Hi, and welcome to the next chapter in the continuing Transformations saga. If you haven't read Transformations: Witnesses yet, STOP! You're going to be totally lost unless you read it first. You might also want to read Transformations Tingles: The Hazards of Saving the Earth.
This story picks up some months after the events in Witnesses. There's no real sex in the first chapter, just mind control and erotic mischief. If you've read our stories before, you we know love the slow burn and then transition into wall to wall kink.
We hope you enjoy this taste of the orgy to follow.
Wayne and Ann Triskelion
*****
Stacie Dowd fingered herself through her thick sweatpants as she drove. She felt ridiculous, driving through west Ithaca diddling herself like an adolescent. Was this what it was like for teen boys? They used to say boys peaked sexually in their teens while women peaked in their thirties.
That made sense, because, at thirty-eight, she was having stronger and stronger urges. Urges she couldn't satisfy now that she was alone.
Her husband had left her with two teenagers a year before.
He was a prick. Just walked out the door one day and called from the road. He needed to find himself, he had said.
Two weeks later, he had 'found' himself in a twenty-something's cooch.
Stacie took it all: the suburban house, the bank account, the minivan which she guided onto the interstate.
The one thing she didn't have was the prick's... prick. Asshole that he was, he did have a knack for finding all the spots that made her cream.
So, she was thirty-eight, peaking, with two teenagers that made it impossible to date, and zero experience at how to make herself cum. As a teen, she had been more into romance than sex - as an adult, she had always had sex, so there was no reason to masturbate. She felt like a student driver placed behind the wheel of a Ferrari.
She couldn't stop thinking about sex, and not the white cotton sheets, everlasting love kind of sex. She wanted hot, raw, latex-y, leather-y, gooey fucking.
It was high time to take matters into her own hand: Stacie needed a vibrator.
She was too embarrassed to order one from Amazon. And, besides that, the choices were confusing. Clitoral stimulators? She knew what her clit was - she was strumming it rhythmically as she drove further away from town. But, did she need a vibrator with a clitoral stimulator?
Last night, as she tried to rub one out with minimal success, she vowed to go and find one.
This morning, she dropped off her kids at school and drove off in search of an adult store. She had seen them on the highway, and she was pretty sure there was a big one a few miles outside Ithaca just off the interstate.
She could be home with something thick and veiny by lunchtime, and have the entire afternoon to explore her overcharged libido.
Stallion's Adult Novelties was a large building on top of a hill a few miles from Ithaca.
Far enough away that nobody will know me
, Stacie thought as she pulled into the lot. The building was new - a tan block building with large mirrored windows. The sign was neon and blinked in the bright sun: an electric blue neon horse rearing up beside pink glass that spelled out 'Stallion's'. Signs on the building announced 'Adults Only!', 'Video Booths!', and 'Adult Novelties at DISCOUNT PRICES!'.
Stacie sighed. Her will faltered. Dirty old men came to stores like this, not soccer moms in the PTA. As if on cue, a heavy man wearing biker clothes and carrying his wallet on a chain got out of an idling semi and walked in the tinted front door.
"Oh, hell no," Stacie whispered. She wasn't going in there. Forget it.
But, her puss had other ideas. Her puss was wet and purring. "Aww, fuck it."
***
Ben Kincaid walked stiff legged into Stallion's after leaving his semi in the parking lot. He knew from experience to park far enough from the door - Ray, the owner of Stallion's, was damned persnickety when it came to taking up too much space in the parking lot.
Bimbot Rita, the artificial hooker, sat behind a small receptionist's desk in the alcove.
Ben knew she was a robot, but normal folks walking in would just think she was some weird, skanky cosplayer with a part time job at the smut store. She had long flowing electric pink hair. Her 'skin' was plastic and segmented and you could see the dim outline of wires under the gaps in her outfit.
Best cosplay outfit ever.
Only Ben knew it was 100% real. The best part was that most of the brain inside had been extracted from a stuck-up little college girl who had played around with the wrong sex toy from Stallion's.
"Hiya, Bimbot."
The sex doll that had once been Rita Gaia Blotchley looked up at him with cold glassy eyes. "You're late," she said in her freaky modulated voice.
He sat down on the edge of the desk. "Aww, come on, baby - didn't you miss me?"
"No. You disgust me. All of you perverts disgust me."
Her face was expressionless, as was her voice.
"Hey, tell me something, Robo-Skank: were you a frumpy little stuck up dyke before they stuffed your brain in that Barbie body?"
"Fuck you." Emotionless, but the meaning was still there. "Dyke is a derogatory term for a perfectly beautiful way of life. You are a fat, egotistical, chauvinist. And, you smell."
"Yeah, but I got a big dick, don't I, sweet cheeks?" Ben laughed. He loved using her milking machine of a pussy. Not only did it suck his balls dry, he knew that the real Rita inside the submissive android head hated every thrusting second of it.
What made it even better was knowing she could rip his heart out through his rib cage if she wanted, but her programming made her incapable of doing so. All she could do was bitch, which seriously got him hard.
"Ray is waiting." The inner door buzzed and unlocked.
Ben sighed. "Don't worry, I'll make sure we have some special alone time before I have to make another run."
He winked.
She just stared.
Ben laughed as he went into the porn shop.
"Where the fuck you been?" Ray growled.
Somebody else who could rip his heart out if he wanted - and there was no programming to stop him.
Ben looked at the floor.
Ray towered over him. The Church of Morpheus had made him into a Whoremaster - almost seven feet tall with muscles to put Mr. Universe to shame. Somebody told him Ray had been a short, fat sixty-year-old until the Church got hold of him. Now he was a towering Adonis with a mean streak.
"Well?" Ray asked.
"Lot of traffic and construction coming out of Manhattan this morning."
"Whatever," Ray said. He stalked away toward the back of the store. "I'll open the security gate. Back the rig in."
Ben turned to go back outside.
"Through the back, shithead. You're bad for business," the giant said without turning around.
Ben skulked along behind Ray.
"Hi, Ben," a sweet voice said. Sugar Tits was coming into the store from the office.
Ben stopped and tried not to stare. There was a lot to stare at.
The redheaded bombshell slinked like a cat as she walked on the stiletto healed boots.
She wore her bright white latex halter and micro miniskirt that barely contained the H cup breasts and round ass.
But, Ben willed himself not to stare.
Staring at a white witch, a Church of Morpheus perverter, was a very bad idea. She might take it the wrong way, slip inside your mind and make... changes. She could render him a babbling idiot with a single thought.
Or, worse. He had seen worse. Worse was kept in the basement.
