New TG: Happening, by Vickie Tern Femdom, Wife, M/F, M/M

The characters in this story are all adults who think they know

what they're doing but don't. If you aren't legally an adult, you

aren't even entitled to know what that is. So pretend you don't

know, and don't read this story.

HAPPENING

by Vickie Tern

i.

Sometimes you're set up to act out a role in your own life,

and you don't even know what the script is.

For instance, Bill and Stacy live next door, and they've

always been decent neighbors, nice people. He travels a lot and

works an irregular schedule, a systems analyst of some sort, and

she's an artist, mostly home painting big canvasses or gluing odd

combinations of things together. The same thing with us, only in

reverse -- Cindy's the last to leave her law office most days, and

she's often away elsewhere taking depositions and the like, while

I'm home this summer trying finally to finish my novel. Otherwise

I'm home a lot anyhow -- I teach writing in our local Community

College.

It's a pretty good arrangement. Cindy's tough-minded, and

likes to see other people hop to her tune, and they do because she

brings in most of the firm's and the family's money. I listen to

students and strays in my classes and try to help them help

themselves. I didn't mind at all when Cindy got real busy and I

took over more and more of the housekeeping -- shop and cook, make

the beds, do the laundry. I soak my socks, grungy because I don't

put my shoes on lots of days, and I soak and hand wash Cindy's

unmentionables -- her panties get pretty stained sometimes, some

woman thing. I do it all. During the semester I'll prepare

classes and write all over whatever the students are writing. And

otherwise stare at my computer screen, unhappy with what I read

there, and stare at the ceiling and try to imagine better. During

the summer that's all I do.

So I didn't mind at all when Stacy asked us both over for pot

luck a few days ago -- only a few days ago? -- and when I told her

Cindy was away on a case she said "Well, come by yourself!" I

showed up around five for drinks, and when she announced dinner two

hours and a lot of booze later she mentioned that Bill was also

away for a couple of days. That made me a little uneasy, alone in

a big house with an absolutely gorgeous married woman and all that.

Stacy really is a stunner -- tall, with a steeply curved body she

covers in a loose sweat shirt and not much else, black hair piled

high who knows how, and eyes that seem secretly amused when they

look at you. But by the second bottle of wine -- a really great

wine, Bill could afford to indulge himself that way -- I'd

forgotten it was just the two of us.

She asked me how the novel was coming, and I told her about

this woman character who wouldn't come clear in my mind, a movie

actress with a two-timing boyfriend. I don't know anything about

actresses, I said. And Cindy and I don't two-time, or even flirt.

So I couldn't imagine how she'd feel, her man getting it on with

another woman. Or what she'd want to do about it.

Stacy told me she'd done performance art, and happenings,

where you arrange so other people act out scenarios and don't even

know it, but she didn't know much about actresses. She could help

me if the character were an artist, she said, and we were now

splashing after-dinner Cognac, so I said, "OK, she's an artist."

Next thing I knew we were in Stacy's studio looking at art

supplies, odds and ends to mention to give things "verisimilitude"

as I tell students. So the story seems real. Then we looked at

her most recent paintings, all of them huge lush nudes of herself.

Some were of her in heat, offering herself to the viewer. God!

Next thing I knew we were in Stacy's bed with our clothes all over

elsewhere, humping up a storm, and I wasn't being true to Cindy any

more, and I didn't care. We went at each other in a frenzy, all

night. Stacy was a shrieker when her orgasms hit, and by morning

she'd lost most of her voice.

I'd gotten used to sex with Cindy, first some caressing, then

a prick inside a pussy, and some affectionate kissing afterward,

Cindy always in control. Cindy didn't want my mouth down there

ever, she said. "It can get pretty messy when I get all excited,"

she'd tell me, sharing her secret smile with me, and I'd smile

back. She wouldn't take me in her mouth either -- in fact once she

told me that pricks are ugly, and deserve to be kept where men

always want to put them, in dark places.

But Stacy wanted it all, all at once. Well, nearly all. She

didn't suck cock either, she said, something about a small mouth

and jaw. But almost right away she spread her legs wide open to

me, and I got my nose and tongue in there, and almost right away

she started trickling and squeezing fluids into my mouth, and

arching her back, and going into spasms with her whole body, and

screaming from the back of her throat. God it was great! There

again was that delicious fermy pussy smell, that sweetly salty

flavor I remembered from college! I couldn't get enough of her.

When I first began to kiss her bush and improvise little

rhythms and sequences of worshipful lovemaking with my lips and

tongue, Stacy got up for a moment, stroked my head and said "Don't

move," put on some music, lay down again, and again offered her

crotch to my face. A classical piece, and I found myself diddling,

licking, or swirling her clit, nuzzling, rubbing, or lapping her

slit, or pressing, poking, and penetrating deep into her pussy

along with different instruments, melodies, chords, and musical

notations and structures. She held her breath through an entire

tongue and nose fugue, absolutely rapt, unmoving, and later as a

cadenza swept through her to climax she was shrieking her joy so

hysterically I was afraid she'd lose consciousness. But she

gestured, gasping, that no way should I lower my baton.

I then pushed it deep between her legs, and then again

repeatedly. It went on and on. She'd just barely roll her hips

around it, and my craving would build until I couldn't tell who was

pushing into who. When I'd squeezed myself out, down went my face

into her pussy again, and she'd cry out her delight just

anticipating how I'd feel snugged in there again. Hours went by

before I'd recovered my cock and could go again, but she didn't

care. As long as my lips and tongue could reach into her groin,

she'd keep pushing that wonderful slit into my face, and we were

both happy. "You're a virtuoso," she murmered at one point.

"We'll preserve this much of you at all costs!"

Then because I was so incredible with my head between her

legs, she said, I should have a reward. As a special treat she

wanted me to feel my prick tucked up inside her ass! Well, that

was something! It was the softest, tightest little place I've ever

been anywhere! Incredible! Then once I was inside there was the

strangest rippling sensation! She could make her anal muscles feel

like an oiled hand pulling and squeezing on my cock, and so much

sweetly agonizing pressure built up in my loins that finally -- it

seemed -- I came in buckets! It felt like a faucet at the base of

my prick opened wide, and some gigantic hand pulling my hips into

her. When I spurted I was utterly spent.

It hardly mattered that she then made me lap and suck it all

back out of her asshole again -- she said she likes a guy who

appreciates her no matter what. It wasn't really different from

when she wrapped that delicious pussy around my cock and rocked up

and down on me, and I spewed and spewed and couldn't stop, and then

licked and sucked our juices out from between her legs. She always

seemed to be soaked anyhow!

I ended up spending the night and most of the next day with my

prick deep in her grasping asshole or else her dripping pussy, when

it wasn't lying alongside her drying out and gasping for air while

I mopped up with my mouth. Usually, once my face was inside her

crotch she wouldn't let me out until she'd come herself two, three

times at least, and once she went into a rolling seizure that I

thought would never quit. I could scarcely breathe. She had thigh

muscles you wouldn't believe, and when I was positioned she'd lock

my head in place until she chose to release me, and I could have

nothing to say about it anyhow. She'd done a lot of horseback

riding, she told me. Riding my face was relaxation for her.

By late afternoon the next day her voice was gone, and she

could only croak her ecstatic outcries, and my cock was a flap of

soft skin too drained and sore to stand for any kind of

provocation. Finally my face was red and irritated and my lips

were puffy, and my tongue hurt, and I needed a breather. The

cocktail hour had come round again, so we sat naked and sipped

Bill's terrific wine.

"You're a real discovery," she said, looking my face over

closely. "We want to take care of that mouth. At least get it

insured, the way concert artists insure their hands. You're one of

the all-time greats!"

That pleased me. You like to feel you're good at what you do.

So we got back to the novel I was writing, and talked about how

the character with the two-timing boy friend, an artist now, might

react when she heard about it, about how some women feel helpless

but others want revenge. A woman goes to all that trouble to be

attractive for her man, Stacy said, to look sexy, and then her man

cheats on her. If I were such a woman, she asked me, how would I

feel?

I had no idea. I didn't even know how much trouble it was for

a woman to look sexy. It seemed to me that Cindy wore suits to the

office and jeans at home, and only enough make-up to look

respectable, and hardly ever even looked at the one or two

provocative dresses she bought only at my urging. "There's no need

to attract men if you've already enough to provide what you want,"

she'd tell me, and I'd take it as a compliment. And she'd joke

about how clothes only seem to be in the way anyhow when you're

eager, the way we were before we were married. Afterward, our

lovemaking got tidy and under the sheets, with our clothing first

put away where it belonged.

"You don't know how a women sets about seducing a man?" Stacy

asked me, a little shocked. "How a woman feels when she's sending

out signals and getting responses? We have lots of secrets. Hair,

make-up, the way we carry ourselves, how we move. How we dress.

The different ways we dress for different purposes, revealing and

concealing, always promising more. You don't know how it feels to

have that kind of power over a man's desires, to tease him along

until he'll do anything for you? You don't know? And you're a

writer?"

That was a challenge. We were finishing our third bottle of

Bill's best Moselle, and feeling increasingly mellow. I could even

feel a certain stiffness beginning again down below. "Show me!" I

said.

She looked at me. "I already have," she said. "Now I'll do

better than that. I'll fix it so you know how it feels from the

inside out, the way a writer should." She was thoughtful for a

moment. "You need something on that face of yours anyhow, where

it's all irritated. Though your puffy lips do look kissable just

as is -- models pay good money for collagen injections to get that

wrap-around-the-cock look! Let's go back to the bedroom."

Once back there she made me stand straight and perfectly

still. She looked me over and especially checked my pecker -- no

longer a wilted worm, but no way engorging. "It'll be a while yet,

I see," she said. "We've got time. C'mon!" She suddenly grabbed

me by that same pecker and began pulling me toward the bathroom,

and I shuffled to keep up with her. She practically threw me into

the tub.

A half-hour later I was in deep trouble. My skin was perfumed

and softened from the bubble bath she'd used, but that wasn't it --

that much would shower off. The problem was, I was hairless.

Between shaving my whole body and Nair my skin was as ivory smooth

as hers. She'd left a little triangular patch around my cock, like

hers around her pussy, pointing down between my legs, but she'd

sheared the sides to make a "bikini cut" as she called it. "Think

how a high-legged bathing suit can give a guy a hard on," she

advised me. ""Or lacy, high-legged panties. I'm going to give you

a pair to wear."

Well and good, but how could Cindy fail to notice? What could

I tell her? I might not be able to show myself naked or sleep with

her for a week or two. And what could I say to explain that?

Then it got worse. Stacy sat me down and tugged away with

tweezers above my eyes, relentlessly, then showed me what she'd

done with a hand mirror. No eyebrows! Or hardly any! A thin,

high, delicate line tapering to nothing! "Now they're shaped,"

she said. "Well-groomed. With a little eyebrow pencil they'll be

beautiful." She saw my expression. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm

sure Cindy will have other things on her mind than worrying about

your eyebrows." Cindy often said "I'm sure" too, without any

basis for feeling sure. Some things are never sure things. But it

was too late, now.

"I guess that poor dear face of yours is next," she said. "We

have to protect it. The way you tuck that nose into a girl, some

day it may be declared a national treasure!" Creams on and off,

foundation, a powder puff, a sponge of blush, a thin line of liquid

eye-liner, a pencil where I once had eyebrows, a wand of mascara on

my eyelashes, and then again more mascara. A lip liner pencil,

then lipstick that went smoothly onto my swollen lips, and

instantly felt better. Then she asked me to close my eyes, and she

sprayed my face several times over with something she said would

set all that makeup and protect it, so it wouldn't rub off or run

easily. I mentioned that all of these emollients and cremes on my

irritated face felt soothing, and she said "That's nice. This is

for both of us. I love how your lips feel on my lips, the ones

down below. And on your face now they're irresistible."

As she started to put my hair up in rollers she reached for my

cock, which was starting to swell a little, but not yet stiffen.

"All in due time," she said. "Wearing women's make-up turns on

some men. I've wondered about you. You do leave your hair a

little long for a man. Did you ever want to be a girl? You're

about to get your wish." She finished setting rollers onto each

hair-spray soaked strand, then a few minutes later unrolled them

and touched my head here and there with a brush. "There now," she

said. "See for yourself what it's like to look sexy. See how it

feels." She stood me up and guided me over to the large mirror

alongside her bedroom door.

I was a little shocked when I saw myself. My body was utterly

bare, and my face was now a girl's face. There was scarcely

anything visible of the rumpled man who'd come to dinner the

previous day. What I saw was what she had said about my new

eyebrows. My face was well groomed, neat, suave. Perfect. My

reflection looked back at me, a sweet-mouthed girl wide-eyed in her

innocence. It seemed wrong that I didn't have breasts.

Unaccountably, my cock rose to full attention and then stood there.

I turned me on!

"That's how a sexy woman feels," Stacy said. "C'mon. Let's

enjoy it!"

We did. She lay back on the bed, and I dipped my aroused cock

into her slick, honeyed pussy again, until we were twisting our

groins against each other. She grasped my head with both hands,

fingers twined into my curls, and held my face over hers, gently.

"Oh, yes!" she whispered, "Yes! You're just lovely!" I picked up

the pace and lunged my tongue into her mouth with greater and

greater ferocity. "Yes!" she said when she could.

She shuddered uncontrollably, then a few minutes later again,

before I finally reached my climax and squirted deep into her, and

finally we caught our breaths and I dismounted.

"You didn't scream this time," I said.

"No," she replied. "I'm saving my voice. I'll need it later.

But it was just beautiful. You're a doll!"

Then she scurried her rear off the edge of the bed, her pussy

clear of the sheets, her legs spread wide and her feet braced on

the carpet. She leaned back on her elbows and looked at me. "Now

eat me, lover!" she almost hissed. "Eat me, you doll-faced beauty!

You sweetheart!"

"Won't it ruin my make-up?" I asked almost without thinking.

Then I realized what I had said and grinned. How thoroughly

feminine!

"We'll fix it, precious girl!" Stacy said. "Just eat me!

Please!"

So I knelt between her thighs and did, once again, looking up

the whole time into her sleek eyes with what I knew was my own

teenage, round-eyed, girlish innocence. She looked down into mine,

her mouth set in its mysterious half-smile. My mouth was invisible

to her, buried in her snatch, and my tongue was far inside her.

Now and then she reached down to smooth one of my curls, or to

twist it onto a finger.

I sucked my own cum from deep inside her as usual, and it

flowed into my mouth almost immediately, and I swallowed it, but

she kept me mouthing her clit and tonguing her pussy for a while

longer, and her body tensed and shuddered twice more as I slurped

and lapped at her, before finally she opened her thighs and

released me.

She then made my face perfect again, as doll-faced as before.

"You beautiful thing," she said. "How can anyone resist you?

Don't you feel pretty?" I had to admit I felt pretty good.

Stacy then rummaged through an upper drawer in her bureau,

tossing lingerie out and muttering "Now where did I put them, that

day I found them in our bed. Oh yes, here!" She hauled out a

pale blue bra and handed it to me. "This one doesn't fit me. Have

you ever tried to wear one of these?" she said.

"No way!" I said. "Stacy, that's enough now! What are you

doing?"

She paused just a moment, dangling from one finger a matching

pair of pale blue panties, also of some shiny satiny material, and

she said with great deliberation, "We were talking about how a

woman feels when she knows she's attractive but her man goes

roaming anyhow. You're writing about a sexy woman artist who's

been betrayed by her boy friend, and you haven't a clue. You asked

me to show you. No more complaints now, or this little lesson

ends, and you'll never get your book written!"

She glanced down to my lap, where my cock was again still

recovering. I realized she was prepared to send me home, and I

wasn't finished with this wonderful woman's sweet body. She did

have things yet to teach me. "How does this thing work?" I asked

her, holding up the brassiere.

At first it felt like an elastic band clamped around my chest,

but after a few minutes it was more like two hands, each fastened

to a breast, each grasping the skin around each nipple and pulling

it up into what I saw was a small mound. "Not bad," Stacy said.

"It's a beginning, anyhow. Touch the nipples." They hardened, and

Stacy smiled, and said nothing. Then the matching hi-leg panties

slid slick against my skin and framed the edge of my pubic hair.

"Get used to both of them," she told me. "They're a woman's

heavy artillery."

This was not a moment to tell her I didn't want to. I glanced

again in the mirror. Under the inquiring innocence of my face, my

body was now challenging, even seductive in that shiny satin bra

and those lacy panties. I should reduce my waistline, I thought

idly. And she wasn't finished with me yet!

"Now lets go to your place. I have no dresses here that fit

you, but you're just about Cindy's size I'm pretty sure, so we'll

look in her closet!" I started in under the bed and among the

tumbled bedclothes, trying to find the pants and shirt and sneakers

I'd put on to attend her pot-luck dinner yesterday, and then taken

off I couldn't remember where. Nothing visible anywhere.

"Never mind," she said. "Wear this." She handed me a velour

men's bathrobe, Bill's I guess, to cover my body in its bra and

panties when we crossed through our two front yards.

I put on the bathrobe and tied it. She shrugged a dress onto

her shoulders and tied it around her waist, and suddenly it draped

into place on her figure and looked elegant. Then she barely

paused to step into a pair of high heels on her way out the door.

Once outside, I was very much aware that the face above my men's

bathrobe was a girl's face. As long as no one could tell it's me,

I thought to myself. "I'd lend you a negligee, but mine wouldn't

fit you, I'm afraid," Stacy said, "And anyhow you might get

arrested wearing one on the sidewalk."

In our house she headed straight upstairs, and when I brought

up a pitcher of Margaritas and salt-edged glasses I saw that she

had been busy in our bedroom. She'd laid out on the bed a wisp of

lace and froth I saw was one of Cindy's slips, and one of Cindy's

most fetching cocktail dresses, black silk, cut low in the bodice,

long and slinky. Now she was rummaging in our closet for matching

heels.

"I knew you were about Cindy's size," she said. "There you

go, lover. Take off that bathrobe and put these on. We're going

out for dinner. We're going to celebrate your new feelings, and

maybe some men'll hit on us tonight and we'll both get lucky.

You'll need to know how that feels, how married girls are tempted

by other men, and how it feels when your own man is tempted!

Which reminds me, is that limp thing of yours ready for another

dip,, or should we just go?"

Out!? In public!? Where men would think I'm a woman? Or

worse, would realize I wasn't? My heart leaped up and pounded

against my ribs! I was suddenly terrified, and I began to tremble!

What is this woman doing?! If my face weren't so heavily covered

by make-up, I knew I'd be stricken pale.

"Stacy, I can't possibly go out and meet men yet," I said in

a tiny voice, trying not to sound helpless. "I'm not pretty

enough!" When I realized what I had really just said, a huge rush

of blood came to my cheeks, and like any schoolgirl I started

blushing!

"Your voice is perfect! Keep it that way!" she replied.

Then, "That's sweet! You're blushing! It's wonderful for your

complexion. I heard you! You do want to feel attractive! Isn't

it a wonderful feeling? Let's just freshen you up a bit more!"

She leaned over me with more mascara, and while I looked up at

her wide-eyed she slathered more on my lashes. Now that we were in

my house, mine and Cindy's, I began to feel edgy again. "Not too

much," I said. "Cindy'll may figure that something's been going

on."

"Don't worry about Cindy. Just make a mouth." I opened wide

and stretched my lips as instructed, and Stacy stroked fresh creamy

red onto my upper lip. "There," she said. "That's one of Cindy's

'kissable' lipsticks. The color won't come off for days, they say.

That's what we want. Now press!" I pressed my lips together the

way she'd shown me earlier. "Pretty!" she said. "We do want you

to feel especially pretty tonight. You just said so yourself. And

now you are! Shall we finish that pitcher of Margaritas?"

ii.

A half-hour later I was frightened to death, but standing very

still next to Stacy as the Maitre d' greeted her by name. We were

in one of the best restaurants in town, one with pale purple

tablecloths and napkins to match, and waiters in wing collars. It

was crowded with well-dressed men and elegant women, and all of the

women seemed to have long, tapering, graceful fingers tipped in

red. I realized mine were no way feminine, and Stacy was amused to

see me repeatedly stroke my silken hips, feeling for pockets to

hide them in. I clutched tightly the empty purse she had handed me

as a prop as we left the house. "My treat, lover" she said. "All

my treat!" The Maitre d' found a name on a reservations list.

"The private dining room," he said. "Will M'Sieur join you soon?"

"No Andre," Stacy replied. "Mine is a different reservation in

my own name. I'm here tonight with my friend."

"I see," he said, his expression suddenly impassive. He

turned and led us to an excellent table in the middle of the main

dining room.

"Swish, dear," Stacy said to me as we followed him between the

tables. "And flap your wrists a lot. Small steps. Push out your

breasts as far as they'll go. You're just lovely. Feel lovely.

I'll order for us." Those were her only instructions to me in the

art of femininity. But I was certainly beginning to know how it

felt. Men at different tables eyed my body as I went by them, not

once pausing in their conversations. I worried how a woman fends

one of them off. Then I smiled to myself. Plenty had fended me

off before I'd met Cindy.

I nibbled. I was much too nervous to eat anything. I kept

glancing sideways in every direction, looking to see if anyone was

staring, fearful that someone might recognize me under my lacquered

face and curled hair, seeing with incredulity that there was

Cindy's husband gussied up in one of her dresses, out on the town

with another woman. Once I thought I saw Bill's back rounding the

bar and heading for the men's room, and I felt a pang in my vitals.

Here I was dining with his wife and pretending to be a woman! He'd

have to suspect something. I'd never survive the humiliation!

When I looked at Stacy, I saw her looking toward the bar too, with

a gleam in her eye. But half the people there looked like half the

people I know, and none of them were. I hoped.

Once a man Stacy knew paused and stood at our table and made

brief small talk, and glanced at me, then left. Then as I

thankfully watched him go, another suddenly sat down next to me

with his arm over the back of my chair, and leaned toward Stacy to

tell her Bill had called him about a big score this trip, and that

he was heading home. "I'd heard," was all Stacy replied. The man

then looked appreciatively at me, and I looked down modestly from

under my crusted mascara eyelashes. I was trembling again!

Stacy introduced me as her sister, saying to me, "Sissy, this

is Tim, a client of Bill's."

"I'm happy to meet any of Stacy's sisters," he said, and he

leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. He prolonged the pressure of

his shaved cheek against mine, and enclosed one of my hands in both

of his. I tried to tug away, but couldn't. His after-shave

lingered. "You're as beautiful as she is. Will you be in town

long, Sissy? I'd love to show you around."

Stacy rescued me when I didn't dare reply. Maybe she rescued

me. "Of course, Tim," she said. "Sissy loves seeing all kinds of

things. But you should know that she's taken."

"Well, I'm taken with Sissy," Tim said as he stood up and

leaned down, and in a single smooth movement placed one hand gently

behind my neck so I couldn't back off and kissed me full on the

lips as if he'd aimed for a cheek and missed. He pressed his

tongue in on me, licking and feeling for an opening. In my shock

I raised both hands to try to fend him off, and was horrified to

find he'd placed his crotch just where the back of one hand stroked

it and then couldn't move away. He was quite hard! He pressed in

on that trapped hand, and then finally released me.

"I'm delighted, Sissy," he said with a smile that was almost

a smirk. "I'll call very soon." And he weaved away among the

other tables.

I had held my breath the whole time he was seated, and was now

breathless. Stacy seemed to be delighted. "An ardent gentleman

does bring out the passion in a girl," she said. "I saw you reach

for his cock! But you're not yet ready for that. You look ripe,

but you don't quite know enough. You really do need first to feel

royally fucked. You will, don't worry."

There were no other incidents, and I almost began to enjoy

sitting in a fine restaurant with my arms bare, a long silk skirt

caressing my knees, my hair curled to look as fetching as any other

woman's. I mentioned this to Stacy, and she nodded. "I knew you

would," was all she said.

We got back to my house relatively early. I found my pecker

fully recovered, so we went straight back to the bedroom, and

without bothering even to slip off my dress or heels I lifted my

skirt and pulled aside my panties and pushed into Stacy yet again.

I held back for as long as I could, but all the while it felt like

rocketing to another planet. Stacy's voice had recovered its pitch

and volume, and again she screamed and shrieked through several

orgasms.

Then when I finally came, without a pause she twisted and lay

back on the bed with both of her legs spread wide over the bed's

edge, the side toward the far wall, motioning for me to kneel

between her knees between the bed and the wall and once again let

her pussy know how affectionate I felt. I did. I snugged in and

devotedly French kissed her clit and her slit, licking trickles of

my own cum from her lower lips as she squeezed it out of her. She

rested each thigh lightly on each of my shoulders, knees tucked

behind my neck, and then locked her ankles into the small of my

back. Then using only her leg muscles, she squeezed my mouth

tightly into her quim. I found I was locked in there, my head

immovable, bound and gagged, my tongue trapped deep in that sweet

cunt. So I slurped still more cum out of her, along with her own

delicate juices. I looked up over her mound and into her eyes, I

suppose a little soulfully, with my wide, innocent doll's eyes, my

high, thin eyebrows, and my curly hair squeezed and tumbling over

my ears. I must really look cute to her, I thought. I saw that

this time, as she leaned back on her elbows and looked down at me,

she seemed positively triumphant.

"Suck on me, darling Sissy," she said. "Suck deep. Think

about nothing but our mouths joined into one mouth!" I needed no

urging. I continued to look up at her earnestly while my mouth

performed heroically, plumbing the last dregs out of her gorgeous

pussy and then dancing arabesques and minuets on her clit, and she

looked down, satisfied, even gleeful, her crotch alternatively

tensing and relaxing into my face.

Suddenly the bedroom door opened and light from the hallway

streamed onto us! I shifted my gaze. There, framed in the doorway

and silhouetted against the light was a woman's figure, standing

quite still! Cindy's! The dark apparition held there unmoving,

one hand still on the doorknob. I looked at the deep shadowy area

under her close-cut hairdo, where her face should be. Blackness.

She stood stone still, not even moving her head, and I realized

that the light from the doorway had to be full in my face. There

I was, curly hair high above Stacy's groin, my mouth crammed deep

into her pussy, my nose snugged into her bush, my mascara-coated

eyes staring blindly at the black shadow in the doorway, my

eyebrows raised, as it were, in supplication. The figure of Cindy

said nothing. It just stood there.

"NMMMMM, MMMNNNNNNNNNN!" I said as I tried to heave my

shoulders, to break loose, to warn Stacy that we had been

discovered, to push her to release me. I needed now to stand and

take the full measure of this disaster! Surely Stacy saw that

light from the hallway was pouring in on our dark privacy. Could

she see that black figure looking at us? Stacy's back was to the

door, and she seemed if anything to strain her thighs all the more

firmly to hold me to my knees, my head clamped even more firmly

into the fork of her crotch. The pressure muffled even incoherent

cries from far inside my throat. I glanced at her face. She was

still looking down at me, and she wore the same triumphant

expression, as if she'd just achieved a glorious victory, or a

glorious orgasm. Or both.

After an eternity, the shadow suddenly cried out a loud,

furious "You!" It was Cindy's voice! Then she stepped back into

the hallway and pulled the door shut after her with a slam. The

room was suddenly dark again.

I lurched to my feet despairing! Stacy kept her legs on my

shoulders as if reluctant to yield the moment, then almost lazily

slipped them off, one at a time, and then relaxed back on the bed,

still propped up by her elbows, watching me almost casually.

"She meant me when she said that, lover. Not you. But you're

going downstairs to plead with her now, aren't you." She spoke in

an almost friendly tone of voice. "Fix your lipstick first.

You'll make a better impression. I'll gather up my things and be

on my way now. It's been fun, my sweet Sissy! Nothing personal,

mind you."

I hesitated, and now looked down at Stacy, horrified. I

realized that as she'd advised it I actually almost did pause to

fix my lipstick. Had I gone insane? Should I at least pause to

change out of my dress? Cindy's dress? What for? She'd seen me!

Her freak feminized husband, his face nursing on another woman's

pussy! Time was crucial now! She'd be out the door in another

moment, and I'd never see her again, except maybe when my alimony

payments came late. What would any lawyer do to an unfaithful

husband caught like this, flagrantly performing obscene oral sex on

another woman in his own wife's bed. Dressed like a pervert! What

couldn't Cindy do? My ruined marriage! Think of the glee in the

tabloids alone! My ruined life!

"Aaaaaarrrgghhh!" A disembodied cry of despair out of my own

throat! No time for that! I vaulted over the bed, long skirt and

all, and then raced out of the room and down the stairs, still in

my high heels I realized when I was part way down! Cindy's high

heels! And flounced and tripped down the stairs! I had to stop

her from leaving! I listened for the sound of a car door slamming

out in the driveway, a motor starting. Nothing yet!

Then when I got to the foot of the stairs and stepped into the

living room, I was dumbfounded. There she was, seated on the

couch, looking quite calmly at me, not a hair out of place, holding

a squat tumbler nearly full of what I recognized was a Perfect

Bourbon Manhattan on ice, her favorite drink for unwinding at the

end of a day. She was wearing the white blouse she often wore

under a tailored suit, one that decorously revealed her femininity,

her bra and slip straps, but otherwise revealed nothing. I saw

that when she'd come in, she'd taken off her suit jacket and laid

it neatly folded across the back of a chair near the fireplace.

Its matching skirt was tucked primly under her as she sat there and

then, without breaking eye contact with me, lifted her drink and

sipped at it.

Next to her on the couch, forming a cozy couple with her, sat

Bill. He too looked calm, at his ease. In fact he looked at me

with a certain bemused curiosity, as if there were nothing much to

think about encountering a man in a living room wearing full-scale

women's regalia, hairdo and all, lipstick smeared from an hour's

passionate lovemaking with Stacy, his wife, his neighbor's wife,

having earlier fucked her ass. He too was taking a first sip at

a drink, something amber on the rocks.

I had a mad thought, that he must have been fixing those

drinks calmly while Cindy was upstairs standing still in the

doorway, and had handed Cindy hers without comment when she arrived

back downstairs to sit and await me tumbling after. Another mad

thought, these might even be refills. They may well have been here

for a while, drinking their first after-dinner drink and listening

to Stacy shriek, waiting for an appropriate moment for Cindy to go

upstairs and show herself. There was an ice bucket on the side

table directly in my line of sight! Was the ice in it partly

melted? Would I be utterly insane to go look? Would it matter?

Then yet another mad thought careened out of my head -- I must look

a mess -- I do look a mess -- and I realized I really was going

crazy. I had to seize the initiative, at least try to contain this

catastrophe!

"Cindy!" I cried out to her. I decided to ignore Bill

altogether. At this moment, with me in a dress and his wife

upstairs in my bed, even a simple nod to acknowledge his presence

wouldn't serve. "Cindy!" I began again. I had no idea what would

next follow, but I knew I'd think of something. I'd have to think

of something!

I had no opportunity to find out what. "Not another word!"

Cindy said distinctly. She looked perfectly calm, but her voice

was like ringing steel. I was stopped in my tracks, and just stood

there. "Not another word, Sissy!"

"To begin with," Cindy then said, her voice still sharp-edged,

"you look a mess! I won't have my husband looking like some street

tart after a hard night! Go back upstairs and fix yourself up!

Don't change a thing, not a thing, do you hear? But arrange your

hair properly and fix your face! And get that woman's pussy juice

off it! And your own cum, if that's what that crusty stuff is on

your cheeks! You're disgusting! Then come back down here. I want

to look you over, and maybe tell you how you can save our marriage,

and maybe save the rest of your life from ruin, if those things are

of any interest to you."

Absolutely addled, I went back upstairs. Stacy was still

lying on the bed, propped up by pillows, dressed now, looking at me

as I came in and awkwardly went over to Cindy's makeup table, where

we'd left a few cosmetics. I realized I should wash my face first,

carefully so as not to disturb the coatings of cosmetics

underneath. "I told you you should fix your lipstick," she said.

I didn't reply.

I'd been set up, absurdly, ludicrously, utterly set up, and I

didn't know why, and I didn't know what to think about it, and I

didn't what to do about it. I was fucked! Royally fucked! Stacy

had just told me at dinner that I would be, and I hadn't heard a

word of it!

But right now I had to do what Cindy told me to do or I'd lose

everything. I took a moist cleansing tissue and blotted my face,

then wiped some smeared mascara off my cheek, then replaced my

lipstick as neatly as I knew how. I pressed my lips together to

blend it, then blotted it on a tissue, and touched my hair a few

times with my fingers, and then went back downstairs. Through the

whole ritual Stacy watched me wordlessly. I didn't dare look at

her the whole time.

"That's better," Cindy said. "I see you decided to wear my

black silk tonight. Very becoming. You'd better be careful with

it -- its one of my favorites, and I bought it for myself, even

though I've scarcely worn it. The same with those heels."

"Cindy, listen!" I began.

She continued as if I'd said nothing. "Listen closely,

because I'm going to say this only once. Tonight you are up the

creek, and I have the paddle. Tonight you will take off that dress

and those shoes and then without hesitating even to take a sweater

from the hall closet you will walk out of this house and I will

never see you again. You can keep whatever you're wearing

underneath, but you'll take nothing else at all. You'll then get

a lawyer, but it won't matter. I'll see to it that for the rest of

your life your standard of living is one handout away from

starvation on skid row. There's the door. It isn't locked. All

you have to do is walk through it."

She paused. I knew what she said was true. It was over!

Then she said, "But!"

I heard her. There was more! Maybe it wasn't over! I stood

absolutely still, listening. Bill seemed only half-attentive. He

pulled at his drink, and his eyes began to scan our small

collection of VCR movie tapes across the room on the bookcase. I

waited. I didn't dare breathe.

"There is an alternative. Tonight and for the foreseeable

future you will beg my forgiveness. Not with words. With a

contrite and loving heart. With a desire to make amends. With

absolute, unquestioning obedience to my least whim. With utterly

selfless devotion to whatever I desire."

I didn't understand what she was talking about. Cindy and I

had had a sharing marriage. We'd cared about each other, I

thought, and we'd always accommodated to each other's desires.

Mostly. How was this different?"

"I'll ask you to do things you may find embarrassing.

Humiliating. Maybe loathsome. I have some in mind. You'll do

them. Not reluctantly, but gladly. With no discussion. Do you

understand me? Gladly!"

I waited a moment. Then I said, deeply depressed, "Yes, I

understand you. We've had a two-way marriage. Now you want it

one-way or no way. For how long?"

She smiled at me with no warmth. "I want it my way, or no

way. For as long as there's that door, and you can walk through it

and walk away, and let your lawyer deal with me."

I heard her. I didn't move.

'This thing you've been doing with Bill's wife, with Stacy.

As far as you're concerned it was utterly unprovoked by me or by

Bill, by anything we were doing separately or collectively, or by

anything either of us had previously done to you, or to anyone

else, wasn't it? With no sense of grievance against us? You

freely entered into it of your own will, didn't you? While of

sound mind?"

What could I say? "Yes," I said.

"To gratify your own uncontrollable and perverted lust?"

"Yes."

"And how long has this been going on now?"

"Since yesterday."

"Since yesterday." Cindy looked me up and down, and a slight

smile crossed the corners of her mouth. "She made pretty rapid

progress with you, didn't she? In another day or two she'd have

had you cruising bars and earning money on your knees or your back.

Isn't that true?"

I didn't want to contradict her. "Maybe," I said.

"Maybe," Cindy repeated. "Maybe it would have taken more than

a day or two to transform you from a dull husband into a slut

whore, maybe even as long as a week. But I think less, from what

I see in front of me right now. My husband the penitent pervert

looking sorrowful while wearing one of my best dresses. No, not

really penitent. Only sorry he got caught."

Suddenly she relaxed and took another sip of her drink. "Bill

doesn't make these mixed drinks as well as you do," she said.

"Empty this one and make me one of yours, please"

I took her glass. I couldn't think!

"Bill's glass is about empty. He's drinking scotch and water,

I think. Bring him another too."

No problem there. That's merely being a host. Though I

didn't invite him here this evening, Cindy did. What for? Had he

heard Stacy's screaming from next door, and come to inquire? He

didn't look like any jealous husband I've ever imagined or heard

of, not at the moment. During my interrogation he'd gotten up and

walked over to our collection of art books on the bookcase

alongside the VCR, and at this very moment he was idly turning the

pages of one of them, as if bored. Was that VCR light on? And on

the camera above it? Recording what?!

"Then go upstairs and change the sheets on our bed. I suppose you

and Stacy have been mussing them up. Well, Bill and I are tired.

We've had a long day. Send Stacy home, and tell her 'Thank you'

from us. She may not understand. You can thank her for yourself

too, I suppose, if you feel like it. Then come back down and let

us know when our bedroom is ready."

I had to take this new revelation one step at a time. First

the drinks. I brought them each another drink. Then I went

upstairs. Stacy was gone, out the back way I suppose. When I had

remade the bed with clean sheets and set my cosmetics apart from

Cindy's on the dressing table, I went back down.

Cindy and Bill were together again on the couch, but this time

Cindy had stripped off her skirt, blouse, and shoes. Wearing only

a flimsy slip much like mine, she was curled into Bill's arms on

his lap, her legs spilled over onto our couch, holding him close

with her arms around his neck. He was leaning over her and kissing

her, deep, his tongue apparently way inside her mouth, and her

mouth clinging to his. They paid no attention to me.

Cindy moaned, and reached down to unzip Bill's fly, and Bill

released her mouth and leaned back to unbuckle his pants and lower

them a little. Then, my God! What cock flesh! It kept coming!

Higher and thicker each moment, a huge pink tube, then it grew to

resemble the thick end of a baseball bat! Was that what all this

was about? Her hand held it delicately, and her fingers stroked it

as if with feathers, and they returned to kissing and tonguing each

other. It grew even more huge, already too large for her to close

her hand on it, but she stroked and petted it like some familiar,

loved domestic animal. A gleaming pearl appeared at its tip.

Finally I must have caught the corner of Cindy's eye. This

time she acted playful. "Oh, there you are again, my dear. My

lovely Sissy dear, in your lovely dress, with your lovely innocent

face. Sleep in the guest room tonight, Sissy dear. Or down here

if you wish. If you're still in this house tomorrow morning, it

will be because you mean to stay on my terms, and we'll discuss

more of them."

She returned to kissing Bill, and to caressing his cock, no

longer interested in me.

I turned and went back upstairs into the guest room, and took

off my dress and hung it neatly in the guest room closet. I

couldn't think. I'd gotten almost no sleep the previous night, I

recalled. I don't even remember getting into bed.

During the middle of the night I suddenly woke up. It was

pitch black, and there was no sound anywhere in the house. I

thought of getting up and at least turning on a light, then I

thought better of it. I stared into the blackness for a long

while. Then I must have gone back to sleep.

When I woke up the next morning the sun was already high, and

I could hear Cindy in the kitchen. For some reason I thought she'd

be angry if I went into our bedroom for a change of clothing, so I

came down dressed the way I'd gone to bed. She was seated at the

breakfast table holding a cup of coffee in both hands, wearing

Bill's velour bathrobe, the one I'd used to cover myself coming

from Stacy's house. I must have left it in our bedroom. She was

reading the morning paper. She looked up at me.

"Well, I see you're still here," she said. "Bill's already

gone to his office. Don't sit down. Where did you get that bra

and panty set you're wearing? I've been missing them for months."

"From Stacy. From her underwear drawer. She said they didn't

fit her, but they might fit me, so I could have them."

"Yes," Cindy said. "So that's where they've been. I suppose

I left them at Bill's a few months ago, that time we were both in

a hurry to make a plane. I suppose Stacy found them and figured

things out. And bided her time. I've been wondering how she

knew."

I just stood there, feeling vaguely that I hadn't yet been

dismissed.

"So she used you to send me a message. That two can play at

husband-stealing. To even the score. In fact, to ruin you in the

process, to emasculate you in my eyes before she gave you back to

me. Cute. She did it, too. I can't think of you as a man now.

Look at yourself." She looked up at me, steadily, examining my

face for signs of disagreement.

I was still absorbing what she had just said. My wife has

been fucking Bill for a few months, at least. So Stacy set me up,

just as I'd figured last night. She really fucked me! The artist

with the two-timing husband turned out to be an actress after all!

The whole time I was blissfully dipping into her ass and her cunt

and sucking on both, she was getting even with Cindy! But we're

all even now, in a way! Not me and Cindy fuck for fuck, there she

still owes me, lots of them! Why does she act as if I owe her?

"I'd wondered why she wanted to be seated at that center table

at Andre's," Cindy continued, now thinking aloud to herself. "In

full view of everybody,. Bill saw Stacy perched there center stage

the moment we came in, of course, and asked me who you were. I

recognized my black silk right away, sitting there with you inside

it. Then we both saw you making out with that man in full view of

everybody. Have you slept with him yet? No opportunity yet I

suppose."

She paused for a moment and glanced at me with a gleam in her

eye, amused, as if she'd just thought of something else to say but

then thought better of it. "I don't know why she didn't just take

out an ad," she said partly to herself. "When we pulled into the

driveway last night her shrieking could be heard half way down the

block. She was obviously taking no chances we'd miss out on

knowing what you two were doing."

Then Cindy looked up at me directly. "You're here, so you're

eager to please me. I'm afraid you get no breakfast -- you slept

through it. Now go back upstairs and shower. Your pretty ass is

mine, now. Light make-up for today, and you'll have to do

something with your hair until we can get you a perm. The bra and

panties are yours from now on -- you can wear them one more day,

but rinse them out tonight, and maybe tomorrow we'll buy you more.

I left out a blouse and skirt for you on our bed -- Bill's bed and

mine -- and you can wear my sneakers today until you're properly

outfitted, with sensible shoes for what you'll be doing. Then when

you're dressed and tidy, unpack my bags and put the dirty clothes

in the laundry. Put my panties in to soak."

She smiled to herself, still eying me steadily. "You once

asked about those dried stains on my panties, and I was a little

vague, it's a female thing, I said? I suppose it was. Cum leaking

out of me, mostly. You see dear, I've never thought you were much

of a man. Almost since we were first married I've been getting

myself laid when I could, between classes, in the supply room at

the office, wherever I could. Then after I first saw Bill's cock

last New Year's, it was wherever and whenever the two of us could

arrange to meet, daily when we were both in town. Several times

daily. Usually with no chance for me to clean up afterward. So

I'd never let you lick me down there when we made love. Even you

might have caught on. But now there's no reason why I shouldn't

use you the way Stacy did. To judge by what I saw last night,

you're starved to suck cum from pussies anyhow. So that'll be one

of your duties from now on, and you won't need to put my panties in

to soak any more."

All this time I just stood there in her lacy slip and pale

blue underwear and listened, a little awkwardly, feeling like a

fool. I was a fool. But I had to ask.

"Cindy, I can't see why you're angry with me. You tell me

you've been sleeping around. I've been faithful to you, except for

yesterday, and the day before too I guess. So how can you feel

I've cheated on you?

"You didn't know I was sleeping around," she said, a little

bored that it needed explaining. "So you had no excuse. You did

it all by yourself. With Stacy's help, of course. But you're

thinking about this the wrong way. This isn't a matter of moral or

legal equity. Of fair treatment for both parties, what you would

call getting even and then calling it quits. No, not at all."

She set down her coffee cup and placed both palms flat on the

table, and looked up at me with her back arched into a taut bow.

This was her lecture and instruction mode. "It's a matter of what

I want and what I can get. Now I've got you by the balls, and

you've got nothing at all. I have witnesses at Andre's, and up and

down the block, including Stacy if I need to depose her, and I have

videotape of your statement last night, and I have your ridiculous

appearance, and now there's also the fact that you lack the guts to

walk away and wait for me to crush you, as I would. I learned in

law school, when someone's balls drop into your hand, squeeze."

She paused. "Or better, yet, cut them off."

I was now very uneasy, but I kept going. "I see now why Stacy

got me up to look like this," I said. "To show she could, to use

me to mock you. But why do you want me to stay dressed like this?

To show Stacy that you don't mind, she did you a favor emasculating

me? To punish and humiliate me? To keep me in a kind of

subservience?"

"My, my! Questions! Those are the last you'll ever ask me,

Sissy! From now on, as I told you, you'll do whatever I ask

gladly, with your whole soul and no questions at all. But I'll

answer these, because you already know the answers. 'Yes' so Stacy

understands she's done me a favor, putting you into my bra and

panties. 'Yes' to punish and humiliate you for betraying your vow

to me to be true and faithful. People don't break their promises

to me. 'Yes' to keep you subservient in a way. Not because to be

a woman is to be subservient. But because that's what you'll be.

Your old life is over! In my eyes you're no longer a man, so we'll

see if as a woman you can be sufficiently servile."

"There's a fourth reason too. Bill and I discussed it last

night after we got back from Andre's, while we were finishing our

first round of drinks and waiting for Stacy to finish her

screaming. We hadn't figured on Stacy putting you into a dress.

Who'd have thought her that ingenious? You're quite presentable,

you know. Bill even thinks you're kind of cute. So there's

something else I'll expect you to do. You'll find out tonight."

"You can walk out any time, dear. Then your... er...

inclinations will become part of the public record, and I'll see to

it every man in town thinks you've been a whore for some time now.

With alimony payments, you'll spend the rest of your life deprived

of necessities in order to pay for my luxuries. Or if you actually

do decide to become a whore, I'd take no more than a pimp would

from your earnings, though no less. You could get your tits blown

up, and have a few good years. But that's up to you."

She lost interest in me. Her eyes glazed over, and she picked

up her coffee cup again and returned to her newspaper. "I think

you have work to do around the house, and I have to get to the

office now," she said. "Light make-up, remember. I don't want a

slut keeping house for me." I felt dismissed. I turned to leave,

and she didn't notice.

iii.

By that afternoon I'd waxed and polished and dusted and washed

everything I could think of, and then after a moment's thought set

the dining room table for dinner for only two, and a place for

myself in the kitchen. Do it Cindy's way. I then went next door

to talk to Stacy, to find out what she understood, to look for some

less ruinous way out of this predicament. Or at least to get some

advance word what Cindy and Bill might be thinking of for me.

Maybe work out an alliance -- we both had long-term unfaithful

spouses, after all. I was wearing the blouse and skirt Cindy'd

laid out of course, and light make-up -- I wouldn't dare not. I

found Stacy in her studio, painting yet another portrait of herself

nude.

"Oh, hi," she said, preoccupied. She only half-listened as I

told her how Cindy and her husband had reacted to this brief thing

of ours. "Stacy," I said. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over

me!"

"Lust, Sissy dear," Stacy replied. "Sincere lust. That was

the most sincere tongue I've ever felt moving inside me." She

studied her canvas. "And it was fun! Do you like this? It's for

you, you know. Cindy wants to hang it in the guest room, the

servant's room from now on, yours, so you'll be reminded why you're

there. And, I imagine, so you can have something to look at when

you need to masturbate. Otherwise she means to keep you celibate.

It's nice to think I'll still be helping you get off!"

She blended brush strokes on her portrait's hairy twat, and

continued. "She commissioned it from me this morning. Do you like

these highlighted skin tones on my labia, their puffy appearance?

I was thinking about the way your lips looked after an hour of

kissing mine. Puffy, the same way. And I'm rather pleased with

the shiny trickle here from my pussy down my thigh. I'm trying to

paint myself the way I felt when we ended our affair last night,

well-fucked."

"Stacy, I'm well-fucked right now!"

"Yes," she said, mixing up a swirl of pink pigment, "I suppose

you are."

"You made a sucker out of me!"

She paused and glanced at me for a moment, and then a smile

lit up her whole face. "Yes, I surely did!" she said. "You were

just wonderful! You have a great talent! Rest assured, it will

not go to waste!" She then resumed stroking curves onto her

likeness on the canvas.

I tried a different tack altogether. "Stacy, what does she

have in mind for me?"

Now she stopped and studied me closely for a moment.

"You do know why Bill decided to live in your house for now,

don't you, and to leave me to this one if I want it?

"No. But I can guess."

"No, you can't guess. It isn't just to sleep all night with

your wife, though he will I suppose. Nor to leave me, his

unfaithful wife, to my lonely fate. Cindy thinks that's why. But

she's no big deal to sleep with, as you should know. And he'll be

fucking me anyhow, as usual."

"Then why?"

She returned to her painting, lifting and lowering her right

arm in sinuous sweeping motions, her right breast rising and

falling each time. It was a very delicate effect. Her arm and her

breast in motion I mean, not what she was painting. She glanced at

me again. "If you're going to get hard-ons watching me while

wearing a skirt," she said. "You'd better gaff yourself. Try

gaffing tape. It hurts but it works. Sanitary napkins in your

panties are good too for covering the genital mounds of ladies who

sport cocks and balls where they should have smooth pussies." She

looked at my erection again. "You've got to soften up and stow it,

lover, or else whack off!"

I figured our conference had ended. I started back toward the

door.

"See you tonight!" she said without turning her head.

"What?!"

"Oh, of course you don't know. I'm in this too!"

"In what?"

"See you!" she said. She began tipping her portrait's nipples

with rosy highlights. Now they looked good enough to eat.

Bill came home first and hung his suit jacket in our front

hall closet, then settled into the living room with the evening

paper. I figured, cover all bets. So I came in carrying a scotch

on the rocks for him. He glanced at me at first as if I were

furniture. Then he saw the scotch.

"Well, that's promising," he said. "Without my even asking.

You want me to put in a good word for you with your wife, don't

you, for whatever you think she has in mind. Well, I will. Don't

worry. What she has in mind, between us, incidentally, is dressing

you to look like a woman until you get to believe that's what you

are. Among other things. Nice hairdo, uh, Sissy is it? But you

could do with some jewelry. Oh, I'd like a splash of club soda

with this too, please, and a little more ice."

He handed it back to me, and I got him what he wanted.

Cindy came home soon after, carrying a package she'd picked up on

the way home. A serviceable gray cotton work dress, calf-length,

a frilly white apron, black pantyhose, black low-heeled pumps, and

a white starched fringe of lace that was supposed to sit in my

hair.

"Here, dear," she said, looking quickly around. "The house

looks lovely. Now put these on, and when it's ready serve us

dinner. And remember, whenever you're wearing this uniform, you

address me as 'Ma'am' at all times. I'll call you by your given

name, which is 'Sissy' and nothing else. Forget your past name and

your past life. And for goodness sake, Sissy, it's getting to be

dark outside! After five in the afternoon wear more eye makeup,

and a darker lipstick! Where's your self-respect?" She then went

in to chat with Bill in a low voice.

I went to my room to change, and then served them both dinner.

It was irritating, seeing Bill lean back in my chair making

familiar conversation with my wife while I stood back, occasionally

refilling a wine glass or handing one of them a plate. He tried to

look up my dress once, amused, I think to tease me. But he was

always courteous when he asked for anything. Cindy was blunt and

sometimes insulting. I resented it. Other men's cum had been

dripping into her panties for years, and I'd been soaking and

rinsing it out for her, and she begrudged me my one lapse! But she

was right. Justice had nothing to do with it.

I was loading the dishwasher when Stacy arrived, and they

talked among themselves for a while before they called me in. Bill

and Cindy were sitting close together on the couch, being quite

affectionate. Bill had his arm around her waist, and Cindy's hand

was placed possessively on that monumental bulge in his pants.

Stacy was sitting cross-legged in the big easy chair opposite, and

when she saw me looking at her she grinned and gave me two quick

pussy-kisses with her lips. For a woman who was looking at another

woman holding her husband's cock, she seemed remarkably at ease.

Everyone did, in fact, but me. They didn't invite me to sit down,

so I just stood there. "Ma'am," I said.

"First of all, dear," Cindy said. "I want you to know that we

all appreciate the remarkable adjustment you've made to your new

status, in only a single day. You were never the Lord and Master

of this house, but now you are certainly the servant, and we do

appreciate that you're trying to please us. It shows what you can

really accomplish when you try." She paused.

She's right, I suppose, I was thinking. I just fixed and

served dinner to a man whose cock is still wet from sliding around

inside my wife. But why can't she get to the point?

"The point of all this," Cindy continued, "is that there is

only one real man in this room at this moment. Stacy and I are

agreed on that. You'll do, but next to Bill's your cock is bush

league, and your stamina is only average. Stacy and I both have

needs we want to have satisfied. Bill has agreed to satisfy those

needs, and we've agreed to share Bill with each other. It makes

sense. That's where we are now. Bill will fuck either of us

whenever he feels like it, or whenever either one of us feels like

it."

"Where is there room for you in this? Well, first of all,

we'll keep you on as a domestic servant, as our maid. You've done

all the housework for me all along, so there isn't much new there.

But it will now be as a maid, not a man, and now it'll be as a

servant to Bill too, and also Stacy, so we need to formalize the

relationship."

"You are not to think of yourself as our social equal. You

may eventually want to develop friendships with other domestics,

cooks, gardeners, people in service. We have no objection. Even

to an intimate relationship with some male friend after a decent

interval, since you'll never get pregnant by him. But I insist on

that social restriction among your friends from now on, so you'll

remain accustomed to your altered circumstances."

"And of course you'll continue to live as a woman, so nothing

reminds you of your former life and former privileges as my

husband. I'll want that commitment to be irreversible. I've

thought about having your balls cut off in token of your good

faith, as I mentioned to you this morning. But that does seem

extreme right now. So your word will serve, and Stacy's suggested

certain medications."

You can write your novel in your time off, if you wish, and

you can even teach your usual evening courses in the Community

College, after an appropriate change of gender registered in your

credentials. Nothing much needs to change for you. Stacy suggests

you'll be a better novelist as a woman, because now you'll

understand women, especially those who feel betrayed. Before this

you didn't know diddly."

"Oh, yes, another thing. As I've mentioned, Stacy's strategy

did work. When I saw my pretty husband dining in public all femmed

up in flounces, and kissing that man so shamelessly, he disappeared

as a man with a penis. On the other hand, Stacy testifies that you

do have certain gifts women can appreciate. I've denied myself

their use out of a mistaken concern for your pride, but no more,

and I must say, you've certainly impressed Stacy. She thinks

you're a rare genius at cunt sucking, and that you'll make a

perfect hygienic specialist for both of us. I've already told you

I'll expect to see your curly hairdo between my legs whenever it's

necessary, at least every morning before I go to work, and Stacy

expects the same service. I think you can feel proud, that

whenever Bill fucks us, we'll want you to clean his cum out of us.

Stacy also agrees with me that your little prick has seen its last

partner, I'm afraid, apart from your own hand."

"Now there's one more matter. As you know, I'm not very oral,

and neither is Stacy. We don't enjoy sucking cocks. Call us

silly, but that's how we are. On the other hand, since you'll be

cleaning us out after our sessions with our man, it's only

reasonable that you'll lick him off too, fairly frequently. It

also happens that Bill gets hard often, and likes to relax with

that thing of his out of his pants, kept wet, cooled down. So

he'll expect that service from your mouth too, I suppose at any

time at all. We may get you a beeper, so he can call you from his

office. Then, when neither of our cunts is available to him, he'll

be expecting your mouth to serve him adequately. He was going to

ask you for a blow job this afternoon when he came home, he told

me, but decided to wait until I could tell you in my own way. So

I'm telling you now. Sissy, until further notice, you're my

lover's designated cock sucker. Any time he asks for it."

"That's all I have to say. Now, my dear, you're very clever.

We all know that. Can you think of an appropriate way to show us

right now that you agree to provide for Bill's pleasure, and to

show how much you appreciate the privilege?"

She was still sitting alongside Bill, her hand now rubbing his

bulge in slow circles. The cock beneath was tenting and straining

against his pants. They both looked at me expectantly. Bill broke

out with a reassuring grin, and Cindy with an inviting smile, but

I sensed that just underneath her smile was severity, quick to lash

out if I delayed.

All right, I said to myself. Her boy friend wants a steady

supply of blow jobs. Cindy was probably right. If I'm sucking his

cum out of them, why not suck it out of him too? Does it make that

much difference? Do I have a choice? I thought for a moment about

that huge cock head, big as an ice cream cone. As I fell to my

knees between his knees and reached to unzip his fly, I decided

that licking was the best I could do with something that size. It

would never all fit in my mouth.

I proved to be wrong, and a half-hour later Cindy and Stacy

had been squealing in delight almost non-stop while watching my

head at work in Bill's lap. When we finished they spontaneously

applauded. I managed to get Bill so hot that he himself screamed,

half crazed, as he squirted and spurted and gushed into my mouth.

He was still gasping for breath when I stood up and nodded my

appreciation for the applause, still swallowing as rapidly as I

could. Some of the slippery stuff had escaped down the corners of

my mouth, and I couldn't lick it while my mouth was full. Then I

moved back to my proper place in the room. "Ma'am?" I said, when

I'd arrived there, still working some out from under my tongue.

"That's was wonderful, dear," Cindy said. "Just wonderful!

Breathtaking! That's all now. I'll be out of town tomorrow and

the next day, so you'll do errands with Stacy, go shopping for

clothes, set up beauty parlor appointments, see the doctor, and so

forth. She'll keep you busy. About what time should he meet you,

Stacy?"

"I think come by around ten," Stacy said. "That was soooo

scrumptious, lover, what you just did to Bill. You'd have made a

fabulous woman, I just knew it! Such delicate finesse and yet

such powerful self-assurance! You made me so wet just watching!

I'm going to especially enjoy sitting on Bill's cock tonight, I

just know it! And your mouth tomorrow, sweetheart! Maybe come by

around 9:30 instead?"

I went back to the kitchen, and as I finished cleaning up I

could hear shrieks of laughter and giggles from the living room,

and hilarious cries of "Did you see what he...?" and "That sweet

little ..." and "Can you imagine...?" Were they mocking me?

There was nothing I could do about it, so I went to bed.

iv.

When I got to Stacy's the next morning I called her name from

the kitchen, and she called back "Up here, lover! The bedroom!"

Her stunning body was wrapped in a filmy negligee that seemed to

float her off the floor, and immediately my cock rose up in my

skirt, pushing the front pleats way out and awry.

She noticed, of course. "I'm not doing anything with that

part of you any more, sweetheart. Against the rules. We're

teaching you how to be a lady, and ladies don't ever get their

erections satisfied. If I want a man in me other than Bill, it'll

be someone other than you. I know where to find one. Cindy does

too, which is just as well, because sooner or later'll she'll need

one too. You're spoken for now, as Cindy's domestic convenience

and as a mouth for the three of us. Things are right on schedule.

In fact I'm betting that after watching armies of women parade

through Bill's bedroom, I'm finally seeing my marriage enter steady

state."

She looked me over, lifted my skirt, and shook her head. But

not because of my hard cock. "Mmmmm!," She said. "I just love

looking at a man wearing women's undergarments! I see Cindy gave

you panty hose to wear with that outfit. She's such a sweety!

There's no way she's wearing them these days. No prick can push

into the promised land through panty hose, not without tearing

them, and that gets pretty expensive. The way Bill is, I'd ruin

a few pairs every day, and Cindy too. But stockings don't get in

anyone's way. We'll have to buy you stockings and a garter belt or

two."

I was addled. "Stacy, what are you talking about? Nobody'll

push into my promised land! I don't have one!"

"Really?" Stacy was genuinely amused. "Really? Not one, and

I've got two? You've already forgotten how not two days ago I was

milking your cock with my ass like some teenage girl doing a hand

job on her favorite boy friend? Only two days, and you've already

forgotten how you fell head over heels in love with my ass, and

into it too? It was so delicious! Well, I mean to return the

favor! I want you to be happy!"

"But first some unfinished business. Where were we when Cindy

interrupted us the other night? Oh, yes, I was off the edge of the

bed like this, and I'd already spread my legs real wide like this,

and then I'd put them on your shoulders, that's right, just like

that, and then I'd begun to squeeze my cunt into your mouth so you

couldn't say anything when Cindy showed up, and ooooooohhhhh!

Lover! Yesssss! Just like that!"

A half hour later we'd finished as if Cindy had never arrived

and interrupted us and put me into this terrible predicament.

Stacy moaned through most of it, with only a little full-pitched

shrieking. I supposed that earlier she'd been trying to attract

attention at the top of her lungs, for whenever Cindy happened to

come within hearing. But she did seem completely satisfied. I was

lying back on the bed with my eyes shut, savoring her flavor and

the serene expression I'd finally seen on her face, and resting my

strained neck muscles, when I next heard her voice suddenly from

next to the bed, "Here we go, Sissy. More happiness."

I opened my eyes and couldn't believe what I saw. Stacy was

standing next to me, but her beautifully trimmed bush was nowhere

in sight. Instead, not six inches from my face was a huge pink

dong, veined, crowned with a royal purple cock head. She was

wearing what seemed to be a nearly invisible pink rubber panty

girdle, and angled up from her crotch and fused to it seamlessly

poked an enormous dildo.

"This is the kind I love," she said. "Not those contraptions

with straps. This one is simple. One size fits all. Well, maybe

not all but we'll see. Your turn to put your legs on my shoulders,

lover."

I turned pale. "Stacy, I've never....I don't think....Stacy,

it's so big!"

She kissed my cheek. "What a sweet compliment! That's

exactly what I told my first boy, in exactly those words. I

remember how I felt when I first saw that tree trunk of his, and I

knew he meant to put all of it high up between my legs. You know

what he answered? 'Sweetheart, you'll know it's there, but you'll

know you love it.' And didn't I? Don't I?"

So I closed my eyes and pulled my legs up as high up as they'd

go, and when I felt her shoulders pressing gently underneath my

thighs, I relaxed onto her. I felt so helpless! That...thing

pressed on my anus, and I could feel something slick and slippery

sliding onto me, her finger.

"Just relax that sweet pussy," she told me. "This is what

it's all for."

Her finger rotated in my hole a few times, then departed. A

moment later it was as if some huge locomotive had driven in

instead. I felt stretched out, in a terrible agony, and I almost

shrieked like Stacy. Then a moment later I realized that the pain

had eased.

"Oh, Stacy, thank God you pulled that thing back out. It was

unbearable!"

"No lover. Wiggle your pretty hips, and push your ass into

me, and you'll feel it. I'm all the way inside!"

I did. She was.

She them began slow stroking, and at first my ass felt crammed

and raw as she moved her member in and out. "Try to love me with

your cunt, sweetheart," she said. "Try to grip it and milk it

while it slides into you, and don't let me slide out if you can

help it." I did as she told me, but whatever I did, her stroking

grew more and more strenuous, and I began to feel a familiar

yearning for release in my prick, and I thrust against her with

greater force, until finally I could feel my ass-cheeks broad

siding against her thighs as she pumped me with the

marvelous...thing she carried on her crotch, and we banged into

each other, and she banged me until I came and came, my cum a

glorious fulfillment. Then I just lay there with my legs on her

shoulders, while she slouched down on my body, spent. I think

inside those rubber pants, the thing she'd thrust into me was

attached to something thrust into her. She'd come too. It was

sort of like a marriage.

"Are you happy now?" she asked me when we'd devoted a few

minutes to breathing deeply while pressed closely to each other.

"Oh, yes, Stacy! Yes!" I said. There was nothing else I

could say.

"Good!" was all she replied. Then she said, "We won't buy you

any more pantyhose at all, ever, unless you decide to enter a

nunnery."

As I washed and made my face up, and Stacy was dressing, I

asked her what she meant that some day Cindy might have to find

another man to satisfy herself.

"Did I say that? Well, I guess I did. Long range planning,

lover, prepare for the inevitable. No one lasts with Bill forever.

I last. I'm married to him, and know him well, and provide for his

needs. Cindy obviously isn't thinking ahead. If she should want

to return to you after she and Bill have worn each other out, there

isn't going to be any you left by then. None she'd care about. So

she'll need to go looking."

It struck me that Stacy was remarkably free of animosity

against her rivals. I said so.

"Oh, no! I've always shared Bill. He's impossibly horny, all

the time. A girl needs to get away from him now and then to

recover, and to do other things. I need time off from him now and

then. Like now, lover girl. So I'm glad there's always a spare

cunt nearby."

"Then you didn't resent Cindy? What you did to me wasn't to

get even with her?"

"Resent Cindy? Good heavens, no! I introduced them to each

other myself, at my last New Year's Eve Party, and practically

sprinkled rose petals on the bed before he nailed her there. I had

a feeling they'd hit it off. Six months now she's been waving at

everybody from the top of his flagpole. Not to you, you never see

anything under your nose, if it isn't a pussy."

She paused, then came over and kissed me on the lips, quite

seriously, and then went back to fixing her eyes at her dressing

table. My eyes suddenly got wet. I hadn't expected that. "With a

pussy you are a very great artist," she said quietly. "I mean every

word of that. You sculpt a girl's sensations with your mouth the

way Michelangelo sculpted marble. It's genius! But if Cindy

thinks I was resentful and vindictive that she's been fucking my

husband, it's only because that's how she is. Just naturally mean

and vindictive."

I was appalled. "You mean everything I'm trying to get used

to now, this feminizing of me, this setting me up in a menage in

what used to be my own house, this turning me into a domestic

servant and cum-sucker for my wife, and her lover, and his wife,

it's all because all you wanted was a casual fuck a couple of days

ago, and then to play dress-up games with me on a whim?"

Stacy was pulling up her stockings, and fastening them onto

her garter belt. "No, not a whim at all." she said inattentively.

"There are always reasons for things. If you hadn't shown me

almost the moment we tumbled into bed that you have that great

mouth, that superb technique, I wouldn't have gone further and

dolled you up in a dress and make-up to see how you'd look. But

you did, so I did. You'll be happy I did. You have enormous

talent when you're on your knees between a pair of legs, but it

takes planning and discipline for an artist to achieve greatness.

We're going to work on it. Practice, practice, practice!"

She'd whipped lipstick onto her face and checked the effect.

Gorgeous, as always. Then she glanced at me, made a face, and

said, "Well, you'll do for now. First stop now the doctor. Then

your appointment for your perm and makeover and ear piercing.

Tomorrow we'll shop some of the better stores for your dresses and

underwear and things. You need everything, for all the years ahead

of you. We'll do your nails and wax and oil your body tomorrow

too. Oh, here, a sanitary napkin to put over that dingus of yours

for now, to flatten it out. And here're a few tampons for your

purse. You'll need them later and we won't be coming back here."

I was getting desperate! "Stacy, I don't understand! I

agreed to lick cunts, and I have to suck Bill's cock I guess, and

I'll take care of the house. I'll wear that stupid maid's uniform.

If I don't, Cindy will crucify me in the divorce courts! If I do,

I don't get my life confiscated, and I can wait her out. That's

all!"

She straightened her dress, twisted her hips left and right in

the full-length mirror, approved, and headed out the bedroom door.

Without bothering to look at me, she said, "Yes, you believe that.

And Cindy even believes some of it. But Sissy girl, you really

don't have a clue, do you? Get in the car, lover, and I'll clue

you in. By the numbers."

Once backed out of her garage and headed down the street, she

glanced at me sideways and almost laughed. I was by now frantic!

She prolonged my agony just a bit longer. "We have to buy you a

bigger purse," she said. "You've got no place to put anything. No

wonder you're coming apart."

"STACY!!"

Finally she smiled. "All right, sweetheart. By the numbers.

One. There's a threat hanging over you of a divorce action brought

by a vindictive wife for alienated affection or something because

you fucked your neighbor's wife. Me. OK so far?"

"Yes! That's what I just said!"

"Don't interrupt!" Stacy turned a corner and headed onto the

Freeway. "Two. Let's look at this so-called divorce. How long

before justice delayed is justice denied? Or vindictiveness

delayed is vindictiveness that begins to look silly? Three months?

Six months? How long does Cindy continue to live with you in your

new domesticated state before getting thrown out of any courtroom

for pleading adultery way back there then whenever? What can she

say? 'Judge, six months ago my husband fucked my neighbor, because

her husband had moved in on me and had been fucking me for the past

year, but who knew, and my husband has been waiting on me and the

other husband night and day for six months now, and for sex he's

been staring at the ceiling and dicking his hand, and I want

compensatory damages! O yes, alimony too because I'm a lawyer and

earn six times what he earns, and he's a professor with an

unpublished unwritten novel, though his real talent is giving

incredible head to me and to my boyfriend's wife. Also to my

boyfriend, but we'll leave out how come, judge, because then words

like extortion and blackmail and rape come into play.'"

Now we were caught between two slow cars, and Stacy gave the

traffic her complete attention. Then onto an off-ramp, and she

resumed. "How long before a plea like that puts her in the funny

papers? Don't get me wrong. The threat's real enough right now.

Your ass is hers, and I'm using that fact for my own purposes. And

yours too, long range, Sissy girl. But soon it'll be ludicrous."

"And Cindy knows that. She's a lawyer! The parties to a real

divorce action are always cautioned to stay far away from each

other, to try if at all possible to avoid sucking each other's

cunts and dicks. So we arrive at point number Three. Oops, also

at the Doctor's office. We'll resume with "Three" when we're back

in the car. And then "Four," and that should explain it all.

We pulled into the parking lot of a professional building, and

Stacy got out of the car. "C'mon!" she said.

I got out more slowly. "What's this for, Stacy? A checkup?

I'm OK. Physically, I mean. You know that too. But Stacy, I'm a

little embarrassed. I'm dressed like a girl, and I'm wearing

lipstick and so on, and the Doctor, he's going to see that I'm a

man."

"Yes, she is, Sissy my love. But she already knows that. She

knows lots of things about you. Cindy's been on the phone with her

for hours. Some of the things Cindy's told her about you are even

true. Don't worry about it. You don't really have a choice right

now. And it's really for the best. Here we are."

Stacy said something to the Doctor's receptionist, who waved

us into an examination room, and the Doctor appeared a minute

later. A small, elderly woman with white hair and a wrinkled face,

wearing a hearing aid.

"This is the transgenderist? Her wife spoke to me?"

"Yes," Stacy shouted into her ear.

She turned to me. "And you are the man with a woman inside

trying to get out, who needs to become that woman or your wife will

divorce him because when he was a woman she slept with ..." she

checked her notes "...another woman, so the man now needs to hide

from his wife inside the woman inside him. You now want to be a

woman with a man inside trying to get out, or your wife does. Is

that true."

It sounded familiar. But I couldn't be sure. I nodded

slowly.

"Then we'll begin. These injections will change your body to

match who you are. You will gradually become what you have been,

irreversibly, irrespective of what you thought you were. You may

think you are what you've thought you were, but your gender will

change nevertheless. To say more than this might be confusing.

I have your wife's informed consent to this process, to wit." The

Doctor held up a paper with Cindy's signature. "She tells me she

has yours to this too. To wit." She held up another paper.

"To what?" I asked her, puzzled.

"Very well then," she replied.

A half hour later I was heavy with injections. Four in each

buttock, and three in each arm. Time release needles in the fat of

my belly and under my arms. We got back into the car. Stacy was

delighted, practically glowing, as if I'd been kissing her bottom

the whole time.

"Stacy, are these really necessary?" I asked.

She shot me a quick look as we started out again. "Are they?

Cindy wants you female and docile. Can you refuse? Do you have

a choice? If its any consolation, I want you female too. And now

you will be, irreversibly, irrespective of what you want, and

irregardless of what anyone else wants. To wit. So now you've got

no choice. Relax and enjoy becoming what we want you to be."

"All right. I've got no choice. But what will I become?"

"A woman. Those injections are heavy-duty, broad spectrum

female hormones, lover, and you are now crocked to the gills with

them. Lots. A full six month supply, slow release, time release

-- you're a walking drug store. In six months you'll be a woman,

a pretty one I should think, except for the chromosomes and the

reproductive apparatus. You'll have breasts, and wide hips, and a

round ass, and a smooth skin, and soft facial features, and a clit

a little more modest that the one you're sporting right now, and an

inclination to fix your hair often, and maybe even a desire to suck

cock. The woman inside you is definitely coming out. And she'll

be a nice person, really sweet, because there are also some long

range tranquilizers in you, too."

"My God, Stacy, why?"

"Ooooh!" Stacy looked intently at a car coming toward us, and

followed it as it whisked past. "Did you see the hairdo on that

woman in the van? A precious poodle cut! And so practical! You

might want something like that, that can't muss, and that springs

right back into shape. Just comb it with your fingers, or with any

girl's pussy, and it's beautiful again."

"Stacy, why?"

By the numbers? "'Three' is why Cindy wants you feminized.

Cindy figures that by the time her divorce threat has no teeth, you

won't remember you ever were a husband anyhow. She figures that

with enough female hormones you will no be longer interested in sex

with other women, because you'll have become a woman. Your penis

will have forgotten what it was for. The ultimate punishment for

an erring husband. You'll be a compliant servant. You'll wait on

her hand and foot. She thinks all those hormones will recondition

you to cry if she finds fault with your cooking, and to be

overjoyed if she lets you lick dick on whoever she's fucking."

"Will it!?"

"I've got female hormones, lots of them. Have I lost my

interest in sex? Cindy's got hormones too. Is she interested in

sex? Well, in her case big-dick sex, not with you obviously. But

I think that's because she resents it that she never grew her own.

And is she sweetly submissive and eager to please others? I rest

my case."

We parked alongside the largest quality women's store in town,

and walked alongside the lingerie section to the purple and

perfumed area in back, where their select beauty salon was located.

"

"Now, Sissy, stop peeking at those pretty things. They're all

lovely, aren't they? Ever since you hit puberty and noticed that

girls are different you've been a little jealous of us, haven't

you? Our faces and hair and bodies are desirable. The delicate

lacy nothings that cover our sweet ass cheeks and moist pussies are

desirable. The dainty, flimsy, sheer fantasies that lift our

heavy-hanging breasts and point our nipples toward your mouth are

desirable. Our grace when we move is desirable, and when we look

at you with dark eyes and talk, heavenly choruses sing."

"You've been one quivering, masturbating, fetish-driven wreck

in the presence of girls, ever since teenage, daydreaming without

end of some moment when you can become one with these adorable

creatures. Blend into one of us. I could tell the moment your

nose touched my clit, so reverently, worshipping, and I knew it

beyond any doubt when you tried to climb into my pussy head first."

"Well lover, it's done. You are such a lucky girl! Each

hour, more and more hormones are seeping into your body and mind,

and you are becoming more and more desirable. You're already one

of us. An adorable creature who always surrounded by nylon and

lace and silk and wisps of satiny cloth around her growing breasts

and curving figure, perfumed and sparkly and red-lipped. Tomorrow,

any lingerie you see here will be yours to touch, and own, and

wear, and become you. Anything feminine in the whole store. Today

your face and your hair will become feminine, and you'll look

feminine for the rest of your life. Isn't that the most desirable

thing in the world?"

"Yes," I said. Everything she'd said, repeating it so sweetly

in her fluted voice, lulled me with the memory of our own pleasures

together, how desirable it was to be close, to share, to be what

she was. She seemed to speak for my most ardent unspoken wish.

Two lovely young women in pastel pink and green uniforms waited for

us by the desk at the entrance to the beauty salon. They smiled.

I was bathed in perfume and light. "This must be Sissy," one of

them said. "Sissy dear, are you ready to become a beautiful girl,

and to be beautiful for the rest of your life?"

Maybe it was the hormones. Maybe those tranquilizers. Maybe

because everything Stacy had said now resonated as my heart's

truth, and because I couldn't help it now anyhow.

"Yes," I said.

V.

The drive back home was a little different. I was zoned out,

a sweet smile never left my face Stacy told me later, and my eyes

held in their glow a peaceful, contemplative inwardness, as if I

were a woman who's just been told she's going to have a baby, that

her femininity, her desire to love, be loved, and be lovely has

been fulfilled. My hair was strawberry blonde and frost-tipped,

curled, piled in lush, high, pretty curves, with loose braids woven

in until my own longer tresses could grow out. I was touching and

pushing it to peaked perfection with my fingertips even before we

left the salon. Stacy told me that was the most naturally feminine

gesture a girl could make, that it lifts the breast and defines

grace itself as a beautiful upward motion of a girl's arm. She was

always trying to paint it. I remembered her lifting her arm to

paint her own portrait.

My lips were now permanently stained berry red, after a

beautician told me I'd never again need to re-apply lipstick after

heavy smooching of a woman's pussy or a man's cock, and then the

other beautician had spoken with such feeling about the look of a

woman's red lips sliding down a long, ivory tube of a penis. I

wanted to see for myself. Stacy told me that Bill was home waiting

for us that very moment, eager to greet me with a kiss. My brows

had already been shaped, but now electrolysis of the follicles

would preserve their high arch permanently. My lashes were dyed,

and a beauty consultant had shown me how to apply shades of eye

shadow to preserve the look of a wide-eyed, innocent but passionate

girl. As a few nights earlier, a heavy foundation creme gave my

cheeks and jaw a matte, fragile appearance. Each ear lobe was

diamond-studded.

"You're just gorgeous, Sissy!" Stacy exclaimed when she saw me

after three hours of effort had reshaped and recolored me. "You're

going to be so very, very happy!" I was looking deep into a salon

mirror as she said it, feeling a rich, flooding joy as I saw

myself. I was desirable. I loved me. To complete my enchantment,

Stacy bought me a deep turquoise matching bra and panty set, the

panty with slit crotch and matching garter belt, stockings, a

loose-draped white Satin blouse, and a tight bright red mini skirt.

I put them on at once, and I felt so sedate yet sexy! I was

lovely! In some vague way, I felt loved! It was just wonderful!"

As we drove home, Stacy was reluctant to disturb my delicious

serenity. "Darling," she said. "It isn't all the tranquilizers

talking. You know now why you want to be a girl, even though you

didn't know that's what you wanted. I wanted that for you too.

But there's more. Let me tell you now why I invited you to dinner

a few days ago, and seduced you, and feminized you, and convinced

Cindy to approve your being here now in this euphoric state she'd

never have approved had she known. My reasons, by the numbers, are

what make up number four. In this case, the last and determining

reasons."

"Woman to woman, I can now tell you what has always been my

woman's instinct about your marriage. Bill and Cindy are winding

down. I'm sure he'll be out of her trenches by Christmas. He's

restless already -- I've seen it many times before. He meets many

out-of-town women in the course of his business -- buyers,

customers, salespeople -- and many are attractive. Many are

attracted to him. The first time they dance with him, and they can

feel his dong on their bellies, they're done for. And once they're

in bed together, Bill always behaves like a gentleman, and attends

them in their bed, never his. And if their bed is out of town,

then for months, until his passion ebbs, Bill will be out of town.

Then I'll miss him terribly sometimes, because then I can't fuck

with him for weeks at a time."

"I've been looking for someone local to groom to replace

Cindy, so he won't be tempted out of town. There are no suitable

women. But my instinct kept returning me to the notion that you

could be suitable. You're small for a man, Cindy's size. You move

with an easy grace many women don't have. For some reason, the way

your head moves, and your lips when you're eating a hot dog or a

banana, or a certain concentrated devotion in your eyes when you

look at women and women's things without even thinking, I thought

it might be you give good head. Imagine my surprise when Bill told

me Cindy doesn't, none at all! So I thought you might. You might

do. To supplement Cindy. To replace Cindy. To help me pass the

time when Bill's otherwise occupied. And then I got into bed with

you, and you got into my cunt with me, and my God! What can't you

make a woman feel?"

We passed by the turnoff to the Doctor's office, and I looked

at the building as we went past. My birthplace, I thought fondly.

Where I've been born again! It wasn't all the tranquilizers, I

knew, as Stacy had already told me. My mood was also the joy of

release from a prison. Cindy had wanted to put me into gray and

black skirts and dresses for the rest of my life. Stacy was buying

me beautiful colors to wear, and the freedom to wear them however

I wished. I loved Stacy.

"Understand me, Sissy darling. Bill is a straightforward

heterosexual male who happens to have a prick like a May Pole. He

is not gay. He loves feeling a woman's mouth on his prick, and

yours is the first genetic male's ever to wrap around it. His

current women don't like giving head. Would Bill accept your mouth

on his prick? Only if you're a woman. Maybe he'd accept you, if

he thought you were on your way to becoming a woman."

"But first, would you blow a man? Properly motivated, yes.

You saw last night that once inspired, you can be a great artist

who can blow cock like Louis Armstrong blowing a trumpet. So I set

it up for Cindy to inspire you. She did, as only a relentlessly

self-serving woman lawyer like Cindy could. And last night you

sucked Bill's cock like an angel!"

"I had to persuade you to look like a woman and persuade Cindy

to help keep you that way. Then, it seemed, all problems would be

solved. Then Bill would be happy, getting laid repeatedly daily by

two local women, and blown regularly by a local master cock sucker

who resembles a third woman. Then Cindy would be happy, getting

laid repeatedly by Bill, who is further secured to her because her

husband blows Bill repeatedly, under duress, true, but then duress

is her favorite way to motivate anyone. And when she's not

rotating her hips in the vicinity of Bill's cock she can order her

husband about like a servant to her heart's content."

"And then I'd be happy, getting laid repeatedly by my husband

at home or just next door, and like a good wife providing for his

needs now and also later on. I could also feel humbly gratified

that I was advancing the career in cunnilingus of a very great oral

sex artist, and assist in bringing his art to perfection."

"The four of us have each had different reasons for

participating in this plan. The plan assumed that some would

misconceive some other people's reasons, get them wrong, act

accordingly, and then do the right thing thinking they were doing

something else. But all reasons converged on you becoming a woman.

And now that female hormones are flowing through you irreversibly

and irrevocably, as your Doctor likes to say, you're effectively a

woman. Now I suspect you may want to blow Bill silly whenever he

wants, and he'll love it."

But there's more. Woman to woman, an instinct has also told

me that under the right circumstances my husband would want to fuck

your ass silly, and that you'd love it. Now, Bill loves getting

his prick into a girl's ass! Another reason why you had to become

a girl. And as we found out this morning, a man's prick in a

girl's ass can serve as her stairway to paradise."

"I bet even now you're already feeling that you have a girl's

ass. Wiggle it for me just a little, would you, Sissy? See? See?

Doesn't it feel yummy! In a few more weeks your little pussy

could well be dripping KY Jelly in eager anticipation of Bill's

prick pushed into it, the way my cunt drips my lubricant when it

isn't already dripping Bill's cum, the way your wife's dripped

Bill's cum for so many months while you had no idea. Bill now has

a new woman's ass to fuck, and he will. Soon, and then for a year

or more, your ass will be dripping Bill's semen night and day.

Around Christmas, when Cindy's accustomed cunt will be a year old

and stretched to boredom, your asshole will be fully educated,

cunning, and desired, entering its prime. That's in addition to

your mouth giving the best head in the Western Hemisphere. In six

months you'll also be a woman in fact. I'll have done my wifely

duty, by preparing for Cindy to be replaced in Bill's bed by

Cindy's former husband. Then when Cindy has moved on, the three of

us can live together happily, and can keep finding new reasons to

live together happily."

As we pulled into the driveway, I saw Bill standing in the

doorway waiting for us. "Here we are, sweetheart," said Stacy.

"I'll leave you two alone to get re-acquainted. Remember those

tampons in your purse, if you should need them to absorb any cum

oozing out of you later on."

It was very strange. My mouth and my ass both felt a deep

desire to embrace him. The hormones? The tranquilizers? No. It

was partly gratitude to his wife for the many erotic pleasures we

had shared, as I now understood it, on his behalf as well as our

own.

It was partly out of devotion and awe before a woman who was

in her own way a good wife, faithful and devoted to her husband's

needs, and also as Shakespeare said about Cleopatra, cunning past

man's thought.

It was partly because for the first time in my life, I felt

myself to be like Stacy, a beautiful woman, worthy of love, and

affectionately loving.

It was partly because, having tasted Stacy's dildo only that

morning, and felt what it could do, I longed to feel real, warm,

throbbing flesh deep in my vitals.

And it was partly because, having felt that bliss in my rear,

and now about to experience the joy of a real cock plunged into me,

my heart went out to this glorious man who had never himself known

such ecstasy. I would see that he soon did. I was already

considering how I might continue to provide Bill that same

pleasure, in six months or so, when the hormones within me had done

their work and my own erection would no longer be stiff enough to

penetrate his ass.

I would need before then to find some other man, sufficiently

feminized of course, whose penis could replace my own, sufficiently

well-fit to fuck both me and Bill into the distant future. Tim was

rather taken with me, I remembered, and had said he would call me

very soon. I would test out his penis myself first, of course, and

that's what Tim obviously wanted with me. He had no concept now of

the future I could plan for him. But first I would need to see if

he was worthy of my ass.

END

(c) 1996 by Vickie Tern