The Bad Touch

Chapter 1
The Bad Touch

This is a story I wrote several years ago. At the time it seemed too insane to publish, so I never posted it anywhere. But I did send a copy to Nom, who was good enough to keep it and send it back to me now that I don’t mind if something is too insane to publish.

The style is rough compared to some of my later work. But who cares? Sit back and enjoy the show...

PARENTAL ADVISORY

EXPLICIT CONTENT

The Bad Touch

By T. Sins

// The Gas Station //

He was watching her. The man in the black coat. Laurie had glanced twice now from the pump where she was filling up her Chevy. It was a heavy leather number, she saw, that hung down to mid-thigh. The silver buckles glinted in the light of a nearby street lamp.

Somewhere past 8:00 pm, and it was already dark. His features obscured by the oily night air--that, and a long brimmed hat he had pulled down over his eyes. All she could see was his thin, pale lips, illuminated like a pulse with every drag on his homemade cigarette--the exhaled smoke seeming to match the rhythm and texture of her own breath on the cold January night.

And he was just standing there.

A ways past the pumps of the old 7-11, with no vehicle she could see in the immediate vicinity. Just standing there, watching.

"Shit!" she cried out as the tank overflowed and gas spilled out on her hands, splattering on the pavement below--the harsh scent immediately invading her nose. Stupid. She hadn’t been paying attention. Worse, she had only intended to get half a tank. Now she would have to risk bouncing a check again.

Laurie looked up. The man was still staring silently at her. But she wasn’t frightened anymore; his spell broken by her bout of self-depreciation. Besides, she had two teenagers waiting for her at home. As a single mom, she didn’t have any time to spare for bogeymen.

"They all come out at night," she muttered, annoyed, screwing the cap back on, returning the hose and nozzle to the side of the pump. The total read: $10.73.

When she looked again he had dropped his cigarette and she could see his lips--only his lips--very clearly now. He was whispering something, she saw, and when he did she felt her own lips move in perfect sync with his, and she heard herself say:

"You’re not wearing a skirt anymore."

Huh? Laurie suddenly felt very confused, but then she looked down and saw that it was true. The navy blue skirt she had worn into Tyson and Spence this morning, where she worked as a receptionist, had vanished. She still had on her white silk blouse that had gone with the blue skirt, but below that she saw only her pantyhose and smart-looking half-inch heels.

"What the hell?" Laurie normally avoided profanity, a habit that came with having kids, but this was a fucked up situation. She felt horribly embarrassed standing outside, so exposed, with that man watching her (that ten pounds she had been wanting to lose now seeming far more significant).

Panicked, she covered her privates with her hands that still smelled of gasoline, then she switched to her rear, which felt far more vulnerable beneath the flimsy material--hanging out in the open for all to see--but her ass was too big, she realized, for her to do any good; it was a lost cause, so she switched back to her privates.

The man in the black coat stared.

"What’s going on?" she shouted at him. It seemed like a funny question for a woman standing in the middle of a parking lot in a pair of pantyhose to be asking, but he didn’t answer it anyway, so it didn’t matter.

"What’s happening?!" she shouted again, as if the rephrasing might force a response.

His lips started to move again from the distance, and she heard herself say:

"You’re not wearing pantyhose anymore. You’re wearing fishnet stockings and a garter belt to hold them up, and a pair of hot pink thong panties. What a silly outfit for a forty-four year old woman to be wearing."

Laurie gasped as she felt the invasive material suddenly riding up her butt crack. She looked ridiculous: the tiny pink thong, just barely covering her pussy, had the words "Cutie Pie" stitched into the front, and several strands of her curly brown pubic hair was peaking out the top and sides. Her all-but-bare ass was freezing in the chilled night air, and she felt goose pimples running down her legs beneath the black crisscrosses of the stockings she now wore.

"How are you doing this?" she screamed when she realized she wasn’t dreaming. This was too real to be a dream. Too frightening.

The man’s mouth only moved silently in response, and Laurie found the words helplessly tumbling from her lips:

"You’re wearing a pair of four inch stiletto heels--hot pink, to match you’re cute little thong--and they’re making you incredibly wet. In fact, you’ll find that they are the only thing that will ever turn you on again."

"Stop it!" she gasped when she gained control of her tongue. Laurie wobbled dangerously on the awkward footwear, panting like a bitch in heat as the severe shoe fetish embedded itself permanently in her brain. "Why are you......doing this to me (uhh!)?"

He said nothing.

"God, this is so humiliating!" she groaned. "How can I......be so aroused...(Ungh!)...over a stupid pair of...pair of...!" She felt the orgasm coming and had to get down on her hands and knees--on the cold greasy pavement--to keep from falling as her hips started shaking like a bowl of Jell-O on a washing machine, screaming out: "Shooooooeeeeeessssss!" in a fit of absolute ecstasy.

Her bare ass was sticking straight in the air, she knew, in full view of the man in the black coat. But she couldn’t stop groaning and grunting like a cheap whore long enough to do anything about it--the waves of pleasure rolling over her again and again.

"Shoes......shoes...shoes..." she muttered stupidly as the fourth or fifth orgasm overtook her.

But then, her lips were no longer hers. The gasps, the lewd cries, ceased, and, while she was still cumming like a schoolgirl, she heard herself say:

"Your breasts, your boobs, your tits are now four times their original size. And that’s how you will refer to them from now on. Your big floppy tits."

Even then, Laurie couldn’t stop thinking about shoes, so she kept pathetically cumming just outside the gas station as she felt a growing pressure in her white lace, B cup bra, followed by pain, followed by a snapping sound as the bra broke, and a ripping sound as a pair of big--what was the word?--floppy tits ripped through her silk blouse and pressed against the pavement bellow.

They were huge.

"Please," she begged. She found that if she forced herself not to think about...if she thought about other things...if she didn’t allow her mind to wander to her feet (God! and her sexy shoes!), she could maintain some sort of control.

The man in the black coat didn’t say anything.

And, this time, Laurie didn’t wait for him to do so. Unable to stand--the combination of the high heels (no, don’t think about them!) and the incredible weight on her now massive chest preventing her from even thinking about attempting it--she struggled to her knees and peered in the window of her car (more specifically at the keys that were still in the ignition).

She reached for the door handle.

And then she said:

"You don’t have a car. You have a tricycle."

"No!" she shouted in response to her own declaration, but before she even got the word out her Chevy was gone and she was kneeling in front of a child’s little red trike.

"Your blouse and bra are gone," she said, and they vanished immediately, leaving Laurie completely topless, her big floppy tits hanging obscenely out in the open.

"Get on the tricycle," she continued.

The toy was tiny enough that she could crawl over to it (ripping the knees of her fishnets in the process) and mount it without standing up. But it was a mixed blessing. Once she got her leg over it, she found the seat was way too small, and it immediately began riding up her ass. Despite the discomfort, she didn’t stop. Laurie lifted both her feet, the seat wedging itself painfully up her rear as she put her full weight on it, and carefully placed each stiletto on a pedal (trying not to look or think about them). For balance she had to lean over and grab the undersized handles, and, as she did, her knees--already awkwardly high in the air--pressed against her big floppy tits.

Laurie sat that way for a good four minutes. Frightened and humiliated and not sure what she could do. The fear and confusion kept her quiet for that long, but as the time ticked slowly by her mind wandered and she glanced down at her shoes again and began to grunt and squirm and cum, unable to dismount her ridiculous vehicle.

And, for the first time, the man in the black coat spoke with his own gruff voice: "Too bad. Another minute, and I would have let you go."

Of course she had no way of knowing if he was lying, if this was just another level of the torture, but her heart sank all the same; a defeated, hollow feeling buried deep beneath her humungous jugs as she came and came on her ever-vanishing tricycle seat.

Her lips moved:

"Your nipples are permanently erect."

She felt the huge saucers on her tits swell, and saw them pointing like a pair of pinkie fingers--casting two silhouettes like road signs on the ground below.

"Please sto--" She cut herself off: "Your hair isn’t brown anymore; it will grow out like a rainbow colored clown afro instead...all of your hair. And you no longer have a real nose; you have a big red rubber clown nose."

Now she felt her nose swelling to twice its size. She stared down at it cross-eyed as it became perfectly round and red, and her soft, full-bodied shoulder-length hair dried up and shifted to tightly curled, cheap factory-produced strands of varying shades of green, purple, pink and blue. The front of her thong was suddenly crowded as well, as her pubic hair became much the same.

She wanted to scream in horror, scream for help, just plain scream, but she just kept talking in that quiet voice, that voice that terrified her...her voice:

"And whenever your nose is depressed it will sound off like a horn and milk will squirt out of both your nipples."

No!

Laurie inhaled after saying it, and some of the air pulled on the inside of the hollow rubber ball that was now her nose, causing it to emit a loud "Honk!" and her nipples to spray out two streams of white liquid, like a fountain at an amusement park.

The next time, she tried to breathe in using only her mouth, but the rushing air still created a vacuum in the rubber nose, and it still honked, and milk still shot out of her nipples all over the road ahead of her.

And the next time... And the next time... And the next time...

But there was still one more thing Laurie had to say:

"Now ride your little trike over to your ex-husband’s house and beg him for sex."

"No! Please! Anything but that! ! Don’t let him see me like this!"

But she was already moving. Her big floppy tits bobbing up and down with her knees as she pedaled, heading slowly forward (the tricycle with a squeaky wheel), leaving puddles of milk every few feet.

Laurie looked back only once. She saw the man in the black coat heading towards the pay phone, his heavy boots sloshing through the mess she had left behind--he stared at her when she did, and she did not look back again. And soon she had turned down the block, headed towards an address she knew all too well.

// Pay Phone //

"Hello?" Tyler, twenty-four years old, blonde hair and wearing a wet towel around his waist stood in the living room of his one bedroom apartment with his portable phone pressed firmly between ear and shoulder. "Hello?"

Nothing. Just the sound of passing traffic, maybe, and a strange squeaking noise.

"Dude, do you got something to say, or what?"

"This is a prank call," a voice like gravel crackled from the receiver.

"What?"

"This is a prank call."

Tyler laughed. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

Silence.

Tyler: "Hello?"

"Want to know what the prank is?" the voice came again.

"Knock yourself out, dude."

"Is your girlfriend still in the shower?"

"Huh?"

"Your girlfriend. She’s still in the shower, isn’t she?"

Tyler glanced around his apartment, wondering about hidden cameras. "How the fuck did you know that?"

Silence.

"Hello? Is this a joke?"

"Want to know what the prank is?"

"I asked you a question fuck-face!"

"You are."

"What?"

"You’re the prank."

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"You’ve got your girlfriend’s pussy."

"Huh?"

A scream sounded from the bedroom, or maybe the bathroom that connected to it. Tyler heard the patter of bare feet and a second scream, closer this time, and then, just as suddenly, his girlfriend, Amber, wet and naked, appeared in the hallway.

She was shivering, he saw, hugging her chest, her large breasts heaving against her arms as she stared down in horror at the alien appendage hanging between her legs.

Tyson recognized it immediately. It was Big Francis, his penis. He had always been well endowed (8 1/2 inches, erect), and he recognized the size and shape immediately; that, and a small crescent shaped birthmark on the left side.

Amber was gasping, as if she couldn’t get enough air, and muttering like a machine pistol: "Whatthefuck!Whatthefuck!Whatthefuck!" over and over again.

"But, if that’s Big Francis..." Tyler trailed off as water dripped--one, two, three drops--from the large phallus his girlfriend now boasted.

He looked down at his towel.

"Don’t drop the phone," the voice sounded from over the line.

Tyler had been about to. Fuck the phone. He had to see... But now he just stood there stupidly, not doing anything.

"Put it on speaker," the voice suggested.

And he did. He didn’t know why, but he did, and he set the receiver aside and stared down at the towel again. Was there a bulge? Was there?

"Whatthefuck!Whatthefuck!Whatthefuck!" Amber continued.

Holding his breath, Tyler reached around back and pulled the knot loose. The towel fell down around his ankles, and Amber gasped as she looked up and saw her pussy, her beautiful pink slit, vanishing between her boyfriend’s hairy legs.

Amber was about to scream, but then she did something else instead. Something she had never done in her entire life:

She popped a boner.

"Amber’s got a hard-on! Amber’s got a hard-on!" the gruff voice sang mockingly from the speaker.

"Fuck you asshole!" she screamed at the phone, her womanly tits shaking as she did so, her perfect round ass, too, and an 8 1/2 inch flagpole sticking out of her small frame as if she was waiting for someone to salute.

"I’ve got a better idea," the voice replied.

"What the hell is happening?" Tyler sobbed, noticing Amber cast a few glances at his little pink pussy, despite her fear and anger.

"I think Tyler should give Amber a blowjob," the voice said.

"What?!" Tyler shrieked.

But Amber said nothing. She stood there silently, her face twisted between repulsion and desire--she was totally confused and embarrassed, and her pecker was as hard as a rock (and so were her nipples, though she still covered them with her arms).

"Come on, Tyler. Didn’t you ever dream about being able to suck your own dick?" the voice teased.

"I’m not putting that thing in my mouth!" He pointed.

Amber looked down at it too.

"Shut up," the voice said. "Shut up and go dress for the part."

Tyler blinked. And then he walked, naked, down the hall and into the bedroom. He tried to think, but quickly found that he couldn’t think for himself. Instead he opened his girlfriend’s drawer, the place she kept all her stuff when she stayed overnight:

A freshly washed pair of cotton panties. Yes. He slipped those on, getting one more glance at his tight little cunt as he did. A skintight black skirt. Yes. He squirmed into that--much shorter on him than it had ever been on Amber (his pantied ass poked out the bottom). He skipped the bras and went right for a hot pink tube top.

Lipstick, eyeliner, blush. Yes, yes. He applied them all generously in front of the mirror in the bathroom, then topped it off by putting his short hair into two little schoolgirl ponytails.

He looked ridiculous.

Her shoes were impossible to fit into, so he skipped those, sprayed some of her peach scented perform on, and padded back into the living room barefooted.

Amber was sitting on the couch, crying while she masturbated. The man on the other end of the line seemed to by clapping along while she helplessly jerked off--On the coffee table in front of her, Tyler saw, there was a copy of the Sears catalogue; it was opened to the Ladies Undergarment section.

Thoughtlessly, Tyler made his way over to the scene, pushed the coffee table aside, and kneeled down on the carpet in front of his girlfriend. Then, in the most feminine, slutiest voice he could muster, he said: "Hope you saved some for me, Daddy. ’Cuz I’ve been a very naughty, dirty little girl, and I need something big and hard--like a lollipop--to fill up my mouth."

Amber blushed at this, but then, smiling shyly, playfully swatted the sides of his face with her large erect cock.

Tyler heard himself giggle, then gush: "Oooo! Big boy, huh?" Then he kissed the tip, wrapped his lips around it, and started sucking his own dick while Amber moaned appreciatively.

It was all surreal. He couldn’t believe it. But he couldn’t stop himself either. He let the long swollen member slide all the way down his throat, then back up again, then back down, then back up as his little blonde ponytails bobbed up and down for the effort.

The worst part was it was turning him on. He could barely breathe with such a huge cock lodged in his mouth, and he had started wondering about what it would feel like to have such a big...hard...thing inside him--almost immediately he had felt himself become incredibly wet, he felt warm all over.

"Oh...ohhh...ohhhhhh God!" Amber cried out as she suddenly wrenched her dick free from his gullet.

"Wait!" Tyler screamed as his girlfriend came all over his face. Four big squirts by his count. The hot goo dripping from his nose, his lips.

"Awww, what’s the matter Tyler?" the voice asked. "Hoping she would save some for you?"

He refused to admit it, but the voice continued regardless.

"I’m afraid that comes with having the pussy in the relationship. You’re just going to have to get used to it. Luckily, Amber brought along some of the necessary tools for survival. Why don’t you go take a look?"

Like a puppet, Tyler got to his feet and went into the kitchen. Her purse was sitting on the counter. He had a bad feeling about this, but opened it anyway, digging down to the bottom where he found an enormous rubber dildo.

"What the fuck?"

"Don’t be too quick to judge," the voice said. "As Amber can no doubt tell you, you never were one to make it to the finish line--if you know what I mean. That could come in handy. But, of course, it’s your choice."

Click. The line went dead.

Tyler looked at Amber, who was staring back at him, dazed and with dread. He shook his head, and turned his back on her--heading for the bathroom, dildo clenched firmly in one hand, and cum still stuck to his face.

// Sweet Dreams (are made of this) //

Harvey blinked.

For a moment he didn’t know where he was. He looked from left to right. At the candy aisles--rows and rows of Twinkies, Doritos and Snickers--, at the cooler where they kept the sports drinks and beer, at the register in front of him. And then he remembered: He was at work.

The late shift at the 7-11, with the Penthouse he kept under the counter still sitting in his lap, and his most recent erection all but forgotten. He must have dozed off or something.

He blinked again. "Ah, shit!"

The woman’s car was gone. He peered out the side window and couldn’t see any sign of her; just some guy using the payphone. Looked like she’d made off with over ten bucks worth of gas. Fuck. She’d had a nice ass, too. It was a damn shame.

"Bunch of savages in this town."

The man outside hung up the phone and lit a cigarette. Harvey tucked his magazine safely away when he noticed him heading towards the door.

"Hey, you can’t smoke in here," he said when he came in. "State law."

The man’s face was mostly concealed by the black hat he wore and the bad fluorescent lighting. He had a heavy build, though, and Harvey thought he looked like a serial killer from a bad horror movie--also, he wore a black coat.

The man took one last drag on the cigarette then tossed it on the floor, stomping it out with heavy leather boots on his way down one of the aisles, blowing out a thin steady stream of smoke as he went.

He took only a newspaper, Harvey saw, and when he came back, Harvey eyed the butt on the floor and said: "Hey, asswipe, you going to pick that up?"

"Don’t worry," the man in the black coat said. "It will be taken care of."

"Yeah?"

The man set the newspaper down on the counter in front of him and opened it to the Personals.

"You looking for a date?" Harvey asked.

The man pointed to one of the ads. It read: "26 yr old princess searching for her prince. Must be smart, funny, career oriented and know how to treat a woman right."

Harvey looked at it. "Yeah? So?"

A spark leaped from the man’s finger and onto the newspaper, like static electricity, and when it did the letters themselves began moving around the page, rearranging themselves. Harvey gasped, and, within moments, the ad had changed completely:

"26 yr old nympho seeks dick wherever she can find it. Must enjoy using women, calling them insulting names and sharing with friends (will pay if necessary)."

["Hi welcome to Burger King, may I take your order?"

Melissa stared down at the skinny, sixteen year old, pimple-faced kid standing behind the counter and sighed. She thought of her ad again, she had been thinking about it all day. It reminded her of that song that had come out a few years ago, "Where have all the cowboys gone?" She needed a real man. Were there any left in this town? The thought that one might answer her ad in the newspaper excited her...

"Ma’am?" the punk kid persisted.

Melissa sighed again, and replied curtly: "I’ll have a cheeseburger, small fries, medium diet coke and your cock."

"Excuse me?" The boy’s voice cracked.

"Oh please!" Melissa gushed. "If my face is too ugly I’ll wear one of those ’to go’ bags over my head. You can do me in the ass if you want to. There’s a Men’s Room right over there."

"Are...are you serious?"

Melissa opened her purse. "All I’ve got on me is forty-six dollars and,"--she counted--"twenty-four cents. But I can write you a check."

 

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