Eyes On The Prize - Chapter 8 free porn video

EYES ON THE PRIZE - CHAPTER EIGHT As I clambered up the slope to consciousness, I fell into what had become my morning routine. Eyes flickering open, blinking against the harsh reflection of the artificial lights on the bare white walls of my cell. Ears registering the sound of the alarm. The now familiar, almost comforting feel of the satin negligee against my hairless skin. And the same dream again, so fresh in my memory. A dream of waking from a very long sleep, in this same bed. A vague recollection of flashing lights, of glimpses of figures in white peering down at me. A strange torpor from which I must struggle to free myself. Eventually dragging my heavy limbs out of bed, only to find that I couldn't sit up, because of the weight on my chest. Exploring with my hands to see what had been strapped to me. Processing the information and rejecting it because ... well, because it simply couldn't be what it felt like. The burst of energy to get upright, an energy born from fear and desperation. Then lurching over to the mirror, the muscles in my back protesting at the strain of not falling forward. And always in the dream seeing the same impossible sight: the huge globes of flesh straining to escape from the nightdress. The trembling hands, fighting to lift what for all the world looked like huge boobs free from the thin material that restrained them. Eventually succeeding, then staring in disbelief at their bulk as they hang free, the fat nipples at the centre of sprawling brown areolas. Yet worse than the sight, the feel of them flopping free, pulling me forward - then gently swinging as I fight to restore my balance. The scream of horror mounting in my throat, forcing its way free even as I feel hands on my shoulders. Hearing the soothing noises of the nurses as they lead me back to the bed and gently sit me down. But seeing only the savagely grinning face of the guard who accompanies them. And then the numbness, followed by the nausea. Or is it the other way around? The details of the dream are starting to blur as I come fully awake and begin to pull myself out of bed. Only to stop and look down. And it's the same every morning. This is when I remember that it wasn't a dream. And the scream bubbles up once more ... Something was different this morning though. As I mechanically fellated the cock-shaped feeder, then began the lengthy process of doing my makeup, I tried to figure out what it was. But I only worked it out when I shoehorned myself into the outfit that had been left for me - a skimpy white top that could barely contain my massive jugs, equally tight denim shorts and wedge-heeled sandals. It was the raw, unprocessed grief that I was feeling. In the weeks since I had woken up from the surgery that had given me breast implants, it had always been the same. The sickening realisation that my dream was actually a memory. A brief period of utter panic .. and then a retreat into the comfort of my daily rituals. Floating through the day in a warm fog, even as I endured endless stretching and other exercises to strengthen my back and re-learn how to stand, walk and dance with the extra weight in front of me. Coming alive only during the phone sex sessions that had become a staple part of most afternoons. Then sinking back into meaningless conversation at dinner with whichever of the other inmates I'd been allocated to sit with. But today everything seemed ... sharper. Much more like it was before the operation. Except that I had to live with the results of what had been done to me. During my morning workouts, I found myself crying tears of frustration, not just when I struggled to complete an exercise, but every time I saw my new profile in a mirror. Emma, my one-time stylist who was now pretty much a personal trainer, tried to reassure me that I was making fantastic progress. When I asked her about my emotional discomfort she didn't give a direct answer. But I got the clear impression that something had changed in my medication - that I'd been taken off some drug or other that had been inhibiting my distress. It was also pretty obvious from the strained faces around the lunch table that something similar had happened to the other girls. Chelsea looked especially downcast. That wasn't exactly surprising. If I thought I had it bad, she had done infinitely worse. Short and - even after all the diet and exercise - fairly stocky in build, with gleaming dark skin, she might have looked quite good with a normal pair of tits. But instead, she'd been given breasts so large that they almost sat on her lap - and indeed sometimes did when she got tired of trying to sit upright. Mine had been measured as needing a size G bra. I didn't know exactly what size Chelsea was, but I'd have guessed maybe L or even M cups. They were truly heroic. By contrast, Lola and Brittany had got off a lot easier, with much more moderate size boobs that I would have put at C cups. They still looked a little big on Lola, who was perhaps the youngest in our group and by far the thinnest - though with her strawberry blonde hair in pigtails, she looked especially convincing as a sexy schoolgirl. Brittany, by contrast, was a brunette with a beautiful olive complexion and her perky breasts seemed to suit her perfectly. Even they, however, were looking glum today. The fact that such radical surgery had been done on all of us without any warning or consent was reason enough to be upset. The scars weren't much to worry about and they were fairly well hidden anyway, especially for those of us who'd got larger implants. And no doubt too what had been put in could get taken out later on. But that wasn't the point. That the procedures had been done at all showed how much control our captors had over us. And who knew what might come next? Which was not to say that every one of the eight girls who'd survived to contest Round 4 of the Competition were all unhappy with their lot. I glanced over at the other lunch table. Madison and Ashlee, who had both managed to score fairly large boobs, bore expressions that very much mirrored those on our table. But it was a different matter with the other two members of their group. Natasha, as always, was trying to avoid looking too happy with the current state of affairs, but not quite succeeding. She had made every almost every post a winner so far, and her ability to portray a sexy young woman with conviction and pizazz certainly wasn't weakened by having breast implants. Of course, I might have felt the same way, except for one crucial difference. My huge melons were both an affront to my masculinity and an enormous physical challenge. Whereas the B cups Natasha had been given not only looked great on her but were far easier to manage. And then there was Kaylee. As best anyone could tell, she hadn't received implants at all. She did have discernible breasts, courtesy of the hormone treatments we'd all been receiving. But they were A cups at best. Not that she seemed to mind. Characteristically, her main concern at present seemed to be for how everyone else was feeling. As always, looking at her woke up the swarm of butterflies that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in my stomach. So as much to distract myself as anything else, I turned back to my own group and asked, "So girls, how are your exercises going?" It was amazing how little effort I now had to make to keep my voice high and light. I couldn't remember the last time that the torc on my neck had given me an electronic rebuke for talking in a masculine tone. Hang on though, what torc? With a shock I realised that not only was it not there, but I couldn't actually remember the last time it had been. Perhaps before the operation? Looking around, I realised nobody else had one either. Clearly, our captors were confident that we would continue to use our female voices. And sadly, they were probably correct. I kept all this to myself, however, as the other girls considered my question. Brittany was the first to answer. "Yeah, not bad. I can walk okay again now, but dancing's still a bit of a challenge. How about you, Stacey? Can't be easy with all that extra weight out front, I shouldn't think." "It certainly isn't," I said with feeling, "though I guess it could have been worse." I made a conscious effort not to look at Chelsea. "My back's aching, even though Emma's got me doing all kinds of Pilates and other stuff to strengthen my core." "Yeah, my back's killing me too," said Lola with feeling. "I keep thinking I should put on some weight, but it doesn't seem to matter how much I eat, my weight keeps going down. You know, apart from the obvious." She glanced down at her front and made a face. Like everyone, she no longer wore a dance uniform during the day, but more customised clothes. But it was noticeable that everyone bar Kailee had been given tops that showed a fair degree of cleavage, as if to remind us what we could not possible forget - that we now had real (or at least realistic) boobs to display. "It's odd, isn't it?" I mused, thinking about differently we were being treated. The two things that united us were that we were all being forcibly feminised, and that everyone was being helped to look as pretty as possible - the training, the styling and so on were plainly designed with that end in mind. So why then had we not simply all been given the breasts that best suited our body shape and appearance? How come Brittany and Natasha got the perfect pair, but not Lola, Chelsea or me? There was a glimmer of an answer there, but it slipped away when I tried to pin it down. Besides, I realised, this was not a safe topic to be talking about. So instead of explaining my cryptic remark, I turned to Chelsea and asked, "How about you, Chels, are you doing okay? We know it must be tough for you." Oddly enough, I did feel some sympathy for the poor girl. A few weeks ago, I'd have been gloating inside at her discomfort, given its potential to enhance my chances of progressing in the Competititon. But with what we were all going through, I was finding it harder and harder to feel antipathy towards my fellow inmates - other than Natasha, of course. Chelsea lifted her head from her food. "I'm managing, I guess. I just ... well, let's say that I don't love huge tits anything like as much as I thought I did." There was a little giggle from the others, but I was thinking that maybe she had just given me the answer. Could it be that simple - that we each got the breasts we most liked on other women? There was no doubt that back when I could do something about it, I liked fairly skinny women with big knockers - which was exactly how I now looked. Presumably Lola had similar tastes, though not so extreme ... and Chelsea was partial to truly enormous busts. Did that mean too that Kaylee was into flatties? Well, it was a working hypothesis ... for all the good it did me. I wondered if anyone else was thinking along the same lines. Not that I was going to try to find out. Soon enough we were back in our cells for our daily shift of phone sex. It seemed pretty clear that this was not just an exercise. We were actually staffing phone lines being called by real people, sometimes (judging by the accents and noise on the line) from other countries. Our goal was no longer, as it had been in Round 3, to get through callers quickly. All we had to do was keep them entertained for as long as possible, presumably to increase the fee they paid. And mercifully, we didn't now have to guess whether they wanted a girl or a transsexual. We were expected purely to play girls. I might, of course, have refused to do this. But aside from the risk that this might actually be the first exercise in Round 4, the prospect of certain punishment if I disobeyed meant that I made every effort to keep my clients happy. I had already experienced enough of this prison's brutal ways to know that compliance was essential. One thing was different today though. Usually, I sat in front of our tv monitor, with the client able to see my face but nothing else. But today a message on the screen indicated that I was expected to get on the bed. When I did so, an image on the screen showed my entire body. Presumably, the client would be able to see that as well. A little experimentation showed that if i sat on the very end of the bed, my face and new bust would fill the frame. So that's where I decided to start. The first caller had a very familiar voice. "Hi Darren," I said, smiling and blowing a kiss. I had spoken to Darren during my Round 3 test, and he had rung back a few times since. It was odd, because I had no other repeat clients, even though I seemed to do enough to satisfy most of my callers. Perhaps he knew some way to game the system and get the same girl each time, where others couldn't? Without seeing the interface from the other side, it was not a mystery I could solve and I didn't think I should quiz Darren about it. There was a pause this time before he answered, and when he did he sounded stunned. "Oh my god Stacey ... oh wow!" I wasn't sure of the reason for this reaction - until I remembered the new camera view. And of course what did young Darren adore? Big boobs, that's what. "Do you like them?" I asked coyly, lifting the objects in question up and then dropping them, so that they bounced and jiggled inside my top. "They're fantastic!" he breathed. "When you told me about your lovely big tits, I thought you might be exaggerating a bit ... But they're even better than I imagined!" Just for a second, my smile froze. The first time I had talked to Darren about the size of my bust, I was simply telling him what he wanted to hear. Any breasts I had at that point barely qualified for the term. Yet my descriptions had turned out to be far more accurate than I could possibly have known. And now I was supposed to make out that I enjoyed having these monstrosities? That was adding cruel insult to gross injury. But my rebellion was over before it began. There was no obvious avenue of escape, and I was in the Competition to win it. So if I had to pretend that I loved my gigantic rack, well, that wasn't any harder than pretending I was female. And besides, I had become very fond of Darren. He was young, horny, clear about what he liked and he absolutely doted on me. Talking to him didn't do my self-esteem any harm at all, especially when I was up against the likes of Kaylee, Natasha, Madison and Brittany. I had even found myself becoming aroused doing sex talk with him, something that previously happened only with a female client. So instead of snarling or weeping or whinging about my situation, I licked my lips lasciviously and said in my sexiest voice, "Bet you'd like to see them, wouldn't you? But you have to promise me not to rub your cock until I say you can, is that understood?" "Oh yes Stacey, of course," he said immediately. He'd almost certainly been stroking it already, but I wasn't going to to challenge him on that. In his position, I'd practically be coming right now if I'd seen a "girl" looking like me. As it was, I figured I could string him along for quite a while if I could strike the right balance between taking it slow and giving him some chance to touch himself. It in fact took me a good fifteen minutes of teasing before I got round to letting him see my assets. I had explained to him that I couldn't take my panties off - not with my cock inside them, albeit strapped down between my legs and virtually inactive. But that didn't stop me removing my tight shorts, or wiggling my butt at the camera, so as to distract him from his pleas to see my boobs. He was practically wetting himself with excitement when I finally lifted up my top to reveal them, and positively moaning when I started stroking and fondling them. Truth be told, however, Darren wasn't the only one getting excited. Even just talking about my sexy body and what the young man on the other end of the line would love to be doing to it had made me horny. I could no longer get hard. But I could still become aroused, and the tingles that were flowing through my groin dramatically increased in intensity when I started touching my new nipples. I was still unclear what exactly had been done to them, besides adding what I assumed were gel or perhaps liquid inserts underneath. Whatever the answer, they had acquired an amazingly heightened sensitivity, so much so that stroking or pinching them was enough to send shocks of delight through my body. I hadn't noticed this before - but then I'd been cursing my new tits, or trying to adjust to their weight, not playing with them. Clearly, that was an omission I was going to have to rectify ... Things got even better when Darren wondered aloud whether I could lick my own boobs. I was about to reject the idea as preposterous, when I remembered two things. One was that, back when I was a free man and could choose my own viewing, I'd often seen clips of busty girls doing exactly that. And the other was that I hadn't yet tried it. So I did. To my astonishment, it worked. By cramming my head as far down as it would go, I could lift each tit far enough up to be able to reach the nipple with my tongue. The sensation was amazing. From there, the session quickly spiralled out of control. I lay back on the bed, using one hand to stimulate my new breasts, while the other was jammed inside my panties rubbing my clit (technically the still sensitive glans on my otherwise useless penis - but it seemed much easier and more accurate to call it what really now was). In no time at all I was enjoying my first orgasm since the operation - and freed of any verbal restraints, Darren quickly followed. After that I chatted idly with Darren, who as always was full of post- coital gratitude, until I had recovered sufficiently to face another client. For the rest of the session, I managed to hold my shit together rather better, mostly by being careful to avoid touching my nipples too much or indeed at all when fondling my boobs. Even so, by the time my shift finished I was feeling pretty horny again, a feeling that persisted through the yoga and stretching sessions that followed. I wasn't keen to broach the topic over dinner, but Lola let slip that she'd got a bit carried away with one of her clients. That prompted a knowing set of looks and a fit of the giggles from everyone else at the table, myself included. It seemed pretty clear that we had all rubbed at least one out during our sessions. Whether this was all a product of having newly sensitive nipples, or caused by something else, it was hard to say. But it certainly couldn't be a coincidence. There was also more to come after dinner - quite literally, as it turned out. Since waking up from the implant procedure, I had spent each night alone - and nor had there been any video clips of teasing transsexuals to paddle our pink canoes to before bedtime, as had been the norm before the Round 3 tests. Tonight, however, we were paired off with sleeping partners. I was sent to Ashlee's cell. Any hope of simply getting some shut-eye ended the minute we discovered that no nightdresses had been provided and that we would need to get into a small bed together without a stitch of clothing. Even our panties could not be retained, because they were expected to be put into the laundry chute. In fact, to be more accurate, the prospects for immediate sleep took a nosedive as soon as we saw one another's bodies. I had never thought of Ashlee as being attractive. Although her accent was local, her facial features revealed her Chinese origins, and it just wasn't a look that had ever turned me on. (Now Indian girls, that was a different story ...) What I was thinking now, however, was that maybe I had simply never seen a Chinese woman with big enough tits. Because with her new jugs on display, Ashlee all of a sudden looked mouth-watering. As it happened, she was perhaps the only one of the other girls left in the Competition who I hadn't been allocated to shower with since we'd undergone our most recent transformation. So as she shed her clothes, I saw for the first time the full magnificence of her new rack and was utterly transfixed. It took me a minute to realise that she was staring at me in exactly the same way. Slowly, without saying anything, we moved towards one another. As my hands reached out to fondle her assets, she mirrored the gesture. We both gasped as we simultaneously sampled each other's boobs and savoured the touch of our own. To complete the symmetry, we both ducked our heads at precisely the same time to lick each other's breasts - and only narrowly avoided knocking each other out. We both giggled. "I think we're going to need to sort out who goes first," I observed playfully, reaching behind her to caress her bare bottom. "Like a roster you mean?" laughed Ashlee, but then her expression turned serious. "Do you think we should even be doing this?" I was pretty sure what she meant by "this" - and I was very keen to test out my theory. "Well," I said, "I don't know what else they'd be expecting by having us sleep together. And I m sure we'll find out quickly enough if it's forbidden." Without waiting for any rebuttal, I bent my head once again in search of her chest. I had seen and indeed touched boobs that were very obviously fake. But hers were beautifully done, the nipples perfectly positioned and the slight upward tilt exactly what I most enjoyed. Although smaller than mine, they were still large enough to provide ample scope for exploration and worship with my mouth and hands. In response, Ashley pulled me backwards and we collapsed onto the bed. As I continued my assault on her mammaries, half rolling on top of her, she grabbed one of my hands and guided it between her legs. Withdrawing it only in order to moisten my fingertips, I went in search of her strapped down cock. It was hard to find, though whether that was because she had never been well endowed when she arrived here or through subsequent shrinkage, I couldn't say. Not that it mattered. As soon as I found the tip of her organ, a combination of my nimble fingers and my relentless oral stimulation of her tits had her bucking and squirming beneath me. In no time at all, she was shuddering and crying out in ecstasy. I waited for the steady drip of spunk from the little tube inserted into the underside of her penis (or what was left of it). But it never arrived. And thinking back, I realised that I couldn't recall that happening to me this afternoon either when I had come while chatting to Darren. That certainly sent a chill though me. It suggested that besides the implants, something else had been done in the surgery to suppress or even remove the connection between orgasms and the production of semen. I really, really hoped that whatever it was, it could be reversed ... I made a mental note to think about that later, however, because I had more immediate needs to attend to. If I could still have erections, I'd be rock hard right now. And i didn't need to ask Ashlee anything, because she already knew what I wanted and needed - exactly what I had just done to her. I quickly discovered why she had come so quickly when her eager mouth closed over my left breast. I had thought that licking my own nipples was incredibly arousing, and indeed it was. But I could really only flick my tongue lightly over the target when I did that. And that was simply no match for the full range of sucking, kissing and caressing that Ashlee could administer. So it was that I howled every bit as impressively as my partner as a shattering orgasm overtook me. As I gradually recovered, it occurred to me that I wasn't missing the accompanying leakage of cum out of my tube. It had never felt like a proper ejaculation, more just a taunting reminder of no longer having a stiff cock from which to fire my cream. The orgasms I was now having were indisputably feminine in nature, not to mention less messy. That felt more appropriate for the current state of my body, even though I still held out the faint hope of being able to revert to being ... shit, what I was called again? Of course, Mario. I turned to Ashlee and we shared a sweet kiss. "Thank you hon," I said softly, "that was amazing. I can't believe how beautiful your tits are - or how you made mine feel." "Likewise," she said and then fell silent. After a few minutes she whispered "Stacey, can I show you something?" "Of course dear," I said, "but what is it?" "Well," she said, then stopped. She sounded nervous even raising the topic, whatever it was. "It's, um, very ... intimate," she resumed, speaking slowly. "I'm pretty sure you'd enjoy it, but I'm not sure you'll like it, if that makes sense." I couldn't help my soft chuckle. "Sweetie, that's makes no sense at all! But look, why don't you try me? If I don't like it, I'll tell you, count on it." "Okay," she said, "just turn on your side, facing away from me." I did as she instructed, wondering what on earth I was letting myself in for. I heard the bed creak as she got off it, presumably to fetch something. Seconds later she was back and I felt the warmth of her breath on my neck. "I'm going to give you a special massage," she breathed, "starting with your back. I'm using some special gel, it may be a little cold all right?" I jumped slightly as I felt something cool applied to my back, then sighed in pleasure as Ashlee started to rub it in. She quickly worked downwards, until she was working on my buttocks, her firm hands kneading the bubbles of fat and muscle that looked very different to the firm, flat butt I'd had when I was taken prisoner. Now I wasn't just sighing, but tingling, as her hands caressed my cheeks. When she slipped a finger down between my legs and gently massaged my clit, I was pretty sure what the massage was going to involve, though a little mystified as to all the fuss. In fact, however, she had something else in mind. After briefly stimulating my sex organ, she returned to my bottom, gently parting the cheeks and then running her fingers up and down down the crease. The first few times she passed over my anus, but then, almost before I knew it, she was gently running the tip of a heavily lubed finger around the puckered rim of my hole. I moaned involuntarily and as I did so I felt the finger gently push its way inside. Oh. My. God. I wanted to tell her to stop. This was just wrong, in so many ways. I had been anticipating for weeks now that there would be some attempt to violate my rear passage. With everything else that had been done to us, it seemed logical to expect it. I had even thought about whether to penetrate it myself, so as to make it easier later when something was inserted against my will. But I simply couldn't do it. It was ... perverted and unnatural. For men anyway. And yet here was one of my fellow inmates slipping her finger into me and I was letting her do it. Because despite my recent orgasm, I was thoroughly turned on. And because it felt incredible. Her finger was moving in and out of me now, gently widening my hole, going further and further, until it was in all the way up to the knuckle. And then she started swivelling it, probing this way and that, almost as if she was looking for someth- "Fuck!" I couldn't help the exclamation. Ashlee's digit had found a particular spot that was unbelievably sensitive. "What the hell was that?" I demanded. She gave a soft laugh. "That's your prostate, honey," she said. "The spot I was looking for. ... Does it hurt when I press it?" I yelped again. "No, but it feels weird ..." "Weird good?" she asked, continuing to probe the spot. The more she did it, the clearer the signals became. "Ooh yes," I squeaked. "Okay, then get on your hands and knees for me," she instructed. I complied, with her finger buried in my asshole the entire time. She resumed her manipulation, but now her other hand was free to alternate between gently rubbing my clit and stroking my super-sensitive nipples. I was being assaulted by the mix of sensations, my nerve endings jangling as she went from one place to the other, yet all the while pushing her finger in and out of my back passage. I was gabbling now, at one point begging her to fuck me with her finger, at another just moaning in pleasure as she assaulted erogenous zones I never knew I had. When my orgasm hit it was mind blowing, by far the most intense I'd had since arriving at the prison. And then I had another one. And another. Eventually, after the fourth or fifth climax, I collapsed, begging for mercy, for relief from the relentless waves of stimulation that Ashlee had unleashed. I lay face down on the bed, struggling not just for breath but for any sense of composure. Until finally I rolled over and looked up into her shining eyes. She laughed at my expression and asked, "Ready to return the favour?" "As if you needed to ask," I said, pushing myself up. "Now, how do I find that spot ... ?" To be continued