Here is a ridiculous hypnotic fantasy I wrote. As far as I know, this is not possible in real life, definitely not to this extent. I also want to say it's from a point of view that's very naive of transgender perspectives - it's just an idea I found hot. This one has no nonconsensual sex; in EMCSA terms it would be coded "mc ma".
SCHLONG
By Divney
Jenny stretched out in the bed luxuriously. The sunlight was waking her up, which meant that she had missed the alarm clock, but still had time for the quick version of her wake up routine. But for now she was going to enjoy the fluffy duvet and white sheets against her naked body, and the delicious aftermath of good strong orgasms from the night before.
She reached over to her husband’s side of the bed, and found herself clutching only bedding. There was a note on the pillow. “Didn’t want to wake you honey. Talk to you when the plane lands. Last night was spectacular. Love you, Mark”
She smiled, and told herself, one more minute to enjoy the bed. She flopped over on her front, and realized something was wrong.
She had a penis.
She rolled back over and quickly looked under the sheets at her bare crotch. The familiar neat bush. But when she put her hand down there, she could feel it: limp, sizable, and lying along her belly. She could feel its warmth on her belly too. But it was invisible.
Last night came back to her in flashes. Mark shyly proposing the idea over dinner, and her shocked but aroused reaction. After a round of their regular, first class sex, him preparing her to take her into a deep hypnotic trance, deeper than he’d ever taken her in their previous experiments with altering her senses for sex play. Her being lifted out of the trance invigorated, full of affection for her husband, and with an invisible schlong that was already growing and getting rigid. (“Why invisible?” she had asked. “Because I don’t want you inspecting someone else’s knob, even if I gave it to you,” he had replied)
They had a good time with that invisible member. Such a good time. But why was it still here?
“Mark must have forgotten to remove the suggestions before he went to sleep!” Jenny realized in a panic. She grabbed her iPhone from the charger on the side of the bed, but then realized that the number on alarm clock was the same as his boarding time, 8:15. There was no way to get through to him! And it was a 10 hour flight!
Jenny jumped out of bed and paced back and forth. She could feel the phantom dork swinging a little, still very light in its limp state.
She reached down to explore it more fully. It was all there, circumcised head and shaft and balls, although they were somewhat simplified and idealized, without the goosebumps that Mark’s had. And they were sensitive. Although her tentative exploration was more like how a doctor would check for lumps, it started to have an effect: she felt a trickle of warmth in her crotch, and the member begin to swell.
“I don’t have time for this!” she told herself. She quickly showered, keeping her hands away from her crotch but feeling the bizarre sensation of the water rushing over the invisible dink, and quickly got dressed.
Her momentum was arrested a little when she looked in the mirror and saw the bulge in the front of her skirt. It was a curious look for a petite, short-haired blonde woman. She didn’t think she’d be able to leave the house, even knowing consciously that it was an illusion only for her, until she remembered what Mark had told her about these hypnotic hallucinations when they had first started experimenting with them several months ago: your eyes will lie to you, even when looking in a mirror, but if you look on the viewscreen of a digital camera you’ll see what other people see. And when she took the phone from the bedside table and pointed the camera down at her skirt, the fabric looked flat, as it should be.
One more nervous rub of her hand over the bulge, and another text and another email to Mark, and it was time for her to leave the house.
Jenny arrived at the office of the PR firm at 9 sharp. She glanced compulsively down at her skirt, then took a deep breath and pushed throughh the front door. It was an open plan office, so she had to say hello to everyone on her way to her desk. She could feel the prick rubbing slightly on the inside of her thigh with each step, giving her what she knew looked like a slight limp.
But no one reacted strangely to her, and once at her desk, life quickly started to seem normal. She answered emails, worked on the post-mortem report for the Bud Light Lime event, and put the finishing touches on her PowerPoint presentation.
She breathed a sigh of relief, and reflected that there had been plenty of funny little mishaps before, albeit not as big as this one. Once her husband had accidentally spoken her orgasm trigger while they were at a work party, which she had managed to pass off as an enormous sneeze. Another time he had forgotten that she was in hypnotic bondage restraints and gag, and had fallen asleep by her side, causing her to have to head butt him back to consciousness. But he had more than made up for that later that night... Mmm...
Too late she realized what was happening, as the phantom tool swelled with blood. Soon she had a full sized hard-on, clearly outlined in the skirt along her leg.
She couldn’t stop staring at it underneath her desk. It gave a twitch. It wasn’t going away by itself anytime soon. She made a gesture as if to brush lint off her skirt, in the process running her fingers lightly along its length. She shivered at the pleasure of the touch.
She couldn’t work like this. It was too distracting. What did Mark say he did when he had an unwanted boner? Think about baseball? She hadn’t paid enough attention to baseball to even be bored by it, so there wasn’t anything she could grab onto. Then she thought about their landlord Mr. Kapek, a hairy older Polish man, who had creeped her out so much that time she had had to deal with him on her own.
That did the trick; she could feel the scaffolding collapsing, and soon it was back to a minimal lump. Back to work, she told herself.
Twenty minutes later, she found herself fighting sexy thoughts again. It was insidious: as the cock twitched up larger and larger, it was harder to think of nonsexual things. It was a kind of feedback loop, until the boner was rock hard and pulsing with every heartbeep.
She risked another surreptitious rub of her crotch, which made her let out a gasp and an involuntary whine of frustration. She glanced around quickly to make sure no one had noticed. Now she knew what she had to do.
She walked hurriedly up the hall, blushing and holding a binder in front of her crotch. Although the giant lump was invisible to others, she still couldn’t stand for it to be exposed.
Finally she was in the woman’s bathroom, with her skirt and panties down around her calves. She could feel the stiffy wave in the air, gloriously free. And aching to be touched.
She had to wait thirty agonizing seconds while the woman in the next stall finished up and washed her hands, and then she grabbed the meaty shaft and went to work. The previous night her husband had tenderly teased and explored her illusory cock, in a way that had sent chills everywhere. This was different. This was beating off, like a teenage boy. Her fist flew up and down in the air, and she couldn’t help releasing a long low groan. There was something so satisfying about really getting a handle on the sex organ, and rubbing one out. She saw spots from all the pleasure.
She felt her hallucinated balls get tight, along with every other part of her body, and then she was over the cliff, crying out as her head fell back. A powerful stream of come shot out of her fist and splatted on the inside of the stall door. She flummoxed for a minute, even as the pulsing, bursting sensation continued, but then she remembered that from last night: her husband apparently wanted her to see illusory girl spunk. Four more gobs painted the door and began to slide down.
Jenny felt an enormous sense of relief, and let her head lie back with her mouth hanging open. Slowly she lowered her head down onto the toilet paper roll, to take a rest.
Then she woke up with a jolt, and looked at her smart phone. She’d been asleep for five minutes! And the invisible cock was still in her right hand, limp but even larger than she remembered. The spunk was still there on the door, but was slowly becoming transparent. A quick check with the camera on her phone confirmed that it wasn’t really there.
She cleaned up, washing her hands very thoroughly, and walked back to her cube, sighing heavily. The threat of the trouser snake seemed to have been defused — but for how long? She looked at her Google Calendar and groaned inwardly: meetings all afternoon.
An hour into the first meeting, her worries were justified. With the boringness of the talk, her mind didn’t have much to do but wander, and think arousing thoughts, and even Mr. Kapek couldn’t slow down her journey to a raging hard-on. She had always been attracted by men’s hands, and she couldn’t help looking at them all around the conference table. She imagined them stroking her all over, even the cock. As the imaginary blood flow to the putz increased, her lusts grew, extending to even Henry from accounting and the prim little brunette intern who had worn red lipstick today. Talk about thinking with your penis: she hadn’t been into many women in the past, but now she couldn’t help picturing the brunette in front of her with her mouth stretched as wide as it could go, servicing the invisible cock.
That was the other thing: it was larger than it was before. It wasn’t just the arousal—it was definitely growing in size, a little more with each sexual thought.
By the time of the second meeting, it was as big around as a can of hairspray. Its length had grown propotionally. She felt it straining her panties, and poking far out into her skirt under the table. There didn’t seem to be a comfortable position for it to be in: both down her leg and straight out from her pelvis restricted it. With some clever maneuvering under the table however, she got it to pop out the top of her skirt. It extended well past her belly button. With a little shifting, she could stealthily rub it against the edge of the conference table, though this did nothing but frustrate her—and make it get bigger.
“Jenny? Can you give us the rundown on the Bud Light Lime flash mob event?”
Jenny startled. She had forgotten about her presentation! She blushed deeply. “Of course Jack.”
The presentation was a struggle. Although the erection went away almost immediately, the still sizable limp wiener was trapped by her waistband, and the way the waist elastic nuzzled her balls was very distracting. She stammered from time to time, but she knew her slides were good, and that got her through. Finally she was able to sit down, the last of many blushes still warming her face.
Jack said, “That was terrific. I just wanted to say in front of everyone, you did exceptional work on this campaign Jenny. This event really showed off your creativity and hard work.”
Jenny’s heart leapt, and, to her surprise, so did the cock. Good god, she thought, Mark told me something once about a victory boner, when you are feeling powerful, and I thought that was weird. It’s so much weirder to experience it.
Though she longed to go back to her desk and recuperate, maybe rub another one out in hopes that it would stop the growing, at least for a while, the meetings continued. The next meeting was a breakout in the project manager’s enormous office. The erection went away from time to time, but more often was at full strength. Her chubby longed to be in something warm, wet and tight. In her nearly delirious state, she thought of her own pussy, and how good that would feel around it.
But as she struggled to follow what was being said at the meeting, and respond at the appropriate times, her eyes kept getting drawn to the large leather loveseat in the corner of the room. Specifically, the crack between the two cushions. She couldn’t stop imagining how it would feel on her johnson.
She could think of times in the past when she’d been very horny, but never with this urgency. She needed release—she had to shoot a load.
At last the meeting ended. Her body hummed as she walked down the corridor, but as she walked, she used her iPhone to add a special meeting to the project manager’s calendar, effective immediately. Then she did a U-turn, and lurked in the hallway alongside his office until he left it, on his way to the room number she’d entered in the neighboring building. He always was a slave to his calendar reminders. She had at least 15 minutes before he reached the office, figured out it was a mistake, and made his way back here. She slipped inside, closed the door, ever so quietly, and then it was just her and the couch.
Luckily the office was well sound-proofed, or the sounds of wordless grunts and moans would have filled the whole floor, as the short blonde slammed her hips into the couch. She could feel the length of her rod, now about as long as a baseball bat, slide against the smooth leather as it was gripped between the cushions, almost reaching the back of the couch with every thrust. It felt wonderful.
Just then the administrative assistant walked in, headed towards the desk. Jenny had just enough warning to still her hips.
“Hello Melanie! Uh, I was just looking for a bobbypin!” Her whole body was throbbing, almost in pain from the sudden deprivation.
“Are you ok?” Melanie asked, and walked over to the couch, which Jenny was still kneeling in front of. Melanie couldn’t see where she had pulled down her skirt in front. “You look flushed. Are you getting that flu?”
As she said this, she sat down on the couch cushion, causing it to grip the wang tightly. Jenny slowly pulled her hips back, and her face screwed up from the intensity of the pleasure.
“Hunhh...maybe.”
“So... you’re still looking?”
“Yes...I just hate to lose a bobbypin...”
After looking at her for a long time, Melanie took some papers from the desk and left Jenny alone, to her gratitude. Jenny counted to five after the door closed, and then began banging the couch for all she was worth. She pushed down on the cushions to try to add more friction. The pleasure just kept building, shooting up and down the length of the enormous shaft.
Finally she threw her arms up and let out a cry through gritted teeth. At the back of the couch, a giant fan of semen shot up from behind the cushions, painting it.
This time Jenny was ready for the drowsiness. She waddled on her knees over to the second desk in the room, which had a skirt that reached to the floor, and lay down behind it, where she couldn’t be seen. She fell into a dead sleep.
When she woke up, it was 5:45, and late enough for her to justify leaving. While behind the desk she had slipped her panties off. Now the member dragged on the carpet as she walked to her desk to get her laptop. It was like she could feel individual carpet fibers gently brushing and carressing it, feeling treachorously good.
Luckily it didn’t become a lurching, massive, unwieldy boner until she made it to her car. It was a good thing it was invisible, otherwise it would have interfered with her view out the windshield. The vibration of the steering wheel, which it rested on, sent shivers of ecstacy through her. The twenty minutes of her commute had never felt so long.
Finally she had privacy at home, and a chance to do something about the erection until she could get through to her husband. It was a major relief to let it out, and let it swing around freely. She put her hands on either side of it, which to someone in the room would have looked like she was holding an invisible football, and started vigorously massaging.
It was no good. Her slender hands were tiny compared to it, and she could only reach halfway along its length. She tried her couch, but the cushions just slid off, and the covering was scratchy besides. She started to panic. The urgency was back, but she couldn’t get her own release.
There was only one hope. Call Damien. Damien worked at the local indepedent coffee shop she and Mark loved. The three of them had gotten to be friends, with him often sitting down at their table with his apron when business was slow. Then one night, after a post-closing drink together, the three of them had gotten intimate. She would never have imagined herself opening up her marriage, but Damien was the sweetest, most easygoing, most straightforward man she’d ever met, and it had never been anything but lovely to have him in their bed from time to time.
She called him at the coffeeshop, and thrilled to hear his voice, while one hand stroked futilely along the broad top of her erection.
By the time Damien arrived, the living room was a mess: it was full of all the things she had tried to masturbate with, from the velvet second set of drapes, to the ruins of a watermelon. All these things had given her exquisite, teasing pleasure, and maybe a couple of thrusts, but had not done the trick. She was hiding behind the door as she opened it, to not reveal to the neighborhood that she was in blazer and dress shirt with no skirt or underwear. He hugged her like he always did — her mind reeling slightly at the violation of the illusion as he stood inside the area of the member — listened seriously, looked off into the distance for a second, and nodded, “ok.”
“Over here?” Damien positioned himself at the far end of the living room with his hands out as if to catch a ball. He was tall and lean with brown hair and a goatee, and strong nimble hands, which he put to good use in his woodworking hobby.
“No, down a little bit, and put your hands closer together.”
With her own hands and pelvis, she maneuvered the giant ghost phallus, which wasn’t as heavy as it would have been in real life, but still unwieldy. She shuddered when she felt it settle into Damien’s hands, feeling them just behind the helmet.
“Ok, that’s good. Now please, just carefully, move your hands forward and back.”
He did it, being careful not to move his hands too far apart, looking like a politician emphatically gesturing with both hands. She rubbed closer to the base, and together, she was finally getting the sensations she craved.
“Oh yes... oh yes that’s it Damien... rub it harder... Oh please, just swirl your hands around the tip.”
“Is this where it is?”
“Yes, OH YES, oh that feels so GOOD. Keep doing that. YES. Oh Damien. Now rub the shaft again, very fast. OH GOD, OH FUCK. YES, YES, YES. Oh, it’s happening, oh Damien, I’m going to come, oh Damien, OOHHHHHHH SHIT FUCK GOD FUCK OHHHHHHHHHHHH”
She felt like all her organs were being sucked out of her body, and blown along the length of the shaft to be shot out of the tip at high speed. She fell back on the carpet, and as she did the schlong slashed a thick trail of come along Damien—who didn’t react, since it was purely in her mind—and across the framed Monet print on the wall. It made a Rorschach pattern on the ceiling, and began to ooze and drip on the furniture.
Jenny had never been so drained by an orgasm. Just as she began to lose consciousness, her cellphone rang. It was Mark. She answered it from the floor. “Oh, Mark.”
“Hi honey! You sound a little spacey.”
“Mmm huh.”
“Are you just tired? Did you have a long, hard day?” And he chuckled long and low.
She struggled to push herself up halfway on one elbow. “Oh! Oh, you bastard! You’re going down for this! I’m going to learn hypnosis, and I’m going to get you backssszzzz” And she was asleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment