Lindsey
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Lindsey free porn video
It was a gorgeous, warm sunny day and I was intent on wasting a good
chunk of it by being inside a movie theater. As I strode along the
sidewalk on 5th Street, through the business district, I could still
taste the burrito I'd had for lunch half an hour before. I took a sip of
my Coke from the cup I was carrying, and generally felt all was right
with the world. It was my day off, a new movie I'd been waiting to see
was only a few minutes walk away, and my stomach was full of zesty beef
and bean goodness.
"Hey, how's it going?"
I'd just been passing a little coffee shop with the obligatory cafe
tables set out on the sidewalk, and this question had come from a fat guy
sweating in a fedora and a cheap suit. He was sitting at one of the cafe
tables with some sort of iced beverage in front of him.
I answered with my own not very enthusiastic, "Hey."
The guy gave me kind of a creepy once over, and asked, "You got a
minute?"
I checked my forward momentum only slightly and shook my head in the
negative, responding, "No, sorry man. Got somewhere I need to be."
To which he replied by saying, "The hell you do. Come here and sit down,
boy."
The guy's voice had seemed normal enough when he first accosted me, but
as he uttered this last it seemed to change in timbre and acquire a weird
resonance, like he was using a microphone with the reverb cranked up too
high. The change in his voice wasn't nearly as strange or alarming,
though, as the fact I found myself hurrying to his table, pulling out a
chair, and sitting down across from him.
"That's better," he said, and smiled a greasy smile in my direction.
I tried to get up from the chair, but I couldn't make my limbs move in
the slightest.
This seemed to amuse my tablemate, who chuckled noiselessly and said,
"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch. You can't move until I tell you
you can."
"That's not possible," I muttered, more to myself than to him as I
continued to try unsuccessfully to stand up from the chair.
"Relax!" he commanded, and the spooky resonance was back. I felt my body
lean back in the chair and relax, like I was just shooting the breeze
with an old friend. My soda, about which I'd entirely forgotten, fell
from my hand to the sidewalk and rolled away.
"What's -" I began.
"Shut up," the man commanded, and my mouth shut so fast I heard my teeth
click together. I tried to finish my question. I could hear the words in
my brain, could feel the muscles in my throat move as if I were about to
speak them, but no sound emerged and my mouth didn't so much as open.
At this point, I did the only reasonable thing and panicked. Or at least
I tried to panic. Outwardly, I just sat there, sprawled loosely, casually
on the white plastic cafe chair.
(what the fuck?! what the fuck?! what the fuck?!) was about the sum total
of what my brain could manage, and probably would have gone on in that
vein indefinitely if the man seated across from me hadn't interrupted.
"That's not a terribly attractive way to sit, now, is it? Sit up a bit,
and cross your legs like a lady."
With no intention on my part, I sat up a little in the chair, crossed one
leg over the other at the knee--nearly causing myself a painful injury in
the process, since women's ability to sit like this is dependent on not
having balls--and rested my arms lightly on the arms of my chair.
"That's much better. Smile a little, like we're a couple of old friends
having a pleasant afternoon. Oh, here: have a cigarette."
I felt my face shift into a gentle smile. (I don't smoke) I thought, but
the man was leaning across the table, holding out a pack of cigarettes. I
may not have been a smoker, but I still recognized the brand and shape of
the box as belonging to a kind of cigarette I'd only ever seen a woman
smoke. All on its own, my fingers delicately pulled a long, slim
cigarette out of the box. When the man leaned closer to light it for me,
I got a whiff of his sweaty body. Had I been able react naturally, I
would have recoiled at the smell. Seeing him up close, I noticed a couple
days worth of stubble on his face, and he clearly wasn't big on the
personal hygiene.
I drew deeply on the cigarette as my captor lit it, and pulled the smoke
into my lungs. I should have coughed; I wanted to cough and choke, and
throw the nasty thing away from me, but instead I calmly exhaled smoke
out through my nose.
As he resumed his seat, the man correcte my performance, saying, "No,
hold it like a woman would. Delicate and feminine."
A hundred images of women smoking flashed through my mind, from TV and
movies, and the hand holding the cigarette turned away from me, wrist
cocked back. I lifted it to my mouth and took a deep, sultry drag on the
cigarette, shifting my grip to the last knuckle of two fingers, then
pursed my lips and blew a thin stream of smoke over the man's head.
"My name's Howard, by the way."
(fuck off, Howard) I thought, though outwardly I just took another drag
on the cigarette and daintily tapped ash off on the ground. I'd never
liked being around smokers, and the smell of being on the business end of
a lit cigarette made me want to heave.
Howard asked, "By the way, how old are you, boy?"
My paralyzed mouth opened of its own accord, and said, "Twenty." (and
what the fuck is going on?!) I added in my head, but my vocal cords had
gone right back to not cooperating.
"Excellent, thank you. You started smoking when you were thirteen, and
are completely addicted to nicotine."
As I took another drag, my earlier repugnance was completely gone. In its
place, I found an actual affection for the smell of the burning tobacco,
and a profound satisfaction at how the smoke gently burned my throat and
lungs when I inhaled deeply.
Howard next asked, "I can't very well keep calling you 'boy,' can I?
What's your name?"
Again involuntarily, I answered, "Michael Allen Simmons."
Howard shook his head slightly, and said, "No, that won't do," before
looking thoughtful for a few seconds. He got a look of satisfaction on
his face, and continued, "Your name is Lindsey Washington. No middle
name. What's your name again?"
(lindsey washington) "Lindsey Washington," my mouth said, in total
agreement with the voice in my head. (no it isn't that's not my fucking
name my name is lindsey)
I took another drag on my cigarette.
We were interrupted by a waitress at that point, who set an ashtray down
on the table in front of me--good thing, too, as I was just about down to
the filter--and asked, "Can I get you something to drink. ". ". " sir?"
The disdain in her voice for a guy behaving in such an effeminate way was
clear.
Howard answered for me, "Bring my friend here a large bubble tea,
please."
I'd tried a bubble tea before, on a date with a girl who loved them, and
had nearly gagged on the large pearls of tapioca and high-octane
sweetness of the drink. Howard wasn't really interested in what I wanted,
though.
I took a last drag of my cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray,
then leaned back and resumed my "relaxed" pose.
Howard continued, "Where were we? Oh, yes. Lindsey, you have the kind of
smokey contralto voice that men find very sexy. How tall are you, and how
much do you weigh?"
The conscious part of my mind was still processing the first part of
Howard's statement even as my mouth opened and my voice answered his
question: "I'm five feet, eleven inches tall, and I weigh one hundred and
ninety pounds." (ohmygod my voice was that my voice? i sound like a
woman. a sexy woman)
Howard answered, "No, that won't do. I'm thinking you should be about.
... hmmm. ... five foot four? Yes, that will work. You're five feet,
four inches tall, and you weigh one hundred and ten pounds."
Even sitting, I could see things getting bigger around me. More
disturbingly, I could feel my whole body shifting, contracting, my skin
tingling. I couldn't move my head, but I could look down. My legs
sticking out of my shorts were thinner than I'd seen them in at least ten
years, and my arms were downright skinny.
Howard leaned to the side and looked under the table at my legs, and
snorted derisively. "And you have no beard or body hair."
I felt a tingle from just below my eyes all the way to my toes. On the
bits of my arms and legs I could see, the hair seemed to withdraw, or
maybe grow in reverse. In moments, I was absolutely smooth and hairless.
"That's better," commented Howard.
I managed to tear my attention from my skinny, hairless limbs back up to
my tormentor. He looked like the cat that had just eaten the canary.
"Lindsey, you have unusually thick, full hair, with a pronounced widow's
peak. It's dark brown, straight and silky, and you haven't cut it in five
years."
Where I'd felt a slight tingling all over my body a few seconds earlier,
my scalp now felt like it was covered in ants, or spiders, and they were
all running laps. After a moment, I felt a tug as well, and a steadily
increasing weight as my hair managed five years of growth in as many
seconds. The sun was suddenly a lot hotter on my head, neck, and back as
I'd essentially just gained a thick blanket covering them.
"Lindsey, as your hair has grown, you've kept it bleached out platinum
blond, with dark blue and black streaks. Because it's hot, you're wearing
it up in a twist today. Also, you have bangs cut straight across, just
even with your eyebrows."
None of the weight went away, but I again felt the breeze on my neck as
my hair gathered itself up into a banana clip. Looking up, I could see
the streaked, platinum blond straight bangs in front.
Just then, the waitress came back with my bubble tea. She did a double
take as she set the drink down, obviously confused.
Howard spoke up quickly, "It's all right, my dear. My friend here looks
perfectly normal to you. Thank the woman, Lindsey."
"Thank you, miss," my mouth said all on its own.
The poor woman stood up, shook her head slightly, gave me a polite
waitress smile, and answered, "Sure thing, honey" before turning and
walking back into the coffee shop.
"Drink your bubble tea, Lindsey. You absolutely adore bubble tea. You
love how sweet it is, and the slimy texture of the tapioca. Have another
cigarette, too."
I picked up the drink with one hand and sucked hard on the big-bore
straw. It tasted wonderful! Even as one hand was setting the drink back
down, the other was picking up the pack of cigarettes and lighter Howard
had set on the table within easy reach. Heavenly! My favorite drink AND a
cigarette.
Howard leaned forward, reaching into his jacket and coming out with a
silver flask. He pried one side of the lid back on my drink and poured a
couple ounces of something clear into my tea, then resealed the lid.
"That's vodka, Lindsey. You love vodka even more than bubble tea. As a
matter of fact, you had three vodka martinis with lunch. Fortunately, you
drink like a fish so you've built up a little tolerance to alcohol."
By the time Howard had finished speaking, I was MUCH more relaxed, and
more than a little dizzy. I giggled in my woman's voice. (fuck i'm drunk!
i'm . ". ". " a little drunk) I giggled again, for no apparent reason. I
swirled the spiked tea around to mix in the vodka and took another long
sip. It was even better than before!
Howard snapped his fingers to get my attention as I took another long
drag on my cigarette. "I know you're feeling pretty good right now,
Lindsey, but pay attention. We're not quite finished with our
conversation. Tell me about school, Lindsey. Were you a good student?"
I giggled again, and answered, "Oh, yes" with a tipsy slur. "I'm taking
computer programming courses at the community college, and I'm on the
honor roll."
Howard gave me a look of obviously false sympathy, and said, "I'm sorry,
Lindsey, but that's just not true. See, you're dyslexic. And you've
always hated math. Any school, really. You started skipping classes in
seventh grade, and failed eighth grade three times. You were more
interested in getting drunk, or high, and getting into trouble.
"When you were sixteen and they couldn't legally try to make you go
anymore, you dropped out entirely and got a job in a beauty salon. You
learned all about hair, and makeup, and nails. When you turned eighteen,
you got a job serving drinks in a seedy bar. You can only read at the
fifth grade level, and need a calculator for any math much beyond five
times five."
They say the human brain can't feel sensation, but I would have sworn
that the ants had crawled into my ears and burrowed into my brain. I
tried despe. ". ". " despe. ". ". " real hard to remember about school
and computers and stuff, but it was like a fog was in my brain. What I
could 'member was people calling me stupid. They called me a retard,
which was mean and made me cry. But they were right though. I'm really
dumb and I don't 'member things so good.
"Lindsey. Li-indsey."
I looked at Howard. He said, "It's okay, Lindsey. You don't mind being
stupid. When people call you a ditz, or an airhead, or a dumb blonde, you
just smile and nod. If they laugh at you, you just laugh with them.
Okay?"
"Okay," I said. I felt a lot better when Howard explained it to me.
"Now, Lindsey, remember I said you worked in a beauty salon and learned
all about hair and makeup and nails, right?"
"Uh huh." I did, too. I knew a LOT about hair and makeup and stuff.
"Does it make sense for a boy to know those things?"
I wrinkled up my nose as I pondered this for a few seconds. "Maybe if
he's a gay boy?"
"Are you a gay boy, Lindsey?"
I thought about this, too. "No, I don't think so."
"Right, so that must mean you're a girl, right Lindsey?"
I looked down at myself and then back up at Howard. "No, Howard, I'm a
boy."
"I'm afraid not, Lindsey. You're a girl. You've always been a girl. A
very girly girl, which is why you're so good at hair and makeup, and
wanted to work in a salon. When you started skipping school in seventh
grade, you were just starting to get boobies, and when some of the boys
you were hanging out with played with them, you discovered that you
really, really liked it. Remember, Lindsey?"
I thought back real hard. I 'membered being a little girl and playing
with dolls and wearing dresses and playing princess. I 'membered playing
dress-up and and trying Mommy's makeup and getting teased by boys. Then
when I got my boobies, all the boys wanted to play with them. At first, I
said "no" 'cause Mommy said that was bad. But Tim played with them and it
felt soooo good.
"That's a good girl, Lindsey. You remember now. And you wanted to make
the boys feel good, too, didn't you?"
"Un huh."
"Sure you did. And you made them feel very good. You gave your first blow
job the summer before eighth grade, and then you gave a bunch more, and
the boys really liked that. They called you the world's best cocksucker,
Lindsey, and you were proud of how good you could make them feel."
"Yup. I can suck cock real good." I 'membered all the cocks I had sucked.
Some were big and some were small. Some were hairy. Some were thick. All
of them were yummy though. I could take even the big ones way down my
throat.
"I know you can, Lindsey. And pretty soon, you were letting them put it
in your pussy, too. Remember how good that felt, Lindsey?"
"Ooh, yeah. I like that!"
"Your mommy got you birth control pills, and you've taken them ever
since. As you got older, you turned into a complete slut. You would
spread your legs for just about any boy who asked nicely. When people
call you a slut, or a whore, it doesn't make you sad. It makes you happy,
because you know they're just jealous about how much sex you get."
"Yup! I'm a big ol' slut, Howard." I 'membered all the boys and men and
sticking their cocks in my pussy. Fucking was fun! Some boys wanted to
put it in butt too and I was a little afraid but I said okay and that was
fun too!
"And then, when you got that job as a cocktail waitress, you saved up
your money and got implants to make your boobies even bigger, because men
like big boobies, and then even more of them will want to fuck you. Look
how big your titties are, Lindsey!"
I looked down at the really big titties sticking my shirt out. I could
feel my bra. Sometimes it makes my back hurt but that's okay 'cause I
love my big titties. I squeezed them and pinched my big nipples and it
felt soooo good.
Howard said, "Lindsey, stop playing with your titties in public,
sweetheart. Your boss at the bar made you wear really short skirts and
shirts that showed off your new boobies, and really high heels. He told
you to always look as sexy as you could. You wanted to do what your boss
wanted, so you got only the most sexy clothes and shoes. You made sure
your hair and makeup was always sexy. You got piercings and tattoos to
make you more sexy. You threw away all your nonsexy clothes."
I looked at my clothes and they were really sexy. It made me feel super
good and proud to be so sexy. I liked it when men looked at me and
whistled and said damn girl you fine.
"Yes, Lindsey. You're a very sexy girl. But you're not a slut any more."
When Howard said that it made me sad. I like being a slut. I like to be
fucked a lot.
"Don't look sad, Lindsey. You're not a slut anymore because you're my
girlfriend. You're only sexy for me. You're only a slut for me."
When Howard said that it made me glad again. Howard would fuck me good.
It would be okay.
"Come here, Lindsay," Howard said, and patted his lap.
I got up and went and sat in Howard's lap and put my arms around his neck
like a good girlfriend.
"Lindsey, you're totally, completely in love with me. You wake up every
morning thinking of how you're going to please me. You think I'm the
sexiest man in the world, and you love to kiss and hug me, and be fucked
by me."
I kissed Howard and it was wonderful. I love Howard. I love how he smells
and how his mouth tastes and I love his cock. Howard is my boyfriend.
When I stopped kissing Howard, he said, "Nah, I'm just fucking with you.
You can have your mind back, Michael. You're a great kisser, though."
I almost blacked out from the rush as my memories and knowledge came
rushing back to me. I was Michael again. At the same time, I remembered
Lindsey's life. On top of the vodka and the sheer insanity of the
situation, I was reeling. Finally, mercifully, I did pass out.
"Miss. Miss? Are you okay?"
I opened my eyes and saw the waitress who'd waited on Howard and I bent
over me, her face a mask of concern, and some irritation. Why was she
calling me "miss"? I looked around, and found myself alone at the table.
My bubble tea and cigarettes sat on the table, next to my purse, but
Howard was nowhere in sight. Howard! What the fuck!
"Miss? Do you need me to call anyone?"
"No, I'm fine," I said in a sultry voice. My voice. Oh, shit.
The waitress set a ticket down on the table, and turned away, muttering
under her breath as she walked away, "Fucking whores. I don't get paid
enough for this shit."
I caught my reflection in the big, plate glass windows running across the
front of the coffee shop. Sitting at the little cafe table was a bleached
blonde bombshell of heroic proportions. I stood up, and turned from side
to side. My tits were fucking huge, and my ass wasn't far behind. Masses
of streaked, blonde hair were pulled up behind my head in a clip. I undid
the clip, and my hair fell all the way to my ass, except where it was
trimmed into straight bangs.
Though it was the middle of a sunny weekday afternoon, I was made up like
I was on my way to a club, probably a very cheap club, and probably with
the express purpose of getting laid as early and often as possible. I
would have sworn the stretchy blue dress didn't have enough material for
a shirt, but it managed to cover just barely enough of me that I wouldn't
get arrested for indecent exposure. Prostitution, maybe, but not
exposure. I tottered in the six inch stilettos and almost fell, but
managed to catch myself on the table and sit back down.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I am so very fucked," I said to myself as I fumbled to
light a cigarette.
A voice over my shoulder said, "Well, not yet. But would you like to be?"
I turned in my chair to find a tall, good looking man holding out a lit
Zippo and staring straight down my cleavage. I grabbed his hand and
guided the lighter to the tip of my cigarette, inhaling deeply. I flipped
the lid closed, but didn't let go of his hand.
"I think maybe I would, handsome. My name's Lindsey."
Maris
- 06.12.2021
- 22
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