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Normalcy. We see it everywhere and so we take it for granted, we complain about having to eat the same cereal everyday, about having to work from nine to five, and the fact that the government doesn’t seem to be doing anything about it. I had this luxury for nineteen years of my life, then it was shattered, much like a glass window, into a million shards that could never be put together again. Not after my curiosity got the better of me.
(Monday, April 22nd, 2013)
“Wake up April!” My mother shouted in a sing-song voice the moment she had forced my stubborn door open. My response was a groan and turning over, trying to stay in the arms of blissful sleep.
“Come on, you don’t want to sleep away your birthday, do you?” She persisted, shaking what I knew to be the first of annoying gifts. I hated birthdays, no one ever seemed to take into consideration that I wouldn’t like this, or that I would detest that, they got me what they thought I’d like. Goes to show how well my own family knew me.
“Is it another sweater?” I groaned, knowing that no matter how stubborn I could be, she’d never leave until she forced me to open her gift.
“Ye-” She stopped herself, then continued, “You’ll have to see.” It was obviously another sweater. She bought me one every year. I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
“Okay, give it.” I said, holding my hand out for the present.
I tore methodically into the wrapping paper to reveal… a PINK sweater!
“Great. Thanks mum.” I thanked her sarcastically, but she wasn’t the brightest star in the galaxy and took it as genuine.
“Your welcome sweety. Breakfast is ready whenever you are.” She told me and strode out of the door leaving me to my own company. I sighed angrily and tossed the sweater away, staring around my room, trying to determine the reasoning behind buying me a pink sweater. My room was a testament to the gothic culture; walls painted black behind the armour of band posters. Strewn across the dark crimson carpet were pitch black skirts, black jeans, shirts, whatever clothing that came in the colour black I had it. Then there was me.
I looked into the mirror, seeing my reflection and knowing that, despite my abhorrence of male companionship, they would flock to me, like an overly loyal canine. I was beautiful. High cheekbones, flawless alabaster skin, piercing blue eyes, lush lips that guys looked at almost as much as the rest of me. I had long legs with shapely thighs, 32C breasts, a well trimmed waist that wasn’t a product of exercise or proper diet, and bountiful hips. All this at the age of nineteen, and now twenty. I was a miracle of beauty. I went as far as my mother would allow, trying to destroy this image of perfection.
My left eyebrow was pierced, along with my tongue, ears, and my nipples, though my mother didn’t know about those yet. I wouldn’t bathe for days on end, yet my body seemed to produce its own scent that drew any and everyone to me. My pitch black hair was long, falling to my shapely rear in a wave of sleek oil, while a curtain covered my right eye, which always seemed to be unable to decide what shade of blue it was, seeming to shift between a bright piercing electric blue, like my left, or it would be a deep ocean of midnight blue, whatever the shade it always shone with a spark that could either be interpreted as curiosity or malice. In most cases it was malice.
My traditional outfit was a Victorian inspired black blouse, covered by an Oxford blue denim jacket. Below I’d wear jeans or leather pants, that hugged my curves almost possessively. Shoes were whatever I picked up, always black though. My hair seemed immune to bed head, as I always woke up with it as perfect as when I went to sleep. To me this was normal.
I didn’t have any friends either. Those who had been my friends had been terrified when I got my revenge and pretended I didn’t exist. I didn’t need them though. I had music, and I had my other ”friends” under my bed. Speaking of… I went under and pulled out a shoe box labelled CDs, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I took the lid off and looked down, smiling at the anal beads, massive dildo, with a matching strap-on, a ball gag, some rope, and a container designed to make it so that no liquid that was inside it would spoil, and what was it filled with? Semen of course.
I was 100% gay, but that was the problem. I loved girls, but detested boys, and yet I can’t get enough of their semen. I’ll usually bring some food up here and season it with the sperm. I often wished that I had a girl who had a cock and pussy, but those were rare and often weren’t very attractive, still I had hentai and my fantasies, but those did only so much. The dildo was a foot long, and the strap-on was even bigger, easily reaching my lips. I had it because I loved to suck it, licking it clean of the semen that I’d cover it in.
“Come on April!” My mother called, now getting annoyed from me taking so long, either that ensest sikiş hikayeleri or she had plenty of other annoying gifts to give me, complements of my other relatives.
“Coming.” This is gonna suck, I thought as I got dressed.
We had a nice house. Not too big, but not too small, with four bedrooms, two for me and my mother, one for storage, and the other for guests. I’m an only child. I had an en suite for my room, but there was another bathroom downstairs, where my mother slept, the kitchen wasn’t anything special, big enough for a dinner table and some spare room, but the living room was huge, easily housing two couches, a large table, and a forty two inch plasma screen T.V, and still have plenty of to spare. And inside that room stood an alarmingly big, precarious mountain of presents.
“Oh, shit.” I groaned.
I was in college, but luckily for me today was the day that most of the staff had called in sick, and due to that the college was closed for today. This would let me enjoy the day of pure suck! The moment breakfast was eaten my mother pushed me into the living room to begin cutting down the makeshift Mount Everest. This may seem like a fun little time, but it’s not. It requires amazing dexterity, precise timing, and a will to risk ones life for present they may not want. The only candidate; me.
I began with the ones that weren’t holding the structure up. They were small things, like necklaces, rings, and even a couple of books, all far to upbeat for me. Then I started to cut away the top, opening pop CDs, a couple of hats, a Blu-ray player (Something I actually wanted), but that seemed to be the only highlight. As I got lower and lower, the number of clothes increased, all being pink, or some other bright colour. After an hour of simply trying not to cause it to fall and crush me, and another hour of opening, and by extension tossing aside, presents, I came to the base. It was a rectangular shape, and seemed to heavier than the rest. I looked and didn’t see the name of who it was from.
“Who’s this from?” I asked my mum. She just looked at it like I did, and shrugged. I did likewise and tore the paper open.
Inside was a large rectangular box, pitch black. I studied it closely and could make out indentations that seemed to be reminiscent of Egyptian hieroglyphs, I ran my hand over and almost gasped. It felt cold, ice cold. Like it was pulled from the depths of the Antarctic, but I hadn’t felt it through the paper, and it wasn’t raised any alarms in my body. I blinked and continued to physically explore the surface. After a while I began to feel something else besides the cold, it felt like the box was caressing my palm, and as though the symbols were raising, no longer indented in the surface. My mother placed her hand on shoulder, shaking me lightly.
“April? April, are you okay?” She asked concerned.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah I’m fine. Just trying to think about who sent this.” I lied, knowing that she wouldn’t believe me if I told her what I’d felt.
I felt beneath it and the sides, finding latches and unlatching them. I opened it and saw a… necklace. At first glance it seemed unimpressive, but as I looked closer I saw the symbols etches into the chain, and the pendant, a love heart, had five words written on it, though I had no idea what language they were written in.
“”Vir et mulier inter se”” I read them aloud. I turned to my mum who again shrugged and went about cleaning up the discarded wrapping paper. I’m not what it was, but something about the necklace called to me, as though it had been created for me, and existed solely for me. I lifted it up and put it on.
Aside from the mystery of who sent the necklace, the rest of the day passed by normally. I watched T.V, helped out with the chores, at my mother’s begging, and eventually went to bed at half past ten. I noticed something as I got changed. I stood in front of my mirror, naked, since I usually look at my body, cursing it, or sometimes loving it, but today I noticed something abnormal. Above my right breast, beneath where the pendant still hung was a faint, but still noticeable, symbol, similar to the ones on the necklace and box. Then I noticed my vagina. There wasn’t anything different to the immediate eye.
It was still shaved, not a single hair in sight. It the outer labia was slightly darker than the rest of my skin, and were closed, not letting me glimpse the light pink on the inside, though if one didn’t know me and saw that they would assume I was virgin since it looked so tight and pure. It was small as well, though I wasn’t sure about what to compare it to, it just seemed that way, and was raised, creating a slight bump between my legs. I didn’t see anything wrong until I noticed the clitoris. It was engorged, standing a full inch from me, as though I were heavily aroused, but I didn’t feel anything. As I looked I fingered the pendant in thought.
I put the oddity behind me and went to bed, wearing only a bra and panties. My sheets are thick enough to keep me warm even in the early spring. It felt odd as I dreamt. I usually dreamt of girls, ones that were bending over, or kneeling before, eyes pleading for my attention. This dream was no different, but there was something else, something I couldn’t place my subconscious finger on. There was one bent over, presenting her swollen and lustful pussy to me, usually I’d finger it, eventually moving onto licking the exposed hole, sucking on the clit, but that didn’t happen. Instead the dream me held the girl’s hips and began move her own closer and closer. I looked down from the skyline perch I often took in dreams, and saw something that shocked me awake.
I bolted upright, breathing heavily, and feeling my pussy juices on my thighs. I reached a hand down and breathed a sigh of relief, it was still there, my pussy. The strange, yet erotic image of my dream-self, drifted through my mind. My lips, my breasts, my waist, my long luscious legs, and… my cock. I took in a deep breath as I remembered seeing it, a flesh coloured cock sporting from between my thighs. I didn’t know where the dream came from, but all I could think of was how big the cock had been. It had looked as thick as my wrist, and longer than my forearm. After several minutes I calmed down and went to sleep thinking of pussy, no cocks.
(Tuesday, April 23rd, 2013)
When I woke up I felt great. After the weird dream I had slept soundly, and actually felt far more rested than ever before. I stretched out and felt the necklace around my neck. I had forgotten to take it off, but that didn’t concern me, what did on the other hand was the time. It was half past eight! I had to be at college in half an hour, and it was a fifteen minute drive. Despite that I felt fine, even as I rushed about the room, hastily just putting on a pair of jeans, a shirt and jacket, before coming down the stairs to see breakfast on the table and my mum was sitting at the table, sipping coffee, and reading the newspaper.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” I asked her, “You know that if I’m late again I’m out of there, right?” I continued, but she didn’t seem to hear me. I heard a honk outside and saw Michelle, a friend of my mum’s outside, waving for me to come over. I glanced worriedly at my mum before running out to see what Michelle wanted.
“Your mum called just now, asking if I can take you to school. She said she’s not feeling all that well.” She explained and opened the door for me.
“I noticed. Did she say what she might have?” I asked as I struggled with the seatbelt. Evil buggers, that’s what they are.
“No, but she said that she’s gonna go to the doctors and see what might be wrong with her.” She said as she drove down the road of our little neighbourhood. Everyone hear, knew everyone. It was kind of a requirement to live here.
The rest of the drive to my college was in silence, though I liked it that way.
“I’ll be here to pick you up when you’re done.” She called as I walked across the grass and up the stairs to my only place where no one bothered me, except the teachers, but I got decent grades so they didn’t mind it much when I asked for privacy. I didn’t have a gang to hang out, nor did I have any enemies that would make a move on me. I wasn’t lonely, after all I had my thoughts to keep me company.
It wasn’t until now that I was able to stay in solitude at college, with no one making fun of my clothing, or my lack of friends. The Mocking, as I called it, was something that hadn’t stopped until I’d hit puberty, and hit it hard, with mood changes that made pregnancy seem tame. All the girls were afraid of me now, since I had ”accidentally” set fire to their skirts, and hair, and homework, and you get the idea now. The boys were too smitten with my looks to care about my antisocial behaviour, but their damaged testicles are testament to the fact that I won’t allow any guy to touch me without permission. The girls had suffered my wrath solely because I wanted them. If that’s the case then why did I do those things? I had impulse control issues. So when they rejected my advances a year ago, I got revenge. It’s as simple as that.
Now I could walk through the halls and receive nothing but dirty stares that did about as much damage as a child could do to a tank. No one would do anything to me, they knew I’d get revenge, and when I did it would make their act seem like a baby’s tantrum. I’m not sure what I wanted to do in life, but after high school, college just seemed like the logical option. I got to my first class, just as the bell rang, telling everyone to take their seats. I was at the back like always, but as I stared around, everyone seemed to different to me. Usually I’d look around and lust after one or two hot girls, but today I seemed to be eyeing them not with lesbian lust, but predatory lust. That felt like the only way to say it. I was the sexual predator and they were my prey.
This view continued throughout the day, and I noticed something else at around lunchtime. No one was glaring at me. Usually I caught almost a dozen girl’s glaring at me, but now they were glancing at me and talking to their friend’s before glancing again, as though they were gossiping about, but the overall tone didn’t seem to be one of cruelty, but rather curiosity. I shook the thoughts off, putting it down to the fact that they probably got tired of constantly glaring at me. There was something else too, my pussy seemed to constantly have an itch, even when I could get it, it just started back up, as though something were irritating it. I assumed it was the fact that I was unable to masturbate this morning, and forgot to yesterday.
When the day was over and I was back in Michelle’s car, the itch had stopped for some reason.
“Good day?” She asked me, absently, while pulling away from the curb and beginning the drive back. I shrugged and said.
“It wasn’t anything special.” With that all conversation ceased, but the itch had returned, as though reacting to her presence. I sat there, my face not betraying anything, even as my mind ran through every possibility, and coming up with nothing, aside from irritation, or horniness. The moment we were back at my place I said goodbye, and was out of the car before I heard her reply. I needed to deal with this.
The moment I was in I ran up the stairs, and into my room. Locking the door I stripped down and nearly screamed. My clit, didn’t look like a clit anymore. It now stood four inches from my body and had a phallic shape, I should be scared, but in truth it was arousing me. Like the idea of have a clit this big was a bigger turn on than lesbian porn. With a little hesitation I reached down and felt it; it was hard, like a cock and pulsed like one too, it was wet, as though my juices were being made all over it, and as I held it lightning bolts of pleasure shot from my crotch, to my hard nipples, to my brain. I let out a loud moan and began stroking the short length, as though jacking off a cock.
I was leaning against the door now. My cum was dripping from my pussy, so swollen with lust, revealing the inner pink lips, and granting me easier access the my massively engorged clit. My other hand was savagely palming my breast, pinching the nipple and pulling on the piercing, all the while kneading the soft, yet firm flesh. My body felt like one giant pussy, as the feeling of my hair on my skin was like a kiss to the nipple, and each small breeze that breathed against me was just as good. I stopped kneading my breast and moved my hand to my pussy, where I put, not one, not two, but three fingers into my soaking wet tunnel of lust. My moans were more like small screams abruptly cut off, and they only increased in intensity as my masturbation continued. I stuck a fourth finger into my pussy, stretching the walls now, and covering my hand in my juices. Then I felt my walls clenching rapidly, around my digits.
I could feel the orgasm coming. It was like a tsunami, an unstoppable force of nature. I was thrusting my fingers in rapidly now, stroking my clit just as fast. I was so close, I could feel it. I folded my thumb into my palm, and pushed hard, feeling it and the rest of my hand enter my tight snatch, surprisingly smoothly. The moment my labia encased my wrist, I exploded. With a scream of lust that could only called animalistic, I came.
My body froze as waves of euphoria rolled over me. I was lost to the world, and could only feel the pleasure that flowed powerfully through me. So lost was I that I didn’t notice the white fluid spraying from the tip of my clit, where a hole had literally only just developed. My orgasm seemed to stretch on and on, actually intensifying the longer it continued. All the while more spurts of white shot from me, soaking into the carpet and splattering the walls, even landing on the lips of a few female rock star posters. After what felt hours, though it was only a few minutes, my climax faded into the background of my mind, though my body occasionally jerked from the aftershock. After that I just faded into unconsciousness.
I woke up three hours later in my bed. Once again my body felt great, as if I hadn’t just slept for a couple of hours. I got up and went to the door, but found it locked. My brow furrowed in confusion, I remembered passing out, but had assumed my mum had come in and put me to bed, it wouldn’t be the first time she found me naked and passed out. I was still naked and I could clearly see my massively engorge clit, now with an extra inch. Was I growing a clitoris cock? Again the thought wasn’t disgusting, if anything it was erotic. I put on my clothes and unlocked the door, the mystery of how I got back to bed could wait. Right now I needed some food.
After grabbing a bite to eat I noticed that my mother wasn’t around. I went up stairs and to her room. I was about to knock, but then I heard a moan from beyond the door. Even muffled I could hear the lust in her voice. I just giggled lightly and went back down to watch T.V. Later on she came down, slightly red faced, and a grin on her face.
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