Dickish Direction (Female dick growth, shemale transformation, frotting)

Story by gweh

Alliteration is lazy you guys, don't do it.

So, for a slightly-spoilering synopsis of what you're in for, my "ideas" file entry for this one was as follows:

Porno producer is barking orders at a lesbian pair of starlets, nitpicking them. Orders them to start scissoring, but finds fault with lots of their routine; steadily, his orders turn into ones that’d only be possible with different tools - despite their vague misgivings that something’s up, they let the producer guide them even as scissoring turns into frotting. Short?

Most of that is still fairly accurate. What is NOT accurate is the assertion that it's short. This son of a bitch is ~23.5k words; it took me a week or so to write.

This is a female-to-shemale transformation story, focusing largely on a mind control-y type setup, "talking" women into changing themselves through ever-building poor word choices. It doesn't have explicit penetration or buttplay or anything, but it DOES have a really, REALLY drawn out tf, a handjob, about 70 instances of the word "penis" alone, and an orgasmic frot-based climax that's over a page long - so you probably won't miss the "cum here you guys" mark.

It's been a while since I wrote something, but I got the hankerin' for it again and banged this out. In my ongoing quest to try different styles of writing when I do these, I've made this one shift between three different shallow, undeveloped perspectives as it goes on - as well as putting a whole bunch of italicizes and bolding in there to emphasise things. If that last bit bothers you, feel free to take 'em out; two quick ctrl+i and ctrl+b presses'll nix 'em all.

There's also two variants of this; unlike the last two-version rewrite story I posted here, though, the losing of a vagina seemed very, very important and integral to the deep, overarching plot of this one. So the other version's one where they lose their breasts, too, and essentially become twinky dudes that still identify as female, with the Director either implied to be a repressed homosexual or one of us depending on chosen route. The shemale version's probably of far more interest to those what come here, but I'll post both anyway; use this if you just NEED to see what differences there are. If I fucked something up and you see a bit in one that doesn't seem to jive with it, do please tell me; I spent like 15 hours editing these alone, and while I did my damndest to make sure everything was ordered right I might've done a rogue copy/paste somewhere. Further deets re: the story below the spoiler'd text if you care; I personally recommend posting into a word doc or something just 'cause I think it looks a bit nicer there.

2:45.

Friday.

Three separate re-sets, personally handled.

And very, very little patience left for his…’actresses’.

Leon Whittaker’s lip curled a bit further at that last thought, the mere word souring his mood, even as he kneaded his brow ever-harder, even as he slumped ever further back in his flimsy directorial chair, even as he tried again, equally unsuccessfully, to dispel the pent-up stress of the decidedly unsuccessful shooting.

The long, unproductive hours he could take, he often reminded himself. Part of the job, especially in this particular field. Rests had to be taken, props had to be cleaned. He’d learned to deal.

Hell, Leon Whittaker was the one what made it part of the job, more often than not. Leon was a man that took his direction seriously, regardless of whether the production quite deserved his talents. It made for good practice, he figured - and he wasn’t willing to cut corners. Not ever.

Not even in porn.

It was…a stepping stone, was how he saw it. A way to prove himself, even if only TO himself. He had the talent, the vision, the VERVE - and he intended to use it. He HAD to use it, in fact. So he could move on. Move upwards. He’d get where he wanted to be – not here, mainly - eventually. That was certain.

What he couldn’t deal with were those without the talent to match his own conspiring to undermine his work. Those without the DRIVE to be their BEST acting like they shared – like they could even match! - his ambitions. Those to whom he gave the best direction he could possibly muster to work with, but who themselves refused to put equal passion, or energy, or LIFE into their performances for his cameras.

Those like the two glaringly talentless thespians Leon found it his increasingly irksome task to watch, for instance. Those like the pair of altogether unconvincing young wannabe ”starlets” he was forced to stare attentively at, whose vapid faces and – to his eye - ever-more unappealing gawping, gaping, gasping genitals it

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