Black Voodoo

By Gregor Daniels

TJ and his friends have invaded New Orleans for Mardi Gras, that special time of the year when debauchery is numero uno on the menu. Throw in some money and alcohol, and the chicks will do almost anything they want. At least, that's what TJ thinks. But what happens when you piss off someone that knows a little voodoo? Not everything is in black and white.

Length: 15,800 words

This work of fiction contains adult material and explicit scenes with erotic descriptions. Themes include male-to-female gender transformation, race changes, reality changes, mental changes, and other perverted fantasies. For mature audiences only. All characters over 18 years old.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gregor Daniels
• Release date: Jun 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310367649

Gregor Daniels

Gregor Daniels is an erotica author that specializes in gender swap and erotic transformation fetishes. New stories are typically released weekly and feature a variety of themes. Have you ever had fantasies to be a girl? Then look no further ...Contact the author directly on Twitter to discuss stories, share your favorite ideas and fantasies, scenes, and characters, or to just talk about nothing in particular.

Book preview

Black Voodoo

By Gregor Daniels

Copyright © 2016 Gregor Daniels—published at Smashwords

All rights reserved.

Only ADULTS beyond this point.

All characters are 18 years of age or older.

A lesson for all men to respect women. You never know when one might know a little voodoo!

TJ raised his half-full glass of Irish stout. To the titties! He had to shout over the festive crowds and Champion Jack Dupree’s groovy jazz tunes to be heard. Along with him, Chris and Harry clinked their glasses together with such force that it sent stout spilling out and running all down their fingers. The three of them chugged until there was not a drop left. Titties!

Only in New Orleans on a late February evening could you shout such a word and have a barmaid come fill up your drinks. The girl who answered to the name was really an early-twenties gal by the name of Tessa, but no one at the table called her that. What everyone saw first were her tits—melon-sized knockers that stretched her black t-shirt to the limit. She arrived with a smile worthy of a celebrity and a new trio of glasses filled with Irish stout.

TJ just stared at her chest. Dear Lord Jesus, he started. His wet lips worked like a baby’s when learning words. A line of drool hung from the corner. He didn’t care. "Those are … tittyrific. Is that a word? He looked around at everyone before deciding that, yes, this word that described the Holy Grail of titties was something that could be found in a dictionary. Tittyrific!"

Chris and Harry couldn’t stop laughing.

Now you boys don’t drink too much, you hear? Tessa told the three of them.

After she had disappeared into the crowd, TJ fetched his wallet from his pants pocket. He thumbed through the larger bills, deciding on the face of Ulysses S. Grant after some careful consideration. How much for her to take off her top? Fifty? Seventy-five?

This ain’t a strip club! Chris shouted. It’s a pub!

I damn well know it is! But those tits! Please tell me you saw the tits! I feel like Michelangelo. I want to preserve her beauty with a marble statue so everyone can see those fantastic tits for years to come!

Chris howled with laughter as everyone went back to drinking.

So TJ’s mind was set. He had to see them, no matter the cost. He had to witness those fantabulous tits for himself. On any other day it wouldn’t be possible. Fifty dollars, a hundred, two hundred—it made no difference. But this was Mardi Gras and girls popped their tits out for a crinkled green fifty. He downed half of the stout, belched, lurched on his four-legged stool, and slammed the cash onto the table.

"Titties! Come here!"

The sweet girl with the busty chest returned, her nametag cocked sideways against the twin, jiggling mounds that preceded her. More drinks, boys? Or are y’all moving ahead to shots?

TJ blinked. He had to focus. His head felt like a glass of beer sloshing back and forth, swaying this way and that. He wiped a bit of drool from his bottom lip and pushed the fifty-dollar bill across the table. Now the words. The words were the most important.

For fifty buckaroos. Hiccup. I … I want to see those boobies. He drew a circle in the air with his fingertip. Show me the boobies!

Tessa glanced around the table. Is that all? You know, a fifty can get you a couple of lap dances around the corner. Or some shots to knock you off your feet.

"No. TJ’s fist came down onto the table. Stout sloshed over the rim of Chris’s glass. Those titties! Those ones. Right there. I’m pointing at them. I want to see them."

Tessa leaned onto the table, resting her chin on her fisted hands. Fifty dollars for that? Are you sure?

TJ jerked his head up and down. Uh-huh. Never been more sure about anything in my whole life, honey. Hiccup. Let’s see them. It’s titty time.

Well. Tessa put two fingers on the cash and dragged it to her side of the table, right to where her massive chest was resting on the wood. "I’ll take the money and show you them, but only—" Pausing for effect. "—only if you can guess their size."

TJ twiddled the air with his fingers. "I got this. Those are definitely a couple of Marthas!"

Harry shot him a puzzled look. An M-cup? Are you nuts? Those are obviously—

TJ held up his palm. "Wait! I got this! I