It is based upon an actual tabloid article.
The Master: Cupped
by: Rocketman
Roger Andrews leafed through his mail. In the week since he received the strange note from Davesport, he’d heard nothing about Samantha (see The Master: Yearbook Pictures).
Showing the note to the editor only got him chewed out. Fortunately, he was able to sneak a notice about the letter into his weekly column.
With a sigh, he tossed away the junk mail and went straight to the letters. No news articles this time. On the top of the pile, with a postmark from Davesport, was a small, brown envelope.
As in the first letter, this one went on for several pages.
"Dear Mr. Rogers. I read in the Rising Star about incident that occurred recently in my hometown. Well, I can tell you……it isn’t an isolated incident. How do I know this? I too was forever changed by the strange man and The Master. Changed from one Kevin Mendel, accountant to a Katrina Mendel, bar waitress.
It all began quite simply.
On Sunday nights, I head down to the town bar, Crenstraw & Finkle’s. Now I’ll admit it, my primary objective wasn’t to get drunk. Although I’ve achieved that precise result on numerous occasions. It was to pick-up the hottest babe in the room.
To do this, I’d developed a system. First, I would wandered over toward her, then lay down the biggest piece of bull I could think of and once she had become putty in my hands take her back to my place for a little ‘ business ‘.
This system worked perfectly well and got me laid on a regular basic as long as I didn’t tip my hand too early. Lately though, I guess my body had found the whole process too drawn out and decided to jump the gun.
Imagine you’re working a prospective lay and all of a sudden, you get a huge, throbbing erection. Damn if it don’t shatter the mood. Miss pretty, no matter how attracted to you she is, ends up downright embarrassed when she sees that hard rock pushing out of your pants.
Sure, people have told me getting one makes the ladies come in droves, but I ain’t ever kept a lay when I get hard.
Realizing this was beginning to cut into my sex life, I decided something needed to be done. Then it came do me while I was watching a baseball game. The second baseman caught a grounder and went to tag the runner out when the runner slammed right into him.
The second baseman completed the play, looking none worst for wear. "I bet he’s glad he’s wearing a cup, otherwise that would have hurt like the devil," said the commentator.
A flash of insight hit me, if a cup can protect a player from harm then surely it can keep ol’ Willy out of the action until needed.
The only problem was where to get one. The nearest sporting goods store was in Tom’s River, 40 miles away. Too far. Taking a chance, I decided to try the local Walgreens. No luck.
Dejected, I decided to head down to C & F, hoping ol’ will wouldn’t let me down tonight when a voice called to me.
"Down on your spirit’s, chap? Perhaps we can help."
Turning around, I spotted a street-vendor with his table set out in front of Walgreens. The man, who was seated in a lawn chair, looked to be about sixty or seventy years old.
In his right hand, he held a long, curved branch, on top of which sat a stately raven. The sign, tape to the table read "The Master Will Solve Any Problem You Have".
Realizing I had nothing to lose, I asked, "Do you sell cups?"
The old man pushed aside a couple boxes on the table and held up two items, "Tea cups or paper cups?" The bird let out an infuriated screech and old man held out his hand in defense, "Ok, bloody hell, I know ".
The bird gave another, ‘ you better ‘, squawk. The old man reached under the table and came up with a sports cup in a plastic package, "Is this all right?"
I nodded and asked for the price. The man glanced at the bird for confirmation, "Five dollars, even." Realizing this was a really good price; I fished a fiver out of my wallet and paid him. However, I realized that walking into the bar with a sports cup in one hand was not going to send a good message, "Uh, do you have a bag for that?"
The man handed me the cup, inside of a Walgreens bag. He explained, unnecessarily, "We have a deal with the manager………The Master helped out his son. So we gets bags and a place right out in front". I smiled; remembering that the manager had a daughter, not a son. I’d had her once. Man was she a good lay.
On a whim, I asked, "Who’s the Master?"
Expecting him to say, ‘ I am ‘, I was shock when he pointed to the raven, which turned about proudly, "His full name’s the Master of Chaos Theory ".
I torn between asking how the bird got that name and just calmly heading over to C & F. I decided to go with the latter.
The old man waved goodbye to me as I walked, shouting, "I think that should solve all your problems. From now on you won’t have to worry about………all that."
The man’s statement was vague enough, yet knowledgeable enough to set me on edge. I turned around for a last look. The man waved one more time. Freakin’ British, I thought to myself.
C & F was just a hop, skip and jump from Walgreens. Upon entering, I knew this was my night. There were dozens of bored looking young things sitting around with no one to talk to. Also, there were only five men in the entire place, and all of them were too busy being consumed with themselves to worry about the mountain of plenty stretched before them.
First things were first though. In my pants, I could feel the beginnings of a raging hard-on just from realizing the possibilities. I had to bring that under control.
Finding the bathroom empty, I locked the door and proceeded to undress.
The cup was emblazoned with the words "The Master of Chaos Theory’s Patented Protective Cup – Now You Won’t Have To Worry About Male Problems Ever Again ". Wondering whether I should leave my underwear on, I had my problem answered when I discovered I could easily put the cup on over my briefs.
Feeling a sexual twinge in my groin as I slid it on, I looked down and was pleased to find that my erection did not show through the cup. In fact, I was hard pressed to feel it beneath the hard plastic. A quick hand check revealed ol’ Willy was safe and sound.
Pulling my pants into place, I checked my appearance. The cup nicely hugged my groin; giving no indication of its presence and making me appear completely unaroused. In fact, if I didn’t know better, it almost appeared as though I had a woman’s groin down there. This made me laugh for second.
Sure that I was ready, I exited the bathroom and went in search of my nightly catch. As soon as I was outside, I knew the one I wanted. She was seated at a table turning a mug of Heineken in her hands, totally alone. Dressed in a tight pink blouse and matching skirt, she floored me with her beauty. Fire red hair fell on her shoulder. Her breasts were the reason they invented the name whoppers. Wooww…pers.
Straightening my shirt, I walked over. "Is this seat taken?"
The woman smiled pleasantly and shook her head. She looked a little young, but I wasn’t about to complain. "The name’s Kevin. Kevin Mendel."
She looked me in the eye, which kept me from doing another eye shot at her boobs, "Samantha."
"Just Samantha?" I asked, wondering momentarily if she was prostitute.
"For now."
Seeing that I wasn’t getting anywhere, I took a new route, "Are you a model? Because you lovely enough to be one ". Samantha eyed me cautiously, "In fact I am. Which reminds me, I have to be going. It’s been nice talking to you Mr. Mendel."
Before I could object, she was out the door, dropping her full glass on the table before leaving. Raw efficiency, I thought.
But there pretty of fish left, surely at least one of them would bite. I moved over to one of the nearby tables, which had two women seated together.
I knew it was risky to go after two at the same time. I risked losing one or both. However, that was all part of the game.
"Hi. Is this seat taken?"
A moment after I said that, I felt something strange. It began in the vicinity of my cup and flowed throughout my body, spreading to the roots of my hair and tips of my toes.
The two of them smiled, a rarity. "Sure dear, please sit down."
Dear, that sure was a strange thing for a woman to say to a male stranger. Brushing aside my hair, I crouched on the seat. Something about the sequence didn’t feel right. Trying to sense my body, I discovered there was a strange numbness surrounding it.
Then came the really weird stuff. I smiled and answered back, "Hi, my name’s Katrina Mendel." Katrina, what the hell was going on? The women smiled back and gave each of their names. I didn’t really listen, not that it mattered anyway. I didn’t appear to have any control over my body at the moment.
We began talking about all kinds of things, guys especially. What was shitty about them and which men were the hottest. I told them that I found Antonio Banderas utterly sexy.
The others didn’t laugh and call me gay, instead they actually agreed with my choice. This was beyond weird. The next couple of minutes became a blur. It the stereotypical woman’s chat, life sucks, I can’t keep my weight down, and men screw me.
Then, for some odd reason, I returned minimal control of my body.
"Can you please excused me? Restroom." It realized almost immediately that there was something intensely strange about my voice. It sounded like I had swallowed a gallon of helium.
Nearly running to the restroom, I found the men’s room locked. Glancing at the other side, my eyes caught the door of the woman’s room. Checking the door, I found that it was unoccupied.
Scared shitless about using the woman’s bathroom, I locked the door and turned to look in the mirror. A split second later understood why I had been so easily accepted by the women. I was one of them.
Staring back in the mirror at me with a frightened look was a young, blond girl. She appeared to be only 20 or so years old. Her face was refined and as smooth as silk. Her eyes were baby blue, compared with my old hazel ones.
Her neck was devoid of its former Adams apple. "Hello," I tested. The sound that emerged seemed frail and feminine, a high soprano to be sure. Looking further down, I saw that the contours of my chest and waist had been squashed to conform to my new dimensions.
Those contours were accented by a bright red dress. The dress fell about mid-thigh……and what thighs they were. Probably containing what usually comes with a female body, I realized.
I checked my new breasts, which were dramatically displayed by the dress’ low neckline. The tits poked through their bra and the fabric, stretching its confines.
Bringing my hands to their tips I swooned momentarily before my shapely legs braced themselves. My groin tingled in an alien way, no erection, but still sexual arousal.
Lifting the dress above my waist, I discovered that the cup had completely vanished. In it’s place, I now had a groin-hugging thong that left no possibility that Willy had survived.
Pushing the throng down around my ankles, I examined my new sex. Everything I was familiar with was there: the pussy, the clit (the remnants of poor Willy!) and the sit-to-piss hole.
Reaching my hands down, I gently caressed my groin. The tingling intensified. I grabbed my clit and rolled it around with my long-nailed fingers. The jabbing pain that I felt at first gave way to intense pleasure.
Coordinated with the rolling motion, my body began to tilt back and forth. Quickly, the motion changed from a rocking to a thrusting, my pelvis try to straddle an imaginary cock.
Pinching my clit, I soon began to feel very wet. Warmth began to radiate from my pussy. Curious, and desperately horny, I moved my fingers down to explore.
I penetrated my opening with two fingers. Wow. My back arched at the feeling, causing the wetness to intensify. Moving in the same circular motion I had used with my clit, I soon brought myself to climax. An orgasm in a man is simply a pleasurable ejaculation, in a woman it’s so much more.
The muscle contractions, the pure and utter ecstasy. Man has never known such pleasure. Looking down at my chest, I saw that my nipples had grown dramatically in size.
I felt a burning desire to touch them, but something inside of me woke up. Call it the remnants of my male ego. It understood what was going on and simply stared at the total picture before it.
"Holy shit! I’m a woman. What the fuck happened?" The cup came to mind. That’s impossible, I thought, you can’t suddenly change your age and gender by putting on a protective cup.
Still, the sight of utter femininity remained before me, unchanging. This demanded a serious reexamination. Pulling up my thong, now wet thanks to my pussy. I secured it in place. Not that it really mattered with the way it’s soaked material clung to my sex and left nothing to the imagination.
Unlocking the door, I decided to head straight back to the old man and demand to be restored.
But, as soon as I was outside the sensation came over me again. I no longer had control of my body. Walking through the bar, I looked for the nearest lone man.
Off to one side was fellow, face full of whiskers, beer mug lying in front of him. He really did look down on his luck.
Walking up to him, I smiled and said hello. He did a double take, eyes seized by my huge, erect tits.
My pussy started up again. Feeling in the playful mood, I sat down in his lap, feeling his manhood stabbing into my buttocks. "Oh……settle down Willy, we’ll have plenty of time for that later."
What else can I say? We made love that night. It was great, it was hot. It lasted three-hours straight. The best I’d done before was about six minutes. You know, it’s always the quiet ones that are hotter than rabbits.
Much has happened since then. Needless to say, I had to leave my job. I doubted the boss would understand. Therefore, I took a job as a waitress at C & F where I presented an awe-striking sight and helped get some more male butts in the seats.
I only went back to the old man once, and that was to say thanks. He said that the Master is the one I should be thanking. So I did. I reached over and planted a passionate kiss on the bird. The raven chirped like a lark. The old man answered, "The Master……umm…… appreciates your gratitude ".
"And I appreciate what you’ve done for me." I reached over and massaged its head before walking home. The bird looked longingly into my eyes. I smiled back.
So, there you have it, Mr. Andrews. There’s nothing to fear from the Master. He helps people who need help but don’t realize that what they really need is a change of lifestyle. By the way, are you perchance married? The reason I ask this is I have a week off next month and I’d like to visit you………you know, give my……personal account. Sincerely, Katrina Mendel."
Roger shook his head. Incredible. This thing might be bigger than he anticipated. Opening his desk, he filed the letter away with the other one. He was one step closer to the truth…………and wondering if Katrina really was as hot as she described herself to be.
The End
© 1999
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