Archive-name: Changes/karissa.txt

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Archive-title: Karissa 





    I knew the minute I laid eyes on her that she was a

hooker. No woman purposely looked that provocative unless

she was hustling. She was a stunning redhead in a black

spandex minidress with a halter top. Her large, ripe melons

threatened to spill out of their skimpy confinement, and her

deliciously narrow waist and full, rounded hips were defined

by a wide red patent belt. Her long, shapely legs were

enclosed in sheer black stockings, and her feet were

gracefully shod in matching red patent pumps with five inch

stiletto heels. Her fathomless jade eyes were deeply made up

in green and gold, framed by furry black lashes. Her plush

lips and long, graceful fingernails were polished in fiery

red. She told me her name was Cybil, and I had to have her.

    Picking her up was not a problem. We each knew what the

other was there for, and came to an amicable arrangement.

As we left, I thought I was going to shoot my load in my

pants just watching her hips undulate back and forth as she

strutted towards the door. On the way home she did

everything to keep me aroused. She fondled my raging hard-on

through my pants, blew in my ear, nibbled on my earlobe,

stuck her tongue in my ear, scraped her fingernails against

my exposed chest.

     We arrived at my place - not a moment too soon for my

aching cock. She took one look at my house and gasped.



     "Honey, if I had known you were loaded, I would

     have charged you double. C'mon, Lover; I'm going 

     to get that extra out of you yet!"



    The sex was great -- not just because she was skillful

(she was), not just because she was beautiful (she certainly

was). it was great because of the thrill of knowing that

this beautiful, talented temptress was a "professional". It

was wildly erotic to think that this exquisite woman, whom I

had never met before, was having sex with me on demand for

a cold cash payoff. I had always fantasized about being that

woman; perched enticingly on a barstool, waiting, then 

being propositioned, reaching an agreement, taking the

john someplace private, accepting his money, then fucking

him senseless.

    She stirred, as if to leave. As she got up, she noticed

a stack of photographs on the bedside table. Before I could

stop her, she picked them up and began to leaf through them.

                                                       

     "Mmmm, dynamite-looking Fox! I can see that I'm not

     your first Working Girl. Who is she? I don't think

     I've seen her around before."                 



     "It's me. I like to dress."                            

                                                            

She stopped dead. Her chin dropped and her eyes grew wide as

she went through the stack, alternately looking at the

photos, then me. When she had finished, a sly smile spread

across her lips. She pushed me down on my back, straddled my

hips, impaled herself on my now-rock-hard cock and rode me

for all I was worth.  She gently raked my chest with her

long fingernails as she softly spoke to me.

                                                            

     "No Lover, you don't just "like" to dress. You LOVE    

     it! The woman in these pictures proves that. You      

     dress to turn men on, to make them hot for you,        

     just like a pro. You make ME hot, just looking at

     your pictures. No girl looks that good by accident.

     Now, Honey, tell me what you REALLY want. What was

     it I saw in your eyes at the bar? TELL ME!"       

                                                    

     "You're right. I love to dress as a woman. I love

     to be sexy, provocative, sluttish. I have always 

     wanted to know what it's like to hook for a living;    

     to pick up a stranger, take him to a room, take his    

     money, and fuck him senseless. I saw you tonight,    

     and I saw the "me" I have always wanted to be. I     

     want to know how it feels."                          

                                                      

    Cybil's eyes gleamed as she took in my words, as if some

plan had crystallized in her head. She smiled her seductive

smile and rolled over until she lay beside me, still

gripping my cock tightly inside her drenched pussy. She

pressed her lush body against mine and continued to

rhythmicallly pump my fuck-pole into her. I could feel her

hot breath on my face as she spoke slowly, softly,

commandingly:                    

 

     "So you want to know how it feels, do you, Sugar?

     I can arrange that. I "love" to transform mousey        

     little guys like you into beautiful, sexy women.   

     It's a real turn-on for me. I don't have to ask       

     you how you would feel about it; I can see it in       

     your eyes. Look at me. Look at my body. You love it,

     don't you, Honey? You would love to have a body   

     like mine, wouldn't you? You would love to have a     

     pair of full, firm tits like mine. You crave a     

     nice, round ass and a tight, wet pussy of your     

     own, don't you? You would sell your soul to live    

     my life; to seduce men, make them hot for you, make    

     them give you anything you ask for, just so they    

     can feel your tits, feel your ass, feel your       

     whole body pressed against theirs, feel their        

     cock inside your tight, wet pussy. Imagine what

     that would "feel" like, Lover; a big, hard cock        

     inside you, driving in and out, hot cum spurting    

     into your pussy. You would die to be the kind of      

     woman that a man would pay anything to possess, 

     if only for a little while - wouldn't you, Sugar?

     Well, I'm not going to just tell you about it; I'm

     going to show you. You have a beautiful place with

     "lots" of bedrooms, and this neighborhood has great

     potential; the local clubs ooze money. It's an

     ideal set-up. Tell you what. I think I'm going to

     stay with you a while. In fact, I think I'm going

     to call a couple of my friends and have them stay

     here, too. My friends and I are going to set up a

     little business here, work the clubs, have some

     guys over. While we're here, we are going to

     change you into your "dream girl." Your new name

     will be -- Karissa, soft as a woman's caress. We

     will give the kind of body you have always wanted,

     the kind that men drool over. You will learn how

     to walk, talk, sit in ways that get guys hot. We

     will teach you how to give a blowjob that will

     drive a guy up the wall. We will show you how to

     get a guy off right under the table. When you are

     ready, we will take you out to the same bars you

     go to now. You are going to pick up tricks with

     us, bring them back here, and screw their brains

     out. We may even have you pick up your best

     friend. But you know what, Honey? I "guarantee" he

     won't have any idea who you are, and he wouldn't

     care if he did. All he will be able to think about

     is this hot-looking fox in front of him that he

     just HAS to get his cock into. And "you: will want

     him to do it, too, because by that time you will

     be one of us, and he will be just another source

     of income to you. The only way you will "really" get

     it on is with another hooker; WE know what it

     takes to get each other hot. I'm getting very hot

     just thinking about turning you into a really sexy

     whore. I want to see you all dressed up, made up,

     with curves in all the right places. We'll turn

     tricks together, but the special moments, the hot

     moments, we will save for each other. Besides,

     Lover, if you don't go along with it, I just might

     start showing these pictures of you around, you

     know what I mean?"



     The threats weren't necessary; by that time I would

have given her anything to do what she said she was going to

do. She probably knew that already, and just tossed them in

to add a little drama.

    She started that night by examining my feminine

wardrobe ("You do have good taste, Honey"). She laced me

into one of my corsets, then added stockings, heels, a sheer

black peignoir, full makeup, and my platinum blonde wig. She

selected my largest dildo ("I knew a slut like you would

have one") and fucked me into total submission.

    Cybil made a couple of calls the next morning, then

spent the next few hours feminizing me. By noon my body was

completely hairless, corsetted, stockinged, and padded in

all the right places. I was in a long silk dressing robe and

stiletto heels ("get used to them, Karissa; that's all you

will wear on your feet from now on"). The doorbell rang and

she lead me to the door and opened it. Her two friends,

Ginger and Monica, were every bit as striking as Cybil.



         "Ginger, Monica, I want you to meet Karissa. She 

          wants to become one of us, and I told her we would

          show her everything she needs to know. Won't we?"



She flashed them a big wink that I was meant to see. They

all laughed, then they led me to the kitchen where they all

went to work on me.

    I was completely made over that afternoon. Although I

was to wear wigs until my own hair grew out, they bleached

my hair a shimmering platinum blonde ("We wouldn't want any

dark roots to spoil your look now, would we Honey?"). My

eyebrows were thinned and trimmed into high arches. My ears

were double-pierced and two sets of studs were put in place

until the punctures healed. While Cybil and Ginger worked on

my makeup, Monica gave me a long, lustrous set of square-cut

sculptured nails. When they had finished, Ginger and Monica

each grabbed one of my wrists and pulled me forward over the

table. I lay there helplessly as Cybil moved in behind me.

I felt the cooling touch of an alcohol swab on my butt,

followed by the sharp sting of a needle.



     "What was that?"



     "Shh now, Karissa. That was your first hormone

     shot. You will get one every day from now on.

     Soon you will have curves in all the right places,

     and then you really will be just like us, just as

     I promised you. You'll like that, won't you, Baby?"



I could have said "no" right then, and called the whole

thing off. I could have sent them on their way and gone on

with my life. I really could have.



         "Yes, thank you. I will like that very much."



                                                        

    The days passed. I helped my three lovely companions

move their personal belongings in. At the same time, we

redecorated the house into a very graceful, very elegant,

very feminine home.The girls kept me corsetted and dressed

for "business" at all times. They took turns indoctrinating

me. I picked up their techniques, their approaches, their

attitudes, even their patterns of speech. I acted as their

receptionist, setting up appointments for clients who

called, greeting the clients at the door when they arrived,

making them feel relaxed and comfortable until their girl

was ready for them. The girls developed a sensual, exotic

ritual which they practiced on me every night. I would wait

in my bedroom, dressed in corset, stockings, heels, a sheer

pegnoir, fully made up and perfumed, as though I were

waiting for a client. Then one (and sometimes all three) of

the girls would enter, kiss and caress me for a while, then

gently force me down on the bed, administer my hormone shot,

then give me a long, slow fucking with a large dildo.

    As more time passed and the contours of my body changed,

I became more confident in my new lifestyle. I had begun to

practice "warming up" the clients while they waited, to make

their experience that much more pleasurable. It wasn't long

before they began to request that I participate in their

scenes. I found out that I really love to suck cock, not to

mention taking a big dick up the ass. I even took part in

a few Domination scenes. It's a real rush to have some guy

on his knees before me, begging me to whip him. It turns out

that a transsexual dominatrix is especially intimidating;

the poor wimp is reduced to a puddle of jelly when he

realizes his mistress is about to do to him what he does to

everyone else in his life.

    Soon I progressed from participating in the other girls'

scenes to turning my own tricks. It's thrilling to have

clients request  my  services. Cybil was right; it is an ego

trip to have that kind of power over a man, to hold his cock

in my hand and watch him spurt cum all over, knowing that at

this moment  I   own   him , and he will do anything I ask him to

if I will "please just make it last a little longer!"

    The girls kept at least one night open each week to get

out to the clubs, have a few drinks, dance, and maybe drum

up some new business. Working girls are just like salesmen;

they are always "on", always pitching, even when they are

out playing. One such Thursday night they decided it was

time to throw me a "graduation party". They spent an hour

fussing over me, giggling, teasing me, as though I was

going to my first prom. I was laced into a bright red satin

corset which compressed my waistline to a scant twenty-two

inches, while my hips flared out to a full, rounded

thirty-six . My legs were incased in gossemer-sheer black

stockings which fastened to the garters of my corset. The

seams of the stockings ran arrow-straight up the backs of my

legs. I wore a red lace underwired demi-bra which cradled

the undersides of my hormonally-enhanced tits and pushed

them high up on my chest, giving me full, rounded mounds and

a deep, luscious cleavage. My matching red lace bikini

panties kept me tucked in tightly, so that no telltale bulge

would spoil the  effect. I wore a black silk short-sleeved

blouse with a wrap-around front. The effect was to create a

plunging "V" neckline which showed of my lush cleavage and

just a hint of red lace bra for contrast. My ample curves

were squeezed into a knee-length black leather hobble skirt,

with a spray of diamond-shape rhinestones down the front.

With the blouse tucked into the skirt, my tiny waist was

defined by a wide red calfskin cincher belt. My feet were

shod in red calfskin pumps with five inch stiletto heels. My

platinum hair was fluffed out, with spikey bangs curling in

on my forehead. My sapphire eyes were made up dramatically

in dark blue and silver, rimmed completely in black liner,

and framed with mascara-ed lashes that resembled thick,

black fur. My prominent cheekbones were a deep rose. My

plush lips and long fingernails were blood-red, matching my

belt and shoes. The scent of Shalimar wafted gently on the 

night breeze as I strutted regally to the car with the other

girls. after a few minutes drive, I realized that Cybil was

taking me back to the same clup where we had met.

I should have been panicked; everyone there knew me well.

Yet I felt supremely confident and self-assured. I

instinctively knew that no one would connect the ravishing

beauty they were about to meet with the guy they had known

before. I now was what I had always been meant to be, and 

I was prepared to make the most of it. I communicated all of

this to Cybil with a glance and a smile. She understood

immediately.

    We had made a point to arrive towards the end of Happy

Hour. It was early enough to get one of the big,

semicircular booths near the dance floor and still catch a

lot of the businessmen who had stopped by to socialize after

work. No one showed me the slightest hint of recognition,

not even waitresses who had known me by name for months.

That doesn't mean we didn't get noticed; far from it. Every

eye in the place, both male and female, tracked the four of

us like radar all the way from the door to our table. I

think our bar bill amounted to one bottle of champagne that

night, and that was the first one. Once we established our

preference, fresh bottles kept appearing at our table like

magic for the rest of the evening.

    We got up to dance shortly after the dance music program

started; after all, we were there to have a good time. Of

course, there was more to it than just fun - working girls

are always "on", remember? The sight of four gorgeous foxes

grinding their bodies to a pounding disco beat, as though

they were making love to each other, is a powerful

aphrodesiac. It is also a more effective introduction than

any calling card ever devised by man. Sure enough, within

twenty minutes our dance cards were full.

    Business, as they say, was brisk. Our "girl's night out"

took on the aspects of just another day at the office, with

frequent trips by each of us out to the parking lot. True to

his word, the valet never allowed us to be interrupted at an

awkward moment. I was so impressed by his devotion to duty

(not to mention his endowment), that I gave him his "tip"

two hours before closing. On the other hand, I did make sure

he had my "business" number; an occasional freebie for

promotional purposes is fine, but business is business. The

same is true for those gentlemen who bought us really good

champagne; it  is  pricey when you buy it in one of those

places, and we  were  there primarily to have a good time. We

showed them one in return, but before they left they had our

phone number and first-hand knowledge of the kinds of

services we provided.

    Shortly before last call I heard a familiar voice ask me

to dance. I looked up, and my heart skipped a beat. I  knew

this guy! His name was Ken. We hadn't exactly been best

friends, but we had gone drinking together often. Yet here

he was COMING ON TO ME, as though he had never seen me

before in his life! I glanced sideways and caught Cybil's

eye. We spoke volumes with just that one glance; I saw that

she understood what was happening. I looked back at him,

flashed him my very best come-hither smile and said yes. As

we danced, I played coy, pretending he was a complete

stranger. We went through introductions and some small talk,

and I think he caught on to what we were. At that point I

really turned up the heat on this guy. I had always thought

he was good-looking; now, I found him really attractive.

That always makes the job easier. I did my very best "Dirty

Dancing" routine. I danced close with my hands on his hips,

alternately grinding my pussy into his crotch and my tits

against his chest. He placed his arm around me and held me

as I leaned way back, my fingertips sliding down his arms.

He pulled me up again, and I slid my fingers up his arms

again, transferring them to the exposed flesh of his

muscular chest. I twirled around so that we faced in the

same direction. I arched my back and reached backward with

my right arm so that my hand encircled his neck, my head

rested against his shoulder, and my ass nestled against his

crotch. I swayed my hips back and forth to the slow,

hypnotic beat, grinding my ass against his massive hardon. I

could almost hear him sweat, and his hands encircled me and

ran upwards to fondle my tits, then downwards to feel my

pussy. I knew at that moment that I owned him. I also knew

he would make the obvious play at any momemt. I was ready

for him.



         "Karissa, I'm so hot for you right now that I'm 

          about to come in my pants. Let's go someplace

          more private and talk about it."

 

         "Gee, Honey, I don't know. It's late, I have

          to work tomorrow, and we're going to need

          a  lot  of time to do it right."



         "Then I would have to make it worth your while,

          wouldn't I?"



        

Gotcha. Two thoughts flashed through my mind in quick 

succession:

            1) This guy is worth BIG bucks, and   

            2) He has never been to my home. He would

               have no idea who I was, or had been.

The decision was obvious.



         "In that case, Sugar, I think we can work something

          out. Let me just excuse myself from my roommates,

          then we can go back to our place. It's just a few

          minutes away. They won't disturb us when they get

          home. Unless, of course, we  want  them to."



     I led him back to our table and told the girls that Ken

would be taking me home, that we had some business to talk

over. I flashed them a smile and a big wink, then let him

lead me towards the door. As we walked away from the table,

I glanced back, and saw Cybil mouth the words "I told you

so." The valet brought Ken's Porsche around. Ken tipped him

and got in. I waited for the valet to come around and get my

door. When he did, I surreptitiously massaged his

re-aroused dick, gave him a smile and a wink, and mouthed

the words "Call Me." Then I got in the car, and we were

gone.

    Where should I begin? Business has been great; so much

so that the four of us have decided to extend our

relationship indefinitely. I made my own decision a while

back; I now have a real pussy and a 34-D bustline.

Ken is still a good friend and valued client. He steers a

lot of business our way, so I allow him to take me out from

time to time. He knows all about me now, and certainly knows

what I do for a living. Instead of being turned off, he says

he thinks I am the most exciting woman he has ever known. I

think I'll keep him around for a while; this might have

potential if I ever decide to retire. I'm not ready to do

that just now; I'm still having too much fun. Cybil,

Ginger, Monica, and I are just like family. We share

thoughts, feelings, emotions. There is a lot of love here.

Speaking of love, you will have to excuse me; I have a

standing date with a gorgeous redhead and a very large

dildo.



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