Losing Evan Discovering Emma The Final Part
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Losing Evan, Discovering Emma. free porn video
Losing Evan, Discovering Emma.
by Tanya H.
Part 1 - Wishing.
Apparently 10% of men are physically able to suck their own cocks.
The other 90% of us, so I understand, have hurt our backs trying.
Now, I'd had a few blow jobs in my time - and never a bad one, of course
- but the thought of being able to suck my own... The idea really played
on my mind.
I'm not gay, and I'm not just saying that out of some kind of denial.
I've never found blokes attractive or sexy and the thought of putting my
cock in some bloke's hairy arse just about made me sick, not to mention
having one shoved in mine! I never fancied sucking somebody else's cock
either. Maybe I was a little curious about the whole intimacy of taking
a nice, clean erection into my mouth, but imagining looking up and
seeing some hairy gut and some leering homo looking down at me! No
thanks.
But the thought of being able to suck my own - surely that was just a
natural extension of wanking?
Anyway, there I was half-pissed one night, walking home to my flat along
the sea front promenade when I found a genie in bottle.
"Oh really!" I hear you say. "Genie in a bottle! What shite is that?"
Well, you weren't there so how would you know. I released a genie from a
bottle and the grateful bastard gave me three wishes - which, he
explained, was traditional.
He had to explain by text, on account of me not understanding what he
was saying though he understood me, clear enough. I would have kept the
texts on my phone, but when I found a moment to look back on all this
they'd all got deleted somehow.
The first wish was easy - money. I don't like to be obvious, but I live
in a small flat in a shabby town up the coast from Tynemouth, I can't
afford a car and I work in a high street men's clothing shop. Money was
always a problem and I fancied having a bit. The genie, who looked
exactly as a genie should complete with turban, loin cloth and lower
parts made from curls of smoke, texted seven numbers. The next night's
winning lottery numbers apparently - there was a roll over too. He
texted that it would be worth at least five million quid.
Nailed.
The second wish was a little more altruistic. My sister, four years
older than me, had married a bloke who already had a girl with a
previous lass. A nice little thing she was, but leukaemia meant she was
all bones and big, staring eyes and it was breaking my sister's heart,
so I wished that all the kids in the world with blood cancer would wake
up tomorrow without it. Too much the genie said, beyond him, he texted.
We agreed, like gentlemen, that all the little girls Lola's age with it
would wake up cured instead.
Sorted.
Wish three was a bit more difficult to explain, but I was drunk and
feeling like I'd done a great thing already so I asked for something
purely for myself. The genie pulled a really funny face.
I shrugged, apologised, but made the wish again.
It is done, he sent by text.
Nailed.
All I had to do then was whistle my way home and give it a go.
There's a chip shop a few doors down from my flat, Bernie's Plaice.
Bernie's a fat slob, but his wife, Stacy, knows how to fry fish and I
like to have my Sunday dinner from there when I'm not working. As it was
nearly one in the morning Bernie's was well and truly closed, but
standing in front of the shop, by the picnic tables, was a tall blonde
under a haze of her own breath which caught the light from the street
lamps most theatrically.
She had the back to me as I sauntered up, but I was prepared to commit
myself, just from my view of her arse and shining hair, that she was
going to be hot.
For a start she was tall, and I love a tall girl. Secondly she was made
taller by the wickedly high, white stilettos she was somehow remaining
vertical in and I love a girl in heels. Thirdly her legs were amazing
and I could see most of them between her sexy shoes and the stretched
hem of the tight, pink mini skirt she suited perfectly. It barely
covered the tops of her thighs and was so tight across her well shaped
arse that her knickers, if she were wearing any at all, had to be
discreetly thong patterned to avoid showing a pantyline.
She was certainly nobody I'd seen around here before.
Did I mention her hair? Pure shining gold, hanging straight and perfect
down her back to about the level where her bra strap would be under her
white vest top.
At the time I was between girlfriends, Gemma had decided the big guy who
worked the doors outside one of the nightclubs was better to be seen
with - he had a BMW and everything. Maybe this beautiful stranger would
be the one. It was certainly too cold for her to be out dressed like
that, as I closed with her I could see goosebumps across her skin, but
thinking like that probably meant I was getting too old. I was actually
only 23.
Anyway, I took a few more steps, making sure they were loud ones so I
wouldn't startle her, and just as she started to turn to see who I might
be the street light caught her left shoulder and showed me the lovely
flowers tattoo'd onto her shoulder. They rolled down her upper arm, like
they were hanging from a summery basket and I realised she wasn't a
beautiful stranger; she was Kirsty Connor who worked in Dorothy Perkins
next door from the shop I worked in.
Her face relaxed when she recognised me. She was pretty, not gorgeous,
but wore too much make up and thought a lot of herself.
"Evan! Nearly shat meself.
"Hey up, Kirsty. Don't see you around here much."
"Supposed to be having a night out with a mate, we had an argument,
silly cow. You know her? Millie, from Debenhams - what a diva! Now I'm
stuck here trying to find a taxi, but me phone battery's dead."
She stamped her foot with frustration.
My phone was inside, I never went out with it - phones and beer were
trouble!
"Cold tonight," I said. I was only wearing a shirt with my jeans and now
I'd stopped walking I was feeling it.
"Freezing."
Kirsty Connor was way out of my league, but I couldn't leave her
standing there with her breath steaming and her nipples standing out
like Scania wheel nuts, could I?
"My place is just up there. Come in, have a brew, you can phone a taxi,
warm up."
"Would you mind?" She finished the question with a dazzling smile. Who
could refuse a smile like that?
"Course not, I'll show you up."
Never had Evan Clark's flat been graced by such a magnificent pair of
legs. I'd never seen her in heels so tall and she moved smooth and
graceful up the communal stairs and to my front door. As a gentleman of
sorts I didn't make even the slightest attempt to have a look under her
skirt as she flowed up the stairs, but I did notice she was wearing very
sheer, nude tights and around one ankle she wore a beaded anklet and on
the other had a small, tattooed blue butterfly. Made me wonder where
else she might have some ink on her skin.
Seeing the row of shoes just inside the door she had the consideration
to slip off her heels, leaving them toppled by my work shoes. All mine
were lined up neatly in pairs and seeing hers just being jumbled like
that messed with my head, but I was too polite to reach down and
straighten them.
"First door on the left," I said. She was still graceful in her bare
feet, looking around like she'd never been inside a flat before.
"It's really nice in here," she said, surprised. "Tidy."
"I like to be neat," I said. "Tea or coffee?"
She followed me into the kitchen. It wasn't much, like I'd said I didn't
have much cash, but it was clean and filled with cool stuff I'd found in
charity shops.
"There's a girl," she said, running her fingers along the edge of a
worktop, as though she was going to find dust or grease on it.
"Just me."
"You're gay?"
I shook my head. "Not a bit of it. Just neat."
"Tea. White, one. Please."
"Phone's on there," I pointed.
"Cheers." Kirsty started looking through cupboards, at my packets and
tins. When I got some milk from the fridge she looked surprised by the
fresh veg in there.
"You're a man of hidden depths, Evan."
"Self sufficient."
"I like it."
Maybe the night was looking up.
We ended up on the sofa, just so she could thaw out a bit before she
phoned a taxi you understand. Kirsty tucked her feet under her and her
skirt rode up so much I could see, around the very tops of her thighs,
the reinforced bit of her sheer tights, but I was still too much the
gent to stare.
When I kissed her she tasted of tea and sweet cider and perfume.
Kissing's one of my favourite things, with a girl. People forget how
many nerve endings there are in the face and the lips and tongue. While
I let my kisses grow a little deeper I stroked her brow and cheeks and
neck. Like I said, she was wearing too much make up, but even so her
skin felt good and I was careful not to smear her. She kissed me back
with a little more energy after that, she moved her body more urgently
against mine and I knew my luck was in.
"You're full of surprises, Evan," she said and her breathing was full of
little gasps. "I haven't been kissed so lovely for ages."
"I love to kiss a gorgeous girl," I murmured, caressing her cheeks
again. She leant into the touch, her eyes were half closed in a dreamy
way.
"Do it again," she whispered. And, like a proper gentleman, I did just
that.
In time I undressed her - there was no hurry and as much as I love the
feel of a woman's smooth skin, I always enjoy the shape, resilience and
touch of a woman through her clothes. So, before I carefully eased her
tights down and away I took my time to enjoy her legs through the nylon
- all the way from her cute little toes, along the curves of her ankles
and calves, exploring the hollows of her knees and the sleek lines of
her thighs. By the time her legs were bare she was sprawled with her
head thrown back, mouth open and eyes shut, breathing fast and shallow
and making lovely little noises of approval, and sometimes surprise, as
I got closer and closer to her pussy.
She wore nude shaded satin panties and had made a lovely, darkened damp
patch in them. High up on her left, inner most thigh - where the tattoo
artist must been distracted - was a tiny strawberry so perfectly inked I
could almost taste it when I circled my tongue there. Her body was the
colour of double cream when I teased her skirt and top away. She lay
back on my sofa comfortably at ease in nothing but a bra and her
beautiful skin and under my warm gaze, like a cat full of cream. Most of
the girls I'd been with had decorated their skin with tattoos, but
Kirsty's were the most feminine I'd brushed my lips across. Her perfume
made it seem like I could smell the flowers when I kissed my way through
the blooms covering her left shoulder and upper arm.
Breasts can be so special through sensual bra cups and I never rush to
get the bra away, but Kirsty's bra was clearly structured to boost her
cleavage and let her lover imagine she was much more buxom. When I saw,
touched, kissed her breasts they were lovely though they were quite
small, maybe too small for her frame. She had a gold hoop through each
nipple, something I had never seen for myself before - not easy to kiss,
to suckle into my mouth, but they did look pretty when her nipples were
fully hard. I found another petite gold hoop through one of her labia
after I'd spent some time kissing her strawberry tattoo. Gently tweaking
her labial hoop while softly licking and kissing her inner thighs made
her moan at me for being a tease; she tried to angle her hips to push
her pussy towards my mouth which just made me ignore it for a few
minutes more. The warm, musky scent of her arousal was surrounding me
now and when I finally gave in to the temptation and kissed her swollen
lips, careful of the ring, she sighed so long and so heavy you might
have thought she'd just eased herself into a deep, hot bath.
She had a surprisingly large clitoris, that responded well to my kisses
and just a few gentle nibbles. I moved my hands on her breasts, her
flanks, her gorgeous curves, her satin skin while my mouth explored her
swelling clit, her slick labia and my tongue pushed as deep as I could
into her. She tasted as good as she looked and I got swept away in the
moment, aroused by her arousal, her murmurs, delicate cries, her fingers
in my hair. I sucked at her clitoris, held it in my mouth, swirled it
with my tongue while the heat spread through my own body and all my
world became her pleasure.
Only when she finally cried out, arched her back and pushed herself hard
into my mouth, when her fingers clenched my skull and she pumped a thick
splash of thick, salt liquid into my throat did I realise how things had
derailed.
I tried to pull away, but her hands locked me into place while she
bucked again, then once more and spurted more cum into me. My throat
clenched, I almost gagged and just managed to stop myself biting down on
what her clitoris had become. Instead I swallowed her cum, though it
didn't go down too easily and only when her arms relaxed and dropped
beside her thighs a moment later could I pull away and confront what I'd
just experienced.
Kirsty slumped, her eyes closed and mouth open. Once hand cupped a
breast, she brushed the edge of her sea-green painted thumbnail across
the nipple and plucked contentedly at it's ring. The other dropped to
her groin and her slender fingers encircled the cock growing there. She
gave her balls a delicate caress and sighed contentedly. Beyond that,
she was still the woman I had undressed, who I had so happily kissed all
over, but her lovely pussy had gone and in its place a long, smooth cock
was planted as though it had always been there.
I said her name, but it didn't stir her and then something made me look
between my own thighs, I'm not sure what; maybe a slight sensation of
discomfort and strangeness; perhaps a cool draught across the wet. When
I spread my legs and stared, with jaw drooping, I saw where Kirsty's
pussy had gone. I knew it was hers for there was a delicate gold hoop
through one of the labia I'd grown.
How long did I stare? I can't be sure, but willpower alone didn't bring
my cock back. Her pussy was still as pretty, as perfect, only tucked
between my much more masculine thighs. When I reached down to touch it I
found my nails had lengthened, I liked to keep them short and neat, and
worse they were the same metallic sea green I'd enjoyed on her nails.
The shade contrasted horribly with my thicker fingers. And her nails
were now short and clean of any varnish at all.
"Kirsty?"
"That was amazing," she said from a sleepy place a long way away from my
living room. "You are something, Evan Connor, a hidden treasure." She
sighed again, sounding so happy I hated myself to spoil it with
something so shattering as what was happening to us.
Then the spray of flowers over her shoulder and down her arm just faded
away, until the skin was unmarked, like it must once have been. With a
dread reluctance, like when you think there might be a wasp, or a
hornet, crawling over you, I turned to my left shoulder and moaned a
little when I saw the faint outlines of flowers on me. Colour crept in
slowly as I watched, rubbing my hands over the flowers as though I could
wipe them away. It took less than a minute before I had Kirsty's tattoo
over my shoulder. When I spread my legs a little further there was her
strawberry, inked into my skin as though it had been there for ages.
I took deep breaths, to steady me, I felt my pulse quicken. There was a
slight nip at my left nipple, then my right and I found myself wearing
Kirsty's hoops through my nipples. She didn't notice, still slowly
working her hand up and down her cock, that same dreamy smile on her
face. More pinpricks - in my earlobes this time, two on each side and
then one through my right tragus. Kirsty wasn't wearing earrings any
more and I knew where they'd gone - those big hoops were swinging from
my ears now.
Tired of kneeling, I stood and stretched my arms over my head. A slow,
summery heat built inside me, my heartbeat grew deeper, slower; there
were sparkles in my bones, butterflies over my skin. A rush through all
my nerves at once made me gasp, I pressed my hands to my belly as though
I could touch the heat pulsing inside there. I became acutely aware of a
dazzling sensation in those lovely labia that I shouldn't have been able
to feel from the inside, but when I moaned my voice was squeaky, tight
in my throat. I should have screamed, shouted - phoned for an ambulance
or the police, but I just stood there, swaying gently, eyes closed,
breathing like the first stages of arousal, while my body sparkled and
bloomed - as I changed into Kirsty.
I only peeped when I realised the satin kisses around my neck and
shoulders were more than just the experience of my skin smoothing. By
that point I was already aware of a growing weight on my chest, a
beautiful heat that filled my new breasts and my pierced nipples were so
hard they ached delightfully. On the sofa, Kirsty's golden tresses had
gone, she was dark haired now - it was cropped around the sides and
floppy on top - just the way I'd had it cut the day before yesterday. I
made circles with my head, my neck was so supple, and loved the swish of
all that silky hair around my face and shoulders. I went from man to
woman with my hands making shapes around my tummy and hips, without
protest, only satisfaction. It was better than the best blow job ever,
more sensual that the massage I'd had from a pretty whore in Amsterdam,
more engrossing that the most intense football match. I went through my
transformation into a woman I barely knew with the passive acceptance of
a pampered cow being let to a humane killer.
A shout, a curse lifted me from the glowing trance I'd fallen into. The
man on the settee had come to herself, realised what was in her hand.
Maybe she'd felt the last tissue from her breasts fade, perhaps the
spread of soft, brown hair across what had been perfectly depilated skin
roused her from her drowsy state.
"Get off my tits!" she snapped.
I hadn't even realised I was cupping them, but I dropped them sharply -
like I'd been caught groping her, like those beautiful, pert breasts
weren't impossibly merged with my chest.
Looking at her now was as familiar as sharing into a mirror, though I
was standing and my apparent reflection was slumped with spread legs on
the settee. She was me, down to the last detail of the chicken pox scar
on her forehead, the mole by one nipple and the faded remnant of an
Alsatian bite on her left knee. My eyes, my mouth kinked in anger and
dismay; my frown, my crooked front teeth were bared in a snarl.
"What have you done to me, bastard!"
She was on her feet in a slick movement. I stumbled back, almost fell
over the coffee table and flailed for balance. She caught my left arm,
steadied me, kept me vertical. Her other arm raised up and behind her
and I flinched, braced for the slap and opened my eyes when it never
came.
I'd never seen myself cry before.
My face was screwed up and ugly, tears ran down my cheeks as my body,
Kirsty's body, whatever and whoever it was, fell backwards into the
sofa. She covered her face, my face, my shoulders shook as she sobbed in
them. As much as I should have been scared, angry, catatonic, I dropped
down beside her. I put my arm around her - she tried to pull away. I
winced when an elbow got jabbed into the side of a breast. Everything
was heat and dizzy and surreal and even though I could feel the pain I
was amazed to have a boob to be tender like that. How could my hair get
into my eyes, how could my hips be so wide. I'd never felt a man in my
arms before - angular, bony - hairy. Shaking with tears.
"Shhhhhh," I said. "It'll be okay, pet," I murmured with a satiny voice
that surely couldn't be under my control.
"You bastard," she muttered, every syllable broken by sobs. "You dirty
pervert. Dirty perverted bastard."
"I didn't do anything," I said. "Honest, I mean it. I never did. It just
happened."
"It never did!" She sniffed harshly, wiped at her eyes. Pushed me back.
I'd never seen me looking so angry either. "Bastard men!" She bared my
teeth again. "Always taking what you want!"
I shook my head. Hair spun across my face. "No, it's not like that. I
didn't-"
"Shut up. Just shut up!"
She jumped up from the sofa again, looked down on herself, myself. Her
eyes widened a moment at the cock swinging at the top of her thighs. Her
fists unclenched.
"Jesus! Look at that."
"Kirsty?" I tried, my voice soft. "We need to work out what to do."
"Shut up!" She frowned again. Then a desperate, horrible grimace spread
over my face. "You don't tell me what to do anymore. I'm the man now,
see? I am the man! See how you like it. Get me a beer, bitch. Make my
bloody tea, go on - I'm starving. Then spread your legs when I want a
shag, when I want it! Understand? Put a foot out of line, look at me
funny - slap for you. Slap your tits, teach you some respect I will.
Women!"
She collapsed, pitched forward with a heartbroken, animal wail, buried
her face in a cushion on the sofa and started crying, making desperate,
ragged noises of hurt that I couldn't reach, couldn't calm no matter how
tightly I tried to wrap her in my arms.
"What are we going to do?" she asked later, a blanket around her
shoulders and a mug of tea clasped between her trembling hands. I was
wearing one of my t shirts, it was too small across the chest and barely
covered my arse, but it was all I'd had to hand that was actually mine
and likely to fit.
"I don't know." At least she didn't think it was my fault anymore. At
least she wasn't playing the stereotyped North-Eastern male. Whenever I
tried to get my thoughts into some kind of order I was horribly
distracted by the stuff going on in my immediate vicinity - it didn't
seem to stop moving when I did. From the outside Kirsty's breasts had
seemed relatively small - now I was wearing them felt massive, I kept
bumping into them. My thighs brushed together when I forgot to walk like
John Wayne. I could have cried when I sat myself on the loo and saw
where my cock should have been.
Not only that, but there was my body hunched over and inconsolable. I'd
never had much chance to study the back of my head before, but there
were some odd shapes and angles, I didn't like the profile of my nose -
too beaked - and my voice sounded a little scratchy when I listened to
it with just Kirsty's ears. That might have been because she was so
miserable, or because she was so tired now it was way past midnight.
"We should get our heads down," I said, touching her shoulder. "Maybe it
will be okay in the morning."
I passed her a tissue and she stared at like I'd passed her a frog or
something.
"How can you be so calm about this?" she snapped.
Maybe I'm more of a glass half full person. I let her have my bed while
I curled up on the sofa, after all - in the eyes of the law it was her
bedroom.
Sherry
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