Maybe It's Magic - Chapter 2 free porn video

Maybe It's Magic - Chapters 2 by RH Music Chapter 2: The Bra Over the next couple of weeks my life returns to something resembling ordinary. I get caught up on my homework, I am able to concentrate on physics, at least most of the time. Professor Manichev has noticed my rededication to his field and recommended me for the graduate lecture topics class which is a thrilling taste of all the latest and greatest research in the world of physics, and how close they are to unlocking all of the secrets of the universe. Except for magic, of course. Do I really believe that the panties are magic? Of course not. My working theory is that Morgen simply implanted subliminal suggestions into my brain, making me want to wear them. And now, of course, she's gotten rid of all of my male briefs, so I have no choice. Except that I really do have a choice. I could just go to the Salvation Army or the five and ten and just buy some cheap male underwear. The real problem is that I don't want to. Just thinking about wearing panties causes me to get hard and I have to shake my head or slap my hand to break out of it. This is the problem with wearing panties all day, is that sometimes, like now, my mind just drifts to what I'm wearing underneath and it's those moments when I realize the truth. I am going to wear panties for the rest of my life because I just love wearing them too much to give them up. But is that because of magic? (NO) Or some subconscious mind-trick that Morgen, the psychology major has played on me? (POSSIBLE) Or worse, maybe she unlocked something inside of me that was there all along? (ALSO POSSIBLE, BUT I HOPE NOT) * * * I decide to slowly explore my new stash of panties. Rather than pull them all out at once, I only remove them one at a time from the drawer, as if they were just part of a standard rotation. What it means is that I can spend an entire day fully experiencing each pair of panties to the fullest and then waiting with anticipation for the next pair without knowing exactly what style or even the color will come next. Also, as a game, I decide that I will wear whatever pair is on top. I will not discriminate or change my mind. No matter what pair is on top, that is the pair I have to wear. It's a game which takes the control out of my hands, and it's strangely thrilling. I will even hide cover my eyes when I pick the panties from out of the drawer, to make sure that I don't know what is coming next. And there are so many! Morgen gave me over a dozen pairs of panties that evening, and all are each is special in some way or another. Some are special for just being ordinary. Ordinary cotton panties that any housewife might wear. I would look at the cotton gusset of the panties and imagine a woman wearing them and being thankful that they are cotton, comfortable and absorbent. All of the panties them are clearly pre-worn. There are no new pairs inside of still in their plastic packages or anything like that. These were all have all been worn by someone. It had to be Morgen, right? Some are cream colored silk with sumptuous lace panels and small satin bows. Some are high cut, showing more thigh. One is a pair of rumba panties with rows and rows of lace over the bottom. I almost fainted when I pulled that pair out of the drawer. There are very sheer panties with delicately embroidered patterns down the front, stretch control-top panties converted covered in stretchy lace, satin panties with just a band of lace at the hips, sheer panties with criss-cross lace on the front. So many different styles! It was a bit of a disappointment when I finally reached in the drawer to realize find that it was empty. I had gone through them all. Now who will buy me panties? I wonder. I think briefly about going to the department store to buy more for myself, but quickly I abandon that idea. First, I don't have enough money, and second... well second it is just a stupid idea! What would they think, seeing a man at the counter with an armful of panties? Even though it's the 1970s, I'm sure they would probably call the police and lock me up for being a deviant. Maybe I could order them from the Sears Catalog, I wonder. One afternoon I steal a copy of the Christmas Wishbook from the stack of mail in the kitchen and I flip through the pages looking at the panties, fantasizing about purchasing them. I even fill out the order form, but then I get cold feet and I don't mail it. After all, what if Mr. Feyla intercepted and opened the package? Can you imagine: "Marshall," he would ask. "Why are you ordering panties for yourself from Sears?" Oh god, I would just die of shame. So anyway, because I have run out of clean panties, I ask Morgen for help and she shows me how to hand wash all of my precious new undergarments in Woolite and then how to hand rinse them ("only luke warm water is allowed," she cautions, "never hot") and then how to hang them up to dry. "The laundry room is full of women's underthings," Mr. Feyla grouses that evening as we sit down for dinner. "It's almost as bad as your Mom used to be." "Sorry, Daddy," Morgen apologizes, winking at me. "I hope her lingerie didn't get in the way of you doing laundry, Marshall," Mr. Feyla says to me, rolling his eyes. "It's ridiculous, having to share a house with women and all of their feminine things, don't you agree? But I guess that men like us, well it's the price we pay, isn't it, Marshall?" "I... ah... It's okay, I guess. I mean... I don't mind." "Don't mind? What are you saying?" "Oh Daddy, don't tease Marshall," Morgen interrupts. "Our lingerie is delicate. They require special care. And after all, it's not like they can wash themselves by magic." She looks over at me with a wicked smile. Mr. Feyla harrumphs some more and fortunately we move on to another subject. Later, Morgen comes peeking into my bedroom. "Marshall? I just wanted to say..." She hesitates. "I just wanted to say 'thank you'. Dad was really engaged tonight. You know, when he was talking about the panties hanging in the laundry room and all that. It was nice." "Oh, okay." I don't know what to say, so I just sit there for a second, feeling awkward. "So... thanks," Morgen says, walking over and giving me a kiss on the cheek. "You're welcome," I smile. * * * And now I'm back to wondering if Morgen has a thing for me. She kissed me! Okay, it was just a kiss on the cheek, but that means she must be interested, or at least not not-interested? As we sit together in the kitchen studying, I think back to how she must have placed that very first pair of panties on the top of her laundry in the kitchen that very first day, wanting me to wear them. Which makes me realize that I am wearing panties because Morgen wants me to wear them! Which is *insanely* sexy and makes me instantly hard. After all, if she had not wanted me to wear them, she would have never have put them on the kitchen table in the first place, right? I'm not sure what sort of relationship this is, but it's almost like boyfriend / girlfriend, isn't it? After all, she knows that I'm wearing women's lingerie because she chose them for me. She actually placed them into my dresser drawers and then told me that I would be wearing panties for the rest of my life. I am wearing panties... for Morgen. The thought is almost more exciting than I am able to handle. And it makes me wonder. What else does Morgen have planned for me? * * * The answer comes about a week later. On my dresser. I notice it right away. A bra, sitting under that same lamp, as if it had magically appeared. (Oddly, once I started wearing panties, the on-off switch for the lamp started working again. But now, with the bra, it no longer works again and is stuck in the on position - I am sure it's just some sort of intermittent electrical thing). The bra is cream colored and lace and softly padded. There's a small satin bow in the middle front, where the cups come together. It has two shiny shoulder straps. The back is made of a mesh tricot. The hooks and eyes are on the straps which would fasten it in back, if someone (not me!) were to wear it. I tear my eyes away from it and go to find Morgen. "What's up, Marshall?" she asks, looking up from their her reading. "You know what's up!" I'm actually angry this time. How dare she! "No, honestly, I don't know." She bats her eyes as if innocent. Oh, please. "Listen, Morgen, panties" -- for some reason I whisper the word, even though we are the only two in the house -- "panties are one thing. But that... that's ...." "What?" she asks. "Tell me, Marshall. Tell me what it is." "It's a bra," I say, exasperated. "It is, isn't it?" she says, smiling. "I wasn't sure you would recognize one. Have you ever seen one before?" "Of course I have." "Oh, really?" "Not like that!" I take a step back. "You know what I mean." "No, Marshall, I honestly don't know what you mean." "I mean... I mean... Well, of course I've seen them. Like at home. In my Mom's wash." "Oh, of course. And did you want to put them on too?" "WHAT?? No!" "Oh, so you're in denial, then." "No, Morgen! I am not in denial." "Tch, tch. Typical symptoms of denial," she pretends to point to her psychology textbook and read. "Unable to face facts, inability to recognize internal desires and feelings." I finally realize that she's teasing me. "Okay, ha, ha. Very funny." "Listen, Marshall, you don't have to wear the bra." "I don't?" "Of course not. And you know what? You can look at it as much as you want. It's not magic." "It's not?" "No, it's not." The sense of relief I feel is enormous. As if a huge weight is has been lifted from my shoulders. Of course, when Morgen says 'magic' I imagine that she really means some sort of psych experiment or something. But regardless, I take her at her word. "At least, not in the same way." A finger of concern runs up my spine. "What do you mean by that?" "Do you plan on putting on the bra?" "No, of course not." "Exactly, Because there's no such thing as a man who likes to wear bras, is there?" I say nothing. "Is there, Marshall?" Morgen insists. "No, there's not." "I mean, sure, there might be men who like to wear panties," she shrugs. "But a bra? Impossible. No man would ever wear a bra. They are for *women only*. Do you know what I mean? I mean, panties... they're basically like a fancy pair of briefs. But a bra... well, that's something that only women would ever need to wear, under any circumstance. Don't you agree, Marshall?" "Uh..." Something about this line of reasoning feels like a trap, but I can't figure out what. "Marshall? Don't you agree?" "Yes, I agree." "Exactly. So, the magic in the bra should not be a problem for you, because it only works if you put it on. Since you're a man... you are a man, right Marshall?" "Of course I am!" 'A man who likes to wear panties,' says a little voice in my head, mocking me. "Well then, you'll never put on the bra and so the magic will never be activated. And I promise this time that you can stare at it as much as you want and your desire to wear it will be no different than it would have been otherwise. No different than it is right now. Deep inside." "Well... okay then," I say. "I mean, you're saying that there's no magic making me want to put on the bra, right?" "That's exactly right. And you can look at it as much as you want, and your desire to wear it will not increase any more than what it currently is. However much you want to wear it right now." "So then, I don't need to worry." "No, you don't," Morgen agrees. "Unless..." "Unless what?" I look at her, suspiciously. "Unless you decide you want to wear it anyway," she says, giving me a sly look as if she knows something and I don't. "Well..." I look back at my room where I know the bra is waiting for me. "I won't." "Very good, then you have nothing to worry about." "No, I don't." "No you don't," Morgen agrees. * * * But I stare at it as I lie in bed. It's been a week and it's still on the dresser. Morgen says it has to stay there until she's absolutely certain that I might not want to wear it. But how long will that be? It could be forever. In the mean time, it stays on the dresser, under the soft glow of the lamp, always illuminated, always there and beckoning. I lay in bed at night looking at it, thinking about it. I gaze at it with my hand under the covers, in my panties, stroking my penis. Recently I've been masturbating a lot, at least twice a day, once in the mornings and once at night as I try to sleep. Of course I imagine what it might feel like if I put on the bra. How could I not? I wonder how the straps would feel, slipping up my arms. How the cups would feel covering my breasts. How it would feel, to get a hug from a woman's bra? Strapped in snugly with the hooks done up in back? I imagine seeing myself in the mirror, wearing it. Suddenly, I am no longer a man. I have long hair past my shoulders held away from my face with a pink hair clip. I'm wearing lipstick. My cheeks and nose are powdered. My lips open up in surprise as at my reflection. I jerk in surprise as I orgasm, my sperm shooting up my stomach and over my chest. * * * "Now one of the more interesting results of the Multi-World interpretation -- Marshall??" I jerk out of my reverie and sit up straight. "Sir?" I ask, a bit too loudly and too quickly. The grad students in the room snort with derision. "Can you tell me how Everett's Multiple World interpretation differs from the Copenhagen interpretation in how it handles wave function collapse?" "I... uh..." I look around wildly. The grad students are rolling their eyes and shaking their heads. How could a freshman ever expect to learn this stuff? Sure, he seemed smart at the beginning, but now... it's so clear that he can't keep up. "It was the required reading for today," Prof. Manichev says. I can hear the disappointment in his voice. He stuck his neck out for me, and I have not measured up. "I did read it," I plead. "I just..." It was a dense academic article, with a lot of math I didn't understand. Normally I might go to my math professor to get some help, but he was away, and so, instead I went back to my room armed with some math books. But it was hopeless. The bra. All I could think about was the bra, sitting there on the dresser drawers, glowing, teasing me. I could hear Morgen whispering to me, "put it on, Marshall, you know you want to, go ahead, it will be okay. You're not really a man anyway, are you? Go ahead, pick it up. It will feel wonderful." "Marshall??" "Sorry! Sir!" I snap back into the classroom, cursing inwardly. This time there is outright laughter from the grad students. "Come see me after class," Professor Manichev says, with a weary sigh. * * * "Marshall, I just don't understand. For the last couple of weeks, you've seemed fine. But now... It's clear that you're falling further and further behind. You understand that I can't hold up the class for you?" "Yes, Sir, I understand." "And I think you've started to become a distraction in the classroom. I hate to say this, Marshall... but I think it would be best if you stuck with the standard physics curriculum, at least for this year." I am devastated. "I tell you what, why don't I give you some reading assignments in the mean time? Just come to me every other week, and we can discuss them during my office hours, okay? And then we can try again next year. After all, a sophomore in the graduate lecture series is just as impressive as a freshman. And by then you'll be adjusted to college life, and so hopefully you'll be better able to focus. Deal?" I look into my professor's eyes, and realize now what an amazing person he is and what an incredible opportunity I just fucked up. "Yes, sir. Thank you sir. I really appreciated it." * * * I lie in bed, feeling depressed and bored and with nothing to do. I am adrift. I had purposefully taken the minimum possible credits and all of the easiest non-physics classes available so I could completely clear my schedule and my mind to focus on advanced physics. But now... without Professor Manichev's lecture class, I find I have nothing to do. The reading which the professor gave me was reading from the start of the semester. "Let's back up and review," he had advised. I lie in bed trying to read future chapters of my introduction to physics textbook, but it all seems so pointless and basic. After all, I'll just have to read it again once the rest of the class gets there. The bra. It's still there, still taunting me. 'Nothing to do? Aren't you horny? Come and put me on!' It's saying to me. I mean, I know it's not actually talking, this is all in my head. Probably put there by Morgen, god knows how. But it might as well be the bra talking. I push the textbook onto the floor and try to go to sleep. But it's only 9:45. Too early. I'm not sleepy. I roll over and over. Somehow, I slip my pajama bottoms down to expose my panties. So nice.... I stroke my hard member through the diaphanous nylon mesh of the panties (this pair has little pink bows on it and fancy embroidered lace panels which is somehow interweaved with the mesh - I just love it). 'Stop that!' I admonish myself. 'All that masturbating is what got you in trouble in the first place!' I turn off the bedside lamp, pull up my pajama bottoms and get under the covers. I roll onto my side, facing the side wall. I arrange the comforter so that it blocks my view of the bra. I lie with my eyes closed, trying not to think of anything. But then, something changes. Just like that. Some switch in my brain flips. 'I'm going to put on the bra.' One moment I'm thinking of nothing, trying to get an early night's sleep (and failing), and then the next moment, I've decided that I'm going to put on the bra. A jolt runs through me. I realize now that all day long I had been thinking about wearing the bra and it had just never reached my conscious level. But somehow I had already made up my mind without realizing it. Oh god, I'm going to put on the bra... I delay for as long as I can. I know it's hopeless, but I pretend like I still have a choice in the matter. After all, there's nothing making me wear it. According to Morgen, it's not magic ("at least not until you put it on" a little voice in my head says, "which is what you are now about to do!!"). So there's no reason to put it on. It's not magic. Or whatever the psychological juju is that Morgen is calling magic. Nothing is forcing me to do it. Or at least, nothing that's not inside my brain already (a thought which makes me nervous). And my brain is telling me that I already know that I'm going to put it on. But only women wear bras! I remind myself. Only women *need* to wear bras. Men definitely do *not* wear them. Even Morgen was clear on this. Men don't wear bras. Men - do - not - wear - bras! I tell myself this over and over, but rather than make me turn away, I makes me want to put it on even more. It's precisely because only women wear them that I want to try one on. What does it feel like? What do women feel when they put one on? How do you fasten it in the back? Is it hard? Is it uncomfortable? Or maybe it's nice and comfortable and I'll want to start wearing them all the time? I sit up and slap myself in the face, then lay back down, under the covers again. "Stop that!' I tell myself. 'Stop thinking like that! Just go to sleep and don't think about it!!' I pull the covers over my head and force myself to lay there quietly, trying desperately to forget about it. But it's impossible. I have to wear it. I just have to. It's just laying there, on the dresser, just waiting for me to put it on. Morgen placed it there... thinking that I might want to wear it. Something about the fact that Morgen placed it there makes me even more obsessed with it. She knew I would be thinking like this. She placed it there, for me, knowing that I would be looking at it every day. She expected me to be having this conversation with myself. She wants me to wear it. She's daring me to wear it.... Oh god, I am so horny... I slip out of bed and walk over to the dresser where the bra lies under the lamp casting the entire room in a soft, romantic glow. I take off my pajama top and let it drop to the floor. I look at myself in the oval mirror above the dresser drawers. I look worried, but also overcome with lust and desire. With so little hair on my chest and only 5'7" tall, I don't actually look or feel that manly. I look down at the bra and pick it up. The construction feels more sturdy than I expected. The straps are thicker, the stitching is strong. What am I doing... what am I doing.....? Only women ever wear bras. What am I doing holding one? If anyone ever saw me, what would they think? Probably that I was weird or perverted... or both. What happens if... when a woman finds out someday? My girlfriend? She'd drop me for sure. But you're here alone, says a voice in my head. All alone. No one to see you. I look nervously at the window. It's safely covered by thick curtains. But what if someone is outside, looking through the cracks? I feel a nervous excitement about the possibility of being exposed in public. Is the thought making me even more horny? Is that possible? Maybe I really am perverted... I slip a delicate strap up my arm and then over my shoulder where it rests lightly. What am I doing? Stop this...! I tell myself. Only women do this... I'm doing something that only women or girls would ever do. Why am I doing this? The inner fabric is so soft and lightly padded, it is so beautiful... I slip my arm into the other strap and pull it up over my shoulder. As I do, the cups of the bra settle gently over my chest. Oh.... It's an incredible feeling. I reach behind me and after some fishing (and looking in the mirror), I'm able to find the straps and connect the eyes and hooks in back. In the mirror, I look like a 1950s housewife putting on a bra. The delicate bra pulls tight around my chest, pressing into and caressing my nipples and breasts.... oh.... the straps rest intimately on my shoulders, I stroke my breasts and tweak my nipples, almost fainting in pleasure. I look at myself in the mirror, amazed at how the lace bra looks on me. It's almost a perfect fit. It even looks like I have slight lumps, the way the bra is clutching my breasts. I trace my fingers over the lace patterns outlining my chest and flick my nipples again. I am so horny my knees are weak. Oh my god, I'm wearing a bra! Like a woman... I'm wearing a bra! It feels so dangerous to have it on. It makes me feel so feminine, almost as if I had breasts. I wonder what it would be like to have actual breasts filling out the bra. Real weight on my chest. Sensitive mammaries intended to provide milk for babies encased and supported by a brassiere on my chest. What would that feel like? I feel as if the male parts of my personality are fading. I feel more... feminine. More female. More nurturing? Less aggressive? Less macho? Less like I care about all that male posturing that men always do with other men? Who needs that anyway? Wouldn't be so nice to just let all that go? I wonder about beauty and form and balance and purpose. Will wearing a bra moderate my personality? Will I become.... less aggressive or competitive? It would be good to be more empathetic and caring and less into myself and more sensitive to other's emotions and feelings... but maybe all that is just pop psychology. I should ask Morgen what the real research is. Maybe I can become her test subject. Maybe I am already her test subject? Maybe that's what she's been doing all along? Am I her social psych experiment? Is she writing a paper about me right now? The bra encircles my chest. I just now realize that this was is an underwire bra. I can feel the wires now. They are metal half-circles, covered in cloth, that go from between my small breasts down, underneath the mounds and up along the side of my body. I can feel them gently pressing into me, firm and unyielding. Since I have no breasts to speak of, they mostly serve to outline what little bumps I have. I stroke my hand over my breasts and tweak my nipples some more. Jolts of pleasure shoot through my body. My nipples throb for attention. Can women orgasm from just playing with their nipples? I think I might, if I kept up with it. I place my hands on the bra cups and massage and squeeze my breasts through the bra. I feel like a woman doing it, perhaps after a long day at school, massaging her breasts which are sore and need attention. Mmmm... My breasts feel warm and alive. I continue, getting closer and closer to orgasm. "Morgen." The word escapes my lips, and as soon I say it, I realize that I am obligated to go to see her, right away. * * * "Oh, Marshall..." Morgen looks at me sadly. "I was really hoping that you'd be able to prove me wrong and avoid this particular temptation. You're wearing the bra, I presume?" "Yes," I say, my face burning with shame. "I... I couldn't help myself." I look around her bedroom. It's messy like before. The urge to clean it up is almost unbearable. "That's what I was afraid would happen. Well, let's see it." "Do you mean...?" "Yes, take off your shirt." I unbutton my pajama top and open it up. "All the way off." I slip out of the top and show her the pretty flowers and lace bra I'm wearing. Morgen makes me spin around so I can show it to her from all angles. "And how does it make you feel?" "Nice. More... womanly, I guess." "Interesting choice of words." "Why?" "Never mind. Do you think you'd put it on again? Do you feel like you want to wear bras again in the future? Or could you take it off now and then never put on another one?" "I..." I am disturbed by her question, it makes me uncomfortable and fidgety. But ultimately there is only one honest answer. "I want to wear it again," I mumble, supremely embarrassed. "Do you see the suitcase?" Morgen points. It's the same pink suitcase from before. "Yes." "You know what's in it?" "Is it... is it... full of bras? For me to wear?" "That's right, Marshall. I was hoping that the suitcase would stay in my room, but since you want to wear bras now, I guess I don't really have a choice now, do I?" "I... I guess not." The thought makes my hyperventilate. "Well then Marshall, let's go." Like before, Morgen fetches the suitcase and takes me by the hand, leading me down the hall and into my bedroom. She puts the suitcase on the bed and snaps it open. Inside it is stuffed with bras of all types and colors, straps going every which way. "Now since you'll be wearing bras from now on--" "From now on?" I gasp. "Morgen?" "Yes, Marshall. From now on. Don't you feel like you have to?" Her words enter me in a strange way. "H-h-have to...?" I stammer. "What do you mean?" "Just what I said. Don't you feel like you have to wear bras... from now on? That without a bra, you won't feel right? That when you wake up in the morning and go about your day, that you'll always feel better wearing a bra? Isn't that how you're feeling now? That from now on... *and for the rest of your life*... you'll be wearing bras? That... it's just, sort-of... what you are *compelled* to do? That it's what you feel is... right? Is proper? Is how it is meant to be? That wearing bras is what you should be doing?" "I have to wear bras for the rest of my life?" I say, pathetic, my eyes moist. "That's right, Marshall. Now say it, but not like a question." "I have to wear bras for the rest of my life." I feel a shiver run over me. Slowly, I come to understand that this is true. I think it was always true, ever since I first laid eyes on the bra. Somehow, I knew this would be happening. Somehow, when I put on the bra, I think I knew this would be my fate. I will always be wearing bras. Forever. For the rest of my life. "Again," Morgen commands. "I have to wear bras for the rest of my life." "Very good, Marshall. Yes, you will have to something to cover up your breasts, like a woman would, for the rest of your life. That may not necessarily mean wearing bras. It could be a swimsuit, for example. Or a night gown. But you get the idea. But now, since you have agreed this is your fate, I think we can get rid of all these, right?" Morgen lifts out all of my male T-shirts from the dresser drawers and puts them beside the suitcase. "But, you wear T-shirts!" I protest. "True." Morgen gathers up the bras in the suitcase and places in the top dresser drawer, next to my collection of panties. "But you're not me, are you, Marshall?" "No... but..." "There are no buts. You will wear bras from now on. You will never wear T-shirts, not ever again. Especially not these icky male undershirts. I will take these to the Salvation Army." "Please..." Morgen pulls me into a hug. I close my eyes and feel her body press against me. Her hair brushes against my face. She smells feminine and amazing. After a moment, she lets go and then closes and locks the suitcase. I give it a long, forlorn look. Morgen places the suitcase by the door and then returns to my bed. "Come, join me," she says, lying down. Wondering what's up, I go and lie next to her. Morgen reaches over and starts to stroke my hair. "Are you a virgin?" she asks. "Yes," I say, but I am so nervous it comes out as a soft whimper. "I thought so," she says, stroking my arm. "This will be interesting. I've never had sex with a virgin before." "Sex...?" "Shush," she whispers. "Just enjoy it." * * * It takes a couple of tries, unfortunately. The first time I ejaculated into my panties as she stroked me. Horrified, I thought it was all over, but Morgen just laughed and explained that she had expected it, and now that I had some release, perhaps I would last longer the second time! That was her plan all along. And so, I clean up and put on a fresh pair of panties, and she plays with my nipples and kisses me until I am hard again, after which she rolls me onto my back, pulls down my panties, grasps my penis, aims it at her pussy and then mounts me. I slip right in and she is so wet and slippery and tight and warm, and oh... it is wonderful! Oh god! Oh Morgen! I am no longer a virgin! As she very slowly thrusts against me, Morgen occasionally plays with and pinches my nipples. This alternates with her pressing her entire weight into me, lying on top of me and breathing into my ear and saying things like "that's my submissive bitch, just lie there and just let me take you". I do my best to hold back. Reaching down, she uses her finger to bring herself off, coming hard and thrusting against me. "Now you," she grunts, thrusting some more and grinding her hips against my body. I let myself go and it happens... I climax, shuddering in her arms. I am no longer a virgin. Oh my gosh... as I lay there, looking up into Morgen's eyes, our two bodies still coupled, she smiles down at me and we kiss. She is so beautiful... "Quick, like a little bunny, fetch a washcloth and clean us up," Morgen commands, rolling off of me and laying in bed with her hips raised. Obedient, I hop up and go to the bathroom, where I first wipe myself clean by the sink and then bring in a warm wet washcloth to clean her up as well. "Very good, Marshall," she says. "Promise me that you will always clean yourself and your partner up after having sex." "I promise." I slip back under the covers and next to her warm, naked body. I've just had sex with a woman! I think to myself, delighted. I can't stop smiling! I don't think I have ever felt this good in my entire life. I snuggle up to her, giddy with pleasure. Morgen pushes me onto my back and then she props up her head on one hand and then uses the other to stroke my nipples in the bra. "That is a pretty bra," she says. "I always thought she it was so pretty when Mom--" She halts. "When your Mom...?" I ask, prompting her to continue. "Nothing." Morgen continues to play with my nipples and stroke my breasts in the bra. "Do you like this?" she asks. "Yes," I sigh, closing my eyes. Little jolts of pleasure continue to shoot from my nipples and warm waves of pleasure come from my breasts. It is heaven. "I thought so. But you shouldn't do it too often." "But... why not?" "Because the bra is magic," she explains. I notice that even though she says I shouldn't be doing this, she isn't stopping. "Do you believe in magic now?" "No." "Seriously? Even after all this?" "All what?" "This!" she gestures to my bra and my panties. "You, wearing a bra and panties. And still you don't believe in magic?" "What's so magical about me deciding to wear a bra and panties?" Morgen thinks for a moment. "Well, I know it doesn't seem that magical, but it is. Okay, I admit that I interviewed something like two dozen people for this room, and I felt that you were special. I guess I just didn't realize how special." I blush a little at this praise. I close my eyes and enjoy her stroking some more. "Why shouldn't I be doing enjoying this?" I ask. "Why shouldn't I be stroking my breasts?" "Because of the magic," she says. "What about the magic?" "Well, since you don't believe in magic, there's nothing to worry about, is there?" "But please tell me?" I whine. "What's supposed to happen?" "Okay, fine. Every time you play with your nipples, they're supposed to grow. You have little man-nipples right now. But if you keep playing with them in the bra - it doesn't matter which bra - then they'll get big and fat, like a woman's nipples." I sit up and look at her. "Are you serious?" I ask. I grasp my breasts in my hands. "Every time I play with my nipples--" "Or *I* play with them..." Morgen reaches for my chest, but I twist my body and block her hand. "It's supposed to make my nipples bigger?" "Yes, until they grow into nice, fat woman nipples," Morgen explains. "Or at least that's what the spell said would happen. "But that's not all." "There's more?" "Yes, there is. Merely wearing bras, any bra, should make your breasts grow." "What? You can't possibly be serious!" "But you don't believe in magic, right Marshall? So why do you care?" "I.. but... my breasts will grow? You're saying that all bras are magic--" "Just for you." "Fine, that all bras are magic, 'just for me', and that if I wear bras and play with my breasts, they will grow. Is that what you're saying?" "Yes, that is what I am saying." "Will they grow forever? Like, until they are the size of a Volkswagen Beetle? Or something?" "Oh, god no!" Morgen laughs. "Well, *that* is a vivid image! No. Nothing like that." "Okay then, how large are they supposed to grow?" "But you don't believe in magic, right? So what does it matter?" "Morgen, please. Okay, fine. Magic doesn't exist, and I'm sure you're just teasing me. But seriously. How large are they supposed to grow?" "Until they get to the right size," Morgen explains. "What is the right size?" "I don't know. Pretty large. At least D. Maybe a double-D? Triple-D?" "You can not be serious?" I feel faint. "My breasts are going to grow?" "And your nipples," Morgen says, reaching over and tweaking my nipples again. I bat her hands away. "But you don't believe in magic, Marshall. Isn't that what you just said? So why are you worried?" "I'm not," I say, although with a bit of quaver in it. I turn away from her, trying to get away from her evil hands, but she just snuggles up to me from behind, reaches around me and continues to play with my nipples in the bra. I squirm, both wanting her to continue (I'm so horny I could have sex again already) and trying to get her to stop. But do I really want her to stop? I don't know. Oh god, what have I done? * * * END CHAPTER 2 Thanks to Robyn Hoode for her editorial help. Remaining errors are entirely the fault of the author.