The Intruders Part 2
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The Intruders, Part 3 free porn video
THE INTRUDERS, PART 3
I looked at the secretary. She simply couldn't be more sexy, more
alluring. As I watched, she uncrossed and then recrossed her legs, the
black nylon that encased them shimmering as she did so, the tight skirt
riding up to display a glimpse of creamy thigh. She wiggled her free foot
slightly, drawing attention to the shiny black pump and its
preposterously high heel.
As my gaze shifted up, I took in the crisp white blouse, unbuttoned far
enough to reveal just a hint of the lacy black bra underneath. The long,
lustrous brown hair that tumbled down to her shoulders. The horn-rimmed
glasses that somehow managed to enhance rather than conceal the heavily
made up eyes, which stared out and welcomed ... well, just about anything
a man could want. And to reinforce that message, the lips sensuously
parting as the secretary moistened them with the tip of her tongue, their
bright pink colour matching the paint on her long fingernails.
I gave a deep sigh as I stood up from the chair in front of the mirror in
what had become my dressing room. I was certainly looking the part, that
was for sure. Now I had to go and play it ...
It was just over fifteen months since that fateful night on which I'd
gone to Kristina's apartment with nothing more in mind than seeing
whether the lingerie I'd bought for her would revive my waning interest
in fucking her. Little did I know that I would spend the evening dressed
in some of that same lingerie myself, wearing makeup, and forced to have
sex with two knife-wielding intruders. And then the biggest shock of all:
far from being a victim of a home invasion, Kristina had arranged the
whole thing - to teach me a lesson, she'd said, for the way I treated not
just her but so many of the other young women at the firm where we both
worked.
I had left that night humiliated to the core, hardly able to walk
straight from the pounding my virgin asshole had taken, nauseous from all
the cum I had swallowed - terrified about what might happen next. Because
much of the night's action had been filmed on my own phone. I had of
course done my best to delete everything. But I could see the recordings
had been sent to a number of different numbers - although mercifully,
perhaps, none that I recognised bar Kristina's.
For a few weeks, I heard nothing. In that time, my wife Tess gave birth
to our first child and I reluctantly spent a fortnight at home helping
her to settle in. I would probably have not wanted to be there anyway,
but the main reason was that being around the house I had too much time
to think. I would much rather have buried myself in work, given how I was
feeling. So it was with huge relief that I prepared to resume my job.
Kristina had not been seen at the office since she night she had
feminised me, so I had no concern about running into her. I was just
starting to believe that I could put the whole episode behind me, when I
found them.
Sitting at the top of my underwear drawer was a pair of red satin panties
edged with black lace and an envelope addressed to "Brandi" in what was
recognisably Kristina's handwriting. Inside was a card that simply said:
"Wear these to work tomorrow." I debated throwing them away, but quickly
decided that I really had no choice but to cooperate. The implications of
someone breaking in to my home just to leave me this message were frankly
terrifying. And then there were those recordings ...
So the following day I dutifully went to the office with the panties
underneath my business clothes. I spent the day alternately petrified
that someone would realise what I was wearing, as if they could summon x-
ray vision, and frantically wondering whether something was going to
happen.
It was late in the day that my new secretary Simone came in to see me.
She was short, not especially pretty, but had outsized breasts that she
accentuated by wearing tight sweaters. Ordinarily, it would have taken me
no more than a day to try and get my hands on those luscious puppies. But
since Kristina's intervention I had well and truly lost my appetite for
workplace affairs. Indeed I hadn't even thought about having sex.
Ordinarily, I tended to avoid even making eye contact with Simone, but
there was something in her tone that made me look up when she said: "Mr
Lewis, can I ask you a question?" I nodded and she continued, "Are you
wearing your panties?" Her tone was even and her face expressionless. She
might have been inquiring about office supplies.
My reaction was quite the opposite. A pit opened up in my stomach as I
struggled to find a reply. I settled in the end for a stammered denial
that I knew what she was talking about. She furrowed her brow and said:
"That's odd. Kristina said she was sure you were going to do what you
were told. I'll have to let her know. She'll be very disappointed." She
snapped me a bright smile and turned to leave.
"No, wait!" I called desperately. She arched her eyebrows at me in
inquiry. I checked that the door was shut, and that the blinds were in
their usual down position to keep out the afternoon sun, then beckoned
her over. Miserably, I undid my belt and unbuttoned my trousers just
enough to show her a glimpse of the red satin underneath. "Satisfied?" I
asked.
Simone grinned, dropping any pretence that she wasn't enjoying herself.
"Nope. I'm gonna need to see those panties properly ... Brandi. Get your
trousers off."
Groaning inwardly, I did as I was told, then had to put up with her
stroking my bottom and telling me how cute I looked. When she insisted I
bend over my desk, I nearly rebelled. But a stern look from her was all
that it took to get me to do as I was told. Turning up the music that I
usually had playing very quietly while I was working, she proceeded to
give me a thorough spanking, each heavy blow of her hand timed to match
the beat of whatever was playing.
"What was that for?" I asked plaintively after I was finally allowed to
pull up my trousers.
"Because you didn't cooperate," she said simply. "Now, here's what you're
to do. You're to wear a different pair of sexy panties to work every day
of the week from now on. We'll be checking, mind. And that nasty hair
that's been growing back all over your body? Get rid of it. And keep it
off. Let your hair grow out too. Also, I have some tablets for you to
start taking. Make sure you see me to get them before I go home."
"Who's 'we'?" I asked. "And what's in the tablets?"
Simone smiled. "Kristina said that if you had any questions, she'd be
happy to send her friends round to explain." I closed my eyes, trying to
ignore the surge of terror deep in my bowels. I knew exactly which
"friends" she meant - and I certainly didn't want to see either of them
again. "Now, unless there's anything else I can help you with, Mr Lewis,
I'll get back to work, alright?" I nodded dumbly and she left.
And so began my new routine. Each time I went to the office I would wear
a different pair of satin or lace panties, the colour varying according
to the day of the week. And almost every day, any one of about twelve
members of the support staff would come in to do a check. If I was lucky,
they would simply make a few comments about my lack of manhood and leave.
But many of them insisted on me eating them out, their orgasmic cries
mingling with the raised music that now invariably told Simone that I was
not to be disturbed - assuming indeed that she was not the one enjoying
my busy tongue herself.
A couple of the secretaries, not coincidentally perhaps ones who I had
treated in an especially disposable way in sampling and then discarding
their affections, regularly insisted on going further and fucking me with
a strapon. The worst thing about that was not the discomfort, which
varied according to both the size of the dildo being used and the energy
or aggression of its wearer, but being reminded about the very first time
I'd been taken in that way.
I could still vividly recall the shock and betrayal of seeing Kristina
walk into the bedroom of her apartment and make it clear that, far from
escaping to get help, she wanted to join in the fun that her friends Ken
and Dave had been having with me. As she buckled on a big black dildo
that was nearly as long as Dave's cock, and if anything a little thicker,
she explained with great glee that she had set up the whole evening. The
two intruders worked for her brother - she didn't say in what kind of
business, although from their appearance and behaviour it was easy to
surmise it was something pretty shady - and had been only too happy to
help her get revenge for the way I'd treated both her and other
vulnerable young women at the firm my father owned.
As Kristina pointed out, while any threat to her had turned out to be
fictitious, it was a different story where i was concerned. "Those knives
- they're real," she pointed out with a grim smile. "So you'd better keep
playing the slut, Brandi - or else."
I didn't doubt her for a second, although I couldn't help letting out a
little whimper as she got on the bed, where I was still laying on my back
with legs spread, and positioned herself to enter me. My previously tight
rear passage had already been loosened up by Dave's enormous rod and was
well greased by the cum he'd deposited inside me. Even so, it took
Kristina a little while to get the strapon inside me and moving with any
freedom. But once she had "broken me in," as she put it, she set to
fucking me with a will.
In theory, having a woman penetrate me with an artificial cock should
have been far less unpleasant than being taken by another man. And unlike
my recent experience with Dave, I didn't have to worry about Ken also
trying to shove his meat into my lipstick-covered mouth. He and his
colleague, having both recently come either in me or all over me, were
happy to sit on the edge of the bed urging on Kristina. Yet somehow,
feeling and watching my girlfriend tear into my already sore ass with her
fake phallus, the leather harness that held it slapping hard against my
buttocks with every stroke, was worse. What I had done so often to so
many young women with so little thought, including to their assholes as
well as their pussies, was now being done to me - and done by a woman
who, I now understood, had complete command over me.
And then there was the physical reaction, the one over which I also had
no control. By dint of the pills Kristina had fed me, supposedly to
control my nerves (though I only realised the deception afterwards), I
had been hard from the minute I'd first seen my made up face in the
mirror - and I had stayed erect ever since, even while watching my
girlfriend apparently being violated, being forced to suck cock for the
first time, and having my ass plundered.
And I'd come too - twice. Both times without anyone touching my small
cock - or my "clit," as Kristina had now joined the two men in calling it
- but simply from the pressure of Dave's much more impressive manhood
inside me. It was only later that I discovered, through some hasty
internet research, that for some men in particular, .orgasms could be
achieved purely through stimulation of the prostate at the right kind of
angle. I wasn't sure whether Kristina or her burly accomplices had known
or expected that I would react in this way to anal penetration - but they
were certainly enjoying it now.
For a good twenty minutes or so, Kristina mercilessly pounded my ass -
and for most of that time I was either climaxing, or felt on the verge of
doing so. Yet although a few drops of cream were wrung out of me, I was
essentially dry. The sensation was exquisite - and not in a good way. It
was only when my girlfriend finally ran out of energy, sapped in part by
what sounded like orgasms of her own, that I finally had any relief.
Even then, my ordeal was not over. As I'd feared from the moment I'd
first seen its massive girth, Ken's fat cock was the next to be
introduced to my abused back passage. Once again, it took a while to get
it in. But for all the additional pain and discomfort it caused, it
didn't trigger that magic spot inside me quite so often. It helped that,
just as with Kristina earlier, Ken wanted me to sit on his lap and bounce
up and down on his pole. While tiring, that meant I at least had some
control over the angle of penetration and could avoid sending myself over
the edge.
Still, I had to put up with Ken flooding my rear with another load of
man-juice, before I was compelled to suck off Dave while Kristina had one
more go at my now slack and gaping asshole. When they were finally sated,
I was thrown out of the apartment, still dressed as Brandi and with
nothing but my house keys (though I was promised my phone and wallet
would be returned the following day).
I had to endure a long, circuitous trudge home, through the darkest
streets I could find. By the time I arrived, it was the middle of the
night and I was utterly footsore from walking either on unfamiliar heels,
or in my stocking soles - stockings that were now soaked by the constant
drip of cum leaking from my ravaged ass. I somehow made it into the
shower without waking my lightly sleeping wife. But even though I could
wash away the makeup, sweat and accumulated spunk, I knew I couldn't do
the same for the shame and humiliation I'd endured.
It was a few months later that I quit my job. The immediate cause was an
instruction from Kristina, relayed by Simone, that I should persuade Tess
to go back to work sooner than she'd originally intended, and take over
the primary care of our baby daughter. I could have taken parental leave
for that purpose. But I was happy by then to resign. Every day was
bringing a reminder of my subservience. It was not just the panty
inspections, or the sporadic spankings, or the regular demands for oral
satisfaction, or the brutal strapon assaults. It was the whispered
conversations around me, the knowing smiles, the overheard references to
"Mr Lewis' loud music" that might be innocent, or then again not ...
Not that being away from work provided a total escape. Because there was
the other and far more demanding weekly ritual, which had started very
soon after I was put back into panties. As far as my wife was concerned,
I spent an evening each week playing poker with some friends. But in
reality I was visiting Kristina, to be dressed and made up as Brandi.
On many of these occasions, I would be attired as a maid and forced to do
housework for my ex-girlfriend, and to serve supper to her and whichever
female friends were visiting. There would never be any sexual activities,
or at least none that involved me - I was there strictly as a servant.
But when Simone was visiting, I would be forced to watch my two ex-
secretaries making out with one another. That would ordinarily have been
a massive turn-on. But the medication I was now taking was preventing me
from getting hard, or being able even to get properly aroused. My brain,
however, knew all too well what it was missing, so that watching them
make love was deeply frustrating at a level that went beyond the
physical. And they knew it.
It was different though on some of the nights when I visited Kristina.
These were the ones on which she transformed me into Brandi but then took
me somewhere else. Sometimes it was to visit and entertain a single man,
but more often a group - and on one horrible occasion what seemed like a
whole sporting team. I would be expected to use my newfound oral skills,
as well as to offer my accommodating asshole. None of these clients -
because I had no doubt that's what they were, even though I received
nothing myself except large quantities of their semen - were ever as well
hung as Dave and Ken had been. And mercifully I had not encountered the
two original intruders themselves - though the threat of their
reintroduction loomed over me always, even without Kristina needing to
mention it. But having to service was still a trial. I felt cheap and
ill-used - which, again, was plainly the point.
The other big difference about my outings was that I could once again
have orgasms, at least of a sort. I would be given a special pill to take
that would counteract the effects of my regular medication just enough to
let me register a climax. But it would only come through anal
stimulation. My cock remained completely soft, and my balls - which were
visibly now shrivelling - could produce only a small amount of spunk,
which would leak rather than spurt from my flaccid member. But it was
something at least, and perversely I began to look forward to the
opportunity to come, even as I loathed what I had to do to achieve it.
The loss of my ability to get hard should, of course, have caused
problems at home. Yet somehow it didn't. Tess simply accepted without
complaint or even inquiry my lack of interest in having sex, just as she
had never questioned the fact that I was always now completely shaven, or
that my hair was growing out.. Every now and again, I would sense that
she was feeling horny and use my tongue or fingers to provide relief.
With all my practice at the office, I had become especially adept at
cunnilingus. But while she was always grateful and affectionate
afterwards, she made no attempt to question the demise of our
(conventional) sex life. That hurt me almost as much as the absence of
the sex itself.
An indirect consequence of this shift in our relationship was that after
Tess returned to work, I became intensely suspicious that she might be
looking elsewhere for the full sexual satisfaction that I could no longer
deliver. (In more reflective moments, I did wonder if that was something
I had ever delivered - but I tried to avoid too much of that kind of
depressing introspection.) Whenever I met any of her male work colleagues
on social occasions, I would jealously scrutinise their interactions with
my wife, wondering if I could detect any signs of a budding or even
established affair.
It was only after this had been going on for some months, however, that I
realised how warped my thinking had become. Whenever I saw Tess now with
a particularly good looking or well built man, I didn't picture him
fucking her - but rather, fucking me instead. I wondered what his cock
was like, how it would feel in my mouth or ass, whether he would make me
come. I had long stopped ogling girls or women, as a kind of self-defence
mechanism. That was a conscious decision. But it took me a long while to
appreciate that my sexual tastes were somehow being reprogrammed in a far
more fundamental way.
Over the year or more that I had been undergoing my weekly transformation
into Brandi, two other things had changed. One was that I had learnt to
do my own makeup, at Kristina's insistence. And the other was that some
of my "outings" were now being filmed - and not just casually, on
someone's phone, but with proper cameras, in what looked for all the
world like a studio. It seemed clear that I was now helping to make porn.
I was assured that the resulting videos would be available only to
"discerning and trustworthy customers," but I dreaded the possibility of
broader distribution. Fortunately, I had not yet been able to find Brandi
on the internet ...
I was hoping that tonight's recording would be a little less taxing than
the last time I had visited the studio. On that occasion I had been
dressed as a nun, with a wimple and habit that concealed sexy lingerie
and a thoroughly sinful interest in being drenched in cum by fifteen men
dressed as priests. "Blessed Bukkake," I think I heard afterwards was
what they were going to call it ...
On this occasion, there was something new - an actual script, with lines
to learn. Not that I had much of a speaking part. I simply had to sit in
my secretarial outfit and listen to two men in suits negotiating a
business deal, while I flashed the occasional stocking top and looked as
sexy as I could. At a key point in the negotiations, I got up and
suggested that to get the deal over the line, perhaps my boss might throw
me in as a bonus? When the client asked if he could sample the
merchandise, the boss was only too happy to oblige, and offered to "help
with the demonstration." Within minutes, I was sucking both of their
cocks and removing my skirt and panties.
The sex went extremely well. The two actors had nice cocks, big but not
uncomfortably so, and knew how to use them. Unusually, I came twice, once
while I was bouncing up and down on the client's pole, and the other time
bent over the desk while my boss fucked me from behind. The two men had
great stamina and even after the best part of an hour had not yet come. I
was now on my knees between them, practising my recently acquired
deepthroating skills on each of them in turn while wanking the other,
when out of the former of my eye, I saw the director mouth the words "Do
the voice!"
I narrowly avoided rolling my eyes - this was something I was almost
always asked to do. It had become something of a trademark. Without
hesitation, I started begging for the two men to shower me in cum, to
drench me with their juices, to squirt it all over my pretty face like
the dirty fucking slut I was. As usual, this worked a treat and I got
exactly what I asked for ...
Afterwards, the actor who had played my boss asked if he could take me
out some time. I stared at him in disbelief. "You do know I'm a guy,
right?" He grinned. "Hard to miss it!" he said, gesturing at the useless
little appendage that didn't so much dangle these days between my legs as
huddle. I frowned. "And that I only look this way once a week?"
He gave a shrug. "Seems a shame, don't you think? But, you know, the
offer stands." I opened my mouth, then shut it again. "I'll think about
it," I said finally. He smiled again, gave me his number and wandered off
to shower and change.
I was still pondering this exchange when the director came over to
congratulate me on my performance. She was a woman I had previously met
at Kristina's place some months previously. "You know Brandi," she said
thoughtfully, "it might just be me, but your voice seems a fair bit
higher than last time I saw you. Is that deliberate?"
"Not as far as I know," I replied. But the question got me thinking. I
didn't know for sure what was in the tablets I had been taking now for
over a year. And now I came to think of it, I wasn't certain the last
time I had needed to shave my face. Back in the dressing room, I stared
suspiciously at my hairless chest. Was it just me, or were there little
bumps forming there around my nipples, just the faintest outline of
curves, where before the skin had been completely flat?
I shook my head. It was almost certainly just imagination. And yet ...
Without bidding, a picture formed in my mind, a vision of myself with
melon-sized boobs - and of a hard cock sliding between them, ready to
spurt all over the fleshy mounds. As I went home that night, I could not
get that image out of my head. And somewhere inside, an insidious little
voice was wondering: I wonder what that feels like? Somehow, somewhere,
II suspected, I was going to get the chance to find out ...
The end
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Sherry
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