Failure of the Dicklette
- 2 years ago
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Thinking With My Dick - Ch 1 free porn video
Some of this story's inspiration comes from AlsoAshley's Alex to Alina
story (which is excellent, and you should read it, and I hope she gets
around to finishing it soon). I'm shamelessly ripping off the idea for
the initial setup, and heading off on my own path. Hopefully AlsoAshley
will take the theft in the spirit of admiration for and inspiration from
her story that it was done in.
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"Oh god," I moaned softly. The department store bathroom was still
public, even if no one else was in it, and I wanted to try to be
discrete. "Oh god, yes!" I was almost there, my hands stroking up and
down my cock as I sat on the stall toilet. "Oh god!" The moan forced
its way out as my cock twitched, and thin ropy loops of cum pumped out
into the waiting palm of my left hand. "Oh god, what have I done." I
moaned one last time, with dread rather than anticipation as I came down
from the high of my orgasm. This always happened, as soon as I came, all
the delightfully sexy and transgressive actions that were so enticing
just moments ago, turned sour as my rational male self snapped back into
place.
I've got to get out of here, get home, and stop this, I keep going way
too far. I've still got a palm full of cum that I need to get rid of
before I can get dressed and slink home as anonymously as I can. I reach
for the toilet paper dispenser only to realize it was empty, and remember
thinking that was an added bonus when I'd walked into the stall. It
would force me to do what was coming next, and knowing that I'd hate
doing it after I'd ejaculated had only made me hornier. I raised my hand
to my lips and slurped up my cum. I shuddered as I licked up the largest
remaining drops and swallowed. I wasn't the first time I'd eaten my own
cum, but it had to be the last, this had already far beyond what I was ok
with. But even that thought rang hollow to me, I knew eventually this
post-orgasm clarity would fade, and my perverted mind would push me to
extremes as I got desperate for the sexual high that so recently filled
me.
With a now, relatively, clean hands, I could get dressed and try to get
out of here. Clothes hung around my ankles where I'd impatiently pushed
them for my impromtu bathroom wank session, and I stood up to pull them
up only to remember that the relatively simple black ballet flats I'd
started the morning in were outside the stall, in my shopping bags by the
sink. I tottered upright on the 5 inch cork wedge sandals I'd only just
bought. The sight of the think white straps crossing my feet and
buckling me into the shoes while my hot fuschia toenails peeked out at me
had pushed me over the edge, and I'd made a beeline for the bathroom to
settle my urges. I pulled the sheer blue thong up my long smooth legs,
which did little to hide the now very flaccid cock that I tucked back
between my legs, it did even less to hide my smooth tan ass cheecks as
the thin blue string disappeared without a trace up the crack of my ass.
It was harder than I was used to because of the almost inch long arcylic
french nails I'd had done at a salon earlier in the day, another idea
that seemed unbelievably sexy at the time, but now made me cringe
thinking of how I'd get rid of them. I'd need to go back to a nail salon
before the weekend was out to get them removed.
Next was the blue and white patterned romper. The shorts of the romper
were incredibly short, and I could still feel the air on the very bottom
of my ass that just barely peeked out as I stood, heaven forbid I need to
bend over. The top had almost no back, just a few strings to keep it in
place, which left bare the celtic knot tramp stamp I'd gotten last month,
and that I'd been diligently hiding ever since. The front was more
substantial, but the plunging neckline still made it impossible to hide
the small high breasts that were now almost a B cup. Then I looked
around the stall. That was it. The romper was too revealing for me to
want to wear it in public, at least not when the horny part of my brain
wasn't thinking of new feminine ways to shame and excite it. I had worn
it under a pair of jeans and a button up blouse for the thrill of
illicitly wearing it for my trip into the city, even if it wasn't
showing, but the jeans and blouse were no where to be seen in the stall.
Then I remembered, and, with horror, tentatively unlocked the stall door
and stepped out into the bathroom.
There they were, with my ballet flats, in the bathroom sink, which was
now brimming with water. I stood horrified, remembering that I'd come in
to the bathroom, and after admiring my reflection in the mirror, decided
that I really needed to see my new shoes with my sexy little romper
alone. I'd pulled off my jeans, shirt, and shoes and dumped them all on
the nearest sink. I don't know if it had been intentional or just an
errant piece of clothing triggering the hand sensor on the automated
faucet while the clothes blocked the drain, but all of it was now soaked,
and unwearable.
I was trapped. Home was an hour and a half train ride out of the city
and back south to my car, and I had no choice but to do it in clothes
that advertized rather than hid all the assets I was now so ashamed of.
I'd have to do it in sky-high unfamiliar heels, and with longer nails
than I'd ever had before.
I looked myself in the mirror. Seeing the tops of my thin tan thighs
disappear into the short tight romper bottoms, the loose but oh so
revealing top tantalisingly revealed the top and inner curves of my
titties. I kept telling myself as soon as I stopped taking the pills
they'd disappear in no time, but that never seemed more a lie than now,
they were almost certainly here to stay. My slim arms and shoulders were
left bare by the romper, and looked thin and ladylike, none of the muscle
tone I'd once had, months of inactivity had seen to that. My slim neck
led to my made up face. I hadn't worn a lot of visible make up today,
I'd managed to restain myself at least a little this morning, but at this
point I was wearing foundation every day and some basic makeup needed
just to get back to a 'natural' look. My face was framed by two large
silver hoop earings, that hung down out of my longish shaggy asymmetrical
pixie cut. My hair was now a bright platinum blond, except for the hot
pink tips on the longest hairs hanging down the side of my face, another
spontaneous choice made at the salon, and another thing I had no idea how
to explain to people I knew on Monday. Then, tentatively, knowing but
dreading what I was about to see, my painted lips parted nervously, and I
extended my tongue to see the most permanent impulse decision of the day,
the silver glint of the long barbell piercing my tongue.
"Oh fuck, how am I ever going to undo all this?"
The only saving grace was that despite all the paperwork from the plastic
surgeon in my purse, the consultation I'd come to the city to have was
just that, a consultation. I didn't have to come back for the next
appointment, I didn't have to let him permanently enlarge my lips and
breasts. I just had to stay strong and cancel the surgery. Fake tits
were the point of no return, there'd be no coming back from that. But,
I'd told myself that so often in the last year, shaving my legs, getting
my ears pierced, and starting those damned pills had all been points of
no return, and here I was.
"This has got to stop," I said firmly to my sexy reflection. "I will
stop." That had a note of pleading in it, which made the cute blond look
even hotter. "Oh god, how can I stop?"
------------------------------------------------
A year previously...
"Fuck you James!" Annie slammed the door behind her, and with that my two
year relationship was over. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, it'd
been apparent for a couple months now that we weren't going to work out,
and we'd only made each other more miserable with that knowledge. It was
just a shame that we hadn't been honest about it and ended it amicably.
We had been good friends once, and probably should still have been, but
we made a lousy couple. Instead my apartment look like a tornado had
come through and Annie had swept through to gather all the various things
of hers that had accumulated over the course of our relationship, packed
them up, and stormed out, never to return.
Lacking anything better to do with a disheveled apartment, no love life,
and the long abyss of the weekend stretching before me to mope in before
I had the workweek to distract me, I did what any normal man would do. I
moved on from beer to whiskey (the beer probably hadn't helped the last
argument I'd had with Annie, but it probably would have been a lost cause
stone cold sober). I meandered through the apartment making vague
efforts to pick things up. In the bathroom I discovered that Annie
hadn't been completely thorough. Amongst all the cabinets and drawers
there was a half empty bottle of metallic teal nail polish, the stub end
of a tube of reddish brown lipstick, a stray hair barette, a blisterpack
of birth control pills, and the dregs of a rolled up tube of toothpaste.
A small emory board got overlooked under some books on the living room
coffee table. And at the back of the closet, under the hanging rack of
clothes and behind a gym bag that had been thrown there in Annie's haste
were two thong panties, a tan bra, a pair of thick patterned pantyhose
(all dirty), and a pair of cap toed grey flats.
I'd been gathering all of Annie's stray effects in a plastic grocery bag,
and I dumped them down on the living room coffee table with the intention
of pitching them into the trash in the morning. With my nod towards
responsible adulthood done, I settled onto the couch with the remainder
of the bottle of Jack Daniels, fired up the TV and began my first serious
attempt at a full weekend long bender since before I'd met Annie.
...
I groaned awake on Saturday morning, aware only of how hungover I was. I
didn't get headache hangovers, I got stomach churning nausea instead that
left me huddled on the toilet hoping to either puke or shit out the
alcohol. So the first step was going to be getting to the bathroom,
ASAP.
I rolled blearily out of bed, only to realize that I was wearing shoes
when my feet hit the floor. Had I gone out last night after I'd started
drinking and then fallen asleep in my clothes? I squinted down at myself.
Nope, I was naked from the waist up, but I was wearing pantyhose and
womens flats, and, now that I was thinking about it, the odd feeling
between my asscheeks probably meant I was wearing panties too. I was as
straight as they come so I've never particularly felt like dressing up as
a girl, but I'd admit to being turned out by the idea of how some women's
clothes must feel like to wear as a woman (the key concept being a woman
doing the wearing). But apparently, in my druken stupor last night, I'd
decided to see what it felt like myself, and had helped myself to Annie's
leftovers. We weren't drastically different sizes, as I'm a touch on the
short side for a guy (5'6" with small feet), and she wasn't a waif (also
5'5" with big feet for a girl her size), so the fit wasn't awful, though
the shoes were pinching my toes.
Just then my stomach lurched again. Bathroom first, strange clothes
second. I toed off the shoes and padded quickly in pantyhose clad feel
to the bathroom, clutching my arms around my middle. Once in the
bathroom I went straight for the toilet, and reached down to lift the lid
(as I'm the only man in America who consistently puts it down) and
caught sight of my hands as I did so. Each finger was capped by metallic
teal nails. I turned around, yanked down pantyhose and panties, and
planted my ass on the seat, I could worry about my nails later.
Ten minutes later, past my gastric distress and several oaths never to
drink again (that would probably be quickly forgotten), I took stock of
myself as I sat on toilet panties around my knees (there's something I
never saw coming). The manicure wasn't very good, I had nail polish up
on the skin around my nail, and the nail itself had a slightly uneven
look to it. No smooth mirror shine to my nails. Having never put on
nail polish before, it wasn't surprising I sucked at it, and being drunk
probably hadn't helped. I spread my hands out in front of me, inspecting
the damage. I'd have to get this off somehow, and I don't think Annie
had left me any nail polish remover. Just then I looked past my hands
and noticed my rather girlie looking legs. I wouldn't have imagined my
legs could look that feminine, with my dick tucked down between my legs
as I sat, they hardly looked manly, they looked wrong. Then I realized
why, they were hairless. I slid my hands along my thighs, totally
smooth, obviously shaved recently, then I realized my chest and pits had
experienced the same treatment. I looked over at the counter for my
razor, and, sure enough, the blades were blunted, with long hairs stuck
between them. Well, that blade was a write off, I'd obviously decided to
go for broke while drunk. Then I had a disturbing thought, and stood up
to inspect my dick, and sure enough, it too was denuded. Just a smooth
cock and balls, totally hairless, like a pornstars, but less gargantuan.
I sighed. It sucked, but it was hideable. I still had to sort out my
nails.
First things first, I pulled the pantyhose the rest of the way off, which
felt oddly nice as my hands skimmed down my newly shaved calves. I
should have expected it, but I was still surprised when I got them off to
reveal that I'd painted my toes as well. I looked down at my legs. I
was a pretty slim guy, all my running paid off in some ways. And the
hairless legs, ending in short feet each capped with small green toenails
looked surprisingly feminine overall. I turned to the bathroom mirror,
and ignoring my upper body, I saw boyish hips leading to smooth creamy
thighs, my flaccid cock had receded slightly in the chill of the morning,
and hung hairless and almost delicate in the cleft of my crotch. Shly I
cupped one hand, with its painted nails, over my cock, hiding it from
view. That looked very feminine, and I could feel my cock stiffening in
my hand.
I bit my lip, this was turning me on, which felt slightly wrong, but what
the hell, I already look like this, I can spare a minute to enjoy it
before cleaning up the damage. I wandered back to the bedroom, further
enjoying watching my painted toes pace along the wooden floors of the
apartment. I lay down on the bed and grasped my cock in my hand, then
thought better of it and shifted to hold it more gently, with just my
painted fingertips, like my hand was a girls hand delicately fondling a
cock. I reacted pretty immediately, getting ramrod hard. Wait, I
thought, no point in half measures, as I'll never be doing this again. I
stopped and stood up, rigid dick jutting obscenely out from my shaved
crotch, and found the shoes. I slid them on my feet, trying for
sexiness, but probably not getting close, the tight fit was even more
awkward without the pantyhose to reduce the friction with my skin. But
just seeing my hands with their painted nails slide the shoes on my feet,
watching my painted toes disappear into them, and feel the slightly
uncomfortable tightness as the shoes squeezed my toes made my cock, if
anything, even harder, and I caught the first whiff of the smell of sex
as my dick started leaking pre-cum. I was on autopilot now, laying back
and stroking my dick. In short time I blew my load all over my smooth
stomach.
For a moment it was bliss. Then I realized where I was. On my bed,
shaved, in womens shoes, with painted nails, and covered in cum. This
was a mess. I went back to the bathroom, cleaned myself up, showered, and
got dressed. Annie's clothes went back in the bag on the coffee table.
It was there I found the evidence of my manicure attempt. The bottle of
polish was on the table with a wad of paper town with nail polish smears
on it. The bottle went in the bag, the paper towels in the trash, and I
had breakfast, and tried to plan how I could surrepticiously get ahold of
nail polish remover without embarrassing myself and get on with my
weekend.
Trisha
- 17.02.2022
- 23
- 0
