"I'm right at the entrance. Feel it?" Dora said. "Now exhale and press gently out. That will open you up."
Jamie gasped as he felt himself stretch open down there. There was a slight burning sensation as she entered him.
"And away we go," Dora said.
The cock began sliding deeper inside and Jamie started to tense up. Dora pressed a spot on his lower spine and he felt his entire pelvic girdle go slack.
"Accupressure," Dora said. "Works better than a muscle relaxant."
Now he felt her crotch grinding against his buttocks. She was all the way up inside him. She was fucking him.
She pumped in and out for what must have been a good half hour. Strangely enough, he didn't feel any discomfort -- just a slight soreness that passed after the first few minutes. Then it started to feel good. After a while his own dick was hard and throbbing, and the pressure was building up in his balls. A little later he found out how intense a penetration orgasm was.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
"Hush," she said, sealing his lips with a kiss.
Dora joined him for breakfast in the morning.
"Hungry?"
Jamie couldn't meet her eyes. Last night . . . Last night, he had fucked her, and then . . . she had fucked him. She? What in the hell was she? A weird kind of transsexual? A hermaphrodite? Some kind of screwy medical experiment? And what in the hell did that make him? Queer? Perverted?
"I, uh, well . . . "
"My poor child, did our activities last night spoil your appetite?"
"Dora, please . . . "
"Eat, Jamie. It's good for you. And after you've washed the dishes and cleaned up, I might have something interesting to show you."
"I know you're wondering about a few things, Jamie. Well then, let me deepen the mystery."
They were in Dora's bedroom. It was the first time he had been allowed into her private sanctum. The blue-silk clad walls and canopied bed took his breath away.
"Look," she said.
Dora had unbuttoned her blouse. She had heavy breasts which drooped a bit, but he already knew that.
Now she was stepping out of her skirt. Shiny pink satin briefs below. No sign of a bulge in front. She winked lewdly at him and he shivered.
"See," she said. She had dropped her panties and was standing there totally bare-assed naked in front of him. Between her legs was . . . a pussy. She was clean-shaven and there was absolutely no doubt. A completely normal woman with completely normal female genitals stood there triumphantly, smiling at him.
"So, where's the missing part? Where's my . . . dick?" Dora asked. "I don't think I'll answer that just yet. And by the way, what are you doing there with your clothes still on?"
Jamie kept fumbling with his belt, and Dora had to help him get his pants down. She grabbed his cock and steered him by it toward the bed. Before he could catch his breath, he was on top of her and deep inside her.
Afterwards, he slept in the comforting circle of her arms. And awoke, hours later, to a soft kiss on the lips. "Guess what?" Dora said. "My turn again." Somehow, he wasn't surprised.
Dora bent him over the bed and inserted a heavily lubed finger into his rear entrance. "Ready?"
Glancing toward the wardrobe mirror, Jamie saw a fully engorged cock disappearing into the darkness between his buttocks, an inch at a time. There could be no mistake. She had a complete set of male equipment and she was fucking him. Fucking him in the ass. Again.
"Now, flop over onto your back," she said.
His legs were straight up in the air, and she braced her shoulders against the backs of his knees as she carefully inserted that massive cock into him. The sight of her boobs jiggling as she pumped in and out of his ass set him off giggling hysterically in disbelief. This couldn't be happening. No fucking way!
An eternity later he felt the telltale throbbing, then that wetness deep in his gut which meant she had shot her load into him. No mistake -- Dora had fully functional male genitals, and she had just fucked him. Again. Three times, counting the previous night. And he had liked it.
His ass felt strangely empty inside. Dora wasn't inside him now, though she hadn't pulled out of him. The hard cock inside him had suddenly vanished.
Jamie looked up at her. His legs were still draped high over her shoulders, but . . . she had no . . . she had no penis now. There was the split between her legs, but it was an opening again, a cunt. Dora had the genitalia of a woman. She was a total woman.
---
"It's time we had a little talk," Dora said.
Jamie nodded. He was thinking it was way past time.
"When I saw you standing there that day, with that lost little boy expression on your face and a suitcase in your hand on that street corner, I recognized a kindred soul. Somehow, I picked up the vibes. You and I . . . we're alike. We're not -- I don't know how to break this to you gently -- we're not entirely human."
Jamie burst into spasms of laughter. "What a relief to hear you say that. I thought I was going bugshit crazy there for a while. You're a woman . . . I think. But sometimes there's a cock between your legs. And when you get the urge, you fuck me in the ass with it. Or am I dreaming this whole thing?"
"Look at me," Dora said. Her body seemed to shimmer in the morning light and Jamie couldn't quite focus his eyes on it. She had a cock again. And now she had the broad shoulders, narrow hips, and flat chest of a man. Her face was narrower, and there was hairy stubble on her cheeks. Her voice had dropped into a masculine register. She was most definitely a man.
"I'm a shapeshifter," Dora said. "And so are you."
Shapeshifting -- changing his physical form -- Jamie found out, was just a matter of letting the hidden part of himself emerge. The part he had denied and tried to bury all these years. The part that had made him an outcast his entire life.
"It was the experience of having your boundaries violated that tipped you over the edge," she said. "The first time I penetrated you, it must have been mind-shattering. It violated your boundaries and smashed your conception of who and what you were. Maybe you felt things get wavery as the change started to work on you."
With Dora's help, Jamie became a woman. He somehow shifted his body into a teenage boy's wet-dream image of a voluptuous female -- exaggerated breasts, flaring hips, and well-padded butt. Dora made love to him then and there in her man-form, and Jamie discovered that having a cock plunging deep into his cunt was a definite change from taking it up the ass. He liked the feeling. Afterwards, Dora shifted back to being a woman and showed him what lesbian love was all about. Jamie found that rather interesting, too.
"Once I tried to shapeshift into a horse," Dora was telling him. "I concentrated with every fiber of my being, but couldn't quite get it right. For a couple of hours there I was a half-human, half-equine hybrid. A centaur with breasts. A monstrosity. Maybe there's just too much of a gap between human and animal."
Dora shook a finger at him. "Now don't you be tempted to try a shift like that. Don't even think about it. DON'T! You're the only one of my own kind I've ever run across, and I don't intend to lose you."
Jamie was thinking about it. And of course he was tempted. Those dreams he'd had growing up . . . he'd been an animal in some of those dreams. So he had to at least try . . .
It turned out that Dora was flat wrong on one count. An inter-species shift required total absence of conscious intent. You had to completely let go, submerge your ego, and let your soma -- your body spirit -- guide the shift into whatever modality it found most sympathetic, whatever shape it was most attuned to. You had to submerge your ego and surrender to your inner body wisdom.
Jamie's awareness flickered and blurred. Something bad was happening. The image in the mirror showed a strange outline. Jamie recognized the reflection of a hairy primate before his sense of self faded, then went dark. The window broke as the screaming creature that had once been Jamie hurled headfirst through it.
Shrill noises, bright lights, unfamiliar smells. Fea
r! Running, running. The Others were close behind. Bright red flashes. Shrieks. Piercing pain, then darkness.
---
"Lord almighty, it's one of the Great Apes, a bonobo in fact. And you say it was running berserk down the street when you captured it, officer? In town? In downtown LA?"
"Yes, Dr. Meyerson. Fortunately, we've had experience with escaped zoo animals prior to this, and we were able to subdue it with nets and anesthetic darts. It doesn't appear to be badly injured."
"Fortunate indeed. This particular subspecies has almost died out in the wild, and though this certainly isn't one of our animals, we'll be more than happy to give her a home. That makes us the only zoo in the country with a breeding pair."
Sunlight and warmth. Dirt underfoot and trees to climb. Food and water. It was paradise. Jamie involuntarily went into heat as the male ape approached.
* * *
BIZOP
Make BIG bucks off lonely women! Our system earns you thousands each month by DOING WHAT COMES NATURALLY. Write for details. Bizop, Inc., P.O. Box 87343 . . .
It sounded good. Damn good. The brochure Jerry got in the mail was full of testimonials. The only problem was the money. The program cost $350. That was more than he made in a month, even before deductions.
He had been in town only a year. Turning twenty just as the mad and glorious sixties were ending, he had hopped a westbound Greyhound and somehow ended up in LA.
Six months later he had scraped together enough. He mailed out a money order for $350. This had damn well better be worth it. Here he was, broke, working at a minimum wage job, inexperienced sexually, and having the gall to think he could make money off women.
An envelope arrived in the mail. The return address read Bizop, Inc. Inside were a couple of paragraphs on a single mimeographed sheet.
That was the entire program. He was to place the following classified ad in the personals section of any newspaper of his choice, and hope for the best. Never experienced the ULTIMATE? It's not too late. Specialist in bringing sensual release to older women. If you are over 50 and lonely, write for details. [Contact info here.]
This had better work. He didn't even know how he'd manage next month's rent if no money came in. Not to mention that the cupboard was bare.
He waited. No inquiries from needy women came in the mail. What did come in the mail was an eviction threat from his landlady. He'd had to ask his boss for an advance in order to buy food.
He woke up one morning knowing that it was all a pile of crap. His hopes and dreams, his whole life -- all of it was crap. He had sent away several hundred dollars to a swindler, only to learn about a scheme to swindle others. A crock of shit.
He was getting ready to leave for work when there was a knock on the door. Oh shit! This couldn't be good news. It wasn't. It was Mrs. Morpheus, the landlady. She was a graying widow in her late forties who was usually pleasant enough to deal with, except when it came to matters of money. Money, as in overdue rent.
"Sorry, but I can't talk now. I'll be late for work -- "
"You might as well sit down, young man. A job won't do you much good if you're not paying the rent. I'm sorry, but matters have gotten to the point that . . . "
"But, I can't -- "
"You can't pay. You don't have the money. You had a little bad luck and you need more time. How many times have I heard that song from my renters? Rentals are what I live on. They're what puts food on my table. If I extended charity to everyone falling behind on his rent, I'd soon be out on the street myself."
"Please, give me a break, lady."
"You're a nice boy, Jerry, but I'm sorry, I just can't extend you any more credit. If you can't come up with the back rent by tomorrow morning, we'll have to start thinking about other alternatives."
At work his boss absolutely refused to give him another advance on his pay. "You're a good worker, Jerry, but you've pulled this stunt once too often. You just can't bring your personal problems to your place of employment. Now, how far along are you with that Metcalfe file?"
Jerry had trouble falling asleep that night. He finally drifted off in the early morning hours.
And awoke choking. Smoke! The building was burning!
Quick! What's the quickest way out? Jump through the window, with the possibility of being sliced up and breaking his bones? Wait! Where's the smoke coming from? Through the floorboards. The fire is downstairs!
Check the hallway. He touched a fingertip to the door. No heat. Cautiously, he opened it a crack. No heat and not much smoke.
He staggered into the hall and there was a body lying there. No, it was moving. Coughing. Still alive! It was Mrs. Morpheus. Probably about to knock on his door with an eviction notice when the fire intervened.
She didn't appear to be seriously injured. Jerry took her hand and helped her up. "Can you walk? We've got to get up to the roof. Downstairs everything's on fire."
At the end of the hall there was a narrow flight of stairs leading upward. In all his months of living in the building, Jerry had never climbed all the way up to the roof, three stories higher. "A hell of a time to go exploring," he muttered as his landlady preceded him up, stumbling and clutching the splintery wooden banister. He supported her from behind to keep her from falling, and near the top she lurched backward against him and they both collapsed in a heap on the steps. She grabbed him in a clumsy embrace and began weeping uncontrollably, and his hands inadvertently slid down to her waist and below. What a nice round ass she had, a distant part of his mind noted.
"The roof -- we've got to get up there!" Jerry shouted at her. The door at the top landing was locked, and Mrs. Morpheus fumbled in her handbag for the key.
"Got to warn the rest of my tenants!" she wailed.
Jerry peered over the parapet down at the ground. "No need. Looks like everybody got out in good time. Seems like they're all having a party down there. They're passing around bottles of beer and what -- dancing?"
"Worthless bums, every one of them." Mrs. Morpheus shook her head in disgust.
There were sirens in the distance.
"I don't know how to thank you, Jerry."
"Well, Mrs. Morpheus -- "
"Just call me Katy. It's my name." She smiled warmly. She was wearing a form-fitting, low-cut dress and didn't look at all like the dowdy landlady he had known for so long. "Would you like dessert?" she asked.
"No, uh, Katy. That pot roast did it for me." He pushed his chair back and suppressed a belch. "You really know how to treat a man."
"I know how to treat a special man." Her eyes twinkled. "My husband used to say that a man who could function in a crisis was worth his weight in gold. And by the way, it still feels warm where your hand touched me down there . . . "
He blushed. "Uh, that wasn't intentional, Mrs. . . . Katy. I was just trying to help -- "
"Please don't apologize, Jerry. What happened during the fire forged a bond between us and, well, it's been so difficult for me since Herbert died . . . " She leaned over him and kissed him on the forehead. He blushed again.
"Jerry, it's not just loneliness speaking. I've had certain feelings for you since you moved into my building. Why do you think I carried you so long when you were so far behind on the rent?"
Her face glowed. He had seen that look before -- on women besmitten or hopelessly in love. In love with someone else . . . it had never been on his account before. Did he really want to go further with this? Well, why not? Katy, and fortune too, it appeared, had smiled on him.
She was snoring softly. The alarm clock on the nightstand read 3:40.
Jerry congratulated himself. He had done just fine, he reckoned. He'd put it into her twice tonight, and he'd be ready for another go in the morning if she was in the mood. Quite a handful, she was. Lustier than a chubby middle-aged dame had any right to be.
Whew! The second time she had wanted to be on top. He'd figured he owed it to her after what had happened earlier. They had been in such a rush to have at each other tha
t he had just pulled her skirt down, bent her forward over the arm of the sofa, and taken her, doggy style. No fancy stuff or preliminaries, just insert and pump. Fortunately, she'd already been wet. Really hot for him, she must have been.
On top, yeah. She had squatted down over his loins and and straddled him. Man, the look on her face as she bounced up and down on him! A hot number for an old lady. Then she had leaned forward, and forward, and down, and lay down flat on him. All 200 pounds of her -- soft and yielding and burning -- and she had smothered him with her longing as her pussy kept squeezing and . . .
The Syntax of Seduction Page 12