Curses Ch 03

Chapter 3: Fellatrix - Gimme Shelter

It was for sure time to clear out, but some preparations were in order. I started by raiding the fridge. Eating with my new face-pussy was a bit messy, but worked well enough - provided neither tongue work nor chewing were required. That left little enough of Steve's meager larder to work with, but I tipped my head back and poured in half a pint of cream ... which had the same texture as cum, but wasn't as warm and tasty. The rest I saved to wash down some slithery tinned peaches I'd opened. That pretty much cleaned out all the non-pizza food in the kitchen, with the exception of a big-ass log of sausage. After studying the thing, I decided to throw my head back again and stuff it down as well.

After my earlier experience, I knew it wouldn't choke me. To be honest, I'd just been tempted by the sexual imagery. Sure enough, my body reacted the same way it had when I'd swallowed Steve's meat. My throat-pussy gripped hard and began massaging its prize, and wasn't about to let it go, in or out. That was awkward. I could feel another orgasm on its way, which was welcome but inconvenient. I compromised by making my way back to the bathroom, my head tilted way back by the serious bratwurst stuck pointing up at the ceiling. Then, side-eying the mirror to see what I was doing, I tried to catch hold of the stump of sausage comically projecting from between my facial cunny-lips.

Soon enough my groping tickled my clit nose and put me back over the edge. That turned out to be just what I needed, both to satisfy my lust (this body craved to get over) and then, once I'd relaxed, to extract the 'brat'. Afterwards, another quick shower took care of the spillage -- excess milk, plus blended peach and pussy juices, having leaked out from between those vertical lips. I rinsed the stuff along its trail down my chin, between my boobies, and further downward ... to where it had slid into my poor neglected crotch. So, yet another wank down there (with the salvaged sausage) and I was finally good to go.

Next was the question of what to wear. When the next fantasy struck, I might grow out of my size-three things (which were still in a little heap where I'd dropped them); so I put on my original guy shirt and pants, with the sleeves and legs rolled up. The fancy little shoes, I wore -- I figured I could make better time, even with high heels, then with my super-loose size tens.

I pulled on my jacket, but that still left my briefcase, the little carry-on bag, the bigger shoes, all my original socks and underwear and a modest pile of immodest women's clothes. And that last didn't including today's cum-soaked black panties, which I'd rinsed and wrapped with one of Steve's towels.

On a hunch I peeked in Steve's closet. Score - he had a backpack! I dumped out most of the random camping gear, and refilled it with my girlie things, my original shoes and the carry-on. I also liberated another towel, a turtleneck sweater, and fifty dollars from Steve's wallet - it seemed likely I'd be looking at cash flow issues going forward. The empty dress shop bags and packaging, plus the torn toweling I'd used to tie up my now missing hard cock, I crammed into my briefcase. I didn't mind nicking things, but I saw no reason to leave confusing junk.

At the door there was one of those 'have you combed your hair?' type mirrors. I would have stuck out my tongue at myself if I'd had one, but had to settle for a smile. Sort of. Actually all I managed (and that with some effort) was to wiggle my inner cunt-lips - which would be a fine party trick, but not really smile-ish.

On that note, I added a wool cap, and a matching scarf to wrap my face up to my eyeballs -- to hide my disputably beautiful face. And then I set off, with my briefcase and my new-to-me pack on my back.

Once out the alley exit I tipped the entire contents of my briefcase into a dumpster, and parked the thing beside a tramp sleeping in a cardboard nest nearby. It was a quality item, but of no current use to me. At least he might get a few bucks for it.

Seeing him reminded me that I wanted to be elsewhere by dawn, when I would again be at risk of passing fantasies. I had no idea what range was defined by the word 'vicinity' in the text of the curse now burned into my brain, but I thought I might as well continue toward the suburban zone. At least that furthered my 'rental car escape to home' option.

Between then and dawn I had to find a place to hide.

>< >< ><

Getting shelter that night had been a bitch. I'd needed a place to hole out, since I was -- at least to everyone who wasn't me -- physiognomically challenged. After several hours searching, while also avoiding streetlights and headlights, I came across a thick, shabby hedge. I took the rusty but unlocked gate as an invitation to explore. The result was a decrepit old house and, under a tilting back deck, an open window. In the basement I found a little room with an old, but remarkably tidy, hobo-nest that seemed to have been abandoned even longer than the house itself.

I'd dumped out most of the camping stuff when I'd 'borrowed' the backpack, but I'd had the foresight to keep the bedroll, along with a few possibly useful odds and ends. Once I had stripped off the size three shoes (in case of accidental growth while I slept) I snuggled into the sweater and coat, rolled myself up in my bedding and slept until noon.

When I woke, I was justifiably confused by my surroundings, but wiping my snuffly clit-nose brought me back to my senses. Also, I think I might have been sucking my thumb in my sleep, so the upshot was that I had a mini-orgasm -- a surge of tingly lust while my face-cunt gripped said digit. Just the thing to get you started in the morning. Sorta like attending to morning wood, really.

Well, that's not the sort of thing to waste. I stripped down for proper access, and then set to twiddling my nose and inserting thumbs and fingers into my various orifices. Soon I'd shaken out quite a few lovely comes ... and scared the hell out of a cat peeking in the window. Not, I should point out, with my lovely face -- being a cat he'd probably encountered such things in his multidimensional feline travels -- rather with my snuffling and thrashing. If I'd been able to scream, there'd have cops all over the place. That would have been problematic.

Once I'd composed myself, I realized I would have to wait until dusk to skulk around seeking my next fantasizer. It was going to be a long day, but I resolved to explore a little -- starting with an investigation of the further possibilities presented by yesterday's sausage, which I'd stowed in my backpack.

Given the thing's basic limitations, I made due with a satisfying round of savory stimulation much like the day before, using it to fuck first my top cunt, then my bottom one, and back to the top again.

All those delightful afternoon cums made me hungry -- but luckily I had also thoughtfully acquired from Steve a few bottles of beer, a tin camping bowl and a Swiss army knife. I used the latter both to crack open the beer and to mince up my now juicy sausage. The manly quality of my dinner - bits of mystery meat and warm ale - was somewhat offset by the mess created by washing that lot down my pussy-throat.

Still naked, I carefully slipped outside to test the garden tap, which happily was still charged. I ran it for a bit, sharing the water with a sad looking rose bush until it ran clear; then I thoroughly hosed myself down. I was now both thirsty and horny so, the coast still being clear, I turned the flow off and stuffed the sun-warmed brass nozzle into my upper cunt. That was definitely nice.

What was, until recently, my throat gripped the thing so tightly that I was encouraged to send it deeper, and deeper still. Then the thing kinked. I tried to pull it back out a little, so as to get a fresh shot at it, but the nozzle design was such that it wouldn't budge. I tried twisting it, thinking to sort of unscrew the thing, with no success.

This was somewhat awkward; but, still being thirsty, I put off a solution by cranking the tap valve open again to squirt some water down there. The unintended consequence of my ill-considered decision was that the hose sudden started thrashing inside me - which finally got me off. So far, so good; but even as my orgasm took me, I felt a rush of liquid blast out of my more orthodox cunt.

Meanwhile, my body continued to drag the nozzle deeper ... and my orgasm continued unabated. As I staggered, my pussy jet was arcing all around me, until I dropped to my knees and, at close range, began churning a growing mud puddle beneath me. I managed to dimly grasp that, regardless of my just having eaten lunch, my pussy plumbing was now inexplicably linked end to end. Also apparent was that to feed my lust, the entire rhythmically clenching length of it was devoted to sucking the pulsing rubber hose and its brass knob downward.

Mostly though, I just rode the unexpected waves of pleasure.

When the nozzle re-emerged from between my legs, my extended come finally eased off -- which was fortunate, because that was when I heard voices, and the gate clatter.

Shit.

I had to hustle back under the deck, dragging the unswallowed part of the hose along behind me while the swinging nozzle bounced against my knees, still spraying wildly. I couldn't quite reach the basement window, of course -- but I managed to pull a ratty old tarp over myself, and to kink a section of hose in my hands to choke off the flood. Peeking out, I saw a couple of teen-aged girls crossing the yard. They stopped in the garden, near my tap-stand and, having spread an old blanket on the ground, they lay down together and began to grope and kiss.

For the next half-hour I was obliged to watch them wrestle on their make-shift bed as they continued to wriggle and gasp. All the while I was thinking, at their behalf, that anybody could walk in on them at any moment. Meanwhile, I was obliged to stifle my own cries -- I'd taken to tugging my clit with my free hand (the other still pinching off most of the water) and working my inner vaginal sleeve on its prey. you know - in sympathy with them.

When they'd finished, one got up and went directly to the hose with a water bottle. She followed the hose across the still wet grass with her eyes until she was staring right at me, and I panicked, but when she realized it disappeared beneath a tarp under the deck, she started to unscrewed her end and got soaked for her trouble. The other laughed cheerfully, and jumped up to close the valve. Then, while she stuffed an errant boob back into her shirt, the first girl filled her bottle ... and on a whim poured it over her lover.

There was another, more earnest, round of lovemaking; and all four tits had made an appearance before they left off to try and establish some level of respectability -- which was a challenge given their wet and dirty clothes.

Finally, once they'd shared a drink - water, still - and cast a few confused glimpses along the now dormant hose to my tarp-nest, they walked giggling to the back fence. There they opened an overgrown wooden gate into the alley and disappeared.

After giving them time enough to clear off, I tossed the tarp aside and hopped into the basement. After examining the nozzle I decided against trying to drag the thing out backwards. That left hauling ten feet or so of the now disconnected hose in through the window, pulling what I'd gained of the damn thing through me, and then pausing to ride out a fresh come. Repeating as needed, It wasn't until I'd got through about forty feet of it, that the brass screw-thingy arrived (technically, and possibly ironically, a female hose connector) and it occurred to me that the incoming end was going to be unpleasant to swallow.

So, Swiss Army knife to the rescue again. Having cut the hose, I pulled the last of it clear - with yet another shuddering orgasm. Then - having learned a valuable life lesson: Don't get Caught Naked with a Charged garden Hose looped Through you from Snatch to Snatch - I toweled the residual mud off myself and decided it was late enough to move along.

This involved first putting back on the guy-clothes I'd arrived wearing, then caching the now surplus backpack and sleeping roll in an empty wardrobe. The carry-on, which now contained my back-up girly duds, I kept. Hopefully I wouldn't have to prowl around for trade too far afield in the remaining daylight, still all pussy-faced.