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Author's Note: It's hard for modern readers to comprehend, but adult pulp fiction was hard to come by. One could have either visited an adult bookstore or a New York City newsstand. New York City was a long way off for most and adult bookstores were scary places ? located bad neighborhoods, covered with filth, stunk of cleaning solvent, and were habituated by nefarious patrons. However, if one had the nerve and the drive, one could purchase an adult book. There were no videos for take home rental and only 35mm film peep shows. The sex in the movies was vanilla and of poor quality. Truth told, it was kind of gross ? like watching your parents have sex. Books were entirely different. One could satisfy a variety of fetish desires. They ranged from cross dressing to TG bondage. With the product secured, one could hurry back home. Then one could savor the forbidden fruit and still act pious on Sunday morning. These days one can stream adult movies the like of which were not even dreamt of back then. All one needs is a credit card, PC, and DSL line. This proliferation of porn has given birth to specialty porn and plethora of free porn. These factors have saturated the industry and threatened to collapse the entire trade. It seemed fun to recreate the old-time, pulp fiction of years ago. It's the kind before the internet where it was just you, the book, and the author. I also admired the modern graphic novel 'Sin City' by Frank Miller. My city would be called 'Canyon City'. It's a place where anything and any story is possible.

Introduction

Canyon is geographically set high upon the top of a sheer rock wall. A river divides the old city to the south and new city to the north. Another rock wall to the west makes the city appear as if it set on a stage. Shakespeare said it best, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts..." Sarah Smith and Chaz Alston are lovers. The term 'lovers' is thrown about in the same way that 'wife' or 'husband' used to be. It assumes the paragon of virtue 'true love'. Yet reality is so far from that apex. For this couple it lay crushed between avarice and ambition. It is a victim of a dual career, no-kids relationship. If asked another Shakespearian question, "Can one desire too much of a good thing?" they would answer 'no'.

Chapter 1

Our story begins in an unlikely place. It begins in a room that no longer exists, in a hotel that no longer stands, and in a city that passed away with Prohibition. Everyone has a hidden fantasy, and Reggie's revolved around 'The Outfit'. It was Chicago's notorious 1930's crime syndicate, and it included such members as Al Capone and Frank Nitti. The fantasy vacation included daring bank robberies, dark speakeasies, and high living with beautiful dames. He even picked out a gang name, Reggio 'Iron Hand' Scarlino. The fact that he was a reporter on assignment made it all the sweeter. All the expenses of his dream vacation were paid by the network. However, he was only a day into it when things went terribly wrong.

Reggie drew in a tremulous breath, and his eyes fluttered open. On the nightstand next to him lay a shot-glass tipped on its side. The contents were spilled in an amber pool of liquid. The whisky still coated the inside of his mouth. Its taste and viscosity reminded him of motor oil.

"Oh my head," he groaned, but the voice seemed off ? too high pitched. He sat up in bed and felt locks spill over his shoulders and flowed down his back. Out of a primal urge more than deliberate thought, he struggle to his feet.

"What the hell!?"

Her skin was a perfect golden bronze. Her body was slender, fit, and beautiful. He moved his arms, and petite hands glided up her flat stomach. They first encountered the underwire support of a bra. A pair of cannon ball size breast filled the glossy black satin cups and weighed them down. Her fingers traced up the black lace that trimmed the cups. Golden swells of flesh bulged in all their glory. They were ponderous and more than filled his palms. When his thumbs grazed her nipples, electric tingles shot through him, and she sucked in a tiny gasp. His hands moved over the sturdy straps that wrapped around her sides and felt the clip behind his back. He felt the bra straps digging into his flesh but saw them arch over her shoulders.

He leaned in close, mesmerized by the beautiful girl in the mirror. Her plump, crimson lips parted in a silent gasp. Between a button nose and eyes as black as coal, she was beauty incarnate. His hands fluttered around the black satin choker that circled her neck and followed it around underneath her thick black locks. There was no clasp in back and only a D-ring in front. The smooth, unbroken surface revealed no means of removal.

His ego clung to the masculine pronoun as a shipwreck survivor to a piece of wreckage. However, lace trimmed panties stretched over and creased between bubble ass cheeks. There was nothing masculine about them, and there was nothing masculine about his thighs. They were thick but shapely. Black satin garter straps cut down across supple flesh and tugged on black nylon tops.

She spread her legs, and he felt the flex of elastic garter straps. He ran his hands along a wide black satin garter belt. It squeezed like a corset although her trim figure did not need one. The fading light gleamed off her black silk panties. His eyes traced down the panty leg-bands. They merged into a narrow gusset and disappeared between her legs. The arc of black silk traveled between her legs with only a hint of a mound. His right hand slid down the silken fabric and pressed between her legs. His index finger creased the fabric into her vaginal slit, and a twinge shot through him. Unexpected heat flowed out from between his legs and spread over his entire body.

He took a few, awkward steps. The five-inch stiletto high heels that donned her feet might as well been stilts. They were awkward and clumsy. They, nor anything else, would stop him from getting revenge on whoever did this to him. He picked up the whisky bottle from the night stand. The gift note was still attached to it. He opened it and read it. "Sorry love, but you're going to be wearing silk panties from now on ? Sable. P.S. You'll be the one getting fucked doggy-style."

The girl in the black dress and the bar came rushing back to him. She was a blonde temptress more beautiful than Jean Harlow. She moved like poetry and made his former manhood stiff. His cherry red lips curled into a frown. He would find Sable and show her the wrong end of a roscoe.

First things first, he concluded. He had to ditch these 'dame clothes' and get a male body again. There was no way he would go around looking like some 'broad'. "Hello, I'd like to reset the game. Hello, is anyone there?" He reached for his head but felt only hair. "I don't want to be a girl."

"Shit!"

He sat down on the bed and bent over. Black silk panties stretched over his round bottom and creased between his ass cheeks. Garter straps grew tight as guitar strings, and his breasts crushed up against his thighs. Red nail tipped fingernails slid around his ankles and explored the straps. Like the collar, the crisscrossing straps befuddled his male mind and seemed to have no means of release.

With little other choice, he stood upright again and tried to find his balance. "I didn't pay all that cash for this." A few tentative footsteps came with ankle wobbles and outstretched arms. After practicing a bit, a rhythm seemed to take hold.

His foot kicked something. Looking down past the heart-shaped swells of his breasts, he saw a red dress. As he had done his entire life, he bent over to pick up the dress, but a strange center of gravity caused this to be aborted. A more successful attempt included squatting, which he cursed under his breath. The sole consolation was how he would slowly kill the girl who did this to him.

The red dress shone like a glossy coat of fresh paint, and it felt like liquid in his hands. He stood up and held it out before him. The shoulder straps were an inch wide, and the sweetheart neckline was designed to titillate. Turning it around to the back, he searched for the zipper and saw none. How did women put this thing on? Then he located the side zipper underneath the right armpit.

He discarded the dress onto the bed. If there was anything he would not wear, it was a dress. He hurried as best he could over to the dresser. One drawer after another was opened and slammed shut. He saw a bit of black and grabbed the garment. A black silk half-slip and camisole spilled over his hand and draped down from it. He flung them on the bed with the dress.

He picked up the phone and held the receiver to his ear. He tapped the receiver button a few times. The line was dead.

Go naked; leave wearing only lingerie, or depart wearing a dress. It was no real choice. He had to make it to the administration center. They could reset his character. The lesser of three evils lay on the bed behind him.

The black silk half-slip and camisole caressed his skin like a cool breeze. Their gentle touch made him feel weak in ways that defied his understanding. He forged on, determined not to think too much about it. He only wore these items to make his getaway. When he came across the first available pair of trousers, he would wear them.

He drew down the zipper and stepped into the dress. As he drew it up, he soon encountered a problem. The narrow waist squeezed his thighs. Straining and gritting his teeth, he drew the dress up and bunched up his slip. Pinching and pulling he worked it over the swell of his ass cheeks. Once the narrowest point of the dress slid past the widest part of his hips, the dress slid into place like a glove. He then reached between his legs and tugged down the slip.

Exhaling, he drew up the side zipper. Even so, it was a bit of a struggle. Although his new waist was tiny, his breasts bulged like a pair of melons. His fingers gripped the zipper tag tight and worked it up into place.

His very next breath was shallow, impeded by the taut bodice. His hands glided down his narrow waist and out to his wide hips. He lifted up his right knee but did not get far. The fitted skirt stretched tight and tugged on the back of his left thigh.

Cursing and pinching at the dress, he picked up his coat. It still lay draped over the chair where he left it. Like the rest of him, it was not the same. His black overcoat now had a distinctly curvy tailoring. Big black buttons lined the wrong side of the closure. It was like a woman's blouse. They were on the left side instead of right. The worst part was his hat. His gray fedora was now a woman's black pillbox hat, trimmed with black fishnet lace.

He slipped on the overcoat and found a pair of black leather gloves in the pocket. They were a bit tight but fit his slender hands to perfection. He considered leaving the pillbox cap, but no one went without a hat. The cap included a hidden comb that secured it upon his head.

He hurried to the window. Brushing aside the curtains, he gazed through the frosted glass. Thirteen floors down traffic rushed about the busy streets of old Chicago. There would be no problem finding a cab.

He strode over to the makeup table and took a seat. Crossing his legs, he picked up a tube of 'Red Passion' lipstick. She turned on the radio for some entertainment. "...President Roosevelt was livid that the U.S. Supreme Court overturned a century of federal common law in the Erie Railroad Co. v. Tompkins decision ...." She changed the station and heard a Tommy Dorsey hit. She snapped of the radio volume off with an angry twist. The whole mood was broken. "I paid of a week to live as a gangster in old Chicago, not as some broad," she sputtered. After removing the cap, he twisted the base. Puckering his lips, he applied a fresh coat.

"What the hell am I doing?" He jumped up and tossed away the offending cosmetic. "I'm no bitch! I gotta get out of here."

Grabbing a patent leather purse, he rushed out the apartment door. Running as best he could in high heels and a tight dress, he hurried for the elevator. "Come on," he muttered mashing the button as if performing Morse code. In agony, he watched the floors tick off on the display. "17 ? 16 ? 15 ? 14," it stopped. "Move it," he snarled like an angry girl.

He sighed with relief when the doors opened. Two men and a woman stood inside it. He rushed into it and slapped the lobby button.

The doors slid shut of their own accord. It was one of the new, automatic elevators. Most still required an operator. The elevator lurched and began to descend.

"ERP!" he chirped, arched his back, and grabbed his bottom. A hard rod parted his tight ass crevice and pushed through his puckering anus. The vulnerable exposure of a dress, and the impaling rod all mingled together in his brain. "Shit," he yelped still clutching his ass cheeks. The overcoat slid atop of the silk fabric of his dress.

It was then he remembered the guests standing behind him. He tugged on his coat lapel and crossed his arms. Pressing his lips tight, he tried to ignore the shaft plunging deep into his plump ass. Hands gripped his wide hips and held him tight.

The doors opened at the 10th floor. The offended men and woman moved around him and exited. When the doors slid closed again, he mashed the lobby button over and over again with his tiny fist. Arms like invisible steel bands wrapped around him.

"Get off me," he squealed and batted behind him at his invisible assailant. "Unh unh unh unh," he grunted with a high pitched chirp. His hips bucked as the cock pumped his ass. The elevator jumped and the lights extinguished. Something slammed him forward into the metal doors. His right cheek and arms pressed up against the cold metal. Hips pumped and crushed his ass while the cock drove deep inside him. "Stop," he groaned. Horrible tingles suddenly focused right between his legs. They were so powerful he struggled to breathe. Each pump in his ass pushed him up the cold steel doors and then slid down as it withdrew. His hips slapped the metal with each new thrust. His breasts joined the frenzy and began to ache. "No," he moaned and squeezed his eyes shut. "Stop!"

He could feel it coming. Deep inside he felt the rod slide. It scratched a womanly sexual itch. Gasping in noisy breaths, he struggled to fight off the pending orgasm. "No," he agonized and gritted his teeth. An invisible hand grabbed a handful of his black locks and yanked back his head. Gazing up at the ceiling, he felt a quivering throb between his legs. His legs trembled and heart fluttered. It stopped. Then he sucked in a deep gasp as it started again.

The invisible specter dragged her to her knees by her hair. She batted at the air trying to fend him off. "Ukk ... llmmnn," she gagged. An invisible cock pushed through her crimson lips. She felt the shaft begin to pump, probing ever deeper into her mouth. Hands gripped the side of her head and pumped it. The cock slid faster, deeper into her mouth. Warbling whimpers came from her. They were wet and sloppy. The cock in her mouth flexed. Something spurted into the back of her throat, and she swallowed.

She was shoved to the floor. When she rose to her hands and knees, hands gripped her waist. The specter fucked her doggy style. Her red silk wrapped ass bounced back and forth with each thrust. The garter straps flexed and released with each new impact to her ass.

That's it you little bitch, give it to me. She shook her head 'no'. Other hands grabbed the sides of her face. A cock began pumping her mouth again. "Ukll mmnn,' she gurgled. Cum spurted in her vagina and mouth at the same time.

More phantoms took their place. She was rolled onto her back ? knees spread stretching her red satin dress. When the ghost began to fuck her, her knees bounced in the air. A woman sat on her face. She could feel the vagina rubbing and grinding.

Somewhere in the midst of it, she passed out. The lights illuminated again, and the elevator resumed its descent. Reggie struggled to the door. Using the wall for support, she rose up to her feet. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. The throb of her anus, vagina, and lips consumed her thoughts. The elevator slowed to a stop, and the doors opened. She staggered toward the doors and leaned against the metal frame for a second.

She wandered out of the elevator taking no particular direction. She appeared a bit off balance, as if she had one too many shots of bourbon. None of the hotel staff paid much attention to it. She was neither the first nor last who would do so.

A woman stood in the middle of the lobby. The setting sun outlined her hourglass figure in black. Her hands were on her hips, and she stood with her legs spread as wide as a tight skirt permitted. "There you are. You've been a very naughty girl. I'm going to have to punish you."

"Who are you?" Reggie's body began to tremble. An insane laugh was all that came in reply.

Reggie turned and ran. "Somebody help me," she screamed. The door and freedom lay just a few feet away. An arm wrapped around her waist. "NO. Let me go!" she screamed. The woman dragged her back into the darkness.

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