Dating Diane

Story- Alex Streuth

All characters depicted in this story are eighteen years of age or older. Contains graphic pornographic material that may not be suitable for some viewers, reader discretion is advised.

“Diane I don’t think this relationship is working out.”

Diane looked aghast. “But Harold, you can’t mean that, I thought everything was going great with us.”

“No, I’m afraid it’s just not working out.”

“Well what is it?” Diane was fervent, she looked crestfallen.

“I think it’s just best if we part.”

“You can’t mean that, there must be something we can do.”

“Well,” Harold tapped the end of his cigarette, ashing it, “if we were to continue, mind you I say if… there would have to be certain… changes made.”

“Changes, what kind of changes?”

“Your nose for one, it’s too large, I would like it more pert. Your waist is too wide, and …”

“Harold, that’s being unfair.” Diane screwed her face up in annoyance.

“You’re right Diane, it is unfair, which is why it’s best if we simply parted ways. I’m not going to say ‘If you really care for me you’d do this for me,’ because, frankly, if you don’t want to change for me I won’t mind, and I won’t hold it against you.” Harold paused and took a drag on his cigarette, shifting his position in his chair a bit.

“But what doesn’t change is my need for certain things in a relationship, which you are not currently providing me. Yes, it’s selfish, but there you are.”

Diane chewed her lower lip, mulling Harold’s words over. She considered leaving, stalking about angrily, acquiescing, complaining, arguing, and taking a sip from her drink.

She blinked and lifted her glass, taking a sip from her ice tea.

“I see,” she said, finally. “Well…” The waiter came over and Harold signaled for the check. She had been going out with him for about a week but she liked him. He was tall, handsome, confident, suave… But he was also arrogant, or, actually… Upon further thought it seemed less like arrogance and more like supreme self-assuredness.

He had a magnetic quality to him. She had a strong desire to simply give in to him, to lean on him, to submit to him… Such thoughts flitted through her head and she dismissed them easily. She was no child; she was a full grown woman, shrewd, calculating and intelligent.

“I’m afraid you’re right then,” she said coolly, putting her glass back. “It would be best if we didn’t waste any more time on an incompatible relationship. Might I say, since we are parting ways, that it has been a pleasure and that, while I had wished we would have hit it off a little more I find it entirely your fault for this inability for us to be together. What you are demanding…”

Harold turned to the side, dismissing her.

“What you are demanding is selfish, rude, and self-centered.”

Harold put his cigarette down, letting it smoke in the ashtray. He reached into his lap and took up his napkin, bringing it up to his lips and wiping them. He put a pair of reading glasses on, still ignoring Diane, and examined the bill, opening his wallet to cover it. Bunching the napkin up he left it on the table and stood up.

Without so much as a goodbye or an acknowledgement of her presence he stepped away from their table at the outdoor café and hailed a cab.

“How dare you just walk off while I’m talking to you.” Diane knew it was best to just let the issue go, to wash her hands of him, but she wanted Harold to know how she felt, to hear just how badly he was treating her.

“Harold, Harold come back.” A taxi stopped and he opened the door. Diane hesitated for just a moment before sprinting after him. He looked up at her, now seated in the taxi’s rear, and gazed impassively. Diane stopped and considered for a moment, still angry, and then impulsively jumped in after him, sitting down to his right, and closed the door.

Harold turned back to face the driver and to ignoring her.

Diane turned to him, anxious now, not frightened but unsure of herself. What was she doing? Why had she followed him? She was angry with him but she was simply inviting more abuse if she stayed with him.

“Harold,” she said, reaching a hand out to his leg, patting it, “Harold please, talk to me.”

“Your mouth,” he replied, “is made ugly by your words.”

Diane reacted angrily, but controlled herself, reaching her hand back to her lap and closing her mouth. She sat silently, thinking, and remained still for some time.

After several minutes with no interaction she grew restless again.

“Harold, Harold please, speak to me.” She looked at him, pensive.

Harold sniffed, reaching into his pocket and examining his watch. He turned his head to the side, not avoiding her so much as getting more comfortable.

The car pulled up outside his home. He paid the driver and got out, not waiting to see if Diane followed. She did.

He walked up his front step, checked his mailbox, and unlocked the door. He did not close the door behind him though, allowing, through his so doing, an indirect invitation to Diane.

She took it, stepping through the door, looking around as she did so. She had not been to his house before. It was… subdued.

She looked around:

The house was a single-level, ranch style home with low lighting and a dearth of knickknacks. It was austere, tastefully decorated with a minimum of trinkets but lived-in nonetheless. Everything was organized, in its place, wall hangings and objects of curiosity immediately communicated the homeowner to be cosmopolitan.

She saw jungle masks, a Japanese sword and fan, and a series of Russian nesting dolls.

“This is a nice place…” She said, and then scowled, berating herself for being so lame.

She tried to regain her anger, to feel indignant again, but had to struggle at it.

She wandered into the kitchen, thirsty.

“Would you like something to drink?” Harold asked. He was lounging against the kitchen counter, obviously at ease. Diane was struck by his attitude, he was suddenly casual again. She realized that her coming here, and her remaining, was like acquiescence.

She had already reacted to his earlier behavior, had berated… He had ignored her and she had pursued… Now, at this point, she had very little left to use against him.

And that was the stranger thing; it had felt like a struggle all of a sudden, especially there in the taxi, a competition of some sort, like a staring contest…

And she had blinked.

She looked at him again. He still exuded that magnetic aura, that presence… And she could see by his slight smile that he was sizing her up.

“Meet me in the study after you’re done, and we’ll get started on your changes…”

He drifted out of the kitchen, leaving her alone with the drink, and with her thoughts. She could still leave… If she stayed she was committing to something that she might be in over her head for… and yet, she was curious, intrigued, fascinated by what was transpiring. She finished the drink, setting it down on the counter, and then surprised herself by hurrying in the direction Harold had gone.

He was dressed in a robe when she entered, looking for all the world like Hugh Hefner. He smiled at her, like a lion at its pretty, as she entered. He gestured for her to sit down and then approached her with a slight device.

She could see it better, as he drew near, it was a hypodermic. He held it out to her for inspection, as though it were a fine bottle of wine. He tilted it, so that she could see the clarity of its contents, and then looked at her. She felt that she was to respond.

Still surprising herself she nodded, accepting his offer, and felt the gentle sting as he injected her with its amber liquid. “You’ll be out for a few hours,” he informed her, “you’ll be spending the night.”

She nodded again, growing drowsy, and then leaned her head against the chair and relaxed her muscles. Every muscle in her body relaxed, and then the soporific effect kicked in again, really knocking her out… And she slept.

Harold returned to his sequence of instruments, setting the used needle down on the right side and picking the next in the line up from the left. He had a very precise order, an elegant algorithm he was effecting, and everything was prepared.

He had not counted on Diane accepting his demands of her, but he had planned for someone, some woman at some point, being here. It was not his style to kidnap or force them, preferring instead a more malleable crowd.

His work did not take him long, he made few errors, he had done this before and had made his mistakes then.

Diane woke up some hours later feeling sore and dazed. She was in a dark room, darker still than the low light of the den. The temperature was cooler, she blinked: She was naked, she realized. She could feel air on her skin. Rather than panicking she felt at ease, comfortable, as though she had supreme confidence in Harold.

She thought about it, recognizing that she did have the utmost faith in him, and trust. It was hard to understand, or explain to herself, but it had something to do with the way he carried himself, the aura that he gave off. As she had thought about it before it was magnetic, and she had been drawn in by it. She now felt the same way about him as he did about himself.

She reached her hands up to feel her face, the gentle throbbing drawing her attention. She could feel the plumpness of her lips, the fullness of them, as she ran her tongue along the outside of them.

Her arms seemed unresponsive, but it was dark and she could not see why they did not act as she bade them. She tried to look down but her neck seemed stuck. None of this bothered her as much as she would have though, however. She took it in stride, as though discovering the facets of a new jacket, its hidden pockets and zippered compartments.

“Hmmmm,” she thought, “I wonder where Harold is, I should like to ask him about the changes he’s made.” She thought about it some more. “This seems to be a bit more than he had talked about earlier, he had mentioned my nose, and, something else, ah, my waist…”

She did feel a difference around her abdomen, as for her nose she could not tell. She would need a mirror at some point. She was still rather unconcerned with the soreness in her body, attributing it to stiffness, but was curious to how she now looked.

“I hope I’m beautiful,” she thought, “although I suppose he could have just as well disfigured me. I would hope he did not, but, I have only known him for a week.” She immediately regretted her impulses, wishing that she had at least had him outline his proposed changes. Still, from what she had seen of him, and from the small amount she had gotten to know him she knew that he was very strong and secure in himself. She knew that whatever worries she might have he could allay when he arrived.

“Its alright,” she told herself, “Harold can take care of me, I’m kind of his now,” she smiled to herself. Yes, he definitely had to take her now, she had agreed to his changes. “He said that he needed certain things out of a relationship, and now well…” She was going, had gone, the extra mile for him, there was no way he could break it off with her now.

She smiled to herself and crinkled her eyes, genuinely pleased with her decision. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Harold’s face, he would have to be pleased with her, and the admiration, the affection he would shower on her. She imagined feeling his warmth, his embrace…

Here he was now, she could hear his footsteps. Ah, she must be in the basement, and that would explain the chill. She heard him flick a switch and the light flickered on. He approached, still in his robe, groggy and out of sorts. He squinted against the light and reached out to steady himself on a beam. Diane smirked a bit to herself, it looked like he had just gotten out of bed.

“Harold,” she called to him, and he turned an eye to her as he walked up. He positioned himself, dropping his drawers, and closed his eyes as he leaned his head idly to the side a bit, still half sleepy.

Diane’s words were rudely interrupted by the intrusion of her date’s cock. She recoiled in immediate shock, feeling taken advantage of. “Harold, get back, stop, I demand that you cease this instant! This is no way to treat your new girlfriend on her second date, Harold stop it!” She was immediately soured on their relationship. She had known him to be charming at first, and then, when he had grown withdrawn and started talking about his ‘needs’ she had been patient, she felt, all in all, even gracious.

But this, this was too much, she was not some slut who put out on the second date. “Harold stop it this instant and call me a cab, I’m going home,” she said, angry, livid. Who did he think he was? And after all she had done for him.

She cooled for a half second, imagining her new nose and waist… “Well, it was nice of him to indulge her in some free plastic surgery…” But that had been for his benefit, so that he could look at her and see what he wanted. Well there her generosity ended! She would not be treated like, like, like some sex doll!

“Harold get away from me! I am not some stupid toy for your depraved libido!”

She could feel him getting softer in her mouth, she must be getting through. “There, that’s better, now get that thing out of my mouth and,” he yawned, still sleepy… “Harold are you even listening to a word I’m saying?!’

He blinked, still yawning, and turned to face the stairs. Diane was beneath him, her fully amputated body installed in the alcove quite neatly. Her mouth was large and inflated with collagen, her nose pert, almost gone entirely. Her waist was a nice snug fit, trim and cinched superbly in the confining clutch of the installation. Her legless lower half sat in a basin while her upper half was secured in bands and rubber. He knew all this but as he glanced down he took it all in again.

Her hair, recently shorn to a half inch, stubbling along her head, her eyes, furious and indignant, staring up at him, her ears, free and unadorned, and her mouth, well, her mouth serving as her most salient feature at the moment.

“Just a minute dear I’ll be right back up,” he called, to someone out of sight on the landing. Diane was surprised to hear those words, and looked off to the side, needing to see who he was talking to. She was mad, and hurt. Here she was, making the commitment to this, this man… Whom she had liked, had agreed to change for and here he was treating her like, like…

She felt his flaccid member stirring to life in a most peculiar manner. Moments later she cringed and made a face as his urethra pulsed a strong, hot line of urine into her mouth. She frowned horrendously and felt like retching, but she swallowed, or rather, the liquid coursed down her throat. She couldn’t stand it, she was sputtering, trying to make sense of the intense and sudden interaction they were engaged in—not at her invitation, of course, but somehow she was accepting it.

She wasn’t accepting it mentally, no she loathed it, she wanted to jump back, yell, lash out at him and call the cops but her mouth and throat were accepting it… They seemed, sort of built for it, in a way.

“Yes dear just a minute, I’m just finishing up, hold your horses.” Harold seemed a little miffed by the exchange, and impatient with his bladder. He pushed, sending an even stronger stream shooting into Diane’s overburdened mouth. She frowned more severely and swallowed, seeing no other real course of action, but she saved up some choice words even more acrid than the liquid that passed by her lips, ready to shoot them back out at Harold the moment he let up.

She had to wait, and wait, swallowing, taking his liquid, and wait, while he shifted feet, sniffed, cracked his neck, sort of hopped a bit, shaking some last drops out onto her nose and then reaching down to pull his pants back up. He ignored her as he did so, not so much as making eye contact as he put his robe back on and turned around.

“Yes I’m coming just a second; I just had to use the restroom.” She could hear his feet on the steps, and he stopped for a moment to turn the lights out, and then was gone. She thought she heard a woman’s voice calling him back upstairs but it was unintelligible. She was furious, she was going to give that man a taste of her mind!

She finished clearing her throat, the liquid now securely in her demesnes, and, outraged, finally got the air to scream. She screamed. She screamed bloody murder and shook in her bonds. She wasn’t sure how she was held but she could definitely tell that she was being held. Her amputated body fumed impotently in its installation. Her voice, loud and clear in her mind, came out a croak to the room. All that passed by her windpipe was a lot of hot air, literally, her absent voicebox gave no meaning to her exertions.

In her mind, at least for now, there remained the phantom of words, given shape by her thoughts, but in reality… nothing, just idle exhalations of air.

When Harold had visited in his sleep he had heard no complaints, no furious words, only the air of her words, gently fellating his manhood as he visited. He had imparted to her what he needed to rid himself of and was now content to return to his girlfriend upstairs.

He felt at ease, grateful, in part, for her service, but also dismissive of Diane as a person, seeing her now more as the functional object she had become. He did not feel bad at not telling Diane everything that was going to happen to her, he had tried to explain, but she had not wanted to hear it, electing instead to interrupt him, to accuse him of being selfish…

Well, had it not been of her own free will that she had come, that she had accepted his invite to his home and of his needle?

It wasn’t his fault that she was where she was now, but if you asked him she fit in much better where she was now than if they had tried to broker a relationship along her terms. He had been truthful with her before, it was simply impossible. She was giving him now everything he needed, everything he had ever wanted from her. If she had inferred otherwise well that was just her simple girlish imaginings.

He turned back to his bedroom companion, clutching her and stopping her gentle feminine warbling by impaling her on his member, putting her in her place for the night. She suckled, as though on a pacifier, and began going back to sleep now that equilibrium for her was restored.

Harold patted her on the back, feeling her front push on his crotch, and thought back to how difficult her changes had been to effect. He smiled as he felt her gentle sucking and dismissed her from his mind.

He leaned back and settled his head between the bed’s two mammoth breast pillows. He had gotten these a few months back, after explaining to them that they had to undergo an enlargement if their relationship with him was to continue. They had huffed at first, as Harold observed most of their initial configurations to do, but they had come to his house, in a different placement and size, of course, and their birth form had accepted his needle, and now here they were, perfect as they were meant to be.

It seemed silly to him that most of their initial configurations placed so much value on their factory settings, he knew that with just a little tweaking their true beauty could be brought to the surface. He closed his eyes, feeling the comforting embrace of the soft pillows behind him, knowing that their extraneous parts were safely tucked away inside the bedframe.

He yawned, turning a bit to his side, frowning a bit before relaxing again. It was the motion his pillows were using that caused him to frown, it wasn’t gentle. It returned to its normal massaging routine after he reached up and squeezed a nipple, effectively stopping her complaint. They seemed sometimes to be trying to communicate, which was absurd, but it was nothing a good nipple twist couldn’t cure.

He smiled because it stopped, it always stopped, they acquiesced because they understood their place, they knew that this was really the best for them. The best kind of relationship, one where the rules were clearly outlined ahead of time and everyone, no, he corrected himself, everything knew its place.

He dreamed as he slept of a disembodied pussy that mounted and milked his cock while he ate his meal at the breakfast table…

He snored, asleep in bliss, his bed companion suckling as it, too, slept, its silent voice cooing into his engorging manhood, purring as it, over the coming hours, nursed from his cock…

He woke up the next morning feeling refreshed and ready to face the day, going over the details in his mind of the next project he wanted to work on. He strode with purpose, outlining plans in his head, as he slung on his robe and trekked downstairs.

His thoughts were occupied as he approached Diane. He stroked his chin and stared ahead at the wall, relaxing as he leaned into the wall, bracing for the beginning his morning ritual. He glanced down as he finished, coming out of his reverie for a moment as though noticing Diane for the first time. “Good morning,” he said, feeling chipper, and then, without further ado, shook himself off on her face and turned to start the shower.

It was going to be a great day.