Apologies to my loyal readers - Chapters 4 and 5 needed a little rework to correct timelines, and I've had a couple of other stories to progress, as well as life getting in the way. Anyway, Vicky's journey is nearing completion. Chapters 6 and 7 should, I hope, complete the 'caterpillar to butterfly' transformation. And then she stretches her wings...
*****
Chapter 4 - Keeping it up
It was nearly two weeks before I saw Mr. Rogers again; twelve whole days of exquisite torment. I did exactly as he asked - I felt I had no choice. Every evening I went to the gym, and worked out a little harder each day. I ate only what Mr. Rogers told me, even though I felt ravenous most of the time. I drank a lot of water, like he'd suggested, which helped keep the hunger at bay. But the main thing that made me stick at it was my sessions in bed.
You see, I'd become addicted to the sensations I could get from my body. Mr. Rogers had become a replacement father figure, giving me permission to do all of the naughty things my repressive parents forbade. So I hurried home after gym and did my oral exercises while I waited for dinner to cook. (It was always a good idea to do them on an empty stomach, as they still sometimes made me gag). By the end of that first weekend, I could take the biggest of the zucchini - Mr. Zucchini Senior - right into my throat and slide it back and forwards for around five minutes at a time. It didn't feel too good, and it made my jaw ache, but at the same time it made me feel juicy when I visualized it being Mr. Rogers' fat dick, rather than an abused vegetable.
After dinner, I would usually read some Literotica stories. I didn't have a computer of my own, but Mr. Rogers said I could borrow a spare laptop from the office, so every morning, for around an hour before anyone else got in, I would surf the site and download a bunch of stories that looked like they could be good. Then, at home, I'd open the laptop and read them, sometimes also going back over previous ones I'd downloaded. Before long I'd be playing with my pussy, and then my vibrator would come out, and I'd have my first climax of the night.
But it wouldn't stop there. Sometimes, instead of reading stories, I'd lay back with my eyes closed and visualize sex with Mr. Rogers. Or sometimes - and I felt a little guilty about this, almost unfaithful - I'd fantasize about fucking someone else. Maybe some movie star or famous personality. Sometimes someone I knew, or who I'd seen in the street or on the bus. Sometimes they'd be sweet and gentle, sometimes they'd be forceful and demanding. But I'd always come, usually with the vibrator or my fingers on my clit.
Once or twice that first week, I slipped the vibrator inside me. I wasn't sure if this was allowed. I somehow felt that I should saving my virgin pussy - my cunt, as Mr. Rogers would have insisted - for his dick, so he would have all the pleasure of stretching it for the first time. Then one night - I think it was the Tuesday, around a week after Mr. Rogers had left for Doral - I decided to try the zucchini there, rather than just in my mouth. The first two, the skinnier ones, had already been converted to ratatouille and eaten, but the third was still being used for its original purpose. I reasoned that if I could get it into my throat, then I should be able to get it inside my cunt.
It was harder than I imagined. Although Mr. Rogers had broken my hymen, and I was no longer sore inside, it still felt huge as I tried to push it in. The vibrator was quite slim, but Mr. Zucchini was way bigger. In fact, I reminded myself, it was about the size of Mr. Rogers' cock. So I lay back, spread my legs, closed my eyes and thought of lovely, kind, gentle Mr. Rogers with a big, hard erection, lying on top of me and nuzzling my entrance with his dick. As I pushed the zucchini deeper, it hurt. Not really a lot, but the stretching sensation wasn't entirely pleasant.
So I went back to the vibrator, got myself really, really wet, and then tried again with the skinnier end of the zucchini. It sort of slid in without too much discomfort this way round, and I kept pushing it until eventually the thickest part was nearly inside of me. God, it felt strange, to be so full after over forty years of emptiness. I slid it in and out a few times, then plucked up courage, turned it round and tried again to slide it in, thick end first.
This time, it went in with a little bit of pressure, and it didn't hurt much. The stretch was more pleasant and sexier. So I started sliding it in and out, eventually pulling it right out and then shoving it back in quite hard. I imagined
he
was there, really giving it to me. In some of the stories I'd read, it seemed the guys treated the girls quite roughly and called them names like slut and bitch. I didn't really like that - I wanted sex to be gentle and loving - but somehow, at that moment, I imagined Mr. Rogers saying those crude things to me. I knew he wouldn't in real life; he's such a gentleman. But then I thought about how he made me use words like fuck and cunt, and thought 'would it be sexy if he called me a slut while he was fucking me?'
Now it's possible that some people may have called me a bitch in the past, if they didn't like me or I used what little authority I had to stop them from doing something they wanted to do at work. But no-one would ever have called me a slut. I'd always been so strait-laced, so prim and - well, frankly, so
boring
. My folks encouraged me to be a bookworm, to wear sensible and modest clothes. They never let me put on makeup or high heels or short skirts or anything like that, so consequently I became a frump. But now the thought of becoming a slut - a woman who behaves in a very sexual way, who dresses
provocatively
, uses words like 'fuck' and 'pussy', and has sex with - well, with whoever I wanted (or, to be honest whoever I could persuade); that was kinda exciting.
I was stroking the zucchini in and out against the front wall of my vagina; my
cunt
, as Mr. Rogers said I should call it. At first it had felt a bit weird, the way it stretched me, and just a little bit sore. But now, as I explored and I - and my cunt - started to relax more, it really started to feel nice. I had my eyes closed, sliding the thick vegetable in and out, in and out, thrusting it deeper, rubbing my inner surfaces and seeing what felt best. Actually, most of it felt pretty good. And I was imagining Mr. Rogers, his slim, wiry body lying on top of me. I started to squeeze and stroke my boobies with my free hand, rubbing and stroking the nipples, which I'd found were getting really sensitive, imagining it was
his
hands, or perhaps the hard muscles of his chest that were doing the rubbing.
I was getting hot, both temperature-wise and in terms of arousal. I grabbed a pillow and hugged it on top of me, telling myself it was his body, resting on mine, thrusting into mine. "Oh Mr. Rogers" I gasped. "Your cock is so big. It's filling my - my cunt!" I imagined his blue eyes looking into mine, maybe a sheen of perspiration on his face. "You're so tight, you need to be stretched, Vicky", I imagined him saying to me. "You need my cock to stretch your tight little cunt. Got to fill you right up - right up."
What my parents would have thought if they could have seen me or heard my inner dialog, I dread to think. I was being so dirty, so unashamedly filthy. And I was loving it. "Oh, Mr. Rogers. It feels so good to have your nice, thick cock, filling me up,
fucking
me!" I whimpered, relishing every dirty, nasty word. I pushed my pussy up to meet the thrusts of the zucchini, arching my back and swirling the thick, firm rod around to stimulate every sensitive area inside me.
"God, you're behaving like a dirty little slut, Vicky" he said in my head.
"Yes, Mr. Rogers. I'm a filthy little slut who loves a big cock filling her cunt, fucking her. Fucking her good. F-f-f-FUUUUCK!"
The walls in my apartment are not that thick, so I wondered afterwards what the neighbors must have thought. Of course, at the time, I didn't wonder anything, apart from how long I could keep this strange and delicious climax churning through my belly. It wasn't like the orgasms I'd gotten by using the vibrator on my clit. This was sort of deeper, not so immediately intense but more fulfilling, starting right in my womb and rippling outwards. I kept on fucking myself with the zucchini for quite a while, and the climax kept going for what seemed like ages.
Finally it subsided, and I was left gasping for air, my hair stuck to the perspiration on my forehead, my thighs and pussy, not to mention the sheets, soaked with my juices. I was trembling. I guess if you take drugs you might feel like that, but for me, at that moment, the only thing I wanted to take was a real cock in my cunt so I could make it happen all over again.
*************
Over those days while Mr. Rogers was away, lots of strange and interesting things happened to me. Now I'm not the sort of person who has anything interesting happen in their lives, but this was all pretty wonderful. First of all, I'd made an appointment for first thing on the Saturday with my optometrist to get some contact lenses. He sorted me out with some daily disposables to fit my prescription. They felt weird at first, but I wore them for a couple of hours that first day, and then a bit more each day until I could keep them in almost all day. By the following Thursday I wore them to the gym.
My instructor, Jerry, was very attentive. He told me I was doing really well. I knew that my stamina was much better than before, as I could use the cross-trainer or the bikes for maybe thirty minutes without falling over afterwards. I'd already increased the weights on the resistance machines, so my strength was also improving. Jerry weighed me again. "Congratulations, Vicky. You've lost around ten pounds already. That's excellent going. And you look really good without the glasses." I went home almost floating on air, and fucked myself again with Mr. Zucchini as a special treat. (I'd been limiting this particular pleasure so as not to stretch myself too much before Mr. Rogers deflowered me properly).
