Nylon Puta Possession (BetamaxLite)

White Man to Latina Slut (Possession)

You can find the full text below. Welcome to BetamaxLite, a less explicit kind of content that is free for all to view. My aim for the Neoidentity page is to avoid using AI images but I still want to produce some less explicit race change content using AI, hence this new kind of content for the Betamax17 page. Plus I just enjoy writing and like to write as much as I can!

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Full Text

Marcus ran his thumb over the thick brown paper of the unmarked package that contained the stockings, his cock already straining against his sweatpants as he imagined the nylon stretching over his own legs. He had never crossdressed before, unless you counted that one Halloween party where he drunkenly stuffed a bikini top with socks, but the interest had always been there. He just never had the guts to act on it. That changed when he found these stockings in the back of a dimly lit vintage shop, tucked between moth-eaten scarves and cracked leather belts. The moment he saw them, he knew he had to buy them. To own them. And this feeling was amplified when his fingers brushed the fabric for the first time and he felt something electric shoot up his spine. Now, under the yellow glow of his bedroom lamp they rested in his hands: soft, smooth and inviting.

He stripped quickly, the air prickling against his nakedness as he stepped into the stockings. The material clung cold at first, then warmed as it slithered up his calves, hugging his thighs with a pressure that choked his breath. A voice that wasn’t his purred in the back of his skull, Ay, qué flacucho… let’s fix you, papi. His cock jerked, precum beading at the tip as the waistband snapped snug below his navel. Heat bloomed there, spreading downward until his balls tightened and his ass cheeks prickled with pins and needles. He groaned, stumbling toward the mirror as his hips began to push outward, the subtle creak of bone shifting under skin drowned out by the wet slap of flesh expanding. His waist narrowed as his torso reshaped itself, softness swelling over newly formed curves while his shoulders slumped inward, collarbones retreating beneath a layer of smooth fat. The spirit pressed closer now, her laughter humid against his dissolving thoughts. Sshh… you wanted this. Let me show you how to move those caderas.

“No pareces tú,” he mumbled, the Spanish slipping out unintentionally. His hand flew to his mouth in shock at what he said as he caught himself in the mirror. The reflection showed a stranger: skin deepening to a rich golden-brown, facial angles softening into rounded cheeks, a nose broadening slightly at the bridge. His hair darkened, curls springing into tight coils that brushed against newly thickened shoulders. He tried to speak, to curse, but “fuck” became “joder,” the accent unfamiliar. Behind his eyes, the spirit stretched, her desires braiding into his nerves. Mine now. This body’s too pretty to waste on a man. His tits came next.

A shudder ripped through him as his pecs tingled, nipples hardening into pebbles before the flesh beneath them began to swell. He gripped his budding breasts, kneading them as they grew, the sensation straddling pain and pleasure until his fingers sank into pillowy softness. Brown areolas spread wide, dusky and perfect against his new skin. He moaned, a high melodic sound, as his cock twitched, now incongruous between plush thighs that rubbed together with every shift. The spirit cooed, Ay, tan linda… don’t worry, nena. That feo thing will be gone soon. The stockings pulsed hotter, squeezing his hips as his ass inflated, jiggling with each experimental bounce. He turned sideways, watching his profile bloat with feminine fat, his belly rounding gently over the stockings’ waistband.

Marcus tried clawing at the nylons, nails scraping against fabric seemingly fused to skin, but his body betrayed him. The spirit’s grip tightened, her will forcing his panic to become resignation. You think you’re still in control, gringo? Look at you moaning with the desperation of a puta already. His hips swayed automatically as he staggered, his new center of gravity pulling him into a sashay. His cock ached, leaking onto the floor, but when he reached down to stroke it, his hand froze. The spirit snarled, Esa cosa asquerosa no es tuya ahora. His cock twitched, the shaft now feeling repulsive under his fingertips, the urge to touch it evaporating as the spirit forced his gaze to drop to his swollen breasts. These, the spirit purred, you can touch. His hands obeyed, palms cupping the warm weight of his tits, thumbs circling nipples that sent sparks straight to the cock that now repulsed him. That was to change next.

His cock twitched once more before retreating, flesh rippling as it inverted. He screamed as his pussy bloomed, lips parting around a slick gush that soaked the stockings. The sensation tore through him, full and empty and right in a way that shattered his last protest. The spirit sighed, There… now you’re perfect. Say thank you to Maricela. He collapsed against the mirror, panting, watching tears streak a face he’d never seen but somehow recognized. Maricela, the name floated up from nowhere, settling into his fractured mind. It was hers, so why did it feel so his?

His hands moved without permission, fingertips grazing the swollen lips of his new pussy. Heat radiated from it, a magnetic pull that liquefied his resolve. No, he tried to think, but the spirit laughed, her voice dripping from his own throat. Touch it, pendejo. You know you want to. His middle finger slid between the folds, and his back arched as pleasure detonated in his core. The spirit purred, Sí… that’s your brain now. Right there. His vision blurred, thoughts unraveling into the wetness as his finger thrust deeper. Every stroke sucked him further down, but he couldn’t stop. He felt his consciousness dissolving into the clenching rhythm of his... her cunt. Bye-bye, gringo, the spirit crooned. You’ll be just a little itch in my pussy when I’m horny. His last whimper melted into a moan as his mind collapsed inward, swallowed whole by the hungry pulse between her thighs.

The stockings dissolved, melting into her skin until nothing remained. Maricela admired her reflection as she spread her legs, two fingers plunging into her soaked cunt, and sighed as the ghost of him fluttered inside her. Cállate, gringo. You’re better as my pussy. She’d find some good clothes after she came.