From: b1223@ix.netcom.com (b1223 )
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.tg
Subject: Lisa's TG Library: "Goddess" (1/3)
Date: 1 Sep 1995 00:14:06 GMT
Organization: Netcom
Message-ID: <425j8e$ds1@ixnews4.ix.netcom.com>
Didn't write it, not responsible for it. Enjoy it!
-Lisa Blades
NOTE FROM THE ORIGINAL AUTHOR:
This work is Copyrighted. All rights reserved. You may,
however, upload this file to any person or service as long as it
remains unaltered. Hard copies may be produced so long as
everything below "CUT HERE WITH A SHARP KNIFE" remains unaltered.
This is a recurring dream, or perhaps nightmare, I once had
for twelve consecutive nights. A man awakens in a two-room
prison(?) with no memory or knowledge of anything. When he
notices the statue of what must be a Goddess bizarre things begin
to happen.
It is a reverie about large breasts, a confused guy, large
breasts, transformations, large breasts, a voluptuous statue, and
of course...large breasts.
I would greatly appreciate any and all critiques. If you
hate it, let me know. If you love it, let me know. If you're
completely impassive, let me know. Please send all critiques or
comments to CheyenneCM@aol.com.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> CUT HERE WITH A SHARP KNIFE <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
GODDESS
Cheyenne Chaste Moon
His eyes snapped open. He awoke startled, scared,
apprehensive, unsure of where he was, how he got there, and...
who he was. He sat up and thought, but nothing came. He prodded
his memory, but it remained blank. There was nothing to focus
on, nothing to remember. It was then he noticed his
surroundings. His eyes swept the area and found it all very
unfamiliar...and depressing.
There was a very small fold up cot which he was lying on.
Like his own nakedness, so was the cot. It had no sheets, no
blankets, and no pillow. The room itself was a small ten foot
cube. In the center of the ceiling was a lone, dim, bare bulb;
the walls were a dirty grey; and the floor was cold, smooth,
uncovered cement. There were no windows, but mounted on one wall
was a full length mirror, and on another wall was an open
doorway.
He stood up and looked in the mirror, and a stranger stared
blankly back. He did not recognize the body, or the face; his
face. It stirred no memories, and, in fact, only strengthened
his confusion.
He turned and stepped through the doorway, entering another
room which held no answers, but many more questions. This room
was larger than the first, but still a small twelve foot square.
The walls, floor, and ceiling were the same as in the smaller
room. In the center of the room sat a large, overstuffed, easy
chair. To the left of the chair was the open doorway in which he
was standing. Directly in front of the old, easy chair was a
door; a large, dark, heavily reinforced, wooden door.
He walked to the door and pulled on the huge ornate handle.
Nothing happened. He pushed, with the same result. Perhaps it
was locked, but if it was, it was done so on the opposite side of
the door, for, though he searched, he found no lock or latch, nor
did he find the door to be stuck in the frame. In frustration,
he lashed out and injured his toes. He let out a curse, grasped
his foot, hopped about, and finally came to rest in the easy
chair, where he sat for a very long time, trying to think, trying
to remember.
As time went by, he grew more and more restless. Who was
he? Why was he here? Was he imprisoned for some hideous crime
which he refused to remember. Maybe he was insane. Perhaps he
was dead. He wished he could remember something...anything. He
stood up to pace the room, to search the room, to try and open
the door once again. It was then he noticed, for the first time,
the statue.
The statue was directly behind the chair, standing a foot
from the wall. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it before. Had
it been there all along? But, of course, it would have to have
been. Aside from the doorway to the little room, the only other
door was the one he had been staring at for so long. Of course,
it had to have been there, he just hadn't noticed it.
The statue was made from something he couldn't identify, and
appeared to be hand painted. It was a life-sized, and extremely
life-like woman, although, he noticed, parts of her anatomy
looked to be other than life-sized. She was standing, feet
slightly apart, leaning slightly forward from the waist. Her
shoulder length hair was the color of chestnuts. Her eyes,
bluish-grey, seemed to peer right through him, to his very soul.
Her nose was small and cute, and her lips, painted satin pink,
were lush and inviting. She stood at five-foot six-inches, and
had hips measuring thirty-six inches, with buttocks which looked
firm and round.
One of the things which seemed strangely wrong with the
statue was her waist, which measured a mere seventeen inches.
The other thing, which seemed to him as odd, were her breasts,
with the creamy pink nipples, which she was holding up and
outward toward him, temptingly. More than holding them, she
seemed to be cradling them; one in each arm; for they were
colossal. He thought, that for her height, thirty-six to thirty-
eight inches would be average, forty to forty-five would be
large, forty-five to fifty would be huge, while anything larger
would truly be a physical impossibility. With that being the
case, the breasts on this statue were indeed beyond the
impossible, and even beyond the imagination, for they measured
one hundred inches.
He stepped back and took the sight in. Even with the
outrageous size of the breasts, which made the petite waist
appear even more diminutive, the statue was still quite
voluptuous, and enticing.
Time passed. He had no idea, and no way of knowing, just
how much time. The dim bulbs stayed on constantly, his
biological clock didn't exist, his hair never grew, he never
thought about food, or even once was thirsty, which was good, for
there was no food or drink. It was as if he was living outside
of time, existing in another universe, in another dimension...
all alone.
...Time passed. He didn't know how much. He suspected it
was years. It had been so long, he had given up all but living.
He had given up hoping for answers to the many questions he had
once asked himself; given up hoping to be set free, trying to
escape, trying to open the large wooden door. The only thing he
did anymore was walk aimlessly about the two little, drab rooms,
or sleep on the bare, narrow cot, but he was finding that harder
and harder to do.
He awoke from a fitful sleep, with his mind numb. He knew
he couldn't survive much longer, at least, not without going mad.
If only he wasn't alone. If he just had some one, anyone, to
talk to, perhaps he could save his sanity. He climbed to his
feet, stumbled into the larger room, plopped himself into the
chair, and stared at the large, wooden door which held him
prisoner. How he hated that door. He sat and glared.
The hatred swelled inside him until he had to act on it. He
rushed to the door and hammered on it with both fists. He knew
it was useless, but he continued, hoping to hold onto his sanity.
Finally he stopped and slumped to the floor.
Opening his eyes, he saw, standing across the room, the
statue of the woman, which was the most beautiful thing in his
world, or, he thought, in any world, anywhere. As he sat staring
at the statue, which, when he first saw it, he thought had
breasts which were ridiculously gigantic, he concluded that he
would not go mad so long as it remained, for suddenly he saw her
eyes sparkle, and, for the first time, he realized that the awe
inspiring breasts weren't oversized for the statue of this
goddess.
He closed his eyes and quickly shook his head, then gazed
again into the eyes of the statue, which once again twinkled,
bringing him to the conclusion that the statue was of a goddess.
If only she was real, he thought, then he surely wouldn't go mad,
but, perhaps he already was.
He rose to his feet and walked across the floor toward the
statue, with his eyes perpetually mixed with the seemingly
effervescent eyes of the beauty. As he reached the woman, her
eyes seemed to glow of their own accord, and he reached out with
both hands, and, for the first time ever, touched the statue.
His hands were seemingly, magnetically, drawn to her awesome
breasts, which were alluringly being offered to him. He was
expecting them to be cold and hard, made from stone or ceramic,
but, as he touched them, they felt warm, soft, and life-like. He
closed his eyes, began to rub the vast mounds, and fantasized.
He suddenly stopped, his hands still on the breasts of the
statue. He opened his eyes and shook his head. Perhaps he was
already mad.
It was the first time he had spoken since he awakened to
find himself a prisoner, alone, in a strange, little universe.
"Goddess," he hushed to the statue he had been stroking, since he
was convinced such a beauty could only be a goddess. "I wish..."
He stopped there and thought to himself, again, that he must have
gone mad.
"What is it you wish?"
His eyes snapped open, he turned, then spun around,
searching the room. "What?" he asked, though he saw no one.
"What is it you wish?" he heard again. It was a very
feminine voice; soft, soothing, and...heavenly. It wasn't coming
from any one location, it wasn't coming from anywhere, and yet,
it seemed to be everywhere. He knew then he wasn't mad, for he
could never, ever, invent such a beautiful, perfect voice.
"Who are you?" he asked, still searching the room with
lingering hopes, or fears, of finding hidden speakers somewhere,
although he knew there wasn't any; he had searched his small
universe thoroughly before, more times than he could count.
"I am Goddess." Something in his mind clicked, and he
believed the voice, reverently.
He turned and knelt before the statue of Goddess, then
raised his bowed head to stare into the shimmering eyes of the
heavenly, unmoving statue, and spoke solemnly. "Who am I?"
"You are number twelve."
He didn't question this. He wasn't about to question
anything he heard. "Where am I?"
"You are here."
"Where are you?"
"I am all around you. I am within you. I am everywhere."
"May I see you?"
"In the statue, you see me as you wish. Is this not
enough?"
"Yes," he told her. As his eyes fingered their way along
the statue, intimately becoming acquainted with every hill and
valley, every shadow, every curve and line, he was pleased, but
he was still curious. "Why am I here?"
"Because I brought you here."
"Why?"
"You will know in time."
"When will I leave?"
"Is this what wish; to leave?"
He stood up, looking longingly at the august breasts which
the statue was offering, then into the eyes of the idol. "Yes.
More than anything."
Absolute quiet swept through the room, and a cold shiver ran
up his spine, and, after a long period of time, he whispered,
"Goddess?" Silence answered him, and he wondered why she didn't
respond, and where she had gone. He, hesitantly, placed his
hands back on the statue; back on her breasts; and found them to
be just as warm, and soft, and heavenly as before, hoping that
maybe this would manifest her, as it seemed to have before.
"Goddess?" he inquired again, louder. There was no answer, but
his thoughts of madness were gone.
He was content.
He awoke from a long, very restful sleep; the first he'd had
since he could remember. It was immediately that he noticed
something wonderfully strange had occured. Two feet away,
parallel to his own, stood another small, bare, fold-up cot, on
which was a sleeping person, who, though turned away from him, he
could tell by the svelte frame, and seemingly flawless curves,
was most definitely a woman. He sat for a period, thinking
himself to be dreaming, although, to the best of his
recollection, he had never dreamt before, then he noticed her
arms. While she was lying on her side, her arms were both behind
her back, and appeared to be restrained.
He got to his feet, took a step toward her, then stopped as
she stirred, sat up, wobbly got to her feet, without the aid of
her arms, and turned to face him. The first thing he noticed was
the gag. He stepped closer and saw that it was a very efficient
and permanent device which spread her mouth to the extreme
limits, packing it solid, allowing not even the slightest of
sounds to escape, while being held in place by a one-piece,
unbroken, irremovable band of steel which encircled her head,
going underneath her hair, which, like the statue of Goddess, was
long and brown.
He was stunned by this, and her other restraints. Tightly
about her wrists was a thick, heavy, wide, single band of
polished, cold steel, which forced them together unmercifully,
while around her elbows was a similar, wider, steel band, which
brought them together, touching snugly and securely, and causing
her small, pert, attractive breasts to be thrust forward as if
she were exhibiting them proudly for him to see.
He reached her, and, with great urgency, tried to remove her
restraints, while she stood, unfearful of him, and seemingly, he
thought, unconcerned as to whether her strict and obviously
painful bondage was removed. He quickly realized they could not
be removed, and asked for help. "Goddess?" he called quietly.
"Yes, number twelve?" Her voice was as before; heavenly and
soothing, relaxing and peaceful.
"Can you help me remove these bands?"
"I cannot." He did not question this, just as he did not
question anything she said.
"Who is this woman?"
"She is your companion."
"Where did she come from?" he wished to know.
"From your heart."
"And you brought her here?"
"Yes."
"Why is she bound?"
"She must be."
"But, she is my companion," he quietly reminded her,
thinking that, perchance, she had forgotten.
"Yes. She is yours to speak to, and to gaze upon, but...you
must never touch her...in any manner."
This, also, he did not question, although he felt, ever so
strongly, that he may not be able to obey it, for the woman, he
reasoned, was exquisite; the quintessence of mortal femininity.
...Time continued to pass, only now it didn't seem to matter
to him, for he had someone to spend it with. It seemed he spent
all his waking time conversing with, viewing pleasantly, and
dreaming about the woman whom Goddess had chosen for him.
His reveries were fantastic things, filled with fiery
emotions and passionate, physical probing, in which they were
both in complete harmony with the universe. His dreams were
aroused by the enchanting, practically unbelievable beauty which
only his eyes were allowed to caress of his lovely companion.
Although their conversations were always one sided, they did
seem to progress as his companion became more adapt at using
physical gestures, other than a simple nod or shake of her head.
He was now more unsure than ever of how much time was passing,
only now it no longer seemed to matter.
They were both asleep, and he was having a beautiful, erotic
vision of his companion, when he was gently and serenely awakened
by Goddess. "Number twelve?"
"Yes, Goddess?" he answered, coming to a seated position.
"I have something for you. Please come to my statue."
He obeyed, and instantly noticed something lying atop her
generous breasts, as if being offered on a golden platter.
"Pick it up," coached Goddess.
He did so, and examined it, still not discovering, to the
best of his recollection, what it was. But then again, he had no
memory of anything, except the two rooms and what few things were
in them, and this strange thing had never before been one of
them. "What is it?" he asked Goddess.
"It is a corset."
"What am I to do with it?"
"You are to place it on your companion."
"What is it for?" he inquired.
"It will make her beautiful."
He did not understand this, for he thought her to be
beautiful from the first moment he saw her. How could this be,
he thought.
"Go now. Make haste," Goddess told him.
Carrying the corset, he entered the little room where he had
left his sleeping companion and found her awake, waiting his
return, and seemingly anxious to wear the gift from Goddess. She
met him halfway and offered herself to him. He slipped the
garment around her torso and latched the hooks down the front of
it. It fit snugly as it covered her from her shapely hips to the
bottom of her round, perky breasts. He was amazed at his sudden
knowledge of the garment, and he tightly cinched the laces until
her breathing dramatically changed, and her slim twenty-four inch
waist was compressed and molded in the corset until it measured a
mere twenty inches. When he finished, he tied the laces into a
bow and stuffed them under the edge of the vestment, then he
stepped back to look at the creation.
"Why do you stop, number twelve?" Goddess asked of him.
"It is done."
"No," Goddess corrected him, in a voice which remained
unchanged since she had first spoken to him. "You have yet to
finish. Her waist must be the same as the one which adorns my
statue."
"That is not possible, Goddess. The corset is painfully
tight now. It cannot be tightened further."
"It cannot, or you will not?" she asked gently of the man.
"It cannot. It is not possible."
After a time, they both laid back down and slept. He
dreamt. His visions now, however, were not of his companion, but
rather of a different, strange, wonderful, new world which was
filled with dazzling colors, and harmonious sounds, and beautiful
people of all shapes and sizes, none of which existed in his
dull, depressing little universe. How he longed to be a part of
this new world.
( CONTINUED )