The first part of this story I have previously posted on this site, it has now been proof read and corrected. It has also been greatly expanded. If there is interest I may write up the rest of the story that is echoing around the back of my mind. I hope you enjoy.
The sheeting rain had whittled the usually busy streets down to a few bedraggled stranglers umbrellas held firm against the wind. Cars were rarer still though the great spray of liquid mud they threw up made an impact. The fog didn’t help and it was half blind, swathed in an overcoat two sizes too large, that I pressed on to the Regency theater.
It was an old place, build under Victoria and well past its glory days. Located far from the more popular theatres I confess I had never heard of it before. Despite the rain and the fog and the chill in the air I was exited. Tonight was a very special night. Tonight I would see Virgil the magnificent. It sounds a silly name, who is called ‘the magnificent;’ any more even in the world of show magic. Truth is though the man is something of legend for those in the trade Most of the general public wouldn’t give him a second glance but he has been an enigma on the circuit for decades.
That means of course that I am in the trade, sort of. I am a magician, a pretty good one too but so far not… successful. I moved from Kent to London two years ago to make my name and fortune. Instead I just scrape together the rent for a barely legal flop house by playing the streets for tips and the occasional children’s party.
The Regency theatre came into view. Old, gaudy, decaying. Squeezed between a pub and a large abandoned hotel. This wasn’t the most luxurious part of town. Despite that there was a doorman sheltering under the portico. Not some black jacketed, shaven headed bouncer but a proper doorman with a red uniform and a hat, As I approached he held out his hand.
“This is a private event sir. Tickets please,” I can’t say I cared for his tone. Clearly he didn’t think that someone like me belonged here. It was with some pleasure then that I ruffled through my dad’s old coat to produce my invitation.
The slightly bent, cream coloured card with its hand written inscription
‘Virgil the magnificent
Master of the arcane
Cordially invites
Henry Microft Williams
To an evening of magic’
This seemed to satisfy him and with a smile he waved me through. The invitation, along with the Regency’s address, had been pushed through my letter box a week ago. I had been both surprised and pleased. Virgil’s performances were always available by invitation only, It was a mark that you should be taken seriously in the industry to have received such an invitation. There hadn’t been a show in England for nearly four years so far as I knew. Now here I was, invited.
Inside the theatre shone with faded glory. Green leather, dark wood, a portrait of prince Albert looming over the stairs. It was like steeping back in to another age. To my left there was a cloak room with a young female attendant. Plain, black and fat she was polite as she took my old over coat leaving me in a rented dinner jacket. It had taken most of my savings just to hire the thing but black tie means black tie and I was glad I spent the money.
Looking at the number on my invitation she directed me down the stairs towards the theatre proper. Proceeding down I emerged into a room full of people. The theatre was not large but it was sumptuously appointed. There were about two hundred seats but only forty or so were filled.
I found my seat in the second row nestled between a major talent scout and an aristocratic old woman I didn’t recognise. Looking around I saw that I was one of the youngest in attendance, there were two other men in their twenties, half a dozen in their thirties but the rest were all over fifty. There were also remarkably few women in the audience and all of them were about the same age as the ermine clad grand mother on my right.
I had been there only a few minutes when the lights dimmed, the stage lit up and the curtains spread. Then he came, walking slowly and calmly. A tall pale man in his early forties dressed in a top hat and tails. Cane in his hand, moustache bristling on his upper lip. A man in his prime a century too late.
The show began and it was remarkable. Some of the tricks I had seen before but Virgil was a showman and I was swept away. Other tricks I had never seen. Normally I can work out how a trick is done, most magicians can, if you can’t you are not much good. Here though trick after trick went b leaving me confused, dazzled and delighted.
We had been sitting there for perhaps an hour and a half. So far applause was the most interactive thing we had had to offer, Suddenly though the changed. “For my next trick I shall require a volunteer,” he said in his low, deep voice. Up till now he had been alone on stage. I had thought this odd since in all other ways Virgil was a traditional high Victorian. Why no glamorous assistant?
Needless to say my hand shot up along with half the audience. His hand wavered for a moment before pointing directly at me.
“You young man, come up onto the stage,”
Exited and nervous I did so, a smattering of applause driving me on. Within moments I was within arms reach of the great man.
“Now then my boy what is your name?” I told him
“Henry Williams!” He repeated rather louder so that everyone could hear.
“ Now Henry please bring that out onto the stage” he pointed to a velvet sheeted object in the wings. I wheeled it out without question. Once it was centre stage Virgil whipped away the velvet sheet to reveal a strange device.
It consisted of two leather covered platforms, a skeleton of brass piping to suspend them and some belt like restrains dangling. One pad was at stomach height, the other a little higher and a few feet forward of the first.
“Now would you please rest your head on this pad?” he patted the higher one.
Carefully I did as bid, not without some trepidation, but it was magic after all and there are plenty of strange and even dangerous looking things that are always quite harmless. Putting my head on the pad mean bending over the first one, which at least provided some good support. The head pad was curved and shaped to let my head sit comfortably looking straight forwards into the wings.
Swiftly and expertly he secured the straps. One over each arm lashing them to the brass rods in front on me to either side. One for each leg spreading them apart. Another looped round my waist and the last went around the top of my neck. I seconds I was locked in place in a very compromising position. Still I wasn’t really worried until he slipped a gag into my mouth. A ring of warm plastic forcing my lips open and reducing me to grunts and moans if I attempted to speak.
“Now ladies and gentlemen I see that here today we have many of the later and few of the former. For this trick I shall change that. We have here a strapping young man. Now have all heard of drag acts and lady boys so I am sure you agree we need a little proof,”
I couldn’t see him, nor could I turn my head, and so I didn’t see him draw a knife but he must have done because I felt a small blade slicing through my rented dinner jacket and the shirt beneath. I felt his hands take off my clip-on bow tie and I heard the tearing fabric of my trousers. For good measure he pulled off my shoes and soaks before silting carefully the side of my boxer shorts and tearing the rags away.
So there I was; gagged, bound and naked on stage in front of influential wealthy people in the world I wanted to star in. Needless to say my face was flushed with embarrassment which only rose when Virgil revealed that the contraption I was bound to could be moved around with a series of leavers and gears. With my feat half an inch from the ground I was powerless as he swung me round so that the audience could get a better view. Proof of my manhood.
There was silence in the auditorium. To them this was all just part of the act, as indeed it was, and the fact that I was degraded and humiliated by it was no reason for them to object.
“You see, a fine specimen of manhood.”
He suddenly slapped my balls lightly with his cane. The blow, invisible to me, made me yelp. Even muffled by the gag this served no doubt as further proof. I didn’t much appreciate it.
Satisfied Virgil cranked me round again so that I was staring off into the wings and the audience had a side on view of me.
“Now we don’t just want a woman do we gentlemen. Now what this show is missing is a pretty girl. So first a few cosmetic changes,”
‘Here it comes’ I thought ‘the trick, I hope it’s worth it’. I thought exactly that. I remember.
Virgil placed his silk gloved hands around my waist and squeezed gently. I felt one of strangest sensations I have ever known. Unseen my flesh seemed to give into the pressure and recede. Fat and muscle shrinking as though my body were made of dough. His hands moved up towards my chest and then disappeared.
“A slim, shapely waist,” he announced to a round of applause
Next I felt his hands on my muscular legs, made strong by street performances and cycling. The stuff of my being turned to putty in his hands as he smoothed away the muscle tone and the bulk. I could feel myself shrinking. Panic started to rise in earnest now. To be sure magic tricks can make people believe in the impossible but this wasn’t that. I could feel it, and yet I couldn’t be!
“A beautiful pair of shapely, feminine legs,” his next call.
Not a moment later I felt his hands gain, this time on my buttocks, moulding, reshaping, like a potter until
“Now there we have a lovely English bottom, ripe for so many things,”
On and on he worked, smaller shoulders, smaller arms. Tweaking my face into a more pleasing form. Grasping my short black hair he pulled and pulled like a clown with his handkerchiefs until I had a cascade down to the small of my back. He called out to the audience to choose the size of my new breasts, a firm, pliant C cup. This was the strangest feeling yet. Up to now he had been taking away or changing form, now he was adding. Still I was perversely grateful that he rejected the call for double Gs.
I thought about screaming but with the gag in my mouth it wouldn’t have mattered. Besides even if the audience thought I was really in trouble this was Virgil the magnificent, they wouldn’t interfere.
“And now we come to it. You had before a strong, handsome young man in his prime. Now a beautiful, feminine creature. But not yet a woman,”
It had been coming , he had always been building to it. The crown Jewels.
Throughout the transformation he had been cranking me around to the angle best suited to the audience. He did so now, shifting me round so that I was looking back into the centre of the stage. I could not see nor move as I felt the trip of his cane press against my balls. Slowly, carefully, agonisingly, my testicles began to rise up. I could feel them shrinking as they rose, useless or not I screamed now, even through the gag.
I didn’t help, I think it made it worse to hear my tenor bellow race up the scale to a high soprano. In seconds it was done. I felt Virgil’s hands rummaging around, perfecting the last details of my new pussy.
My new pussy, it sounds so strange and I can assure you it feels much, much stranger. The pain was gone, you can’t feel the pain of crushed balls you no longer have. All this time I had still been holding on to some faint hope that all of this was a magnificent trick, but it wasn’t. This was real. This was magic. I was a girl.
“And so ladies and gentlemen there you have it. A young man transformed before your very eyes into a young woman.” The applause for so small a crowd was rapturous. Rightly so, Virgil the magnificent had lived up to his promise, he had done the impossible, but he wasn’t finished yet.
“Now I always like to end my show with a bang. Tonight I have the opportunity to do just that. I felt strong, warm fingers slide into my new slit. Not the silken gloves of before, he must have taken them off. It is strange the details you remember.
I also remember the renewed sense of panic as he began to finger me. There I was naked and legs spread, bent over. I had thought from the off that it was a compromising position, now I knew why. He was going to fuck me!
I started straining against the restraints but they were as solid as when I first tried. Then, gradually, I stopped. Behind me, inside me, I could feel a new sort of magic. Utterly different from a hand job and utterly weird needless to say. Still it was… nice. Doesn’t sound too strong but it was nice, pleasant. Two fingers gliding in and out of my increasingly slippery snatch, another playing with my clit. Virgil knew what he was doing.
It shouldn’t have calmed me, somehow it did. As much as I feared what must come next a small part of me wanted it, wanted it badly. It was with a growing sense of dread and longing then that I met the words
“I think she is ready ladies and gentlemen!”
The hands withdrew, I thought I could hear the faint pop of buttons coming undone. Then suddenly I was moving, swinging around to face into the wings again. As I swung the platform supporting my stomach began to rise, just a few inches to slide me into a better position for fucking.
I must admit I let out a small whimper when he placed his hands around my waist. As I felt the hard, warm tip of Virgil’s penis touch lightly on my lower lips I closed my eyes and waited. Half dreading, half longing. I didn’t have long to wait. Slowly, gently, I felt the hard rod push into me. It was excruciating joy. There was pain, my virgin cunt was tight and even well lubricated it hurt, but there was pleasure too.
He started slowly thrusting, just the tip, in and out almost completely. A little deeper every time. Then he hit the wall, my wall. He barely took a second to break me. I was certainly no virgin any more. Less than ten minutes from becoming a woman to losing my virginity, that might just be some kind of record.
Now that my cherry had been popped he began to thrust deeper, deeper every time until with one long thrust he buried his full length in me. To my poor, bloody, strechingly tight cunny he felt huge. I was so caught up in the glorious violation that I snapped my eyes open in shock when he spoke again.
“I feel guilty keeping this treasure all to myself. May I have another volunteer from the audience?”
I couldn’t see the hands shooting up, I imagine there were quite a few.
“You sir, come on up. I am sure this fine slut in making would appreciate her first taste of cock,”
I tried to speak, to tell him no, it was no good. Moreover despite my protests that small part of me that wanted to be fucked was growing stronger. Virgil was fucking me now with greater speed and power. The pain redoubled, the pleasure tripled, but I was waiting for the next ordeal.
Locked in place as I was it was only when he stepped in front of my eyes that I saw the second man. It was the talent scout I had been sitting next to. In his early fifties with a slightly bulging gut he was no girl’s dream man. Frankly his body was not what caught me attention however. With agonising slowness he unzipped his fly, slid down his boxers just a few inches and let out a throbbing six inch cock. Wrapping it in a meaty hand the man beat it a few times, hardening further before stepping up to my face.
I could smell his aftershave as he placed one hand on my shoulder and the other on top of my head. I could only hang there staring cross eyed at his glistening member an inch from my lips. My mouth hung open, inviting him in. The ring gag kept me in perfect blow-job stance. He did not take Virgil’s care in breaking me in, thrusting down my throat in one deep lunge. I gagged of course, he didn’t seem to care. This wasn’t cock sucking, I couldn’t move my lips nor my tongue very much, it was a throat fucking. The cocks claimed virgin territory as both men pounded ever harder. Virgil was nearly silent, the talent scout grunted and gasped. He called me ‘good girl’ and then he came in my mouth. Several thick wads of salty white goo splashed into my gullet. Some I swallowed on reflex, the rest spilled out over the ring and onto my chin. I had just taken my first load.
“Thank you Mr Whittaker, I am sure she is glad of the lesson,” Virgil said with relish, slapping my arse hard for emphasis. He was still going strong, hammering deep now fast, now slow.
“Tonight ladies and gentlemen it has been a pleasure to entertain you. You have been a wonderful audience. It is always a shame I feel when a show outstays its welcome, and so I will finish with a true climax!”
He was not wrong, as the last words left his mouth the first burst of cum left his dick, splattering inside my tight sore cunt. It was enough to set me off and I moaned incoherently through the gag as I experienced my first female orgasm. In a last few thrusts Virgil emptied himself into my fuckhole and the curtains came down to rapturous applause.
They left me then, all of them. The talent scout back to the rest of the audience and then likely home. Virgil back stage somewhere. I hung there, cum leaking out of both ends, burning with shame not only of being so used but for having enjoyed it! After what seemed like hours but can only have been ten minutes or so I heard foot steps and strong deft hands unbuckling my gag.
“You bastard what have you gummlingckk!” I screamed before he rammed the gag back in
“Temper temper, I shall return when you have remembered your manners,” He left again leaving me cursing his name. Eventually I quietened and after a time he returned.
“I hope we will have none of that foolishness again miss,” he said as he once again removed the gag. This time I held my tongue.
“Good, I am going to undo the restraints now. Before you do anything stupid like try to assault me or run away I want your word that you will give me ten minutes to explain your situation, then you will be free to go, if you wish.”
It was clear I wasn’t getting out of here any other way so I nodded and mumbled yes in a soft, high voice. Virgil smiled and set about freeing me. In a few moments I once more had control of my limbs. Standing I walked forwards a few paces and almost tripped, jut walking seemed different. Not only were my legs a different length in proportion to my body but my hips seemed to want to run the show.
“Don’t worry, you will get used to it,” he said
“Now there is a bathroom just down there” he pointed “and to the right, go and get yourself cleaned up and then we shall have our ten minutes. Given my situation I was in no position to argue and so I followed his direction off stage and through the half decayed trappings of back stage.
Faded posters of acts long retired or dead lined the walls until I came to a door marked ‘WC’ and beneath that ‘ladies’. I hardly hesitated before going in, it felt natural. Besides it wasn’t like there would be anyone else around.
I was right, there wasn’t but there was a mirror. Curiosity overcame me and before cleaning myself I went to stand in front of it. I was a very different person. Legs and arms slim and elegant. Bust high, firm and tipped with pink roses, a small dainty hand rose to fondle them absently and found my tits to be sensitive and warm.
All these things I had expected though it remained unearthly to see. What I hadn’t been prepared for were the little things. My skin for a start, once browned and tanned it was now alabaster white and without blemish. My face, that was the real one though. Looking hard I could still see my old face in there, perhaps, but to another I would be utterly unrecognisable. My lips were large and luscious, my cheek bones higher, my eyebrows slender and plucked to perfection.
I was beautiful, I had to admit that. Virgil had done an exquisite job. Tracing a hand over my hairless pussy (matching my legs and arms) I was filled with a desire to fuck myself with a cock no longer there, an odd feeling.
I had to get some answers though and for that I needed to get clean. First I went to the nearest cubicle to take a piss (and interesting experience in itself but not one I am going into). Then with tap water (ice cold) and tissue paper I did the best I could to clean the cum off of my face, legs and crotch. Drying myself with a tiny towel I struggled to tie it about my waist for some semblance of cover but soon gave up. Naked still I left the bathroom and ran almost into the arms of the doorman.
He was still dressed as before though without the hat. Larger than before now that I had lost half a foot in height he towered over me. He did not look threatening but that smile was still there. I didn’t like that smile. Without a word he indicated which way I should go and proceeded to escort me through a maze of rooms and corridors. Even as he walked behind me I could feel his eyes running up and down my form. It was better than the smile though. Eventually we reached a door marked with a bronze star.
Knocking the doorman opened it and ushered me in before following and closing the door. Suddenly three pairs of eyes were on me and I was acutely aware once more of my naked vulnerability.
“Sit,” Virgil indicated a canvas chair as the very centre of the room. I sat, mind racing. I needed answers and for that I needed to co-operate, but I also needed to get away from here, to get help.
“You have questions, allow me to answer the most obvious. No this is not some cunning ruse, I changed you into the woman you could have been had fate been different. Yes, I am more than a magician I am a wizard. Yes, I can turn you back. No, I wont, not yet.” he leant back on a faded chaise long and lit a cigar from a gun metal lighter.
“Then there is the why; four reasons. First of all I recently lost my previous assistant and my act just isn’t the same without her. Second I am a virile man and I wanted a pretty girl to screw. Three because I think you may have some talent and four,” he grinned “because I wanted to.”
“Turn me back now or I am going to the police,” I tried to sound menacing, I failed. He laughed, so did the woman, the doorman just smiled.
“And what, my darling, would you tell them? That you are really a boy by the name of Henry Williams and a man in a hat made your nuts disappear like a bunny rabbit?” This point I had considered on my short walk
“I will tell them that you raped me, which is true!” no laughter this time but a grim smile
“Difficult to prove, besides which I can be gone long before you convince anyone of anything. You don’t even have a name to put on the paperwork
“Besides I know you enjoyed it, I know you want more and the way I know that is that I made you. I know my craft miss, I didn’t just make you a girl I made you a slut, among other things.”
I had no answer to that, it was true but I would be damned if I would say it.
“Well if you’re so powerful and all knowing why don’t you let me go? I obviously can’t hurt you!”
“Certainly,” he took a long drag and exhaled a great silvery cloud before continuing
“You are free to leave, but if I might ask, where will you go? I didn’t pick you by chance darling,”
Virgil began ticking off points on his fingers
“You are an orphan since your parent’s deaths last year; you have no close friends in the city, no steady job, a housing lease of just two months expiring in three weeks. Moreover you have little money, few possessions, no identity, no record of you existence anywhere on God’s green earth. And of course no name, not with that body. I suppose I should add a fifth reason to my previous list. You are alone in the world.
It was very nearly the worst thing to have happened that day, to have my life placed under a microscope and found so utterly wanting. It was true, I had never looked at things so starkly but it was true. Aside from a few bits of paper there was nothing to say that Henry Williams had ever existed, an expired passport and a provisional driving licence was all there was to prove my name, and now those ID photos didn’t look like me at all. I sat in silence for a full minute, him smoking, the others gazing on.
“So you can leave if you wish, make of life what you can. Or you can stay here as my assistant and servant and I will teach you to pull back the veil of our reality.”
I didn’t hesitate, the choice was obvious. I had been assaulted and raped (liking it be damned he had still forced me) and I was going. How would I live, where would I go? I wasn’t thinking of those things in that moment, I just wanted to get away from there, away from him and the terrifyingly seductive eyes that never left mine.
“I’m leaving,”
Virgil sighed
“Very well, Lottie please show miss no name to the front entrance and return her belongings.”
Shocked at being allowed to go so easily I said no more but went direct to the door, it was not surprising to hear him speak one last time
“If you should change your mind I shall be staying in the hotel adjoining for the next three days. No more.”
I paused a moment and then left. Lottie, the portly black woman in formal maid’s attire, stood just behind my shoulder just like the doorman had. At least her eyes were less lecherous though I swear they glanced up and down a few times. I had to wonder if she had once been a man as well. It took some time to wind our way through corridors until we stepped out into the atrium. I couldn’t believe it had been but hours ago I had stood here so exited, now I just wanted to get out.
“I will fetch your clothes,” her voice bore a strong West Indian accent and she said no more but stepped behind the reception counter to place a bundle down.
In all that had happened I had almost forgotten that my clothes had been cut apart. Shirt, Jacket and trousers had all been slit down the seams. The shoes were aright but as I held them I realised that my feet were less than half their previous size. I put them down again.
“Can’t you lend me anything?” I pleaded with the older woman, she shook her head
“Master didn’t say to give you anything but what you came with; that’s just these,” the rented rags
“and this,” she brought out my saving grace. My father’s old grey overcoat.
The coat, always large, now swallowed me. My arms could not reach the ends of the sleeves and the bottom touched the floor but I was at last clothed. And so I went out into the cold night of a London Winter clothed only in a still damp overcoat that trailed on the floor.
The storm was still raging and the pavement on my bare feet was freezing. I had been cold fully clothed but now each splash of rain felt like an icy nail in my head. Desperately holding the coat close around me against a hellish wind I started walking.
Now though I really did have to consider Virgil’s words, where was I to go? I had money enough for a bus but no buses ran around here at this time of night. I could call a taxi but I was painfully conscious of my thin wallet. The nearest tube station was half a mile away and on numb blistering feet that seemed a league.
That was the how, what about the where? Home I decided. To be sure my house mates would not recognise me but I had my keys and it was late at night (early morning in fact). After a few long minutes of storm winds I cracked and called a taxi on my battered old Nokia. It was a bite into my finances but I was going to freeze to death at this rate. The ten minutes I waited sheltering under an abandoned arcade were amongst the most miserable of my life.
Eventually an old black cab came into view through the pelting rain, welcome as sunshine. I climbed in gratefully and gave him my address. All through the drive I caught the driver stealing glances at me in the mirror. Bedraggled and sullen as I was the man kept trying to stare before being reminded of the road. A filthy idea came to mind, I quickly quashed it but as I saw the meter climb and climb that filthy idea began to have more and more appeal.
Slowly, naturally, I let my tight grip on the overcoat slip a little exposing a fair portion of my pert bosom. He kept on looking, perhaps a little more frequently. Next, as though tired, I stopped hunching over and lay back, spreading my legs a little way. True I was still swathed in a grey woollen coat but more and more I hoped to put in his mind the idea of what lay beneath. Set him wondering, fantasising, drooling so that when we finally pulled up outside my run down shared house he would but begging for my to say the words
“Would you like to see a little more?”
He turned in his seat, eyes widening. An Asian man, perhaps mid thirties, reasonable looking in a Turkish sort of way. After an initial few sally’s from him were rebuffed the journey had been spent in near silence and he could muster only an
“Uhmmm…”
“If you did want to see a little more it wouldn’t cost you very much,” I loved and despised my soft, crooning voice, sultry and seductive. It just came so naturally. His head bobbed a little, eyes staring inches below my face as I let the folds of the coat open a touch wider. My perfect white globes rose and fell with every deep breath until a single nipple peaked out.
“You get what you pay for sweetie, there are still numbers on that screen, make them go away,”
Wordlessly, eyes still fixed on me, his hands scrambled to blank the meter. I smiled, he deserved his ‘little more’. My dainty hands grasped the inside of the coat and slowly pulled it open. His eyes roamed across my flawless ivory skin; fixing on my pink slitted pussy between slightly parted thighs. Out of sight his hand began pumping and I knew he was jerking off. That was ok I decided, in fact him getting off on me was a tiny bit exiting. Shameful yes but exiting. I shifted a little opening my legs wider while one hand traced around my pink tipped tits, this other stroking down my thighs and stomach.
I waited until he had finished, it didn’t take long, before closing my coat again.
“Nice tits,” he said, the first spoken in over half an hour, “Thanks for the show,”I smiled
“My pleasure,”I replied “Thanks for the ride,”
It was only getting out of the car that I realised it really had been my pleasure, letting a strange man perve over my new body. Shame flooded back but it didn’t drive away the grimy joy. Maybe Virgil was right, maybe he had made me into a slut as well as a girl.
I had a lot to think about as I unlocked the door to my dingy house. Quietly I crept up the stairs to my room, it wasn’t unknown for one or more of them to be up at this hour (about 3:30) if they had been out on the piss. The room itself was a small grey affair with a single bed and tangled sheets. A radiator that didn’t work and a wardrobe that didn’t close properly filled the rest of the space. As I said to the taxi driver you get what you pay for.
Tired beyond exhaustion but mind bursting with thoughts and emotion it was some time before I fell into a catatonic sleep. I slept through my alarm and it wasn’t until well after ten that I opened my eyes. I was naked again having slept that way so it was easy to see my transformation had not been a dream. It took twenty minutes of staring at the ceiling to process this information before I got up.
I still didn’t have a plan for the long term so I focused on the immediate. I was dirty, hungry and naked; those problems at least I could solve. First I needed a shower. Finding a cleanish towel I wrapped it round my waist only to remember with my hand on the door handle that I now had an upstairs to cover too. Rearranging left only an inch or two covering my cunny and plenty of cleavage exposed but all the goodies were now locked away. I could brave the corridor.
There was no one there thankfully, three other rooms like mine shared the shower. Scurrying along I made it to the bathroom and locked the door firmly before letting my towel drop away. My eyes were drawn to the cracked mirror. I was as beautiful as I remembered and as I set about morning ablutions I found my hands touching and squeezing at my tits. As I showered a finger slipped inside my lower slit. Immediately though my thoughts ran to cocks burying themselves inside me! I snatched my hand away as though burned (though not without a pang of regret).
Feeling slightly happier if no less worried I left the shower warm and refreshed. My new long hair presented a problem however, with no hair-drier I was reduced to towelling it dry best I could which left it in a bit of a state. Staring into the misty mirror again I felt guilty looking at my messy locks. Scrabbling in the cabinet I managed to find a brush, setting my hair in order took an age and I started to regret my muttered complaints about ex-girlfriends and their bathroom hogging ways.
It must have been half eleven by the time I draped my little towel round again and opened the door. My hair now a silken cascade I was feeling much better, so much better in fact that I hadn’t bothered listening out for someone in the hall. Throwing the door open I ran straight into Dean. Dean was a pretty boy, fancied himself a player. About my age (Henry’s age anyway, I looked younger now) he had spiked blond hair, a black leather jacket and skin the colour of mahogany.
“Who the fuck are you?” was his opening salvo. His eyes roved lustily over my barely covered body
“I’m, erm… with Henry,” I stammered trying to think fast and failing
“Harry pulled you?” he let out a low whistle “Punching above his weight, where is the bastard? Henry!” This last he shouted in the direction of my empty room
“I, that is, I’m not sure. He was gone when I woke up,”
His eyes, which had been on my door whipped round and I knew I had made a mistake
“Really? Fuck and fuck off arrangement? Just left without a word?” I knew that mocking tone all too well. I probably should have mentioned before but Dean is a bit of a dick, good looking though and all this talk of fucking was stirring uncomfortable thoughts. I had already done things I wasn’t proud of, I would have to get this encounter over with quickly before things got out of hand. That was why I said
“I should get dressed,” and moved past him towards the room.
In the narrow corridor this meant brushing past him close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his body. As I squeezed past I felt his hand cup my ass and give it a quick squeeze. I kept on walking, my mind told me trouble was brewing, my cunny didn’t care.
Making it back to the relative safety of my room I let the towel fall and opened up the wardrobe, absently flicking the radio as I always did while getting ready in the morning. As radio one blasted out the latest X-factor shit I realised I had a new problem. It wasn’t so much that I couldn’t wear guy’s clothes it was more that (A) it was all far too big, (B) Dean knew that I was here and would be expecting to see me in a cocktail dress or something since I had apparently been pulled on a one night stand from a black tie do and (C )(I hated that this a was a factor) none of my own clothes suited me.
As I leafed through shirts and jeans and hoodies five years old I jumped and screamed as the music suddenly shut off. Dean’s voice rang out behind me
“What are you really doing here?”
I turned, hands flying to cover myself as best I could.
“Harry could never pull a girl like you; doesn’t have the balls,” at the time I didn’t even notice this regrettable pun “And if he did,” Dean continued in his best miss Marple/Dizzy Rascal voice “he wouldn’t run out, kid’s got ideals poor sod.”
He stretched out a hand and slammed the door shut
“Now you’re here, no clothes of your own going through my mate’s stuff. Who the hell are you?”
I couldn’t think of a good answer to these questions and so tried a different tack, indignation
“How dare you burst in on me like this!? Get out!” I squealed in a less than authoritative voice (how did women manage to sound menacing? loads of them can do it!)
“Just looking out for my mate’s best interests love,” was is snide reply “and I’m going nowhere until I get some answers, or maybe I should just call the police?”
“No!” I yelled, and that was it. I had no way back. He would assume whatever he wanted to assume , after that outburst he would never believe I was supposed to be here. He thought he had caught me red handed and annoyingly the fact he didn’t know what he had caught me red handed doing didn’t matter. I couldn’t get involved with the police though, Virgil had made me see that.
Dean had me, he knew it too and I knew what it would take to earn a reprieve. My skin crawled at the thought… oh for fucks sake no it didn’t and that made it even worse! My mind crawled my flesh sang.
“You know,” Dean stepped closer “We have a rule, me and Henry, when one of us hooks up with a girl we always share,”
This was bollocks, Dean and I had never shared a girl as far as I knew and certainly not the morning after, but this was his thinly veiled price, I said nothing
“So if you really did give old Henry the shag last night,” his right hand cupped my cheek while the left squeezed one hard breast. He didn’t have to say the rest, he just kissed me, harshly on the mouth. I had never been kissed by a man before, another first.
I stiffened under his grasp but soon softened. I had no choice and my body knew what to do. As his lips ravaged mine I parted them to let his tongue dive inside. Dean’s busy hands clasped bust and arse, fondling and squeezing. Almost without thought my own hands moved, one locking around his neck urging him on while the other dived lower, searching for his belt.
A warm hard bulge made it easy to find and I squeezed that mound softly before undoing the buckle above and pushing down his jeans with blind hands. I finally managed to thrust down his trousers as his teeth bit softly at my nipple.
Hard and growing harder my hand stood in stark contrast to his black skin as it wrapped around, squeezing and beating, still longer it grew
“Oh yes bitch, now with those pouty lips,” he crowed, a hand placed firmly on the top of my head drove me down onto my knees, eyes level with an eight inch dick.
Virgil had said I needed lessons in cock sucking, I hadn’t thought he would be so right so quickly. Unsure where to start I opened my mouth, I don’t know what I was going to say but I didn’t get the chance. Dean fed his long black cock between my pink lips in an instant. Instinct took over, or maybe the spell on me did. My lips closed around his shaft, tongue flashed over the tip. My hand around his cock kept pumping slowly, my other found his balls.
Back and forth I began to bob, back and forth, sucking and licking. Every now and again withdrawing completely to lick the shaft but always I returned for more. His pre-cum was salty and oddly compelling, quite tasty in a strange way, I wanted it more as I sucked. Up above Dean gasped and moaned, his hand on my head guiding my speed and I let my self be guided. This was for him. Why then was my pussy so wet? Why did it yearn to be included? This was for him though, I sucked on.
“That’s good bitch,” I liked it when he called me names
“Now deep throat my black cock you little whore!”
My hands fell to the floor almost before he had finished speaking and my eyes closed in preparation. This wouldn’t be easy. Bracing myself I tried to relax as he slowly pulled my face into his balls. Inch after inch slid by until I gagged and choked. Fleetingly he let my resurface before ramming my head back around his.
Quickly and more quickly he began to fuck my face and I slid up and down his cock trying just to breathe. Without warning a panting, gasping Dean thrust my face away and seized his throbbing cock to direct stream after thick sticky stream at my hair, my face and my heaving tits.
“Fuck! Good head bitch,” he said after his breath returned, patting me on the had where I knelt gasping still
“Help yourself to cereal but do it naked, then you can borrow some of my girlfriends clothes and piss off,”
He left the door wide open on the way out leaving me kneeling. Cheeks burning red with shame, pussy leaking with desire and cum dripping onto the floor. I had let myself be fucked, oh only in the mouth but still. Virgil had given me no choice and the taxi man had just looked but I had sucked Dean off. Not wholly through choice true, he had had me in a bind. Never the less it was with many thoughts flashing through my head that I returned, still nude, to the bathroom to wash the cum from me.
A few minutes later I was ready for breakfast. Needless to say I was starving. Now I had another choice, to do as I had been told and eat as I was or to get some of my old clothes to hide in. Once again I chose to obey Dean. I told myself that he already thought I was a thief and ‘stealing’ Henry’s clothes would hardly help that. Truth be told I think the decision had already been made, I just wanted to justify it to myself.
Either way I slunk downstairs to the kitchen and squeaked as a bright flash went off in front of my eyes. Half blind from the flash and the darkness of the kitchen I scrambled for the light switch. Finally locating it I turned to see Dean raising a camera to take another photo of me. The curtains were closed, he must have planned this ambush and was obviously pleased with himself.
“One for the camera? He asked, I merely scowled much to his amusement.
There was nothing I could do about the camera, nothing I could do about him showing off nude
pictures of me in the pub boasting of his latest conquest. I just wanted to eat and be gone.
“You seem to know your way pretty well around here, are you sure I haven’t fucked you before?” Dean asked as I quickly pulled out a box of Wheatabix and took the milk from the fridge. This was a dangerous area, I decided to say nothing.
Still wordless I piled three bars in to the bowl and set to chewing methodically. Trying to ignore Dean’s eyes on me, trying not to savour them. After several failed conversational attempts the brash boy said
“That’s alright precious, those lips of yours weren’t made for talking anyway,” before taking another couple of snap shots under the table.
Normally three Weatabix was a small breakfast for me but after one and a half I realised that I had a new stomach to go with everything else and pushed to rest aside.
“I’m done,” I said, finally breaking the silence “You said something about your girlfriend’s clothes,”
“Oh yes, I have them right here,” he put the camera down and lifted a small pile from an empty chair. It seemed predominantly pink.
He put the pile on the table and I began to rifle through. First things first I realised that whoever Dean’s latest girl was(we hadn’t met though I did hear them having sex a couple of times) she was clearly a total slut. She was also clearly even smaller than my new diminutive size though not by much. Even so picking up a pink top cut low at the front and high to bare the midriff I found myself thinking ‘I could pull that off’. There wasn’t much to choose from and I quickly picked out my selections. A pair of tiny black panties (the largest on offer but still barely more than a thong) with matching stockings. A pleated pink skirt cut just above the thigh. I tried several bra’s before concluding that Dean’s other whore (did I really think ‘other’) had much bigger tits than mine. My breasts were firm and high enough that I didn’t really need one anyway.
Dean showed absolutely no signs of letting me dress in private, in fact he had taken up his camera again, and so I started dressed as quickly as I could. Trying to ignore him I finally slipped the little pink top over my head.
“It’s like two degrees outside,” I said, even in the kitchen my nipples were raising a salute
“Don’t you have a coat or jumper or something?”
He looked me up and town, took one last photo of my in my slutty attire and replied
“No,” in an of hand tone
“but there are some shoes by the door.”
On investigation I found that they were exactly what you would expect. No sensible flats for this girl, no these were three inch pink heels that laced pink ribbon half way up the calf. My heart sank, I had no idea how to walk properly in heels but they would surely be better than nothing.
One mercy at least was that they fit, rather well in fact. They were hardly uncomfortable at all until I stood up. Taking five steps forwards I nearly fell flat on my face and had to catch myself on the table. If I had thought my hips swayed before now I knew different.
“Got to say, for a thieving little bitch you look hot, and you give good head, but I don’t trust you. Don’t let me catch you here again,”
“You’re such a bastard,” I shot back, finally showing some defiance, then I ruined it by adding “but I like a firm hand,”
I turned, shocked at myself and my own words, and walked out the door. The wind hit me, sheering through my skimpy outfit. At least the shock of the cold kept my mind from wondering where that last sentence had come from, it certainly wasn’t in the closing remarks I had planned. At the very least I was away from Dean before I did anything else I would regret.
I was back to the old problem though. I was totally broke; no phone, no wallet, no home and so far every man I had met since the transformation had seen me naked. Worst of all despite myself I was almost enjoying this sexy new body. Wobbling but increasingly natural I started walking to god only knew where.
So what to do now? My options were running out. I could try to earn some quick cash with street magic but I didn’t have so much as a deck of cards and besides I was going to need a place come nightfall. I could steal or beg but quickly rejected either, I hadn’t sunk that far, not yet. As I thought I walked. It wasn’t the nicest part of town. A run-down grid of terraced houses from the twenties or thirties barely modernised. At this time of day on a Friday it was quiet but not deserted. A thin gaggle of chavs sat giggling into their tracksuits on a low wall, BMX bikes serving as furniture.
I felt the boys’ eyes linger on my barely covered body and the jealous stares of the girls (one of which I swear dragged a guy into an alleyway the moment I was past). Sternly I tried to repress a grin, the effect I had on people now was just so much fun! Coming back to money I knew that this perfectly sculpted body was my only great asset but it was also one I was loathe to use. Modelling would take too long, that left me with prostitution.
I had been called a whore several times since the change and in the taxi perhaps I should have been. Still like begging or thieving the thought of renting myself out… I could hardly believe I could sink so low so fast.
Two things gave me pause; one high and one low. First the vascular throbbing between my legs. It told me I wanted to be fucked, needed to be fucked and it was hard to ignore. Secondly the other option, the last option, was returning to Virgil. I couldn’t do that, not like this crawling back to him proving every word he had said. If I saw him again it would be on my terms, not as a penniless beggar.
I had been walking more or less at random for about two hours (my feet were killing me but I had gotten the hang of high heels) and was still in a pretty rough part of town. The winter winds had left me numb and freezing and I really, really wanted to get inside. So when I saw a Green King sign I was drawn to it. Nestled at the end of the road opposite a Boots (closed for refurbishment) was the Pedaller’s arms. A grimy looking pub playing eighties rock music I could hear through the door. In my current condition I wouldn’t have cared if the sign read ‘free cancer samples with every pint) I went in.
The warm air was wonderful, the slightly musty smell of dust and spilled beer less so but it would do for a place to think. It was a smaller rather bland sort of place. The long wooden bar dominated one wall opposite the door leaving just enough room for a pair of doors marked stags and does. The rest was scattered with tables and chairs that looked to have been bought about the same time as the music was written. An empty stage filled the right hand corner, a few cables suggesting it got some use.
A few of the tables were occupied even at this early hour (to be fair it was lunch time). It looked as though the barman knew his customers, of the six patrons only one was under about fifty and then not by much. Rumpled jeans and shirt tails hanging out seemed to be the dress code. Avoiding eye contact (easy enough when all eyes are several inches south) I took a seat at the bar, trying and failing not to flash my knickers in the high cut skirt. I ordered a glass of water and tried to ignore the stares and the desire to flash my knickers again.
This did not seem to please the barman, a surly man of an age with the rest, but tepid tap water was soon mine and the glass was even clean. I was halfway through the water when I felt the thump of a heavy man dropping onto the barstool to my right
“Buy you a drink darling?” he asked, his voice spoke of London, deep London, the kind of London Holmes would have walked. It was the voice of a man whose idea of exotic was a trip to Scarborough. It was also quite a nice voice, a low bass rumble brimming wit the total confidence of a man who knows his place in life and knows that he is right where he should be.
Looking at my suitor (for want of a better word) I revised my opinion from fifties to mid forties. A few grey hairs flecked an otherwise full head of auburn hair and dusted the stubble on his jaw. He had a surprisingly handsome face, hard and weathered but not gone to leather just yet. An un-ironed shirt fell over a large body; broad shoulders, big hands, thick torso but not fat.
‘what the hell’ I thought ‘I could use a drink’
“Sure,” I smiled
“Micky, a pint of Best and a white wine for the lady,” he ordered. His assertiveness in ordering for me, far from annoying, I found made him all the more attractive. I thought back to what I had said to Dean ‘I like a firm hand’, Henry had never gotten off on submission, more that Virgil had to answer for.
The wine was quickly in my hand, a house white just barely drinkable, and we set to talking. He was a plumber by trade, his name was Martin. Yes he had kids both grown up, no he wasn’t married any more, on it went. I said as little was possible, made things up where it couldn’t be avoided.
As Martin ordered our second road I felt his hand on my knee, slowly riding up to my thigh. Crossing my legs I managed to fend him off but those strong, rough hands kept finding a way back. You can probably guess by now what this was doing to me. Those little black panties were starting to get moist. I had to get out if only for a minute and truth be told I really did need a slash so excusing myself with a girlish giggle I made my way to the door marked Does.
The hinge on the door of the single cubicle was broken so that no matter how I tried the damn thing wouldn’t stay closed. Still as there was no one else about I wiped the seat and sat down. No sooner had I lowered my panties than the door flapped again. Hurriedly trying to cut myself off mid stream I was caught legs wide as Martin pulled the cubicle door fully open.
“There you are love,” his deep voice filled with lust
“Like what you see?” I said, my instincts once again overwhelming higher function
“Oh yeah,”
“Any more and it will cost you,” I smiled at him, crossing my legs to hide my lower lips.
His eyes widened a touch
“Oh is that how it is, should have guessed. How much?” Now there was a question. You heard stories and saw movies but what did a hooker really charge? Also how much would a man like Martin have on him?
“Depends what you want,” I stalled for time
“I was to fuck that little pink pussy of yours,” he replied, which was exactly what my little pink pussy wanted to hear
“£50,” I proffered, I was probably worth more but for several reasons I didn’t want to draw this out and a trip to a cash point did not appeal.
I should probably have gotten the money first but as soon as the price was agreed he was unbuckling his belt. My hands leapt to help of their own accord to free a quickly hardening seven inch penis. Something that big even with my own juices flowing I wanted lubricating (at least that’s what I told myself). In an instant my soft lips engulfed him, my tongue flickering along a thick, hard rod. My hand beat and my mouth sucked for a couple of minutes by which time he was hard as a man’s ever been.
“Enough,” he grunted, pushing my head away. Obediently I stopped sucking and gloried in his strength as he all but picked me up and carried my across the room by my shoulders. Setting me down facing the mirror on the wall he bent me over the sink. Parting my legs I moaned softly as one rough hand ground my tits into the hard plastic surface of the wash top. The other flipped my skirt up over my arse exposing my cunny.
Martin was not so gentle nor patient as Virgil, no sooner did he open my snatch than he planted his flag in it. The thick head squeezed into my tight little gap driven forwards by lust. Without conscious thought I ground back into him, urging him deeper. He didn’t need much urging. Slowly, deeply, relentlessly his cock started to hammer into me. There was little finesse, even so my cunny sang as its harsh treatment and I felt a climax begin to rise.
Suddenly he pulled out making me mew with the loss. I quickly understood though as he flipped me round laying me back with my legs dangling off the end of the counter and my neck against the cold glass of the mirror. Pushing up my top Martin’s hands found my tits as his cock renewed its assault on my willing cunt. This fresh stimulus forced out a low moan as I began rubbing at my own clit while holding on tightly to the counter top with the other hand.
I came quickly, more quickly than any girl I had ever shagged, and I didn’t bother to stay quiet. Not just moans and sighs but…
“oh God yes fuck me, fuck my little girl cunt, fuck me like the whore I am!”
It worked, redoubling his speed and power Martin shook me like a rag doll battering me into the mirror and rocking the whole counter top. His cum when it came drove deep inside me as he buried himself to the hilt. All but for the last spurts which he fired, like a signature, onto my flat stomach.
Sighing with satisfaction he pulled up his trousers. Taking out his wallet he counted out a thin wad of notes and shoved it, rolled up, between my tits.
“Thanks love, bet some of the guys wouldn’t mind a ride too,” he said before leaving. As the door swung open and shut I would hear the cheers and laughter. I could hear the lust.
I lay there in silence for a few minutes, not thinking, feeling dirty. Loving feeling dirty. Hating loving feeling dirty. As hormones and euphoria faded I reflected on what I had just done. Part of me reasoned that I had had little choice, Virgil’s magic had made it almost certain that I would end up saying yes and at least I had the money.
Picking up that wad of notes though I felt a pang of self disgust. It was done now, I would certainly keep the money, but as I listened to the hubbub next door I knew I couldn’t do it again. Thing was only hours ago I knew I wouldn’t willingly let anyone touch me like this let alone spread my legs for a plumber in a public toilet. I couldn’t trust the body I had been cursed with, I needed to get out of here.
Cleaning myself up as best I could with paper towels and tap water I fixed my clothes. The money, for want of anywhere else to put it, I slid into the side of my knickers. Leaving the ladies room I kept my eyes low and walked as swiftly as my heels would allow towards the door. Ignoring a babble of catcalls and propositions crude enough to raise a blush I stepped back into the cold.
Almost immediately I thought of going back in, not for the men, just for the warmth. I couldn’t though, I had to move on. With money at least I had options. Fifty quid would not go far in London, probably not to a bed for the night unless I found a shelter or something. Anyway I needed to spend it sorting out my problem not just surviving until the next day, if I wanted to get of of this situation the easy way wasn’t an option.
Walking again to clear my head and get some distance away from the bar I decided that I needed more information. The red letter story that my predicament had largely pushed to the back of my mind was the magic was real. Magic could turn me back and Virgil couldn’t be the only wizard in the world. I needed to know more about him and more about the occult. A library wouldn’t do, not a normal one at least. Maybe the British Library or one of the big university ones might have books about this stuff but neither would just let me walk in and start looking around. The internet was the place, all manner of things online, maybe just maybe there was a wizard with an i-pad somewhere. It was something to try at least.
Feeling better for having made a decision I turned my mind to where and how, an internet café seemed like the best answer. Somewhere I didn’t need to be a member or sign up, preferably somewhere serving coffee.
Walking on a way I found a corner shop and bought a sandwich. Not only did this fill my belly but it provided me with some small change. Next on the agenda was a bus stop into a more central (and less crappy) part of London. Some directions from the shop keeper saw me quickly on route, finally things seemed to be going according to plan.
The journey was fairly lengthy, about thirty five minutes at a guess, and mostly uneventful. My skimpy clothes attracted the usual assortment of glances and outright stares especially from a pair of teenagers at the back but I was becoming used to it. At least no one tried to grope me, better yet I managed to avoid getting my kit off or shagging anyone for the whole journey. That was progress. Feeling slightly better about myself I finally de-bussed in those parts of London you see in the movies, Shaftesbury Avenue to be precise.
If I was remembering right there was an internet Café right next to a pub I used to drink in down a side road not far from here, I had been there for a mates birthday and a couple of times after that (the pub, not the Café). I remembered having been surprised to find that such things still existed in a world of Smart Phones and tablets but right now I was glad of it. Thankfully amongst a crowd such as this with a dozen races, half a dozen languages and the occasional living statue I wasn’t receiving too much attention (I had to tell myself quite firmly that this was NOT a disappointment nor something to be remedied).
Cursing the blisters on my feet I began to walk yet again (it felt like I had done twenty miles today in those fucking heels) but luckily the place was just where I remembered and thankfully it opened till late. I walked in to a renewed round of staring. It was a fairly small place; a counter in front of a semi open kitchen spread across the far wall while two rows of PCs were lined up in booths facing the walls. This left a wide aisle down the centre to get to the counter. As for the people they were a mixed bunch. An old businessman, a fairly young business woman (so I surmised from the suits) and a mound of flesh wrapped in a spider-man t-shirt sat surfing to my right. To the left sat a handsome guy in blue jeans and a crisp linen shirt. Two spaces clear and nearest to the door sat a smallish teenager, maybe sixteen and either Japanese or Korean by blood.
At the counter I ordered a cup of black coffee and a few hours of browsing. After forking over an alarming portion of my hard earned cash I looked for a seat. What I did not want to do was end up get fucked yet again or making a fool out of myself in some other embarrassingly whorish way. On those grounds I ruled out sitting next to the handsome man or the businessman (I had already shown a liking for older, dominant men after all). After a moment’s thought I slid into the seat next to the teenager.
The seat was soft and supportive, I spent a few seconds rising it up to a comfortable height and logged in. This would be the tricky part. To be sure you could find just about anything on the internet if you knew what you were looking for. Thing was though I had only the vaguest idea what I was looking for. My first few searches (changed into a woman) and (real magic Virgil) brought up several hundred thousand hits most of which were either tranny porn, transsexual support groups or science fantasy sites. No good. I decided to focus on Virgil himself. I already knew a fair bit about the man, his legend anyway. He had been a hero of mine before all of this. There was clearly plenty I didn’t know though. After blocking Aeneid and Aeneas from the search criteria I began to get somewhere.
He had no official site but plenty of people like me had taken an interest in the great man over the years. Most of the bio I already knew. Date of birth- unknown, Real Name – Unknown, Place of Birth – London (Parish of White Chapel), Profession – Magician. He also had a penchant for Victoriana which I was beginning to suspect was more than an affectation. Indeed there was speculation on several sites that he had been around for centuries. One guy (QuickCard666) claimed to have traced him through the ages at various shows and even had a photograph taken 1904 that was a good likeness. Guys with moustaches and top hats in 1904 weren’t that uncommon though, not on stage at least.
The interesting part came with his disappearances. He frequently vanished from the public eye for years at a time, sometimes six months, sometimes a decade or more. No one knew where he went but plenty of people had theories. Everything from a remote Buddhist monastery to the brothels of New Orleans. Some said he was a spy for the Russians, or the Americans or the British, others a master criminal. It was all shit like that, no way to ferret the obsessive genius who just might be on to something from the gullible idiot who fit the evidence around a crackpot theory.
It was after about an hour of this frustrating business that I became aware of something to my right. Maybe it was some subliminal hint or maybe I was developing a sixth sense for the sexual but something drew my eyes away from my own screen and towards that of my neighbour. There had been some attempt to make the booths private, little partitions that mean a glance wouldn’t do the job from a normal sitting position. Lean back in the chair and craning my neck just a fraction though and I could see just fine.
He was watching porn. Not regular porn either but some Hentai film; you know the sort of thing, Japanese animation, lots of pretty girls and horrible monsters. Henry never really got into them, preferred something a little more realistic, but my eyes were fixed on the screen just like the boy’s. In this case someone I took to be a king or lord or something was looking on as a tentacled beast ravaged a trio of busty girls. Looking down I saw his arm rising and falling rhythmically though the partition cut the hand itself from view.
Absently my left hand found its way under my skirt to start rubbing the outside of my panties. I watched as the first girl had her top ripped away and two tentacles began sucking and pulling at her titties while another thrust down her protesting throat. Even as one lost her top another was deprived of her bottoms. Without thinking my fingers brushed aside the thin fabric and rubbed flesh on flesh against my clit. Two think tentacles burst without warning inside the dangling princess, both wriggling their way towards her womb. My right hand slid under the table not towards my lap but towards the Asian man.
A third appendage, thicker than the other two, began probing at the Animae eyed girl’s ass hole and started to push inside. A single finger slipped into my own pussy. The girls cries of pain and excitement were smothered as her last hole was filled. My right hand closed around his cock. The boy jumped, too startled to cry out he looked over to me with eyes wide open. Finding a beautiful young woman jerking him off while masturbating herself he did not object. Removing his own hand he leaned back in his chair and turned his attention back to the porn.
Another finger joined the first as the king claimed the third girl for his own. Stripped naked by the monster she kissed his ring in gratitude and fell to sucking his cock. The boys cock was surprisingly long and thick given his size, I imagined it inside me even as I watched the king brutally throat fuck his adoring princess. Three fingers now shot in and out of my cunt, it was difficult to build rhythm though, the panties kept getting in the way. Keeping on masturbating my man I forced myself to stop working on myself long enough to slide my knickers down around my ankles and started over again.
Tentacles lashed over two writhing bodies, two or more in every hole fucking with relentless fury. Sitting on his throne the king picked his princess whore up and placed her budding ass hole atop his royal sceptre (that was actually in the film, there were subtitles). I was getting close now I could feel it and so was he. I was snapped out of my haze like state by his hand on my thigh and looked at him
“It’ll go everywhere,” he mouthed in as English an accent as mine. I nodded and grinned mischievously. Tearing my eyes from the porn I slid under the table. Here the partition did not run and tight as it was I was able to crawl between his knees.
The cock was waiting for me, young and hard. I wrapped my lips around it and slammed two fingers back inside myself, fingering franticly. I wanted to cum together and he was so nearly there. I wasn’t wrong, less than twenty seconds of cock sucking brought a torrent of salty white cum. He didn’t want it going anywhere, I swallowed it all. Even as the first spurts vanished down my gullet I came, stifling my moans on his cock. He managed to keep pretty quiet too. Pleased with myself I licked the last drips from his shaft and crawled back out from under the table.
Accusatory eyes greeted me as I emerged. The guy from the counter loomed over the Korean boy while the businessman looked outraged from across the room. The others more curious than angry but still very much looking. Employee of the month looked very cross indeed, a white guy in his late twenties he wore a geeky t-shirt and a name badge but that didn’t seem to stop him looking menacing right about now.
“Where the hell do you think you are!” he hissed, it would have been better if he had yelled it might have been comical, this wasn’t
“I don’t know how you even got onto that site here,” he glared at my partner in crime,
“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” Now that was a tricky question and this time he seemed to want an answer. I didn’t know what to say, unfortunately as in some many things my new persona knew exactly
“Jealous baby?” I licked my lips theatrically and look a step towards him tits first “You want a blow job too?”
Now this might sound like a dream come true for any man but truth be told when the moment comes a lot of them don’t know how to process it. Or maybe he was gay, either way the slutty seductress act did not work.
“You are barred, both of you,” he pulled the Asian lad to his feet and shoved him towards the door
“Count yourself lucky I’m not calling the police!” he hurried us towards the door. It was only as the door crashed to behind us that I realised I had left my knickers on the floor back there.
We both stood there for a long moment; it was a lot to take in. Eventually he broke the silence saying
“You want to get a drink or something?” I didn’t reply at once. You know the score by now. Outside of the moment my real personality had come flooding back and couldn’t believe that I had just done what I had done. I felt dirty and ashamed and yet and at the same time extraordinarily satisfied and pleased with myself. Like the lustful looks I was starting to get used to that feeling. Even so my
“No,” was probably too sharp with might be why I added
“It was just a bit of fun, no need to make it more than that,” he mumbled something and tried to strike up a conversation but I was curt and non committal and he soon wondered off.
All in all this plan of mine hadn’t worked out the way I had planned at all. I knew a little more about my maker but nothing helpful really. I had also proven yet again that this body of mine just could not handle any sort of proximity to men without turning me into a bow legged bimbo.
‘Jesus Christ,’ I thought ‘I need a drink,”