This choice: It flashes, beeps, and then sort of whines and dies • Go Back...Chapter #4The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of by: Unknown It seems like the right thing to do to hit the Tag with the heel of your hand repeatedly and curse at it. Just when you think the thing is dead, it lights up again. There’s nothing a little abuse and cursing won’t fix. What exactly are you supposed to do with this thing anyway? More importantly, what is this thing supposed to do?
The doorbell rings and you walk to the door while placing the Tachyon Tag in your pocket. You pause for a moment to compose yourself before opening the door.
“Hello Mr Marshall, my name is Tiffany from Macrophiles Anonymous. I believe you’re expecting me,” says the lady at the door. In the catalogue, she was wearing a skimpy shirt that barely covered her nipples but tonight she is wearing a white pinstriped tailored business suit and a matching mini skirt. You try your best to act cool but your body freezes as her beauty bedazzles you.
“Mr Marshall, are you okay?” she asks while dipping her head to express her concern.
“Oh, errrr, yeah. I just… you know…” you mumble and Tiffany squints her eyes in confusion.
“Is that a Tachyon Tag in your pocket or are you just excited to see me?” she giggles in an attempt to break the ice.
“Oh, heh, this? Well, I am excited to see you but it’s a Tachyon Tag in my pocket,” you say while pulling out the tag. You make an embarrassing snorting laugh as you do this. Despite this, you begin to feel more relaxed.
“Mr Marshall, may I come in?”
“Yeah, come in Tiffany. Oh yeah, call me Steve because it’s weird when people call me Mr Marshall.”
“Steve, can we sit down somewhere?” Tiffany asks while standing tall and grasping her expensive looking leather briefcase with two hands.
You both sit down on the very couch that you were sleeping on moments ago. Tiffany opens her briefcase and takes out a small palm top computer. You keep eyeing her cleavage formed by her tight fitting T-shirt under her jacket. You try to do this inconspicuously but knowing women, she has probably already discovered what a pervert you are. Suddenly, her brilliant blue eyes make eye contact with you.
“Steve, can you describe your ultimate fantasy for me?” she asks in a professional manner.
You can feel your pupils dilating and beads of sweat rolling down the side of your face. You weren’t ready to be confronted with a question like this. Tiffany can tell you that you feel uncomfortable but she seems to enjoy seeing you sweat.
“Any fantasy you have, I will do my best to fulfil it for you. In my car, I have many costumes and props,” she continues.
You have so many fantasies that it’s difficult to give an answer. All the vore stories you’ve ever read flood your mind.
“Wow, I don’t know what to say. I have so many fantasies and…”
“What’s the first one that comes to you?” she cuts you off.
In your mind, you narrow your choice to two fantasies. Which fantasy do you describe to Tiffany?
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