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Hormonal Imbalance(tranformation), Part Three
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Hormonal_Imbalance___________________________________by_Leigh_de_
Santa_Fe___3_
"You don't have to worry about the boys. Not one has even
spoken to me since I've come back to school."
"It's not just the boys, Denise. It's ... everyone," he said,
letting his own eyes drop for a moment to savor those milk
white doves cupped in black underwired lace. "You're here to
learn not to ... parade around in your underwear."
When his mother pulled up to take him home she feigned shock by
his brazenness. "Denise, you've got to tone down. For
goodness sake, you look like a whore," she said laughing but
Denise could tell she took great pride in his "stop a train"
figure.
When they got home he changed into a tight black sweater.
"That's better," she smiled. "Much more ladylike." In fact, it
was even more tantalizing than the bustier but it didn't get
him kicked out of school.
* * *
Belson stood relieving himself in the faculty bathroom when the
door lock clicked and the knob turned. He glanced over to see
Denise closing the door behind her.
"What are you doing in here?" he yelled.
"Don't worry, I locked the door," she said, sidling up to him
at the next urinal and unzipping her jeans. He looked straight
ahead, his face a pinkish white as she made water next to him
and the perfume of her hair filled his nostrils.
"Am I embarrassing you, Mr. Belson?" she said huskily.
He stood silently as she studied his face. He could feel her
eyes shifting down to his cock, examining it. After what
seemed like an eternity he finished, zipped up his pants and
turned toward the exit. But Denise turned and stopped him.
Her pink nailed fingers shook her big cock in his direction
"Look at it, Mr. Belson. I know you've wanted it since that
first meeting. Go ahead. It's not a snake. It won't bite."
"Get out of my way, you little slut."
"Look at it," she screamed.
He glanced down.
"That's it. Not so hard, was it? But it could be. Here,
touch it." She reached out and grabbed his hand and placed it
on the large tube of flesh. His hand curled around it like a
tendril on a vine.
He looked at her. She was never more captivating. The soft
brunette hair that framed her face, the thick bangs that fell
just above her wide eyes, the lovely innocence of her white
skin belied the power of her spell, the cruel womanliness of
her demands. She was irresistible. A wave of yielding
weakness passed through him with a visible tremor and pulling
her thick root like a handle, he drew her close and kissed her
lips.
As they kissed, she unzipped his pants and her hand slid
through the opening to retrieve his cock. It was hard. She
was not surprised.
She pulled back and smiled at him. "Do you want me?" she
asked, in a husky babydoll whisper.
He said nothing but buried his head in her thick hair till he
reached her neck and let his tongue answer with a long kiss
that made its way from her neck to her mouth.
"Suck me, baby," she said.
Now he pulled back and looked at her with faint apprehension.
"You do what I tell you, baby," she said, in a soothing
maternal voice.
He sank to his knees and looked up at her in helpless
supplication. She smiled down at him and hoisted her tube top
and bra up over her breasts, letting them sway above him like
dark shadows. She smiled again. "Go ahead, baby."
She guided her big cock to his mouth and drew it across his
lips a few times before they opened and opened and opened and
soon it was glistening and gliding, in and out across his
tongue, down his throat, over his lips and back, swelling with
each stroke until it threatened to choke him.
As he fell into the rhythm of the trancelike motion, Denise
turned toward the mirror and studied this strange tableau
vivant. Her body now arched over the supplicant, hands against
the tiled wall, breasts spiraling over him like heavy fruit and
he below, shaking the tree by its thick trunk with drunken
abandon. The thrust of her round, white buttocks; the dark,
shimmering hair falling around her head, shaking with each
lunge; the pouting, mocking lips, the raw, redness of her
glistening cock. Were these the devices that pumped the blood
to her groin or was it Belson's unschooled lips, his untalented
tongue? No, it was her and her alone. The juicy vision of her
contradictions, the crucifying beauty of her womanly body and
her red male member, the sweetness of her face and the cruelty
of her desire, the mingling of innocent youth with ravenous
lust. The puppet Belson. She smiled at the ease with which
she pulled his strings and her triumphant smile unexpectedly
brought forth the streaming, white gism that flowed out the
sides of his mouth and spurted into his damp hair and fell to
the tiles in clotted, milky drops. Before the last spunk was
spilled Denise pulled away from Belson to face the mirror and
grasping her cock with both hands, she took aim at her own
deliciously bawdy image. A final shot, issuing from deep
within her groin, arced and hit the mirror, clouding the
reflection of her face with hot, white cum.
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