Crystal's StorySite

Birthday Present
by: Vickie Tern and Rhonda Wagram   © 1996


Chapter One Birthday Present (in which our hero becomes his wife's heroine)
Chapter Two Night Out (in which our hero is treated like the heroine he seems)
Chapter Three Awakening (in which our hero finds he has become what his wife thinks he should be)
Chapter Four Past and Future (in which the ladies persuade our hero to accept plans they think appropriate for a heroine)
Chapter Five Brave New Worlds (in which hero, heroine, and her wife shop for new clothes and then try them out)
Chapter Six Make-over (in which like it or not, our hero begins to look and sound more like our heroine than he thought she would)
Chapter Seven Honey's Weekend (in which our heroine learns to do what she's told)
Chapter Eight Bea's Weekend (in which his wife tells our heroine what she's done)
Chapter Nine Working Girl (in which our heroine learns to whore for her employer)
Chapter Ten More Proposals (in which the ladies arrange further ways to improve our heroine)
Chapter Eleven Prissy (in which our heroine acquires a new name and new household responsibilities)
Chapter Twelve Prissy and the Poet (in which our heroine finds it advantageous to be the heroine of her own story)
Chapter Thirteen Prissy and Steve (in which our heroine learns again that she is a woman with no desire to be liberated)
Chapter Fourteen Prissy At Your Service (in which our heroine is loaned out)
Chapter Fifteen Prissy Sells Out (in which our heroine facilitates the sale of her business)
Chapter Sixteen Death and Resurrection (in which our heroine learns she has run out of alternatives)
Chapter Seventeen Wedding Present (in which our heroine finally finds out why she is as she is)
Chapter Eighteen Life with Thor (our heroine's satisfactory adjustment to her new life)
Chapter Nineteen Another Birthday Present (in which our heroine learns it is more blessed to give than to receive, sometimes, and her story comes to a happy end)

Chapter One: Birthday Present
(in which our hero becomes his wife's heroine)

It all began as something else altogether, a year earlier, and I didn't find out what was really happening until a year later, though now it scarcely matters. It was Bea's birthday, and the doorbell rang. I went to answer it while Bea finished dressing upstairs.

"So, I see she did talk you into it! My God, look at you! You're gorgeous!"

There at the door was Pearl, my wife's best friend, looking at me as I figured she would when she saw me, amused but also contemptuous. She stepped back and gave me that same relentless look of appraisal women use on themselves when they look into mirrors. Then she said, "Not bad! Not too bad! But how in the world did she get you to do it?"

I was embarrassed, but tried to hide it. So I looked Pearl over equally deliberately. What I saw was the usual bright and brassy middle aged woman, dressed up for a big night out on the town. Packed into a green silk dress much too short for her, I thought. Matching strappy high heels and a clutch purse. Lacy black stockings. Pinned somewhere back of her blonde curls was some kind of small felt hat with a wisp of black veil. So she was green and black and lacy and sassy, and busy making me feel uncomfortable.

"C'mon in, Pearl," I said. "Bea's almost ready. You look good too, you really do!"

I was sincere -- for Pearl, she looked terrific. But especially I wanted to steer our conversation into compliments right away. I couldn't take her usual mockery, her sardonic put-downs. Not dressed the way I was when I came to the door. I was trying not to be too self-conscious about it. I wanted to be a good sport for this one night, to play it straight. To be a proper lady, one of the girls, the way I'd promised Bea.

But with Pearl nothing ever comes easy. She overreacted like a Disney cartoon character. Her eyes flicked over my coiffure and then down my dress, Bea's choice for me for the evening, a little basic black with satin trim, and a cute peplum to hide my lack of hips, and a wide satin-trimmed collar to cover my now-noticeable breasts. Then she eyeballed my legs -- in plain sheer black stockings, nothing fancy -- and my high heeled black pumps. "Wow!" she said, wiping an imaginary haze from in front of her eyes. Her skirt flipped and she wriggled her hips, then planted her hands on them. "Hoo boy!" she said.

"Aren't you something!" She squared her body and then gave me her ultimate once-over. I'd seen it before. Insolent and amused. Absolutely intimidating. In that posture she looked like a tart naming her price, take it or leave it, but managed to imply that I was the tart. "Henry, I don't know what to say. You're such a stunner! You'll knock 'em dead! How can you stand yourself?"

Her irony was too heavy, and I began to wilt. But Pearl sensed it and immediately reversed field. She said, "No, really, I mean it! I'm impressed! That makeover is fabulous! You're really convincing! They must have spent the whole day working on you!"

"Thanks," I said, "If that was a compliment. Come in and sit down."

She stepped into the hallway like a dainty horse imprinting the ground, glanced at me again, and then let her high heels throw her hips into a seductive swish as she proceeded ahead of me into the living room. I got her message. I had to admit it, I couldn't have looked more swishy. "Yes," she said, "It was a compliment. A pretty girl should learn to accept compliments graciously. Just dimple, and curtsy, and say 'Thank you.' You know, when a girl spends hours or days getting ready for a big date, she should appreciate it when her efforts are noticed."

"Bea told me you'd agreed to be one of the girls tonight, but I just didn't believe her." Pearl went on. She sat down, and carefully arranged her legs on our living room couch, skirt smooth, arms draped possessively across the back cushions, at her ease. "Frankly, Henry, I didn't think you had the guts. No offense. But how many men do you know would do this for their wives?"

I followed Pearl into the living room, rocking a bit on my own high heels, and stood looking down at her. She arched her neck up and said, "Get me a drink, would you, Honey? I'd better start calling you 'Honey' I think, not 'Henry.' A 'Henry' who looks the way you do will start people talking, and I'm not sure you'd want to hear what they were saying."

"Or am I looking at 'Henrietta,' Henry's longtime girly other self? Have I at last found out your guilty secret? Have you always liked dressing up in frilly things? Do you really want to be a girl? Have a stiff drink yourself, hon. You're going to need it before tonight's through!"

I took her advice, belted down a quick one, poured Pearl her usual whiskey on rocks and myself another, handed it to her, then sat down across from her. I clasped my drink in my lap with both hands, and crossed my ankles primly, just as Bea had shown me. Shoulders back, bust out, chin high, shake my curls to get her attention, then speak in a high but sweet voice, if I could manage it.

"Don't, Pearl," I said. There was just a touch of pleading in my voice, for Pearl usually a signal to lunge in for the kill. I had better be more aggressive. "You know perfectly well that Bea has been getting me ready for tonight for months. In fact, what with her planning and shopping and rehearsing me, she's had very little else on her mind for some time. I've never seen her like this, not in all our twenty years of marriage. She's been so happy and busy. So don't mock me, because when you do, you're mocking Bea. And that's not friendly." My voice quavered just a little. Maybe it was pitched too high.

"All right, Honey," Pearl said, her voice softened but not subdued. "I'll be gentle. You're one of the girls tonight, and that's that. Don't cry, you'll ruin your beautiful eyes." This time she looked at my face seriously. "They really are beautiful, in a way. Who would have thought it?"

I felt a little mollified. "Well, Bea always did. Even before I was involved in this."

Pearl's look was unwavering. "All right, Bea thinks you're beautiful. But tell me, my Honey, my lamb led to the slaughter. Whatever possessed you? Why are you involved? I know one version, but I'm curious what you know. Tell me what you think is going on."

Pearl didn't seem to be taking this night seriously enough, so I opened up. It was a chance for me to practice my voice some more, anyhow.

"You know full well how come I'm involved. Bea's had her heart set on tonight since last year. You know that. In fact, it was your idea originally. You remember, Bea's thirty-ninth birthday? How it hit her? Like a house collapsing on her? All that weeping, she was getting old and ugly, life was passing her by. Every day more depressed, popping more pills, then feeling even more miserable. Some days she didn't even bother to get dressed, and I was really worried. Then when I'd try to talk to her, to cheer her up, she'd just look at me and withdraw even further, run into the bedroom or the bathroom and then cry her heart out."

"I remember that time," Pearl said, looking me levelly in the eyes. "It was exactly a year ago."

"So I offered to organize a big party for her to help her celebrate her fortieth when it came around. Invite everyone we knew. Well, that was certainly a mistake! She absolutely forbade it! She ran into the bedroom and slammed the door, and then she really started wailing! I mean loud, agonized, just terrible! I felt awful! I still don't understand it."

"I know about that time too," Pearl said, still looking at me steadily, and taking little sips from her glass. I remembered to do the same -- sips, not swallows, it's much more ladylike, Bea had told me. It felt more delicate. I wondered if my lipstick was smeared. "You missed the point, Honey dear!," Pearl went on. "A forty year old woman doesn't feel like celebrating. It isn't like a man turning forty."

She set her glass down. "Look! A forty year old man is just coming into his prime, even if he isn't quite the stud he was at twenty. He still believes that 'You aren't getting older, just better' crap. Well, if he's any good at business he's starting to get into heavy money just about then. All those years of hard work begin to pay off. His kids are gone, or they don't need him, so he's free of his family. But his wife is no longer a bombshell, if she ever was one. So when a man turns forty he often decides he deserves better from life. And for once he can afford it. So he begins screwing around. Or, he dumps his wife of twenty years in order to award himself a trophy wife. Isn't that right?"

In fact, that's just what Pearl's husband had done. He'd left her well-fixed enough, payment for their years of struggle together, and had gone off to do the Palm Beach and Palm Springs circuits with a new slim long-haired Princess of a wife, calling his broker now and then to ask how fast the money was coming in.

I was forty last year, and I have to admit it now, I was thinking about doing the same thing. Life with Bea had gotten really dull. The sex was as predictable and boring as her cooking, and she seemed to approach both the same way. We shared lots of interests, but there was nothing new to explore. Evenings, she read her romantic novels and I watched television. But I still cared for her, in a way, and I didn't want to hurt her, so I never said anything about it. I wondered if Bea had sensed something anyhow, and had mentioned it to Pearl.

"Well," Pearl went on, "With a woman turning forty it's different. She's nearly past it. Her kids are gone or don't need her either. Raising kids has been her life, and now it's over. She finds it's harder to stay in shape, and she lets herself go a little. Her dresses don't fit her any more, so she spends more of her husband's money to buy more of them, and they still don't fit just right. She logs more time at the beauty parlor. Her husband logs more time at the office, and less with her. There're still things she hasn't yet done with her life, and she knows time is running out, and she knows she's beginning to forget what those things were. That's why Bea didn't want your party. I'm sure she told you that right off when you proposed it to her. There's nothing to celebrate when a woman turns forty."

"She did say that," I said. "I thought she was just depressed."

Pearl looked steadily at me again, and then took another sip.

I went on. "But I really am grateful to you and Kay. When the two of you cooked up these plans for tonight, her mood changed. Almost immediately! It was miraculous! I still don't understand it. My idea for a birthday bash depressed her, but yours gave her a new lease on life! I'd never have guessed it, that what she really wanted was an intimate night out on the town with just her two dearest friends. A fabulous girls' night out. Something she'd never done before. But that was what she wanted! Immediately she started humming around the house, telephoning and planning and talking and preparing. Weeks spent shopping for the very outfit she's putting on right now. All of today spent in the beauty parlor, sitting next to me the whole time, getting her hair and face and hands and nails and body worked over by any number of the women there."

"Anyhow, for months she's been so excited! I'm not sure why. What does she expect? Dinner, a show, some drinks afterward, and talk, lots of hot gossip she's never heard, she says. Do things she hasn't done for years, she says, maybe never done. Bea said that you planned to stay up till morning, the three of you, making girl talk, telling each other racy stories, doing girl things, away from husbands or other such depressing people. If she liked the way it worked out, she said, then she'd do the same things with you girls more often. They'd become her things too. And that's what cheered her up! I suppose, for Bea it's a change. We don't go out much together any more, hardly at all. Not for years. I'm pretty much satisfied to watch television."

"So I've heard," Pearl said. "Well, you've got the drift of it. Turning forty is a serious thing for a woman. Bea wanted to know how we've handled it, me and Kay. What we've really been doing since the big four oh. You're right. A year ago she was way down, and you weren't the only person worried about her. So we told her that on her fortieth birthday, tonight, we'd show her that life begins at forty. We'd tell her all our secrets."

"I'm forty-two now, you know. That rat of a husband of mine left me four years ago. Well, for a year I mourned like a schoolgirl, which is what I still was despite everything, I suppose. Then for another year I thought about the rest of my life, how to take charge of it. Well, since then I've been doing OK. Got me a job to keep busy, started to meet new people -- you don't know the half of it. So I've got lots of good advice to give Bea. I've given her lots already."

"Kay too. Kay told her some things right off that surprised even me, about that husband she still lives with. That Tomcat stud, what's his name, Steve. I've known for years that he's been sticking his prick into anything in skirts the way other people shake hands. But I didn't know he went for anything in pants too. He swings both ways. Did you know that? The man is an animal."

I didn't know that. I'd never met him, but he was a legend around town. I'd heard about his women. We were all maybe a little jealous. That may be why wives and ex-wives always seemed to be so protective of Kay, always inviting her to parties and dinners and sleepovers when her husband was out of town. But he was bisexual? That I hadn't known! "Why does Kay stay with him?" I asked. "She's a doctor. She's got her own practice. She's been our family doctor for years, and she's a good one. Bea trusts her. Kay doesn't need Steve."

"You really are an innocent!" Pearl said. "Because Kay's got her own men too. And her own women. They swing together. They're swingers. That's how they first met, at some swingers' convention, from what I hear." Pearl leaned forward. "But Honeybuns, you haven't told me yet how Bea talked you into joining us for this fabulous night. To do whatever we do. Especially looking the way you do, like one of the ... uh ... girls. What happened? Does Bea have something on you? Did she catch you slipping into her little silky nothings, and then shame you into wearing more of them? Do you have your own panty collection? Are you also a secret swinger?" Pearl lifted her face toward me, waiting for some dishy confessions.

"Well..." I began. But Pearl was on a roll!

"And how'd she get you into that beauty salon? Celeste did a fabulous job, really, Honey! Those are long fingernails, longer than mine! And that is a perm they gave you, isn't it? I suppose it really took guts! Or was it blackmail, or a bribe? Though I must say, you do look terrific. You look ... well, feminine. I don't think there's any doubt you'll pass."

"You know, don't you, that this night has cost you your manhood, as far as I'm concerned, and probably Kay. Maybe even Bea. I don't know how feminized you are inside, but you are certainly emasculated up front. In my eyes certainly. That's quite a sacrifice! You must have known that would happen. So why did you do it? We are never again going to be able to think of you as Bea's dullard husband! You're just too cute-looking! Now we'll spend all our time thinking about fixing you up with cute guys! Maybe even other cute guys in skirts! How in the world did Bea ever get you to agree to this?"

Finally, Pearl leaned back, looking at me cooly. She'd spoken her piece. She handed me her empty glass, and gestured toward mine, and pointed to the bar. I stood up.

"Pearl, the way Bea did it was, she asked me, and that's all there was to it," I said, a little too grandly. Pearl had finally gotten to me.

And then Bea's voice came from the doorway. "That's right, I asked him!" Suddenly, there was Bea. "I decided early on that I wanted Henry with me tonight, but not as Henry. And that's why he's here. I have my own reasons, Pearl."

We both turned to look at her. Bea had really gotten herself ready for this special girls' night out, there was no doubt about it! She looked awesome! My God, what a costume! Short tight black leather miniskirt, and thigh-high boots with incredibly long, thin spike heels. A short stretch of exposed thigh, between her boot tops and her skirt, encased in black nylon. Those thighs looked like dark tubes, inviolable, strong enough to crush any man who dared put his head between them. A black silk blouse thrust forward by bare, jutting nipples, apparently she wore no bra, and then it flowed down and over her arms to be gathered at her wrists, and to billow down to her waist. A collar of red necklaces surrounding her neck like chain mail, and large red drop earrings dangling under her black hair, which was teased way up around her head as big as I could ever imagine it. Eyes outlined in black, and a slash of red across her mouth. Absolutely sensational!

I swallowed hard, and almost sat down again. Next to Bea I was a sweet, shy wallflower, in my pretty black cocktail dress. If there were any feelings of manhood left in me, that I was a guy wearing a skirt because his wife had asked him to, they were gone. There could be no men in the vicinity of Bea's outfit. Only varying kinds of submissives, until she gave one of them permission to try to service her like a man, if he could. I suddenly felt utterly helpless. I tried to compliment Bea, but my hands only waved in the air, and nothing came out of my throat but some high-pitched squeals. She saw at once what she had done to me, and smiled delighted. Her eyes sparkled.

"My God, Bea," said Pearl. "Talk about taking charge of your own life starting tonight!"

"That's what I'm doing, Pearl."

Then she turned to me, still standing and staring anxiously at her. "Don't worry, dear, this isn't for you. It's partly for me, and partly to help me keep some other people in line tonight, maybe. You'll do only what you want to do, no matter what I may ask you to do. I wouldn't want it any other way. Did I tell you upstairs that you look just lovely? Really, that dress is adorable! I knew that satin collar would be flattering once your breasts were large enough to hold it away from your body a teeny bit."

And Bea came over to me, and we held each other's arms gently for a moment, and we pressed our cheeks together, so as not to smudge our makeup or wrinkle our dresses, and then we looked at each other silently for another moment. It was a kiss, woman to woman. I don't know why, but it felt heavenly. I felt a sudden surge of love for her! And at the same time, I felt serene, so wonderfully at peace with myself. "Whatever you do tonight," she said to me in a low voice, "Is for me. I want you to know that. I want you to know I want it that way. And I love you for it." I looked at her gratefully, if a little confused.

"Dear, would you get me a drink," she asked me. "And take care of yours and Pearl's too." I flounced over to the liquor cabinet -- those first drinks were beginning to have their effect -- and I poured us each a double. Pearl looked at hers and set it aside for the moment. I handed Bea hers, and she sipped it, carefully, than set it aside and straddled the back of a chair like a pirate, legs spread on either side. For some weird reason I felt a surge of pride that I was part of her life.

"Here's how it happened, Pearl. A month after you told me your plans, Kay called to tell me she couldn't join us tonight, that she was had to be out of town, some medical convention or other. Well, I was crushed. Henry couldn't cheer me up at all. I told him how terribly disappointed I was. But I didn't need to. He already knew how much this night out with the girls meant to me. He could see the gleam going out of my eye. He felt terribly sorry for me, and he thought about it some. Didn't you, dear?"

I looked at her gratefully again, but I still couldn't talk. There was this enormous lump in my throat.

"When Kay had to beg off, that left just the two of us, you and me. It didn't seem ... well ... festive enough. Then the more I thought it through, the more it seemed right that Henry should help us make up our original threesome. In fact, the more I thought about it, the better I liked the idea. Henry must certainly know what some of the men in town do with some of the women in town, so he could tell us some real hot stories too, I was sure, things he's been too proper to tell me, once we got into the right gossipy mood. It might be fun."

"So the next night I asked him if he'd take Kay's place, so I could still be with my dearest friends, the way we'd planned it. Then I wouldn't have to think about him sitting at home while we were all out together having fun. I told him this would be his gift of love to me, my fortieth birthday gift, a gift I wanted from him more than anything else in the whole world. Well, he told me he'd do it. He didn't think he knew any gossip, but it was enough that I wanted him by my side. So he agreed."

Pearl leaned back into the sofa. "Let me get this straight, if that's the word for it," she said. "And maybe you'd better keep working on your drink, Honey. I think maybe you'll want to begin this evening a little tizzled. Let's see, Bea told you that Kay would be out of town tonight, and that she wanted you to fill in? And you agreed?" She looked me up and down again, and picked up her own drink. She took a swallow. "Dressed and made up the way you are? A real foxy lady, just like Kay?"

I was a little bewildered that Pearl had a problem with this. "Well, not right away," I began. "I didn't realize at first that she wanted me to go all out as one of you girls, to become one of the girls myself, so to speak. To fill in for Kay in every respect. I thought she just wanted me to come along as her husband. But a few days later I realized she meant more than that, when she took me shopping and bought me some brassieres and things. By then I couldn't disappoint her. Pearl, I just couldn't! So I decided I had to go along with it. And that's what I've done."

"Wait a minute," Pearl said, glancing at Bea, who got some kind of message and remained silent. They'd known each other a long time. "You say 'brassieres'. Plural. How many brassieres did you buy that day?"

"Well, actually, seven or eight" I replied, wondering why she should ask. "A training bra and some A, and B cups, and then a few more B cups, different kinds of lacy patterns and colors. Underwire," I added, thinking maybe that information would solve whatever was Pearl's problem. Bea smiled reassuringly at me.

"I see," Pearl said, glancing again at Bea. "And you're wearing one of your B cups tonight?"

"Yes," I said. "After a month or so wearing each of the smaller sizes, they no longer fit me. I kept spilling over."

"I see," Pearl said again. One of her odd grins was forming on her face again, and I didn't understand why. "Bea, by any chance have you been taking Honey here -- I'm calling him Honey now, because I'm getting the message that Henry is not long for this world -- have you been taking Honey here to see Kay, for vitamin supplements or something?"

"Why of course, Pearl," my wife answered quietly. She glanced at me. "Honey had to ask Kay lots of questions about filling in for her. And while they were chatting she wrote him some prescriptions for various of his problems. Not that he has any. But just to be on the safe side. He's been very diligent, taking his pills and showing up regularly for his shots. You can see how healthy they've made him. He's in wonderful shape."

"Yes, that's certainly true," Pearl said once more. "Ummm, Honey, how many new dresses do you have upstairs, besides the one you're wearing?"

"Only a few," I replied. "But one of them is pretty much worn out, because we've used it as a practice dress for months, smoothing it when I sat down, and straightening it whenever I got up from sitting on the toilet to pee, and so on. I wore it all the time, put it on as soon as I came home, and most weekends. My other things, my skirts and blouses and heels and flats and so on, are all still pretty much new. I have a whole closet full, so I don't have to wear any one of them very often. Bea thought it might be useful for me to have them, just to fill out my wardrobe. To get used to wearing what women wear. So I wouldn't feel self-conscious when I was learning how to move the way women move, and how to hold myself, and everything. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," said Pearl. "Another question. A long shot. My idle curiosity, no more than that. This one's going to sound very odd, but I don't think Bea will mind my asking. Did Bea ask you to clean out your bottom today? Just before you started to dress? Or to do anything else down there, anything exceptional?"

I got annoyed. "Pearl, that's rather personal! But since you ask, no, nothing exceptional at all. Months ago Bea asked me to take an enema daily before I put in the suppositories Kay gave me, and that's what I've done. For cleanliness. And today she asked me to put in a tampon when I'd finished flushing myself out, so I'd stay clean all evening no matter what, and not leak accidentally onto my new dress. So that's what I've done. Any more questions?"

By now Pearl was grinning broadly at Bea, and Bea was looking back at her mildly. Somehow they both looked very satisfied with themselves. Women, I thought. Who will ever understand them.

"Well, just one last question. Isn't it time for us to go to dinner?"

Chapter Two: Night Out
(in which our hero is treated like the heroine he seems)


Dinner turned out to be the least of it. It was Bea's big night, but it was mine too, the first time I ever left the house looking like a woman. Despite my months of practice I was rather nervous. But we linked arms walking to Pearl's car, and we giggled about something, and some kids walked by without even glancing at us. So I felt better about it. Walking on my heels was no problem after all those months of practice. When we reached the car, Bea reminded me to fluff my hair with my finger tips now and then. "It's a very attractive gesture, dear."

Pearl drove us. When we got to the restaurant's Valet Parking a boy opened the door for me and stood watching, and I was grateful for Bea's lessons how to get out of a car in a skirt -- twist, swing my legs out, straighten my skirt, stand up. The Maitre D' led us to a corner table, and we settled our purses on the floor by our chairs, and read the menus. Bea ordered for me -- clear soup, and a small warm salad. She cautioned me against nibbling on the bread and butter. "Your figure, dear," she said. "Later you're going to feel stuffed, I'm sure, so you don't want to eat too much now." Pearl let out a guffaw, but didn't look up from her menu. She ordered a bottle of Chardonnay, and we finished it, feeling even more tiddly than at the house. Things went very well. I ate teeny bites, and patted my lips now and then. It was just like all those practice dinners at home. Even Pearl began looking at me with admiration.

"You're very good, Honey," she said. "It's as if you were born to it. Do you think you were? Are you a woman in a man's body?"

"Pearl, cut it out!" I said.

Bea interrupted. "No, Honey. Say, 'Pearl, please stop teasing me, or I'll start to cry.'"

I tried again. "Pearl, please, don't!" I said. I really felt hurt. Bea looked satisfied, and Pearl eased off.

"No, tell me. I'd like to know. This is the night for confessions, remember! I asked you earlier if you'd ever done this before, dressed up like a girl, maybe secretly, and you never answered."

"You never gave me a chance, Pearl. Did I try on my mommy's panties when I was little? Yes, I suppose every boy does. Out of curiosity. Did I feel some special charge or satisfaction while doing it? No, nothing, so I did it only that one time."

Pearl leaned back. If she hadn't recently quit smoking, she would have lit a cigarette. I could tell she was about to say something she actually meant! "Honey, it's no secret that I didn't think you'd do this. You're not a gung ho macho man, like that asshole I married, but you are a straight arrow, and not a very sharp one. If you'll pardon my words, you have always seemed to me to be an unimaginative lunkhead, someone who was repressing Bea's natural high spirits without even knowing it. I have often thought that a divorce from you would be a good thing for Bea. But she wouldn't hear of it. Not ever. And now look at you. Never would I have conceived it, that you'd be sitting here tonight in a dress nibbling on a small salad. Looking very much like a lady. I feel like comparing menstrual symptoms with you, you look so believable. And you even sit down every time you go to the bathroom, is that what you said earlier?"

"Yes, that's right. It was Bea's idea, for the practice. It seemed to please her, so I do it all the time now. It did solve all those problems married people have, about leaving toilet seats up or down. So now that's my gift to her too. I sit down for everything."

"Yes," said Pearl thoughtfully. "You may soon have no choice. But tell me, dear, if you weren't born with ... er ... transvestite tendencies, how do you feel about wearing women's clothes now?. How long is it since Bea bought you those first brassieres? When you wear them, do you feel ... ah ... different? Is it ... nice? And you've been retraining your whole body to be more ladylike. Does that feel ... nice? Confession time, now."

"I guess it's like you to ask those questions, Pearl," I said. "Because the answers are a little embarrassing." I glanced at Bea, and saw her nod, almost imperceptively. "OK. At first I just felt silly, a man putting on his training bra every morning. Bea's fortieth was nine or ten months away, and it made no sense. But Bea said that learning to act like a woman is like learning to play the piano, an art that expresses feelings, and that I needed the feelings as well as the techniques, and that it takes a while to develop them. I spent a lot of time imagining how women feel, about themselves, about each other, and about men, which at first was a total mystery to me. Then as my nipples got hard lumps behind them and my breasts started to grow, she helped me with my feelings. Every night Bea would caress my nipples, or tweak them gently, until they got hard. Like Bea's now."

I looked at those finger-thick nipples poking Bea's blouse, a mature woman's nubs outlined in black satin, and again felt proud to be married to Bea. Also, inexplicably, a little jealous. "Every night when Bea caressed me it felt more and more marvelous. So soft, and feminine, and delicious, and attractive ... well ... never mind. I got so I couldn't wait for my skin to get smoother, and my breasts to swell up more, grow into bigger globes that needed bigger bra cups. When I went to the office, wearing my bra, maybe covered by a slip or a Teddy, I was so happy with them I'd often push out my chest, and they'd swell through my shirt on either side of my tie, and my suit jackets would fall back and frame them, so anyone could see who'd bother to look. Just the way women's suit jackets do when they're unbuttoned. I began to feel delighted with my figure, almost as much as Bea. I guess I didn't care who noticed. No one did, that I know of. That disappointed me, sometimes."

"I told Bea, and she said that was my feminine side beginning to express itself, and that I should give it more freedom. So I began turning most of my office work over to my partner, and doing more business by phone. Bea suggested I wear panties, or pantyhose, all the time, and women's blouses and shirts, and women's jeans and slacks whenever I went out, and of course when I was home, skirts, and my practice dress. And I took to moving the way women walk, naturally but with a grace I've always loved in women. You know. Bea has it. Even you have it, when you want to. You sort of float. I like pretending I'm graceful and pretty in my own way, and Bea says I really am now. And more and more, I've been feeling the way I imagine women feel all the time about things, little enthusiasms and sorrows rising up all the time in my heart. Bea was so pleased, the first time I cried for joy at some silly television drama. We cried together, and it was such good fun."

"One by one Bea put away my men's things, and bought me more women's things, and taught me how to wear them, and how to combine them with each other. Now I love them. Even my mens' clothes now are really women's clothes, man-tailored. They feel just ... well ... right. I feel ... complete in them. And waking up every day and choosing my wardrobe is a whole new adventure for me. I love waking up each day!"

Pearl seemed to be overwhelmed by what I had said. "So for months now," she said, almost disbelieving, "you've been wearing women's clothes at home full time, practicing walking in high heels, and fixing your lipstick, and letting your wrists hang free, and things like that, because Bea wants you too, and you like it, and it feels good?"

"Yes. At first mainly because I didn't want to disgrace Bea. For fear that when the big moment came tonight, I would give myself away as a man, and be ridiculed by whoever saw me. But you're right. It does feel good. Nowadays, all I have to do is put on a bra with my breasts gathered up in each cup, and my nipples protruding way forward, and I get the same delicious feminine feelings Bea brought out by caressing me. Then I want to do more things that girls do. Bea and I cuddle a lot together. And today in the beauty salon was such a treat! I love the way my hair came out! You shouldn't mock me about these things, Pearl. That's the way I am, for tonight. And it's how Bea wants me."

"You're right, Honey," Pearl said. She set her fork down and looked at me, and said softly. "I'm sorry. I had no idea things had proceeded this far. I guess I thought Bea had duped you, not that she'd converted you, or discovered you. Maybe you always were a transvestite, or a transsexual, but never knew it." Then Pearl suddenly straightened up, and said in a sprightly way, "but now you're one of the girls, just in time for tonight. That's just fine! Tell me, dear, these feminine feelings, do they include feminine feelings about men?"

Bea interrupted, her voice a trifle sharp. "Let me set the pace here, Pearl. Henry is married to me, and while Honey lives inside Henry she will be as true to me as Henry has been. Henry has never cheated on me, he says, and I believe him. And I'm married to him. That's why it's important that whatever we do tonight, we do it together. Especially tonight. If Henry decides tonight to let Honey be herself, I don't say that Honey shouldn't feel free to find her own way in the world, and to make her own commitments. My obligations are to Henry, the way Henry's are to me. Do you follow me? That's why I'm so delighted that tonight, it's Honey we're out with, that she's one of the girls, not Henry. She'll do whatever she feels like doing, tonight. The way we all will."

I was lost. I didn't understand a word of what Bea had just said, but Pearl nodded slowly. She was obviously impressed.

Bea and I then went together to the Ladies' Room together, my very first visit to any Ladies' room anywhere, and my dear companion my very own wife, while Pearl stayed behind to pay the check. We primped and fussed and chatted, and I combed my hair out a bit, and only when we were leaving did I realize that I had gone into a booth to pee, and sat down to pee, and wiped myself, and risen to adjust my dress, all without thinking about it at all. It was now second nature to me. Maybe even first.

Next we went to a concert, a string quartet playing Mozart and Schubert, Bea's favorites. The pieces they played were all gentle, and beautiful, and some of them terribly sad. At one moment when the music was especially unhappy, Bea leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, very sweetly. I looked over and saw she had tears in her eyes. I took her hand and held it tightly. "What's that for?" I asked in a small voice. "Nothing," she replied. "You'll see." Then she said, "Oh, I do hope everything works out the way I've planned it. I do hope so!" I couldn't ask her what she meant by that, but I noticed that she held my hand tightly in both her hands through the rest of the concert. I remember how satisfying it was, each time I looked down into my lap, to see our newly manicured red fingernails all tangled and coiled together, looking so elegant.

Afterward we went to a night club, one with hot but also dreamy dancing alternating very loudly in one section, near the bar. Stretching for what must have been a city block were rooms and cubicles one after another for drinking and for noisy or quiet conversation. As we settled down in a booth, and our drinks came, and we started sipping them, I glimpsed someone familiar coming toward us. I got the shock of my life!

It was Kay! I half rose in surprise, but then I remembered I was a lady, and settled back down. She came straight over to our table, and Pearl and Bea moved to make room for her. They both were delighted to see her. Neither looked especially amazed. "Kay!" I said. "I thought you had to be somewhere else tonight! Why are you here? I mean, it's wonderful that you're here, because now you can help us with Bea's birthday. But weren't you supposed to be somewhere else? Isn't that why I'm here?"

"Yes, I was supposed to be elsewhere," she said. "But I changed my mind. I figured I'd be more useful here tonight. Hello, Henry. You are Henry, aren't you?" She peered more closely at me. "My heavens, look at you! It's amazing! Those treatments really did their work, didn't they? You look absolutely ravishing, Henry! I love it! You look good enough to eat!"

"Tonight, Henry is Honey, Kay," Bea said. "The way we discussed it. That's the way it should be, and that's the way Honey wants it to be."

"Of course. Honey! You are a real stunner, Honey! I'd invite you home with me, if I didn't know you have other plans. Sorry, girls, I've been drinking, waiting for you to show up. Well, anyhow, I'm here, and now we're all here, all of the girls, including our newest girl." She smiled at me charmingly. I smiled back. She leaned forward. "Well, since there are no men here, let's tell each other dirty stories. Let's say about having sex with men we aren't married to? Honey, you go first. Tell us your favorite infidelity."

"Honey hasn't had any infidelities yet, Kay," Pearl said. "She's too new. She's still a virgin. And Bea just told me that Henry hasn't had any infidelities either. I don't think he's a virgin, though there's some question whether he's ever done anything memorable. Anyhow, Henry's not here tonight. He isn't one of the girls."

So they just ignored me, and started talking. Kay had an open marriage with Steve, her husband, and had slept with lots of men after their marriage. So in fact had Steve -- he was bisexual, and really couldn't decide which sex he preferred, so he slept with whoever seemed most immediately available. When Pearl asked her, she couldn't remember for a moment when the two of them had last slept together, with each other, that is. In fact their marriage was a convenience for organizing swinging sessions -- other couples felt better about trading partners with other partners. She talked about tall and short men, round and thin, big and little. "It's a good thing you've decided to be a woman, Henry," she said. "That little thing of yours is not especially impressive. That's my official opinion as your physician. Speaking as a swinger, I've got to tell you that it's downright pathetic. You'd never get invited again to any of my sessions. But it'll make a terrific clit, when you get around to it. No offense, mind you."

I glanced at Bea. For some reason she wasn't offended by Kay's remark. In fact, she was amused, and merely took another pull at her drink. So I figured what the hell, that was just Kay trying to get my goat. So all I said was, "I'm Honey, Kay, not Henry. For tonight, anyhow. That's what I promised Bea. And I haven't decided to be a woman except for tonight. No way! And as far as my equipment goes, it's good enough for me and for Bea, so it's good enough."

"That's right, Kay," Bea broke in. "You weren't here earlier, so you may not know what Henry knows and doesn't know, and how he understands what he knows. So let's leave it for now, shall we?"

A puzzling remark, but I was getting a little tipsy, so I let it pass. The three women exchanged glances.

More drinks came. I was beginning to feel a bottomless place under me, and that I was teetering on the edge of falling into it. So I didn't notice, until Pearl pointed it out, that the next round of drinks came from three interesting looking men sitting together not far away. They were a bit gray in the temples, two of them, and one had a well-shorn black beard. All were nicely dressed, and rather handsome in fact. Probably professional men. It seems Pearl knew one of them, and she went over to thank them and to chat. She came back.

"They were wondering if we cared to dance, any of us. I told them certainly, but that we wanted a little more time to talk together. Just us girls. I've told them our plans for tonight, Bea, and they've offered to help out in any way they can. I told them we'd see."

"Sounds good to me, Pearl," said Kay.

Then Pearl started talking about the men she'd fucked after she found out that her husband was cheating on her regularly. There were quite a few. All of them, to hear her tell it, men she could dominate and really put through their paces. Talk about the five 'F' -- find 'em, fool 'em, feel 'em, fuck 'em, forget 'em -- Pearl was the champion in the women's division. No feeling for any of them. Wear them out and throw them away.

Then things got a little blurry, then a lot more blurry. The three guys came over, and we had a few more rounds of drinks. Kay told them what we'd been talking about, and they each of them told their own stories of one night stands on business trips, hot sex with willing partners, with every anatomical detail described. They each referred to their own pricks as heavy, or huge, or frightening to their ladies at first. Pearl questioned this, and they said they were willing to bet her they were all three exceptionally well-endowed, put up or shut up, her choice. Pearl just smiled to herself, and took one of the men by the hand and led him off to the dance floor. I didn't see her again that night.

Then my wife Bea spoke to the nicest of them, I thought, the quiet, confident, gray-haired man called Bob. I was a little looped, but I noticed that her voice with him was different from her voice with me. She commanded him, almost. She said, "Well Bob, if you know how to dance, ask me to dance." Bob looked at her, surprised, but he didn't say anything. Then Bea stood up on her spike-heeled boots with her legs spread apart, and she twisted her pelvis slightly, and she put her hands on her hips, and she leaned forward. Her breasts pushed out into her black silk blouse, inches from his face, and the tips of her nipples were practically in his mouth, which fell wide open.

"Didn't you hear me, Bob?" she asked him.

Bob leaped to his feet, "Yes Ma'am!"

"Then what do you say?"

"Uh, would you like to dance, please, mmm...ah..mmm....?" He couldn't finish.

Bea smiled. She seemed to know why he couldn't finish. "'Ma'am' will do quite well for now," she said. "Later I'll expect you to follow your instincts when you address me!" And off they went to the dance floor.

I lost sight of them for a few minutes, but when I next looked they seemed awfully close. Bea had thrust herself up against him, and was looking up into his face with an imperious smile. He seemed to be in a daze, and I noticed that one of his hands was pressed between their bodies. She said something, and he actually took hold of one of her breasts! Her pelvis seemed to be stroking his. She said something else, and he leaned forward and buried his face in her neck.

I turned to tell Kay what I thought I had seen, a little disturbed. But Kay had something to say to me first. "Here's someone who wants to meet you, Honey," she said. "Treat him well and he'll treat you well. Here, let me freshen your drink." A rather tall, thin man with blonde hair across his forehead sat down next to me. He looked at me for a moment, then gazed into my face and said, "I've been wanting to meet you all evening, Honey," he said. "You are absolutely lovely." He was very personable, the kind of man that women find attractive at first sight, I'm sure. He had an odd appeal even I could sense. He took my hand, and I looked down at my hand in his, and I was happy that Marge had made my nails so beautiful. I hoped he wouldn't realize what I really was. I wondered what would happen if he did.

"Thank you," I said. If I had been standing, I'm sure I would have tried to curtsy. Instead, I bobbed my head at him and smiled, and hoped I looked appreciative. This was the first pass anyone had ever made toward me, and the first compliment I had ever received from a stranger. My heart welled up. I knew that given who I was, what I was, really, I should keep him at bay. My purpose tonight was to keep my wife company. That was my purpose. But she was off dancing with another man right now. It would be fun to flirt with this man, I thought.

"Here you are, Honey. Bottoms up!" Kay handed me a glass filled with a straw colored beverage and a few ice cubes. I drank it down in four swallows, before I realized that her advice was not good advice. "I should sip, Kay," I said, feeling further distanced from myself than I knew myself to be. "That's what Bea told me."

"You should always do what Bea tells you, Honey," Kay said. Then she and her own gentleman, the dark bearded one, disappeared.

My new blonde friend hadn't moved from my side, nor had he let go my hand. "I'll get you another drink, Honey, one you can sip," he said. He snapped his fingers in the air. There was another drink in front of me. I sipped it. He said something I couldn't quite hear, and when he repeated it, he came very close to me, and I felt his breath and his lips on my ear. I blushed, and tried to push him away, but teasingly, because he was really such a lovely man. But I almost fell off my chair. Then he was sitting on the other side of me, and I was resting my head on his shoulder, and he was telling me something, and I was listening, and smiling, and nodding. I felt very content. No idea why. I closed my eyes.

Then I don't know. He was dancing me backward, and I was in his arms, following his steps, looking into his eyes and smiling. I thought we passed Bea and her gray haired friend, but I couldn't be sure. There were billowing black sleeves around some man's neck, and a glimpse of her big hair maybe. But their faces were absorbed in each other. Were they kissing? I couldn't see, with my eyes closed. My blonde man kissed my closed eyes, tenderly, and I responded! I kissed his face. I could feel a man's bristles on my lips. He was such a lovely man! I put my arms around his neck and I kissed his mouth. Just like Bea. I felt a lot like Bea. If it was Bea I had seen, her black sleeves. But my arms were bare, and smooth. Bea had insisted I use lotions all over my body. I felt bare, and smooth. I pulled him closer. His tongue kissed my mouth. We danced with his tongue in my mouth, or mine in his, and I put my lips softly on his lips. He tasted so sweet! Had I said aloud what I thought I had seen? Bea kissing? He kissed me again. To the table, another whiskey. A slow romantic dance, and I was plastered against him, I was part of him, so we could dance together. His hands felt my breasts, fondling my little nipples, cupping me and lifting me. They are real breasts I thought. Bea made them for me. They feel very nice. His hands feel very nice. My eyes were closed now. We danced around the table, and his penis pressed into mine and I was feeling strangely excited, as if I were melting into him. My heart melted into him. More music from somewhere, but my eyes were closed. I felt very good. I held him tightly around his neck. Such a very lovely man!

"They're gone," my man said. Who? "I'd better take you home," he said. "I know where you live, don't worry, dear." All right. We'll go home. I picked up my purse. There were no other purses near the table any more. As he steered me out the door, I heard a voice, was it Kay's? A woman's voice. Bea's? Not my woman's voice. I heard "Don't forget to take out your tampon, Honey. Have fun!" My first fun. Where am I? A parking lot. No, I am home in my bed, and it's my bridal night, and I am kissing someone passionately, and I am wrapping my legs around him, and I am moaning in delight, and he is wrapped around me. He is sucking on my tits. I am suckling him. I fold his head in my arms. My love! Oh, my love! He is entering me, and I open my whole body wide to welcome him in.


Chapter Three: Awakening
(in which our hero finds he has become
what his wife thinks he should be)

I came to consciousness of early morning light in the windows. Dawn. I was lying on our big king sized bed, in our bedroom, Bea's and mine, but my head was turned to the foot of the bed, and tucked in snug. My arms were wrapped around bony buttocks, not Bea's round, soft pillows. Someone's boneless finger was deep in my mouth, and I was nursing on it. Deep inside my crotch I felt a yearning for something hot and wet and snug and soft, and I pushed into more wet velvety softness. The finger in my mouth began to rub on the slick insides of my lips, and I could feel it was growing bigger. I sucked on it and opened my eyes.

I saw my nose was buried in a leathery sack, soft and hairy. Someone's balls. That my mouth was wrapped around someone's prick, half-engorged. That I was pulling my face into someone's crotch by hugging his hips with all my strength, and not letting go. That my own prick was growing into more wet, warm, comfy velvet. I moaned and hugged the pillows even tighter. His buttocks. They rolled a little. I was a comma inside a comma, and a luscious feeling grew deeper between my legs. My mouth slipped up and down on some man's dimpled prick, with its royal purple head, like a gladiator's helmet, his lovely, lovely cock. I licked and sucked it while it grew larger, and mine craved to be buried deep in his mouth.

"Oooohoooooh!" I heard a woman's throat vibrate richly, luxuriantly, purring, and I realized that the throat was mine. I thrust my nose deep down, and I pulled his cock deeper into my face. He did too, sucking on my meat, holding my rump firm, lovingly. Rumpled sheets.

I woke up completely. I was in bed with some man, and we were in a sixty-nine embrace with each other, probably because we had slept that way much of the night. Yes. I could smell cum in his pubic hair, someone's, mine or his, and still taste it salty in my mouth, though his sweet cock was still growing in my mouth, and mine in his, and I was sucking vigorously on his. Finally I got up on my elbows and devoted full attention to lapping and kissing his beautiful smooth tower while a sweet tension grew deep behind mine, and I pumped his face. I fucked him, down his throat, which clung to my cock, until I cried out "Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh, nnng" and I came into him pulsing. The most delectable feelings flooded me inside his face. I could feel him swallowing me.

I am on my bed, I thought, and a man has just given me a great blow job, and I am giving him the best I know how. Why am I here? I noticed that my bra and my slip were rumpled around my shoulders, the bra unfastened but the straps wrapped on me. He was licking me off, sucking on me still, until I was small, and clean, and wet. A boneless finger.

"Wait, Honey!"

His voice was soft, musical, gentle. I took his tower into my hand, to assure that it would be there when I turned my mouth back toward it, and I saw my lovely slender red fingernails wrapping around it. Then I lifted my head and looked back along his legs up to his chest and face. My body was smooth and soft, hairless, I could see. I remembered how Bea had showered me with a pungent cream before I went off to the beauty parlor, and had rinsed it away to reveal my soft, woman's body. It occurred to me that my hair must be a mess, and my face. But I didn't dare touch them. His body as I looked along his legs was hairy, my white skin lying against his.

Between my legs, there I saw my friend from last night, with his short, blond, tousled hair, resting on one of my thighs, still caressing my balls and my own softening prick with his tongue, still licking up my own cum. We weren't dancing together any more. He smiled at me.

"It's daylight. One more for the road," he said. I didn't know what he meant. He wriggled out from under me, and turned, and gently straddled my legs. I felt deprived of him. Where was that beautiful velvet penis now? I felt a prodding between my buttocks, and without thinking I humped my hips high into the air to receive it. The soft tip of his rigid cock pressed on my anus, my cunt. He'd been there before, I realized. My body was welcoming him into me again without giving it a second thought, and I was already slick and wet, slippery between my cheeks. Cum from an earlier fucking? No doubt of it, though I couldn't remember. How many times fucked? No knowing. A few, at least. I realized that my cunthole was well-stretched out, that my ass would have no problem taking him in. And in fact his prick, now fully extended, slid into me like an old friend settling into bed.

"Oooooh!" I said in deep satisfaction, and I wiggled my ass into him to sink his prick even deeper. I wanted him to plunge all the way into me. "Ooooh, lovely! Fuck me, you sweet man. Oh, darling, please, fuck me!" Was that me, saying such things? It was! I must have been saying such things for half of last night, they came so easily out of my mouth. I felt so feminine, so ripe, so complete, so fulfilled inside me, so ... just ... well ... just ... lovely. Just lovely, once his meat was deep inside me. His hands came around and grasped my breasts, my beautiful soft mounds, and he cupped them with the palms of his hands, and his fingers touched my dainty tips. My beautiful nipples. My whole body felt such divine longing! I felt so happy that his hands were full. That I could fill his hands. Bea had been so loving when she had trained my breasts out until they hung down from my chest, into the cups of my bigger bras, into his hands where hers had been, where hers were playing with my engorged nipples so deliciously. As always, I felt so feminine, so loved. It felt! I loved the feeling. I loved that he was holding me in both his hands, my pussy wrapped around his cock.

I embraced his tower with my buttocks, and we began to move. Faster and faster we probed and thrust into each other, over and over. His hands and his body possessed me! All of me! I was near fainting with the pleasure of it. Then I felt him swell up into me, and deep inside I could feel his hot jism pumping into my bowels. It was so incredible! I squealed again, even louder! As I came down to earth, I realized I had cum again too, that my prick was now sticky wet, pressed into the mattress, having spurted without even getting hard!

He pulled out of me, and kissed the back of my neck, and got off the bed, and started to get dressed. I just lay there dreamily, and looked at him. He was thin as well as blond, with a rangy build, well-proportioned, no sagging anywhere, and he smiled at me as he stepped into his pants. What was his name?

"Will I see you again?" I asked him, still euphoric. What a question! I felt like a one night stand picked up in a singles bar, But that's what I was! It felt so good! I was a deeply satisfied woman, and that is what a satisfied woman asks when her man leaves her bed! I loved that the words had come out of me so naturally. Like his cum now oozing out of my ass, I could tell by the slippery feel when I squeezed my buns together, as if his prick were still somewhere safe there inside me.

"That depends on your wife, Honey," he said gently, with a wry little smile. "Tell her 'Hi!' for me when you see her. And tell her thanks for the use of her husband." He slipped on his undershirt and his loafers, and picked up his shirt and tie and jacket, and headed for the door. "Time to leave," he said. He paused at the door. "You're just great, honeybuns! You have lots of passion down under there, waiting for someone to bring it out. And you have lots of talent for making love, when you're aroused. But be careful! Fucking and sucking the way you do it can be habit-forming."

He reflected a moment. "It was a real privilege to take your cherry last night," he said. "I wasn't sure you even knew, though you were certainly responsive enough, and grateful enough afterward. Each time! Anyhow, you sure knew what we were doing just now! Welcome to the club! Honey, you are something very special!" He kissed the tips of his fingers at me, and went out the door.

I got off the bed, and my rumpled slip fell down over my rump where it belonged. I felt like such a slut, and now my ass began to ooze cum down my legs. Who knew what my face and hair looked like now? But I didn't even know his name! I followed him out the door.

When I got to the top of the landing, I saw Bea just coming in. She still looked sensational, though I noticed she was walking carefully down the front hall toward the stairway as if limping on both legs. She'd been out all night! Where had she been? Doing what? My own wife! With another man? My blond lover nodded to her as they passed, and she nodded back, not even bothering to turn around.

"G'morning, Steve."

"Morning Bea. Is Kay home yet?"

"I wouldn't know, Steve. I don't think so, though. When I left our motel there was still moaning and shrieking coming from her room. I don't know how she can keep that up all night!"

"Oh, there are ways." Steve grinned at her, and cast a glance back at me. "G'Night, Honey. It was really beautiful. You're really beautiful. Any time at all!" He let himself out the front door.

Bea paused on her painful voyage up the stairs, and leaned on the bannister below me. "Well, Henry, are you Henry again, or are you Honey now, now that you know the joys of being Honey? Is there anything you want to say to me, or shall we get to bed!"

I was utterly addled. "No, Bea, for God's sake, I ... we... it was..."

"Yes, it certainly looks that way. Well, Henry, let me relieve your mind, right now, before you have a stroke. You've just had a lovely time with Steve, I'm sure. Pearl and Kay and I have just had delightful times with our guys. Mine was just scrumptious. When we left you with Steve we went back to their motel rooms, just the way Pearl and Kay arranged for us. And we've been with them ever since. All night. Fucking their brains out. And vice versa. My special birthday treat! Bob was my special birthday treat! A surprise for me. The girls brought him in from out of town, can you imagine? A marvelous stallion, plunging into me, and I rode him bareback.

By God, huge, and such powerful thighs. And yet so sweetly submissive when I ordered him around. I could make him do anything! Anything at all! Even when I tied him up! Well, later we'll compare notes. I'm too tired now. And too sore. I need a night's sleep, and that's where I'm headed."

I just stood there in my rumpled slip, my unhooked bra still hanging from me, speechless. She kissed me as she stepped past me, then paused again and looked back with a wicked smile, but it was affectionate too. "Henry, or Honey, my very own husband, my sweet dearest girlfriend, you look as well-fucked as I feel! I'm glad. And you look as if you could do with some sleep too, dear. Are you also a little sore? Does your little pussy hurt? I'll bet it does."

"Now we both have some wonderful tales to tell each other, and to tell the other girls. Later today, tea time, I've arranged for all of us to gather here together for a lovely hen fest. But first, sleep."

She paused again. I think she realized that there was more to be said, because I was still standing there with my mouth open. I had tried several times to say something, anything. But nothing came out. I guess she decided that now was as good a time as any to relieve my mind of its confusion. She leaned on the railing, and then turned toward me, while I was still staring at her.

"I think you can be let in on it now, dear. This much of it anyway. This is what I wanted for my big fortieth year celebration. This is exactly what I wanted. This is what the girls have been arranging for me."

"But it's what I arranged for you, too. You needed to be initiated sooner or later, and this was when. The more we girls talked about it, the more certain I was that this is what we both needed. I want you. I need you, never mind why. I didn't want you to go wandering off, like Pearl's husband. So there was always risk in what Pearl and Kay were planning for me. If I really went out on the town the way they wanted, and you found out what I'd done, you might get uppity and divorce me!

Even if you never found out, then what we're going to do from now on would need to be hidden. There'd be too much sneaking around. Too much dishonesty. I wanted some real adventures, to meet some new guys, to get intimate with them in new ways. One guy in particular I already have in mind, but never mind that now. And if I liked it I wanted to keep doing it, the way Pearl and Kay do. But I wanted to keep you too. I have uses for you."

She straightened a little, and smiled at me sweetly. "So my problem was, how could I renew my life and enjoy other men without you getting all macho and pompous about it, and declaring that our marriage was at an end. Or without you worrying yourself to a frazzle that you had somehow driven me away by your own inadequacies. Men all think that any one of them should be enough for any one woman! They're so silly! So they blame themselves when their wives go astray, the decent ones do. Or their wives blame them. I didn't want you to feel guilty. This isn't your fault. Originally I just wanted to know before I got too old what it would be like to be with another man. With other men. Maybe with lots of other men. To get well laid, in lots of different ways. That's all. But I didn't want you to suffer while I was doing it. I wanted you to know that we are still the same couple we've always been, if you know what I mean. Still together, whatever we may do with other people. Or whatever other special relationships I might have with someone."

"So the girls and I arranged this lovely, lovely night, exactly the way it worked out. You had to become one of us, truly one of the girls, and do everything we were doing, and enjoy it just as much. I've been preparing you for nearly a year. Haven't I? You know I have."

"Pearl never thought you'd do it, become Honey, an attractive girl out to enjoy herself, ready to take pleasure in men, and to pleasure men. And even if you did become Honey, Pearl didn't think you'd go through with the rest of it. 'A woman isn't a real woman until some man has screwed her, one way or another, maybe both ways,' she'd say. 'And he'll never agree to that. He'll wimp out!' So she wasn't much help. But Kay helped out, giving you female hormones all year so you'd look more like a woman, and feel more like one, and maybe enjoy sex more like one. And that's what happened! I'm so glad!"

"When Steve showed up last night, that was Kay's signal to give you a really heavy dose of tranquilizers, so you wouldn't get anxious about me, or about yourself, some sophisticated aphrodisiacs to make you horny, and then also one more dose of female hormones, so you'd feel especially sensitive in your intimate places! You'd never have tolerated my taking up with Bob the way I did, I'm sure, unless you were already stoned out of your mind, and already pretty horny yourself. And I'm sure you'd never have gone to bed with Steve on your own, even as Honey, even as drunk as you were. It took a little more. Kay's magic potion."

"In fact, when we left you, I wasn't sure you were still conscious! But you were, in a way. Enough, anyhow. You did seem to be enjoying yourself, dancing with your head thrown back, and your eyes closed, a huge smile on your face, Steve's hands roaming all over you, and you rubbing your tits all over him. Kay said we could trust you with him. So we left with our guys. Bob and I had already started, even while we were still sitting next to you at the table. I mean, not a foot away from you, there I was sitting in his lap french kissing him, and there he was with his fingers somewhere inside my pussy, doing such marvelous things! Not a foot away! But you were so wrapped up in your own man you never even noticed!"

Bea paused, and then spoke very slowly. "You have given me the most precious birthday present I have ever had, love. Thank you. It was very thoughtful of you. As far as you thought about it, that is. And it couldn't have been more generous. I'm so very happy! It's a gift that will keep on giving."

I still couldn't think of anything to say. "Bea," I began. Then I was silent again.

She came over to me on impulse, and kissed me again. On the lips. I just looked at her. Maybe those tranquilizers still had me a little zonked.

"In a way this been my present to you too. We'll talk about it when I wake up. When I went off with Bob, did you get nice and hard thinking about what we might be doing? And all last night here with Steve, did you feel nice and soft and yielding when he was pumping into you? The way I felt with Bob? Were you the teensiest bit turned on? More than just a teensy bit? Did you have any really grand orgasms, huge rolling ones, the kind Bob gave me? Oh, I do hope so. But don't worry about it if you didn't, lover. You will. I've got plans for you, love. Now that you're not afraid to be Honey, you won't need tranquilizers any more. We'll see to it. It'll just take the right man. I have such plans for you!"

"I must say, Honey lamb, thinking about Steve plowing your ass while Bob was plowing mine was the most wonderful turn-on for me! Bob was everything I'd hoped for! He barely fit into me! The first times we fucked, I just came and came, over and over. But then afterward, whatever we did, I came again every time I imagined you and Steve doing the same things. Bob couldn't understand it when I told him. 'That lady was your husband?' he kept saying. 'Do you go out together often? Why don't you make it with each other? Are you both lesbians?' The poor man was baffled."

"And Honey, there's more. I wasn't going to tell you until tea time later today, when we all tell each other what we did with our fellas. But you might want to sleep on it now. In two weeks we're all going away for the whole weekend to a resort hotel in the mountains. A fabulous place, Pearl says, for singles of all ages to meet and have fun. Tennis, swimming, golf, new friends and companions, all four of us enjoying ourselves. We'll see what action we can arrange. Doesn't that sound wonderful?

"Or all three of us, Henry dear, if you'd rather stay home and watch television. But I think you'd have more fun with us. You are one of us, now, you know. And if you come, we can share everything. A whole weekend! Here I am, forty years old, and I'm looking forward to a whole weekend, the start of a whole new life!"

"But I don't want to force you, Honey. You think about it, and let me know. Even as late as next week. That's when we'll need to phone in all of our room reservations. Don't worry about a thing! I'll help you shop for everything. You'll need lots more pretty lingerie, certainly, and tennis outfits, and some swim suits. You do know you can't go swimming topless any more, ever, don't you? And you'll need to wear a really good brassiere all the time from now on, or those titties of yours will start to sag down to your stomach. Oh, and certainly you'll need to buy a sheer dress or two for your little romantic candlelight dinners. To wear when we're back here in town, too. It's going to be such fun!"

Bea came closer, and now she put both her hands on my shoulders, and looked me straight in the eyes. I glanced down at her boots, and at her thighs, and at her nipples poking through her silk blouse so close to mine, but so much bigger than mine, and then I looked up into those dark-streaked eyes of hers, and I couldn't look away. They held me. Her voice enchanted me. "Honey," she said, "Please come with us. Please, sweetheart. You'll love it! Do it for me! I won't enjoy myself at all as much, if I don't know that you're also enjoying yourself. I'm sure Pearl can fix you up with another guy you'd love to be with. Maybe even Steve again, if he's not busy. Didn't you enjoy Steve? Wasn't he just right for you?"

"We have such wonderful years ahead of us, sharing our new lives, you as my sweetest, dearest girlfriend, maybe sometimes my loving, adorable husband. Now there's no need for us ever to separate, or get divorced, or for you to feel you need to hunt up some trophy wife, the way Pearl's husband did, to renew your life. Last year, I knew you were headed that way, toward taking on some younger woman who would help you feel younger. I could tell. And I was so depressed that I might lose you, and I felt so helpless to do anything about it. You remember! It seemed only a matter of time. Only last year! But I found out some things about myself. And I figured out some things about you. And now, no trophy wife would want you. Not after what I've done to you. And I don't know that you'd want one of them either, now that you know how good it is to be a woman in bed with a man. Now you're really and truly one of us. Now that you're really and truly mine."

"Oh, Honey, there are so many new places we'll visit, and so many new men to get to know. It's a whole new beginning. Say you'll come with us. Do, please, say Yes. Do sleep on it, and then say, Yes"

"But I'm terribly sleepy now. Come, love, take off that slip, and slip into a nightie, and let's just go to bed and hug each other. Just the two of us. I do so want you to lick me to sleep. I'm still wet with Bob, and I know you'll love the way he tastes. Oh, everything's going to be so beautiful from now on. You'll see."

Chapter Four: Past and Future
(in which the ladies persuade our hero to accept
they think appropriate for a heroine)

I woke up quite refreshed. The tranquilizers Kay had given me last night must have worn off finally. I remembered going to bed with Bea. First we cuddled a little, and kissed each other's nipples, and munched a little on them until they were hard and hurting just a teeny bit. Then Bea pushed me down to her sweet love-nest and pressed my mouth into it. She was still dripping wet and smelled musky. I liked the smell, it even excited me. It was the smell of a woman after a hot love-bout, mixed with the smell that also covered me, male cum. I started sucking and licking and immediately Bea began moaning deep within her throat, purring like a kitten who enjoys being stroked. I was her birthday present to herself, I realized, and she had gift-wrapped me to look like a well-fucked girl in order to enjoy me all the more. I knew she was enjoying me now just as she'd hoped. Her girl-husband!

After a few minutes she made me turn around, and she started to nibble on my soft prick. It responded ever so slowly, growing into her mouth. She started massaging my inner thighs, then tickling and stroking me ever so softly. My prick grew larger. I redoubled my efforts at her clit, which caused her to gyrate her crotch, pressing it deeper into my face. I sucked and licked as fast as I could.

I realized I was now swallowing cum spurted deep into my beloved wife by a man who had just fucked her. It was as if I were myself servicing his prick with my own mouth, in a way, cleaning Bea out. It was as if he were also fucking me, as if Bea wanted me to be used by him the way she'd been used. Strangely enough, that didn't throw me off. I somehow relished the thought of Bea fucking this guy, sitting on him and riding him like a kicking bronco at a rodeo. I got bigger and bigger, though not really hard. I could feel that Bea was at the brink of her orgasm, when suddenly I felt first one, then two of her fingers enter my anus, pull nearly out, then plunge in again. What gave her that idea? I realized her man must have been in her ass, too, something she had never allowed me. He had taken that part of my own Bea's virginity! I crawled further down between her legs, and sure enough, my tongue found a stream of his cum leaking from her rear. Helpless to do anything else, I slurped it, then licked her sweet rosebud clean. Only a few seconds later we both came, simply exploding into each other. Then neither of us could do anything more, no bed-time rituals, no removing our makeup. We were totally exhausted, and fell asleep within seconds. I thought I heard Bea say almost to herself, "I'm so very happy. We'll always do this, afterward!"

When I awoke I found myself alone in the bed, and heard noises from the kitchen down-stairs. I got up and went to the bath-room, and the face I saw in the mirror gave me the shock of my life. My make-up was smeared everywhere, my mascara in dark blotches all around my eyes. Dried filmy cum covered much of my face and was clumped in my hair, and my bangs were stuck together. I shuddered and went straight into the shower. I showered and shampooed and scrubbed for at least ten minutes. Then I went to work on my face with cold-cream, to remove all traces of yesterday's make-up. Finally I felt like a human being again.

I suddenly realized what Bea might have had in mind months ago when she started me on electrolysis, to remove my beard permanently. "I don't want your face to feel at all scratchy," she had said. I had thought she meant, scratchy to her. But could she have meant, scratchy to some man taking me to bed? Even then was she maneuvering me into some man's bed, to keep me busy while she was in her own man's bed? It was hard to believe. But it had been weeks since I last shaved. When my electrolysis ended just a few weeks ago my face was smooth as any woman's. Of course my beard had been always rather sparse. I had tried to grow a mustache in college once, but gave it up with everybody grinning at me. So when Bea suggested electrolysis, I was easily persuaded. It meant I wouldn't have to bother shaving at all when it was no longer necessary to humor her, and I could be a man again.

I turned to the door to slip on my old bathrobe. It was gone. In it's place hung a soft, feminine, terry-cloth robe with large pink roses all over it, and a big hood. A little surprise gift from Bea? What was it she had said, that yesterday was also my birthday, as Honey? I put it on, and draped the hood over my wet hair. When I turned to look into the mirror, I saw a rather pleasing girl there, clean scrubbed, with fresh rosy cheeks. Unthinkingly I smiled at her, and she smiled back at me.

My terry-cloth slippers were usually by the lingerie-hamper, but instead I saw a pair of satin mules with three inch heels. I slipped into them, and again didn't think about it. They were there, I put them on. Especially during the past few months Bea had been encouraging me to wear women's clothes in the house all the time, and it was no big deal.

When I entered the bedroom, Bea was just coming out.

"Hi sleepy-head," she said cheerily. "All fresh and clean to begin a new day?" I took her in my arms and kissed her. "Here, we have to do something with your hair. Sit down and I'll blow-dry and style it for you," she said.

She moved me to her vanity, 'our' vanity during the past six months, and started to work on my hair.

"Hey, you don't have to do that," I said. "Just comb it out straight down. I'll have to go to a barber anyhow later to get it cut."

She touched a little mousse to it. "Not on your life you won't. I love it long and I want you to grow it even longer."

"But I can't really go to the office with it puffed out like this. This is a feminine hairdo."

"That we can discuss later. Doesn't it look nice this way?"

I had to concede it looked very nice, but it was a woman's hairdo nevertheless. I didn't want to quarrel with her over such a simple matter, so I said nothing. When the time came, I would just go to the barber and have it cut. Maybe after wearing it this long all this time, I should get a really sharp crew cut, I thought. Probably that would make me look years younger.

Such were my thoughts while she reshaped my curls, teasing, brushing, teasing again, and combing them out until she was satisfied. "Now don't you look great?" She set down her brush and beamed at me.

I looked into the mirror and found I had to agree with her, I looked great, for a woman. But I wasn't a woman. Well, I was feeling good, so I thought, let her enjoy herself, and it'll all end Monday morning. "It looks nice" I said rather noncommittally, not to spoil her fun.

"Yes it does. Now just a little lipstick and some blush here and there, and we're done. Come down, breakfast is waiting." I suddenly discovered I was really hungry, so I postponed further discussion of my appearance to a later time.

Passing the living-room on the way to the kitchen, I noticed the couch table was set for coffee and cakes, and that Bea had set out the bone china she used when her friends came over. I had no idea what time it was, and looked at the wall clock in the kitchen. Almost 4:00! I couldn't believe it. Had I really slept that long? I must have. I sat down at the kitchen table and drank half a pint of orange juice. "Now," I asked, "where is breakfast?"

"You just have had it," was her reply. "Look here, Honey. In a few minutes the girls will come over the way we arranged, and we'll sit and drink coffee and nibble at cakes, and gossip. A girl must watch her figure, you know. So you get nothing more right now."

Bea brought more cups into the living room, and I looked into the fridge. Nothing, a head of lettuce, some tomatoes, diet sodas, nothing that could fill my empty, aching stomach. Just then I heard the door chimes, and heard Bea yell "Come in, it's open."

In walked Pearl and Kay in the very best of spirits. I didn't even have time to jump up the stairs and put on a shirt and slacks. They were perfectly dressed, as if for some Sunday afternoon club meeting where ladies go to outshine each-other. Their dresses were elegant, their faces made up beautifully, and their hairdos were impeccable. They greeted us both affectionately. Bea invited them to sit down, and instructed me to serve the coffee while she went upstairs. "Sorry, just have to rush up, won't be a minute," she said, "Honey will keep you company."

So there I was in my bathrobe, my hair curled and set but still damp, while they looked me over like a dog examining a juicy steak before lunging at it. I felt naked. But the awkwardness lasted only for a few seconds. Then both of them started to talk at the same time, obviously to overcome my embarrassment that they were dressed to the nines while I was wearing a girl's bathrobe, satin mules, and nothing else.

Pearl grinned at me, "I noticed that when you and Steve left the club, you were glued to his crotch. The two of you could hardly walk. Did you enjoy last night?" Kay jumped in, "Yes, how was Steve? I mean, did you like him? I mean...ummm.. he's a very good lover, isn't he? He was still asleep when I left, so I haven't had a chance to talk to him, but you must have pretty well worn him out. Did he kiss you goodnight, after he took you home?" She smiled a sweet, wicked smile, and let the question hang in the air.

"Never mind," said Pearl, saving me from Kay's innuendoes. "We'll get to that later. We promised each other a hen-party today, and we'll each tell each other everything about last night, every sweet little detail. But we should wait till Bea gets back, so we don't have to start all over again."

They fell silent for a minute or two, sipping coffee and nibbling on the cakes, then looking at each other and starting to say something again both at the same time, then quieting down again. Then they started to giggle like teenagers for a second, but they caught themselves and turned smiling toward me, just looking at me. I felt very uneasy being stared at like this, wearing my strange get-up, but I felt thankful that Bea had at least arranged my hair to look presentable, and had suggested I put on a little lipstick.

Luckily Bea came down just then. She was dressed as well as the two other women. Her make-up was perfect. She must have been wearing it the whole time, without my noticing. It was beautifully matched to her outfit.

Now I was facing three ladies who were dressed to the nines, still in my bathrobe. I felt very uneasy. Bea noticed, and said "Honey slept so long, and I didn't want to wake her after her heavy date last night, so there was no time for her to dress. And actually, we haven't bought her anything special yet for an occasion like this one. So let me just go look for something I can lend her."

"Don't bother," I cut in, getting up. "I'll just jump upstairs and get a pair of jeans and a shirt."

"No you won't" all three of them said almost in unison. "This is a hen-party, and we don't share our secrets with men."

"You stay a girl today, Honey," Bea pushed me back into my seat. "I'm certainly not going to tell Henry what Bob did with me, and how I loved it. Why, Henry might begin to feel inadequate." She smiled. "And I don't think Henry wants to hear how Honey misbehaved last night, either. Oh no, not the way she looked when I came in this morning!"

"But I ..."

"No no, you just stay here," Pearl seconded her. "I think I might have something for you to wear though." She explained, "You know, just before the divorce action started, I found something in my asshole husband's car trunk, hidden under some plastic garbage bags. It was a dress box from a very expensive boutique, its name embossed all over in pink and gold letters. I wondered what it was doing there. Now you know I'm not curious" -- the others let out little shrieks at this -- "but still, I had to know what was in it."

She then went to the door, to a large bag she had left there when she first came in. "This!" She pulled a beautiful dress from the bag, long and narrow, all in deep burgundy velvet. "And this!" She produced some kind of stiff, black, frilly undergarment. "Look at this, a corset, a real lace-up Victorian corset!" "And finally this!" She held high a pair of suede pumps in the same color as the dress, with slim heels at least five inches high.

"The rat! I could see at a glance that these things weren't mine. And I knew my husband wasn't into wearing women's things, like our dear girlfriend here. So they must have been for that slut of his! I decided then and there not to let her have them, and I hid the box from him. That bastard couldn't ask me where for obvious reasons, but for days he rummaged around in the garage and the house at the most impossible times. He never found it. He was furious, and all the time I kept asking him in the sweetest tones if anything was wrong and if I could help him in any way. Honey, I think these things will just fit you. Why don't you let us try them on you."

"Yes that would be marvelous," Kay chimed in. "You'd fit in perfectly with us, then." All three got up and came over to me. I got up too, looking for a way out.

"Wait, I'll get matching black panties and stockings!" Bea said, and was already on her way. A minute later she came down carrying ultra sheer nylons and a pair of lace encrusted panties. "Just pull them on," she said giving me the panties. What could I to do? They obviously had their minds set on dressing me in these things. There was no escape without a real fight. So I gave in. They could have their little joke. It was harmless.

I pulled the panties up under my bathrobe, and then let them carry it away. Now I was naked from my panties on up, and Pearl stared at my tits with an unbelieving expression. "Well, just look at that! At those! Are they really real?"

"Of course they are, not perfect, but the genuine article," Kay said with a certain amount of pride. "They can be improved, of course, and in fact what happens next is...."

"Marvelous, just marvelous!" Pearl broke in. She couldn't take her eyes off my chest. "Miss Henry's boobs, looking completely at home!"

"Come on, you can admire Honey's figure when we're finished," said Bea. She took up the corset and brought it around my waist from behind, urging Pearl to hook up the stiff front busk. It took her a lot of tugging and squeezing, but she did it. Then Pearl draped the lace cups over my tits, using the opportunity to caress my nipples for a moment. "No playing around, Pearl," said Bea. "My husband is a lady! Now comes the hard part. Honey, give Pearl your hands. Pearl, you hold her steady while I pull on the laces."

I felt cut in half even before the lacing started, but they were relentless until finally the gap in the back closed up tight. Then Bea wound the long laces several times around my nipped-in waist, and knotted them in front. She produced a tape measure. "Six inches off," she declared proudly after measuring. "Now the stockings." I was having trouble breathing, and had to sit still with my back held stiff, straight and erect, breathing by heaving my bosoms up and down, as if I were some passionately aroused Victorian maiden. I understood why Victorian ladies frequently fainted. To bend over and roll the stockings up my legs, as Bea had taught me, was quite impossible, so she pulled them up for me, and fastened them to the garters dangling from the corset. Then she put the shoes on me -- miraculously, they fit -- and helped me get up again.

I was used to walking in high heels. I had worn three and four inch heels in training, and all last night I had danced in them. But these were something else. I was literally perched on my toes. The balls of my feet barely touched the ground at all. I tried to walk, and found that I could, somehow, but only with the tiniest steps.

"Now for the gown!" Pearl brought it over and unzipped the back zipper. "I've never seen a zipper like this," she said. "It's upside down, it zips closed from the top down to the bottom. Way down, it looks like." She unhooked it at the neck, and the whole gown split wide open in back. She pulled it around me, and I slid my hands all the way down the long sleeves, which ended at my wrists with a little velvet flounce. They were a very tight fit, but they did fit, just barely. Pearl fastened the zipper at my neck, then starting to pull it closed. It had a very high neck, reaching almost to my chin and to just under my ears. It must have been boned, because it stood up even when I tried to push the top down a little. In this dress I would have to hold my head up, high and proud.

When I looked down at my bosom as best I could, I discovered that the dress had a generous décolleté, like an inverted heart, narrow at my throat and spreading wider around the outer edges of my breasts, then swooping closed under them. If it weren't for the corset's lace cups, my tits would have been entirely naked. It was a very odd dress.

Pearl had to tug and pull quite a bit on the zipper, because the dress allowed not the least leeway. It stuck to my body like wallpaper to a wall, form-fitting my curves exactly where the corset had shaped them. Obviously the dress and the corset were made to be worn together. It hugged my hips, but not as tightly as elsewhere, probably because my hips were narrower than most other women's. I mean, most real women's. At the thighs the dress again fitted snugly, and all the way down to the ankles. When Pearl pulled down the zipper to the very end, I almost couldn't move at all, my legs were so tightly held together by the velvet skirt. I could take short, mincing steps, maybe four or five inches long, no more than that.

"Now I understand the reason for upside-down zipper," Pearl said. "You can pull it all the way down and you have her pretty well hobbled, or pull it up as far as you want to get clear access to her beautiful ass. How wonderful for Honey, and Honey's lovers! How very ingenious!"

I tried to reach for the zipper, there far below at my ankles, but that proved impossible. I couldn't bend at the waist at all. When I bent at the knees and hips, the skirt pulled even tighter. "Will someone please help me?" I pleaded. "I can't stay like this. I can't walk or even sit down. Would one of you please pull the zipper up, so I can move a little."

They ignored my pleas for a while, circling me, never taking their eyes off me. "Marvelous, just marvelous, you look scrumptious!" they gushed.

"Just perfect," Bea commented.

"Men will stand in line to get at you," Kay said admiringly.

"And you know what you can do?" said Pearl, fussing with my décolletage. "Look, if we fold back the lace just a little she gets even sexier, yes, sexier by the inch. We can even fold the lace back completely and ... voila .. here are her bare tits, nicely framed."

"You know, Honey," Kay added, being frankly descriptive again, "If ever a man sees you like this, he'll come right then in his pants."

Finally, when they had seen enough. Bea bent down and slid the zipper up to just under my knees, so I could walk in tiny steps over to a chair, and then sit down.

When we were all seated, the party really got under way. Each one of them described her previous night with her respective lover, in great detail, Pearl and Kay rating their men's 'equipment' and performances, while Bea listened attentively, I assumed because she was wondering how Bob's scores would hold up after she'd spent more nights with other well-hung studs. I could not believe that women talked like that. Men brag about their successes with women by praising themselves, saying things like "and then I gave it to her like nobody ever did before." But these women went into the tiniest details, how abruptly or smoothly their men moved when entering them in front, behind, or below, from above, underneath, or alongside. They detailed their individual virtues and deficiencies, their attitudes, staying power, speed of recovery, everything! I could not believe my ears! There were three proper ladies, sitting around a coffee table nibbling cakes and drinking from cups with their little pinkies held out, as if they were discussing the seating order for next Sunday's fund-raising dinner for the new church organ. And all the while they were comparing notes on how filled up they felt when yesterday's lovers' cocks were stuffed into them up to the hilt.

I felt very uneasy, listening to Bea describe how Bob did one thing after another to her, things I'd never dared propose to Bea, and how she'd loved them all. She was sure that at one point he had given her an orgasm that lasted perhaps a half-hour -- she wasn't sure, because her ecstasy had blotted out all sense of time. I tried to remember that she later told me she loved me more than ever. I tried to remember that our lovemaking after she got home was glorious, even though we were both exhausted. I tried to remember that I was not Henry, a husband getting more uneasily jealous by the minute, but her dearest girlfriend Honey, with tales of her own to tell.

When finally all was told and they had no more questions of each other, they turned to me. "Now it's your turn," Pearl said, pointedly, while Kay and Bea sat back waiting.

I squirmed and felt embarrassed, but they were so insistent that finally I had to give in. I told them everything I could remember from the night before. Then they questioned me for details, how I had felt when I first realized I was kissing a man, or that I was sucking on his cock, and just when I came to realize I was not repelled, but loved it. "You're one of the girls now, so no holding back," they said.

They urged me on and on until I had spilled everything, even how I felt the next day, when I saw my face plastered with dried semen. "I'm always a little proud when I see that," said Kay. "Were you?"

I think my face got as red as my dress. I wished I had never agreed to attend this party. In fact, I recalled. I had never agreed -- Bea had assumed I would join them, and had never asked me. But is was too late now. I was past caring what these women thought of me.

But the odd thing was, they didn't ridicule me or give me strange looks. They seemed to regard me as one of themselves, a shy one who had to be coaxed a little, but definitely one of the girls.

"He came over, and he said some sweet things to me, and I don't know, he seemed kind of sweet," I said in a small voice. "A very nice man, you know? He saw to it I had a drink, and I felt grateful, and, sort of, a little like I could depend on him to take care of whatever I wanted. And then I got pretty far gone, and I really was feeling real affection for him, you know? He kissed me. He said such beautiful things, my heart melted. My whole body yearned toward him, he was so lovely. I couldn't help myself. And he took me home, I guess. And we slept together all night. Because in the morning when I woke up, I was sucking on his dick and feeling so completely satisfied, and then when he slipped it into me again it felt so natural, as if it belonged there always."

"'Again'? He had fucked you earlier?" Pearl asked. "You've skipped something?"

I felt really embarrassed. "I don't remember. I was so far out of it. Bea tells me I was drugged on tranquilizers. I only remember I wanted him to do everything he did to me. Everything! But I don't know what that was. And I remember that in the morning, when he did them to me again, some of them, it felt like old times, so comfortable, so marvelous. That part I remember. Do you really want to know?"

"No," said Pearl. "I only want to know one more thing, er ... Honey. Think carefully, because I have something else in mind you don't know about yet. I gather Steve, your man, achieved ... penetration with you, and that in the morning you welcomed his ... er ... penetration a second time, or maybe a third, or a fifth." Pearl then gave up. "Henry, listen" she said. "Just answer two questions for me, please. When he fucked you again, did you want him to do it?"

"Yes," I said.

"Then, when he had just finished fucking you that you know of, did you want him to fuck you yet again?"


"Yes to what? Just to getting fucked? Or Yes also to giving and getting head, and everything else? Yes to the whole night? Yes to wanting to do it all over again if you could, when the night finally ended?"

"Yes to all of it, Pearl. Not now, of course, but .... "

"Now doesn't count, Henry. What you've told me is that when you're in the right mood, when you're feeling like Honey, when you're feeling all delicious and feminine and pretty, and you're all warmed up, you're a cock-hungry slut who can't ever get enough. Maybe also a cunt-hungry slut. We'll see. Not that we're not these things ourselves, some of them, each of us in our own way," she added with a grin and then a giggle, looking around. "But it's useful for us all to know that much about you. So Henry can't get enough cock! Well, well!"

When I couldn't tell them any more, they were satisfied. They had wheedled out of me that I had loved it. They concluded that the night had surpassed Bea's fondest hopes.

Then they started making plans for the future. It began with what I would wear next week, their plans to do some heavy shopping for me now that I was a woman who liked men. When I told them I was just going back to being a man, they all laughed. "Baby doll," Bea said. "With those tits and that pretty face you can't be a man again next week. Just look in the mirror." Bea pulled me over to the large wall mirror she had had installed during our training period, so I could check on my movements and posture. I looked at me, and had to concede that what I saw there was feminine. "And you're wearing practically no make-up now. So how can you believe you'll pass as a man!"

There was a lot of truth in her words. Maybe I should stay in skirts a while longer, until I could change my body back to normal. I could work out more, get my muscle tone back, and I could eat more to put on some weight. Probably the breasts would shrink once I stopped wearing brassieres. I could do all this while still wearing skirts, and not raise too many eyebrows.

So finally I agreed to go shopping with them, as Bea suggested. But I drew the line at going with them to that sex-resort hotel the following weekend. They may have wanted to get laid over and over by different men. Even my wife, now that she'd sampled that stud her friends had bought for her. But not me! And given what I had just done, and what I had just confessed about how I felt, I could hardly object to my wife going off with another man. Or other men. Not on moral grounds, anyhow. Not right away, anyhow.

The discussion turned to where to go shopping and what clothes I would need. "She should definitely always wear a corset," Pearl suggested, and the others agreed enthusiastically. "Just look at how this one improves her figure."

"Oh no, that's impossible," I objected, "I can't breath, and just walking up steps would exhaust me".

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, dear," Kay put in. "This one is a very severe one worn only for special occasions, or for figure training sessions. For everyday wear there are others, still tight, but a little more comfortable. And there'd be no problem at all, if we did something to your waist. In fact, it's only a very minor procedure. It could be done in a day, and then you'd have the nicest, slimmest waist you can imagine."

"Well, that we'll see about later," and Bea threw her a disapproving glance. "First there are other problems to deal with. She doesn't need to go to her own office now, but she needs some kind of work to keep her busy. After having gone this far, I think Honey should experience at first hand what it means to be a woman in a man dominated work force. That's what she should do next."

With these words Bea turned and looked directly at me, her eyes never wavering. She was mild and loving, as before, but now she was also firm. I knew there was no arguing when Bea was firm. "So I think she should go to work as a woman somewhere. She hasn't been to her office during the last weeks, and her partners have managed without her. I think she should stay a silent partner a while longer, and try to be a real working girl."

Everybody agreed. My opinion was never requested. "I have just the place for her," Pearl piped up. I was not too eager to hear what Pearl's scheming mind would come up with, but I couldn't stop her. "You know, my receptionist/typist, Sandy, you know her, she always dressed so outrageously, until finally she caught one of those men she slept with, and they got married. She'll be on maternity leave after next week, for six weeks maybe, maybe more. I want her to come back, so I want to keep her position open. I was thinking of hiring a temp, but Honey here would do for me perfectly." She looked me up and down intently, her eyes returning to my decollete neckline, and she smiled openly. "Yes, perfectly. What do you think, Honey? Wouldn't this be an interesting experience for you? Not only one of the girls, but a working girl, what Bea wants!"

I had to answer as if Pearl were serious. "Well, I don't know, Pearl. It might be interesting. But a receptionist has to deal with lots of people, and it would be terribly embarrassing for both of us if I were 'read,' maybe worse for you. I'd rather stay home for a while, until things return to normal. I ..."

Still looking straight at me, Bea broke in, biting off her words. "But I don't want you here waiting for things to return to normal, Honey," she said. "I do my work here, and if you were hanging around doing nothing you'd be much too distracting. As a silent partner, you're drawing much less income from your partnership. We should try to make up the difference. Now, Pearl doesn't pay her receptionist very much. I'm sure, but with all the new expenses coming up we can use every penny. No, Pearl's proposed the perfect solution. Just listen."

She ticked off the reasons on her fingers. "First, you'll work for somebody who knows about you, so there'll be no secret to keep from your employer. Second, you'll learn more about being a girl, and that's what you've been doing more and more for the past year now, isn't it? I know you've enjoyed it -- you told us that last night, at dinner. And you just told us that even this morning you wanted more, more of being treated like a girl." Pearl smiled conspiratorially at me as Bea went on. "Third, you'd be out of my way here, out from underfoot. Fourth, you could earn some money to help us carry our overhead. So there's no argument, is there?"

Bea as ever sounded very logical. Maybe it was for the best. I couldn't see myself sitting at home waiting for reversible changes to make me a man again, and meanwhile do nothing. Going to my own office was impossible. We were a consultancy firm, and our business was built on our clients' trust in us -- if I turned up there wearing skirts, the roof would cave in.

The girls got more and more enthusiastic, and began talking all at once. They could see only advantages . It would only be for a short period of time, actually no longer than I was willing. If I decided to quit before Sandy came back, Pearl could still get a temp to replace me. On the other hand I could certainly help Pearl in lots of ways. They really didn't want to lose their new girlfriend so quickly, I'm so dear looking the way I do. The more they thought about it, the more it sounded like a reasonable plan, all things considered. So finally, I agreed.

The girls all congratulated me for making a good decision, really the only right one. Then they began planning my wardrobe as a working girl.

Pearl laid down the guidelines: she wanted me dressed conservative, but at the same time sexy. "You know, a receptionist provides the first impression that clients get of a business. She needs to be a real 'looker', with lots of 'Come hither!' being telegraphed. Attractive, charming, willing, even a little juicy, you know. But somehow not look too much like a hooker. So I want to see you in nice business suits. Not in drab colors, but lots of pastels, even in cherry red -- that's still in. Get jackets you can wear without a blouse. Then you can show that gorgeous cleavage quite naturally. A blouse would need to be unbuttoned way down to get the same effect, and then you'd look too sluttish."

"And you'll need to wear tight skirts. I think long skirts are more sexy than minis. A long skirt shows off your ankles, and yours are very pretty, Honey, 'well-turned' as they used to say. Just make sure your skirt is slit in the back to at least five inches over the knee. Seen from the back, especially when you're walking, a high slit makes any part of your leg look like a glimpse of forbidden territory."

"Now, a mini puts all the merchandise on display. There aren't many secrets left when you wear a mini. If you want to sell, first make the customer curious about what secrets come with the purchase. Of course on a date a mini's just right, the shorter the better. And there's nothing like a mini for closing a deal, once the customer's really interested."

I protested I had no intention to sell myself or to close deals with customers on dates, but everybody agreed that Pearl spoke the truth, and assured me she was speaking only figuratively. I let it go at that. Bea said she knew exactly what Pearl meant, and would see to it I was dressed properly when I started work.

The conversation then shifted to their planned excursion to the resort hotel the weekend after next. They all urged me to join them, that there would be lots of interesting men, and that I'd really enjoy getting laid by a few of them. Why else go to the trouble of becoming a woman? But I held steadfast to my decision not to go with them, to stay at home instead. I'd have a lot to do to prepare myself for my new job, I told them.

"You know, dear," Bea said, "I do intend to get myself really royally fucked that weekend, as often as I can. I'd feel much better if I knew that my Honey in the very next room was getting her little butt stuffed too, and wasn't just sitting home worrying about me. Are you sure you'll be all right?"

I thought so.

"Well, I'll arrange something so you won't be too lonely. You still have a lot to learn."

It was getting late already, and everyone agreed that the afternoon had gone off better than they'd hoped. But also that after the previous night it was time to go home and get some sleep.

Chapter Five: Brave New Worlds
(in which hero, heroine, and her wife shop
for new clothes
and then try them out)


Bea cleared away the dishes and things after they left, and I helped where I could, though the dress and the corset and the high heels scarcely allowed me to move. Once in our bedroom, I asked her to help me out of the dress and she did, but when I started to undo the knot in the corset-lace, she protested. "No, keep it on. You can sleep in it. It will do wonders for your waist if it stays on. When you're asleep you won't notice the discomfort. Just clean up as best you can, and let's get to bed. You're turning me on."

I was too tired to argue, so I let it go. I could always take it off while she slept if it became too uncomfortable.

We went to bed and cuddled a little. Bea lay behind me in a spoon position and twiddled my sensitive nipples, and I got quite aroused. Then she turned me on my back and straddled my half erect penis, rolling her pussy around on it once she got it inside her. I couldn't help her at all -- my corset didn't allow for thrusting or rotating movements. Soon I was unable to breathe at all, and Bea relented, slid off, and went to the bathroom. Neither of us had cum, but it had been very pleasant nonetheless. I obviously wasn't the man I'd been, but Bea seemed not to mind.

When Bea came back to bed she started to stroke my ass lovingly, and I gave in to the exciting sensation, pressing my rear against her hand. After a moment I was surprised to feel her push a finger into my ass, then move it gently in and out, finger-fucking me the way I'd finger-fucked young girls as a teenager. I supposed to her, in a way, I was now a young girl. I realized she was using lubrication, because her finger slid back and forth quite easily. I relaxed my sphincter as much as I could and pushed myself closer to her, and wriggled my rear end onto her hand as best I could. That wonderful feeling was returning, spreading from my asshole into my penis.

She pulled out her finger, and suddenly I felt something big and stiff enter into me. I reached back to feel it, and found she was wearing a strap-on dildo, and that she had just shoved all of it into me, and that she was really fucking me with it, seriously, faster and faster.

"Just relax my dear," she said, breathing heavily. "Just give in to your feelings, just feel ...." I got more and more excited. Then she reached over and began to stroke my shaft in synchrony with her movements into my ass. My excitement rose, and I began to pant. It was unbelievably erotic. Here I was, a woman in a tightly laced corset being fucked by her lover! The pace picked up, and I was in total bliss! It didn't take long before we both came. Her orgasm and its wild movements triggered mine, and mine was so exquisite I passed out.

I came to after a short while, to find Bea holding a cold wash-cloth against my temples. I felt just wonderful.

"Are you OK?"

I nodded, and smiled at her ecstatically. She bend down an gave me a deep kiss. "Rest a little, dear, then clean up." I lay there for about five minutes, glowing in the aftermath of a great fuck.

When I returned from the bath-room, Bea stood waiting for me, holding a silk stocking in her hands. "Turn around, Dear, and give me your wrists. I want to tie them behind you. I know you won't want to take your corset off during the night, because you know I want you to wear it. But when you're drowsy you might loosen the laces. And all night, even when you're sleeping, I want you to know that I control you, that you're mine, and I can do whatever I want to you. It's important to me for you to feel that." I was still too blissful to object, so I let her tie my hands. "I think we should make this a habit," she said, cinching the knot.

I was all for lovemaking like this becoming habitual, so I nodded and said, "Yeah, I'd love it, any time!" and I turned to try to kiss her. She tilted her face out of reach.

"I mean you should always sleep in this corset, with your hands tied in back, for figure training and to get used to feeling helpless. I'm so glad you've agreed." She reached up and caressed my nipples lightly for a moment. I was powerless to do anything about it, so I closed my eyes to concentrate on her fingers. But she stopped. "It's a matter of trust," she said. "You'll just have to trust me."

You can't be too careful when you say 'Yes' to Bea, I thought. But tomorrow will be another day, and we shall see what we shall see.

I not only slept the next night in that accursed corset, but every night for some time afterward. I began wondering idly what kind of operation Kay had referred to, that would nip in my waist more naturally. It is really impossible to get Bea to let go of anything once she's taken hold of it. She didn't relent even after we bought several more comfortable corsets for daytime use. Each night that heavy corset would get tied onto me again, and she tied my hands behind me.

Then in daytime she never left me alone. Most of the next week she spent shopping with me. I must have tried on a hundred dresses and suits, and innumerable blouses and skirts. We always came back with the car brimming with bags and cartons filled with the finest fashions. Dresses, suits, skirts, blouses, sweaters, everything, not to mention lingerie of every kind, matched in color or cut to certain dresses, especially to their necklines. It seemed to me Bea was buying me clothes enough to last years, not just for the few weeks or months I'd be Pearl's receptionist. Each day I put off for another day my return to male clothing, and just went along with whatever she wanted.

There were soon so many things that the closet adjacent to the master bedroom was overflowing, and Bea suggested we move my clothing into the guest-room closet. "This will become Honey's special room now," Bea declared. "You'll have your own vanity and everything within reach, and we won't get in each other's way when we dress and make up." I had to agree it was a practical decision. The room had been freshly decorated only a half a year earlier, I had wondered why in a frivolously feminine style, in delicate pinks and satins and small patterned flowers. But my new women's clothes fit right in. The vanity was equipped with all the cosmetics I would need, and all the necessary combs and brushes and curlers, even my own blow-drier. If I was dressing to go to work, and Bea had to go somewhere else at the same time, there would be no confused sharing of each others' things.

A big surprise came that night, when I came into the room to get into bed as usual, and Bea said, "What do you want here? You have your own room now." When I protested, she simply said, "You're a woman now, Honey, so you'll have to live the way women live. Completely. I am not in the habit of sleeping with a woman on a regular basis.

"I'm not a woman, Bea, I'm Henry, your husband. Honey was last week. Remember?"

"Oh? You mean that was my husband Henry who slept with Steve, and loves to wear that closetfull of women's clothes? My husband Henry is a faggot cocksucker who can't get enough dick into his rear end? No, I think you're Honey, dear, a woman who knows how to enjoy herself. From now on, if I want sex with you, as Henry or Honey, I'll let you know, and either I'll come to you or you'll come to me. But now we're two single girls sharing this house. We're girlfriends now. Understand? Now, fix your hair for the night and get to bed."

I didn't understand, but what could I do? I would never force myself on Bea. I loved her, and for a year now I had made myself want whatever she wanted, no matter how strange it seemed. Because she'd wanted me to be one of the girls, I had grown breasts, and now I'd sucked cock. I'd even agreed to delay becoming Henry again, for a little while longer. I was wearing a filmy pink nightgown. So I could hardly insist now on a husband's prerogatives.

Luckily Bea loved sex as much as I did, and since she had turned me into a woman, she seemed to enjoy it even more. So actually nothing changed much. Either she called me into her room, or she visited me in mine, most nights or mornings. Whether we had sex or not, she insisted on lacing me into the Victorian corset for figure training, as she put it, each night. Then after knotting the laces, I would put my hands together palm to palm behind my back, and she would tie my wrists together, usually with a stocking or something similar, secure, soft, and not too uncomfortable. I thought of it as dependency training. She wanted me to need her, and I thought that was kind of sweet in a way. I had no problems sleeping while tied up. But in the morning, when I asked her to untie me, she would produce any number of reasons why not yet. She delighted to see me hampered this way, to feel her total control over me. It developed into a kind of game each morning. She invented all kinds of things I would have to do for her before she released me. To be honest, I came to love those moments of dominant/submissive role-play, and most of the time, if we hadn't dawdled too long, we would finish with some pretty steamy lovemaking.

"You know," Bea said to me at breakfast, after a night followed by a morning of absolutely rapturous sex, "basically you are a pretty straight guy. Before last year, you were boring, sexually. I suppose that was half my fault. I didn't realize you don't like to take initiatives, that you're too cautious to propose new things, to live out your daydreams. But now that you're in no man's land and I'm in control, it looks as if you'll take whatever sexual experiences you can get, any way you can get them. You've never said 'No' to anything I've wanted. You're wonderful, my darling girl-husband! You adapt to all of my fantasies, and play any role I ask of you."

On this particular morning Bea had left my hands tied, all through some especially exhausting lovemaking. They were still tied when she had accompanied me to the bathroom, where I attempted to urinate standing up at her insistence, while she held my penis and aimed it. Twice I had gotten too hard to pee, and she had playfully slapped my prick until it softened and I could proceed. Now, still feeling playful, she poured my coffee into a soup bowl on the floor so I could lap it up, and put a sweet roll alongside. So while she was praising me I was bowed down at her feet, lapping and nibbling breakfast on my knees. Thereafter, that was how I ate breakfast with her more often than not.

But she continued. "I'm so glad I made you break your borders and forced you into this new world of ours. If I hadn't, we'd probably have separated soon. I'm sure you wanted to try another wife before you settled into old age with whoever would have you. But I wanted to keep you. You're sweet, and gentle, and generous, and we enjoy each other so much, and -- well, in my way I love you. I always have, and I still do, dear, make no mistake about that! And I have uses for you, as you'll find when you've gone further down the path I'm laying out for you."

"You were so boring! I didn't want you the way you were, watching TV every evening, going to work every day, making love a few times each month if you weren't away on business, and nothing new to say to each other ever. Even if we'd stayed together from habit, each of us would have been living apart in our own cocoons, light-years apart. I was going to try out other men soon anyhow, just for the novelty, whatever you would have thought about it. And I know what you'd have thought. Even though you were already bedding down other women in your mind, you were a prig. You'd have gotten uppity and left me the first time I took some stud to bed. Now, no way. Now we have whole worlds of new experiences to share. I have so many ideas we can try. This is just fabulous."

I couldn't but agree with her. I really liked this new world Bea had tricked me into entering. I liked it, but I had to stay alert, or I could completely lose myself in it. These new feelings were terribly seductive. But I knew I also wanted my other life as well. I was also a successful business man. I had to find a way to make Bea understand and accept this. I had no idea yet how my two selves could coexist, but there had to be a way. For the time being though, I was drunk with desire, and loved everything Bea did. We giggled a lot together, and she found there were certain things she could do to me to make me feel utterly her slave, utterly happy.

Which is why I was surprised, when Saturday night rolled around, and I came out of dozing and watching afternoon football on the TV in my study, still wearing one of those damned corsets, that Bea had fixed an early light supper for the two of us, and had already set it out. Upstairs I could hear her splashing and soaking herself, no doubt in a perfumed oil bubble bath like the one she had taken a week earlier, the night we celebrated her birthday. She was going out?

I went upstairs and glanced through the door into our bedroom -- her bedroom now. No doubt about it -- there were those five inch high heeled short boots she had bought earlier this week, when she tried to persuade me to get a pair just like them, and that short leather skirt, waiting on her bed, and -- Good Heavens! I just recalled she'd bought it only a few days ago -- a conical leather brassiere that converted her soft breasts into hard missiles poking out of her chest.

"You get a skirt and bra like this one too, dear," she had urged me. "Men go catatonic when they see a girl wearing an outfit like this. You'd love ordering them around, getting them to lick you and suck on you, and kiss your feet."

But I'd refused, telling her it was enough I was wearing all the women's things she wanted me to wear, and putting on makeup and fixing my hair, day after day, and loading my drawers with lingerie I'd never have a chance to wear when I quit pretending I was a woman in another month or so. I didn't want to order anyone else around, anyhow.

"Just checking, dear," she had said, and she kissed me on the cheek. "You're a born submissive, I know. Well, I'm discovering that I love being dominant. So from now on don't worry your pretty little head about giving orders to anyone. I'll tell you whatever you need to do, and then you'll do it, and you'll never have to think about it at all. Right?"

"If you say so," I had said. Then I realized what I had said, and we both laughed. Afterward, I noticed, she no longer picked up leather panties or garter belts while looking at me speculatively. Instead, she hummed to herself while collecting the frilliest feminine things in my sizes, barely glancing at me on her way to pay for them, sometimes handing them to me with the instruction to just try them on to make sure they fit, never consulting me.

Now there were her power clothes laid out on her bed, and there she was in the tub, oiling and perfuming herself like some Pasha's harem girl.

"I'll be right out, Honey," she called to me. "Then I want you

to get in and soak, and then put on those fussy lacy things I've laid out on your bed. Honestly, I don't see why you men like to wear them. But I know they help make you look pretty. We're going out tonight."

"What for?" I asked. "We went out last week. You're going away next week. We've been having a fabulous time in bed. Why go out at all?"

"Because, lover," she said, emerging from the bathroom naked under her towel, patting herself dry. She reached around my neck with both arms, and pressed her naked breasts against me, and seemed to be pushing a knee between my two thighs. "Because it's been a week since we last went out together. I had such a fabulous time last week, and so did you. I've been having a fabulous time all week with you ever since then. But now, I told you. I want to try out some other cocks besides yours. I need more practice getting men to do wicked things with me, and I don't want to ruin you by trying them out on you too soon. And Honey, it's been a week since you've been laid by a real meat prick, not a dildo, right? Don't you feel a little yearning down there under your skirt, the way I do? When we were all girls sharing secrets, didn't you tell us how you loved feeling a man squirm into your ass? By the way, don't put on pantyhose like the ones I feel you're wearing now. No man wants to fight his way past them to reach your pussy. Just use the stockings and garter belt you'll find on your bed."

I got frightened. The woman was serious! To repeat that sequence of accidents and plots and catastrophes yet again? Already, Bea hadn't allowed me to wear a stitch of my own clothes for a whole week, not even slacks. "You know you need to wear women's clothes all the time to remind you to sit up straight, shoulders back, bust out, and not slouch like a man. The second you put on even a T shirt you hold yourself like a couch potato. No, you'll wear your corsets, bras, skirts, everything during the day, and your training corset at night." She never told me what was wrong with slouching like a man.

I decided to be firm. "Bea, I'm not going! And neither are you!"

Her laughter was like a chime of bells up and down the scale. God she was beautiful! "Why ever not?" she asked. The towel now hung off her shoulders behind her like a cape, and she stood with her feet apart, hands on hips, breasts and bush confronting me, a naked Maenad. Her relaxed, confident femininity overwhelmed me. I gulped and went on.

"Well, for one thing, you seem to forget I'm not a woman. If a man gets close to me and discovers I'm really a man with breasts in drag, he'll become very angry. If he's much bigger than me, he could leave me a broken and bloody mess, wherever it was he found out."

Bea looked at me a moment, and then seemed to make up her mind how to reply. "Then don't go," she said. "I'm going. Of course if you're too afraid of some man getting too rough, then I'll have to take my chances alone, and hope no one gets too rough with me."

"No," I said. I looked at her. Was her posture a little mocking, as she stood naked in front of me with both barrels of her gorgeous body aimed straight at me, hands on her hips? She was asking me to protect her? I was about to say, "I forbid you to go!" but somehow what came out was, "No, then I'll go with you." I tried to recover. "But dressed like a man!" That didn't sound right. I am a man! "Dressed in men's clothing!" I corrected myself. Not much better.

"Dressed to look like a man?" Bea did sound mocking. There was a slight smile on her face. "No, Honey, with that hairdo and with the softening of your face from Kay's hormone treatments, you wouldn't look very persuasive. You've never been a really persuasive man under the best of circumstances. I'm afraid you wouldn't discourage anyone mean from getting mean with me. But you might discourage some nice man from getting nice with me, if you were loitering in my vicinity like some weird husband or brother. No, I'm delighted you've said you'll go with me. Now I'll hold you to that. But you see, you'll have to go dressed like my girlfriend, not like some guardian angel. I have to hold you to that too."

"That's no big deal, is it dear? You've already gone out dressed for a date, and I know you had a lovely time, even if it wasn't exactly what you expected. Your clothes are laid out on your bed. If you don't want a man to get too close, why it's your prerogative as a woman not to let him. I'm glad it's decided. Remember to douche, love, even if you don't intend to seduce some handsome stud tonight. Just as part of your personal hygiene. You never know."

And she turned, walked into her room, turned to look back at me and shook her head to herself with a slight smile, then closed the door. Maybe she was right that I should always let her tell me what to do, then do it. I wasn't getting anywhere with her on my own. I continued on into the bathroom, and started my own perfume and oil soak.

Two hours later we were entering the fastest action singles bar in town, a large elaborated night club on the top floor of our largest hotel, the city's night lights turning and sparkling far below us. A band was thumping something New Age far from the bar, and as we came out of the elevator we saw three couples waiting to get in, holding hands or plastered to each other, looking both determined and nervous, as if they had just met and meant to get to one of the rooms below in order to fuck before one of them changed their minds. I wasn't happy that Bea paused to pick up a room key on our way through the hotel lobby -- it turned out she had pre-registered, and even brought a bag up to her room earlier that afternoon. "Just love toys I mean to use tonight, she said. Nothing you're ready for yet, Honey. No clothes, of course. I don't mean to wear any after a while. Are you sure you don't want a room to share with a boy friend or two?" she asked. I could only shake my head No and turn away.

We looked for all the world like a lesbian couple out for the evening, Bea the butch in her short spiked boots, leather mini, conical leather bra, dark eyes, and slash of scarlet across her mouth, and me the femme in the dress and undergarments Bea had selected for me, layer after layer of frills and flounces and laces curving away and down from my narrow hips as if they were generous hips, emphasizing my corset-constricted waist, and revealing the curve of my breasts inside my low Princess neckline. Bea had glued false eyelashes to my eyelids and stroked on layer after layer of mascara. "That's so you don't ever have to talk," she said. "Just bat your baby blues as if you understood. But if you must say something, remember Honey's voice, not Henry's."

She also insisted my hair be piled up in curls all on one side, and was delighted with the effect. "You look like such a pretty ditz now, darling," she said. "Now no one would ever ask you to do anything you didn't already want to do. They'd figure you'd never understand them anyhow. Just play dumb. That won't be too difficult, will it?"

Again, was she mocking me or protecting me from my own fears?

We settled in at the bar and had scarcely gotten our drinks when two men approached us, one on either side. "Ladies," said the taller and more self-assured, an ingratiating grin on his face, "We're a delegation from that table over there, where as you can see there are six gentlemen and only two ladies already enjoying each others' company. We've been sent to ask if you would be willing to make the odds eight to four."

The man leaning over me said nothing, but as I looked up at him, he smiled back. Shy, registered in my mind. No problem. I smiled and batted my eyes once, then listened to hear what Bea would say.

"That's six, two, and even," she said. "Aren't those handicappers' odds? Well, if you figure each of the ladies at your table are entitled to their own gentleman, and if you figure my friend here needs two gentlemen to distract her, so she won't worry excessively about me, that's four for me. That's about right. Are there four of you ready to meet me downstairs in a half-hour for a strenuous all-night workout?"

The two men glanced over us at each other, and I saw the one near me tense up and shake his head. The man near Bea stiffened for a moment too, but then eased into a delighted smile. "I'm sure we can manage it," he said, as if Bea had asked him to contribute to a Red Cross fund drive. "Let's go over and put your interesting proposition to the others."

"You," said Bea. "I never repeat myself. Tell them you're a delegation from me, and if it's worth my coming over, I will. What my friend here does with her friend next to her is up to her. They seem to have hit it off all by themselves."

Bea's delegate went over to the table and seems to have said something, because the two ladies stood abruptly, gathered their purses, and stormed off, two of the gentlemen pursuing them, each glancing over at Bea before disappearing into another area of the night club, not to be seen again, nor their ladies. "I think that's a 'Yes,'to your proposal," said the shy man at my elbow. "But if you don't mind, I'd like to be one of this lovely lady's admirers for the evening. Even from a distance, if she'll allow me. I'm not up to anything too strenuous at this time of night. It's been a difficult week."

"That's understood," said Bea. "Honey?"

"Yes," I said in a small, high-pitched voice. "Yes, I'd like that." I looked at the man leaning over me, and batted my eyes at him twice more. He melted visibly. Without lifting a finger, Bea had gotten herself at least four studs ready to fuck her silly, someone nice to keep me too distracted to get jealous, and someone else to keep the nice man too distracted to make serious moves on me. What else could I say but "Yes"?

Bea signaled a time-out and we both went to the Ladies'. She then gave me further instructions. "When you're dressed like a southern belle the way you are, all you need to do is say 'Yes' in different questioning tones of voice, and act coquettish. That means smile, tease, and neither agree nor disagree, whatever they ask. This admirer of yours here is easy. If I were in your panties I'd have him sucking my cock inside of an hour, and proposing marriage before the end of the evening. Maybe I'd even marry him, just to see what it's like being married to a nice guy without much else to recommend him. But I'm not you. I'm already married to a nice guy without much else going. He's so nice he even lets me turn him into a woman. And because he's a woman tonight and doesn't want anyone to know, he has to let me fuck anyone I want any way I want, even under his nose. Doesn't he? Smile and say 'Yes,' Henry, so I know Henry knows. Then you can be Honey the coquette while I'm off balling our friends here."

"Why, yes, Bea," I said in my squeaky girl voice. "But why are you calling me Henry again? You act as if you want me to be jealous as well as helpless. Why is that?"

"Very good, Henry!" Bea said with unfeigned admiration. "You're not altogether a fool, are you? It's simple. I want my husband Henry to find it intolerable that he's Henry, whose wife does whatever she wants, including fuck other men and feminize him, and him powerless to stop me. I want Henry to run and hide and want to become Honey, a girl who does whatever she wants, if I want her to. I want to make life miserable for Henry and delightful for Honey. I want Henry's soul to change into Honey's. Why is my business. Then I'll change Honey's soul into someone else's, and let that someone else know why, maybe. That's why I want you to feel jealous and helpless, Henry. But I also want you to flirt with men and enjoy yourself as Honey, and there you're still a little reluctant it seems. Still, I think I'm doing pretty well, wouldn't you say?"

What could I say? I scarcely understood her. "Yes, Bea," I squeaked

Then my gentleman admirer escorted us over to where the four remaining men sat, and the delegate stood waiting to greet us. "Ah, ladies," said the delegate. "We need to get better acquainted. I'm Bert, and these are Larry, Rod, Stu, and Jeffrey. The gentleman accompanying you is Fred -- I'm sure he's been too shy to say. And you are?"

"Bea," Bea said. "And my girlfriend here is Honey. Don't bother rising, gentlemen, I'll have you on your knees soon enough. It's Stu who means to keep Honey company along with Fred?"

"Why, yes, how did you know that?"

"Well, four of you are leaning forward and drooling, but Stu here looks miserable. Cheer up, Stu. Maybe there's something in the evening for you after all, if you can sweet-talk Honey the right way. You too, Fred. But meanwhile I want to dance with each of you guys, to feel out your moves and plan some of my own. You first, Rod, you sound the most promising. Meanwhile, order us all some drinks."

Bea danced differently with each man. With Larry, she lay her head on his shoulder and melted into his arms. With Bert she stood aloof at arm's length, almost stiff, but with her pelvis rotating obscenely until Bert was almost on his knees trying to bury his face in it. With Rod she did dirty dancing, crawling all over him while he crawled on her, each with thighs inside the other's thighs and rubbing on each other. Jeffrey was the most peculiar -- he stood still, tense as a flamenco dancer, while she rotated around him making figures with her arms, but now and then slapping him on the face or clubbing him with her forearm, almost knocking him down. A huge boner developed in his pants, and seemed to get larger each time she struck him.

When she came back with her second partner, Bert, she reached into her purse and handed him her room key, and said, "You're the one. Get down there, strip naked, and wait on your knees for each of the others to knock. Then let them in, and as they come in, undress them and suck their cocks to get them nice and hard. You'll find some cock rings in my bag by the bed Slip them over each cock once you've gotten them full size. But no one comes without my permission. Ever. Your reward for preparing those cocks will be, you can choose whichever one you want to have fuck your ass all the way until you come. Then if you can get hard again, great! I'll use you. If not you'll be my official mouth, and if you're very good at it, my official toilet. We'll see."

I was shocked. What kinds of fantasies was Bea living out? Or had she done this before, and I never knew? She had an instinct for each man's most secret obscene desire within a few minutes of dancing with him -- when she sent Jeffrey down to her room, she told him to phone someone that he wouldn't be fit for work until the middle of next week at the earliest, he'd be too bruised. With Rod, all she did was pat his penis and say "We'll soon find out if this thing swivels off," and she told Larry to be thinking about how it would feel to have her arm inside him as well as wrapped around him. "And, of course," she told Stu and Fred while looking straight at me, "They're all four of them going to be in me, around me, on top of me, and under me, a few together at a time, all night long. I mean to get reamed out utterly at every end. I won't be home until tomorrow, Honey. Take a taxi when you're ready to leave, or cadge a ride. And you'd better use this, if you don't plan on being raped yourself. Stu here has some ideas about getting into your pants, I can tell. You'd better get into his first. I'm glad you came with me to protect me, Honey, but now you're on your own." She handed me a bottle of hand lotion and disappeared toward the elevators and the room where her four hard cocks were waiting for her.

While I was watching Bea dance and arrange her orgy, or gang bang, or whatever it was, Fred had his arm around me, and I had snuggled into him, and it had felt nice. It was a little confusing. I'd feel like Honey, but then I'd realize that I was a man with my head on another man's shoulder and this was unthinkable. Then while Fred had both arms wrapped around my waist and I was leaning back against him so he could breath into my perfumed hair, I felt like Henry, an absolute pansy, a real faggot. Stu would then reach over and caress my nipples even so lightly, and then I was Honey, smiling at him demurely, and trying not to surrender to the delicious sensations. "Let's take her down and get a room for ourselves, Fred," Stu said. "She's plenty ready. Honey, you look ripe enough to eat. I'll bet you're juicy, too."

"I don't think you'll want to eat me tonight," I said, trying to remember how girls usually turn off unwanted attention -- lots of girls had told me lots of ways when I was dating them. "I'm having my period." Should I have just said "No"? Bea had told me to be a coquette. "Besides, I wouldn't know how to choose between two big strong men like you two," I said. I batted my heavy eyelashes several times.

Stu had an answer ready. "No need to choose, Honey. I think if your friend downstairs can handle four men at once, you can handle two. In fact, I think you can handle two of us right now. Use that hand lotion. Under the table will be fine."

I tried to maintain the charade, and said "You're so impetuous!", and I tried to flick a limp wrist at him, teasing, as Bea had advised.

But Stu was having none of it. He began to look hard and narrow-eyed. "Sit between us, Honey, and let's both see what you're good for." I glanced up at Fred's face, still with my head on his shoulder, and saw he was looking down a little apologetically and regretfully, but eagerly too. I decided I would do it for Fred, settled between them, smiled nicely at each on turn. and picked up the hand lotion.

I'd never noticed it before, but while I was rubbing the lotion onto my hands and my skin was softening and lubricating, my hands looked provocative, even obscenely sexy as they stroked and turned inside each other. Stu watched fascinated. "Hey, Honey," he said. "You have a real talent for hand jobs! Look at that!" It was true. Maybe because I had never held a man's cock in my hands before in my life, except my own, and maybe Steve's, my hands had taken on a reluctant, slow, amorous, lingering motion, as if they were looking forward to every stroke but delaying the moment as long as possible. "I can't stand this!" Stu said, and in a single motion he sat up, unzipped his pants, and released his staff to point straight up just under the edge of the table. I felt Fred do the same. I took a deep breath, poured some more of the pink lotion generously into each palm, reached down on either side of me, and wrapped each hand around a man's cock, my right hand on Stu and my left on Fred.

Each felt different. I spread the lotion on each with a few wrist motions, then began using my fingertips to rub and stroke and tug and tickle each cock. Stuart's was short but very fat, and felt pimply, like the neck of a chicken, with loose skin to push around. It felt hot to the touch. Fred's was thinner and a little longer, velvety to my finger tips, like a cool, smooth tube. Both cocks were considerably longer than mine, though neither equaled Steve's at its most swollen. So this is what every woman knows, and no straight men, I thought to myself. Pricks have personalities as different as people's. I twisted my wrists into the most voluptuous hand gestures could manage as I pulled and slid and jerked off each.

But most of all, with each prick I felt different. When I concentrated on stroking Stu I felt demeaned, as if I were some school kid forced to jerk off the town bully. I was little Henry, my manhood eroding with every rise and fall of my fist on his chicken-skinned cock, intimidated into behaving like a girl, hoping desperately he wouldn't force me to the extreme indignity. But he did. As his breath came quicker he began to tense up until suddenly I felt my head pushed down by his left hand. I glanced frightened at Fred, and he said reassuringly in a low voice, "Go ahead, Honey. I can wait." But I had no choice. Down I went and just barely had time to wrap my lips around the head of his cock when it began spurting cum back into my throat. I squeezed my eyes tight shut, and swallowed as fast as I could, and tried hard not to breath. Disgusting! Then when his hand released my head I sat up and wiped my mouth.

Stu looked at my grimace, amused. "I bet you never sucked cock before," he said. Wrong, of course. It was his cock I found offensive. I remembered that sucking on Steve had been like sucking on a lollipop, that his cum had tasted like sweet cream. I tried to think of that, as I smiled flirtatiously at Stu, trying to placate him the way Bea had told me, in case my twisted mouth with his cum still on my lips had insulted him. But Stu had turned his attention elsewhere. "Hey, there's Ben and Diana and that crowd," he said suddenly. "I bet there's some action over at that table! G'bye Honey, you got magic hands! See ya, Fred." And he was gone. I felt insulted, defeated, and resentful.

But my left hand was still on Fred's cock, still stroking him up and down, I realized, and I softened immediately. In fact I was so grateful to be holding Fred by his most intimate member I looked up at him and kissed his cheek, and he looked down at me tenderly. I think he understood. I felt so protected. In fact, when he came close to coming, I leaned over and put my mouth on him and finished him off with my lips and both hands, and as I drank him down he tasted as delicious as Steve.

We talked for a while more, and he told some amusing stories, and I tried to make silvery, tinkly laughs like Bea's, not too successfully I'm afraid. He offered to drive me home, and when we were both standing on our front steps I turned impulsively and reached up with both arms, and pulled his head toward me, and kissed him passionately, pushing my tongue way inside his mouth, and then we both said goodnight. He wanted my phone number, but Bea had said that was a No-No, so he gave me his card. He was such a nice man!

The next day around noon Bea came staggering home, her hair still damp from a fast shower before she left the hotel. "I couldn't just leave when I woke up," she said. "I was covered with cum, some of it still slick in the cleft of my ass. And the guys were already gone, even the one I had manacled to the clothes bar in the closet, with the baseball bat hanging out of his ass so he wouldn't feel lonely after I pulled my arm out of him. The manacles were still there this morning, but the bat was gone. I bet he means to use it on himself, now that he knows how good it feels."

I was appalled. "What else did you do, Bea?" I asked. What do you do with four men?

She smiled. "You're a little young to know, Honey. But we'll teach you all of it little by little. Henry my husband is never going to know most of it, only how I can do interesting things with cocks a lot bigger than his. I'll tell him all about those things. But tell me, girlfriend, how did you make out?"

So I told Bea everything, especially the different ways I felt about jerking off Stu and Fred, and catching their sperm in my mouth.

Bea was very interested. "Well, well," she said. "Treat 'em rough, and there's Henry feeling competitive and defeated and resentful. Treat 'em nice, and there's Honey, all cuddly and grateful. You need discipline, dear, lots of it, but this tells me to administer it to you sweetly. My Henry is a loser who can't stand losing, and my Honey will do anything as long as she feels loved and protected. That makes things a lot easier."

Again, I had no idea what Bea was talking about. But she did.

Chapter Six: Make-over
(in which like it or not, our hero begins to look and
sound more like our heroine than he thought she would)

Two days later, a week before I was scheduled to begin my career as a receptionist, Bea commented that I had to do something with my voice. It was passable for an evening out, when I could speak in a soft near-whisper, but it wasn't really suited to answering phones and talking to customers. She talked it over with Kay, who suggested that I have a small operation on my throat. Apparently there was a method she called 'cricothyroid fusion,' by which the cricoid and thyroid cartilages are joined. Kay had a friend not far away who had done many such operations. According to her, the procedure was entirely reversible and its risks were negligible. It could be done without an overnight stay in a hospital.

Bea insisted that I at least see this doctor and get the full picture. Kay phoned him, and as luck would have it, an operation scheduled for that very afternoon had been canceled, and her friend was able to see us right away. Well, what can I say? Kay was as determined as Bea, and before I had time to think over the implications, I was in the OR. I can't say it was a pleasant experience, and I wouldn't want to do it again. But the results were fabulous. I was told not to try to speak for two days, until my voice came back, first croaking as if with a nasty laryngitis, but near the week-end I had a perfectly girlish soprano. Bea was overjoyed. She finally agreed that accompanying the girls to the sex resort would put too much strain on my throat, and stopped trying to persuade me. I would stay at home. I was glad for that. I had plans of my own for the weekend. I wanted to be alone, to think over my situation and somehow devise a way to return to my old life without hurting Bea too much.

Friday morning Bea declared that she had booked us both for complete make-overs at the beauty salon, for herself to get ready for the week-end, and for me to get a new personal style suitable for my work.

We drove there together and were greeted effusively by Celeste, the owner. She remembered my first make-over two weeks earlier, and she looked at me with curious interest. "My but you've changed so much since I last saw you," she said. "I must say for the better. That figure is fabulous." She felt my waist. "I thought so, you're wearing a corset. Very nice, very nice indeed. Men must be swarming all over you, dear. Now what can I do for you ladies this time?" She wasn't in the least surprised I was still in skirts. Bea explained to her what she wanted for herself and then what in her opinion I needed for my new job. "So you'll be a working-girl from now on! I'm glad to hear that. A woman should have a job, not just be a home-maker. It gives her a much broader view of the world. We'll make sure that you'll be the prettiest girl in your office, dear."

When she turned away to assign the girls to attend us, Bea turned to me and said, "Honey, I think you should enquire about permanent make-up. Find out how permanent it really is. You know, you aren't yet very experienced doing makeup yourself. It's going to take you a long time each morning to put your face on, and repairing it during the day may also be a problem. But what they call permanent makeup holds up for a few weeks, I think, and that would be perfect for you. Go, ask them, and think about having it done."

Celeste returned with two of her girls. "Linda, dear, take care of Bea here," she said. "You know her, and I'll be with you in a second." She then turned to me, while Bea and Linda disappeared into the depths of the salon. "Now Honey, let's take care of you. I think I know exactly what you need. Bea told me you're starting work as a receptionist? OK, you should be a real 'looker', a knockout to anyone who glances at you even casually. I think blonde is fine, but not enough. You'll want a hair color that's altogether unlike you, in case anyone who knows you wanders into your office. So I think we'll make you a red-head. Giselle here will handle it all, she's my best girl. First we strip all the color from your hair, and then build up the new color. I think a very light orange, almost metallic -- yes that would look stunning on you. You'll be the envy of all the other women there, and men will crawl at your feet just to have you smile at them. I'll leave you in Giselle's hands now. I'll be back later to discuss your make-up style and colors." And she was gone.

Giselle busied herself with my hair. Obviously nobody thought of asking my opinion. Well, whatever they do can be reversed and redone, I thought, so why not wait to see what they do. I took the opportunity to do what Bea had asked. "Giselle, I'm told you do permanent make-up here. Is that true?"

"Oh yes, we do," Giselle replied, lifting swatches of my hair up, and examining each critically. "Or rather, Celeste does it herself, because it's a little tricky, and you have to have a very sure hand and lots of experience. But it's getting increasingly popular with professional women who've made up their minds what they want to look like, who want to save time recreating it every morning. You know, it's not for young girls who change their look twice a day at least, or for models who have to change styles constantly. But if you've decided on your look, it saves tremendously on time and effort."

"How permanent is it really?" I continued. I realized it really might make things easier for me, so I became seriously interested.

"Oh don't believe what they say," Giselle advised me. "It's not that permanent. Not like a tattoo or anything. From what I've seen, the ladies come here for a touch up every few weeks. I think it completely disappears in about six weeks. You see, what it really does, it dyes the uppermost layer of skin. Just like wood stain, if you've ever worked with that. Well, this is similar. Skin renews itself at a certain rate all the time, and top layers are replaced all the time, and any color on them goes too. Now, it's different with different regions of skin. On the hands, it can wear away at once, but not on the skin around your eyes. You see what I mean?"

"So it'll hold up for two or three weeks on the face, right?"

"Yeah, don't let them tell you otherwise. It's not really permanent. It has to be redone all the time."

I mulled over this information and decided that this so-called 'permanent' makeup was perfect for me. I'd maintain it while I was working with Pearl, and stop retouching it before quitting my job. I'd save a lot of time and effort. Yes, I decided, I'll tell Celeste to do it on me.

After a while, I was almost finished with the drier, and Celeste poked her head into our cubicle to ask if everything was to my satisfaction. "I'll be right with you do discuss your make-up. You know, I have to do it and at the same time show you how, so you'll learn to do it alone." Giselle finished her job and put a light scarf over my locks, still with rollers in them to let them cool down slowly. Celeste came back and started in. "Now what I think you need is a very careful day-makeup. It should almost look natural. So we'll go easy on the colors and focus on the eyes."

"Listen," I said. "Giselle told me all about your permanent make-up. Could you do that for me? I mean, I'm not very experienced, and I'm not sure I could recreate my look every day. So if it's possible, please make it permanent right now."

Celeste was impressed. "Well, Honey, what an interesting decision! I was afraid to suggest it, because permanent make-up is a major step towards permanent femininity, you know, and I wasn't sure you've progressed that far yet in the way you think of yourself. But if that's what you want, I'll be delighted to do it." I didn't want to tease her about the loose definition of 'permanent', and I really had all the information I needed. So she went to work and talked while she worked. "Now with the eyeliner, we can be a little dramatic ... lighter on the bottom lid than the top, and a dark stripe above the lash line of your eyelid. So. I'll use just a light brownish grey for eye-shadow, just enough to darken the area a bit. If you want a more dramatic effect for a night out, you can use any color you desire then ... easy on the blusher too, just a hint of healthy rosy cheeks, here we go ... now for the lipstick. I'll use a rather bright pinkish red. It goes perfectly with the color of your hair and isn't too dark to be covered with another, darker color if you so desire. You could even brighten it and give it a special mother-of-pearl effect if you covered it with a special white lipstick, you know, like girls did in the sixties all the time ... Now for that special, sexy wet look, just rub a little Vaseline on like this, you see? Done! Do you want permanent eyelashes too? You know there's a new process -- we glue them to your own one on one. They won't come off under any circumstances, unless the real ones fall out. They're much thicker than natural lashes, so you don't need mascara at all, and yet they look absolutely natural. You'd need a microscope to see they're not real."

I nodded for her to go ahead.

When she was done, she took the scarf off and started combing out my hair. "You see, a head full of curls does suit you best. The color is what makes it special, so we don't want a very intricate hairdo too. Also, this style is easy for you to maintain -- just brush it out, shake your head, and there it is. Almost as easy as when you were a man."

That made me edgy. Why did she have to say 'when I was a man'? Why in the past tense? I still was a man! I might not look like one now, exactly, but that was only temporary in spite of my 'permanent' make-up, so-called. 'Permanent,' what a fraud. What women settle for! But I didn't want to discuss whether I was still a man with Celeste; it was strictly between Bea and me. She can believe what she wants, I decided. I couldn't care less. She was just providing Bea and me with her paid services, so why should I care what she thinks.

Giselle had turned my seat around with my back towards the sink and the mirror when washing my hair, and it had remained that way because the light from the window was better for Celeste's work too. Now finally she turned me around to face the mirror.

I went into shock! I was looking at an archetypal bimbo! A red-headed, empty-headed bimbo! She had a beautiful face, really beautiful, with a mass of reddish curls framing it. But nobody would trust a girl with that look to sharpen a pencil! When I opened my eyes wide I looked like a child, and when I drooped my eyelids my eyes smouldered, as if I were dreaming about bedrooms. My lips stood out full and red and wet. The lips and the eyes together sent out one clear message, 'Please, sir, I want to suck your cock'. I was flabbergasted. I didn't know what to say. I must have sat in silence for a whole minute. This was the new ME? I couldn't believe it. Only a few weeks ago, if I had seen a girl in an office looking that wide-eyed and yet that gorgeous, I would have gotten some very slippery ideas, and an instant hard-on. Now the mirror told me I was that girl.

Just then Bea appeared, and she immediately fell all over herself exclaiming how great I looked, and how wonderful my hair was, and those dreamy eyes, and my lush mouth. She complimented Celeste on having created a masterpiece.

Well, if Bea liked it I would have to deal with my doubts later on. I couldn't do anything now anyhow. I did look sensational, but it wasn't the look I'd wanted. I'd hoped to look sort of pretty but a little shy, like the kind of nice girl who's always asked to dance last at the Christmas-party. I certainly didn't want to make waves at Pearl's place. But the way I looked now, when I walked in there'd be no question what I was there for. Something had to be done. But here and now was not the right time and place to discuss it, because Bea was so enraptured with me. I tried to collect my composure, and finally I smiled at Celeste and thanked her. "I'll be seeing you for the touch-ups in two weeks probably," I said to her on our way out.

"What touch-ups?" She looked puzzled.

"Well Giselle told me, the so called permanent make-up is not all that permanent, and has to be touched up every two weeks or so."

"My, oh, my, that was in the past! Progress never stops! A week ago I got an entirely new line of products for permanent make-up. They now guarantee it'll hold for at least a year, longer in sensitive places like around the eyes. You see, this is a new process, in which the colors we apply on the surface slowly sink deeper, by osmosis I think. So by the time the upper layers of skin flake off, the dyes have gone quite a few layers deeper. Let me assure you, dear, you won't need touch-ups for a very long time."

"Of course the more women there are who get this new permanent makeup, the fewer women I'll see for regular make-overs. But since the process itself is very expensive, I won't really lose anything. I won't be able to keep up with everyone's gossip quite so often, is all. But of course you're an unusual woman, so I'll always be delighted to see you. If you're in the neighborhood, please do drop by to say hello. Maybe after a few months you'll want me to change your hair style. You'll always be very special to me."

I felt as if somebody had kicked me in the knees. I fumbled backward and sat down. To look like this for a whole year? A mindless blow-up doll! The worst of it was, I had nobody to blame for it but me. I had walked into my own trap. I was so clever, getting the wrong information. I should have listened when Celeste called this kind of makeup a 'major step towards permanent femininity' but I was feeling so smug I didn't hear her. I felt like fainting. "Are you alright, dear?" Celeste was very concerned. She waved to one of her girls, "Quick, a cup of coffee and pour a good shot of brandy into it!" Within seconds she was holding the cup against my lips, and I drank. Anything now, but no fainting! I looked at her thankfully, still unable to speak.

When I handed back the cup, it had no lipstick marks even though I had seen that my lips were bright red. Another ominous sign. My make-up really was permanent.

"She'll be alright," Bea said. "Maybe it was all a little too much for her." And moving closer to Celeste's ear, she said, "You know, with the tight corset and everything, what women have to endure to be pretty is too much for a man sometimes. So much for the way they call themselves the 'stronger sex'."

Celeste nodded conspiratorially and turned to me. "Just rest for a minute or so, dear, and you'll soon be alright. Take your time. Nobody will disturb you." I closed my eyes and sat there for about five minutes before I felt strong enough to walk out together with Bea. I was unable to utter a word the whole way home. My whole world was shattered. Permanent makeup! A whole year! I had a lot of thinking to do this weekend! As yet, I had no idea how to handle this situation. But there must be a way out! It was just a matter of finding it! Bea saw that I was brooding, and had the good sense to leave me alone until we reached home.

When we reached the house, she came around to my side of the car and helped me out. She was very consoling. Standing right there in the driveway, she hugged me. "Cheer up darling," she told me. "Everything'll work out fine, you'll see. And you really look gorgeous. What's lost if you look the way I want you to look a little longer than you'd expected? You're still the same person, but much, much prettier now. Think about how other people will see you. They'll enjoy you so much more! Now lets go in and not give it another thought."

Well, no use crying over spilled milk, I thought to myself. I have to live with the facts, and I may as well be cheerful about it. I didn't want Bea to feel guilty because she had suggested I ask about permanent make-up. I could only blame myself. So I gave her a big smile and thanked her. "I really need you!" I said. And then I began to cry -- I'm not sure why. The year's worth of female hormones Kay had shot into my butt, I suppose. A feeling I'd gotten into something I couldn't get out of, maybe. "That's my girl," Bea beamed, patting my backside lovingly. "Come on, I have to get ready for my trip to the mountains. Help me pack!"

It was very strange, advising Bea which of her dresses were the most tastefully provocative, the most genteel even while announcing her sexual availability. I kept thinking I was being her pimp, every time I told her that this blouse, or those shoes, would set any man thinking about that or another part of her body. She kept asking me whether this dress or that one was a slow tease or a fast proposal, which might make a horny man's prick even stiffer. Then when she had packed everything she meant to take along, there was still another half-hour before Pearl was scheduled to show up and carry her away. The bags were at the door, and there was nothing more to do.

"Listen, Honey," she said. "You can do me a great favor. I'll miss you. I want to have your picture to take along with me. Dress up really sexy for me, will you? Please? Now that you look the way you do?"

I thought about Bea wanting to bring my picture with her to this weekend retreat, where she expected to bed down with several other men. It was reassuring, in a way. In fact, it was a very sweet notion, very loving. After all, I could have gone along with her, and it was my decision to stay at home, so wanting to take my picture along was really thoughtful. The sexiest thing I had was that dress Pearl had brought me last Sunday. I decided to put it on, although I hated the corset that went with it. But it would only be for 30 minutes, I thought. So what the heck, I'll survive it.

I carried everything I needed to her room, and asked her to help me. She loved my selection, and was only too eager to lace me into the tight corset. She made me sit down, and she pulled the stockings up my legs as if she were my personal maid. I loved it, because she lingered near my crotch while fastening the garters, caressing my inner thighs with her finger tips, sending shivers of delight up and down my spine. Then she put my highest heels on my feet and stood me up to put the dress on me. She wanted a really sexy picture? She would have one. I pulled the lace on the corset's bodice down from my bosom and folded it back into the dress. My tits stood out naked and proud from the décolleté. I started to tease them, and they responded immediately, my nipples getting hard. Bea then finished pulling down the zipper to the skirt's very end, hobbling me completely. Finally, she got out her polaroid camera and shot picture after picture of me, from every angle, suggesting different poses each sexier than the previous.

She laid the pictures out on the vanity to develop. When she was done, I minced over to look at them, in the teeny four inch steps the dress allowed me. My nylon-clad legs rubbing against each other were very erotic. But the pictures were even more so. They showed an extravagantly clad, gorgeous woman with bare tits, offering herself to the viewer. Even though I knew I was looking at myself, I felt a familiar stirring in my nether parts.

Just then Pearl sounded her horn and Bea scooped up all of the pictures, gave me a hug and a kiss, and headed for the door. "Bye love," she called over her shoulder. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do! Gotta hurry now." She was downstairs before I could make it to the bedroom door, and out the front door before I reached the top of the stairs.

"Hey, wait, you've got to help me get out of this! Come back a second!" I called to the empty downstairs hallway. But she was already gone. I heard the car door slam, and the car drive off after sounding its horn three times. In farewell? Mockingly? But I was in a fine mess! I couldn't bend down far enough to reach the goddam zipper. I didn't want to cut myself out of the dress. So I lay down on Bea's bed to think of some tool to hook the slide and undo the thing.

Chapter Seven: Honey's Weekend
(in which our heroine learns to do what she's told)


I must have fallen into a sound sleep. When I came conscious again, I was dreaming that somebody was licking and sucking at my right nipple. I loved it. Then in my dream I felt a hand stroking my left breast and concentrating on its nipple. It felt great. I hoped the dream would never end. Then the mouth went away, and another hand fingered my right nipple. I moaned deeply. A tongue entered my mouth, playing with my tongue, oh how sweetly. May this moment never end, I thought. I didn't want to open my eyes in my dream, because it might wake me. I gave in to my delicious sensations for a few more seconds while slowly regaining full consciousness. They didn't stop. Somebody was kissing me. Suddenly afraid, I opened my eyes, and there was Steve's face. When he saw I was awake, he leaned backward.

"Hello, Snow White, your prince has arrived," he said. I closed my eyes again, opening my mouth and lifting my face for another kiss, which immediately followed. I was so glad he was here.

I let my hands roam over his body, and realized that he was completely naked. I found his cock and slowly stroked it. It was standing at full attention already, and grew even harder as my hand closed gently around it. After a little while Steve stopped the kissing and nipple-teasing, and rolled me over on my stomach. He unzipped the dress all the way and peeled me out of it. Then he turned me on my back again and slid between my legs. He lifted them and hooked each onto his shoulders, then fumbled somewhat at his crotch and my ass. Ahh, I realized, lubrication! Before I could think further he was pressing his huge soft cock head against my rosebud asshole, then working just the tip of his prick in and out. I began to feel a powerful yearning, and I lifted my whole body up toward him, trying push my bottom around his shaft. Then suddenly he thrust deep and impaled me altogether. He began slowly rocking back and forth, creating the most wonderful feelings in me. By now I had gathered my wits, and the situation struck me as a little funny. There they were, three horny women driving toward that hotel hoping to get fucked, leaving me alone at home. And the first of the four girls to get fucked was the new one, me, while they were still on the road!

I pulled Steve's mouth to mine and kissed him deeply. My arms wrapped around him and held on tight, while his long cock never stopped working in and out of me, sliding up until his balls pressed my ass, then withdrawing until I ached for him to thrust back into me, to fulfill me completely. His hand reached for my cock, and it throbbed each time he squeezed it. The ecstasy ended all too soon, when we both of us came almost at the same time.

After a few minutes to rest and recover, Steve said, "Come on, darling girl. Let me dress you again, and let's go downstairs. I'm hungry". We got up, and he put me back into the dress, but left the zipper open just enough for me to be able to walk downstairs. I went to the kitchen to see what I could come up with, and discovered a magnificent bunch of roses in a vase on the coffee table in the living-room, all of them long-stemmed and deep red. Steve came down barefoot, in his jeans and a T-shirt. "Forty-nine, count them, seven times seven, a lucky number for my lady," he said.

"You brought these for me?"

"Who else is here?"

"Oh you sweet man!"

I felt so thrilled! I slinked back to him in my long gown, and kissed him again. "They're marvelous, thank you." He certainly knows how to treat a lady, I thought. My beautiful lover Steve is a real gentleman. I never before felt more like a woman than at that moment, not even when he was making love to me.

It turned out he had brought several cartons of Indian food with him. We put it into the microwave to heat up, and then sat down to eat. It was terribly spicy and my eyes began to water. I dabbed at them cautiously, trying not to ruin my make-up, as Bea had taught me.

"You can really wipe your eyes now. It won't come off. It's there to stay, and stay as beautiful as you are," Steve said.

He had brought back my memory of that awful misjudgment of mine in the beauty salon, when I trusted that Giselle knew what she was talking about! But he was so wonderful! He seemed to sense it.

"Hey don't blame yourself," he said. He reached over the table and took one of my hands in both of his. "Let's talk about it. Honey, I want to level with you. I can't stand back and just watch what this trio of scheming pussies is doing to you. I like you too much, and I think you should know everything that's going on." I looked at him expectantly.

"You see, it all was planned exactly, to the smallest detail, about a year ago. I heard about it from Kay -- we share all our secrets. Bea wanted to turn you into a woman for reasons of her own. She hasn't really shared them with anyone yet, maybe just to amuse herself? So she engaged the help of her two best friends. Kay was to take care of the medical side, and to judge by those gorgeous tits of yours, and that sweet softening of your face, she sure did! Pearl was supposed to come in now and then when her help was needed. Let me tell you, compared to the way they laid their plans, step by step, taking into account every possibility and working out in advance every way to cope, all the war plans of a some super-sophisticated military General Staff would look like valentines drawn by a bunch of bungling children. Of course you know that Bea's birthday party last week was all set up in advance, with nothing was left to chance, including me taking you home for our night of lovemaking. That was one of the risks they took. They didn't know how you'd respond to my making love to you, you'd become such a proper lady. So they decided you should be flying high on tranquilizers when I delivered my meat to your back door. But it all came out for the best, didn't it?"

"That hen fest on Sunday, after the party, was also a set up. Did you really believe that Pearl swiped this corset, and the dress and shoes, from her husband? No, they were made to your exact measurements even before Bea dieted you down to them, and the shoes were bought to fit your feet. But Pearl invented a good story, so you'd accept them without feeling guilty, or ashamed, or suspicious, that such expensive and voluptuous clothing had been made just for you. Wearing that dress as if it were was made for somebody else, that's still masquerading, and masquerading's acceptable, right? But accepting it and wearing it brought you deeper into feminity. Then other less sexy dresses seemed more normal, more ordinary, and you wore them without a second thought while shopping all through last week, even into the beauty salon."

"You agreed to wear feminine apparel during your training period, because you wanted to give Bea the birthday present she'd asked for, you done up as a passable woman. But you've never suspected that you are supposed to be the gift that keeps on giving! There was a chance you'd call the whole thing off after the birthday party, you know, after we'd all had our fun, figuring that now it's over. So they set you up with this scarlet woman dress, and the story that came with it. Sitting there among the other women, dressed even more sexily than they were, with your little pussy still fondly remembering how my cock felt dipping into it, and telling the ladies all about it, while they marveled and cheered you on, that was the real beginning of your acceptance of their larger plan, your agreement to be dressed as a woman for a longer period, probably to become a woman in every respect, if they can bring you that far. You keep an eye on your balls, Henry, because one day you may wake up and they won't be there any more, and when that day comes you may not even mind."

I wriggled uneasily in my tight corset, but I held on tight to his hand across the table, and he kept talking.

"The sudden opening of a slot for the operation on your voice was a myth. That operation was planned for this date and time maybe six months ago. It's been on Kay's calendar at least that long. And to top it all off, you were set up to ask for a permanent make-up job this afternoon. The girl who was working on you was primed to give you exactly the wrong information, and in exactly those words. I think they even rehearsed it like a stage play in several versions, depending on how you'd react. If you hadn't asked Giselle at all, she would have brought up the subject. But Bea's suggestion was enough to get you interested. They counted correctly on your male reasoning: 'if I have to put on make-up every day, then let's be efficient about it, and not waste time every day.' You got hooked like a trout on the first day of the fishing season."

"I'm telling you, because I know you blame yourself now that you've got to live like a woman for a whole year, until that makeup wears off. Well, let me tell you, you didn't stand a chance. That you'd live like a woman at least that long, probably longer, maybe for the rest of your life, was decided a year ago. Nobody could have resisted their plans, the way they laid them out."

"And I must say, from what I know, Bea has some very good reasons to turn you into a woman permanently. If you prove to be agreeable, willing to go along step by step, it probably would be for the best. It's the only solution if you two want to stay together. For so many years Bea has been the submissive partner in your marriage, the dutiful housewife waiting for you to take the initiatives, and you ran out of initiatives long ago. Much of it ran against her real inner feelings. She either had to reverse her relationship with you or separate from you. Now, if society expects the woman to be the submissive half of a couple, then you had to be made aware what that means, and turned into a woman yourself, at least for a while. You'd have to live as one, and go to work as one the way you will in a few days."

Steve smiled, and reached over and put his hand on my cheek for a moment. "And if it could be arranged, you'd have to make love as one. And I must tell you, Honey, you have a natural talent that way. As far as sex goes, you're wasted as a man. Not many women are as responsive as you are, as passionate when someone else is calling the shots. Kay asked me if it was true, what you confessed to Pearl when she questioned you about it, that you have the makings of a really sultry sex-slut. I told her that once you were warmed up, there's nothing you wouldn't do. It's true, Honey. We could go upstairs and I'd prove it to you, right now. In a while, we will, anyhow. But you'll have plenty of opportunity to find out for yourself soon enough. Wait till you start work in Pearl's office. There will be some very interesting experiences waiting for you there."

"So that's the situation, old buddy, my darling girl! Now what do you want to do? You actually do have to live as a woman now, for a while. That's settled. You may get to like it even more than you do now, and that's what they're counting on. But the question is, do you want to leave Bea, because she deceived you when she led you into this, not just for her birthday but for the long haul, for good? Or, do you want to stay with her and accept your new role in life as her female companion, or whatever she chooses to call it, doing pretty much whatever she wants? Go ahead and think about it."

Steve got up and poured himself some coffee, then sat down again. He poured some for me too, but I couldn't touch it. "If you want to hear my advice," Steve then went on, "What I would do if I were tripping around in your high heels is, I would stay. Apart from the fact that Bea loves you, and you love her too when you can muster up that much emotion. Just compare your situation last year with today. You were like a zombie, watching football on TV for excitement. Sex was mostly a thing of the past, and it was all bland and boring. You yourself were thinking of splitting from Bea and finding more excitement elsewhere, in the arms of some new woman. But a new woman would've taken you for whatever she could get and then dropped you. No other kind of woman would've wanted you, you were such a bore, and you're so trusting you wouldn't even have known she was gone until she was long gone."

"But now you've got yourself a new woman, really new, and one who really cares for you, and really does look out for your best interests as she sees them. Two new women, counting you! And now look back at last week. Wasn't it exciting? Didn't you and Bea find all kinds of new feelings and experiences to share? Aren't you having great sex, doing all kinds of things you never dreamed you'd do, now that Bea feels free to suggest them? Now that you want to, because as a woman, sex is a brand new thing for you, with no inhibitions built in? And let me tell you, you two have just barely scratched the surface. Trust me, I know from experience. Stick with Bea and follow her lead, and she'll open new worlds for both of you. That's my advice. The girls may have been running you around in circles, but they know where they're really taking you, and it's a great place! Relax and enjoy the ride."

To say I was shocked, hearing all this, would have been the understatement of the century. My mind went perfectly numb. I could only sit and say nothing at all.

Steve was very affectionate. "You should sleep over it. It's getting late and I'll take you to bed. I'll take care of the dishes later." He reached out with both hands to me and I took them. I felt so helpless. He pulled me up, and we went upstairs. He slowly peeled me out of the dress again, and took off the shoes and stockings, but left the corset on. "Go wash your face and brush your teeth," he told me, shoving me gently towards the bathroom, where I went through the required motions.

When I was finished I went back to the bed we had just used earlier for making love. I was still dazed, and I suppose I was drawn to my memory of lying there on my back, my legs high over Steve's back, feeling so happy that his meat and his cum were shooting deep inside me. Now, it seemed, he was my only friend in the world.

But the dear man took my hand, and then took me gently by the waist, and led me out toward my own bedroom. "This is the MASTER bedroom," he said. "Not yours anymore, remember? This week-end I am the MASTER and I shall sleep here, and my little love-slave will sleep in her room until I call her. Understand?"

It seemed so natural the way he put it, I just went along. I had no power to resist. When I started undoing the corset lace, he stopped me. "This is your training corset, and you have to wear it through the night remember? Now be a good girl and turn around and give me your wrists so I can tie them properly." I gave in completely. If my only friend in the world wanted my wrists tied the way Bea wanted them, I had to go along. I wondered how he knew. Bea must have told him. What else did she tell him, I wondered. Did she tell him to stop by to give me that glorious fuck, to remind me how nice it is to be a woman fucked by a man, especially while she's at that hotel reminding herself of the very same thing? Did she tell him to tell me everything he had just told me, man to man, or maybe man to woman, so when she came back there'd be no more secrets separating us?

"Isn't it nice to go to bed in full make-up knowing it'll still be there in the morning, as beautiful as ever? To be beautiful all the time?" he asked. He made it sound as if he were envious -- just to make me comfortable, the darling man, I thought. He tucked me in like a little child, and then gave me a good night kiss. He turned out the light and I was asleep before I even could start thinking about what I had heard and experienced this long day.

I woke up hearing the shower in the bathroom and Steve splashing away, singing at the top of his voice. I felt much better, and looked forward to facing the day. I felt a little more like my old self. I was still slightly annoyed that Bea had tricked me into womanhood. But this morning I couldn't blame her. She did have her reasons, and she did love me. I'd slept the blues away, and now hearing Steve lifted my spirits even higher. That was odd in itself. True, Bea and her friends had fixed me up with a female face I didn't want, but had accepted, anyhow, for only a little while longer. But they had set me up with Steve too. And he had a wonderful knack. He made me feel delicious that I looked like a woman, and he made me want to be even more of a woman. Bea wasn't wrong when she thought I'd get hooked by his lovemaking. Right now I wanted to be a woman for Steve with all my heart, and I was glad they had made me beautiful for him.

After about five minutes he peeked in to see if I was awake, then came over and sat down on the bed right next to my head. He smelled of soap and after-shave. I snuggled even closer, and kissed his thigh. "Good morning Honey," he boomed in the best of spirits, "slept well? Let's see how you feel today." He bend down to kiss me on the mouth and at the same time he felt for my nipples, teasing and rolling them between his fingers. Oh, my, I thought, here I go again, as the sensations he aroused began to overwhelm me. My cock started to grow. His hands caressed my corset, following its curves downward. Then he pushed away the covers and mounted me, my head between his knees, facing my thighs, his cock dangling right over my mouth. No words were needed. My hands were still tied behind me, and I had no choice. I wanted no choice. As I took the crown of his cock between my lips and began to suck on it, I only wished I could also hold and caress him.

He then busied himself stroking my cock and fingerfucking my ass, slowly, stroking and fingerfucking, over and over. I raised my ass higher towards like a bitch in heat, and when I felt his orgasm getting near I stopped sucking, because I wanted more before he came. I wanted much more. He got up and took some cold cream from the vanity, and spread it lovingly on my ass, then raised my legs over his shoulders and pressed his cock into my rear pussy. With all that cream, he slid into me with hardly any pressure. It felt heavenly, like a great soft banana squeezed deep into my slippery innards. Then he stuffed a pillow under my ass to raise it more, and that took most of the pressure off my arms, still bound behind me. It was so erotic, my feeling of utterly helplessness. I was completely in his power, and I submitted altogether. My world became his lips on my nipples and his cock pushing itself deep into my ass. I tried to grip him with my sphincter muscles and hold him deep inside, but he was too slithery. He plunged in and out at will, and I moaned in frustration each time he withdrew, then cried out for joy when he returned and filled me again. I didn't know it was possible, but by the time his seed spurted deep inside me I was coiled into a tremendous orgasm, every muscle tensed, and shrieking as loud as I could in my new soprano voice, altogether out of my mind. I was utterly his!

We then lay quite still while I tried to recover. Steve had done most of the lovemaking, but even so, the tight corset restricted my breathing, and I was panting as though I had done all the work. Funny, I thought, even though the corset was uncomfortable and restrained me in many ways, it seemed to heighten the pleasure of sex remarkably. When I compared my first encounter with Steve with these sessions, with me wearing my corset, I had to admit that everything felt much more intense. Maybe it compressed everything inside me, so Steve's cock could stimulate more of the right places. If this was also true for women, then modern women had given up extraordinary pleasure in exchange for comfort, and the Victorian ancestors they usually pitied for their subservience were better off in this respect at least. I made a note to talk to Bea about it.

After a while Steve turned and shoved his cold cream and cum-streaked cock into my face. I was delighted to begin licking it clean, and within minutes he had produced another boner. I didn't want to let him go this time, so I licked and sucked until he came again. He then fell down beside me to rest. But before he closed his eyes he untied my wrists, finally undid the corset laces, and then sent me off to the bath-room.

Looking into the mirror, I was amazed to see that my face was made up perfectly, as if I'd just stepped out of Celeste's beauty-salon, except for some cum-streaks around my mouth, which I quickly wiped off. I took my time with what had become my morning routine. First I cleansed my innards with a generous enema, and meanwhile I drew a warm bath laced with an aromatic bath-oil. Then I luxuriated in the warm water for a long time, taking care that my hair stayed dry. I brushed myself clean under water with a stiff-bristled brush, massaging my skin everywhere, and meanwhile I replayed in my mind our glorious lovemaking. These memories had a visible effect on me, and I played for a while with my hardened nipples and my cock.

Then I got out and dried myself with a wonderfully soft, warm towel, and sat down to brush out my hair. I counted more than a hundred strokes before I felt that I had done my whole head adequately. Then looking into the mirror I arranged my loose curls, brushing them back here, pulling some out there, teasing one lock and combing down another, until I was satisfied with the overall effect. Celeste's prediction was accurate, my hair did look freshly styled. I felt beautiful, perfect. Walking to the door, a thought suddenly struck me, and I went back, took a big blob of vaseline from the jar in the cabinet, and massaged it into my asshole. 'If a girl spends a whole day with her lover,' I thought, 'Anything can happen, and she had better be prepared.'

The better part of an hour must have gone by before I came back to my bed-room. I found Steve in T-shirt and jeans busily fastening something to the wall opposite the closet. I saw he had just fastened two pulleys to the ceiling, one close to the wall, one about five feet from it. A cord passed through both, one end with a special hook dangling down, the other end leading down the wall to the motor-driven winch Steve was just bolting down. I looked at him questioningly. He grinned, proud as if he had accomplished a major feat. "It's a lacing bar. Let me show you." He picked up a bar that looked like a trapeze and connected it to the hook hanging down from the ceiling. "Come here, grab the trapeze." When I did, he pushed a button and the motor-winch pulled it up till I stood on my tip-toes. Then he stopped it and started putting my Victorian corset around me again. "Oh no, please," I objected, and I let the trapeze go.

"I have my instructions from Bea," Steve said, amused by my resistance. "She specifically asked me to lace you into it for the whole time I'm here, and I've already given you a long rest period. If you don't want to risk her displeasure, you'd better let me do it. I won't force you, but I'm sure you want to do what she wants of your own free will. Come on now, give me your hands." He looked at me steadily.

I lost all will to resist when I looked into his eyes, transfixed like a rabbit by a snake. I hesitated, then offered him my hands reluctantly. He took them and kissed each one, then in a few seconds they were strapped to the bar, which was on its way up again. When I was again on tip-toes, Steve replaced the corset and started to tighten its laces. "Please, Steve," I pleaded with little hope, "Don't lace it so tight, let me have a little more room to breath, please Steve it feels awful when it's laced entirely closed, please Steve, I beg you, pretty please ..."

He just hauled away on the laces. "Listen sweety, you are far too noisy about things that are going to happen whatever you may wish," he said. "I do what I have to do." He bent down to his bag and picked up something I couldn't see. "Open your mouth, Honey." I was just about to start another round of complaints, but before I could utter a word, he shoved a ball into my mouth that was fastened to a broad leather strap. It disappeared completely into my mouth, filling it and firmly holding down my tongue. I could almost close my mouth over it, but that didn't help me, because the padded strap sealed off all the air as well as any sounds that found their way around the ball. Steve gave the strap a good tug, then buckled it and snugged it down. I could only hum through my nose. The beast!

He returned to lacing me into that instrument of torture. I gave in -- struggle only hurt my strapped wrists. In five leisurely minutes he had me breathless again.

"Listen," he began, "Now you have two choices. Either you promise to behave and do what you're told, with no whining or protesting, or else I'll just leave you here. I'll be very nice, and I'll even put your high heels on your feet to take some strain off your toes. It's your choice. But if you promise to obey me, you'll have to obey me all week-end long. Or else I'll string you up a little higher with no shoes. So take your pick. Shall I leave you here?"

I frantically shook my head.

"Then you will promise to be a good girl and obey me implicitly, whatever I may ask of you?"

I hesitated for a moment, unwilling to surrender so completely. "OK, have it your way." He turned away from me and started to leave. "HMMM HMMM HM HM HM HMMM HMMM!" I was near panic. "Oh," he asked turning back again, "Have you changed your mind? Will you behave?"

I was glad he had turned back, but I wanted to negotiate, and I felt frustrated that I was reduced to either 'yes' or 'no'. I wanted to argue my case, to get him to accept certain conditions. But that damned gag ended all discussion before it began. He started turning away from me again. "HHHMMM, HMMM!" "So? Do you agree to be an obedient and docile girl for the rest of the week-end?" I had to give in, and nodded slowly. He let down the trapeze and unstrapped me from it.

"I want you to remain gagged for now. Your hands are free, and you could take off the gag, but I want you to keep it on. Right now you only need to listen to me and nod 'yes', and the gag won't prevent that." I nodded. "Go put on a nice dress and heels and come downstairs then."

It was a strange feeling, selecting a dress, putting it on, and slipping into a pair of high heels all the while my mouth was filled with a gag I could remove at any time. Why didn't I remove it? Did I want to, but was afraid? What was I afraid of? He would never have harmed me physically, certainly. Was I beginning to enjoy submitting in my own house to a lover acting under my wife's orders?

I selected a flowing floor-length hostess gown made of red taffeta with large roses printed on it. It had its own layers of two petticoats, also taffeta, and my every move was accompanied by a lovely rustling of skirts. The dress buttoned in front all the way from my bust, where it showed a lot of cleavage, down to the floor. I left the lowest four buttons open to show a bit of black petticoat, I don't know why, but it felt more seductive that way. That may also be why I selected my red 5 inch heels to wear with it. I checked myself in the mirror -- my face was perfect, of course, and my hair was still neat. So I swivelled downstairs, swinging my hips, my skirts swaying and swishing.

Steve sat at the coffee-table holding a mug of coffee, and he eyed me appreciatively. Was there a growing bulge in his jeans? I sat down in a straight backed chair opposite him. Experience had already taught me that my corset made any other kind of chair uncomfortable, and made getting out of them impossible.

I had no idea what he had in mind, and sat quietly, waiting. He finished his coffee, and took his time about it. Then when he finally spoke, his voice was firm and decisive. "Now we talk about your adaption to life as a woman," he said.

I started to protest that I was still a man, but the gag prevented me from saying it. It didn't matter. Steve already knew what I would have said. He continued, "Up to last week you were still a man, Henry, whom Bea had trained to wear dresses and walk and move like a woman. Maybe you were still a man when I first slipped my prick into you, even, though you could have fooled me the way you squeezed onto me and pumped like a bitch in heat. But this is different. Now for the foreseeable future you will have to live as a woman, not as a man masquerading as a woman. As a man you were taught to be competitive, assertive, decisive, dominant. Society expected it from you, and you had to adapt. Bea tells me you weren't especially good at it in your relationship with her, but you tried. Now, as a woman Bea wants you to be the exact opposite, cooperative, shy and hesitant, submissive. We will have to eliminate your male traits and supplant them with these female traits. This would be a very long process ordinarily. But we don't have time, because your life as a woman has already begun. You've got to learn these things immediately if you're to be the woman Bea wants her husband to be, and if you're to be undetectable as a mock woman when you go to work for Pearl. So you need a crash course in feminine submission. Do you follow me so far?"

It seemed logical, so I nodded.

"The first thing to learn is what I call anticipated obedience. You must read the desires in another person's eyes, and fulfill them even before they can be spoken, fulfill them completely, whatever they may be. Sometimes you'll need to overcome feelings of embarrassment or humiliation at some of them, but that is the very basis of submission, and submitting to your lovers' desires must become your glory. Agreed?"

Again I nodded. It sounded strange, but it made sense. If I had to live as a woman, I had to be slavishly submissive if only to compensate for my inherent masculinity. I was glad that this servitude was for only a limited period of time, and that then I would revert to being a man again. It might even be a valuable experience, because when it ended I would know how women think and react in all kinds of circumstances. That would probably help me in my later dealings with women. Certainly it was good for my relationship with Bea. In the past she had complained that I was sometimes inconsiderate, and ignored her feelings, and I had no idea what she was talking about. Now I would learn.

"All right, now for the practical training. Up until now, whenever we have made love, I have always had to lubricate you first. This can inhibit any romantic feelings I may have for you. I know you'd love for me to rise on the crest of my desire for you. Wouldn't it be much nicer if you were always prepared, if your love-hole were always slippery?"

I beamed with pride as I stood up and raised my skirts and bent over, presenting him my ass for inspection.

"Well, that's wonderful! I see you've already figured it out for yourself! That deserves a reward! You may take off your gag."

I had trouble loosening the tightly buckled strap at my neck, but finally succeeded and pulled out the hug ball with a plop. I was still standing in front of him, but it suddenly occurred to me to curtsy and thank him. I did a slight curtsy, not deep enough to make a parody of it, and said "Thank you, dear Steve, that's very kind of you."

"You are welcome my dear," he said, "You learn fast. But please, always call me Sir, or Master Steve, or just Master." He consulted himself for a moment, and then smiled at me, ready to teach me his next lesson. "Now, if I found that your love-hole was too tight, you might get hurt if a really well-endowed lover should try to enter you. What would you suggest we do about this?"

I thought for a moment. "Maybe we should make love more often to train my little hole?"

"What a charming idea," Steve said, grinning openly. "But even I have my limitations. Let me tell you though, you're on the right track."

"A butt-plug?" I ventured cautiously, hoping I was wrong.

"Absolutely correct! My, you are quick! Yes I want you to wear a butt-plug from now on, all the time. I've brought you a few samples for different occasions. Here's a very ordinary one you may want to wear at Pearl's office. Nothing special, not uncomfortable, but also not very exciting. There are various sizes of this type to accommodate you as your training progresses."

"But this one here is a little more refined," he went on. "It has a rather thick head. Once it's pushed beyond the sphincter, it will not plop out by itself. The shaft behind it is very thin at the beginning, but widens to over two inches in diameter at the other end. Imagine what this one would do for you, when you sit down, or when you get up, or sit down again. Or whatever. Think about wearing it while driving cross country in a Jeep, bouncing up and down in your seat."

I just stared at it. I didn't know what to think. A self-fucking butt-plug!

"Or this one. It's rather long, and it contains a vibrator. It should be able to give you a lot of thrills when it's switched on. The best part of it is, it's radio-controlled. Some person holding the control-unit can give you a thrill any time at all! Imagine your feelings, standing in line at the bank, drawing out some cash, and while the teller counts it out for you this thing suddenly goes off. That would get you to smile, wouldn't it?"

I didn't know if that wouldn't just be very embarrassing, but thinking about it, my cock grew a little.

Steve noticed. "I see, you do find it something of a thrill, don't you, your most private feelings under someone else's control. Well, let's fit you with one right now. I'll start you with a small one today, but don't worry, we'll increase the size as soon as possible. You do want to be ready for anything, don't you?"

He made me get up and bend over the back of our overstuffed easy chair, and he threw my skirts over my head, and then proceeded to insert the plug. The "small" one must have been about the size of his cock. It felt just like his cock, and it stretched me somewhat. Well, I'd experienced his cock more than once, and I can't say I'd found it unpleasant. In fact, it was just grand. I was ecstatic for the few minutes it took him to seat it inside me. I wondered how I would manage with something his size constantly inside me. And he had spoken of even bigger ones. Oh, boy, what was I in for!

When the plug was well seated, Steve threaded a strap through a ring in front of my corset, carried it around through a hole in the butt plug's base, then drew it back to the same ring on my corset, and tightened and buckled it. No way would it come out on its own. I wondered at the Bea's ingenious planning. Those rings were there the whole time. I just hadn't noticed them.

"I've just buckled the straps," Steve said. "You can remove them any time you like. But I've got to warn you, if you remove them for any reason other than getting fucked or going to the toilet, I'll have to punish you. Then I'd have to lock the next ones on, make no mistake about it, and you can be sure the next ones will be a lot bigger, as big as your ass can tolerate without tearing, in fact. Then when you stretch out, the ones after that will be bigger still. I can make your asshole big enough so you'd never notice when I've gotten my whole fist and forearm inside you, if that's what you want. So do I have your cooperation?"

I vowed I would do as he had requested.

"Now a major thing," Steve continued. "We want you to feel helpless at all times, as a true submissive does. The dress you had on yesterday is perfect for that purpose. The dress you're wearing now gives you too much freedom. You need to be restrained.. Do you have any suggestions how? Think about it for a moment, then tell me."

I was confused. What was he asking for? That I should feel restrained? But how? Maybe the way I went to bed last night, hands tied behind my back? Nothing else occurred to me, so I hesitantly asked, "Would you like to tie my wrists?"

"Exactly!" Steve said. "That's remarkable! You really are a true submissive!. Now turn around and give me your hands."

I again turned away from him and put my arms back. Within two seconds he had handcuffed my wrists. "End of first training session. I'll make us some lunch. But while I do, go over to the mirror and stand in front of it, and look at yourself. You don't have to speak now, so let me replace the gag. Open up, sweetheart."

What could I do? I opened my mouth and plop! -- the thing went in, and stopped up anything that I might have said. I walked over to the mirror as he had requested, and I looked at me. There I stood, wearing a stunning gown, perfectly made-up and styled, but with my hands locked behind me and my mouth gagged. I should have died then and there from humiliation. But instead, what I saw was a beautiful lady, bound, with a hard on pushing out the front of her skirt. Steve must have had more insight into my true nature than I did. I'd accepted my submission to him without a fight. I suppose I'd even asked for it, though I still couldn't believe what was happening. My asshole submitting to get stretched out to accommodate anything up to a fist? Why? But poking out in front was undeniable evidence that I loved what was going on.

I had been standing there for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, a gorgeous lady with an outstanding prick, when Steve called me into the kitchen. The smells drifting from the kitchen were delicious. It smelled like he was grilling a steak. "Lunch is ready!" he called out, and I went over to him, and offered him my shackled wrists, so he could release them. Instead he just unfastened my gag.

"Sit down, I'm going to feed you," he said. "You don't need your hands." I sat down obediently, and he set a big bowl of salad in front of me, garnished with a hard-boiled egg and some shrimps. Then came a plate with a big, juicy steak still sizzling from the oven. My mouth began to water.

He then started to feed me salad. Up came all kinds of lettuce leaves from the bowl, with now and then a meager shrimp or a piece of egg speared on the fork and thrust into my mouth. After he'd fed me a half-dozen mouthfuls, he set down my fork, picked up his own, picked up a steak knife in his other hand, and sliced into the steak on his plate. I watched juices drip from a huge slice as he cut into it, charred on the surface, then brown and pink, and still bright red in the center. He shoveled a few huge pieces into his mouth, then fed me another forkful of lettuce. I felt foolish not being allowed to eat by myself, waiting for him to feed me, and watching him devour his steak, and I told him so.

"Do I hear a complaint there?" he said, his mouth full, chewing away while he looked straight at me.

"No, no complaint at all," I said. "Just maybe could I have a bite of that steak too? I'm really hungry."

"I'm glad there's no complaint," Steve said, slicing another fork full and filling his mouth with it, "Because then I would have to gag you again. No, no steak for you, just vegetables." He chewed vigorously and kept talking. "You really have to lose a little weight. Everyone's agreed about that."

I wondered who this everyone was, who had decided I should be starved. But I was glad I had asked cautiously. I didn't want to seem complaining, and get gagged again. Maybe I could get at some food later.

When we were finished, Steve washed down his steak with a bottle of imported beer, and I rinsed down my salad with some Perrier. Then he took me upstairs to my room. "After a big meal like that, it's good to rest a little," he said. He stood behind me, and before I knew what he was doing, he had tied my elbows together with some kind of soft cloth or stocking. Not really tight, but they were snugged close together. "Now let me show you what else we can do with this lacing bar," he said. He let the bar down to the height of my crotch, and I began to worry. But suddenly he hooked a cord behind me between the bar and my handcuffs, then raised the bar and my arms, until I was bent way over from the hips with my ass pushed well back behind me for balance. "Now isn't this a sweet sight," he teased. He patted my obtruding rear end, and poked the butt plug once or twice to be sure it was still there, and no doubt to remind me it was still there.

Looking ahead into the mirror, I saw myself hanging absolutely helpless. This was my own house, and look at me! But I had to humor him. "Please, don't leave me like this," I begged. "I'll be a very good girl."

"I am absolutely certain of that," Steve said. "But I want to lie down for a while, so you need to keep out of trouble. I'll want to gag you again too, so I can get a little sleep. But I'm not inconsiderate. I'll see that you enjoy this little interlude."

He approached me with the gag again, and I opened wide for fear of provoking his wrath, and he filled my mouth with it again. Then he pulled my skirts up behind me and busied himself at my backside. I felt the butt plug being removed, and sighed with relief as the pressure in my rear end eased. But he immediately inserted another one, bigger this time, in both circumference and length. It really filled me, deep into my abdomen, and when he refastened the strap it was pushed even deeper into me, and I could feel it touching a very sensitive part of my prostate.

"OK, girly, now have fun," he said, and threw a switch on a controller in his right hand. Immediately the damned thing began to whirl and vibrate in my ass, and my ass began to whirl and twist in response. "I'll be back after a wink, don't go away, just hang in there!" he said with a grin, and he was gone.

I stomped my feet in protest, but there was no one to see or hear me. My ass wriggled, and I began to dance a wild fandango on my toes, my arms still pulled up behind me. But he didn't come back.

So I tried to find a comfortable position. I tried to move forward to straighten up a little, but this put even greater strain on my arms. I tried to bend further forward to relieve the strain, but then the whorling thing in my ass pressed against my prostate, and I could feel sexual tension begin to mount up. I tried to stand on my toes, but my five-inch-heels already had me there. Finally I gave up, and just swayed and wriggled back and forth, changing the strain constantly. The vibrator in my ass began to drive me crazy. I couldn't stop it! It drove me higher and higher toward a need for release, but no release ever came! I tried every position available in order to bring on an orgasm, but nothing worked! Nothing!

After about ten minutes of dancing the batteries seemed to give out, and I found myself just hanging there, unsatisfied and horny as hell. During the whole time I could see myself in the mirror, a pretty girl gagged and strung up in a beautiful dress, my ass shoved way out and wriggling provocatively, my body writhing as if in heat.

I must have hung there another ten minutes before Steve returned, yawning and stretching himself. "Well my dear, did you have a good rest too?"

I wanted to glare at him, but he kept behind me, loosened the butt-plug straps, and pulled the thing out of my bottom. What a relief! "You seem to be quite agitated," he said, amused. "We'll have to think of something to loosen you up."

Then he bent over me from behind and grabbed my tits, playing with my nipples, careful not to put more strain on my arms. My head reared back as pleasure spread across me, and I wriggled my naked ass back into his crotch. I could feel his erection against my gaping ass hole.

"Such a hot little girl," he muttered, partly to himself, partly to tease me for my eagerness, but suddenly he shoved his whole prick into me and started pumping. That delight lasted only a few seconds, it seemed, because almost immediately I found myself squirting into the room while his hot cum gushed deep into my ass. Oh what bliss!

He then loosened the rope and disconnected it from my hand-cuffs, and I slumped into his arms, my wrists still pinned behind me. I would have fallen if he hadn't hugged me tightly. Then he picked me up and laid me on the bed, still handcuffed and gagged. Despite everything I felt a surge of gratitude toward him. He took such good care of me! He was so sweet! He kissed me on my cheek and said "Rest a little, my love, and I'll take care of the dishes." I fell asleep before he was out the door.

When I woke up I went downstairs and found him sitting in the living room, reading a newspaper. He looked up inquiringly, but said nothing. I hummed and gestured that I had to go to the bathroom, and he nodded, ungagged me, and released my wrists without getting out of his chair. I shot upstairs, stripped, and cleaned myself thoroughly. My ass was stretched open and still leaking Steve's cum, so I gave myself an enema, thinking to myself that it was now more like a douche, as Bea had described it all along, and then I re-lubricated my rear end as Steve had requested earlier. I even brushed my teeth. As before, my makeup was still perfect. I changed to a clean skirt and blouse, dabbed a little powder over my nose, and stroked some perfume onto my wrists and throat. I brushed out my hair, and found I looked great. Quite content with myself, I went down again.

As I re-entered the living room, Steve pointed silently to the gag and the handcuffs. I understood him. He wanted me to gag and cuff myself. It was a little humiliating, but Bea had put me into his power to teach me obedience, so I obeyed. I pulled the gag strap tight behind my neck and closed the handcuffs behind my back, then stood in front of Steve, waiting. He gestured for me to move closer, tested the gag strap's tightness, and pulled it in one more notch. "Always wear it real tight," he said, "Or it won't function properly." Then he reached into a box alongside him, pulled out a long, fat butt plug, and stuffed it into me. Each time I seemed to be graduating to larger sizes. Then I just stood there, for perhaps a half-hour, perhaps longer, while Steve read more of the paper and acted as if I weren't there at all.

Finally he finished, set the paper aside, and motioned for me to sit down on the couch. He then told me a little more about what was happening.

"You already know that Bea wants you to be a woman for the foreseeable future, and you know something about the kind of woman she wants you to become right now. You saw it in the mirror when they finished with you in the beauty salon. Ideally, a big-haired, empty headed bimbo, obedient to Bea's least wish and to anyone else she places over you, even Pearl, uncomplaining, grateful to whoever fucks your ass and squeezes your tits, a neat, serviceable slut who keeps herself clean and does what she's told. As Henry you were part way there -- there wasn't much you wanted for yourself, or could even think of wanting. Now as Honey you're learning to want nothing but to please others, to do what they want. That's what Bea wants from you."

"And what Bea wants you will give her. From now on you are hers, her property, her chattel, body and soul. She'll care for you and see that nothing bad happens to you, because she does love you, and she does intend for you to serve her purposes. Your life will be sheltered, but also exciting. Bea is planning to be promiscuous sexually with no complaint from you, as you already know, and as you know she wants you to enjoy yourself the same way. Well, not exactly the same way. She means to call the shots. What that means is, you can have as many lovers as you want, because she intends to have as many as she wants. She'll even help you find them. Of course, with your looks your lovers will all be men. That's how she wants it. That's why she's making you into the kind of woman men love to take to bed, beautiful, compliant, a little adventuresome, always grateful, no threat to their minds or their egos. Bea intends to remain the only woman in your life, and don't ever forget that."

I didn't know what to say to this, even if I had been able, which I wasn't. Obviously, Steve assumed I was there to listen and to accept what I was being told.

He then enlarged on what Bea had called her philosophy of a good marriage, things she couldn't tell me earlier or I'd never have agreed to become what I now was, but things she wanted me to know now that I'd become what I was.

"She'll tell you herself when she gets the chance," Steve said. "More than a year ago, she decided that you had dominated her long enough, for the whole twenty years you've been married in fact. Now for the next twenty years she'll be in charge. She feels it's her turn. Probably you're thinking you'll find a way to become a man again soon, or eventually. Well, don't count on it.

Steve continued, "If that's how Bea sees it, there's very little you can say in your own defense. I imagine you never intentionally dominated her, that you always thought you were pretty much equal, that you made all of your decisions together. But since Bea feels otherwise, you probably do have to give her a chance to catch up. And if you look at your situation realistically, you've got no way to object to her plans for you any more anyway."

As Steve talked, I saw he was right. So I resolved to agree with Bea, and make the best of it. Sometime in the future, she'd feel she had gotten her equal time, and then we could really be equals. I just had to sit it out, and wait for my time to roll around again.

In the meantime why not enjoy what I've got? I now have an attractive female body. Though I'd never dreamed I could enjoy sex with a man, Bea and Steve had already taught me otherwise. Maybe Bea knew more about me than I had known about myself.

But I made up my mind about one thing. Sex with men would be the exception for me, not the rule. First and foremost I loved women, and most of all Bea, and today I wanted her more than ever. I could accept that she wanted to experience other lovers besides me, the same way I could accept that she wanted to experience loving me as a woman as well as loving me as a man. Variety, as they say, is the spice of life. So why not let her sample other varieties? It even excited me to know that right now she was probably in the arms of another man, because I knew she would always come back to me. As long as I did what she wanted. I began pondering how to deal with the fact that she wanted me to have sex with lots of men, even though I didn't want to. And lots of sex with Steve, which I loved. No answers came to me.

It was getting dark when Steve ran out of words. We sat in the gloom for a short while. Then Steve roused himself, glanced at his watch, and suggested we go out to see a movie. He took off my gag and handcuffs and sent me upstairs to change. "Wear a real short skirt this time," he said. "And push that larger dildo into you. We won't be able to fuck, but I don't want you to feel deprived."

I complied with his wish, and came down with a very short pleated skirt and a dark blue wool sweater, over which I had hung a long blazer. The skirt showed only about two inches below the jacket. Walking with a big dildo up my rear gave my hips the most salacious swinging motion -- I loved it! Steve took the blazer off, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he put the handcuffs back on me. And as if it was the most natural thing in the world, I let him do it without the slightest protest. He draped the blazer back over my shoulders, and we left.

And we sat through the movie like two teenagers with heavy crushes on each other. We sat in the back, ate popcorn which he fed me, drank a coke he held to my lips, and enjoyed the film. During the big love scenes he caressed my thighs above the tops of my stockings, and I got so excited I leaned over to kiss him, and to let him kiss me. More than once. I wanted to go down on him, to wrap my lips around his delicious penis, but he restrained me. "Now honey," he said gently. "Behave yourself!"

After the movie he took me to a little Italian restaurant, where he was obviously well known. We had pasta. He ordered what he wanted, and fed me from his plate, and all the while refused to release my bonds. "I can't take the cuffs off, I left the key at home," he said. I knew this wasn't true, but I could no longer object to remaining helpless in his company. Nobody seemed to care about our strange behavior anyway. Others all around us, all of them couples, were completely occupied with themselves. This restaurant seemed to be popular with people who were in love with each other. After an espresso we went home, and nobody gave us a second glance.

That night I was allowed into the master bedroom, corseted as usual and with my hands still tied behind my back. That did not deter Steve from making love to me in every possible way. But this time he made it a point not to come in my ass. He saved his cum for my mouth, and when I came in his mouth he saved it all for me, and then fed it back to me with his kisses. I swallowed a lot of cum that night.

We spent Sunday leisurely, like young people in love. He took me boating on a pond in the park, again with my hands cuffed behind my back, and with a really huge butt plug in my backside, the biggest yet. And he kept me cuffed all day long. Steve wanted me to get used to the feeling, he said, because I would be spending a lot of time like that in the future. Well, I thought, I will have to take this up with Bea when the time comes.

After a nice picnic lunch by the pond, sitting among many other people, Steve took me home. I don't know if anyone noticed my predicament. None of them said anything, anyway. When we arrived back at the house, Steve just kissed me goodbye on the doorstep, opened the door for me, turned, and left. I invited him in, but he just grinned and waved, got into his car, and drove off without looking back. So there I was, alone in the big house, my hands fettered behind me, waiting for my wife to come home.

(Continued in Chapter Eight)


(c) 1996 by Vickie Tern and Rhonda Wagram

The above work is copyrighted material. Anyone wishing to copy, archive, or re-post this story must contact the authors for permission.