Shadowsblade a Whateley Tale shadow on the heart
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Not What I Wanted - Chapter 1 Of 6 free porn video
Not What I Wanted
By
Stefanie Flowers
CHAPTER 1 - HOW IT ALL CAME TO BE
Out on the town
I can't believe how I am dressed or what I am about to do. Just getting
out of the cab is a humbling experience. Aided by a hand from the
doorman, I smile my thanks to him as he helps me onto my feet. Then,
seeing a shitty grin on his face, I realize my faux pas. Unused to
wearing a very short skirt and high stiletto heels, I had unwittingly
slid forward towards the door and then spread my legs to establish a
stable standing position. I had just provided a titillating view of my
satin thong covered crotch and bare buttocks. My smile of gratitude
turns into a frown of mortification as I realize my mistake. Obviously I
had already thanked him more than enough. Though I guess it's not his
fault and I shouldn't really blame him. Lucky guy, he just happened to
be in the right place at the right time to enjoy my unladylike display.
So here I am, standing on the pavement blushing a deep red as I try to
recover my dignity and a modicum of composure. I pause to check my
clothing and see that everything is in place. Struggling to pull the
skirts hemline down, I sigh in exasperation. My effort is an exercise in
futility for I am wearing a very short black satin mini-skirt that does
absolutely nothing to cover my thighs. It barely covers my butt! Strappy
silver sandals with four inch stiletto heels shape my ankles and legs
into long pleasing curves of femininity. The rest of my outfit is just
as revealing. 36 D breasts are perched atop a red satin platform bra with
my large aureole and nipples prominently outlined through a tight-fitting
translucent blouse. I may as well be naked for all the protection that my
outfit affords me. Well, not quite. I do have a thin wrap that I use to
cover the view of my breasts that are otherwise clearly visible through
the blouse. I feel vulnerable; much too exposed to be standing here alone
on a crowded public street. Could things get any worse? Don't answer
that, it's a rhetorical question. I already know the answer and it's a
definite yes!
For the umpteenth time that day, I flick my head sideways in an attempt
to clear a very persistent lock of blond hair from my eye. This too is an
exercise in futility for it immediately falls back into place over my
eye. I'm sure it looks very sexy and appealing hanging there but it is so
annoying. My sudden head movement sets long dangly earrings into motion,
swinging wildly to and fro, tinkling in my ears, caressing my cheeks and
tugging at my ear lobes. Trying to look nonchalant, I casually brush
aside the errant lock of hair using long red acrylic finger nails.
There, that worked, well at least for a while. Seeking refuge I look
towards the building's entrance trying to locate my destination. There it
is, a fluorescent neon sign for the Pink Flamingo bar. Telling myself to
try and relax and play my part, I head towards the sanctuary of the bar.
As I strut towards the door I feel a sudden gust of wind that blows the
skirt's hemline up above my hips exposing what for men must be a truly
mesmerizing sight of an 'Angelina Jolie' shaped butt. Awkwardly holding
down my skirt, much like Marilyn Monroe did in that famous movie scene, I
take a few remaining steps towards the security of the bar's entrance. My
legs are stretched to their limit by the impossibly high heels. They work
to exaggerate the swing of my hips and buttocks causing them to gyrate
from side to side with every carefully measured step. My female gait, and
shortened heel to toe stride help me to safely navigate forward as I
listen to the clip-clop rhythm of heels upon the pavement. I manage to
enter the building without stumbling. Hearing some wolf whistles of
appreciation I am mortified at attracting so much attention. It is
therefore with much relief that I disappear through the entrance and into
the relative security of the bar. So far, so good.
Acutely aware of my body as I descend some entrance steps, I remind
myself to walk with a good posture; head held high and shoulders back.
Besides giving me a feeling of poise and balance, it unfortunately also
serves to enhance the projection of my breasts and butt. Disturbingly my
breasts seem to have a life of their own, bouncing up and down in unison
to my steps. I feel bra straps working overtime to dampen out the
oscillating movement of my boobs. The evening is only just starting yet
already a myriad of sensations are attacking my brain and making me feel
vulnerable. Mentally I struggle to come to terms with them and how I
feel. Even the scent of my perfume is intoxicating. I am on an adrenaline
high; a body bombarded with new and strange sensations.
With a stomach full of butterflies, I approach the bar afraid to face the
many stares that I expect to receive. My fears are confirmed as I notice
interested glances from men within the crowded bar. Some are covert, men
out with their wives or girlfriends who cannot afford to be caught doing
what comes naturally; assessing the new girl that had just made an
enticing entrance. The single men are much more obvious. Their hungry,
devouring stares make me feel like a piece of meat on the butcher's
block.
A rapidly beating heart refuses to slow down for I am scared to be
mistaken for a hooker. Lord I hope not but, looking as I do, it seems to
me inevitable. With luck, maybe I can just pass as a single woman looking
for some action on a Saturday night. In any event, I know that I am in
big trouble. At least this bar is known to be hooker friendly, so it's
unlikely that I will be thrown out straight away. Besides a few dollars,
all that I carry in my silver sequined purse is an ID in the name of
Stefanie Flowers, a tube of lipstick, some rubbers and a tampon, I have
just enough money for a drink, possibly two; no money for a cab trip
home. Even if did, I have no keys with which to enter my apartment.
Nothing for it but to brazen this evening out to its conclusion.
Trying to look casual I strut towards an empty bar stool. Nervously
blinking a few times I feel the flutter of long eyelashes heavily laden
with mascara as I continue to scan the room assessing its occupants.
Good, only a few single men. Most of the men are with wives or
girlfriends. Thank God, no-one can see my theatrically made up smoky
eyes. Large black framed oval sunglasses speckled with silver sparkles
provide me with a psychological mask to hide behind; a measure of
anonymity. If I keep them on, surely no-one will be able to recognize the
slut at the bar as me. Unfortunately the bar area is dark, so reluctantly
I have to remove the sunglasses and perch them on top of my head.
Glancing in the bar's mirror I can see that I look so different from my
usual self that surely no-one could ever recognize the real me anyway.
Betraying my nervousness, I lick my lips only to taste the red gloss that
coats them. Placing my purse on the bar's counter top I slide up onto the
stool and use what I hope is a sultry sounding feminine voice to order a
Cosmopolitan. The bartender smiles and winks at me. Obviously he takes
me to be a hooker on the prowl. I give him a coy smile back as he pours
my drink. Fumbling to open my purse I am made painfully aware of how
difficult my long talons make it to complete the most rudimentary of hand
tasks. With a shudder at the thought, I tell myself that I am sure to get
better with practice. I give a sigh of relief at having successfully
extracted the money. So far, so good! Maybe the drink will help calm my
nerves.
I take a sip before lavishly tipping the bartender. We exchange a few
flirtatious pleasantries during which I learn that his name is George. I
give mine as Stefanie. No money left for a second drink but it's better
to have him on my side should things turn nasty. I have little choice now
but to go ahead with this adventure. Seeing an imprint of lip gloss on my
wine glass I am once again reminded of my perilous situation. So many
new feelings; so many reminders. God, I hope Katy arrives soon. I don't
want to sit here alone, an easy target for prowling men.
Feeling precarious perched atop the tall bar stool, I anchor my body to
the chair with one heel hooked over the crossbar, the other leg crossed
over my knee and dangling out into space. Unfortunately, this maneuver
also serves to show off shapely tanned legs sporting glossy red toe
nails. Is there no comfortable posture that won't scream look at me, a
gorgeous blond sitting alone at the bar; don't you think I'm sexy and in
need of a man? I wriggle on the tiny stool seat to ease a discomfort in
the crack between my butt cheeks. The discomfort is not caused by my
thong but a tightly fitted and almost invisible silver looking metal
chastity belt. There is no discernable way to remove it but there is a
flap locked shut over my vagina. Unfortunately, the wriggling causes my
skirt to ride up a little. Even an inch in this skirt is a lot. Fearing
exposure of my thong, and worse, chastity belt, I pull the hemline down
as far as it will go, and squeeze my thighs closer together.
Most women would be uncomfortable dressed as I am sitting in a well-known
pickup bar. A few might relish the excitement, even getting an adrenalin
rush at the thought of being so daring. For a hooker it might feel
normal, just part of the job. Unfortunately I am none of those. Yes I say
to myself, here I am, a heterosexual man (at least I hope I still am)
dressed very provocatively and convincingly as a sexy woman. What a
pickle I am in! Now you can appreciate why my senses are overwhelmed by
such a cascade of female experiences. They are so alien, so vivid and so
real! Do women have such exciting sensory feedback or does it go
unnoticed, taken as granted for their every day lives. For me, this is a
very scary first, and I hope last, time out as a woman. Please God, let
me survive this ordeal unscathed! Where is Katy? She should be here to
rescue me by now!
A Complicated Relationship
How had this situation come to be? In my own defense, it was certainly
not my idea or desire to be here portraying a wanton woman, or any other
woman for that matter! I am a plain vanilla heterosexual man and I like
it that way. Unfortunately I am trapped in an untenable situation from
which I can see no immediate escape. I must be brave and see this charade
through to its finish. The series of events that led me to being in this
predicament were down to my own stupidity and a misplaced trust in Katy,
my girlfriend of the last six months. Even now I am hoping this is just
another one of her jokes that I will later learn to laugh about. I am
here dressed as her girlfriend Stefanie for a night out with her on the
town.
I first hooked up with Katy on an internet dating service. She was the
one to contact me. Initially I was leery of accepting her invitation to a
date as she seemed way out of my league. Her profile was that of an
independently minded, wealthy woman. Her looks told me that she should
have no problem finding attractive men to date, so why was she even using
the dating service? I, on the other hand, was fairly short, of skinny
build and long straight black hair. In truth, some might consider me to
look a bit effeminate but I am all male. Despite these misgivings I
accepted her invitation and we both met for the first time at the very
same bar in which I now sit dressed as a wanton woman. How ironic is
that? It probably appeals to her sense of humor.
We seemed to strike it off well at the start. I was ecstatic that she
took a liking to me and even laughed at my weak jokes. At first, the
dating was a bit awkward as she would only go to fancy expensive
restaurants that, to be perfectly frank, are well beyond my financial
reach. Eventually I got used to stifling my male ego as she paid the
bill. I could not, however, complain about our love making. We were an
excellent match in bed making love almost every night with me taking the
traditional male lead. It was passionate but standard heterosexual
interaction. That is just the way I like it. I am a bit of a prude when
it comes to deviating from the sexual norms so was happy that Katy seemed
to enjoy the traditional roles. Strictly speaking we were not yet in love
but things were good and seemed to be progressing nicely towards a long
term relationship. We both enjoyed each other's company finding the
conversation to be fulfilling and entertaining; and of course the sex was
great! One strange thing that bothered me was that she never introduced
me to any of her friends. I assumed that she was probably being
considerate of my feelings as I did not have the money to participate in
her social circle.
After several months of sexual bliss her libido seemed to fade while she
became more and more demanding of greater stimulation and foreplay. She
insisted that I service her orally with my tongue before proceeding to
our usual sexual intercourse. Being straight laced I did not relish the
idea, but reluctantly agreed if she would shave her pussy. I hated the
thought of licking her pubic bush only to have a hair or two lodge in my
mouth. She agreed and soon thereafter I was receiving meticulous
instruction on how to satisfy her needs; to lick and tease her clitoris
and penetrate her labia with my tongue. Eventually I became so skilled
with my ministrations that she began to experience long lasting, and very
satisfying orgasms. She was very satisfied but, unfortunately, this left
me a frustrated bystander. My penis would be limp by the time I had
finished my oral duties. She refused to help stimulate me by sucking my
cock unless I too shaved my genitals. Thinking that no self respecting
man would do that I declined the offer. Of course, if I was able to, my
penis would finally be permitted access to her vagina. On the rare
occasions that I was successful, usually a result of the little blue
pill, my erect cock gave her no arousal for she was already sexually
spent. Feeling a total failure, I would go limp while desperately trying
to reach orgasm. She was either oblivious to or uncaring about my sexual
needs. It could not go on like this so I resolved to tell her of my
concerns.
Despite my self-sacrificing efforts it was not long before she once again
grew discontent with our routine. Taking one last gamble to restore our
relationship I acted upon one of her hints and made the big mistake of
introducing a little bondage into our sex play. We were both virgins at
this but soon learnt the ins and outs. I had visions of being able to
take her without the prelude of oral stimulation but that was not to be.
Somehow I had stumbled on her true innermost passion. She loved bondage
for it brought her to the heights of ecstasy; unfortunately only when I
was the one in bondage. According to her, I was a natural submissive and
she my dominant mistress. Spread in an X shape and bound to each bed
post, I had to lick and suck her to orgasm before she would even consider
releasing me. Sometimes she would come down on me after having been
orally satisfied, but more often than not, I could not achieve an
erection. I told her that our love making was not working for me.
Expressing concern about my lack of stamina she started to give me a
daily dose of vitamin pills. As time progressed, my performance only
seemed to worsen.
She started to tease that I needn't worry about having a limp dick for I
made a great lesbian lover. To complete this lesbian fantasy of hers she
insisted that for our love making I dress in female lingerie. One night,
while tied to the bed and dressed in feminine attire, I just lost my
patience. In frustration I told her that I'd had enough of being
dominated and dressed to please her. In fact I said that I wanted out of
the relationship. I know, stupid of me to do it just there and then, but
I was angry and lost my cool. Her response told me just how wise it would
have been to wait until later.
She laughed and said, "You silly sissy girl. I guess it's time to ensure
your obedience from now on."
She brought out a metal chastity device and fitted it onto my cock all
the while teasing me.
"Judging from recent performance, this chastity device is hardly
necessary enforced absence should help to improve your libido."
I pleaded and begged with her to release me from the device, all to no
avail.
"Stop whining, you sound just like a girl! From now on your clitty is
going to have to earn its freedom." She then took photos of me on her
phone threatening to upload them onto the social websites.
A few weeks went by with me kept in frustrating chastity. Katy had become
very possessive, keeping me continuously in restraint. The chastity
device had done the trick of restoring my libido. Now that it had no
freedom my penis seemed constantly swollen and trying to attain a full
erection. Thinking that my situation could get no worse I started a
campaign to regain my freedom. Despite many hours of punishment in
bondage I refused to provide her with any oral stimulation. Eventually
Katy recognized that she had a problem. I told her that our relationship
was over and that she had to free me from chastity. Katy refused to
accept my demands saying that I would eventually come to love the bondage
and cross dressing. She said she could tell by how aroused my imprisoned
penis had become.
My rebellion went on for several more weeks. Realizing that we were at an
impasse Katy proposed a resolution to our situation. "If you come with me
this Friday to the BDSM club as my submissive then I'll release you
Saturday morning."
I could only imagine what that would entail; certainly public
humiliation. So far all of my humiliating ordeals had been in private.
"What's the catch?" I asked. "I'm sure there is one."
"Oh you are just going to love this. It's 'She-male Fairy' night."
Continued in Chapter 2
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