Debitched
The strident 'snick'ing of her heels gave Al just enough time to snap off
the small radio and straighten up, his back going as rigid as a steel bar
as 'The Bitch' rounded the corner.
"You, is everything secure?" She asked icily, her lips curling in a
sneer. Although Al had worked for her for three years, she didn't
bother to learn the names of the 'lowly' security guards that kept her
office safe from intruders.
"Yes, Ma'am." Al replied crisply.
She slowly looked him up and down, her lip curling even further at the
slight paunch that stretched Al's uniform short, and the 'five o'clock
shadow' that lined his chin.
While she eyed him, Al couldn't help but eye her as well.
Sandra Caldwell was an attractive woman, and she knew it. Tall,
slender and graceful, she wore designer fashions that emphasized her
figure and status. The finest black and gold leather pumps Milan
produced graced her delicate feet, the four inch heels emphasizing both
her own natural height, and the long, slender, nylon encased legs she
was bequeathed by genetics. A skirt, made of the finest, softest black
Corinthian leather started just above her well shaped knees and hung
loose over her upper legs but clung tight to her athletic hips and trim
waist. The sleeveless sweater/blouse she wore further emphasized her
slender waist, as well as her firm, high set bosom, which, after much
discussion, the guard pool had pegged at a perky C-cup. The way her
nipples made small indents into the fabric ensured that there was no
artificial padding of a bra to make them look larger.
Over the blouse hung an equally expensive long, leather jacket hanging
open. Tastefully expensive jewelry glinted at wrist, lobe and throat,
and her short yet stylish head of raven's black hair was as soft and
luxurious as the finest hair care products could produce.
All in all, she would be quite the fine figure of the woman, if her face
didn't bear an indelible stamp of arrogance.
Part of it was her facial structure itself, with a sharp, almost patrician
nose and high, well defined cheeks that drew the eyes to the dark,
watchful eyes. If one were to shudder from that almost reptilian gaze,
the eye would almost surely fall upon the full lips, seemingly locked
in a permanent, arrogant sneer.Nevertheless, it was a stunningly
beautiful face, even if it was a cold beauty. But the outer mask of that
face matched the inner persona of the woman, and it showed in her every
move, gesture and word. She was intelligent, beautiful and wealthy, but she
lacked even an ounce of human compassion. It was in this coldness that she
reveled, believing it made her 'superior', further bolstering her cold
arrogance and attitude.
Swallowing, Al yanked his eyes from her shapely, yet dangerous, form, before
she could catch him openly eyeing her. As badly as he wanted out of this
position, he knew that if he quit, or worse, she found an excuse to fire him,
he'd never work in this town again. That was the sort of power that Sandra
Caldwell held.
"Well, since you have nothing better to do, why don't you patrol the floor
and make sure everything is secure, you lazy excuse for a security guard."
She ordered, then turned on one slender heel and stormed out of her penthouse
office towards the express elevator that would take her to her waiting
limousine.
"Yes, Miss Caldwell." Al ground out between clenched teeth. Her 'offices'
occupied the entire top floor of the Caldwell Building, and would take a good
two hours to patrol. Grumbling, he began to wander the halls, stopping at
every one of the prolific display cases that showed of the hundreds of
antiquities and objects d'art she had acquired for her own personal enjoyment.
Picking up an intricately carved brass object from where it rested, Al
momentarily considered kicking the object across the room to express some of
his anger. But almost as the thought formed, it was discarded. He didn't know
what it was (A sixth century Babylonian oil-fed brazier), but it had to be
worth more then he could ever afford to repay.
"I wish that Miss Caldwell would have to try and make people happy, instead
of trying to make them feel like shit..." Al muttered angrily, placing the
tarnished object back in it's alcove, and turning to continue his rounds...
...not knowing the chain of events he'd just brought to life as he handled
the enchanted item, and the ancient, powerful spirit that lay trapped within,
centuries dormant, and eager to flex it's long chained powers.
* * * * * * *
Just as the elevator reached the bottom floor, Sandra gasped and leaned
against the wall of the elevator, a strange sensation rippled through her.
Her face took on the uncommon expression of uncertainty for an instant as
the strange sensation ran through every nerve ending, then it was gone, and
she forced herself upright, her face falling into it's familiar configuration
as the door slid open. No matter what, she wasn't going to let the lackeys
who manned the front foyer see her in any state other than cold, controlled
complacency.
Walking with a firm stride towards the magnificent front doors of the
building, she held herself in calm control as she waited for a reoccurrence
of the sudden attack, but none came, and by the time the doorman snatched
open the doors so she could stride through, without even noticing the service
of the man, she had decided that it was a momentary event, and promptly
shoved it from her coldly precise mind. Moving down the steps with a somehow
dangerous grace, she approached the long, boxy shape of the Cadillac
limousine. Then lifted one perfectly arched eyebrow in annoyance as the
driver finished hurrying around the car to open the door for her. True, she
hadn't called down to let him know she was on her way, but it was the man's
job to be ready for her, and making her wait even a few seconds was utterly
intolerable. She opened her mouth to give the man a scathing dressing down,
and felt a strange sensation come over her. It was unlike the one in the
elevator, but she couldn't have described this one if her life depended on it.
She could describe a few portions of it, like the sudden burst of warmth that
usually only came after she'd broken somebody or had a woman, and part of it
was almost, fear, but overall, it was a sensation that she'd never felt
before.
Then, to her shock she felt her lips curving upwards into a smile.
"Thank you, uh?" She heard herself say, amazed at the words and the warm tone
that they came out in. She'd known a barest instant before she'd spoken, that
she was going to say this, but she didn't know why she was saying it.
"Uh... Worthington, Ma'am. Robert Worthington." The chauffeur said, equally
floored by the unexpected kindness his employer was showing, and wondering if
it was some sort of set up.
"Of course." Sandra found herself saying with that same sort of confused
numbness. "Thank you very much, Robert."
"I, uh..." Worthington said, then fell back on his inbred manners. "My
pleasure, Miss Caldwell."
Sliding into the soft leather interior of the car, Sandra wondered what the
hell had come over her. For that matter, why did the fact that the man was
obviously pleased with her gratitude make her body tingle so... pleasantly?
Such petty considerations and emotions were behind her, bred out of her long
ago by the stern hand of her father, and the sharp tongue of her mother. What
the hell was going on here?
The thought of her mother's tongue brought forth another image all together,
the tongue of that gifted secretary she'd seduced last week. What was her
name? Linda? Lisa? Something like that. Sandra had forced the previously
hetero woman to learn the skill of sapphic love, and she'd turned out to be
quite a talented amateur. In return, Sandra had kept her promise not to fire
the woman over her developing pregnancy. Perhaps it wasn't enough, though, a
gift of some sort might be in order...
Shocked, the lesbian heiress yanked her mind from the unexpected generosity
of her thoughts, confused and a little frightened, a condition not helped by
the realization that she'd sat in silent thought for three or four minutes
while Worthington waited patiently for instructions.
Intending to coldly inform him of her destination, and reassert her dominion,
Sandra was once again hit by that strange sensation, and was a s shocked as
the still surprised Worthington was, to hear her words.
"Sorry, pleasant memories sometimes sneak up on a person, don't they?" She
said, incredulous at her own warm, confiding tone. Apologizing? To an
employee? It was ludicrous. "To the Governor's Mansion please, Robert."
"Yes, Ma'am." Robert replied instinctively, dropping the vehicle into gear
and waiting for a spot large enough to ease the big vehicle into traffic. He
didn't know what had gotten into Miss Caldwell tonight, but he liked it.
For her part, Sandra was struggling mightily to keep her face composed, but
what made the task even more difficult was the fact that she wasn't fighting
to keep her confusion from showing, she was fighting to keep her face from
falling into a small, but lovely smile. A politely, friendly face that was
open and warm. The thought of having her face stuck in that insipid
configuration caused her to struggle against it with all her will which made
her miss the next event in her life.
She was aware, somewhere in the back of her mind, that Worthington was
looking through the larger than standard, rearview mirror, obviously
wondering about her as well. Usually, she would have 'bitten his head off',
but she had other things on her mind at the moment.
What she wasn't aware of, was the fact that he was gazing at her trim,
shapely body, and trying to judge the size of her bust. In the darkened
interior, under the black sweater, it wasn't an easy task, and he focused his
thoughts on it, his attempt to gauge her cup-size mixed in with his own
personal biases as to what he thought they should be.
So neither noticed what was really going on as the fabric over Sandra's chest
shifted.
Had she been wearing a bra, she might have caught one, but she wasn't. And
the fabric of the sweater/blouse was stretchy enough that it didn't shift
unduly as her firm, perky breasts began to gain mass, slowly filling
outwards. The inverted tea-cup shape of the breasts began to fill out at the
top and the bottom, becoming more globular as her nipples began to swell
outwards atop of her aureole, becoming thicker and longer. She was, vaguely,
aware of the sensation of her nipples sliding oh so pleasantly across the
softly coarse fabric as her breasts filled outwards, but she thought it was
just her nipples becoming engorged for some odd reason.
They pulled up in front of the Governor's Mansion, a Historical Landmark
building now used as a sort of meeting place for the rich and powerful to see
and be seen. Still struggling with her strange thoughts and actions, Sandra
helplessly smiled at Worthington as he held the door open for her, wondering
what the hell was wrong with her.
'A DD-cup...' Robert thought to himself, eyeing her firm, taut breasts under
the tight sweater, and he was right, too.
Catching the direction of Worthington's gaze, Sandra's eyes flicked down to
her bosom, and she frowned slightly. As she'd thought, her nipples were, for
some reason, fully engorged, (They weren't, their extra length and thickness
merely made them look like that) but she found herself puzzled, it almost
looked like her breasts were, bigger? But that would be impossible.
Shaking her head, she helplessly thanked Worthington for his services, then
swiftly mounted the steps to the building and went inside, trying to regain
control of herself, becoming frightened by the inexplicable things she was
saying and doing.
Just inside the door, the doorman, on older mulatto by the name of Lewis
Kensington, heard the clicking of heels that announced his service was needed.
Reaching for the handle of the door, not able to see who was approaching
through it's smoked glass, he performed his usually guessing game, estimating
the height of the woman's heels from the pattern of the sound, and, not
factoring in Sandra's unusually firm, powerful stride, mentally judged them
to be six inch stiletto heels.
Sandra almost stumbled as she stepped up the last step. She blinked,
wondering why the top step would be higher then the rest, then continued
towards the door, which was pulled open by an older gent with skin the color
of coffee and cream.
"Thank you very much." Sandra said helplessly, and found herself removing a
five dollar bill from her purse and handing it to the smiling, bewhiskered
man.
As she entered the hallway leading deeper into the building, she was
completely unaware of Lewis' gaze as he watched her walk away. Her black and
gold pumps with their six inch heels, coupled with her graceful feminine
stride, producing exactly the sound he'd assumed it was.
"Still got it..." He chuckled to himself. Pocketing the bill, he lowered
himself once more to the seat just inside the door, awaiting his next
customer.
It wasn't until she entered the main room, and received a couple of odd looks
from people who had seen her come in many times before, that Sandra realized
there was something more immediately obvious about her that caused the
puzzled looks than her odd behavior. After all, none of them had interacted
with her yet, and she was managing to keep her face relatively set, so what
was the cause of the odd looks.
That was when she realized she was walking with a completely different
stride, a graceful, feminine glide. Startled, she glanced down and stared in
confusion at the shoes she was wearing. Although they were very, very similar
to the ones she'd put on this morning, these ones had heels that were at
least two inches taller than they should have been.
Before Sandra had a chance to react to the inexplicable change in her
footwear, a tall, solidly built blond man was crossing the marble floor,
calling her name in a warm, welcoming voice.
"Sandra, so glad you could make it!" Richard Widmark exclaimed with a genuine
grin on his face. The Charleston Business Board's Public Relations Officer,
Richard was an expert at liking people, and most of them liked him, as well.
Even Sandra's cold attitude didn't phase him a bit.
Well, her previously cold attitude. Helplessly, she found herself smiling.
"Richard!" She exclaimed, as if genuinely happy to see him, then found
herself actually embracing the man, giving him a quick peck on the check.
Something she'd never done before in her life, and never dreamed she'd be
doing now.
A consummate professional at his job, Richard wasn't even thrown off stride
by her unusually warm acceptance and greeting. "So, you decided to drop in
for the Auction after all, hmm?"
That strange warm, tingly, pleasant, scary, indescribable feeling was
thrumming through her body almost constantly now, and it was unnerving and
confusing. Even worse was the fact it seemed to coincide with her own
inability to control herself, it was like being a passenger in her own body.
Now, that feeling 'pulsed' a bit and Sandra, who had actually come to bid on
a man or two just to keep her own sexual proclivities a secret, found herself
saying something completely out-of-character, enough so that Richard actually
started a bit in surprise.
"Actually," She said, trying desperately to stop the words from leaving her
mouth. "I thought I might participate in the 'blind bidding', as a volunteer
'Date'."
"Well... that's wonderful!" Richard exclaimed. "Why don't you go in back and
get ready, we're going to start soon."
Helplessly, Sandra turned and headed towards the back stage area, trying, in
vain, to stop herself. She didn't want to do this, any of this. She didn't
like men, goddamn it, so why would she let herself be raffled off as a date
for one?
But she couldn't stop herself. And she was really, really trying.
Going back stage, she found the changing room full of various women going
through the costumes and picking out what they were going to wear, chatting
among themselves as they did so. Helplessly, Sandra found herself smiling
insipidly and joining in their mindless banter.
The premise of the 'Blind Date Bids' was that the women would wear costumes
that would hide their identities, so that the bidders wouldn't know who they
were, sometimes with the women, the men would raise or lower their bids,
based on the perceived personality of the person. Sandra had to admit that
her own going price would be low based on that, not that she cared, of course.
But now, she found herself looking for a costume, just so she could go out
and have men bid on her. She was horrified, but there seemed to be absolutely
nothing she could do to stop herself. She was no longer in control of her
words or actions, she was as a puppet with somebody, or something, else
pulling her strings, making her say and do things she'd rather die than do.
It was like being in her own personal Hell, then things got even worse.
"Gee..." A vivacious red head said with a giggle, holding up a costume. "I'd
like to see the bids on the woman who could wear this!"
This was a highly stylized French Empire dress in brocaded satin with a short,
puffy skirt, and an extremely large bodice, who's tag read JJJ and, as soon
as the red-head had said those words, Sandra felt a decidedly odd sensation
And, unlike in the car, this time she was well aware of what was happening as
she gasped, her hands flying to her chest where her sweater/blouse was slowly
pushing outwards.
Amazingly, nobody else seemed to noticed the slightest thing odd going on as
Sandra tore off her leather jacket and gaped down at her chest. The sweater
was slowly rising upwards, displaying more and more of her toned, flat
stomach, as the extra material was needed slightly higher up. She could feel
the weight of her breasts slowly increasing, pulling heavier and heavier on
her ribcage, as the front of the sweater stretched ever outwards over an
expanding bosom, the nipples poking larger and large tents into the fabric as
they swelled.
Sandra peeled off the blouse-sweater and stood topless, staring in shock at a
nearby mirror that displayed the image of her now globular breasts swelling
outwards and filling with more mass, remaining impossibly firm and spherical
even as they continued to gain weight that should have dragged them downwards.
They had passed through the alphabet of cup-sizes, going from grapefruit
sized to casaba sized, then to cantaloupe sized. Her breasts stopped growing
when they were roughly the size of bowling balls, and about as firmly
spherical. But no bowling balls had ever been so mouth wateringly sexy, so
soft and flawless. And never had a bowling ball been tipped with large, thick,
erect nipples the color of old copper, amazingly sensitive and practically
begging to be sucked and fondled.
Then, helplessly, Sandra found herself taking the costume from the
unconcerned redhead, chatting inanely with the woman as if some sort of magic
hadn't just occurred in front of a room full of people. And, as far as Sandra
could tell, as far as the women were concerned, it hadn't. From their comments
and her responses, it was as if her breasts had been this large when she had
walked in.
They hung firm and heavy from her chest, swaying slightly as she peeled off
her skirt and pulled on the costume. The short, puffy skirt revealed almost
all of her long, sexy, nylon clad legs, and when the redhead laced the dress
up the back, it displayed a mouth watering amount of cleavage, her huge, firm,
round tits needing no support to appear utterly provocative in the gown. Then
two of the women helped Sandra apply a deep, glossy red lipstick to her full,
soft lips, and helped her into a tall, thick, convoluted black wig that went
with the costume.
The final step was putting on a golden mask that covered the top half of her
face. Then somebody was calling her contestant number, and she helplessly
found herself walking onto the stage with a sexy and oh so provocative stride
that caused her massive new breasts to tremble in their cloth prison.
Sandra was horrified as she 'worked it', using every feminine wile she
possessed as she strode sensuously up and down the stage. She never went
beyond the fine line of 'good taste', but she rode that line incredibly
closely, and it had telling effect.
"Eight hundred!" Came the first bid from the crowd of stunned men, and a
murmur ran through the spectators, as that much money had been how much some
of the women had already gone for, and for Sandra, it was just the opening
bid.
"A thousand!" A reply came back quickly, and the bidding rapidly spiraled
upwards from there.
But Sandra couldn't pay attention to the ever higher bids called out for the
pleasure of her company. She couldn't even spare time to feel the emotions
she should be feeling, she was too busy trying to cope with the hundreds of
small changes that were occurring to her as the bidding increased, all of
them apparently unnoticed by anyone but her, as she helplessly continued her
sensual strut.
There were dozens of men out there, and every one of their slightest
misconceptions about the gorgeous woman on stage instantly came true. One
thought that the massive mane of raven hair was her own, and so it was, even
as the comment left the man's lips.
Another thought that the dress' vee shaped bodice was a corset, and of course,
it was, drawing Sandra's already tiny waist in a scant two inches more. When
one of the men though that she was three inches taller then her real height,
then her new height was three inches taller, her clothes automatically
adjusting to fit any and all changes. Five separate times she felt her chest
heave as it expanded another cup size, her chest becoming even heavier and
more sensitive.
Guesses as to what she wore under the dress first turned her sensible white
cotton briefs into black lace briefs, then black lace French cut briefs, then
a hot red thong, then nothing at all, her now bare cunt barely hidden by the
folds of the short skirt that only came down to mid-thigh at it's outer edges.
More 'idle guesses', and she felt her eyes under the mask running through a
dozen or so rapid changes in color, shape and appearance, with her having no
way of knowing yet, the final outcome of these changes. Her nails became
longer as her ass became firmer and fuller, and her already long, sexy legs
became more so under the sheer fabric of the nylons she wore.
Then finally, the bidding wound down, and a Sandra, who bore little
resemblance to the original, found herself stepping off the stage, her huge
OOO cup breasts barely contained by the tight fabric of the dress as she
walked up to her buyer Richard Widmark.
"Sindra..." He said with a grin, and Sandra was surprised by the name change,
and unable to express that surprise, any more than she was able to express
her horror, outrage and fear. "I just had to buy you for tonight. And don't
pretend to be surprised that I knew who you were. The Blind Date is supposed
to hide you identity, but none of the women even come close to you in the
bust department."
"I know." She found herself burbling in a disgustingly chipper voice. "None
of them can even touch these babies!"
Fitting action to words, she found her hands rising to heft her massive new
endowments, shuddering in helpless pleasure at the way the motion made her
massive, hyper sensitive nipples drag over the inside of the dress.
"Shall we?" Richard asked, gesturing towards the door.
"Oh, yes... let's..." Sandra, Sindra, breathed in a sexy voice that made her
shudder. Helplessly, she followed Richard out o where his limo waited. He
climbed inside, seating himself, and she followed and found herself sitting
on his lap, facing him, with a smile on her lips. Bending down, she helplessly
found herself kissing him passionately, as his hands went behind her and undid
the top of her dress, letting it flop down.
Pulling his lips from hers, he bent his head and began to fondle and sucked
her massive tits. She moaning in helpless pleasure, pulling off her mask and
tossing it aside as his tongue, lips and hands worked in unison to create
pleasure in her massive tits.
Then helplessly, she felt herself sliding downwards, her knees landing on the
floor as her hands reached out and unzipped his pants. Smiling, not that she
really wanted to, she found herself lowering her head to his crotch even as
she felt more changes taking place in her body.
* * * * * *
The limo pulled to a stop outside of the 'Booby Hatch', and the rear door
swung open.
The figure that emerged was absolutely incredible. Tall, almost six feet,
most of her height was made up in her long, sexy dancer's legs that flared
out into womanly hips beneath the tiny skirt of the highly modified French
maid's costume that she wore. A black leather corset cinched her already tiny
waist down to a minuscule twelve inches a measurement almost lost in the
shadow of her impossibly huge, impossibly firm tits, each of which was bigger
than a beach ball, and mostly uncovered by the outfit's tiny top, Her massive,
thick nipples tented out what little fabric there was.
Swaying sensuously atop her nine inch spiked heel platform shoes, she headed
towards the strip club, a vapid look on her sensual, sexy face beneath it's
crown of a massive mane of long, black hair. Pulling open the door, she
smiled brainlessly at the sign outside the club.
APPEARING TONIGHT!
The ONE & ONLY
SSSYNDI SSSTAXXX
40SSS-12-38
Her massive, milk filled tits jiggling as she giggled, Sssyndi entered the
club.
Deep inside the outrageously sexy body, Sandra screamed and screamed and
screamed as Sssyndi got ready to do her set, eager to do her stuff so she
could spend the rest of the night sucking and fucking men's brains out.
After all, she loved to make men feel happy.