It's been eleven years since I earned my doctorate in English Literature from a prominent mid-western university. I moved to Boston when I accepted a professorship at Regis College to teach pre-seventeen hundred English Lit. I expected to be at Regis for three or four years. My expectations never came to pass, and four years ago, I received my tenure papers. I suppose a career at Regis is a distinct possibility.

My profession is pre-1700 English Lit, but my passion is writing erotic novelettes. I live in a one-bedroom flat near the historic district of Boston and often travel to Manhattan to enjoy Broadway shows and an occasional off-Broadway play. I've never considered the possibility of marriage, and the thought of giving birth isn't something I have the tiniest bit of interest in.

I suppose my fellow professors at Regis see me as somewhat stuffy since my wardrobe around campus consists of unflattering sweaters, long skirts, and flat shoes. My long brunette hair is always pulled up in a bun with a pencil stuck through it. None of my male counterparts have shown the slightest interest in me.

At thirty-six, I still have a relatively firm figure. My breasts are a petite 34B cup, and my slim waistline flares nicely at my hips. I stand five feet five inches tall. My green eyes contrast very well with my straight brunette hair.

I have often fantasized about becoming one of the characters in my erotic stories but have never had the nerve to bring any of those fantasies to reality. That is until my most recent trip to Manhattan. Several weeks earlier, I had come across the internet web page of a small theater group that described themselves as erotically offbeat. The schedule of their productions listed a show titled "Taboos." Since my novelettes sometimes deal with social taboos, I ordered a ticket for a Saturday afternoon matinee. I made reservations at the hotel where I usually stay when visiting New York and looked forward to spending two days away from Boston.

The Friday afternoon of my trip, I had wanted to get on the road early. Maybe even make it to Manhattan before the evening rush hour. The best-laid plans can change in an instant. Mine happened to be altered by several students who wanted some additional help with a rather tricky assignment I'd given my advanced English Lit class. I finally made it out of my office at about 4:45 PM. As I walked down the long hall of the English department that Friday afternoon, Richard S. Davidson came out of his classroom just as I approached.

"Evening, Ms. Walker, you're here late tonight?" He asked me.

I half smiled at him and replied, "Yes, Richard, I had planned on leaving early today, but I had to help a couple of my students with an assignment." I added, "By the way, Richard, I'd appreciate it if you would call me by my first name. Ms. Walker sounds so matronly.

Richard had a keen memory for all the characters in Sir William Shakespeare's novels, but when remembering the simple things, he often fell a little short.

He looked at me and said, "Oh, okay," He paused momentarily. I knew he was trying to remember my first name. Finally, he came up with it. "Gen, I will remember that."

I wondered if he knew that Gen is short for Genevieve.

"So, Gen, what plans have been delayed this afternoon?" Richard asked.

"I'm going to New York to see a matinee tomorrow afternoon," I replied.

Richard said, "Well, you should still be able to make your show time."

"Of course, Richard," I said. "But I may miss my dinner reservation."

"Oh, so you're going to Manhattan tonight?" He asked as the light bulb above his head turned on.

"That's right, Richard," I said with my best sarcastic tone of voice.

"Well, don't let me hold you up, Ms. Walker," He said, somewhat perturbed by my sarcastic tone.

As I walked away, he said, "See you Monday morning."

I didn't answer because I couldn't care less if I saw Richard on Monday.

My seven-year-old Volvo was parked halfway across the parking lot. As I approached the driver's door, I hoped it would make it to New York and back again. I would have to break down soon and shop for a new vehicle.

Traffic was, of course, heavy as I drove south on I-95 toward Manhattan. I wouldn't make good time tonight and knew I’d be eating room service tonight. Pulling into the hotel parking lot two hours after my dinner reservation, I patted the old Swede on the dashboard and thanked it for getting me into town.

The garage attendant lifted my travel case from the trunk, handed me a parking slip, and asked, "How long will you be staying with us, Madam?"

"Sunday morning," I replied without even turning my head to speak to him. I hate when people talk to me as if I was someone's grandmother. Just because a woman doesn't flaunt herself everywhere doesn't mean they can't be called Miss.

The handsome young man behind the main desk, as well as the bell boy, both greeted me with Evening, Madam, earning himself a three-dollar tip instead of my usual five.

As I unpacked my suitcase, every stitch of clothing I pulled out screamed Madam. It was pretty depressing, and I decided that before the matinee tomorrow afternoon, I was going shopping for something that would have all three of those men calling me Miss.

Ordering room service at about eight-forty-five, I sat at my laptop thinking I'd write a few paragraphs in my latest novelette. I'm not sure if it was writer's block or the idea that I was sick and tired of being called Madam, but instead, I found myself surfing the internet for clothing shops in the city that might have a cure for my "Madam" blues.

Room service showed up with my burger fries and diet coke just as I was looking at some rather risqué outfits on the site for a store called Unique Boutique. I closed the computer and opened the door to my room. A young man stood there waiting to push my food cart into the room.

"Evening, Madam, he said.

I almost screamed at him but held my composure and motioned for him to push the cart near the small desk where my laptop was sitting.

He left without saying a word, and I handed him a five as his tip for holding his tongue and not calling me Madam again.

I nibbled on my burger as I resumed my internet search for an outfit that better suited my fantasies than the dull reality of my life in Boston. As I got deeper and deeper into the results of my search, I started getting into some sites that specialized in some of the kinkier clothing. I looked at leather and latex outfits of all kinds. I decided those would be a little too much. After all, I wanted men to call me Miss, not Hey slut.

I did find one web store that offered very tasteful but sexy, or should I say sexy in my eyes, outfits. I especially like the silk and nylon stockings they featured on their website. I jotted down the Manhattan address of their retail store and planned on visiting the following day.

I decided to turn in early, leaving half a burger and a full plate of fries just outside my door. I saw no need to close the drapes since I was 20 floors above the bustling streets of The Big Apple.

I began to undress to change into my pajamas. Pulling my bulky sweater over my head, the material caught the pencil, still holding my hair up in a bun. It pulled out, and as the sweater came off, my hair cascaded down across my shoulders. I looked up and noticed I was standing directly in front of the full-length mirror mounted on the wall at the end of the low hotel room dresser. Looking at my reflection, I thought. Look at you, Genevieve; it's no wonder all the men you meet call you Madam.

My long skirt hid my legs; the flats on my feet didn't even approach fashionable, let alone being even the least little bit flattering. My white cotton bra and the matching panties were functional but all too plain. My hair, while very long, hung straight down from my head. I shook my head, disgusted with my appearance. Well, at least I still had very green eyes and almost jet-black hair color.

I watched myself undress as my skirt slid down my legs, and I stepped out of it and kicked off those horrible flats. I wondered if I'd remember how to walk in heels. My cotton underwear came off next, and I was left staring at my now-naked reflection in the mirror. The dark triangle of my pubic hair completely hid my pussy. My petite breasts still look like they did when I was twenty-three. The areola surrounding my nipples are a little larger than I think they should be, but they circled a pair of nipples that, when erect, get very hard and form tiny sensitive nubs.

I slid my hands up across my flat stomach and rib cage to slide my fingers over my tits and nipples. Naked, I didn't look too bad. Tomorrow, I'd see about making over the trimmings that covered and hid my body for far too long. Picking up my PJs, I looked at them and decided to sleep naked tonight.

I climbed into bed and set the alarm for seven. The cool sheets felt lovely on my naked body. I again slid my hands up my body and onto my breasts. My sensitive nipples responded to my hands and hardened into those tiny nubs. It felt very erotic lying in a distant hotel room, many floors above the street, and naked. My mind began to envision a strange man standing over me, watching me touch my breasts. I let one hand slide down between my thighs and over my pussy. As I moved my fingers up, one slipped between the lips, and I sensed the moisture that had started to warm my body.

One fingertip slid up and circled the fleshy covering of my clitoris. I moaned to myself and the imaginary man that was watching my actions. I could almost see his member swell under his pants.

My clit swelled as I massaged it with my middle finger, and my other hand brought my nipples to their hardest, most sensitive condition. Spreading my legs, I slipped my finger between the lips of my ever-moistening slit coating it with my juices. Withdrawing that finger, I lifted it toward the stranger watching me in my mind before I brought it to my lips to taste its coating. My tongue licked at the digit, tasting the musty fluids of a woman who had last showered some 18 hours earlier. It tasted somewhat salty but not the least bit offensive. After licking my finger clean for my imaginary voyeur, I slid my hand back toward the spot that had supplied those salty, musty droplets.

I slid two fingers across the hard nub of my clit and then curled them under and into my pussy. My breath started coming in shorter gasps as my fingers continued to massage my wetter and wetter pussy. I pinched one erect nipple and felt a ring of pleasure spread outward from my nipple. My imaginary lover watched as I continued pleasuring myself. Closer and closer, I moved to my ultimate goal of yet another self-induced orgasm. The tingling deep in my loins began as I approached that orgasm, building slowly at first but becoming more intense as my fingers worked feverishly.

It crashed over me like a title wave of pleasure, and I moaned deeply as my orgasm turned my body into a twitching mass of sensuality. My eyes closed as my orgasm began to subside, and when I opened them a moment later, my imaginary lover was gone.

I'd once again had to rely on my fingers to satisfy my needs, but I was bound and determined to change that as soon as possible. Closing my eyes, I fell into a restful sleep, knowing the following day would begin that transformation.

The sunlight was streaming in the window as the alarm blared at me the next morning. I reached over and hit the snooze button, then remembered I had some transformation today, so I rolled out of bed and walked to the bath.

Looking at my naked body in the bathroom mirror, I decided to start the transformation with a trimming of the dark triangle of hair at the top of my shapely thighs. Starting the shower, I returned to the bedroom and gathered my toiletries bag. I set it on the vanity in the bathroom and retrieved a fresh razor and shaving cream. I placed them on the edge of the tub and tested the water. Finding it to my satisfaction, I stepped into the warm stream of shower water. The water cascaded over my body. I soaked my hair and tied it in a knot behind my head. Running my fingers through the hairy bush at my crotch, I wondered if perhaps I shouldn't start with scissors.

Spreading a handful of cream over the curly hair, I wet the razor. I thought, should I leave a narrow strip of hair above my slit or shave myself clean. I decided on the narrow strip. After all, I could always shave that, too, if I didn't like the looks of a jet-black landing strip.

I adjusted the showerhead, so it was directed straight down at the drain and sat on the tub's edge at the far end to begin my transformation. Slowly working my way in from the sides, the curly hair began to disappear. It felt rather erotic as my pubic bush shrank and became just the narrow strip of curly black hair above my slit. I decided the remaining strip of hair was still too thick, so I grabbed my scissors and trimmed that down somewhat, also. I finished showering and wrapped a big fluffy towel around my hair. Stepping out of the shower, I dried myself and turned to the mirror to examine the results of my shave.

The thick bush of hair had been transformed into an erotic landing strip of wispy black hair that I thought looked rather sexy. It takes forever to dry my long hair, but I knew I had worked too hard and too long to grow it to this length, and no matter what, I was going to keep it this length.

The only thing I had to wear that approached being sexy was a pair of reasonably tight jeans and a white tee. I decided to forgo wearing a bra and had to settle for a pair of sneakers. As I viewed myself in the full-length mirror once again, I thought my nipples showed a little too much, but I was in New York City and figured I'd fit in reasonably well. But something was missing, something to set off my dazzling green eyes and long jet-black hair. It finally dawned on me that what was missing was a tease of color beside my eyes. I need a flashy lip color to set the whole appearance off. Searching through my purse, I could only find a pale shade of pink lip gloss. It wasn't dark enough, but it would have to do it until I found something darker.

Slipping a pair of dark sunglasses into my hair to hold it back, I was ready to head out and see what I could do about transforming my wardrobe. As the elevator door opened at the lobby, a rather good-looking older gentleman stood directly in front of the door. As I came into his view, he smiled widely and said, "Well, good morning." His eyes lowered a bit to gaze at my petite tits and the nipples that showed through the material of my tee.

I said, "Good Morning to you." As I strolled past him, I was happy that he didn't call me madam and thought maybe this transformation thing would have the desired effect. The doorman smiled widely at me as he performed his duty, his eyes finding their way to my chest. I quickly learned that if you got it, you should show it since the first two male encounters of my day would have to be considered successful.

The doorman asked, "Cab, Miss?"

My ears rang with the sound of his question. He called me Miss. I smiled widely at him and said, "As a matter of fact, I would like a cab, thank you."

He raised his arm, and the next available cabbie pulled from the cab pool and glided to a stop directly in front of me. The kind, well-spoken doorman opened the rear door, and I slid in. Before he closed the door, he said, "Hope to see you later, Miss."

He scored even more points by referring to me as Miss a second time.

"Where to." The cabbie asked without even glancing in his rearview mirror.

I gave him the address of the clothing shop I had decided to start at, and in an instant, we were into the flow of early Saturday morning downtown traffic.

I probably could have walked the distance in about fifteen minutes because the cab ride only lasted about six. Gliding to a stop in front of the address I'd given him, he said, "Here we are."

I handed him a ten and said keep the change, which only amounted to about a buck and a half. I'd walk the next time I wanted to come back here.

Stepping out of the cab, I looked at the shop. Their website made the place seem much more extensive. One side of the entry to the shop had a long display window, while the other was a solid brick wall of the neighboring building. As I walked toward the door, I looked at the items in the window. Several items on display looked like they came from the wardrobe department of a "B" horror movie. But a couple of things did catch my eye. I opened the door, and a small bell mounted above the door on the jam tinkled my arrival.

A young woman, perhaps about twenty years old, came from behind the counter. She smiled and said, "Good Morning. Can I help you find something?"

I grinned at her and answered, "Yes, I need a wardrobe makeover."

The sales girl knew she was in for a long morning but seemed happy to have the company. She said, "Come over this way, and let's get a look at you and see where we should start."

As I approached her, she turned me toward a triple set of full-length mirrors. "Let's see now what we want to accentuate." She said.

"Long flowing black hair, green eyes, firm breasts, and I'd imagine with the right application of make-up the illusion of high cheekbones." She said, pointing out my good points.

I waited for the list of detractions, which I assumed would be a lengthy list.

"Now, what do we need to lose?" She remarked.

She began pointing out, "Sneakers, yuck. The jeans fit too loose, and the tee needs to be a bit more revealing, I'd think. Some eye makeup and a darker shade of lip-gloss."

"That's it?" I asked.

"For starters, yes, we'll go from there." She added.

"I'm Gen,” I offered since I would spend some time with her.

"Nice to meet you, Gen; I'm Sara,” She responded.

"So, Sara, where do we start?" I asked.

Sara smiled and said, "We start where most men finish, Gen, with your shoes."

As I slipped off my sneakers, Sara said, "We've got to lose the white tub socks to Gen!"

"I know. I checked your website last night and saw some stockings I thought might be nice." I said.

Sara fixed me up with a sexy pair of thigh-high stockings with a lacy hem at the top. I slipped from my jeans and tub socks and carefully slid the stockings up my legs. As I smoothed out the top of the hems, Sara peeked around the dressing room curtain and said, "Oh my god, Gen, the white cotton panties have got to fly also." She handed me a pair of black leather pumps with about a two-inch heel and added, "Give me a minute. I'll be right back.

Sara's hand reappeared around the curtain, holding a little back satin thong. I'd never worn a thong, but I figured Sara knew what she was talking about. Slipping out of my panties, I slid the thong up over my stockings and carefully into place. It would take some getting used to having the thin strap of the thong stuck between my ass cheeks, but the satin fabric felt very sensual next to my freshly shaven pubic mound. I pulled my jeans back on and slipped my feet into the pumps. It's been a while, actually, a long time since I wore shoes with heels, and I felt a little shaky as I walked out of the dressing room and toward the triple mirror to see how I looked.

To my amazement, the appearance difference in wearing these pumps was astounding. They made my legs look longer and made my jeans fit better. I turned from side to side, checking out this first step in my transformation.

Sara offered, "That looks much better, Gen; your legs are longer, and you're standing like a sexy woman instead of a jogger."

I added, "Yes, and the thong and stockings feel sensual against my skin. They make me feel sexy."

"That's what we want, Gen. If you feel sexy, you will automatically act and appear sexy. Sara commented.

"Now, let's work on getting some jeans that fit," Sara added.

Sara walked across the narrow store to the denim section on the far wall. She returned with two pairs of jeans and said, "Try these on for fit Gen."

Returning to the dressing room, I felt more confident about walking in the pumps. I slid off my "baggy" jeans as Sara had described them and wiggled my way into a pair of black denim jeans that fit very tightly on my ass. I had to suck in my gut to get them snapped at the waist.

As I walked back out to where Sara was standing, she said, "Now that's the ticket, Gen." I giggled and said, "How do I breathe, let alone sit down anywhere, Sara?"

Sara explained that denim is a lot like leather. The material stretches and forms itself to your body just like a new pair of shoes form to your feet.

"I'll take your word for it, Sara," I said.

Checking my look in the mirror, I have to admit that with a few minor changes, Sara had completely changed my appearance. The jeans left little to the imagination of the shape of my ass. I looked different, even a little sexy, and smiled widely at Sara.

She shook her head and said, "I'd sell my soul for an ass like yours, Gen." She added, "Just one more thing Gen."

Reaching behind the counter, Sara pulled her purse from the shelf. She rooted around inside and pulled out a tube of lip gloss. "Let's try this," Sara said.

She applied a light gloss coat to my lips and stood back to admire her work.

My reflection in the mirror was astounding. The rich red lip color enhanced my green eyes, making them sparkle. Sara played a little with my hair, repositioning a few strands from behind to the front of my shoulders. My hair extended down past my nipples and almost acted as a pointer, drawing attention to the tiny bumps in my tee.

Sara looked me over and said, "Very sexy, Gen. Very sexy indeed."

Over the next hour and a half, Sara and I experimented with all kinds of looks for me. We tried skimpy tops and sexy lace bras. We tried short dresses and even shorter skirts. Everything Sara suggested was flattering to those few outstanding features she had pointed out when I first admitted I needed a fashion makeover.

I left carrying two bags full of new clothes and wearing the black denim jeans and pumps we had started with. I set one bag on the curb and raised my arm to hail a cab. In an instant, two cabbies were trying to position their vehicles so I could enter. One cabbie jumped out and grabbed both bags. He said, "Let me get these for you, Miss."

I smiled at him as he placed the bags in the trunk and opened the passenger-side rear door for me. "Why, thank you, kind sir," I replied.

The cabbie slid into his seat and said, "Where to, Miss?"

In a few minutes, we pulled up in front of my hotel. The doorman saw me and hurried to open the door for me. The cabbie jumped out, lifted my bags from the trunk, and set them on the curb. I handed him a ten and thanked him for his kindness.

The doorman picked up my shopping bags, and as we walked toward the entrance, he said, "Been shopping, Miss?"

I grinned and replied, "Why yes, I found a few things I liked with the help of a good friend."

He handed my bags to the bellboy, who, the night before, looked at me like I was his aunt. The bellboy said, "Checking in, Miss?"

I chuckled loudly as I informed him I had checked in the night before, and he had carried my suitcase to my room.

He offered to carry my shopping bags to my room. I'd assumed it was more so he could continue to stare at my tits and ass than to make my life easier. For whatever reason, I agreed, and we entered the elevator together.

He smiled and said, "So what besides a shopping trip brings you to Manhattan this weekend, Miss."

I said, "I'm going to see an off-Broadway show this afternoon."

"Oh yeah, what show are you going to see?" He asked.

"It's called Taboos," I responded.

"Really," He remarked, "I've seen that show. You're in for a real treat, Miss."

"I'm looking forward to it, thanks," I said.

I unlocked the door to my room, and the bellboy followed me inside. He placed my bags against the wall just inside the door and stood there momentarily. I assumed he was admiring my new look.

"If there's anything I can do to make your stay more enjoyable, please don't hesitate to call me." He said.

I smiled at him and said, "I'll keep that in mind. By the way, what's your name?"

"It's Jeremy,” He replied.

"Nice to meet you, Jeremy; I'm Genevieve," I said.

Jeremy smiled and said, "That's a beautiful name, Miss."

He scored points with me having called me Miss again. Perhaps I would call on him later to make my stay more enjoyable.

I emptied my bags onto the second bed in the room, spreading their contents out to display what Sara and I had picked out for me.

Three pairs of silk thigh highs, a concise slinky dress, two very lacy bras, one in black and another in pink, and matching thongs. A glittery top with very short sleeves and a low cut in the front, and a second pair of heels with three-inch spikes. I still wore the black jeans, thong, and thigh-high stockings Sara had first handed me. I wasn't entirely convinced that the jeans would relax enough to where I felt comfortable, but I had to admit I looked pretty hot. I suppose some compromises would be necessary to make the transformation I sought.

Glancing at the clock, I had an hour before the matinee, and I had a decision to make. Do I wear black jeans and a white tee, or switch to the glittery top? I decided to stay with the white tee since it contrasted nicely with my new jeans, and I was enjoying all the turned heads the shirt was causing.

I'd forgotten to eat today, so I grabbed my purse and headed out. The early fall afternoon sun was quite warm, but in the shadows of Manhattan skyscrapers, it was cool enough to make my nipples hard. Since I was looking to work on my transformation, I walked on the shady side of the street.

The theater was only an eight or nine-block walk from the hotel, so I had time to stop in a small deli for a quick bit to eat. Looking at my reflection in the window glass of the deli before I entered, I thought to myself. Genevieve, you're looking pretty hot. Looks can be deceiving. I still had to work on my mindset.

The waiter flirted with me constantly while I ate lunch. He was quite handsome, and he took fashion lessons from Sara since his jeans were so tight, they left little to the imagination at the groin. It had been too long since I had enjoyed the feel of a hard cock in my hand, and I wanted to change that also.

As the waiter came over to give me my check, he handed me a note. It read, "I'm Billy, give me a call sometime, and we can party.” Billy wrote his number below.

I smiled at him and said, "Thanks, Billy, I'm Genevieve. Next time I'm in New York, I may do that."

The remaining walk to the theater was pretty uneventful. But I did notice quite a few heads turning as I walked by.

Approaching the marquee, I read the full title of the play I had a ticket for. "Taboos and other sins of the flesh" sounded rather interesting. A small sign on the ticket booth read, “Must be 18 to enter.”

Handing my ticket to the woman at the door, I entered a dimly lit foyer of what looked like an old movie theater. The slight incline toward a second set of doors confirmed that thought. A musty odor filled my nostrils. The theater wasn't that large; the only remaining seats were the first three or four rows from the stage. The musty smell was even more pungent inside. Walking toward the front of the theater, I noticed the only thing on stage was a large bed. An old-style bed with metal posts at the corners topped with fake brass balls. A single spotlight shined from above the bed. The front row was already filled, so I took a seat in the second row, three seats from the aisle.

Inaudible voices were heard from backstage. I glanced at my cell to check the time. It was 2:55 PM. Turning the phone off, I slid it into my purse on the seat beside me. A few more people came in and sat across the aisle from me. One of the couples was giggling and acting nothing like I'd expect a proper theatergoer to act. Just before three o'clock, a lone male came down the aisle and sat in the first seat, one seat away from me. I didn't acknowledge his presence, nor did he acknowledge mine.

At exactly 3:00 PM, some rather eclectic music started playing on a sound system grossly underpowered for the size of the room. A moment later, the bright white spotlight changed to a deeper blue color, and a woman wearing a long white robe appeared from stage right. Her short blonde hair took on a bluish tint as she walked into the spotlight and stopped at the foot of the bed at center stage.

How strange an opening, I thought. I started to get a weird feeling about this show. The woman didn't speak as she slowly lifted her face toward the blue light. Her fingers slid up to the knot, holding her robe closed, and she pulled the end. The robe fell open in front, exposing her pointed breasts. She slowly moved her hands and slid the robe from her shoulders, allowing it to drop to the stage floor behind her. That weird feeling was growing large in the pit of my stomach as she crawled onto the bed, stopping in the middle on all fours.

The sound of a microphone being turned on could be heard on the sound system, and a soft female voice said, "Taboo one, Interracial Sex." As the microphone clicked off, a huge black male appeared from stage left. He was completely naked, and his fully erect black cock stood out straight from his groin. It swayed back and forth as he slowly approached the bed. This massive specimen of African American manhood walked between the bed and the audience, facing us when he reached the middle of the bed. His cock had to be a full 12 inches long and very thick. He slowly slid one hand to his erection and turned to mount the bed behind the blonde, who was frozen in the all-four position she had assumed when she crawled onto the bed.

I realized this off-Broadway show was nothing more than a live sex act. My heartbeat quickened as this man's erection touched the vulva of the woman. I watched intently as the entire length of his cock disappeared into her waiting pussy. She moaned deeply as it filled her. His hands slid up to grab her hips and pull her back toward his invading cock as he began thrusting himself into her. Over and over, he slammed his black cock into her pulling her hips toward him with each thrust. I was shocked at how hard he fucked her. But my eyes were glued to the scene unfolding in front of me. The woman being fucked never moved, never uttered a sound. It was almost like she was a stage prop for this incredible black stud. Shimmering streams of sweat began running down his body. He lifted his face toward the blue light and began pounding his cock into her faster and faster. I was drawn to watch only his huge black cock as it disappeared into her, only to reappear, shimmering with the juices of her pussy. His motions never let on that he was about to cum. He just withdrew and pressed his cock against her ass, pointing it straight up. I gasped as the first thick blast of cum shot from it, appearing like a blue stream from a sexual fountain. It looked like it traveled through the air above her back in slow motion. The first shot splashed down onto her back just as a second shot from him. This stream of bluish cum shot across her back and into her hair. His cock was a fountain of cum, and before he'd finished, she was covered from shoulder to waist with his sperm.

I was mesmerized by the sight before me. I'd never watched two other people fuck before. I'd never seen a more enormous cock, or one that could produce the amount of sperm he had just deposited on this blonde's naked back. As the blue spotlight faded to black, one person in the audience started to clap. The rest of us were still too stunned to move.

In the room's darkness, I could see the two actors, if you could call that acting, slide off the bed and slip between the curtains behind the bed.

Just as the material closed, a dim red spotlight illuminated the bed. The microphone clicked on again, and the same female voice said, "Taboo two, Oral incest."

The red spotlight grew in intensity as a young-looking boyish figure entered from stage right. He wore only a pair of white jockey shorts. His body had the look of a young teenager. As he approached the bottom of the bed, he turned to sit on the edge. He had just sat down when a mature-looking woman with long hair sauntered toward him from stage right. She stopped standing directly in front of him. Slowly, she knelt on the white robe the earlier blonde woman had dropped on stage. Her hands moved up to the elastic waistband of his jockey shorts and slowly peeled them from his hips and down to his ankles. Neither of them acknowledged the audience's presence.

The woman lowered her mouth toward his groin as her hand lifted his cock to her lips. Just as her tongue extended toward the head, a small white spotlight lit, illuminating her face and his cock. As the woman began licking the tip, the young man spoke his only line. "Yes, mommy," he said. As she began sucking him, that boyish-looking cock started growing into a giant mouth-stuffing member. Her shimmering lips surrounded the head, and she pressed down, taking more and more of him in her oral cavity. Her mouth, tongue, and lips worked on him intensely. Licking the shaft, biting the head, sucking him deep inside her. His cock swelled, and arteries were visible along the shaft.

I couldn't take my eyes off this incredible oral sex show. I studied her technique, watching intently as she sucked his cock. I wanted to see him cum, to see him explode. She began stroking his member with her hand as she sucked harder on just the head. She was quickly bringing him to orgasm, and I stared, not wanting to blink and miss that first stream of sticky cum shoot from his cock. His hips tensed, and she squeezed harder with her hand holding him back, building the pressure of his boiling cum inside his rock-hard shaft. She moved her head back and released her death grip on his cock. Instantly, he exploded, sending a stream of thick white sperm toward her waiting lips, tongue, and face. She opened her mouth to accept the second, third, and fourth shot of his seed. Her mouth moved toward the head, and as it slipped between her lips, a flood of cum spilled from her oral cavity and slid down his shaft. She licked around the head and down the shaft to collect the pool of sticky cum from his pubic hair and scrotum. As she cleaned him with her mouth, the lights faded to black.

I sat there in the darkness, breathing heavily. My nipples were hard as rocks, and I felt a moist sensation in my crotch. I glanced to my left at the man seated two seats from me. His hand was at his crotch, holding his erect cock and slowly stroking it. I thought to myself, I should leave, or at least move to another seat, before this got out of control. But I was glued to the chair in anticipation of the next Taboo unfolding before me.

The dim light did little to hide the movement of several people on stage as they prepared to perform the next act of this incredible show.

Before any lights came on, the microphone clicked on. "Taboo three, Bondage." This time, a yellow spotlight illuminated the bed. One from stage right and the other from stage left. They revealed a slender woman strapped to the four posts with leather straps. A single black scarf was tied across her eyes. Her shoulder-length hair lay spread around her head. An equally slim male appeared from the opening in the curtains behind the bed. He was completely naked, his limp cock hung down in front of two massive balls. His member and balls swung side to side as he walked to the edge of the bed. Mounting the bed, he straddled her at the chest and laid the head of his cock on her chin. Her lips parted as he reached down on either side of her head and pulled her mouth toward him with handfuls of hair. His cock slid into her open mouth. Pressing forward until his balls came to rest against her chin. He didn't move his hips; he just pulled her head over his cock with his hands.

This image completely turned me on. She was his to use, and he was about to use her for our visual pleasure. The moisture in my crotch had become a wet slippery mess inside my pussy, and I thought of slipping my hand inside my jeans to finger myself. Glancing to my left, the man seated near me was stroking his now fully erect cock slowly as he intently watched the scene unfolding on stage. I slid my hands to my waist and unbuttoned my tight jeans. My hand slipped inside and behind the satin material of my thong.

On stage, the swollen cock that was invading her mouth had grown to a full-blown erection, and its length caused a visible bulge in her throat as he pulled her head toward him. I couldn't believe she wasn't gagging as it stuffed her throat. He withdrew it finally, and I heard her gasp for air. He turned around and slowly lowered his face toward her crotch. Extending his tongue, he slid it over her clit and between the lips of her cleanly shaved pussy. She couldn't move, her bonds holding her tightly in place for his use and our pleasure. Lifting his hips, his cock swung up and was pointed directly at her mouth. As his mouth moved over her pussy and his tongue slipped inside, he lowered his hips, pressing his manhood between her lips. She opened wide, accepting his length and swelling girth. Slowly, it disappeared into her mouth. Inch after inch, deeper and deeper, he sank into her throat. He was tongue fucking her at the same time he fucked her throat.

My fingers were now feverishly working on the hard nub of my clitoris, and my breath started coming in short gasps. An unfamiliar hand touched my thigh. I jumped as I looked down. The man next to me had reached over to touch me. I wanted to run from him, but I was held motionless by the scene unfolding on stage. I put my hand on him to push it away, but he grabbed it and pulled me toward his crotch. I resisted, but he held my hand firmly until it came to rest on the throbbing head of his cock. It felt so hot touching my palm. It felt so hard pressing up into my soft hand. His strong hand held mine in place. Slowly, he moved my hand down across the head. As my fingers circled it, the swollen gland at the base of his cock head slipped into my palm. It was throbbing, twitching. I moved my hand slowly down the length of his erection. Feeling my hand move independently, he released his grip on it. I could have pulled away, but I wanted to feel his cock in my hand. I wanted this nameless stranger's cock to throb and twitch in my soft hand.

I hadn't taken my eyes off the scene on stage, and the man finally withdrew his cock from her throat, letting her fill her lungs with life-sustaining oxygen. He moved between her bound legs and inserted his cock between her lips, and, with one mighty thrust, buried himself inside his sex slave. He began fucking her at a feverish pace. Thrusting into her, causing her body to buck against the straps that held her firmly in place.

Freeing the hand that had pulled me to his cock, the stranger next to me moved his hand to the top of my jeans. I felt his strong fingers slide down under the material covering my pussy. His middle finger slid over my erect clit while the two fingers on either side slid along the lips of my soaking wet slit. Once the base of his finger was at my clit he curled his middle finger between my lips and entered me. My hand slowly stroked his hard cock. I let my fingers linger around the head and gland, eliciting a soft moan from his throat. This nameless cock felt so good in my hand. I squeezed the shaft, pulling the skin taught above at the head. He moaned again. My hand continued sliding up and down on his swelling cock as he fingered my soaking wet pussy with his long middle finger.

I moaned as I felt the tingling deep in my loins begin. He would make me cum; he would take me to the peak of pleasure with his strong finger. My orgasm built quickly, the tingling replaced with a burning sensation to flood his hand with my juices. My hand moved faster and faster on his throbbing erection. I felt it swell to an enormous size as his orgasm approached. My orgasm came over me with such intensity. My pussy oozed fluids all over his fingers. His cock twitched, and my hand felt the warmth of his sperm. I moved my palm over the head to let him shoot his cum against it. The cum dripped from my hand and ran down the length of his cock. I moved my hand down to stroke his now cum covered cock and give him the same pleasure he was giving me.

On stage, the bound woman was bucking uncontrollably as she came with an intensity matching my orgasm. Her master tensed his muscles as he began to cum, shooting his hot cum deep inside her pussy. He fucked her hard and fast as he deposited his seed into her, finally collapsing on top of her as the lights faded to black.

My sticky hand continued massaging the nameless cock until it began to soften. His soaking wet fingers slipped from my pussy and out of my jeans. I lifted my wet hand to my nostrils and inhaled the scent of his cum. It smelled much like the smell of the salty ocean, musty like the foyer of the theater we were sitting in. I wanted to taste him, but my mind told me not to go there. This nameless cock beside you may have some horrible disease to spread. My mind told me to wipe him from my hand and leave quickly. My mind won out. I reached for a tissue in my purse, wiped his seed from my hand, and dropped it to the floor.

I stood and walked away from him, wanting to get away as quickly as I could. The scenes on stage had turned me into a wanton woman, and I'd given in to my desires with a total stranger. As I walked toward the back of the theater, I heard the microphone click on once again. "Final Taboo, Anal Sex."

I stopped in my tracks. I'd written about anal sex without knowledge of what it even looked like. Without ever seeing images of someone performing anal sex. As I turned, the white spotlight again illuminated the bed on stage. The mature woman who had earlier performed oral sex on that young-looking actor was now onstage naked and kneeling on the bottom edge of the bed. She was holding a tube of lubricant above her ass and squeezed an ample amount onto her ass and between the cheeks. She massaged the oil into her anus, preparing it for what I knew was about to happen. I gasped as the black man who had appeared in the first Taboo scene walked on stage. His huge black cock standing firmly at attention from his groin. He positioned himself behind her and pressed the head of his mass into her ass. She screamed in pain as he plunged his cock deep into her. Her screaming continued as I turned and ran the remaining steps to the exit of this place.

Pushing the door open, I stepped onto the sidewalk outside. My breath was still coming in short gasps. I froze in my steps. Part of me wanted to return inside and watch the invasion I knew was underway. The other part of me wanted to run and hide from the feelings of lust I was having. Had I taken my transformation too far too fast, unknowingly transformed myself into a wanton woman, consumed by a passion for sex? Only time would tell which path I'd follow.

I walked the nine blocks to my hotel, looking only at the sidewalk as it passed under my feet. I didn't want to make eye contact with another soul, fearing they would sense my guilt for my actions earlier. Fearing they could sense the lust I was feeling in my soul—a desire for sex, hot, shameless sex. My mind raced as I approached the door to my hotel. I avoided eye contact with the doorman even as he greeted me with a friendly "Evening, Miss." I laughed to myself. Earlier today, I had relished hearing a man call me Miss; now, all I wanted was to get to my room to be alone with my guilt, my thoughts, and my lust.

The door clicked closed, and I leaned against it, finally feeling safe from the world around me. I needed to wash the remains of my wanton experience from me. Cleanse my body at least of the musty smell of Taboos. My mind would be something much more complicated to cleanse, but I wasn't sure I wanted to cleanse my mind.

Stripping out of my jeans and tee, I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. My thong still showed the evidence of the nameless fingers that had brought me to this state. I stripped it off and threw it in the waste basket.

Hot water and soap would cleanse my body, refresh my scent, and hopefully wash my guilt down the drain with the smells of my matinee of lust.

I stood in the shower for a long time, thinking about what I wanted. Thinking about this transformation I'd dreamed of for so long. I was thinking about how I'd been tricked into watching a shameful sex show disguised as a work of art. Part of me hated that I'd been fooled, and another part couldn't stop thinking about the erotic images I'd watched. I wanted to forget forever that I'd given a total stranger a hand job, but the memory of what that cock felt like in my hand was burned into my mind. I knew I'd want more, and I knew I'd like that feeling again.

As the hot, steamy water relaxed my body, my fingers began moving over my body. Pinching my nipples until they were rock hard, rubbing my clit until it swelled and tingled under my touch. My lust began to take control of my mind once more. I had to have a man inside me; I had to feel his cock in my soft hand. I had to taste his manhood between my lips and on my tongue.

But what man, Jeremy, the hotel bellboy? No, too young and immature. I instantly remembered Billy, the waiter at the deli I'd eaten at. He was dark, handsome, and had the bulge in his pants that I lusted for. I dried myself quickly and searched my jeans for his note. A crumpled piece of paper was crushed flat in the hip pocket. I unfolded it and, with trembling fingers, dialed the number he'd written there.

"Hello?" Billy said.

My hand trembled as I held the phone to my ear. I couldn't speak.

"Hello, is someone there?" Billy asked again.

I weakly replied, "Billy?"

"Yes, this is Billy." He answered.

"Who is this?" He asked, sounding a little perturbed.

Mustering all my courage, I said, "It's Genevieve, Billy. You gave me your number today at the deli."

"Oh yes, Genevieve, I remember. Are you ok?" He asked.

His voice had a friendly, compassionate tone to it, and I began to feel relaxed about talking to someone I'd just barely met earlier in the day.

"Yes, I'm fine, Billy," I said.

"That's good, Genevieve, so what can I do for you?" He asked.

I thought for a moment this was where I would either let my transformation move forward or regress to the boring state of my existence in Boston. I took a deep breath and decided to move forward.

"Well, Billy, to be honest with you. I'm alone in my hotel room and horny as hell. I'd like you to come over so we could party." I said, completely surprised at my statement.

I heard Billy whisper under his breath, "Sweet." And then he said, "I'd be happy to Genevieve. I just got off work. Give me an hour or so to get a shower and change."

I gave him the hotel and room number and said, "See you in an hour or so.”

As I hung up, anticipating what I'd just set in motion excited me so much. I was about to live out a fantasy I'd written of often in my erotic stories. A stranger was coming to my hotel room to have sex with me. Someone I'd only met a few hours earlier was coming to fuck me silly. I didn't care that I didn't know his last name; I didn't care if he was involved with someone else. All I cared about was the massive bulge in his jeans and the satisfaction I knew that bulge held for me.

I wanted no doubts in Billy's mind about what would happen when he arrived. Looking at my earlier purchases, I choose the pink bra and thong, a pair of black silk thigh-high stockings, and the three-inch heels. I brushed out my still-wet hair. Long, straight, and very silky. I applied a coat of red lipstick Sara had given me and a little eye shadow to highlight my green eyes.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I was happy with the reflection I saw. I spend the next thirty minutes practicing walking in three-inch heels and admiring my sexuality in the full-length mirror. I pulled a chair over in front of the mirror and studied how I looked when I sat and crossed my legs, how I could expose myself to him when I uncrossed them. I laughed at myself for needing to practice the seduction I was planning.

As the minutes passed and the time of his arrival approached, I started feeling somewhat nervous. Sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five minutes passed. Was he not going to show? Would I be stood up on this first experience I'd planned as a sexually transformed woman?