Laetitia Casta is a goddess.
She exudes femininity in every picture I've ever seen of her. She has that intangible femaleness that would lure any heterosexual man to his very death. She models underwear and swimwear. France has declared her a national icon, the representation of her country. I would give up everything to just touch her. Everything.
So by chance I met her. She is everything in person that she is in photos. I told her that I would give up everything to just touch her. So she let me touch her.
She allowed me to follow her around like a lost puppy. She wore as much as she does in her photos. I touched her once, but that was all. I wanted more, and she knew it. But she remained adamant. I was not permitted to touch her again in any way until I gave her everything.
She tormented me. She came very close to me, sensuously, and let me smell her skin. I could not dare touch her. She teased me as she stripped in front of me and showed me all the underwear she has.
This went on for days. I couldn't take it anymore. I came at the sight of her. And I was still putty in her hands. She teased me more and more viciously, still awaiting that I give her everything. One day she started allowing me to touch her underwear after she discarded it. I treasured it. It had been so close to her, had touched her most intimate details. It was almost her. There was a part of her in it. She giggled about this. She had it all figured out from the beginning.
"Wear it," she said.
I didn't hesitate. My body shook with anticipation of my cock touching something that she had been in contact with -- much less worn against -- her glorious pussy. As I slid the panties up to my waist, my knees buckled as I collapsed in the sheer ecstasy of the experience. At that moment, I understood what she meant to do with me. And I welcomed it.
She had had me worship her femininity. Now I had become initiated into her priesthood. I now abandoned everything I owned to become her disciple. I cast off all my own possessions, down to my underwear. From now on, I would strive to become as much like my goddess as possible. I would wear anything she discarded, and try to become as feminine as her. She had me model her underwear and swimwear after her, and mark my progress.
I did as much as I could with that unsightly bulge between my legs. I grew my own hair, breasts, and lost all my body hair. My voice changed pitch. Even as my dick shrank, I anticipated losing it altogether. I would become a girl just like her, only not natural like her.
At last she got everything when I finally had my penis removed. As a token of my gift to her, I cooked it and ate it before her. Finally after all this time, she allowed me to touch her. I caressed her skin not as a lover but as a sister.
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