Careful what you dream for Part 2
The second part in a series of bad science fiction--
Gene made it to work late of course, and punched up his computer within his cubicle. Grunting a hello to his co-workers, he grabbed his 16 ounce coffee cup, took a cigarette of the pack and headed out the door and down the street to the coffee shop.
The high plains sun was already searing the concrete beneath his feet and his eyes wistfully followed the two women walking sown the street in front of him, dressed in flip flops, halter tops and short, thigh high skirts.
They still looked fresh and cool and his black slacks and buttoned-down white shirt were already absorbing the heat. Their hair flowed in the breeze that was beginning to pick-up while his shoulder length hair was tied up in a neat pony tail. He longingly watched them, with their painted nails and loose cool clothing.
He held the door for them as they entered the shop together. The rich smell of freshly brewed coffee and exotic lattes wafted over them in the air-conditioned building, the women chatted with the barrista as she worked on their orders, as Gene looked over the black and white photographs on the wall of the shop while waiting his turn in the queue.
The photographs were actually prints of a famous blonde actress in various alluring poses, her plutonium hair a stark contrast to the black and white forma. She had an exquisite body with ample cleavage and classic, toned legs. He envied her. Gene loved the photographs.
He left the café and returned to work, glad that he had worn the cool lacy pink thong instead of his bikini briefs beneath the slacks. Wafts of cool air would wisp up his trousers and encircle his stretch-lace encased balls, then slide up his ass cheeks as he walked, sort of cooling him as the heat began to intensify.
Gene opened his mailbox and saw the peculiar FYEO message and immediately sent it to the spam box. He began to read and answer emails as he started his day and then he saw the peculiar FYEO message again. This time it had a “2” next to it.
He sent the message into the spam box and continued working, lining out his day.
As he was finishing the last reply of the morning, Gene watched as the FYEO 3 Last warning hit his in-box.
Gene ran the computer sweeps, rebooted his computer and re-opened his email.
It was the only thing left in his mail.
He opened it.
The video began and it was of Jean fucking herself that morning. As it ended it the video flashed a message. “Respond now, or this will be sent to your superiors.”
Gene’s hands were shaking as he simply punched “yes?” and sent it back to the unknown sender. His heart raced as he waited for the reply, time seemingly to warp around him.
“Good, you understand. You will be sent instructions at 15:00 your hours. Follow them.” The rest of his e-mail reappeared in his in-box.
He was a nervous wreck the balance of the day and the message arrived promptly with a complete shopping list and locations of the shops where the supplies were to be purchased; instructed him what to wear, what to bring and where to be at “2300 your hours”. Gene was out of his chair and out of the door as soon as he was able to do it, mumbling something about a f****y emergency as he left.
Following a frantic day of shopping, Gene got back to the house and ran a hot tub of water, applying skin moisturizer to the water.
He lounged in the water as instructed and thought about the past day. He had barely made the beauty parlor, where the big women had shaved, waved, plucked, cut shaved-again all the hair on his body but his head and little ‘landing strip’ pointing in a “V” towards the base of his cock.
A slender, blonde man with a great sense of humor had styled his long hair and dyed it blonde before he left the salon.
Gene twisted his hair above his head and slid into the water, he reveled with the feel of smooth skin--her smooth skin--beneath her fingers and began to run her fingers all over her body in the soft liquid.
Her dry, sc****d and waxed skin seemed to absorb the moisturizer and she noticed that her clitty was becoming hard as she continued to rub her skin beneath the water. Her hands flowed up and sought her nipples, making them hard and erect. The clitty stiffened and rose out of the water and she couldn’t resist grabbing it and giving it a few slow, loving jerks. But her phone alarm rang, warning her that the time was up and she climbed out of the tub, found a soft terry cloth and dried-off.
She sauntered into her bedroom and stared at the pile of bags on her bed. Jean searched through them until she found the bag which she thought was lingerie.
Everything on the list had come from shops all over the city. Per the instructions, she had just showed the clerk Gene’s identification and the package was picked up. As she was pushed for time, she didn’t really get a good look at a lot of the items.
Jean pulled on the black silk thong and began to apply her makeup as instructed, doing the nails first. She found the sheer black bra and breast forms in her shopping bags and slipped them on, savoring the weight on her chest as she moved. She checked herself in the mirror then found the garter-belt, struggling to get the lines straight on the hosiery and fumbling with the snaps.
Make-up, an art she really hadn’t practiced a lot, became a real chore and she opted with what she hoped was a sexy, slutty green look to set off her eyes.
The dress was simple, black and short, with the hem barely covering her ass. The air felt cooler on her exposed thighs which began to tingle beneath the garter straps. It seemed to spring to life for a second and then clung to her, smoothing and shaping her curves.
Her boobs jiggled and got in her way as she tried on the four inch-stilettos, but she noticed that for falsies, they seemed to hold in place and feel natural. Jean wobbled on the stilettos for a bit, but remembering the training videos she had watched on the internet, began to place one foot in front of the other and setting her heel down first.
Her tits really began to bounce and she remembered to straighten her shoulders as she walked, the boobies jutted forward. Jean practiced walking as she ran about the house, collecting everything she was told to bring, including her birth papers. She stuck it in a cubic foot box and grabbed her wallet and keys.
She carried the box to the car, loaded it and placed the wallet on the dash before she got in. Jean drove into the night, heading west upon a lonely high-plains blacktop.
About five miles into her journey, flashing blue and red lights appeared in her rearview mirror and Jean pulled over, her heart thumping at being dressed and in contact with the law.
“Driver’s license?” growled the officer.
Silently Jean handed him the document.
“Wait right here,” he said and walked back to his pick-up.
Lights of a big semi-truck pulling a huge covered trailer flashed on about 400 yards in the distance. One hundred yards away, a black van pulled on its’ lights and screeched towards Jean’s car. Three men in black jumped out of it, one yanking open the door and pulling her out, the another sliding inside the seat and starting the car. The third man grabbed Jean’s other arm and held it in his vise-like hands. The pair of men dragged Jean into the van and slammed the door. She saw her car disappear into the van before the hood was placed over her head.