The Lost Weekend               by: Sean McBride

 

I woke up on Monday and could barely get out of bed. It was as if every muscle in my body had seized up on me. My arms, shoulders, legs, even my jaw muscles ached. Even worse were my nipples, which were swollen and felt like they were on fire. Ominously, even my sphincter was throbbing. I figured that I was coming down with the flu or something, and decided to call in sick to work.

But I had an early meeting with a very important client, so I reluctantly staggered off to the shower. The hot water seemed to rejuvenate me somewhat, and it was only as I was soaping up that I noticed that all of the hair on my chest and legs had inexplicably disappeared. From the neck down, I was as smooth as a baby’s bottom.

I tried to figure out what had happened when it suddenly dawned on me that I couldn’t remember anything about the past weekend. Frantically searching my memory, I could only recall joining a co-worker for drinks after work on Friday, but nothing else at all until I woke up this morning. My tender body told me that something had happened—something too memorable to quickly forget.

Desperate for an answer, I finally told myself that I must have passed the entire weekend in an inebriated haze. At least I could recall getting a few beers with Don Peters, a co-worker of mine. And who knows what I did while I was drunk? Maybe we hooked up with some girls at the bar. Maybe one of them was into kinky stuff and I was too far gone to object. At least that would explain my shaved body and painted fingernails.

Painted fingernails! What the hell had happened to me over the weekend? And why couldn’t I remember any of it?

Then, as my hot water ran out, I suddenly remembered Wolfgang Schmidt, the client I was supposed to meet with at 9:00am. Schmidt was a foreign investor who represented a very lucrative account, and my job for the next two weeks consisted entirely of making sure that his every need was seen to up until he signed the contracts with my firm. If I arrived late for my first meeting with Herr Schmidt I would surely be fired.

I decided to get my aching butt to work and figure out what had happened when I had more time to think. I started to dress, and honestly, I wasn’t that surprised to find that all my underwear had disappeared and my drawer was full of nothing but pink, silk panties. I didn’t have time to deal with this latest development, so I put the panties on. At least the silk felt good against my bruised flesh. Besides, the panties would be easy to hide, but my fingernails were another story. I don’t exactly keep nail polish remover at my house and I had no time to stop by the store. Ultimately, I grabbed a pair of gloves and dashed out the door.

I had a little more time to think during my commute. I was quite concerned about my missing memory, but even more leery about what had happened over the weekend. You see, a few years ago my ex-girlfriend had talked me into wearing her panties while we made love. I only wore them a couple of times, and I made sure that she knew I was only playing this "silly game" for her benefit.

But secretly I was really turned on by the whole idea.

I used to fantasize about being a woman-- with a mysterious lover who would come in and ravish me whenever he got the urge. I dreamt that I was a gorgeous babe with a body that just oozed sexual appeal, and every man who saw me on the street immediately thought about nothing else but fucking me right then and there. Even the women in my dreams were unable to control themselves, turning into mad lesbians at my passing.

It was a great fantasy and provided me with plenty of fodder for my frequent masturbation sessions.

Thinking about it, my cock started to stir in my new panties, and I worried that I might have told somebody over the weekend that crossdressing was a big turn on for me. Plied with enough alcohol, I feared that I might have dressed myself up for a quick sexual romp. I hoped that I had met a woman, but my throbbing ass told me that it was probably a man who I had confessed my fantasies too.

What had I done?

Who had I done?

And why couldn’t I remember any of it?

I was ashamed of myself when I entered the building, and even more so when Don Peters, the co-worker I had drinks with on Friday, met me with an enigmatic smile and asked how my weekend had gone. I couldn’t look him in the face, even though I was desperate to know what had happened. I muttered something pleasant and quickly brushed past him and went to my office.

I locked the door and collapsed at my desk. Opening my e-mail. I was shocked to find that I had twelve new messages. Most of the messages were from complete strangers and were quite sexually explicit. One even had a jpeg attachment, which I opened nervously.

My worst fears were realized as I saw a picture of me, all made up in slutty makeup and dress, kneeling before a monster cock that was spurting a load of semen into my open mouth. My skirt had been hiked up above my waist, and another unknown man seemed to be ready to plunge his huge member into my rear passage. My sphincter twitched painfully in remembrance of the event that my mind could not recall.

Freaking out by this point, I quickly deleted all the messages and tried to calm down, but I couldn’t stop shaking. Deep down I feared that I was going to be blackmailed or humiliated or something worse. Deep down I feared that my weekend binge would eventually cost me my job, my friends and might even force me to move to another town if there were more photos out there.

I was actually at the point of tears when the phone rang and our receptionist told me that Herr Schmidt was waiting in the conference room. I didn’t know if I could face him or not. Boy, did I ever need a drink to help steady my nerves; but there was no way that I was ever going to touch another drop of alcohol for as long as I lived.

I had learned my lesson.

Finally I was able to calm down enough and went to the meeting. I put on my best face as I met Herr Schmidt, and was somewhat relieved when the talk about his account made me forget my predicament. We talked business for a few hours along with Peters, who was managing the account. It was all going very well until Donna came in with coffee and danish. She gasped as she saw my painted fingernails, and I suddenly realized that I had left my gloves in the office. I blushed crimson and shoved my hands deep into my pockets. Now I knew that I was about to be fired.

Donna left and quickly shut the door. I almost ran out after her, but Peters, perhaps sensing my panic, leaned over and grinning ominously said, "Herr Schmidt, as for your other request, I’m sure that ‘sissy’ would be delighted to serve you now."

When I heard the word "sissy" I suddenly felt dizzy and sank to the floor. When I regained my senses I found that I was stark naked, crouched under the conference table and had Herr Schmidt’s cock stuffed down my throat.

As Schmidt and Peters talked shop, I ecstatically sucked on that cock as hard as I could. I sucked non-stop for what seemed like hours, never tiring until suddenly I somehow knew that if Schmidt didn’t ejaculate soon I would be punished severely. I redoubled my efforts and was relieved when Schmidt suddenly groaned and shot a copious load of cum down my throat. Some of it spilled down my chin, but I quickly lapped up every drop and crawled back to my seat at the conference table as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

It was only then that I realized that I could suddenly recall what had happened over the weekend…

Peters and I had gone out for drinks when the conversation oddly turned to hypnosis. I had drunk too much, and foolishly said that I thought that hypnosis was a sham. We even made a wager and an hour later I was sitting in Peter’s living room and a mysterious, dark-haired man was dangling a pendant in front of my eyes and talking softly in my ear.

I was soon completely under and quickly confessed all my sexual fantasies, much to Peter’s delight. Peters explained that an important client was coming into town and he was interested in meeting discretely with a submissive man or woman. He especially had a thing for little sissy sluts. Like it or not, I was going to be his personal sissy for the next few weeks.

All this talk was getting the two men hard, and it wasn’t long before I was slurping up Peter’s cum while the other man drilled me from behind. I immediately cleaned them with my mouth, and under the hypnotic spell, ignored the smell of my own ass and did everything to get them both hard again. Soon we were fucking again like there was no tomorrow. This went on for a few hours until both men were completely drained, having enjoyed several orgasms each.

While they recovered, Peters decided to take me to an all-night supermarket where I could buy enough clothing and makeup to transform myself into a complete sissy-slut. As an afterthought, he "suggested" to me that I was really horny, and if the opportunity arose I would get some relief by servicing a passing stranger.

The suggestion took immediate hold over me, and I didn’t even get out the door before I was thinking about nothing but cock. Riding the elevator down, two men got in and I found that I was unable to tear my gaze away from their groins. The guys got mad, and started calling me "faggot" and threatening to kill me. But I didn’t back down, and in a steady voice I admitted that I would like nothing better than to give them both a slutty blow job right there in the elevator.

Peters suggested to the men that perhaps a more private place would be more appropriate. So we all hopped into a car and I ravenously sucked both men off in the backseat as we drove to the store. The guys were speechless, but very happy when we finally arrived at Wal-Mart.

But I wasn’t happy, and I wasn’t satiated. I moaned and rubbed my nipples in the middle of the store. People stared at me as I filled a shopping cart with makeup, perfume, jewelry, clothing and other feminine necessities. I even stopped in the middle of the aisle and tried on several pairs of Wal-Mart’s finest pumps. They were on sale, so I purchased five pair in different colors. I wasn’t worried—my credit card had a $10,000 limit and I intended to max it out as soon as possible.

All the while I kept thinking that the sooner I got dressed up, the sooner I would be able to feast on a few more luscious cocks. It was all I could think about, and I suspect that if Peters wasn’t by my side restraining me I might have attacked a stock boy right in the middle of the store.

Perhaps I would have been arrested and sent to prison-- alone and at the mercy of the cruel inmates with their huge cocks and the merciless guards with their hard billy clubs. 10-20 years of doing hard time as a sex slave of the state. I desired to be arrested right then and there, but Peters kept me in check, promising that I would get some relief when we returned home.

We finally made it home, and I ran to the bathroom where I quickly pulled out the Nair and denuded myself from the neck down. I powdered my body and painted my fingernails fire engine red. Using some tape, I fastened my penis up between my legs and shimmied into a matching bra and panty set. I used the tape to bind myself up in a makeshift corset, and then set about doing my makeup and hair.

When I came out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, I was pleased to find a sexy woman looking back at me in the mirror. I was also surprised (and very happy) to find two more men sitting in the living room, patiently stoking their cocks. Peters had logged on to the internet and found several men who were all-too happy to stop by and allow me to service them.

All and all, I took care of six more men that night, most of them more than three times. One of them decided to spank me for being such a "bad little girl," and soon they were all getting into punishing me in some fashion or other. By the end of the night I had been whipped with a belt, beaten with a birch, burnt by the hot wax from a candle, hog-tied with tape, had clothespins attached to my nipples, testicles and cockhead. In my hypnotic state, I loved every minute of my torture, and begged ceaselessly for more and more cum.

By 4:00am they were all drained dry, but one man quietly asked if I liked piss as much as I enjoyed cum. Peter’s eyes lit up and before I knew what was happening I was blissfully gulping down so much urine that my own bladder threatened to burst. A few of the men even got excited again at this new turn of events, and I found that I was able to coax a few more spurts out of them before it was finally time to call it a night.

Coated from head to toe with drying cum, Peters shoved me into a closet and told me to get some rest while he figured out what to do for an encore.

I awoke several hours later, and was quickly put back into my hypnotized sissy mode. I freshened up my makeup and clothing, and set out to clean up the mess from the previous-night’s orgy. I was having a hard time with the cleaning, as I was imagining another night of cock and cum. Finally it was getting late and Peters suggested that I dress in my most scandalous outfit and get ready for a night on the town. They don’t sell scandalous at Wal-Mart, but thanks to a handy pair of scissors, I was able to turn an already sexy dress into an outfit that was barely legal.

An hour later when we walked into a local gay bar, all eyes turned and watched as the most brazen temptress that the club had ever seen sashayed into the room. For the next several hours, I danced and rubbed up against men non-stop, always finishing our dance with a long kiss and directions to the motel I would be waiting at after midnight. All the men were so turned on that they promised to stop by and fuck me ‘till I could barely walk. I even met another crossdresser who was so excited by my scene that he asked if he could join me in servicing some of my newfound friends.

Peters reluctantly told him no, but took down his name and phone number, promising to give him a chance on some other date.

Then it was back to the motel for a full-scale orgy. There were about ten men who stopped by, and I serviced them as quickly as I could. I wasn’t fast enough and some of them paired up and went off by themselves; something that made Peters rather cross.

He had gone out and purchased several canes and floggers, and he beat me so hard that two of the men took pity on me and returned to allow me to resume servicing their needs. I sucked and was fucked in between the beatings and I couldn’t have been happier with my predicament. My cock felt like it was always at the point of orgasm, but even though it twitched constantly, I never actually climaxed.

It was agony, but it was also sheer bliss.

The rest of the weekend was one drawn-out blur. Anonymous cocks slammed incessantly into me and shot load after load down my waiting throat, up my ass, or over every inch of my tender skin. I was beaten all over, and forced to perform sex acts that probably wouldn’t be humanly possible if it weren’t for my constant hypnotic state. I was frequently bound up and humiliated, constantly posing for pictures or videos in my degrading state of being, craving as much cock as I could possibly get to.

It was never enough.

Finally I passed out from sheer exhaustion on Sunday morning, and I somehow made it back to my apartment and slept straight through until I woke up with my temporary amnesia on Monday.

And now, sitting in the conference room, I told Herr Schmidt all that had happened to me over the past few days. I was ashamed of myself, and very angry with Peters for having released the sex fiend in me, but I truthfully admitted that I had loved every minute of it and longed for more. I knelt at Herr Schmidt’s feet and begging him to take me as his personal plaything. I promised complete obedience, and was so excited at the prospect of reliving my sexual adventures that I suddenly was seized by a massive orgasm and I shot a load of cum all over Herr Schmidt’s suit.

He smiled down at me and was impressed at my fervor. He accepted my servitude, but said that this time I would have to please him without the use of hypnosis. I whole-heartedly promised to obey his every command. Peters said "Sissy, I release you,,, for now."

I was so happy that I didn’t notice that the two men had gone out to lunch. I panicked, filled with a need to desperately catch up with them, I found myself walking stark naked out the office front door. Our receptionist was in shock when I calmly strolled past her. She called for security, but I walked out the door onto the busy street and nonchalantly jumped into the waiting trunk of Peter’s car.

The End,

…and the beginning.

 

© 2001
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