textfiles/sex/EROTICA/K/karissa.txt

Archive-name: Changes/karissa.txt
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Archive-title: Karissa 


    I knew the minute I laid eyes on her that she was a
hooker. No woman purposely looked that provocative unless
she was hustling. She was a stunning redhead in a black
spandex minidress with a halter top. Her large, ripe melons
threatened to spill out of their skimpy confinement, and her
deliciously narrow waist and full, rounded hips were defined
by a wide red patent belt. Her long, shapely legs were
enclosed in sheer black stockings, and her feet were
gracefully shod in matching red patent pumps with five inch
stiletto heels. Her fathomless jade eyes were deeply made up
in green and gold, framed by furry black lashes. Her plush
lips and long, graceful fingernails were polished in fiery
red. She told me her name was Cybil, and I had to have her.
    Picking her up was not a problem. We each knew what the
other was there for, and came to an amicable arrangement.
As we left, I thought I was going to shoot my load in my
pants just watching her hips undulate back and forth as she
strutted towards the door. On the way home she did
everything to keep me aroused. She fondled my raging hard-on
through my pants, blew in my ear, nibbled on my earlobe,
stuck her tongue in my ear, scraped her fingernails against
my exposed chest.
     We arrived at my place - not a moment too soon for my
aching cock. She took one look at my house and gasped.

     "Honey, if I had known you were loaded, I would
     have charged you double. C'mon, Lover; I'm going 
     to get that extra out of you yet!"

    The sex was great -- not just because she was skillful
(she was), not just because she was beautiful (she certainly
was). it was great because of the thrill of knowing that
this beautiful, talented temptress was a "professional". It
was wildly erotic to think that this exquisite woman, whom I
had never met before, was having sex with me on demand for
a cold cash payoff. I had always fantasized about being that
woman; perched enticingly on a barstool, waiting, then 
being propositioned, reaching an agreement, taking the
john someplace private, accepting his money, then fucking
him senseless.
    She stirred, as if to leave. As she got up, she noticed
a stack of photographs on the bedside table. Before I could
stop her, she picked them up and began to leaf through them.
                                                       
     "Mmmm, dynamite-looking Fox! I can see that I'm not
     your first Working Girl. Who is she? I don't think
     I've seen her around before."                 

     "It's me. I like to dress."                            
                                                            
She stopped dead. Her chin dropped and her eyes grew wide as
she went through the stack, alternately looking at the
photos, then me. When she had finished, a sly smile spread
across her lips. She pushed me down on my back, straddled my
hips, impaled herself on my now-rock-hard cock and rode me
for all I was worth.  She gently raked my chest with her
long fingernails as she softly spoke to me.
                                                            
     "No Lover, you don't just "like" to dress. You LOVE    
     it! The woman in these pictures proves that. You      
     dress to turn men on, to make them hot for you,        
     just like a pro. You make ME hot, just looking at
     your pictures. No girl looks that good by accident.
     Now, Honey, tell me what you REALLY want. What was
     it I saw in your eyes at the bar? TELL ME!"       
                                                    
     "You're right. I love to dress as a woman. I love
     to be sexy, provocative, sluttish. I have always 
     wanted to know what it's like to hook for a living;    
     to pick up a stranger, take him to a room, take his    
     money, and fuck him senseless. I saw you tonight,    
     and I saw the "me" I have always wanted to be. I     
     want to know how it feels."                          
                                                      
    Cybil's eyes gleamed as she took in my words, as if some
plan had crystallized in her head. She smiled her seductive
smile and rolled over until she lay beside me, still
gripping my cock tightly inside her drenched pussy. She
pressed her lush body against mine and continued to
rhythmicallly pump my fuck-pole into her. I could feel her
hot breath on my face as she spoke slowly, softly,
commandingly:                    
 
     "So you want to know how it feels, do you, Sugar?
     I can arrange that. I "love" to transform mousey        
     little guys like you into beautiful, sexy women.   
     It's a real turn-on for me. I don't have to ask       
     you how you would feel about it; I can see it in       
     your eyes. Look at me. Look at my body. You love it,
     don't you, Honey? You would love to have a body   
     like mine, wouldn't you? You would love to have a     
     pair of full, firm tits like mine. You crave a     
     nice, round ass and a tight, wet pussy of your     
     own, don't you? You would sell your soul to live    
     my life; to seduce men, make them hot for you, make    
     them give you anything you ask for, just so they    
     can feel your tits, feel your ass, feel your       
     whole body pressed against theirs, feel their        
     cock inside your tight, wet pussy. Imagine what
     that would "feel" like, Lover; a big, hard cock        
     inside you, driving in and out, hot cum spurting    
     into your pussy. You would die to be the kind of      
     woman that a man would pay anything to possess, 
     if only for a little while - wouldn't you, Sugar?
     Well, I'm not going to just tell you about it; I'm
     going to show you. You have a beautiful place with
     "lots" of bedrooms, and this neighborhood has great
     potential; the local clubs ooze money. It's an
     ideal set-up. Tell you what. I think I'm going to
     stay with you a while. In fact, I think I'm going
     to call a couple of my friends and have them stay
     here, too. My friends and I are going to set up a
     little business here, work the clubs, have some
     guys over. While we're here, we are going to
     change you into your "dream girl." Your new name
     will be -- Karissa, soft as a woman's caress. We
     will give the kind of body you have always wanted,
     the kind that men drool over. You will learn how
     to walk, talk, sit in ways that get guys hot. We
     will teach you how to give a blowjob that will
     drive a guy up the wall. We will show you how to
     get a guy off right under the table. When you are
     ready, we will take you out to the same bars you
     go to now. You are going to pick up tricks with
     us, bring them back here, and screw their brains
     out. We may even have you pick up your best
     friend. But you know what, Honey? I "guarantee" he
     won't have any idea who you are, and he wouldn't
     care if he did. All he will be able to think about
     is this hot-looking fox in front of him that he
     just HAS to get his cock into. And "you: will want
     him to do it, too, because by that time you will
     be one of us, and he will be just another source
     of income to you. The only way you will "really" get
     it on is with another hooker; WE know what it
     takes to get each other hot. I'm getting very hot
     just thinking about turning you into a really sexy
     whore. I want to see you all dressed up, made up,
     with curves in all the right places. We'll turn
     tricks together, but the special moments, the hot
     moments, we will save for each other. Besides,
     Lover, if you don't go along with it, I just might
     start showing these pictures of you around, you
     know what I mean?"

     The threats weren't necessary; by that time I would
have given her anything to do what she said she was going to
do. She probably knew that already, and just tossed them in
to add a little drama.
    She started that night by examining my feminine
wardrobe ("You do have good taste, Honey"). She laced me
into one of my corsets, then added stockings, heels, a sheer
black peignoir, full makeup, and my platinum blonde wig. She
selected my largest dildo ("I knew a slut like you would
have one") and fucked me into total submission.
    Cybil made a couple of calls the next morning, then
spent the next few hours feminizing me. By noon my body was
completely hairless, corsetted, stockinged, and padded in
all the right places. I was in a long silk dressing robe and
stiletto heels ("get used to them, Karissa; that's all you
will wear on your feet from now on"). The doorbell rang and
she lead me to the door and opened it. Her two friends,
Ginger and Monica, were every bit as striking as Cybil.

         "Ginger, Monica, I want you to meet Karissa. She 
          wants to become one of us, and I told her we would
          show her everything she needs to know. Won't we?"

She flashed them a big wink that I was meant to see. They
all laughed, then they led me to the kitchen where they all
went to work on me.
    I was completely made over that afternoon. Although I
was to wear wigs until my own hair grew out, they bleached
my hair a shimmering platinum blonde ("We wouldn't want any
dark roots to spoil your look now, would we Honey?"). My
eyebrows were thinned and trimmed into high arches. My ears
were double-pierced and two sets of studs were put in place
until the punctures healed. While Cybil and Ginger worked on
my makeup, Monica gave me a long, lustrous set of square-cut
sculptured nails. When they had finished, Ginger and Monica
each grabbed one of my wrists and pulled me forward over the
table. I lay there helplessly as Cybil moved in behind me.
I felt the cooling touch of an alcohol swab on my butt,
followed by the sharp sting of a needle.

     "What was that?"

     "Shh now, Karissa. That was your first hormone
     shot. You will get one every day from now on.
     Soon you will have curves in all the right places,
     and then you really will be just like us, just as
     I promised you. You'll like that, won't you, Baby?"

I could have said "no" right then, and called the whole
thing off. I could have sent them on their way and gone on
with my life. I really could have.

         "Yes, thank you. I will like that very much."

                                                        
    The days passed. I helped my three lovely companions
move their personal belongings in. At the same time, we
redecorated the house into a very graceful, very elegant,
very feminine home.The girls kept me corsetted and dressed
for "business" at all times. They took turns indoctrinating
me. I picked up their techniques, their approaches, their
attitudes, even their patterns of speech. I acted as their
receptionist, setting up appointments for clients who
called, greeting the clients at the door when they arrived,
making them feel relaxed and comfortable until their girl
was ready for them. The girls developed a sensual, exotic
ritual which they practiced on me every night. I would wait
in my bedroom, dressed in corset, stockings, heels, a sheer
pegnoir, fully made up and perfumed, as though I were
waiting for a client. Then one (and sometimes all three) of
the girls would enter, kiss and caress me for a while, then
gently force me down on the bed, administer my hormone shot,
then give me a long, slow fucking with a large dildo.
    As more time passed and the contours of my body changed,
I became more confident in my new lifestyle. I had begun to
practice "warming up" the clients while they waited, to make
their experience that much more pleasurable. It wasn't long
before they began to request that I participate in their
scenes. I found out that I really love to suck cock, not to
mention taking a big dick up the ass. I even took part in
a few Domination scenes. It's a real rush to have some guy
on his knees before me, begging me to whip him. It turns out
that a transsexual dominatrix is especially intimidating;
the poor wimp is reduced to a puddle of jelly when he
realizes his mistress is about to do to him what he does to
everyone else in his life.
    Soon I progressed from participating in the other girls'
scenes to turning my own tricks. It's thrilling to have
clients request  my  services. Cybil was right; it is an ego
trip to have that kind of power over a man, to hold his cock
in my hand and watch him spurt cum all over, knowing that at
this moment  I   own   him , and he will do anything I ask him to
if I will "please just make it last a little longer!"
    The girls kept at least one night open each week to get
out to the clubs, have a few drinks, dance, and maybe drum
up some new business. Working girls are just like salesmen;
they are always "on", always pitching, even when they are
out playing. One such Thursday night they decided it was
time to throw me a "graduation party". They spent an hour
fussing over me, giggling, teasing me, as though I was
going to my first prom. I was laced into a bright red satin
corset which compressed my waistline to a scant twenty-two
inches, while my hips flared out to a full, rounded
thirty-six . My legs were incased in gossemer-sheer black
stockings which fastened to the garters of my corset. The
seams of the stockings ran arrow-straight up the backs of my
legs. I wore a red lace underwired demi-bra which cradled
the undersides of my hormonally-enhanced tits and pushed
them high up on my chest, giving me full, rounded mounds and
a deep, luscious cleavage. My matching red lace bikini
panties kept me tucked in tightly, so that no telltale bulge
would spoil the  effect. I wore a black silk short-sleeved
blouse with a wrap-around front. The effect was to create a
plunging "V" neckline which showed of my lush cleavage and
just a hint of red lace bra for contrast. My ample curves
were squeezed into a knee-length black leather hobble skirt,
with a spray of diamond-shape rhinestones down the front.
With the blouse tucked into the skirt, my tiny waist was
defined by a wide red calfskin cincher belt. My feet were
shod in red calfskin pumps with five inch stiletto heels. My
platinum hair was fluffed out, with spikey bangs curling in
on my forehead. My sapphire eyes were made up dramatically
in dark blue and silver, rimmed completely in black liner,
and framed with mascara-ed lashes that resembled thick,
black fur. My prominent cheekbones were a deep rose. My
plush lips and long fingernails were blood-red, matching my
belt and shoes. The scent of Shalimar wafted gently on the 
night breeze as I strutted regally to the car with the other
girls. after a few minutes drive, I realized that Cybil was
taking me back to the same clup where we had met.
I should have been panicked; everyone there knew me well.
Yet I felt supremely confident and self-assured. I
instinctively knew that no one would connect the ravishing
beauty they were about to meet with the guy they had known
before. I now was what I had always been meant to be, and 
I was prepared to make the most of it. I communicated all of
this to Cybil with a glance and a smile. She understood
immediately.
    We had made a point to arrive towards the end of Happy
Hour. It was early enough to get one of the big,
semicircular booths near the dance floor and still catch a
lot of the businessmen who had stopped by to socialize after
work. No one showed me the slightest hint of recognition,
not even waitresses who had known me by name for months.
That doesn't mean we didn't get noticed; far from it. Every
eye in the place, both male and female, tracked the four of
us like radar all the way from the door to our table. I
think our bar bill amounted to one bottle of champagne that
night, and that was the first one. Once we established our
preference, fresh bottles kept appearing at our table like
magic for the rest of the evening.
    We got up to dance shortly after the dance music program
started; after all, we were there to have a good time. Of
course, there was more to it than just fun - working girls
are always "on", remember? The sight of four gorgeous foxes
grinding their bodies to a pounding disco beat, as though
they were making love to each other, is a powerful
aphrodesiac. It is also a more effective introduction than
any calling card ever devised by man. Sure enough, within
twenty minutes our dance cards were full.
    Business, as they say, was brisk. Our "girl's night out"
took on the aspects of just another day at the office, with
frequent trips by each of us out to the parking lot. True to
his word, the valet never allowed us to be interrupted at an
awkward moment. I was so impressed by his devotion to duty
(not to mention his endowment), that I gave him his "tip"
two hours before closing. On the other hand, I did make sure
he had my "business" number; an occasional freebie for
promotional purposes is fine, but business is business. The
same is true for those gentlemen who bought us really good
champagne; it  is  pricey when you buy it in one of those
places, and we  were  there primarily to have a good time. We
showed them one in return, but before they left they had our
phone number and first-hand knowledge of the kinds of
services we provided.
    Shortly before last call I heard a familiar voice ask me
to dance. I looked up, and my heart skipped a beat. I  knew
this guy! His name was Ken. We hadn't exactly been best
friends, but we had gone drinking together often. Yet here
he was COMING ON TO ME, as though he had never seen me
before in his life! I glanced sideways and caught Cybil's
eye. We spoke volumes with just that one glance; I saw that
she understood what was happening. I looked back at him,
flashed him my very best come-hither smile and said yes. As
we danced, I played coy, pretending he was a complete
stranger. We went through introductions and some small talk,
and I think he caught on to what we were. At that point I
really turned up the heat on this guy. I had always thought
he was good-looking; now, I found him really attractive.
That always makes the job easier. I did my very best "Dirty
Dancing" routine. I danced close with my hands on his hips,
alternately grinding my pussy into his crotch and my tits
against his chest. He placed his arm around me and held me
as I leaned way back, my fingertips sliding down his arms.
He pulled me up again, and I slid my fingers up his arms
again, transferring them to the exposed flesh of his
muscular chest. I twirled around so that we faced in the
same direction. I arched my back and reached backward with
my right arm so that my hand encircled his neck, my head
rested against his shoulder, and my ass nestled against his
crotch. I swayed my hips back and forth to the slow,
hypnotic beat, grinding my ass against his massive hardon. I
could almost hear him sweat, and his hands encircled me and
ran upwards to fondle my tits, then downwards to feel my
pussy. I knew at that moment that I owned him. I also knew
he would make the obvious play at any momemt. I was ready
for him.

         "Karissa, I'm so hot for you right now that I'm 
          about to come in my pants. Let's go someplace
          more private and talk about it."
 
         "Gee, Honey, I don't know. It's late, I have
          to work tomorrow, and we're going to need
          a  lot  of time to do it right."

         "Then I would have to make it worth your while,
          wouldn't I?"

        
Gotcha. Two thoughts flashed through my mind in quick 
succession:
            1) This guy is worth BIG bucks, and   
            2) He has never been to my home. He would
               have no idea who I was, or had been.
The decision was obvious.

         "In that case, Sugar, I think we can work something
          out. Let me just excuse myself from my roommates,
          then we can go back to our place. It's just a few
          minutes away. They won't disturb us when they get
          home. Unless, of course, we  want  them to."

     I led him back to our table and told the girls that Ken
would be taking me home, that we had some business to talk
over. I flashed them a smile and a big wink, then let him
lead me towards the door. As we walked away from the table,
I glanced back, and saw Cybil mouth the words "I told you
so." The valet brought Ken's Porsche around. Ken tipped him
and got in. I waited for the valet to come around and get my
door. When he did, I surreptitiously massaged his
re-aroused dick, gave him a smile and a wink, and mouthed
the words "Call Me." Then I got in the car, and we were
gone.
    Where should I begin? Business has been great; so much
so that the four of us have decided to extend our
relationship indefinitely. I made my own decision a while
back; I now have a real pussy and a 34-D bustline.
Ken is still a good friend and valued client. He steers a
lot of business our way, so I allow him to take me out from
time to time. He knows all about me now, and certainly knows
what I do for a living. Instead of being turned off, he says
he thinks I am the most exciting woman he has ever known. I
think I'll keep him around for a while; this might have
potential if I ever decide to retire. I'm not ready to do
that just now; I'm still having too much fun. Cybil,
Ginger, Monica, and I are just like family. We share
thoughts, feelings, emotions. There is a lot of love here.
Speaking of love, you will have to excuse me; I have a
standing date with a gorgeous redhead and a very large
dildo.

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