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Alright, this is something a little different. Mindy’s Ordinary Life began as a CYOA-style roleplay with a user. She provided the scenario and central character, I wrote 95% of the content and gave her choices to make at various junctures to lead the story down different paths. My philosophy with this design was a little bit of regular CYOA (a la Goosebumps), and a little bit Japanese visual novel as the story moves on. I have 50 pages of text already, but the roleplay is still in progress so I’ll tidy it up and post as we go.
Now Mindy is a bit of a blank slate at times, because she was kind of a self-insert character for my partner. As a result, the story doesn’t include a whole lot of physical descriptions at first. The short version, though, is that Mindy is a petite girl with short, dyed hair, small breasts and a fifteen-inch futa cock. Yep. The next paragraph is the initial scenario as presented to me by my partner, just for a little background.
“Mindy lives a rather boring life, there’s really no way to sugar coat it. She goes to work every day as a customer care representative. Just another drone lost in the sea of cubicles to make enough money to pay for her beige Camry that she drives home to her studio apartment. She doesn’t go out much, the nightlife is all the way back in the city so most nights she just stays in with a couple glasses of wine and some Netflix. Occasionally she’ll get a match on Tinder but most evenings she’s stuck getting her 15 inch pole off all by herself.”
As for the technical details: my partner’s responses to the questions posed will be marked with [[square brackets]]. Some are meaningful choices, others are just ways to break up the story. You’ve read enough of my blather now, so let’s get into it.
It’s nine o’clock on a Friday night, and you’re watching a bad movie on Netflix in your underwear, wondering whether you can be bothered jerking off before bed, when there is a knock on the door. Quickly you grab a long jacket and throw it on to maintain your modesty, pause the movie and answer.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” It’s a tall man in a suit, wearing a face mask like the ones you’d use to avoid spreading a cold. It muffles his voice slightly, but you can still understand him as he informs you there’s been a chemical spill on the floor below. There’s nothing to worry about right now, he assures you, but he insists that you evacuate the building until it has been cleared of potentially hazardous fumes.
You take a moment to grab your phone and keys, but in your hurry you forget your wallet. It’s not until you’re halfway down the stairs that you also realise you’re still only wearing underwear, a jacket and the flip-flops that you slid on by your front door.
In just a couple of minutes, you find yourself standing outside the ground floor of your apartment building, watching with some curiosity as men and women in hazmat suits bustle past, carrying all kinds of bizarre equipment.
“Cleaning up the spill shouldn’t take too long,” says the man who came to evacuate you, “but it will be a while before the building is cleared for occupation. Probably twenty-four hours at least. I’m terribly sorry about this, but please find somewhere to stay for the weekend. Some compensation will be worked out between the council and the company responsible for the spill if you need to pay for a room.”
With that, he leaves you. Alone, half-dressed and mildly put out by the intrusion on your boring, yet comfortable evening. You check your phone: 60% battery. Will you call a coworker to come and pick you up? Or do you take your chances and look for a motel who will let you pay through internet banking? Or are you feeling adventurous?
[[I choose to call my work friend Stacy! She’ll help me out surely :)]]
“You weren’t kidding about everybody going crazy round here, huh,” Stacy comments drily, flipping a strand of hair out of her face as she leans on the top of her car to gawk at the situation. Another van has arrived, along with a police car which has parked across the front entranceway with its lights flashing. Indistinct figures in hazmat suits hurry back and forth, some setting up a cordon of black-and-yellow tape around the area. For better or worse, your home is off-limits for the weekend. Thank god for Stacy.
Stacy is the only thing that keeps you sane at work. There aren’t many girls at your office job, and you honestly find most of them catty and shallow. Stacy, however, was transferred in from a different department a few months ago and immediately made an impression on you. Five foot three and incredibly curvy, she became the target of almost every man in the building. Her tanned olive skin, wavy black hair and vivacious eye-smile aside, she was also one of the sweetest girls you ever met, and even you developed a bit of a girl-crush on her. It eventually came out that she had a fiance, though, which dissuaded all but the most persistent suitors. As a genuinely nice – if bostancı escort bayan somewhat boring, by your own admission – girl in a male-dominated office, she naturally gravitated towards you and it wasn’t long until you were fast friends. You sneak off together at lunch breaks to sit on the roof (which is technically off limits), she sends you dumb jokes via IM when she sees you looking deflated at your desk. As a happily taken woman, she doesn’t have much in common with the other girls at work, who are more interested in gossipping about each other, clubbing and finding some new dick to jump on for the weekend.
“I know!” she says in response to your protest. “I know you have a car, but I was already out and about when you called. Come on, hop in and we’ll get you indoors before you catch a cold. Darren’s out for the weekend on a business trip, so you can bunk with me.”
The thought makes you shiver slightly with some emotion you can’t quite quantify. Nevertheless, you slide into the passenger seat of Stacy’s green Honda Civic and let her drive you through town.
As she drives, Stacy grills you curiously about the chemical spill. No, you tell her, you don’t know whose fault it is. Nor do you know what got spilled or how. She looks a little put out, but laughs it off. “We’ll have a sleepover!” she says. “It’s been ages since I had a girls’ night. We can watch Netflix, drink bubbles and eat junk food in our pajamas – it’ll be great!”
You smile awkwardly, shifting in your seat. Stacy’s idea of a wild night appeals to you in a strange sort of way. No boys, no dirty clubs with pounding music and overpriced, tasteless beer. Still, you can’t help but be nervous. This is the first time you’ve been to Stacy’s place. Or any friend’s place, for that matter – since middle school, at least. Being a futa, you always were hesitant about doing things like that. But tonight, you didn’t have any choice.
You feel a slight flush creep into your cheeks as Stacy pulls into the driveway of a suburban two-bedroom. It’s not extravagant, but it’s a lot nicer than your apartment, that’s for sure. Darren must pull in a lot of cash to afford a place like this, because Stacy’s call centre salary sure isn’t paying for it.
Stacy opens the front door and curtseys theatrically as she holds it open for you. “Mi casa es su casa,” she says with a giggle. “Oh, leave your coat on the rack there, babe.”
You reach for the first button on your jacket, then freeze, remembering that underneath you’re only wearing your lazy underwear: blue panties (specially, ahem, ‘accommodating’ of course) and a mismatched pink bra. A cold sweat breaks out on your forehead as Stacy looks at you expectantly. Despite your relative closeness, you never confided in her regarding your ‘condition’. If she finds out now, you have no idea how she’ll react.
What do you do? Are you confident enough to say ‘the hell with it’ and strip? Maybe you’d rather ask to use her shower first and get around it that way.
[[Mindy chooses to use the shower!]]
“Actually . . .” you say weakly, holding the jacket’s collar close. “I’m a little cold and a bit sweaty, so do you mind if I use your shower first?”
“Course you can, babe!” Stacy says with a grin, closing the door behind you and ushering you down the hallway. “Second door on the left. Towels are in the cupboard, use my shampoo and stuff. Do you need a change of clothes?”
“Uh. Probably,” you say, though you’re not sure anything Stacy owns will fit your slender frame.
Evidently Stacy is thinking the same thing. “Darren’s little sister uses our spare room from time to time, she’s about your size. I’ll grab you some of her PJs. Oh, I’ve gotta grab those groceries out of the car before the ice cream melts! Head on in, I’ll unpack and bring you something to wear after.” She pushes you gently into a sparkling white bathroom and then she is gone, whirling like a storm, full of life and spirit.
You close the door behind you and sigh heavily, letting your guard down at last as you quickly strip off your jacket. You weren’t entirely lying to Stacy – you do feel a little gross, so the opportunity to detox is more than welcome. You’re also powerfully glad that you didn’t have to strip off in front of Stacy – you don’t know how she would have handled that revelation.
You reach around the pure white shower curtain and turn the water on, the familiar squeak-hiss of the showerhead helping you to relax. You reach behind you to unhook your bra, breathing another sigh of relief as the girls are set free. You’re not as busty as most girls you know – including Stacy – but you don’t really mind, since having small, perfectly formed tits is a plus of its own. No back pain, for starters, and bras actually fit you well. You absently tweak one nipple as you wait for the shower to warm up, feeling a weak tingle shoot down your spine as you do so. You suppress the feeling, trying not to remember that it’s been ümraniye escort more than two days since you last got off. When your panties hit the ground too, you have to hold back an audible groan as your enormous futa cock uncoils itself from the specially-constructed garment, flopping heavily against your thighs. It’s hot and a little sweaty from being pushed so hard up against your body, and the nervousness you’re feeling has it just a little turgid.
Nine inches soft and fifteen fully hard, you have a difficult time hiding your cock at the best of times. Tonight, it’s just as on edge as you are, flushed with red and pushing a little north of ten inches. You force yourself to ignore it. You don’t want Stacy to hate you, after all. Wandering around her house with a boner would not be a wise move.
As you step into the shower-bath, the hot water floods over you in a gentle, yet firm deluge. Stacy has one of those fancy pressure-changing showerheads, so you twiddle the knob a little to adjust it to your liking. Running your hands through your short, feathered hair feels fantastic, and you finally allow yourself to relax a little.
As you do, though, your cock slaps against your thigh. It’s still twitching anxiously; you give it a quick rub with one hand, as if to soothe a small animal, and it throbs against your palm.
You bite your lip, glancing around guiltily. A thought has just struck you: what if you were to jerk off here? It would be risky; Stacy could walk in at any moment. You’d have to dispose of the evidence somehow, too – your cum would probably clog the shower drain. But at the same time, blowing a load now would reduce the risk of unwanted boners throughout the evening. It would be a potentially risky trade-off either way.
Do you masturbate in the shower and hope Stacy doesn’t catch you? Or do you bear with it, and risk awkward erections later?
[[If I don’t take care of this now it’s just gonna get worse. Even if I hold off all night I could blow in my sleep and it’d be girl scout camp all over again… This drain doesn’t look big enough though. Shit. Think Mandy think! The trash can? No, she’d notice it instantly. The window is too high up. The toilet! It can handle my load and get rid of the evidence no problem!]]
Thus resolved, you immediately reach down between your legs and hoist up your cock. The gentle drizzle of the shower patters against your semi-flaccid length, causing you to gasp involuntarily. You’ll jerk off in here, then slip out and dump your load in the toilet and flush it away. Easy.
Better hurry. You wrap both hands around your cock, willing it to get hard. It’s burning in your hands, but you still haven’t reached full mast yet and you’re not sure why. Perhaps it’s the fear of being caught, a natural human reaction to an unquantified threat. Either way, you need to get a move on. You pump your slim hands up and down your shaft, your breath catching as you feel the blood slowly drain into the thick, solid member between your legs. Your balls are full and heavy. Think sexy thoughts. What was that porn you watched the other night? You can’t quite remember. Think of something else.
Your eyes go wide. “Oh fuck, no,” you moan out loud, but it’s too late. Unbidden, your subconscious is bombarding you with images: Stacy’s thick ass and thighs, climbing the stairs ahead of you at work one day; Stacy’s bountiful cleavage, straining against even the most generous tops; Stacy’s lips as she gives you a friendly kiss on the cheek.
“Noooo…” you whisper in a hushed voice, but the images keep coming, your imagination now substituting fantasy for reality: Stacy’s ass revealed, clad in lace panties and grinding on your dick; Stacy’s huge breasts, heaving in ecstasy as she pleasures herself with your body; Stacy-
A bolt of lightning fires through your head, stunning you temporarily. An erection this size always makes you light-headed from the rush of blood, but this is something else. You battle the guilt and try to push your fantasies of Stacy out of your head, but you can’t deny it’s working. Your cock is harder than you’ve ever seen it. As thick around as a Coke can, and now easily over fifteen inches long, it throbs in front of you. Veins crawl up and down its length, giving it a rough pattern of bumps and whorls that slide under your palms as you continue to jerk it. The head is thick and bulbous, pushing right out of its foreskin and nearly bumping against the shower wall. You reach one hand down behind your cock, cupping the pendulous balls that hang in front of your pussy – they are tight and hot, ready to spurt their hot, sticky load all over anything unfortunate enough to get in the way.
The heat of the shower, the steam, and your arousal combine to make it feel like you’re floating. Your entire body is hot. You wish you had more hands, as you desperately grope yourself toward your orgasm. One hand tugs on your heavy, engorged cock while the other squeezes escort kartal and fondles your balls, massaging them towards the inevitable release. Flashes of white blast through your mind as you throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as you bite your lip in an effort to remain silent. Fireworks dance behind your eyes; this is the most intense buildup to an orgasm you’ve ever felt. In your mind’s eye, between the flashing lights, you see Stacy. She’s naked, screaming in agonising pleasure as you sink your cock into her nether regions, biting the pillow as your rod gouges out her deepest places. *Stacy!* “Stacyyyyyyy…”
“M’yello?” a voice pops up from outside. You stop dead, snatching your hands away from your cock as if burned. Your heart pounds so loudly, she can surely hear it.
“Uh, hi!” you squeak, your voice trembling. You turn your head to glance towards the shower curtain and see Stacy’s plump silhouette outside the shower. *Why now?* you scream internally.
“Just brought you some of Sandi’s PJs, hon. I’ll just leave them on the chair here.” Stacy bends over. Even in silhouette, the action makes your mouth go dry. Your hands are trembling. Slowly, disbelievingly, but unable to stop, you draw them back towards your cock, which is throbbing in time with your heartbeat. You chew your lip almost hard enough to draw blood as you set your hands back to rubbing – quietly, carefully, so she won’t hear or notice.
“Thanks,” you say. There’s something incredibly electric about masturbating to somebody on the other side of a thin film of fabric. Your best friend, your coworker, the hottest woman you’ve met. The guilt is killing you, but it just feels so. Fucking. Good.
“These your clothes here, Mindy?” Stacy asks, bending down again to scoop up the clothes you discarded. “I’ll throw them in the wash for you.” She’s touching them, you realise. Her hands are probably all over the panties you were just wearing. Between girls, that normally wouldn’t be a big deal, but she doesn’t know that your thick, grotesque girlcock had been buried in there until just recently. The thought makes you whimper.
“Yes.” Your voice is barely a croak now. “Thank you.” You’re stroking your cock faster and faster now, and you feel your balls tighten. Stacy’s right there, her intoxicating form just inches out of reach. You could step out and take her now, and you know it. But you daren’t risk it. You daren’t even entertain the idea. She still doesn’t know your secret, and what’s more, she’s engaged. You’ve never met Darren, but he sounds like a lovely guy. The idea of taking Stacy away from him repels you.
Part of you – a small, guilty part – is massively turned on by the mere thought of it, though.
“Didn’t you have any other clothes?” Stacy sounds puzzled as she collects your things.
“No,” you moan, trying to keep your voice steady.
“They kicked you out in your bra and panties? What a bunch of jerks.”
She’s realised. She knows now, knows you were sitting next to her in the car dressed like an exhibitionist. Will she hate you for it? “Yeah,” you agree weakly, hoping she’ll just go away. Your hands are moving at a frantic pace now, up and down your shaft. You feel your orgasm rising, a familiar, powerful tide that threatens to sweep you away.
Thankfully, Stacy seems to take the hint. “Alright, see you when you hop out. I’ll be in the lounge across the hallway!”
The door clicks shut behind her, and your world goes blank. You shudder and jerk as the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever felt racks your body, driving you to your knees in the bath as your cock erupts, blasting cum all over the white tiles in front of you. Ah, fuck. The toilet. You’re beyond the point of moving, though, only able to pant and strain as rope after rope of thick, searing cum shoots out of your cock. Your head goes white and you fade out for a moment, the only sensations you can feel the ebbing pleasure in your cock and the gentle drizzle of the shower head.
Opening your eyes, you groan. Smelly, sticky cum is dripping down the wall, a greater amount than even your unusually large balls tend to produce. Noticing that the showerhead is slowly pushing it off the wall and into the bath, scudding around your knees as you drag yourself upwards on shaky legs. Quickly, you turn the showerhead to point away from the wall and reach for some toilet paper, cleaning up as best you can. After flushing as much of the evidence down the toilet as you can, you clean yourself up and step out of the shower. As you towel off, the euphoria of your orgasm wears away, leaving an intense feeling of guilt and worry. That was too close.
Stacy has left you three items: a pair of black cotton boxers, a grey t-shirt emblazoned with a picture of several cats, and mercifully, a pair of panties. White and plain, they’re not going to suffice to cover your flaccid dick but at least they’re better than nothing. The alternative is walking out into Stacy’s living room with several inches of cock hanging out the bottom of the boxers, so you gratefully pull them on and uncomfortably stuff your cock inside.
Taking another moment to compose yourself, you step out of the bathroom and follow the sound of the TV into the lounge.
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