Karen drove home in a daze, an odd feeling of being both exhausted and energized. Her breasts, ass, and lips ached. Her tits and ass hurt more, but for some reason her lips bothered her more.
She was stopping by the grocery store that night on account of having no food in her apartment when she discovered a solution to her lip ache in the frozen food section. Eagerly, she threw them into her shopping cart. It was a bit of a treat, honestly, when compared to professional, healthy diet. But she could afford the calories.
After finishing her dinner and doing five or ten laps around her apartment with a book balanced on her head, she went to her freezer and pulled out one of the popsicles she'd bought. They were long, thick, and designed to resemble rockets. She unwrapped it and began to suck on it, making needy little moans as she sucked. She quickly realized that the more of her lips touched the popsicle, the better it felt.
Still sucking on the popsicle, she began setting up her training DVDs for the night. Yet something was wrong. She couldn't really tell what it was, but something about the way she was sucking the popsicle was unprofessional.
Just as she was about to push play, she realized what it was with a muffled gasp. She wasn't pushing the popsicle all the way back! And even worse, she was leaking some of the melted juice down her chin. It was bad practice for when she'd have to suck The Real Thing.
She paused. What did she mean by The Real Thing? She couldn't really remember, but she knew that it was very professional to get it all the way back in her throat.
Shrugging off the confusion, she began shoving the popsicle back further in her mouth, running her tongue along the bottom as professionally as she could. However, when the popsicle got to her tonsils, her gag reflex kicked in. Hard.
After a brief attempt to force it in anyway, she pulled it out, tears in her eyes because of the choking. She took a deep breath and tried again. And again. Eventually, the tears became ones of distress. How the hell could she take The Real Thing if she couldn't take a popsicle?
Taking a deep breath, she took her mind off that and turned on the training videos while attempting to deep-throat the popsicle. However, she couldn't focus. Her ass was swelling so bad she couldn't sit down. Frustrated, she went to bed. She consoled herself with the progress she made learning to suck in the short time she'd been able to watch.
She woke up an hour before her alarm. Despite being so unconscious she hadn't even remembered hitting the bed, she was tired like she hadn't slept a wink. She groaned in pain. Her butt, breasts, and lips hadn't stopped hurting. If anything, they hurt even worse now. They were all so swollen. There was no way she was going into work like this.
Disappointed, she called her supervisor. "Kristy?" he asked, sounding like he'd just woken up. "What's... uh, what?"
Karen looked at the clock. It said 4 AM. "I'm sowwy, sowh," she said, her lips causing her to lisp. "I'm feewing weally bad today. My bowdy's swowen awl over."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Kristi," her boss said. "Take the day off and I'll see you tomorrow."
Karen sighed. She really had been enjoying her job recently, despite it being just training. She'd felt so professional. She wondered why everyone was calling her Kristi recently. But she did like it. It sounded very professional. Maybe she could be Kristi.
She tried to go back to sleep. She couldn't. She tried eating something. She discovered she was famished and ate half the food she had in the house before she forced herself to stop, even though she was still hungry. She then found that if she lay on her side, she could almost watch her training videos.
For a while, she did just that. Then she suddenly became aware. Why was she lying on the couch masturbating, watching women in latex skirts and corsets being fucked by sex machines? She was suddenly very confused. What was so professional about dressing like a slut to get spit-roasted by pistons?
She tried to consider it while she watched. But she couldn't help it. The girls were so professional and sexy, everything Karen was trying to be. And the narrator's voice was so cool and commanding that, even though Karen couldn't consciously tell what he was saying, she just had to obey. Slowly, she started to stroke herself again, watching the women on the screen and watching the subtle spiral pattern of distortion.
As the scene changed to the women crouching in front of wall-mounted dildos to practice sucking, Karen lost consciousness. She was still awake and absorbing the information, but she didn't know it.
When she came out of her trance half an hour later, she had no memory of what had happened during the video or that anything in her training had disturbed her. She did have a vague notion that something was terribly wrong.
She walked back into her bedroom, unsure of what to do. First things first, she eventually decided, she needed to get dressed. She'd gone to sleep in nothing but her boots, garter belt, and stockings. She removed her boots to change stockings as she'd been wearing them since yesterday. After putting a fresh pair of stockings and garter belts on, she decided to check for underwear.
As she looked through her drawers, she felt disgust. So much of her lingerie was so unprofessional. She paused. Something wasn't right. The words banged around in her head like jackhammers in an especially echoey concert hall. She sank to her knees, hyperventilating.