonde hair that flowed just past her shoulders, a golden
waterfall of beauty.
I felt myself getting hard just looking at her. Had Sal really drawn that
in a few hours? The image looked like a photograph, with the girl posed
spread eagle for some unseen lover. I doubted he could get the same level
of detail on a car, but the man obviously had talent I'd been promised. I
replied to let him know I approved. My only suggestion was that maybe her
pose could be even more provocative. I was already getting a mostly naked
lady painted on the hood of my car, I might as well go full-on fantasy,
get her tits and ass both in clear view.
Sal responded a few minutes later. An adjusted pose would be no problem,
and wouldn't affect the chosen figure, whatever that meant. One of the
garage's workers would be by tomorrow morning to grab my car, gratis,
then again on Friday afternoon to pick me up and drive me over. I didn't
have to pay until I then, which was nice.
Living in the city, being without a car for five days or so wasn't a big
deal. Honestly, having one at all was a luxury. It was more a status
symbol and something to show off than day-to-day transportation, hence my
willingness to get something so absurd, if awesome, painted on.
The rest of the evening was slow. I just couldn't stop thinking about how
great my car was going to look, and how hot that chick was going to be.
As I lay in my ratty pajamas my head was full of possibilities, but I
eventually manage to find sleep.
-----
"You lose weight?" Paul, a paralegal, asked as I walked past him Monday
morning. As usual, we were the first two people in the office. "Looking
pretty good, if you don't mind me saying."
I smiled at him as I walked past. I hadn't, but it was a nice complement,
if a bit odd. Maybe it was my suit; it was a new one, a bit slimmer and a
nicer cut than what I usually wore.
I didn't really have time for small talk. To be honest, I was glad to
have an excuse to ignore him. Paul was a decent enough worker, but way
too much of an ass kisser, and from what I heard he made the female
employees a bit uncomfortable. A creeper, for sure.
I put my head down and got to work, finding myself ahead of schedule for
once. Afterward I met up with my buddy Brad for some basketball. He was a
fellow car enthusiast that worked in the accounting firm a couple floors
below my office, and we'd hit it off years ago.
"You seriously went to that place?" Brad asked as I blocked his way. "I
didn't think you'd be interested. You were never the kind of guy to get a
wizard painted on his van. Your dorkiness runs in a different direction."
He drove past me, and missed his shot.
"It's a girl, not a wizard, and it's my car, not a van. I only really
take the thing out to shows, so I might as well have something worth
bringing," I said as I grabbed the rebound. I tried to duck through, but
he got in my face. "I figure if I need to go somewhere important I can
bum a ride off you."
Brad snorted. "Two things. First, getting a bikini chick painted on your
car is straight up sleazy. Brian, you're like my brother, so here's some
proper brotherly advice: you wonder why I score more chicks than you?
It's crap like this. Any girl who sees that thing's gonna be pissed, and
I won't blame her. It's sexist."
Easy for him to say. He had a chiseled physique and effortless style that
made him a hit with the ladies. Brad scored chicks that looked like my
car girl with his smile alone. I was no slouch, but compared to him I was
hopeless. Also, I was in enough of a dry spell that the eye candy would
be welcome, and any girl that didn't like my car wasn't the one for me.
Brad kept talking as I looked for an opening.
"Second, brother or no, you're overestimating my generosity. Only a
select few get to experience the majesty of my ride. As a rule, the list
starts and ends with sexy ladies who I know will treat it right. Any
dude, even a friend, has to earn the right to ride in my machine."
He wasn't kidding. Brad, good buddy and defender of female honor, was an
insane misanthrope when it came to his car. It was a goddamn beauty, way
nicer than mine and probably worth somewhere in the six figures, but he
treated that thing better than most people treated their kids. I'd only
been in it once or twice before. But nice or no, Brad had no place
lecturing me about misogyny when he openly admitted to reserving his
sweet ride for babes.
As Brad daydreamed about his one true love, I managed to sneak around and
take a shot. The swoosh was satisfying.
"Tell you what. You give me a ride to Lucy's thirtieth tomorrow, and I'll
let you win," I said, grinning. I could tell I'd struck a nerve by his
glare. Brad hated losing, and accepted no charity. He babied his ego
almost as much as his car.
Brad ran to fetch the ball, then hesitated before bringing it back in.
"You know what? You somehow win, and I'll give you that ride. Just this
once, though. You want another trip, you better grow some tits. Big
ones."
I agreed to his terms, then kicked his ass. He wasn't happy, but Brad is
a man of his word, so we made our plans. The last thing he grumbled about
was how my shoes better be pristine or I'd be vacuuming the thing
afterward.
That night, I imagined how the seat of Brad's car was going to be even
comfier than my new cotton pajamas.
-----
Tuesday crawled by as I waited for Lucy's party. A fellow attorney at the
firm, Lucy... well, Lucy was kind of annoying. Friendly enough, but way
too much of a girly girl for my tastes. She was more of an acquaintance
than a friend, and we only really talked because we worked together. But
she was pretty damn hot, if I wanted to think like that. And she knew how
to party.
I wore my best suit for the occasion. It was a bit feminine, but I kind
of appreciated that. I was sort of effeminate myself, in a good looking
way. Brad sometimes suggested that acting a little bit more macho would
help me with the ladies, but I wasn't about to change who I was. I did
just fine, thank you much.
I met Brad in the parking garage after the agonizingly slow work day
finally came to a close. His car was parked by itself in some lonely
corner. It was beautiful looking and was once again the smoothest ride
I'd ever had, so I could kind of understand why. I occasionally thought
about how Brad himself wasn't too bad. I'm not gay, but the man had a
certain appeal.
When we arrived Lucy and some other friends had already grabbed a couple
couches in the back. She waved us over.
"Bri, Brad, so glad you could make it!" She kissed each of us on the
cheek. "Grab a couple drinks and let's get started!"
I drank, and I danced, and I drank and I danced. I jokingly danced with
Brad, which was pretty fun. I let my mind wander a bit. I worked up a
sweat with Lucy, who did an amazing job turning me on. It was a solid
reminder of where my interests really lay.
The drinks kept coming. We toasted to Lucy. We sang happy birthday. We
bitched about Paul. I talked about how great my car was going to look,
and ignored Brad when he rolled his eyes. I was too drunk to properly do
the concept justice, but explained it as some sort of artistic statement
about the world. I said it involved women, I think? That sounded right. I
was really drunk.
We danced and drank and kept going way, way too late. I kissed Lucy
goodbye, on the lips this time. It lasted a bit. It was nice. Brad, also
way too drunk, couldn't drive home, so we called cabs and went our
separate ways. A pity. I was really looking forward to a ride back.
When I got back to my apartment, I collapsed into bed almost immediately.
I only took the time to undress and throw on my silk pajama bottoms.
-----
Wednesday, Wednesday was rough. I woke up with a brick inserted in my
head, promising myself I'd never drink again. My whole body felt funny,
and my mind was numb. I skipped showering, got dressed without even
looking at the clothes and just headed to work. I was ahead of schedule
for the week, I could probably skip out early.
I saw Brad in the elevator, muttered a hello, and that was it. We were
both hurting too much for mundane small talk. The same went for Lucy. I
felt bad ignoring my friends, but in a sense we were silently bonding
over the idea that drinking on a Tuesday was a horrible, horrible idea.
We weren't in college anymore.
I made my escape in the early afternoon. I felt my stomach rumble, and
knew all the crap I'd eaten last night was done digesting and ready to
come out. Except as stood in front of the bathrooms, I couldn't remember
which one I should use. It was the stupidest thing, but as I started to
push the door for either I became overwhelmed by the sense that it was
wrong, that I was transgressing. My hangover was so fucking bad I'd
forgotten which restroom I belonged in.
I swore I could hear Paul snickering in the distance as I told the
secretary I was going home sick. God, I hated that prick. After the most
miserable bus ride of my life, I made it home and plopped down on the
toilet, relieved in both body and mind. Diarrhea isn't fun, but at least
I didn't have to question whether I needed to be sitting down or standing
up.
Washing up, I tried to continue looking on the bright side. I hadn't
vomited. That was something. Then I peered in the mirror. My face was
wrong, somehow. I think it was the hair. Either I needed a haircut, or it
needed to grow out some more. One of those two, at any rate.
I stumbled through the apartment and to the couch. Should my chest be
jiggling like that? It was slight, and I was pretty sure it was normal,
but my head was so foggy. I popped some aspirin to try and make the last
of the pain go away. It helped a bit, but the sickness refused to
disappear completely.
I got lost in thoughts of Brad and Lucy and last night. I think I kissed
one of them, but couldn't remember who. It didn't matter, we were all
drunk as hell. Even lying down, my whole body felt off. Particularly my
groin. It was like I had too much down below. Or was it too little?
Trying to shake off the thought, I wondered where my car was. I vaguely
remembered dropping it off at some custom shop for work. I hoped it would
look nice when it was done.
I spent the rest of the night with my occasionally brain screaming about
how something was wrong, finding little details that seemed off. I
ignored it. I knew exactly what was wrong; I'd drank too much, and I was
paying for it. Eventually I just wanted to stop thinking, to go to sleep.
I didn't have the motivation to get changed properly. I threw on a too-
large t-shirt, then collapsed into blessed oblivion.
-----
"I'm tell you Bri, a little makeup and you'd look great. You're naturally
pretty, you just don't let it shine through," Lucy told me at our weekly
Thursday lunch. "Google work/life balance sometime, it would do you
wonders."
I nodded glumly, only half paying attention. I wasn't in the mood for yet
another lecture about how I could be so beautiful if I just did my hair
like this or started buying that brand of body wash. It was a load of
crap. I knew I was decent looking, and while she called my looks butch I
preferred the term athletic. Not everyone was destined to be a man-eating
hottie like her. But I uncomfortably smoothed my skirt under the table.
Was it really that drab?
Lucy was obsessed with setting me up with someone. She'd gotten it in her
head that my current dating slump was a personal slight against her as a
friend. I loved her, and the concern was sweet, but the girl needed to
learn when to lay off. We were out for a bite, not to find me a husband.
Besides, none of her men held a candle to Brad. A pity he saw me as an
acquaintance, not a love interest. Even after Tuesday, as far as I could
tell.
I picked at my food as she went on about boys who would be perfect for me
or clothes that would really bring out my figure, boyish as it was. Then
my attention was slammed back into full gear. "I'm sorry, could you say
that again?" I asked.
"Er, I was just asking, are you into girls? Like, a lesbian?" Lucy was
staring at me intently. "I'm not judging or anything, but I don't want to
keep wasting my time guys aren't your thing, you know? You're my best
friend, you can trust me."
A bowling ball dropped into my stomach and my eyes shot down to my drink.
I tried to play it cool, but I could feel my face turn red. I wasn't gay,
or bi, not exactly. I'd never actually been with a woman, and I'd had my
fair share of guys, whatever Lucy claimed. That said, I sometimes thought
about what it would be like to be with another girl. Lucy was one of
them. But it was purely fantasy, nothing I'd ever act on. I was straight.
Mostly.
"N, no," I squeaked. Fuck. Now she'd be convinced I was lying. I gathered
my thoughts, smiled weakly and pushed some errant hair out of my face.
"Lucy, you've seen me date guys. I'm just having a bit of a dry spell
right now, is all. "
I could tell Lucy was calling bullshit, but she nodded and continued
rattling off her list of guys. I wished I could make up an excuse and
leave, but didn't want to insult Lucy. I lost myself in thoughts about my
car. What was I getting painted on it again? It seemed so close, yet I
couldn't remember.
Lunch eventually ended, and the rest of the day was uneventful. That
night I threw on a silk nightie and just watched TV, thanking God it was
almost Friday.
-----
Friday was completely mundane, with all the good and the bad that
entails.
It started when I leaned down to grab a pen and caught Paul staring at
the view when I looked up. The little rat scurried as soon as he
realized, of course. He knew I didn't have the time to waste hunting him
down to reprimand him about looking at my cleavage. Well, once I was a
little more free I'd call him into my office and calmly explain that if
he kept treating me like a sex object he'd end up with my high heel in
his ass.
I've heard the excuses. A girl like me shouldn't wear a low-cut shirt if
I don't want guys like him checking me out. Well, the excuses are
bullshit. Just because I'm busty doesn't mean I need to dress like a nun.
Once I got settled in my office, things went more smoothly. Paul didn't
have the balls to bother me in my domain. I worked through the morning
uninterrupted, then headed downstairs to grab some lunch.
I ran into Brad in the elevator, and decided my blouse should be more
revealing, not less. Maybe my skirt could have been a bit shorter, too. I
couldn't wipe the stupid smile off my face as we chatted a bit,
inconsequential stuff. Not about, for instance, Tuesday night's kiss. The
one I'd been thinking about non-stop. But we'd been really drunk. He
probably didn't think anything of it even if he remembered.
Brad is cute, but that kiss was our first and only semi-romantic contact.
I know I'm a bombshell, I've chewed men up and spit them out, but for
some reason the guy made me feel like a stuttering school girl. Maybe
because when I said he was cute I meant he was the hottest stud I'd ever
seen. If you ever saw him rock the skinny jeans with a tight polo, you'd
understand.
A pity I couldn't talk about him with Lucy. The girl would drop
everything and never stop until he went out with me. The sign of a good
friend, maybe, but also potentially embarrassing. I needed to get Brad's
attention myself. If nothing else, there was something compelling about
him being the only guy who I've ever had to try for.
Back in my office after lunch, I got a call from Fantasia Customizations.
They told me my car was done, and that they could send someone to pick me
up whenever I was ready. I'd completely forgotten it would be finished so
soon! Honestly, I hadn't missed the thing. I hoped the result was nice,
but for some reason I couldn't remember what I'd requested.
The rest of the day went off without a hitch. At one point Paul fled at
the sight of me, which was satisfying. Lucy invited me out for drinks,
but I told her I'd have to see what happened with my car first. A driver
from the shop was waiting for me when I walked out of the office. I
hopped in the ride, and we were off.
-----
The guy behind the counter at Fantasia showed me to my car. The sight
made my jaw drop.
Those perverts had painted ME on the body! A disturbingly realistic
likeness was splayed in an impossible pose, somehow showing off my boobs
and butt at the same time. Worse, I was wearing my skimpiest bikini. It
was bright red instead of blue, but the cut was exactly the same. My lips
were the same cherry red as the bikini, pursed as my gray eyes offered a
disgustingly submissive come hither look. Painted me looked like some
degrading combination of prostitute and porn star.
I'm an up-and-coming lawyer at a serious firm, not some hussy flaunting
her goods. Yeah, sometimes I like showing off this hot little body of
mine, but that's what I do on my personal time, not something I wanted to
advertise whenever went on a joy ride. And it was bad enough that they
painted me wearing barely enough to be legally clothed, but how had they
gotten a picture of me in it in the first place? There was no way they
did something like that from memory.
"Something wrong, lady?" the goon who'd escorted me in asked.
"Yeah, something's wrong," I said, my eyes narrowing as I turned on him.
"You assholes ruined my car! Why the hell would you paint something like
that?"
The man shrugged. "We just do what the orders say. That's the picture and
details you gave us, so that's what you got. Plus artistic liberties."
"Why the hell would I want a picture of myself practically naked?"
"Lady, I got no idea. I don't question the paperwork. Look, how 'bout I
get it out for you and you can see for yourself? We just did what you
asked."
I was ready to argue, but I honestly didn't remember what I'd put in that
order. Still, it couldn't be the monstrosity I saw. So I let him go grab
his precious paperwork. That would prove me right.
The goon came back with a folder. I took it, opened it up, and was
greeted by a large glossy photograph of me in my very revealing bikini.
My pose was less overtly sexual, but that was largely because it was
physically possible. I recognized the shot. I'd let an ex snap it a few
years back, and as far as I knew I had the only copy. Our breakup had
been mutual, and I'd watched him delete his version. Besides, we still
talked and were on good terms. There was no way he'd have released it on
the web, let alone somehow tricked me into getting it airbrushed on my
car.
Under the photo was a form with flowery descriptions of my features,
written out like terrible erotica. It described things like "amazingly
ample yet perky bosom," "face like worthy of the goddess of supermodels,"
and "sumptuous curves to put a stripper to shame." Brushing aside the
unwelcome pride at how well I fit some of those descriptions, I
recognized that it was all in my handwriting, even the signature at the
bottom. The only thing off was the spelling. It looked like I'd written
"Brian" instead of "Brianna," but with my sloppy cursive that wouldn't
hold up in court.
"You sure do love yourself, don't you?" the man said. "Can't say I can
blame you, but still."
"You seriously think I wrote this?" I snapped the folder shut and handed
it back. "Why the hell would I describe myself as having 'legs made for
wrapping around a man's back?' How much of an idiot are you?"
This time the goon's eyes narrowed. "Again, I don't know why you asked
for that. I only see the instructions, not the customers. Plus you big-
titted bimbos are so full of yourselves, I didn't see nothing wrong with
it 'til you started bitching at me."
"Are you kidding me? A fucking bimbo? Do you even know who I am? My firm
could buy this place and have it demolished tomorrow!" I was seething,
felt myself turn bright red. "Get me your manager, now. Actually, forget
that. Get me the guy in charge of your body art. Sal. We're going to have
a good, long talk."
"Sal? Who the fuck is Sal? Lady, I've worked here way too long, and I
ain't never had a boss named Sal." The goon looked genuinely confused,
which was calming him down a bit.
I stared at him, breathing heavily. I was about to burst. "Don't lie to
me. If he's not here, I'll come back tomorrow. I need to talk to Sal."
"Again, and I mean this, we don't got a Sal here. We don't even got
anyone with a S name. I think you need to calm down. Maybe someone played
a prank on you or something. It happens."
There was no way something like this just happened, but he was right, I
needed to calm down. And I believed him about not knowing a Sal, as crazy
as it was. He was too stupid to lie. I closed my eyes and ran my hands up
and down my hair as I tried to control my breathing.
A few seconds later, when I was slightly more zen, I opened my eyes again
and spoke. Blonde strands hung in front of my eyes, but I ignored them.
"Yes, I think that sounds good. I'll come back tomorrow. But I'm not
paying you for ruining my car."
The goon shrugged. "Suit yourself, we ain't going nowhere. You're on your
own for a ride home, though, 'cause your car ain't going nowhere neither.
Driver's gone, too. You were his last gig today."
The rage came back, quieter but still red hot. No way I was calling a
taxi. Those assholes fucked up my car, and now they wanted me to pay my
own way home? On one hand, served me right for believing ridiculous
rumors. On the other, they could go fuck themselves.
"Anyway, could you step outside, ma'am? I'm about to close down for the
night. We open again tomorrow at 10."
I was spent, and I didn't have an argument left in me. I stomped out of
the office, slamming the cheap door behind me, and nearly tripped when my
heel caught on a crack in the sidewalk. I felt humiliated and in shock
over what I'd seen. I couldn't think straight, let alone start figuring
out how I was going to deal with this.
The ugly goon locked up and drove away without stopping, ignoring the
beautifully manicured middle fingers I flipped him. What was I going to
do now? I still had enough pride to refuse a taxi, but I needed a way
home. I pulled my cell out of my purse and tried some friends. Lucy,
never one to learn, was already drunk. There were no answers from anyone
else. Of course.
That said, there was another option. Normally I'd have been mortified,
but right then I was pissed and desperate enough to not care. I did what
I could to tame my hair with my fingers while I worked up the last bit of
nerve I needed.
The phone rang twice before I got an answer.
"Brianna? Huh, forgot you had my number. What's up?"
A little while later I was riding back home in Brad's car, complaining
bitterly about what just happened. I'd heard about how awesome his ride
was, and even through my terrible mood it didn't disappoint. Brad was
great too, completely agreeing that the shop was run by perverted morons
and that putting sexy cartoon me on the hood was all kinds of creepy. I
vented for most of the ride.
After I finally calmed down, things went all but completely quiet. For
the most part I just stared out the window at the city and finished
fuming in silence. But at a red light, I felt a hand on my thigh. I
looked over, and Brad was smiling at me. My heart all but stopped, but I
managed to smile back, my troubles suddenly all but forgotten.
That smile gave me the nerve to invite him to drinks with Lucy, but he
suggested somewhere a bit more personal. Somewhere we could have a proper
dinner. I have to admit, Brad's condo was almost as nice as his car. Plus
I had no idea Brad was such a good cook, especially when he wasn't
expecting guests.
We sat and chatted in his apartment through the night. The conversation
was great, and during the lulls the looks and smiles continued. A few
hours in I found out that he hadn't forgotten our kiss either. And that
it was every bit as good as I'd remembered.
When we finally fell asleep, I wasn't wearing any clothes at all.
Marisol
- 02.09.2021
- 7
- 0
