Our Neighbor’s A p**n Star!-4
1936 Words
“It's going to be perfectly painless, Heather,” she went on. One elegant fingernail stroked her throat. The tip pricked into her skin under her chin, forcing her to raise her head. Dr. Summers lowered her voice, her lips all but touching Heather's “Trust me. After you've Changed, you'll never want to have s*x with men again.”
“No! I'll...I'll give the money back! I don't need it that bad! I'll find another job!” Heather jerked and flailed, the motions causing the ripped halter top and the bikini panties, all the clothes that she was wearing, to reveal enticing glimpses of her flesh.
The doctor turned her back on the young woman. “Put her in the Machine,” she ordered.
With gleeful laughter, the two women dragged her towards an object that looked like a bastardized telephone booth from the 1970s. Thick electrical cables snaked away in every direction. Opening the clear plastic door, they threw Heather inside, then closed and locked the Machine before she could force the door open. Dr. Summers smiled, the expression dark and amused, as Heather beat vainly on the walls with her fists.
“Engage the protocol.”
A deep hum sounded throughout the room. Around the sides of the structure, colored lights began to flash on and off in random patterns. Inside the Machine, Heather looked around in fright.
The perspective changed. Suddenly the point of view shifted to Heather. A soft, hypnotic voice began to sound within the confines of the Machine.
“You are a lesbian. You want women. Only women. You don't want men. Women are beautiful. Wonderful. Soft, loving, caring, and nurturing.”
A series of images began to flash on the inner walls of the Machine.
“Lips.”
Pictures of women's lips formed. Beautiful, pouting lips, opening seductively.
“Asses.”
A kaleidoscopic array showed. Bare rear ends, pale white or tanned or dark as chocolate, but all perfectly formed, wanting only a loving, stroking touch.
“Legs.”
Panning shots of beautiful calves and thighs.
“Breasts.”
An amazing array of breasts, from flat little fried-egg boobs to massive DDs. From small aereolae to huge, jutting n*****s.
“Pussies.”
Image after image of women's labia, either teasingly closed or widespread and glistening with female nectar.
“You want them. You want this. You are a lesbian. You are a lesbian. You are a lesbian.”
The voice droned on, the pictures flipping rapidly, now coming almost too quick to see.
The perspective shifted again. With a hiss, the door of the Machine opened. Heather staggered out, barely keeping herself from falling as she stumbled forward. Then, slowly, she straightened. Gone was the terrified girl who had entered the Machine. In her place was a confident young woman. Her back was straight, her pose almost arrogant. A discerning observer would notice that the crotch of her panties was damp, the transparent material framing the outlines of her nether lips. Her halter top was all but torn away, her large breasts exposed. They were red, the n*****s standing high and erect, as if Heather had been fondling herself while in the Machine.
“Heather?” The question was oddly hesitant, as if even Dr. Summers was a little shocked by the young woman's transformation. “Do you feel all right?”
The woman smiled. Her eyes were darkly predatory. “I'm hungry,” she said, her voice low and sensuous.
“Hungry?” she stuttered. “Why, we can certainly get you something to-”
“Hungry for p***y!” Heather growled. Leaping, she bore the older woman back on the examination table. The two assistants shrieked and ran out the door. With superhuman strength, Heather ripped open the lab coat, revealing two large breasts. Two more rips, and Dr. Summers was naked from head to toe, her narrow waist and full hips blatantly exposed.
Mewling with her need, Heather opened her mouth wide, suckling on a turgid n****e. As the doctor writhed under her, emitting feeble protests, she switched to the other breast. All the while, her hand slipped up her thigh until her fingers had plunged into her v****a. She thrust them in and out of the older woman, until her fingers were wet and dripping.
“p***y,” she panted. “I have to have p***y. I'm a lesbian and I need pussy.”
She slid down her body until her face was near Dr. Summers' crotch. Her hands grabbed her under her knees, spreading her legs high and wide.
“Yesss.” The word emerged as a sibilant hiss. “This is what I need.”
“Heather, please don't,” Dr. Summers begged, but her motions belied her words. Her hips rocked upward, slowly rolling her sweet mound towards Heather's face. “You're out of control. Stop it.”
Heather paused and a semblance of sanity returned to her eyes. “Why, Dr. Summers,” she purred. “Are you frightened by what you've done?
“Maybe you didn't really believe in the experiment Maybe you thought it was all just a game.
“Maybe...you're not really a lesbian at all. Maybe for you it's all about control, and that's what makes your p***y all hot and wet and drippy.
“Don't worry, Sheela” she said, patting her thigh gently. “After I'm done with you, I'll put you in the Machine. Then you will truly realize how wonderful being a lesbian is.”
“No, Heather, pleaassssee...ohhhh God.” The protests were cut off as Heather lowered her face to Dr. Summer's cleft, her tongue licking and probing at her opening. In moments, the doctor had her hands fisted in her blond hair, and her hips were jerking involuntarily into her face.
“Ohhh, God.” Barb's voice merged with the sound from the laptop's speakers. She tried to keep the joyful sounds of her own c****x quiet. She didn't think that Nate would ever mention it, if her heard her, but some things were better off unknown.
Such as the fact that your mother liked to masturbate to lesbian p*********y in bed.
She closed her eyes as the last waves of her o****m rippled through her body, suffusing her with pleasure. Thank God for the internet. After Ray left, she had no outlet for her s****l desires. Despite the gains made by same-s*x couples, women were a practical impossibility for her. And she didn't want to get involved in another relationship with a man. Downloading and m**********g to lesbian e*****a was one of her few methods of releasing her s****l tensions. If she couldn't live the lifestyle she wanted, at least she could live vicariously through those who could.
She turned off the computer, then the bedside lamp, and squirmed underneath the bedclothes, the clean sheets and warm, heavy comforter fighting off the December chill. She sighed and turned over, if not happy, at least content.
She was asleep in moments.
*****
If asked, Heather would have said she would rather take a two-by-four to the skull than face the teenager who had recognized her a few days ago. But unless she wanted to start her new life with a reputation as a woman who never returned things which were loaned to her, she was going to have to take the tray back to Nate's mother.
It was two days later. The brutal chill of Friday had moderated somewhat, though it was still achingly cold outside to someone who had lived in southern California for most of the previous decade. As Heather knocked on the Shroyer's door, she eyed the lowering clouds distrustfully. The air had a raw, damp feel to it.
Snow on the way, or I'm a brunette.
The inner door opened, and an amazingly attractive dark-haired woman stood framed in the doorway. Her hand worked at the inner latch, then pushed the outer door open. “Hello,” she smiled.
She returned the smile, with interest. No question where Nate got his looks from. “Hello. I'm Heather, from next door.” She nodded at her house. “I wanted to return this, and to say thanks. The food was wonderful.”
“You're welcome. I'm Barbara, by the way. Why don't you come in and warm up a bit? Nate's gone with some friends to a movie, so it's just me here this afternoon.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. Thanks again.
“Can you answer a question?” she asked, a few minutes later, as Barbara (“Call me Barb”) handed her a steaming cup of cocoa, and set a plate of gingersnaps on the kitchen table.
“Sure.”
“When is trash pick-up? I've almost finished unpacking, and I've got all these empty boxes to get rid of...” she gestured helplessly.
Barb grinned. “They do accumulate, don't they? Monday morning. And if Maggie Swenson left you some of those green recycling bins in the garage, just break down all the boxes and stack them inside, then set them out by the street. The city runs a recycling pick-up on trash day. It'll save you money.”
She sighed in relief. “Thank goodness. You never realize how much crap you've got until you've got to unpack it all.”
Barb nodded. “I know the feeling. I swore when we moved in here that it'd be the last time I ever moved. If Nate wants to send me to an old-folks home when I'm older, he's going to have to drug me to do it and do all the packing himself.”
She laughed, the sound free and unfettered.
“Now, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Where are you from? And what brings you to South Dakota? Because that sure isn't a plains accent I'm hearing.”
“Is it that obvious?” At Barb's nod, she continued. “Well, I was born overseas, but I was raised in New England. And for the last eight years or so, I've been on the west coast.”
“LA?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Like a lot of girls, I thought all I had to do was show up for some auditions, read a few lines, and then I'd be standing on a red carpet, with DiCaprio on one arm and Sean Bean on the other.”
“Sean Bean?”
“Hey,” she grinned. “It was my fantasy. Let a girl dream, huh?
“Anyway, it all turned out to be bullshit and moonbeams. After striking out on fifty or sixty cattle calls, I got the hint. No one cared how good-looking I was if I didn't have a speck of acting ability. Luckily, I was smart enough to realize it before it was too late. I got into a different business line of work and did pretty damn well. So well I'm semi-retired now.” She shook her head. “There must be ten thousand others still out there, waiting tables and going to auditions and thinking that this time they're going to get the big break. That two lines in a detergent commercial will lead to a five-picture deal with Paramount.”
Barb nodded. “Well, I wouldn't say that you don't have a speck of acting ability, Heather. Personally, I was pretty damn impressed with the work you did in The Changing. And no one is a two-time AVN performer of the year for no reason.”
Heather realized that her mouth was hanging open. Moving carefully, she set her mug of cocoa down on the table with a faint thump. “You, too?” Her voice rose. “Is there anyone in this freaking town who doesn't know what I used to do for a living?”
Barb's lips quirked. “I don't know. How many people have you met here so far?”
She counted rapidly on her fingers. “If you include the check-out girl at the grocery store yesterday, I think I'm up to about twelve.”
“Hmm.” Her voice was serious, but her eyes twinkled. “That leaves us with seventy-odd thousand. Now, I don't know all of them personally, but I would be very surprised if they were all familiar with your work. I mean, some of them are babies and probably don't even know how to operate a computer yet.”
Heather tried to imagine a newborn typing in a credit card number and downloading a p**n clip, and suddenly giggled. Before long, she was laughing hysterically, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutched her stomach. Beside her, Barb joined in, until they were both laughing like loons.
- Writer
