MYLENE IS FILLED WITH TAMPONS


In some strange part of a city, feeling wicked and free, I flounce into a lingerie shop. The women behind the counter will know that I am not a woman, but this is not anywhere near my home, and so I don't care. I am confident in my wickedness. I look at my reflection in my compact and see evil beauty; red lips, flashing eyes with thick mascara, a tongue lasciviously sliding across my teeth. Hah! I will buy slutty panties today!

The women in the store are more wicked than I. I see that instantly, and one of them presses a button that begins to buzz, and I realize that the door is now electronically sealed and I can not leave. My legs are suddenly weak, and I struggle to find a chair to sit down before I collapse.

I can't find a chair, so I crawl atop a big wooden table, and I wearily lie on my back, my legs up like some kind of dying bug. I surrender to these women, and hope they will have mercy.

To my utter embarrassment, I see that I am naked from the waist down. I have a see-through blouse of white silk and I am shocked to see that I am wearing outrageous falsies and a black lace bra over them. I am a fool to be so brazen! They will hate me for my silly falsies, and for exposing my penis and testicles,

The two women are talking about me, saying something about how I can't buy panties unless I am a real woman, and a real woman uses "feminine protection." Oh they are such mean women, older women with cruel lips and triangle eyebrows and beauty marks. They are almost identical, like sisters.

I make little sighs and moans, trying to show them that I am a helpless female and that they should take pity on me. Oh please! Oh please! I wish I could talk, but I can't. All I can make are little puffy noises of weak and childish agony. I am like a baby that needs to be changed.

My legs are being lifted up. My anus is being swabbed with some kind of a cotton ball dipped in oil. The women are talking and I don't know what they are saying. I see a long female finger covered in glistening fluid. It could be vaseline or oil. The finger prods into my rectum, and goes all the way in. I let out a petulant little cry to let them know that it is inside me, and I have been successfully violated, and that I bleat my submission.

But now one of the woman pulls my anus wide, like putting two fingers into a mouth and making a grotesque face. And into the gaping darkness she has made, the other begins to put tampons. She hurries to unwrap each one, and put it in as my rectal flesh slowly closes, but not slowly enough to prevent this abuse.

I try to cry out, but all that comes forth is a baby-like whimper of woe.

I slowly roll over on my stomach, legs spread, the tampon strings arranged in a straight line so that they all lie over my scrotum like the tale of an albino horse. My bottom cheeks have never looked more large and feminine. I think that perhaps they will be pleased to see that inserting the tampons has somehow pumped the flesh of my bottom, and made my fanny more womanly.

I begin to crawl along the table, until the table somehow becomes the floor, and I reach the door. My anus is lewdly widened, and anyone can see five, six tampons widening the entrance of my bottom, and the silky strings hanging down onto my balls.

Every time I trudge forward on my knees, the tampons seem to get thicker and flare out and widen my anus. I trudge, left knee, right knee, like a lumbering animal, and my anus alternately closes and opens.

I manage to slide upward on the sidewalk, as if I'm going up a great hill, and then slowly I rise to my feet.

I walk awkwardly, and I close my eyes, afraid at how everyone who passes me will stare, and they will see the strings hanging over my balls, and they will know that there are so many tampons in me, like pencils in a cup.