THE INTRUDERS, PART 3
by Zenna
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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xoxo Zenna