I was approached about a custom MP3 involving transformation. The idea was an inviting one: through medical manipulation or magic, I would take a spoiled young man and transform him into something far more useful. The end result would be a human/donkey hybrid. I went around with NF about this, to no avail.
NiteFlirt has previously ruled Vorarephilia on the green list. For any not in the know, vorarephilia is the fetish of being swallowed (or doing the swallowing) of a whole person. Often, this is combined with a shrinking or growing fetish (to make the act more plausible). NF’s stance on this was clear: since people cannot currently be shrunken to six inches tall and swallowed whole it is a fantastical notion which cannot actually be done — and, therefore, is okay to discuss.
Surely, I reasoned, the same could be said of transforming a man into a man-donkey. Evidently, that was not enough. The presence of hooves and fur left the fantasy south of the rules — even though I stressed the man was still cognizant throughout.
*sigh* Ah, well. Especially too bad, because I’d written some on it.
Here’s some of what I dreamt up that doesn’t tread into red territory. Though please bear in mind this was written as a script to be read aloud for an MP3 — so it’s a bit clunkier than my normal prose:
I certainly didn’t let you wander away from me at the party. I kept your glass of champagne bottomless, topping it off again and again, until you felt as though you were floating beside me. My red lips kissed cheeks and cigars with equal vigor. How I would wrap my lips around the foot of the cigar, pursing those deep red lips more tightly as I puffed til the ember came to life — then passed the cigar to you, the red stain of my lips brushing your own as you smoked.
As the gathering began to dim, couples forming and finding cozy spots in which they might better acquaint themselves, I offered you more of a tour — my fingertips along your thigh promising so many sights.
Leading away from the house, the views were stunning. My picturesque ranch, with split rail fences guiding the way to the stables. Glancing my body moving through the slit in the back of my dress, a bulge grew in your trousers as we neared the barn. The champagne and cigars had elevated your spirits, but you tried your best to stay cognizant of the moment, as, surely, a roll the hay awaited you…
I gave a cursory introduction to my horses and a lone donkey, and led us to a vacant stall.
My tongue slipped over my lips as I appraised you then. The way I looked at you, nearly carnivorous, made that bulge beneath your zipper ache. This was the difference between being with girls and a woman. A woman – one like me – knew just what they wanted… and, clearly, weren’t afraid to take it.
I stepped closer to you then, pressing my body lightly to yours. You could catch the scent of my lipstick as I whispered to you, lips nearly touching yours, “Do you know how I make all my money?” I asked.
You were too aroused and much to inebriated to consider an answer.
(laughing evilly) “Pharmaceuticals.”
I traced a finger down along the buttons of your dress shirt. “You remember that little adage we heard as children: never take candy from strangers? (giggle wickedly) Well, I suppose for a full grown man, it should be never accept a drink if you didn’t see it poured, nor the bottle opened.”
Your head was a-swim in thoughts of my stockings, and heels, the shape of my breasts through the dress, the scent of my lipstick — but my words jarred you from the reverie. You paused, then laughed, admitting you were quite drunk.
“Ooh,” perhaps now was the time to explain. You weren’t drunk at all. There was hardly any alcohol content in your drinks. I just find champagne goes down easier than traditional medicinal flavors and textures. And how better to toast the end of your manhood than with something you believe to be a glass of bubbly?
You frowned. What I was saying was weird. Too weird. Worse, I wasn’t behaving as a woman on the verge of fucking you. In a haze of childish spite, you turned to leave the stable. Go back to the hotel — away from all this. Sleep it off. But you took only a step in the stall, and faltered, jelly legs sent you tumbling to the ground.
(laugh) “I don’t mean to seem immodest, but my sense of timing is really rather impeccable. Though, to be fair, I’ve had practice. You look pretty boys, coming down to the islands, fully believing your vacation is a license to drink and fuck your way through. So entitled! It occurred to me that a donkey would have better manners.
Unlucky for you that microbiology is a dear hobby of mine… as is the acquisition and sale of breeding beasts.”
I looked down at you, writhing on the stable floor. The cells of your body were beginning to mutiny, inspired by my elixir. Your spine contorted, limbs flailing — a humanoid fish out of water at my feet. Your lips were puffed, slightly blued then a deep shade of purple. The process is miraculous. So many leaks in the dam! Your brain was buzzing, rushing to assess the state of your muscles, the flux in your organs. A moan would escape your lips and quickly be dampened out as your brain reallocated its resources again and again.
(laughs) I can only imagine the torment you felt. Every fiber of your being, stretching, tearing, growing. The pain must have been overwhelming. Like a light-switch, I’d say — on and off. Catastrophic searing in your thighs, chased with numbness, then your stomach expands, another jolt of agony — as soon as one pain becomes too high to chart, another one rushes to take its place.
A macabre symphony, so expertly orchestrated. And I didn’t care if anyone heard. Really, your moans and cries — from the party, it probably sounded like ecstasy. Probably thought you were getting the best fuck of your life.
But then the bellows changed. A long, low, equestrian honk tumbled from your throat.
I loomed over you, lighting a cigar, and took a cool puff: once the vocal chords alter, the show really begins. I extended the cigar to your lips, “Sure you don’t want one last puff?”
Snippets of prose that are sure to make one’s penis pose. (They’re works in progress, and generally don’t rhyme.)
Oh, the things you’ll hear! Peruse the MP3 and Slideshow catalogue of Niteflirt’s BritishGirl, Faith O’Shea. The interests are broad, and the broads presented just might destroy you.
Phoning from the Bathtub
Wit and wonder abounds! Saucy observations, naughty chatter, irreverent memes and whispers of what goes on inside a phone sex fantasy maven’s mind.