Oopsie

________________

"Look at you, already developing a little proficiency at cock-sucking," he said, gently swiping a stray wisp of hair from my face. It was rather considerate, really; both of my hands were busy already. One stroking his shaft whenever it slipped out of my mouth on the upstroke, the other gently twisting a pinky inside his ass.

Yesterday, when I'd first opened up my home to this man – whose name I really should learn – this might have grossed me out. I mean, I wasn't squeamish or anything. I was actually very comfortable with the human body. Still, there was a world of difference between the clinical and the actual, and to be stimulating the inside of my guest's asshole, as I had been for, what, an hour now? as he let me bob on his cock... well, it was outside my usual comfort zone.

Then again, the night – and today, and again this evening – had been full of such endeavors. "Comfort zone" was a meaningless term now. Oh, we'd started tame, or what I'd considered tame last night. He'd shoved me over the armrest of my couch and fucked my brains out. I giggled a bit at my own erstwhile naïveté. My shock, even fear at being handled so roughly. When I first realized I was using those vulgar words in my own head – "fuck my brains out." I'd never liked the f-bomb, or profanity in general. It had never seemed to serve much purpose, and rubbed something inside me the wrong way. I'd dumped a guy I'd been in a four-month relationship once for using the word "cunt" in the heat of passion.

But since yesterday, this hot bitch's greedy sopping cunt couldn't get fucked deep or hard enough. I'm not being figurative – literally, every time I came, it only made me want it more. My guest had evidently come prepared with a few little blue pills that did wonders to keep his cock useful, and thank god for that. Still, by time I was sucking him back to full mast sometime in the middle of the night, he was beginning to grow fatigued. I wasn't tired yet, though. I mean, physically yes, I was beyond exhausted. But my hot wet snatch was nowhere near ready to stop. It wasn't until he was snoring through my frantic blowjob that, still savoring the musk of his dick in my mouth, I finally conceded the need to rest and recoup for today.

And what a day it was! Or at least, it started out amazing. I woke up to the sensation of a cock splitting my pussy in half, and once I realized it wasn't part of the accompanying dream, I was laughing in triumphant exultation as I could at last begin rutting anew. Unsurprisingly, my guest didn't seem eager to leave his sexy nymphomaniac's company.

At first, anyway. Then...

OK, at first, it bugged me. Angered me, actually. Almost enough to make him leave. I was blowing him, again, and out of nowhere, he pulls out and sprays all over my face! Not just my face, but it got in my hair, on my tits, all over my hands... it was amess.

"Leave it," was all he said.

"What? It's gross. No way."

"Leave it, or I leave you."

"What? But... you can't boss me around. Not in my own home."

He didn't reply. But in spite of myself, in spite of how degrading it felt, how pissed off I was that he'd done it without asking, then doubled down and insisted it stay... I left it. I wanted to keep fucking, and making a fuss wasn't going to help with that. So I let him have his prize, and when he pulled out of my pussy half an hour later and spurted all over my ass and back, I let it slide. What was a little more cum on me, after all.

By the time we resumed after lunch – I ate on the couch beside him, picking at a salad bowl with a fork in one hand, longingly stroking his shaft with the other – he made me ask him for the facial that followed. Like last night, on my knees, he didn't settle for an ask. No, the man waited for me tobeg. And then made me beg until it not merely sounded sincere, but was.

I know, I know, it sounds like just some kinky game I put up with. And it was... the first time. My sincerity was born of an eagerness for him to finish getting off so I could get him working on the next one. But as those splashes hit my face, as it sunk in that I'd become the sort of woman who begs a total stranger for a spritz of cum in the eye... well, it struck me how fuckinghot it was. The more I thought about it, the more I was grateful that I even had a total stranger to have these epiphanies with. It was so much hotter acting like – no,being – a depraved slut with a stranger. This one above all.

The next time he asked, I smiled, pointed, and stroked until he was spent. Then before I knew the words were coming out, I thanked him for it. Then I asked him to try my ass. I'd never done that before. Always found it disgusting, really. But suddenly, the fact that it wasdirty andslutty andwrong made it so muchhotter! When he started smacking my ass like I was some sort of petulant toddler, another of those chains of mini-orgasms quaked through my body, continuing right up until the big one. He ate his dinner with me draped over his lap, pleading for another swat, and then another. It burned like crazy, but I didn't care. I was pleasing him, and that just felt so fucking good I didn't care about anything else.

By the time he fell asleep again that night, I was practically where I'd been the previous evening, unable to get off without him to give me permission, tell me what to do, reward me with signs of his satisfaction. What was the point in sex if I wasn't performing for him? In the span of a single day, sex had become a thing I did to please men rather than satisfy my own needs.

"Do you think I'm too slutty?" I asked him the next morning in the shower. I quickly apologized for the momentary disruption of service and took him back into my mouth.

"Too slutty? It depends on how you define the term 'slut,' my pet."

I took a moment to revel in the taste of his cock before answering. All the cum, all the leavings from my mouth and pussy and ass had washed away; this was purely, entirely him.

"You know, a woman who's always horny. Who'll fuck anything that walks."

"Intriguing. Then, to your question, a question: would you fuck any man who asked, or are you simply attracted to my own person?"

I thought about that as the water rolled off his belly, through my slicked back hair and down the drain. I wanted to fuck, yes. Not even just to fuck, but to be sexual in general. Sucking and licking and groping and being groped and leered at and objectified and worshipping my lover's cock. There was nothing else I'd ever wanted to do this much, and I couldn't imagine wanting to do anything more than this ever again. But all that said, was it something particular to this man, or a broader appetite?

I imagined myself with other men. Men I knew from work, men I'd been with in the past, even hunks I'd seen on TV. I'd definitely fuck them if they wanted. If they even hinted. I might actually offer unasked, then let them do whatever they wanted. But compared to this man, this Adonis who'd flipped my world upside down with his perfect dick, his precise understanding of exactly what sort of skanky little cumslut I dreamed of being...

"I mean, mostly you. I'd fuck someone else if you told me to. Or if they asked me to and you were busy. Or if you didn't mind having another guy or two using whatever holes you're not in. But mostly you."

I didn't hear what he said next, because all of a sudden, for the first time since I'd seen him on my doorstep, I had a flash of clarity. It left as quickly as it came –mm, coming – but I held onto it long enough to get the words out as I reluctantly let his cock slip between my lips. "Um, why is that?"

"Why's what, dear girl?"

I whimpered in delight at the debasing term. How had I ever found that kind of thing offensive? Being a girl, a hot young thing prized above all for her sex, it was so much better than my stupid boring name. "Whitney" was so bad for getting men to fuck me. I wanted to be girl. Pet. Tart. A piece of ass. Slutcakes. Dribblesnatch. Walking talking set of holes to get men off whenever they want as long as they want as often as...

I saw he was looking at me expectantly. Oh, right. "Why is it I'm so attracted to you? I mean, doesn't that seem like kind of a coincidence, the perfect man stalking me home from a restaurant?"

"It does, does it?" This time I nodded; no sense wasting prime cock-sucking time with words. I knew the hot water would only hold out so much longer. "Well... promise you won't be mad?"

I nodded again. "I promise." I didn't even realize what I was saying, but he'd told me to say something, and I so enjoyed letting him control what my mouth was doing that it felt natural to comply. "You see... I changed you."

That somehow sent a chill up my spine, and not because of the diminishing hot water. "You... what?"

"Let me explain. You see, when I saw you in that restaurant, I justknew I had to fuck you. You were so hot, and I could see all that potential in there..." I didn't interrupt – he'd told me to let him explain – but he saw my questioning look. "The potential to bethis. Or something like this. A cock-starved bimbo slut slave. Not very feminist of me, I know, but the hearts wants what it wants, does it not?"

I frowned. Or at least, I would've, if my mouth weren't otherwise occupied. God, I loved blowing him. It took the thrill of kneeling naked at his feet and gave it purpose. Still, that didn't give him the right to turn me into things! I skipped right past skepticism – the evidence was all too abundant that he was doing exactly as he said – and went right to indignation.

Evidently he could see my displeasure in my eyes, though, because he went on. "That's what I do, you see. Change people. Not quite Professor X, mind. It takes time, and it only functions in broad strokes. I can't make a person tap dance – unless they could already – but I can instill urges, nudge cellular realignments, that kind of thing. Proximity is a big help. That's why I spent those days camped out in front of your house. I overheard you discussing with your friends at the restaurant how much you were looking forward to vegging on the couch for the week, so I thought, why not? At that range, it woefully took me days to build up the needed lust from all the way out on the street. Awfully chilly in the van, by the by."

"Suh-ee," I apologized before easing him deeper in my throat.

"Then since you invited me in, we spent most of yesterday building up your desire to submit, especially to me, and your overall sluttiness, also especially toward me. As we still have a couple days until New Year's, when I imagine you'll be expected at whatever job you had, I'll squeeze in some time diminishing your intelligence, upping your servility, improving those pitiful little tits of yours, some extra cushion in your ass, that sort of thing. Bravo on keeping it all so tight, by the by – much easier for me to add it on that take it off. I haven't decided yet whether to let you keep your shame and get off on the humiliation, or to rob you of it altogether. You strike me as the type better suited to the former, but the latter is usually easier. We'll see. And of course, the necessary bimbo cheerfulness."

My mind was racing to take it all in without reducing the quality of my cocksucking. "You're... you're going to change my body?" I asked between gulps.

"It works about the same – to the extent that I understand how any of this works, at least. So yes. It's not your fault, dear. You're quite nearly perfect, but we all have room for improvement."

I thrust one hand into my cunt as the thrill of his praise hit me. "Oh,thank you, sir!"

"You're quite welcome, my dear little nitwit. To be sure, you don't have any plans over the next few days, do you? Rude of me not to ask earlier, I suppose, but you seemed happy enough with your lot."

I considered. "What's today?"

He laughed. "The twenty-eighth."

"Oh. Um, I have surgery on the thirtieth." I grimaced. It felt awful, thinking about having to leave this man, this cock, for so long, for something as dry and pointless as a necessary life-saving surgery.

He looked surprised. "Oh? What sort of surgery?"

"Cardiomyoplasty." I could see he didn't comprehend, and as I gazed cross-eyed, longingly, at his shaft pulsing against the bridge of my nose, I explained. "You take skeletal muscles from the abdomen and graft them onto the patient's heart. It improves the overall cardiovascular health of the heart. Aids in pumping."

He put a gentle hand atop my head. "Oh my. That sounds serious."

"It's experimental, but we think it has the best prognosis. I can skip it, if you'd rather keep fucking me. Can I skip it? Please?"

There was some measure of affection in his eyes as he looked down at me. "Poor thing. Who would've thought a woman of your passion and endurance suffered from a weakened heart?"

"Huh? Oh, no, I–"

But then he pushed my mouth back onto his shaft, and any desire except to be his little mouthfuck toy dissipated. Dissipated. Would I even know that word any more once he was done with me? It didn't sound like it. That was sohot. The more I became the thing he wanted me to be, the more he'd fuck me. I bet a lot of men would rather fuck me with huge tits and a fat ass and blowjob lips and none of that pesky intellect that had only served to intimidate them. "Perish the thought, my pet. You'll be at your surgery, and then we'll put your new muscles through their paces. And if it proves too much for you, well... there's always another hot piece of ass out there, waiting to be bimboized."

I was barely listening. He was getting close. "Would you jizz in my hair? I wanna use your cum as shampoo. I want to smell like the fucking skank who bathes in your sweet, salty spunk."

"Well since you asked so nicely..."

________________

So like, yeah. By the time I strolled into the hospital, I was totally a new girl. Sir had changed my body so much that I had to relearn how to walk, and since he turned me into a big dummy dumbo, learning was totes not my thing! Bye bye $200,000 ejamacation! But you know what? I didn't even care. My titties were bigger and rounder now, and my booty was fuckinghuge! Like, it wobbled so much it practically threw me off balance, for reals! But even with as as much time as I'd been spending on my hands and knees, I couldn't crawl my way through life, and Sir was nice enough to let me practice walking in my new body, in a whole new slutty come-fuck-me kind of way.

I'm like pretty sure if I walked like that in a school zone they'd put me in prison. Sorry, the thought of me and schools makes me giggle now. I tried to read my diploma on my office wall this morning while Sir was stuffing my cunt from behind, but it was in those weird squiggly letters. Or maybe another language. I don't know. And I don't care.

It was weird, being out around people. Everyone was staring at me! That was normal – boys had always stared at me, and that was when I was a boring normal stupid hot girl, not a super mega porny hot girl. But it was weird that I couldn't fuck them! Sir said he was going to make me more open to slutting myself out to more dudes, 'cause like, he worried the surgery might ruin me or whatever and he wanted to have an out. I tried to get him to see that wasn't gonna be a problem, only, like, it's hard explaining stuff, especially hard stuff like surgeries.

"Hi, Dr. Matthews!" I exclaimed as I saw Dr. Matthews. He didn't like me, I don't think, but I bet I could still get him to fuck me. He cheated on his last wife with a nurse, I heard. And I'm waaay hotter than any of the nurses here.

"Whitney, hello," he said, trying to restrain himself from ogling. I looked kinda sorta the same, if you hadn't seen me nakey, so he was probs wondering how I ditched ten years or so. Sir likes his bimbos young, so that's what I am now! "You look... great. Have a good break?"

"Oh gawsh, for sure! I met this awesome guy, and hadtons of awesome sex! I barely even left the house the past few days. I'm like sooooo much better now, you don't even know!"

His eyes widened – and then almost popped out of his head as I started stripping right there in front of him. No biggie. He's a doctor, right, so like, he's totally seen the human body before. Plus, it pays to advertise, and I didn't wanna leave the hospital without getting some dick. Maybe if he didn't fuck me, he'd tell someone else to? Or maybe like five someone elses. That'd be hawt.

Oops! I still had some of Sir's jizz leaking out of my cunt! Oh well. I scooped it up with my finger and sucked it clean.

Dr. Matthews stood, staring, as I stripped naked and changed into my little surgery thingy. "Everything ready for me?" I asked.

"Um," he said.

I giggled. "You mad I put my titties away, Dr, Matthews? I can get 'em back out later, but right now I gotta go to surgery! You can play with 'em after. Or during, if you want. I don't care."

He grinned. "Jesus, Whitney. I guess the rumors are true after all. I'd always thought... well, you look me up after, all right? You may land that promotion after all."

I giggled, then I kissed him. He seemed surprised, but went ahead and felt up my ass. I'd have let him keep doing it, or anything else he wanted to do to me, but he reminded me it was time to go, so I went.

Sir said I had to do the surgery, and I always obey Sir. Obedience is so fucking hot, it's like the only big word I'm still allowed to know.

Frankly? I think having a moron like me perform surgery is totes a bad idea. But every time I tried to tell Sir that, he'd just tell me to shut up and tell me again that I had to do it. It seemed so dangerous, ya know? Like, I can barely count by fives any more (five, ten, twenty, twenty-five... something like that), and he's got me in here trying to remember where to make the cutty thingy on poor Mr. Garcia. I felt sorta bad, because I know he really needed that heart thingy, but I also felt sorta good because I fucked it up so bad so fast that the nurses dragged me outta there still all icky squicky from the blood and stuff. Not that being bloody feels good, but like, it meant I was done early! Sex time again!

Dr. Matthews was super super mad at me, though, and I think I'm not gonna get that promotion after all. Even though I offered to be his personal butt slut whenever I was on duty! (I tried to make a booty/duty joke, but I fucked it up. Rhyming is hard.) Then the cops came and took me away – handcuffs areso fuckinghot! – and they wanted to know why I butchered Mr. Garcia, and I was all it's not like I wanted to be hot and dumb you guys, so just let's all go fuck in my cell and forget about lame stuff like malpractice. Whatever that is. But nooo, they got all mad and serious and said that was bad (and wouldn't even spank me for being bad!) and asked me all these questions until I just started to cry and told them they should stop being so mean and just ask Sir, because he's the one who told me to do the surgery!

So they put their big smart man-brains together and left me sitting there handcuffed to some cop's desk to go find Sir. I was totally leaking cunt juice all over my seat – gawd I wanna fuck men in uniforms! And out of uniforms. Men who just took off their uniforms. Men who are already naked who may or may not have once been wearing uniforms. So yeah, like, basically any man, I guess.

What was I saying? Oh right, handcuffed. And they dragged Sir in, and he gave me this look like he was so mad at me, but like, what did I do wrong? I tried to tell those nummy ummy police boys what he did, that he only meant to mind control and reshape me into his personal dream girl so I'd be a perfect slave for him, but that only made them madder! Boys, right?