The Company: Part 2 Of 2 free porn video

Summary: This is Part 2; a continuation of "The Company" story. I recommend reading Part 1 first, which described what led Brian to his current state; a cum-hungry shemale. Thin, new large breast implants and gorgeous long golden blonde hair. Part 2 continues the changes and eventual conclusion. Maybe more to come! Let me know if you spot any errors or if you like the story! -Mandie Chapter 6: Dramatic changes continued The next several weeks were filled with more procedures. I was helpless to stop them. I was given a scalp injection that allowed my hair to grow at an accelerated rate. Another that changed my hair color as it grew from the root. It only took a few days for my previously jet-black hair to have golden blonde roots. Within a week, my hair was down to my shoulders and they snipped off the black evidence of my previous hair color. I now had shoulder length, soft, golden blonde hair. I had no doubt it would continue to grow, much to my disappointment. My finger nail beds were injected with another substance; one that caused my nails to grow to a pre-set length, stop, and harden. They were trimmed into a square shape and the tips were painted white. I now had a semi- permanent French manicure, approximately one-inch long. I was told they were considered semi-permanent because they technically could break if I strained them enough, but that it was rare since they were harder and thicker than normal nails but would regrow to the same length if they ever did break. It legitimately looked like I'd gone to a professional salon and gotten the best French tips money could buy. Except these were actually now my real nails. By now I looked pretty much like a young 20-year-old woman. Thin, voluptuous breasts, medium length hair, and feminine thin manicured hands. But I still had some of my more masculine facial features; strong jaw, pronounced nose, etc. Unfortunately, that was about to change too. I was again strapped to my bed, for safety reasons. They didn't want me moving while the operations were done. I was wheeled into the same surgery room and given a mild sedative. "This one will put you in a drowsy state," Dr. Nowicki advised. "You'll be in a somewhat sleep, but you'll feel various sensations. But don't worry, again no pain," he assured me. Once I figured out what they were about to do, I was finally ready to scream and try to escape. But before I could make a sound, I was injected in the neck with something and my eyes drooped to a close. I could still hear things but felt sleepy and couldn't open my eyes. I heard some tools clanking and before long felt something drawing across my chin and jaw. Then the feeling as if someone was rubbing something forcefully against my face in that same area. After several pokes around that area, I heard the tools clank again. Phew, he's done, I thought. But within seconds, the tools clanked again, and I felt something being drawn underneath my nose. A tug, and then rubbing on my nose and a feeling of pressure. Still no pain at least. These sensations continued. After my nose, it was my cheeks, then my forehead, my eyebrows, even my neck. It must have taken hours as I eventually fell asleep. When I awoke, my full feeling had restored and everything from my neck up, throbbed. I could tell my face and neck were wrapped with bandages when I tried to feel at what had been done to me. "It will take some time for the procedures to fully heal, so you will need to keep the bandages on for a few days," Dr. Nowicki instructed. "Also, we did some neck work so do not use your voice for a similar time period or you could damage it permanently." Not wanting to be a mute the rest of my life, I followed his advice. I was returned to my room and fell into another deep slumber. After several miserable days of aches and pains in my face and neck, Dr. Nowicki came by and removed the bandages one by one. He hovered over me and analyzed his work. "Excellent, excellent," he said, clearly quite pleased with his work. "You've healed up nicely, perhaps better than expected. Dr. McMaster will be very happy with your progress." He helped me stand up and walk over to the full-length mirror. I'd still not gotten used to the enormous breasts attached to my chest, but I was getting there. When I approached the mirror and brought my eyes up to view my face, I almost fainted. What I saw wasn't me at all. It must be a trick mirror, I thought. But the young attractive young woman in the mirror was wearing the same hospital gown that I was, and she moved when I moved. Dr. Nowicki brought a chair over and helped me sit down; fearing I would faint and hurt myself. "Let me go over each procedure and you can let me know if you have any pain or questions," he offered. I still sat there speechless; stunned like a wax figure. This couldn't be real. He continued with the examination. "You'll see here that we shaved down your pronounced chin and thick jawline." He was right, my chin and jaw were now thin and small like a super model. "We thinned your nose substantially and gave you a small upturn." Again, he was right; my nose was small and it was a clear result of plastic surgery. Yet it looked well done; not like some of the botched nose jobs I'd seen in the past. "We smoothed your forehead, provided you with some subtle cheekbone implants, and reshaped your brows. You'll always have full brows with a slightly elevated arch, without ever having to pluck." Not wearing any makeup, I had a "girl next door" type look, albeit an extremely attractive girl. The girl in the mirror was exactly the type of girl I'd always go after, both before and after being married. But the problem was that the girl in the mirror wasn't a girl at all. It was a guy. And it was me. I touched my neck and looked at the Doctor as if to question what had been done. "Ah yes, that surgery was to shave down your Adams apple and adjust your vocal chords. You may try them out finally," he advised. I should have known what was coming but it still came as a shock. I started to ask "what did you do..." stopped and slapped my hand over my mouth with a look of horror on my face. The voice that had just came out of me wasn't my own. It was that of a high school girl. High pitched and sweet; not like the deep masculine voice of my own. "What the fuck?" I tried again. Still high pitched. It even cracked with a slight squeal as I grew more upset. "Please try to continue to limit use. You don't want to overdo it," he instructed. I wanted to scream. To cry. To yell. To beat someone. But I didn't want to lose my voice permanently, even if it wasn't my own. And I didn't want to end back up in the Box. "We're getting close to being done; just a few more procedures and you'll have passed Stage 2," he advised. He let me know he'd be back tomorrow and left me to rest. This was too much to handle. I laid back on my bed and passed out. I was too weak and helpless to resist any further procedures; not that I'd done a great job stopping anything to this point. The strict vegetarian diet had ensured I built up no muscle mass. That, combined with the daily cardio and aerobics, left me with a completely toned, thin figure. They weren't thrilled with my flat butt, and back to the surgery room I went. I was laid on my stomach; my chest propped up on the huge balloon-like breasts attached to my chest. Same story as before; injection, the feeling of someone drawing with a marker below my ass cheeks, followed by the feeling of having something stuffed inside me. I'd finally learned to succumb to my situation. I couldn't fight it. One day they'd let me out and I could figure out a way to reverse all this stuff. I was sewn back up and advised to rest on my stomach the rest of the day. I did so, in fact I slept into the following morning. When I awoke and rolled over onto my back, then set up, I felt a strange sensation. It felt like I was sitting on two small pillows. Not uncomfortable, in fact it was cushiony, but it still felt wrong. I stood up and walked over to the mirror, turned and sighed. Yep, they'd done it. My thin flat ass was now round, lifted, and perky. Not overdone, thank god, but it looked like the ass of a fit weather girl who worked out her glutes daily for years. There was no hiding them that was for sure. It felt incredibly odd to not only have two huge foreign objects in my chest, but now these cushions in my ass cheeks. I also noticed that while he was at it, he had slit open my hips and inserted small gel implants to give me a more feminine look. And it was successful; the hourglass was complete. It didn't get better. Next was lip implants; albeit small ones which I suppose I should have been thankful for. I'd always had thin masculine lips; now they were puffed out slightly, especially the upper lip. My ears were pierced and large white pearl earrings were placed in the holes. I was told they had to stay in while the holes healed and then they could be replaced with any other type of earring. Not like I ever intended to wear earrings once I got out of here. They implanted permanent long dark synthetic eyelashes into my upper and lower eyelids. They even had a natural curl so that they would never need to be curled. By now, weeks had passed since the scalp injections, and the long silky soft golden blonde hair had grown down to the small of my back and seemed to stop growing. I didn't even have to do much to keep it looking so neat. It was full, never tangled, and had large loose waves/curls at the bottom. I had to admit, when I looked into the mirror, I saw a bombshell. One that I would have gladly fucked back in the real world. Back before my wife sold me out to these assholes who turned me into.... this. I was slowly being treated better though. Back in the dorm room, more freedom, access to the movie theater (which unfortunately only showed chick flicks) and no more hospital gown. I was provided soft pink fitted pajamas to sleep in, yoga pants and tank tops to work out in / lounge around (which unfortunately highlighted my new-found curves). Because of my obedience, I was back on the Product Y supplement; no more semen directly from the source. But I was reminded again, this was only temporary due to cost. After a Dentist appointment in which my teeth were straightened and had permanent whitening applied (which made my smile look like that of a beauty pageant winner), I was advised that I had successfully completed Stage 2 and would be moving to Stage 3. Stage 3 consisted of mostly classroom lectures and practical lessons. How to clean house, how to cook, how to act on a date, and so on. It felt like I had time warped back to the 50s. Until we started the lessons on how to act during sex. Pretty sure they didn't have those in the 50s. We were instructed to be submissive and to do whatever the man wanted. We were reminded that after Stage 3, any of us being provided Product Y supplement would no longer have access, and that we would need to "earn" the real stuff, but that it wouldn't be difficult based on our new looks and mannerisms. I looked around the class and couldn't help but try to guess which, if any students, were natural females, or if they were all like me; men who had been kidnapped and forced into this horrible position. But, to no surprise, we were instructed that speaking with each other outside of role-playing during class lessons, was strictly prohibited, and doing so would result in a week in the Box. Not worth it. For weeks now, I'd been required to wear extremely restrictive latex panties that kept my penis from showing itself. It even had small padding in the front that appeared to be a camel toe. When I wore my tight yoga pants, anyone who saw me, I have no doubt, would think I was a female with her pants riding up her slit. For the sex lessons, we were given examples of how to seduce men. To show them our assets without making it obvious. To tease. But that when we were in their embrace, to fully give in and allow our bodies to be used. The whole idea made me sick. My body and face may have been that of a fit college sorority girl whose parents paid for her boob and nose jobs, but my mind, and of course my dick, were still that of a fully straight male. I still dreamed of having sex with Jane, but those memories of her were fading since I hadn't seen her in so long. Strangely, the only time I thought about my wife was when I was plotting how to get revenge. Chapter 7: Moving On Up After several months, the courses ended, we took and passed the (extremely easy) examinations and were told we were being moved into our role as client services team members. Since we would be working and technically employed by the business (of which I was still unsure the name and merely referred to it as The Company), we would be paid. We could use the income to pay off our debt and be released from the program entirely, or we could stay employed indefinitely, have the debt forgiven, and use the money to pay for a life of leisure. We'd been forced to watch some videos showing the lifestyles of other veteran members, and it did look pretty great. Big mansions, flashy cars, big pools; the whole shebang. But I'd have to know what we'd be doing. Something that required attractive women; maybe modeling? I wasn't so lucky. During day 1 of orientation, they wasted no time breaking the news. We would be escorts. Not just plain old escorts, but escorts to the rich and famous. We had been carefully molded to meet specific quotas (which now made sense since there was a mix of races, sizes, heights, hair color, etc. in the room). They bluntly stated that while some girls, such as fat girls as an example, were needed to meet some of their client's needs, it was the young busty blonde ones that were prime candidates for the top dollars. I wanted to feel lucky since I was in that category, but instead I felt sick again. I wanted to run, but I was terrified. I wasn't the only one. Two girls did try to run out the door and were quickly and easily scooped up and escorted directly to the Box (of which apparently there was more than one). A few girls started sobbing, a few sat silent, frozen in terror, and I was surprised to see that almost half in the room not only weren't surprised by the news of our new career but seemed genuinely happy with it. As if they knew it was coming all along. I'd come to find out they had volunteered for the program to improve their lifestyle. Sick cunts, I thought. It was clear now that not all of them were previously men. Lucky for them. I had to weigh my options... Stuck in the Box being fucked in the throat and ass for hours on end, or the occasional night out ending with the same result but for a shorter duration. I reluctantly decided to go with the second choice. Each time a client requested a girl, he could request a specific one based on digital profiles they had access to, showing photos and statistics of the girls, such as height, weight, breast size; even how many sexual encounters the girl had. Some clients preferred the fresh meat like myself, and others like the well-seasoned ones. Clients could also just blindly request "a Blonde" or "an Asian", which cost less since it was an easier order to fill. Some of the girls were just so popular that their schedule was too full to be added to a new order. They gave us a week to celebrate our graduation, which was somber for half of us. We mostly sat and watched the sluts who wanted this life, laugh and giggle and overall have a good time. There was wine, which I gladly partook in, although my body could now only handle a glass or two before I started getting tipsy. Since we were all "new blood", each week, one or two were put on the auction block. The prices were generally confidential but there was a lot of gossip around the floor, what with us all being bored and nervous "women" (I still hated considering myself one, I still had a dick damnit). Hopefully none of them want a tranny chick, I thought to myself. I know I sure wouldn't if I was back in the real world. But then I thought, how would I have even known? These "women" look more feminine than most I've met out there! Little did I know, shemale babes were in high demand. These clients were so rich and powerful that they could get any woman they wanted, at any time. But to dominate someone that used to be a man and treat them like a woman, that was something new. The "true women" new bloods, as they were called, went for hundreds of thousands of dollars for their first date. I couldn't find out any information about my bidding when the time came but it was rumored to be over a million dollars. Ridiculous. But nonetheless, I was instructed that the meeting would occur tomorrow evening and I was to be prepared tonight to start, and finish up during the day tomorrow. I was also told that effective immediately, I would no longer receive Product Y, and if given the opportunity, I should ensure to get my fill of the "real stuff" or else it could be days if not longer, before given the next opportunity. Disgusting. I was pleased to find that we were given complimentary full body massages the night before a meeting. It still felt strange to lay on my stomach, resting on the large implants in my chest. Equally strange was the sensation when the massage reached my butt and thighs. But I couldn't complain, it felt amazing. We'd been given a full 2 weeks of training lessons in walking in heels and my calves were still on fire. The massage took care of that for the most part, as well as the soreness in my back from carrying around two huge breasts on a daily basis after having nothing up there my entire life. The night ended with a facial and full body lotioning. I was told to go to bed with the face mask on, and get some sleep, which I gladly did. The next morning I was taken for a light bed-tan, and the rest of the day was spent in the cosmetology department having makeup applied and my hair styled, all in preparation to be driven to the meeting at 5pm. The client's order had required a dress code of evening gown, and thus I was dressed in a long black evening gown which hugged my body until it reached my knees and flared out, all the way to the ground. The upper portion of the dress had two straps that held it up. There was no need for a built-in bra, because prior to putting on the dress, I'd been strapped into my first corset. The girls dressing me placed the corset around my torso, latched several buckles in the front, and then took two strings that laced all the way up/down the corset, in the back, and pulled. I'd fucked Jane a few times while she wore a corset and loved the way it pulled in her abdomen; really accentuated her figure. But I didn't realize what it felt like from the woman's perspective, until now. I could feel my innards shifting and breath being restricted as they continued to pull. With each pull, it got tighter and tighter, like a boa constrictor crushing me. I started feeling light headed from the lack of breathing and almost fell. The girls stopped, saying "Let her catch her breath. Just breath easy and slow," I took their advice and once I'd caught my breath, they gave one last tug, and tied the laces in a bow in the back. It felt incredibly restrictive but I glanced in the mirror and was amazed. Being so thin allowed the corset to really work it's magic. I had a true hourglass figure, and my large breasts were now pushed up dramatically and the top of them looked like shelves that I could rest a glass on. The black dress was pulled on, in addition to black lace stockings, garter, and even long black gloves that went to my elbows. "Well at least these long nails are hidden" I thought to myself, always being annoyed that I was stuck with what I considered porn-star French nails. They put some, what I assumed to be fake, diamond dangly earrings in, and a necklace with dozens of fake diamonds dangling down, some coming to rest on my pushed-up breasts. The girls saw my look of "this seems cheap" and said "Oh don't worry these are 100% genuine. Your client sent them over as a pre-meeting gift. He said you could even keep them if all goes well," Wow, they had to be worth thousands. I'd gladly keep and sell them.... My breathing was still labored by the tight corset but I was slowly getting used to it. They helped me put on some 5-inch black stiletto heels with red soles and I was ready. Just in time. The door opened and a driver in a black suit and bow-tie escorted me down the elevator, to a hidden exit at the back of the building, and into a long black limousine. He drove me to a secluded restaurant I'd never heard of or seen before. The parking lot was filled with exotic and expensive luxury cars. I gladly drank a glass of wine that was available in the limo, on the way there, to calm my racing nerves. "This has to be better than the Box," I kept telling myself. I also noticed that the "hunger" had returned. It'd been too long since I'd taken Product Y, and my body was now craving the real stuff. I tried to put it out of my mind. We approached the valet stand, and waiting for my there was a tall man, seemingly in his 50s with salt and pepper hair. Not overly attractive, but at least fit, or at least seemed to be (it was hard to tell considering he was wearing a full suit). He dressed well and was clearly successful. He opened my door and reached a hand out to help me up. I needed the help. It was incredibly difficult to get out of a low limo seat while wearing a corset tightened to the brink. I lightly reach my hand out to accept his, trying to use all the mannerisms I'd learned in the courses. I didn't want to disappoint the client and be thrown into the Box as punishment. He helped me out of the limo, kissed my outstretched hand and introduced himself as Mr. Morgan, but that I could call him Gerald. I responded by introducing myself as Brianna, a name I was told I was to use instead of Brian from now on. He smiled and escorted me inside the restaurant; my arm hooked through the bend of his elbow. I was happy to have had the lessons walking in heels because it was no small challenge to do so elegantly. We sat and had a nice meal of some of the best food I'd ever had. I again made sure to have more wine. Perhaps too much as I grew a bit giggly. The new voice was annoying but when I drank too much I lost a bit of control over it. He didn't seem to mind though. He told me he had gotten us tickets to the Broadway show currently in town. I didn't catch the name as I was distracted by the hunger that was returning. I was half tempted to ask him to join me in the bathroom so I could get rid of the hunger, but I thought it wise to wait it out. We finished our meal and were driven in his private town-car to the theater. Gerald had a proud face walking through the lobby as practically every man we passed stole a glance in my direction. It was a bit embarrassing for me, not being used to this amount of attention, but I tried to ignore it. Some of the men were much more obvious than others. Some stared, some even winked. Amazing, even in a classy place like a theater, I thought. We took our seats, and I made sure to cross my legs like I'd learned to do for situations like this. There was a man sitting two seats down from me who kept staring at my pointy high heels then glancing away any time I looked over. Ugh this is so gross, I thought. I used to be the man objectifying women, now I'm the one being objectified! I rested my hand on Gerald's thigh, trying to be a good companion. He seemed to appreciate and eventually rested his hand on mine. Still though, I wasn't attracted to men, so this was all just a show; just trying to get this over with. The show was good, but I was too distracted by the hunger that continued to grow and grow. My stomach felt like it had daggers in it, perhaps made worse by the corset restricting it completely. I needed relief. I breathed a sigh of relief as the curtain was drawn and the applause erupted. Finally. It's over. Let's go home and get this done. No such luck. Gerald wanted a night-cap. I reluctantly played along as the agreeable female companion by saying in my high- pitched voice, "Yes that would be wonderful!" We spent an hour at a classy high-end bar as he basically just told me stories about himself as a nodded, smiled; the occasional giggle at his cheesy jokes when appropriate. Luckily there were many other attractive women in high-class attire at this bar so I wasn't the only one getting glances. But I was at my wits end. The hunger was unbearable. I felt like screaming. I knew what I needed, and it was in his pants. I couldn't do this at the bar. "Gerald could we perhaps retire to your residence? I've grown tired," I asked, trying to make an excuse to get to where I could access what I needed. "Of course, let's go," he replied. He grabbed his coat off the chair, paid our bill (hundred-dollar glasses of wine are no joke), and we went outside. The driver was waiting. We drove about 20minutes, up to a large gate, behind which an enormous mansion loomed. We pulled up to the door and Gerald again helped me out. We entered the house and he asked if I wanted a drink. "Sure, and a tour if you don't mind, this is a lovely house," I replied. He grabbed a couple more glasses of wine and returned, I followed him until we reached the first room with a comfortable seating area. I had to make my move. I couldn't last any longer. "So this is the living ro..." his statement interrupted by my mouth pressing against his. I hadn't kissed anyone since receiving my lip implants, and it was a strange sensation. The idea of kissing this man disgusted me but I saw it as a means to an end. He didn't resist. I slipped my tongue into his mouth and moaned. I could tell it was effective as I felt something start poking my body that was pressed up against his. I knew we were trained to be submissive, but I couldn't wait. I kept my plump lips locked onto his as I slowly guided him backwards until he bumped into the couch. I softly put my gloved hand on his shoulder and pressed down. He took the hint. I couldn't sit on top of him due to my long dress that was tight down to my knees, so I curled up next to him, continuing to make out with him. With my left hand, I rubbed his chest, then his stomach and then finally made my way down to his crotch. I could tell it was already hard. I reached for the zipper but before able to do so, he reached for my hands and slowly peeled off my gloves. Then he placed my hand back where I'd left it. My thin fingers with long white French tips, grasped his zipper and pull it down. No going back now, I thought. I can finally get rid of this pain. I began stroking his cock with my dainty fingers, hoping to only touch it with my mouth when his cock was ready to ejaculate into it. He bit lightly on my upper lip, seemingly pleased with my plump cushions. The make-out continued as I worked his cock harder and faster with my hand. I felt it tense up and knew it was time, I broke away from the make-out sessions preparing to catch every drop with my mouth. But instead he pulled free. "Not yet," he said softly. Ughhh, I thought. He stood me up, and unzipped my dress. It fell to the floor. I now stood there in my corset, stockings, garter, and heels. My hair had been up all night; he reached up and let it down. It cascaded down my back. I reached for my corset hoping to free myself from its binds, but he again took my hand and guided it back to his erection. He sat back on the couch and it was clear what he wanted. I wasted no time. I kneeled in front of him and tried again to give him another hand-job. But he wanted more this time. He placed his hand on my head and guided it toward his tip. Fuck this better be quick, I thought. The last time I put a cock in my mouth, at the truck stop, I almost threw up. And now I have a corset pushing all my innards together, which can't help things at all. He knew exactly what he wanted. He pushed my head up and down on his cock, my plump lips stroking it with perfect suction. I could tell he was getting close and picked up speed. But much to my disappointment, he stopped again. I couldn't take it anymore. "Please, let me take in all your cum and swallow it. I need it. BAD," I begged. "I know you do Brianne. But that's not what I paid top dollar for. I can get a blowjob anytime I want, and I know you've already given one so far. I ordered you for something else," he replied. I knew now what he was expecting, and I felt a different kind of sick. But it was overpowered by the hunger pains which were unbearable. "Please no, I just want to drink everything in your balls. Let me give you the best blowjob you've ever had and swallow everything." I tried my best to bat my long lashes and pout my lips. Maybe it would help. It didn't. "No, please do as I require. It will be much easier on you if you do." He seemed to start getting agitated. I didn't want him to rape me; I knew that would be much more painful. At this point, I needed the cum one way or another, and it was clear he wouldn't let me drink it. I bashfully nodded, terrified about what was to come. "Good" he responded, positioning me on all fours like a dog, and took place behind me. My breasts felt like huge weights hanging down towards the carpet as I braced for his entry. I closed my eyes, scared, and waited. It didn't take long. I felt a wet substance on my asshole and he spread it around and in my anus. I'd never even experimented with anything in my ass, much less a cock. But I was about to. I felt something large push up against me. Hopefully that was it, I thought. No such luck. The object pushed more, and more, and finally broke through. I screamed out as the head of his cock pushed past the opening of my hole. It felt like small daggers on the walls of my asshole. But he was taking it slow at least. At the same time that I felt the pain, I was also starting to feel the hunger pains slowly lesson. His pre-cum must be getting absorbed by my colon, I realized. Fuck it, the short-term pain is worth it. I closed my eyes trying to ignore the sharp pain in my ass as he pushed deeper in; instead focusing on the hunger going away. I felt his body push up against my ass implants, which he seemed to enjoy as he slapped them hard, enjoying the jiggle as they rebounded against him. I knew now that he was fully in. I also knew that the quicker he finished, the quicker the pain would end and the quicker my stomach would feel better. I started helping him along. I began pushing back as he pushed forward. Back and forth, back and forth, harder and harder. My large breasts swaying back and forth with more and more force. They were heavy, but I was almost turned on by the thought of what this would look like to someone else watching. A hot girl with huge tits bouncing back and forth, being fucked in the ass. I just wished it wasn't me with the cock in my ass and tits swaying. Gerald grabbed my hips and accelerated his thrusts. He was so deep now. And the pain in my ass was intense. I couldn't help but cry out, which seemed to turn him on even more; he began ramming me even harder; faster. But I needed his seed, so my cries turned to screams of "Yes, FUCK ME, HARDER, I NEED IT". I couldn't help it. I really did need it. He couldn't hold back anymore and with one final hard thrust, he penetrated deeper than any time before; so deep I could feel it up against my prostate. Then the waves of semen hit. Pulse after pulse, I felt his cum flowing into my ass, up against my prostate. It provided some pleasure, but really it was the almost immediate disappearance of the hunger, that made me relax and moan in relief. My ass was absorbing what my body so desperately desired. I could tell Gerald was pleased, having just popped my cherry, probably knowing full well that he'd just banged a guy being forced into being a sexy woman. He brought me to his bedroom where he'd laid out a skimpy baby blue teddy on the bed. He helped me out of my corset and I breathed a sigh of relief as I was able to relax my abdomen. I finally felt at piece, relatively speaking. I pulled on the teddy, which came down just past my crotch. I rolled my eyes when the teddy pulled down over my chest and I realized there were two large holes where the breasts go. The way it fit, there was only lace surrounding my large breasts that now protruded through the teddy. It was somewhat chilly in the room and my nipples were hard as rocks. It almost felt good when I pulled the sheets up which brushed against them. Gerald crawled into bed beside me, gave me a big fat kiss on my pouty lips and passed out. My asshole was still searing in pain but I was also exhausted from what I'd just endured, so I passed out not soon after. I awoke the next morning to Gerald kissing my exposed breasts; specifically, my again fully erect nipples. It actually felt good. The large breast implants stretched my skin and nerve endings so tight that the slightest touch to the nipple sent a pleasure tingle down my spine. He noticed I was awake and enjoying his kisses and moved up and kissed my lips again. Man, he really seemed to like these lips. He continued tweaking my nipples while he stuck his tongue down my throat. I could feel his penis grow and push up against my leg, realizing now that he was naked under the covers. The hunger was gone, and likely would be for days, after having taken his huge load directly into my ass last night. But I felt scared to resist as he began pushing me under the covers. I was much weaker than him, and my asshole was still throbbing in pain. I knew the affair would be over soon, so better to get him off that way than another ramming in my sore ass. He continued playing with my large breasts while I proceeded with an enthusiastic blow job. I used both hands, one to stroke his cock and one to cup his balls and press my fingers against his taint. I could tell he liked the feeling of my French nails pushing into his skin beneath his balls. I didn't blame him; I had always liked having my junk handled by girls with long fake nails. It was probably from all the porn I'd watched. It didn't take long for him to explode inside my mouth. I still hated both the idea of giving a blow job, and the taste of the cum, but I also knew my body needed it, so I willingly drank every drop. He sighed in pleasure. He gave me some clothes to dress into (a classy floral sundress and white heels), and had his driver return me directly to the Company. I received my report card the following day. It seemed the clients reviewed each affair and provided grades. My report showed excellent across the board. Because of my grade, my compensation showed the maximum: 2% of the fee paid by the client. Jesus, I thought, I go through all that and only get 2 %? What a rip-off. Never mind the fact that I was apparently now literally a whore. But below the percentage I saw the dollar value. $28,000. That's what I was being paid for a single night. Granted it was my cherry popping night so it would likely always be less from here on out, but wow. That was more than I normally made in half a year. The money would go directly into a fund that I could decide later whether to apply to my debt, or to my lifestyle. But that was a decision for another day. I took a hot bath and rested. My stomach was happy and my poor asshole was finally starting to feel better. Chapter 8: Acceptance For the next several months I was almost booked solid. I guess my high ratings were keeping me popular. It was rumored that the brain injection I'd received may had been a higher dosage than typical (I still blame my wife, suspecting she insisted on the higher dosage), meaning I was more susceptible to the hunger / need for consumption of cum. Some of the other girls here wanted to consume it, because it made them feel better, but it seemed most didn't need it the point of agonizing pain when going through withdrawals. This made me more...exuberant to please the clients I met with. Still, after all these months, I only performed the acts as a means to an end. I needed their cum, and that meant pleasuring them one way or another. It made me uncomfortable and humiliated every single time, but I was learning to accept that this was my new life. The money didn't hurt. Every time I received a perfect rating, I got 2% of the client's fee. None of the bookings had come close to my "cherry popping" meeting which cost the client over a million dollars, but a few hundred thousand a night wasn't uncommon. I did the math and if the client was charged even $100k a night, that translated to $2k for me. meaning if I had 3-4 dates in a week that was $6k-8k a week. I'd be rolling in cash in no time. Much more than the $40k I had been making at my lowly office supervisor position. A poor rating payed out 0% to me, so I did everything in my power to avoid bad ratings. These clients were loaded, and I was willing to milk them for every dime, and every drop, if you get my meaning. Some of the regular clients also showered me with gifts, sometimes sent to my new penthouse suite on one of the top floors, and sometimes before or after a date. Jewelry, perfume, clothing, shoes, etc. It was nice to feel desired after spending years in a marriage where I don't think I ever experienced it. Inside, I still felt like a guy. They hadn't given me any hormones, and I still had my "package". But the hormones weren't needed to affect my appearance; they'd made sure the surgeries took care of everything. From my voice, to my facial reconstruction and body alterations, no one could ever tell I was anything but a gorgeous blonde bimbo. I'd even developed my speaking patterns and conversation to reflect my look; it was clear that the men I spent time with much preferred a silly dumb girl, over one who complained or talked about "smart" stuff. The men always wanted to feel smart, in control, and intellectually superior. Again, I let the cash do the talking, and made sure to go along with everything. The meetings or "dates", ranged anywhere from a harmless stroll through the park or visits to private art auctions, to sex-only meetings that lasted no more than an hour. There were plenty of fetishes being served, including one client who would only ever want to meet at seedy motels. I'd be required to arrive early, sit on the bed with nothing but a black or red push up bra, matching thong (custom made to restrict my package), a small jean miniskirt, stockings and high high heels; usually 6 inches or more. My makeup was to be dark and slutty, but messy, and my hair done in two loose pigtails. I'd be instructed on my pre-meeting briefing to sit on the bed, legs crossed, and leaned back with my chest pushed out and lips pouted, making sure the door was unlocked. The client would knock 4 times and I would say "I'm all yours." He would enter to see what anyone else would assume to be a cheap, but very attractive hooker, ready to get banged for cash on a nasty stained bed. In reality, he was paying $80k every week for a regular appointment that would last no more than 30minutes. He'd enter, throw a wad of cash on the night stand then approach me. I'd take my manicured hands to his trousers, undo his pants, kneel in front of him and immediately begin sucking him off while he stood in front of me in a power position. It wasn't uncommon for him to grab my pigtails and use them as handles as he fucked my pouty-lipped mouth over and over. But before long, he'd always pause, pick me up and bend me over the bed, my round breasts resting on the stained sheets. He'd take his saliva covered cock and shove it into my ass. Unfortunately, he was also one of the ones that knew I needed his semen and made it a game for me to acquire. He'd never finish in my ass; instead, pushing me back to the ground when he was ready to blow his load, and holding it over my face. He'd spray me; pump after pump, until my face was dripping with cum. I was to first, only lick what was either already in my mouth, on my lips, or within reach of my tongue; no hands. After that was entirely consumed, I could use my French tipped fingers to wipe the cum from my forehead, eyes, hair, sometimes breasts, and lick it off my fingers. It was degrading but the satisfaction, not to mention cash, was worth it. I was becoming addicted, I had no doubt. Definitely not to the act itself, but to the result. To the semen, and to the money. There was the occasional bachelor party; sometimes dancing only, sometimes a group fuck. Those filled me up for a week at least, and paid sometimes 3-4 times as much. Worth it, I thought. I couldn't believe I was starting to be okay with the lifestyle, but I was. I had everything I wanted, short of being allowed to fuck women, and I got to experience a life most could only dream of. Weekends on enormous yachts, private boxes at sporting events (including the occasional rendezvous with team owners or players), being flown to exotic locations. It was unfortunate that I always had to do so in the company of men, but I'd accepted my new reality. After only a single year, I'd saved up enough cash to fully pay off my debt. I was told I had successfully completed the rehabilitation, and that the contract my wife signed was no longer valid. It was over. I was done. I was given two options. Pay off the debt (in which case my account would then be $0, and all this work seemingly for nothing) and be free to leave and go live my life however I wanted. Or... Option 2, was to keep all the money I'd earned so far (which was a lot), have the entire debt forgiven, but be required to sign a new contract in which case I would continue as an employee of the Company. I would be an independent contractor and be allowed to have more say over the dates I'd accept, not to mention a bump up to 5% of the proceeds. I considered option 1 for a short minute, wondering if I could just whore myself out on my own, but then I realized I'd never been allowed to network with any of the high profile / wealthy men I'd been dating. I would have no connections and would likely end up a street hooker getting beat up and raped from time to time. I was now spoiled by this lifestyle, and I quickly signed up for Option 2. I was allowed to move out of the Company building and used my newfound wealth to buy a large condo downtown that looked out over the sunset and city skyline. The contract did require cameras and 24/7 monitoring to ensure I wasn't sneaking clients in on my own and cutting out the Company. But that was fine; not like I knew who to call for dates anyways. It was easier for them to email me a list of options and then choose which seemed interesting. I started a routine of choosing the tame dates (dinner and a movie, a night bar-hopping, etc.; basically, just being someone's arm candy) about 3 times a week, with 2 or 3 dates where I could get my fill of cum. There was also the occasional travel trip that I couldn't turn down due to the boatloads of cash that came with it. The Company had hundreds of foreign clients, including Middle Eastern oil barons who loved to hire a bunch of girls to fly over and more or less have a huge lesbian orgy. These were becoming my favorite, because I was allowed to unpackage my dick and use it to fuck the other girls. The men loved watching a chick with huge tits and fake ass, pound away at another equally attractive bimbo. I'd end up fucking at least a dozen chicks on those trips. And seeing as I was still only attracted to women, it made it all the better. There were occasional nights where I had no dates, and spent the night just cruising the town in my sleek and expensive convertible, usually in a top that highlighted my cleavage, and always with my hair down to blow in the wind. I got a kick out of pulling up next to a car at a stop light and winking at the guy in the car next to me just to see him smile and get slapped by his girlfriend sitting next to him. Hot chicks have it so easy, I laughed to myself. There's plenty of more stories to share of my various dates and meetings, some more graphic than others, but those can perhaps wait for another day. Eventually I'd fulfilled my contract with the Company, and had accumulated so much wealth, I didn't see the need to deal with getting fucked by strangers anymore. I retired to my condo and just lived it up for several years, getting my fill of cum from guys I'd meet in bars but otherwise avoiding any contact with men. They only ever wanted one thing from me. I did make some girl-friends to hang out with at least. Eventually I grew worried about my bank account only ever going down, even though I was still a millionaire. I thought about my options, and it made sense. I put myself on the market for a long-term relationship. Someone to provide me with all the income I wanted so I'd never have to work or worry about money again. I knew this was pretty easy for hot women to accomplish so I set out to find a guy. No former clients, I thought to myself, I wouldn't want them ignoring my unique "need" by going out fucking other chicks. I used some of the connections I'd made with other girls to ask around if they knew anyone. Several blind dates turned into one-night stands; more guys seeing an insanely attractive woman and just wanting to fuck her. But one finally hit. He was actually a brother in law of one of the other (true) girls I'd gone through classes with at the Company. He was tall, handsome, dark haired, and kind. He knew nothing about the Company luckily, so he didn't know about my hunger needs, but I'd made sure I told her to let him know about me... down there... "Not a problem," she said. "He's actually into that; he's always found guys-turned-girls attractive but was always nervous about approaching one, especially an attractive one". She didn't have to convince me anymore. I was in. We met for a low-key dinner; I dressed conservatively in a long dress that covered my cleavage but at least left my shoulders bare so he didn't think I was a prude. It probably also helped that even though my breasts were covered, they stuck out like large melons. Oh well, not much I can do there, I thought. Over the years I'd broken the occasional nail but it was rare, and they seemed to grow back to the same size/shape/color within a day or two. It was amazing really. So, I still had long square shaped nails, but tonight I had painted them the same color as my lavender dress. A bit more understated than porn-star French nails. My hair was done with side-swept bangs, clipped back on the side, and with loose curls at the bottom. We hit it off right away. He seemed to genuinely listen to, and talk with me, not just talk AT me like all the previous dates I'd been on since my transformation. He told me about how he was a co-founder of a software startup that was doing well (he was being modest, his sister in law already told me he was worth close to a billion dollars). We didn't even kiss that first night; waiting 3 dates later until I leaned in for a peck on the cheek, and he turned into it for a full-on embrace. It was short, but sweet. I still wasn't necessarily attracted to men, but if I absolutely had to be with one, and tolerate affection with one, I figured I could manage this. We'd had sex already of course, but it wasn't rough and painful. He was caring and actually tried to make sure to take it easy. I reciprocated by giving him, what he called, the best blowjobs he'd ever gotten. He of course wasn't aware I'd unfortunately been well- practiced in the art. We dated for about 6 months until he finally proposed when he swept me away for a surprise weekend in Paris. He of course didn't stoop to the clich? proposal in front of the Eiffel, but instead, after a nice romantic patio dinner, we went for a stroll along the river and he knelt down on one knee with the moon reflecting off the water in the background. I was surprised; I actually got emotional. I had to admit, I had lucked out. This guy was perfect. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes as I brought my hands to my mouth to hide my shock and happiness. I nodded yes enthusiastically and he placed a huge diamond ring on my soft manicured ring finger. He took my hand, rose from the ground, and embraced me with a huge kiss. We hurried home and I wasted no time thanking him by pushing him onto the couch, hiking up my skirt, pulling my thong aside and mounting him. We made love (the first time I'd actually called it that), for hours. By the end, he was exhausted, having come several times, and my asshole was red and sore. But it was worth it. He had pumped in more cum than I'd had in me at a one time, in a long long time, and the chemical reaction was overpowering and intoxicating. I laid next to him dazed and happy. We finally moved into a large mansion just outside the city with a fair amount of property. Luckily, due to his financial state, there was a maid and a lawn-keeper. I did all the cooking though, which was fine with me since I found myself bored at times during the day, with no job. I spent most of my time running (which the neighbors seemed to enjoy... there was a lot to see when I ran, no matter how much I tried to keep things from bouncing around), laying by the pool tanning, and I eventually joined a tennis and golf club. I was the perfect trophy wife to a perfect trophy husband. Being the co-founder, he had delegated most of his responsibilities and was able to work limited hours. We went on trips, spent time on the town, and went to a lot of charity events, where I was always a big hit in my evening gowns. Even when I was dressed conservatively, there was something about a woman with a perfect body and flawless features, lighting up a room. He was happy, and so was I. I recently scheduled a consultation for full gender reassignment. My penis, which I never get to use anymore aside from masturbation, will be inverted inside me, and I'll receive an injection that focuses all my pleasure centers/nerves along the new vaginal canal. I'm told I will orgasm more strongly and more often than I ever did as a man. There's even talk of a new medical procedure that removes your prostate and replaces it with ovaries and a uterus. My husband is open to the idea as he's always wanted kids, and I'm strongly considering it. I'd never thought it an option but now that I was considering it, the idea of his seed fertilizing me and growing a baby in my womb, has been somewhat exciting. I had always found fit attractive women to be especially super hot when they were pregnant with that round belly, and that would be me. I'd always hated my wife for ruining my life, but now, looking back, I see she did me a favor. My life was perfect, and I was at piece as a gorgeous busty blonde trophy wife with everything I could ever want. Bye-Bye for now....