New Story - So far untitled...

I know it's been a while, but life has been busy as the world reopens. In the meantime, chapter one of a new story. And I got a request for a Rubberwerks sequel, too. Thinking that one over...

Martin believed in being careful. Not that he was hurting for privacy, but things had to be arranged. Maybe it was a holdover from his early years, and the insistence his mother had about looking presentable under the worst of circumstances. Mind the details and the bigger picture would take care of itself, Martin’s mother said, and Diane Taylor was no fool. According to her, anyways. Martin thought his mother was plenty foolish, but that didn’t mean the old lessons didn't echo, even when he was going about the sordid business of an orgasm.

Blinds were closed, which was only natural given that night had fallen. The low, yellow light in his office was on and he’d opened a private browser on his computer. Along with the VPN, the sites he visited would go untraced.

He stripped down to his boxers and socks and the undershirt he’d worn for work. That layer of business façade was stripped away, and now he was in his comfortable chair, his slowly growing member in hand. He gave himself a few slow strokes to get things moving and then began his search.

It was truly amazing to Martin how much time could be lost in searching for just the right kind of pornography. He heard co-workers at the office talk about fumbling through the neverending offerings on Netflix or Hulu, and Martin had been there, too, but it was porn that would lull him down rabbit holes of endless scrolling and taste-testing videos. While he enjoyed the act of completion, the sense of growing and pervasive arousal was what he liked. He lost hours to it.

Gooning, someone had called it. He couldn’t remember where he first heard the description but knew it was immediately right. The dulling of the senses, the arousal and lazy hunger for more and more of it… And so when Martin returned home after a day of work, he planted himself in his office once chores were done for the day and he’d cobbled together some food that wasn’t wholly disgusting. Then he could goon. He opened up his favorite purveyeor of filth on the web and starting looking for some favorites. He particularly liked bimbo transformations, but they were rare. Good ones were rarer still. He love the hypnosis and trance videos, too, but those too often were just glorified ads for some undeniably pretty woman who wanted ‘worthless losers’ to send her money.

He liked the videos of someone being entranced and transformed. Some superheroine vids were quite good, but those he’d seen again and again. Now he was on to the more direct trance videos, the ones that were supposed to actually hypnotize you. He didn’t fully buy into that part of it, but the blend of whispering voices and bouncing images did get him rock hard and gave him some great climaxes.

As he scrolled and tested, taking the time to give his rod an affectionate caress now and again, Martin tried a couple of hypno videos that were either too familiar or more of the sexed-up commercials. Until he found the one with a website logo for something called InnerBimbo.com. The watermark was vaguely distracting, a small price to pay for the quality of the video.

It was a fairly traditional hypno vid in that the background was a swirling and moving image, a spiral to lull you into a trance, Martin supposed. The images were of very high quality, sometimes above and sometimes beeath the spiral. As they changed, Martin realized that he was seeing a progression. The model in the video wasn’t a natural woman, he realized, but a guy made up to look incredibly feminine. A wig gave him long blonde hair. Still images of the young and attractive man posing as a sultry blonde woman flashed while a whispering woman’s voice whispered, words laid over one another. Sometimes this was incomprehensible, and then you could catch a bit of phrasing. “So easy to let go,” one said, “so easy to watch.”

He couldn’t argue that. While he watched this pretty man show his skintight clothing off, revealing thigh high stockings and a black lace thong, Martin stroked himself. Slow at first, increasing as the pace of the video rose. When images flashed too quickly to fully comprehend, and the whispers reached a crescendo, telling him to cum, to release, to give himself pleasure, martin did just that.

With a grunt, he came, spilling a healthy arc of seed over his hand and onto his boxers and office chair. He noticed the video concluded while he came, chuckling as he settled back and casually wiped the back of his hands on his boxers. He’d rise and shower soon, but now he savored the high of having cum after such a long round of edging. The video was almost twenty-five minutes long and he’d somehow jerked off the whole time. When you’re having fun, he thought, and made for the shower.

There were no other videos from Carly and InnerBimbo.com on the usual sites, though he managed to mine the one video Martin had found for several days. He learned after the second session that it was best not to plan much after one of his hypnotic wanks. Something about the InnerBimbo video, and especially Carly, had him sluggish and horny even after he deposited a fresh load in his palm or on his boxers.

Eventually, the one video couldn't sustain him. Martin broke his rule of never spending a dime on porn for a membership to InnerBimbo.com. It was only twenty dollars for the year, which made the expenditure a bit more palatable. Martin hated the thought of spending real money on videos when there was an abundance of free images to explore. And they were making more all the time.

But it was Carly he was obsessed with. He’d never considered himself gay, or even found too much interest in the world of transgender porn. There was plenty of it and he had no knee-jerk disgust of such material, it just wasn’t his thing, that was all. At least until he saw Carly. Even when he was at work, shuffling papers around and adding his expert analysis, it was images of Carly with her lips wrapped around a very red sucker that returned to him. That pouting expression, dark eyes turned up in a sultry expression, the very thought of it made Martin hard under his trousers.

The front page of InnerBimbo was the typical gallery advertising its models, and he was surprised to find that even here there ws no distinction made between the original gender of the before pictures and the resulting after pictures. Once their “Inner Bimbo” had been released, according to the site. These final transformations were astounding, if unlikely. Still, he didn’t care about the reality, it was the fantasy Martin chased, and he discovered that each model had whole galleries of videos devoted to them. And, just as he’d hoped, they were in chronological order, displaying the slow transformation from regular man or woman to perfect bimbo slut. The very idea had him erect, and now Martin looked at a veritable buffet of bimbo delights.

The second video in Carly’s series began slow, like the first.

The spiral turned while a series of images of a more feminine Carly danced before his eyes. The whispering, barely perceptible voices filled his head. His cock felt good in his hand while he casually caressed himself, teasing while he watched and listened. As the images changed more frequently, martin stroked faster. Carly was getting small tits with very dark and pointed nipples. His lips were full. Enhanced. He was wearing a corset, too, shrinking his waist. The pictures were moving so fast now, it was like the jitter of a bad video or a crude animation. He teased himself and lifted his dress. Beneath, Carly’s cock was held in some kind of restraining cage and he was laughing. No, giggling. It was the cheery giggles of a mindless bimbo. He was thinking it as giggles echoed in the soundtrack and Martin came hard, gushing onto the chair and arcing to the desk. He blinked at the volume and saw the video had ended.

He should be ashamed, jerking off in front of his computer like a teenager. He felt good, though. Better than good, great! His body hummed with sexual energy while he made his way into the kitchen for some paper towels to clean up the mess he’d left in the office. The clock by the kitchen door told him it was ten o'clock already. He’d been at his desk for almost two hours.

He had to find him. Or perhaps her by now. Martin was only through the third video, and that one sapped two and half hours at a time. His entire evenings were gobbled up by InnerBimbo and the model who grew more buxom in the third trance. He was working, tryin to keep his head on the task at hand, but it was the model that haunted him. His red lips, parted just so.

A shake of the head and Martin could keep his mind on the job for almost half an hour before the tiny, caged cock hidden beneath a skirt would float back into his consciousness. Twice during the day he stole away into the bathroom or some release. He washed his hands, thoroughly of course, he couldn’t have the faintest whiff of cum on him when he left the restroom. He had to be cautious. Above all else, martin knew how to hide his predilections.

Despite such caution, he couldn’t resist using a few minutes at work to conduct his hunt. There were no names on the models’ videos at InnerBimbo, so he’d have to be more creative. He downloaded the thumbnail from the free porn site and kept it in a shared folder. It was both inspiration and evidence. If he wasn’t careful, he could get lost in even this small picture, and the whispering giggles would come back.

He used this image to perform an image search. There were hundreds of results, and Martin combed through each one. Most were sites that had taken the picture just as he had and reposted, sometimes with a new caption, but typically just the stolen thumbnail. He found it on a forum, the object of some other poor sod’s search. He wondered if user paranoid_andyever found what he was looking for. Maybe the model was an invention, a one-time gig. That wouldn’t explain how shapely he was in the last video Martin dared watch. How entirely girlish he had become. In the first video, the model looked boyish. By the third, he was glamorous.

He started taking screenshots of his own from these later videos and began searches for any trace of the feminized young man. When he wasn’t losing his evenings to the trances themselves, he was hunting for the boy featured in them.

He found the model within two weeks of the first search. Two weeks of gooning to the trances. He was on the fifth now, and not only was there no trace of masculinity left, the shots grew more enticing, an obvious lure as thick lashes batted up at the camera while the spiral turned and those frustrating indistinct voices kept whispering something that made his brain so easily now.

Martin would wake up in front of his computer after the sessions were done, his cock still in hand, the residue of an orgasm covering his hand or seat or the floor or all three. He remembered none of it, now, a fact that raised the vaguest of alarms in his dizzy head. But that foggy worry was silenced for the present by his discovery.

Carly Fontaine was her name. It sounded like the name of a burlesque dancer, he thought. And now that he had the name, a world of photographs opened up to him. The reason he’d had so little luck was that the pictures he used in his searches looked nothing like Carly now. For one thing, Carly made it clear she was a lady and identified as such. That made Martin hornier, too. As if he needed prompting. Everything seemed to make him think o sex these days. His own fault, really. He spent all his nights looking at porn hypnosis videos. What did he expect to happen?

Carly was glamorous and gorgeous. When she adopted her Marilyn look for a few pictures, she showed off an impressively enhanced chest. She had long legs with just the right weight to her thighs, and a narrow waist that made her curves all the more luxurious. These were the final photos of Carly, some as recent as a few weeks before. She was a transgender model, and there were some implications online that she was available for special “dates” for generous fans.

Since his discovery, Martin would often lose himself in the dream of being on a date with Carly, flirting across the table and perhaps mustering the nerve to try to take her hand. Was it because of the transformation he wanted her so badly? Was the blossoming of her femininity the thing that made her beautiful? And it wasn’t just beauty. It was a simmering, confident sexuality. That was the thing he couldn’t resist. She had the look of a woman who understood pleasure and had no fear of it.