Nifty thrives on donations. Authors thrive on appreciation.
To donate to Nifty, visit http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html To express appreciation, email me at sexyamie@hotmail.com
+++++
After I'd been raped, I shuffled toward the door. It wasn't walking. Walking is too generous. I slid one foot just in front of me, then turned my entire body and slid the other foot out. I was buck-naked, save for the torn panties I clutched in my hand and that barely covered my encased, formerly male genitalia.
I made slow progress.
I felt too worked over to cry. I was beyond mourning for myself. Instead, I felt a stillness. The calm of a new reality. A bleak one. One I knew I would never escape.
No one in the lab noticed. No one helped. No one opened a door. Offered me a crutch. Asked if I would like a helping hand back to our common room, the "Pink Lounge."
No one but Angel.
As I worked my way through the door, I first saw her face twisted up in ever-present pain. That poor girl. If you have nuts, imagine someone twisting, squeezing, and pressing them... all the time. You would look a little like Angel.
She and I were not best friends. Matter of fact, we didn't really like each other. She had her faggy, dick-crazy energy. I thought of myself as a classier girl. Ha. She knew how different we were. How uncomfortable she made me. And she took advantage, along with her nymphet sister, Cherry.
But that was all forgotten in an instant.
She saw me. She must have recognized something in me. She sprang to her feet. She held the door for me. She guided me gently into the room.
"Sweetie," was all she said.
Then she held me.
And I sobbed.
I wonder if what had happened to me was familiar to her. Had she been taken advantage of by men in the past? Did she recognize something in me that was familiar?
Despite her own pain, she helped me back to the lounge. She knew how badly I needed it. She made pain her second priority and taking care of me her first.
I have come to recognize this behavior as one very special and specific phenomenon: sisterhood.
+++++
I had a brief run at "fame" when I was the pink collar selected for a promotions campaign. For nine months, my face was on a thousand billboards. A picture of me at my most femme, my most beautiful, my sluttiest. Lips dripping wet. Eyes staring at you. Gazing at the viewer, begging him to give me his worst.
Along with the direct quote:
"The purpose of a woman is to please a man."
Oh, that billboard got me laid plenty. But it did not make me the media star of our class.
No, that honor goes to Brooklyn, the most gorgeous, most feminine, most enigmatically desirable creature I have ever laid eyes upon.
She became a celebrity because of her inspiring, true story -- the tale of a pink collar who fell in love with a star basketball player.
Damian Vance was the starting power forward for the New York Knicks. I saw his face every time I walked by the arena, which was every single day. I looked up his stats. He was 6'9" tall and weighed 250 pounds of solid muscle. He wore a size 17 shoe.
I wondered what his cock must look like.
Mr. Vance was dating the feel-good story of the pink movement -- my friend, Brooklyn, born Bryan.
I'd heard rumors about them, but I didn't know for sure until they shot a lifestyle segment for the show "20/20."
There she sat, curled under his arm, her 5'6" frame nuzzled next to his massive chest. They both smiled, and laughed, and looked each other in the eye.
To the viewer, they were in love.
She told the story about how she transformed into the gorgeous thing she had become. (She didn't mention me by name, but she did talk about her "pink friends." I count that as me.) He talked about how he fell in love as soon as he saw her.
He detailed how his teammates at first resisted her. Thought she was a skank, or a slut, or a freak. But when they got to know her, they changed their minds. She became friends with all of these guys. They grew to love her too.
Damian said that someone with media connections had threatened to blackmail him over his secret affair with a trans girl. He decided to announce it instead, proud to have her on his arm and by his side.
Now they are free to go out in public, this beautiful couple now the heroes of modern love.
+++++
I looked Brooklyn up, and we set a coffee date.
It was nice for once to have more people paying attention to her than they were paying to me.
She was dashing. Her hair was up but loosely. Her bangs drooped down over her adorable face. She had a light tan, perhaps a result of the trip to Jamaica I knew they'd taken. I learned that from the cover of a trashy mag at the grocery store -- that's how famous they were now. Another magazine said that she might soon become Brooklyn Vance -- I'd have to ask her about that.
The coffee girl, a real girl, told Brooklyn how she idolized her. She even asked her what eye shadow Brooklyn uses. Brooklyn pulled it out and applied some to the girl's eyelids. I thought the coffee girl was going to explode from excitement.
All she said to me was, "Here's your latte."
+++++
We sat near the window.
"What's it like?"
"What do you mean?"
"Being a star. Having a boyfriend. Being beautiful."
"Stop. You're beautiful too."
"Yes, but cars don't crash into each other every time I walk down the street."
"You're sweet. But..."
"What is it, baby?"
"Well, it's not perfect."
Brooklyn began to tell me stories. About how they met. Where they would go out on dates. About their sexual relationship.
"He wants to fuck every day, first thing in the morning. After they practice, he fucks me. When they play, he fucks me. If they win, he fucks me like a champion. When they lose, he fucks his frustration out on me.
"It's too much!"
I asked how big he was.
She used her forearm to approximate.
"Jesus."
"He got the idea, after keeping me on the DL, that he'd like to show me off around town.
"We started with his teammates. He brought a couple of friends over, Paul Jackson and Ish Smith. I served drinks. We sat around, chatted. I put on my best, most feminine air. Then he told them that I was a pink.
"They didn't believe him at first. I had to show them my cock to prove it. That was so embarrassing. Then they..."
I gave her a minute.
"Then they took turns fucking me.
"While the other two watched."
She stared out the window, reliving a memory she would never be able to let go.
"I ran into my ex-girlfriend. She and I had coffee, just like you and I are now. She told me how much she admired me, how much she envied me. She said that Damian Vance was a dream come true. That I was lucky to have him.
"She's right, I suppose. I've got a huge bedroom in an enormous condo in the greatest city in the world. I don't have one bit of work to do. I have a chef, a personal trainer. I've got a meditation coach, for heaven's sake.
"I only have one responsibility. To take care of that monster cock. It's my purpose and my destiny. I stay pretty so that I can make him happy. I stay skinny so he's attracted to me.
"I wake up, wash my face, put on a little makeup, douche, and bring him his coffee every morning. After a sip or two, I start to turn him on. I rub on his chest. I start in the middle, my dainty fingers massaging his chest. Then I slide over to his pec, his manly chest. Then I bring my other arm in, touch the other pec at the same time.
"Usually by then he's caffeinated enough. He grabs me by the arms, lifts me up, sets me down on top of him, my babydoll barely long enough to cover my bare bottom.
"We kiss for a minute. Then he asks me if I'm ready.
"And I say 'yes.'"
+++++
I slipped into a daydream. A daydream of a memory. A happy one, from a life before.
It was May Day. That day has a feminine quality to it... like the first day when flowers begin to open their petals.
So, yeah... feminine.
We were near the end of our training at the institute. It was that blissful time before graduation when all the hard work is done but you still get to live with all of your friends and just enjoy life.
On May Day, we had our activities outside on the lawn. We were invited to dress in our favorite spring ensembles. I wore a summer dress, in a lightweight, floral pattern. Brooklyn had on a longer, flowy dress in white and dark blue. Cherry had on a cute little yoga outfit.
We picked flowers and made little bouquets for each other. We braided each other's hair. We sat in a circle and chatted and drank lemonade and talked about our feelings and how much we loved each other.
After a serene afternoon, we learned what the culminating activity would be.
"You all have become so generous and loving in your femininity. You have opened yourselves up to us and to each other. Now we want you to see you celebrate that fully with each other."
"Please show us how much you love each other by forming a daisy chain."
We stripped down to our matching white cotton bras and panties. Each of us was got down on our hands and knees, close enough to the girl next to you so that you could access her private parts -- her pussy.
I had on one side Cherry and on the other Brooklyn. I hoped and prayed I'd be facing towards Brooklyn. She was so beautiful -- I would have happily eaten her out even if I weren't technically being forced to. Plus, I knew Cherry had an experienced mouth -- that tongue would probably feel goddamn amazing inside me.
Soon, fifteen girls were stretched about the grass in a perfect circle in the warm afternoon sun. We slid down the underwear of the girl in front of us so we could get to work.
I don't know who started it, but the direction was chosen. I would be eating out Cherry. Damn. At least beautiful Brooklyn would be the one taking care of me.
It was a sweet scene, somehow both dainty and highly erotic. The girls, including me, made all sorts of involuntary noises. You could hear "ohhhh!" and "mmmmph" and "oh my god!" amidst all the sounds of tongues sucking and licking into assholes.
I had a wonderful time. Cherry had a pretty little ass that she was working back into my face. All of our work was now bearing fruit. We had taken a class together where we all had to learn how to work our ass separately from our mouths. While you sucked a robot dildo that measured how much stimulation you were providing, you were instructed to write letters and words with your ass. Suppose your blowing the dildo deep in your throat. Now you're asked, "how are you feeling today?" You would write, with your ass, "I'm feeling fine, thank you," while still keeping the robot dick 100% happy in your throat.
Cherry must have passed that test with flying colors -- her cute little ass was moving around like it had a mind of its own. We made out, her pussy and I. It was a privilege to have my face buried in it.
Meanwhile, sweet little Brooklyn was showing what she knew. She had told me that she'd eaten her ex-girlfriend's ass out before, so she was not inexperienced. But she was a little timid. I think she was never the aggressive sexual partner as a man. She had had to develop skills. She'd been taught to use her delicate and passive skills with a bit more authority. "You want to show your man friend that you are willing to provide him pleasure. He needs to be convinced that you will go all the way for him."
Now, she demonstrated that on my butt-pussy, offering a very competent, confident licking up into my most private areas. I was proud of how much she'd grown as a pussy.
After ten minutes or so, the guards told us to flip around. I was so happy -- I'd get to eat out Brooklyn!
As the fifteen of us girls crawled around on their hands and knees, I realized why we were actually here. This wasn't for us -- this was for the guards. They took joy in seeing us in this marginalized position -- on our hands and knees, eating "pussy." One guard had his arm up on the other guy's shoulder, like they were watching a really good sex show together. Another dude had an obvious boner in his uniform. Another dude was walking around us with his cell phone, recording us on video for his future enjoyment -- and the enjoyment of millions of other men.
We were only doing this to get them off.
Hell. At least it was fun.
I now had the chance to eat out Brooklyn and I made the most of it. I drew inspiration from what Cherry was doing to me -- she really was a magician back there. I had already been pretty turned on, but now I took it to a new level. As Cherry worked her magic, I strove to give Brooklyn the best feeling she'd ever had in her pussy. I pressed the edges of her butthole. I penetrated it lightly. I savored the taste of her insides, the sweet musk of this girl's beautiful body.
Soon, I felt her start to tremble.
I went deeper and slower, with a bit more force.
She started to shiver.
I spelled with my tongue, "I love you," right inside her pussy hole.
She began to cry out, like she was riding the line between pain and pleasure.
I pushed and pressed and prodded.
Then she did the most amazing thing.
She came.
Her tiny penis encased in plastic began to squirt. Her whole body vibrated. She had lost control. She yelped and moaned and convulsed as her entire body surrendered to a massive female orgasm.
I could sense that the whole group had stopped to watch. To see the marvel of one girl getting another girl off just via oral stimulation.
The guard with the camera stood right in front of Brooklyn and trained his focus on Brooklyn's face.
I'm embarrassed to tell you how many times I've watched that video of Brooklyn's face as she learns what it's like to cum as a girl for the first time. That pain and pleasure... it shows so clearly on her face. I'm sure I've watched it over a hundred times. So have a bunch of other pervs -- the view count last time I checked was over 20 million.
+++++
As I drifted back from my memory, I could see Brooklyn looking at me with just a little bit of amusement.
"Where did you go?" she asked.
"I was thinking about May Day."
"I thought that might be the case. You know, that was the first time I..."
She paused, gathered a thousand thoughts.
"That was the first time I came. Like that.
"You're going to think I'm crazy for saying this. But that's actually the worst part of this experience for me."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"That day... you unlocked my core femininity. My inner sexuality. Pandora's box."
I sat and listened.
"Now, when I have sex, I always cum. On repeat. The entire time. It's too much. It's way too much. Damian plants himself inside me and that's enough -- I start squirting. Of course, he loves it. I think it might be what made him fall in love with me. Everyone loves making a girl cum with just his dick. I felt like a goddamned hero when I did that, like, twice ever with my ex-girlfriend?
"Damian does it to me twice every day. He slips in and..."
She daydreamed for a second.
"It's too much. Twice a day, every day, I go completely out of my mind. Surrender to the motion of his penis inside me. It lasts at least twenty minutes. Sometimes longer. All I can do is moan like a bitch. I lose my words. I cry, I squeal, I drench myself in cum. I squirt the entire time.
"He loves it. He loves to watch me lose control. It gets him off. He holds off for as long as he can so he can watch me turn into a complete cock fiend. He uses my pleasure to build up his own."
"When I can feel him building up, when I know he's going to cum inside of me, I say the tiniest prayer of thanks to god. Dear Lord, thank you for allowing me to survive another fucking from Damian Vance -- Amen."
+++++
We swapped some more stories. She was sympathetic when she heard my horror stories. All my stories were horror stories, come to think of it, save for one or two experiences with guys. Guys who I'd dreamed would become my boyfriend.
"You'll get a boyfriend soon. Promise. I have a good feeling about it."
We walked the streets. It was a beautiful fall day. The sun ducked in and out of bright clouds.
For some reason, not one man approached me while we were together. They could have. They could not proposition her, but they could always ask me. I guess I got some sort of immunity by being with her? She was so very beautiful -- it's almost as if she'd put everyone around her into a hypnotic state.
We got to the door of a beautiful, modern building, made of glass and steel but somehow reminiscent of the Art Deco era too. This was where she lived.
We stared into each other's eyes with a warm sense of connection.
Sisterhood.
After a minute, she said "bye," kissed me on the cheek, and went inside, ostensibly to take her next fucking. I thought about it for a minute before my thoughts were interrupted by the voice of a man.
I could hear him from behind me. Based on the voice, I guessed he was 45 to 50, balding, overweight, dark haired.
I would get to know his body well over the next hour or so.
"Bitch, you better be lubed up -- cuz I'm going to put my cock so deep up your ass you're gonna taste it in your mouth."
And life was back to normal.
+++++
I'm so fucking wet. Are you wet? Drop me a line at sexyamie@hotmail.com -- if you're as turned on as I am I'll keep writing it.