Left in Las Vegas (Losing my manhood and identity)
As I sucked my own cock, the stripper who stole my body was saying, "You thought you were so clever, betting everything, your money, your career, your very entire identity against me in that little game of cards? You should have read the contract where it said I got to lock you in a new identity after I took yours…"
“Please! I don’t want to be a Vegas stripper! I’ll bet my business skills and intelligence that I can make you cum in 5 minutes or I get my body and life back!”
“You really do have a gambling problem… but… 3 minutes… When you lose… and we both know you will… not only do you stay in that luscious version of my old body, but you’ll be even dumber than I ever was... Your Harvard-educated mind will become nothing but sex skills and showgirl knowledge. Every business strategy replaced with deep-throat techniques and moves on a stripper pole!”
“Deal! {suck}{suck} Mmmmm…..”
“I never did like baseball… but who knew that thikning about it would work so well and….… tick tick tick…. there we go… three minutes already gone and…. Mmmmm…. I’m going to really like being rich and talented and male… and so satisfying to leave you here in Vegas where you can be a “private dancer” to all those business men like you used to be…”
I couldn't remember my banking info and I just kept sucking the cock I lost, feeling my enormous breasts sway as I sucked, as my finger traced the slit where my cock should have been…. I wasn't ever leaving Las Vegas… but my body and my identity were…