The Boy Bride One – Feminized

by Gingerfred Man

 

Chapter One – Left out

The Day began the way most days began for me. Nothing odd about it. But it ended so strangely that it made the rest of my life completely different from whatever I had imagined it might be.

It was a Friday in October. My senior year in high school. I was 17 years, 6 months and 3 days old.
Oh yeah, my name. Dylan Griffith.

I lived with my Mom and Dad. Nice people. Decent, loving and understanding. Especially to me, the "baby" of their eight kids.

I had all the traits of the last in birth order. I was charming and lovable, which came from being loved by skilled, experienced parents and tolerated by four older sisters and three older brothers. But like many family "babies," I was a dabbler. I had a lot of interests and was encouraged to pursue them all. But I almost never followed through on anything. And I can't say that I ever accomplished much.

What did that matter when everyone in your family loved you? Even if the chicks weren't exactly beating down my door.

I guess my small stature had a lot to do with that. I was short and skinny. I kept expecting to grow. Used to go to bed at night thinking that I would probably get a growth spurt and shoot up to five foot eight or something overnight. It never happened, but at 17, I still had some growing years and a lot of hope.

I also remember wishing that "something else" would grow. You know what I mean. "Mr. Beasley," the "little gentleman" who lived between my legs.

He was so small and pink that I worried about my eventual success with girls. Something my entire family assured me was at least as imminent as the WMD threat from Saddam Hussein when the Brits and Americans attacked Iraq.

I had some pretty good friends at school, none of whom were very successful with girls either. We weren't nerds or anything. Well, maybe we were. But the other kids didn't treat us like nerds.

Remember how you would rank your friends? Like you had a best friend and a second best friend? My best friend was a guy named Tommy Barrington and my second best friend was Jay Bensen. They were seniors, like me. And like me, they were nerdy and small in stature, but pretty smart in school.

Tommy and Jay and I used to spend a lot of time together, doing what guys do. Including talking about which girls we wanted to boink. Like Mary Louise Cooney and Allison Hanks. Who were way out of our league. Most girls were out of our league.

We used to go to the mall and the movies and other exciting places like that. But in May of my junior year, Tommy suddenly got all mysterious on Jay and me. Suddenly, he was no longer available on Friday nights. Ever. When Jay and I asked him, he would just say it was "family stuff." Right. Like a teenager would spend that much time with his family.

Tommy would disappear other days now and then too. All without explanation.

That drove Jay and me closer together, so I guess he moved up to the best-friend spot. Jay was a good guy, but it bugged me to be treated so mysteriously by Tommy. Jay and I would complain about it all the time – to each other and to Tommy. But Tommy divulged nothing.

Tommy changed in other ways too. He seemed to have more confidence or something. Maybe that's the wrong word. Maybe it was more like Tommy had a sense of purpose. He seemed to know what he wanted from life. Besides boinking Mary Louise Cooney, I mean.

Imagine a teenage boy knowing what he wanted.

Well, that was odd enough, but at the end of August, just before school, Jay joined Tommy in going wherever it was that he went every Friday and random other days. They claimed that their absence wasn't related, but come on!

Were they in a cult?

Were they gang-boinking Mary Louise Cooney or some other girl?

The prospect of a senior year without friends looked very real to me. I still hung out with Tommy and Jay, but all the trust and intimacy was gone. At least from my viewpoint. So we had no real friendship.

Gloom.

Then, two days before the Day, I was sitting in the lunchroom with my former friends, wondering if I should quit school and join the Foreign Legion. Looking up from my baloney-on-Wonder-Bread sandwich, I saw big smiles on my companions' faces.

Huh?

I put my sandwich down and asked, quite cleverly, "What?"

Tommy spoke first. "Jay and I are sorry for all the secrecy. It wasn't our choice. But this Friday, if you join us, we can tell you a lot. Not everything. But a lot."

Join them?

Satisfy months of curiosity? Definitely.

But the problem with satisfying curiosity is that it isn't always satisfying. What if there's a tiger behind that heavy curtain? What if Tommy and Jay were doing something illegal….or disgusting? What if they wanted me to do those things too?

Curiosity consumed me.

"What have you been doing and why am I suddenly welcome?" I asked a bit snottily. They deserved it.

They didn't act hurt at all. They acted like two guys with all the answers. The answers I would need to have or burst.

"We can't tell you much more at this point except, be at Dennis Lemont's house at 7 on Friday night."

Dennis Lemont? The rich kid? Tommy, Jay and I hardly knew him. And we always kidded about what a twit he was.

No matter what I asked, Tommy and Jay wouldn't answer one more question. So I waited until Friday.

At supper on Friday, when I told Mom and Dad that I was going to Dennis Lemont's house in the rich section of our city, they looked at each other, then me. Very strangely. Then Mom said, "That's good, dear. I think you'll fit in very nicely with those boys."

Those boys? What boys? Even my own Mom wouldn't tell me. What was the conspiracy of silence all about?

 

Chapter Two – The Chapter

It was with some dread that I drove to Dennis's house that Friday evening. I didn't like going to the rich side of town. Even worse, I was going to a fate unknown.

Dennis's family had a big place, with a long driveway. The house was the size of my elementary school. There were three cars parked in front of the house, participants in whatever was going on in there, I guessed. I recognized Tommy's car, but not the other two. Breathing deeply, I knocked twice. And began a very strange journey.

The person who answered the door was my first surprise. She was the embodiment of every wet dream I had ever had. And more.

A teenage babe beyond babeness! Not just beautiful. Dressed for sex.

Pink lingerie. Lacy bra. Bikini panties. A frilly garter belt with straps attached to silky, fully-fashioned, pink stockings. Towering, pink, stiletto pumps. Tiny pink panties. And a face sporting perfect make-up. A glowing, feminine face, with pouty lips and huge, liquid eyes.

No other clothing! Good golly. Who answers the door like that?

Was Dennis paying for girls for…you-know-what…with my friends? Did that mean that I would be…I mean, would I be able to…? <Gulp>

Conjecture was galloping through my mind. Would Dennis's parents let him run a little brothel for his friends? They had to know what he was doing.

I regained my wits just in time to see that lovely, feminine person smile at me and say, in a sweet voice, "Welcome to my home, Dylan. I hope you'll be joining us on a regular basis. Won't you come in?"

I stood there, rooted. Two questions and two answers appeared in my brain in succession.

Did Dennis have a sister? No.

So who was the babe?

The answer was too horrible to admit to myself.

I knew who it was, but I had to glance at the pretty one's crotch, just to be sure. Yep. The panties were "pointed" by a tiny stiffie.

The "babe" was Dennis.

And I was terrified.

I wanted to run away. But I also wanted more answers.

I was repulsed to think that a boy whom I knew was dressing as a girl. But my cock was ripping my underwear at the sight of the ersatz femme in front of me. Not only his sight. His smell. His feminine manner. Even his sweet, girlish voice.

Dennis understood my every emotion. And he knew how to deal with them all.

"Come in, Dylan, please," he said. "Tommy and Jay are here. They would be very disappointed if you left without seeing them. Plus, first Tommy, then Jay felt pretty much as you do right now, I think. And now, they're quite comfortable in our little chapter."

They did? They were? Chapter?

Dennis led me into the grand entranceway. Oh no! Dennis's mother and father were there. Smiling. Were they crazy? I mean, their son was in lingerie and make-up in their grand entranceway. And they were acting as if Dennis and I were going to be playing video games and eating smores.

"I'm so glad you'll be joining the chapter, Dylan," Dennis's Mom said.

What chapter? Who said I was joining anything? And why was my cock stiff and dripping?

Was this the chapter of a lunatic asylum or something?

Even worse, I didn't like the way Dennis's Dad was looking at me. Leering would be a better word. Was he gay or something? Ickkkkkkkk!!!!

If I had had one ounce of gumption, I would have stormed out of there in a huff. But in addition to being disgusted (a little) and scared (a bit more), I was very, very curious. And quite horny.

What a buffet line of feelings.

"Let's go to the chapter room, Dylan," that lovely doll Dennis said.

Was I a sicko to follow him? Was I thinking about doing things with him that some might call "homo?"

Regardless, we went up the huge staircase, turned left and opened double doors into a room the size of a high school classroom. It had nice couches and chairs and homey touches like paintings and lamps. At the front of the room was a screen and a PowerPoint projector. That was odd enough. But the room's occupants took my breath away.

Three other boys from my class in school were there, including Tommy and Jay. And three whom I recognized as graduates from the previous class. And they were all lingeried, powdered, perfumed and made-up to feminine perfection, including Tommy and Jay. Especially Tommy and Jay.

They were all fucking beautiful.

I felt my curiosity waning a bit and my fear waxing a lot.

What was this? And even worse, what was my part in all this?

Tommy sissied up to me in his skyscraper heels and gave me a hug. Something he would have never normally done. Oh my, he smelled good. And his lingerie felt so nice against me. The things I was thinking were crimes against nature.

"We all know how you feel right now, Dylan," Tommy said. "All we ask are two things. First, even if you decide not to join the chapter, you will tell no one about any of this. Agreed?"

I nodded. Who would believe me?

Tommy smiled. "Good. Second, just keep an open mind about all this, OK. Tonight we'll ask you to just look and listen, OK?"

An open mind? I could do that. Yeah. Look and listen. But to what?

Jay wiggled over and gave me a hug too. Oh. He was wearing a white baby doll so tiny that I could see his panties. If he had been wearing them. Instead, I saw his little stiffie. Which I hadn't seen since the seventh grade when we were, you know, exploring a little.

"We've been DYING to tell you, Dylan, but the rules are strict. No one joins until he's 17 and a half. And no one is told anything until his first meeting."

My mouth was dry, but I croaked out a question, "Told what?"

"We're inviting you to join the local chapter of the Boy Brides Society."

 

Chapter Three – Can boys be brides?

Wham! I felt as if I'd been conked in the head, slapped in the face and kicked in the testicles.

Had I fallen in with a nest of lunatics? Or worse – a group of "homos!?!?!?"

Boy brides! How stupid. What planet were these guys from? And how had they seduced my best friends into joining them?

I was about to ask all those questions when Tommy said, "It's OK, Dylan. We know what's going through your mind. Stay for the meeting and we'll explain everything. After all the years you and Jay and I have been friends, you owe us that at least. And you owe it to yourself, too."

Had I been rational, I would have run out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door, then sped away in my car. Driving until I ran out of gas, then changing my identity, washing dishes at a diner. But Tommy was so darned pretty. And he smelled so good.

Man's greatest challenge – obeying the dictates of his brain, rather than the dictates of his cock. The brain loses every time.

Jay stood next to me and I got a good look at his femininity and a whiff of his perfume. I knew they were boys, but my cock was hard as differential calculus. If they affected me that way, would some man really want one of them as his "bride?" I was beginning to think it was possible.

The seven pantied boys seemed to know just what was going through my mind. Or they made some accurate assumptions based on the stiffness of my "little man."

"Come sit with us, Dylan," Dennis said. "Our program is about to begin."

"That's right, Dylan," Jay said. "Just like any club, we have a program and then a social event."

I trembled at the thought of what may happen at their "social event."

Tommy took me by the arm, led me to a seat, then sat on my left. To my right was a delicious little creampuff who called himself Patrick. I vaguely remembered him from the class that had graduated the previous year. Maybe he was in Chess Club with me or something.

Good golly he appeared to be a hot-looking babe! He was all in black -- corset, garter belt, panties, stockings and strappy, stiletto sandals. He had no bra, which on a boy shouldn't have been a critical omission. But Patrick's nipples were puffy and girlish. What had he been doing to them?

Patrick was at least 18 and a half, older than most of the "chapter members," and he seemed different than the younger boys. More experienced, maybe. It was pretty obvious to me. So was the fact that he was <Gasp> flirting with me. He put his hand on my thigh as he introduced himself. Then left it there. <Gulp>.

"Welcome everyone," Dennis said. "Especially our potential new member, Dylan." <Applause>

They thought I was a "potential new member?" I shuddered from fear. And from the fact that Patrick was rubbing my thigh with his soft hand. Oh my. His fingernails were long and painted red. His ears were pierced and his eyebrows plucked. Clearly, this was a boy whose guise of femininity was a full-time thing.

With effort, I turned my attention back to Dennis.

"We have a very nice program tonight," Dennis said. "It's Patrick's turn to give the presentation. Then we'll be showing the slides from Kevin's wedding to Mr. Murphy. I know we all attended, but it'll be fun to relive it again. Dylan, Kevin is a chapter member who was married two Saturdays ago in a beautiful <sniffle> ceremony."

Good gravy! Mr. Murphy, whoever he is, "married" one of these lunatics? He took a boy wife? Wasn't that immoral or illegal or ill-something? Why would a man want to marry a fake woman?

I began to think about the "physical" end of marriage. Would the men who married these pantyboys actually expect "physicality" from them? What kind of "physicality" could that be?

As apprehension stampeded through my brain, Dennis deepened my misgivings: "And girls," he said, "Kevin sent along several pictures from his honeymoon – the good kind!"

From the volume of squealing and giggling that naughty innuendo engendered, it was clear that the contents of my stomach would be challenged during that portion of the program. If I stayed.

Why did Dennis call the boys, "girls?" They weren't girls. They were pretty and feminine. But they weren't girls.

Why had I stayed up to that point? Loyalty to Tommy and Jay? Rampant curiosity? Patrick's pretty fingers rubbing the inside of my thigh? A rampant penis?

Since Patrick had to give the first presentation, he removed his hand from my thigh. Thank goodness. Right?

Patrick took control of the giggling, excited group. "Tonight, 'Ladies,' will be the fourth in my series of presentations about your wedding gown. This time, we'll talk about the gown's shape."

That did it. They were all raving loonies. Seventeen and eighteen years old and completely out of it. They're talking about getting wedding gowns at their age? And they're not even girls.

"Wedding dress silhouettes fall into four basic categories," Patrick said. "Ball gown, empire, princess (also known as A-Line) and sheath. The most traditional of all categories, the ball gown is typified by a full bodice and a waistline that leads to a very full skirt. The hallmark of the empire-style gown is a high waistline (right under the bust), which falls to a slimmer skirt. An A-line or Princess shape features vertical seams flowing from the shoulders down to a flared skirt (creating an inverted 'V' -- or 'A' -- shape). The slim sheath silhouette closely follows the line of the body."

I looked around. The little sissies were enthralled.

"Now that you've got the basic shapes down," Patrick continued, "consider what goes with your body type. Let's say, like most of us pretty boys, you're thin and not as busty as we would all like."

<Giggles all around>

"A ball gown will make you look like a beautiful ballerina, and the sheath was made for you, but stay away from portrait, off-the-shoulder, or halter necklines if your collarbone is too bony."

And so on.

The little pantywaists were hypnotized. And stupid. No man would want to marry them, I was certain. If the man was a homo, maybe he would let them suck his cock or something. But marry? Hah! What was that nonsense about some boy named Kevin marrying a Mr. Murphy? They were delusional. I began to think I would just ease my way out of there, go home, grunt at all my parents' questions and run the other way whenever I saw one of those little fairies.

I just waited for a good moment to make my break. Like when Patrick finished his "gown talk." Which was a good thing, since some of the pantyboys looked as if they were about to swoon with excitement over the thought of a wedding gown. Which none of them, obviously, would ever own or wear. Patrick asked for questions and every hand shot up. I had to put an end to that, so I called out, "Why are you telling them about something they'll never have?"

Everyone looked at me. They smiled at me. Sadly. As if I were the dummy in the group.

"A good question, Dylan," Patrick said. "We all asked ourselves that early on. The truth is, we'll all have gowns and we'll all be married to rich, hunky men who will adore us. For the last ten years, ever since Dennis's older brother Gene founded our chapter, every member of our chapter has had a beautiful wedding and a lovely marriage. When we turn 18, we all begin shopping for our gowns in earnest because…girls?"

"It takes nine months to get the right gown!" they chanted in unison, then giggled uproariously.

"And by nine months after our 18^th birthday, all but the least decisive of us has sorted through his multiple marriage proposals and is planning an imminent wedding. My gown is ready for the second fitting and I'm marrying a wonderful man on the day after Christmas."

That had to be baloney. Right? Men wanted to marry women. Right?

Dennis saw my confusion and consternation. "You poor boy, Dylan. So much truth to absorb after a life of misinformation."

Dennis' expression was so empathetic. And he was so effing beautiful! Crap! Mr. Beasley was stiff again.

Dennis placed a soft hand on my face and said, "You need relief very badly. Who wants to give Dylan relief?"

Instantaneously, Tommy said, "I will."

Dennis smiled. "All right. Let's change the agenda a bit and take our first relief break now."

That seemed very agreeable to everyone. Except me. I didn't know what relief was. Then I found out. The sissies paired up and started cooing and kissing. I was about to get disgusted, but I had my own problems. My best friend since 4^th Grade was sitting next to me on my right. I remember smelling his perfume and wondering what awful thing he was about to do. I looked down at his stockings. Avoiding eye contact. His legs were spectacular!! Smooth and silky and ending in the prettiest feet, encased in stiletto sandals. I couldn't look at those legs any more so I looked at his face. Another mistake. His eyes were hypnotically feminine. Beautifully made up. And they seemed so sympathetic to my obvious agony.

No male could have maintained a limp prick in Tommy's presence. It occurred to me, even in those early hours, that Tommy was well aware of his power over the male libido.

My cock was at full attention in my trousers. Then, miraculously, it was free, breathing open air.

Tommy had pulled down my zipper and released my cock. And his warm, soft hand was rubbing up and down the shaft. Up and down.

Shock. Horror. Lust!!!

I had never had my cock stroked by anyone. And Tommy seemed to be awfully good at it. I wanted to be repulsed. But his hand was so soft and gentle. He was so pretty and feminine. And he smelled like wildflowers.

I looked away from Tommy's pretty eyes, but that was worse. All around the room, boys were kissing boys and playing with each other's privates. Worse, they didn't look like boys. They looked like girls, only better. I thought that perhaps some girls dressed like Tommy, Jay, Dennis, Patrick, and the as-yet unmentioned Jimmy, Billy and Eric, but none I had seen in three dimensions.

They were really enjoying themselves. Trying to swallow each other's tongues as they tickled and teased and stroked each other's red, aching penises and dangling, pink bags. The ones who were wearing panties had shimmied them down to mid-thigh.
Tommy's hand was so talented! I was praying he didn't kiss me, though the thought of doing that with someone so feminine made my heart flutter. Someone cried out and I turned my head to see Jimmy spurting thick globs of creamy cum all over Eric's manicured fingers. Eric kissed Jimmy harder, then squealed and began squirting his own essence all over Jimmy's lovely hand.

It was so diiirrttyyy!!!!! My cock agreed. Humiliated beyond belief, I nevertheless shuddered through a spectacular cum that almost brought me to my knees.

Hot shame grabbed me by the throat and shook me. What in the name of Rush Limbaugh was I doing? What would happen to me if anyone outside that room ever found out what I had just done? And the kinds of people I was associating with? How would things ever be the same between me and my best friends again?

I looked down at my pubic region in a guilty state. Tommy's soft hand was rubbing my cum all around my drooping cock and coating my dangling nuts with a thin coat of manly cream.

What was Tommy doing? Was he trying to get me hard and needy again? Would that make things worse or better?

It didn't seem fair that Tommy was leading me to a second cum and he hadn't even had one. I was already far down a road I thought I would never drive. Maybe I could just rub him up a little. Just to be fair.

He was so pretty. It wouldn't really be gay or anything. To just use my thumb and two fingers on his pink helmet.

Tommy sensed my need for fairness and equitability. He pulled his panties down with his left hand as he stroked me with his right.

Around the room, pretty, feminine boys were gasping and sighing as their lovers tickled and caressed the tender places where boys are told they shouldn't touch each other.

I held Tommy's stiff thing in the warm palm of my hand.

Tommy shuddered with pleasure. He looked as if I had just moved him a great distance toward ecstasy.

His penis felt warm and, I don't know, fitted to my hand. Did it throb or did I just imagine it?

Tommy gasped out a "Thank you," then pouted his lips. Did he want me to kiss him or something? That would be so gay. I mean, even gayer than stroking his prick as he caressed mine.

I couldn't kiss him.

But he looked so sweet and feminine and needy. And so pretty. And his hand was rubbing the cum from my previous climax around and around the oh-so-tender knob of my "little gentleman."

I could kiss him. And I did. And part of me regretted it immediately. Five percent. Maybe ten. The other 90-95% of me was frantic with desire as I reveled in my first erotic kiss. A kiss that was intensified by the imparting and receiving of manual pleasure. And by the fact that my senses had almost completely deluded me into thinking that I was kissing and fondling a real girl.

Tommy's lips were glossed and warm. And very soft and kissable. He opened his mouth a half inch and I stuck my tongue into it.

Yes, folks. I did all that. I have no excuse either. Just horniness. Heterosexual horniness, if you please. Confused, but heterosexual in intent. Really.

And yes folks, I did more. I licked and sucked Tommy's girlish tongue as I ran my fingers up and down his hot girlie pole. I cuddled Tommy's pink ball sack as I kissed his neck, then sucked his tender earlobe. He was perfumed and powdered and girly all over, even in the pubic region.

Tommy was gasping and panting as I fondled that pretty sissy's tender parts and wondered over and over why I was doing what I was doing.

My cock was the least confused part of me. It stood stiff and hot. Dripping that sweet goo that precedes the full spermstorm.

The cock engages in few ambiguities. On or off. One or zero. Up or down. If only more of life were like one's cock.

Tommy moaned and breathed, "Kiss me again, Dylan."

I did, sucking his wet tongue yet again as I rubbed Tommy's peehole with my thumb.

I remember hearing vague sounds of pretty boys in the grip of pleasure, but my full attention was on making Tommy cum hard.

He gave the cutest little whimper, then a sharp squeal. And hot, long ropes of cum began to spurt from his pouting peelips. I stopped kissing him and watched, fascinated, as cum sprang from his pretty peanuts. Cuddling his warm, enflamed testicles in my right hand, I gently squeezed and milked his balls until every vigorously heaved drop was expended.

When Tommy's balls were completely drained, his beautiful eyes focused on mine. He was looking at me with …gratitude?…lust?…love?

Ick!!!!

I couldn't have any of that. My partially formed plan was to see Tommy and Jay the next day and, through my vast powers of oratory and persuasion, lead them from the path of faggotry that they had been misled into.

That was a good plan and maybe I would have employed it. Unsuccessfully. But Tommy's next move suggested to me that he was possibly not redeemable.

In an impulse of passion, Tommy slipped to the floor, got onto his knees and took my cock into his warm, wet, sucking, licking mouth.

Unnnhhhhh.

I had never had my cock sucked. And Tommy was a GREAT cocksucker.

Great.

But it was wrong. Wrong to be frantic with sexual heat as my best friend's tongue swirled around my tingling, sensitive knob.

Wrong to feel the clutch in my gut as Tommy tickled my testicles with the pads of his soft fingertips.

Even more wrong to begin a motion similar to "fucking" in my best friend's feminine mouth. I thrust my flaming shaft in and out as Tommy licked and sucked and rolled his tongue around the sensitive helmet.

I shouldn't have looked so eager. I shouldn't have participated so fully.

I should have stopped second- and third-guessing myself and just accepted the sexual joy I was feeling at that moment.

Guilt and shame were nowhere nearly enough to keep me from moaning loudly, then pumping every molecule of sperm my body harbored into Tommy's overchallenged mouth.

When I began to cum my guts out, my eyes closed at first. But when I glanced down, I was thrilled to see Tommy swallowing as much of my big load as he could. Despite Tommy's heroic sperm guzzling, my hot goo was drooling from both corners of his pretty mouth.

No one had ever "done things" for me before. And swallowing my cum was definitely "doing things" for me. I guess it's true that you always remember your first.

Before I had time to sort out my confused feelings, Dennis made a very "Type-A" announcement.

"Relief break is over, everyone! Let's get those popsies back in our panties and move our program along."

Everyone groaned a little at that. Especially Jay, who was pumping sperm down Patrick's throat just at that moment.

The pantyboys and I recovered our composure a bit and got back in our chairs to look at the pictures of Kevin's wedding.

BOR-ING.

I mean, all those pretty creampuffs eager to suck my cock and I was going to have to watch some slide show of a boy marrying a man.

Once again that day, I was very wrong.

It was more than a slide show. It was set up on a PowerPoint projector and was narrated by Kevin, the boy bride himself.

It was a series of incredible surprises for me.

The first surprise was Kevin's voice – husky, but in a girlish way. Not a boy's voice, but not exactly a girl's either. Come to think of it, Patrick's voice was like that too.

The second surprise was how pretty Kevin was on his wedding day. A series of professionally taken pictures and Kevin's sexy voice told the story, but Kevin's face alone told the real story.

Kevin was deliriously happy.

And deliciously beautiful.

I didn't know whether Kevin was so beautiful because he was so happy or he was so happy because he was so beautiful.

Either way, unless the whole thing was a scam to fool me, Kevin seemed to be a very desirable bride for any man. Extremely desirable.

The slide show began with Kevin being awakened on his wedding day by his mother and father. Kevin was wearing a pretty, pink nightie and he looked so cute in his girlish bed, filled with stuffed animals and frilly stuff. His nightie was very short and he wasn't wearing any panties in bed, so when he pulled off his sheet, his pink, rock-hard, throbbing penis and pretty, dangling bag were exposed very cutely. I remember thinking idly that that picture alone would drive any man who saw it into a sexual dither.

The first series of pictures showed Kevin stretching sleepily, then smiling in eager anticipation of the most wonderful day in a pantyboy's life.

"As you can see by my 'morning wood,'" Kevin's narration said, "I was very excited about all the wonderful things that would happen to me that day, including <blush> losing my virginity to Mr. Murphy, my new husband."

Omigosh! Kevin was talking about his "husband" fucking him? Would we be seeing pictures of that? Was that disgusting or wildly exciting to me?

And the bigger question – how did someone as beautiful and feminine as Kevin stay a "virgin" that long? Especially with some of the antics I had already seen from the "chapter members."

Looking at a picture of Kevin standing in his pretty, pink nightie, I wondered how Mr. Murphy restrained himself. I wanted to take that pretty boy's virginity and I didn't even know him.

What exactly did they mean by virginity anyway?

Dennis must have noted my puzzlement because he stopped the presentation and said, "Let's explain to Dylan. All of us pantyboys are virgins for our first husbands, Dylan. ["First" husbands?] We date boys our age and men court us to be their wives. We kiss them and suck their big thingees. We lick their hairy bags and submit to them, if we choose, in all ways but one – no one puts his thick rammer in our tiny bottoms until we're married. Fingers, yes. Tongues, yes. Oh, yes! But we're virgins for our husbands. Another reason, as if they needed any, for them to love and cherish us. We give them the finest wedding gift they could ever receive. Our tight, hot, virginal pussies."

A film of perspiration formed on my upper lip and I was, once again stiff and throbbing, which was pretty obvious, since my trousers were still down around my ankles.

I was equal parts repulsed and helplessly attracted to these boys and their activities. Attraction was leading the competition, but repulsion would regain the lead as soon as I lost my latest load of sperm. I managed to delay that frantic emission for the moment.

Dennis re-engaged the slide show.

There were a few pictures of Kevin in his nightie having breakfast with his beaming parents. You would imagine such pictures to be dull, but not when they were taken of someone as beautiful and sexy as Kevin.

I was beginning to fall in love with Kevin myself, and I'd only seen him in two dimensions.

Was I turning gay or something?

Oddly, the activities of the past hour hadn't seemed that "homo" to me. Having my cock sucked by my best friend, who was a flaming pantyboy, didn't seem like a gay thing.

Back to the slides. Kevin's professional photographer had been granted total access. He followed Kevin to the bathroom, where he photographed the little doll sitting to pee and <blush> poop. Next it showed Kevin stripping naked, then posing saucily for the camera. His little pricklet was tall and "weeping" as he blushed and showed his femmy body to the camera. His body was exceptionally feminine, yet boyish too. I was "on the verge" as I got a good look at Kevin's nipples. They seemed as erect as his peeny, pointed and aching for a man's tender kisses.

Kevin got into the shower and so did the camera. He soaped himself all over under the hot spray, then washed his short, boyish hair with shampoo. That was when I realized that all the younger boys in the chapter had short hair cut in a boyish style. Most of the older ones, who didn't seem to be dressing as boys any more, had longer hair.

Kevin's narration said, "I was very excited and the pressure in my bag of pearls was building so I decided to relieve some of my 'anxieties.'"

Was Kevin going to…?

Oh.

I felt Tommy's warm hand grip my penis again. He had a wonderful way of touching a "wet mushroom" that made it throb and fill with hot blood.

The pictures showed the delicious Kevin coaxing the sperm from his cute little bag. Tickling his own parts while smiling seductively at the camera. Tommy stroking me. Rubbing his thumb around and around my slippery cockhead.

The photographer must have snapped about 100 pictures of Kevin in the bathroom, half of which showed him bringing himself to and through ecstasy. I witnessed Kevin's gut clutching then his pink penis hurling five thick globs of hot, creamy, boyish goo through the air and onto Kevin's stomach, and the shower wall and floor.

That did it for me. My overworked prick made its own mess, all over Tommy's hand and my thighs and pubic area. Tommy giggled when I creamed, then licked my goo off his hand.

I was so sexed-up and agitated that I missed some of Kevin's delicious pictures.

When I regained my senses, my hand had found Tommy's prick. I rubbed his hot poker as I watched Kevin put on his bridal lingerie, surrounded by his bridesmaids, the little creampuffs in the "chapter room" that night.

I had missed the part where Kevin had put his makeup on, but the results were spectacular. Big, liquid eyes. Full, pouty lips. Kissable and completely fuckable.

And his lingerie!!

Silky and feminine. White, fully fashioned, seamed stockings with reinforced heel and toe, a thick weal and prominent "keyhole." White, four-inch-stiletto pumps that toned Kevin's legs as they pushed his bottom out in lewd invitation. A white, silk garter belt with six straps. And silky white panties that were lowered to mid-thigh, exposing Kevin's once-again stiff willie.

The bridesmaids were fully dressed and fussing with the bride's wedding preparations. The sissy attendants were helping Kevin primp and preen. Like bridesmaids worldwide since the beginning of time, their dresses made them look like pale imitations of the bride. Actually, blue-aquamarine, flouncy imitations of the bride. Clearly intentional and part of the World Association of Brides' eternal conspiracy to outshine any bridesmaid who would dares to attempt to outshine a bride.

My friend Jay was performing the most necessary service of all. He was on his knees, his mouth full of Kevin's sissy pole. "Relaxing the bride," Kevin called it in his narrative. There were several great pictures of Kevin ruining Jay's pretty make-up with his thick, hot, creamy load.

That time, it was Tommy's turn to spurt his sperm all over my hand.

Transfixed by the illustrated, wedding narrative, I hardly noticed.

The next series of pictures took place in the church, where everyone seemed to be extremely happy and normal. No one seemed to be uncomfortable with the fact that a 40-year-old man was marrying a lovely, 18-year-old pretty boy.

And what a 40-year-old man it was!

He was astoundingly handsome in his tuxedo. Fit and buff. Manly as an apartment whose telephone has the pizza man on the speed dial. And aching with love for his boy-wife-to-be.

Kevin's Mom, the mother of the bride, was seated and the procession began.

Flower girls. Or were they boys in girly dresses? A ring bearer. Then seven spectacular bridesmaids – the chapter members! Finally, the delicious Kevin in a perfect, white, ballgown-style wedding gown. [See, I learned.]

He was the sexiest, most desirable, most feminine person I had ever seen. And the happiest.

Kevin's father was bursting with pride as he escorted his beautiful son down the aisle to bond with his husband-to-be. He kissed his sissy son, then turned him over to the groom, Mr. Murphy, who looked as if he had just won the Super-Mega-Powerball lottery for half a billion dollars.

Kevin beamed at Mr. Murphy, then, after a brief ceremony, a starving Mr. Murphy consumed his new bride with a deep kiss.

I could hear sissies moaning and smell cream spurting all over the room as the marital bond was sealed with that loving act.

Kevin's recorded voice said, "That was exciting, wasn't it? But wait until you see the wedding night pictures, or, as Mr. Murphy, my HUSBAND calls them, the 'Grand Opening!' I set eight cameras all around the bedroom and programmed them to take pictures at random times. The results were very pleasing. And so was the Grand Opening. Settle in, ladies, for some very exciting pictures."

I trembled when I heard that. Was I going to see that beautiful man, naked and rampant, mounted on that lovely boy, in his prettiest lingerie? Was I going to see a huge cock rip into a sweet pantyboys tiny "pussy?"

No.

Not yet.

Rats.

Dennis turned the projector off and said, "Sorry, Dylan. That sort of naughtiness can't be shown to guests. Only to members. I'm afraid you can't stay for the 'night-long social' part of our program either. Of course, you're welcome to come back next Friday and join our chapter of the Boy Brides Society. We've had our eye on you for some time and we know that you would be very happy as a man's wife. But that's up to you. Let me walk you to the door."

I was being shown the door? But what would I be missing? Jay was opening a drawer and taking out bottles of baby oil, allotting one per boy. What would they be doing with that? And would they be doing naughty things all night long? Without me?

As Dennis and I walked silently downstairs and to his door, I thought, "Good riddance to those guys. I didn't want to stay and play their faggot games anyway. I'm ashamed I did what I did and they can just forget about me even talking to any of them ever again. We have nothing in common. They want some man to marry them and fuck their bottoms day and night. Ouch. Well, not me."

Dennis seemed to know what I was thinking. Well, so what? Then he knew that he would never see me again. Because I was no faggot.

Though I did let him kiss me goodbye. With tongue. Just to be polite.

A dark, confused funk seized me when I got into my car and drove home.

There were elements of the evening that I enjoyed very much. The femininity I witnessed was almost blinding. Unlike any femininity I had ever seen. The cumming was awfully good too, though I regretted letting a boy suck my cock. I shouldn't have tossed another boy off either, but I was caught up in the situation. Once I had time to think and evaluate, you could bet top dollar that I wouldn't do anything that gay again. Ever.

Mom and Dad seemed a little anxious when I got home. Mom asked some moderately nosier-than-usual questions and, like a true teenager, I told her virtually nothing.

Did Mom and Dad know what went on at Dennis' house? Oh, please, no. That would be shameful.

I lay awake in bed for a long time that night. For some reason, I didn't wear my usual pajamas, choosing to be naked under the sheets. My erection was so stiff that it was painful as I guiltily recalled the disgusting events of the evening. Boys dressed as girls. Powdered and perfumed and made-up to feminine perfection. Lingerie and stockings chosen with care and worn with feminine pride. Boys whose beauty and demeanor promised undreamed-of pleasures to men, boys and <gasp> other pantyboys.

They wanted me to be one of them. Wanted me to wear panties and silky stockings. Prance around in high heels, with my plump bottom sticking out, inviting male cocks to penetrate me and dominate me.

I began to "touch myself" as I thought about being in a wedding gown while a man, my <blush> husband and master, carried me into a bridal suite. I thought about my impetuous "husband" pulling down my panties and, while I was still in my gown, pushing me facedown on the bed, lifting my skirts and unnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhh.

I didn't know there was any sperm left in me. There was. But it all left my body at once as I thought about being lovingly dominated and "ravaged" by a man.

Unsettled, but exhausted, I fell asleep.

 

Chapter Four – Fact gathering

That weekend, I did what teenagers do best. I brooded.

And it wasn't just pro forma brooding. I was baffled by what had happened to me. Pissed that my so-called friends would try to bring me into their gay little circle. Ashamed that I has gone as far as I had with a bunch of queer boys. And more than vaguely attracted to what the pantyboys were inviting me to do.

On Monday, I avoided the seven sissies completely.

On Tuesday, I decided to take my first risk. I would talk to Jay. He was more sensible than Tommy. Always had been. Maybe I could even convince him to leave that "cult." And bring Tommy out too. Yeah! I would be a hero.

I saw Jay in school that day and asked if we could talk alone. Jay seemed delighted to do that. "Stop by my house around 4:30," he said.

I was pleased with myself. This whole mess, I thought, was about to be resolved.

I showed up at Jay's that afternoon and there was a note on the door. "Dylan. The doorbell is broken. Just go up to my room."

OK. I opened the door and went upstairs. Knocked on Jay's door and, when he said, "Come in," I did so.

And watched my hopes of a simple resolution fade.

Jay was completely, and I mean completely, in girl mode.

First, let me tell you about his room. Pink and frills everywhere. A three-way-mirrored vanity table strewn with every cosmetic known to sissies.

Now let me tell you about Jay. He was seated on a stool at his vanity, applying red lipstick to his pouty lips. He was in the sexiest, black lingerie on the planet – sheer, seamed, fully-fashioned stockings with a wide weal and large "keyhole" on the rear thigh; a lacy garter belt, with matching bra (!!); skimpy, diaphanous panties that were barely covering his stiff, little pricklet; and shiny, silver, five-inch-stiletto sandals that looked both crippling and sexy as blazes.

My first impulse was to run. My second impulse was to throw him on his back, lift his legs, pull out my stiff prick and ram it into his saucy, dick-teasing bottom.

My third impulse, the one I obeyed, was to stand there, frozen and indecisive.

Jay finished his cosmetic procedures and turned his face toward me. Oh, he was beautiful! Big eyes and lips. Rosy cheeks. The make-up of a femme who cared about a man's visual pleasure.

Then he stood. In those heels, he towered over me. With his two-inch-diameter, gold-hoop earrings, Jay looked like a different species than the dull, scared creature that I was that day.

Naturally, Jay spoke first. "I'm so happy you wanted to talk, Dylan," the living doll said in what seemed to be a feminine voice. "What's on your mind?"

I had to ask. "Do you dress that way every day when you're home?"

Jay giggled. A sweet, feminine sound. "Of course not, silly. I have a date at seven tonight. I just got ready early."

My questions got stupider, but I couldn't help it. I was stunned. "A date?" I said. "With a boy?"

The giggling again. Not mean or a putdown. Just girlish amusement. "Yes, a boy, Dylan. You don't think I'm a lesbian do you?"

At that point, I was willing to think most anything.

"Kenny Adams, our classmate, is taking me to the movies. When the lights go down, he'll be very naughty, kissing me and feeling me up. And when he brings me home, he'll want to fuck me. But he won't. I'm saving myself for my husband. He'll just have to be satisfied with shooting one big load of his cream down my throat and another on my face. If he behaves himself and is nice to me, that is."

Who was this person? This wasn't the Jay I grew up with and knew all my life. What had drawn him to the sissy side?

And Kenny Adams? I knew him all my life too. A nice guy, though not one of our circle. Was he gay? He must have been if he was dating a boy, right?

Jay seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.

"Look, Sweetie," Jay said. [He called me "Sweetie?!?!"] "Let me show you some things that should make you feel better."

I was eager to feel better.

"Sit on the bed," Jay said, "and take your trousers off."

That may not have been the best way to feel better in the long term. But I did it anyway.

Jay fussed in his drawer a bit, then extracted two long, tan, silky stockings that he rolled into "doughnuts." Jay eyed me down and said, "You have very nice legs and they're not hairy at all."

I blushed at the compliment and trembled at the thought of what he might do to me.

"Point your toe on your left foot," he said.

Docilely, I complied. Then, slowly, Jay began to roll on a silky, seamed, fully-fashioned, tan stocking. Up my calf. Past my knee. Over my thigh to a point just below my balls.

I held my breath as he did it. I didn't know what I was supposed to do or feel, but I was not optimistic. I should have been.

When the toes of my right foot touched the second stocking, a pre-orgasmic pang clutched my gut. The second pang hit me when Jay inched the sweet treasure along my thigh. My eyes were watering with the effort to avoid cumming. I didn't want Jay to think that this stockinged faggotry excited me.

Stupid, eh?

Anyway, he wasn't buying it and neither was "Mr. Beasley." When Jay removed my boxers, then slid the white, ruffled garter belt around my waist and hooked the first strap to my left stocking, I whimpered, then spurted my sperm so hard that I almost fainted.

Wearing stockings and a garter belt is incredibly exciting. Especially when someone beautiful is in the room, touching you, and sharing the experience.

I felt humiliated, helpless, and completely confused. And I had surrendered quite a bit more of my fate to Jay than I had ever intended.

Lucky for me.

Jay slid my shirt and undershirt over my head and off, leaving me dressed only in stockings, garter belt and a thin layer of drying cum. Then he retrieved a tube of lipstick from his vanity table and applied it to my lips. Docilely, I let him sissy me up even more by hooking me into a white training bra.

Jay stepped back to admire his work.

"The make-up needs work and we need to shave you all over, but you have outstanding potential."

I did? Did he mean I was pretty?

I soon found out when Jay had me stand and led me to his mirror.

I looked in the mirror. I appeared scared and not very happy.

But I also looked pretty good.

Jay was right. I had great legs. And a fine ass that looked good framed by panties and a garter belt. Heels and full make-up and I would be a dish, I decided.

Not that I wanted that. Oh no. I was just smelling the air. Looking around. Humoring my lunatic friends. Acting cooperative.

Jay told me later that the look in my eyes when I admired myself in the mirror at that moment convinced him that I would be a man's eager, submissive bride some day.

I'll admit. It was surprising. I almost didn't want to break away from my self-adoration when Jay took me by the hand and led me to his double bed.

Jay lay on the bed first, then held his arms open for me to lie next to him on his right.

In for a lot more than a pound, I joined Jay on the bed.

We could have just lay there, I guess, talking about stuff. But Jay started to kiss me. Lipstick on lipstick. Tongue on tongue. It was very nice. Not at all like I thought it would be to kiss another boy.

Then he did a very odd thing. He reached under my bra and, as he was kissing my mouth, he toyed with my right nipple with his fingers.

Wow! What was that about?!?!

I didn't know my nipples were good for anything at all. But Jay did. When I squirmed in obvious pleasure. Jay stopped kissing me and moved his mouth to my right nipple and his fingers to my sore, throbbing stiffie.

Forget the space shuttle. I saw all the planets and all their moons at that lovely moment. In living color.

Cum jetted from by peehole as I whimpered in erotic agony. Good gravy.

Who knew my nipples would be little cum triggers?

Jay seemed very pleased that I had reacted to his attentions. We entwined in some deep kissing and at one point, relieved of our bras, rubbed our nipples against each other's little nubbers. We rubbed cocks, "arrow point" to "arrow point," as we kissed, spurting all over each other in helpless ecstasy.

I was about to ask if Jay was saving any cream for his date that evening. But the little doll taught me something new again. He began to lick all the cum from my stomach and privates, which Tommy had done to my shamed delight the previous Friday night. But when he took my once-again-rampant cock into his wet mouth, Jay introduced his middle finger to my anus. Jay sucked my cock as he rubbed the pad of his fingertip around my wrinkled hole. Then he entered my bottom, just to the first knuckle of the middle finger.

I squealed. Like a girl. Then I pumped sperm into Jay's eager mouth.

I guessed I was sensitive "back there" as well as in the nippular regions.

The squealing disconcerted me a lot. But the enjoyment I had felt that afternoon was undeniable. From that moment on, I knew what I liked and I knew how to get it. A powerful combination.

If Jay hadn't said he had to freshen up for his date, I probably would have sucked his cock. Not that it would have mattered that much that much. I was pretty far down the road to becoming "one of them" already.

Was that a bad thing?

 

Chapter Five – Intermezzo at school

That night, alone in my bed, I regretted every disgustingly gay thing I had done over the past few days and vowed to treat those seven sissy sisters like the pariahs they were.

I couldn't help noticing the way Mom and Dad were looking at me and treating me since the Day. I could have been imaging it. Or it could have been the fact that instead of eight kids at home, they now had one, so they applied the full force of their parenting to me. But I noticed that they had stopped haranguing me about getting off my sorry butt and applying to colleges, like my seven older sibs. They acted, I don't know, peaceful or something. As if they knew my life decisions were settled and they didn't have to nag any more. Did they really think I was going to join that faggoty band and get on my back for some man?

Well I was most definitely not!

I kept my resolve on Wednesday, barely nodding at Jay, Tommy and Dennis when I saw them at school. They seemed amused at that. Smug even. As if they would "recruit" me in the end.

Facing temptation one day at a time, I backslid a bit on Thursday. During a mid-morning change of classes, Jay walked up and strode alongside me.

"I'm wearing those black stockings and garter belt you like and my peeny is 'pointing' my pink, bikini panties. Want to see?"

<Gulp>

I didn't want to see. My brain at least. But my cock was desperate for a "private" viewing. So I followed Jay into a stall in the boys' room. We waited until the hubbub in the halls had quieted and everyone except us was in class. Then Jay very sexily removed his shoes and then his trousers, hanging them on a hook.

His stocking-encased legs were spectacular and the front of his lacy pink panties was stained with the sticky juices of his girlish excitement.

I was a cock-driven idiot.

First I kissed him, sucking his tongue until he whimpered with lust. Then I sat on the toilet and held Jay's pantied bottom in my hands. I eased his pink teasers down to expose his pretty privates. Then, for the first time, I took a cock into my mouth. And licked all the sweet juices it was emitting. And sucked the knob. And cuddled the pretty danglers in the pink bag.

I was scared out of my mind that I, we actually, would be caught and shamed for life. But that only quadrupled my excitement. And apparently Jay's. He was gasping and panting as if he were having a seizure. I must have been a pretty good cocksucker.

Jay tried to grunt out a warning that he was cumming, but I didn't care. I capped his mushroom with my mouth and sucked away, then gave his little pearls a gentle milking as he squealed his way through a massive, five-spurter of a cum. I gagged a bit at first as the scalding jets hit my pallet, but then I swallowed every drop of his hot, girlish juices.

The little sissy looked totally spent when I licked his balls as a finishing act of my raging lust.

But not too spent to sit on my lap and kiss me within an inch of my life.

The next thing I knew, my pants were down to the floor, and I was standing facing Jay, who was sitting on the toilet seat, licking my drooling knob.

I guess I should have been thinking about the long-term implications of my actions. You know, like teenagers always do. But all I could think of were Jay's talented tongue, his beautiful eyes locked with mine as he sucked me, and the cumstorm busily brewing in my gut.

Like Jay, I was whimpering with pleasure. Oh. I was such a disgusting little sissy. If a teacher had come into the boys' room and caught us then, he would have had every right to call us dirty little faggots. Then throw us over his lap and blister our bare bottoms. Then stand us up and fuck us from behind. First Jay. Then <gasp> me.

That would have been horrible!

It didn't happen.

But the thought that it might, had me even more hot and bothered.

And the thought of such humiliation and complete and shameful emasculation had me pumping the biggest, creamiest load of my young life into Jay's eager, sucking mouth.

I squealed when I came. Just like Jay. Just like the simpering little nancyboy I was becoming.

Jay swallowed my big load, then licked his pretty lips with great relish.

There were about 15 minutes left until the next change of classes and I was ready to call it quits. But Jay wasn't. He got off the toilet seat again, turned and kissed me as he maneuvered me to a sitting position. Did he want me to suck his cock again? It had gotten quite stiff, but I wasn't sure I wanted to…

Jay pressed his body against the stall door, and used his hands to part the cheeks of his bottom, showing me the loveliness of his perfect little rosebud of an anus. Why was he doing that?

I found out. Jay was breathing very heavily. He was totally sexed up. Hot and very bothered.

"My pussy," he grunted. "Lick my pussy. Eat it. Please."

WHAT????

I couldn't.

But he began to beg and almost cry. "Please, Dylan. I need it. Please."

Well, he was a good friend. And friends help friends. And I was a bit over the top in sexual excitement too.

The little sphincter WAS cute!

I replaced his hands with my thumbs and held his bottomcheeks apart. Why did he call it his pussy?

No matter. I kissed it tenderly. He gasped. I wasn't struck down for flaming homosexuality. I gave it a tiny lick. He cried out in ecstasy.

I must have been a pretty good "pussy" licker. I decided to see how good.

My tongue "went to town" on Jay's delicious pussy. I excavated as I licked, making Jay moan and cry so loudly that I was sure the "fantasy teacher" would be coming at any minute to humiliate, spank and fuck us – in that order.

You can't find a "fantasy teacher" or administrator when you want one, however. No one interrupted us and I ate my first pussy to a very satisfying conclusion. Jay cried out and his popsy pumped four thick strands of creamy goo all over the stall door.

Would I have replaced my tongue with my cock? Would the sworn-to-remain-virginal, future boy-bride have allowed it?

We'll never know. The bell rang and classes rotated again. Jay and I scurried to clean up and cover up. The little teaser gave me a wet kiss and told me to come to his house at four that afternoon so we could continue our adventures.

I know what you're thinking. That I went.

Well, I didn't. Mr. Guilt and Mr. Shame grabbed me again. I had licked out a sissy boy's asshole. In a stall of the boys' room. And sucked his sissy cock. And swallowed his sticky juices.

Was I crazy?

Not any more. I quit sissy jazzing at that very moment. Cold turkey. Stood Jay up, I did. Served him right. And I wasn't going to see any of them ever.

When I checked my email before I went to bed that Thursday night, there was a note from Jay "Wasn't it wonderful this morning? You're fantastic! I'm half in love with you already. Don't feel bad about this afternoon. I know you're wrestling with things. Please come to Dennis' around six tomorrow night. You'll need an hour to girlie up before the meeting begins at seven. I'll help you get ready. Plan to stay overnight and tell your parents so they don't worry. Wet, girlie kisses!"

Yeah. Fat chance. No way.

 

Chapter Six -- Membership has its privileges

I actually arrived at Dennis' around 5:30 that second Friday night. I figured I would need more time to get ready than the old pros and I was right.

When I told Mom and Dad that I was staying overnight at Dennis', they seemed very happy. As if they had finally found the right-shaped-hole for their last-child-peg.

Did all the adults in my town know about the Boy Brides Society? And most of the kids.

Had I been walking around in a fog or something?

Things that night were crystal clear, however.

Dennis greeted me with a warm, tonguey kiss and led me to a room adjacent to the meeting room. Oddly, Dennis' mother and father did not seem to be around. The room was filled with mirrors and lights and stools and cosmetics and ribbons and lace and boys. Pretty boys. Pretty, naked boys, giggling and teasing each other as they prettied up with make-up and the loveliest lingerie in the world.

They all seemed so relaxed and comfortable in their femininity. I was trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.

As promised, Jay helped me strip naked, then put my make-up on. He was a master of the art and I was astounded at how beautiful he looked. From the way he was looking at me, I must have looked pretty good with my make-up on too. I was about to check myself out in the mirror, when all the other members of our little sissy coven seemed to notice me at once.

"Dylan!" Jimmy squealed. "Look at Dylan, girls! He's beautiful."

That seemed to be the consensus. They all squealed and screamed and complimented me on my beauty. Jimmy, the boy who, with Jay and Tommy was my classmate, was especially enthusiastic. He had done his make-up already and he was completely dishy. His naked body was making me very erect. I didn't know Jimmy that well, though he had been in a couple of my classes. But I liked what I saw that night.

Jimmy grabbed my hand and led me to a full-length mirror. His hand was very warm and his little penis was astonishingly erect. <Blush> So was I. His lips were red and full and his blue eyes were mascaraed, shadowed and lined.

When I finally looked into the mirror, I saw someone a lot prettier than Jimmy. Or Dennis or Tommy or Jay. Or any of the Boy Brides in that room.

I was effing beautiful.

If I needed any confirmation of that fact, I was getting it from Jimmy, who was as naked as I, standing behind me. I was very caught up in my self-admiration. Stunned, in fact. But I sort of noticed when I felt Jimmy's stiff cock rubbing in the small of my back, his lips kissing my neck, his left hand tickling my peanuts as his right hand caressed my oozing penis.

"You haven't been milked all day, have you, Dylan?" Jimmy said. "A pretty boy like you should be milked several times a day. Men and boys will go crazy for you, Dylan. You'll make them hard as rocks and weak as puppies. You'll have your pick of the suitors. You'll probably get a hundred marriage proposals. But I have you now, Dylan. I'm milking you now. Do you like being milked, Dylan, Honey?"

I LOVED being "milked," if that was what it was called. I watched my pretty self in the mirror being expertly masturbated by a lovely sissy. I began to think about being popular and desired and the center of the universe for lots of people. Rather than a schlump, which was what I was as a boy.

I was on total sensual overload.

I dared to think about dressing like a girl, in a tiny miniskirt, stockings and big heels. Walking down the street, swaying my plump bottom. Men and boys watching me. Pulling out their thick pricks and stroking them as I batted my eyes at them. I gasped and let out a tiny squeal. Then my toes exploded and I began to spurt my girlish cream. In thick globs. At the mirror. And all over Jimmy's hand.

It was only 6:32 p.m. and a long night of such sissiness awaited.

How would I make it through a whole night of that?

Maybe if I just surrendered and allowed myself to enjoy what was happening?

Naaahhhh. That would have been too easy.

After I drained my balls, I felt guilty and ashamed. But not nearly as much as I had before.

And I was quite curious about what would happen next.

Jimmy was saying something. "That's it baby. Let it all out. Get all those masculine toxins out of you. Let us make you more girlish than you ever thought possible. You're so beautiful. And you need to empty your pretty bag several times a day. Let me dress you for our Friday evening together,"

A very nice offer, which I was more than willing to accept.

Having been raised properly, however, I realized that some form of reciprocation was in order. Poor Jimmy was naked and rampant. His pretty pickle was almost purple with blood and throbbing noticeably. Jimmy's "little man" had something I had never seen before. A thick hood of skin. So long that it covered the entire knob and formed a little funnel over the peelips. Even though Jimmy was fearfully erect, his foreskin still covered the "business" end of his pretty penis. I thought someone should move that skin back to expose the sensitive head of his doodle. Exposing it to the "elements" and such. Baring it for pleasure.

Should I….?

Jimmy seemed to read my mind. "Let's get our girlie things on, Dylan. Then you can suck my doodle if you like. You can "skin" me with your mouth and the pink prize will be all yours. I hope you do. I have a nice, big, creamy load I've been saving for you all day. I didn't even cum once today. Except <blush> when Daddy milked me when I woke up with my morning stiffie."

Jimmy's Daddy milks him? Jimmy was saving a big, creamy load just for <gulp> me? He wanted me to suck his doodle?

Strangely, I wanted nothing more.

Especially when we started dressing in the pretty lingerie Dennis' family provided.

Jimmy selected my outfit – tan, seamed, reinforced-heel-and-toe, fully-fashioned stockings and the tiniest, wispiest, pink babydoll nightie. A ruffled, pink garter belt. Skimpy, pink, bikini panties. Pink slingbacks with two-inch-stiletto heels. I slid the stockings up my nearly hairless legs and it had the same effect as the first time I wore them. I was erect and gasping for breath.

Things got a lot more "urgent" when I put on the whole outfit and looked at myself in the full-length mirror. I was hot as the equator of the sun on the 4^th of July.

Tearing my eyes away from my beautiful reflection, I saw something that excited me even more. Jimmy, in full sissy splendor. Black stockings, babydoll, panties and five-inch stiletto sandals.

I accepted Jimmy's tacit invitation greedily.

I got on my knees, right there in the dressing room, pulled Jimmy's panties down and took his little pricklet into my mouth. Mmmmm. It was delicious. Sticky and sweet. Tasty leakages.

I used my tongue and the roof of my mouth to sort of ease the thick foreskin off his pink jewel and expose its girlish beauty. Jimmy gasped and moaned as I licked his tender parts.

His prickie was so cute! The shaft was dark and his dangling "purse" was sort of a brownish pink. But his knoblet was a bright pink! I giggled when I saw it. Then I got back to sucking and rolling my tongue around and around. It was wonderful to hear him emit noises of pleasure.

There was a lot of similar activity around the room. Girly boys kissing, licking and sucking each other with skill and ardor.

I stepped up my efforts a bit when I began to hear sissy squeals that had to signify little ball bags emptying their juices into eager sissy mouths.

I guess I was afraid that Type-A Dennis was going to call the meeting to order and leave poor Jimmy in a very painful condition.

So I was extra naughty. Jay had begun my initiation to the sublime pleasures of the anus. I applied the principle to Jimmy.

I stopped licking Jimmy's pulsating peener for 3.2 seconds – long enough for him to whimper like a needy brat and for me to apply my plentiful saliva to two fingers on my right hand. I then resumed sucking and did what I needed to do to bring things to a hasty, yet satisfying climax for Jimmy.

I licked his peelips with the broad center of my tongue as I entered Jimmy's tight hole with my middle finger. I didn't know my way around an anus in those days, but Jimmy didn't seem to mind. I wiggled my wet finger around in Jimmy's pussy for about 20 seconds. Didn't even have the opportunity to slip that second finger in there before Jimmy gave me that big, creamy load the little teaser promised me.

It was as promised.

I gagged, then almost choked as Jimmy spurted hot glob after hot glob into my willing mouth.

Sucking a sissy's cock and making him happy had made me very happy.

Of course I could not and would not ever do that with a man or boy. That was my new plan. Play along and have lots of sex with the girly boys. Who weren't really boys, so I wasn't really gay. Get it?

Lying to yourself is amazingly easy, isn't it?

And necessary, the moment after you were on your knees swallowing a huge hot load of semen and sperm.

Jimmy looked at me the way Jay did when I sucked the creamy filling out of his sissy pole. As if he were almost in love with me or something. Maybe that's what people mean when they say "male bonding."

Anyway, Jimmy lifted me to my feet and began to kiss my cum-flecked lips as he stroked my outrageously stiff doodle. A few minutes of that and I would be giving Jimmy the same as what I got.

But no. It was seven o'clock and our host(ess), Dennis, was breaking up clinches all around the room. "Plenty of time for that this evening, night and morning, ladies," he said in a sweet, but firm way. "Let's get to our program. Tonight it's Jimmy's turn to tell us about lingerie selection for the bride-to-be's trousseau. Jimmy…"

I was actually sad to have Jimmy leave me, but I have to admit that it was exciting to be sitting next to the lovely Eric, a pantyboy whose acquaintance I had barely made. Eric was eighteen and nearly four months, so by the rules of the Chapter, he had been dating men who were all eager to marry him since his latest birthday. He seemed so sophisticated and so experienced. Of course he was completely gay. Letting those men handle him and do the kinds of things men expected of a pantyboy. Disgusting things. Moist things. Very moist.

Jimmy was doing a slide show about corsets and basques and teddies and Eric was sneaking kisses from me as he tickled my very agitated privates. I liked it, but wasn't I Jimmy's date for that night? Or Jay's? Or Tommy's? What about Patrick, Dennis and Billy? Eric was so insistent and masterful, though, and I discovered that I liked that. I also discovered that the concept scared the poopy out of me. If I was going to preserve my heterosexuality, what would I do if a man, seeing me dressed as I was, began to dominate me the way Eric was? Only in a much more manly fashion. Lots of hair all over him and muscles. And a five-o'clock shadow brushing my face as he kissed me and tried to turn me onto my stomach or my back so he could sweet talk me into taking his big thing inside of me. Well it wasn't going to happen.

Uh uh.

Which is what I said when I began to spurt my juices in response to Eric's naughty kisses and tickles. Actually, what I said was "Unnnnnnhhhhh!!!!!" and it was in a really squeally, sissyish voice.

It felt oh so good and Eric gave me the deepest, tonguiest sissy kiss when I "emptied my purse," but I was ashamed. I mean, did I cum because of what Eric was doing to me (perfectly legitimate and non-gay) or because of what I was thinking? You know, about a man's thing in my bottom. Dominating me. Making me his possession. (That was in the dark, dark red portion of the gay spectrum).

What to do?

Before I could be overcome with self-analysis, Jimmy finished his presentation and sat with Patrick. Eric got up and left me and there I was. The Old Maid in the card game of the same name. All alone. Pouting. Until 18-years-and-seven-months-old Billy sat next to me, kissed me and began to fondle my limp, wet tinkler. A favor that I immediately returned.

Eric said to the group, "It's wonderful to have such a beautiful and sexy new member with us tonight. I hope that by the night is out, we'll all get to 'spend' some time with Dylan. He's perfect angel of a pantyboy and he cums in gushers. <giggles all around>. We weren't able to show you Kevin's narrated wedding night pictures last Friday, Dylan, but now that you're a member, we decided we would rerun them for you. Would you little panty princesses like to see them again? <squeals all around>

"OK," Eric went on. "Get comfortable everyone. I'll start the show."

Getting comfortable apparently meant doubling up in one of the four double-wide easy chairs set up in the front of the room. Billy grabbed me by the waist and firmly led me to a chair where he would have me all to himself. Sissies were marking their territory over me!

Billy and I were hugging and kissing and before we knew it, we were rubbing peenies. The friction was delicious and so was Billy's tongue. Then they began the slide show. I remember thinking, why do they have those dumb programs at these chapter meetings anyway? Why didn't we just empty each other's peanut bags over and over?

Then I found out why.

In the first picture, Mr. Murphy was carrying the still-wedding-begowned Kevin into the bridal suite at our town's ritziest hotel. I remembered that Kevin had set up several cameras around the room, each programmed to take photos at random intervals.

I also remembered that Kevin looked spectacularly beautiful in his gown. What I didn't remember was how "beautiful" Mr. Murphy was.

He was tall, with black hair, wide shoulders, a slim waist, and had rugged, manly looks. He appeared to be totally and lustfully in love with Kevin. He was looking at Kevin as if he were the best Christmas present he ever had. And he was about to unwrap the little creampuff.

Dennis and Jay had said that members of the Boy Brides were virgins "back there," so it appeared that there was about to be a "grand opening" that evening.

Billy was still kissing my neck and face, but I wiggled into a position where I could see the man and his sissyboy "doing the nasty." Billy understood what I was doing and, very sweetly, moved downwards, taking my aching stiffie into his mouth.

On the screen, Mr. Murphy laid his new wife on the bed and began to slowly undress his beloved. Punctuating his movements with soft kisses. It was very exciting to me. Too exciting. Since it was so gay.

When Mr. Murphy had "Mrs. Murphy" down to his panties, garters and stockings, Kevin's voice said, "Steven was almost fainting with lust when he saw me on the bed, totally at his mercy. His possession."

Steven? So Mr. Murphy had a name. Did Billy step up the dickie-licking or did that little phraseology stir something in me? I felt the "sweet pressure" in my gut thinking about being a man's love object.

I was almost "there." You know where I mean. "There." My journey there was hastened considerably when I saw Mr. Murphy in his natural state. Nude. Hairy. Muscular. And with the biggest, stiffest, drippiest cock I had ever seen. His ball sack was the size of a grocery bag. His balls the size of oranges. And, I swear, steam was coming out of his nostrils when he turned Kevin onto his stomach, spread Kevin's legs, mounted him and pushed that monster into Kevin's miniscule "pussy."

No warm-ups or foreplay. This was a man who for some time had obviously thought of little other than putting his flesh-and-blood buttplugger into his new wife at the earliest opportunity. And the earliest opportunity had arrived.

There was no audio with the pictures, but plenty from the room's eight pantied occupants. The pretty boys were looking at their fate. And we, I mean they, were eager for it.

The close-ups of Kevin's beautiful face, as he was first in painful agony, then in total, lust-laced ecstasy while his husband gloriously and completely fucked him. The testosterone-driven Mr. Murphy frantically pushed his battering ram in and out of his wife's beautiful anus.

When the man inseminated his wife's bottom with a quart of scalding cream, you didn't need audio to hear Kevin's scream of total surrender and complete emasculation. Oddly, I gave one very similar as I emptied my exhausted bag into Billy's skilled mouth.

Dennis turned the slide show off and we all retired to a large room with six double beds for the "free play" portion of the evening. And the night. And most of the morning.

 

Chapter Seven – Some big changes for Dylan

It would take too many words to tell you the whole story about that night. Let me summarize. I got to know each of the seven little creampuffs intimately. My cock was very sore. My balls actually ached. A good ache. I swallowed a quart of sissy cream. I came ten times, only during six of which, was I possessed of an erection. Until that night, I didn't know you could cum without an erection. I was pretty dumb. For four of the cums, including the one right after I awoke, I produced a nice, creamy load. Four others could best be characterized as watery dribbles. Two were almost bone dry, though they were the two cums that took me outside the solar system.

All in all, quite a Friday night. How did they do it every week?

Even worse, all of them, except me, had boyfriends. Plural. The ones over 18 had men wooing them and making hot, steamy (though not anal-penetrating) love to them whenever possible.

They were so gay. It was sad. They were the only gay people I knew, I guess. Though there were rumors about the man who ran the flower store downtown. And one or two local male hairdressers and flight attendants.

I was pretty relieved that I wouldn't be gay like them. I mean, I would be back the next Friday. Who wouldn't? Miss the opportunity for a complete and thorough ball-draining performed by the most feminine people in our town? I don't think so.

But no boyfriends for me, I thought, as I got back into my male clothes for the drive home. Oh. That would have to wait. Tommy was looking at me that way he did. Waggling his penis at me. It was a three-quarter stiffie and it looked delicious. I couldn't disappoint my best friend, so I got to my knees and took his sissypole between my lips.

Parting was difficult because by the time Tommy had made a creamy deposit in my mouth, I was fully stiff and he had to return the favor. Several kisses and sweet goodbyes later, I drove home at noon.

Was my story straight? We smoked cigars and played poker all night. We had a few beers too. "I know that's wrong, Dad," I was ready to say, "but we didn't drive". But I wouldn't admit to the non-existent beers unless my story needed depth.

Beer! Hah! Who needs beer and cigars when you can have all the sex you want?

I entered my house in good humor, but that faded fast when I saw Mom and Dad.

They were smiling. And happy.

Huh?

No lecture about staying out all night with bad company?

Worse.

Mom said, "Did you and your pantyboy friends have a nice night, Dear?" Mom asked.

"You look exhausted, Dylan," Dad said. "I'll bet you're running on empty. Do you need a testicular IV?" Dad chuckled.

Huh, huh?

I guess my confused, panicked, mortified and terrified look made them take pity on me.

"Dennis' parents were here last night, Dylan," Mom said. "They told us everything and gave us some great advice too. Not that we didn't know what was going on over there on Fridays. Everyone in town knows."

Everyone but me. Was I a moron?

My expression didn't change. They told Mom and Dad everything?

Again, I got parental compassion

"It's OK, Dylan," Dad said. Then he hugged me.

Mom hugged me too and said, "Of course it's OK, Sweetie. You are who you are. We've suspected for a long time that you're a pantyboy."

Horror!

They had it all wrong. I wasn't a pantyboy! I was just playing along. Something to do on Friday nights. Nothing good on TV anyway. I didn't want to date boys and men and marry a man. Didn't want to dress in pretty clothes and be adored and treasured.

None of that.

But no one was listening.

"The Lemonts told us that we should do three things right away," Mom said. "Get you some nice girlie stuff for your room, especially a vanity table and big mirror. Teach you how to use cosmetics. Get you some lingerie and pretty street clothes, since you'll only be dressing as a boy at school. And then, only for a while."

Aliens had taken over Mom and Dad. That was it. Wasn't there a U.S. Government hotline to call for that or something?

"You're so tired today," Dad said, "we can't go clothes shopping. Why don't you take a nap? At four we'll wake you and Mom will give you a cosmetics lesson at your new vanity!"

I had a vanity already? I would be dressing as a girl most of the time?

Aaaaaaggggghhhh.

The only thing that sounded really good was the nap. So I decided to take it. I wanted to brood and panic, but I was too tired. I noticed that Mom and Dad had redone my room in 21^st Century "Girlie."

Mom or Dad had laid out a pretty blue nightie for me to take my nap and, more submissively than I believed I was capable of being, I put it on. I remember the delicious sensations of girlishness I felt as I wiggled into my pretty nightie in my pretty room.

Then I fell into a deep sleep. And I dreamed. Strangely.

I was in some beauty contest. Like Miss America or something, but I was wearing lingerie and very high heels. I was walking down some long runway and men were cheering. Calling out my name. My chest was heavy and when I looked down I saw why. I had titties. Nice ones. Not too big or too small. Enough to jiggle, but not enough to flop. I was very excited to be so adored. And the object of such raw, male lust. Somewhere down the runway, I tripped and fell into the lap of a very lucky male spectator. He was startled at first, but then delighted. He reached into my panties and began to "milk" my little knob, all the time praising my beauty and femininity. It was very exciting, but just a dream. And then it wasn't.

My eyes opened and there, at the side of my bed, my father was sitting. He had lifted my nightie and he was slowly and, might I add, quite skillfully, tossing me off. Had he gone insane? What would Mom do to him when she caught him?

Apparently nothing, as she was whistling happily, moving back and forth across the room as she set up my cosmetics table. While her husband was wanking her sissy son.

It was precisely four p.m.

I opened my mouth to protest, but luckily I realized that not only did I enjoy what Dad was doing, I needed it. The "chapter girls" talked about the need for a milking every four to six waking hours, but I didn't believe it. But with Dad applying that erotic friction, I knew I was addicted to cumming.

There are worse situations.

I liked it VERY much, but I was also horribly humiliated. I hid my face and said, "Dad???"

Dad stepped up his very nice movements. I was getting close and Dad knew it. He had put some Vaseline on his fingers or something and it was a delicious experience.

"Hang on, Sweetie," Dad said. "I'm doing the best I can. Mr. and Mrs. Lemont said that a sissy could suffer injury if he isn't milked every four to six waking hours. Preferably, a man should do it. A boy is next in preference, followed by a sissy. If worst comes to worst, Mom can help out, but when you start dating boys and men, you won't need either of us, we know that. Oh, you're dripping nicely. I think you're very close. There. That's it, Baby. Let it all out."

I was crying from three parts humiliation and one part lust. And cumming from the same mixture. Despite my notion of earlier that day that I would never again produce and expel a molecule of either sperm or semen, I was flinging out three thick ropes of creamy ejaculate. Helplessly. Whimpering in full surrender to the first man who had ever possessed me during an orgasm.

I was relieved that the agony/ecstasy was over, then shocked when Dad re-lubricated three fingers of his right hand. He asked me to turn onto my stomach, which I did with a measure of dread and frantic sexual need. Dad entered me with his full, slippery middle finger. Then he added his index finger. Followed by his ring finger.
The first time I had been so invaded.

I howled.

Did Dad laugh? He better not have. I started to squirm to get away. What was he doing? I had just cum. I didn't need a milking. What was he doing in my…….

Oh.

Dad found my prostate.

He knew just where it was and he went for it. How did he know that? What was he doing? He rubbed it – massaged it.

I screamed and, without even getting hard, produced a rope, a glob and several watery dribbles of cum over five wracking, sobbing, heaving, tearful, intense, wonderful minutes.

Dad withdrew his fingers and kissed my neck. "Mr. Lemont says that a cum like that right after a normal cum is the way to get you fully milked. Just taking care of my sissy boy's needs."

Would my "future husband" do that for me someday? I mean, if I were a sissy.

My attitude was evolving.

I was allowed to rest for a few minutes. Then Mom said, "Those sheets are drenched, Dylan. Get up and go clean yourself. Daddy will get the sheets. Then you and I will do some make-up lessons, followed by teaching you how to walk in very high heels. Tomorrow, Daddy and I will take you to a wonderful store where we'll buy you all the girlish things you could ever want. We'll walk home and men will whistle at you. When they're in the shower later, the men will think about the pretty girl they saw and maybe they'll pour out a tribute to your beauty. Monday you can start dealing with all the boys who will want to date you, even though you'll be in boy's gear in school. The word will be out, you see. It's up to you, of course, if you want to date boys, but I think you do. Am I right?'

I looked at Mom. I looked inside myself. And I said, "Yes, Mom."

 

More of Dylan's adventures will be in "The Boy Bride Two – Courted," followed by "The Boy Bride Three – Married."

Please let me know what you think at gingerfred99@yahoo.com.

  

  

  

*********************************************
© 2004 by Gingerfred Man. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.