Secondary Education
Tyla Flowers
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Chapter 12, My Missing Pieces

Oprah’s over, Rikki Lake’s not on yet, and Dr. Phil depresses me. So I flick off the television.
I pick up a month-old "Us" magazine: Lindsey’s back in rehab, Paris is busted for DUI again, same old, same old. I throw it back on the table and wish I had something to do.
I am a high school dropout. During my convalescence after being castrated, I missed the start of school at Hollywood High.
My energy level is so low that I don’t think I could have handled school anyway. I am lonely, but the empty hours have given me time to meditate and pray. I try to find my way to talk to my Buddha.
The bruises on my boobs have faded. When my breasts jostle, the memories of the horrible pain that they caused when they were new are supplanted a tingle of pleasure. I observed strict hygiene, abstained from sex, and took all of the antibiotics, so my implants healed without capsular contracture. They meld perfectly with my natural breasts.
The outward pressure of saline implants on my areoles has made them broaden, and look more naturally girly than the pointy cones I had before. Although they are larger and rounder than the breasts that I had imagined for myself, I have grown fond of them. All of the trauma and pressure has increased their sensitivity to touch. I find myself playing with them as I fantasize.
The incisions under my arms and in my groin have healed to faint pink slashes. There is a tiny, but very sensitive dimple in my scrotum where Dr. Rodrigo cut out my testicles. The nerves are all that’s left under this smooth, empty flap of superfluous skin.
I have healed enough for me to attempt masturbation, but I can’t cum.
After he castrated me, Rodrigo cut my estrogen by about 90%, and yet my appearance is more feminine every day. My flesh softens, my curves broaden. My cock has shrunken even more, to a two inch stub, but it’s half-hard a lot of the time. But I never get completely hard, even when I dildo my ass, and that used to work every time. I am not sure if it’s the castration, or because my mind has gone numb from too much solitude, too many game shows and soap operas.
Maybe I just need a good, hard fuck to stimulate my prostate.
I hear the rattle of a key in the deadbolt.
I cover up the frayed sportsbra that I have worn for the last month with a threadbare t-shirt the Mara left for me–they confiscated my street clothes to prevent me from escaping during my convalescence.
It was wise precaution in the first days after my operation, before the last vestiges of my testosterone flushed away. Over the weeks, my anger over my castration and Patty’s murder subsided.
I have given up on escape now. I have surrendered myself to my destiny, for I know that the Mara have won, and will always win. I will live as Roberto’s, or Hector’s, or whoever’s ladyboy whore. I will be the best whore in the world.
“Hi Tyla.” It’s the young femboy nicknamed Spider. Roberto is taking good care of me, better than I ever got from my absentee mother. He visits infrequently and briefly, but he sends Spider every day, to help me and nurse me through my convalescence and keep me sane.
Roberto probably wants Spider to observe me and pick up my feminine ways. Spider tidies my room, scrubs the toilet and washes my hair.
It’s good that she is so industrious, because I have no energy. My mood swings have gotten better now that Rodrigo put me on lower doses of estrogen. But I get hot flashes, and I feel weak and unsteady.
“You are so lucky, to be so beautiful, and to be treated a princess by the jefe.”
“I don’t know, it seems like he just forgot about me and now in am in some kind of limbo, just waiting for something to happen. I’m bored. I need something to get me going or I am going to turn into a fat lump.”
“I am sorry, but it’s the doctor’s orders.”
Spider is a fourteen year old illegal alien. Her parents caught her cross dressing and kicked her out. Her older brother found her living on the streets sold her to Roberto.
Roberto is grooming her to replace Patty, and me, when he returns me to Hector. Spider thinks of the Mara as her family, of Roberto as her father, and she idolizes me as her big sister.
She doesn’t understand that I am, and she is to become, another Mara asset, to be exploited and used for their gratification and gain. Just as I have taken Patty’s place, Spider will replace me when I am dead, diseased, or used up. Then, the Mara will exploit, consume and cast off Spider in turn. The Mara can feel confident that the troubled barrios of East LA, Mexico and Central America will supply and ever growing stream of trannie wannabees.
Spider lugs two bulky suitcases up the stairs.
“Roberto is so kind, he has sent you many pretty things.”
She straightens my sheets, sets a suitcase on the bed, and opens it with a flourish. I am ecstatic. It is stuffed with new clothes, the first I have been allowed since the Mara deposited me here. Spider opens a Stila cosmetic case stuffed with products. She smiles proudly. “I went shoplifting for you.”
I look through the suitcase. One section is clothing for the bedroom, lacy bras, panties, body stockings, negligee and teddys. Another contains a selection of sundresses, spaghetti-strap tops, skirts, shorts, and a sexy black evening dress. The pouch on the outside contains stiletto heels, pumps, mules and even some Sketchers.
Now, I can dress stylishly, and check out how my new body looks in something more shapely than a castoff t-shirt. The clothes promise me the freedom to go back out into the world.
“Dr. Rodrigo says you have recovered. This is the last day I need to help you with your shower.”
I get out of bed and dance with joy. Three and a half weeks in this hot dingy room, with only Oprah and Spider for company have made me crave new adventures. I pull off the hated tee shirt and open my sports bra. My boobs cascade out and splay apart.
Spider is transfixed. “They are so pretty. I want mine to be just like yours.”
“I think they spread too far apart.” My nipples look off in different directions, like two cast eyes. I push them together into a cleavage. “I want them to look like this.” My areoles are stretched to a one-inch diameter by wide by the underlying implants.
“That’s pretty, too.” She strips off her top and forces her tiny boobs together. She hangs her head in dismay. “It’s hopeless. I want implants too, or injections.”
“No injections, it’s poisonous. And if you wait until you develop some of your own breast tissue, then they can fit your implants underneath the flesh, instead of under the skin. Then they will be softer. Would you like to touch mine?” I push up my breasts, offering them to her.
Spider circles her slender fingers around my areola and draws them together to capture my nipples. Sensations sing forth to my brain, my ass and my cock.
“That felt good. Do it more.”
Spider repeats the gentle nipple tweak, and the sensation pulses even more strongly.
“You had better stop before I get horny. I probably can’t do anything about it if I do.” I touch myself below. My cock is flaccid, and jiggles as I masturbate futilely.
“I would gladly give up JO if I could have these, and this.”
She molds her hands around my breast and strokes the smooth skin of my cheek.
I give Spider a peck on her slightly blemished cheek. “Your hormones are too high.”
She squeezes her blossoming but tiny breasts together. “I need to take all that I can. I want big boobs before my Quincera.”
She is overdosing her to fast-track her transition, and that’s giving her pimples and God-knows-what other complications.
“Hormones don’t work like that. The excess just turns into poison.”
“Then I want to be cut, like you.”
I roll my eyes. “Beware of your dreams, they may come true.”
I get up and go to my bathroom. Spider has scrubbed the filth away and even installed a new toilet seat.
I sit to pee and make a little round poo. I moisten a tissue and force it deep into my ass. It comes out clean, as I want it to be when Spider fingers me there.
“Help me shower one last time. I will miss your company in the bathroom.”
Spider joins me in the cramped little shower and bathes me with the tender care.
In the early days, when I was a helpless invalid, I needed her to steady me, and reach to places where I couldn’t. Now, we shower together to enjoy each others’ bodies.
She strokes soapy fingers over my boobs and ass, and massages shampoo and conditioner through my hair. She rubs my buttocks, pulls them apart, and fingers my ass.
I moan, and she sinks to her knees and tongues my ass as the shower caresses my breasts. I play with my cock and empty sack.
She stands, kisses me, and I kiss her, imagining her first as a boy, and then as a girl. I turn her away from me, stand behind her, press my breasts into her slender back, and tweeze her nipples in my fingers. I stroke her cock until she gets hard.
I go to my knees, and as the water cascades over me, I begin blowing her short, slender cock. Her pubic hair has barely sprouted and her hormones have made is soft and silky.
Her cock is so small I can take all of her, cock and testicles, in my mouth. I munch on this package, pulling first one ball, and then the other, into my cheeks, as I take her cock in.
I stroke her slender buttocks, rim her ass with my finger, penetrate it first gently and then with a forceful lunge toward her prostate. When I touch it, she explodes in my mouth, a silky, sweet gob of semen.
Her youth, or perhaps the hormones that she is overdosing with, make it taste pure and fresh. I suck out every drop, and swallow all but the final drip, which I save for our next kiss.
Spider gives me a shy smile. “I never came like that before, you know, with another T-girl.”
“Did you like it?”
She nods enthusiastically. “Loved it. Maybe I am really meant to be a boy.”
“We could be trannies, but bisexual.”
“Yeah, that’s more like it.”
I feel a rush of confidence. I am so sexy that now, I can make another trannie question her gender transition.
I no longer have any doubts about my own sexuality. I want to be the bottom that everyone desires to dominate. Everyone will desire me.
We embrace beneath the trickling warm of the shower until the hot water is gone. Then, she towels me with gentle pats, and blow dries and combs out my hair with a fragrant mousse.
She moisturizes me with lavender lotion with languid sweeps of her palms. My back aches from the weight of my new breasts, so she massages me and steadies herself with hands full of my boobs.
“I like the way they bobble you rub me.”
“I love the way you make them move.”
“They look so real.” She stands behind me and steadies my breasts with cupped palms. I studied myself in the cloudy mirror. My cleavage forms a round, deep, cock tube. Breasts loaded with 450 cc’s of saline were not what I had wanted, but their extra heft paired with my hormonally made A-cups produced a nice, round shape.
“Let them go.” My décolletage droops and opens into a broad valley. My breasts walleye slightly; I say, “Look, Spider, the left one is still a little lower than the right.”
“Don’t worry, Tyla. No breasts are perfect, except for our mothers.”
“My mother has beautiful breasts, and big for an Asian. But I think mine are bigger than hers now. I have to admit, Dr. Rodrigo has done pretty well for a backroom surgeon.”
Spider swabs lotion between my buttocks, and scours the rim of my ass.
“This is so nice and smooth, and pink. Mine is colored brown. It looks nasty.”
“I bleached it with hydroquinone. I eat a high-fiber diet. And I get a lot of exercise there.”
Spider giggles. “I guess need to eat more veggies and get fucked more often.”
I want to disagree, but there’s no point. Spider wants to be a girl, and getting fucked makes her feel like one. It’s her karma, just like it’s mine.
“You have a little dimple where your balls were. It’s so cute. I wish they would take my cojones.”
“When Roberto thinks it’s time, you will be cut and pumped, just like me.”
She towels my calves and feet, unwinds the towel and frees my hair. It’s still wet but smells clean and fresh.
For a week I after my operation I lived along like a filthy commando in hiding. In the past three weeks, with Spider’s help, I am becoming a beautiful woman, clean and fresh.
I still can’t raise my arms for a long time, so Spider helps with my makeup. She smoothes my pallid skin with a peach tinted concealer and liquid powder.
“I love this color on you. You almost look Latina.”
“We could be sisters.”
“No, you are too beautiful to be my sister. Look how it contrasts with this eye shadow.”
I flutter my lids closed. Her brushwork is swift and sure. I open on eye and admire contrasting swathes of lavender and silver shadow adorning my eye lids. Then she rims my eyes with little bit too much eyeliner, and curls my lashes with too thick a coating of mascara.
She hand s me a hand mirror. “Do you like it?”
My eyes smolder from deep, mysterious pools of erotic darkness. They’re a little bit overdone.
“I don’t even look like myself. I look like a cross between Shakira and a Mexican telenova star.”
Spider pouts. “That’s how Roberto prefers his chicas. Anything for the boss, right?”
She has worked hard, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings, so I nod enthusiastic assent,
She smoothes my lips with a cherry-flavored gloss and blows out my hair and twists it into a tight top knot. Then, she helps me into the frilly lavender negligee that she shoplifted.
Spider’s cell phone chimes and she checks a text message. “Oh good, I finished with you just in time.”
“I didn’t know we were on a schedule.”
“In time for your appointment.” She giggles as she moves the suitcase from the bed to the floor, digs into it takes out a bottle of Astrolube.
“Now, lie down on the bed, face down.”
“What’s happening?”
“Please do as I say, to spare punishment for both of us.”
I don’t want Spider to suffer for my disobedience, so I do as she asks. She loops panty hose around my ankle and ties as knot, and then loops the other around the bed frame.
“Why are you doing that?”
“This is how he wants you. He wants to stage it as a bondage rape.”
She repeats the knot around my other ankle, and then hoists my pelvis and props me up on a pillow, so my ass is up. It’s the most difficult position to be penetrated from.
She snaps open the lube and drizzles it on my butt. Her finger, small and girlish, slips easily inside me over the slick of fresh lube. It stings pleasantly as she massages rectum
“I wish I could stay and join in the fun, but they ordered me to leave.”
My heart thumps and my stomach twists and flips with apprehension. The gifts, the make up, the extra primping, were not just for me. It was all staging for Roberto’s grand entrance.
I feel betrayed, but I am glad that my stay in purgatory is coming to an end.
“Too bad you can’t stay. I could show you a few tricks.”
“I wish I could, Tyla. I have learned so much from you. But this is good-bye.”
“Thanks so much for helping me. You have been a good friend.”
“We are all soldiers for the Mara.” She leaves without saying good-bye.
I wonder if I will ever see Spider again.
I wait alone in the room.
A fly lands on my foot, and crawls toward my toes. I can’t reach it, so I suffer.
It flies off, and I hear it buzzing above me, but I can’t see it, or shoo it when it alights on the middle of my back. The tickling tortures me.
I am tied to the mattress that Patty died on.
Now, her deathbed is freshly made and covered with a frilly new quilt stolen from Target.
Spider flipped the mattress, but even now, my nostrils are suffused with faint aroma of her dead body. As I await Roberto, the sad presence of Patty returns and hovers over me.
I comfort myself with her imaginary embrace.
I hear a car screech to a halt outside and car doors open and slam. I hear raucous laughter on the stairway to my little prison.
The deadbolt rattles, and I hear a familiar voice.
“Hola, TChica, como estas?”
I look up from the sheets into the grinning faces of Hector and Ocho Loco.
Hector must have noticed the panic on my face. “You don’t look happy to see your old friends, TChica. We missed you.”
I smile. “I missed you too.” I am startled and worried, but I'm actually glad to see my old comrades and tormentors. A month of chastity in this prison of Roberto’s has made me feel like a useless toy doll.
Hector and Ocho are savages, but at least they are human. Roberto and his crew often act like cold, inhuman robots. Hector is alive and animated.
I am flattered that they have risked Roberto’s retribution to come to me.
Hector fondles my breasts, and then his hands traverse my body, flowing gently over my curves to my butt crack. He probes into my groin.
“Something’s missing here.”
“Nothing that I wanted or needed. Do you like the new me?”
“Yes, you are a very much improved TChica. But you don’t look so happy to see us.”
“I’m just surprised. I thought you had traded me away like an unneeded baseball player.”
“I did, but I want you back, now that Roberto never delivered on his part of the trade. We never got the fat trannie he promised us, so we are taking you. But first, you are taking me up that pink little ass of yours.” He kicks off his boots and pulls down his baggy jeans.
“You look like a Thanksgiving turkey, all tied up with big breasts. I think I want to dig in and get some stuffing.” He laughs at his own joke, and then jumps up on the bed behind me.
I hear the slap of his flesh as he masturbates himself to an erection.
“Help yourself to some head, Ocho.. Yee, hah, TChica.”
He spits on my upturned ass, swirls the puddle of saliva around my anus, and presses. I try to gape and let him in, but my ass, tightened by neglect, repels him.
“There’s some lube in my purse.”
“I don’t need it.” He spits again, fingers my ass.
I squirm and moan, but my muscles’ memories are awakened and they yield, first to his fingers, one, two, three, as I grimace and bit my lip to stifle a cry.
I breathe deep to calm myself as I feel him his cock bounce on my buttocks. I gape my ass open, and finally emit a little moan as he presses his cockhead inside me.
I brace myself, and recall that every fuck starts with pain and ends in ecstasy, and press my ass back against his thrust.
He rams himself all the way inside me with a half dozen powerful jolts. I force myself back on him and pull him inward with my ass. It opens hesitantly.
I have not forgotten my secret methods of rectal control, but fingers and dildos are no substitute for a rampaging cock. My nerves jangle, I utter urgent cries and I am possessed by contradictory desires. Part of me wants to expel the intruder, but part of me soul wants to invite the intruder explore and conquer my inner depths.
I am torn by the eternal contradiction of receiving anal sex, at once afraid I can’t bear the pain, but desiring to consumed and dominated, and pounded into a the submissive state of feminine bliss.
Desire prevails over defensiveness. I thrust my ass back against his surge. Hector’s thrusting cock crashes into me to crush the last vestiges of my boyishness, to pummel me into womanhood. He grabs and squeezes my boobs.
“I like these big, ripe mangos.” He rubs them together as I look down.
I watch him play with me. My new boobs inspire me. They define me as a woman. I feel more confident now, more assured of my beauty and sensuality.
I cup a swaying breast in my hand, and fondle it. I am melting, my taut ass is sinks to the mattress, in blissful submission.
Hector’s flailing cock thuds deep into the recesses of my belly. I syncopate to the drumbeat in my belly by squeezing and releasing his cock as it slides to and fro. He grips my ass cheeks, and they tingle in his touch. I look back, smile, and blow a kiss. He smacks my buttocks.
“I like this. Your butt got bigger.”
”But not too fat?”
He squeezes them and yanks me back against his thrust. “Perfect fuck handles.”
Ocho undresses and mounts the bed in front of me. I have slumped to low to take his cock in my mouth, so he pulls me toward him by grasping my swaying breasts. He cups them in his hands as the undulate in rhythm to my well-fucked body.
“Ay yay yay yay, Viva los bombas.”
I look up at him as he shares a comradely laugh with Hector. I kiss his uncut tip, and slurp the length of his penis to the taint, then pop each of his balls into his mouth and suck them.
Hector’s banging behind me makes my head wobble, but Ocho gets in rhythm. At first, I suck him in my mouth, but he is too long. I tilt my head downward and force his cockhead over my tonsils and deep into my esophagus. My eyes water, and my stomach heaves like I need to throw up when I swallow him to the hilt.
Hector whoops and spanks me.
“That spasm felt pretty scary. Don’t let our cocks meet in your middle, TChica.”
I nod. I quell my gag reflex and synchronize my breathing to their reciprocating motions.
The drumbeat quickens with two players inside me. My ass and throat are filled up. Hector roots and ruts in my ass, Ocho’s penis probes my throat.
I feel like I am drawing them together from opposite directions to my center. They are like miners digging through a seam of gold, searching for the large nugget at the center.
Ocho grabs handfuls of my hair and slams my face down on his cock.
“Ocho, do you want the TChica’s booty?”
“No boss, I want to finish here.”
He pulls his cock out and as I catch my breath his cock spits a fiery load of jism over my forehead and into my eyes. I pull him toward me and take final drops onto my tongue and swirl them between my lips. I look up and smile worshipfully.
Hector pulls out suddenly, and my ass snaps shut painfully. He rolls me onto my back and kneels astride my chest. Ocho’s semen seeps into my eyes and stings.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I hear Hector spit. Through my squint I watch as he grabs my boobs and presses them together around his cock. He fucks my breast tunnel for a dozen quick strokes, and then erupts a ropey load over my breasts.
The hot droplets drizzle me like a gooey shower. I close my eyes and enjoy the warmth and tingle as the cum puddles between my breasts and streaks down my cheeks.
“Make a big, happy smile.”
I comply, and through closed eyes I sense a camera’s flash.
“That’ll be a pretty picture to send to that fuck Roberto.”
I wipe the cum from my eyes and look at the image of me, spattered with semen, with two anonymous cocks looming in the foreground.
“You can’t send that to Roberto, he’ll kill me.”
“He’s going to have to catch you first. You’re coming with us.”
They tie my wrists and feet together, roll me in the quilt, cinch it with tied sheets and hoist me onto their shoulders.
As he crosses the threshold, Hector stumbles, and I slip from his shoulder. He catches me and laughs.
“Hey TChica, it feels like you picked up a couple of pounds. The tits that Roberto gave you must weigh more than the nuts he chopped off, huh?”
Now I am scared. If Roberto interrupts this kidnap, a gun battle will break out. I can’t understand why Hector has taken the chance to grab me after he traded me off like a worn-out pit bull.
Am I hostage, or proxy revenge against his rival Mara leader?
Life in Roberto’s domain had been safer and easier, but less free. But now I am to return to Hector’s anarchic realm. I will be Helen of Troy, imperiled as a captive, when war erupts between my abductor and my rescuer.
I feign insouciance. “Hector, maybe it’s you that got weak, from missing our bedroom exercises.”
“Ha, ha, you’re still the funny one. But you have some new tricks and treats.”
“I was afraid I had forgotten everything I used to know. I’ve been kept like a nun for the last month. I’ll need a lot of practice to get back to my old form.”
“With those new tits waiting for him, that faggot Roberto never even fucked you?”
“Only the night that you gave him to me. That freak doctor told me he fucked me while I was unconscious. And he made me blow him when he treated me.”
“The next balls that Dr. Rodrigo is going to cut are going to be his own. Welcome back to the tribe, TChica.”
He screeches onto a freeway.
“OK, you can unwrap her now.”
Unseen hands remove my swaddling. I squint into late afternoon sunshine as we speed through Hollywood and up a mountain pass. Hector is driving, and Ocho rides shotgun with a weapon cradled in his lap. Seated next to me is Spider.
“How did you get here?” She looks away, embarrassed by her treachery.
Hector laughs. “We planted Spider, just like we planted you in the Crips.”
“You’re brilliant, Hector.”
“I know.”
I don’t remind him that it was my idea to use myself as bait for the Crips.
“Where are we going? Do we have a new casa?”
“We’re driving to Chatsworth, TChica. I have a friend who wants to make you a star.”
“I’d like that. Who’s my leading man?”
Hector laughs. “You mean leading men?”
I ponder this quip in silence. I shoot a quizzical look at Spider, but she shrugs her shoulders.
Hector gesticulates the in-out motion with both hands. The tires rumble across a warning strip onto the freeway shoulder.
“You are going to be in one of those ensemble shows. I think they’re going to call it “Full House Whore” or “Eight Isn’t Enough.”
I stare out the window and process that my kidnap was not arranged for lust or vengeance. I am happy about being a porn star, but my feelings are hurt. Hector snatched me to consummate a commercial transaction with the porno business. He takes the ramp from the 210 to the 118.
Ocho takes a call on his cell.
“Yeah, we just got on the Ronald Reagan Freeway. That’s a pretty fucking funny name for the road to Pornowood.” He snaps the phone closed.
“Get off at Haskell and go left. It’s right there.”
We pull up in front of a nondescript tilt-up and walk up to an unmarked door. Ocho Loco buzzes and a tall, skinny white guy with tattooed arms lets us in. He motions us to a sit on a battered cloth couch.
“Wait here.” He dials a number. “The talent’s here.”
He turns to Ocho. “She looks young. You’re sure she’s eighteen?”
“Nineteen. She’s part Asian. Even the old ladies look like little girls. Here’s her ID.”
He hands the white guy an ID card. It’s a fake that Ocho Loco got for me on Alvarado near MacArthur Park. The white guy grunts and asks “What’s your birthday?”
“Who, me?” I fake surprise that he’s interested. “Why do you care? You got a present for me?”
He holds the ID up and studies me.
I do a quick calculation. “August 19, 1988.”
“You’re either old enough or smart enough. That’s good enough for me. OK, take your teddy off, and step up on the chair.”
He pulls a rickety high back chair to the center of the room. I carefully climb it and steady myself on the back.
He pulls a camera from his pocket. He fires the flash about six times, circling me.
“Very nice skin. Your boobs look a little off, but I’ve seen worse. Now strip, panties first.”
I slip my panties over my hips, and wriggle them down my thighs. They fall to my ankles. I cup my cock coyly as the flash strobes. I look down at Hector, Ocho and Spider. Hector gives me thumbs up.
“I am so embarrassed to be doing this with you here.” I’ve been fucked by them many times, but somehow stripping for a photo shoot in front of them made me feel more naked and vulnerable than ever.
“Are you enjoying the show?”
“I’d pay to watch this.”
I reach behind and pull the bow on my teddy, and it flutters to the ground. Then I release my cock.
The photographer laughs. “You’re going to pay to watch it. Everybody pays for porn.”
He turns to me “Smile, now pout, now sexy, now scared, now happy, and now horny. Very good. Bend over and spread that butt open.”
I turn and put my palms on my cheeks and open my ass as wide as I can, then snap it closed.
“I like that muscle control. You pass. But you look like you just got out of bed, and we’re not ready for you. He hands me a stack of twenties.
“Get dressed and get yourself a haircut and a manicure on the company. There’s a salon down at Devonshire and Haskell. Be back at 4:00."
I passed my audition. I’m going to be in front of the cameras in a few hours, and streamed all over the web in a few days. I am a goddess, beautiful and immortal. For in the Internet age, a great porn star lives on, forever.

TBC

If you enjoyed, or have a reaction to my story, please post a comment, if you can, or email me at [email protected]
Thanks to my friend riottgrrl for her editing.