The Illusionist
Chapter Numberspelledout

      You know, in hindsight it’s funny to think that the first time I walked into a girl’s locker room, I was actually nervous. Of course, any more I had to remind myself I wasn’t supposed to be in here. Not that anyone else had a problem with it. 
      You see, I’m an illusionist.
      In the grand scheme of mystical powers, I suppose it’s nothing all that impressive. Time travelers, teleporters, mind controllers… there were some pretty amazing folks out there. Me, I just befuddle the senses a little and go on my merry way, content to fly under the radar. 
      Which is why as I walked into the women’s locker room at the Y, nobody batted an eyelash. To them, I was just an unremarkable middle-aged lady who had obvious need of time on the treadmill. The other two ladies in here didn’t look twice. Hell, they didn’t look once.
      I went through the motions of changing into some workout clothes, biding my time. It didn’t take long before I heard the shower start up. That would be Katy, the vision of loveliness who’d caught my eye when I was working out last week. 
      (Hey, just ‘cause I can look like whoever I want doesn’t mean I want to let myself go and die of heart disease in my forties.) 
      By then I’d already cleared out the locker room – projected the experience of a couple urgents texts to the ladies already in there to get them hustling – and set an site-based illusion on the door so anyone opening it would instead feel and see it refuse to budge. I didn’t like to split my concentration too many ways. Too great a chance of letting something slip up and having real trouble on my hands.
      The Y had those big open showers, so sure, if I wanted I could walk in there right now and feast my eyes on her to my heart’s content. That wasn’t the objective, though. See, I liked to run a show with a lot of room for adaptation on the fly. There were a hundred easy ways to get laid with powers like this, but variety, after all, is the spice of life.
      So I gave her a little nudge. It took a moment before she noticed, but suddenly I heard a piercing shriek of alarm from the shower.
      “What are you doing in here?! GET OUT!”
      “What am I doing in here – what’re you doing in here, lady?”
      “How dare you…! Get the fuck out of here, NOW!”
      “Hey, I’m just… I mean, I wasn’t trying to…”
      “You have to the count of three. No, screw that, you have to the count of zero to stop staring at me and get the HELL out!”
      “But… what’re you doing using the men’s shower, lady?”
      “I am NOT…!” CRACK!
      Wow, she actually slapped him. Feisty little minx. 
      I rolled with it, and my illusory male stumbled back out of the shower clutching his cheek and grumbling. Right on his heels came Katy, buck naked and dripping wet, scowling imperiously. “Now march your ass on outta here, and be glad I don’t… I’m not… I’m…”
      And there awaiting her in the locker room were half a dozen other men. (All in her head, of course.) She froze, blood draining from her face as they drank in the sight of her. Jesus she was more perfect than I’d thought she’d be, even aside from the face that had arrested my attention in the first place. 
      I hadn’t realized how much her sports bra had been doing to minimize those tits, full and heavy and still youthful enough to ride high and proud, two perfectly round pink nipples capping each. I couldn’t see her ass at present, but that beauty was something her spandex had done little to conceal, so I knew what I was in for there. I hadn’t figured she’d be shaved though. That was a fun surprise.
      Luckily, their dialogue had provided ample time for one of the illusory guys to pick up his phone and start recording. She was too thunderstruck to do anything at first, but then she leaped back into the shower, presumably to grab her towel. Which I presently hid from her.
      She cursed. Then she must’ve done the mental calculus that the entrance to the women’s locker room was only across the hall and best just to make a run for it. Panicking, she bolted – right past the similarly concealed stack of fresh towels – right out into the locker room and into the hall.
      This was where things took quick control and not a little skill with my craft. First, not wanting to actually cause a scene, I hid her from the sight of anyone who might be present out there. Second, I did a little mislead trick, making her feel like she was running the right way when in fact she just doubled back around to the same door. The effect was to make it so I didn’t have to handle the consequences of her running into the actual men’s locker room.
      Next I tossed a “CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE” sign on the door, leaving the locking trick in place. The imaginary men melted around me as I let that illusion fade, excusing myself to slip out into invisibly behind where she was pounding frantically on the door.
      “Miss?” I said gently. “Are you lost?” I projected the image of a guy a bit buffer and a bit better looking than my real self – not that I was self-conscious, but people trusted handsome for whatever reason.
      She turned, beet red, to find a lobby full of people staring at her naked body. “I… I think I… I accidentally, um…”
      “It’s all right, it’s all right,” I said. She saw me take off my t-shirt and hold it out to her, though in actuality I was doing nothing of the sort. I’d previously figured she’d grab her towel as soon as she found herself in the shower with a man, but when she came out without it and I’d gotten a look… 
      Call me selfish, but I wasn’t willing to lose sight of my prize quite yet.
      She snatched the garment quickly, pulling it on over herself. To the people idly milling about the lobby, she was as invisible as the air around her; to her, she at least had a shirt that hung just low enough to hide her pussy; to my eyes, still gloriously naked.
      “Thanks,” she said meekly. “It’s locked. I can’t get in, to get my things. My clothes.”
      “I don’t think they’re in there. I work here, and we’ve had it locked off all day. We’ve had women using a spare room down the hall to change.”
      “I… you mean I… but…” She tried to make sense of things. One of my favorite parts of psychology, the way people rationalize. And really, the idea that she’d come in and accidentally used the wrong locker room, that she’d just happened to have timed it so no men were in there on the way in… well, it certainly made more sense than the truth.
      “Look, look, let me go in there, I’ll get your things, OK?” With a little reluctance, she told me which locker she’d used, what her lock combo was. I got her things as she thought she was making her way down to the afore-mentioned changing room. I played with her perception of time a little, gave her some visual miscues, and she wound up standing off to the side in a little nook between two potted plants.
      She heard a soft knocking, and opened the door to accept her clothes. Her mind saw that the same outfit she’d worn in here, but in fact I’d slipped her a change. Her comfy t-shirt had been replaced by a tank top cut off in the middle; her khaki shorts were now a pair of daisy dukes.
      (Her bra and panties I just disposed of altogether.) 
      Having under-estimated her actual breast size, the top was stretched so tight over her tits it was nearly transparent, not even hanging low enough to cover her prodigious underboob. The shorts fit as I’d hoped; she didn’t even notice that she was straining to tug on something several sizes too small. Katy strained to do the button, even her butt pouring out the bottoms. I’d seen bikini bottoms that covered more.
      Katy took a few deep breaths, then left the makeshift changinging room – which actually meant taking a couple dozen half-inch steps in the real world – and greeted me once more, handing me my imagined shirt. I didn’t actually move, so I was able to see her watching me with interest as I put it back on.
      “Thank you,” she said softly. “My name’s Katy, by the way.”
      “Dylan,” I lied. You didn’t want to make a habit of going around leaving a trail of people who knew your real name, just in case you made a mistake somewhere. “Look, I found a guy in there who’d gotten some, ah, footage… I had him delete it though.”
      “Oh shit, thanks – you didn’t have to hurt him or anything, did you?”
      “Nah, just slipped him a hundred bucks to delete it.”
      “Oh – oh you have to let me pay you back!”
      “Hey, don’t mention it. You pay me back and I don’t get to feel like a hero, which doesn’t happen to me often enough to forfeit the opportunity.”
      Her smile brightened. “Well maybe you’ll at least let me pay you back with dinner?”
      “I’d like that.” 
      She offered me her hand, and as far as she knew, I took it. In fact, I’d given myself a moment to loosen my own pants and let her take a nice gentle hold of my cock. With her in that outfit, it was already more than enough to fill her grip.
      It was a pretty normal date for me, though to her, it was rather exceptional. In her mind, I let her drive and after an off-handed comment, she even taught me a little about driving stick. We went to a pleasant little restaurant and made small talk over a tasty meal. After, we walked a few blocks to a line dance bar and she showed off her hard-earned agility between a few rounds of drinks. 
      In fact, we took a cab, and she sat in the back seat enthusiastically chiding me for not knowing how to handle my own “stick” as the cabby ogled her in the rear view mirror. (I left him her panties instead of paying; he didn’t seem to mind.) 
      He’d dropped us off at a seedy little bar I liked for this kind of thing, a place with shady lighting and shadier patrons. There was no shortage of hoots and whistles as I lead sweet little Katy into the room, her tank top desperately struggling to contain those big jugs of hers, her ass gyrating for all to admire with every step. Our waiter, a guy who’d seen me in here more than once and assumed I was just bring in hookers, leered at her openly. “Outdone yourself this time – set of titties on this bitch, surprised a guy like you can afford her. Treating yourself tonight, eh?”
      (Or as Katy heard it, “Welcome, guys – hope you brought your appetites, because you’re in for a treat!”) 
      Then we went to a strip club. It was amateur night, as I’d known when I planned this, and so I found the bartender who organized the betting (which she thought was the DJ) and put the maximum bet on my girl (which she thought was a request for “Achy Breaky Heart”) to win the strip-off (which she thought was a couple’s dance).
      While Katy’s mind saw herself being a little risque, whirling around the sweet, handsome fella she’d picked up at the gym, the rest of the bar saw her nubile body humping and grinding on a pole, tits flying freely. (She obviously wasn’t going to actually strip, so I had to fabricate those details for the crowd.) They went wild for her – the manager offered her a job on the spot (which she heard as the manager asking us to come back again real soon).
      We couldn’t stay long after. My illusions don’t fool cameras after all, and while photography was nominally forbidden in the club, it wouldn’t be long before someone with a knack for subtlety reviewed his pics of Katy to find she’d somehow been clothed the whole time and started getting curious. Still, by then I didn’t really want to stay long anyway.
      A few more tricks and phantasms had her thinking she’d dropped me off at my place and shared a smoldering goodnight kiss – the kiss part was real, at least – and then drove home with her head in the clouds about the wonderful reversal in what had started out such a rough evening. Katy wasn’t actually the sort to have sex on a first date, real or illusory. Honestly, I’d kind of hoped for that anyway.
      Invisibly, I followed her inside and bided my time. She took a hot shower, during which she touched herself more than a little, but not enough to get off. That strip-tease had really worn her out, I guess. She went straight to bed after.
      (Naturally, the flannel pajamas she’d meant to put on were in fact a mostly see-through nightie I’d put in the top of her drawer.)
      I watched TV in her living room for a couple hours, responded to a few emails, trimmed my nails. Finally, when I was sure she was in a nice deep sleep, it was time. See, I’d learned long ago that right out of a good sleep is the best time to try the really wild stuff. No matter what happened, as long as I kept it just theatrical and strange enough, they’d be sure it never happened. 
      Katy was about to have one hell of a dream.
      
      
      
      The first thing I knew when I woke up was that Dylan, my handsome and charming date from the previous evening, was in bed with me. 
      There he was, just lying beside me beneath the sheets, awake and smiling at me lovingly. I started for a moment, then realized it must be a dream. Obviously. The room had a dim but sensual red lighting coming from nowhere, and guys only looked that sexy, smiled that adoringly, on the covers of bodice ripper novels.
      Besides, I was wearing this ridiculously flimsy nightgown that I’d never seen before. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something this slutty, not even all alone in my own home.
      “Hey there, gorgeous,” he said, and with that cheesy line, an otherwise unfelt breeze blew the sheets off of him. His body was even better than I’d remembered, chiseled and toned and smooth – and naked. Holy shit, his cock matched the rest of him – hard and thick and inviting.
      Usually in a dream, things just happened, and I rode along watching. Tonight though, I had to exert conscious effort to engage him, actually feeling like I was reaching out my arm to touch him, pulling him close and pressing my lips to his. He kissed back with vigor, and I could taste the hint of whiskey on his breath from the dance hall. I loved it, and my tongue sought more of it.
      “So, still interested in… paying me back?” he said suggestively after a long makeout. He looked to my lips, then to his cock, then back again. There was no mistaking his intent. Geez, even in my own lucid dreams, my fantasy guy still expected me to blow him. 
      You owe him, my own voice whispered at me, breathy and desperate. You want to suck his cock. You owe him. Blow him. Take him in your mouth, Katy. You owe him. Suck his dick. Pay him back. You owe him.
      My own voice was a bit of a sleaze, but it was kinda sexy, and after the day I’d had, I was feeling like more than a little of a slut. I kissed him again, then trailed my wet lips across his chest and abs, until I was planting little kisses up and down the length of him.
      Then I took him in my mouth, and… he tasted delicious. It was… something like licorice almost, my favorite. My mouth flooded with saliva, wetter even than my pussy, and I sucked at Dylan like he was a treat. Which he basically was. I’d sucked my share of cock, but I’d never loved it like this. A guy this sexy, this sweet, and with my dream-infused candy cock… it was the most I’d ever enjoyed giving a blowjob. 
      My inner monologue didn’t let up either. That’s it, Katy, right like that. Take it all the way down. You love to please men with your body. Use your tongue. Be a good little cock-sucker. Swirl the tip. It’s OK that you’re a whore, paying back his money with sex. In your throat now, Katy. Nobody judges you in your dreams. Moan. You can be as wild and slutty as you want now. Faster now, bob your head up and down, lash him with your tongue. You’re so good at pleasing men. You love being a slut. 
      That’s it, Katy – swallow.
      But when my eyes opened, I wasn’t in my bedroom any more. I was in the locker room again, on my hands and knees on a wooden bench as a swarthy man stood in front of me, thrusting into my face. Not Dylan, whoever he was, but as delicious as he’d been, I didn’t care.
      Around me were other men – not the actual guys I’d seen today, but a lineup of lean, cut, gorgeous men. All of them were staring at my naked body with lust in their eyes, massive erections either jutting out proudly in front of them or being slowly teased in their hands.
      I finished swallowing the first guy’s load and blushed to be once more surrounded by strange men. I’d been a little turned on at my accidental exhibitionism today, and I guess Dream Katy wanted to explore it, have a little fun giving a show. 
      Oh, what the hell. I was as horny as I’d ever been, and it was only a dream after all.
      As I went to sit up, I instead felt my rear end bump into something. There was a man there, smiling confidently at me, unabashed to be drinking in the sight of my body in the skimpy, see-through nighty I still wore. “You are one fine piece of ass, babe,” the man said. Then fefore I could reply, he was inside me. 
      Oh God when did I get so wet? Had I ever been so wet before? I couldn’t remember, and it didn’t matter. This man’s beast of a cock was filling me better than any other one ever had before, and he took my gushing pussy as an invitation to start off full speed, his heavy balls smacking against my bare ass as he rammed me from behind.
      Be a good slut. Say thank you. Please men.
      “Thanks, baby,” I said.
      “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” said another man as he came up in front of me, his cock somehow already inside my mouth. My words must have been garbled incomprehensible by his dick, so instead, I showed my gratitude by bucking my hips back to meet him, squeezing my cunt down around his cock, being the best possible fuck I could be.
      Then I had to stop bucking, because it was detracting from my blowjob. I obeyed my inner voices and threw myself into that, tongue and lips dancing, working his dick like an instrument.
      Only then I had to stop sucking, because it was detracting from the fucking.
      Lie there. Take it. Be still. Enjoy the ride. Be a slut. Enjoy pleasing men.
      So I did. I held my position on that bench as the two men filled me at both ends, each sawing in and out of me in rhythm like a pair of lumberjacks. The other men surrounded us, pawing at my tits, squeezing them, pinching my nipples. They grabbed my ass, fondling the firm cheeks and slapping them red in between the rear man’s thrusts. 
      They were stroking their cocks as they watched me getting double-stuffed like a whore in some porno, and all I could think to do – all that inner voice could order me to do – was to trust the man fucking my face to take my weight, then reach out and take a cock in each hand.
      Then, Dream Katy had a third hand, then a fourth, then a sixth, and every one of them held a man’s cock. I couldn’t even make sense of it all, I was just a machine of fucking and sucking and jacking off every cock I didn’t have a ready hole for. The men told me what a slut I was, told me this was why I should stay in my own locker room, told me I belonged here. I was embarrassed and aroused and frightened and exhilarated all at once.
      Then, Dylan’s firm voice. “Hey! Hey, the lady deserves some respect! Back off!”
      And they did. My pussy, my mouth, were suddenly empty. I only had the two hands again, both mercifully, tragically dick-free. The men shrunk away into the dark corners of the room as Dylan, naked and beautiful, came to where I slumped forward on the bench, gasping for breath. Then he threw a cloud of money at them, and they snatched at it and disappeared altogether.
      “I took care of them for you. You’re all mine now.”
      Gratitude. Please him. Pay him back. You owe him. Your pussy belongs to him now. Your tits are his now. Serve him. Pleasure him. Use your body for his bliss. Let him use you. You’re his now. Payback. Be grateful. You owe him.
      Holy shit was Dream Katy a fucking gutterslut. But right now, I was too horny to want anything but to keep going. Being a fucking gutterslut sounded perfect right now.
      “How can I ever repay you?” I asked coyly, sitting back upright. I took a tit in each hand, playing with my breasts for his enjoyment.
      He pulled me up against him, his giant cock pulsing against my stomach as he grasped my ass cheeks in his hands. Dylan lifted me off the ground and, with laser precision, set me down cunt-first on his dick. 
      There it was again, that divine sensation, every inch of him filling every inch of me. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and started lifting myself up and down on him, fucking him with all the vigor my arms would let me.
      Which was quite a bit. I worked out a lot, you see.
      Before I even knew it, he’d brought me into the gym showers, where this had all begun. I wailed in ecstacy as he slammed me against the wall, jets of water pouring over our naked bodies as he fucked my desperate pussy. It was just as wet as the rest of me – dripping and steamy. 
      The guys had returned now, were watching, filming me all over again, but I didn’t mind any more. Honestly, I loved it. I’d never felt this good before, and pleasure this intense should be recorded for posterity. 
      At some point I took over for my inner voice, which had never let up at me, spurring me on ceaselessly. “Fuck me, stuff me, use my pussy, use my tits, smack my tight little ass, I’m yours, I belong to you, I’m your personal whore, your paid-for fuck toy, I belong to you, fuck me, fuck all of me forever and never stop fuuuucking meeeEEEEE!”
      My voice reached a crescendo as another orgasm, my biggest yet of the countless I’d had since the dream began, coincided with his own. I felt him flood my pussy even as I clenched my fingernails into his shoulders, hanging on for dear life as the two of us rode out our orgasms for our locker room audience.
      They applauded, whistling and cheering for me. I came again at the sound of it.
      When my eyes opened, I was back in bed again, naked and alone and trembling with pleasure. I’d only read about lucid dreams before and certainly never had one, but if this was the kind of thing my subconscious was craving, no wonder. I felt like a total whore, and moreover, it felt great to feel that way.
      My eyes closed and I drifted slowly away from the dream, counting the seconds until I could call Dylan and get him over here to fuck me. But for real this time – the illusion of it was just too fucking good.