With visions of Miss Card's watermelon sized tits bouncing and jiggling in your head, you returned to the living room. You could scarcely believe it. 32H was ridiculous, but seeing was certainly believing, the incongruity of Miss Card's otherwise lithe torso and her mammoth mounds often being somewhat of a physical miracle. No wonder Randall was complaining about his back. You did your best to suppress your arousal was no easy feat. Though your tryst with Randall this morning (or afternoon, really) had left you sexually sated, being ignored unless you were playing chauffeur had left you feeling tense and exasperated. Frankly, you needed some relief.
Gazing back at the bedroom, knowing that Randall's 'special' brand of attention was your preferred method of relaxation, you sat down on the couch, giving a deep sigh. As enjoyable and undeniably erotic as your romps were, you knew full well that the when, where, and how were never options decided upon with your consideration in mind. Simply, he called the shots in your meager sex life. You knew you should be grateful for even having the experience that you had. Nothing was written in the "Best Friends Handbook" that said you have to fuck your friends if you suddenly if you find yourself in the body of a beautiful woman. Chuckling to yourself, you mused that if you did ever right something like that, you were definitely adding that in.
However, none of this solved the immediate need you felt at the moment. If anything, thinking about your sexual proclivities were only serving to exacerbate the problem. Getting up from the couch, you made the way to the kitchen. No wonder I couldn't sleep, you thought. I haven't eaten since before we left! Making your way to the fridge, you opened the door. Though you were no where nearly as avoidant of health food as Randall was (or at least, used to be), as hungry as you were, you preferred something "ready to eat". Unfortunately, "ready to eat" didn't seem to be part of Miss Card's diet, a diet that, from the looks of things, Randall seemed to be strictly adhering to. You didn't blame him. A body like his probably took some work to maintain, and from what he had mentioned, Randall seemed to be exercising regularly as well.
You pondered the packaged corn dogs in the freezer. Examining the box, you realized they were unopened. Randall had made a point of stocking up on junk food for your "buddies weekend". Just like that endeavor, it seemed that things didn't go according to plan. I guess his tastes really have changed, you mused, simultaneously entertained and saddened by this revelation. You never thought the day would come when Randall would choose salad over pizza and carrot sticks over ice cream. Being that Miss Card had entirely different taste buds and her body was accustomed, it seemed logical that Randall would adopt her eating habits. Still... If something some iconic could be changed so subtly, it made you wonder what other changes could and perhaps were happening to your friend. It was a thought that troubled you deeply. If you steal someone's name, their body, their sex, make them walk, talk, and act a different way, change even their tastes, are they really the same person? You kept insisting to yourself that Randall is still Randall, but was he really? You pushed those thoughts aside. It was growing late and you were far too hungry and far too horny to wax philosophic.
Needing something with a little more sustenance than a corn dog, you resolved to make yourself a sandwich and be done with it. You grabbed from the selection of lean meats and cheeses, found a tomato, and snatched a leaf of lettuce. Removing a couple of slices multi-grain bread from the nearby bread box, you set yourself to hastily constructing your sandwich. Plating it, you trotted back to your seat on the couch. As you started to eat, you flipped through the various channels on television. One perk of staying at Randall's is he had the full programing suite, including the premium movie packs and a few adult channels as well. You felt much improved after wolfing down your sandwich, leaning back into the comfortable cushions. Your channel surfing stopped on Lesbian Police Sluts 3, if only for the title alone.
"I can't believe they made that book into a movie," you said aloud, giving a short laugh. Though you did find the content arousing, none of the girls on screen held a candle to Miss Card in either face or figure. As a matter of fact, since actually having sex, you noticed that porn didn't quite carry the same punch that it used to. Two of the girls went down on each other in a cell, while a third barked orders. It seemed clear to you that Randall still carried a torch for the ladies, despite fitting squarely into that category himself, if what he'd said during your recent conversations was to be believed. You wondered if you would ever get a chance to see Randall do something like this. The uniforms were hot as well. You made a mental note to be sure and suggest "sexy cop" if Randall ended up looking for costume ideas, Halloween was barely two months away. This scenario seemed unrealistically silly now.
With some ****, you shut off the tv. It was hurting more than helping at this point. Discouraged, you lay on the length of the couch. As you gazed absently around the room, your eyes fell upon the video camera, still on it s tripod, unobtrusively in the corner. Your eyes went wide. The solution to your problem. Randall said he had been recording himself masturbating, hadn't he? You were up on your feet and had camera in hand before you thought about it. Getting comfortable again, you flipped the tiny LCD screen over and started browsing through the view options. Deciding the most recent file was as good as any of the others, you hit "play".
It looked to be set in Miss Card's bedroom, recognizing the dresser and other fixtures in the shot. The view wiggled and shook a bit, obviously being adjusted. Finally, it seemed to settle facing the bed, a little shorter than eye level. Miss Card strode into view, though based on the date, it was actually Randall. You recognized the outfit from the first week of school: a white, wide collar, women's dress shirt, a tight black, knee-length skirt, and dark hose. Randall's hair was up in Miss Card's iconic bun, his make up done to perfection, and the trademark spectacles resting on the edge of his delicate nose. Based on the way he was moving, you guessed he was wearing heels. All evidence suggested that he was the woman he appeared to be. Casually, Randall sat on the bed, crossing his legs with a practiced femininity.
"Good afternoon, class," he said in Miss Card's dulcet tone. He paused for a few beats before saying, "Randall Davis! Are you talking out of turn again? We are going to have to take some serious disciplinary action, young man." Each few words was punctuated by Randall undoing one button after another, his shirt falling open, exposing his bra covered breasts. Holy. Fucking. Shit. You hadn't really known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. Your cock sprang to attention. As the action on screen progressed, Randall removed his clothing, article by article. Eventually, he was down to just the heels. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself on all fours. You caught sight of the pink dildo, harkening back to the night you had first walked in on him. The camera caught him at a side profile as he slowly pushed the dildo inside himself, moaning in the process. Seeing the action from this angle gave you quite a thrill, as did Randall's writhing and moaning as he seeming was fucked by his fantasy self. After clearly cumming twice, it seemed that the action was winding down, having more than enough mental material to finish yourself as well.
"I see you watching over there, Tim Connors."
You practically dropped the camera as you heard those words. Your attention focused.
"No need to jerk off. Why don't you come over here so I can teach you your lesson?" Miss Card's voice was dripping with lust as she gazed off screen. As Randall gazed off screen. You couldn't believe it. Hearing this pushed you directly over the edge, your dick spurting it's load all over your hand. Despite the mess, you couldn't stop watching. Randall was going for a second round and there was no room for doubt that he was imagining you as he pumped that pink piece of plastic in and out of his sweet velvety folds. You weren't exactly horny anymore, but you did not miss a single second, watching as Randall gave himself another set of thundering orgasms.
"Oh GOD! Tim! Tim! You are such... a good... student!" Randall bucked his hips feverishly in time with his cries, finally collapsing. After a moment spent rolling around on the bed in apparent afterglow, Randall slowly slid off the bed and held the camera in front of his face. "Note to self: Better delete this. Tim CANNOT be allowed to see this. Ever." He lowered the camera, before quickly snapping it back up again. "Tim, if you are watching this, I am seriously going to fucking kill you." Uh oh... Not wanting to get caught with your pants down, literally, you replaced the camera on the stand and made your way to the bathroom to clean up.
Not bothering to turn on the light, the living room providing sufficient illumination. No sooner had you finished wiping off when Randall himself came stumbling in. On a drunken auto-pilot, he sat to pee, not a shred of modesty. Kicking the g string aside, he seemed to regard your fading erection was some amusement, giving it a playful tap. You shivered. Finishing his business, you watched his naked body sashay back to the bedroom.
Sleep was calling. Confused and exhausted, you passed out on the couch. That, was too much.
In the morning...
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