The Boy Bride Three - Married

by Gingerfred Man

 

Previously

For some of you, I guess this is the part of my life story you've been waiting to read. The part where I, Dylan Griffith, a pantied little sissy, get into a lovely wedding gown, attended by lots of envious bridesmaids and adored by a legion of jealous men, then get my ass plowed again and again by a big, strong, snorting, rutting husband.

Well you won't be disappointed.

Telling you about my wedding and my marriage has my popsy all stiff and drippy. It's quite a tale, especially since this part of the story begins with me still a "virgin."

Although some may question my worthiness for that honorific.

Since Dennis Lemont "recruited" me for the Boy Brides Society on my seventeen-and-a-half birthday, I had been sucking LOTS of cock. Sissy cock – pink and pretty – attached to my fellow Boy Brides. Boy cock – moist and meaty – attached to my macho, milking-volunteer schoolmates, all of whom also kissed me, stroked me and eagerly sucked my pretty jewel, then swallowed my sticky juices as I helplessly ejaculated into their wet mouths. And best of all – man cock – dark and hairy – attached to four rich, eager suitors, selected by the Boy Brides Society as potential husbands for me.

There was Rocky, the baseball player who got to third base with me every time we dated, David, a hunky U.S. Senator from a neighboring state, Gavin, a well-known, cinema action hero, and James, who had made lots of money creating and selling computer stuff.

Before we get on with the story, let me remind you about my older brother Alex, who was a late selection as a Boy Bride member, then found he was unable to fit into the Society's core program. Instead of marrying (for a five-year marriage contract) a rich, powerful, older man, Alex chose to marry Connor, his sweetheart who had just graduated from college and didn't have a dime. I caught Alex growing titties (forbidden to Boy-Brides-in-waiting) and FUCKING with Connor (REALLY forbidden to Boy-Brides-in-waiting). So Alex chose love over security and luxury. Mom and Dad admired that choice. I thought it was dumb, but romantic at the same time too, you know what I mean?

Anyway, you're probably wondering what happened next, so here we go.

 

Chapter One – The object of their affection

Alex's June wedding was a lovely affair. Nowhere near as elaborate as the bash Mom and I were planning for October. Despite the fact that I hadn't actually selected a groom yet.

In a classy move, though Alex had jumped ship from the Boy Brides, those of us who were still single attended as bridesmaids. That included Tommy and Jay, my best friends growing up, Dennis, who was the chapter president but would be giving that up soon to marry the Sultan of Something-or-Other, and the newbies, Brent, Randy and Bruce. Randy and Bruce, you'll recall, were pretty, feminine and extremely well-hung. The Friday night BBS meetings were still lots of fun, as were my four-times daily milkings from practically every hetero older man I had ever known in my life. Scheduled in no discernable pattern by Mom, the milkings drained all my boyish juices, allowing me to be completely feminine. And they felt REALLY good too.

Since graduating from high school, I could "girlie up" 24/7. And I did. Never again would I wear boyish gear. It was panties, powder and perfume for this boy forever.

And the world was a better place because of it.

Alex was a stunningly beautiful bride. You're not surprised, I hope. The little puss is my brother and got all those good genes. Because of those hormones, he almost had enough titty to wear a strapless gown, but he chose the safe route, choosing instead a ball gown with thousands of petticoats that made him look like a gorgeous ballerina. He was a ten on anyone's scale, though if you saw ME, the Maid of Honor, you'd agree that I'm a twelve.

Alex also announced that he wanted to be called Alexa from then on and didn't want any of those masculine pronouns attached to HER good name. I agreed to do that for the little prickteaser, though she was still a pretty boy in girl's gear to me. The Boy Brides' position on that is pretty clear. If men wanted a girl wife, they had lots of options. We were boy wives. Exclusive. Mysterious. Cum-filled and eager to please our men in every disgusting way our husbands could imagine. We were proud of being boys, though I've heard that older Boy Brides sometimes took female names and pronouns because either they or their lovers were more comfortable with them.

Such issues were far from my "sister's" mind as Daddy and she marched down the aisle to be joined with Connor. Not that they hadn't been "joined" for quite some time. When Connor was in college, he was coming to see Alexa every weekend. His cock was in her bottom much more often than that big, stiff weapon was breathing free air. They even slept with Alexa impaled on Connor's penis.

I gulped a little at the thought. My sister was clearly comfortable with a big pole in her tiny pussy. But the idea still made me sweat in a cold film on my forehead. I hoped I could be brave when my husband "deflowered" me the night of our wedding – October 18^th. I knew the date already, but not the man. Some older sissies had suggested that I have a pillow nearby to bite rather than cry out with pain when my Lord and Master punctured my girlish pootie for the first time.

Alexa was over all that. Did she have that big grin on her face during the entire wedding because she knew that Connor would be fucking her every waking minute for three glorious weeks? Then the rest of their lives?

Probably.

During the ceremony, I looked into the church balcony. There they were. About 40 drooling men who had told their wives they were off to the hardware store for a left-handed monkey wrench, but instead went to church to ogle us pretty boys.

Kind of pathetic, I thought. But it certainly gave me a notion of the power over men that I had as a pink pussyboy.

I watched Connor devour a deliriously happy Alexa with a kiss at the close of the ceremony. For a second, I thought he would fuck her right there!

Only four more months I thought and I would be "under" my own husband.

My four prime candidates for groom were all at the wedding ceremony. Ogling me. Undressing me with their eyes.

It was a good thing that the wedding ended quickly because I needed a milking very badly. Thank goodness Father Flynn, who performed the ceremony, was available. Mom had slipped him into the milking rotation since my 18^th birthday two months earlier and he was one of my best milkers! Of course I never left him in a "bad condition" when we parted either.

The reception was very nice, though my four suitors were stepping all over each other to dance with me. Slow dances, with deep, tonguey kisses and penis-to-penis rubs through the clothing. After each dance, I was so excited that I had to take my dance partner to a special room for an emergency milking.

I was wondering how Rocky had managed to slip away to attend the wedding, since his baseball team was playing that afternoon 500 miles away. Apparently he had told his manager that he had a family emergency or something.

Senator David had skipped some silly old nuclear-weapons-treaty vote or something to be with me that day. Wasn't he sweet?

Gavin flew in from Toronto and had some stand-in rescue the girl in his latest movie so he could be with me. Aaaaawww. That was so sweet too.

James gave up a chance to acquire another billion-dollar company that day. They really did all adore me.

Too bad I would have to disappoint three of them. But that's life as the prettiest boy on earth.

After the reception, Connor took his Alexa off to a Motel 6 in the next town for their honeymoon. Can you imagine? I was pretty sure that I would be honeymooning in some exotic, fascinating spot while my husband was porking my exotic, fascinating spot.

Alexa said that all they were going to do was make love for two weeks, so why waste the money.

Can you imagine? Why waste the money? Wasting a husband's money is what we pantyboys live for.

I guess Connor didn't have any money to waste, though. After the honeymoon, Connor was going to work as a sub-junior accountant at some big firm and Alexa was going to be working (!) as a receptionist for some law firm. Imagine a pretty, young sissy working for a living! It's a horrifying concept, isn't it?

I told Alexa that every lawyer in the place would be trying to fuck her pretty bottom and you know what she said? "I know," she said. Then she gave me this odd smile.

Well, at least she had that part of her life figured out properly.

 

Chapter Two – The Decision

That summer after Alexa's wedding was such a wonderful time for me, what with four hunky men trying to win my heart and all my other parts.

Gavin was such a sweetheart. As I'm sure you did, I had seen several of his movies back when I thought I wasn't a sissy and I liked the abundance of car chases and the scarcity of dialogue. Though I had very little time for movies once I became a Boy Brides member, I must admit that I now saw his movies in quite a different way. Gavin with his shirt off, as he was in all his films, made my little popsy quite stiff. Gavin with his shirt off in real life was even better.

Gavin and I had a whirlwind romance. He was such an impetuous lover – couldn't keep his hands and mouth off me. <Giggle> It was wonderful to think that women all over the world were swooning at Gavin's films, but I was the one swallowing thick, creamy loads of his cum.

Oh, Gavin adored me so. He was very titty-focused, sometimes sucking on my pretty nipples for HOURS as he played with my privates or "explored" my bowels with three calloused fingers. I would swoon and moan and ejaculate helplessly all over myself as he worshiped my "puffy points" with his mouth.

Gavin loved when I sucked his balls. More so, I think than when I would "polish his knob" with my hot tongue. Either way, it always led to a grunting, moaning, creamy conclusion for the delicious man, and a faceful of hot, sticky cream for me.

James was the anal one. From the moment we met, I swear, that man seemed to have his tongue up my bottom. He said that eating my pussy was the highlight of his life to that point. I guess all the squealing, screaming and spurting I was doing added a great deal to the experience.

As I may have mentioned, James wasn't the best-looking of my lovers, but he had the biggest cock.

And that's always worth mentioning.

It was quite big – double-digit inches. With a thick foreskin and a fiery red head. Wet, pouting peelips, dripping with precum.

Huge, low-hanging balls, sopping with manly cream.

Mmmmm.

Every sissy's dream, right?

Not really.

The man was so obsessed with eating my "pussy" and making me cum that way, he hardly ever let me swallow that beautiful meat and extract its pearly juices. I mean if I almost never got to ingest more than two thick loads of his hot cum on one of our dates!

Unacceptable!

While obsession may have worked for James in business, it was an issue in romance.

Or at least sex. And to a Boy Bride, they're mostly the same thing.

Senator David, on the other hand, was the complete package.

The man was an ardent cum hound. He adored licking and sucking my pink parts until I was shuddering through orgasm after debilitating orgasm. And he swallowed every drop of my pearly essence.

But he was versatile.

David also loved sucking what he called the "prettiest nipples on Planet Earth." And he was darned good at it. Almost as good as Gavin was, with even better "pussy-fingering" skills.

David was an accomplished pussy eater, getting me into a frantic state and even making me cum explosively now and then, just from the tongue in my bum. But not obsessing on analingus the way James did.

Even better, David was a great kisser. He had me stiff, dripping and needy just from our kisses and embraces, which he always took his time doing. By the time my panties were off, I was always "on the verge," just from kissing.

But "even best," David was the most dominating of my lovers. He came to our "dates" with an agenda. Just as he did in the Senate. And unlike with government, with me, he always fulfilled his agenda. Leaving me drained, exhausted, cum-drenched and happy.

So you're asking yourself, did Dylan Griffith, Boy Bride extraordinaire, select his five-year husband solely on the basis of sexual compatibility?

Well, d-uh!

Of course I did. Mostly. Financial resources and a good pre-nup were big factors too.

I am, after all, a Boy Bride.

I'll never forget the night I gave David the good news. He had shown up for our date as he always did, carrying a three-carat engagement ring in his pocket, hoping against hope that I would someday accept his proposal.

Though David was the dominant one of us, I said, "Get on one knee, David. I think you have something for me."

David's face ignited with joy. And he fell to one knee. He extracted the box with the rock, removed my right, five-inch stiletto shoe and began to kiss my pretty, stockinged foot. See what I mean? He was so sweet and so caught up in the moment.

If I hadn't been firm at that moment, my panties would have been off and things might have gotten off track. I said, "That's lovely, David, but don't you have something to ask me?"

David stopped his spontaneous foot adoration, set my pretty ped down and said, "Dylan, my Darling. I love you with all my heart. Please marry me. Become my wife. Make me the happiest man on earth. Please."

It was happening. I was getting engaged. I cleared my throat, smiled broadly at David and said. "I love you too, David. And yes, I will marry you. For five years. Once we work out the pre-nup."

That was plenty romantic enough for David. He kissed me with joy. For about an hour. Reaching under my skirts and into my panties. Stroking my little testicles. Steaming me up considerably. Then he stripped me completely naked, laid me on my back and sucked my cocklet until I arched my back, squealed and spurted my hot cream into his mouth.

Things were off to a great start.

The only downer was telling my spurned (and usually spermed) suitors, Rocky, Gavin and James, that they had lost the biggest reality show of their lives. I was such a little puss about it too – acting sad for them, but sporting my huge engagement ring and only swallowing their creamy, farewell loads once each.

Well, once except for James. I hated to kiss that huge cock goodbye. So I thoroughly kissed it goodbye three times. Looking back, I think that James' big rammer was a major reason for not marrying him.

I was afraid he would kill me with that thing.

I was, after all, still an anal virgin – frightened of being split in two by a man's big cock in my tiny hole.

What a dumb bunny I was.

Oh well. Since Boy Brides don't usually marry for life, there was a pretty good possibility that I would be getting a good look at James' big thingee some time down the road.

My "taste" in cocks has continued to evolve.

 

Chapter Three – An Engaged Pantyboy

The next couple of months were hectic, but wonderful. Mom was all "Type A" about getting the wedding details right, including a special effort to include the groom on some of the minor details. The fact that a U.S. Senator was taking a boy wife would have been big news and may have been viewed critically at one time, but what it mostly stirred up was envy and curiosity about me. Especially about my beauty. I had all the magazines and news shows calling for interviews and the paparazzi were so insistent.

It was wonderful being an international celebrity.

Not that I didn't deserve it.

Of course I still found time every Friday to attend my Boy Brides Society meetings. Those two "old maids" of almost 19, Tommy and Jay, were finally getting married, so I attended their weddings. And Dennis Lemont's nuptial extravaganza with the sultan was in all the newspapers. But I was the one the media were writing about.

It was only fair.

Mr. Lemont still allowed his house to be used for the Society meetings. And, of course, we members made sure he was properly compensated for his generosity.

By September, we were back up to eight members, though I was the only one who was engaged. In addition to Brent, Randy and Bruce, we had recruited four gorgeous little pouffers named Chip, Trey, Michael and Eli.

It's wonderful to see a new Boy Bride be born. And feel his femininity come into flower as he dresses and prances and spurts his boyish juices into your wet mouth.

It was fun to initiate the new boys, but I must admit to being more than a little smitten with Randy and Bruce – not only because of their incongruously big cocks. What I really liked was that they were beautiful and femmy, but very aggressive, almost manly, during the act of love.

I don't really like sex with more than one partner at a time. Except for Randy and Bruce. We had many a lovely ménage a trois with me on my back, Randy straddling my shoulders as he fed me his delicious rammer, and Bruce on his stockinged knees, kissing, licking and sucking my pretty, pink parts until I deluged him with my spermy essence.

They seemed to take charge of me, treating me like a sex object who was there for their pleasure. Doesn't that sound wonderful?

At times I even thought they were going to FUCK me!! After nearly a year of EBF (everything but fucking) I was steamed up and ready. But they were good Society members and saved me for my husband.

Perhaps I could "visit" them sometimes after the wedding and "see what they had" in the fucking department. Which is one of the best departments in the whole store, don't you think?

My post-nuptial "visit" list was growing.

After months of looking, I finally decided on my wedding gown – the layered sheath, with V-neck, fishtail train, short sleeves in peau satin and embroidery that I had been eying down for sometime. I'm sure you've seen it. The gown and I were featured on the cover of several of the bride's magazines for over a year.

The magazines kept running the pictures because every issue that featured me in full gown quadrupled in circulation. Men, not women, were buying the magazines, taking them home, removing their trousers and pleasuring themselves as they examined the pictures. Imagining that they were the ones taking me as their wife. To have and to hold and to make love to. Day and night.

David and I were so busy with all the wedding preparations that we hardly saw each other. David told me that he had been working out hard for over a year so that he could give me the honeymoon I deserved. He was nearly 40 years old and had hardly a gray hair, but he knew that four weeks in bed with me, with his cock in and out of my precious bottom, was to be the ultimate test of manly stamina.

I loved when he talked like that.

Here was the plan. After the wedding and reception, he would take me to the bridal suite at the Ritz Hotel, site of they reception. We would have three nights at the hotel, then be whisked to a private plane to Tahiti. David rarely used a private plane, but said that a 10-hour flight was too long to wait if we had to "take care of our needs" along the way.

By agreement, David had to arrange the wedding-night particulars with the Boy Brides Society, so they could set up hidden video and still cameras so that our wedding night and the loss of my virginity could be preserved for the ages. And for the pleasure of my fellow members.

Though the pleasure was certain to be mine as well.

My anxiety about accepting a "red-headed visitor" into my impossibly-tight "pussy" had been abated somewhat by my frequent, reassuring conversations with Alexa. Though I wasn't to call her at lunchtime, since she always seemed to have an offsite "client consultation" that usually lasted most of the afternoon and I couldn't call her at home because, invariably, she and hubby Connor were fucking like rabbits, she always had time to talk with me in the mornings. Oddly, though she didn't seem to be working very hard, Alexa had already received three promotions and was making a six-figure salary as a receptionist! She must have been REALLY good at receiving!

Anyway, Alexa told me not to worry and that I would ADORE having my pussy pounded. It may "pinch" a bit at the beginning, she cautioned, but a pretty boy's pussy was meant to accept the largest cocks ever grown. "It's why we're on earth," my wise sister advised me.

That was comforting, but I was still just a smidgie apprehensive.

Sometimes I would think about David on top of me, grunting as he slammed his thick monster in and out of my defenseless bottom and I would just start spurting my juices.

It's a good thing there were plenty more creamy loads where that came from.

It was time for some real fucking.

 

Chapter Four – My special day

Every pantyboy remembers his wedding day.

It's a day of intense femininity.

A day of perfume and powder and lace. Of nylon and satin and mascara and eye shadow.

A day of being the center of the known universe and the object of your man's complete and total love.

Followed by a night of complete and total lust. A night where the pantyboy becomes his husband's possession. No longer complete without the dominance of his strong, loving husband. A night of total submission of a boy to his husband, and the intense and lasting pleasure that surrender engenders. A night of full hearts and empty testicles.

Ohhhh. It was all that for David and me.

Alexa was my matron of honor. She did a pretty good job, though she kept disappearing with Connor for half an hour at a time, returning flushed, but happy.

Randy and Bruce were my bridesmaids – two gorgeous little creampuffs who made fine supporting actresses to the star of the show, yours truly.

And a shining star I was.

Someday, someone more beautiful than I may be married at St. Transvestia's church.

But I doubt it.

The day began as all my days did. An eager "milkman" was awakening me by manipulating my "precious pink things." Through my sleepy haze, the thought occurred to me that I would miss the parade of men and boys who had been "attending" Princess Dylan over the past wonderful year. Several of them had wept openly as they, for what they believed was the last time, gushed their sticky juices into my warm, wet mouth. I usually consoled them in two ways – by sucking them to another cockstand, then draining their heavy bags again with expert, oral attentions, then kissing them sweetly and telling them that "I was just marrying, not dying or moving to Uzbekistan or something." I wanted to leave them all a sliver of hope that maybe I would cheat on my husband or see them when my five-year marriage was up or something.

At the time, of course, I didn't really believe it. David would be totally devoted to me, fucking me five times a day at least and mostly forgetting about that old Senate thing.

At the wedding, every bride thinks he or she can change his or her man.

Anyway, I was really enjoying that particular wake-up milking on my wedding day. The milkman had a very skilled hand and had just entered my "pussy" with three very knowledgeable fingers. My cum was already building in my pretty peanuts and a "gusher" appeared imminent.

When my eyes fluttered open to see who was doing me such a great service, I shouldn't have been surprised. But I was.

It was Daddy!

Daddy hadn't milked me since the early days of my sissiness. My pretty eyes watched him tickle my pickle as he found and massaged my prostate with great love and better expertise. To this day I don't know why, of all my milkers, Daddy best knew his way around a girl's prostate.

Some things a sissy doesn't want to know.

Daddy had my pink nightie up above my puffy nipples and he was expertly bringing me to a killer orgasm. I saw the birth of the universe as I arched my back, squealed like a spurting sissy and pumped glob after glob of girlish juices all over my stomach, filling my belly button and even dousing my left nipple.

But as he always had, Daddy didn't stop. "My little girl isn't going to be distracted by her testicles on her wedding day," Daddy said.

I was going to correct Daddy. I mean, I wasn't a girl. I was a pretty boy. But Daddy was on a roll and all I could do was grunt and squirm with impending ecstasy. The 18-wheeler slammed into me again as Daddy mercilessly rubbed the epicenter of a sissy's pleasure. A brief thought that later that day, a cock would be where Daddy's fingers were rubbing and that set me off for a second, harder explosion.

And Daddy pressed on. Ten minutes of merciless manipulation later, I spasmed, then drooled a few drops of girlish sperm over Daddy's relentless hand. Ten minutes after that, later, I whimpered, clenched and wriggled through a dry shudder of an orgasm.

Pleased with his work, Daddy withdrew his fingers from my pootie, kissed the lips of the drained shell of a body he had left on the bed, and said, "There. That should do you until your wedding night."

That was very kind of Daddy, but he didn't understand the massive libido of an eighteen-and-a-half-year-old pantyboy. I was stiff and needy an hour and a half later when my bridesmaids showed up.

After all my other milkings, I would always "reward" my milker, but with Daddy, that was clearly out of the question. A shame in a way, because I noticed, and I happen to be an expert at this, that Daddy was quite "hot and bothered" when he left me. Of course, Daddy did go straight to his bedroom and he and Mom spent a quality hour making soft moans and grunts, as well as muffled squeals of ecstasy.

They didn't make eight babies by kidnapping the stork.

Mom looked a little disheveled (also known as "well-fucked") when she joined me for breakfast. I had showered already and was awaiting the arrival of my bridal attendants.

Mom dished out my oatmeal and gathered herself for "the talk" that a mother gives a boy bride on his wedding day.

"David is a good man," Mom began. "But he's a man. Let him control you in bed. You'll be happy you did, believe me. But you control everything else. Your pussy is the most powerful weapon the earth has ever seen. Men will do anything to keep getting pussy. They're obsessed with it. As a boy, I'm sure you know what I mean, since you're obsessed with sex as well. That should make for a very interesting marriage. When you're out of bed, tell David what you want. As long as you're giving it to him the way he wants, he'll move heaven and earth to please you."

Good advice.

"Now Dylan," Mom continued, "Is there anything you need to ask me?"

I wasn't sure I should ask, but I chanced it. "Mom," I said, "I'm a virgin 'back there.'"

"I know," Mom said. "Are you worried that he'll hurt you?"

A tear formed in my left eye and I nodded.

Mom hugged me sweetly, rocking away my fears as she said, "A boy must submit to all his husband's sexual desires, Sweetheart. That one is definitely not a problem. If I hadn't been 'helping your Daddy' like that for the past 30-some years, we would have had 20 kids by now, not eight. After the first couple of 'pinches' a big cock feels heavenly in our tight bottoms. It should be even better for you, rubbing against your prostate as it will. You should be cumming just from that."

Thank goodness Mom was so frank and honest with me. Though the thought of Mom and Daddy doing the anal nasty is not one I want to linger on too much.

I felt less scared after that. Mom and I hugged until the doorbell announced the arrival of Alexa, Randy and Bruce.

They were carrying their frou-frou bridesmaid dresses and accessories and we all kissed and hugged in nervous anticipation.

We retired to my bedroom and set about the task of getting ready for the biggest day of my life.

Mom took charge of things, fixing my hair while the others made their faces and got dressed.

I hadn't had a boy's haircut in five months and my hair was "girling up" nicely. Mom arranged it on top of my head, then helped me with my make-up. We finished right about the time the transvestite trio returned to my bedroom and I must say that I don't believe it was flattery when they oohed and aahed over my beauty. I was magnificent. A beautiful boy at his most gorgeous. A Princess of Love, Mom called me.

Ahhhh.

Oh yeah, the bridesmaids looked good too.

Mom left to get herself ready and to help Daddy with his tuxedo. I wondered briefly whether she was going to give Daddy a little more of what men want, but maybe she didn't have time.

I dropped my robe and stood naked before my "sister" and fellow Boy Brides. Slim and girlish. Pink and precious. The heart's desire of men, boys and fellow pretty boys. I almost sang, "I Feel Pretty," but left that for another time.

Despite Daddy's best efforts, my pretty jewel was diamond-hard yet again. Randy and Bruce did what bridal attendants should do – they attended to me – on their knees. Randy licked my pussy as Bruce sucked my pricklet. From undiscovered reserves, I produced a creamy load.

It was already a great day and I wasn't even married yet.

After my breathing returned to normal, I began to dress. Silky, white, seamed, fully-fashioned stockings. A white garter belt of the finest lace. A white, silk bra that tormented my tender nipples with girlish excitement. Satin panties that my husband would be ripping from me before the day was out.

And then the gown.

A boy is never more beautiful than he is on his wedding day. Anyone can tell you that. I was beyond beautiful and I have the pictures and videos to prove it.

The photographer showed up precisely when I was finished dressing. He recorded my beauty for future generations, perhaps the Smithsonian, then milked my sister, who was in dire need. Randy disappeared for several minutes. I discovered later that Daddy had been pressed into service by Mom. Daddy sucked Randy's huge sissy cock until he almost choked Daddy with cum, left the room, then sent Bruce to Daddy for the same treatment. Randy and Bruce told me later that they were half in love with Daddy after the best cocksuckings of their young lives. Again, I had to wonder about my Daddy.

Anyway, we all got drained and dressed. Mom looked spectacular! Daddy too, though he had a couple of small spots on his tuxedo jacket that would cause raised eyebrows if subjected to CSI analysis.

We got into the limos and headed to church.

The paparazzi filled the city block outside the church, though they were not allowed inside. Security was tight, but I made sure that the usual crowd of adoring men who sneaked into a Boy Brides wedding could attend. They earned their places with their devotion.

The church was filled to the rafters anyway with my family (huge), David's family (small), Boy Brides, current and alumnae, and all 85 male members of the United States. By coincidence, the 15 female Senators and the male Senators' wives all had scheduling conflicts that Saturday.

I couldn't help noticing one surprise guest in the 16^th row, friends-of-the-bride side. It was John Blutarsky, president of the United States and a long-time, well-known sissy admirer. President, former Senator and famous non-graduate of Faber College, Blutarsky had, after all, established the United States Sissy Corps after a diplomatic, fact-finding visit to Gingerfredonia.

Strangely, Mrs. Blutarsky also had a scheduling conflict that precluded her attendance.

No matter. In a few minutes, I was going to be Mrs. David Everhard. A boy wife at last!

I stood in the back of church, out of view of the congregation. The music began and Randy began his stroll down the aisle, followed by Bruce and Alexa. They were so beautiful and so feminine (despite my best efforts to select really bad bridesmaids' gowns for them) that a few gasps came from the congregation. An unnecessary pang of envy stabbed me, but was easily suppressed when Daddy and I stepped into view.

There was a collective intake of breath from the congregation that Father Flynn said was without precedent at his church. The crowd gasped loudly at my beauty and femininity, then began to share its awe through murmurs.

Oh yes. It was a fine moment.

Daddy took his time leading me down the aisle, prolonging the experience for me and for the lucky people in attendance. I was especially hoping that Alexa, who had recently been married in the same church, was fully aware of my public's reaction.

About three-quarters of the way down the aisle, I remembered that David was supposed to be there. I checked. He was. He looked incredible. Manly. Handsome. Rich. Powerful. Perhaps not fully worthy of me, but close enough.

Perhaps I sound a bit egotistical, but if you had been there, you would know I'm not exaggerating, OK?

Daddy kissed me and released me to David's arm. I gave him my 1,000-watt smile and watched him melt under its brilliance. He smiled back and, of course, I erected.

I would the first bride to cum in his satin panties during the ceremony if the padre didn't get on with it.

Father Flynn had to modify the vows a bit to get the five-year contract and all the elements of the pre-nup in there – I offer my body for spunking at least five times a day. David gives me a million a year, taxes pre-paid, for each year of marriage.

It was so romantic.

I was so excited standing next to my husband-to-be, with hundreds of powerful men undressing me with their eyes. My peehole was dripping and my little peanuts were rubbing against my satin panties. I was THAT close to cumming, let me tell you, but I held back.

We said our vows and I was married. Just like that. A boy wife. A Senator's boy wife.

I looked at my husband. He was looking at me differently…like he owned me or something. Like he wanted to make me start earning my $5,000,000 right there on the altar. Skirts up. Panties down. Bent over. Bottom bursting with cock and filled with hot spunk.

I was owned. I was a love slave. A subject of my lord and master.

David kissed me, tongue and all. In front of everyone. Proving that he thought he owned me!

Ohhhh.

I shuddered and came hard, filling my satin panties with six wet, creamy globs of sperm and semen.

How embarrassing!

Had anyone noticed?

Apparently they all had and were tittering among themselves.

Somehow, President Blutarsky saved the day.

The wonderful old sissy lover stood and began to applaud the newly married couple. One-by-one, everyone joined him. David and I walked down the aisle through cheers and applause. I was soggy, but joyous.

Father Flynn asked everyone to wait ten minutes to process out "Until the bride has time to change his cummy panties."

That made perfect sense to everyone, so I slipped over to the bride's room and, with my attendants' help, refreshed my unmentionables.

David and I stood in the back of church to receive best wishes and congratulations. I was kissed by 85 Senators (including David), 62 of whom slipped me the tongue. President Blutarsky not only tongued my tonsils, he felt me up! No matter. He had my vote in the next election.

The reception was a whirl of picture-taking, aunt-kissing, hokey-pokey dancing and smiling.

The highlight was when I had to undergo a Secret Service search for concealed weapons before I could dance with President Blutarsky. Two hunky guys with short hair and dark glasses took me to a well-guarded room. I was more than willing to be frisked for my country. Especially by those guys. But the big surprise occurred when the Secret Service guys left the room and the president entered.

"Well, Mrs. Everhard," he said with a leer. "How lovely you are."

I blushed. The most powerful man in the world was sexually harassing me and it was wonderful.

Then he said, "I can't delegate your search to my subordinates, Mrs. Everhard. I'll have to do this myself."

And so he did. He lifted the voluminous skirts of my gown and rubbed his palms all over my pantied bottom cheeks. I moaned softly as he eased my panties down then skinned my foreskin, exposing a pink, sensitive knoblet. "No weapons there," he said.

He was so…powerful! And very forward.

His cock was forward too as he exposed it to me for the first time. It was big and hard and dripping profusely. And I think it wanted attention.

In a surge of patriotism, I kissed President Blutarsky deeply as I skinned and tickled his cock. The poor, overstimulated man endured that tender torture for about five minutes, then groaned and spewed Presidential spunk, thankfully not all over my gown.

Though a sperm-stained gown would have been a traditional memento of such an encounter.

In one last surprise, the Leader of the Free World hit his knees, took my pretty knob between his lips, and sucked me to a squealing, sperming dither.

A bride remembers the little things about her wedding day.

I kissed "Bluto" (as he insisted I call him) goodbye, returned to the reception and danced until midnight with a succession of eager male guests.

For the first time, I met David's father, former Senator Daniel Everhard, or "Daddy" as he insisted I call him. Daddy Everhard was a handsome, roguish gentleman in his early sixties – expensively dressed and quite urbane. He seemed to take quite a shine to me if his rubbing his iron-pipe "business" against me as we danced was any indication. After two slow dances, he kissed my cheek and said, "I hope we'll get to know each other very well after your honeymoon, my Dear."

I wondered what he meant by that.

People said their goodbyes, leaving one by one and wishing us a fabulous marriage.

Then the reception was over.

And it was time to get fucked properly.

 

Chapter Five – My special night.

It's all different, you know. Once you're married.

When you're going together, you're getting to know each other and there's a lot of evaluating and hesitating going on. When you're married, it's full speed ahead.

When you're married, the wife becomes the husband's property. I know that's very un-PC to say that, girls, but I have to tell you that we true femmes want to be "owned" by our men. We want to be dominated in bed by our Lord and Master. Under him. Presenting our feminine bodies for his Lordship's pleasure.

When David and I walked toward our bridal suite, I was shuddering with both fear and lust. My bottomhole was so small and David's "equipment" was so huge. He was going to kill me on our wedding night, I just knew it. A boy split in two by his new husband's raging, snorting passion!

But David wasn't raging and snorting. He was just acting…I don't know…happy.

Happy to be married to me. Totally in love with me. And delighted that he was to be the first one to enter what would likely become the Grand Central Station of pretty bottomholes.

It was a special moment on many levels.

David opened the room and carried me, voluminous gown and all, over the threshold. He kissed me deeply with lots of tongue then set me down gently. I was very frightened, but in a complete sexual dither at the same time. Trembling, yet fiercely erect.

David took command. He sat in a chair in the suite's sitting room and said, "Undress for me, my Darling."

In a wedding gown, that was more easily said than done. When I had to go winkie at the reception, it took Alexa and Bruce to rearrange things so I could piddle. Still, I wanted to give my husband a great striptease on our wedding night, so I took my time and exposed my hot, beautiful flesh to him one square inch at a time.

David unzipped his tuxedo trousers, removed his cock and stroked it slowly, just to tease me with it and keep himself in a high state of excitement. His big missile looked more massive than it had ever been, making me lose my courage yet again. David sensed my fear and ordered me to come over and kiss him for a few moments before continuing the striptease.

Shyly, I approached my husband. I had stripped my gown to my waist and removed my satin bra, so I was naked from the waist up, while voluminously clothed from the waist down. David was still in full tuxedo. Except his cock, which was naked and throbbing.

Head down in the presence of my Lord and Master, I sat my bottom across his thighs. I was trembling girlishly, very unsure of what was expected of me.

David held my chin in his hand, lifted it so that we were in eye contact, then said, "You are my very own Darling. My wife and my lover. You have already brought me delight beyond measure."

And then he kissed me.

I fell into my husband's delicious embrace, returning his kiss with full ardor. My little popsy was pushing against my satin panties and was already threatening to spew its girlish goo.

Things got hotter when David broke the lipclench and began to kiss my eyes, my cheeks, my chin, my neck (ohhhh), my creamy shoulders, my chest and then (blush), each nipple.

I'm only human girls. I ruined the third set of satin panties that beautiful day with hot spurts of girlish excitement.

David seemed delighted with the first cum of our marriage, even though I was the only one cumming.

I wanted that beautiful cock in my mouth, so I sank to my knees and began sucking it with long, slow motions. David groaned appreciatively, murmuring soft endearments. But then David said, "Stop, Dylan. I don't want to cum. I've been saving a big, creamy load for 24 hours. It's the load that's going deep into your bowels and taking your virginity."

I shuddered.

It appeared that my time had come.

David eased me to my feet, then told me to resume my strip act.

Trembling, but obedient to my husband, I stepped out of my gown, leaving it in a large heap on the carpeted floor.

I stood before my man in only silky, white, seamed stockings; a satin, lacy garter belt; white, skyscraper, stiletto pumps; and a pair of white, cum-soaked, satin panties.

I awaited instructions.

David took his time giving them, considering his feminine prize for several minutes. Looking thoroughly at his property.

Then he said, "Panties down, Baby. But don't wipe off the cum."

I obeyed.

And guess what. My little jewel was stiff again.

David seemed very pleased.

"Lie on the bed, on your back, and don't touch yourself," he ordered.

Ohhhhh. He was going to FUCK me!!!! In my bottom. Like his little, helpless, love slave. The last vestiges of my masculinity would be gone forever. I would be a man's toy. Existing only for his pleasure.

I could have screamed for help. But it didn't appear that David would need any.

I could have run out the door and down the hallway, into the elevator, through the lobby, out the hotel door, into a cab and all the way home. But then I would have missed out on a good fucking. Several good fuckings, actually. Thousands of good fuckings and a wonderful life.

I chose to satisfy my husband's animal needs. And my own..

As ordered, I sissied over to the bed and carefully lay on my back. In the center of the bed. Head on two fluffy, scented pillows.

David was quietly undressing, but I didn't look at him until he stood at the bottom of the bed. Totally naked and rampant.

He was beautiful.

But so was I.

David's excitement was immense. His politeness and patience had been sweet up until that point, but, like any man, his lust was beginning to consume him.

David was transforming from man to ANIMAL!

Snorting.

Precum dripping like a leaky faucet from his exposed prickhead.

Capable of only one last, rational act, David produced a jar of Vaseline, then slathered it liberally. First, as deeply into my bottom as all four of his fingers could reach. Which made me moan. Then all over his stiff monster. Which made me whimper with anticipation.

One last moment of panic never had a chance to completely form because David threw himself on top of me. His arms hooked my legs, driving my knees back to my ears and presenting my pussy for David's convenient amusement.

I was helpless!! Trapped!! Under my husband. At a man's complete mercy.

It was magnificent!

David held and aimed his cock, grunting as he eased it into the well-lubricated division between my cheeks. His peehole touched my anus, the first that had ever done so. I squealed with terror.

David leaned his head forward and took stuck his tongue into my mouth to distract me and muffle my cries.

And then he pushed forward and lodged his cockhead fully in my anus. I screamed as my masculine personality deserted my body forever.

Pain.

Agony.

Less pain.

Then my feral, merciless husband pressed his advantage – pushing his entire, thick, greased cock completely into my defenseless bottom.

All the way in.

Ouch.

I cried out in agony and instantaneously regretted everything in my life that had led me to that carnal moment.

I panicked, actually fearful of my life. Claustrophobic. Trapped by a madman intent on my demise.

Then the pain eased.

And became mere discomfort.

Then a pleasant feeling.

Followed by a pinnacle of pleasure I never thought possible.

It was bliss.

Heaving, grunting fucking.

Every stroke of David's thick rammer rubbing against my prostate, driving me half-mad with pleasure.

David enjoying every merciless stroke. Reveling in my helpless pleasure.

Honest, girls. I had no idea it would be half this good.

I almost enjoyed the gratification I was giving David as much as my own universe-expanding pleasure.

But with a cock in your ass, you don't think. You just feel.

Aside from the occasional, intense urge to poop, I was enjoying being fucked more than anything I had ever done.

David seemed equally delighted as he pushed in and out of his "new possession" the first 50 or so times.

As far as I was concerned, he could keep pumping my pootie until I passed out.

I remember expecting David to cum at any time. But then I was the one who made the first gooey mess.

Even that was scary. I know when I'm cumming, girls. And that cum, like all the really great ones, had a very long buildup. Still, when it's cumming, you cum. But that time, my moment arrived, I surrendered to my testicles, and nothing happened.

I can't explain why, but that cock in your ass, seems to "block" your orgasm. But what it really does is delay it, not block it. It's only for 15 seconds or so. But when the climax does arrive, it's at least 50 megatons in intensity.

My cum knocked me almost senseless. Which would have been too bad, because I did not want to miss the experience of my husband's first cum injection into my formerly virgin bottom.

When David did cum after the 104^th stroke, I found myself wondering where I had stored his life insurance policy. I thought I was about to be the world's youngest widow. David shuddered and spasmed and pumped all his bodily liquids into me for a very long time, then slumped on top of me in dead weight.

He wasn't dead. Just very happy and very satisfied.

He kept pumping his whopper into my sopping bottom until he softened and was expelled my involuntary rectal muscles.

David rolled onto his back. Chest heaving. Soft, sticky, wet, poop-flecked cock flopped across his stomach. Cum was drooling from his peehole and into his belly button.

He looked delicious.

I must have looked a sight.

My face was flushed with excitement and my eyes were wide with amazement at what I had just been through. My little tickler was already half-stiff and my stomach and garter belt were drenched with my own boy's cream. And my bottom, my poor, ravaged bottom, was leaking my husband's cum.

I had become the complete bride that I had longed to be.

And it was only the beginning.

Now that I had been thoroughly fucked, I wanted to be thoroughly fucked again.

While I certainly didn't want to ruin David's health, I wanted my bottom filled again. And again.

Maybe if I just gave him some encouragement, he would get the hint, I reasoned.

After all, David had been resting for ten whole minutes.

I got up onto my knees and leaned over to kiss and suck David's cock back to life.

David looked at me with great interest as I took his soft, messy lovestick into my wet mouth.

David grunted a bit as I gave him a taste of heaven. Then he smiled and said, "I think you liked being fucked, Mrs. Everhard. And I think you want more."

I made eye contact with my man, still sucking, but moaning my agreement.

David gave me a little vocal sex as I worked on reviving his manhood. "This time, Baby, I'm going to put you on your stomach. I'll slip three pillows under your tummy, until I have the loveliest target on earth. Then I'll enter you with one long stroke. Since I've already cum, it'll probably take me 150 to 200 strokes before I dump another big, creamy load into you. You'll probably cum twice before I do, screaming as you ejaculate helplessly into the pillows."

Listening to my immediate future made me totally stiff. Predicting my immediate future stiffened my husband diamond hard.

Then David made all his predictions come true.

Then twice more that wonderful night. Once doggy style <arf!>. Once standing up <blush>, with my boyish body pressed against a wall as my husband ravaged me from behind.

And we had only been husband and wife for about 20 hours.

I predicted a happy marriage.

 

Chapter Six – The Honeymooners

On the first full day of our marriage, I awoke deliciously. That scamp David had my little piddler in his mouth, with my foreskin retracted, and was eagerly kissing and sucking my oh-so-sensitive little knoblet.

"Oh, darling," I squealed as I awoke fully. "I'm cumming, my dear husband! A thick, creamy, sticky load, just for you."

David loved to swallow the first-of-the-day sissy cream that my little pellets produced after eight hours of slumber.

And I loved to feed it to him.

The divine sensations climaxed as they always did. Divinely. Glob after glob of "husband nourishment" gagged my ardent, adoring David.

Stars and meteors! Planets as-yet-unnamed.

A heaving, boyish breast as the sensations subsided.

Then the need.

A new need that I hadn't felt before.

A consuming need that I would feel for the rest of my life.

I needed to be fucked.

And David needed to fuck me.

His cock was completely vertical and he seemed every bit as randy as he had when he had ravaged me for the first time some twelve hours earlier.

And I was still completely at his mercy.

The sheets, my make-up, and especially my bottom, were in dire need of some freshening.

So David picked me up like a caveman, slinging me over his shoulder. He was carrying me to the bathroom, which was a good thing, because I needed to go both Big Potty and little potty. And really bad.

I was squealing and whooping, just like a cave woman who was about to be "neanderthaled" by her man, which seemed to excite David even more.

He got me into the bathroom and I thought he was going to lay me on the floor and fuck me right there. Which would have been OK, but in my condition, quite messy, you know?

Anyway, he set me on the pot, told me to "do my business," then left the bathroom for two minutes to call the maid for a freshening of the room.

"Doing my business" was very easy, since everything about my bottomhole had been reorganized over the previous few hours. Rather than an "Exit Only" sign on the seat of my panties, I could have written, "Main Entrance."

I flushed and cleaned my pussy as well as I could with paper, then faced my husband, who re-entered the bathroom looking hornier than ever.

I stood. We kissed deeply, rubbing bodies as I unhooked my garter belt and let my stockings fall to the floor. David released me for a moment, adjusting the water level and temperature of the shower, then pulled me in with him.

I was naked and he was washing away all my girlish make-up. Would he be turned off when he saw his wife as a boy?

Oh, no.

David dallied as long as he was able, washing himself and me as well as he could with a soapy washcloth. Then he squirted shampoo in my hair and lovingly rubbed it into my brunette locks. My hair was soaped and foamy. Then he turned me around and began to caress my plump bottom with his soapy hands.

Oh.

When he entered me with three soapy fingers, I whimpered with lust. He was both loosening me and lubricating me and it was fantastic.

I ached to be fucked.

David ached to fuck me.

I wiggled my ass provocatively, then said, "Make me pregnant, David. I want your baby."

I don't know why I said it, but I'm very glad I did.

It turned my loving husband into a rutting beast.

David pushed his entire "thing" into me with one stroke. Hours earlier, that would have killed me. But I was "expanding" my capabilities and took a huge cock into my tiny bottom with both ease and intense pleasure.

David pushed and pulled with a jackhammer motion, muttering, "Take my sperm. Get your belly up. Give you my baby."

Good gravy! He did like the idea of making his boy wife preggers.

And so did I.

As he fucked me, I dreamed about being pregnant. Nipples dripping.

I was eight-and-a-half-months gone, lying on my back. Belly up. Stretched with our child.

In my waking dream, David was looking at me lovingly, but he was afraid to fuck me. Worried he would harm me or jostle the baby.

I wanted to be fucked. And I didn't want David chasing after some younger, slimmer sissy as I was bringing his baby into the world.

Keeping your knees together is not the way to keep your man.

So in my dream, I teased his sensitive, pink cockhead with my girlish fingers, then hefted his balls, heavy with cum and desire for me.

"You can make love to me, David, my Darling," I dreamed I said. "I won't break. And it won't harm our baby. It's a miracle that you got me pregnant. It was only because of your extreme manliness that your sperm was able to impregnate even me, a pantyboy. You're the sexiest man on the earth!"

That did it for dream David. As it would for any man. Despite my belly, we found a way to fuck.

I even dreamed of having big breasts filled with milk. Nursing David on one side and our baby on the other.

In real life, I was squealing and spurting my guts out as David spermed my bottom. Still hard, he fucked me for 20 minutes more, then deposited another load and engendered two more loads from me.

I was exhausted from the most energetic fucking a wife can expect from his husband.

But David looked as if he wanted yet another opportunity to "sperm my eggs."

I managing to hold him off long enough to refresh my feminine mystique. I dried off, made up my pretty face, perfumed and powdered my body, then dressed myself to thrill – tiny, pink, babydoll nightie; pink, 1950's-style, fully-fashioned stockings; strappy, pink, five-inch stiletto sandals; and pink, diaphanous, bikini panties.

While no woman in either hemisphere would wear stockings and a garter belt with a nightie, I did. David adored the feminine excess of the outfit. And I adored David.

When he saw how I looked, I couldn't hold him off anymore.

We fucked like honeymooning rabbits for three more hours. David ordered room service. We ate. Then fucked for two more days.

While some might postulate that David would never be able to make me pregnant, it appeared that he was more than willing to keep trying to accomplish just that.

And I was the grateful beneficiary of his efforts.

On the third morning, David and I managed to get into our "street clothes" – a pink Chanel suit, complete with far-too-short skirt and pillbox hat for me – blue, power suit for David – and find our way to David's private jet, where we doffed our street clothes and fucked all during the 14-hour flight to Tahiti.

I felt a little funny having my "cockpit" pounded in the rear of the plane while the pilots were in their cockpit, but it would have been far worse to have gone 14 hours with an empty bottom. So I got over it.

What I did feel uncomfortable about was the presence of David's valet, a young, frail, thin fellow named Charlie.

Charlie occupied a walled-off section of the plane between the "bedroom" and the pilots. And we only saw him two or three times during the flight. But David seemed to feel no modesty around Charlie. He had the young man bring us food and drink when we were both in a state of some dishabille. I covered my cum-drenched body with a cum-drenched sheet, but David accepted Charlie's offerings while completely nude. Dripping with his and my creamy juices.

Charlie pretended not to notice things, but it was clear that it made him uncomfortable.

What I noticed made me uncomfortable.

Charlie was a freelance sissy. I was almost certain. The way he looked at my husband, I was sure that if David told Charlie to strip, get on his back and raise his knees, Charlie would have been a squealing, cummy mess in very short order.

Still, I was also pretty sure that David had never been intimate with Charlie. A wife knows these things about his husband.

But don't you think it was strange that he kept the little creampuff around, especially now that he had a wife?

Anyway, we arrived safe and sated in Tahiti and were whisked to our luxury resort, where we once again did not see the light of day for 72 hours.

By then, David and I decided to see if Tahiti was actually near the ocean.

Getting into our swimwear was more difficult than I had imagined.

David wore a skimpy, red Speedo that made him look more naked than naked. He was delicious!

I wore a stringy, powder-blue bikini that was rated at least XXX. The bra was strings and two little triangles that barely covered my perpetually-erect nipples. The panties were two little triangles too. One triangle covered most of my bottom crack. The other triangle was supposed to cover my pricklet and pink goodies; and it would have too, if I had been flaccid. Trouble was, I was almost always aroused, so my "girlish excitement" poked my bikini bottoms out, exposing my testicle bag and all but the skinned knoblet of my stiff jewel.

How could I ever wear that in public?

The thought of doing so, exposing my "pink things" to peeking men, made me even stiffer. I looked at David. He looked at me. What was the rush to see that old ocean?

We fucked until the next morning, coming up for nourishment only when Charlie brought us a life-sustaining tray around 7 p.m.

The next day, my resolve to see the ocean was much stronger. We arose at nine and got into our bathing gear. David mentioned that he had better rub some sunblock on me before we went out. I agreed and David rubbed soothing lotion all over me.

Twenty-four hours and 14 combined orgasms later, we finally got outside and down to the beach.

I'm still not sure how I managed an erection after all that, but I was seriously tenting my bikini bottoms when we paraded up and down the sand that morning.

The beach wasn't crowded. Four or five couples.

But all eyes, male and female, were on me.

Every man who saw me erected. And drooled. And was slapped by his wife or girlfriend.

Who needs Levitra when there are Boy Brides?

I love the hot stares men give me, girls. And let me tell you, I fantasized about giving every one of those oglers exactly what he wanted.

I was turning into a little tramp. At least in my mind. Not that I would ever cheat on David.

We took a little dip in the ocean. Another erection-in-panties display to nourish the men's fantasies for the rest of their lives. Then back to the room for the rest of our fuck-filled honeymoon.

At least I could tell Mom and Daddy that I went swimming on my honeymoon.

 

Chapter Seven – Married Life

Four weeks to the day after we were married, David and I appeared at the door to our Georgetown home in Washington, D.C.

To ensure that everything was perfect for the new "lady of the house," David had made a lot of calls to his staff on the flight home.

At the time, all I wanted was a bedroom, a bed and David. But I must admit, it was a beautiful, colonial-style home.

Being married to a rich, powerful man was a good thing.

I giggled with joy as David carried Chanel-suited, stockinged and high-heeled me over the threshold.

Would he carry me directly to the master bedroom and master me?

Not immediately.

First, he introduced me to the household staff, who were lined up to greet the new Mrs. Everhard.

I shook all their hands. The housekeeper, Mrs. Harris. Two cooks. A butler and his assistant. Three chambermaids. A chauffer. Charlie, the valet, of course. And the gardener/handyman – a rather insolent-looking fellow named Mendez, who was eyeing me down as if he wanted to fuck me right there.

Perhaps I would ask David to have Mendez dismissed. Or incarcerated.

No matter. Moments later, we were in the master bedroom, picking up where we had left off on the 14-hour flight home.

Fucking. As I screamed for David's seed to impregnate me.

Except for Charlie, who brought us meals now and then, I didn't see another human except David until a week later.

On that day.

That horrible day.

When David went back to work.

I begged him to stay home and fuck me for the rest of our lives, but he said that five weeks was all he could take off from the Senate, since they were confirming some old Supreme Court Chief Justice or something and deciding whether the United States was going to war with some country whose name ended with –stan.

Like that was more important than my aversion to a vacant bottom!

I cried and pleaded, but my husband left me.

I cried and threw things when he left. Showing a petulance I didn't know I had.

My poor, unoccupied bottom itched all day. Over the previous five weeks, my cream-filled pussy had been stuffed with cock more often than it had been empty. And now it was empty!

It was horrible.

I almost didn't speak to David when he came home that evening at 7. But I let him fuck me, of course. Several times. He was forgiven until he left me at 8 the next morning!!!! Two days in a row!!!

Wasn't that marital cruelty?

When he started doing that horrible "work" thing five days a week, I tried to be mature about it. But remember, I was 18 years old. And had the hormones of a very horny boy, who had been "getting it" regularly.

Admittedly, David's daily absence did allow me to sleep a bit, refreshing my batteries and filling my pretty ball bag.

And it did give me a chance to do some "girlie maintenance" on my beautiful self.

And spend lots of my husband's money.

The prospect of doing that salved my bruised feelings a bit.

But shopping alone is no fun. And now that my husband insisted on deserting me every day to do that horrible "work" thing, it was time for me to re-establish contact with my fellow Boy Brides.

I didn't call any of the married boys. They would have just bragged about how they couldn't even come to the phone because their husbands, who would never sink to "working," were either fucking them or getting them both into a state for further fucking.

But I began to wonder if some of the younger, unmarried pantyboys would like to visit me in Washington for a while. Stay at the house in Georgetown. Spend David's money at the obscenely expensive boutiques. Get makeovers. Girlie stuff.

And maybe "play" a little while David was doing his "save-the-free-world-instead-of-staying-home-to-pound-my-boy-wife's-pootie" thing.

Whom to call?

Well……there were those two, pretty, big-cocked sissies in our local chapter back home – Randy and Bruce.

As far as I knew, they weren't even engaged yet.

They would rush to my side, wouldn't they?

I called Randy. That little tramp! He was engaged and was getting married the following weekend. And wouldn't even postpone it for a while to accommodate me!

Fear gripped me when I called Plan B – Bruce. Was I about to be rejected? Denied something I wanted for practically the first time since I had been wearing panties?

Relax.

Bruce was DELIGHTED to accept my offer. He fairly gushed as he told me that his head was positively spinning from all the male attention and marriage proposals. He would welcome the opportunity to rekindle a "warm" relationship, while getting his head straight about his future. He would take the first plane out the next morning and my chauffer would bring him to me.

How delightful.

I told David about Bruce's visit that evening between our third and fourth, heaving, spurting, near-death-experience orgasm.

David smiled strangely and said, "Whatever you want, my Darling. You know that. Perhaps Bruce 'keep you cool' a bit during the day while I'm at the Senate. And you'll want to go shopping for some gowns to wear to all the receptions we'll be going to in December before Congress goes on break."

He understood!!!

How wonderful.

He was a loving husband after all.

And a loved husband when a grateful me got done with him at the end of that lovely, fuck-filled night.

After sending a drained David off to legislate, I dolled myself up for Bruce's arrival.

My best undies. Carefully applied make-up. Skirts and heels that accented my luscious legs.

Don't let anyone tell you that sissies are less competitive among themselves than women are.

I wanted to look completely edible for Bruce.

I wanted Bruce to, as David so aptly phrased it, "keep me cool."

But when Bruce arrived around noon, I was four-alarm hot.

Bruce was an absolutely dollish boy.

Better even than I remembered him in my single days.

Bruce's pretty face featured true bedroom eyes that had been adorned to cosmetic perfection. His red pillows of lips invited kisses and cocks. His legs were black-stockinged treasures. And his bottom – oh, his bottom – would drive men to start wars and destroy their bank accounts.

And apparently, from his warm greeting, it was all for me.

The warm greeting extended until 20 minutes before my husband came home that evening, because, girls, all those wonderful things about Bruce were nothing compared to his "best feature."

Nearly ten inches of best feature.

Bigger than David's best feature. And thicker.

<Gasp>

Bruce and I greeted each other with soft kisses and sweet embraces, which quickly escalated to caresses of each other's soft, rectal globes and some sweet toyings with our fingers in each other's pussies.

Blushing from what we almost did in full view of the servants, including that insolent Mendez, who was insolently observing us, Bruce and I managed to stay cool enough to find our way to a spare bedroom allocated for Bruce's stay. Then we closed the door and began to greet each other properly.

Bruce was dressed for being in public. A pretty blouse and short skirt, which we dispensed of sweatily and desperately, leaving him only in black, lacy bra; white, ruffled garter belt; naughty, black, fully-fashioned, seamed stockings; and nasty, black, patent-leather, five-inch-stiletto, come-fuck-me pumps. Anticipating an afternoon of greeting and welcoming, I began the festivities all in pink – peignoir, bra, garter belt, seamed stockings, wispy panties and proper fuck-me pumps.

The sight of Bruce's rampant monster, incongruously framed by creamy thighs, stocking tops and garter belt, was most arousing. It's no wonder that men adore us. They get EVERYTHING they want in one soft, submissive package.

And Bruce was a package worth opening.

Writhing as we kissed and cuddled, Bruce and I exchanged tongues and saliva. At any minute, I expected Bruce to slip to his pretty knees and take my little pink parts into his hot wet mouth. Or perhaps we would adjourn to the bed, slipping into a long, hungered 69. Much as we did in our Friday-Night BBS meetings.

Uh, no.

We weren't at the chapter meetings any more.

Bruce had different ideas.

Better ideas.

Being married and losing my virginity had also changed my ideas about sex since my Friday-night frolics with my fellow pantyboys. I had evolved into a wife who liked a thick cock in my tiny bottom.

Bruce, who was still single, had to be an anal virgin and would have to stay that way until his wedding if he wanted to remain a Boy Bride. But nowhere in the BBS bylaws did it say that an anal virgin couldn't use his biggest asset to ensure that someone else was anally pleasured.

And I was to be the delighted recipient.

It was extra erotic to be dominated in the sack by a beautiful, feminine sissy with a huge cock. Made me feel even more femmy and submissive. And Bruce seemed very happy to take the more boyish role.

Bruce laid me on my stomach, then had me get up on my knees. Was he going to FUCK me right then? Dry?

I felt the tiniest flash of fear. OK, a big flash.

I had never had a cock that big. And David always lubed me properly before any anal activity.

Still, I had to have that cock.

I grimaced, expecting pain, followed by bliss.

Instead, I felt a lovely, girlish tongue. Opening me up. Wetting me. Getting me ready for what promised to be great pleasure.

I darned near spurted just from that.

Bruce licked and dug with his tongue as I panted and gasped.

I glanced back at my sweet tormentor and noted with some foreboding that Bruce's "big business" had swelled even more.

Oh, my.

I began to imagine who would attend my funeral and what would be said. "Dylan was a beautiful boy," the priest would say. "He was loved by his husband and loved a bit to much by a fellow pantyboy, who split him cleanly in two. In order to accommodate the large crowd of mourners, we will bury half of him today and the other half tomorrow."

Miraculously, however, I was to live through the experience.

And enjoy it immensely.

Showing a dominance that I didn't think a pantyboy could exhibit, Bruce stopped licking and started fucking me.

I whimpered from fear and need as Bruce pulled me up onto my knees, then knelt behind me. The pretty boy licked his hand liberally with saliva, rubbed the spit lovingly around the head of his exposed, pink jewel, then lined it up with my anus for my imminent ravaging.

I drew in my breath, manipulated my anal muscles to open my pussy a bit, gritted my teeth and waited.

My wait was brief.

Bruce pushed his whole cockhead into me, squealing with joy. I screamed as that fist-like object stretched my tiny hole.

Knowing that a quick thrust would hasten the pleasure, Bruce pushed his whole femmie pole into my tortured-yet-welcoming bottom.

Oh. That was better. Like my husband's cock, but so big that every nerve in my bowels was being stimulated by girlish cock flesh.

Bruce knew how to fuck. He pushed and pulled with both a steady and, occasionally, a varied rhythm. Mindful of my needs, he reached around my right hip and tickled my little pickle as he fucked me. He skinned my pretty pink knob as his cock redefined my ideas about pleasure.

I knew how to be fucked. I grunted and mewed and squealed and whimpered. I gripped Bruce's cock with my anal muscles and milked it. I accepted pleasure and gave it in return.

And, of course, I shuddered and spurted my sissy cream and thick globs into Bruce's hand.

The bad boy licked my goo off his hand as he finished fucking me. The bad boy.

Then, Bruce groaned, accelerated his thrusts, and blew an amazing amount of sissy cream into my delighted pleasure pit.

Bruce and I fell forward in exhaustion. He withdrew from his "love connection" with me and we lay on our backs, kissing and cooing.

I had to ask. "That wasn't your first time 'on top,' was it, Bruce?"

Bruce giggled sweetly.

"No, Honey," Bruce said. "Before I joined the Boy Brides Society, I had a number of girlfriends."

With that "asset," I could see why.

Bruce told me that he loved to fuck girls, especially in their tight bottoms. But girlishness and a man filling his bottom with thick cock were his destiny.

It appeared to me that Bruce's destiny would be quite varied.

Bruce and I made love all that afternoon until, in panic, I disengaged myself to get cleaned and primped for my husband's arrival home.

As I showered, perfumed, powdered and cosmetized, I worried that David would suspect that Bruce and I had, you know…

Did David notice my nervousness when I greeted him as I always did…in the sexiest, femmiest lingerie and in total sexual submission to his every disgusting desire? My bottom presented to him for lubrication, dilation and penetration?

He didn't seem to.

Until we got to one of those occasional pauses when we were all fucked out. You know what I mean. The point where couples stop fucking and well, you know, talk.

Talk.

The enemy of love. Or at least lust.

"How was your day?" David asked. He always seemed interested in what I had done that day. To tell the truth, I wasn't the least bit interested in what he did all day – just boring Senate stuff. But I would ask him once in a while. Just to be polite.

I answered the way I often did. "Oh, just the usual housewife stuff."

I was a housewife. Sort of. I mean, I didn't do any cooking or cleaning. Though I had told the housekeeper, Mrs. Harris that if she ever needed me to make a decision or anything, I was available. Mrs. Harris usually deflected that with an expression of thanks, followed by a comment such as, "How beautiful you look today, Mrs. Everhard."

Mrs. Harris knew how to limit the conversation to the important stuff.

Anyway, for the sake of accuracy, I had to add, "Bruce arrived today. Remever you said he could stay with us for a while?"

David, who had been lying on his back in repose, limp cock flopped across his thigh, stirred at the mention of Bruce. In fact, his cock gained a good half-stiffie.

Hmmm.

Then David said, "That's wonderful, Darling. Whatever makes you happy is fine with me. Bruce can stay as long as he wants."

David got a three-quarter stiffie.

David continued. "Did you two engage in a little pantyboyish play?"

I blushed. Then felt a pang of fear. Would David be angry? Would he <gasp> spank me? Or <horrors!!!> divorce me?

No way.

I nodded shyly at David's question. David became fully, drippingly stiff.

David drew me to him and began kissing me as we rubbed cocks. Then he showed me something I hadn't seen before when he said, "I thought you weren't quite as tight back there tonight. Not that I'm complaining. Is that true. Did Bruce fuck you? Tell me the truth."

The truth was what worried me. I didn't want a sore bottom, but it appeared that David was more excited than jealous. "Yes, my husband. Bruce fucked me. Five times. But it was just boys having fun."

Poor David groaned and began pumping his goo all over my privates.

I think the idea of pantied Bruce emptying his heavy balls into David's pretty wife excited David. A lot.

I heard my orgasming husband mutter, "Boys having fun."

When things calmed down, David said, "Sweetie, it's OK if you want to have fun with other pretty boys. They can't get you pregnant. Only a man can. I'm going to get your belly up if it's the last thing I do. But listen, Honey. Don't you EVER, I mean EVER let me catch you making love to another man. You keep that in the family, do you understand me?"

David was a little weird about the "pregnant sissy" thing, but so forceful when he said that. I was trembling with fear. He MEANT it. No other men.

OK, then.

But what was that odd phrasing about "keep that in the family?" Probably just a slip of the tongue.

Much like the tongue he slipped into my pootie right after I squealed out continued monogamy to him as he made me give up my sticky treasure.

The next few weeks leading up to Christmas, were happy ones. I had David twelve hours a day and Bruce the other twelve. On weekends, I had David all to myself. Though, just to be hospitable, he and Bruce and I would usually have dinner together.

Let's face it. David wanted to fuck Bruce.

Strange as it sounds, I would have been OK with that. As long as David came back to me after. And if he, say, gave me a credit slip that I could cash in on a fuck with another man (or two), at a time of my choosing.

Yes, I was getting the itch to roam a bit, after less than two months of marriage.

You understand, don't you? There was a world of men out there, all, it seemed, eager to penetrate my anus,

Every man I met or whom I even saw, well, looked at me looked at me "that way." It made me shudder. I saw "opportunity" everywhere I looked.

When Bruce and I went to the boutiques to spend my husband's money on beautiful clothes, every man we saw along the way looked at us "that way." I say "us," but it was mostly "me" they wanted.

When David and I attended the White House reception for the King of Gingerfredonia, Fred the First, every man in the room looked at me "that way," then undressed me with his eyes.

Especially King Fred. And my great admirer "Bluto" (President Blutarsky to you).

But before I tell you about that reception, let me tell you about Bruce's and my shopping trips.

I hadn't been out much as a married pantyboy. I seemed to be under either David or Bruce during most of my life. But David began INSISTING on certain things: I needed more fresh air, he said. I needed to wear more than lingerie, he said. I needed to start being on his arm on some of the Washington baloney that he had to attend.

Well, I did like it when he dominated me. Though not over things like that. Still, it would be fun to show off my beauty to the world at large. So one day, Bruce and I wiggled into our sexiest miniskirts, called the chauffer and hit the most expensive boutiques in Georgetown.

None of the sales staff at Chez Snooty's blinked an eye when two pretty boys pranced in asking to be gowned for some major to-dos.

"It's a pleasure to serve you, Mrs. Everhard," said Monique, the proprietress. "And you as well, Miss Spermworthy."

That was Bruce's name? I never knew that. Kind of prophetic, wasn't it?

Anyway, we tried on this and that, bought a few things, then wiggled down the street amidst leers and wolf-whistles to another ritzy boutique, where we further damaged David's assets.

Then Bruce said, "It was so nice of David to tell me to get whatever I wanted, just for escorting you. I wish I could reward him in some way."

I stared Bruce down with a "Try-it-and-I'll-claw-your-eyes-out" look. Then he started giggling and so did I.

There's a real sisterhood among us Boy Brides Society members.

And a sense of adventure. We selected our dresses and had what we came for. We could have gone home, but Bruce informed me that we were near a "Timmy's Girlish Secret" lingerie store.

I had always wanted to visit one of those, but never had the time. [Too much "in-and-out" time, I guess.] We were close by, so what the heck.

I'm sure you've seen the cable television ads for Timmy's Girlish Secret, especially if you watch the T-Girl Channel (TVTV). It's lingerie just for us "special girls," of all ages. Though the Timmy in the advertising and displays all over the store is a barely-18 little confection who has become the poster child for "our thing."

Even I must admit that Timmy is a knockout.

Soft and vulnerable. Feminine beyond words, with just a wisp of a cock and the prettiest little balls ever shown in a TV commercial.

And knockdown, drag-out gorgeous!

Men had been videotaping Timmy's TV commercials since they first appeared the previous year. Men had been playing the little masterpieces over and over. Men had m been spilling oceans of goo imagining that Timmy was their "special friend."

Men liked Timmy. And according to his commercials, Timmy liked men.

I adored the commercial Timmy's fans called "The Babysitter." Timmy was shown in a quick montage as a boyishly-dressed babysitter for two kids as a glamorous husband and wife head out for a proper evening. After the lovely young man puts the children to bed, he sneaks into the couple's room, where he tries on the woman's delicious lingerie (looking far sexier than the wife ever could). The husband, who, unbeknownst to Timmy, arrived home early without his wife. "catches" Timmy in all his girlish glory. Timmy sobs in shame, but recovers nicely when the man begins to kiss Timmy as he reaches under his nightie to tickle his tiny pickle.

Then there was the one Timmy's fans called "Taking Dick-tation." Timmy, dressed in his "boy suit" (Navy blue, Brooks Brothers, three-piece, with red, power tie), was an "assistant" to a very important-looking (and hunky) businessman. Timmy seemed to enjoy his job, assisting – stapling, filing, typing. And he really seemed to enjoy the "looks" he was getting from the men in the office, especially the boss.

Bossman summoned Timmy to his office. Timmy locked the door, then, remembering that the commercial was only 60 seconds long, quickly stripped to some delicious, black lingerie. The little doll then produced a compact, which he used to rouge his soft cheeks and gloss his lovely lips.

Timmy sat on the boss's lap for some tonguey kissing and a good, mutual feel-up. [The commercial's creators got by Federal Communications Commission's censors by reasoning, successfully, that they had to show that Timmy had a "peeny and pink purse," or no one would believe he was a sissyboy.]

The voiceover said, "Where do the prettiest boys, like Timmy, shop for their femmy treasures? And where do their 'daddies' find just the right accessories for their sweet little creampuffs? Timmy's Girlish Secret. A pretty boy's favorite store."

I didn't think that the reality of the store would be anything like the hype. I mean, have you ever been in a casino? It's not people like James Bond playing chemin de fer in a dinner jacket. It's old people squandering their Social Security checks.

The reality of Timmy's Girlish Secret was very much like the commercials. Pretty boys shopping. Gorgeous shop girls. Hunky daddy shoppers. Except for the fact that Timmy wasn't there, the store was wonderful.

The store was not huge – maybe 2,500 square feet. But it was filled, and I mean filled with delights. Sissy delights. Chiffon and lace. Sleepwear, though no sissy who wore one of those confections would ever be left untouched long enough to sleep. Feminine underthings of every stripe.

Each created to accommodate the special needs of special boys.

Brassieres made for flat-chested lovelies – to conceal and torment erect, puffy nipples with their silky friction.

Panties, oceans of panties, with pouches designed to accommodate the "privates" of their pretty wearers – in four sizes – "tiny tickle," "substantial sissy," "the tentmaker," and "big girl."

Stockings (NO pantyhose) and the highest, spikiest heels.

Mmmmmm.

Followed by a very pretty and very happy salesgirl, who was clearly on commission, Bruce and I filled three shopping carts with femmy treasures.

Of course, that got us sexually charged up as well. As if we needed anything to charge us up. The salesgirl, once she had rung up $3,854.86 worth of purchases on David's American Express, suggested that we retire to the "Relief Room," a necessary amenity in such a store.

She also offered "relief assistance. She would be happy to leave us to assist each other, arrange for one of the several gentlemen in the store who had been shopping for their sissies, bring on two male "staff assistants" or assist us personally. That was interesting – was she a genetic girl or a freelance sissy? Surely, no Boy Brides member would be a shop girl!

I hope you don't think I'm snooty. I mean, it's just the truth. Boy Brides are the elite of sissidom.

Anyway, I was fine with just going to a back room with Bruce, dropping my panties and having Bruce pound my pootie until I fainted. Just as we did most days. But Bruce was far more adventurous. He told the salesgirl that she should ask a certain two gentleman shoppers, whom Bruce had been apparently observing, to join us in separate Relief Rooms.

That little tramp!

He wanted us to share our bodies and our girlish juices with men we didn't know!

I wouldn't.

I was faithful to David.

Though I was awfully randy.

And the men Bruce had selected were certainly handsome and manly. I had noticed them too.

It was very exciting.

But, girls, I was not about to compromise.

"I want the one in the navy blue suit," I announced to Bruce. "Or I'm going home."

Bruce was a houseguest and was getting free clothes. He could at least give me first pick.

Bruce smiled. "Of course, Honey. "It's 2 p.m. We'd better leave the store by 5 so you can get home and spruce up for David."

Three hours in a relief room? With a man I didn't know? Though he was very cute? With whom I was only going to "play tickles" and no fucking? Was Bruce crazy?

Thank goodness the salesgirl interrupted us at 4:59, or I would have gotten home at midnight and David would have suspected something for sure.

After what had just happened to me, I had to get home, scrub thoroughly and allow my bottomhole enough time to relax and tighten up again.

You see, the man, who was a 48-year-old sissy lover named Mark, fucked me for three hours straight.

And I let him.

I didn't just let him. I aided and abetted him. Enthusiastically.

The guilt – the adulterous guilt – was crushing me. But his cock was making me expel every molecule of cum from my body.

The first time I cheated on my husband with a man, it was with a man whose last name I never knew. After only two months of marriage. To a good husband. A rich and powerful, good husband.

Was I crazy?

Or did I just want to wade into the world's ocean of men and see if I floated?

Bruce, who looked more disheveled, I hoped, than I did, seemed to know what to do. He got my chauffer to load the purchases, then helped me look presentable so that every servant, when I arrived home at 5:30, wouldn't know what I had been doing that afternoon.

Good sissy, that Bruce. And apparently, more worldly than I was. Still a virgin, but more worldly than I.

Bruce was still a virgin, an anal virgin, wasn't he? I mean it did cross my mind to ask him what he did at night when I was "with" my husband.

As we showered together to get the stink of adultery off before David's homecoming, I asked Bruce some questions and was shocked by the answers.

"Bruce, Honey," I said. "Are you still an anal virgin?"

I have to give Bruce credit for not being condescending. "No, Sweetheart," he said. "I'm not. I'm afraid I've been taking it in the pooper from men since I joined the Boy Brides. Alan, this afternoon's tasty treat, fucked me four times."

I was stunned. "That's against the rules of the Boy Brides," I said.

Bruce smiled again. "Yes, Honey, it is. But as far as I can tell, the Boy Brides members aren't all totally scrupulous about that rule."

More shock and awe from me.

"Have you been, you know, sleeping with someone in our house every night?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, Honey," Bruce said. "Finding men to fuck us will never be a problem for either of us."

I felt like such a goody-two-shoes. Which is an odd feeling for a married boy who had just been fucked repeatedly by a man not his husband.

Then I had a revelation. You don't always have to follow all the rules in life.

That changed my thinking. A lot.

Too bad I didn't think too much about the corollary. If you don't follow the rules, there could be consequences.

Painful consequences.

Chapter Eight – Challenges of Married Life

That evening, I gave my husband an extra-good seeing-to. So he wouldn't suspect me of infidelity. Which probably made him suspect me of infidelity. Confusing, isn't it?

I was so compliant that night that I even agreed to attend several receptions and parties and such with him. Which he had been nudging me toward for some time. I didn't really want to spend my evenings out of bed, but David was eager to show me off, he said. Plus, he was a politician and he had to do stuff like that, he said.

I thought that I could just buy the evening gowns and that would shut him up, but he seemed to be serious about doing things together other than fucking. Already, you can see how our marriage bond was weakening.

Anyway, it was early December, so the first event was the White House reception, which I mentioned before, with King Fred of Gingerfredonia. It would be good to see that rascal, President Bluto again and King Fred was famous as a world-class sissylover. His Mediterranean kingdom was the most sissy-friendly place on earth, except for maybe Fromage, Wisconsin and its environs.

I told David that I would only go to the reception if Bruce could go too. David agreed. A man is usually agreeable when he's asked a question by someone who has a faceful of his cum and is about to accept his large, anal visitor.

Bruce and I enjoyed dolling up for the big to-do. We did a "beauty afternoon" in a dreamy and very expensive salon, then adorned our lovely bodies in sequined, designer gowns – blue for Bruce, red for me. I love slithering on seamed, tan stockings, don't you? And gold, strappy sandals? We were h-o-t-t!

And so was David in his dinner jacket! Really hot. And his crotch was very "pointed."

When he saw us…and we saw him…the way he looked at me, then Bruce…the way Bruce and I looked at him…I was pretty sure that I would be spending the evening at home as part of my first threesome, instead of at the White House.

As I guess you've figured out about me, I'm always ready to try something new. Even watching my husband suck my sissy friend's enormous cock

But no.

David is very straight-laced about things like fucking another perfumed, powdered and lingeried boy in front of his wife. And so task-oriented! We HAD to go to that reception and fucking would have to wait. Hmmphh.

You never really learn about a person until you marry him.

Love is blind, but marriage is the eye-opener.

David caused quite a stir when he entered the White House party with not one, but two incredibly beautiful, pantied pansies.

His fellow senators were drooling. It was quite messy, actually. And quite dangerous for the envious legislators whose wives were watching their husbands' penises grow in their lumpy trousers.

Senator Orville Bumfilller (D-Wisconsin) made a naughty little crack to David: "I see now why you can't wait to get home every night, Everhard."

Little did I know how that observation would change not only my life, but the operation of the entire legislative branch of government. But more about that later.

Men were falling all over themselves to introduce themselves to Bruce and me – mostly me – then chat us up and get us drinks. Well, I wasn't showing my little pucker to any of those randy old goats. Not right then, anyway. I was going home with my David, strip to my frillies, and allow him to adore every nerve ending in my body until he and I had drenched each other in every molecule of our sticky cream.

Bruce, however, had other ideas. The little tramp disappeared for 36 minutes during the cocktail hour – during the exact time period that President Blutarsky was called away to the Situation Room. I think we know what the "situation" was, don't we, girls?

That little puss also "evaporated" for 42 minutes at a time when everyone was wondering as to the whereabouts of the guest of honor, King Fred.

Then…then…the little "butt slut" decided that he would be going home with Senator Rightwing (R-Texas). "Just to keep him company while his family is out of town," my big-cocked, femmy friend told me.

Bruce was getting the attention…and sex…that was rightfully mine!!! I was the pretty one. But I was married and that "friendly" pantyboy was single and free,

<Sigh>

I loved David, but at the time, 58 more months of marriage seemed a challenging prospect.

Things were fine when David was with me. Loving me. Worshipping me. But when he was away doing that "work" thing or whatever it was, I missed the adoration.

In that regard, I was kind of like a new puppy.

It appeared that David needed to train me.

 

Chapter Nine – Things Get Worse, Then Better.

The first Christmas of my married life was consistent with my pattern since joining the Boy Brides Society. It was surprising, exhilarating and somewhat disappointing.

Let me tell you about the disappointing part.

Bruce got engaged. To one of the senators from the reception that night. Senator Arnold Buttspunker (D-California). OK, like me he would be living in Washington most of the year. But his husband would be his primary lover. Not me.

No more lazy mornings, afternoons and early evenings with Bruce's girlish rammer filling my pretty pussy. Unless Bruce visited me while his new husband was at work. His husband would probably quit the Senate so he could stay home and fuck Bruce's hot bottom all day and night, the way a husband should. He wasn't a workaholic like my husband. Even if Bruce were to visit me every day, he wouldn't be doing that until after his wedding and honeymoon. Honestly – he was being so selfish!

What would I do all day with David at that awful "work" thing?

Why was everyone betraying me?

Acting as if life were all about THEM. What about ME????

There were good things that Christmas, though.

David got a whole month off while the Senate was out of session. It was like being on our honeymoon again. The horny little legislator was at me…and in me <giggle>…day and night.

We spent a week at my family home over Christmas and even that was wonderful. David got along very well with my huge family – during the hour or two each day that we emerged from my childhood room to commune with the world. I was always a squealer during sex, but I was extra loud that week with the family. I wanted everyone to know how much and how often David loved me. It was especially important to scream out "Oh, David, my Darling, you're making me cum again! You ANIMAL! Eeeeeekkkkk!" because Alexa, my sissy sister and "her" husband Connor, who was only 23 and a virtual cum factory, were in the adjoining room fucking day and night, just as David and I were.

A simple bit of sibling rivalry? You bet. It's one of the great forces of nature.

Mom and Dad seemed happy that Alexa, Connor, David and I were "enjoying" the holiday so much. I think it stirred them up a bit as well, since I often heard some pants, gasps and grunts emanating from my parents' room as well.

The rest of our clan seemed pretty much bored with what their two youngest siblings were doing – even if we had become sissies who were the wives of our men. The sibs were involved in their own lives and only mildly interested in ours.

Again – more selfishness. See what I mean?

But when we all got together to exchange gifts on Christmas morning, my family HAD to take notice. The gifts my loving husband gave me were spectacular. A pair of diamond earrings – two-carat studs for each ear! An incredibly beautiful, white sable coat! And my very favorite present – a numbered Swiss bank account with a very large amount, just for me.

Well. I guess that showed the rest of them.

Although neither my parents or siblings seemed to be all that impressed. They were probably faking, but they seemed mostly interested in the gifts that they gave to and received from their significant others. I mean, Alexa and Connor exchanged only cards or something, but they seemed to be hopelessly grateful. Can you believe that?

I really didn't buy anything for David. But I gave him a great present. Two stockings stuffed with me! Regular pussy – the gift that keeps on giving – is all men really want anyway.

Well, to make sure David knew that I appreciated my gifts, I left the table after Christmas dinner and asked David to stay and watch TV with my father, brothers and brothers-in-law. He seemed a bit suspicious, but David could deny me little.

I slipped off to my room and set about preparing a treat for David. I showered, powdered and perfumed. Made up my face to a perfect tartiness. Styled my long, brown hair. Slid on a silky pair of tan, fully-fashioned stockings, then attached them to a pretty, pink garter belt. Slipped my perfect tootsies into five-inch, stiletto slingbacks. No panties. Then I inserted my new diamond earrings into my pink lobes and adorned my body with my delicious, sable coat.

Oh. The feel of that sable against my puffy nipples! And against my skinned, stiff, pink jewel.

I sissied downstairs. Well, at last I was the center of attention. Even Daddy and my brothers were giving me that look. You know that look. The one where men wonder if the girl in the expensive fur is naked underneath. Well, I was. Except for my stockings and garter belt.

It was all so exciting that I spurted my sticky treasure all over the lining of my coat. Not that it mattered. I wasn't taking it to the refund counter after Christmas, I can tell you that.

I was happy that David's heart was strong, because when he saw me in that get-up, then realized that he would be the one who would be able to answer the question about my nakedness, his heart rate went to about 200.

David rose from his La-Z-Boy, walked over to me, and took me into his arms, kissing me deeply. The impetuous boy wanted to take me upstairs and fuck me until New Year's Day.

But I said no.

"Let's go to a hotel tonight, Darling," I suggested.

Well, David would have agreed to spend the night on the moon if that was what his pretty wife wanted. So after some brief goodbyes, David got me into his Mercedes and drove me to the Ritz. Neither of us spoke during the 15-minute ride. We just fantasized about what would happen when we got to our room.

The real life was better than our fantasies. I paraded through the lobby, creating erections and breaking hearts. Then David made me laugh when the registration clerk asked if we would need help with our luggage.

"No, thank you," David said. "We have no luggage. We're here for a night of fucking."

The clerk, I must admit, did not appear surprised. Every man who had seen us could surmise what we would be doing that night."

When we got to our suite and locked the door, David removed my coat, noting my nakedness with great delight. And noting the cummy stain on my coat's liner with even greater delight.

"I was so excited thinking about you, Darling," I said to my husband. Then I lay on my back and cranked my knees back to my ears.

"Please fuck me now. I love you so much. Give me your baby. Get my belly up."

David did not decline the invitation.

We returned to my parents' house three days later. In the same attire we had left with.

No one even seemed to notice.

No one is a celebrity or a hero to his own family

Something strange that I should mention. It seemed a bit odd to me that we never saw David's only living relative, his father, former-Senator Daniel Everhard, over Christmas.

David said that since David's mom had died, "Daddy" Everhard spent his Christmas vacations at a resort in Gingerfredonia. I wondered why he chose that odd island country with that horny King Fred, but mostly just thought about how beautiful I was and how much I enjoyed my husband's cock.

After Christmas, things got even better. The Everhards owned, among other properties, an estate in Del Boca Vista, Florida – right on the ocean. We had three glorious weeks before the Senate started up again and we would be spending them there.

Oh, it was glorious. As usual, we didn't have to lift a finger. Everyone from David's household staff from the Georgetown home followed him to Florida. Even that insolent handyman Mendez and Charlie, that possible sissy wannabe.

The first of our three glorious weeks was beyond glorious. Luxury. Lovely weather. The full, loving, carnal attention of my husband.

I was "walking funny," but very happy.

Then came "the call" that ruined everything. Or seemed to. "The call" was historic, as far as American history and everything. But to me, it was devastating.

David got "the call" from James Spermlover, the retiring Senate majority leader. The party had decided that American politics needed to be reshaped and that Senator David Everhard would be the man to lead that reshaping. Could he come to Washington for a few days for strategy sessions? It would mean he would become the new Senate Majority Leader.

What?

That would mean that he would have to a) terminate our wonderful vacation and b) spend considerably LESS time with me when he took that new, huge job.

How could he even consider that?

But he did. In fact, he considered it for about ten minutes and then he took the job.

He picked becoming one of the ten most powerful men in the world over spending every moment with me.

I was devastated.

Sobbing.

Pleading with him to reconsider.

He kept insisting that it would be difficult for a while, then we would be able to have a honeymoon for the rest of our marriage.

I didn't even want to hear those weak lies. I threw things and told him to get back to Washington and do what he thought he had to. But I probably wouldn't be around when he got back.

David then pleaded with me to be more understanding. Even insinuating that I might be selfish.

Can you imagine?

Well, he left for Washington the next morning, promising to be back as soon as he possibly could – maybe only three days.

I gave him the cold shoulder – only letting him fuck me twice before he left.

Then I spent two days weeping and despondent.

On the third day, David called to tell me that they were doing historic things and he begged my indulgence for a few more days. I was polite, but cool to him.

Men should not toy with my affections.

Still, it was reassuring to know that David felt he had wronged me. That was huge leverage for something I might want in the future. Chips to be spent well. Too bad I spent them all quickly and foolishly.

 

Chapter Ten – Sin and Redemption

By the sixth day without David, I was very restless. With no one to empty my pretty, pink bag, I was forced to tickle my own pickle to some unsatisfying, but medically necessary cums.

In need of diversion, I began to roam the Florida estate.

To my surprise, we had a lot of land and some very nice amenities. Realizing that I could get this estate in a divorce settlement with my exasperating, selfish husband, I wandered around the grounds.

A wife has to look out for his own interests.

Then fate dealt me an odd blow.

I turned a corner and saw Mendez, the insolent handyman, doing some repair work on a fence. Mendez had his shirt off and was insolently displaying his sweaty, muscular, upper torso. Mendez had an amazing body!

Insolently, Mendez hadn't seen me, so I stepped back where, unseen, I could observe him. Those muscles rippled as he hammered some nails.

It wasn't fair.

I would have never even thought of Mendez if I hadn't run into him that day. I mean, I never even mentioned him before to you, did I?

But there he was. And then his bladder intervened to further ruin my life.

Mendez pulled down his zipper and extracted the biggest cock I had ever seen.

I gasped. Then prayed he hadn't heard me.

If he had, it didn't change his agenda. Mendez skinned the cockhead, then proceeded to piss for what seemed to be about 90 seconds.

Ninety agonizing seconds for me.

Ninety fantasizing seconds.

I wanted that cock – even though Mendez was attached to it. It was thick and long and meaty, with pendulous, cum-filled balls. I hadn't been fucked in six days!!!! I was wildly horny and felt abandoned by my husband. What better way to punish David as I pleasured myself?

Still, cheating on David with one of his servants was a big step.

So it had to be done carefully.

I slipped back to my bedroom, called Mrs. Harris, the housekeeper, and said that I wanted the pool tidied up before I sunbathed.

She said that Mendez would get right on it. I certainly hoped so.

Digging through my things, I found that naughty little swimsuit that I had worn on my honeymoon for about 20 minutes. It was so tiny that when I got a stiffie, which was always inevitable, the lower three-quarters of my pink pole and my entire pink purse were exposed to lustful stares.

Just trying it on and admiring myself in one of my many mirrors made me frightfully erect. I began to imagine what Mendez's reaction would be when he saw me wearing next to nothing. Would he rape me right there by the pool, then become a fugitive from the law? I could see his lawyer's defense: "Your honor, just take a look at this hot piece of ass who teased my client. Could anyone resist this incredibly delicious sissy? I think not." Then the judge would dismiss the case and Mendez would be a free man. Though he would carry a torch for me forever. As any man would.

<Sigh>

I knew it was wrong to tease (and more than likely please) the big, fat cock of my husband's handyman. It was dirty and sordid. Which made it exceptionally exciting.

And so to work.

I fixed my make-up, put on a pair of skyscraper mules and sissied to the backyard pool area. Mendez was already there working at this and that. He had his shirt on in deference to the presence of the lady of the house. Though I would have preferred him to be insolently naked.

He nodded at me when I approached. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Everhard," he said.

See what I mean about his insolence?

Anyway, as I took my seat in a lounger, my pretty peeny was tenting my bikini bottoms and I'm sure he got an eyeful of about 98% of me. I pretended to ignore him, but my sneaky peeks told me that his thick "business" was very stiff, despite his attempts to portray himself as ignoring me. No man ignores an erect, nearly-naked Dylan Everhard. Or a clothed Dylan Everhard either.

After a few minutes of sunning myself, I got to my feet and tottered around the pool area in my stilettos.

Just checking out MY pool area. Outside MY house. Shaking MY bottom as I walked.

Poor Mendez. All that teasing can injure a man's seminal tubing.

Despite Mendez's insolence, it appeared that I would have to make the first move.

I looked at him. He was looking right at me. Insolently. Checking me out.

I almost lost my creamy treat right then.

I gathered my courage, took in some air and said, "Mendez, there's something in my bedroom that needs fixing. Would you bring your tools and follow me?"

Give Mendez credit for smelling the coffee. "Yes, ma'am," he said. "But I think I'll only need one tool."

<Shudder>

I almost sissy-ran back to my bedroom. The room where David and I shared our marriage bed. Which I was about to violate with a …a….commoner.

Still, my fuck muscles needed exercise so badly that I had jettisoned my usually impeccable morals.

Mendez, who had been walking slowly in pursuit of my tight bottom knocked on my bedroom door about 90 seconds after I arrived there.

By rights, I should just dismiss the sweaty, big-cocked workman. Preserve my honor. Protect the sanctity of marriage.

Yeah, right.

I opened the door grabbed Mendez by the arm, and dragged him into the room before anyone observed our sins.

Mendez, closed the door and turned toward me. He laid a huge, calloused, meaty hand on each almost-bare cheek of my pretty bottom, lifted me to his mouth and tongue-kissed me deeply. Ohhhhhh. My cock, which had escaped from its skimpy confinement spurted thick globs of my sticky treasure all over Mendez's sweaty t-shirt.

I wanted that man very badly. And he was half-mad with lust for me.

Since I only had that micro-kini on, it didn't take Mendez long to undress me. Or himself. In moments we were a naked, writhing heap, rolling all over my marriage bed. Violating it.

But that was only the beginning.

My pricklet had stiffened again and the teeny peeny was rubbing against Mendez's thick rammer.

Hot as I firecracker, I came again, screaming from the intensity of my killer orgasm.

Mendez was very pleased. I mean, what man wouldn't be happy to make someone like me ejaculate twice in three minutes?

Then Mendez said, "Holy cow, Mrs. Everherd. You're hotter than your friend Bruce."

What? Mendez had been intimate with Bruce? Bruce hadn't shared details?

Hmmpphh.

I asked. "You and Bruce….?"

"Fucked? Yes, ma'am. Many times. Almost every night that delicious sissy was in our house. Bruce was a fantastic fuck. But I'm sure that you'll be considerably better, Mrs. Everhard."

Really? I thought. Well, I accepted that challenge.

"I'm going to eat your pussy now, Mrs. Everhard. Then I'm going to open it up with my knarly, calloused fingers. The fingers of a working man. A real man. Not some candy-ass U.S. Senator. And then I'm going to climb on top of you, cover with my sweaty, muscled body and fuck you until we're both exhausted. Just lie back and hold your knees up. That's it."

I was powerless. A prisoner of my lust. And that sexy, common man. And the challenge of being a better fuck than Bruce.

But especially a prisoner of the thick tongue in my tiny bottom.

Licking my hole.

A rough hand caressing my little bag of testicles.

On my back.

Helpless.

Oh.

I was going to let a workman – a servant – violate me in the same bed where I had submitted to my husband.

Had I no shame?

Apparently not.

The whole situation had me flaming with lust. And when the bad man replaced his tongue with three thick, calloused fingers in my sopping bottom, I squealed and began spurting my cummies for the third time that naughty afternoon.

I was exhausted. Too weak to resist the man who had removed his fingers from my pussy and had moved to cover my weak, feminine body with his strong, workman's form. So in that regard, it wasn't my fault that I was letting Mendez fuck me. I was truly powerless to resist.

So I lay back to enjoy that monstrous meat penetrating my lubricated, dilated pussy. Stretching me. Making me scream out. Taking me to a new plane of pleasure.

My back arched as Mendez's big boy pushed through my tight ring and lodged deeply in my bowels. I yelped when he extracted it for the first time, rubbing it excruciatingly against my tender prostate. I whimpered when he pushed it in again, to the hilt, traumatizing my prostate and driving me half-mad with pleasure.

Mendez fucked me like that for about 15 minutes, during which my cock never hardened, but I orgasmed violently twice. Only watery dribble escaped from my pretty testicles. But my spasms extended the Richter scale both times.

The best moment, however, occurred when Mendez grunted, then spurted a deluge of hot lava into my entrails, then muttered, "Much better than Bruce. The best fuck of my life."

Well, duh! I thought. I was clearly the best, but it was wonderful to hear it.

That was the best moment. The worst occurred moments later.

Mendez had stiffened again with out withdrawing. He began to fuck me again. Slowly. Then faster. I closed my eyes, wondering if I would survive this onslaught on my senses.

Then, suddenly, I heard Mendez cry out.

Was he cumming again?

Before I could open my eyes, Mendez had withdrawn his cock from my bottom and moved his body off mine.

Huh?

I opened my eyes and gaped in horror.

DAVID HAD RETURNED!!!

In the middle of my infidelity!

Oh, no!

David had gripped Mendez from behind – one hand on Mendez's balls, the other on his hair. With a strength I didn't know David had, he pulled Mendez first out of me, then off me. To my horror, I watched David drag Mendez by the hair and balls from our bed to the window, where he summarily tossed Mendez out.

The window.

Defenestrated.

Thank goodness we were only on the second floor or Mendez would have been dead. As it was, a tree and some bushes broke Mendez's fall and he had only cuts and bruises. David grabbed up Mendez's discarded clothes, then threw them out the window to a terrified Mendez, who dressed quickly, then ran away, never to be seen again.

Then David, my sweet, but at that moment, feral David, turned to me.

For the first time in my life, I knew real fear.

Was David going to throw me out the window too? Would he shoot me?

Oh.

"You little, cheap whore!" David screamed. And then he proceeded to a string of nastier epithets.

I was sobbing from fear and shame. But David showed no mercy.

He continued to verbally abuse me as he dragged me roughly to the bathroom where he took a soapy washcloth and roughly scrubbed off all my girly make-up. Had I not been naked, he would have stripped me because he said, "You don't deserve to wear girlish things. From now on, you'll be a boy and I'll make you wear jeans and flannel shirts and do Mendez's job around here."

He couldn't mean that! I would be wasted as a boy. He was a beast!

Sobbing and weeping and begging for mercy got me nowhere. Except across his knees. He was going to spank me!

Oh yes.

"You're going to get what you deserve," my crazed husband said. "A whore's spanking."

I didn't know what that was exactly, but it didn't sound good.

I was terrified of a spanking. I hadn't been disciplined physically since I was seven or so. I was, after all, a delicate flower. Whose husband was about to savage the horticulture.

I was squirming and resisting until <Whap!> the first of many violent slaps came down across my buttocks. The pain startled me. It was searing hot and my eyes erupted with tears.

The pain was indescribable.

I was at the mercy of a crazed beast, who kept smacking my flaming bottom – not just the fleshy cheeks, but the backs of my thighs as well. All the while he was lecturing me about fidelity and marital vows. Smacking my enflamed flesh until he tired. And I fainted from the pain.

When I awakened, I was lying on the bed on my stomach. My bottom burned with the flames of Hades. I peeked to see what my tormentor was doing.

David was talking on the telephone. He was magnificently naked and totally rampant. His nostrils were flaming with lust and rage and he looked fantastic! Despite what had just happened and the condition of my bottom, I wanted that man's sperm as a balm to my ravaged flesh.

That didn't seem likely.

David was telling his assistant Charlie to drop what he was doing and to meet him in the bedroom that adjoined ours.

Why? Wasn't David going to dress first?

Were he and Charlie…..?

David gave me a very odd look and said, "Listen well, you little boy whore."

When David heard Charlie enter the room next door, he left me and joined Charlie.

Charlie's gasp was clearly genuine.

"Senator," he said. "You're naked! What are you doing?"

"Lean on your hands over the bed, Charlie," David said. "Drop your pants and your…panties. You do wear panties, don't you, Charlie?"

Charlie could only whimper softly.

Apparently, Charlie complied with David's instructions because I heard David say, "Nice pink panties, Charlie. You have a lovely bottom, my dear. Has a man ever put his cock in your bottom?"

Another whimper, followed by a "No, sir."

David said, "Do you like when I rub my cockhead against your anus like this, Baby?"
<Gasp> "Oh, yes, sir!" <Pant>

That little tramp. Charlie was going to let my husband fuck him. Right there in the next room, with the man's wife listening. Oh, what would become of me? OK, I made a few mistakes, but why was my husband degrading me like that? Fucking a servant. Almost in my presence.

Men can be such beasts.

Charlie had better watch his back, that's all I had to say. I was plotting revenge, but it was difficult with my ass on fire and my husband about to fuck a freelance sissy in the next room.

"Let me lube your pussy a bit, Charlie," David said. Then I heard the little puss moan with pleasure. Was David using Vaseline or his tongue? If it was his tongue, I was never kissing him again.

David said, "Do you like my fingers in my bottom, Baby? You're so tight. A virgin. Mmmm. You'll like my big cock in there a lot better. I just did something that made my big cock extra thick and extra hard. I spanked a whore. Don't worry, Charlie. I'll never spank you. Just fuck your glorious bottom. Stand still. Let me just….Aaaaahhhh. That's it."

Charlie squealed lustily when my husband entered his trampy, second-rate sissy bottom. He screamed softly when each thrust clipped his prostate. Kept a steady dialogue of grunts and squeals throughout a prolonged, very energetic fucking. Then he screamed loudly when David came a bucket into Charlie's plump bottom and Charlie spurted a huge load of his girlish cream.

That was horrible for me.

But listening to the kissing and cuddling after the cruel fornication was even worse. My husband didn't love me anymore. He was fucking one of the servants. Making Charlie cum from sucking the little puss's stiff jewel until David's mouth was filled with cream.

Woe was me! What had I ever done to deserve that?

After a horrible 30 minutes or so, David arose and said to Charlie, "Wait right here, Sweetheart. I'm going next door to get my cock stiffened before I fuck you again."

Fear hit me between the buttocks. Was David going to spank me again? That had stiffened his cock the last time. Would he….?

Thank goodness, no.

"On your knees, you little butt slut," my Lord and Master said. "Suck my cock so that it's nice and hard when I give Charlie another good seeing-to."

Sucking David's cock was a welcome alternative to being thrashed again.

But I was still being humiliated.

It was time to turn the tables.

As I got into my knees, I resolved that Charlie wasn't getting that particular creamy load of my husband. Or any others if I had anything to say about it.

I rose from the bed, sobbing and whimpering in pain and humiliation. A glance in the mirror at my bottom and rear upper thighs made me gasp. My ass was beet red! It looked as bad as it felt.

Even worse, for the first time in months, I had been stripped of all my girlish adornments. I looked like an icky boy. Though my guess was that I could still show my husband a clearer view of heaven than that…that Charlie person.

My husband was a strutting, vengeful beast. With some low-rent sissy's anal juices all over his drooping cock.

Nevertheless, I decided that I wanted him back. And I was just the sissy to get him away from that homewrecker.

I wiggled over to my husband, noting with interest that the sight of me, even in my diminished condition, still made David's cock twitch.

I made tearful eye contact with David and saw what I interpreted as mercy, mixed with large dollops of love for me. I would begin to nurture that immediately.

Hitting my knees to suck David's cock was a familiar position for me. And normally a very welcome one. But my blistered bottom made even easing to my knees a painful endeavor. I resolved to not increase my pain by easing back on my haunches during the act.

In complete submission, which is what men ADORE more than anything, I grasped David's already-stiffening cock and slowly skinned the pink head. A large pearl of sticky per-cum formed at the peehole. I whimpered submissively as I licked the pearl off its sticky perch, rolling it around my tongue, then swallowing it.

David groaned.

Charlie may have had a warm, tight bottom. But I knew my husband.

David loved a full tongue-bathing of his hairy balls and I gave those big eggs the bath of their lives.

David said that he only wanted me to get him hard, so he could return his stiffened weapon to Charlie's hot bottom.

That may have been his intention, but my oral attentions had him very, very hard. And he didn't appear to be in any hurry to leave me.

Just to be sure, I put a little frosting on the dessert.

David often fingered my pussy when he sucked my teeny weeny. Having fingers on my prostate when I climaxed intensified my orgasms big-time.

I had often thought about giving David some similar pleasure when I sucked his thick cock, but I wasn't sure how he would react. Would he see it as disrespectful to his manliness? Making him a "pussy" or even worse, gay?

I decided that if I was going to save my marriage, I needed to try every means available.

I took David's exposed cockhead completely into my mouth, rolling my wet tongue all around the velvet skin. Simultaneously, I reached under his balls, slid my hand back and entered his anus with two fingers. The veteran of hundreds of such anal-tickling delights from my encounters with my sissy girlfriends, I knew what to do once my fingers had penetrated David's sphincter.

I found David's prostate and massaged it as I slurped and sucked and licked my man's cockhead and tongued his drooling peehole.

It was pretty clear to me that he liked it.

A lot.

The clearest evidence was when he gasped for air, opened his eyes wide and pumped six thick globs of delicious hubby goo down my throat.

Take that, Charlie!

David's ecstasy was intense and prolonged. I pressed my advantage by continuing to suck and lick his sensitive pricktip as I slipped a third finger into my man's dilated pooper.

David is quite the man for his advanced years (nearly 40!), but the next erection was a surprise to us both. It came rapidly and stiffly. The combination of his rage, lust and passion, combined with my complete submission to his intense manliness had reached the core of David's libido.

His cockhead swelled and he moaned. Was he going to cum again?

Not until I said it was the right time.

I was the one on his knees, with a flaming bottom, mouth full of cock and fingers immersed in my man's asshole. But I was once again very much in charge.

In the nick of time, I broke off from my cocksucking, allowed my man to take a few deep breaths, then stood.

"I want you to really enjoy our next fuck, Darling," I said, in the most sultry voice I could muster.

Then I wiggled over to my lingerie drawer and extracted a tiny pink babydoll nightie. Taking my time about it, I slid the little confection over my head, posed in the mirror, then wiggled over to my vanity table to apply a few basic cosmetics to my pretty face.

David was watching the entire proceedings closely. His breath was shallow. His cock stiff.

"A boy has to look his best when his husband is fucking him, David," I said.

Then I got on the floor, on all fours and presented my still-flaming bottom for David's ravagement.

"Don't spare me, Darling," I said. "I've been a very bad sissy. Please fuck my sore ass. PPPLLLEEEAAASSSEEE!!!!

Well.

Like my bottom, David was on fire.

He knelt behind me, grabbed my hair and pulled it back, none too gently, might I add. The beast in him had emerged and I loved it.

David, nor anyone, had ever "fucked me dry," but that was about to change. I had some of Mendez's copious cum still in me, but I was dryer than I had ever been for a penile invader. And my poor ass ached.

That didn't stop David, the animal. And it didn't stop me.

I screamed with lust and pain when David pushed his huge business into me with one vengeful stroke. I could feel his anger evolve into love as David saw what I was willing to do to make my sins up to him.

No one could give David more of what he craved than I could. And he knew it.

David humped like a wild man and I screamed and pleaded for him to fuck me harder. "Punish me! Make me a good sissy! Make me faithful forever!" I groaned as David pushed and pulled us toward mutual ecstasy.

David even reached around and tickled my pickle as he fucked me – something he rarely did, since he liked it far better when I came into his hungry mouth, rather than while we were fucking. But the rules appeared to have changed to the best rule of sex – anything goes.

I'm guessing that you girls are asking yourselves, "What about Charlie in the next room? How was he reacting to all this?"

That's a good question, but at that moment, in the throes of a very active and history-making coitus, I didn't care.

That question flashed briefly when my psyche left my body and entered nirvana as we shared a nuclear orgasm. But only briefly.

David and I fell to the floor, his rod diminished, but still impaling me. I may have passed out, because the next thing I knew, David and I were lying in bed, a sheet over our nakedness and a whimpering shivering Charlie, whom David had summoned, was standing before us. The little puss was wearing only a severely tented pair of pink panties and a very hangdog expression.

Good.

I was certain that David was about to dismiss that little tart without a reference. More than he deserved. Should have gotten a spanking more severe than I got.

But no.

"Oh, good, Dylan, my Darling. You're awake. Charlie, have no fear. There will only be winners in what I'm about to tell you both."

No fear? Was the seducer of my husband going to be rewarded? Hmmpphh.

David spoke to me. "I know, Sweetheart, that you don't like me talking about work, but I'm sure you'll want to hear this, since it involves you."

David was right about that. One of my few semi-faults was that I could occasionally be mildly self-centered.

David said, "You, Mrs. Dylan Everhard, have changed history. My fellow Senators have elected me majority leader because of you. Seeing you and seeing how you've changed me woke them up. The norm for the Senate was to work long hours doing all kinds of posturing and time-wasting, mainly because no one had anything worth coming home to. You are what every man desires, my dear. Something to rush home to. And fuck. A few of my colleagues, such as your friend Bruce's fiancé, are unmarried. Some have mistresses. Women. Who take their money, emasculate them and find excuses not to fuck. No sissy does that. Except for the money part. While I was gone, we reached bipartisan agreement among the Senate's men to all take on sissy wives or mistresses and cut the workday down to three hours. Government will be efficient and effective. Everyone will be happy and I'll be with you almost all the time."

Oh my! Not only will I have my man in my bottom almost all day long. I'll be famous! Historic even!

I hugged and kissed David and was almost about to spread my legs for him again, regardless of Charlie's odd presence. But he went on.

"The question remains, however, what you'll do during the day while I'm gone. You do have needs, my dear and I'm prepared to address them in three ways. First, in three months, Bruce will be married and living in Washington. His husband will be on the same work schedule as I am, so you two can 'keep each other cool' while I'm at work."

Delightful! But there was more.

"Second, and that's why you're here, Charlie, I imagine that my wife wants to discharge you after I cruelly used your virgin bottom for my own lustful purposes. But I have a better idea."

Charlie and I gave David our full attention.

"Charlie, I want you to be my wife's 'lady's maid.' You can sissy up 24/7, have an increase in salary, 'cool my loving wife off' when he needs it and get a huge clothing allowance. You can have a no-limit charge account at Timmy's Girlish Secret. I'll even introduce you to several, handsome male friends of mine. What do you say?"

Charlie went from despair to elation. "Oh, sir," he stammered. "Yes sir. If it's all right with Mrs. Everhard, I mean."

I thought about it for a brief moment. He was a cute little piece of sissy ass. And the idea of having a lady's maid appealed to me greatly. Plus, my agreement would please my husband, which was no small thing at that moment.

"I agree, if you swear to stay away from my husband."

Charlie nodded enthusiastically and cried huge tears of joy.

I added, "And if my husband stays away from you."

"Of course, my Darling. Would you like to hear the third thing?"

David was on a roll. "Yes, please," I said.

"Daddy Everhard is returning from Gingerfredonia next week and will be living with us in Washington. I'm sure he'll be very interested in a nighttime bed companion, perhaps a certain lady's maid… and he'll be available during the day as well should the need for a man exceed my wife's patience."

Oh. Even I blushed at that one. David was saying if I wanted, his father would be available to fuck me. And would be fucking Charlie every night.

Charlie eagerly agreed. I feigned reluctance, but said, "Whatever my husband wants is all right with me."

"So it's settled, then," David said in his best Senatorial manner. "Except, Charlie, you seem to be in some distress. Is that stiff thing in your panties painful."

Charlie blushed and said, "Oh, yes, Senator. But if you'll excuse me, I'll go relieve the pain myself."

"Nonsense. That's entirely the wrong treatment for such a matter. Show Mrs. Everhard your problem and perhaps she'll have a better solution."

Charlie was uncomfortable, but he eased down his panties to reveal a lovely, pink, three-and-one-half-inch cock with dangling pink purse. He was very feminine and pretty. With some advice from me, he could probably be a Boy Bride, though as of an hour ago, he was no virgin. Inexplicably, the sight of him, shy, embarrassed and lovely, made my cocklet stiff yet again.

Well, I wouldn't do anything with him in such a boyish condition. "Charlie," I said. "Go to my dresser, second, right drawer, and take out the black babydoll on top. Put it on, then some of my red lipstick. It's not exactly your shade, but it'll do."

Charlie eagerly complied. When he presented himself to David and me again, he stiffened both our cocks. The little sissy had potential.

I was feeling lazy, so I said, "Straddle my shoulders and feed me your little peener. It obviously needs relief and in this household, we do not withhold relief."

David seemed delighted to watch us as Charlie fed me his teeny tosser. I licked and sucked, stopping now and then to give his itsy balls a nice tongue tickle. Meanwhile, David changed positions and applied his very best oral technique to my re-invigorated stiffie. Charlie adored my fellatric attentions and cried out when I entered his anus with two probing fingers. Seconds later, he was pumping sweet, girlish cream into my wet mouth and I was dousing David's gullet with my delicious goo.

The future looked very good indeed.

 

Please let me know what you think at gingerfred99@yahoo.com. If you want a Boy Bride Four at some time in the future, please let me know.

  

  

  

*********************************************
© 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.