Natasha’s Turn

I tried to make it last, really I did. But I was just too turned on. I’d been on the verge of coming from the moment she’d fumbled with my zipper. This was the hottest girl I knew, the one I’d been lusting after for as long as I could get hard. And now this goddess was kneeling between my legs, struggling to free the biggest erection I could ever remember producing. When she finally engulfed it with the warm, wet mouth I had so enthusiastically been exploring seconds earlier with my tongue, it was all I could do not to lean back against the wall of the alleyway outside the bar, close my eyes and just pour my seed down her throat.

But this was too big a moment not to savour. It had cost me a lot of time and effort to get here. Six months of being nice to my bratty sister before I could get her to introduce me to her gorgeous best friend. And then another six months of building my target’s trust, being a pal rather than a suitor, becoming the boy she could talk to, the only one who wasn’t trying to get into her pants. All while I plotted to do exactly that.

And then the moment finally arriving, a night out to help me take my mind off my latest failed relationship,plus some bad news about illness in my family that was too painful to discuss. (I’d dumped one of two current girlfriends because I was bored of her, and a cat I’d never liked had been put down.) Getting her sufficiently drunk to loosen her defences while I stayed sober enough to breach them. The hammer blow when she regretfully told me that she had her period – and then the joy of realising that she was so keen to get it on with me that she was willing to do “the next best thing.”

Only it wasn’t, not where I was concerned. Because nothing could beat a blowjob. Oh, I liked the regular kind of sex just fine. And being blessed with good looks, quick wit and self-confidence, I’d got plenty of that from an early age, for all that I was shorter and skinnier than my competitors. But I’d also had enough experience to realise that while coming inside a girl was nice, there was something extra special about both feeling and watching her suck me off. About the way I could choose to let her do all the work, or just as easily grab her head and fuck her face. About the control it gave me over her.

And now, i had the beautiful Bella between my legs, her lustrous black tresses tumbling down past her bare shoulders, her small but perfect breasts peeking out from her unbuttoned blouse, the nipples still stiff from my caresses, and those wondrous almond eyes turned up to me as if in supplication. I wasn’t sure what was more arousing, her exotic beauty or her submissiveness. But I knew exactly what both she and I needed.

It was her turn. Her turn to get the gift that, sooner or later, I had given to every girl I’d been with.

As the orgasm rose unstoppably inside of me I groaned and sent a blast of spunk between her luscious lips and down her throat. Yet lost as I was in the roar of my climax, I still had the presence of mind to pull back, grab my spasming cock and send jet after jet of the remaining jism all over her face and hair.

The feeling of release was exquisite, mixed as it was with the satisfaction of a well laid plan so perfectly executed. Yet even better was the tableau I’d created, of Bella’s breathtakingly beautiful face tilted up towards me, mouth agape, eyes reflexively closed against the torrent I had unleashed, her finely chiselled features not marred but adorned by the gobs of white cream that now clung to them.

And best of all, I was ready to capture it. I could only hope my hands weren’t shaking too much as I lifted my phone, camera already primed, and took a quick burst of photos to commemorate my triumph. Then and only then did I allow myself to slump backwards against the cold bricks and let the ecstasy wash over me.

“What… the… FUCK?”

The last word was almost a scream. I opened my eyes to see Bella looking up at me in fury, blinking as she tried to loosen the goo that clogged her long eyelashes.

“What’s up babe?” I asked, feigning consternation.

“Did you… Did you just come all over my fucking face and film it on your fucking phone?” Moments ago, she’d been slurring every other word, but now the anger seemed to have sobered her up. And I’d never heard her swear before.

“I’m sorry Bella, I just… lost control. You were so amazing!” I blinked myself, trying to suggest confusion, and looked down at the device in my hand as if surprised to see it there. “And no, of course I didn’t film it.”

“Show me,” she snarled, pulling herself to her feet and swaying unsteadily on her heels. She reached out to grab the phone, but I darted out of reach. Her expression was furious, but I was still captivated by the sight of the spunk that coated the smooth brown skin on her face. She seemed to realise what I was staring at and attempted to wipe it away, succeeding only in smearing it further.

“Look Bella, really, I’m sorry,” I said, holding my hands up as if ready to ward off an attack. “Why don’t we go back into the bar and talk about it? After you’ve, um, cleaned up?”

She stared at me and I had the uncomfortable feeling that she was seeing me for the first time. Holding out her hand, palm up, she repeated: “Show me.” Her voice was quiet now, yet seemed to carry a strange echo, almost as if it were reverberating inside my head.

To my surprise, I found myself handing over the phone. Not that it mattered, I reasoned. It wasn’t as if I’d done anything wrong. I hadn’t even lied to her. Not explicitly anyway.

She glanced at the device, then back at me, arching her perfectly crafted eyebrows. I told her the code and she unlocked it, then spent several minutes studying the display, her finger lazily flicking through what I assumed were my most recent photos.

The sounds of revelry from the nearby bar seemed to fade into the distance and an oppressive silence took over the alleyway. I realised belatedly that my now flaccid cock was still dangling from my open zipper and hastily tucked it away. Then I stared at my feet, not wanting to interrupt whatever she was doing, until finally I could stand it no longer.

“Bella -” I began, looking up.

“Catch,” she said. I got my hand up just in time to prevent the phone from sailing over my head. I opened my mouth to say… something, I wasn’t sure what. But the intense look on her face pulled me up short.

Frowning in concentration, she extended a hand in front of her, her delicate fingers and thumb outstretched as if they were gripping a ball. She glanced at me, gave a half smile and spoke some quiet words in a language I didn’t understand.

“What -” The mystified question was still forming on my lips when she rotated her hand sharply, as if turning a door knob to open it. As she did so, the world around me seemed to lurch and grow dim. I was barely conscious of dropping to one knee to steady myself.

By the time I regained my wits, the alley was empty. Climbing unsteadily to my feet, I checked my phone was okay and headed off to find a ride home. I must have had more to drink than I’d thought.

When I woke in the morning, after a night filled with strange dreams that I couldn’t quite piece together, there was no sign of a hangover. Just a sense that the world was somehow out of focus, as if I were seeing it through a mist. But I felt no pangs of alarm, just a deep tranquility. I looked briefly at the phone on my bedside cabinet, wondering if there was something on it I should check, but then concluding that there was nothing I needed to know about. I could do without it and all its attendant distractions for a day.

After a lengthy shower, shaving seemed to take ages. I went through two razors and several applications of the electric shaver before I could get my skin as smooth as I wanted it. When I went back to my room, I also struggled to find the clothes I wanted. Eventually I went and knocked on my sister’s door.

“Alina, can I come in?” There was a grunt of assent and I entered the darkened room to find its occupant in bed, only the top of her hair visible beneath the duvet. “Sorry sis, I can’t seem to find any underwear. Can I check your drawer?”

There was a short pause before she responded. “Uh, sure. Second down on the left. Don’t think there’s any of yours in there, but knock yourself out.” A hand snaked out to turn on the light, before she buried her head back under the covers.

I sifted through the drawer, uncertain of what I was looking for, until I found it. I held up the item in question. “Okay if I wear this?”

Alina poked her head out and peered at me, blinking to clear the sleep from her eyes. Her expression froze. “Andrei,” she said slowly, “you do know -”

The chiming of her phone cut her off. She reached for it slowly, her eyes still fixed on what I held in my hand. “Alina,” she said, as if uncertain that was really who she was. She listened for a few seconds, then snapped her head round as if trying to see what she was being told. There was a pause, then her eyes flicked back to me. “Yes he is,” she said, “but -”

She broke off, then twirled a finger at me to turn around. I did so and heard her get out of bed, then the rustle as she pulled on clothing. “Back in a minute,” she called as she scurried out of the room.

I sat down on the bed to wait for her, placidly examining the pink cotton panties in my hand and admiring the speckled pattern that seemed to shimmer in the artificial light.

It was a full 15 or 20 minutes before Alina returned. “Sorry about that,” she said. Her expression was one of mild amusement, though something else glittered in her eyes that I couldn’t quite read. “So you wanted to wear those, yeah?” she asked, indicating the panties that I still held. I nodded.

“Okay,” she said, “but you do realise there’s another half?” She rooted around in another drawer, before throwing me something in a matching fabric that resembled a crop top. “I’m too big for that now, but it should fit you just fine. Go on, try them on.”

She turned her back on me as I shrugged off my robe and stepped into the panties. They were a snug fit, though the fabric felt strange against my skin. Perhaps it was a new kind of material. I struggled to get the crop top on, until Alina helped me with the clasps at the back. Again, the feeling of it pressing against my bare chest was odd, though not unpleasant.

I cupped my hands experimentally on the small padded cups at the front of the top. “These almost look like breasts,” I said. “They do, don’t they!” laughed Alina. She glanced down, then back up. “Um, you might want to do something though about…” She made a vague gesture.

“What?” I asked blankly.

“Your, er, bulge?” she said, pointing at my groin. I still didn’t understand. “You might want to… tuck your ptak away? So it doesn’t show so much?”

I followed her gaze. Now she mentioned it, there did seem to be something wrong about the way that the outline of my package was plainly visible underneath the taut fabric. While Alina looked away I repositioned the offending item so that it was tucked between my legs. There was still something of a bulge there, but it was nothing like as noticeable.

“Much better,” pronounced my sister. “Now, what were you planning to wear on top of that lovely underwear?”

I frowned and thought about all the clothes in my wardrobe. Suddenly, none of them seemed suitable, any more than my collection of underpants and boxer shorts had done. “I’m… not sure,” I confessed. “Do you have any suggestions?”

As it turned out, she did. She paired faded denim shorts with a short lavender top that stopped above my belly button and was tight enough to show the small bumps underneath, and over that a light blue shirt with attractive flower patterns. At Alina’s prompting I rolled up the sleeves and left the front buttons undone.

She also gave me a pair of navy blue and white striped woollen socks to wear. I held them up dubiously. “Aren’t these kind of… long?”

“Just try them,” suggested Alina. When I pulled them on, they came up above my knees, stretching so that the fabric became translucent. I expected them to itch, but they clung very comfortably to my newly hairless legs. Indeed the feeling was almost sensual.

“Wow,” said my sister enthusiastically, “you look great! But there’s one last thing to complete the outfit,” she added, handing me a pair of sandals.

I stared at them. “These have…. heels!”

“So?” came the reply. Her tone was light, but there was also a challenge there. “They’re only wedges,” she continued, “and not very high ones at that. You’ve got a good sense of balance, you’ll be fine.”

As it turned out, she was right. At least until I tried to walk in them. Alina had to give me a crash course in the art of walking in heels, which wasn’t so easy because it was something she more or less took for granted. But I eventually started to get the hang of it and she sent me outside to practice in the corridor while she showered and dressed.

Getting downstairs proved another challenge, but I felt a real sense of achievement when I made it without stumbling or having to grab the rail. With our parents away, we had the house to ourselves, so while I started making us breakfast Alina was able to put some music on and crank up the volume way past what we would usually have been allowed.

The next few hours passed pleasantly as we chatted and occasionally got up to dance to some of our favourite tracks. I wanted to kick off my sandals, but Alina insisted I got used to dancing in them. Just in case we wanted to go out later, she said. So I persevered and while I did have to take breaks from the heels to prevent my calves and feet from getting too sore, I found I could manage okay on our improvised dance floor in the hall.

While we were chatting and my sister was showing me an Insta post from a singer and producer she’d just discovered, something prompted me to ask: “Alina, do you think I could look like that?”

She squinted at me. “What, you mean the hairstyle?”

“Ye-es,” I replied slowly, “the hair and…”

“The makeup?” she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. I gave a sheepish nod and her smile broadened. “Not all of it,” I hastened to add. “Maybe just, you know, the eyeliner or whatever you call it.”

“Sure,” she responded. “I could do with the practice. Come on.” She led me upstairs and into her bedroom, sitting me down in front of her dressing table. Alina was training to be a hairdresser and she’d used me as a model before, so she knew my hair well. But she also loved doing makeup for her TikTok videos, which had gained quite a following.

She didn’t do a lot to my tousled dark brown hair. But a few judicious snips here and there, a light use of the curling iron and some strategic hairspray produced a cut which she described as “something like a French bob.” It left me with curls that framed my face in a way that was both unfamiliar and a lot more appealing than I would have thought

After that, it was on to my eyes. Alina got out something that looked like a felt tip pen and was about to apply it when she stopped and gave me a searching look.

“Look, I can just do eyeliner if you like. But it would be so much better if you let me use some eyeshadow as well. And maybe some mascara to thicken up those lovely lashes of yours. Do you think you can handle that?”

I wasn’t sure that I could and opened my mouth to say so. But as quickly as the thought came, it seemed to slip away into the haze that had surrounded me since I got up that morning. And all of a sudden, what my sister was proposing seemed not just sensible, but the most natural thing in the world.

“Of course I can sis,” I answered with a smile, “whatever you think would look good.”

So, one thing led to another and more than an hour later not only had my eyes been worked on but the whole of my face – a process that seemed to consume astonishing quantities of creams, powders and liquids, applied by an amazing array of brushes of varying sizes.

The final touch saw my lips being coated with what seemed to be an astonishingly bright pink lipstick – fuchsia, I think Alina called the colour. “We’re going bold,” she said with a grin.

“Okay,” she said when she had finished, “are you ready to meet the new you?” I nodded, a knot of trepidation forming in my stomach. Alina had been careful throughout the process not to let me get a glimpse of her work. But she turned me round now to face the mirror. “What do you think?” she asked, with just a touch of anxiety to match my own.

I blinked, conscious of the heavy feel of my eyelids and the strange taste on my lips. But as the image in the mirror came into focus, all that was forgotten.

For a brother and sister, Alina and I didn’t look much alike. If you squinted, you could see the resemblance. But where she was closer to our father, I had our mother’s looks. (Alina always insisted that I’d had the better deal, and I was never inclined to disagree.) But if I’d ever had a twin sister, she would be staring at me right now. Either that, or a younger and much hotter version of our mother – a thought I pushed away as quickly as it arrived.

“Fuck me,” I breathed

“Yes,” said Alina with a chuckle. “That is exactly what that look is saying!”

She was not wrong. The girl I was looking at was… well, pretty wasn’t quite the word, because the shape of the face wasn’t right, somehow. But attractive, striking, even glamorous – certainly. Part of that was the fantastic job Alina had done to highlight my eyes, which combined heavy black lines with glittering gold shadow to create a sultry, smouldering look. But best of all were my brightly painted and naturally plump lips, especially parted as they were right now in a perfect O of surprise that made me blush just imagining what they seemed to be inviting. As I watched, they came together to rest in what could only be described as a pout.

“You know,” mused Alina, her tone suddenly more serious, “I don’t think that’s Andrei, do you?” I shook my head. She laid a hand on my arm, leaning in alongside of me to peer at the reflection. “So who do you see? Give me her name.”

The slight but perceptible emphasis on “her” sent a shiver through me, but I considered the question all the same. “Tash,” I said slowly thinking of one of my favourite musicians – and not just because we’d listened to one of their songs not fifteen minutes earlier. I frowned. That didn’t sound quite right though. “No, Tasha.”

“Natasha!” squealed Alina, straightening up and clapping her hands with glee. “Yes – it’s perfect!”

I wasn’t sure whether she’d misheard me or just preferred the longer form. Either way, I didn’t mind. “Natasha,” I repeated softly, then watched a delighted grin break out on “her” face. Alina pulled me into a hug and planted a tender kiss on my cheek – although being careful not to disturb her handiwork.

We spent the next several hours just hanging out, enjoying some “sister time” as Alina put it. She took every opportunity to call me Natasha and the name didn’t once fail to put a smile on my face. At some point we had pizza delivered and raided our parents’ wine collection for a nice bottle of red to drink with it. Another followed and our mood first mellowed and then grew boisterous.

We were just debating whether to crack open a third bottle when Alina grabbed my hand and announced in a dramatic voice: “I know! Let’s go out!”

I goggled at her. “What,” I said incredulously, and gesturing at myself, “looking like this?”

“No, silly!” she giggled. “Looking waaaay better!” I tried to argue with her, but she overrode my objections. We’d go somewhere dark, quiet and out of the way, she insisted. She’d been moping at home for the past two weeks since breaking up with her last boyfriend and was keen to get out again – plus, it was clear, she was dying to show off her “new sister.”