…anything to please

by meeah soo

 

"…it’s really not so much the school system that I like…" Deni stood in the doorway of the sun porch patiently waiting to be noticed. He was wearing what Abby liked to call one of his "happy homemaker"outfits: a yellow sleeveless blouse that left just a hint of smooth brown belly bare above a pleated white skirt, wedge-heeled sandals, lip gloss, white frost polish on fingernails and toes. If he had been a maid, he thought, it would be better than this. At least then, at the end of the day, he could take off his uniform, no matter how humiliating, and go home. Or, if he were just a slave, he could honestly say he had no choice. But the way he was now—he chose it, sort of.

Abby finished what she was saying and looked towards him, smiling up with approval from the wicker couch, holding hands with Tom. "Yes dear, what is it?"

"I was just wondering if I could get anyone anything else," Deni said softly, still a little embarrassed, especially in mixed company.

The three couples sitting on the porch assessed their cups, plates, and so on and made their respective requests. Deni thanked them and hurried off to fill them, aware of the clacking noise his shoes made on the hardwood floors he’d polished that morning. It seemed whatever shoes he wore lately made the same noise, as if they were always announcing his arrival or departure with the words: "Here comes the sissy," or "There goes the sissy."

"I ‘am’ a sissy," Deni sighed, as he flitted about the kitchen. It really didn’t come as any surprise, nor should it have, in retrospect, what had happened to him. Well, maybe he couldn’t have known how far Abby would take things, or that he’d end up quite like, he looked down at his bare legs, his feminized arms, his pretty toes, well, this! But then again, what had he expected? She had told him from the beginning what she wanted from him and Deni, then Dennis, of course, had fully agreed. But had he known what was in store…would he have become what he was now?

"I have a boyfriend," Abby had explained, talking about Tom after Dennis had asked her out for maybe the third time, "and that’s all the man I need, or want. I appreciate your persistence thought," she added, "and I’m very flattered by it, especially because it’s not pushy at all, or cocky, if you’ll pardon the pun…"

Dennis had felt his heart sinking, bracing for the rock-bottom of disappointment.

"…what I mean to say," Abby continued, "is that you’re so refreshingly untypically masculine…"

Oh great, Dennis thought and Abby must have seen the crestfallen look on his face.

"…and I mean that as a compliment. There’s something really devoted about your attention to me that I totally like."

"Really?" Dennis asked, feeling the first faint glimmer of something like hope.

"Do you Dennis?" Abby said, suddenly serious. "Adore me, I mean."

Throwing caution to the wind, Dennis spoke his heart: "Yes, oh god yes."

Abby paused, and seemed to be thinking something through. "Perhaps there is a place for you in my life, after all. If you agree to a few things…"

The first thing Dennis had to agree to was not to expect any sex. That wasn’t really difficult; after all, he wasn’t having sex with Abby to begin with. He figured that he had a much better chance of ever having sex with her if he agreed, at least in the beginning, to her "rules." So Dennis listened as his limited role in Abby’s life was explained: he could be her friend, her confidante, "almost as if you were a girlfriend, even though you’re a boy," she said quite naturally. "Do you understand?"

Dennis figured he did, and agreed to what Abby proposed.

"You’ll have to make a few changes, of course," she said. "You know, in your appearance. Appearances are important and I can’t have people mistaking our relationship for something it’s not. It’s not fair to anyone—and least of all, to Tom."

The "changes" were fairly obvious from the start: first the full body waxing that left him smooth and soft, the triple ear-piercings in both ears, the feathery new hairdo with highlights, and the clothes: little tank t’s or loose blousy shirts, slacks wth curiously short cuffs that seemed to always leave his calves and ankles exposed. Sneakers, sometimes, that really weren’t for playing any sports, and other times shoes that seemed too shiny or too low-cut or just too fancy, somehow. Underneath he wore underwear that were indistinguishable from girl’s panties, if that’s not what they were: sky-blue, or red, or pink, and always made of some delicate wispy material. There was the light make-up, too: the blush, the eyeliner, and the clear polish on his fingers and toes.

"I know what you’re doing," Dennis said, leaning down to fasten the delicate gold anklet, which was now difficult to do with his longer and newly shaped fingernails. "You want me to look gay."

Abby laughed. "Hmm, I hadn’t thought of it that way. Is that a problem? For Tom’s sake, we simply can’t leave any doubt that our relationship isn’t sexual. But if you think looking like this will hurt your chances with another woman, I understand."

"I don’t want to be with another woman," Dennis said, and Abby noted that the way he looked now only emphasized how he tended to pout when he was upset.

"Oh don’t worry." Abby stroked his smooth cheek. "You won’t have any other girl but me. I promise."

They were seeing each other virtually all the time, but strictly as friends, hanging out at the mall, watching television, chatting on the phone, going to "chick-flicks," doing, essentially, whatever Tom didn’t feel like doing. Dennis really liked being around Abby: she was everything he imagined-- smart, funny, and sexy. He found himself falling even more in love with her close up than he had from afar.

Deni, as he quickly came to be called, had adjusted to the "small" changes that Abby had suggested with surprising ease. She had a way of making him feel completely comfortable with the new "him," even when sashaying out in public in a pair of low-hung white hip-hugging slacks.

"I really didn’t think it was possible," Abby said, at lunch three weeks later. They were sitting at their fru-fru favorite veggie restaurant, where Tom wouldn’t be caught dead, splitting a vege-wrap. "I thought for sure that by now you’d have tried to come on to me and ruin everything. But you didn’t. You’re so different."

Deni felt vaguely flattered by the compliment. Well, he thought it was a compliment and he smiled, blushed, and said "Thank you" when Abby told him, "You just aren’t like most guys."

As the weeks went by, he started doing things for Abby—little things, at first around her apartment: vacuuming, laundry, dishes, shopping, and other errands. He didn’t mind. He actually liked doing things for Abby and figured it brought them closer, which it did. Eventually, however, he realized he had less and less time for himself. His graduate studies suffered, his teaching assistantship was withdrawn, and Abby generously invited him to move in with her. "No sense both of us going for graduate degrees," she reasoned, "when one will do. Besides, you’ve been so much help to me."

Deni loved it, of course, when Abby spoke of them as "us," and, to his way of thinking, her remarks could mean only one thing: she considered they had a future together! There was Tom, of course. He was still very much in the picture: in fact, he was more in the picture than ever. He took Abby out on the weekends and during the week he sometimes stopped over the apartment. When he was there, Abby would order Deni about just as she would any other time. Somehow, Deni didn’t think much about it one way or the other. It had come to seem pretty natural. For his part, Tom seemed to grudgingly tolerate Deni, taking the beer or chips or whatever Deni had been asked to bring him with hardly a look, or a barely grumbled, "thanks." But he seemed to understand that Deni was around to stay.

"It’s a silly thing," Abby said one day, "but, well, you know how men can be…"

"What is…"

"Oh just forget it…I told him you’d never…"

"What?" Deni asked again, smiling.

"It’s Tom. He wants to make absolutely sure that, you know…"

"But we aren’t."

"I know. But he wants to be in control. He wants you to wear a chastity belt..."

And so, that evening, Deni was introduced to the device that would change his life irrevocably. It was terribly embarrassing standing in the living room, naked to his nail polish, while Abby fitted the chastity belt onto him. The fact that Tom insisted on being present to make sure that it was done "correctly" and that there was no "monkey business" made it positively humiliating. Tom stood in the corner of the room, arms folded, overseeing the entire procedure. Deni tried to keep his eyes closed and his arms up and out of the way as Abby put the complicated, strappy thing onto him. There was a point where she had to handle him a bit to push his penis through a kind of tube and tuck his balls up. Deni could sense Tom watching this part intently and in spite of himself, Deni felt himself responding to Abby’s touch. As he was "locked into place," however, he heard Abby’s boyfriend grunt with satisfaction.

It was bad enough to be locked into the chastity belt, but the worst was yet to come: Tom, predictably enough, would hold the "key" and Deni would be permitted to do a "sissy" only once every two weeks.

"It’s not so bad," Abby tried consoling him later, sitting, briefly, beside him on the bed before going out to dance with Tom. "You know, I’ve noticed how much more adoring you are the longer you haven’t had sex. Besides, you’re still allowed a sissy once every two weeks. That should be enough."

What Deni would soon learn, though, was that he would be required to ask to do his "sissy," and, if given permission, he had to do it in front of Tom. Letting Abby unlock him, Tom would sit across the room while Deni, usually made to kneel on the floor, would be given a certain amount of time, never more than two minutes, to bring himself to orgasm. If he failed to do his "sissy" in the time allotted, even if he were only allowed fifteen seconds, it was back into the chastity belt until next time. Fortunately for Deni, it usually never took him long and within seconds of touching himself he shuddered to a big, glorious "sissy" under Tom’s watchful eye, and to Abby’s great amusement. Sometimes, she would praise him, clapping her hands, laughing, and saying "Oh that was a wonderful sissy, just wonderful…" And Deni, feeling relief and shame and god-knew-what-else would clean up his "sissy" before Tom got annoyed.

A few months passed and Deni was in skirts and dresses almost all the time, mainly because Tom wanted him that way. If he wore pants or shirts at all they were always very "girly," muslin or linen or silk blends, the shortie tops cut low in front or back, the bottoms hip-hugging, tight across the rear, and in bright colors like lime green or sherbet orange. Pumps were de rigeur, and, weather permitting, which in Southern Florida it usually did, it was always some kind of open-toed variety, sandals or platforms, to show off his now brightly painted toes. Deni’s hair by now had grown out and was cut in a cute beachgirl style with bangs and stuff and he’d learned to coordinate his makeup with his tan and blonde highlights.

One good thing about his new ultra-femmy look was that Tom seemed to lighten up and accept him around a little more. He made fun of Deni a lot at first, and as time went on, Tom actually started complimenting him once in a while, and the attention went straight to Deni’s head. A few times, at Abby’s suggestion, Tom had even let Deni massage his shoulders after a particularly tense day at the office. Tom really seemed to like when Deni did that, and admitted that he had a "nice soft touch." Deni had really liked doing it, too, and had been particularly surprised by Tom’s strong shoulders and how they looked under his soft, femmed-up hands. He had been strongly tempted to run his hands down Tom’s hairy, muscular chest, but didn’t dare. Abby was right: he and Tom really were so different!

Deni still wore his chastity belt and was released from time to time to make his "sissy" but lately Tom didn’t force him to do it so quickly. There were often nights, actually, when Abby’s boyfriend allowed Deni to take his time, and sat back and watched, sipping a drink, while Deni knelt on the other side of the room and teasingly stroked himself, leisurely fingering his nipples, sucking his fingers, running his tongue over his painted lips. Usually, when it was time, Deni would get on all fours and waggle his ass in the air, or he’d lie on his back, his legs kicked over his head, pointing his painted toes, and almost instantly he came to an explosive "sissy."

Sometimes, if truth be told, Deni fantasized about Tom taking him, but Tom never touched him, although he certainly did seem to like watching him. And lots of times, Tom would head straight off with Abby to the bedroom after one of Deni’s "sissies." But Abby herself told Deni that if Tom ever touched him "that way" Deni would be toast. So perhaps what happened when Tom asked Deni to move in with him shouldn’t have come as too much of a shock. Deni could come along, of course, but on one condition.

"He won’t let ‘that’ live under his roof," Abby said.

For a moment, Deni didn’t understand. But only for a moment. Abby blamed it on silly macho pride and jealousy again, but Deni suspected that perhaps it might be Abby’s idea all along. Either way, what could he do but agree? And so, shortly before the actual move, Deni was castrated. It wasn’t a total job, at least not yet; he was allowed to keep his penis. But his balls were removed, the sack re-shaped, and what he had now looked something like a vagina. He was still kept in the chastity belt, although it had been modified a bit to accommodate his new "equipment," so to speak, but he was still able to achieve some kind of erection, helped along now by a few props, most notably a new collection of dildos and vibrators, and he still made his little "sissies," which continued to amuse Tom, perhaps even more than before.

It was true that things didn’t work out quite as Deni planned. He was now a kind of homemaker for Tom and Abby, who had announced their engagement earlier that evening. The announcment had come as a bit of surprise to Deni, although he could have seen it coming. Abby shooed him out of the room to get the champagne and when he returned she let him share in the toast and even said something about what a pretty bridesmaid he would be. Already they were talking about children, two, a girl and a boy, and a minivan, and what a wonderful nanny Deni would be. Deni carefully picked up the tray of refreshments. He hadn’t "gotten the girl," as they say, but he had come close. And close to Abby, he’d made up his mind long ago, was better than nothing. He headed back to the sunporch along the polished hardwood floors and heard his sandals clacking out their announcement: "Here comes the sissy."

 

<the end>

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Meeah Soo. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.