Meg's Crush

All characters portrayed are eighteen years of age or older. For adults only, contains explicit sexual content and content that may not be suitable for all viewers. The author cannot be responsible for the existence or delivery of any content which might be found offensive; Reader discretion is advised.

Meg’s Crush

By Alex Streuth

“You know what would be kinda cool…”

“We are so not having this conversation Thomas.”

“…is if you opened your mouth up so that I could put my cock in it.”

“Stop it Tommy, don’t be a dick.”

“A big dick maybe? Maybe the the kind that’s going to fuck your twat face?”

“Oh how original, now just stop it, it’s not funny.”

“You’re kind of funny, every time you open your mouth its like you’re talking with this moist, vibrating sideways vagina.”

“That’s it; I’m done talking with you…”

“Good, because I’m done listening, but I do enjoy watching your lips flap. You know what would be even better though, if they were just a bit larger, you know, kind of donut-shaped.”

“That’s just eww, gross.”

“See, right now, you did this thing with your mouth, it was hot, you scrunched your face up into this look of disgust, but more importantly your lips pulled apart, and I got a good look at the inside of your face cunt.”

Meg waved her arms in protest at the mental image. “Ugh Tommy just stop, okay?”

“Its funny, you know, because your lips are moving but there are no words coming out. I can see you flapping your gums but it’s like a blubbering mass of fat quivering in a tight jelly mold.”

Meg screwed her face up in revulsion at Tommy’s vulgar and offensive language. She had always known him to be abrasive but now he was really starting to irk her. She decided that enough was enough; not wanting him to get a reaction out of her was not worth having to endure such vile remarks.

“Tommy you’re crazy you know, you can’t say things like that.”

“You’re just sad because your mouth is lonely, it doesn’t have anything to play with, but I can give it a nice, big, cozy playmate.”

Meg stared coolly at Tommy, trying to get him to stop, but he just smiled at her, smirking really, and sat smugly.

“How’d you like to rent your mouth cooze out to a nice well-groomed occupant Meg? Shall we say $200 a month? I’d offer more but I’m not sure how new the foundation is, it seems kind shaky, like it could just start wobbling at any time...”

“Tommy you ..!”

“There it goes, wobbling…”

Meg fumed, suddenly self-conscious of her mouth, her lips, and her tongue. She started to speak but then stopped, seeing the way Tommy was watching her. His gaze seemed to penetrate her orifice, as though seeing inside, as though measuring the width of her cheeks, the length of the roof of her mouth, the size of her uvula. She shuddered and set her pocketbook on the table, reaching into it in search of her keys.

She was ready to go.

“Awwww,” he said, in mock injury, “it was a good offer you know, well, you could get more easily, but only if you made it a little more luxurious. A real quality pad wouldn’t have those pesky, obnoxious teeth in the way.” Meg was almost beyond being offended but she couldn’t repress revulsion at the picture Tommy was now drawing.

The picture Tommy was, in fact, now actually drawing. He had taken out a pencil and was sketching quickly on a pad, glancing up at Meg’s face and then down at the pad, the first few strokes done entirely without looking at the paper.

It was obvious to Meg what he was drawing, he was drawing her mouth. She watched as he rapidly shaded it and added small details. More accurately it was the bottom portion of Meg’s face, with everything above her lips conveniently left out, of course, and from the looks of it her mouth was occupying the entirety of the lower whole of her face. What made Meg pause, her pocketbook still out, was the sheer audacity of it.

In the picture her mouth had no teeth; it was a wide inviting hole… her lips were oriented vertically, in the picture, so that her lower face had simply become a warm, pulsing, inviting vagina. Her nose had even been supplanted by some sort of clitoral facsimile for god’s sake! She wanted to reach over and smack him but she couldn’t bring herself to stop watching him draw. It was just so, so wrong.

Tommy reached over and clasped Meg’s wrist, bringing her out of her thoughts with his touch. He reached nimbly over her fingers and drew out a tube of her lipstick.

“Mmmm,” he said, holding it up to his face and twisting the knob, freeing a healthy measure of the bright red cosmetic. He finished spinning it and then lowered the stick to the pad, tracing it around the lips… The vaginal facsimile quickly took on the bright red color of the lipstick.

Meg was growing embarrassed. She looked around, scanning the mostly empty café, scared to death that someone else might see what her date was doing.

“That’s it Tommy I’m leaving,” she seethed, showing teeth.

Tommy merely grinned back at her, his gaze boring into her teeth, as though willing them away. He narrowed his eyes and widened his grin, staring, watching her lips, and then, to Meg’s shock, he began slowly thrusting his pelvis under the table, as though humping the air.

She opened her mouth in surprise, making an ‘O’ of disbelief momentarily which caused Tommy’s eyes to flare. She watched as he lowered the drawing under the table and held it close to his thrusting pelvis.

Tommy smiled, he could see the indignity of his date grow, if such was possible, and she promptly shut her mouth.

“Tommy I’m not joking, you promised me a nice dinner and if you’re going to act like this then fuck you, I’m leaving.”

Tommy smirked, but nodded slightly, as though finally acknowledging something she said. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a pre-written check, waving it in front of Meg’s face. Her eyes studied it as he moved it languidly back and forth in front of her.

Her lips trembled… Her mouth went dry… That was a lot of money…

“Uh,” she said, “uh…” She didn’t know what to say. She bit her lip.

Tommy held the check out so she could see it good and well and then lowered it down beneath the table, to where the napkin drawing was, tapping the paper of the check against the fabric of his pants.

Meg’s nostrils flared, and she considered getting up and leaving again… But, it was a lot of money, enough that she wouldn’t have to work for like three years…

She licked her lips, considering, glancing up to Tommy’s eyes, he was still watching her, studying her mouth and her face… Then down to gaze beneath the table, as though she could see through it to what lay beneath…

Money… and humiliation… She quickened her breath a bit, thinking about what it would mean if she gave in, if she capitulated… It would mean debasing herself, giving in not only to the demeaning act of getting down on her knees and taking the check from him—and she knew he would no doubt demand he took the check from him in her teeth—but also that it would mean validating everything he had just said, that she was no better than a face hole, her body a walking attachment, a means of locomotion for her precious mouth, which was no better than a permanent home for his cock.

She shuddered, these thoughts racing through her mind in the space of a few seconds. She screwed up her face, trying to decide.

Tommy smiled and tapped the paper against his pants again, as though calling her over.

God she didn’t want to do it, she wanted to just get in her car and go but it was so much money!

“I’ll just pretend this isn’t happening,” she thought, swallowing and sliding downwards in the chair. She slunk down until she was out of the chair and on her knees, deathly embarrassed as she heard the conversation in the room stop for a moment, heads turning.

She could feel them watching, she knew right now it just looked a little strange, as though she had dropped a fork or napkin… But they weren’t going to look away until she had gotten back up again.

“Its not too late,” she thought, “I can sit back up, smile politely, take my purse and walk out…”

But the check beckoned, Tommy beckoned…. He tapped his pants with the check again and by now the various scattered patrons in the café had begun to sense that something was out of place.

Meg crawled forward, her head hanging in shame, her eyes watering in tears, humiliated beyond belief, but wanting that check… She crawled, moving her hands forward, under the table, approaching his legs… She could feel his warmth on her cheek now, as she leaned forward with her head to take the check…

The café was definitely focused on her now, she could feel their stares. She wished the tablecloths hung a little lower, or that the tables weren’t small and circular.

Of course it was going to be public though, Tommy had picked the café, and she hated it, she hated what he was making her do… But it wasn’t him, not really, it was her, she had done it, he hadn’t forced her…

She wanted the money and he was making her work for it, he was making her beg for it…

She touched her teeth on the check, her eyes looking up for a moment as she clutched it, and there was a sudden flash, a blinding light. She blinked. She looked up to see Tommy laughing, then tilting his head and smirking condescendingly down on her again. He blinked, positioning the camera again, and snapped another shot. His face was vivid, savoring the moment, engraining the tears in her face, the look of utter despair and appall on her features…

“Tommy no,” she said, having a hard time talking and holding the check in her mouth at the same time. It came out more like “Wommy woah.” He snickered and stood up, snatching the check from her mouth as he did so. It was slightly wet with her saliva.

She cursed herself for letting go, she should have just stayed quiet, bore it, and quickly gotten away from it. But that camera, there was no way… She couldn’t take the thought of it, of her, captured on film… she had to get that film from him!

And that check, he still had it but it should be hers!

She got up, having to crawl out from under the table as Tommy pranced away. She grunted a bit, finally getting out and standing up, blushing, embarrassed, as she saw all the people looking at her. She looked at them for a moment, hanging her head in shame, and then turned, angry, to chase him.

“Ooooh, come back here!” She yelled, running at him.

Tommy giggled, holding the check out to distract her, holding his arms akimbo, and then, when she turned to grab it, twirling, so that she charged past him. “Hahahah,” he laughed, “silly cow.”

She turned to make another pass at him; he held the check out again and held the camera out in the other hand. She looked at one, then the other, trying to decide which one to lunge for, Tommy played keep away, grabbing his arm back as she reached for it and then, twisting, dodged away from her. He snickered again.

Meg was furious, and was also growing acutely aware of the continued scene she was making. The café patrons were starting to not only stare but to talk amongst themselves. One man was so bold as to stand up and try to interject.

Tommy saw him coming and frowned, not wanting his fun interrupted.

“Ta ta dear,” he called, turning and heading for his car. “If you still want to pursue this,” he smiled, letting the reference saturate, so that it could refer to his gesturing pelivs, “then let’s do so at my place.” He hopped in his car, closing the door just as the tiring, heaving Meg got to it, now out of breath.

She stood there, coughing in the exhaust as it sped away, her chest heaving, her pride sorely injured, wanting to cry but still upset, still furious, and slightly spent. She turned to the man from the café who had gotten up, glowering at him, shutting out any kind of interaction as she stalked past him and headed to her own car.

“Soon,” Thomas Arnath was saying, “soon we will have another to join your ranks.” He smiled, running his hands over the smooth bald pate of a nearby dollhead. She did not smile, or react in any way other than to run her tongue sycophantically over her lips as he pet them, licking his fingers as he stroked the rubbery surface of her outer lip and then softly explored the inside of her facial labia.

Tommy pressed a button beside her stand, adjusting the height, until her eyes were just about the height of his crotch. He idly unzipped and let his pants fall, not wearing undergarments, to expose the hard width and girth of his member. He admired his reflection in the tall mirror behind, standing with his feet slightly apart, putting his hands on his hips, posturing, striking a pose, modeling his physique for an audience of one.

Growing suddenly bored inspecting his own person he jauntily sashayed into the luscious housing below him, docking his dry dick in the dark, inviting jungle of the doll’s expert mouth.

“Mmmmm,” he murmured, appreciating the fine ripples along her facial labia, the way her remodeled nose and mouth orifice hugged the contours of his cock, almost massaging it as she squeezed her facial muscles to pleasure him. Where once she might have smiled or tightened her lips or cheeks she now massaged his visiting manhood with her face-port’s many-faceted members of its gated community.

Indeed, Tommy’s ‘mayor’ visited each part of her town that day, paying visit to the whispering sisters (some generous play areas in the back right side of her cheeks) and the jostling busybodies (flittering passages fluted in the labyrinth of her nasal passages to convey tickles and nuances to his labored face fucking.)

At the end of the day Tommy appreciated these small, finer points little in comparison to how much he enjoyed the nice spacious cavern in the back of her head, that area where he could simply relax (after inserting himself in up to his balls and then ‘cresting’ his pelvis in fully to her face so that the majority of his weight pressed down upon her nest) and relaxed into the simple delight of her mind.

And what an ample mind it was, it allowed him full run of its length and width, her abridged form needed little in the form of higher management, a few small bits of grey matter were all that were required to really maximize usage… But these thoughts didn’t weight heavily on Tommy’s mind.

He was sleepy, and in need of a rest… So he just leaned forward, so that his scrotum fully sat within the doll’s chin, and his manhood pushed far back within the mysteries of womankind, and he plopped himself down, sitting frontwards, into a gentle repose.

The burden upon the doll hardly bears mention, suffice to say that she bore it with stoicism, running her enhanced tongue up and down and around across the visiting dignitaries with the utmost pomp required of the honor.

Tommy hardly noticed it, slumbering lightly as he was, but his dreams were pleasant, and he was only slightly annoyed when he was awoken. He was, after all, expecting company.

“Right,” he said, waking up to the sound of the doorbell. “That would be Meg, no doubt here for her check. Well, time to make her right at home…”

He patted the doll as he said so, her body safely tucked away inside the room’s moulding, and paused for a moment, looking down. The eyes of the doll, large and fluttering, heavily mascara’d and needy, looked up at him, searchingly, seeking his approval.

Tommy nodded, inclining his head ever so slightly, and immediately orgasmed, hard, into the bucket of a woman beneath him as her expertly trained muscles worked in sublime coordination to coax the food out of him.

She swallowed, hungrily, immediately able to tell exactly what Tommy had (most likely) to eat that day and glad for the extra salt that was present this time.

Tommy stood, his cock and balls still lingering in the doll’s mouth, and held his weight off of the head, supporting himself with his arms, as he made an O face and reacted as though in pain. It had been that good of an orgasm. He hadn’t cum so much as had all of the jizz in his balls hungrily, violently, expertly suckled, nursed from his cock with such delicate and intense ministration that it left his balls aching… And then it was gone, he was at utter peace, the lingering frustration left him as his mind caught up with his body and he registered supreme satisfaction.

“Very good number twelve,” he said, gently tapping her on the forehead as he withdrew, finally, from her mouth and stood up. He watched as she ran her tongue all over the inside of the chasm of her mouth and explored it, getting all the last lingerings of her meal for her delectation.

He turned from the doll, giving her no further thought as he strode purposefully out of the room.

Behind him, in the dark, the mouths of dozens of other dolls begged mutely for his presence, their maws stretching wide in the silent darkness. The sounds of their lips smacking upon each other, and the gentle noise of the accumulation and swallowing of salivatory love juice the only sounds the nestled dolls made. They reminded him of young birds begging their mother for food, and while he ignored them regularly, it did not stop him from taunting them occasionally.

He stopped, then, after having exited, and turned and walked back in, flicking the light on and smiling cruelly down at a doll picked at random. He approached it and inserted his softening dick roughly down its obsequious throat. Its remodeled head space easily accommodating the whole front portion of his pelvis and allowing him, again, to rest easily forward into her as he relaxed and let nature take its course.

This doll was not so pleased with the nature of his visit, however, and she sputteringly protested his visit mere moments after he let his intent become known.

It was a little too late for her to resist, however, he was fully inside her hive, her reconditioned face designed to accommodate his advances, not repel them. She drank his effusions with no real audible complaint, the only ones she made being drowned out in his sermon instead, until, and with much swallowing on her part, he finished.

“Very good number three,” he said, withdrawing and patting her patronizingly on the head. She scowled as best she could with her fat labial lips, which amounted to nothing more than an inviting wink of her massive oral orifice (as if to say, ‘You weren’t so bad yourself big boy’) and burped slightly, the taste of her acrid meal still fresh on her lips.

“Ah you pig,” Tommy laughed jokingly down on her, studying himself in the mirror again. He adjusted his tie and then removed his weight fully from her form. He walked out again, turning the lights off and heading (for real this time) out to the foyer.

His maid, Sandy , had let his guest in and Meg was impatiently awaiting him.

“Ah, Meg,” he said, brimming at her, “so glad you decided to accept my offer.”

“What offer is that?” She asked, angrily.

“Why, the offer to let me remodel your face of course, didn’t I mention how much prettier you would look if you lost a few teeth and let me pump those lips up to a more pleasant proportion? I mean really, no one’s going to say it, but those thin uninviting lips are just ever so unbecoming of a lady.”

Meg gave him a droll look.

“Don’t you want something that says ‘Come here and take me big fella?’ something that screams ‘I am woman’?”

Meg sneered, giving him a slightly more irritated look.

“I do not…” she began, and then widened her eyes in surprise when Thomas gripped her lips, literally stuck his fingers into her mouth, and tugged. She was soon wide-open and fishhooked.

“Wuah ugh fugh,” she started, and struggled, fighting with her hands.

Tommy gave her a stern, disproving look and then nodded with his head, to his maid, who held up a small canister of film and the check from earlier.

Meg stopped squirming, feeling used, very uncomfortable, and also put upon but unable to resist. She let him continue to hold her mouth open, her lips far spread, and alternated her gaze from the check and the film to Tommy and then to the maid.

The maid, she realized, had very full, very luscious lips, but they were unnatural. For one thing they were obviously the woman’s real, natural lips but stretched around immense collagen implants. It was grotesque, and yet oddly compelling.

Meg wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before. The woman smiled at her, and, at Tommy’s nod, sucked her lips partway into her mouth, gumming them, until they resembled again the normal, natural lips that would not seem out of place on a woman, although they did hint slightly at more of an Angelina Jolie styling then most.

The woman smiled again, in response to Meg’s stare, and, at Tommy’s counternod, released them from their captivity in her mouth, allowing them to relax back out to their full pillowy size (where they now, again, resembled nothing less than watermelons halves attached firmly to her lower face, indeed, their bright red colouring hinted at that sweet summer fruit.)

“ Sandy say hello,” Tommy said, turning to watch Meg for her reaction.

The maid struggled with her lips, obviously pushing hard to get them to open more than the little bit that they naturally offered room and finally managed a stifled burble of a greeting. The noise was very wet, as though more an exhalation of air than an actual formation of a thought.

“Perform again Sandy , we don’t want our guest feeling unwelcomed.” Sandy moaned, and as she did her facial labia spread out to reveal the full flower of her previously hidden womanhood, her nasal clitoris swelling up to reveal that its ‘nostrils’ had been nothing more than tattooed dark spots.

Meg recoiled, again struggling with Tommy, who at this point broke into uproarious laughter and finished the ministrations he had been subtly practicing with his fingers. Where before he had been tugging and pinching her mouth, pulling her lips apart and exposing the inside of her cheeks he now cinched her face, snapping small hooks into the soft inner skin of her mouth, those spots he had been pulling outwards with his fingers, so that he now harnessed her head from the delicate soft tissue inside her cheeks and held her captive.

“Unhhh, unhhhhh,” Meg panted, hard-pressed to move without paining her cheeks. She wanted to yell but was frightened to exercise her mouth or cheeks too much. Tears immediately sprang to her eyes as she watched Tommy twist, delicately, until he had the lead tightened, and then tugged, gently, to guide her. She had no choice but to march after him, his hand bringing the short tether low until her head bent forward and her knees had to buckle to keep up.

She fell into a squat, desperate to relieve the growing tension on her cheeks, and walked with her knees rising and falling beside her shoulders, the only comfortable position for her hands to adopt that of the gorilla, dragging its knuckles upon the floor.

“Tommeeeeeiiiiiiighhhh,” she screamed, breaking into a squeal as he tugged, a little more forcefully, tearing her cheeks slightly, until she hobbled after him to the operating theatre.

“Up,” he said, and she followed him up into the chair and then into the straps and stirrups. A great manacle of a dentist’s speculum surrounded and then invaded her face, causing her eyes go agog in fright and her jaw to protest.

She felt invaded in every sense of the word, even more so moments later when she felt a similar sort of instrumentation invade her nether regions.

“Its going to be okay,” Tommy said, expressing sincere comfort. He didn’t want her to be skittish, she was almost done, “You’re doing very well girl,” he said, stroking her forehead, petting her face.

She was still screaming, going hoarse, as she heard the whir of mechanized instruments start up and then a slight prick strike her flank. The needle injected a potent sedative into her thigh, at once numbing her floral passages, her vaginal labia and clitoris going insensate followed quickly by her uterus throbbing dully and then all of her internal plumbling numbing up.

She whimpered, the strong local agent effectively sterilizing and prepping the area for the surgery. A similar scene played out up top, numbing the growing pain in her cheeks almost instantly, allowing the robotic micro-surgeon hands to play about her face, their appearance causing the sheer terror of it to build up in her psyche.

She wanted to scream, she could see gadgets moving about just on the edge of her vision, and the occasional actual glimpse of a moving piece of steel or metallic joint.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Her brain wanted to ask. It too was being systematically transformed.

A patch of her head hair was eliminated, cauterized really, as a practiced laser prepared her scalp for invasive surgery.

Her lips were enlarged, but not until after they were cut wider (so that they could ‘give’ the way a snake’s jaw might disengage, as in when a man might visit fully within the home she would soon provide and needed lounging space to fit the starts of his thighs) and then sewn up so that they would heal with only a minimal amount of ‘slit’ to show when they compressed again (the cut along the side of her cheek permanent but easily covered with foundation for display purposes.)

Her labia were removed surgically, with great haste, for the purposes of grafting, along with her clitoris and portions of her uterus to her upper lips. The needed portions of her feminine plumbing were brought quickly up to her face, which had been prepared into a gaping receptive maw for the new occupants.

The labia were carefully grafted onto Meg’s mouth lips, the clitoris, along with its seated mass were merged onto the portion of skin where her nose and nasal passages had been.

As for her air a separate team of robotic doctor drones had been steadily working since the beginning on a complementary, and requisite project. It was now implemented:

Meg felt a stifling suffocation overtaking her as the messy sensitive parts of her female anatomy were cushioningly attached to her face. As more and more of the grafting (an important part of her ‘female beautification’ process) was completed and secured in place it became harder and harder to breathe. The plump lips of her mouth and those of her vagina, now mated, were both treated to a healthy injection of beauty-enhancing collagen.

“Why don’t you look adorable,” Tommy said, watching the automated process with awe. Meg wanted to tell him to go choke on a dick, but was having trouble drawing air. “I just want to eat you all up,” he laughed, turning to a bowl housing medical detritus. He slid a gloved hand in and pulled out a small excised portion (deemed extraneous) of what used to be her vagina. He fetched a small lighter from his pocket and seared the small bit of sensitive flesh, cooking it quickly in the blue-white flame. He smiled at Meg, holding the bit of her cunt meat in front of her face.

“Kinda like popcorn chicken don’t you think?” He asked, popping the now cooled piece into his mouth and chewing. “Mmmmm, its good, but I can’t decide what kind it is, original or extra crispy.” He laughed overmuch at his own joke and went back to sifting through the bowl for more missed morsels.

The extreme offensiveness of his display notwithstanding Meg was choking on her words.

“No, don’t try to talk honey, let the machines do their work; everything will be okay in just a little bit.”

She felt like she was turning blue, like she was no longer getting any air; moments before she had been getting some oxygen at least, very minute quantities yes but some nonetheless. It had been supplied through the maze of flesh that now decorated her mouth. The air had to navigate through the tangle of plump blimp lips and luscious hanging labia that encircled and draped lovingly along her now vertically oriented lower face. Her eyes, under the careful, and quick, attentions of the anatomically correcting automatons had grown wider, more doe-eyed, and fluttered often now, with thick, overly feminine lashes.

“Haugh,” she breathed, relieved to be able to draw breathe again. It was strange, the humid, pungent quality the air had taken on. It was almost like entering a bathroom only more ‘moist.’ It was difficult for Meg’s mind to process. Still, she was grateful to be breathing and did so, drawing in a great twatful of the stuff, her lower lips still useful for something.

As part of her improvements her breasts (now enlarged through generous fluid injections into expandable mammary cavities) remained, even while some other, less important parts of her did not:

Her arms, once the lively gesticulating flourish of her self-expression, and also her primary means of physical manipulation in the world, her means of interacting with everything, had been amputated (deprecated.)

Her legs, similarly classified deprecated as part of her repurposing, had been amputated as well. She now had stumps at both her shoulders and above her knees.

Their jobs done all of the devices and mechanisms, all of the straps, the stirrups, in fact all of the medical accoutrement abruptly withdrew, collapsing in on itself until the chair sat bare, with only its truncated occupant to display.

“Oh darling you’re gorgeous!” Tommy cooed.

He reached down to pick his darling baby doll up and cradled her in his arms. She gave him a hateful, seething look but Tommy whispered a sweet nothing in her ear and she immediately becamse scatterbrained, the pressure of his breathe enough to upset her modified brain.

She immediately grew passive. The disruption quickly passed and her synapses, which were now held in a fragile (and easily disrupted) balance along a tenuous and capriciously positioned stem, reestablished links and fired again.

She was disoriented, the disruption of her brain activity made her go blank, but after blinking for a bit, and refocusing, concentrating, she was able to regain her faculties and regain her sense of outrage. She returned after several moments of blank looks to glowering at Tommy.

He smiled down at her, still cradling her in his arms, and set her down on the table for changing. She shot daggers at him with her eyes as he reached down and ran his fingers over her knee stumps. She thumped with one of them, angrily, but he only smiled at her and ran a hand lovingly over her face, petting her newly formed mouth with his fingers, drawing an unwanted feeling of pleasure from Meg as he hit a sensitive area and rubbed up over her labia.

He smiled and turned his attention to her bum, sprinkling talcum over the area. He was clumsy and the spray got powder all over the area, some of it into her newly rerouted vagina, causing her to cough and sputter in reaction. Her lower muscles approximated the facsimile of a mouth screwing up in complaint and then coughing, spewing the powder back out as dust and wheezing.

Tommy smiled at the humorous sight and rubbed baby oil on his fingers, moving his hands to her bum and massaging her rectum and anal ring. He slid a soft small dildo in, gauging whether she needed more lube, and determined that she was good enough to accept the maintenance tube when she was put into her doll house.

He next re-greased his fingers and then softly explored her now barren pussy (from which she drew no sensation as he plumbed. The only feelings she felt was one of constriction of her air supply as his finger gently probed up into the channel.

She was ready. He smiled at her, admiring the her crotch opened and closed in rhythm around his finger, breathing steadily, and the way in which her much smaller body sported its much larger breasts. What his gaze kept returning to though was her locus, her newly ‘ladyfied’ face, which, he had to admit, had become much more attractive.

It wasn’t attractive in the usual sense, oh no, quite the contrary, it looked a bit like a squid or an octopus, or some sort of squamish toad, but it was much more attractive in other ways… He smiled and patted the bulge in his crotch.

He let his fingers run laterally across her labial lips, smiling and saying ‘goochie goochie goo’ as he tickled the spot, drawing a smile and an unwanted soft moan from Meg as he did so. His touch elicited an instinctive gumming from her labia, which tried to wrap around his finger and suck on it.

“Who’s my big girl? Who’s my big girl, huh?” He said, lifting her up and settling her on his back. He carried her easily into the next room and set her on her pedestal, sincerely smiling as he admired her new form, appreciating its new beauty and the inner glow it radiated.

He pushed a button and the pedestal slowly lowered, the lower lips finally figuring out their new muscles—and how to elicit some sound from the new configuration—erupting into a ‘waaaah, waaaaah,’ just as they began their installation into their new home. He waved, he knew why she was crying, she was going to miss him.

“No no my baby girl don’t cry, Daddy will come and visit you as often as he can and give you nice big kisses!” He smiled, trying to mollify her with his promise to spend time with her as soon as he could.

Tommy stood and watched, silently admiring his new toy as it slid slowly into its installation and fit snugly into its place. The cries had been steadily muted as the body lowered into the pedestal, until now they were quiet, although if he were to press his ear upon her stomach (which was now too also vanishing) he would probably be able to still hear it.

A light pneumatic hiss sounded and the doll locked into place, tubing below locking into interlocking rings that had been installed, her maintenance hookups connecting.

Meg’s cries had been squelched to the outside world, her doll head sitting mute, capable only of gentle burps through its pussy folds. It sat, perfectly arranged on the platter, awaiting his visit, like a harem girl wafting a veil in front of her face. This part of her, her most important, most vulnerable, most sensuous woman part, that which was the most woman, beckoned, like a wafting jellyfish, gently begging his attention.

Tommy smiled and approached, running one hand lovingly over her cheek, dropping his trousers, preparing for a good long session of lovemaking with his new doll. He allowed his manhood to approach her now obsequious, instinctively suckling mouth. It resisted for a moment, trying to expel the intruder, but he bent low and blew into its ear, disrupting her brain activity for a few moment’s and taking that time to situate himself.

When Meg’s upper brain functions came back on she was unable to make out much, Tommy’s stomach was pressed rudely up against her upper face, but one thing she did register right away was the taste… and the sensation, in her mouth!

It filled her, and… it filled her, with, with pleasure, and with… oh god it was fantastic…

It was like making love to someone who knew how to touch her ‘just right’ and get all the best spots at all the right times…

“Mmmmmmm,” Meg moaned, sensuously, sending reciprocal shivers up her lover’s shaft.

Tommy settled in, he had cum just a half hour prior, and it had been a very hard and satisfying cum, his member, while semi-hard, was in no mood to put out… Meg had some hard work ahead to earn her meal.

Meg’s belly grumbled, attracting new wants to her now miniscule brain. She salivated now not only because it lubricated the congress between her and her lover but also because she was famished (she hadn’t actually eaten anything at her earlier meal with Tommy, even though he had promised her dinner.)

Tommy smiled, knowing that she would get her food eventually… That whore…. She had always fancied him her meal ticket he knew… He had known since he had first lain eyes upon her just what kind of woman she was. The kind that could be bought—packaged and paid for…

He smirked to himself as he relaxed, gently approaching repose…

Meg slurped, diligent in her task, eager in her quest… She was alone—physically—with Tommy’s slumbering shaft and tried coaxing it awake with gentle flicks of her tongue. She was also alone with it mentally as her world consisted of it gorgingly deposited in her face, and nothing else… It occupied all of her attention and was the focus of her life force…

She had nothing else to do, she was alone, totally alone, with Tommy’s cock. So she talked to it. The words burbled out down below, falling on deaf ears, but in her mind she was carrying on a conversation…

The language would change in the months to come, she would come to interpret gentle presses of his bulbous head upon certain nuanced parts of her heady chamber to mean one thing, while slightly different pressures put on other parts of her sensitive face were interpreted to mean wholly different things.

“Why I do ever so agree Mr. Manners,” she so called him because, in her totally cock-centric lifestyle she felt he was always correcting her (and rightly so) “it is totally like me to be a dumb bubble head, whatever shall we talk of next?”

It didn’t help that the occasional stirring of Tommy above (when he was repose in her) might knock her head in such a way as to interrupt the flow of conversation. On those occasions it was not too rare for his cock to be pressed so hard into the back of her throat or skull that it could only be interpreted as a well-deserved berating or sharp criticism.

“I’m sorry Mr. Manners,” she might say, totally flustered and unsure of herself, sucking obsequiously to try to mollify him, “but I didn’t fully understand your last imparted bit of wisdom, please repeat it, I want to fully appreciate the magnificence of your superior brain power.”

She had taken to harsher and harsher self-criticism as a means to perhaps appease her seemingly all-powerful critic. It was too much for her addled brain to comprehend when the blank spots interrupted the flow of conversation and she found herself at a loss for words.

Since Mr. Manners always spoke in perfect English (an attitude and behavior she attributed to him through the development of their relationship over the months they spent together) it was only right that she was unable to ever satisfy his seemingly never-ending appetite for conversation.

She did, however, find some self-worth in the precious moments when he divulged his true feelings for her (an admission of affection she took it for,) and deposited a gift of gluttonous delights straight into her lovingly listening ear. He spoke so eloquently it was hard for her to digest all the full nuances of his meaning, but she tried, diligently, to collect it all and swallow what she could not quite comprehend.

At times, of course, Meg grew lucid, especially during the long waits between Tommy’s visits, when she was left alone to ponder her life in the cold, dark silence of the room, where she had only herself for company—and she found herself horrible company:

It was not that she had nothing to talk about, quite the contrary, she found herself always babbling, but it was never anything worth listening to, and she had tried, upon occasion, to listen to what came out of her. The problem with having herself for company was that she was simply full of vitriolic and gas, and if what she had to expound upon were not merely pissy dribble then she ended up spouting out a huge load of crap.

Meg awoke after a particularly mind numbing day, a day in which she had tried to pretend that she was simply ‘sleeping in’ (one of her favorite fantasies) and that her mother was coming at any moment to get her out of bed for school. She awoke to find Tommy manhandling her.

It was not unwelcome, she genuinely enjoyed his company now, in fact looked forward to it, it was simply the way in which he was touching her that was unexpected, it was with his hands, something he had not done in, well, she couldn’t remember how long.

What were stranger still were her surroundings. The place she found herself in was brighter, and there was the slight hum of a fan, although it was a smaller space, with, with tiled floors and, what looked like a shower curtain…

Her inspection of the room was abruptly cut short as Tommy finished positioning her and dropped his trousers. “Ahhhh,” he said, rustling out the paper from his pocket and holding it in his hand. He began to sit down, Meg’s eyes closing shut instinctively and her face doing the equivalent of shriveling up its nose.

He took a load off, relaxing his bum pertly upon her face, her unhinged lips snugly comforting him, her cheeks gingerly supporting his as he spread his own, in his own inimitable fashion, and began a new conversation with her, one in which it would take her much longer to find the dialogue.

Still, despite her horrific new situation there was that disconnect as her brain was juddered (Tommy adjusting his position and turning the paper.) When reality came back into focus moments later the situation was more normal (although still quite unsettling and nauseating.) Over the course of a few weeks they would fall into a more natural rhythm though, they being Meg and the growing mental image she had of her new friend, Mr. Hugger.

The conversation might eventually get around to something educational, something which Meg might find edifying, in which she found herself listening astutely to everything that Mr. Hugger had to say and then, after careful study, regurgitating it back later, word for word, in her slowly acquired (somewhat coarser) accent.

“It is only fitting for a dumb feminine receptacle like you to swallow the teachings of your Master,” Mr. Hugger might say, to which Meg could only nod and digest his wisdom. Later she would do her best, while grunting, to repeat that which she had learned and internalized to some degree. Something would be lost in the translation of course (Meg knew that she would never be smart enough to understand the full weight of Mr. Hugger’s teachings) but she could do her best:

“I am dumb bum girl with hollow head, swallow that which help me grow,” she said to herself (knowing that no one would deign to even consider listening to the inane babblings of one feminine receptacle such as herself.) Over time she found it prudent to shorten Mr. Hugger’s mantra to ‘I open, eat, I open, speak, I open, eat, I open…”

The dumbing, numbing, nulling repetition eventually soothed Meg to the point where she could function as a perfectly trained receptacle without much more thought than the idle repetition of a numbing series of self deadening words. Over time the words were replaced with the feeling, a pulse within her that coursed in response to stimuli and fed upon itself to restrain her.

She became a conditioned prisoner within herself, dead to the point where she convinced herself that she did not exist, that she was simply a utilitarian object… Her thoughts were still interrupted by blank spots but the difference between them and her conscious rhetoric was blurring… It was only rarely that she founded a cogent thought and only then long enough to realize, in horror, that she was sentient and then to retreat back away from the severity of the reality of her predicament so that she was safely tucked away inside herself and not subject to the degradations visited upon her daily.

Tommy moved on to other women, friends and visitors whom he cajoled or coerced into service and who replaced the growing ranks of the obsolescent obsequious to which Meg had relegated herself.

It was two years later and no act, no interaction, no treatment, no attitude, no attributation, degredation, humiliation or stimulation could wrest Meg from her masochistic escape. It was only through the destruction of her self, willingly visited upon her own mind, that she was able to cope.

At that point, all at once, suddenly, at a time arbitrary and entirely of its own accord, she awoke. She awoke: Her brain synapses spontaneously reconnected, regenerated, permanently, so that she was wholly cogent, cognizant, conscientious, and cognitive again.

She sniffed, remembering to treat with disdain her situation.

Tommy entered the room, he paused, studying her eyes, seeing the intelligence newly there. He set his newspaper aside and squatted next to her, peering into her eyes and seeing a renewed spirit.

He frowned, then knelt on one knee and blew into her ear. Meg squinted a bit but was unphased, continuing to stare at Tommy with a growing resentment, going over in her mind all of the memories, each of the degradations, each of the individual abuses…

Her mind flared into an image of him: He, sitting on another woman (who had at this point graduated to his toilet seat) clipping his nails… He flicked each one of them into her lingus where she obediently labially gummed and swallowed. His gaze remained impassive and cool, regarding her as nothing more than a garbage can.

The outrage she felt right now, to be treated so, to have her most private parts not only on display and made common by their everday exposure but to have them used as points for disposal, for waste, it was enough to make any woman furious!

“I see you’re awake,” Tommy said. He smiled, cruelly. “I’ve been noticing this, phenomena. I call it a rebirth of the female spirit. It’s interesting, but it does not interest me nearly enough to keep you around the way I do. You’ve been a pretty plaything Meg but you’ve outlived your usefulness, its time for you to go where all ‘mature’ women go. Now that you’ve come to your senses you no doubt harbor an intense hatred and resentment towards me, no doubt towards all men, so I’m going to reward you for all of your hard work and selfless service.”

Meg doubted she would enjoy anything Tommy would ‘reward’ her with.

“I’m going to put you in a new relationship, one you are sure to enjoy because it means being with another woman.”

Meg frowned, her cunt lips curling up a bit in consternation. She tried to ask him what he meant, her lower vaginal lips spouting airy nothings around her uterine intake. Tommy smiled at her, again patronizingly, and the contact they had had mere moments ago, where he had spoken to her, rather than at her, disappeared.

He stood up and blew a whistle; the sound of a dog barking in the distance roused Meg to instant attention. Tommy lifted her truncated form up, making sure to pull her fully out from her circular metallic housing before letting the garbage lid fall back down.

She was free; she was out of the trash, no longer serving as its liner, her mouth no longer subject to the disposal of random organic (and sometimes not so organic) detritus.

She felt a sudden dizziness wash over her, as though from standing up after a long time sitting, it was disorienting. When she regained her senses she was sitting in a kind of box, with a strange animal barking above her. It was a woman, a bitch, on all fours, obviously much younger than her…

She was momentarily jealous and then it passed her, she knew it was silly to feel jealous of, of, what?

It sniffed the air, and then turned to study her. She looked at it and it approached. It bent and sniffed her ass with its nose (she could feel its face upon her breathing channel, could smell its stench, and then it licked her arse and rose up again.)

Apparently introductions were over because it barked again and then leaned in to kiss her. She was startled, she had never kissed a woman before, her mouth was strangely puckered, puckered way too much, puckered for more than just a kiss…

She felt it, like the woman’s tongue pushing into her mouth but not her tongue, and then it was inside her vaginal lips, penetrating her face, inside and then being swallowed by her. She might be awake, a fully realized woman, but she was not stupid, she knew food when she tasted it.

She gagged on the woman’s kiss but eventually got all of her gift down. She coughed a bit and sputtered but then managed a thank you. The bitch climbed down off of her, barking, and turned around. Meg could see its rear panting and slobbering. It barked again and then scampered off on its short legs.

Meg blushed, obviously at a loss for how to handle a woman. She felt a rush of, of something wonderful fill her, her stomach felt full as well, it was contentment….

She smiled, watching the way the bitch had gone…. “I wonder what her name is?” Meg thought, “and I wonder if she likes me?” She continued to smile, thinking longingly of her lesbian lover and how wonderful their congress had just been.

“Oh god,” she thought, growing wet, gushing love juice all over her lips and chin, “Her kiss…” It had been wonderful, “I want to kiss her again…” She wanted to explore, “and maybe I can give her some tongue next time…” yeah, she’d have to try that; she’d have to see just how much the world of women had to offer.

Lastly, the author disclaims that outside the realm of fantasy none of these types of behaviors are healthy much less conscionable.