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The New Me free porn video
THE NEW ME by Throne
Yes, my name is Vixen Sugarplum Kent. It used to be George Kent. My
wife Carla has explained to me that the new first name is to remind me
that I'm expected to act sexy and even sluttish when required, and the
middle name to help me remember to be sweet and girly the rest of the
time. With the way I look now it's not hard to envision myself in
either role. Before any changes were made in my appearance, I was a
pretty average guy. Kind of short and slender, certainly not muscular,
but still all male. Now I have no body hair or beard. My face has been
altered with permanently thinned and shaped eyebrows, tattooed eyeliner,
a smaller nose, heightened cheekbones and, worst of all, generously
plump lips. Below the neck I possess, to my endless shame, overly ripe
female curves. I was given big spherical breasts, rounded hips, a
jutting bottom, and shapely legs. My hair was allowed to grow to medium
length and then dyed platinum blond before being styled into a pixie
cut.
I was naked in my bedroom, reviewing my appearance in a full length
mirror, wishing I could turn back the clock to before all that happened,
when I heard Carla coming down the hall. My immediate instinct was to
put on some clothes but that wasn't an option. She prefers me fully
undressed for at least part of every day, so she can admire the look
she's given me. Even after a year of resembling a model in a sleazy
men's magazine, I'm inordinately modest. I brought up one forearm to
try to cover my jigging boobs and put my other hand over my pussy. Yes,
that's right -- pussy. There's a mound between my legs, as pink and
smooth as the rest of me, divided down the middle by a groove that's a
darker shade of the same color. I'm happy to be able to say that I
haven't been surgically altered. I still have my male genitals. The
problem is that I'm wearing a lifelike, false vagina that is, thanks to
the miracle of a recently developed biological adhesive, non-removable
without the use of a special solvent.
In my previous life I could have tried to purchase some of that latter
substance to free my privates, which are so cramped under their cover
that I can't achieve an erection, and even trying to is painful. The
cost would have been meaningless to me because I was so wealthy. That
was all before my bride and business partner conspired to put me into
this horrible and inescapable situation. As I stood there trying
unsuccessfully to hide my generous contours, she swept into the room
carrying some items of clothing. With her eyes on me, I felt my cheeks
grow warm and knew I was blushing. Carla chuckled at my ineffective
efforts at concealment.
She said, "Really, sweetie, you should be proud of those showy tits and
your super-realistic girly bits. I don't know why you act so
uncomfortable all the time."
"Darling," I said, trying to sound reasonable, hoping as always to
convince her to help me. "You know I don't want to look like this. And
have to act the way I do."
"And sound that way? After how considerate Brad and I were to get your
voice adjusted so it goes along with the rest of you?"
"You know I don't like it being so high and soft," I reminded her,
though of course she already knew it very well. "Please, if you could
just, at least, maybe get me a breast reduction."
"Why? Brad thinks you look terrific that way."
Brad was my business partner. That is, my former partner. He still
owns his half of the company and my spouse has my share, along with the
house, cars, bank accounts, and everything else. I don't even own a
single piece of male clothing. She made a show of getting rid of all my
masculine attire, a little at a time, giving it to charity in small
batches. The same driver would appear each time to pick up whatever was
being contributed and I always had to answer the door. He was regularly
startled to see my metamorphosis advancing as both my face and figure
grew more luxuriantly feminine. By the time he came to collect the
final box, and I showed up in nothing but a short filmy nightie, he even
paid me a well intentioned compliment, saying that my sex change had
gone very well. I was too flabbergasted to reply, but my training had
gone far enough that I gave him a flirty smile and fluttered the my long
eyelash extensions.
As Carla continued to be amused by my shyness, I hugged myself with both
arms under my big bust and swayed my wide hips in slow motion. Just the
mention of Brad's name had similarly set off that part of my training
which made me naturally coquettish around men. I licked my oversized
lips.
"That's my girl," Carla said, giving me a broad wink. "Let's get you
all prettied up. We have company coming."
A shudder ran through me. She and Brad had started having intimate
dinner parties a few months previously, after he moved in with my wife
and I got my own bedroom. It was difficult when I lost the right to
sleep next to my wife. And my new living space was a small guest
bedroom that had been converted to make it look like a frivolous teen's
candy colored dream. There was a canopied bed, along with a vanity
table with a white, scroll-back chair. And my room was right next to
theirs, so I could hear them whenever they had sex, which was
frequently. After they observed how much their lovemaking disturbed me,
Brad had an observation window installed. It was placed low on the
wall, so I had to kneel when he told me to use it. I was utterly
humiliated every time they made me watch their hour long sessions.
My bride went on, "So here's what I picked for you. I'm positive you'll
love it." She enjoyed maintaining the fiction that I secretly wanted to
be feminized and dressed in the most frilly and fanciful items possible.
"What do you think?"
Carla held up a short white dress with a high neck, see-through lace
sleeves, decorative beading down the front, and tiers of ruffles at its
high hemline. She also had pale yellow stockings , and white shoes with
three inch heels. I wasn't happy with any of it and yet it would cover
more of me than I was used to. As she unzipped the dress I realized
there were no panties in the outfit. That meant that if I assumed
certain positions my bottom and faux pussy might be exposed. I sighed
and accepted the clothes. Instead of leaving me to dress, she stood
there with an expectant look on her pretty face. Carla is a lovely
woman, with impressive curves that aren't quite as full as mine, and
thick, shoulder length, black hair.
I stepped unhappily into the dress and pulled it up. Then I had to get
the built-in cups up and over my plus-size bust. Carla fussed with the
garment, adjusting it this way and that until she was satisfied and
zipped me in. Then I had to sit on the edge of my bed and slide the
elastic-top stockings up my hairless legs. Finally I put on the shoes
and took a few steps. I have gotten used to walking in heels but still
found myself taking small mincing steps. My masculinity had been
subverted in so many ways.
"There's my pretty Sugarplum," she said with a smile. "Almost ready to
greet our visitors."
Carla led me to the vanity table and had me sit. While I watched my
reflection in the mirror, she used eye shadow and lipstick to enhance
the longlasting changes that had been wrought on my face. The lipstick
was a shade called Magenta Madness and she covered it with glistening
gloss.
Just as she finished, Brad appeared at my bedroom door. He stepped into
the room and gave my wife a warm hug, which she answered with
enthusiasm.
The tall confident man told her, "You were fantastic last night."
"Not as good as you," she countered cheerfully.
"Well, let's just say we were both incredible... for over an hour." He
turned to me and said, "I forget if we let you play Peeping Tom, Vixen.
Or should I say Peeping Thomasina? We're you enjoying the view from
your dollhouse window?"
Naturally, he knew the miniature shutters had been pulled back and I was
watching every second of their feverish foreplay and intense
intercourse. But I still had to answer, so I told him in my immature
sounding voice, "Yes, Brad. I was... peeking. Through my special
window."
"And how did that make you feel?" he wanted to know.
"It was... unnerving... to see my wife with another man. I mean, even
though I've seen the two of you together that way many times."
"Yeah," he told me. "It never gets old." He gave Carla an open-mouthed
kiss, then inquired of me, "Did it get you excited, Vixen?"
"Well..." I wrung my hands. "I guess it did."
"Either it did or it didn't," he pointed out. "So which was it?"
"It got me aroused." I knew what he wanted to hear. "And my penis
tried to get hard. But it couldn't." He didn't say anything, which
meant I had to keep going. "Because it's trapped under that false
pussy." I remembered how he preferred to have me refer to it. "My
pussy prison."
"And?"
"It hurt when my dick tried to get stiff and pressed against my balls in
that tight space."
"Ouch." He made a pained face. "I'm glad my cock isn't trapped under a
mock twat. I don't know how a guy could live like that. Especially
when he had to look at his stunningly hot wife all the time. Even when
she was being taken care of in bed by her lover."
Carla amended, "By her stallion of a lover."
They both laughed and then kissed again. Brad snapped his fingers at
me. "Now let's all get to the living room. I'm sure you're as eager to
say hello to our friends when they arrive as we are."
He and Carla strolled out of the room hand-in-hand, with me following on
those heels that not only shaped my legs but added a wiggle to my walk.
I so badly didn't want anyone to see me like that. Somehow being made
so attractively feminine was, in its way, worse than last time. On that
occasion, when they had a couple they knew over, all I had on was a
black corset that, by reducing my waist, made my boobs and hips appear
even larger. Everyone had made remarks about how my breasts and bottom
shook slightly when I moved.
In the living room they had me straighten up a few things that didn't
need straightening. Whenever I bent forward at the waist or reached for
something high I was aware of how the dress failed to hide my lack of
panties. I hoped that wouldn't reoccur after whoever was coming got
there. Finally the doorbell rang. I looked to Carla to see if I was
expected to answer it. Memories of that pick-up guy from the charity
organization returned in a disturbing flashback. But she waved me away
as Brad went to admit the new arrivals.
When he opened the door I was abashed to see that it was a couple from
our office. I hadn't been there for months but Brad liked to tell me
how intrigued everyone was by his reports on my makeover and the photos
he showed them on his phone. He told them that I was a willing
participant in my feminization, and that it had been my secret fantasy
for years. So when Glen and Dee got a look at me and their eyes went
wide, all I could do was stand there, paralyzed, and wish I could flee.
But then Carla made a throat clearing sound and I returned to full
alertness. Taking the hem of my dress between thumbs and forefingers, I
executed a deep curtsey.
In a simpering voice I said, "I'm so glad you could come. My name is
Vixen Sugarplum. You can call me Vixen. Or you can call me Sugarplum.
Either one is fine."
"Well," said Glen, "you don't look like a vixen at the moment, so I'll
just call you Sugarplum."
"Yes," said Dee, a cute girl I'd always secretly enjoyed looking at in
the office. "Sugarplum Fairy." She boldly put herself directly in
front of me. Her hands came up and went to the outer sides of my
breasts, pushing them together and making their tops swell up out of the
dress's bodice. "They look and feel so real."
"They are real," Carla announced proudly. "The wonders of hormones and
some newer drugs. Best of all, they're permanent. Just like some of
her make-up."
Glen joined his date. He felt my beardless cheek, patted my flaring
hip, and reached around to give my bottom a squeeze. "Sure feels
authentic to me. You really got the full treatment, George. I mean
Sugar Lips."
"Yes, Sir." I did a half dip. "I certainly did."
"And you love it. Right?"
"Ohhh," I gushed, "it's so wonderful."
If I didn't lie like that I might earn myself a punishment. Making
them even more certain of what Brad had been saying was better than
spending a night in a bondage outfit. I was in no hurry to wear a long
leather skirt that immobilized my legs, paired with a bondage sleeve of
the same material, which would hold my arms painfully bent up behind my
back, thrusting my chest out into vulnerable prominence. And that skirt
had no bottom, just a strap that ran between the buttocks and dug in
deep, leaving my nether cheeks exposed for spanking.
"So," Brad suggested, "while we're waiting for the others to get here,
how about if Sugar Tits scampers out to the kitchen and fetches a bottle
of wine and four glasses?"
Everyone agreed to that, and I hurried off, hips rolling and braless
bust shifting under the dress. When I returned with everything on a
serving tray, including a corkscrew, they were all seated and chatting
about work. Brad took the bottle and opened it, as if I wasn't
competent to perform the task, and poured for everyone. While I stood
there with no drink, an insipid smile fixed on my pretty face, they
raised their glasses in a toast.
"To Vixen Sugarplum," Carla offered. "My husband who's about to get a
surprise."
That triggered laughter all around and set me to worrying. In my new
life a surprise wasn't likely to be a good one. Even so, I continued to
smile. Soon the other guests arrived, another pair, but both male. It
was Tony and Sam, the office's two gay men. Tony was short and swarthy,
Sam tall and blond. They weren't a couple, however, just friends who
sometimes double dated. Both of them had a taste for effeminate
partners, submissive ones who would cater to their every need. I had
considered myself liberal in sexual matters but their borderline
predatory attitudes had always unnerved me. I had to fetch two more
glasses. When I got back Tony was seated but Sam was still on his feet.
I meekly offered the glasses to Brad, who took one and filled it for
Tony. Sam accepted the other and poured for himself. I really wished
he would sit down. Instead, he came to me, hooked his arm through mine,
and walked me to the corner, where he stood with drink in one hand, his
other arm against the wall above my shoulder, pinning me in.
"You know," he said, "I always liked looking at you on the job. Now
that I know you're into men, and making such a big effort to attract
them or at least a certain dominant type --" He grinned at me. "--
maybe we should chat about that."
"Well," I said, throat tight, my girly voice strained. "You see, I'm
still married to Carla."
"And she's with Brad," he mentioned. "A lot. I mean, the man lives
here. So how about if you and I have a little talk?"
"Well..." Unaccustomed as I was to asserting myself at all, I still
managed to say, "Maybe some other time."
"I like that," Sam said. "You're so coy. It really gets my juices
flowing. And you know what that can lead to."
He just stood there. I felt so totally trapped. The buzz of
conversation continued from the rest of the room but I couldn't make out
any words. Just as my fear and dread were reaching their apex, Sam
unexpectedly chuckled.
With a smile I couldn't quite read, he told me, "Like you said. Maybe
some other time. Soon."
As he turned and went to sit down, I heaved a sigh of relief. Then, my
thoughts immediately going back to keeping Brad and Carla happy, I
swished across the room on those heels and took up a spot where I wasn't
blocking anyone's view, but my wife and the man cuckolding me could both
easily get my attention if I was needed. The next hour went smoothly
and I was relieved that I didn't have to deal with Sam's advances again.
But later on, as the evening was winding down, I got a nasty shock.
My wife casually told me, "I'm glad it's a pleasant night outside. You
know, Sugarplum, you don't own a proper coat for chilly weather."
"But... I'm not going out." I gave her a questioning look. "Am I?"
"Oh." Her face scrunched up in thought. "Didn't I tell you, sweetness?
You're going home with Sam."
"I'm what?" I squeaked.
"Going to his place for a while. You see, since you and I are man and
wife in name only, you know, with no sex life, and since I have Brad to
take care of those needs, we thought it would be fun for you to get in
touch with your gay side."
"But I'm not gay."
"Well, you're not straight anymore. Not really." She smiled
understandingly. "I know this may be unsettling in the short run, but
you need to give it a try. How will you ever live out the rest of your
dreams if you don't take the next step?"
Feeling less secure by the second, I managed to whisper, "But I don't
want to be a girl. Or sissy. Or anything like that."
"Don't let yourself slip into denial. Just let me get the rest of what
you'll be wearing."
In a stupor I watched her leave the room. As my eyes moved around I saw
Sam giving me a conspiratorial look. Carla returned carrying two
things. The first was a long white veil that she settled on my head and
fluffed out to her satisfaction. The second was a modest bouquet of
artificial yellow flowers. She said they would bring out the color in
my stockings.
"You look delicious," she congratulated me. "All ready for your trial
marriage to Sam."
"Trial... marriage?"
"Well, same-sex unions are legal now." My wife patted my cheek through
the fine netting of the veil. "And you make a lovely blushing bride."
Sam came to me and put his arm around my waist. He pulled me against
him. I didn't want a man touching me, holding me, and especially not
desiring me. But what could I do? After the way I had been changed?
And now that all my money and property were solely in Carla's name?
With me no longer owning even a single piece of male clothing? I numbly
allowed myself to be led around the room by Sam while Tony hummed The
Wedding March. The watchers pretended to throw rice. Sam's hand
drifted lower and caressed my bottom. I wondered if he had realized
that I had on no panties. Feeling like I was in a bad dream from which
I couldn't wake up, I let myself be walked out the front door to Sam's
car. It struck me that we wouldn't draw any special attention because I
appeared to be fully feminine.
All too soon we were at his house, which was set off by itself on a
country road. He told me he had a friend in real estate who had found
this secluded place for him.
"It was originally so I could have privacy when I staged a weekend long
get-together for a few of my guy friends and everyone's sissies. But it
will serve just as well for our little love nest. Look at those thick
woods out back. We can go for walks out there. Me in a butch outdoors
outfit, you dressed like a nudist. By which I mean naked. And then
I'll leave you to find your way home. Imagine how glad you'll be to see
me after you finally get back. And how eager you'll be to convince me
not to do that again. I'm sure you'll find all sorts of ways to
demonstrate your cooperativeness." He chuckled. "I've played that game
with other guys. It's fun to hear them talk about how they had to hide
from hikers and sneak past campsites. But that's all for later. Right
now we have to consummate our trial marriage."
I was in shock. It was as if reality had been pulled out from under my
feet. Being turned into a fake female had been awful enough. But now I
was a fake bride. Sam took my hand in an unbreakable grip and walked me
to the door. There was no one around to see as he scooped me up and
carried me over the threshold. Once inside, he kicked the door shut.
My abbreviated dress slid up my thighs and revealed that I had nothing
on underneath. He cackled as he ran his hand over my thigh, above the
top of the stocking, and over my encased genitals. That false pussy
remained tightly sealed to my body. Ever since it had been put on me I
had to urinate sitting down, which the device's design made possible and
necessary.
He took me to the bedroom before setting me down. So much taller and
stronger than me, he bent me back and held me that way while he brought
his face down and pressed his mouth to my inflated and brightly colored
lips. His tongue probed actively. One hand went under the rear of my
skirt to fondle my bare backside. He rubbed his firm upper leg against
my crotch. Though I didn't want it to happen, my penis began to stir,
reminding me once again that an attempted erection would only cause me
pain. But when he halfway unzipped me, deftly lowered the neckline of
my dress, letting my large soft breasts pop free, and began to finger my
prominent nipples, I gasped and felt an undesired reaction. Even though
it was a man touching me, I had been denied sexual release for so long
that my libido didn't care. There was a sharp stab of pain as my dick
tried to expand, instead pressing against my trapped balls. I whimpered
and to Sam, I imagine, it sounded like yearning for more.
My 'groom' told me, "I know you're straight, George. You're wife let me
in on the game she likes to play. I don't care. In fact, it makes
everything better. So now you have to become Vixen, who is Sugarplum's
dirty other half. And I expect Vixen to be very slutty tonight.
Otherwise, Daddy will spank. And then you'll have to do what I want
anyway, but with a very sore rump. So let's work together on this.
I'll give you some pointers while we're doing it, on how to make your
man very happy." He rubbed my lips meaningfully. "And if you do a
really stupendous job of that, well, I might not require anything else
from you." He got his hand under my dress again and diddled me between
my butt cheeks. "Perhaps you can hold onto your maidenhead a while
longer."
He helped me out of the veil and dress, then stepped back to admire my
voluptuous figure. Sam moved back in to run his hands all over me,
making several stops at the major erogenous zones to get me further
stimulated. Soon I was panting from both arousal and discomfort, as he
put his big hands on my shoulders and gently forced me down onto my
knees. He undressed himself while I watched, before sitting on the edge
of the mattress directly in front of me. I was confronted by his cock,
which was already half hard from handling me and, I'm sure, from
anticipating what else he expected. To add to my distress, he was very
well endowed.
"Just begin with your fingers," he advised me soothingly. "We'll get to
you using your mouth soon enough. And there's no hurry. I'm good for
an hour every time." He stroked my pixie hairdo. "And every time comes
a few times a day. Touch me, Vixen. Get nasty. That's the way, baby.
Mmmm. Now kiss my legs above the knees. See, that's not so bad. Keep
those hands moving. Don't stop bringing your lips closer. And closer.
And... that's right, Vixen. Now live up to your name. Show me what a
dirty girl you can be."
That was the longest night of my life. Twice. Followed by him letting
me onto the bed, spooning up against my back and bottom and holding me,
his hands over my full breasts. I thought I wouldn't be able to sleep
at all but soon drifted into dreamless slumber.
When I awoke in the morning he had already made coffee. I followed the
aroma and found him in the kitchen in his boxer shorts. It was
mortifying to be almost naked in front of him, but he was enjoying the
sight of me too much to give me anything to wear. In fact, there was
even a very short, pink, quilted robe over the back of one chair. As
tantalizingly near as it was, he didn't grant me permission to don it,
and I sensed that it would not be wise to take it on my own.
He had some microwavable breakfasts and there was cold juice in the
fridge. I quickly learned that Sam expected me to be less of a trampy
sex partner most of the time, and more of a doting domestic wife. I had
to run and fetch for him, wait silently while he did whatever personal
chores he needed to, and then do basic housecleaning while he did his
office jobs from his computer, which he disclosed he had arranged to do
for the next two weeks.
"Sort of a working honeymoon," he said with a suggestive leer. "Just me
and my trial Missus, who will usually be naked or close to it, so I can
ogle that dynamite body. And have easy access to it."
Unfortunately for me, he took advantage of that access often. Many
times it was not for me to provide more sexual service, but simply for
him to enjoy his ownership of me and keep his sex drive at a fever
pitch. He relished fondling my body, making me assume erotic poses,
watching as I displayed very girl mannerisms, and listening as I made
lewd suggestions. Naturally, however, that eventually did lead to
more. For the first week I was able to protect my virginity by giving
him ever more elaborate and filthy oral favors. But at the beginning of
the second week, my ability to maintain that safe state failed. He had
a few glasses of wine, I had been working around the kitchen in an apron
about the size of a washcloth and nothing else except four-inch heels,
when he declared that I had tempted him beyond his limits. Sam made me
feel like it was my fault that he was going to rob me of my most
precious link to masculinity.
We went to the bedroom. He showed me a tube of scented lube and said
how he wanted me to apply it to him, slowly and lovingly, like sweet
Sugarplum. Then he asked me to stay in that mindset, of his nubile
bride, as long as I could, but that if I became overexcited it was okay
for me to 'let lose Vixen' and react however my urges dictated. I told
myself that I definitely wouldn't be giving into what he was about to
do. There was no way I would respond like a sex craved slut. Sam
extinguished the lights, lit a candle, and we began.
Imagine how surprised I was when, after he had kindly and unhurriedly
gotten me past the preliminaries, my passion began to mount. It had
hurt having him enter me, but once his considerable length and girth
were inside, everything changed. I began to writhe from his slow
pumping and before long I was moaning and muttering As he gradually
accelerated his rhythm I heard myself crying out and, finally, begging
for more. It was as if Sam had created a new me. Toward the end I was
even shoving my bottom back to meet his thrusts, telling him in a hoarse
voice to not slow down. I praised his gifts as a lover and even swore
that I needed what he was giving me. He brought everything to a
triumphant conclusion after nearly an hour, having taken me for an
unforgettable ride over the slopes and peaks of sexual abandon. By the
end he had finished twice and I, to my startled disbelief, was convinced
I had experienced an orgasm without ejaculating, my penis being still
painfully compressed under that pseudo-pussy. At some point the line
between my discomfort and pleasure had been erased. He cuddled me and
joked about how wildly I had responded to his expert techniques.
I lay there, not sure what to think. In my mind I was still George
Kent. But I was also Vixen and Sugarplum, the sexpot and the
sweetheart. My wife was far away with another man, enjoying his sexual
performances, so superior to mine. While I was trapped inside a super
seductive, temptingly curvaceous, totally convincing female form. Pink
and smooth all over, with seductive eyes and cocksucker lips. I didn't
own a single piece of male clothing. And I had no financial assets or
property. None. I was completely dependent on others. On Carla. On
Brad. And now on Sam. I had fallen so far from my former position of
wealth and power. What was going to happen to me? And how much more
might I be affected by another week here with that man and his rapacious
appetites?
All I could do was wait and find out.
*********
(This story got special inspiration from the captioned pictures posted
by Crayle2 on the Deviant Art site. I hope you'll go to his page, check
out those clever caps, and leave him some comments there. ENJOY.)
Virginia
- 14.04.2022
- 6
- 0
