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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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Karissa
by Anonymous (address withheld)
***
It's a real rush to have some guy on his knees before
me, begging me to whip him. It turns out that a
transsexual dominatrix is especially intimidating; the
poor wimp is reduced to a puddle of jelly when he
realizes his mistress is about to do to him what he
does to everyone else in his life. (MF, MM, tv, tg, cd)
***
I knew the minute I laid eyes on her that she was a
hooker. No woman purposely looked that provocative
unless she was hustling. She was a stunning redhead in
a black spandex mini-dress with a halter top. Her
large, ripe melons threatened to spill out of their
skimpy confinement, and her deliciously narrow waist
and full, rounded hips were defined by a wide red
patent belt.
Her long, shapely legs were enclosed in sheer black
stockings, and her feet were gracefully shod in
matching red patent pumps with five inch stiletto
heels. Her fathomless jade eyes were deeply made up in
green and gold, framed by furry black lashes. Her plush
lips and long, graceful fingernails were polished in
fiery red. She told me her name was Cybil, and I had to
have her.
Picking her up was not a problem. We each knew what the
other was there for, and came to an amicable
arrangement. As we left, I thought I was going to shoot
my load in my pants just watching her hips undulate
back and forth as she strutted towards the door. On the
way home she did everything to keep me aroused. She
fondled my raging hard-on through my pants, blew in my
ear, nibbled on my earlobe, stuck her tongue in my ear,
scraped her fingernails against my exposed chest.
We arrived at my place - not a moment too soon for my
aching cock. She took one look at my house and gasped.
"Honey, if I had known you were loaded, I would have
charged you double. C'mon, Lover; I'm going to get that
extra out of you yet!"
The sex was great -- not just because she was skillful
(she was), not just because she was beautiful (she
certainly was). It was great because of the thrill of
knowing that this beautiful, talented temptress was a
"professional". It was wildly erotic to think that this
exquisite woman, whom I had never met before, was
having sex with me on demand for a cold cash payoff.
I had always fantasized about being that woman; perched
enticingly on a barstool, waiting, then being
propositioned, reaching an agreement, taking the john
someplace private, accepting his money, then fucking
him senseless.
***
She stirred, as if to leave. As she got up, she noticed
a stack of photographs on the bedside table. Before I
could stop her, she picked them up and began to leaf
through them.
"Mmmm, dynamite-looking Fox! I can see that I'm not
your first Working Girl. Who is she? I don't think I've
seen her around before."
"It's me. I like to dress-up."
She stopped dead. Her chin dropped and her eyes grew
wide as she went through the stack, alternately looking
at the photos, then me. When she had finished, a sly
smile spread across her lips. She pushed me down on my
back, straddled my hips, impaled herself on my now-
rock-hard cock and rode me for all I was worth. She
gently raked my chest with her long fingernails as she
softly spoke to me.
"No Lover, you don't just "like" to dress. You LOVE it!
The woman in these pictures proves that. You dress to
turn men on, to make them hot for you, just like a pro.
You make ME hot, just looking at your pictures. No girl
looks that good by accident. Now, Honey, tell me what
you REALLY want. What was it I saw in your eyes at the
bar? TELL ME!"
"You're right. I love to dress as a woman. I love to be
sexy, provocative, sluttish. I have always wanted to
know what it's like to hook for a living; to pick up a
stranger, take him to a room, take his money, and fuck
him senseless. I saw you tonight, and I saw the "me" I
have always wanted to be. I want to know how it feels."
Cybil's eyes gleamed as she took in my words, as if
some plan had crystallized in her head. She smiled her
seductive smile and rolled over until she lay beside
me, still gripping my cock tightly inside her drenched
pussy. She pressed her lush body against mine and
continued to rhythmically pump my fuck-pole into her. I
could feel her hot breath on my face as she spoke
slowly, softly, commandingly:
"So you want to know how it feels, do you, Sugar? I can
arrange that. I "love" to transform mousey little guys
like you into beautiful, sexy women. It's a real turn-
on for me. I don't have to ask you how you would feel
about it; I can see it in your eyes. Look at me. Look
at my body. You love it, don't you, Honey? You would
love to have a body like mine, wouldn't you? You would
love to have a pair of full, firm tits like mine. You
crave a nice, round ass and a tight, wet pussy of your
own, don't you? You would sell your soul to live my
life; to seduce men, make them hot for you, make them
give you anything you ask for, just so they can feel
your tits, feel your ass, feel your whole body pressed
against theirs, feel their cock inside your tight, wet
pussy.
"Imagine what that would "feel" like, Lover; a big,
hard cock inside you, driving in and out, hot cum
spurting into your pussy. You would die to be the kind
of woman that a man would pay anything to possess, if
only for a little while - wouldn't you, Sugar? Well,
I'm not going to just tell you about it; I'm going to
show you. You have a beautiful place with "lots" of
bedrooms, and this neighborhood has great potential;
the local clubs ooze money. It's an ideal set-up. Tell
you what. I think I'm going to stay with you a while.
"In fact, I think I'm going to call a couple of my
friends and have them stay here, too. My friends and I
are going to set up a little business here, work the
clubs, have some guys over. While we're here, we are
going to change you into your dream girl.
"Your new name will be -- Karissa, soft as a woman's
caress. We will give the kind of body you have always
wanted, the kind that men drool over. You will learn
how to walk, talk, sit in ways that get guys hot. We
will teach you how to give a blowjob that will drive a
guy up the wall. We will show you how to get a guy off
right under the table. When you are ready, we will take
you out to the same bars you go to now. You are going
to pick up tricks with us, bring them back here, and
screw their brains out. We may even have you pick up
your best friend.
"But you know what, Honey? I "guarantee" he won't have
any idea who you are, and he wouldn't care if he did.
All he will be able to think about is this hot-looking
fox in front of him that he just HAS to get his cock
into. And "you: will want him to do it, too, because by
that time you will be one of us, and he will be just
another source of income to you. The only way you will
"really" get it on is with another hooker; WE know what
it takes to get each other hot.
"I'm getting very hot just thinking about turning you
into a really sexy whore. I want to see you all dressed
up, made up, with curves in all the right places. We'll
turn tricks together, but the special moments, the hot
moments, we will save for each other. Besides, Lover,
if you don't go along with it, I just might start
showing these pictures of you around, you know what I
mean?"
The threats weren't necessary; by that time I would
have given her anything to do what she said she was
going to do. She probably knew that already, and just
tossed them in to add a little drama.
She started that night by examining my feminine
wardrobe ("You do have good taste, Honey"). She laced
me into one of my corsets, then added stockings, heels,
a sheer black peignoir, full makeup, and my platinum
blonde wig. She selected my largest dildo ("I knew a
slut like you would have one") and fucked me into total
submission.
Cybil made a couple of calls the next morning, then
spent the next few hours feminizing me. By noon my body
was completely hairless, corsetted, stockinged, and
padded in all the right places. I was in a long silk
dressing robe and stiletto heels ("get used to them,
Karissa; that's all you will wear on your feet from now
on"). The doorbell rang and she led me to the door and
opened it. Her two friends, Ginger and Monica, were
every bit as striking as Cybil.
"Ginger, Monica, I want you to meet Karissa. She
wants to become one of us, and I told her we would show
her everything she needs to know. Won't we?"
She flashed them a big wink that I was meant to see.
They all laughed, then they led me to the kitchen where
they all went to work on me.
I was completely made over that afternoon. Although I
was to wear wigs until my own hair grew out, they
bleached my hair a shimmering platinum blonde ("We
wouldn't want any dark roots to spoil your look now,
would we Honey?"). My eyebrows were thinned and trimmed
into high arches. My ears were double-pierced and two
sets of studs were put in place until the punctures
healed.
While Cybil and Ginger worked on my makeup, Monica gave
me a long, lustrous set of square-cut sculptured nails.
When they had finished, Ginger and Monica each grabbed
one of my wrists and pulled me forward over the table.
I lay there helplessly as Cybil moved in behind me. I
felt the cooling touch of an alcohol swab on my butt,
followed by the sharp sting of a needle.
"What was that?"
"Shh now, Karissa. That was your first hormone shot.
You will get one every day from now on. Soon you will
have curves in all the right places, and then you
really will be just like us, just as I promised you.
You'll like that, won't you, Baby?"
I could have said "no" right then, and called the whole
thing off. I could have sent them on their way and gone
on with my life. I really could have.
"Yes, thank you. I will like that very much."
***
The days passed. I helped my three lovely companions
move their personal belongings in. At the same time, we
redecorated the house into a very graceful, very
elegant, very feminine home. The girls kept me
corsetted and dressed for "business" at all times. They
took turns indoctrinating me. I picked up their
techniques, their approaches, their attitudes, even
their patterns of speech.
I acted as their receptionist, setting up appointments
for clients who called, greeting the clients at the
door when they arrived, making them feel relaxed and
comfortable until their girl was ready for them. The
girls developed a sensual, exotic ritual which they
practiced on me every night.
I would wait in my bedroom, dressed in corset,
stockings, heels, a sheer peignoir, fully made up and
perfumed, as though I were waiting for a client. Then
one (and sometimes all three) of the girls would enter,
kiss and caress me for a while, then gently force me
down on the bed, administer my hormone shot, then give
me a long, slow fucking with a large dildo.
As more time passed and the contours of my body
changed, I became more confident in my new lifestyle. I
had begun to practice "warming up" the clients while
they waited, to make their experience that much more
pleasurable. It wasn't long before they began to
request that I participate in their scenes. I found out
that I really love to suck cock, not to mention taking
a big dick up the ass. I even took part in a few
Domination scenes.
It's a real rush to have some guy on his knees before
me, begging me to whip him. It turns out that a
transsexual dominatrix is especially intimidating; the
poor wimp is reduced to a puddle of jelly when he
realizes his mistress is about to do to him what he
does to everyone else in his life.
Soon I progressed from participating in the other
girls' scenes to turning my own tricks. It's thrilling
to have clients request my services. Cybil was right;
it is an ego trip to have that kind of power over a
man, to hold his cock in my hand and watch him spurt
cum all over, knowing that at this moment I own him ,
and he will do anything I ask him to if I will "please
just make it last a little longer!"
The girls kept at least one night open each week to get
out to the clubs, have a few drinks, dance, and maybe
drum up some new business. Working girls are just like
salesmen; they are always "on", always pitching, even
when they are out playing. One such Thursday night they
decided it was time to throw me a "graduation party".
They spent an hour fussing over me, giggling, teasing
me, as though I was going to my first prom.
I was laced into a bright red satin corset which
compressed my waistline to a scant twenty-two inches,
while my hips flared out to a full, rounded thirty-six.
My legs were incased in gossamer-sheer black stockings
which fastened to the garters of my corset. The seams
of the stockings ran arrow-straight up the backs of my
legs. I wore a red lace underwired demi-bra which
cradled the undersides of my hormonally-enhanced tits
and pushed them high up on my chest, giving me full,
rounded mounds and a deep, luscious cleavage.
My matching red lace bikini panties kept me tucked in
tightly, so that no telltale bulge would spoil the
effect. I wore a black silk short-sleeved blouse with a
wrap-around front. The effect was to create a plunging
"V" neckline which showed of my lush cleavage and just
a hint of red lace bra for contrast. My ample curves
were squeezed into a knee-length black leather hobble
skirt, with a spray of diamond-shape rhinestones down
the front.
With the blouse tucked into the skirt, my tiny waist
was defined by a wide red calfskin cincher belt. My
feet were shod in red calfskin pumps with five inch
stiletto heels. My platinum hair was fluffed out, with
spiky bangs curling in on my forehead. My sapphire eyes
were made up dramatically in dark blue and silver,
rimmed completely in black liner, and framed with
mascaraed lashes that resembled thick, black fur.
My prominent cheekbones were a deep rose. My plush lips
and long fingernails were blood-red, matching my belt
and shoes. The scent of Shalimar wafted gently on the
night breeze as I strutted regally to the car with the
other girls. after a few minutes drive, I realized that
Cybil was taking me back to the same club where we had
met.
I should have been panicked; everyone there knew me
well. Yet I felt supremely confident and self-assured.
I instinctively knew that no one would connect the
ravishing beauty they were about to meet with the guy
they had known before. I now was what I had always been
meant to be, and I was prepared to make the most of it.
I communicated all of this to Cybil with a glance and a
smile. She understood immediately.
We had made a point to arrive towards the end of Happy
Hour. It was early enough to get one of the big,
semicircular booths near the dance floor and still
catch a lot of the businessmen who had stopped by to
socialize after work. No one showed me the slightest
hint of recognition, not even waitresses who had known
me by name for months.
That doesn't mean we didn't get noticed; far from it.
Every eye in the place, both male and female, tracked
the four of us like radar all the way from the door to
our table. I think our bar bill amounted to one bottle
of champagne that night, and that was the first one.
Once we established our preference, fresh bottles kept
appearing at our table like magic for the rest of the
evening.
We got up to dance shortly after the dance music
program started; after all, we were there to have a
good time. Of course, there was more to it than just
fun - working girls are always "on", remember? The
sight of four gorgeous foxes grinding their bodies to a
pounding disco beat, as though they were making love to
each other, is a powerful aphrodisiac. It is also a
more effective introduction than any calling card ever
devised by man. Sure enough, within twenty minutes our
dance cards were full.
Business, as they say, was brisk. Our "girl's night
out" took on the aspects of just another day at the
office, with frequent trips by each of us out to the
parking lot. True to his word, the valet never allowed
us to be interrupted at an awkward moment. I was so
impressed by his devotion to duty (not to mention his
endowment), that I gave him his "tip" two hours before
closing. On the other hand, I did make sure he had my
"business" number; an occasional freebie for
promotional purposes is fine, but business is business.
The same is true for those gentlemen who bought us
really good champagne; it is pricey when you buy it in
one of those places, and we were there primarily to
have a good time. We showed them one in return, but
before they left they had our phone number and first-
hand knowledge of the kinds of services we provided.
Shortly before last call I heard a familiar voice ask
me to dance. I looked up, and my heart skipped a beat.
I knew this guy! His name was Ken. We hadn't exactly
been best friends, but we had gone drinking together
often. Yet here he was COMING ON TO ME, as though he
had never seen me before in his life! I glanced
sideways and caught Cybil's eye.
We spoke volumes with just that one glance; I saw that
she understood what was happening. I looked back at
him, flashed him my very best come-hither smile and
said yes. As we danced, I played coy, pretending he was
a complete stranger. We went through introductions and
some small talk, and I think he caught on to what we
were. At that point I really turned up the heat on this
guy. I had always thought he was good-looking; now, I
found him really attractive.
That always makes the job easier. I did my very best
"Dirty Dancing" routine. I danced close with my hands
on his hips, alternately grinding my pussy into his
crotch and my tits against his chest. He placed his arm
around me and held me as I leaned way back, my
fingertips sliding down his arms. He pulled me up
again, and I slid my fingers up his arms again,
transferring them to the exposed flesh of his muscular
chest. I twirled around so that we faced in the same
direction.
I arched my back and reached backward with my right arm
so that my hand encircled his neck, my head rested
against his shoulder, and my ass nestled against his
crotch. I swayed my hips back and forth to the slow,
hypnotic beat, grinding my ass against his massive
hard-on. I could almost hear him sweat, and his hands
encircled me and ran upwards to fondle my tits, then
downwards to feel my pussy. I knew at that moment that
I owned him. I also knew he would make the obvious play
at any moment. I was ready for him.
"Karissa, I'm so hot for you right now that I'm about
to come in my pants. Let's go someplace more private
and talk about it."
"Gee, Honey, I don't know. It's late, I have to work
tomorrow, and we're going to need a lot of time to do
it right."
"Then I would have to make it worth your while,
wouldn't I?"
Gotcha!
Two thoughts flashed through my mind in quick
succession:
1) This guy is worth BIG bucks, and...
2) He has never been to my home. He would have no idea
who I was, or had been.
The decision was obvious.
"In that case, Sugar, I think we can work something
out. Let me just excuse myself from my roommates, then
we can go back to our place. It's just a few minutes
away. They won't disturb us when they get home. Unless,
of course, we want them to."
I led him back to our table and told the girls that Ken
would be taking me home, that we had some business to
talk over. I flashed them a smile and a big wink, then
let him lead me towards the door. As we walked away
from the table, I glanced back, and saw Cybil mouth the
words "I told you so."
The valet brought Ken's Porsche around. Ken tipped him
and got in. I waited for the valet to come around and
get my door. When he did, I surreptitiously massaged
his re-aroused dick, gave him a smile and a wink, and
mouthed the words "Call Me." Then I got in the car, and
we were gone.
Where should I begin? Business has been great; so much
so that the four of us have decided to extend our
relationship indefinitely. I made my own decision a
while back; I now have a real pussy and a 34-D bust
line. Ken is still a good friend and valued client. He
steers a lot of business our way, so I allow him to
take me out from time to time.
He knows all about me now, and certainly knows what I
do for a living. Instead of being turned off, he says
he thinks I am the most exciting woman he has ever
known. I think I'll keep him around for a while; this
might have potential if I ever decide to retire. I'm
not ready to do that just now; I'm still having too
much fun. Cybil, Ginger, Monica, and I are just like
family. We share thoughts, feelings, emotions. There is
a lot of love here.
Speaking of love, you will have to excuse me; I have a
standing date with a gorgeous redhead and a very large
dildo.
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 63