Story 3 part 3
After ending the call with my parents, I find myself pacing around my apartment that now feels too small, a nervous energy buzzing within me. My eyes keep darting to my phone, half expecting an email from OnlyFans to save me from the embarrassment of a night with Dante. But the screen remains stubbornly blank, the only notification being a text from Dante with the address for the party.
I groan, running a hand through my damp hair. I don't want to deal with this, not really. I mean, what was I thinking? Going to a yacht party with a city slicker I barely know? It's clear that Dante has ulterior motives. And I don't really want to get all tangled up in them.
"Do you really want to do this?" I ask my reflection. I had assumed my feminine alter ego would be more confident, but now, facing the prospect of a night out, I feel my nerves gnawing at the edges of my bravado.
To calm my nerves, I put on some Pink Floyd, the psychedelic tunes filling the apartment as I attempt to prepare for the night ahead. As the music washes over me, I steel my resolve. I need to loosen up, feel better about myself, and embrace the experience. One way or another, I'm going to survive this party. I mean, it's just a boat party, right? How bad could it be?
I remember the string bikini I bought at Walmart yesterday. The nervous thrill I felt while trying it on in the changing room was a surprising rush. But wearing it tonight, in front of others, especially Dante, has me feeling way outside my comfort zone.
With a deep breath, I pick up the bikini—its blue straps and pink little triangles mocking me from their hangers—and head to the bathroom to change.
I stuff my jiggling assets into the bikini top, my heavy, fat Double-D breasts constantly threatening to spill out of it. Each tug and adjustment sends obscene tremors through my chest, and my face heats up as I glance at my reflection.
The bikini bottom is a struggle of its own. I can feel the tight fabric digging into my hips as I try to tug it into place, my gentle curves protesting against the intrusion. But after a few moments of fighting, my new body is barely contained by the skimpy swimsuit.
Standing in front of the mirror, my face red as a beet, I take in my reflection. My body, clad in the ridiculously small bikini, gives off an undeniable air of obscenity. The way the fabric molds to my skin, hugging every curve, exposes me to the world.
But, I think to myself, a boat party is the perfect place to wear a bikini, right? It's not like I have many other options. I have to sink or swim. I'm nervous. I want to impress Dante, even though I don't LIKE him. I want to make connections and expand my horizons. And at least, as far as Dante implied, everyone would be wearing a bikini.
Before leaving the bathroom, I grab the simple white dress I picked up at Walmart and slip it on over my bikini. It's nothing fancy—the kind of thing you could wear with sneakers and still look good.
I look in the mirror, my natural girl-next-door vibe peeking out from beneath the dress. I don't know if I'm ready for a ritzy party, but I suppose I'll just have to fake it 'til I make it.
As I continue my haphazard attempts at getting ready, my phone buzzes with a new text from Dante.
Dante: "Yo, Liz! U ready 4 the party 2nite? Imma pick u up at 6 😏 Drop me ur addy 🏡"
I bite my lip, my nerves threatening to consume me. But I've come this far, and there's no turning back now. With shaky fingers, I type out my address.
Liz: "Hey Dante, my address is 3251 NW 25th Ave, Apt 4B. See you at 6"
Dante: "Bet! Can't wait 2 see u in ur hot lil outfit! 😉 We gonna have a blast 🚤🎉"
—
Staring at my reflection, I huff in frustration. Maybe I need a little...something. Makeup, perhaps? The thought is both tantalizing and terrifying. My mind flashes back to all the times I'd watched the girls in high school magically transform their faces with streaks and smears of color.
I pick up my phone and google "beginner makeup tutorial". The search results are overwhelming, each tutorial offering different advice, different products. It feels like I'm trying to decipher a foreign language.
"Fuck it," I mutter under my breath, leaving my apartment and heading to the nearest CVS pharmacy.
Staring at the makeup aisle is like staring into an abyss—one filled with tiny, colorful packages branded with promises of beauty and transformation. Foundations, primers, highlighters, bronzers, mascaras, eyeliners, lip glosses, lipsticks. Who knew there were so many types of makeup!
Following one of the tutorials I saved earlier, I scroll down the list of products needed. One of the first items is something called BB cream. I raise an eyebrow, making my way to the section labeled "BB & CC Creams". I pick up a small tube labeled "Maybelline Dream Fresh BB Cream SPF 30". I notice the label promises it to be a moisturizer, SPF, and sheer foundation all in one. I put it in my basket, although I still don't fully understand what it does.
Next on my list is blush. I find myself in front of a rack filled with a rainbow of colors from various brands. I grab the "NYX Sweet Cheeks Matte Blush", its pink hue seems close enough to the natural color of my cheeks.
I continue traveling down my list, picking up the CoverGirl LashBlast Volume Mascara and Revlon Super Lustrous Lip Gloss. With each purchase, I can't help but make a face at the price tag. Man, makeup is expensive!
As I stand in line to pay, I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here I am, Eddie, a guy from small-town Ohio in a CVS buying makeup for my female alter ego, all the while using my mom's CVS rewards account. The irony doesn't escape me.
"I love you too, Mom," I mock, rolling my eyes as I hand over my card to pay for my basket full of makeup.
—
With Pink Floyd's "Money" belting in the background, the irony isn't lost on me. I spread out the CVS loot on my bathroom counter, the unfamiliar products standing before me like soldiers ready for battle. I look at my reflection, my sandy-brown hair hastily tied up, my normal, pale face glaring back at me.
Let's get this show on the road.
First, I fumble with the BB cream, my hands awkwardly rubbing the cool goop onto my face as instructed by the living Barbie doll in the YouTube tutorial I had found. I'm taken aback by my soft feminine hands, the dainty fingers and rounded nails, and the gentle way in which they work. My jaw sets, determination coursing through me, as I pray to the gods of symmetry and color coordination.
Next is the blush, the pink compact somehow feels like a coiled snake in my hands, ready to strike with the tiniest provocation. I take a deep breath, letting the words of the YouTube guru guide me, "A gentle sweep…" My hand shakes as I pat the blush onto my plump cheeks. The result is two glaringly bright pink blobs that make me look like I've run a marathon, or worse, like a circus clown.
"Oh, you think this is funny, Roger Waters?" I mutter, grimacing at my reflection as Pink Floyd sings "think I'll buy me a football team" from the living room.
I frantically rub the blush to blend it in, biting my lip as I notice it turning into a soft, pretty glow. That's... better, I guess.
The following hurdles—the eyeliner and mascara—almost have me throwing in the towel. The mascara wand leaves sporadic stains on my eyelids, like bullet holes in my self-esteem.
The glossy liquid lip finally sits in my hand like the last boss in a videogame. I lightly run the gloss over my lips, noting that it feels like I'm painting my lips with a thin layer of warm syrup.
A glance at the mirror and a burst of giddy adrenaline kicks in. I did it! Not perfect. But there's a clear difference—from plain, pasty Liz to… a sun-kissed, glittery Elizabeth. I can actually see what makes this makeup thing so addictive—the sense of accomplishment when you see your face transform is exhilarating.
I smile at my reflection—my plump, gloss-covered lips stretching into an unfamiliar but heartwarming smile. I grab my phone, a sudden urge to immortalize this moment overwhelming me. Angling my face to catch the best light, I tap the capture button.
Looking at the selfie, I feel a surge of pride. I did it. All by myself. The transformation, the struggle, the victory—it all suddenly makes sense. I now understand why girls take selfies of their makeup. It's their version of the artist signing their masterpiece.
The little hints the girls in school gave each other, the selfie angles, the Instagram filters—it's not just vanity. It's artistry. It's a beautiful dichotomy, an art that's appreciated but also expected to be performed with effortless grace. And that guys are expected to enjoy, but not really appreciate the effort that goes into it.
Everything my parents told me, everything society told me, about femininity and masculinity gets flipped upside down. Amidst the jumble of beauty products and the sound of David Gilmour's guitar solo in the background, I find my gender epiphany etched out in mascara and blush.
—
As I nervously pace around my apartment, my phone buzzes again. Dante's text reads: "Outside, babe. 😎⏰"
Babe? Really? My face heats up as I shoot a quick text back to him. "Coming."
My legs feel like jelly as I make my way out of the building, my heart pounding in my chest.
Outside, I rigidly stop dead in my tracks, my eyes going wide.
A gleaming white Lamborghini Countach is parked at the curb. The car is a breathtaking piece of art—its sleek, aerodynamic design is a tribute to the aesthetic of the 1980s. The booming engine harmonizes with my thudding heart, the symphony of apprehension filling the air.
Dante leans against the car, a vision of affluence dipped in breezy south Floridian style. His pastel patterned shirt hangs loosely on his muscular frame, the design reminiscent of a glamorous past era. Despite the casual attire, there's an unmistakable aura of wealth and power surrounding him, emphasized by the glinting shades perched on his nose and the dazzling smile adorning his lips.
The sinking sun sets his chocolate skin aglow, highlighting his broad shoulders and well-defined biceps. His flat top hair, glistening under the stray rays of the setting sun, adds to his towering stature.
As I approach, Dante straightens up, pushing up his sunglasses to reveal his dark, gleaming eyes. His gaze feels like a physical presence, taking in my bikini-clad form under the light dress.
For a fleeting moment, I anticipate a compliment, a comment on how nice I look, how well I've done my makeup. But nothing comes. His eyes don't even linger on my painstakingly made-up face, instead, they rove over my body, settling on the visible cleavage peeking out from my dress.
An odd feeling stirs within me. I'd worked hard to look good tonight, expecting some sort of recognition. But Dante's aloofness reminds me of my own actions as a man—how many times had I taken a woman's appearance for granted, and just ogled her body?
"Hey Liz," Dante greets, his voice smooth as silk. There's something about his voice that sets my heart racing.
"Hi Dante," I reply, my voice shaky, clutching my phone like a lifeline.
As he opens the passenger door for me, the sound of the revving engine drowns out the pounding in my chest. I slide into the plush leather seat, the scent of fresh leather and Dante's cologne mingling in the enclosed space.
The interior of the car is as impressive as the exterior - the red leather seats are soft and comfortable, the neon-lit dashboard a vibrant array of buttons and switches. Being in such a luxurious car is a strange experience; the rumble of the engine beneath me, the speedometer climbing rapidly as we merge onto Starlight Boulevard.
Dante, ever the suave playboy, settles into the driver's seat like it's his throne. His fingers dance smoothly over the gear shift, a crystalline picture of power and control.
"Buckle u'p, Lizzy baby," Dante says, his voice as silk deep as the sun setting in the horizon. His accent weaves through his words like a magic spell, his tone oozing confidence. "We ridin to the most top-notch shindig up in Summer City tonight. And we gonna be arriving, in STYLE!"
There's something ethereal about Summer City at sunset, even moreso than sunrise. The Art Deco buildings bathed in the warm hues of the sky stand guard over the bustling cityscape like brightly lit sentinels, their neon facades gleaming against the twilight.
I'm captivated by the sight as we cruise down Starlight Boulevard, my eyes wide in awe. The way the cityscape transforms from dense concrete jungle to a sprawling waterfront metropolis, the sapphire blue waters of the sea reflecting the neon glow of the city - it's surreal.
Dante is a constant presence beside me, his voice a low hum against the rhythmic purr of the engine.
"We gonna be headin' to the Marine Stadium, right off the Rickenbacker Causeway," he explains, his fingers tapping on the plush leather steering wheel. "My boy Corey's gonna be in the Wave Regatta, number 42, and man, he got moves."
The information comes at me in a gust, leaving me bewildered. I'm not sure what to expect from these high-rollers, these women described as bombshells. My nerves begin to gnaw at me, a twisting sensation in my stomach as I try to picture myself mingling with these people, being seen as one of them. Will I fit in? Can I pull this off?
As if sensing my worry, Dante's warm hand descends onto my thigh, his fingers sending an electric jolt through my body. His touch is firm, yet oddly soothing, almost anchoring amongst my sea of anxieties.
"Hey, don't sweat it, baby," Dante reassures me, his dark eyes glancing at me. "You look fine as hell, Liz. Got that Ohio-girl charm with a side of spicy. You gonna blend in just right."
His compliment sends a flush of warmth over me, a pleasant surprise amidst the weird whirlwind of emotions.
There's something about his demeanor that both intimidates and attracts me. His confidence, his control, his casual ease - Dante is a man of power and status, a world that's starkly different from my own. And here I am, sitting beside him in a high-end supercar, heading to a ritzy yacht party.
Turning my attention back to the sprawling expanse of the city, the silhouette of the Marine Stadium comes into view, a grand structure perched proudly on the edge of the city. The sight is breathtaking, the way the stadium overlooks the water, the drone-lit atmosphere buzzing with anticipation, and the knowledge that we'll be watching the boat race from the water— it's going to be a night to remember.
—
The Docks of Summer City are abuzz with life as we approach the grand, lit waterfront. The upbeat tunes of electronic music resonate through the air, colliding with the cacophonous chatter of excited revelers and creating an intoxicating atmosphere of thrill and anticipation. The Dock is a dazzling spectacle of lights and colors, the neon glow bouncing off the polished surfaces of the moored yachts and casting shimmering reflections on the sapphire waters of Biscayne Bay.
Carved from carefully curated Polynesian woods and stone, the dock area incorporates elements of sleek modernism and grandeur. Palm trees line the walkway, their leaves rustling gently in the cool ocean breeze, providing a sense of tranquility amidst the pulsating energy of the crowd.
"There she is," Dante points out our destination.
I fucking GASP.
The mega yacht, aptly named 'Midnight Sun,' is the crown jewel of the spectacle. Gleaming under the radiant dock lights, the sleek ship is a marvel of modern design and luxury. Its white steel exterior reflects the surrounding cityscape, creating a breathtaking panorama mirrored on its polished surface.
Stepping onto the docks, my heart beats a wild rhythm in my chest, my senses overwhelmed by the buzzing atmosphere. The people around me exude an air of affluence and leisure, very different from the world of Eddie the data analyst.
Everywhere I look I see dazzling beauty - men in sharp Armani suits, their hair slicked back; women sporting high-waisted bikinis or scanty dresses, their voluptuous bodies encased in expensive jewelry, their faces elegantly made up. They move with ease and grace, their laughter carrying through the balmy night air, their sparkling drinks clinking in celebration.
Dante, ever the social butterfly, maneuvers me through the crowd, introducing me to his eclectic group of friends. There's Rico, a suave Italian with a permanent smirk. Babs, a statuesque blonde bombshell in a neon pink monokini and matching high heels. And Corey, a muscular hunk with a Hawaiian print shirt and surfer dude vibes.
"Corey's the man of the hour," Dante explains, slapping him across his broad back. "He's racing in the Regatta tonight."
Corey grins, a pair of sunglasses perched precariously on his curly hair. His light blue eyes sparkle with confident excitement. "Gonna give 'em hell, Dante. You just watch."
The owner of the yacht, a magnate named Vincent, a well-groomed man with a thick cigar perched between his fingers, spots us from the other end of the yacht. He's a slightly overweight man with sun-kissed skin, his bald head shining under the yacht's lights. Dressed in a flamboyant flamingo-print shirt and khaki shorts, Vincent's jovial personality is as vibrant as his attire.
"Ah, Dante! And this must be the lovely Liz," his voice booms across the yacht, his laughter echoing as he engulfs my hand in a firm, familiar handshake. "Welcome aboard the Midnight Sun, my dear."
As Dante leads me through the crowd, the towering skyscrapers of Summer City become little more than silhouettes against the setting sun, creating a picturesque backdrop to the pulsating spectacle of the yacht party.
Feeling so out of place, in my Walmart sundress, surrounded by the city's elite in their designer clothes and with their effortless charisma, I'm helpless against the wave of insecurity washing over me.
As I settle into a spot along the yacht's railing, a staff member hands me a snifter of champagne—the bubbly liquid dancing under the yacht's twinkling lights. I take a sip, the crisp taste a nice contrast to the humid night air.
I'm used to drinking Coors. Now I'm sipping from a glass of something probably worth a month's income.
The PA system buzzes to life, the voice of the announcer cutting through the thrum of the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's a fabulous night here at the Wave Regatta! And boy, do we have a lineup for you tonight!"
His voice, full of palpable excitement, echoes across the bay. The crowd erupts into cheers, the anticipation for the race tangible in the air. The announcer has that signature 1980s radio voice—full, resonant, and enthusiastic—with that slight nasal, mid-Atlantic twang.
"And now, for a moment we've all been waiting for. Our lovely Aphrodite, the Goddess of Pleasure herself, will wave the starting flag!" he announces, his voice booming in the balmy night.
From above the stadium, a holographic image materializes, the AI goddess of Summer City appearing in all her radiant glory. Her beautiful visage, the glowing pink hair shimmering against her ethereal skin, floats effortlessly above the spectacle. The crowd roars, the goddess's larger-than-life presence radiating a magnetic charm.
Aphrodite, holding her holographic "starting pistol," begins to count down. "Three…" Her smooth, sultry voice is surprisingly calming amidst the chaos. "Two…" She pauses, winking mischievously at the crowd, the spectators shrieking with laughter. Then, with a playful smile, "One…Go!"
The shot rings out, a spectacular burst of holographic sparks lighting up the night sky. The crowd surges with excitement as the sleek speedboats leap forward, breaking away from the starting line in a burst of speed and spray.
The sound of the roaring engines fills the air, the sight of the speedboats darting across the neon-lit waters is nothing short of mesmerizing. The futuristic drones flying overhead add to the spectacle—their bright lights illuminating the waters, capturing the boats' positions for the cheering fans in the waterside stadium.
"Corey's known for his agility," Dante explains, his eyes fixated on the speeding boats. "His boat, 'The Maverick,' is a Hydrostream Vegas XT. It's a power-packed monster, with a 2-stroke 250hp engine, and it's equipped with a nitrous system that helps him get that extra speed."
I can't help but be impressed as I watch Corey's speedboat, 'The Maverick,' slicing through the water. The boat itself is a beautiful specimen, its glossy black surface reflecting the vibrant neon lights—giving it the appearance of a sleek predator of the night. It cuts through the water with astounding ease, leaving a foamy trail in its wake.
The dazzling lights reflecting on the water, the crowd's boisterous cheers, and the thrill of the wave race create a dreamlike atmosphere. The sleek speedboats dart across the water, their gleaming hulls and powerful engines defying the blue expanse of the bay. The vibrancy of their designs and the roar of their motors are intoxicating.
"Corey's taking the lead, folks!" The announcer's enthusiastic voice booms over the speakers, drawing me back to the mesmerizing spectacle. "But don't count Hector out! His Garvey X-13 is a lean mean racing machine!"
My heart races in time with the speeding boats, the adrenaline from the outdoor spectacle pulling me in as I clutch the railing, my gaze glued to the water. I've never been much of a sports person but the atmosphere is infectious, and I can't help but get excited, rooting for our man Corey.
Feeling a bit more comfortable, I take another sip of champagne, the crisp taste cutting through the hot, humid air. The sparkling wine, more high end than I'm used to, is surprisingly easy to drink. After a few more sips, I feel a bit more relaxed, some of my nervousness evaporating.
"And it's a close race as they approach the first buoy. Ricardo's skimming the water like a shark and Martina's not far behind with the Nitro Z21!" The announcer's voice rises in pitch as he narrates the race, his excitement transmitting into the crowd.
Dante sidles closer to me, his muscular arm casually draping across my shoulders, sending a thrill of apprehension down my spine. "So tell me about yourself, Lizzy baby," he begins, his voice smooth and deep. His eyes gleam with a playful glint, his lips curling into a teasing smirk.
"I-I mean, there's really not much to tell. I'm a data analyst, trying... other things…" I trail off, Dante's nearness making me feel self-conscious.
He throws his head back and laughs, the sound a low rumble that echoes in the evening air. "Oh, baby, you're selling yourself short. I saw those pictures you took this morning. You've got SEX APPEAL, Lizzy. That kinda thing, you gotta share that with the world."
My face heats up at his words, remembering the awkwardness of taking sexy photos for my OnlyFans account.
He leans closer, his hot breath fanning against my ear. "You've got to embrace that vibe, darling," he murmurs. His dark eyes are filled with an intensity that has me swallowing hard, my heart pounding in anticipation.
He continues, his voice dropping to a low whisper.
"To me, you look like pure, 100% A-grade sex on a stick."
Suddenly, the lights on the yacht shimmer on, illuminating the pool section. A few women start to peel off their dresses, revealing striking bikinis underneath. With a splash, they jump into the water, their delighted screams echoing around the yacht. The water, illuminated from under by neon lights, looks inviting.
"Alright, Lizzy!" Dante's voice booms out, the playful lilt sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine. His large hand lands on the small of my back, his thumb rubbing in slow circles. The touch is casual, yet intimate, sparking a tingle of sensations along my spine. "Time to shine!"
With a swift move, he reaches out and pulls on the thin straps of my sundress. The fabric slides down my body, gathering at my feet. My heart pounds like a drum in my chest as I stand on the deck of the yacht, my pale skin exposed in my tiny pink bikini. The crowd's attention turns to me, their eyes sweeping over my voluptuous body. Whistles and cheers echo around me, causing a blush to spread across my face. God damn, I'd never been so exposed in my life.
"Damn, girl!" Babs exclaims, her blue eyes raking over my body. She whistles, the corners of her lips curling into a smirk. "You're looking fine as hell."
Dante's deep laugh rings in my ears, sending a flush of warmth down my spine. His large hand exerts a gentle pressure on the small of my back, nudging me towards the edge of the deck. "C'mon, baby girl. Make a splash."
Fueled by Dante's encouragement, and the crowd's cheers, I edge towards the pool. My heart beats a wild rhythm in my chest as I step into the cool water, the sudden chill causing goosebumps to erupt across my skin. The water rises up my legs, creeping over my thighs, causing my bikini bottoms to cling tighter to my sensitive pussy.
Stepping further into the pool, the water envelopes my waist, brushing against my bare abdomen. The sensation is foreign, yet not unpleasant. I can feel the water teasing the edges of my bikini bottom, the coldness causing my pussy to clench involuntarily.
As I sink deeper into the pool, the buoyant water lifts my tits, causing them to bob slightly. The sensation is unexpected, causing a small gasp to escape my lips. My nipples harden against the cold, pressing against the thin fabric of my bikini top.
The water laps at my neck, my hair floating around me like a halo. I tread water, doing my best to avoid dunking my head and ruining my makeup. I'm conscious of the rosy blush on my cheeks, the wet strands of hair clinging to my skin. I resist the urge to wipe at the water beads on my face, not wanting to smudge my mascara.
Behind me, the race announcer's voice booms from the loudspeakers, quickening the pulse of the crowd. The Wave Regatta is reaching its peak, the neon-lit drones illuminating the path of the speeding boats. The audience cheers on their favorites, their attention momentarily off me and back to the race.
I move to a shallower part of the pool, so that I can see what's going on.
Seizing the opportunity, Dante winks at me from the edge of the pool, my phone in his hand. With a smirk, he raises it, pointing the camera in my direction. "Time to get some content for your OnlyFans!" He calls out, his tone laced with excitement.
I blush, and several eyes glance over.
Babs, the blonde bombshell, gives a sly wink and moves in closer to me, pressing her bikini-clad body against my side. I feel her soft, ample breasts against mine, the sensation making my own nipples pucker even more.
"Alright, Liz, push those big wet tits together for me," Dante directs, his tone smooth yet commanding. My cheeks flame brighter at the explicit command, but I comply. Exhaling, I press my palms against the sides of my breasts, squeezing them together. I bite my lip as I feel the soft, plump flesh squishing between my fingertips, my wet bikini top hardly containing my assets.
Dante lets out a low whistle as he quickly snaps a few photos and video clips from different angles.
"Now, turn back-to-back with Babs and look over your shoulder, sexy-like," Dante instructs further. As I awkwardly shuffle into position, Babs's hand slips down to the small of my back, guiding me. "Damn, Liz, your ass looks fine!" Dante's voice echoes in my ears, laughing and teasing, but there's an undercurrent of raw desire that sends jolts of arousal coursing through me.
The wet fabric of our bikinis clings to our bodies, highlighting the contrasts between us. Babs's slim figure and my curvy form, her blonde hair cascading down her back and my brunette locks framing my face. The camera flash illuminates us, capturing every detail, every blush, every droplet of water trickling down our bodies.
Dante's voice pitches to a suggestive tone, "Alright girls- why don't you two make out? That would be fucking hot." It's a command, not a question.
Caught off guard, I barely manage a squeak before Babs's glossy lips are on mine. Her hands cup my face, tilting my head just right as she deepens the kiss. The taste of her cherry lip-gloss floods my senses. Her tongue explores my mouth, before I can even react!
Her fingers thread through my damp hair, the other arm snaking around my waist, pulling me closer. Fuck - it's been two years since I've kissed a girl, and now I'm doing it AS one. Babs's assertive nature is infectious, her playful dominance pushing me to give in to the moment, disregard the embarrassment of being in front of so many people.
Babs tastes like champagne and strawberries, a tantalizing flavor that has my newly sensitive taste buds humming. Her blonde hair brushes against my cheeks, the scent of her perfume mixing with the tang of sweat. I feel myself reciprocate, my hands roaming on Babs's back, tracing the contours of her bikini-clad body.
I can feel my heartbeat pulsing in the very tips of my nipples. The few that have gathered to watch cheer louder, the pulse of their excitement matching the throbbing between my legs.
Babs pulls away from our kiss, her lips still glistening with the shared gloss. Licking her lips, she tilts her head back and laughs, the sound rich and hearty. Her blue eyes are full of mischief, a devilish grin on her face, making her look incredibly sexy and carefree. Despite my embarrassment, I find myself grinning in response.
Dante, however, is a powerhouse of enthusiasm. He's jumping on the spot, an excited gleam in his eyes. "Oh shit, shit, shit!" He whoops, applauding loudly. I notice his visibly hardened bulge underneath his soaking wet trunks and my cheeks flame red. He's holding a bottle of champagne, the cork popping with a loud 'pop,' dousing him in frothy champagne. "You ladies are making a man sweat here!" He declares, his words slurred and brimming with anticipation.
He swims over, his eyes still focused on me, his dark skin glistening under the neon lights.
Babs, still giggling, swims over to him and without missing a beat, turns his eager attention towards her. I watch as they start making out, their bodies pressed together in the water, lost in their own world of shared lust.
I can't help but feel out of place, standing there watching them, my cheeks burning.
I lift myself out of the pool, no longer relying on the slight support of my big tits in the water. The cold night air hits me instantly, causing my nipples to harden even more. I hasten to wrap myself in a big, luxurious towel from a nearby stack, drying off my body.
I leave them behind, making out in the pool, as I move to the edge of the deck, closer to the ongoing race. The neon-lit speedboats chase each other through the water under the drones' glow, their engines roaring in sync with the crowd's excitement at the Marine Stadium.
The loud engines and cheers from the stadium drown out the intimate noises from the pool behind me, giving me a moment to catch my breath. I can still taste Babs' lip gloss on my lips, the reminder of our kiss just a few moments ago. My heart pounds like a drum, the cold towel barely enough to combat the heat spreading through my body.
The suggestive glances from Dante, the playful make-out session with Babs, the attention from the crowd - it's all a bit too much for someone like me. I feel a bit foggy, my breath still heavy from the adrenaline rush. I'm dripping wet - not just from the water.
I'm glad for the moment's respite, alone, away from prying eyes. I watch as the speedboats dart about, their motor roars temporarily drowning the deafening heartbeat in my ears. For now, the party is still going on, the drinks flowing, the men ogling, and Dante... still has his eyes on me.
I shift a bit, to a side deck, finding myself drawn to the thrilling spectacle of the wave race. I can still taste Babs' lip gloss tingling on my lips, my skin still radiating from Dante's lingering touch. My body feels an odd mix of fatigue and exhilaration, the adrenaline still pumping as I struggle to comprehend the reality of the evening.
I move over to a vacant spot by the railing, leaning against the cold, polished metal as I watch the speedboats zip past, their sleek hulls cutting through the neon-lit waters. The ocean, dotted with glowing buoys and futuristic drones, looks like a city skyline on water. For a moment, I lose myself in the excitement, the raw energy of the race.
Propelled by the powerful engines, the speedboats jump, dance, and weave through the water with an agility that seems to defy gravity.
From this vantage point on the Midnight Sun, the race unfolding before me is mesmerizing. The boats, adorned in brightly luminescent colors, hydroplane across the surface of the water, leaving behind trails of churning foam. The way the water glows with the reflected neon from the boats and drones, it's a high-speed dance of light and shadow.
Each boat is a masterpiece of design and engineering, their bodies sleek and slender, honed for superior aero and hyrdo dynamics. I can see the drivers hunched over their consoles, their white-knuckled hands gripping the wheel, visual markers on the transparent windshield HUDs guiding their path.
As someone who lived a life revolving around numbers and code, I'm struck by the intricacy and the complex mathematics that likely go into these machines, the physics of their movements, and the sheer skill and precision involved in handling them at such high speeds. It's pretty beautiful.
My eyes lock onto 'The Maverick.' Its glossy black body and blue neon trims slither through the water like an electric eel. Corey's cool figure is unmistakable under the blue dome light of his speedboat.
The Maverick takes a sharp turn around a buoy, demonstrating the strategic importance of the strake design. The angle of the turn, the speed—everything is flawlessly executed, his boat skimming the water's surface like an arrow. It's a breathtaking sight, their performance an exciting dance of man and machine, moving as one.
As Corey accelerates, the boat's rooster tail—a high spray of water created by the stern's drive—fans out like a peacock's tail, a dazzling display against the shimmering city skyline. I've seen the phenomenon in the Summer City boat races on TV, but witnessing it live, the water and light painting surreal patterns in the night sky, is a completely different experience.
I check the scoreboard—a holographic display hanging in mid-air, the glowing digits showing Corey still leading the pack. Dante's prediction appears to hold true; his agility on the water is unmatched, his speedy navigation of the tricky turns demonstrates the power of his boat and his prowess as a driver.
"What's up, Liz? You seem tense."
Dante's arrival snaps me from my reverie. He lays on the lounge chair next to me, one leg lazily draped over the other, a towel around his waist and sunglasses perched atop his flat-top hair. Despite the engaging race before us, his undivided attention is solely on me.
His presence sends a shiver down my spine. Dante's confident demeanor is magnetic, his relaxed nature, a stark contrast to my own nervous energy.
I glance back at him, trying to process the conversation that's about to commence. Looking back at the race, I mumble, "I'm just... Trying to get used to all this. Everything is just so new and overwhelming."
He of course doesn't know the biggest part of what I mean.
He chuckles, a sound that's rich and warm, like molasses on a summer day. "Well, that's Summer City for ya. If you're going to survive in this town, especially on OnlyFans, you're gonna have to learn to get comfortable with the uncomfortable. This place is all about pushing boundaries."
I swallow hard, his words sinking in. He's right, of course. I didn't choose to take the X-Change pill just to stay within my comfort zone.
He leans back in his chair, propping his arms behind his head, as he begins to recount a wild tale. Something about a hot pursuit on jet skis while he was smuggling cases of imported beer for a high-profile party. The story is so bizarre, so audacious, that I can't help but laugh, the absurdity of it all forcing me to ease up.
"I'm trying," I admit, once the laughter subsides, "I really am."
Dante peers over his sunglasses, his eyes laced with a mischievous glint. "How about we speed up the process? I've got a suggestion that might help you loosen up."
"Oh?" I quirk an eyebrow, cautiously curious. "And what might that be?"
Dante leans back in his chair, a devilish grin spreading across his handsome face. "Well, Liz," he says, his voice low and playful, "how about you unwind by sucking my cock?"
I nearly choke on the water I'd been sipping. My eyes widen, taken aback by his blatantly lewd suggestion. "What?!" I sputter out, my voice rising in disbelief. "You're joking, right?"
But Dante's just lounging there, casual as ever. He chuckles, shaking his head. "Oh, you'd be surprised, baby girl. There's just something about having a big black cock in their mouth that seems to put women at ease," he says, leaning back and shrugging, grinning like he's got the world's best kept secret.
"Unbelievable! You're just using this to try and get some action!" I retort, my mind racing with thoughts of public indecency and moral outrage. He's fucking crazy - plain and simple.
But deep down, there's a nagging prickle of something else. My heart's pounding, and there's a fluttering heat that's starting to pool in my lower belly. Why the hell is the thought of going down on him so...enticing?
"Hey, it's up to you, Liz," Dante responds, all nonchalant, like he's suggesting we go get ice cream. "The ladies I've been with? They naturally unwind a LOT more after having sucked on some meat. I mean – compared to that, everything else seems pretty easy, right?"
I glance around, noticing the other guests, their attention conveniently diverted towards the thrilling boat race. "But... there's so many people here, Dante!"
"Good thing these towels are big, huh?" He mischievously lifts the corner of his towel, creating a small tent. He touches his cock, and you see the bulge in the towel twitch. It's an obscene sight, and your chest tightens, and your breath hitches.
His leering eyes blatantly linger on me—the wet bikini, the massive tits, and the way my thighs squeeze together. Despite the mounting discomfort, his charmingly suave nature starts to wear me down.
"Come on, Liz." Dante grins at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Consider it... therapeutic. You'd be amazed how much tension a woman can release just by suckling a fat cock. It's got a calming effect. Like a... pacifier."
"A pacifier?" I mutter, incredulous. He nods, chuckling heartily.
"Yeah!"
I can't help but laugh; his brazenness is just too absurd.
"Hey, and sex sells, baby girl. Your fans would love the risqué, wouldn't they? Going down on a stud like me could skyrocket your popularity." He gives me a promising wink.
Despite the outlandish suggestion, I find myself considering it. Before I know it, I'm moving towards him, discarding my own towel and revealing my bikini-clad body in all its curvy glory.
"Just don't mess up my makeup," I warn.
Dante raises his hands, a playful smirk on his face.
He sits on the edge of his lounge chair, making space for me next to him. I join him, positioning myself between his thighs, my back against his leg. He drapes the towel over us, his hands resting on top of my head, hidden underneath the towel.
"Are you sure people won't be able to see?" I ask nervously.
"Trust me, baby. No one's gonna notice. And even if they do, do you really think they'll mind?" He chuckles, massaging my scalp soothingly. "I'll keep an eye out. If anyone gets too close, I'll cover for ya."
I take a deep breath, trying to get a grip on my anxiety. The situation is utterly insane, but there's a strange thrill coursing through me, an exhilarating mix of fear and excitement. And beneath that, a deep-seated arousal is starting to stir.
I can't believe I'm about to do this.
"Damn, baby," Dante's voice is coarse, low. "Your tits are real soft against my leg. Feels fucking good."
I can't see his face under the towel, but I can hear the grin in his voice. I swallow hard; the situation is ludicrous, but it's starting to get to me. I'm tangled, practically under this man, about to do something so dirty and obscene. The thought sends an unexpected jolt straight to my new pussy, causing it to pulse with a strange sort of anticipation.
I shift slightly under the towel, reaching down to tug at his swim trunks. They're soaked from his dip in the pool, causing them to cling to his muscular thighs stubbornly. I struggle, trying to pull them down to free the cock that's raring to go.
With a final tug, I manage to pull his trunks down. His big cock springs free, half-hard, and smacks me right on the nose, leaving a smear of pre-cum on my face. The sudden thwack surprises me, and I let out a muffled yelp.
Laughter rumbles from above me, Dante's amusement clear even under the shield of the towel. I can't help but blush as I wipe off the unexpected smear on my face, a small part of me secretly thrilled with the obscenity of it all.
I can hear the faint sound of the speedboat race beyond us, the crowd's cheers almost drowned out by the roar of engines.
With a shaky hand, I pull out my phone, propping it to record this absurdly exciting situation. I can feel Dante chuckling above me as I fumble under the towel, trying to get the camera to focus on his already throbbing black cock.
"Baby, don't worry," Dante teases, rumbling with laughter as I continue to fumble around. "Just focus on what you're about to do."
Under the towel, the world narrows down to just me and Dante's cock. His manhood is a hefty piece of work, a physical testament to his masculine prowess. It's a colossal tower of flesh - thick, veined, and menacingly erect. An S-curve gives it an intimidating appearance, hearty veins running along its length, throbbing with the pulse of his desire. His sack, dark and fuzzy, is sprawled over the rattan, creating a lewd tableau of virility.
I can't help but gasp at the imposing sight of it, the surreal reality of my situation only making my heart race faster. I've been dropped into the deep end of femininity, with his cock acting as the symbolic anchor.
His voice comes from above, muffled by the layers of towel between us.
"Tell me, Lizzy, you ever seen one like mine? Ever tasted a black cock before?" His words are teasing, a hint of cruelty in there, but oddly, they just make me more determined.
I shake my head, my voice barely a whisper. "No."
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that sends shivers down my spine. "Well, sweetheart," he purrs, his voice rich with anticipation, "Go ahead. Give it a little lick. Just the tip."
It feels so wrong, and yet, I find my heart pounding with anticipation. The heat from his skin is like a beacon, drawing me in. I feel lightheaded, a nervous flutter in the pit of my stomach. Can I really do this? Can I really put my mouth on another man's cock?
His cock twitches impatiently, the glistening tip less than an inch from my face. It's lighter than the rest of his cock, dribbling with clear pre-cum. The musky smell is strong, a blend of chlorine and pure masculinity. I swallow hard, licking my lips nervously.
With a shuddering breath, I stick out my tongue, tentatively touching the tip. The salty taste of his pre-cum hits my tongue, alien yet not entirely unpleasant. The heat from his cock sears my tongue, a stark reminder of the foreign territory I'm venturing into.
There is a pause, a breathless moment of anticipation, and then I hear Dante's voice from above.
"Been dreaming 'bout this since I saw you in that tight lil' running outfit, your fat tits bouncing in that pink sports bra." His voice is low and thick with desire. "Why don't you give it a couple of kisses? Show it some love, baby."
I blink, torn between shock and arousal. My heart hammers in my chest, the close confines of our hidden space amplifying every sound, every sensation. The reality of my predicament feels dizzying, yet irresistibly tantalizing.
Gulping down my nervousness, I lean forward, pressing my lips against the tip of his cock. It's warm and hard, a slight pulse beneath my lips. I plant another tentative kiss, then another, the taste of his pre-cum slowly becoming familiar on my tongue.
His groan of approval from above sends a jolt of anticipation through me, my mind whirling with the obscene reality I'm succumbing to. Yet despite the fear, the hesitations, a perverse thrill is starting to take hold.
My hand trembles as I reach out, hesitating just a fraction before finally brushing my fingers against his engorged manhood. The sensation shocks me, a strange mixture of hardness and pliability. His shaft is smooth and hot, much warmer than the rest of his body, with an almost velvety texture. The salty smell of him is overwhelming, a powerful combination of man and musk that makes my head spin.
I wrap my fingers around it slowly, testing the heft of it. His cock pulses against my palm, a rhythmic throbbing that syncs with the beat of his heart. I can feel the veins running along the underside of his cock, thick and snaking, the tissues swelling as more blood rushes to the throbbing member.
Above me, Dante grunts in approval, his voice muffled by the towel. I try to ignore the heat creeping up my face, choosing instead to focus on the foreign object in my hands. I tug on it experimentally, feeling his cock stiffen further in my grasp. The movement incites a glob of pre-cum to pearl from his slit, glistening in the filtered light. My heart races as I swipe my thumb over the moisture, spreading it along his shaft.
Underneath the towel, my reality narrows down to the pornographic tableau of my fingers wrapped around another man's cock. The absurdity of it doesn't escape me, but there's a perverse thrill coursing through my veins - a tantalizing blend of fear and excitement. And beneath that, a deep-rooted arousal.
I've never thought of doing this as Eddie, but now, as Liz, it feels like a rite of passage. If I'm going to make it in the cutthroat world of OnlyFans in Summer City, I'll have to become acquainted with the throbbing symbol of masculinity in my hand.
Brushing my damp hair aside, I inch closer to his rigid cock, the tip now just inches from my face. My breasts, stacked atop each other inside my bikini top, press against his muscular thighs. It's a peculiar sensation - the firm roundness of my tits against the steel-like hardness of his legs, the delicate fabric of my bikini rubbing against his wet, hairy skin. But what scares me more is how right it feels.
Taking a deep breath, I open my mouth, forming my lips into a tentative O. My heart thunders in my chest as I press my lips against the slit of his cock, the taste of his pre-cum bitter on my tongue.
Time seems to freeze as I close my eyes, focusing on the roiling sensations within me. I'm about to cross an invisible line, stepping into a world I never thought I'd traverse. I'm about to suck a man's cock. The thought is both terrifying and exhilarating.
His cock twitches against my lips, a silent reminder of what I'm about to do. Gathering all my courage, I wrap my lips around his tip, sucking tentatively. His strangled groan from above ignites a shiver of anticipation inside me, a perverse thrill at the knowledge of my newfound power.
From the corner of my vision, I glance at my phone screen, shocked at seeing myself. The rattan chair creaks underneath us, groaning under our combined weight.
I feel Dante shift above me, his muscular body rippling with the motion. His voice echoes from above, raw and carnal. "That's it, baby. Get that pretty mouth around my cock. Take it nice and slow."
His words resonate within me, both humiliating and compelling. I feel the tingling heat spreading from my core, snaking down to my pussy.
I work up a rhythm, bobbing my head on his cock, my hand pumping up and down his shaft. The position is awkward, my body bent awkwardly in the narrow space between Dante's spread thighs. His heavy balls pressed against my chin, my hair brushing against his muscled legs. The heat from his body seeping into me, making the small space beneath the towel stifling.
Suddenly, the muffled sound of approaching footsteps reaches my ears. My heart freezes in my chest as Dante's friend from the party, Rico, saunters over, all smiles and swagger. "Hey, Dante!" he calls out, unaware of the obscenity occurring beneath the towel.
I panic, stopping my movement, pulling my mouth off his cock. But Dante's hands rest on my head, his fingers tangled in my hair as he signals for me to continue. "Hey Rico, enjoyin' yourself?" Dante's voice is smooth, all traces of his arousal concealed beneath his casual tone.
With trepidation, I resume my ministrations, my mouth closing around his cock once more. Dante's sigh of satisfaction is barely audible over the sounds of the party. I can't believe what's happening. I'm blowing Dante while he's having a casual conversation with his friend. The fear and the sheer naughtiness of the act send a thrilling rush of adrenaline through me.
My eyes are glued to my phone screen, displaying the lewd image of my mouth bobbing on his cock, my lips shiny and slick with spit. The sight is both disgusting and arousing. I focus on the lewd slurping sounds, the rush of saliva in my mouth, the slight gagging noise each time his cock hits the back of my throat.
And all the while, Dante is engaged in a conversation about the boat race. "Did you see Corey's start? He nailed the hole shot. Blew everyone else out of the water!" Dante's words, laced with excitement and satisfaction, intertwine with the wet, slurping noises echoing beneath the towel.
Rico laughs, his voice echoing nervously. "Yeah, man, he fucking killed it. Did you see that rooster tail that his Skater threw? Shit was at least 10 feet high."
Meanwhile, I'm tucked away beneath a towel, between a man's legs, swallowing his dick while his friends discuss speedboats and rooster tails. The sheer absurdity of it all sends a shiver down my spine.
I can't believe how I've been corrupted so quickly, excited by the prospect of being caught. A thrill runs through me as I suck harder, feeling Dante's cock pulse with suppressed pleasure. The fear, the thrill, the obscene reality of it all, send me spiraling into a new level of arousal I've never experienced before.
As I increase my rhythm, my eyes remain glued to my phone screen. The scene unfolding there is a surreal mix of mortification and arousal. I see the bobbing of my head, the swaying of my hair. My mouth is stretched wide around Dante's thick shaft, spit pooling and drooling down his length. My hand is moving with increased urgency, pumping up and down, twisted between the combined thrill and fear of being discovered.
On the phone screen, I see the bold slashes of my Revlon lipstick smeared across his cock. The once vibrant red now a smeared, shiny coating on his hardness. As I twist my head, taking him in different angles, my lipstick imprints onto the veiny surface of his cock. I feel a pang of annoyance mingling with my arousal. I didn't bring any makeup for touch-ups and now my meticulously applied lipstick was ruined. Am I going to have to buy a fucking purse?
Their conversation, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, continues above me.
"Did you see 'Hurricane' Hobbs on the Circuit Breaker? Damned red beast cut through the water like a hot knife through butter. 500 horsepower Mercury racing engines, man! Ain't nothin' cept Corey going to outmatch that."
Rico's laugh cuts through the reverberating bass of the party music. "Yeah, but what about 'Tidal Wave' Tony on the Vortex? That 38-foot Scarab with triple Mercs is not to be fucked with. Yeah, Hobbs got the horsepower, but Tony's got the maneuverability."
I can't believe this. Here I am, some guy's cock tucked snugly in my mouth, while they're discussing horsepower. I've fallen so far, into a depraved chasm, that there seems to be no return.
I feel Dante's cock start to twitch, and a jolt of panic and wicked excitement surges through me. He's getting close. I double down on my efforts, my hand sliding slickly over his cock. My mouth hollows, sucking harder, eliciting a low groan from Dante. Dante's hand clenches in my hair, a gasp of surprise slipping from his lips, masked by a sudden roar from the crowd watching the race.
A sudden warm gust of wind sends a shiver down my spine. I can sense Dante's body tense above me, hear the strained edge in his voice. He's close. So fucking close.
Rico's deep voice cuts through the pounding music. "Everything alright there, Dante?" His tone is casual, but there's a hint of suspicion lacing the words.
I freeze, my heart hammering against my chest. I can feel Dante's cock lodged in my throat, feel the heavy pulsing vibrating through my clenched lips.
Dante's voice shifts, turning light, jovial. He stutters an unconvincing reply. "Yeah, m-man, just enjoying the race...and trying not to spill my drink."
A throaty laugh bubbles up from Rico, and I can sense a predatory grin spreading across his face. The fucker knows something's up.
Dante's hand curls tighter in my hair, his other hand giving me a clear signal to continue. I'm sweaty, shaky and nervous, but I do as I'm told. What else can I do?
My hand pumps him faster, my lips sliding up and down his swollen shaft. His moans are getting louder, harder to cover, but he doesn't stop me. I'm just trying to finish him off, to hide away in some dark corner and escape the humiliation.
Before I can process what's happening, the cover of the towel is yanked away. The warm salty breeze of the Florida coast assaults my bare exposed skin. Rico's laughter echoes around us, a coarse and knowing sound.
I startle, raw mortification coursing through as my lewd performance is exposed. From the corner of my eye, I see Rico's date, a prim, sour-faced woman, scream in outrage, pointing a manicured finger at me. "What a little slut!" she shrieks.
And all I can do is sit there, Dante's cock lodged in my mouth, as Rico chuckles and watches, clearly amused by my distress. Dante's hand settles on the small of my back, an unspoken command to keep going.
"You're one lucky bastard, Dante," Rico drawls, leaning back against the yacht's railing. "Always do seem to find the desperate ones."
I can feel my face burning with shame. I should pull away. Should run. But Dante's firm touch keeps me rooted in place. His voice, smooth as silk, whispers over the music. "Baby, you're not done yet. Finish what you started, Liz. Trust me, you'll feel better once you do."
Despite the humiliation, the words spark a deep, perverse excitement within me. My hand resumes its movements, pumping Dante in rhythm with the music. I close my eyes, shutting out the laughing crowd, and focus on the task at hand.
The crowd and Rico's mockery are distant hums compared to the throbbing, pulsating need to please, to serve. The scent of Dante's arousal, the taste of his pre-cum, the sound of his heavy breaths all blend into an intoxicating melody of degradation and surrender. This was a spectacle, and I was the star slut in this obscene performance.
And somehow, it feels hot. God, it does. Someone should slap me for thinking this, but it does.
A gasp escapes my lips as Dante's cock starts pulsing in my mouth. His breath hitches, his fingers tighten in my hair, and then I feel it – the first strong spurt of Dante's cum blasting onto my tongue. It's thick, hot, and I can taste its bitter, bleachy tang immediately. My eyes go wide, shock rippling through me as I'm forced to swallow.
Rico chuckles, his voice echoing over the cheer of the crowd as the announcer declares Corey the winner of the speedboat race. The yacht vibrates with the wild celebration, but I'm cut off from the joviality, my mouth stuffed full of Dante's ejaculating cock.
"That's it, girl," Dante growls in his rich, sensual voice, one hand clenching my hair, the other holding his phone close to capture every intimate detail. "Drink your drink. That's your slutty little energy drink, babe. Cooked it up in my balls for you."
His crude words send a wave of perverse humiliation washing over me. It's almost enough to eclipse the overwhelming reality of his cum flooding my mouth. Almost.
His cock keeps throbbing, each spasm sending another rope of thick, sticky cum spurting onto my tongue. It's hot, and bitter, and overwhelming in its volume. There's so much; it spills from my lips, trickling down my chin.
The crowd's roar is a distant hum compared to the throb of my pulse in my ears, the loud gulping sounds I make as I try to swallow everything Dante's serving. My mouth is filled to the brim with Dante's nut-sludge, its heavy taste clinging to my taste buds.
I can feel my pride being stripped away with each forceful pump of cum that shoots down my throat. Each swallow feels like a vouch of submission, a wordless commitment to my new role as Dante's cum receptacle — all in front of Rico's laughing eyes.
I can still hear Rico's snorts of laughter, tossing out rude comments.
Meanwhile, Dante reclines in his chair, his body still racked with the aftershocks of pleasure. "Oh fuck yeah," he says, his voice strained and satisfied. "You're doing a good job, Liz. Wait till your OnlyFans see how much you love sucking cock."
His words are a slap in the face, stinging through the thick musk of his cum in my mouth. My eyes tear up, not from the physical ordeal, but from the red-hot humiliation sizzling through me. I want to pull away, but Dante's hand is firm in my hair, his grip unyielding.
Dante's cock finally finishes its hefty payload, leaving behind a trembling, cum-drained coil of flesh in my mouth. My mouth is a messy cave of viscous white goo, the taste of him lingering in the back of my throat. My eyes are watering, my face red with humiliation, but Dante is laughing, a self-satisfied grin stretching across his handsome face.
I'm left with the taste of his cum, the remnants of my pride, and a haunting sense of what being Liz really means.
I'm still in a state of induced shock when I feel a pair of arms wrapping around me. I'm tugged out of the chair and away from Dante, led through the crowd bathed in the warm afternoon sun. The salty breeze of the evening sea washes over me, the rapid beating of my heart slowly stabilizing.
"We can't have you sitting there, all covered in cum, babydoll," the newcomer, a willowy blonde named Babs, murmurs softly in my ear, her tone teasing but not unkind.
In the opulent yacht bathroom, she helps me clean up, gently wiping my face and chest with a warm, damp cloth. The salty, bitter taste of Dante's seed still lingers on my palate, no amount of water seems to fully wash it away, but Babs is patient and understanding. The intimacy of the moment, the honesty and acceptance within it, is unexpected but comforting.
"So, how are you feeling?" she asks, leaning back to look at me, her clear blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.
I'm not quite sure how to put my tumultuous emotions into words. "I...I don't know," I finally confess, a blush creeping up my cheeks.
Something akin to understanding flickers in her eyes. "Dante has that effect on girls. He's like a hurricane, sweeps you up without a warning. But, sweetheart, don't worry about it," she says, her voice laced with wisdom born from personal experiences. She reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
"I didn't hate it," I admit, slowly, my voice barely a whisper.
Babs smiles at me, her eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and reassurance. "Then, there's nothing to worry about, is there? Life's sooo much better without any inhibitions."
Her assurance has a calming effect on me, enough for me to allow her to guide me to the vanity. Babs takes my chin in her hand, examining the state of my makeup. "Oh, dear, he really did a number on you," she comments lightly, her tone more amused than concerned.
I watch her as she digs through he kit, pulling out an array of products. She starts with a gentle cleanser, wiping away the remnants of my ruined makeup. She chatters animatedly throughout, her easy-going nature helping to ease my embarrassment.
After cleaning my skin, Babs applies a soothing moisturizer, her fingers working in gentle, circular motions as she rubs the cream into my skin. She then picks out a tinted moisturizer, a match for my skin tone, and applies it expertly and swiftly, blending it into my skin to give an even finish.
Next, she touches up my brows, filling them in with a light brown pencil. Babs then curls my lashes before applying a waterproof mascara – "In case anyone else decides to unload in your face," she quips with a teasing wink.
A fresh coat of lipstick comes last. Babs carefully lines my lips before filling them in with a natural rose-colored lipstick. She finishes off with a slick of lip-gloss, making my lips appear fuller and more luscious.
Finally, she gives me an approving nod. "One word of advice. Life's too short to be shy about what you want." She pats my ass affectionately. "So, I heard you're on OnlyFans?"
I nod, a little embarrassed to admit it. "Well, I'm trying to start one…"
She chuckles, her eyes dancing with unabashed delight. "That's fantastic, darling! You definitely got the bod for it." Her fingers skim over my exposed cleavage once again.
Dressed as I am, in my cum-stained bikini, I feel every bit the part of the plaything I'd been earlier. Babs seems to read my mind, "Hold on, I've got just the outfit for you."
She disappears for a moment, leaving me alone in the unfamiliar opulence of the yacht's bedroom. I take a moment to breathe in the exotic scent of the room – a heady mix of the ocean and expensive perfume. A few minutes later, she re-enters, her arms laden with an array of garments.
This, I realize, is Babs' room on this luxury yacht. She must be more than just a friend to the owner, to be granted such luxury. As if reading my thoughts, she says, "Oh, I have a few benefits with Vincent. Fuck him sometimes, and I get to stay here."
"Sweet deal," I reply softly, looking around.
With a flourish, Babs produces a deep violet dress, the absolute color of the night, with intricate layers of diaphanous chiffon. Its sweetheart neckline is adorned with intricate silver beadwork. The dress is super narrow at the waist, with a high slit promising a good look at my legs.
Babs' deft fingers work to tie the thin straps of my dress behind my neck, securing it in place. She adjusts the dress to accentuate my breasts, the neckline dipping low to display just a hint of my ample cleavage.
The transformation is astounding. The woman in the mirror, with her cascade of wavy hair, youthful face enhanced by expert makeup, and the curvaceous body hugged by a sensual dress, shows a whole new side of me.
"Dante... he told me Vincent could put me in music videos or something," I confess, catching Babs' eye in the mirror. I watch as her eyes flicker with an unreadable emotion.
Babs looks at my reflection in the mirror, nodding knowingly. "Do you think the girl in that mirror could star in a music video?" She asks.
I stare at my reflection, at the radiant, sensual woman in the mirror. The shy Liz seems to have morphed into a radiant diva, commanding attention and allure with her mere presence. A slow smile spreads across my face as I nod.
—
As I step out onto the deck, the cool breeze of the ocean greets me, playing with the chiffon layers of my dress. I stumble slightly, my feet unaccustomed to the towering heels. I giggle a little, clutching Babs' arm for support. We'd just shared another glass of champagne, maybe even two, and I'm feeling a lot looser.
"Country girl, huh?" Babs teases, her laughter mingling with the pulsating beat of the music in the background.
The Midnight Sun sparkles under the starlit sky, the deck alive with laughter, chatter, and the enticing aroma of fresh seafood being grilled nearby. Fireworks explode above the yacht, their dazzling lights reflected on the calm surface of the ocean. The atmosphere is charged with revelry as Corey boards with his 1st place medal, basking in his victory.
Dante is waiting near the bar, his eyes lighting up as he sees me. There's a long, low whistle from him that cuts through the chatter, followed by his signature lazy grin.
"Damn, Liz," he says, the drawl in his voice more pronounced. His eyes hold a hint of apology. "You clean up nice."
I blush. But instead of cringing away, I meet his gaze with a confidence that surprises myself. What do I have to lose?
His playful chuckle sends a thrill up my spine, a peculiar mix of embarrassment and excitement. His hand reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch feather-light and yet enough to leave me breathless.
"Come on, babe, time to meet the head honcho. He'll love you as much as I do," he says, his voice a low, sultry murmur that sends another shiver down my spine.
He leads me across the deck to where Vincent is lounging, surrounded by a group of men. The older man looks up as we approach. "Well, if it isn't our little Cinderella," he drawls, his tone appreciative.
Dante winks at me, his grip on my hand reassuring. "Liz, you met him before, but now I want to properly introduce Vincent Capello, one of the biggest music and adult film producers in the state."
He reaches out to take my hand, his fingers closing around mine with a firm grip. "Pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth. I hope you're enjoying our little shindig?"
"Very much so, Mr. Capello," I reply, looking around at the lively party. "Your boat is amazing."
He chuckles, waving away my formality. "Please, call me Vincent. And thank you, the Midnight Sun is my baby."
Dante continues to charm Vincent, speaking highly of me, subtly suggesting that Vincent consider me for his music videos. "I'm telling you, Vinny. Liz here has got the right mix of innocence and sex appeal. She'll be perfect for Sunday's shoot."
"Oh, let's see it then, darling. Show me what you've got," Vincent suggests, the interest in his eyes making me blush in earnest.
I take a deep breath, my heart galloping like a wild horse. Here I was, Eddie the data analyst, now a woman, in a yacht, in the middle of the ocean, with some of the most influential people in the Summer City entertainment scene, and I was about to strike a pose in my violet chiffon dress.
I run a hand through my hair, letting the loose waves cascade down to my shoulder. As I strike a pose, the chiffon layers of my dress sway with the movement, clashing with the warm light of the yacht. The dress clings to my voluptuous body, emphasizing my full breasts and rounded hips, as I step through the high slit.
"My my, that's what I'm talking about," Vincent murmurs, taking a long sip from his glass. His eyes are glued to me, running over my figure with a discerning gaze.
Babs steps up, placing her hand on my shoulder. "She might have an innocent face, but trust me, this girl can turn it on when it counts." She winks at me, and Dante snorts in agreement.
Vince chuckles, a low, hearty sound. "And those tits, god damn!" He gestures towards my chest, leaving no one in any doubt about what he meant. "Perfection." His tone isn't predatory - it's business, pure and simple.
I blush hard, but don't bat away his comment. I've come too far for that. I part my lips, my tongue darting out to moisten them. "I'd love to be a part of your music video, Mr., uh, Vincent."
He puffs on his cigar, blowing out a ring of smoke. "Well, you certainly have the charms. But, that's not all you'll need."
Drawing in a deep breath, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.
"I- uh, I can play the guitar."
The words hang in the air, and instant regret washes over me. Why would I say that? This is a model casting, not some campfire sing-along. Dante throws his head back, his laughter echoing around the deck.
"What is this, a folk festival?" he guffaws, slapping his thigh. "The only strings this girl needs to know about is the string bikini she'll be wearing. Eh, Vincent?"
The magnate, however, doesn't laugh. Instead, he studies me, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Wait a minute..." he muses.
Turning to one of the band members, he beckons, "Benny, bring Liz that guitar of yours. Let's see if she's got some strings to her."
Benny, a burly man decked in leather and chains, flashes me a supportive smile as he passes me his guitar. It's a beautiful piece – an electric guitar that would make any music lover drool.
"The Gibson Les Paul 'Heritage Series Standard 80," I whisper, cradling the instrument in my hands. My fingers explore the sunburst flame maple top, admiring the solid mahogany body. The dual humbucking pickups promise a depth of sound that I can only dream of.
I swallow hard, trying to dampen the growing fear in my throat as the stakes climb.
With a deep breath, I adjust my grip, the cool weight of the instrument resting against my thigh, my boob nestled on the curve, just like I'd practiced yesterday. I position my fingers on the strings.
Even through the trembling of my fingers and the adrenaline rushing through my veins, my hands remember the chords, the strumming patterns. It's second nature, a part of me that the X-Change couldn't transform.
My eyes close, shutting out the world as I surrender to the music. The notes flow seamlessly, my fingers plucking the strings with an ease that surprises even myself. I can feel the music, the rhythm soothing my nerves, releasing the pent-up tension in my body.
In a twisted way, especially after that blowjob, I realize my own numbness has set in. A protective layer that won't really serve me well in this new life. Yeah, so I may have lost a bit of my self-respect today. The Eddie I used to be is slowly fading, at least for now.
My dress sways with my movements, the chiffon layers dancing in time with the rhythm. The high slit exposes my toned leg, and I can feel the appreciative gazes of Vincent, Dante, and others as I strum my way through the intro.
Before I know it, the words are pouring from my lips, raw and filled with emotion. My voice may not be perfect, a testament to the many sleepless nights and bottles of cheap whiskey, but it's the vulnerability, the soulful honesty that makes it captivating.
"There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship, smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves."
My performance is not flawless, the fear and insecurity seeping into my melody as occasional missteps. But my determination, the raw emotions and the soul I pour into the song cover up for the imperfections.
"Your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying."
The crowd watches me, their silence deafening amidst the gentle lapping of the ocean waves against the yacht.
In this moment, all that matters is the guitar, the song, and me. My past, my present, and my uncertain future, all channelled into a heart-tugging melody.
A nurturing warmth fills me up from the inside. It is in this moment that I truly feel the transformation, the metamorphosis from Eddie to Liz. I am bare, my soul stripped for the world to witness.
The song winds to a close, and I can't help the breathless giggle that escapes my lips. The final note rings out, hanging in the air before fading away. I look up, my eyes meeting Dante's. He looks shocked as fuck.
Then, Vincent breaks into applause. The sound is infectious, spreading through the crowd like wildfire until the entire deck is erupting in cheers and claps.
I blush, flooded with a sense of relief.
Mr. Capello rises from his seat, sauntering over with a cigar in hand. His presence commands the deck, the crowd parting to let him through. He comes to a stop in front of me, his eyes appraising me with a strange intensity. Then, a slow smile curls on his lips.
"You've got a soul, girl. And that's something money can't buy." He claps me on the shoulder. "Welcome to the team."
Before I can even process his words, Dante swoops in, pumping my arm in the air. "That's my girl!" he proudly declares. "A hot piece of ass and a rock star all in one!"
The approval sails over me, wrapping me in a blanket of emotion so intense it's almost euphoric. To think, just hours ago, I was a blushing, terrified mess.
"Keep the guitar, darling. You've earned it," Vincent appends, lifting his glass in a toast.
I'm speechless. I clutch the Gibson close to me, not daring to believe my luck.