Cinnamon Stitches v2

Cinnamon Stitches

I was unsure if I had made a mistake when I entered the shop just before closing time. I’d beat the rain, but only barely, so turning back then would have been almost as miserable as it was mustering up the courage to actually come in the first place. A bell rang when I opened the door, but she must have been busy besides, as a sewing machine whirred in the back room. I hadn’t called ahead or anything, so I walked to the counter and waited for her to finish, more out of a lack of nerve than patience or politeness.

The machine stopped. “Sorry to keep you waiting, dear, I’ll be right with you!” she called through the door. A brief clatter followed, then she walked out to the counter. “How can I...” her voice caught in her throat when she saw me. “Well, I haven’t seen one of your kind in a while.”

My kind... The words echoed in my mind for a moment. I’m not human, or at least I hadn’t been human for a couple of weeks. Freaks like me are called “platos,” after Plato’s idea of true form, because our bodies change to fit an ideal we feel strongly about. I think that’s a little high-brow to describe a three-foot tall stuffed cat, but my new body wasn’t exactly a decision by committee.

The seamstress, however, was a normal human. Abnormally attractive, sure, but probably not a plato. I wondered if my friend’s tip was worthwhile before she smiled.

“You look a little rough, but I don’t see any damage yet. Can you talk?”

“Yes,” I rasped, and nodded a little too enthusiastically. “I, um...” I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud, so I fumbled around in my coat pocket for the card I’d been given, a little black rectangle with her name and number, and a stitched-heart pattern. I cleared my throat and placed it on the counter, and her expression shifted immediately.

“Oh, you’ve come to play?” Her warmth was still there, but instead of a cozy glow, it was quickly becoming a scorching flame, stoked by her salacious grin and half-lidded eyes. She stepped away to flip the “open” sign to “closed.” “Wonderful... It really has been so long since I’ve seen one like you.”

Within minutes, my payment and identification was confirmed, and she led me upstairs. Much like her change in demeanor, the atmosphere upstairs was much more provocative than her shop, even with some half-finished sewing project on her coffee table. She seemed to live alone, and if she had guests over often, she must have been utterly shameless—along her living room walls were framed, high-quality pornographic prints! Most of the subjects were platos, and they weren’t even tasteful nudes: one of them featured a cyborg woman with a toy in her rear; another, a couple of beastmen devouring each other’s phalluses; the one I noted most vividly depicted the seamstress herself, fully nude and necking with a wooden mannequin girl.

“That one is my favorite so far, but maybe you can help me make more, huh, sweetie?” She half-whispered in my ear. If I still had skin, it would have turned beet red at the suggestion. “So, what do you like to be called, mister...?”

“Cin... Cinnamon,” I offered. Not my old name, of course, but it wasn’t unusual for my kind to use a new one.

“Aww, that suits you! I’m Serena, but you knew that. Wait here a moment, will you? I’m going to change into something more comfortable. Feel free to take a seat.” She rounded a corner, and the rolling of drawers rumbled through the wall as I settled down on her sofa. “Care to tell me about yourself, Cinnamon? You seem a little nervous. Is this your first time with a professional?”

Straight to the point, huh? “Well, first time at all, really...”

She poked her head through the doorway. “A cute thing like you? That’s hard to believe!” She disappeared again briefly, before emerging in just her undergarments. I must have been staring, because she struck a couple of poses as I took in the intricate black lace clinging to her hips and bust. When I suddenly became aware of where my eyes were fixed, I straightened up in my seat, and she giggled playfully. “Wow, you weren’t kidding, were you? You’re so tense...”

She sat next to me before lifting me up onto her lap. How could I be anything but tense in this situation? For the first time I could remember I was in the same room as a mostly-naked woman, and I didn’t even have a hard-on to justify getting flustered. “I h-haven’t been like this for very long, so...” So I hadn’t figured out how to masturbate yet, and I was horny as hell.

It took a few seconds, but she understood without me saying so. “You want some help getting familiar, right? I think I know just what to do...”

Since my genitals had disappeared and most of my clothes didn’t fit, I was only wearing a coat, but I still felt naked when she convinced me to remove it. I’d been so embarrassed about this new form that I’d barely left my apartment since changing, but the sensation of Serena’s touch was undeniably pleasant. At first I could only watch with shaking breath as her fingers traced the seams along my body, but I grew a little frustrated when I noticed she was avoiding the spot between my thighs. I guided her hand there, and she gave me an amused smile.

She traced her fingers along something—I wasn’t sure what, but I couldn’t help but gasp. I’d rubbed at the spot myself, but my paws were too soft, too clumsy. I’d even straddled some of my belongings at home, but nothing had worked yet, despite how pent-up I was. “Have you had a good look down here yet?” she asked.

“No, why?” I could hardly even see my face in the bathroom mirror at home.

“You have a zipper down here, beneath this little fold,” she said, and slid her finger up my... fold? God, it sounded so embarrassingly feminine, but feeling her poke around was all I wanted in the moment. “Here, let me show you.” She pulled her hand away, to my dismay, and propped up a hand mirror on the sofa, giving me a clear view of my splayed legs and newly exposed crotch zipper. It was still surreal seeing myself like this, with this body. Serena kept me from staring too long as her fingers crept back toward the—toward my zipper. “Ready to keep going?”

I nodded and tried to relax. I didn’t do a very good job, because Serena tugging my zipper sent sparks through my mind. She opened it slowly, almost agonizingly so, and I would have fallen off the sofa if she hadn’t put her hand around my middle. My lower end felt much looser, and once I stopped moaning, I saw the reflection of my polyester insides.

“Did you ever put anything inside yourself when you were human?”

I’d thought about it, a lot, but... “No,”

“In that case...” She stroked my zipper, sending shivers up what was once my spine. “This is probably going to feel a little strange.”

Looking back, that was an understatement. I was mostly used to the way I would deform with pressure, but feeling the pressure from inside was disorienting, on top of the disarming pleasure. Her fingers remained gentle as she prodded and stirred my filling, and I writhed in the possession of my own desperate lust. At one point she used the back of a permanent marker to probe deeper, and though I was fascinated by the sight of it bulging my middle, I was too preoccupied with the distinctly sexual stimulation. Even though I was clueless about how any of this worked, she clearly knew which spots drove me crazy. In body and mind, I felt like a plaything being toyed with.

Her whole hand was inside me when I felt it welling up. I pushed down on my belly to meet her hand, intensifying the sensation. “D-don’t stop,” I managed between moans, and in response she worked her hand faster.

“Almost there?”

“Yeah, I’m...” I didn’t finish the sentence, because I spent the next minute moaning, louder than I ever had before. Nothing came out of me, but I was certain that I was cumming. Waves of electric pleasure starting in my unzipped groin crashed over the rest of my body, shocking my mind into silence. The whole room was silent, besides my panting and the pattering rain on the roof. Finally, I was relieved. Satisfied, even.

Once I’d caught my breath, Serena helped me sit up and unclasped her bra. “Do you need a few more minutes, or are you ready for round two?”

A couple of hours later, I was spent, and freshly stuffed and washed. She gave me a pair of business cards, one black, and the other white, for her regular hours. The rain had passed, and I left my hood down to enjoy the cool night air as I waited for the bus. Maybe I had made a mistake that night, but it was a mistake I intended to repeat soon.