Makeover
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Chapter 1: Awakening
A terrible nightmare of another life and time fades quickly. I want to be rid of it. I know I’m in a better place. A place I chose to be.
I wake up just cool enough that my nipples have hardened in response. It is pitch black. I cannot see anything. I have the sense of lying on the floor. It is covered with soft, sensuous carpeting, which feels more like my red satin sheets.
I sit up. The pearly-white walls and ceiling brighten automatically without any discernable light fixtures.
I feel top heavy. Looking down, my mouth opens in astonishment, when I see two huge breasts that must be D or maybe DD-cup, with very little sag. Definitely natural, not implants. They should be a lot smaller, but I cannot remember my old size, but this is better than my wildest dreams. How did this happen to me? Why can’t I remember?
I give my body a quick visual examination. There is bright-pink nail polish on my manicured fingers and toes. I feel large hoop earrings, but there is another big shock in store for me.
Both nipples are pierced! So is my belly-button and clit. All have simple gold bars and beads. The piercing makes my clit appear much larger than the tiny speck I seem to remember.
My tits, hair, clit, piercings, memory, and I don’t know what else. Have they all been enhanced? If so, all these gifts must have been expensive. Has payment already been made? If not, what is expected for this investment in me?
A sudden wave of excitement distracts me. No longer is my unaroused clit entirely hidden by its protective hood. Every time I move, my thighs rub together and tease my clit. Arousal builds in my loins, keeping my pussy moist and ready. I sigh and enjoy this newest gift.
Is it men or women or both? Would I prefer hard cocks or the soft skin and light touch of another woman that knows exactly how to inflame my passion? Thighs rubbing more rapidly, I close my eyes and visualize both caressing my flesh.
My hands rise to caress my breasts, but I stop them and the motions of my thighs. Shake myself free of that tempting vision. It will be so easy to succumb, but I am in an unknown place in an unknown beautiful body that seems designed for sensual pleasure. This is not the time for erotic fantasy, enjoyable as it may be.
My piercings are all in my most sensitive flesh. Is it to entice lovers, make me sensitive to their touch, or both? I’m sure that I’ve never been into piercings, except maybe for the earrings. I cannot remember receiving the piercings or agreeing to them, but at least there is no pain or discomfort. They must have had time to heal.
My pierced nipples stick out a full inch. The surrounding areola are so large that I can’t cover them with my palms and...
WOW!!! My nips are super-sensitive to the slightest touch. I just brushed one and it feels like desire bursting between my legs. I’m not doing that again. And definitely staying far away from my clit that may have a far more violent reaction. Well not unless I’m in the right mood, but this is neither the time nor place for that. Soon, though.
These is a single mirror in the room. It is full-length, set flush against the wall. Standing in front of it, I see a tall, well-proportioned, athletic body with voluptuous curves in all the right places. The piercings are very elegant, subtlety emphasizing those curves.
Staring back at me is a naïve-looking, fresh face woman-child with perfect teeth, full lips, and flawless skin that both men and women will find beguiling. That pale skin and those light pink areola are both several shades lighter than in another oddly fading recollection. I always hated my body. I was never beautiful before. I feel pride.
There are no tan lines. I cannot see any freckles or blemishes. It is like airbrushing has removed any and all imperfections.
Someone applied basic makeup to my face, scented body power, and an expensive smelling perfume, but I cannot recall when. This face and body do not need much makeup.
Despite the unknowns, I feel beautiful, desirable, optimistic, confident, and full of life with boundless energy. I don’t look more than 19 or 20. A fleeting vision of an older woman’s face vanishes and is forgotten. I’d rate this body a 9.5, maybe a perfect 10. I could easily be a swimsuit model or a magazine centerfold. Perhaps that is why I’m here.
Another fading echo in my mind is of a short, plain, overweight, despondent girl with pot-market skin, disfiguring scars, unmanageably frizzy, dull dark hair, and no prospects. She is no virgin, but sex only brings her pain. Is that what I was? What a horror! I’d agree to anything to escape that. Whatever my future holds, must be far better. The more I concentrate on that image, the quicker it diminishes. So do my self-destructive emotions. Only a giddy sense of happiness remains.
I cannot even remember my old name! I can choose a new name reflecting the potential for a glorious future!
My attention is drawn to a small tattoo on my right hip. It is a lovely pink heart with tiny wings and the designation “S0491” inside. What does it mean? Have almost 500 other women been chosen to receive the same gifts? What does the “S” stand for? There is no way for me to know. Maybe I should call myself Sarah, Sally, Samantha, or Susan. I’ll decide that later.
Turning sideways, I decide to make adjustments to cover my exposed boobs. All I have to work with is a long mane of lustrous honey-blonde hair that reaches my ass. I bring my hair forward, draping it carefully to hide my breasts. The best I can do still leaves my belly and deep cleavage showing. If I’m not careful how I move, my tits will be exposed again.
I am already wearing a 5-inch-wide yellow–nylon mesh wasp-around “skirt” that does not properly cover what looks like a sexy bubble-butt or what my mother called “baby-making hips”.
How did I remember that? I try recalling my mother’s face, but I only get ephemeral impressions of overwhelming sadness, crippling grief, senseless death, and drug overdose. Even those quickly fade away like morning mist on a bright, sunny day. Only the here and now remains for me. Boundless optimism fills me. Relief too for escaping a life of sadness. Anticipation of joys to come. It seems that whatever promises were made to me have been more than kept.
My skirt is pretty in its own way, with a very intricate two-tone lacy pattern of hearts, sunflowers, and unicorns. It is very “girly” with a scent of the outdoors. I like it.
In front, my “skirt” barely covers my very prominent vulva, now hairless. Should it be so pronounced? Not that it matters because the material is diaphanous and everything can be seen through it.
This is “fuck-me” lingerie. There is no underwear and I’m bare foot. Will any man be able to resist me?
These is even a hint of my pink labia. It appears several shades darker than I remember. Probably due to the waves of desire shooting off my clit whenever I move. I’m full of nervous energy. Unconsciously, my thighs start rubbing together. I stop it, only to notice that it occurs again a few moments later.
I cannot think of what else to do. So, I give up trying to still my wayward thighs, surrendering to the enjoyably seductive arousal. I feel gathering mists suppressing all other thoughts. One last time, I decide to double check, looking around for anything useful.
The room is completely empty, except for the mirror and a waist-high circular table. It is about 3 feet in diameter, covered by the same sensuously-soft blue-satin as the floor. No other clothing or anything else that I can see.
Chapter 2: LoverAn unexpected sound startles me. I’ve been awake less than half an hour when I hear a door open. So well hidden that I did not realize it was there.
Forgetting the need to move careful, I turn quickly. My breasts fly free from their concealment. I quickly readjust my long hair to hide them again, but it is too late. There is a man in my chamber, grinning at my antics. He has seen everything. I feel exposed, aroused, and submissive, all at once.
He is an older unkempt man, unshaven, balding with a pot belly, full beard, and a chest full of thick brown hair. He is barely as tall as me, wearing cheap sandals.
I hear the door swings shut behind him with the click of a lock. I’m afraid to take my eyes off of him, but I cannot meet his steely gaze.
I feel a sense of recognition. There is a physical magnetism between us. I cannot imagine he was ever my type. Not before. Certainly not up to the standards of this amazing body. His only garment is a 6” wide by 5” long plain-brown Breech-clout, held in place by a thin rawhide string.
Unbidden, I lift my head, exposing my neck, thrust my chest forward, move my right foot half a step towards him. My right knee bends and angles outward. My body facing him, presenting itself for this man’s appraisal.
His brown eyes look at me up and down, smiling. Without saying a word, it becomes obvious he’s turned on and wants me when his swelling uncircumcised cock escapes from under the breech-clout.
I am not sure if I should be happy, aroused, or disgusted. My skin tingles at the prospect of him touching me. Should I try to prevent it? How when I seem to be frozen in this suggestive pose?
I could take a chance, knee him in the groin? I can’t do that with nowhere to run. Maybe if I don’t respond. What if I act like a ‘dead fish’, and try to fart? Will he get the message and go away? It’s not much of a plan, but it’s all I got. The most important thing is to stay alert for any opportunity.”
My programmed pose is just the beginning. He kicks off the sandals and unties the breech-clout, which falls to the floor. His cock rises from a thick matte of dark curly hair, pointing straight out, directly at my pussy. It pulses with life and energy. He gives it a little shake that my eyes follow as if hypnotized.
I want to look away, but my eyes lock on his cock. There are thick, angry-looking veins. I know it is not an impressive cock, but my body responds immediately.
My defensive plan is forgotten when my nipples grow diamond-hard, shooting passion bolts into my pussy that I feel growing wetter. The skin on my face, chest, and belly feels hot. I know a deep red flush is spreading. My mouth salivates in anticipation of sucking that cock.
I do not understand my dichotomy. Horrified by my own body’s betrayal and lack of standards. Yet, I yearn for his touch. I want to run away. I want to run into his arms. Both are denied to me. My feet are rooted to the spot, waiting for him to make the next move. Why is my helplessness so arousing? What is happening to me?
I try to fight back intense waves of surging raw lust, but these feelings are too sudden, too intense. I have no time to prepare. I am overcome. My horror dissipates, leaving only desire.
He has not even touched me. Yet, in a few short moments, irresistibly mounting arousal overcomes my reluctance. I no longer care about what may have been done to me. I only care about that cock. I want him. I want that cock. Nothing else matters.
I start panting. My enormous breasts quiver with every breath. The concealing hair shifts, allowing my wayward nipples and golden piercings to peek out. Uncovered again, I tremble, revealing even more, but otherwise remain motionless.
His penetrating gaze misses nothing. I feel exposed and vulnerable. He sees right through me. I cannot hide my rising passion. I no longer want to.
My expression becomes hungry, feral, and wanton. There’s no doubt that I am going to get that cock. I can feel his craving for me like a physical thing. I am not used to being irresistible, but this body has given me that power over men. It is a novel feeling and I love it.
What else is in store for me? Well for one thing, I am confident that I’m going to enjoy sex more than ever before. I feel a thrill of eagerness. Certain I’ll be great at it, too.
I blow him a kiss. It is his signal. He closes the short distance between us. Takes my face in hand. Kisses me roughly, like a drowning man needs air.
His facial hair scratches my soft skin. My nose is filled with the scent of his sweat and body odor. It screams MALE in my mind.
Unbidden, my lips part. Allowing his hot, moist, invading tongue to assault and subdue mine. They join together in an erotic dance. His desperation to possess me is another confirmation of the supremacy of this body over men’s lust.
I’m breathless, mind awhirl when he breaks our kiss. His hands casually brush my long hair aside exposing my breasts to his touch.
My hands wrap around his naked hairy ass, pulling him closer. His cock nestles against my pussy, separated only by my gossamer skirt. I can feel its hardness and power.
Its heat flows into me. I want more. This is me, not some programmed pose. I can tell the difference. This man may not look like much, but he can make my body sing. I crave his touch. My pussy thrusts against his cock, pressing his shaft deeper into the channel between my lower lips. What is he waiting for?
I want to feel his hands on my tits. Men love tits. He should find my big twin girls irresistible.
Obedient to my unspoken command, he cups my breasts, kneading their flesh with calloused fingers. It feels good, too good. I lean forward, offering my soft breasts for whatever he desires. Suddenly, I’m afraid of what usually comes next.
“No! Please! Not the nipples!” I beg.
“Aiiiiiiiiiii”, I shriek when he ignores my plea, rolling them both around between thumb and forefinger using the piercings. It feels like and electric current flowing from my nipples to my pussy. I drive my flesh into his hands, helplessly.
My ardent moans fill the room. Liquid passion is flowing into my pussy in preparation of what comes next. My body has never been so ready, so fast.
My oils leak from my slit permeating my skirt and coat his hard cock. It feels like there is nothing between us. We can both smell the heavy scent of my arousal. He knows it is time.
I’m lifted against the wall. My breasts are crushed against his hairy chest. My arms go around his neck for balance. My legs wrap around his back, opening my sex to him. He gradually lowers me. I love the feeling of his rough chest hair scraping against my super-sensitive nipples. I’m so hot. My cunt is wet and needy. His cock is at my entrance, preparing to penetrate me. Then I feel it slip past. My toes touch the floor. We both groan in frustration. Will he try again?
Instead, I’m spun around, bent over the circular table in the room. My legs kicked apart. The trifling skirt is no defense. He easily goes under it, taking my pussy from behind. This time, it requires only a moment for him to find the proper angle. I’m so wet that half his cock penetrates me with the first thrust.
I can only gasp at the sudden violation. His cock pushes aside my inner muscles. My pussy is alive with sensation, trying to adjust to the intruder. It is a hot spear, nailing me to this spot.
He grabs my long tresses. Using them to force my pussy backwards, impaling myself on his cock. Once full embedded, his thrusts set a maddening rhythm.
I cannot remain still. My body throws itself against his. My cunt grabs his cock on each thrust, trying to keep it within me. I hear him grunt and groan his appreciation.
I was right! I am great fuck! In confirmation, he begins pounding into me with double the power. My every movement is governed using my hair.
He turns me clockwise to face the full-length mirror. I see a honey-blonde, large-breasted, submissive slut loving every second of getting fucked. Her fat pierced nipples, scraping the tabletop with every thrust, driving her insane with need. I watch her writhe, shudder, and submit. I am that degenerate, depraved bitch.
I moan and whimper with every thrust, unable to deny my ecstasy. Occasionally, I scream out, when he spanks my ass. My pussy clutches his cock tighter each time. I love it. His groans tell me that he does too. How can this abuse feel so good? I am so wanton and depraved.
Mikhaela
- 04.09.2021
- 14
- 0
