Fantasy Girl 01bywriter_girl©
My name is Virginia Vickers, and you wouldn't know it to look at me, but I'm every man's fantasy. Oh, I'm pretty enough, but I know you're thinking that not every man goes in for big blue eyes, long brown hair, and a fit bod with big-but-not-huge tits au naturel. Some guys go for dark, dainty dolls, and others go for busty blondes, and still others like 'em big and beautiful. Men's tastes vary so much, how can one woman be every man's fantasy?
It's like this: Wouldn't every man like a girl who knows exactly what he wants, and enjoys giving it to him? That's me. My power is a weird kind of ESP. Like mind-reading, except not as useful. The scientists at the Center call it Empathic Sexual Perception, but what that really means is that I know every man's fantasies, and get off on them.
Oh, God, do I get off on them.
If I didn't enjoy my condition so much, I might be a little more angry about what happened to me--how I got this power, and all the naughty things it's made me do. But service has its own rewards, and for me, that's sex so good normal humans can't even imagine it, much less experience it.
This isn't to say my transition was easy. Did Peter Parker have an easy time after he first got bit by that radioactive spider? Did Bruce Banner jump for joy when he got zapped with those gamma rays and turned into the Hulk? Nope.
No one could go from straight-laced co-ed to Sexual Superhero without a period of adjustment--I certainly didn't. It took me a while to learn to control my condition, and even longer to learn to enjoy it. The story isn't a short one, but I can guarantee it is filled with intrigue, excitement and sex--a whole lot of sex. So if you're interested, keep reading and I'll tell you how I became...
It all started when I answered an ad for an ESP study in the Foolsrush University of Central Kentucky paper, the Daily Trojan. The Center for the Understanding of Neurological Transcendence was paying volunteers a hundred bucks to test a new perception-enhancing drug, and I was flat broke.
I never believed in ESP, so I figured the most that could happen would be that I got a little high off the drug, made some guesses about symbols and shapes on the backs of cards I couldn't see, and went home a hundred dollars richer.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
First I had to answer a shitload of questionnaires on everything from my diet to my hygiene to my sex life. Then, after I'd spent, like, an hour filling in little survey bubbles, I got to hand the stack to a snooty lab assistant who treated me like I was no better than a rat. She led me into a room where several female volunteers in hospital gowns lay on gurneys while male scientists in white coats flitted around adjusting monitors and machines. She tossed a hospital gown in my arms and told me to go change.
"Be sure you take off all your clothes," she said.
Reluctantly, I changed into the gown and returned to the room. I was barefoot and cold, and the feeling of the draft on my bare pussy made me want to tell those scientists to fuck their stupid hundred dollars before storming back to my dorm room...where I barely had enough money to buy ramen.
I sighed and lay down on a gurney like a good little lab rat.
Soon, a scientist came over and hooked me up to some monitors. Some of them were familiar from medical TV shows, but one most definitely was not. It was a thick, tubular wand with a bulbous head. Okay, I'll come out and say it, the thing looked like a cock with wires coming out of one end that hooked up to the monitor.
The scientist gave me some jargon about the plethysmograph measuring vaginal transudation and blood-flow pursuant to the physical effects of the drug to be tested, but all I heard was "For the sake of Science, we want to shove this dildo up your twat."
"Did I mention there's a two hundred dollar bonus for female volunteers who consent to vaginal monitoring?"
No. He hadn't. $300 would buy a lot of ramen. And these guys were all doctors. Every year a doctor shoved something cold and metal into my twat during my physical, and all I ever got out of it was a clean bill of health and a renewal on my birth control prescription. At least now I'd be making a bit of money.
Reluctantly, I slipped my feet into the stirrups and lay down. The scientist lubed up the dildo—er, the plethysmograph—and eased it into my pussy. He jiggled and wiggled it.
"Hey!" I said.
"Just ensuring that the plethysmograph is properly situated."
"I'll bet. Hurry up."
The scientist rushed through taking my base readings on all the monitors. "Hmm," he said, frowning a one of them. "Pardon me, but your vaginal secretions are especially plentiful. May I ask if you're in a state of sexual arousal right now?"
"Yeah, sure." I rolled my eyes. "I just love getting scientific dildos shoved up my twat in a cold room full of strangers."
The scientist raised a brow. "Do you?"
"No!" I felt myself blushing. "I was being sarcastic."
He nodded slowly, like he didn't quite believe me.
I frowned, but he didn't say anything more. Instead he handed me a Dixie cup full of thick greenish liquid and told me to drink it down. I did. I almost retched, but I swallowed it and kept it down.
Then, the scientist had me lay back while the drug took effect. I lay with my eyes closed for a long time, but I wasn't sleepy, so I opened my eyes and looked around the room. Every female test subject had a male scientist in a white lab coat attending her. I was just beginning to realize how weird that was when one of the women who had been drinking her dose of the drug when I arrived stirred on her gurney.
Heedless of the other people in the room, she twitched up the hem of her hospital gown and reached out to adjust the ple-whatso-mograph in her pussy. She pulled it almost all the way out, then pushed it back in. She shifted her hips, and did it again. And a third time. Finally, the scientist attending her stood up and said "Let me help you."
He went and stood at the end of her gurney and grasped the end of the thick wand. He began to rhythmically pump it in and out of the woman's pussy. She began to shift and moan. Her monitors went wild.
And speaking of monitors, mine had started chirping like a nest full of hungry chicks. Was it possible I was becoming aroused by what I was seeing? No way. Couldn't happen. Could it?
I sat up and said, "All right. I don't know what kind of operation you're running here, but I want out." I reached between my legs to remove the probe from my pussy, but my attendant scientist caught my hand.
"Don't," he said in a low voice. "If you don't complete the study, you don't get paid."
"If completing the study means watching that happen, or worse, letting it happen to me, then I'll be happy not to."
"Psst." Said the scientist. "I'll break the rules and tell you, those two are actors. We aren't really testing a drug, we're doing a psychology study to see how people react."
"Really?" I said.
He looked me in the eye, his dark brown gaze meeting my blue one, and gave me a reassuring smile. "Really."
I settled back on my gurney and tried my best to ignore the moans and cries of the woman in the corner. But damned, if it didn't turn me on. I was embarrassed to feel my pussy getting wetter. And inside I felt all hot and achy and empty, like maybe what I needed was a good fucking. Or maybe just a few deep thrusts from the dildo-like device already lodged in my vagina.
I peeked around to see if anyone was looking at me. Fortunately, all eyes were on the exhibitionist in the corner, who was moaning in earnest now, crying out like a woman getting the fuck of her life. Surreptitiously, I reached between my legs and pumped the probe once, twice, again. It felt so good. My eyes fluttered closed, and I gave myself over to sensation.
"Would you like help with that?" My attendant's words startled my eyes open.
I wanted to say no, but all of the sudden my perception was overtaken by an image of my attendant fucking me. He had my feet in the stirrups, and my ass on the edge of the gurney. His pants were around his ankles and he was thrusting in and out while I fingered myself.
Then I was seeing it from his perspective, my naked body spread out on the table. My right hand worked my clit while my left pinched and teased the pert, pink nipples on my bouncy, buoyant breasts. Ah, God, it was good. So fucking good.
And so fucking wrong. I forced my eyes open to see my attendant standing at the foot of my gurney, pumping the probe into my plump, pink pussy. I like to be completely bare down there, so there was nothing to shield me from his hungry gaze.
But even more surprising than what he was doing was what my own hands were doing. My right hand worked my clit, and my left hand pinched my nipples, just like in my fantasy. I tried to make myself stop, but it felt too good.
With my last conscious thought, I forced my eyes to roam the room. All of the women were getting the same treatment from their attendants. As I watched, one attendant pulled the probe from his patient's pussy and replaced it with his thick, veiny cock. The woman didn't seem to mind. She moaned and thrashed like it was the best thing she'd ever felt.
When my eyes returned to my attendant at the edge of the bed, I saw that he'd shucked his white coat and dropped his trousers. His dick wasn't very long, but it was thick and ridged with prominent veins, and I shivered at the thought of feeling it inside me.
He grasped his erection and stroked it a couple of times. "Want some of this?" He asked, but his tone said he already knew the answer.
"What you're doing is entirely unethical," I said.
"So leave." He drew the probe out of my pussy and nodded toward the door. "Sharon at the front desk will give you your three hundred dollars."
I wanted to get up and do just what he'd said, but my pussy felt so empty without the probe filling it. It was hot, throbbing and achy, and I could feel my juices dribbling down my ass crack. And on top of everything else, I still had that image of myself in my head. That image of me being fucked by him.
"Poor—" he picked up the chart beside my gurney to learn my name. "Poor Virginia." He stroked my hair and gave every appearance of sympathy. "I know it's hard, but right now you have to decide if you want to stay here and get fucked, or leave alone and go back to your cold single bed."
In my mind, I saw myself saying, "Please fuck me." And once I'd said the words I felt such a swell of pleasure.
Almost against my will, I said, "Please fuck me." And just as in my imagination, I felt that incredible swell of pleasure, but it was better—so much better!—than my imagination. I almost came right there on the spot.
"Good girl." My attendant patted my head before hurrying to the end of the gurney. I readied myself for some pain when he shoved that thick cock up my tight pussy, and there was some. But over the pain was an incredible wave of pleasure. It filled me up like warm liquid filling a jar. It reached the brim, and I overflowed, tears streamed down my face, and my pussy filled with cream.
I'd never felt anything like this before. If I had, I'd have had sex with my high school boyfriend more than the handful of times I'd allowed. With Ted, sex had been awkward, embarrassing and dry. He'd moved clumsily and come too soon, and when he tried eating my pussy, he never got it right. But this—oh, God, this!—this. This sex was different from sex with Ted the way Paris, France was different from Paris, Texas—sure, the two share a name, but there's a whole world between them.
And it hadn't even really begun. My attendant—my lover?—pulled out and thrust into me and the sensation was unlike anything I'd ever known. There was the somewhat familiar feel of a cock stretching me, and sliding against my pussy walls, but in addition to that, I felt something else. If I'd had to hazard a guess, I'd have said I felt my lover's sensations in addition to my own. But that was impossible, wasn't it?
Wherever they were coming from, the strange new sensations echoed off my own perceptions, creating a feedback loop of pleasure. With every stroke, my enjoyment grew exponentially intense until I was screaming and breathing hard, and I hadn't even come yet.
My attendant pushed aside my hand and pinched my clit hard. It hurt, but it felt good, too. I wanted him to do it again, and he did. I came, and it was earth shattering. I thrashed on the gurney and screamed my throat raw. And I wasn't the only one. All around the room, women were getting the fuck of their lives from the male scientists. The entire room smelled of sex and sweat, and that just made everything better.
My orgasm just kept going on and on, and when my partner began to cum, the feedback loop started up like a whirlwind. It picked me up and carried me away to a plane of endless pleasure; to a dark tunnel of orgasms that came one after another without end.
I don't remember passing out, I only remember waking up. My eyes blinked open, and I saw my attendant scientist standing over me. He was dressed, and he looked like nothing had happened.
"What's going on?"
"You fell asleep. The experiment's over. I've already removed the plethysmograph. All you need to do is get dressed, go to the front desk, and collect your three hundred dollars."
I rubbed my eyes and sat up. Had it all been a dream? My pussy felt stretched, but that could have been from the probe. I looked around at the other women. Some of them had already changed back into their clothes. The one who'd had the gurney at the corner of the room thanked her attendant and said, "I can't believe I stayed asleep the whole time." She shook his hand. "That was the easiest three hundred I ever made."
"Me, too," another woman said as she headed for the door. She was blonde, and looked bouncy and carefree. She didn't even have the awkward posture you'd expect someone to have if they'd just woken up from a sex dream in a room full of people.
Soon, all the other women had gone except me. I sat there, shocked wondering whether to believe my own memories.
"Miss Vickers," my attendant said. "Wake up, it's time to go."
I looked up at my attendant and felt a stirring of desire. After a moment, I realized I wasn't feeling my desire, I was feeling his. Then, an image overtook me. I was looking down at myself again, but this time I was bent forward over the gurney and lubricated masculine hands fondled my wet pussy before moving up to my ass. Parting my cheeks, the hands reached between them and spread lube around the outside of my hole before pushing inside.
So hot. So tight. God, there's nothing better than a virgin ass. Except maybe a virgin ass attached to an eager partner. Virgins are always reluctant, but a virgin who really, really wants it up the ass—she is rare and precious as rubies.
Suddenly, I felt myself becoming the woman he wanted. I'd never let anyone fuck my ass before, but by God, I wanted it now. I wanted it more than my next breath. There was an ache in me, an urgency. I needed to feel myself stretched by his thick cock. I craved it more than food or water. More than anything.
"OMG! You fucked me!"
My attendant's head jerked up so fast, he didn't even have time to look confused. Instead, he just looked puzzled, no doubt wondering how I knew what had happened when all the other women did not.
"Miss Vickers, I can assure you—"
"That your dick isn't thick and stubby? That you don't have a birthmark like a hickey just above your left hipbone? That you weren't just imagining fucking my ass? Prove it."
He went pale and grabbed my arm, all pretense of innocence forgotten. "Come with me." He dragged me out of the main room, and into an office down the hall. There was a silver-haired man in a white coat sitting behind a wide wooden desk. He looked good for his age—distinguished features, fit body, twinkling blue eyes.
"What seems to be the problem, Alfred?" The silver-haired man asked.
"Dr. Hancock, she remembers...she remembers everything, and it seems like the primary effects of the formula failed to subside."
The doctor looked me over. Desire flashed in his eyes, and I had a sudden image of myself kneeling before him, unzipping his pants with my teeth.
It would do this frigid bitch good to suck me off. Prissy co-eds need to learn how to please a man. Need to learn how to get on their knees and beg for cock. It'll be so fucking good to see her beg. Almost as good as the feel of that plump pink mouth wrapped tight around my dick.
Beg for it, bitch. Beg!
"Please." I whimpered the word involuntarily before I could cut myself off, and it felt so good to beg him that I almost asked again.
"Please," I wanted to say. "Please let me suck you. Please let me drink your cum. Please."
But I stayed strong. I didn't beg. I flushed and wavered on my feet. I couldn't stop myself from looking down at his crotch.
He smiled. "I see." The image of me kneeling before the doctor flashed into my head again, but stronger this time. I dropped to my knees. The doctor came around his desk and took my chin in his hand. He raised my face to meet his eyes, but it was almost a minute before I could bring myself to look away from the bulge of his dick in his trousers.
"It seems Miss Vickers had some latent ability at Empathetic Sexual Perception. The drug, which was meant to temporarily sensitize women to the sexual desires of others, has in her, created a permanent state of awareness and arousal.
"Permanent?" I said. Another wave of desire washed through me, and I let my gaze fall back to his cock.
"I'm afraid so." The doctor didn't sound the least bit sorry.
"But what are we going to do about it?" My attendant asked in a panicked voice. "If she goes to the police, we're through."
"She's not going to go to the police."
"I'm not?" I said. "Why the hell not?"
"Because, my dear, you are powerless to resist masculine desire. If you go to the police station and tell your story, it is bound to arouse any man listening. At which point, you will behave with him exactly as you are behaving with me."
Beg for it, Bitch!
Another jolt of desire hit me. "Please," I said as I reached up and undid Dr. Hancock's trousers. He pushed down his boxers, and his erection sprang free. His dick was a good size—not too big, but not too small—and it was straight, and hard as could be. Mouth open, I leaned forward and enveloped it with my wet, soft mouth.
A wave of pleasure washed over me, warm and salty as a tropic sea. I sucked, and the pleasure increased. I rubbed my tongue along the underside of his shaft, and my pleasure doubled. I reached beneath my hospital gown to finger my clit, and the ever-expanding feedback loop of pleasure I'd experienced before swelled and overtook me.
I licked and sucked and chocked on his cock, doing everything I could to make him like it because doing so brought me pleasure, too. His balls tightened in my hand, and he came. I came, too, screaming as the never-ending cycle of pleasure went supernova.
I must have passed out again, because the next thing I knew, I was sitting in the vinyl chair opposite Dr. Hancock's desk with my attendant gently wiping cum off my cheeks with a moist towelette.
"Aw, shit." I said.
"Indeed," Dr. Hancock said. "You see now why the police will never believe you."
"They'll think she's some kind of fucking nympho," my attendant said. "They'll put her in the nut house."
Panic rose in me. They would put me away if I acted like this around the police. I had no recourse.