TV, TS, Rape, Sex

My Days Being

Forced

By Amy Brett

Chapter 1

AT FIRST SHE was only quiet when I got home. It didn't take a mental

giant to realize something was wrong. She wasn't talking. She was

throwing things around in the kitchen.

When I went to the kitchen and asked if something was wrong, she

threw me a withering look and continued her silent tirade, pursing her

lips. I knew that was a very bad sign.

She glared at me through dinner. She answered my questions, that

were quickly becoming shorter and less frequently asked, with

monosyllables if at all. She frowned. I was getting worried and I was

getting a headache from the tension. Christ, what had I done.

Linda and I have a happy marriage. We've been married for five

wonderful years during which we have done virtually everything

together. We love each other deeply. That's probably why the whole

thing disconcerted me so much.

After dinner, she seemed to make a decision. She rose from the

table and, a moment later, returned with a manila envelope. She put it

under her left hand and only looked at me while drumming her fingers.

Then she looked as if she made a decision and slid the envelope

to me. Wondering, I picked it up and opened it.

There was no way I could have anticipated this.

The top picture was of Tom Vasili and I, smiles on our faces and

arms around each other's shoulders.

Tom Vasili. It had been a long time. A year before I met Linda,

we had been best friends in college. She knew him too. And on the

other side of me in the picture was Emily Van Horne. Oh, God, Emily!

The three of us had been inseparable for that one school year. We

did homework together, we ate and drank together, and we discussed

life and love and philosophy and God and ... everything.

It had been a wonderful time but had also been a frightening

time. My ideas were challenged at every side. I tried grass and LSD. I

spent the majority of that year high, mentally wild, and wonderfully

alive and happy.

And I knew that I had tried almost everything that it was

conceivable to try. And I didn't need the rest of the pictures to

know, if not the particulars, the general thrust of what was being

shown.

We had done it as a lark and as an experiment and ... I don't

know. It was all stupid. But I didn't remember pictures being taken.

But here they were!

One picture showed me making love to Emily. Another showed me

with my cock in her mouth. And, finally, the last showed me with my

face almost buried between Emily's legs while Tom fucked me.

"Well, sweetie?" she said with a vicious edge to her voice.

"I don't remember this happening," I said honestly. It could have

happened. Certainly the evidence of the pictures said it had happened

but I didn't remember it.

"You're denying it?" she almost screamed.

"No," I said quietly. "I don't think these leave much doubt. I

couldn't deny it if I wanted to. But I don't remember it. I must have

been high on something."

"Christ, Buddy. Making love to HER? And letting her suck you?"

I could feel the blow coming.

"Eating her out?" I had done that once with Linda but I didn't

really like it so didn't again. "You'll never do that with me."

Her rage frightened me. And the unspoken, as yet, reference I

knew was coming.

"And you" she choked, "you with Tom."

I swallowed hard, trying to swallow the chunk of coal that seemed

to have been stuffed into my throat.

"Where did these come from?" I asked.

"They were in the mailbox. About an hour later, somebody called

and said the negatives are available for five thousand dollars."

"Five thousand! Good God!"

She was silent, looking at me, again for a long time. I could

only squirm.

"Motherfucker!" she said with a quiet intensity.

"Honey, you've --"

"Shut up." I did. I knew anything I said couldn't help me. "We're

not paying your buddies anything. Fuck them!"

"Good --"

"Shut UP! If they decide to go to the newspapers, what the hell,"

she continued. "None could print them. We don't have kids and both our

parents are dead. Who the fuck are they going to show them to besides

me?"

Again she glared.

"And I've seen them, haven't I?"

"I --"

"Shut up," she said again intensely.

She stood up then and hauled back with her right arm. I cringed

in spite of knowing that her punch is nothing to worry about

greatly. We're about the same size but I at least like to think that I

pack more of a wallop than she.

"No, by God, that wouldn't do a damned thing. I can't hit hard

enough."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It was before I even knew you," I

streamed out before she could stop me.

"Doing things with her. The bitch. And worse with him. Good

God. I'm so humiliated!"

"I'm --"

"Shut up."

"I'll do anything, baby --" I tried.

"You couldn't do anything."

"Anything, sweetheart. Just --"

"Okay. Then shut the fuck up! Now!" she screamed.

She paced the room, mumbling to herself and looking at the

floor. I couldn't help but enjoy watching her as she moved in spite of

her rage. Her short skirt flipped at the back of her knees as she

walked, her high heels clicking on the tile of the floor. Her arms,

crossed under her breasts, only held them up more firmly.

"Humiliated ..." I caught again along with another series of

swear words.

"That's it," she said again to me. "I'm humiliated. Now it's your

turn."

She walked across the room and grabbed hold of my

shirtsleeve. "Come with me."

I went with her willingly since I wanted to do nothing else to

infuriate her. She led me to our basement and I watched as she went

through the trunks her mother had left her when she died. I didn't see

what she was doing but she did it roughly, throwing things into a

laundry basket, lifting it and leading the way back upstairs and into

the bedroom.

As we crossed the doorway, she turned, still looking at me with

that rage in her eyes.

"Strip. Now." I began taking my clothes off. After I took off my

pants, she only gestured to take my underwear off and I did. I have

rarely been as turned off and I was as soft as I have ever seen it.

"Poor baby," she said sarcastically. "You don't look

excited. Shower," she said after looking at me for a while and, if

possible, withering it still further with her look.

I did and, as I came out, found her standing with a straight

razor in her hand. That really frightened me.

She knelt in front of me and began to shave the hair off my legs

in long, almost careless strokes. The only thing she said to me as

every leg hair was removed in the next 10 minutes was to stand still.

Then she smiled at me with an evil, mirthless smile and firmly

grabbed my cock and balls in one hand, the other still filled with the

razor. I held my breath as it came toward me.

In another five minutes she had trimmed off every pubic hair and,

releasing me only then, stood back and admired her work. My balls hurt

from the rough, tight hold she'd had on me.

Again I followed her to the bedroom. On the bed was a pile of

women's clothes. I only looked at them.

Looking through the pile and moving things with her right hand,

she held out a pair of black panties in her left. I only stood there

with my mouth open.

"Put em on, sweetie," she said again sarcastically.

I did. I noticed that the front of the panties held me, although

to one side and the high sides kept them up. She turned and guided her

fingers along the leg holes at the front of the panties, nestling them

as close to my cock as possible. Then she walked behind me and roughly

pulled the thin material into the crack of my ass and the hips as high

as she could get them.

Sitting me down, she efficiently painted my toenails with

brilliant red nail polish and indicated I should do the same with my

fingers. Tentatively, I did as told.

Turning, she held out a pair of stockings and indicated I should

put them on as well. With a great deal of difficulty, I finally got

them both on. The elastic at the tops held to my thighs. The material

felt wild as it seemed to trigger every nerve on my naked legs.

She indicated I should stand then and, moving behind me, strapped

a black brassiere around my chest, the straps across my shoulders and

the tight elastic clasping at my skin.

Moving in front of me, she began stuffing strange pieces of latex

into the cups of the bra. I remembered her mother had had a mastectomy

and these, undoubtedly, were the mastectomy pads she had had. As I

moved, I found they felt like I imagined breasts would feel, both for

weight and movement.

Then she held out the filmiest blouse she owned. She refused to

wear it because it was too revealing, she said. Black, it was simple

to see through.

Then she handed me the shortest black skirt I have ever seen. It

must have been a hold- over from the 60's since I hadn't seen one like

it since those wonderful days. Black too, it fell to high on my nylon

covered thighs.

She threw me a wide red belt and I quickly put it around my

waist. I had to hold my breath to fasten its six inches of sparkling

leather width around my stomach and waist.

Then she sat me down at her makeup table looking away from the

mirror, and began to apply things to my face. I could feel them and

smell their feminine smells, but I couldn't see the effect. I sneezed

at powder, cringed at plucked eyebrows, closed my eyes for mascara.

Again she turned and dropped a wig on my head and straightened

it. The long hair fell below my shoulders in blond rings. I had seen

her wear it once several years before but, she said, it was too hot

and now wore only her own short hair.

Then she handed me a pair of black patent leather shoes and, as I

slipped them on, I saw long, thin straps that circled my ankles and

fastened. They felt very tenuous since they were a little too small

for my feet but the strap held them on.

Now she stood me up again and, for the first time since I had

gotten home, smiled pleasantly. I towered above her since I am

normally a little taller than she but with the very high heels, it

added at least 4 inches.

She slipped a pair of gold colored bracelets on my wrist and, as

I squirmed again, clipped on a pair of large gold colored earrings.

"Walk around," she said. "You're going to need a little

practice."

I didn't know what she was talking about but walked around the

room on the high heels anyway. They were not comfortable but I quickly

saw that I could at least walk.

"Oh, one more thing," she turned again, unscrewed the cap of a

jar I could not see, and walked behind me. "Bend over as far as you

can."

I did, nearly falling over on my face but for catching the edge

of the bed. I felt her throw the back of the skirt up over my back and

touching my naked bottom. Then she pulled the material of the panties

out of the crack of my ass.

I felt something between my legs, pressing at the skin of my

asshole uncomfortably.

"Spread your legs," she said. I stepped outward. "Further." I

spread my knees shakily.

Then I felt something insinuating itself between my legs, into my

ass, roughly. In, in, inward in a rocking motion backward and forward

until I felt it very deep inside me. Then I felt more motion there and

movement outward.

She tossed the pink plastic tube of a Tampax on the bed then but

I still felt filled. Then she pulled the string and I knew that it was

embedded deep within me. I moaned in humiliation.

"Oh, yes, sweetie," she said again with that dripping

sarcasm. "You have to know what it's like to be a woman. I only have

to live with this a week each month." Then roughly, she pulled the

material of the panties back into the crack of my ass and pulled the

skirt down.

"Stand up. See how it feels," she said. I did and could hardly

keep my legs from collapsing with the feeling of it. It was

uncomfortable and, with every movement, I felt it move. But somehow it

was also very sensual.

"Look at yourself," she said with a "shame on you" kind of

inflection, her arms crossed over her chest.

I looked into the mirror and couldn't believe it. There was a

woman in the mirror. And actually, not a bad looking woman. Certainly

the woman was a sexily dressed one.

She walked around in front of me then, a smile playing on her

lips. She put a hand on each of my false breasts, squeezing them

sexily as she looked me up and down.

"Now you're going to do a favor for me," she said nastily. "I

want a newspaper." I thought wildly. There was a newspaper in the

kitchen from yesterday. But I thought I knew, with a groan, what she

meant. She wanted a new newspaper. "Today's," she said in case I had

missed the message.

I visualized the newspaper rack in the lobby of the Holiday Inn

on the busiest street in town where I sometimes got one on the way

from the office. It was a block south and three blocks east from our

house. More often than picking one up myself, I usually asked her to

go down and get a paper after I came home.

"Come with me." She led the way from the bedroom to the front

door and pushed me toward it as she opened it. "If you don't get the

newspaper," she said with that hard edge to her voice, "you might as

well stay at the motel. You won't get back in here." The door closed

after she put a quarter in my hand.

I thought about going through alleys or back yards but quickly

decided I couldn't do it in high heels and a short skirt. I was going

to have to brazen it out and walk down the sidewalks. The skin of my

neck crawled with fear.

I put my chin up and started walking.

Walking in the high heels was a true experience. I stumbled and

clacked as I walked. My ankles hurt with the new and quite different

pressures placed on them by the shoes.

But I noticed too that, as if manufactured for the purpose, they

forced my hips to sway back and forth, making the skirt sway in

opposition.

A block away from the house, I saw our car pass me with Linda not

even glancing at me from the driver's seat. Two blocks away, a carload

of teenage boys passed, hanging out of the windows and showering me in

catcalls and lewd invitations. I cringed but walked on, ignoring

them. They kept going, thank God.

I got a lot of attention when I reached busy Concord Street a

block from the motel but all I could do was swing my arms (and my hips

in the high heels) and walk on.

Finally I got to the Holiday Inn and walked through the front

door and into the lobby.

It was a busy place with dozens of people walking around the open

space. Several people were checking in at the desk, three or four sat

in chairs talking.

I intended to walk directly to the newspaper rack, get a paper

and leave as quickly as possible. It didn't work.

"Ah, there she is now," her voice said across the large room. I

saw Linda and three men walking toward me. "If you ask her real nice,

I'm sure she'll have a drink with us."

"Rita," she said as she grabbed my arm. "This is Bob and Bill and

... I guess I didn't get your name."

"Roger," the man said, staring at my breasts unashamedly.

She leaned very close to me then and whispered, "You better find

a woman's voice in there, sweetie."

I tried to think of what a woman's voice would sound like and

pitched my normal voice slightly higher. "Nice to meet you. I hope

you'll excuse me. I have to deliver a paper."

"Oh, you couldn't do that, Rita," Linda said brightly. "My

friends want to buy us a drink and I told them all about you. How sexy

you are."

I cringed again but nodded and accepted one of the men's arm,

impossible to ignore or refuse. I smiled, trying to put on the best

face I could with the terror climbing up and down my spine. She'd set

me up.

They led me to a table in the bar and ordered drinks for all of

us. I sat back, so nervous and frightened of discovery that I shook as

if I were cold. One of the men noticed and gave me his coat that I

gratefully draped across my shoulders. It covered up part of my almost

uncovered upper body. It was also warm and a little sweaty.

Linda and the men did most of the talking. I only said something

when a question was directed to me. I drank the foamy cream drink they

had ordered for me and watched them.

Bob, I think it was, expended a lot of energy trying to hustle

Linda. I seethed as I watched her lead him on. They danced and I

watched her lean into him sexily, wrapping her arms around his

neck. And I watched as he kissed her and she responded again.

It grated on me a lot as I watched her skirt ride up on the back

of her legs as she stretched to drape herself on him. They barely

moved around the floor. Really just an extended hug, their bodies

moving slightly to the jukebox's music.

"Would you like to dance," Roger said near my ear. I was mad and

decided she needed some of her own medicine.

"Yes," I said. "I would."

He smiled brightly and led me to the middle of the dance floor. I

realized belatedly that I didn't know how to dance as a woman but

Roger didn't really give me opportunity to worry about it as he

grabbed my left hand and put his arm around my back to hold me close

to his body roughly.

I looked at Linda then and saw her glaring at me but, seeing that

I'd noticed, purposefully ignoring me and repositioning her body even

closer to Bob.

When we all returned to the table, I carefully arranged the short

skirt to avoid giving myself away, crossed my legs, and continued to

drink and listen to the talk. Still another in a series of drinks

arrived and the men paid for them. I could feel the cold emanating

from Linda as she sat next to me.

"Linda," I said quietly. "Can we go home now?"

"No," she glared at me.

"I've got to go to the bathroom."

"Suffer," she said harshly.

I did for a while, watching as she danced two or three more times

and refusing other offers myself. Obviously, my little attempt at

revenge had backfired.

"Linda, I've got to go. I have to."

She looked at me fiercely then her look softened to a smile.

"You'll excuse us," she said to the men. "We have to adjourn to

the powder room." She stood, even as my mouth dropped in disbelief,

and grabbed my hand.

On the way through the lobby toward the restroom she leaned close

to me again. "I'm going to check for that little string I put in

before. It better still be there or I'll put in a new one myself."

I only nodded.

Still not believing it, I followed her as she led the way across

the bar and into the lobby where the restrooms are. Knowing I couldn't

go to the men's room, I followed her into the bathroom and,

astonished, saw that three other women already occupied it.

She indicated the stall nearby and, not having a choice, I went

to it, locked the door behind me, pulled down the black panties to my

knees, and did what I had to do. Then I replaced the panties and

unlocked the door.

The women combed their hair, freshened lipstick, and

chattered. Finally they left, leaving Linda and I alone.

"You're doing very well," she said.

"I have to if I want to get out of here alive," I said, firmly

believing it.

She giggled, I'm sure from the drinks and not from real

mirth. "You're very pretty, sweetie. You've got nothing to worry

about." I watched as she freshened her own makeup then turned and

brushed my hair quickly where it had been mussed.

With a lewd movement, she reached around me, lifted the skirt

slightly and searched until she found the string. She pulled it

roughly, then, apparently satisfied, tucked it back into the back of

the panties and roughly pulled them back between my ass cheeks.

"There," she said with a smile, looking at me. "As good as new."

Then she lifted her skirt absently and pulled her blouse down. "No,

wait," she said. Purposely, holding me with her look as a spider does

a fly, she lifted the skirt high above her waist and pulled her own

panties downward until she could step out of them. She wore the same

kind of nylons she had forced on me.

"Now, what I'm going to do, my pretty girl, is put these in my

purse. Then I'm going to go back to the table and get one of those

guys to finger me to an orgasm. What do you think of that?"

I groaned again. "Linda, don't do this. I didn't do anything this

bad. Please."

"Forget it, sweetie. At least, I'm not making you take your

panties off. And I could, couldn't I?"

"It'd give me away pretty fast and then your little game would be

over."

"Yes, that's why I'm not doing that. But you just watch and see

what I can get these guys to do."

She turned quickly and left the restroom then. I knew there was

nothing I could do about it. I only followed.

I watched her after we returned to the table.

She hadn't any more than sat down when she leaned close to Bob's

ear. I watched her pull her skirt high on her legs and look down at

the naked skin above the nylons. Very nearly, she showed him her naked

midsection.

Maybe she didn't expect what happened next.

Bob tapped Bill on the knee and whispered something in his

ear. Then he stood and changed positions with Linda, giving her little

choice in the matter.

I watched as the two men stared into space, at the dancing

couples, at the bar and, simultaneously, allowed their hands to rest

on Linda's knees. Their fingers traced little shapes on her nylon

covered legs and, I noticed, gently pulled her legs further apart

until her legs were wide.

Then Bill's hand moved upward on her leg until it went under her

short skirt and began more movement there. I saw her tense as,

obviously, they contacted something connected to her nervous system.

Her hands clenched on the arms of the chair.

Her eyes closed as the two men, working in concert, found her

most sensitive spots and began moving on and in them. It was obvious

to anyone looking that Bob had found her cunt and his finger was

buried deep within it.

Her head went back and her mouth opened as they continued. Then,

I saw, her body went rigid, the muscles of her legs vibrating, as a

climax racked her body.

Roger chose that inopportune moment to ask me to dance. Since I

couldn't stand the sexual tension of watching Linda, I agreed and

followed him to the floor.

He held me closer than he had before and, before I could react,

turned my face and kissed me on the lips very hard. His tongue

forcibly spread my lips and delved into my mouth. His hand held my

hand and my shoulder at once pulling my upper body off balance and

into his body. His other hand, I felt then, slipped from my back to my

bottom and clasped it roughly.

As the kiss extended, I found myself far less resistant to it,

actually falling into it completely. I was so involved, actually, that

I didn't feel his hand move down to the hem of the skirt I wore, under

it and back up until his hand clasped my naked bottom. I knew, if she

looked, Linda would see that I was exposed as would everyone else who

looked.

But I couldn't break off that wonderful kiss. And it continued

through the dance.

He led me back to the table as the music stopped and I sat

down. Immediately, I saw that Linda was still engaged. In fact, now

she had a hand in each of the two men's laps as they unhesitatingly

masturbated her. She was fully open to view from only slightly below

her waist, down.

At once, as if my looking at them had keyed it, all three

climaxed obviously and completely.

This time Linda recovered first and returned her hands to the

arms of her chair. The two men only relaxed in theirs.

With a shock, I felt Roger's warm breath on my ear just before he

kissed it.

"I'd do that for you, too," he said, his fingers touching my leg

and moving upward. It was tantalizing for a moment and I was slow in

reacting. But I quickly put my hand on the back of his, stopping his

upward progress short of his goal, thankfully.

"I think you better help your friends," I said. "And then we'll

talk about it when you get back."

He looked at the two men, the stains soaking through their pants,

and with a frown stood and walked behind them. He whispered something

to them that I was sure pointed out their conditions. They quickly

stood and left for the bathroom.

Equally as quickly, I stood and walked to Linda.

"Linda, we've got to go right now, while they're gone. If we

don't, you're going to get raped and ... I don't know what's going to

happen to me but I don't really think you want that. Please, let's

go."

She looked around and made a decision. She stood, crooked a

finger at me, and walked toward the door. I followed, then caught up

and nervously even pushed her forward toward the outside.

We made it safely to the car and into it. Perhaps she had

forgotten why I had been sent out. I didn't have a newspaper and had

no intention of going back for one. I didn't have to walk back home

again. A little drunkenly, I thought, she started the car, backed into

the lot, and drove home. Once there, she unlocked the door and led the

way in.

Relieved at being home, I quickly went to the bathroom as she

moved on down the hall to the bedroom. Only a minute later, I got to

the bedroom.

"You thought I had forgotten, didn't you, sweetie," she said from

the middle of the room. She stood with her feet wide apart in the

most aggressive stance I had ever seen her take. Her hands were on her

hips. "You've still got some making up to do."

I was very dejected. "All right. What now?"

"Come here and unbutton my blouse." I did as I was told. "Take

off my bra." I did. "Now suck my tits. This one first." I did and felt

her hands pulling my face close to her randy body. She forcefully

lifted my head and fed me the other breast after a few moments then,

after another few minutes, pulled me away from her.

"Take off my skirt, sweetie. I always wanted to have a lesbian

eat me out." I did as I was told, though with a great deal more

willingness than most of the things she had had me do. She sat down on

the dressing table, indicated I should kneel in front of her, and

spread her legs wide. Then she entwined her fingers in the long hair

of the wig and pulled my face harshly into her cunt.

"Eat me bitch! Suck it up in your mouth. Put your tongue in my

cunt. Suck on my clit until I come."

Amazingly fast, she came magnificently then pushed me away

again. I lost my balance and fell backwards on the floor.

"Now get on your hands and knees." I did and felt the firm pull

of the string and, eventually, the loss of the Tampax. The skirt was

now above my waist. Her finger twisted and turned as it went in my

asshole until I felt her knuckles against my ass. After a few long

strokes, I felt a second then a third finger. Her other hand wrapped

around my manhood, sheathed in the thin panties still and pumped at

it.

I felt my come rising then. Suddenly, she stopped. "No," she

said. "That's too good for you."

As if she had had it planned, she pulled a pair of nylons from

her drawer and tied my hands behind my back. Then she tied one to my

left leg and to a leg of the couch. Then the other to the leg of the

bed, pulling powerfully until I felt like a wishbone my legs were

spread so far.

She inspected my asshole under me with her fingers and moved the

material of the panties until I stood free of them. Then she lowered

her body onto my cock until it was all inside her.

"Now, I'm going to rape you, you fucking asshole." And for the

next two hours, she did -- magnificently.

Chapter 2

AS I WAS put to bed that night, I thought that Linda's anger had run

its course. She even kissed me goodnight gently. But I was wrong.

Oh, I say "put to bed" in a literal sense. After she was through

taking her anger out on my body, she gave me a long, flannel nightgown

to put on over the bra and the returned panties. Then she led me to

the spare bedroom and directed me into the bed, shut the door, and

locked it behind her.

For the rest of that long weekend, I did everything she asked of

me. The uncomfortable Tampax was renewed in my ass each time I had to

expel it to got to the bathroom, the string frequently checked. In the

house, she didn't require my dick to be tied up between my legs and

around my waist as on our trip out. But it was returned each time she

insisted on my running an errand, as were the high heels.

I wore a variety of women's clothing that weekend along with the

makeup and wig. Generally these clothes were less revealing and

somewhat more comfortable for me. Flat shoes or small heeled sandals

replaced the high heels in the house. When I was wearing the women's

pants one afternoon without nylons, she even allowed me to go

barefoot.

I did all the cooking that weekend after cleaning house

throughout the days. It wasn't an enjoyable weekend for me. Of that

there was no doubt.

I cringed at what I feared she had in mind for me on Monday

morning when she woke me and wondered if I could appear at work in a

dress but she relented without discussion. The clothes she laid out

for me that morning were my normal slacks, socks, shoes, shirt, tie

and sports coat. But she only allowed me to take the breast forms out

of the bra, the bra remaining. And the Tampax and panties remained

with a garter belt and nylons.

It wasn't an overly hot day, but the combination of pants and

stockings was quite warm. The fear of being caught wearing the

panties and bra were a constant concern for me during the day.

If I thought there might be some other relenting in her attitude

during the day, I was wrong. At about 2 in the afternoon, she stopped

by my office and, insisting I loosen my pants, checked for the Tampax

string. I hadn't dared remove it. I went home after work with a great

deal of trepidation.

When I arrived, she immediately guided me to my room, where I now

found my clothing and an interesting variety of women's clothes in the

closet but only filmy women's underwear and stockings in the

drawers. I was directed to dress "pretty" for dinner. She led me to

the car after I had dressed, made up, and returned the wig to my head,

and we went out to dinner.

At dinner, she leaned across the table and asked how I liked

being her little sweetheart. Of course, I told her I loved it. Then

the revelations began.

She had been doing her research during the day, I learned.

First she told me of her talk with my secretary that resulted in

her disclosure of the night I had spent with her a year before. I'd

done it once and realized I couldn't do it to myself or to

Linda. Linda didn't care about any "after the fact" thoughts. Only

about the initial indiscretion.

Then she told me about tracking down and finding George Marshall,

a salesman for a company mine works with occasionally. George is quite

thoroughly gay and, after a night of drinking, had convinced me that

sleeping with him would be a very exciting experience. It had been but

the look on Linda's face told me she didn't like it.

"It seems," she finally said, "that you find it impossible to

maintain fidelity and even to maintain masculinity. You'd fuck

anything, wouldn't you?"

I didn't have a leg to stand on and in the busy restaurant, I

didn't want to loudly defend my actions either. Before the cognac, she

passed me a tiny pill that she insisted I swallow. I did. Every

morning and evening in the six months since then, she has given me

another of the pills. It took a month and a pharmaceutical dictionary

for me to identify them -- Estrogen along with a complex of other

female hormones and catalysts.

I noticed their result first as my sexual desire diminished to

nothing almost immediately. During the first week, my nipples became

sensitive and somewhat swollen along with being quite red. After a

month, the swelling of my chest was obvious and the increased size of

my nipples was notable. After the second month, I could easily form a

cleavage of my own flesh with the breast forms to fill out my

bras. After three months, I could have worn an A-cup bra without the

breast forms and my nipples were as large as Linda's. Thankfully, my

sex drive returned at about this time.

Conversely, my balls began to shrink and my production of semen

tapered off to almost nothing. When Linda insisted on my tying back my

dick, it no longer hurt where my testicles were pressed even when I

sat with my legs crossed tightly.

I think that was about the time Linda made me climax for the

first time by touching and sucking on my nipples.

After that Monday dinner out, her disdain for me grew steadily,

particularly during the months when I couldn't get hard enough to

satisfy her in her semi-rapes.

It's now been six months. At night, I can wear a C-cup bra

without any breast forms and even went out one night with a low cut

dress on that showed a considerable decolletage.

It is a strange existence. I spend the workday, my chest wrapped

with an ace bandage, and my much longer hair tied in a hippie-like

tail nearly too long to pass for male. On a good night, I am her

plaything, her experiment. On a bad night, I'm almost her slave, doing

all the work around the house and taking her verbal abuse. We've only

been out of the house at night twice. Once, as I told you, in a low

cut dress and once earlier in a more conservative blouse and skirt.

Both times, she engineered getting laid as I was forced to

covertly watch.

Oh, yes, and last night. Friday night.

Last night, she had me dress very conservatively in a pair of

women's slacks and blouse. High heels of course. We never leave the

front door at night unless I'm wearing them. But no stockings, no low

cut outfit. No outrageous jewelry. Even minimal makeup.

She took me to her hairdresser! That's right.

Her hairdresser lives in the back of her little two chair shop

and Linda had made special arrangements with her to work on me. She

told her it would be a challenge. Pam seemed to enjoy what challenge

there was left after this six months of treatments of all sorts.

She started by giving me a permanent and styling my long hair

into a series of soft waves. Then she did a complete manicure and

pedicure. Now I know I can't have a traffic accident and end up in the

hospital. Most embarrassing, Linda paid for me to have a wax job on my

legs. It was unbelievably painful as the hot wax was put on them and

then systematically torn off along with the remaining hair.

Luckily, since this girl sincerely believed me to be Linda's

female cousin, Linda didn't let her do the bikini wax. That she saved

for when we got home. Have you ever plucked a nose hair or a vagrant

eyebrow? Or pulled a Band-Aid off a hairy part of your body? Imagine

that times about a million and you get some idea of the pain.

The only repayment for that was that she showed me her own wax

job, done a few days ago. That ended the evening when she allowed me

to eat her completely naked slit while she had numerous orgasms.

I worked hard today to get the house looking perfect under her

tight direction. The only enjoyable part being not having to wear the

sweaty wig but, rather, enjoying my own nicely done hair.

She had me start a beautiful dinner for four about an hour ago

after, of course, doing the shopping for it. Filets, baked potatoes,

vegetables, green salads, the works. A few minutes ago, she took over,

starting the potatoes, and sent me to shower and "get beautiful."

After my shower, I made up the best I know how and fixed my

hair. The permanent makes that easy. It combs out beautifully and

large, unruly waves surround my face and neck.

I put on my prettiest black lace bra, garter belt, and black

nylons. I choose my A-line little black dress with the low cut in

front and back and short skirt. I've lost three inches off my waist in

the last six months and the A-line clings to it really nice. I'm

proud.

I chose my nicest black panties and return to the bathroom. I've

gotten used to inserting the Tampax myself now and it comes as

naturally as the unnatural act of putting a bra on. As I get ready to

do that, the door opens and Linda's smiling face peeks in. "That won't

be necessary, sweetie," she says. "I think you've been on the rag for

long enough. Don't you?"

I nod and smile. Though I've gotten used to having the plug in my

ass all the time, I still haven't learned to like it and it is a

constant and continual irritant. Now, as I make a final check of my

looks in the mirror, it feels very strange and liberated to not be

wearing the Tampax.

"Here," she says as I return to the bedroom to shut off the light

and get my shoes. She holds up the bottle of her favorite

perfume. "Just a touch behind each ear, the back of your knees and the

creases of your thighs. Okay?" I smile. This must be some other

recognition of her love for me.

I sit down, pull the nylons down and put a drop behind each knee

before replacing the nylons and putting on my panties. I put a drop in

the fold of my thighs and wipe my wetted finger across my tummy. When

I stand up, I reorganize my dick so it is between my legs where it

belongs, and pull up the panties tighter. This works just fine.

I touch more of the perfume behind each ear and then in the

cleavage between my full breasts.

Coming back into the room, she hands me a pair of her sapphire

earrings. They're beautiful. I put them in my pierced ears, a result

of one night with an ice cube. As I look at them in the mirror, I'm

glad she pierced them, though I didn't enjoy it at all at the time.

She puts her long gold chain necklace with the single large

sapphire pendant on it around my neck so it settles in my cleavage. I

turn to her with my appreciative smile broad on my face and she smiles

back at me. I risk smearing both our lipsticks by kissing her softly.

"Mmmm," she says. "You smell nice. And you look just beautiful."

"Thank you," I say, feeling myself blush. Except for her mean,

cynical times, she's never said that to me before. Those earlier times

weren't meant as compliments and weren't taken that way.

"C'mon, now. We've got company coming."

"Company? Who?" I ask.

"Some friends of mine. I think you'll like them," she says as she

turns to the door. "I know they'll like you."

I followed her downstairs and into the living room where we sat

down. I enjoyed looking at her and the way her short dress showed the

sides of her thighs. Looking down, I realized her view of me was much

the same. It was very strange still, for me.

"Would you make me a drink, sweetheart?" she asks. She has only

demanded for six months. I wonder at the change but leap to do it for

her. "Actually, while you're there, why don't you make a pitcher of

martinis." Changing direction from a single glass to the pitcher, I

quickly make the drinks. "Please, have one yourself, baby."

I haven't had a drink for six months. Actually, I'm a little

afraid it'll go to my head but it sounds so good, I get out two

glasses and pour them on top of the speared olives. The doorbell rings

and I start to answer it before she says, "I'll get it, my little

lover."

I take the martinis to the living room and watch as she opens the

door. A tall, very beautiful woman wraps her arms around Linda and

exclaims. "Oh, Linda! You have such a wonderful house! And such a

neighborhood!" They kiss on the lips, I notice but this isn't too

unusual for women. It's the first time I've ever seen this woman. Of

that, I'm sure.

"Hi, Linda. You look fantastic!" the man says as he holds her

arms wide, his eyes traversing her from top to bottom as she twists

from one side to the other to best show it off. He takes her in his

arms and her leg lifts at the knee when he kisses her roughly and

thoroughly. I don't know him either.

"That dress must have cost you a fortune, Francie," Linda says. I

see that it is a very fashionable crisscross front blue dress in a

light material. The hem is tuliped, I think it's called, splitting at

the bottom in rounded corners. It's quite short. The top seems to only

barely constrain her considerable breasts. Her long blond hair falls

across her chest, the tips at the bottom of the low cut neckline.

"No, no," she says, waving off the compliment. "I've had it for

months."

The man is wearing a casual leisure coat over white pants and

white shoes. His pink shirt is unbuttoned to show the profuse hair of

his chest and several gold chains. He looks very fit.

"And you look wonderful, Ivan," she says. "As usual."

They come into the living room, Linda and Francie with their arms

around each others' backs.

Francie breaks away and rushes to me.

"This just has to be your Amy!" she exudes as she holds my arms

out to my sides as well, looking me up and down as she did

Linda. "Yes, yes! She's as pretty as you said she was!"

"I would say you understated," Ivan says. "Ivan Borosky at your

service," he says as he kisses the back of my hand. It tickles with

his mustache and sends a charge of feeling up my arm. Now I know why

women like this little continental gesture.

"Nice to meet you both," I say as sweetly as I can. "Would you

like a martini or can I make you something else.

"Definitely a martini, my dear," he says.

"Please," she says from behind him.

I turn to fill two more glasses. As I do, I listen to the

conversation in the other room.

"She's as nice as you said she was, my dear," the woman's voice

says.

"But you didn't tell us she was so pretty!" he adds. "How in the

world have you done it?"

I feel uncomfortable being discussed so candidly. I wonder what

Linda has told them.

"It really hasn't been too hard," Linda says. "We'll see tonight

how well I've done."

"I'm sure," both the other voices say. I vow that I'll try my

best at whatever Linda wants. I return with the drinks and find them

all sitting down. I notice that Francie's skirt opens high onto her

crossed thigh showing that she is wearing pantyhose. Otherwise the

garter and top of her stockings would be showing. It is that high. She

has beautiful long legs.

I put the drinks down in front of them and, looking up a little,

see that Ivan is staring down my cleavage. Bent over like this, he can

probably see my bellybutton. I straighten quickly and go to my chair

where I carefully sit and cross my legs away from them to maintain

some of my modesty at least. I've had enough instruction from Linda in

how to behave as a lady.

"So, Linda tells us that this is kind of your coming out party,

Amy," Francie says. I don't know how to answer. They have to know that

I'm too old to be having any kind of coming out party unless they know

more about me than I hope Linda has told them. I decide to speak to

the best possibility.

"Yes. I'm trying my hand at being the good hostess tonight." Ivan

chews on his olives as he continues to smile and stare at me

disconcertingly. His eyes too often dwell on either my legs or my

cleavage to be comfortable.

"I think you're doing beautifully, sweetheart," Francie says,

leaning to pat the back of my hand and, in the process, showing me her

assets down to her own bellybutton.

"You have a fine hand with a martini," Ivan says and I see that

his glass is empty. Quickly, I go to the kitchen and get the pitcher,

along with a large coaster to keep the dripping container from

staining the table. I pour new drinks into each of their glasses,

seeing each of their eyes looking down the front of my dress as I do

it. I squat slightly to set the pitcher down in the middle of the

table and see Ivan's eyes now on my legs.

I return to my chair and, flushed with embarrassment at the

inspection I've been getting, drink my own martini, stand and pour

myself another, and return to the chair.

"I think we need some more olives as well, Amy," Linda says. I

see that she's right and go back to the kitchen. While I'm there, I

check the potatoes and find them ready.

"Linda! It's just amazing!" Francie is saying in the other

room. "She's just so perfect!"

"Not perfect, dear," Linda answers, "but getting much better."

"Oh, I think you're being too hard on yourself. I agree with

Francie. Perfect." I return with a plate of olives on skewers and set

it down on the table. Everyone's eyes are again on my chest. It makes

me very nervous.

"So what have you been doing since the last time we saw you at

the club?" Ivan says to Linda.

"Oh, I have my work cut out for me here," she says. That, for the

last few months, has been telling me what to do next. I finish my

martini and pour another for myself and for Ivan, who has also

finished. As I stand back up, I realize I can feel the effects of the

two drinks already. I sit down carefully and work to pull my skirt

down to a reasonable level. When I look up, everyone's eyes are on

me. I blush.

I watch them for a while then as they talk of mutual

acquaintances at "the club." They must be talking about the place

where Linda works out and plays racquetball a couple of times a

week. It also includes a very nice lounge so any good done by the

exercise is immediately destroyed by a few drinks. It's mostly a

gathering place for the "beautiful" people.

"Amy," my wife says then. "It's time to put the steaks on." I nod

and leave the room. I can hear them talking but I can't hear what they

are saying now. I guess it doesn't matter. I really don't seem to have

much to talk to these people about anyway.

I put the salads on the dining room table and return to move the

finished steaks onto a plate to keep warm in the oven. The potatoes

come out and into a bowl and the vegetables into a serving dish to

join the steaks.

I return to the living room and call everyone to the table. Ivan

brings my martini with his. I see the pitcher is empty. He sets the

drinks down and then holds my chair for me before doing the same for

the other two women. He sits on my right.

"Would you open the wine, Ivan?" Linda says. We all watch as he

opens, pours a small amount, and swirls the wine before tasting

it. Then he pours for each of the rest of us.

"Amy," Francie says. "You set a beautiful table. Are the flowers

from the yard?"

"Yes," I answer. Another of my duties during the last six months

has been planting and caring for the flower garden.

We eat and, for the first time since they arrived, they are

paying attention to something besides me. It gives me a chance to let

go of the abject terror I've been feeling since the doorbell rang. I

loosen up somewhat but what I really feel is the butterflies in my

stomach. My God, I think. What would they think of me if they knew? I

close my eyes as I chew a succulent bite of steak, maybe enjoying the

slight dizziness I feel from the martinis.

"This is just absolutely wonderful!" Francie says, speaking to

me. I thank her quietly. "Perfectly done!"

"They say the way to a man's heart ..." Ivan says with a smile as

he sits back from his empty plate. "You've certainly gotten to mine."

In a few moments, the rest of us catch up with him, our plates

emptied.

"I'll get the cognac if you'll get the coffee, sweetheart," Linda

says then. Knowing my duties, I stand and get the coffee pot and the

warmer to set it on. I pour for each of them, noticing Linda's eyes

sparkling with her pride in me. I like that. She has already poured

the small amounts of cognac in the brandy snifters and Ivan swirls his

and breathes in the released vapors. I can remember doing that sort of

thing when I was more ostentatious. Now, I only savor the fiery

liquid, washing it past my tongue with hot coffee.

The combination of martinis, wine, and cognac is going to my

head. I can definitely feel it making me reel a little with their

combined effects. It gives me a heady, giddy feeling that I like as

long as I'm in control of it but I can sense the abyss that stretches

fairly near by.

"Let's move to where it's softer," Linda says and leads the way

into the living room. I start to pick up the dirty dishes in hopes

that the effort, with the dishwashing, will clear my head. "No, no,"

she calls back to me. "I'll help you with that later, darling. Come

and join us now."

I almost look at the dirty dishes with longing, partly because of

the hope they hold out to me of sobering somewhat and partly because I

can see them already when the meat juices have cooled and hardened

onto their surfaces if put it off.

I'm a bit put out when I get to the living room. Linda is sitting

in my chair and Francie is sitting in hers.

"Please," Ivan says, standing. "Come sit here beside me."

Squeezing between him and the coffee table, uncomfortably close to him

in the passage, I move to the open spot on the couch near him. Before

I can sit down, Francie moves over to the end where I intended to sit,

forcing me between the two of them. I think about moving to Linda's

chair but the effort just seems too much. I sit down with my coffee

and cognac. I'm not going to drink any more, I decide.

Francie turns on the couch toward me, her legs brushing against

mine as her hand strokes my shoulder.

"You did an absolutely wonderful job with dinner! And the table!

Beautiful! I just can't imagine a more well done meal. Like it was

catered after all!" She turns to Linda, who is leaning her smiling

face in her palm, relaxed. "You must be very very proud of her!"

I enjoyed the praise but somehow the profusion seems to smack

false somehow. I notice, distinctly, Francie's hand resting on first

the tip of my shoulder, then nearer my neck, then on my neck.

"I must say," Ivan says from my other side, "that I have honestly

never seen a finer meal, better served." His hand rests in the small

of my back as I sit poised on the edge of the couch's cushion.

I thank them but this is really getting to be a bit much. I was

good. But not this good. My head is fuzzy and now the fuzzy is

becoming more unpleasant. I sip at my coffee in an attempt to dull the

buzz I'm feeling.

"Amy," Francie says then. "Would you tell us a little about

yourself?"

My dulled brain seeks for an answer of some kind but it really

isn't functioning at full potential at all. Any quick responses I

might have been able to form a few hours ago are long gone. They've

probably been gone since the first martini. I shrug, hoping this is

enough.

"Tell them, Amy," Linda commands with a smile. I only look at her

for a second, wondering what she wants me to say. She seems to

understand and her look hardens. "Tell them the truth, Amy."

I gulp. I know now a little of what Linda has done tonight. The

two people at my sides, when I look at them, each smile but now I

know. It is another part of my "education." I wonder if I'm going to

enjoy it. I somehow doubt it if it is anything like the last few

months of my life. But I am resigned. I can't be otherwise.

"You know most of it, don't you?" I ask, looking into Ivan

eyes. He smiles. "Don't you?" I ask Francie. She smiles and nods once.

"Please tell us what you are feeling, Amy," Ivan says with more

sincerity than I've heard in a while. I take a deep breath and exhale

slowly.

"What do you want to know?"

"What does it feel like, sweetheart?"

"Feel like? I don't think I know what you mean." I really don't.

"How is your life different now than a few months ago?" Ivan

asks.

"About as different as possible," I answer. "Imagine, if you

can't imagine my condition, what it would be like to be a normal,

comfortable American one minute and the next a pygmy somewhere in the

jungle. It couldn't be any more different."

"That unpleasant?" Francie asks with a bit of derision. After

all, she is a woman.

"Maybe that's overstated," I say. "Maybe more like being stripped

naked and left in the middle of downtown at rush hour, Francie."

"Oh!" she exclaims. "That much of a shock? Really?" I only look

at her and smile.

"Except, perhaps you'd have a group of ready helpers," I say. "A

group of women perhaps who would hide you and offer their coats. Or a

group of men who would see that you got inside somewhere and taken

care of."

"You mean Linda has been that hard?" Ivan asks, looking at

Linda. I see her frown.

"I hurt her," I say. "I think I've deserved much of it. But it

doesn't change the fact that I feel alone in a very strange

situation. Or maybe a whole set of situations. Every situation, in

fact."

"But Linda is here to guide you. Even to tell you what you need

to do next." I nod.

"Yes, but I think I've lost her love. And that's what I need

most. Particularly now."

"But what do you feel about wearing women's clothes?" Ivan asks.

I smile. "That's the nicest part. I love the feel, the sensuality

of the clothes."

"Then the change?" Francie says. They have been thoroughly

briefed.

"That's all right. I don't really mind. This stage. Constantly

worrying about being caught. This is hard and frightening. The

underthings at work. Answering the door here. There's fear all the

time."

I wonder if I dare. I look at Linda and see her frown. I don't

think she's happy with me. Then she surprises me and sits forward in

her chair.

"You both know who Amy is. I've told you and I've told you what's

going on. Maybe I didn't tell you how it all started for us a few

months ago." Ivan's hand still rests in the small of my back, rubbing

it. Francie's hand is still on my neck, under my hair in the sensitive

short hair there. Occasionally they both move their fingers over me.

For the next 15 minutes, she tells them about my early infidelity

and the anonymous letter that started this whole thing. Then she

shares my more recent infidelities with my secretary and with George

Marshall. She tells them that I have craved being a woman for a long

time and I wonder if that's really true. Perhaps it is but I know I

would never have gone this far if she hadn't insisted.

It is strange. Often in the last few months, I've thought that I

deserved this punishment for my infidelities and for my more private

thoughts and actions. Linda has forced me to tell her everything I've

thought or done in my life at some time during the last six months.

As she recites these things back, I feel a tension in Ivan and

Francie's hands and their movements on me. They don't like these

things about me as I don't. Also, though, I feel their sexual

excitement as some things are revealed. Francie sighs and squirms

occasionally. Ivan smirks or maybe it's just a grin of

appreciation. I'm not sure.

"You have been a little bitch, haven't you, Amy?" Ivan asks with

that grin.

"She deserves the punishment," Linda concludes, obviously without

requiring their agreement in the least. It's just a statement of fact.

"And the treatments are really taking?" Francie asks.

"Oh, yes. Very nicely," Linda answers. "Show them, baby." I look

at her wondering what she wants of me. I really don't know if she

means my domestication or my physical body.

"What do you want?" I ask softly, my head bowed to the

inevitable.

"I want you to pull down the top of your dress and show them your

beautiful breasts," she says rather too sweetly. I look at her for

confirmation and the shine in her eyes tells me that is exactly what

she wants. Now I'm very very nervous. I've never done this.

Slowly, I pull my dress off one shoulder and Francie shifts to a

position where she can see better. Then I pull the other shoulder

down. The shoulder straps hold my arms to my sides until Ivan pulls

one below my elbow. His hand comes to my lace covered breast, rubbing

the nipple through the thin material. Gasping slightly in surprise, I

feel Francie undo the bra in back and then they both pull it down my

arms until my breasts stand free of the material for their inspection.

I see Linda is sitting on the edge of her chair, a broad smile on

her face. She seems very pleased.

I gasp again as Francie's fingers find my nipple and squeeze it

softly, rolling it sensuously. Thus diverted, my attention is quickly

drawn back when Ivan licks my other nipple and the nerves in it fire

throughout my body. They have pushed the top of my dress and my bra

off my arms altogether, the dress gathered about my waist.

"We're both going to take you, Amy," Francie breathes into my

ear. "That's why Linda brought us here tonight."

"Oh, no," I moan, the feelings in my breasts beginning to

overwhelm me now. "No, please."

"Yes," Ivan says as Francie sucks my other nipple. "I'm going to

fuck your mouth. And then I'm going to fuck your ass." I moan and try

to move away. His mouth lowers to my nipple.

"While Ivan fucks your ass, you're going to fuck me with your

tongue until I come all over your face. And then I'm going to come

again on that little boy pole of yours, before you lose it."

This is no longer even a little pleasant. I'm frightened and I'm

trapped. But somehow I feel the anticipation of what's to come. It's

tearing me apart. Their touches on my body are driving me wild, my

dick hard and still stuck between my legs uncomfortably. My nerves are

firing throughout my body but they don't seem to have a focus.

They continue to touch me but now guide me to my feet, taking me

to the circular hassock at the end of the couch. They seat me on it,

each holding my arm nearest them and, at the same time, my breasts --

my nipples. Linda slides in between Ivan and me almost as if he was

being cut out.

The way she holds my biceps hurts, her fingers digging into my

flesh. I wonder still again if what I've done was really this bad.

"Now, my sweet," she says. "Your initiation into real womanhood."

She is pushing me down onto my back with Francie's help and I

can't free my hands to stop myself. I'm frightened and look from one

to the other. I'm sure my fear is in my eyes.

They've laid me down on my back, my head back to the edge of the

hassock. I close my eyes and feel, even more acutely, their hands play

on my naked front. I try to twist, putting one leg over the other, but

they won't allow it and they are strong enough to hold me where I am.

I hear myself moan when Francie's hand begins to stroke the

inside of my thigh. I clasp them tightly together but it really

doesn't help. I'm losing myself in this. In another circumstance, I

think I could enjoy it. Being forced makes it less fun.

"Come, my darling," Linda hisses near my ear. "You might as well

relax and enjoy it. It's going to happen with or without your

help. Open your eyes now."

They are clenched tightly closed as if I can keep it all from

happening if I don't look.

"Open your eyes now, Amy," Linda says more harshly. I

don't. "Right now!" It's a command. I open my eyes and wish that I

hadn't.

Ivan has stripped and stands above my face as I lift my head a

little. My head now is almost between his knees. All I can really see

is the look on his face. One of lust and enough of a grimace that I

wonder if it is cruelty. But that is beyond my primary focus. His dick

is between me and his face, standing out from his body at a 90 degree

angle. It throbs with his excitement and appears to be very hard.

It's not overly big around, only a little more than my own

now. But is very long. At least 9 inches with its wet head just

peeking from the loose skin of the hood. He's uncircumcised. I've

never seen anyone who wasn't circumcised.

Francie's hand is between my legs, rubbing the inside of my

thigh. I gulp through my dry mouth but I can't take my eyes from it,

like a cobra with a mesmerized rat. And I'm the rat.

"Ah, the perfect angle," he says as he lowers himself to his

knees. Sitting back, he kisses me sensually on the lips, his tongue

delving into my mouth, my view of his strong neck. Both his hands take

my breasts roughly and knead them until it is almost painful before

easing, then repeating the action.

God, I'm getting turned on and I can't. I just can't. It can't be

possible. But I'm breathing hard and answering his probing tongue,

circling it with my own.

"She's ready," he declares as he straightens from my mouth. Then

he rises onto his knees and I see that his dick is lined up with my

face.

His hands wrap in my long hair, pulling my head back around the

edge of the hassock. It's almost impossible to keep my mouth shut.

"Now open, baby," he says softly. "Kiss it for me. Kiss it now."

He's still whispering. When I open my eyes now, all I can see is his

balls hanging beneath that long tool. It seems much shorter from this

perspective. I know what he wants but I can't bring myself to

it. "Please kiss it."

It touches my lips and I shudder. The other time, the guy I was

with only wanted to suck me and then for me to fuck him. I remember

those long years before to that picture that started this whole

thing. But I don't really remember when I'd been fucked. This is

different. Completely different. I know I've never sucked another man

and I don't want to now.

"Kiss it, Amy," Linda urges. "Kiss it or you'll be punished. And

if you cooperate, you will earn a lot from me. More than you can

imagine."

I wonder what she could possibly be saying but for some reason

the combination of threat and promise make the idea more palatable,

more possible. I shape my lips and kiss it and Ivan shudders. I feel

the wetness of it on my lips.

"Lick your lips, Amy. Lick your lips," she almost whispers. I do,

as much to try to alleviate my dry mouth as to do her bidding. It

tastes salty. Not unpleasant but still. I don't want to do more.

"Lick it, sweetheart," Ivan says softly. "Lick it nice for me." I

shake my head. Then I feel Linda's hand on my nipple. She has it

firmly in her grasp.

"Lick it like he says, Amy. Right now." She pinches my nipple

until I clench my eyes with the pain. I shake my head with the pain

and know I can't get out of this situation. I feel so totally

helpless.

"All right!" I finally almost scream and immediately her fingers

loosen. Opening my eyes again, I see that he is holding it close to my

lips and I extend my tongue to lick the head now.

"Oh, yes," he moans as he moves it around on my tongue. I know

what's to come and I know I can't fight it. Linda will just make it

more painful for me if I resist.

"Good girl," she sighs. "Good girl." She says it as if I were a

tiny youngster. "That's it. Keep it up."

I lick around the head, pausing at the little hole in the

tip. His hand has skinned the cloak back from the tip and it flares

like a mushroom. It's purple with his swollen need.

"Now take it in your mouth," he says in the same soft

voice. "Just a little. Softly. Easy now." I let it slide past my

teeth. It's not very big around but I can see that so much of it is

still there. His hand is wrapped around it and still a couple of

inches separates the hand from my lips. "That's it, baby. Just a

little. Take it in."

I swallow hard from my dry mouth, my throat clenching tight in

this unnatural position. Linda's fingers are still touching my nipple

but they are very gentle and loving, inflaming it instead of hurting

it. Francie's hand is between my thighs, softly kneading the skin.

"A little more, now," he says as he moves it further into my

lips. "Shield your teeth with your lips. Yes. That's it. Nice. Good."

His hand and my lips meet. My tongue can move around on the shaft and

I see that it makes him shudder. He moves back out somewhat, then

slowly back in to the fingers again.

"Now, Amy," he says and I can feel a change coming. "I want you

to suck on it. Okay? Just suck."

I know that I must but it takes a second. I swallow again. Yes, I

can do it. I suck gently.

"Ah, yes," he says louder, impassioned. "That's it. Yes. That

feels so good." I shut my eyes and time my sucking to his in and out

movements., mixing them from sucking on the in stroke to sucking on

the out stroke. Yes, this is going to be all right, I think.

This time when I open my eyes I see that he's let go of it now. I

feel his hands go instead to my breasts with loving movements. He's

moaning with his movements.

More than half the long tool is going into my mouth on the in

stroke now.

"Now more, baby," he says sweetly, softly squeezing my full

breasts. "I won't keep it in for long so don't panic. Okay?"

This time when he pushes in, he keeps going until I feel the

still dry skin past where it has been in my mouth before and I swallow

again. When I do, I feel my throat clasp around the head at the back

of my mouth. He immediately pulls back out as I start to gag. I

control it.

This time I know what to expect and as his stroke extends into my

mouth, I don't swallow. But I feel the still dry skin again and feel

it enter the tighter space of my throat for a split second before

withdrawing. It's all right. I CAN do it.

This time, when he comes in faster, I feel his pubic hair against

my lips and his testicles against my nose before he pulls back out. I

took it all! I suck it as it retreats to my lips and nearly slips out.

Immediately, it returns, the pubic hair is pushed hard against my

lips and I can feel his cock well into my opened throat. He pulls out

faster. I moan around it.

"You little cocksucker," Linda says rather sweetly, a smile in

her words. "I knew it." I don't know whether it's a strange kind of

praise or another in her endless string of sarcasms. But, without a

doubt, I am a cocksucker now.

He speeds up his strokes, his hands moving more on my breasts,

perhaps a little more roughly. I have to work very hard not to think

of my own bent dick, bent and painful in its hardness.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes. Oh, fuck. You're so good. Yes. Yes." I can

hear his climax in his voice.

I actually moan with the loss of it when he pulls free of my

mouth.

"Now," Linda says as I feel her pull my arm roughly, turning me

onto my stomach. I roll onto my other arm for a minute before I can

get it out from under me. Francie immediately grabs it by the wrist as

my legs fall off the side of the hassock.

In shock, I look behind me and see Ivan lift the back of my skirt

and throw it above my ass. He grabs the side of my exposed panties and

easily snaps the material at my hip. The rest of the destroyed article

drops down my other leg. I can feel the material burned spot on my

waist where it was ripped apart.

Clearing his throat grossly, he spits and I watch it fall onto my

naked ass. He does it again and I feel it roll down the sensitive

skin.

"No!" I exclaim but it doesn't matter. He aims his purple head

between my legs and I feel it pushing between the cheeks of my ass. I

try to straighten up and am held down by the two women at the same

time that he roughly pushes my legs apart.

Then he presses harder and it feels like the worst shit I even

had to take.

"Relax, sweetie," he says, the lust in his voice plain. He's not

gentle now. I feel it press harder and try to relax my sphincter,

knowing that it only hurts worse if I'm tight like this. But it

doesn't slow him. He presses harder through the slippery mucus he's

deposited there.

I'm going insane with the pain for a moment, tossing my hair

wildly and silently screaming, not loading the scream with the breath

I can't seem to gain. Then, as if that were all it was waiting for, I

feel the head of his cock gain entry and the pain recedes to more

manageable levels. It's still there but now it is like taking a shit

you can't get rid of. I shift my legs as I might to help in ridding

myself of this turd.

I hear him sigh. "God. Tight." He's moaning the words. "God. So

tight."

He presses forward again and the pain returns somewhat but it's

different. He begins to rock in and out. I can feel it gaining further

entry to me. Further and further. Pressing against my

prostate. Rubbing it. I'm breathing very hard now, searching for

enough air to survive. My hands are tightly clasped to the edges of

the hassock. The women aren't really holding me now.

I can feel his thighs against my cheeks now and know he is all

the way inside me. His hands come to my shoulders, pulling himself

tighter into me, massaging as he pulls out somewhat, then pulling hard

again until his thighs again contact my skin.

It feels good. Oh, it feels wonderful. Oh.

My own dick is pointed toward the floor between my protecting

thighs, held in this position because I'm pressed so firmly against

the side of the hassock. Pumped into the side of it actually. Over and

over. Wonderfully pressed into it.

God, I can feel him deep, deep in my insides. His cock fills me

completely. Wonderfully. "Oh, yes," I scream now. This time it is

aloud. "Yes!"

I feel his body lose coordination as his climax is pulled out of

him. I thought it couldn't get any better than those last few

minutes. But now I feel his hot seed shoot deep into my insides, far

past where his hardness extends. That's all it takes. All I can stand.

My back arches and my eyesight loses coherence. My blood roars

through my ears. And my orgasm wracks my body. I can feel it surging

out of me in thick waves as my body clenches with it. I don't remember

anything like it in my life.

He pulls out most of the way and plunges back in with a loud

moan, then spews again inside me. He does it once more before his body

relaxes around my back.

"Oh, my god," he moans through his quickened, deep

breaths. "Unbelievable."

He pulls back then, still holding my shoulders, until I feel him

slowly retreat from my asshole. My body responds to only the last

inch, finally expelling him and letting me sink into the hassock. I

think I'm going to pass out here with it.

"I can hardly believe it, ladies," Ivan says. "I really think

that was the best fuck I ever had." He laughs. "I know it was the

tightest."

"Come back around here, Ivan," Linda says. "I want that hard

again."

"Oh, baby. I don't think that's possible. At least not for a

while." Linda sighs, the displeasure cutting through my silky blue

afterglow now.

"Then, dammit, help me out," Francie's voice says near my

head. "C'mon, guys. Help me pull her down a little."

I feel Ivan's strong hands on my waist then, lifting a little and

pulling me back until I am solidly on my knees and only my breasts and

shoulders still rest on the hassock. I feel movement but I'm still in

a haze.

"Okay, sweetheart. Time for your new girlfriend."

I open my eyes and see that Francie is sitting on the hassock in

front of me now with her skirt pulled up around her waist. I can see

the considerable wetness glistening in the thick mat of hair between

her legs. When I lift my head, she slides her middle beneath it, her

legs over my arms, trapping them.

Leaning on one elbow, she pushes my face down between her legs

roughly, shifting and squirming until my mouth is in the folds of her

labia. She is very strong smelling.

"Now stick that beautiful little tongue out there and lick up all

that nice girl come." Though I'm exhausted, I can do nothing but hope

that I can do it quickly so I can rest.

She leans back further, making herself more accessible, as my

mouth lowers to her nether lips. Her center is bucking wildly by the

time I finish licking her out, from deep inside her cunt to her

asshole and back. When I press my tongue to the underside of her large

clit and clamp it against my upper lip, she can hardly stay on the

hassock. When I suck it into my lips and lick it with my tongue tip at

the same time, she climaxes terrifically, almost falling off the

hassock in her frenzy. It can't have taken 5 minutes.

Carefully now, wanting to get away from my continuing licks, she

moves off my arms. I collapse back onto my butt on the floor, my head

on the hassock.

I'd like to just sleep for about two days now.

"No, no, sweetie," Linda says. "We have to do some clean up and

wake up now."

She guides Ivan into a sitting position under the place where my

head had been lying only a second before she had Francie pull me

back. I see that, though he is not hard, he is not completely soft

either. He must have enjoyed my work with Francie. Sitting on the edge

of the hassock now, he helps Linda guide my mouth back onto his

cock. His hand on the back of my head, presses down each time he is

almost completely out of my mouth. I try to make him come quickly so

it will be over. He is very hard again.

"Now, my turn," Linda says. Pushing me back onto my haunches, she

turns her back to Ivan and, her skirt hiked onto her hips and panties

off, holds his hard dick as she sits down onto it. I watch as that

length sinks into her until she is sitting fully on his lap. She lays

back against him and kisses him over her shoulder before his hands cup

her tits and his middle begins to pump into her cunt. He spreads her

legs onto the outside of his, then spreads his own, even further

splitting her. Francie nudges me from behind.

I lean forward and begin licking the widely opened stretch of her

crack from the pumping dick that pulls her lubrication out with it, up

to her clitoris. Each time I do that, her body seems to clench and

stretch and cringe and clench again. It's as if she was trying very

hard to get her legs back together. Then further separated. Then

together. Ivan holds her wide open to my tongue.

I watch her body clench in an orgasm, bounding and bobbing and

trying to escape its present fate.

But Ivan holds her breasts and, by them, her upper body. She's

still pinned on his cock, pistoning in and out of her slowly. Francie

urges me forward again.

This time I gently mouth her clitoris until she is again moaning

and cringing. Her movements are driving Ivan closer to his climax.

Carefully, I take my manicured middle finger and press it into

his asshole until my knuckle presses against his sphincter. Then I

flutter my tongue on her clit while I suck it until it is in my mouth

more than an inch. This orgasm overwhelms her.

She screams as if in agony but I don't let go or slow. Her body

bounds and clenches but I don't let go.

"Oh, stop!" she screams. "Please, please, please, stop. Oh, god,

stop." She's freed her hand enough to push at the top of my head but I

still suck and flutter on her clit as Ivan's body clenches in the

throes of its own climax. She stops breathing with the orgasm she

experiences as he shoots deep into her.

Chapter 3

I WAKE MONDAY morning, trying to find the alarm clock. After I shut it

off, I lay back on the pillow, smiling. It had been the first really

good weekend I have had in six months.

Linda took me to her bed Friday night after Francie and Ivan

left, both of us exhausted. The next morning, we slept in until after

noon. She decided we didn't need to bother dressing so we spent the

rest of the day talking quietly, reading, and listening to music in

our nightgowns. Nice. I made the eggs for breakfast, but that night

Linda decided to cook dinner and made one of my favorites. She laughed

and talked with me all evening as she hadn't in the six months since

... Well, I never even mentioned that and she didn't either.

Again, she took me to her bed that night and we made

love. Falling asleep in each others' arms, she told me she loves me.

We got up Sunday and dressed casually in shorts and tee-shirts

for another leisurely day. When she told me we had to clean up, I

thought I knew what was going to happen. Instead, though, she pitched

in right beside me to wash the two days of dishes, to clean up after

Friday night's dinner, and to straighten the house. Together we made

beds, vacuumed and dusted. It was really pretty enjoyable.

Best, she seems to have forgotten her sarcasm or, at least, to

have put it on hold for the weekend.

That's what I'm lying here thinking about now. Was it a dream or

just a respite.

"Get up now and get in the shower," she says from the doorway. I

see her smiling in the doorway, wearing one of her pink baby doll

nightgowns. Then I realize. I've got a lot to do before I can go to

work. I've got to get my hair combed as straight as I can get it and

find a good way to hold it back. I have to get the fingernail polish

off my fingers and trim the nails.

I leap out of bed and into the bathroom to shower. When I look in

the mirror after I dry my hair, it is a frizz of curls around my face

and neck.

"Come dress before you do anything else," she says from the other

side of the door. I'm used to walking around the house nude,

now. Linda's made me do it on and off for six months, particularly the

last few weeks as my breasts blossomed. It still makes me nervous

though and I really don't have time if I'm going to get to work on

time. I rush back out of the bathroom.

I look at the bed where some clothes lay. I don't recognize them.

"I bought you a new suit, sweetheart," she says with a smile of

anticipation. She loves to give presents. I see the garter belt, flesh

colored panties, and stockings beside the tan suit. I pick up the suit

coat and gulp. She's got other plans for me today. I can tell.

The suit coat has wide lapels that taper to two buttons. Normal

so far but that's all. I see the tailored style at the waist and the

deep darts in the front. It's a woman's suit.

And if I had any doubts, the other part is not a folded pair of

pants, as I'd first thought. It's a skirt. I know that nothing I say

will matter, realizing that it isn't over yet as I had hoped it might

be during the weekend.

"Where are you taking me today, Linda?" I ask as nicely as I

can. Work was sort of my break from the rest of my life these last

months. Today she obviously had other plans for me.

"Nowhere," she says. I don't understand. She's still

smiling. "Today's the day you can stop hiding what you are from the

people at the office."

I feel very sad. She's not done with me yet. Now she's ready to

extend my humiliation to my office. The last part of my life that's

mine. The last cruelty. I hang my head.

"I thought you'd be happy, sweetheart," she says, coming to take

me in her arms. "Aren't you?" She looks into my eyes and sees my

sadness.

"I thought you liked being a woman now. Don't you."

"Yeah, I guess," I say softly.

"Well, now you're really a woman. I mean, look at you." She puts

her hands under my breasts. "You're beautiful. You have bigger tits

than I do. You have every bit as good a legs." Her hand goes to my

hair. "With the permanent, your hair looks very nice. I'll bet if we

just blow dry it and brush it a little, it'll be perfect for the day."

She steps away from me now, holding onto my arms and still

looking in my eyes. I have to resolve myself to this. I'm going to my

office today dressed in a skirt. No doubt about it.

"Put on your face first," she says, pushing me toward the makeup

table. "Remember, daytime its lighter amounts of mascara, lighter

colored lipstick, and just a little bit of eye shadow. Okay? I'll go

down and make you some breakfast."

She really thinks this is something nice for me! I can't believe

it. And she hasn't made breakfast for me since this all started.

With a sigh, I make up as she suggested and approve of the

look. Much better than the tart look she has insisted on most of the

time at night.

I put on the garter belt and sit on the edge of the bed to put

the sheer stockings on. They come up much higher than most and the

garter holds at the sides as well as front and back. The panties are

french cut and such a light colored material that I can see through

them in spite of their fairly substantial nature. I tuck my dick

between my legs as I pull it into place.

I look around but don't see a bra. Come to think of it, I don't

see a blouse either. I step into the skirt and zip the short

zipper. It can't be a 20 inch skirt and shows as much thigh, no much

more, than it covers. There are very sensible looking tan pumps that I

put on, approving of the two or two and a half inch heels.

"There's no blouse with that suit, baby," I hear her say from

downstairs and nod to myself. No use looking any more.

I slip my arms into the suit coat then find that I have to inhale

to fasten the button on the inside before I can fasten the outside

one. The tailoring pulls in my waist comfortably if a little tightly.

There's a little black ribbon still on the bed. I've seen these

but never worn one. It just ties around your neck. Very Victorian. As

I tie it, I move to the bathroom mirror to do my hair. First I take

the blow dryer and, holding my hair off my neck, dry up under

it. Leaning my head forward, I dry the top and front. Then the

sides. It doesn't take much since it's been a while since my shower

and I didn't wash it really. Just got it a little wet.

Using the brush, I sort of give the chaos of it a bit of

order. But the order I establish is full of broad waves and a broad

surround of curl. It looks good. I nod.

I start out of the room but remember one of the first things that

Linda always insisted on of me when I was dressed as a woman. I push

the bathroom door closed and look into the full length mirror. I

actually catch my breath at the sight.

I noticed the tailoring of the waist when I put the coat on

because I had to hold my breath to button it. And it is as sharply

tailored to the waist as I thought. But I hadn't thought what it did

to me higher. The front darts and the narrow tailoring pulls my

breasts into a very serious cleavage. It doesn't even stop at just

being a cleavage but is low enough that the tightly pressed together

skin between them shows as a continuing cut. It's too tight to have to

worry about a nipple falling out. But there sure as hell is no doubt

that there is a female body in this coat.

And if that isn't bad enough, the tail of the coat is slightly

long and with the very short skirt, all of about two inches of skirt

falls below the bottom of the jacket. No, less than that. And from the

skirt's hem, there's nothing but long, very shapely legs. I can't help

but smile at the overall effect. This is really a woman!

That damned little ribbon necklace only makes it worse still.

I go down the stairs smiling and into the kitchen.

"Oh, honey," Linda says. "It looks wonderful on you!" Her hands

sort of pick at the lapels where they cross each other as if she'd

cover more of that deep cleavage for me then pulls at the hem of the

skirt without really moving it at all. "You look absolutely

devastating!"

Finally, she turns to the stove and pours eggs out of a pan onto

a plate. I watch the way her buns, under the baby doll nightgown and

around the panties, make a little crease over her thighs. Cute, I

think. She puts the plate in front of me with a grin and sits down

opposite. My coffee and some toast is already there. I eat as she

smiles and watches me, drinking her coffee.

"I wish I could go with you today," she sighs as I eat. "You are

absolutely going to knock them dead! I'd love to see the

reactions. Just love it!" She's getting all excited. "You'll have to

remember every detail and tell me all about it tonight. Okay?" I nod

and finish up the last of the toast. I sit still, my heart fluttering

with anticipation and dread, as I finish my coffee.

* *

Now's when it's really scary. I made it through the rush hour

traffic with no problem. It's not even hard to drive in high

heels. Then I put the car in the parking structure and walked to the

door to the office. My key card worked on the front door.

Samantha, the receptionist in the lobby, looked at me the whole

time I walked through and into the hallway but she never said

anything. That's when I really noticed the way my ass wags when I walk

in heels like this. I could feel her eyes on my ass all the way down

the hall.

Then I walk past the bullpen where the secretaries all sit. Only

Phillis is at her desk so far. She stares at me while I unlock my

office door and round my desk. When I do, I see her get up and follow

me in. I take a deep breath.

Her eyes are on my cleavage as she speaks to me. "Ah, can I help

you?" she asks.

"Hi, Phillis," I say. She's worked right outside my door for the

last five years. She knows me as well as anyone in the building. She's

flustered.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. But this is Mr. Brewster's office. And I don't

know you."

"Sure you do, Phillis," I say, trying to bluster through it. Now

she's staring at me. At my face as I try to smile at her.

"Ah," she begins. She doesn't want to make a mistake. "Mike?"

"Yeah, of course, Phillis," I say as if this is the way I look

every day.

"My god!" she whispers. She looks around. "My god!" she says more

loudly. "Mike! Christ Jesus!" She looks back into the bullpen and

takes another step into the room before she closes the door. "Shit,

Mike! What are you doing?"

I can only sit there under her intense inspection. Her eyes go to

my cleavage and I can't help but squirm.

"Oh, shit, Mike! What ...?" She's staring. "You've got ..." She

chokes on the words.

"I've got tits, huh?" I ask. That's obviously what she's looking

at. She giggles nervously.

"Boy, I'll say!" Give her points for honesty at least. As if it

were deniable. I look down at that marvelous cleavage, sort of picking

at the crossover as Linda did earlier with no more result. "Mike?

What the hell's going on?"

I shrug. I'd think it was obvious. "Sit down," I finally

say. Slowly she approaches my desk and sits down in the chair. She's

none too careful with the hem of her dress either. I'm conscious of

that sort of thing now. "Call me Amy, okay?" She shakes her head.

For the next few minutes, I tell her a kind of boiled down

version of what's been happening to me for the last few months. At

least the functional part. Of course, I don't tell her about what

caused it or that Linda has forced everything that's happened to

me. Just the part about slowly changing my dress and my body with the

estrogen. I realize I might as well get this down pat. I'm going to be

repeating it several times today, I can see now.

She exclaims some more and shakes her head and mumbles. Then

finally she makes her way back to the bullpen. During the next few

minutes, I hear a buzz of conversation between Phillis and some of the

other secretaries who have arrived now. I hear "Mike" spoken several

times. Grinning, I also hear "gorgeous" and "tits" and "skirt" and

"hair" as part of exclamations.

One of the girls walks by my office door and almost falls trying

to look at me without being too obvious. I sort of enjoy it. When I

look up from my calendar, I see two of the other girls on the other

side of the bullpen somewhere near their desks, staring at me with

open mouths.

At that moment, Carol rounds the corner into my office door with

a cup of coffee in her hand. She does a kind of unnerved double take

and nearly spills the coffee. Then she sets it down, never taking her

eyes off my face and my cleavage. I have her sit down and go through

the whole thing again.

I can hardly wait until the guys start to arrive. Carol is in

shock as she leaves and I see the other girls giggle and look very

strangely at her when she meets their eyes on the way out. She shrugs.

The guys are starting to arrive now and I can hear the girls

intercepting them at the edge of the bullpen with whispered, "You're

never going to believe ..." and "Mike's ..."

"What the fuck's this I hear ..." Vic says as he turns into my

office door and freezes. He stops as if turned into a statue when he

sees me. Then he looks at the name on the door. Then he looks at me

again. "Hey, I'm sorry. I thought ..." He repeats the whole

process. His stare definitely has an object. It's about a foot lower

than my eyes. I'm suddenly very glad I don't have one of those trendy

glass topped desks or his stare would be much lower than it already

is.

"Morning, Vic. What's new?" I say with a smile. I'm starting to

sort of get a kick out of this.

"Ahhhh," he begins. I'm starting to think this is the statement

of the day. Then he frowns. "Mike?"

I smile. "Of course."

He looks behind himself into the hallway as if he's afraid of

being caught talking to me. Like Phillis before, he quickly closes

the door. "Mike?"

"Yes, Vic. Mike," I say. "Actually, call me Amy. Please."

"Amy," he states. Then I watch him lose his cool

altogether. "Mike, what the fuck's going on? Shit, man. Fuck."

"Just what you see. Do you want the whole story?"

Looking behind him again to ensure the door is closed, he comes

and sits down in my visitor's chair. His eyes flash to mine before

they drop back down to my chest. Then back again to immediately

return. It makes me nervous.

"I gotta hear the whole story." I change the story a little bit

for Vic. He is one of my best friends. I tell him a little more of the

why's and wherefore's.. When I get through the guts of the situation,

he suddenly has a thought, sits back in the chair, throws his head

back, and laughs uproariously.

"What?" I say.

"What?" he asks through the tears of laughter he's wiping

off. "What? Think about Bledsoe's reaction to this."

For the first time, I do. His laughter continues. Then the

intensity of it changes.

"Shit," he almost moans through the laughter. "Now you'll be able

to talk to the old lady while you take a piss." God, I hadn't thought

of that. Exactly where do I take a piss. I've got to think about that

some.

Mrs. Bernice Bledsoe, the owner and founder of our company, is

not going to like this, I think. Only our long history together in the

company will save me, I'm afraid. I'm still not looking forward to the

confrontation.

Finally, Vic's satisfied and, shaking his head, laughs his way

out the door and down the hall to his own office.

For the next hour, I try to do my morning things that usually

take five minutes while a steady stream of co-workers come in to "see"

me and laugh, curse, and leave shaking their heads. Now it's getting

old. The explanation is getting perfected and shortened considerably.

Now, each of the secretaries seems to find an excuse to come into

my office to ask a question or bring me something or something. They

each want a close look. The buzz continues in the bullpen, joined now

by the guys. Even Maxine Tarlow, who usually doesn't talk to anyone on

an average day, is in the bullpen chattering with the best of

them. They've all got theories.

There's a lot of talk about transsexuals and transvestites and

gays and what is and what isn't. The atmosphere is highly sexually

charged all around me. Talking sex, turns you on. It's a proven fact.

My telephone rings and I answer it.

"Mike?" Bernice's recognizable voice says. "I need to see you

before the staff meeting. I've been hearing rather disturbing things

this morning. Well, anyway. Can you come in?"

"Of course," I say before I hang up. I get my note pad and a pen

before I get up and head for my door. Now I take a double take. This

is the first time they're really going to see me today. This ought to

be interesting.

I take a deep breath and march into the bullpen aisle. I've got

to walk the length of it exposed completely. It's not too bad, I

think, nearly at the end of the aisle. Every eye is either on my front

as I approach or on my ass as I walk by. The eyes are quite big and

the mouths are invariably open. I think I'm going to make it.

"Fuck me, Mike!" I hear Vic from halfway back down the aisle

where I passed him a minute before. "You've got gorgeous legs and a

great ass, too."

The girls giggle nervously and several of the guys add similar

comments, complete with wolf whistles. I decide I better not be

sensitive about the whole thing. I turn around at the end of the aisle

and flip Vic the bird with a smile. Then I turn around and flip the

back of the short skirt at him and go on. Everyone bursts into

laughter now.

I knock on Bernice's big office door. Not for the first time, I

think this is ridiculous. A four foot double door, 10 feet tall and

about three inches thick. An intimidating door if there ever was

one. You really expect someone important to be behind it and, I guess

in this case, there is. At least as important as our office gets. I

hear her "come in" barely, from the other side of the door. I open it.

I look at her diminutive person behind the very large desk. I

know, from experience, that she has to have a little six inch footrest

under the desk so her feet can touch down from the overly high chair,

the back of which towers over her. She rarely stands up to talk to

anyone unless, for some reason, she's trapped into it.

Towering at about 5 feet tall or less, she is still perfectly

proportioned and as well appointed -- clothing, makeup and hair -- as

money can make possible.

Now, she is concentrating on something on her desk. I walk toward

the desk through the thick carpet without her head lifting. She is, as

I'm constantly reminded, always completely self- possessed. Finally,

as I stand before the desk, she looks up at me, her mouth open with

her welcome or comment or whatever it had started out to be.

Her first focus is at her eye level. My chest. It trails down to

the short skirt and then slowly back up to my face. I try to smile but

it really is a little hard.

She shuts her mouth. Then nods. "That's what I heard," she says.

"I'd be a bit surprised if anyone in the surrounding 10 blocks

hadn't heard," I say, trying to make the best of it.

"I can understand why." She smiles and, like many others this

morning, shakes her head. "I don't know whether to applaud or be very

upset. God damn it, Mike! You're prettier than I am. And that really

pisses me off."

I laugh out loud. It's the first time I've ever heard her cuss

when she hadn't been drinking hot toddies or martinis for several

hours. She does that at the annual Christmas party and that's it.

"I doubt that, Bernice."

"Well stop doubting. I couldn't any more wear that outfit than

stand on my head for the morning. For one thing, I don't have enough

up here," she pushes up her bosom, "to keep that jacket closed. And

the skirt wouldn't do a thing for me."

She gets more serious and gets up from the high chair to round

the desk to me, really looking me up and down thoroughly. I feel like

I should turn and do, to her approval.

She takes my hand then and leads me to the deep leather couch

against one wall of the office. I've never seen anyone sit on it

before. I sort of perch on the front edge, careful to keep my knees

tightly together.

"So tell me about it," she says leaning her head against her hand

and relaxing into the couch. "I mean everything. The real skinny."

I do for the next 45 minutes without losing her interest for a

moment.

"Where to from here, Mike?" she finally asks.

I shake my head for a moment. "I don't know, Bernice." I think

about this and realize what Linda is thinking. "I don't know how, but

I think Linda wants it to last. I'll go along with her in whatever she

wants."

She nods then. "For what it's worth, Mike ... I mean, Amy -- I'm

going to have to get used to that, I see -- For what it's worth, I

don't particularly like Linda's methods but I do like the results."

She looks at me hard for several minutes. "And I think you do, too."

She stands up then and watches as I get up with her.

"Amy." She's got it now. "I'm going to be watching how you handle

this very carefully. There's good and bad in that. Don't disappoint

me. Okay?"

I smile weakly and nod.

"Tell everybody staff meeting in 15 minutes, okay?" I am

dismissed. She stands with her arms crossed under her breasts,

watching me as I go to the door and leave.

As I pull the big door closed and make my way down the center

aisle again, I stop. Everyone is here, smiling and looking at me.

"Staff meeting in 15 minutes." Everyone begins to scramble for

the materials they'll need for the meeting. Finally, it's broken up

and people aren't just staring at me.

In the next 15 minutes, I put together my reports before going to

the conference room. Most everyone but Bernice is already in the room

and greeting me in various ways. Several are downright obnoxious. Then

the door closes solidly and Bernice, in her no nonsense manner, walks

to her place at the side of the table. She motions to me.

"Sit next to me, Amy," she says. "First item of business," she

announces. "If anyone hadn't noticed before, our friend Mike is now a

very thorough-going woman. Her name is Amy.

"I'll expect everyone at this table to address her as Amy and to

treat her as a lady. If I hear any different, you can start packing

some boxes because sex discrimination and harassment is not tolerated

in this company and never will be. Is that understood?" She looks

around the room at everyone in the way she has perfected to do

that. Only Vic, who can get away with it, looks other than contrite

and compliant.

"Vic," she says with a grin. "I really should have fired you five

years ago."

He looks totally taken back. "What did I do?" he says in a stage

innocence.

"Just see that you don't," Bernice says into the laughter.

I sit back into the soft conference chair, making sure my legs

are crossed and my skirt is as low as I can get it, and get ready for

the meeting. That takes up the rest of the morning, as usual on

Monday.

By the end of the meeting, it's as if there was nothing unusual.

And then I feel the need to visit the bathroom. Immediately, I

turn around and return to the conference room and just catch Bernice.

"What should I do about a bathroom, Bernice?" I ask.

"I don't see the problem," she says.

"I'm biologically a man but I'm dressed as a woman and feel like

a woman. If I go in the men's room, it's hard to tell what the outcome

might be."

"I see," she says. Then she thinks for a minute. "Tell you what.

"First, you're a woman. You use the women's room. But everyone

knows about before. How about you just make it real obvious where

you're going and then if the girls don't want to go in there while

you're there, they have the choice. Okay?"

"That's fine with me. Thank you." I turn and head for the girl's

room, walking through the middle of the bullpen to get there.

When I go into the room, I see that one of the girls is in front

of the mirror with a lipstick but it doesn't look like anyone is in

the stalls. She knows me and doesn't seem affected. I go in the first

stall, pull up my skirt and down my panties and relieve myself. I

reverse the procedure before I flush and leave the stall.

As I wash my hands, I look critically into the mirror and

straighten some curls. Later I'll have to replace the lipstick I've

worn off. I fix a small spot that's crept over my lipline a bit. As I

stand there, four of the secretaries come into the room

chattering. They see me but they don't slow. Two go straight to the

stalls and the other two to the mirror beside me.

One asks me where I bought my suit and I have to tell her Linda

bought it and I'll have to ask. They understand. One of the girls

coming out of a stall, still has her skirt up to her hips, pulling her

blouse down, as she walks to the mirror.

I think I'm accepted.

* *

When I return to my office, Vic is sitting in the visitor's chair

doodling in his notebook. I shut the door behind me.

"Went to the little girls' room, huh?" he says with a silly

grin. I nod. "How was it? I mean, was Phillis in there with her skirt

over her head or something? Maybe Sam. Shit, that'd be something. I'll

bet she's got a cute little ass."

"Just a couple of the other secretaries," I answer. "Sorry."

"Hey, I know," he says in a confidential voice. "You can tell me

which of the girls aren't wearing panties. Then I'll know which ones

to watch, okay?"

I just laugh. "You'll never grow up, will you Vic?"

"Hey! That's grown up."

I walk to the side of my desk in front of him and look

down. "Besides this adolescent need for knowledge, what can I do for

you?"

"You're doing it right now," he says as his eyes rove up and down

my body. "God, I can't believe it. One day my funny little buddy. The

next day, a beautiful chick with a set of knockers to die for." I look

down at the cleavage the jacket forms.

"Yeah. This coat is outrageous, isn't it?"

"Outrageous!" he agrees. "Come here a second." He motions me

toward him and leans forward in the chair. I take a step forward and

his hand comes out and snags the single button of the front of the

jacket.

"Vic! What are you doing?" I whisper, not wanting the whole

office to hear.

"I've got to see what that coat is covering up." He unbuttons the

button. Luckily the other, interior button holds it closed still.

"Vic! Good god!" I don't react fast enough and he undoes the

interior button as well. I just catch it before he can open it.

"Ah, c'mon, Mike. Christ. How many times have we sat around in

some little dive and looked at the chicks. Speculating on what they

were wearing or trying to get a peek up their skirts or whatever. Now

you've got it and aren't going to show your old buddy?"

I just look at him, my arms holding the jacket closed.

"Are they real, Mike? I mean, are they like silicone implants or

fake or what?"

"No. They're real. Linda's been giving me estrogen for months and

they grew."

"Nipples and everything?" I nod and smile as his dirty grin

broadens. "Are they sensitive? Like a girl's?"

"Yeah. They are."

He looks around. His bargaining look. Searching for a trade.

"Listen. I'll give you the Barnes deal if I can look at

them. Okay?"

"The Barnes deal?" He barely aced me out of the deal in the first

place. "You'd give it to me for just that? No strings?"

"Yeah. You got it."

"You'll have the file on my desk this morning?" He looks through

the papers he's holding under his pad on his lap and pulls one out. He

drops it on the near edge of my desk. There it is.

"Barnes will like working with you a lot better than me anyway,"

he says. "Actually, I was going to give it to you before. But now it's

a deal." He smiles at me and I can only sigh. I put my hands down to

my sides.

His lewd smile fills his face as he reaches out to me and, as if

he's opening a Christmas present, lifts one side of the jacket. Then

he lifts the other side and slowly spreads them until I feel the cool

air of the room on the outsides of my breasts where they have sweat

under the jacket's material.

"Fuck me, Charlie," he sighs. "You've got the best set of tits I

ever saw." It makes me smile. My nipples have hardened to little knots

under his scrutiny. One hand pushes the coat out and finds my naked

side. Then the other does the same thing.

"Vic, I don't think ..." I start but I stop when his fingers

close over my distended nipples. "Vic," I whisper as my hands go to

his arms to push him away. I can't get a good angle though. He just

looks into my eyes and my open mouth where I am trying to draw enough

air to sustain me now. "Vic."

His hands quickly return to my side and he pulls me toward him. I

catch myself before I fall over him, by putting one knee in the chair

between him and the arm. His tongue licks my left nipple. It's like

fire and though it burns brightly in the one spot, remnants of it

stream through my body.

"God, you do like that, don't you?" I can only nod. He kisses the

skin between my breasts and then presses them to the sides of his

face. I can hear him mumble but the sound is buried in the skin. He

moves to the other nipple and sucks it hard into his mouth for a

moment, his tongue playing on it inside his mouth. It feels wonderful

and I'm breathing very hard now.

He sits back away from me then and I blush at the way he's

looking at me, his smile spreading.

"Just one more thing I've got to know," he says. His hands slide

down my hips until he reaches the hem of my short skirt. I start to

step away as his hand lifts it but he catches me with one hand and

pulls it up to my waist. "Cute panties," he says softly.

He holds onto the waistband and hem of the skirt with one hand

while the other touches the silky front of the panties. His fingers

move down to my tummy through the material and then to the junction of

my legs. His fingers trace the bent top of my dick down between my

legs. Low, between my legs, he pulls the material aside and my

partially hardened dick falls out in his hand.

"There he is!" he exclaims. "I was afraid there for a minute that

there was nothing at all left of the old Mike." He laughs.

There are two taps on my door that attract our attention to it as

it starts to open. Thank god for those two taps. I stand free of him

and turn my back to the door. I clasp the front of the jacket together

and quickly button the outside button, covering myself. The skirt has

fallen back into place as I walked around the end of my desk and

quickly slide into my chair under it.

"Amy?" a voice says before I round my desk. I know I'm blushing

as I sit and turn to look at her. "Oh, Vic! I'm glad you're both

here."

He quickly stood up to allow her to sit in the chair. Then he

pulled the other chair from its place behind the door and sat down as

well.

"I see you've already given her the Barnes file as I asked," she

said. I looked at Vic and saw his coy grin. Hell of a deal he gave

me. He didn't even have the grace to look embarrassed. "Fill us in,

Vic."

"Okay. First, you both know that William Barnes is one of the

biggest publishing houses in the country. Seventy plus titles a

year. And now he's getting into audio, CD-ROM, on-line services, and

all the other popular areas of publishing. A few weeks ago, he began

working on some ties with several newspapers for use on the on-line

services. We're helping in that." He grinned.

"What you may not know is that Barnes, while being among several

large publishers, is easily the biggest pornographer in the

country. Five magazines, video tapes, adult stores, and an assortment

of other activities. Now he's spreading these activities to the

computer networks and direct sales on CD's through the computer

magazines. I know of three bulletin board systems he operates that

specialize in this form of entertainment. But I'm sure that's just the

tip of the iceberg.

"The contract to help him with the 'legitimate' enterprises is

fairly good. Nothing particularly outstanding, of course. What I think

we can help with more is this other, more secret area of his

interests." He shifts uncomfortably.

"Unfortunately, he is not much affected by anything I've said to

him. He's not the least interested in anything a guy has to say to

him." He looks at me now. "And the point of this trade in the file. He

is greatly affected by women. The more exotic and exciting, the

better."

Now he's looking at me with that grin again.

"There is no woman in my experience as exotic and exciting as

Amy," he says. "You're a natural."

"I agree," Bernice says. "Amy? Anything you need to help with

this, just tell Phillis. If there's any problem, tell me and I'll

smooth the ways. Okay?"

I can only nod.

She stands and goes back to the door. "You two be careful," she

says. "You never know who might come in the door."

I know she saw at least a little of what was going on now. I

wasn't sure before. I blush as she closes the door behind her.

"Deal, huh," I say to Vic.

"Hey! It worked didn't it." He laughs.

Chapter 4

I SPENT THE rest of the day going over the Barnes file until I knew

every detail. Then I called and made an appointment for the next day

-- actually night since the only time he had available is tomorrow

night. But I'll get a free dinner out of it anyway.

I did get an invitation to tour his facilities during the day

though he won't be available. His special assistant will take me

around.

I have the feeling that I am very much going to be on display all

tomorrow so I'll see what Linda has that I can wear during the day

tomorrow and I made a date with Phillis to go shopping in the

afternoon so I'll have something for the evening.

As I pull into the driveway, I'm just glad to have made it

through the day and that I'm home at last.

"Linda?" I call as I go through the front door.

"In here," she calls from the living room. When I walk through

the door, I'm startled. She smiles as I see her. She's been busy.

Her hair is newly done and looks wonderful. I tell her

that. She's also dressed in what has to be a new outfit. It's a

lightweight blue chiffon material with puffy sheer long sleeves and a

very low cut front that shows her off beautifully. The flounced skirt

is the same material and short as all the things she likes seem to

be. Blue eye shadow makes her blue eyes even bluer.

"Shopping?" She nods.

"And wait until you see what I bought for you." She doesn't even

let me sit down but leads me upstairs by one hand. She leads me into

her room -- what used to be our room and I see a white dress and some

other material on the bed but she shoos me into the shower.

When I come out, she's sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for

me.

"You're going to love this," she says. She indicates I should sit

down on the other side of her and then starts feeding me pieces of

clothing. First a lace garter belt and very light colored stockings. I

put them on.

Then she hands me the white, lacy teddy and I get into it. It has

spaghetti straps and really doesn't hold my breasts at all

well. Really they're loose inside the lightweight material. It does

have a little elastic in the waist and snaps firmly between my

legs. As I start to tuck my dick back, she tells me it probably isn't

necessary and that the front is firm enough to hold me tightly. It

does look okay.

Then she gives me a fairly sheer half slip that's almost

useless. It barely covers my lap. Then she bunches the dress so she

can guide it over my head and helps me find the long sleeves. After

my head comes back out, I see that it is pure white lace from top to

hem. The lace is in little rose patterns about two inches across and

all intricately connected. Only the neck seems to be any thicker and

this only to allow the few buttons up the back to have some place to

be. The high, frilled collar stands up high under my chin. The frilled

cuffs fall over the back of my hands.

I can't help but laugh. The dress has the longest skirt I've seen

Linda pick out. To the top of my knees. But, of course, the entire

thing is completely see-through lace. No lining, no nothing. If I

weren't wearing the half slip, I would practically be naked. And

without the teddy, I WOULD be naked.

She hands me the white patent shoes that are pointed toed but,

behind the toe part, only a pair of thin leather thongs that go around

my foot. A tiny gold slide tightens them across the instep. They are

actually delicate. The heel is normal at the top but as it tapers down

quickly until it almost disappears. The point of it can't be more than

a quarter of an inch across. They're about four or four and a half

inches tall, making them the highest I've ever worn.

She takes me to the makeup table and I see just how Victorian

beautiful the dress really is with the high lace making my neck look

like it is about a foot long. She says she got the idea when she saw

me with the little black neck ribbon this morning.

She applies a heavy coat of green eye shadow, dark mascara and

pencil. My eyes absolutely leap out of my face. Dark red lipstick does

the same for my lips and blush brings out my cheek bones. Darker

brownish blush hollows my cheeks.

A cameo pin at my throat seemed to top the outfit. But then she

brought out a small gold chain and I knew this would make it

perfect. An ankle bracelet with a tiny cameo on it. I'd never felt so

feminine.

A quick brush of my hair and we walked to the car.

Linda drove and tonight, I knew, was going to be different. She

drove directly to the club.

The club is where all our personal friends go and most of my

business contacts. Bernice belongs as does Vic and most of the other

people in the office above secretaries.

"Another coming out party," I sigh when we arrive.

"No, no. Friday was your coming out party. And today was truth

day at work. Now it's truth time for the rest of the people we know. I

can hardly wait to hear about your day at work," she held up her hand,

"but wait until dinner. We can talk all we want then."

She leans over and gently kisses me on the lips and then backs

away to open her door. I get out as well.

Negotiating my way across the parking lot, up the stairs at the

front of the club, and through the lobby is more than a little

difficult on the high heels but I made it. She guided me toward the

dining room.

Morris leads us to a table by the windows overlooking the tennis

courts and almost bursts with excitement as he holds our chairs for

us. We order drinks and look at the menu for a few minutes.

When Morris brings back the drinks and introduces Dave, our

waiter, we order. Linda asks him to hold off until we are almost

finished with our second drink and he agrees.

"Now," Linda says with a broad smile. "Tell me all about your

day."

"Wait," I say. "First I have to clear some things up. Linda,

what's going on?"

She looks at me like she couldn't possibly understand. "Going on?

Nothing. We're just going out to eat."

"No, I mean Friday night you set me up. You invited two people

I'd never met to the house and systematically raped me for four

hours. It was just the culmination of what's been going on for six

months.

"All during the weekend, you treated me like you did before the

pictures came in the mail. I felt like we were equals and, at least,

friends again. Almost like we were husband and wife again." Looking

down at the dress I'm wearing I think how silly that statement is. "At

least like college roommates or something.

"Then, today you give me no alternative but to go to work dressed

as a woman. I didn't know whether I was going to get fired, cause a

riot, or what."

"Did you get fired?"

"No."

"Then that was all right. And didn't you enjoy the weekend?"

"Yes. I did."

"Now the big one. Did you enjoy Friday night?"

I hesitated for quite a while. "Yeah," I sighed. "Most of

it. Yeah."

"So what's the problem?"

"Linda?" I say exasperated now. "For the last six months you've

treated me like your worst enemy. You've treated me worse than you

would a dog. I feel off balance. I don't know what to expect

next. It's driving me crazy."

She looks at me with a funny smile on her face. She looks for a

long time, even taking a long drink of her martini and giving me a

chance to do the same thing. Then she starts to talk to me.

"Amy," she says pointedly, using my new name. "Six months ago, I

was married to a guy named Mike. And suddenly I realized I didn't know

him and from what I found out in those days, I didn't like him either.

"So I set out to make some changes. I loved you enough to make

the effort. To make some basic changes in you that I thought would

make it right again. I know I was hard on you. The Tampax," she looks

at her hands. "Maybe that was a little too rough. But I succeeded.

"Amy, I remade you both mentally and physically into something we

could both understand and control."

I can't keep from feeling resentment. And I certainly don't feel

safe and secure though the way I'm dressed now gives me less concern

than it would have a week ago.

"What's next, Linda? Do we go back to the Tampax and the made up

housework and the little humiliations?"

"No, sweetheart. That's over now. I've done what I intended and

it wouldn't serve any purpose. It also had the value of getting me

over my anger. I was very very angry six months ago."

"I noticed," I say. She laughs.

"At least now you know how it feels to be cheated on and what it

feels like to work for someone all day without their even noticing or

caring. You know what it feels like to be walked on and humiliated."

She grins. "You even know what it feels like to get

fucked. Literally."

"And what about this, Linda," I ask, gesturing toward myself, my

clothes.

"I think you make a much nicer woman than you did a man," she

says. "And I think you know it as well as I do."

I think about it then. I'm not sure yet. But I think maybe she's

right. I do like being a woman. It just feels good.

"So tell me about your day," she says. For the next hour and two

more drinks, I tell her about everything that happened. It's almost as

much fun in the telling as in the doing.

When I notice Vic come through the door into the dining room, I

cringe, remembering one thing I didn't tell Linda and that I don't

intend to tell her either. Of course, he immediately sees us and comes

to the table.

"I don't believe it," he says. "I thought the suit you were

wearing today was the most fantastic thing I'd ever seen on a

woman. Now I see you in this!"

I grin. Linda says, "You're making me feel very inferior, Vic."

"Never, my sweet," he says as he leans down and kisses

her. "You're as gorgeous as always."

He looks back at me. "Who picks out your clothes, Amy? My god

that is a sexy thing."

"Linda picked out both the suit and this outfit," I say and he

tips a non-existent hat to her. "But you ought to see it all!"

"All? Oh. Oh no. Is this another of those skirts?" I just

smile. "Okay, I give up. I've got to see it all. Stand up."

He offers me his hands and raises me to my feet. Then, standing

back as far as he can while still holding my hand, looks me up and

down with special interest in the skirt and the half slip under it. He

keeps shaking his head and his hand has gone weak.

"My god! It's unbelievable!" he exclaims. "Oh and that fucking

ankle bracelet turns me on so bad ... I think I'll just have to throw

you down on the floor right here."

"I could hear Vic from the lobby," Bernice's voice says from

behind him. When she sees me and looks me up and down once, she looks

as if she might faint. "My god. I see why he was exclaiming in his

typical patois. That dress is absolutely magnificent. Where did you

get it?"

"I didn't. Linda got it for me." Bernice notices her then for the

first time.

"Oh, darling Linda. How are you tonight? You really must tell me

where you are shopping. I understand you bought the suit Amy was

wearing today as well." Linda looks pleased.

"I knew that if I came to the club tonight, there'd be at least

one beautiful woman I could snuggle up to," Vic says. "Bernice, would

you join me?"

She nods. "Safer, Bernice," I say. "Why don't you both join us?"

"Fine. This'll be great! I can play footsy with Bernice like I

intended all along, I can look at that fantastic lace dress, and I can

hug my favorite girl." He puts his arm around Linda as he sits down at

the table next to her. Morris holds the chairs for Bernice and I

before asking for drink orders and leaving.

"So, celebrating?" Bernice asks.

"Yes," Linda says. "Amy's first day at work. She's been telling

me about it all."

"Quite a shock for us," Bernice says.

"Yeah, to say the least. You go to work on a Monday morning and

find that your best buddy has turned into a gorgeous woman

overnight. Hell of a deal! And now all the secretaries are jealous

when they aren't too busy chattering to get any work done." Everyone

laughs.

"And what's worst. My buddy spends half the day in the little

girls' room and won't even take pictures for me."

Bernice just shakes her head in disbelief.

"Speaking of the little girls' room, would you excuse me?" she

says then. I feel a little silly but her statement reminds me that I

have been putting that off as well.

"Would you mind if I went with you?" I ask.

"Here, honey," Linda says, handing me her purse. I know it has

some lipstick and a brush in it.

"See what I mean?" Vic says loudly as we walk across the

increasingly more crowded room. I shake my head as well, now.

As I walk into the restroom, I look around. I've never been in

the women's room here, of course. The men's room is fairly spectacular

as bathrooms go. It has a stone wall, washed in water like a

waterfall, for a urinal and a couple of kingly seats along with the

huge sinks with their gold handles. A king's room in a way. And if

that's the king's room, this has to be the queen's.

I don't slow much to look at the accommodations on the way to a

stall and neither does Bernice. The stall is very large and completely

enclosed rather than simple metal stalls. The plumbing is imbedded in

the same kind of stonework that makes up the urinal in the men's. Very

comfortable and private.

I do what's necessary and get my teddy, slip and skirt back in

place before opening the door. The wall in front of me is a series of

inlaid sinks with room beside each for makeup and other

necessities. One area is low and has a makeup stool in front of it for

major repairs, I'd guess.

The indirect lighting is very bright to allow you to see yourself

though it is a combination of fluorescent and incandescent so it seems

like daylight. The mirrors extend from the sink level to the

ceiling. The end wall, between the stalls and sinks, is all mirror to

let you check everything out from top to bottom.

I open the purse and run the brush through my hair a few times to

take care of some of the more unruly strands. Just a touch of lipstick

takes care of the smears from my drinks. I put the things back in the

purse as Bernice comes out of the stall and steps to the sink beside

me. She repeats my actions.

"That is one of the prettiest dresses I've ever seen, Amy," she

says.

"Thank you," I reply. "Linda's very good at picking out sexy

women's clothing."

"Yes. That jacket you were wearing today was spectacular. Very

complimentary to someone with the right assets and you certainly seem

to have those." She finished her touchups and was looking at me

solidly now. "Those are real, I guess. Hard to fake, I know."

"Yes," I assent. "Estrogen pills for the last six months."

"It's odd. I hadn't really noticed. I mean when you were dressing

as a man last week."

I nod. "It was getting very uncomfortable to tie them up that

tightly though. Particularly during the warm weather."

"My god, I can imagine." She puts her hand to her own ample

bosom. "I'd certainly hate to be tied up that way for very long."

The way she is studying me, I know she has another question but I

can't guess what it might be. I just wait since she isn't moving to

leave.

"I was wondering," she begins. She looks slightly

embarrassed. Something I haven't seen from her. I touch the back of

her hand and smile. "Okay. I was wondering if you've, you know, had

surgery or what?"

"Oh. No. I haven't. I haven't even thought about it."

"Doesn't the estrogen have an affect?"

"Yeah, it did for a while. Really, I guess a long term effect,

too." Now I'm embarrassed. I don't know how deeply to get into this.

"I know. This is really none of my business."

"Of course it is. I work for you and you have a right to know." I

think though what it is I want to say. "The estrogen," I begin. "First

it did away with my sex drive for a while but that seems to have

returned. The longer term result may be that my testicles have

shrunken and my body doesn't seem to produce very much semen. And,

well, my penis is smaller, too."

"Really?" she almost states, surprised. I nod. "Does that make

you uncomfortable? I mean, are you worried about it?"

"No," I shake my head slowly. I hadn't really thought about it

much but it doesn't bother me now that I do. "No. That's all

right. Maybe sort of a small price to pay for all the benefits.

"Benefits. Really? How interesting. What benefits do you see?"

"Well, to an extent, being taken care of. Linda's been doing

that. And the clothes. I really like the clothes." I blush for a

second at my next thought. "And I like the attention. A lot."

She leans close to me and smiles broadly as she touches the back

of my hand softly. "So do I. It's my favorite part of being a

woman. Having men look at me and want me."

I smile. She really does understand and doesn't think it's

conceited or silly.

"You're a very pretty woman. I'm just a little surprised that

... well, before ... I never noticed that you even had the

potential. You weren't a particularly effeminate man." She shifts now

and looks a little uncomfortable. "I'm still curious, I'm afraid. And

I'll certainly understand if this is too much to ask but ..." She

takes a deep breath and presses on. "Would you mind very much if I

asked to ... see it? I mean, under your skirt. You know."

"See?" I ask, a bit flabbergasted. I've got to think whether I

care or not. Finally, I decide that I don't really care. "No, I guess

that would be all right."

"Here, then. Just step back into this stall," she holds my arm

and guides me back into the stall. Then she pushes the door shut

behind her and sits down on the toilet seat with the lid down. She

reaches for the hem of my skirt and lifts it far enough that I can

catch it without bending. The half slip is already at the tips of my

fingers.

"What nice lace!" she says. "It's not hard and rough like most

but it still looks crisp."

I pull the skirt and slip to my waist.

"Oh, you're wearing a teddy. I see. Does that hold you firmly

enough?"

"Yes, it seems to and it's much more comfortable than

usual. Usually, I have to tuck it back between my legs with panties

because the fronts aren't strong enough or big enough to hold me

right. This was a special new thing tonight."

"Really? You've worn women's clothing before today?"

"Yes. Of course. All the time but when I'm at work for the last

six months."

"Really?" she says, startled. "And all that time with it tucked

between your legs?" I nod.

"At first, Linda had me tie it back with a cloth strap."

"What?"

"Yeah, it wrapped around it a couple of times, went between my

legs and then tied around my waist. But then I got used to not getting

turned on very often and she decided to try some more revealing

clothes that would have showed the strap."

"May I see?" she asks. She seems to be really anticipating this.

I simply spread my legs a little and unsnap the teddy between my

legs. The elastic and its natural stretchiness pulls it up. I fall

loose.

"Oh!" she exclaims. "It is quite small. Was it always that small

when soft?"

"Maybe a little bigger," I say. She touches it and it loses some

of its softness. She looks at it in her fingers, turning it from side

to side. It's not making it any softer. With a start, I realize that

it's quickly getting hard.

"Amazing," she says, looking up at me. "Your nipples are getting

hard as fast as this. I guess that's reasonable though. It's the same

process." Her other hand comes to my left breast.

"Bernice?" I say tentatively.

"Yeah, I wanted to do this in my office today. But, at the same

time, I didn't want anything work related to it. I mean, that would be

like sexual harassment. Something I won't put up with in the least in

the office."

Now I am hard. In both places. I shut my eyes to feel the

feelings of it. Then I feel something else. Her lips on my cock and,

at the same time, her fingers tightening on my nipple. Both feel

wonderful.

"I just have to do it, Amy. I can't help myself." Her mouth

closes over me, sucking it into the depths of it and her tongue moving

about on it in a frenzy.

"Oh, Bernice!" I hear myself exclaim. "Oh." The hand that is not

holding up my skirt and slip, strokes the top of her head as her head

moves in and out. She moves out until it drops from her lips and

smiles up at me.

"It's pretty good sized when it's hard," she notes. Her mouth

drops back over it and sucks it up as far as possible, sucking hard

and moving in and out. Her suction alone would pull my body forward

and back. But then she reaches around and puts her hand on my butt and

pulls me into her mouth completely. I can feel myself at the back of

her throat.

"Oh, Bernice!" I moan. "Look ... ah ... look out. I'm ..." But I

don't get it out. The come is pulled from my body, almost as if it is

being turned inside out by her suction. And she's squeezing my nipple

very hard now and that feels wonderful, too. I can only put my head

back with my mouth open wide to try to draw in breath.

There might not be too much, but she swallows every drop before

it stops and she sits upright again. She strokes the inside of my

stocking covered thighs as she apparently watches it diminish back

toward its normal size again. It may have recovered, but I haven't

quite yet. I can still just catch my breath.

I put my hand on the back of hers where it still plays

distractedly with my nipple, stopping her.

"Thank you, Bernice," I say.

"I had to see for myself," she says. I only nod. I'm not quite

sure I know what she had to see but I'm glad she did. "Let me help you

with this."

She reaches between my legs, forcing me to spread them somewhat,

and gets the back of the teddy. Then she snaps the front and back

together between my legs. Finally, she seats my dick in the pouch it

forms at the front. Now soft again, it's quite comfortable. And

satisfied, I think.

Then she helps me pull down the half slip and skirt, rubbing it

where it falls over my stomach and thighs, admiring it.

"I really like that dress," she says. "I'll have to ask Linda

where she got it."

When she stands, I bend a little and kiss her lips. "Thank you,

Bernice. I liked that a lot."

"Well, maybe it'll make getting through the rest of the evening a

little easier anyway." I smile at her thought. I don't really think

that's why she did it.

On the way past the mirror, she repairs her lipstick

quickly. Then we leave the restroom.

Chapter 5

BERNICE ACTS LIKE nothing at all happened as we both sit down again at

the table. Vic and Linda don't even seem to have missed us. It even

takes a few minutes before they even notice our return.

"How was it?" Vic asks.

"How was what?" I ask since he's looking at me.

"The little girls' room, of course. What would I be talking

about?" It's almost like he knows what happened and I have to think

quickly to keep my blush from showing.

"It's actually prettier than the men's room," I say reasonably

quickly. "But all the mirrors aren't as neat as that waterfall."

"The bidet must be great though. Like a fountain in Rome or

something," he says.

"Bidet?" I didn't see one.

"Yes," Bernice says. "I didn't show it to you but the bidet is

really quite nice."

"I like the chairs and the chaise lounge," Linda says. I blush

again since I didn't see them either. "It's sort of homey with the

magazines and stuff."

I nod but, since I didn't see it, I'm not going to comment.

David brings the dinner along with a bottle of wine that Vic has

ordered and before very long, we're finished eating and have consumed

that bottle and another. Vic orders a cognac for himself and some kind

of very large drinks made from orange sherbet and rum. They're sweet

and good like a milk shake or something but I can almost immediately

feel the booze as it lays on top of the before dinner drinks and wine.

"Let's move out on the balcony," Bernice says then and since it's

a nice night, we all quickly agree.

As we cross the room, it makes me a little uncomfortable to have

all the eyes on me. Everyone, both men and women, seem to look up and

to follow with their eyes as I walk by. Bernice stops and talks to

two or three people but even the people I know don't speak to me

because they probably don't recognize me, I guess. I don't speak to

them either since I'm pretty tired of explaining the whole thing over

and over again.

We sit at a low glass topped table on the rattan chairs, each

covered with thick pillowed cushions. They're very comfortable but

I've always thought they were a little too low slung. Great in a

bathing suit or tennis outfit in the afternoon. They naturally sort of

lay you back to catch the sun or to relax after a game or swim. But

they bend back too far for a dress and are even a little uncomfortable

when you're dressed as a man because of the getting in and out of

them.

You practically have to bent double to reach your drink right in

front of you. And, suddenly, not being too slow, I see why Vic wanted

to do this tonight.

Bernice and Linda seem confident enough sitting in the chairs but

I have a little trouble. I sit on the forward edge then sort of slide

back a little into the pocket of the seat while carefully keeping my

knees together. Then I can cross my knees. The angle from my waist to

my knees aims directly at Vic's eye level.

At least Linda and Bernice have as much trouble keeping their

skirts down as I do, though theirs aren't as well lined up with Vic's

gaze as mine. When I reach for my drink, I really understand.

I look up at Vic and he is looking at me. I know that if the

teddy has fallen even a little away from my body, he can probably see

my bellybutton. When I look down and put my hand to my chest, I can

see my breasts and nipples plainly. I vow to hold my drink in my hand,

now that I've got it.

I hadn't finished my drink when Vic ordered another round.

We all talked animatedly, a function, I'm sure, of our drinks. I

found myself pulling my skirt down again and again as it slid up my

legs toward my lap. When Bernice and Linda decide to go to the

bathroom, Linda leans to my ear and tells me my half slip has slid up,

too. As Vic watches the two women walk back into the dining room, I

lift the sides of my skirt and pull it back down, trying to tuck it

between my legs a little in the process. When I get the skirt back

where it belongs, I look up and meet Vic's smiling eyes on my legs.

"Don't cover up," he says with a grin. "I like the view. You're

really quite enjoyable to watch."

I can only thank him. After a few minutes of just looking at me

until I'm squirming under his scrutiny, he moves over into Bernice's

seat next to me. He speaks in a quiet, confidential tone.

"Is this really going to work?" He looks seriously at me. "Mike,

this is your old buddy. Is this going to work? I mean over the long

haul?"

I really haven't had time to think about it and only recently

began thinking I had any say in it anyway. Linda's been doing all the

decision making for me for the last six months, all the guiding. Maybe

I only think I have any say in anything now. After all, she's still

buying my clothes and telling me what to wear and when. But I really

think that things are changing and that my life is again becoming my

own.

Then my thoughts dwell on what I really want. The subject of

Vic's question. I begin thinking aloud.

"I don't know, Vic," I say.

"Do you like this? I mean, the dressing up and being treated like

a beautiful woman?"

I grin. "Wouldn't you?"

"Well, no," he says as seriously as he ever gets. "I like being a

man and I'd be very uncomfortable as a woman. Besides, I'd be an ugly

woman and no one would care to look at me much."

I laugh with him. "You think I have a choice?"

"Sure. It's your life. You've always got a choice. And I know

Linda wouldn't make you do anything for the rest of your life that you

didn't want. Even if she is madder than hell at you now. If it hasn't

changed for you already, I'm pretty sure it will pretty soon."

"Yeah," I say. "I think you're right."

"So, when she says, 'Make your own decisions,' what are you going

to decide."

I shake my head. I really haven't thought about anything past the

moment for months.

"Did you like being a man?" he asks.

"Sure, yeah."

"Obviously, you enjoy being a beautiful woman. I mean that

comment about 'Wouldn't you?' when I asked."

"Yeah, I do."

"I don't think you can have it both ways, buddy," he says

then. "I mean, you couldn't put on a pair of Levis and a tee-shirt and

go hoist a few at the belly bar tonight."

The belly bar is what we called a local strip joint we used to go

to every now and then. And occasionally we really did just put on a

pair of jeans and a tee-shirt after working on the car for the

afternoon, a go have a pitcher or two of beer. I could see myself in a

tee-shirt now, fingernail polish and permanent in my hair. I'd be part

of the show instead of just one of the patrons.

"At least, it would take some work. I'll admit that. And I

couldn't go one way and then the other with any ease. Just my hair," I

pointed out.

"Yeah. I've thought for a couple of months that that long pony

tail you've been wearing was looking a little faggy." I nod with

understanding. "I was really bothered about two weeks ago when I

glanced over at the urinal and thought I could see you wearing

panties. You were, weren't you?"

"Yeah. I haven't worn anything else for the last six months."

"No, shit! Didn't you worry about getting caught?"

"Sure. But I didn't really have any choice."

"Shit!" he says vehemently. "If you really didn't want to, you

could have stopped by Penney's on the way to work and bought some

underwear for work. Or you could have just left and come move in with

me."

I nod again in agreement. "You're right, Vic. I guess I've wanted

this -- and to keep Linda -- as much as she did."

"Then what are you going to do?" I shrug.

"I've got to think about it, I guess."

"Yeah, I think so."

Bernice and Linda came back then and I watched as Bernice sat

down across from me, trying to manage her skirt as I had and failing

pretty badly. She had the additional problem of her short little legs

that didn't quite reach the floor and made her lay back in the chair

even further than I had to.

She and Linda continued a conversation they had started in the

bathroom In a break in the conversation, I ask my question.

"Bernice? I'm going to get some clothes tomorrow afternoon for my

Barnes interview. Will the company pick up the tab?"

"Of course," she says matter-of-factly. "I ought to go with you

and get some things for myself."

"Well," I say. "I don't think you'd be particularly interested in

the clothes I intend to pick out."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I think Mr. Barnes would be more interested in a little

tackier outfit than you wear."

"Of course," she says with realization. "You're right. That kind

of thing will be better for your interview. Good thinking."

When Linda asks about Barnes, we all fill her in on the Barnes

publishing monolith, complete to the more nefarious parts of his

empire. We also discuss how we want into the porn part of the business

as it applies to computer related outlets that we know best. She

understands.

Vic asks me if I'd like to walk off some of the drinks and I

agree. We leave and I don't hear the conversation that ensues.

* *

"Linda, I've known you and Mike for many years," Bernice

says. Linda nods, knowing what the conversation is about. "What's

going on?"

Linda tells her about the pictures and about the infidelities she

learned about six months ago.

"I was furious, Bernice. I've never been so mad about anything. I

couldn't think of anything bad enough to do to him." She was shaking

mad at the memory of it. "At the time, I was ready to kick him out and

start all over. But that thought just desolated me.

"First I thought about being a housewife with a relatively new

job outside the home. The lack of security and the change in lifestyle

didn't appeal to me at all. Besides, that would have let him off the

hook and punished me for what he did."

"I understand. When I kicked Jason out fifteen years ago, it was

terrible for a while. But that son-of-a-bitch ... well, you know."

Beatrice had been a battered wife for three years before she

finally divorced Jason, Linda knew. He'd finally broken one of her

fingers during a one sided fight and she left, hiding out at a half

way house for battered women for several months. After the divorce,

Jason had wandered off to another city and finally been knifed by an

enraged girlfriend. He was dead but the poor girl had to spend a year

in prison for the knifing. Life isn't fair.

"If Mike was a bastard like that, I would have left just as you

did. But basically, Mike is a nice guy. Loving and attentive. And a

good provider. He's also always pretty much let me do as I please.

"Maybe I was unjustified in what I did. But it just seemed so

appropriate at the time."

"Your idea was to humiliate him as he humiliated you."

"Yes. And it worked very well. When he wasn't working, I made him

do everything I wanted him to. The dirtiest, meanest jobs I could

think of. And I was mean to him, too."

"I saw some in his work," Beatrice says. "He was pretty self

absorbed, I guess you'd say. But he seemed to accommodate pretty

well. I mean, I haven't really seen anything that's a problem in the

last three or four months. You must have let up on him."

"No! Not really. Maybe he just got used to it or something. I

guess you can do that."

"Maybe so," Bernice agrees. "He certainly seems to have

accommodated to this latest."

"You know, the whole thing of making him my slave ... my girl

slave really ... just happened. I didn't really think about it much. I

just looked at him that first night and thought that he would be

humiliated to wear a dress.

"Then I sort of got into it. Dressed him up real tacky. Lots of

makeup and my wig and the highest heels I own. Then I made him go to

the hotel and get me a newspaper." They both laugh.

"I wish I could have done that to Jason," Bernice says. "It would

have served him right."

"That's what I thought. Then I caught up with him there and made

him go with me into the bar for most of the night. We even almost got

picked up by a couple of guys. Mike had to dance with one of them

even. It was funny."

"It sounds like it."

"What I didn't expect was how much it turned me on," she says. "I

was so excited by the time we got home that I couldn't stand it. I

finally ended up raping him."

"I didn't think you could rape the willing," Bernice says.

"Yeah, well. He wasn't all that willing but he got into it pretty

quickly."

"I imagine."

"Then, the next day it just seemed like a good idea to keep it

up. I was still mad at him and it didn't seem like he'd been punished

enough. Hell, he might of even liked it. I wasn't sure.

"But I decided then to make sure. I guess maybe it got a little

out of hand when it went to a month and then two and three and finally

six months. The worst was probably giving him the estrogen."

She shrugs. Bernice is really not very supportive in this but she

doesn't say anything.

"What now?" she asks.

"Oh. Well, this morning I sent him to work in the suit and made

him show it all off. Committed him to it, I guess. But this weekend

and tonight ..."

"You're thinking differently."

"Yeah. I guess I'm rethinking a lot of things. I love him,

Bernice. And now I just want what he wants, whatever that is. I just

hope he's not so mad at me, he can't forgive me."

"He doesn't seem mad," she says.

"No. But I don't know what he's holding inside. Or, really, what

he's thinking. I haven't really let him share much of his thoughts in

the last months."

"No," Bernice says. "Maybe it's time."

"Maybe this weekend."

"No, sweetheart. I think maybe tonight is the time. It's not

something you want to put off."

"You're right, of course. Okay. The topic for tonight." She

sighs.

* *

Vic and I talk as we walk around the club grounds. It's a

beautiful place and even more so at night with its trees, the green

lighted pool, the quiet tennis courts, and, beyond, the golf course.

I haven't played in almost a year now. I think I should again.

On the opposite side of the club building from the tennis courts

and the dining room, there's a garden of trees and flowers and

flowering shrubs. The moon lights it almost as well as daylight but

softer.

"Isn't this hard on you, buddy," Vic asks quietly. He's been

walking with his arm around my back, our slow footsteps synchronized.

"Hard?"

"I mean, the reign of terror. With Linda?"

"I just worry that she doesn't love me any more, Vic."

"That should be the least of your worries. I mean, she's come up

with some pretty innovative ways to punish you for things I've done a

bunch of times. It's just not fair."

"No. It's all right. She needed to get the anger out. And I

deserved it."

"What if she comes up with something else as crazy. Maybe she's

got plans to turn you into a hooker now." I laugh.

"Maybe that wouldn't be all bad, old buddy," I say.

"Oh, shit," he says resigned. "Do you like this? I mean, being

dressed up like a woman and all." Before I can answer, he answers

himself. "Yeah, you like being a beautiful woman. You said so." I nod

as we walk.

We just look around the garden and walk slowly until we're at the

far extreme of the gardens. The trees surround us.

"How much do you like being a woman, Amy?"

"A lot, Vic."

"How much exactly?"

I can only shake my head. "I don't know what you mean."

He stops then and turns me to him. His hands come to the sides of

my face, holding me looking up at him. My hands have come to the sides

of his waist.

"Do you like it enough to appreciate this?" His mouth comes to

mine, his tongue tracing the shape of my lips. I sigh and realize I've

opened my lips to him. His tongue finds the opening and delves

inside. The feelings the kiss elicits rage throughout my body.

I can't imagine liking him this way even though we've been the

closest of friends for many years. This is different. But I can't help

myself. I do like it!

His hands lower down my body until his fingers find my nipples

and I draw a deep breath around his tongue. I raise my hands to the

back of his neck, pulling his kiss deeper into me and moaning with the

feeling of it. My new breasts are inflamed with feeling.

His hands cup them and knead them almost roughly and it feels

wonderful. Somehow the kiss intensifies and his arms go around me, one

in the small of my back and the other finding my bottom and pushing me

into his hip. I can feel him hard against my stomach.

I can't keep my center still. It rubs against his hip now as

stars twinkle on the inside of my eyelids.

He moves back from my mouth an inch. "I've wanted to do this

since this morning," he moans. As his mouth covers mine again and his

tongue opens mine, I feel him release the snaps of the teddy between

my legs. I stiffen and he feels it. He releases me slightly.

"Make a decision now. How much of a woman are you?" he says. He

looks to his side and I follow his look. There's an old rail fence

there. He looks back at me.

"I'm enough woman for you right now," I mumble. He lets me lead

him to the fence and watches as I lean forward on it, bending at the

waist. I just smile at him.

He walks up beside and behind me then and reaches for the hem of

the lacy dress again. In a motion, he lifts it and the half slip to my

waist. Then he softly touches my naked butt under the garter belt,

rubbing it and looking. It makes me squirm.

It still takes me by surprise when he kneels and I feel his

tongue between my legs now from behind. It strokes the space under my

diminished testicles, across the sensitive spot between my legs, and

back to my little hole. No one has ever done this to me as I feel his

pointed tongue delve into that hole, gently opening it as he did my

lips a moment before. My legs weaken with the feel of it.

I can feel him laving his saliva on me and in me for several

minutes as I wonder if I'm going to come this way. I don't get my

answer as he stands up behind me. I don't know when he took his pants

down, but he did and now he is between my legs, his hips pressed

against my bottom. I tighten my legs around him, holding him as he

pumps into me several times.

He reaches around my middle and his hand covers my hard shaft

completely, rubbing it as his shaft moves back and forth between my

legs. Then he pulls back a little and I feel his finger move into my

ass very gently. I spread my legs to offer access until the finger is

all the way inside.

Then he removes it and stands firmly behind me again. I can feel

him at the portal of my body and then pressing into it slightly. Then

the pressure increases. I realize that I've been clenching it as

tightly as I can in reaction. Mentally, I ease the pressure. I relax

it as if I were relaxing a fist. I think of taking a shit and feel him

move into me a little.

It's hard to keep from clenching tight again against its

intrusion but I overcome it, working hard to relax. It hurts just

before I feel him pass the sphincter muscle and slide further into me.

One arm wraps solidly around my waist, his hand pressing back on my

thigh as he presses forward. It's much further into me now as he eases

and pulls back slightly before surging forward again. I hunch my butt

back to accept him.

Then his hands cover my breasts, crushing them into my chest as I

feel his pubic hair against my buttocks. He releases one breast then

covers the other with his arm and re-establishes his hold with that

hand. The other hand searches for the front hem of the lacy dress and

moves under it to wrap around my rod. He moves back on it as his ass

presses forward into my insides. My head falls back onto his shoulder

and my mouth opens wide for breath.

His strokes in my ass oppose his strokes on my dick as we pump

together and apart, together and apart, faster and faster until I can

only hear his panting in my ear.

"I'm coming," he grunts as I feel it deep inside me and his hand

pinches my nipple roughly. His hand on my dick continues to quicken

in its movements even though he is losing control. My come splatters

onto the path at our feet and I feel my body's complete release.

For several minutes, we stand like this as I feel him softening

and retreating from me. I'm holding most of his weight on my back and

hips for that time. Then he slowly moves back and I feel him leave my

body. He stoops and retrieves his pants as I re-snap the teddy and

rearrange the half slip and skirt.

"I've got to get back to the club," I say. "Gotta take a shit."

He laughs uproariously. Then he steps in front of me and gently

strokes the side of my face. Then he lowers his mouth to mine and

kisses me again deeply. It's a very sexy, knowing kiss.

"You make a hell of a woman," he says. "And you've got the best

tits in the business."

He takes my hand and we begin the walk back, this time a little

more hurried since I'm having a little trouble with control.

"You've got the tightest cunt I've had in twenty years, too."

"Now shush!" I say. "God, what would happen if anyone knew?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Shall we go ask?"

"No. Jesus. This is what got me in trouble in the first place."

"Okay. I won't tell if you won't."

"Deal," I say. "And a better deal than you made me this

morning. After all, what would the other guys think if I told them

you'd been buggering your best old buddy?"

"They'd say, 'How does he rate?'" he says with a silly grin. I

don't think so.

I rush through the lobby of the club and into the restroom. I

just make it before I can't hold it anymore. Before I leave, I use the

bidet, that is very interesting and a lot like a fountain, and check

out the sitting area with its soft chaise lounges and the two ladies'

sized recliners. The women's magazines are all old.

Chapter 6

Linda ASKS ME to drive home and sits turned on the seat beside me,

watching me as I drive.

"What are you feeling, Amy?" she asks.

"Feeling? Oh, a little drunk. Happy, I guess. I don't know. It

was a wonderful dinner. Thank you."

She waves it off. "Nothing."

We ride in silence for a little longer before she speaks again.

"I could take the afternoon off tomorrow and go shopping with

you," she says.

"If you want to," I say. "But I arranged with Phillis to show me

some places. She goes to them all the time."

"Yeah, I'm sure she does. She always dresses that way, doesn't

she?"

"Uh huh," I nod. "A little trendier than I want to look for this

interview, I think, but the places should have the right kind of

clothes."

"Try a place called the Beastie Boutique," she says. "I've gotten

a few things there. Some for you, actually. Remember the clear rubber

dress I made you wear that one weekend?"

"Oh. Yeah." It's not a particularly pleasant memory. I worked my

ass off that weekend and sweated gallons inside the tight rubber. I

practically had to peel the thing off by the end of the day.

"They have a lot of nicer things there. Very feminine and sexy as

well as the leather and studs ... and rubber. That thing was awful,

wasn't it," she laughs. I can't stay mad at her.

"Yeah. It was awful. I sweat like a racehorse on a hard run for

the whole day."

"But you lost your gut that day, too. Remember?" I do and

nod. Weighing, I'd lost five pounds and it was all from my waist and

stomach. It was kind of sexy working in the thing even as

uncomfortable as it was. It was still sexier when Linda helped me get

it off and washed me before shaving my whole body again and making

love to me afterwards.

"I liked the part afterwards the best," I say with a grin.

"I know you did," she's quiet for a minute. "I liked that part

best, too."

That's the first time she's sounded this softly loving to me in

months. My mind keeps working now.

"Linda, I don't understand something." She waits.

"You got so mad at me six months ago because of something I did

back in college," I say, hoping I'm not starting the whole thing

over. "And, of course, more recently. I admit all that."

"Yes," she says hesitantly.

"But what I did with your friends Friday night was almost the

same thing. I ... I guess I just don't understand."

"I don't know how to explain it," she begins. "It was ... well

... it was sort of a peace offering, I guess. My silly way of saying I

understand what made you do those things before.

"You know, one of the benefits for you of this whole thing is

that it's made me a much more sensual person. I've sort of lived some

things vicariously through you during these months. Learned maybe a

little better what being a woman really means.

"And I've gotten a lot more confident of myself. I'm not nearly

so fragile. Punishing you, I found out a lot about myself and how

strong I am. I don't feel that I have to have you to be complete

anymore. But ..." she takes a deep breath before continuing. "But I

find that I do want you."

We pull into the driveway and go into the house.

"Would you like a drink or anything," I ask.

"No," she says. "I want to go to bed. With you."

"You mean ..." I hesitate to say it.

"Yes. I mean. I want to take that sexy lace dress off of you. And

while I do it, I want you to take my dress off, too. And then I want

you to make love to me."

She just looked at me from under the blond bangs that were

hanging over her forehead when her head was in that sexy, downcast

position.

"I want you to teach me everything you've learned about a woman's

body and what you've found feels good. And then I'll do the same for

you."

"Gosh, I don't know," I say as I grin and move toward the

stairs. "You've been leading this sort of thing for so long, I may

have forgotten."

"You sure as hell better not have," she says with an answering

grin. "Or we'll have to start new lessons."

In the next fifteen minutes, she carefully took the lace dress

off me before working on the half slip and teddy. Then I took off her

short blue dress and deposited it, with the lace dress, on the makeup

table chair. She glistened with readiness below her garter belt. And

that's when I learned that she hadn't worn panties at all tonight. We

fell onto the bed together, pushing the covers out of our way and

leaving the stockings and heels on. They turn both of us on.

"I have an admission to make, Amy," she says then. "I've already

had two orgasms tonight." I thought about myself. Six months ago, I

couldn't have gotten it up again after the night I'd spent. I listen.

"Beatrice licked me until I came when we went to the powder room

together," she looks down, embarrassed. "And while you were gone to

the bathroom, Vic put his hand between my legs and made me come."

She looks at me as if she thinks I'm going to be mad.

"Can you forgive me?" she asks. Finally I can't hold it in

anymore and laugh out loud.

"It seems they had a very big night with us," I say.

"What?"

"Beatrice also did me when we went to the bathroom. And later,

when Vic and I went for the walk, he made love to me."

"Really? You're kidding?" I only shook my head. "Somehow it seems

a little strange to have competition for lovers with my husband."

I take her in my arms gently.

"You made it possible, my love," I whisper.

"Yes," she whispers. "Are you very mad at me for doing that to

you?"

"Yes," I say too quickly and feel her stiffen. "Yes and no. Yes

to all the things I hated about this last six months. Like not knowing

if you hated me. And no for the result."

"The result? You mean being a woman?" I nod into her shoulder as

we lay side by side holding each other, our stocking covered legs

intertwined. "You like being a woman?" she asks again.

"Yes," I say, looking her directly in the eyes. "I like it very

much. I guess it's like Vic says. I can like it because I am a

beautiful woman. He'd make an ugly one."

She gets a strange look in her eyes. "He'd make a tall woman but

..."

"No more experimenting," I say as I pinch her nipple lightly and

she cringes.

"We could do it together. I'll bet he'd make a pretty woman. Not

like you. Not gorgeous. But pretty." I laugh then and she returns my

action, pinching my nipple and regaining my attention. She pinched me

harder and I cringe considerably.

"Oh, did I hurt it. I'm sorry," she says as she moves down a

little and kisses it softly. I cringe again as her tongue crosses it

again and again. Then she pulls me to her more roughly and sucks up as

much of my breast as will fit into her mouth. I didn't know if it was

possible but my whole body is now vibrating with the movements of her

tongue. "You like the feelings of being a woman, don't you."

"Yes, my love," I gasp. "Yes."

"And you want me to make love to you as I would a woman. Right?"

"Yes, my love," I gasp again.

Her body lowers again, kissing down across my stomach. Lower. She

turns me onto my back and rolls over my leg until she's between

them. She pushes them apart further and lifts them into the air. I

look down to see her between the nylon clad legs, the pretty white

heels on my feet. She pushes them up until my knees touch my chest.

Then her tongue finds that sensitive spot between my legs and

moves on it, caresses it over and over again until I'm breathing very

hard. Her tongue presses into the opening of my ass as no one had done

before tonight. In and out until my body is rocking with the tinier

movements of her tongue. Then she moves up until she finds just the

head of my dick and licks it as she would a clit. I feel what I think

she would feel. She does it for a very long time until I am on the

edge of an orgasm.

Then she moves up my body again, licking her way up to my nipples

and then sucks first one and then the other. She puts my dick inside

her. I know that has to be the way it is. But it feels as if she's put

one in me instead.

She keeps my legs spread as she fucks me. She buries her tongue

in my mouth, moving her tongue in and out of me as she pumps into

me. My legs are spread wide and in the air. My hands move up and down

her back again and again as she pumps me. My knees are almost under

her armpits and, as my orgasm starts, wrap around her middle.

I buck and surge with it. God, she fucks me so well, so

beautifully. Then her own orgasm joins mine and I hold her with both

arms and both legs as her body loses coordination. As it goes

wild. She's chewing on my lip now and my climax just continues up and

up until I think I might lose consciousness.

Then I can feel her body relaxing and feel my own following,

joining it in its descent to the normal world. I put my legs down to

the sides of hers and we lay locked together, regaining ourselves.

"You like being a woman?" she states.

"I like it a lot more sometimes than others. Now is one of the

times I like it best."

She rolls off me to the side and I turn with her, holding her

tightly.

"What now?" she mumbles into my shoulder.

"What?" I ask.

"What now Mike? What happens now?"

"Amy, my love," I remind her. "But I don't know."

We lay together for a long time looking at the patterns of light

and darkness in the room. Then I ask the question that's plagued me

since Friday.

"Linda, is it over?"

"What?"

"Is the punishment over now?" I have to know.

"Yes," she says plainly. "It's over. You go back to making your

own decisions now. No more housework to keep you busy. No more strange

clothes to humiliate you. No more Tampax. No more pills. In a few

months, I understand, you will be back to your old self."

"No," I say. "That's not what I want at all."

"It's not?"

"No. I don't mind the housework. At least the housework that

really needs to be done. Particularly if you help me. And I don't

mind cooking part of the time if you'll take the other part."

I take a deep breath. This is the really hard one.

"And I don't want to go back to being Mike Brewster. I'm not him

now and I can't go back."

"So where do we go from here?" she asks. It's a good question.

"Vic asked me that tonight. He said I can't have it both ways. I

can't go to the belly bar in a tee-shirt anymore. But what he meant

was that I've got to make a decision all the way. Man or woman. All

the way."

She sighs against my neck.

"When I was really pissed off at you, I talked to a doctor to ask

what would happen if I cut off your dick," she says. I cringe at the

thought. She was truly pissed at me. "He said you'd probably bleed to

death along with being pretty mad yourself if you made it through

it. I decided I wasn't that mad at you after all."

"I'm glad," I say with conviction.

She laughs. Not really very funny. That's scary.

"What he did say is that you can have an operation. They claim it

is really pretty easy even if it sounds pretty complicated to me. I

guess they've been doing it since the '50's. They actually use the

skin of your penis and testicles to make a pussy. A vagina. They can't

make fallopian tubes or any of the rest, of course. Not even a cervix

or womb. But the vagina is normal."

She breathes against my neck.

"They also form a real clitoris that the doctor said was

successfully functional in about 90 percent of the cases they've

done. He said that meant that it was correctly sensitive and could

produce an orgasm. It still sounds almost impossible to me because

they remove your testicles and a bunch of the stuff inside your

dick. Then they use it with a cut between your legs to make the

pussy. Oh, and they reroute your urethra for a normal female way of

going to the bathroom."

"That sounds pretty radical. Besides, then how could we make

love?"

"I just made love to you as a woman. I could do that again. I'd

even get a big black dildo and fuck you with that. And you could fuck

me with it, too."

"That wouldn't be the same."

"No, it wouldn't." Then she giggles. "It'd be a bunch bigger."

She giggles again. "And it could have a vibrator in it."

"Shit," I say tongue in cheek. "If I'd've known you wanted it to

vibrate, I'd've done that a long time ago."

"There's another way, too," she said into my neck again. "We

could get boyfriends. And they could fuck us both. Or just invite Vic

over. He'd do us both, I guess."

We laugh and hug. Then she pulls me on top of her and, somehow, I

find that it's still hard. Hard enough anyway. I make love to her as

a man, pumping hard into her to make her cry out with the pleasure of

it. And I call her a cunt and a bitch and she writhes in my arms and

comes and comes and comes.

We fall asleep still wrapped in each others' arms, our naked

breasts pressed into each other.

Chapter 7

WHEN I GOT out of the shower, still trying to get the sleep out of my

eyes and my head together from the late night, I saw the outfit Linda

had laid out for me.

Again there was the garter belt, stockings and french cut panties

but then it differs slightly from what I've come to expect. The skirt

is a simple black sheath that clings to my skin. It fastens with a

simple side zipper and button at the left side of the waist. The top

is a shirt-cut opaque black blouse with material that matches the

skirt and buttons up the front. Experimenting, I see it looks best

with the collar up and about three of the top buttons unbuttoned to

show a little cleavage.

I blow dry and brush out my hair before putting on a little

lipstick and mascara. The shoes I slip on before heading downstairs to

breakfast are simple black pumps.

"Yes, that looks nice," she says as I step into the kitchen. "I

thought maybe you needed something today that would be easy to slip in

and out of for your shopping trip." I hadn't thought of it and nod. It

will be.

I watch her fuss about getting some eggs on the table and

watching the skirt of her little dress flounce with her. She looks

more feminine than I've seen her in months. This is a good omen, I

think.

I check in with the office, answer a couple of calls, make sure

of the afternoon appointment with Phillis for shopping, and head out

to Barnes' building. Philip Peabody meets me at the guard station in

the lobby. It seems no one goes in without a guide or a company

nametag.

"Where would you like to start?" he asks as he looks at the

opening in my shirt.

"Up to you but maybe with the working areas before the corporate

ones, okay?"

"Right. Then we're on the right floor." He leads me through a

couple of glass doors into and past a concealing wall. This floor, he

explains, and the one below contain the presses. I hadn't realized the

extent of the bookmaking process and for the next hour, he shows me

all the ins and outs though it is totally out of my area of expertise.

What it does instead is gain the very pointed attention of about

500 press operators and as many compositors and typesetters. The only

area that I may be able to help at all is in the computerized

composition machines and, particularly, the colorizing computers where

the designs for covers are done.

I notice that one of the covers being produced is of a beautiful

woman, almost completely undressed and looking seductive. I can't see

the title well but I think it's something about naked thighs. Her

naked thighs or Father's naked thighs or something like that.

No one sees me look at the cover. I want to keep it that way.

He walks me up to the next floor, very carefully walking behind

me up the stairway. I can feel his eyes on my ass and on my legs

behind. I try not to let it get to me.

He catches up and pushes the fire door open into another large

room full of cubicles. People sit in each of the cubicles with single

headsets with mouthpieces and computers. It looks like one of these

boiler rooms where orders are taken for TV offers or something. Maybe

it's for book orders but it seems like an awful lot of them for

that. That's what he tells me it is anyway.

His statement is lessened somewhat when we walk by one cubicle

and the rather heavyset girl says something about loving her clit

licked like that. Since he hurries me through that part of the big

room fairly quickly, I'm not sure that's what I heard.

He follows me up another flight of fire stairs then and through

another large room divided into cubicles. He says this is "editorial"

and explains that this is where the manuscripts are read and

edited. The outside walls of this floor are divided into individual

offices that he says are the more senior editors who work with the top

authors and their agents.

He takes me to the elevator then and pushes "10" as he explains

that these floors are all editorial, two for fiction, one for poetry

and culture books, one for photography heavy books, one for textbooks,

and some others that I don't catch.

The tenth floor is the legal department where, he says, the

contracts are written and signed with writers and others. He stops at

one of the offices and picks up a blue bound contract. "Yours," he

explains without showing it to me or giving it to me either.

The next floor is computers again with a lot of ledger sheet

output on every desk. "Finance," I guess before he tells me. They do

the billings and the payments along with corporate accounting.

The next floor is a "clean room" with sterile looking white walls

and people in what look like lab coats. The entire center of this

floor is made up of a raised and glass enclosed computer with

technicians moving about between them, changing 9-track tapes and

watching green monitors.

"It's not a Cray, is it?" I ask, seeing the arc shaped black

machines.

"No, no. Just a top of the line IBM." The distinction seems to be

fairly small since I can feel the cold coming off the glass walls that

indicates cryogenic protection for the machines. The clean room is an

indication of a very fast, very competent machine.

"This is the mainframe for all those terminals you saw

below. Lots of PC's down there, too. But the important machines are

terminals connected to this baby. Very fast. It also handles the big

databases. The on-line services," he says as if I might be too stupid

to understand. "There's some more storage somewhere in the building

but I'm not sure where. Upstairs, I think." I wonder why he doesn't

know.

He follows me up the next stairway as well and opens the door

into the plushest floor I've seen so far with deep pile carpets and

big oak and maple desks even for the "administrative assistants." At

this level, they aren't secretaries any more, I know. The prettiest

women I've seen yet are set up here with their computers, telephones,

and spotlessly clean desks. None of them are tacky enough to file

their nails but they look as if they have little else to do. Two that

I see of about ten are actually typing something on their PC's. Each

is connected to a laser printer. Instant memos.

I think Phillip is happy to be able to show me off. He takes me

into the offices of half a dozen corporate officers even though they

don't seem to have anything to do with my job with them. Each makes a

pretense of being very busy, a couple on the telephone, several

requiring us to wait "just a few minutes" then asking us in almost

immediately after through the secretaries, of course.

Each of the men are pleasant and gracious even though they don't

have much of anything to say to me after, "Oh, you're Miss

Brewster. Very nice to meet you." If they really knew anything about

me, they'd more likely be expecting "Mike" Brewster and not Amy. Or

they'd be asking about Vic, who had the account until yesterday.

Finally, he introduces me to the MIS, the boss for the computers,

and I finally see a working office. He has a PC and a terminal in this

office and, while I watch, switches between the two.

"I do all the small programming tasks on the PC and then transfer

it. That way I don't slow down the time share." The machine has to be

very busy to have one terminal make any difference at all, I

think. Oh, well. "I also sample the on-line databases pretty often to

watch their status and see what kind of activity there is. We get a

printout, of course, but it's nice to know from first hand. You kind

of get a gut feeling."

"You're trying some new offerings?"

"Yes. Yes we are as a matter of fact. Several things. We'll be

very interested in their success. Or failure of course." I can see

that he's not going to share much with me.

Phillip takes me next to his own office, bypassing Veronica, his

secretary, with a brief hello. I smile and follow him into the

office. He seats me in front of his desk and asks her to get coffee

before shutting the door.

"Phil?" I ask friendly. "What's on the floors above?"

"Oh, well, nothing you'd be interested in. There's some more

computer storage, as I said before, and a few other offices. Then

Mr. Barnes' penthouse."

"I understood there was a photo studio and some other studios," I

say.

He looks at me strangely for a moment before answering. A lot

like he's measuring the extent of my knowledge. Then he

lies. Badly. "Oh, no. Well, just one for cover shots and that sort of

thing. Minor." It makes him nervous. "Nothing for you to worry your

little head about anyway. Nothing in this contract that would touch

them." Them. More than one for cover shots. Bad liar. No wonder he's

not in the legal department, I think.

I'd noticed that his door just had his name on it and is quite

small. So my guess is he's just a corporate gofer.

"Here's your contract, if you'd like to look it over." He sets a

pen on top of the paper.

"Yes, thank you. But if you don't mind, I'll take it to our

lawyers. Oh, and we may have some additions that will have to be

inserted." I scan it but know that it's so much trash. Events have

already gone past Phil. I stand then and he pulls his eyes off my legs

for only the second time since we walked in the door and I sat down in

the short, tight skirt. I extend my hand. "Thank you for the tour. I'm

sure it will come in very handy to have some idea of what I'm talking

about concerning the physical facilities."

"Talking about? With whom, could I ask." He seems a little

concerned. I hate people who use the word "whom" in any context. Even

if it is correct in some cases. It's still prissy and unnecessary.

"Oh, I have an appointment with Mr. Barnes tonight," I say.

Now he gets obsequious. I think he might bow or something. "You

have been treated well here, haven't you? I mean, there's no problem?"

"No, no. As I said. We're looking toward an addition to this

contract. Some other things we'll be able to help with, I'm sure."

He's fidgeting. I've never seen this in a man though I had an old maid

aunt who did it all the time when anything was said she didn't like

from someone being ill to a cuss word from her darling nephew. "Please

don't worry," I felt I had to say before he collapsed. "You've been

perfectly ... helpful." I had a hard time coming up with a word to

describe his work. "You've done just fine. This is just out of your

purview. That's all."

"And you'll give Mr. Barnes a good report?" He seems so worried

that I can't help but smile.

"Of course, Phil. No problem." He seems to visibly relax. Poor

guy. This Barnes must be a piece of work. Good to know. I started for

the door then with my smile still intact. He seems to leap from his

chair and walks me to the elevator. Though I'd just as soon he didn't,

he rides down with me and escorts me to the spot next to the guard's

station he picked me up at. He almost bows me out of the building.

* *

An hour ago, I had returned to the office and picked up Phillis

and one of the company's gold cards. We'd walked together to The Pub,

a yuppie lunch bar a few blocks from the office. We quickly ate some

goopy sandwiches full of bamboo shoots, that I hate, and two glasses

of white wine each. It took the edge off.

"So, where do you want to start?" Phillis asks as we walk down

the street after our lunch.

"This is your area. You tell me. I'm just along for the ride,

sort of."

"Okay," she says, thinking. "We could start at the Barn and the

Lounge and then head down to the Footerie. Maybe even Frederick's,

huh?"

"Lead on," I shrug. I've never heard of any of these

places. Except Frederick's, that is.

Today she is wearing a pair of tight leggings with wild color

strips running around her legs below the world's shortest bright blue

skirt and a tee-shirt sweater with the wild strips repeated. Topped

off with spike heels that match the skirt. The whole thing clings so

tightly to her body that she couldn't have a pimple without it being

clearly visible. She already told me she usually dresses conservative

for the office, most of her things are a lot wilder than this, and

that she'd chosen something, this, as sort of a middle ground so she

wouldn't get kicked out of the office but wouldn't get kicked out of

the stores either. I could only nod with amazement.

We turn into a store commanded by a girl with pink hair (on one

side at least), and black lipstick and nail polish. Certainly, the

outfits we look at for a few minutes fit in with the clerk's outfit

and Phillis's but I can't see anything I could wear without looking

like a clown. I want sexy; not silly. Maybe even startling. But not

just outrageous. I try to get this message over to her.

She smiles and says she knows just the place. I try to keep up

with her while she strides along, amazingly fast, on those tentative

shoes. That's another thing I'm not getting, I vow.

She turns me into another store. The store clerk is obviously one

of Phillis's girlfriends and they break into a conversation and leave

me alone to look around. Many of the things here are also repulsively

outrageous but there are some very nice things too. But it seems that

everything has a catch to it. A long skirt is slit from the hem to the

waist. Completely. With only a small waist piece to hold it on. A

decent looking skirt, held up, is so sheer I can see my hand through

both sides. I see a pink, blue, and black version of the white lace

dress I wore last night. This must be where Linda shopped for that.

I look at a ruffled, tier skirt that's not ridiculously short and

the salesgirl points out that it's designed to ride "really really

low" on your hips. "Cool," she says. I don't think so. I don't think

my hips are full enough for that. Finally, she's making suggestions

for me though. That's good, I think. Phillis is helping, too, with a

better idea of what I really need. Not disco, but sexy.

They suggest a black dress that I kind of like that has some

similarities to the tiered one. I decide I'll try that on along with

some others if they can help pick some.

We agree on one black dress with a side slit. I've got to see

what it feels like to wear. A red dress has a really low cut top that

I think I can hold up. I'll try that. Another red dress seems to be a

complex set of strings with tiny pieces of material. The salesgirl

volunteers to help me into it but I veto that as too revealing.

One red dress has a series of holes up both sides. I veto that,

too. I pick out a blue dress that is a very lightweight crepe or silk

or something so light it's hard to hold down and, I'm sure, would when

you were out for an evening. Maybe for tonight though. I'll try it.

"You'll need these," she says, handing me a pair of black "hip

hugger" panty hose. "Unless you'd rather have crotchless," she asks

with questioning eyes. I don't think I'd handle those very well and

shake my head, taking the hip huggers. "Or maybe a contrasting color?"

she asks again, handing me a pair in a sort of dayglo pink. I shake my

head again. "Lace?" Again. "How about super sheer?" Maybe. But I can

try things on with the black stockings.

As I pass into the dressing room, she says, "All those things,

you'll want to get rid of your panties if you're wearing them." I

nod. "Oh, and you can wear most of them without stockings if you

want." No stockings, no panties, humm. I don't think that would work

either. Besides stockings make a girl's legs look so much more

appealing.

"If you need help, just yell."

I start by undoing the garter belt and taking off my stockings

and panties. Then I put on the pantyhose. When I take off my skirt, I

see that the pantyhose form to me perfectly without covering much of

anything. They top across my tummy, low on my hips only barely at the

top of my pubic hair but firmly between my legs. They give the right

degree of support with it tucked between and just laid along my hip

bone. They're perfect.

I unbutton the blouse and take it off before looking at the

tiered dress that I really like.

Taking it off the hanger I see that it's really three separate

pieces. First the frilly bra, then matching panties, the frill of

which is only between my legs and very slightly up front and back with

string ties. The single strip of the bra goes around and fastens

without shoulder straps and the cups are separated slightly with a

narrow gauzy strip of the same material as the rest of the strap.

As I pull the dress over my head I see that it really isn't what

I thought it was. What I thought were shoulder straps are really sort

of arm straps fastened to a front piece that covers a part of my

stomach in a sort of hourglass shape. It doesn't touch my back in the

least. The waist is very low, lying about an inch above the top of the

pantyhose. The tiers of fluffy material, the same as the bra and

panties, is about 10 inches from waist to hem. The idea of this dress,

I see now, is to show all the skin but what the bra covers above the

waist, all the possible leg, and actually center and show off both the

bra and panties, the bra when you're standing, the panties when you're

sitting.

I've got to think about this one a little. I hang it back up.

The crepe outfit is a very light top with a low cut circle from

the point of one shoulder to the other and down almost to my

nipples. Only multiple layers of the material covers them. The bottom

of the top is tight about the waist and flaring a little at the

hips. The skirt is the same flaring, multiple layers that falls to mid

thigh. Going dancing would be virtually impossible, I see as I swing

my hips a little, but most anything else would be okay. I like it.

The red dress's low cut top is almost scandalous and loose enough

that leaning forward would be impossible. It opens about a foot. The

lightly elasticized waist clings low on my hips with a slit to it on

each side. Interesting. I like it more on than I thought I might. They

all have possibilities. I don't like the black stockings with it,

though. Sheer or maybe a red cast.

They're still talking after I get dressed in my own clothes again

and return to the showroom. "Oh," the salesgirl says. "I should have

been more attentive. I'm sure there's something here you'd like. Let's

look a little more."

"No, no," I say. "I like all three of these and I'll take them."

She's surprised but pleased.

"Something else? Some bras or panties or, I know, you need some

pantyhose for those." She lays out a selection and I pick a very

sheer red pair, the black ones, and the completely sheer ones. Then I

pick up a pair of white ones that I think would go with the dress I

wore last night, too. "How about a blouse?" she says, seeing a sucker

when she sees one and lifts a white one from the rack and lays it

across her arm. I can see the time on her watch through it. But with a

really pretty bra ... I take it.

"Skirts? We've got the shortest skirts being sold." I look

through them and find a flared black skirt and a white one that's the

same.

"Okay. Enough," I say finally.

But as she lists out the items, she shows me some really pretty

bra and panty sets and I pick out two that she adds to the list. Just

right for under that blouse. I draw the line at the tight, lightweight

sweaters. Then I pick out two wide leather belts that I have to hold

my breath to put around my waist. They give me an hourglass shape and

draw attention to it with the black and white tiger strip of one and

the bright white of the other with the big gold buckle.

I hand her the card before she can show me anything else.

Phillis is tickled by my lack of control as we walk down the

street with the armloads of bags. It's just a hell of a lot more fun

to shop for these things than it is for Levis, tee-shirts, or sports

shirts.

She guides me into another store a few doors down, filled with

shoes.

A nice looking blond man in his twenties waits on us and quickly

seats me at one of the chairs. He takes off my shoe, measures it, and

somehow tickles the bottom so I cringe back.

"Very high?" he asks.

"No, please. I don't think I could walk on them." He nods, goes

to the back room through a curtain, and comes back in a few minutes

with his arms full of boxes. He opens several, setting them in their

tops on the chairs around us, handing a couple of boxes to Phillis as

she sits next to me.

I pull out a little of the three dresses. "I want to wear them

with these."

"Ah," he says. "Three pairs? Or just one to work with them all?"

I shrug. Phillis laughs and I hit her lightly.

One pair is Lucite with a woodblock heel. Ugly. Several are too

high though not as high as Phillis's. One black pair is an "X" of

quarter inch straps over the toes and a circle around the ankle that's

connected to the center of the heel. They're pretty high and have a

point that would kill anyone who got stepped on, but they look great

on. I set them aside.

A red pair is shiny patent leather at the toe with a very sharp

point and equally sharp heels. A strap goes from the side of the toe

part and around the heel with a little buckle at the back. I like

them, too.

Several white pairs are very ugly. One's even got a lace from the

toes that wraps around the instep however many times you want, then

around the heel and around your ankle all the way up your calf if you

want. I figure that would last about five minutes before it would fall

down in a pile of tangles around your ankles for the night. No.

The next white pair is more restrained with the same idea. The

toe part is fastened to the shoe and the heel, then crosses in front

of my ankle and ties at the back. I like that.

I don't like any of the blue ones and they're all strange colors

that don't come close to the dress. I pick out black and white pairs

like the red ones.

One pair is a little too high but I think they're sexy with a

buckle that covers the white leather over the toes, leaving two toes

visible, a middle part and heel that narrows so it is almost invisible

under your foot, and then has a strap around the ankle with a second

buckle covering it. It sort of looks like you're going barefoot with

just those buckles.

Pairs of black and white plain pumps, but higher than those I've

had before, can be used for work.

The salesman is almost as happy with the sale as he has been

looking under my skirt and rubbing my feet and legs from toes to knee.

I'm surprised that they all seem quite comfortable in spite of

being higher than I'm used to. He rings up the bill.

"Now Frederick's?" Phillis asks as we hit the street, even more

laden with packages now.

"No way," I say. "Bernice is already going to be pissed. Let's

drop by my car and unload before we go back to the office."

When we get back, it is only a few minutes to quitting time. I

drop in on Bernice and give her the card slips and, when she looks at

them, she says, "Very reasonable. I spend about 10 times that every

time I go shopping. I just can't hold myself back."

"Maybe I was paying by the yard of goods," I say with a grin. She

cringes a little.

"This short?"

"Short and low," I say.

"Well, hope he likes them?" I nod in the same hope. We'll soon

see. I just have enough time to get dinner, if Linda has made

something, and get dressed.

Chapter 8

I CAN SMELL the dinner when I walk through the door and yell

notification of my arrival.

Like a barefoot and pregnant wife, Linda comes out of the kitchen

in a simple cotton dress she'd changed into after work. As she wraps

her arms around my neck, I know that she is wearing nothing under the

thin layer of cotton. She ignores the several bags of clothing I

carry, to give me a smiling welcome home kiss. A very deep kiss. I

love it.

"Hey, Linda," I say. "Help me pick out something to wear

tonight?"

"Did you get a lot of good things?" she asks.

"Yeah, you'll like them. Promise." I look at her with

anticipation. "Help me pick out something."

As I go upstairs to the bedroom, she turns down the heat on the

dinner and then follows me.

I just got the things out of the bags when she comes into the

room.

"Oh, honey! How pretty!" she says. "Try them on for me!"

"That's why I wanted you to look. I mean in particular," I

say. "You've got to help me pick for tonight."

"Yes. Start with the red one."

I strip quickly and then put on the red stockings before pulling

the red dress over my head. She likes it even better with the bright

red shoes.

"Hot?" I ask, knowing the answer.

"Fantastic! I should have been having you pick out clothes," she

said with a broad smile.

"Black or blue?" I ask, pointing at them on the side of the bed.

"Ah, blue," she says.

I hesitate then pick the black stockings and put them on before

stripping out of the lightweight red material and pulling on the blue

dress.

"Now the black. Yeah, the black," she says excitedly. I can't

believe that it affects her this much. She really seems to be getting

excited.

Again, I put on the stockings, the sheer ones now, before taking

the dress off. Then I step into the panties and wrap the bra around

myself. She giggles at the dress and the way it holds my breasts up

and works so hard at not covering my body at all.

She applauds the way the top only displays my breasts and laughs

aloud when I sit down and show how the frilly panties only point out

the point between my legs.

"That's the one!" she screams. "You've got to wear that. It's not

tacky but it's certainly sexy as hell. That's definitely the one. And

those shoes are great. It's looks like you're barefoot but much

sexier."

"Dinner then?" I ask.

"Sure, but let's do your hair first. And your eyes."

For the next several minutes, she tries different ways of

brushing out my hair. Flat and smoothed back. Held back with

barrettes. Combs on one side holding it up and over. Combed down

across one eye. I veto that because I couldn't see where I was going

and I was already having trouble with the shoes without that. Finally,

she settles on a very free, fluffed version of how I'd been wearing it

since the permanent.

Again, she applies the relatively heavy eye shadow and mascara

and then a slightly darker lipstick than I had been wearing during the

daytime with my cheekbones outlined relatively lightly with blush. She

surprises me with several touches of perfume on my breasts and

between, ears, behind the knees, and above the panties on my

tummy. She even put a little of the blush on my breasts, making the

cleavage more prominent and noticeable than it was before. And that

was considerable.

She supplies me with a purse full of brush, lipstick, and mascara

before she leads me downstairs and serves me dinner. I slip my car

keys into the purse before I sit down and eat.

She feels my bottom under the very short skirt as she shoos me

out the door for my trip across town.

* *

"Miss Brewster," the guard says matter-of-factly when I stand

next to his station in the lobby. I nod. I'm sure this isn't the same

guard that was here this morning. "Please press the button for the top

floor in the elevator, then follow the stairs up to Mr. Barnes." He's

smiling as if he knows something I don't and is thoroughly enjoying

his secret knowledge.

As I wag my ass across the rest of the lobby to the elevators, I

physically feel his centered gaze on my ass. When I turn and look

back, his eyes come up to my eyes for a second before dropping back to

my legs. He's leaning way forward on the high guard station desk. It's

unnerving to be watched this closely.

I'm relieved when the door of the elevator closes as I push the

button and it begins to rise. I watch the numbers go up the scale

above the door. I get ready to get off when the numbers hit 35, the

button I pushed and the top on the control panel. It doesn't slow for

a moment after the 35 fades out. It must be enabled for a floor above

the 35th by the owner.

I step out of the elevator when the doors finally open into a

rather small room. It's only feature is a straight, rather

unremarkable staircase to the right. I start up the staircase and onto

a floor that is much more sumptuous. This is more like what I

expected.

The thick, wine-colored carpet catches at my heels as I walk

across it to the large doors. To one side of the door is a floor to

ceiling mirror perhaps twenty feet tall. To the other side is a window

that looks out across the city. I look quickly into the mirror and see

that everything is still in place before standing in front of the

window and looking at the view.

The door buzzes and opens quietly. I push it open far enough to

get in and push it shut behind me. It buzzes again as it closes before

I hear a deadbolt slide very firmly and obviously into place inside

it.

This entry room is much more impressive with obvious antiques on

each side of the broad hallway and bronzed mirrors above their

surfaces. The mirrors seem to point down on me though they seem to be

hanging straight. I can still see my feet in them. I wait for a

moment, thinking someone will come and take me further into the

apartment.

Finally, I shrug and walk forward to another high double door. A

very large room lies on the other side of the door with a huge curved

couch set into the floor. But this is overcome by a panoramic view of

the city through 15 foot windows that surround the room on three

sides. The darkness outside only highlights the thousands of lights

below and the colored undersides of the few clouds above. The light in

the room is very subdued with more than half being provided by the

reflected light from outside and the moon's beams.

"Amy Brewster," a voice says from somewhere in front of me. "Come

in. Join us if you wish. Just excuse me for a few moments."

I walk to the back of the sunken couch, looking for a stairway

down into the pit. When I look down, however, all I can see is the

most beautiful blond woman I've ever seen, with her legs spread

impossibly and a dark head buried between them. She's in ecstasy as

the dark head moves between her legs. The hair on the dark head is

also very long and concealing only the head of a completely naked

woman. Her ass is pointed up from her position on her knees.

"Some people watch movies of an evening," the male voice says. "I

generally don't have to. Please sit down."

I see some steps then, along with the man sitting in the chair

not too far from the two women on the floor. I walk down the steps

into the pit and sit on the couch, being careful with what there is of

the skirt to this dress. I can't keep my eyes off the two women as the

blond has a noisy, movement filled orgasm, squirming to escape the

other woman's head.

"I don't get many reruns or instant replays this way, but it

somehow seems so much more lifelike. Besides, Valerie and Karen so

enjoy their sales pitch. Just watch."

I do for several minutes as the two women go at it and the blond

has at least one more orgasm that bows her back until she is standing

on her head with her chest thrust out.

"Which do you think?" his voice says. "Oh, you can't tell, can

you. Okay, switch now."

I watch as the dark haired girl lays down on her back and the

blond drops between her legs to stroke her tongue there. She holds her

long hair aside so I can see what she is doing.

When she takes a breath, I can see the dark haired girl's

enlarged clitoris. A very large one, in fact. In only a few minutes

the dark haired girl passes from very heavy breathing to an orgasm

that sees her clasping her legs around the blond's head tightly, her

foot actually pressing at the back of the girl's neck.

"Creditable," the male voice says. "They can actually almost

perform on command. A very useful talent for a star in our type of

films. So what do you think?"

I find that my mouth is a bit dry when I try to speak and almost

croak out some words. "They're ... very pretty," I say.

"Yes. Pretty. Indeed. Actually, they're both absolutely stunning

women. But you're not helping with my problem."

"Maybe I could if I knew the problem," I say.

"Perhaps. Perhaps," he says. "I've got one position and two

interviewees. One wins and one loses."

The blond's eyes meet mine even though her head is still buried

between the dark haired girl's legs.

"What are you interviewing for? A secretary or a porn star?"

"Actually sort of a mixture. She would play a secretary who gets

laid by the star before the movie even really gets started."