Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult, NonConsensual, Reluctant, Mind Control, Lesbian, BiSexual, Heterosexual, BDSM, DomSub, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Humiliation, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Body Modification, Transformation, .
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Jacquelyn discovers at her own peril the method by which her dating service guarantees the accuracy of the profiles of their members.
Jacquelyn was finding out for herself that money wasn't guaranteeing her much happiness. Nearly a year ago she'd taken a risk, along with a substantial increase in salary, and moved to San Diego for a job. Things at work were going great; she loved her work, and she managed to handle the added responsibility without a lot of stress, or even late hours. As well, her salary was generous enough that she'd bought herself a beautiful penthouse condominium with money left over for beautiful furnishings. When it came to her personal life though, it was still dreadful. She had been sure that she'd meet all kinds of interesting people in the big city, but it was all a bust so far.
She finally joined up with an online dating service as a last resort. She had done in-depth research and found a service that wasn't as large as some of the other big names, but it was based locally, and the customer response was overwhelmingly positive — positive enough to make up for a terrible name: MPC Dating. They featured a guarantee that all of their online profiles were accurate and that they took the greatest efforts to avoid anyone misrepresenting themselves. Jackie wasn't sure how exactly they'd monitor something like that, but it did seem to be a valid selling point — who would want to get all ready for a blind date with someone handsome, fit and tall only to be met by some balding loser who figured he'd talk his way out of his appearance.
Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be working either. She'd put up her profile, going through many drafts to give her description just the right tone — not too serious, not too jokey, but intriguing. She was also conscientious in describing her body — she even found a measuring tape to track down her measurements. It all went up on the service's website and she waited. And waited. And waited. For months it had been up, and there was nary a hint of interest.
She couldn't figure it out — she knew she wasn't a supermodel but she was an attractive woman with a pretty face. She had medium length brown hair and hazel eyes that always seemed to draw complements. She wore glasses, but she always made sure that her frames were stylish and a good match for the structure of her face. It was her body she felt the most insecure about. She wasn't the curviest, especially compared to some of the women she saw in the streets of the city, walking around in barely-there outfits, and she guessed that her B-cup breasts weren't turning too many heads.
It had really gotten to her over time. At first, right after she posted her online profile, she had been checking her mailbox nearly every hour, but after too many times without a response it went to every day, and now she only stopped by the site every couple of days. It was getting to the point of being ridiculous. She wasn't sure her ego could take much more of this kind of abuse. Not to mention that it was way too long since her sexual release had come from something without batteries. After making a quick check one Friday afternoon to confirm that, once again, her mailbox at the site was still empty she came up with an idea for last-chance strategy before abandoning the entire enterprise: she was going to check out the competition.
After a quick dinner at home that night, she refilled her wine glass, opened up her laptop and powered it up. As she sat in her living room, curled up with the computer in her lap with Supreme Beings of Leisure trip-hopping on her stereo, she thanked herself for splurging on the wireless internet hook up for her condo. With everything warmed up, she set to work. She brought up a search window to have a look at the profiles of some of the other women on the site.
She indicated that she was looking for someone around her own age — late 20's to early 30's — to start with her most direct competition but she left most of the other search options open. After paging through maybe ten or fifteen of the search results, she was shaking her head in disbelief. According the "guaranteed accurate" profiles, it appeared that nearly all of the women in her age group were not only blond, large-breasted (she saw no one with less that a C cup), with interests varying from sexually adventurous to just plain kinky. Just reading some of the things being proposed in these profiles was making her blush.
Well, that certainly seemed to be that. No wonder the men on this site didn't have time for her — they were all chasing after these lipstick lesbians or bi-curious barbie dolls so they could watch them bounce around while acted out perverted fantasies. Compared to them, it seemed that a sincere and intelligent woman didn't stand a chance. And how about this supposed guarantee of accurate profiles? She was sure as hell going to get her money back on Monday morning. She'd walked around the streets and beaches and sure, the women may dress a bit better on average than they did back in her home town, but they weren't the living Russ Meyer movie that was presented in this dating service.
She clicked back to her mailbox in order to sign out. Then she decided she might as well have a little fun. There was an area of the site that she'd never bothered with as it was geared to what they called "Intimate Encounters" or what Jackie called one-night stands. Since it was going to be her last time visiting the site, she thought she'd give it a look over. But first, she was going to change some things on her profile — if she wanted to get some attention with this crowd, she was going to have to pump some things up, so to speak.
She started with the simple things: making her hair longer, thicker and wavier sounded good, and changing her measurements to 36-24-36, with firm D cups for good measure. She discovered that the profile listings for Intimate Encounters were more detailed than the other areas of the site — much more intimate and personal. She poured herself her third glass of wine — damn that is a nice Merlot — and got down to business, thinking of the men that might read this information and choosing the answers for each prompt she thought were the most kinky or the closest to what she thought the male fantasy would be.
HEIGHT? 5 foot 8 inches
WEIGHT? 115 lbs
BODY HAIR? Waxed
TAN? All over, no tan lines
PIERCINGS? Ears, navel
TATTOOS? Butterfly above vagina (okay, so that one was actually true — hmmm, thinking, back the Merlot was excellent that night too)
BODY SENSITIVITY — BREASTS (1-10)? 9
BODY SENSITIVITY — NIPPLES (1-10)? 9
BODY SENSITIVITY — LABIA (1-10)? 9
BODY SENSITIVITY — CLITORIS (1-10)? 10
DESIRE FOR ORAL SEX (1-10)? 10
DESIRE FOR VAGINAL SEX (1-10)? 10
DESIRE FOR ANAL SEX (1-10)? 8
ATTRACTION TO MEN IN GENERAL (1-10)? 10
ATTRACTION TO WOMEN IN GENERAL (1-10)? 9 — one thing she knew was that men just loved lesbians these days
DOMINANCE TOWARDS OTHERS (1-10)? 1
SUBMISSIVENESS TOWARDS OTHERS (1-10)? 10
OPENNESS TOWARDS SEXUAL EXPERIMENTATION (1-10)? 9
Hmm, she paused at that one. What was she specifically going for here? She looked over her previous responses to stay consistent. Okay — sex-crazed, bi-sexual, open to just about anything and willing to do what she's told. She nearly laughed out loud at the image that was coming to mind. She typed her comments, "I'm a good girl undone by her needs, needs that I can't help but feel when I see people staring at my body, or when I'm playing with my toys, or when I'm being a good little slave for my Master." Jackie smiled wide, mentally patting herself on the back. She was proud of that one. God, the horny bastards were going to be drooling at her feet.
With her new profile all finished and saved, she logged into Intimate Encounters. She was in the mood to try out her new persona as soon as possible so she was very happy to find that this section of the site also had a live chat section — no waiting for email from those who noticed her new and improved profile. She jumped into one of the chat rooms, typed in a quick hello to attract some attention and sat back to watch and wait while she took another long sip of wine. There were some general conversations about things to do in the city, favorite movies, etc., but there were also a couple of men that were getting right to the point — asking questions about openness to one-night stands, mutual pleasure and other topics more directly related to sex.
There was a beep from her computer with a notice of a request for a personal chat for her. She checked and it was one of the direct ones, so she figured she'd go along with it for now and have some fun. She got a bit of personal satisfaction in that after all this time of rejection she was going to let some guy who didn't have the time for her before get all worked up over this fake online bimbo and then dump him as soon as the conversation bored her.
"Hello, j-girl, are you being a good girl tonight?" came the question from the man with the pretentious nickname SirMaxx.
"Yes Sir," she replied — if he wanted to be called Sir, she'd play along for now.
"That's very good to hear, dear. Now tell me: are you one of those good girls who is even better when she's bad?"
"Oh yes, Sir, when I'm bad, I'm the best, but that makes a good girl like me blush," Jackie was giggling along as she typed; she could play these guys like a piano.
"No need to blush my dear. You can't be blamed for what you do, no matter how naughty, if you're only following orders," he replied.
"What kind of orders, Sir?"
"Oh that depends on the girl and what she needs, and what the one giving the orders needs."
"What kinds of things might this man need?"
"Oh, it could be many things, j-girl; maybe he needs a lovely girl on her knees before him eager to make him very happy."
Wow, Jackie thought, that didn't take long. She'd been chatting with this guy for a grand total of five minutes and he's fishing for a blowjob. She started to feel that maybe she hadn't been missing anything after all being deprived of the attention of these guys. Without so much as a goodbye to SirMaxx, she left the chat room and started to sign out of the service's website. The wine was making her tired and it had been a long week so she decided to just call it a night. Logging out, a window popped up asking her if she wanted to save the changes to her profile. What the heck, she thought; maybe I'll feel like messing with someone else later. She clicked YES and logged out. She shut down the computer and head off to bed.
Deep inside a nondescript building near the busy downtown airport, the hum of a high-powered air conditioning system added to the white noise provided by the fans of an array of rack-mounted servers. At 01:13:36.65 a signal from the MPC Dating PSS (Profile Storage Server) silently alerted the PES (Profile Enforcement Server) that there was a description/reality discrepancy incident. With the subject identified, the computer signaled its long-range sensors to re-confirm the details relating to the incident. After the check was completed, the enforcement subroutine was initialized with the timing of enforcement coordinated with the local time of sunrise. Its job done, the PES returned itself to sleep mode at 01:15:03.29.
As she slept, Jackie felt changes beginning in her body at the limits of her subconscious. The closest her awareness came to conscious thought was as a series of dreams with a lot more erotic charge than usual. If the changes could be said to have been the cause of her waking, it was only because the tank top she had worn to bed was now uncomfortably small.
As she awoke, Jackie let a wide mouthed yawn and arched in full-body stretch. She grimaced a bit as the fabric of her top seemed to pull at her — she didn't remember it shrinking in the last laundry load, but it wouldn't be the first thing she'd accidentally put in the dryer. At the tight cotton dragged over her nipples, they stiffened quickly, sending a shock of sensation that seemed to travel through her breasts, down her spine and between her legs. She smiled and acknowledged the sensation with a happy little hum. She stumbled to her en-suite bathroom, feeling a bit off balance. The real shock came when she finally opened her eyes fully, and looked at her reflection in the mirror.
She grabbed at the doorframe, steadying herself. Her hair had gone from what she had called a mousy brown to a beautiful rich auburn color, and from a straight mid-length cut to waves of soft curves that cascading down over her shoulders and down her back. For the understatement of the morning, something had happened to her breasts — they were at least two cup sizes larger. Her tank top was stretched to the point of tearing over the huge mounds but her nipples still managed to poke the cotton a little further outward. She pulled the top off, and felt them bounce free. She couldn't believe it. They were huge — they looked real and felt real (another shock of pleasure went through her as she cupped her hands under them and gave a squeeze) but there was no way they could be. But as she looked at the rest of herself, her whole shape seemed to have changed. She had curves, oh-my-god-va-va-voom curves. Her waist was small, her belly tight, and her hips swelled out — like a classic hourglass. Turning in front of the mirror, she managed to look at her tight heart-shaped ass. There was a panic building inside her but on the surface there was something so thrilling about this — she was HOT!
Since she didn't have tan lines it took her a bit longer to recognize the golden color of her skin. The gleaming ring that she found worn in her navel stood out a bit more than usual.
She'd wiggled out of her track pants to see herself in her full glory and she felt a flush of embarrassment to find herself fully hairless down below. She'd seen pictures of porn stars or Playboy models like that, but she'd never dared to do it herself. She was running her hands over her body, feeling the changes, the new curves, when she became aware of how horny she'd become. Her body seemed to react so much stronger to touch — her breasts especially. Her nipples were rock hard, and they stood out much wider and longer when aroused than they had before. She told herself she had to figure out this had happened, that something was seriously wrong — but first she ran to her bedside table and took hold of her favorite vibrator, sliding it urgently between her legs. "Thinking can wait," she mumbled to herself as she started to writhe with pleasure on the bed.
All of her rational thoughts, even the pure shock of seeing someone in the mirror that just didn't look like her anymore, were easily being shouted down by the urgent need she felt. The need radiated from between her legs and spread throughout her entire body. She had thrown herself back onto the bed and guided the vibrator, turned up to its full speed, down to her moist and tingling cunt. She was now pumping it deeply into herself with a firm rhythm. A loud, low guttural moan was emanating from her. Her free hand was roaming over her revised body, squeezing the mammoth new breasts, feeling how sensitive they were, how full, how firm. Her nipples were so large now, poking out nearly and inch, and each time she pinched at them her sensation was so intense that she had to give out a little gasp.
She didn't stop — wasn't even able to stop — until the vibe and her hands had driven her to her third orgasm. Even then she kept the toy moving and sliding into her body, extending the sensation, feeling the waves crash over and over. Finally, her body glistening with sweat, she collapsed on the twisted sheets.
It took about twenty minutes for her to recover enough strength to get up and make her way to the shower. The sensation of the hot water on her new body was intense. She seemed to feel each individual stream from the showerhead. She spent longer soaping and rinsing her breasts and ass than she had planned to, and by the time she moved to her pussy with the mesh sponge she was past being able to stop herself. She just had to cum, just one more time. The fine lather flowed down her tanned legs as she ground the sponge between her legs — god, the soapy warmth felt so good on her bald cunt. She was very close to the edge when she managed surprise herself — she hadn't done it consciously, but her left hand had moved from cupping and rubbing her breasts to reach down behind her ass and she was teasing the tight opening of her bottom with squirming fingertip. It seemed so dirty, so disgusting, but it felt so good. She pushed the finger deeper, feeling the tightness, and her body spasmed with another orgasm.
She rinsed herself off again, and got herself out of the shower. It took a lot of mental control to dry off with the plush towel and not gather up some more pleasure, but she managed it. She almost regretted having purchased towels that were so damn soft, but she had wanted the best.
She could fit her favourite Juicy Couture sweat pants on though they fit a lot differently than before, but with the breasts she had now, just about anything she had to wear on top was a world too small. She had to do something, she told herself, because they were an ongoing distraction. She felt their increased weight all the time, not as a burden, but just as a constant reminder that they were there. She felt them rise and fall with each breath. When she moved or walked, she felt their shifting weight swaying and jiggling. She wanted to find a way to hold them still, but there was no bra in her apartment that would hold them. Finally she found an old white t-shirt she had liberated from an ex-boyfriend that had been a favorite sleep shirt. It was worn and thin, but at least she could get it over herself.
She fixed herself a coffee and sat down to think. "Thinking" included a painful pinch to her side, just to make sure she was awake. Okay, if this wasn't a dream, what was it? People just didn't wake up with different bodies. Especially a body that seemed like some guy's wet dream. The realization hit her right about then.
"What the fuck!?!?" she cursed out loud, scrambling to her computer. She tapped the surface of the coffee table and impatiently waited for it to warm up. She finally got it up and running and logged into the dating service's web site. She brought up her profile — the "joke" she had entered last night. There it was — somehow her hair, her body, her height, her measurements all now matched the ridiculous statistics. She was pleased with one part — only reading the details now did she realize that her glasses were still on her bedside table, but she could see perfectly. She'd never trusted that laser-eye surgery but now she didn't need it.
She shook her head, willing some sense back into it. So what if she didn't need glasses anymore, she had bigger problems. She took some deep breaths to calm her down, but the effect was partially undone by the feeling of her D cups moving along with them. "No problem, I'll just change the profile back to the way it was before — except maybe for the glasses," she told herself. With that she clicked the button to edit the profile.
With a little ping, her computer answered back. A window popped up.
"Greetings. Thank you for using MPC Dating. Unfortunately, your profile has been temporarily locked by our Profile Enforcement Division. Please try again in a few days. Thank you."
"Sonofabitch!" Now what was she going to do?
She tried to calm herself down. Maybe it wouldn't take days. Maybe in a couple hours, she'd be able to straighten all this out. If this was really happening (she tried another pinch — nothing) then she'd just sort it out with the people from the dating service. She'd apologize for lying on her profile, pay them off if she had to, and she'd get her body back. There was no phone number listed at all on the site, so she was at the mercy of email and patience.
She had to keep her mind busy on something else to keep herself from just clicking the "edit profile" button over and over every thirty seconds. Hmmm, there was the online chat room. After all, she didn't have any clothes to wear outside, so it wasn't like she was going to get many errands done.
She was only in the chat room for a few minutes when the request for a personal chat came in. She had already clicked OK when her eyes went wide, realizing that the request was from the same SirMaxx that she had "hung up" on last night.
"Welcome back, j-girl," he typed.
"Thank you, Sir," she thought she'd keep it short, seeing how his mood was.
A longer response came back, "You left rather abruptly last night, girl. I didn't appreciate it. Now I've reviewed your profile, and you're supposed to be a good girl, and I don't think that is how a good girl would act. So I will be clear with you with what I expect: you are to be polite and honest with me; you'll be a good girl and you will do what I tell you to; you will treat me with the respect that a good little slave girl would treat her Master."
The first reaction that came to Jackie's mind was similar to the way she felt the last time she chatted with this guy — there was a flash in her mind that wanted to tell him to go straight to hell. Right behind those thoughts — and quickly overtaking them — came new ones; they were strange, new and unexpected emotions. She felt a wave of guilt for disappointing him before. She'd been so inconsiderate and rude. And now, thinking about being a good girl for him and making him happy gave her a strong sense of pleasure. It wasn't just happiness either — she felt it physically, like a deep lingering kiss, or loving touch. It made her feel warm to the core, and gave her pussy a fresh tingle. She distilled all of this down in a simple response.
"Yes, Sir, I apologize for last night. I understand your instructions and I will be a good girl for you."
"Much better. That's a good girl."
The wave of pleasure she felt sent a quiver up her spine. "Good girl" sounded like the sweetest thing anyone could have ever said to her. She knew that was kind of strange, but it felt too good to question at the moment.
"What's your real name, j-girl?"
"Jacquelyn, Sir, though most people call me Jackie."
"That's a beautiful name, Jacquelyn. Tell me, dear; are you wearing clothes at the moment?"
"Yes, Sir, I'm wearing cashmere sweat pants and a t-shirt, Sir."
"Take them off, Jacquelyn."
She knew she shouldn't do it. Why would a rational woman strip down to nothing just because some online stranger told her to? She was still trying to figure out in her mind why she had told this guy her real name. Even if she was going to play along for a while, you could just say that you'd done it — it's not like he could tell. But as she pulled the shirt up over her head, releasing her breasts to the air once more, the immediate pleasure response let her know she'd made the right decision.
She hadn't really noticed it happening but when she wiggled her hips out of her sweats, pushing them down her thighs, she realized that her pussy was wet again. She yearned to touch it, to push her fingers between her glistening lips and into the silky darkness inside, but she figured somehow that SirMaxx probably wouldn't want her doing that without his permission.
She stepped out of her pants. She'd obeyed SirMaxx, and the realization that she was being a good girl weakened her knees so much she nearly fell back into the sofa. "Oh god," she thought, "If it feels this good just to take off my clothes for someone, I could get myself in some serious trouble." But at the same time she wanted more of that feeling; she wanted another command to follow; she wanted to be a good girl; she wanted to feel that tingling, that whole-body feeling of pure pleasure. She'd probably do just about anything to feel that some more.