The Lost Tribe
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Eshet free porn video
Eshet
By Ellie Dauber © 2018
Any resemblance to a real world situation is deliberate.
Eshet manifested herself just outside the elevator doors on the penthouse
level of the hotel. She hummed a wordless tune, a 3000 year-old melody,
as she stood in place, getting used to the body that she had created for
her purposes. Still humming, she walked down the hall to a wide set of
doors that a small metal plaque proclaimed was the entrance to the Blue
Diamond Suite. She took a breath and knocked twice on the door.
"Yes?" A slender man with a bemused look on his face, opened the door
just enough to look at her.
He saw a short blonde, about nineteen years old, her hair tied in two
long ponytails by bright green ribbons. She wore a pale green dress that
clung to her lush figure and stopped well above her knees. The
sweetheart neckline revealed the tops of her breasts and the cleavage
between them. Her face... 'Hell, with a body like that,' he thought,
'who gave a damn about her face?' Even as nice as this girl's face was,
especially those full, juicy-looking, _cocksucker_ lips.
"Hi," she said in a high, very chipper voice. "I'm... ah, I'm Marley
Weber." The name was carefully chosen, the identity carefully crafted.
"I got a message that Mr. Weinberg wanted to see me."
The door swung open. "Mr. Weinberg is in his office." The man pointed
to a half-closed door at the other end of the living room of the suite.
"In there." He walked past the woman and out into the hall. He waited
until she had stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. He
took the "Do Not Disturb" sign out of his jacket pocket and slipped it
into the electronic key slot on the door. Then he strolled towards the
elevator. Marley and Weinberg were alone in the suite.
"Hello." Marley walked cautiously across the room. "Mr. Weinberg?"
A raspy voice came through the door in front of her. "Miss Weber?"
"Yes, sir... Marley Weber."
"Come in, my dear."
She moved to the door, pushed it open, and walked through. "H-Hello, Mr.
Weinberg."
Arnie Weinberg rose from his chair. He was a heavyset man of some sixty-
five years. His grey hair was cut very short, barely longer than his
perpetual two-day beard. His face was as fleshy as the rest of him with
beady gray eyes, a bulbous nose, and narrow lips. As far as she could
see, all he wore was a dark green robe, trimmed in gold, the logo of his
film production company, _Weinstar_, embroidered on the breast pocket.
"I'm very happy to meet you, Miss Weber." He extended a hand. "One of
my scouts caught you in that production of _Fallon's Follies_ over in the
Hauser Center, and he was very favorably impressed."
She shook his hand. "Thank you, sir." He was slow to release her hand.
"Call me Arnie." He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her
breasts and her hips. "And I'll call you Marley, if I may. I look
forward to working with you for a long time, and I hope that we can be...
friends." He ran his tongue quickly across his upper lip, as he settled
back into his bulk back into the plush, dark brown chair.
"I'd like that, sir... Arnie." She tried not to smile in triumph. The
_Follies_ was a poorly written student production, and the part that
Marley Weber had played involved a single of dialog, after which her
dress was ripped away. After posing lewdly for a moment, the girl ran
offstage screaming. The only impressive thing about the part was the
tear-away dress and the Victoria's Secrets underwear she wore beneath it.
And the very female body revealed. It seemed that the tales about
Weinberg were true.
"Come now... Marla, sit down and we'll talk."
She didn't correct him about her name - no sense annoying the "great
man." She just looked around the room. There was no other chair beside
the one he was in. "Sit down where, Arnie?"
"Right here." He patted his lap. "It'll be more... personal."
She blushed. "N-No, sir... Arnie. It... It wouldn't be right."
"You know, Marla, one of the things I judge an actress on is how well she
takes direction. If she - if _you_ - can't follow even the simplest of
directions, then I'm afraid that I have no place for you in my next
movie."
"Movie?"
"Yes, I thought you might do well as Amy Adams' younger sister. It's a
small role, but a vital one." He paused for effect. "Just the sort of
_showcase_ a promising new talent like yourself could use to make her
mark."
"That would be fantastic. Thank you; thank _yoou_ so very much,"
"Don't thank me yet. You're not the only girl being considered. I asked
you to come here to show me why _you_ should get the part... how much you
want it."
"A lot... I want it a whole lot; more than I ever wanted _anything_!"
Her burst of enthusiasm was so strong that even she believed it. Almost.
"Prove it." Weinberg shifted in his chair. He reached down and opened
his robe. He was naked. His pale bloated flesh, his large, hairy belly,
seemed to fill the chair. He glanced down at his member lying flaccid
between his legs. Then he looked directly, imperiously, at the girl.
"Jack me off, and the part is yours."
"What!"
"Girl, are you deaf or stupid... or _both_? If you want that part-- or
_any_ part in _any_ movie my company makes, you will get over here and
use those delicate fingers of yours to jack me off." He chuckled.
"Unless, of course, you'd prefer to use that sweet mouth of your to do
it."
Marley lowered her head, not in shame as Weinberg happily thought, but to
hide her broad, triumphant smile. "As you wish," she said softly.
She walked over to the man, mumbling in a language few had ever heard,
and no _male_ had ever spoken. Her fingers wrapped around his member.
To his surprise, he became hard almost at once. He felt a silky, warm
pleasure as her hand began to stroke. His entire body was tingling in
arousal. But then the feeling in his maleness seemed to fade. In
moments, he couldn't feel the force of his erection or the touch of her
hand.
"What the hell?" He looked down. She was still holding him, but his
penis no longer looked like it was flesh. There was a plastic sheen to
it, a light pink plastic sheen.
She saw that he was watching her. She looked up at him and smiled. Her
expression was wild, almost feral, and when... how had her teeth been
sharpened to points? With a cry of animal joy, she pulled her hand away.
As she raised it over her head, he could see that she was still holding
the rubber dildo his member had become.
"Oh... G-d!" He looked down at his groin in panic. Nothing. At least,
nothing that _should_ have been there. Instead of "Little Arnie" and the
family jewels, he saw a pair of feminine "lips" surrounding a slit and
partly hidden by a patch of blonde hair. "What the hell did you do to
me?"
Marley's voice was suddenly firm, commanding. _"Silence, foul dog!"_
Her image shimmered out of focus -- better than the best CGI he had ever
seen -- and when this was finished, the blonde teenybopper in a pale
green dress was replaced by a tall, regal woman, a queen or high
priestess, in blood red robes, her scarlet hair streaming down her back,
her face contorted in anger with piercing ice blue eyes. "And behold as
your form changes to better match the fate that will be yours."
Weinberg tried to object, but found that he could not speak... could not
move.
But he could see. He watched as layers - years - of flab melted away.
In moments, he went from grotesquely obese to merely fat to - Good Lord!
- to actually _slender_. He hadn't had a body this thin since he was a
young man producing rock concerts back in Buffalo in the 1970s. He felt
younger, too. All those little aches that he'd grown used to in the past
few years were suddenly gone. If this was his fate, like that bitch
said, he could happily live with it - _provided he got his dick back_, of
course.
But the changes continued.
His body hair vanished, except for that blonde patch at his groin. At
the same time, his pale, white skin darkened to a healthy-looking bronzed
tan. His waist narrowed even as his hips grew wide. His butt now seemed
to be resting on a soft, but firm pillow. His scrawny legs were fuller,
now, and curved, coltish and feminine. His feet were smaller, as well,
with - somehow - a bright pink polish on his toenails.
A moment later, something grew on his chest, blocking his view; breasts,
large and round, with dark pink nipples that were extended, stiff with
the excitement - the _horror_ of what was happening to him. He was
smaller, too, his narrow shoulders and slender arms lost in the folds of
his robe, the sleeves long enough to hide his now dainty hands.
Invisible hands seemed to be shifting the muscles of his face, and he
felt the pull of much longer hair.
"Behold what you have become," the woman commanded.
Arnie felt compelled to rise from the chair. A mirror was set in a frame
a few feet away. Sometimes, he liked to watch himself with one of "his"
girls. "What the --" The words stuck in his throat. His deep baritone
rumble was now a high, cheery soprano.
He recognized the image at once. "You... I-I look the way you looked
when you came in." He stared accusingly at the witch that had
transformed him.
"No, this is the way _you_ look," she replied in triumph, 'now and
forever."
Arnie stared at his - his? - reflection in the mirror. He saw the
blonde... Marla... Marley; she was naked, her high, 38-C breasts in full
display, along with her narrow waist and wide hips. He turned - why? -
and saw a delightful teardrop ass with long, well-curved legs that went,
as somebody had said _all_ the way down.
Then his... no, she sighed, _her_ body was obscured by that same CGI
shimmering. It faded quickly. Now her body was clothed, that same
revealing green dress, sandals with a two-inch heels, a face made up with
mascara and eye shadow, lipstick the same pink as her finger and toe
nails, and her hair in twin braids.
"Who _are_ you?" she asked incredulous from her transformation.
"I am Eshet, the eternal female spirit; in this case, the female spirit
of _vengeance_." The being smiled. "And who are _you_, my dear?"
"You know who I am."
"Yes, but do you?"
"Of course I do. I'm Mar - I'm Mar... Mar-Ley!" She spit out the name,
angry, but, then, surrendering. "Marley We... Weber."
"Indeed, you are. And you're late for work, aren't you?"
The words spilled out of her. "Uh huhn, and Bert..." Who the hell was
Bert? Someone she didn't want to anger. "He hates that." She grabbed
for the purse that was now resting on her arm and ran for the door
without another word. And, of certain, not a word of protest.
Epilog
When Marley ran into "The Blue Note" jazz club, she discovered that she
had "run" into a complete life: job, friends, a small apartment a few
blocks from her job, even a boyfriend with whom she had been intimate --
_delightfully_ intimate, to her inner horror.
Right now, she was working the Friday evening shift at the club.
"Marley," Billie, the bartender called, "The wings are up for table
eight!"
Marley Weber stood up from the bar stool she'd been resting on, while she
waited for the order. She walked slowly over to where Billy was standing.
After a month, she still wasn't completely used to the five-inch heels
that were part of the costume of a waitress at "The Blue Note."
The rest of that costume was a pair of smoky, thigh-high stockings and a
lacy, sheer green teddy. The panty of the teddy was barely wider than a
g-string in front with a thong in back that slipped easily between her
ass cheeks. It looked, especially under the colored lights of the room,
as if she was nude below - and above - the waist.
She picked up her tray, a pitcher of beer and three glasses and a large
serving of wings with ranch dressing. It was heavy, and she walked
carefully, the heels giving a most inviting sway to her hips as she
walked.
The men at her table had watched that walk. "Here you go, guys," she
said, setting the food down; bending over the table to put her breasts on
display. "You want anything else, you just let me know."
"Thanks, Sugar," one man, a beefy-looking man in a Johnny Walker t-shirt,
said. "And here's something for your trouble." He pulled a twenty from
his wallet and folded it twice. Before she could stop him, he stuck the
bill down the front of her teddy, shifting his hand to grasp her breast
for a moment before he pulled it out. "Keep the change," he told her.
Before she could straighten up and walk away, a second man reached over
and pinched her butt. "Nice and ripe," he said with a laugh, running his
hand along the curve of it and making her shiver.
When she got back to the bar, she fished out the money and handed it to
Billy. He smiled at her and kissed the bill before he rang up the
register. He put in the twenty, but he took out six singles that went
into the "Tip Jar" to be divided by all the waitresses at the end of the
evening.
Marley sat down to wait for the next customer for one of her tables. She
sat gingerly. That bastard's pinch had hurt! Still she sat, perched
invitingly on the high bar stool. For a special fee, waitresses were
also available for lap dances in a private room. No sex - at least, none
on site during the girl's shift. After the shift; well, that was
between the girl and the John - the customer. So was any money that
might change hands.
Alice, one of the other waitresses was sitting there as well, listening
to the radio, an all-news channel she liked. The story, of all things,
was about the recent sale of the _Weinstar_ Corporation. Billie came
over to tell her to turn it down. "Big Joe" Briggs, the trumpeter and
his jazz band were about to start their set.
"I wonder what ever happened to that guy," Alice mused over "Big Joe's
trumpet. "What was his name... Weinstein? I didn't hear anything about
him going to jail or anything."
Billie shrugged. "He didn't go to jail; that's for sure, a big shot like
him. Probably grabbed a ton of money and ran away. He's living the life
of luxury now... wine, women, and song, you can be sure of that."
"I don't know," Marley said, the magic actually let a bit of irony into
her voice. "Wine, women, and song, ain't necessarily that great."
Jeannie
- 09.09.2022
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