The Boy Bride Two – Courted

by Gingerfred Man

 

Previously

I guess if you're reading this you've already read the first part of my story. The part where I, Dylan Griffith, a fairly normal boy of seventeen-and-a-half years, was suckered into joining a "society" with my two best friends, Tommy and Jay, and five other, 17½-, 18- and 19-year-old boys. Sissy boys! Little, feminized, feminine pantyboys. Receptacles for male, seminal juices!

Maybe "suckered" is the wrong word. I was actually "sucked" into the society. By warm, wet, wonderful lips and moist, velvet tongues.

When I reached the minimum age for our local chapter of the "Boy Brides Society," my so-called friends, who had already become simpering little pussyboys, invited me to Dennis Lemont's house on the rich side of town. Apparently, ten years ago, Dennis' older brother Gene had founded the chapter, with the help of Mr. and Mrs. Lemont.

Everyone in town except me seemed to know that the prettiest boys in town got together every Friday night (and Saturday morning) to dress in femmy frillies, exchange dreams of marriage to adoring men (!) and suck and kiss and lick and rub each other's most delicate parts until everyone was exhausted and "fully milked."

Well, I was having none of that… until I sort of got caught up in things. It turned out that I, well, <blush> liked having my balls drained by pretty, feminine boys. Who wouldn't? But it also turned out that I was awfully pretty myself and awfully good about draining the "pink purses" of the other nancyboys.

Mom and Dad, who had raised seven kids before me, took it all in stride. Mom taught me how to walk and talk and dress girly and make my face up. Daddy paid the bills. And, oh, yeah – he "milked" me. I didn't want him to, but I found out that when I became a sissy, which is what I am, I guess, the need to be milked by a real man or boy, several times a day, became very strong. Having another sissy milk me would be a stopgap, but I really needed a male's hand on my privates, rubbing gently, lovingly coaxing out my sissy cream. So I guess telling myself that I wasn't going to get involved with men and boys wasn't fooling anyone.

Still, even then, I knew I was never going to marry a man. It just wasn't in me. And "it" wasn't getting "into" me either. I would do some "things" with men if I wanted to (once I was 18 and legal), but nothing that "penetrating." And I wasn't marrying a man either. I had my male pride. Some of it, anyway.

My immediate problems when I broke off telling you this story were two – 1) how would I deal with dressing as a girl and <gasp> dating boys during the hours when I wasn't in school as a boy and 2) how would I stop the humiliating act of submitting to my father's milkings when I woke up and just before I slept?

Both challenges faced me my first Monday as a Boy Brides Society full member. I cleaned myself up after a very thorough, earth-shattering and humiliating paternal milking. Then I dressed in boy's gear. Except for a pair of sweet, pink panties under my khakis.

 

Chapter One – Adjustments

I was still trembling from Daddy's latest milking when I got to school. Daddy was a former Marine and he was very task-oriented. The biggest evidence of that was the eight kids in my family. Apparently, Mr. and Mrs. Lemont told Daddy that the more thoroughly milked I was, the less I would suffer during the periods between milkings. So Daddy decided that the way to protect his child would be to drain every molecule of cum from me before sending me to dreamland or into the big world. He wasn't naughty or sexy about it. He just knew where my buttons were and he pushed them mercilessly. He would stand me perpendicular to his seated self, panties down, shirt hitched above my nipples, and watch me grunt and heave as the strong, calloused fingers of his right hand rubbed baby oil over my stiffie and my dangling "peanuts." Meanwhile, two, sometimes three baby-oiled fingers of his left hand would enter my impossibly tight anus. He always eased them in carefully, but when he found my prostate, he abandoned mercy.

Daddy rubbed my prostate as he masturbated me. It was mechanical. It was mortifying. It was emasculating. And it was complete agony. But I couldn't stop cumming. In rapid succession. First a big, creamy cum with fireworks and helpless squealing. Then another. Then a series of watery, half-limp spasmic ejaculations where I would babble and sort of half-ask Daddy to stop. When he was satisfied that not one sperm atom inhabited my body, Daddy would ease his fingers out of my rectum, release my cum-drenched penis and wish me a good night or a good day. As if we had just been talking about the Yankees' chances for the upcoming season.

Daddy did say that when I found a boy to "do the duty" for him, he would gladly stop. And I believed him.

The idea of a boy emptying my pink purse several times each day didn't seem so bad when I considered Daddy as the alternative.

That morning at school was like any other day. Which was strange. I thought things would be a lot different, since I was clearly a different person. At least to myself.

I felt fine until my study-hall/library period right after lunch. Then I started to feel the "malaise" that the other seven sissies in my club described to me. I wasn't sick, exactly. Just uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

I should have had a plan, but I didn't. There were three of my fellow prissies in school, but they were nowhere to be seen when my attack came. Were they avoiding me? Or were they in some sort of carnal clinch getting their own midday milkings?

I could have just left the library and gone to the boys' room, found a stall, dropped my khakis and panties and milked myself.

Why didn't I?

Instead, I just sort of wandered into the stacks and held my stomach, as if I had cramps.

It was quiet in the stacks. Sort of deserted. I actually considered just dropping my drawers and taking care of my…

"Are you all right?"

Huh? Who said that?

I turned to look. Oh, no! It was Jesse Holmes, my senior classmate. The coolest kid in school. If he had come by a few seconds later, he would have caught me with panties down, whipping my wienie. I would have had to flee to Katmandu on the next bus.

Still, the situation at hand wasn't much better. I was in real discomfort, which I'm sure was evident. But I couldn't tell him what my problem was. I could say I had the runs. Yeah, I just have dia…

"You're Dylan, right?" Jesse said. "I'm pleased to meet you. Do you need to be milked?"

?

He knew?

How?

Should I deny it? Could I deny it? What would he do?

He showed me.

"Don't be scared, Dylan," Jesse said. "I won't humiliate you or harm you in any way. It's not your fault you need a good, creamy milking. People are who they are."

Imagine if everyone in the world thought like Jesse.

Things were moving very rapidly. "I can help, Dylan, if you let me," Jesse said.

I wasn't a tramp. Every slippery-pawed boy who came along wasn't going to rub my privates. Uh uh. But Jesse was so nice and I was so needy. Did I mention that Jesse was also the most drop-dead-gorgeous, hetero, masculine boy on the face of the earth? No? Well, that may have been a factor. I think I nodded submissively. Whatever it was, Jesse took it as assent. So he took charge. "Follow me, Dylan. No one ever goes back here. It's stuff about science and math, so no self-respecting American kid would go near it. They're all over in the self-esteem section. Come on. Don't be shy."

He took my hand. It was very warm and dry. And very strong. Jesse had penetrating, blue eyes and very pleasing features. I sneaked a peek at his "bulge" and that seemed very pleasing too. And very stiff.

I think I excited him.

My poor peter was bursting through my panties. Because I needed to be milked. Not because of Jesse.

We found a private spot where we could hear someone approach. That was when I got really scared. What if Jesse was mean and wanted to hurt me or humiliate me?

He was neither.

"Pull your trousers down, Sweetheart. And your panties too."

He called me "Sweetheart!" How did he even know I was, I mean…

Well, I didn't like that "sweetheart" stuff. Maybe a little, but not a lot.

I hoped he didn't get the wrong impression when I trampily pulled my trousers and panties down to my ankles, then lifted my shirt up to my nipples. So Jesse would have full access. To my stiff, drooling, needy parts.

Jesse did something then that made me blush crimson. He complimented me.

"You're beautiful," he said. "Pretty face. Lovely, girlish body. And your bottom is heaven on earth for a man."

If he didn't start wanking me soon, I would be cumming just from the things he was saying.

Jesse said, "I'm sorry I don't have any lube. I'll just wet my fingers with saliva."

Then Jesse licked his fingers and laid them on my three-inch shaft.

I groaned softly. Already I was showing loose morals. I didn't care. Jesse was rubbing me very, very nicely. And telling me how pretty I was. Even without make-up or girlie stuff. He was telling me how much he would like to take me on dates and then make love to me.

I moved from simmer to boil.

And then he kissed me!

I didn't say that was OK!!!!

He didn't ask!!!!

He just kissed me, as if he were my Lord and Master.

Good gracious, it was wonderful.

Stars flew from my head. My balls clutched and I heaved cum in three-foot ropes all over a shelf filed with dusty, unread, science texts.

All that self-delusion about how I wasn't going to let a boy touch me. The first one who touched me had me spurting my cream all over his hand as I swallowed his tongue and considered asking him to make me pregnant.

I was actually sobbing from the intensity of the experience when he kissed me softly.

The bell rang to end the period, or who knows what I would have done.

"May I come by your house after football practice to give you some more relief?" Jesse asked sweetly.

At that moment, I would have run off with him to the Sunni Triangle if he wanted.

"Yes, please," I said, and kissed him. Then I pulled my panties and trousers up, straightened myself out and went to my next class. Of course I was a complete wreck the rest of the day, thinking about being alone in my bedroom with Jesse, a boy intent on relieving all my "pain."

I would girlie up for him, of course. Super girlie! So girlie that I asked Mom to check out my make-up. Of course, I told her everything! I mean I had to tell someone and she seemed like the right one.

Since I couldn't get pregnant and Jesse was a nice boy, she was fine with things. She asked a tough question though. "What about your night and morning milkings? Jesse has to go to bed early for football and can't be here. He needs his sleep in the mornings too.

Rats. I had forgotten that. But good old Mom had a suggestion. "What about your classmate Greg across the street? He's a nice boy and he doesn't have a girlfriend. He could just pop over and 'pop you off.'"

I blushed crimson again. "I could never ask him, Mom."

"Don't worry, Honey. I already asked him. He'll be here at 10 every night and at 6:30 every morning. Don't say I never did anything for you."

Wow.

 

Chapter Two -- The Milkmen

By the time Jesse's football practice ended, I had transformed myself into a tasty little tart. I had my best black lingerie on, including my silkiest, black, seamed, fully-fashioned stockings, a pair of killer, black, four-inch-stiletto mules, a naughty black camisole that exposed my creamy shoulders, and lacy, black, bikini panties. My hot-pink lipgloss was wet and fetching. My eyes were done a bit more dramatically than Mom liked, but I wanted Jesse to remember the first time he saw me as a girlie boy.

I was sizzling hot and the mirror agreed. I was also trembling very badly and hoped that we had good paramedics on call that evening.

I heard Jesse arrive around 6:20. He ran from his car to the front door and rang the bell. Mom spoke sweetly to him, but he had little time for pleasantries. Neither did I. My little pickle was twitching again and very needy. I was a "junkie for male attention," I guess. And I was about to get it.

I could hear Mom escort Jesse to my room. He knocked. I opened the door. He gasped! Mom quietly withdrew as I looked at my first "boyfriend." He had obviously showered in a hurry, as his hair was sticking up in odd places. He was flushed and red, which may have been from exercise, but more likely was from lust. He looked magnificent.

So did I.

I almost saw Jesse's heart pounding from his chest, like in the cartoons. The mental image made me giggle softly. What I really saw was a boy who was smitten by my femininity. And that was a huge rush for me.

Jesse stood frozen. I moved first, to close the door and to move him into the room. Didn't want Mom and Daddy peeking in on what was going to happen. And happen soon, I hoped.

"You're incredible," the dazed boy said.

I sort of smiled and posed a little and he sort of drooled.

It's true. We make men hard as rocks and weak as puppies.

I took the initiative. I hooked my thumbs into my panties, eased them just below my "silk purse," exposing what was for me, a major woodie. "Please help me, Jesse," I said to my knight errant. "It's so uncomfortable."

That woke Sir Galahad up a smidge.

He took my hand and led me to the room's only chair. He sat, then pulled me onto his lap. He offered me his mouth for some more kissing. An invitation I quickly and eagerly accepted.

Jesse was a great kisser. He consumed me with his arms and locked me to him with his mouth.

My panties were down and Jesse reached under my camisole to caress my stomach, then moved his hand to my right nipple.

I've already told you how sensitive my little nubbers are. With all the anticipation, then the excitement and the delicious kissing, just feeling Jesse's fingers on my "titties" had me "on the verge." When he broke our kiss, lifted my camisole to my chin and began to lick, kiss and adore each nipple, I almost fainted with lust. When (finally) Jesse laid his strong fingers on my sissycock, I very sluttily squealed and began pumping out sissy cream in ample dollops.

Three minutes with a boy and I was already cumming. And in full surrender.

Jesse seemed to be very pleased with himself. Typical male. But to tell the truth, I was pretty pleased with him too. Even though I had just cum all over his hand and halfway up his arm, he didn't clean himself up. He didn't get up and go home. And he didn't pull out his own "business," which I knew was very stiff because I was rubbing my thigh against it. Instead, Jesse was still sucking away at my "tiny-top titties" and rubbing a nice glob of sissy cream all over my sore, sensitive bag of pearls.

Jesse was a keeper.

I leaned my head back, gasping and panting as Jesse sucked my puffy nipples and tickle-teased my testicles. Daddy was more direct, but I liked Jesse's approach much better.

When Jesse sensed that the time was right, he stopped his nipple adoration and applied his lips to my glossed, wet, eager mouth. Easing his way up my privates, he began a delicious manipulation of my prickhead, rubbing his thumb on my oozing peehole.

I'm only human. My achy nuts exploded again, blasting more hot cum than I thought possible into a vertical fountain.

I sucked on Jesse's tongue as I shuddered through my climax.

It was very nice.

I told Jesse that. I also told him that I felt a deep need to recompense him in some way. Guys like to hear that. A lot. And Jesse was no exception.

Jesse smiled and thanked me. Then he moved my bottom a bit off his lap, unzipped his fly, and invited me to "go fishing" for his stiff meat.

Goodie!

I giggled girlishly as I slid my fingers into Jesse's open fly. Jesse drew in his breath as I fished around a little. He was wearing boxers and the snaps were being challenged greatly by something long, tubular, hot and throbbing. I blushed as the thought of what I was doing occurred to me. I was about to cuddle and stroke a boy's cock. A very large cock.

Oh, girls! I reached into the masculine cave and felt around for the monster who lived there. It was so hot that it probably breathed fire! I could feel its blood pounding, now that it had been cornered in its lair. It had risen to its full strength. Which made it feel like a very warm iron pipe. With a wet tip.

It was so much fun to watch my new "boyfriend" gasp as I measured his considerable, manly girth with my soft fingers.

Two fists tall from base to head, with two more inches of purple helmet! It made my diddler look like a peanut. But it was clear that I was the one in control, not Mr. Macho.

I fiddled around in there a bit until I freed Jesse's Johnson from confinement.

There it stood. Tall, skinned and proud. My first real cock.

And it was all for me.

Up to a point.

I wasn't going to take it into my mouth and suck it. Not on the first day we were together. Boy Brides weren't tramps. Randy little dick-pleasers. But not tramps. Jesse would get a proper seeing to-with my hand and a few [hundred] more kisses. But I wasn't giving it all up the first day. If I did that, who knew what Jesse would expect? He'd probably be flipping me onto my back and trying to "stick his business" into me.

Ouch!

Plus, once you do that, there's no going back, is there? I mean if I wanted to go back to being fully male. I was keeping my options open. Not my legs.

At that moment, as I stroked his cock and accepted his fervent kisses, Jesse would have been fine with those conditions. Jesse would have barked like a chicken for me at that moment, since he was in a man's most vulnerable condition – on the road to imminent orgasm. No stopping. No turning. No discussions or acknowledgement of any of the male senses except for his sense of cock.

I must have been pretty good at cockrubbing. Jesse seemed to think so anyway. His knob was slobbering juices and he was grunting manfully as I whimpered sissily under his kisses and cupped his cockhead with palm and fingers, rubbing his helmet with a ratcheting motion.

When Jesse was "close" I removed my hand and replaced it with the tip of my own stiff, drippy tickler, which had been reinvigorated by the heat of the moment. We rubbed cockheads, "arrow point" to "arrow point," as we kissed hungrily. Then, suddenly, Jesse grunted and scalded me with his manly cream. In large globs. Kissing me. Ohh.

Despite all my previous messies, I joined Jesse in a vigorous and creamy expression of my rapidly evolving sissiness.

Was this what the rest of my life was going to be like?

If so, would I live to see 21?

Jesse kissed me, then asked for a towel, since his pubic regions were soaked with mingled globs of our sperm.

Was he leaving already? <pout>

Jesse cleaned himself off, then <gasp>, cleaned me with the same cummy towel. It would have been nicer if he had licked my peeny clean, but I guess he wasn't ready for that.

I was such a hungry, little, sissy tramp. I was disappointed when he kissed me and left, but it was a good thing. If I didn't put the brakes on then, my time as a "virgin" would have been measured in milliseconds.

Plus, in about three hours, I would be seeing what my neighbor Greg brought to the party.

I lay there in bed for a few minutes considering my "sticky" situation. My ball bag was empty (for the moment at least), but it appeared that I would be in dire need again in a few hours. I was all girlied up in seductive lingerie for a boy. A boy! Me, kissing another boy! He had treated me like a precious angel. Smearing my lipstick as he drew spurt after spurt from my sissified penis. It was so emasculating. And so horribly exciting.

Was I stiff again, just thinking about Jesse and <gasp> Greg? <Blush> Yes.

Mom's call to dinner saved me from self-abuse as I thought about all the compromising positions I would like to find myself in with Jesse.

My stomach was roaring with need as I considered my attire for dinner. Mom and Dad surely would be upset if I appeared for dinner in my naughty, black lingerie. Though it would be fun to watch Daddy's "bulge" grow as he looked me over <giggle>.

I decided to do three things 1) fix my make-up to remove the evidence of the kiss-a-thon with Jesse, 2) put on a big, fluffy, modest, pink terrycloth robe that Mom had provided and 3) trade in my stilettos for fluffy pink slippers.

Even dressed like that, I was so pretty and feminine that poor Daddy's throat constricted and pants tented when he saw me. Let's face it. Men liked me.

We had a very pleasant dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes with chicken gravy, big biscuits and three different fresh veggies. Mom had gotten used to cooking for a crowd and even though I was the only kid still at home, I still benefited from some awfully satisfying cuisine.

Mom and Daddy tiptoed a little around the circumstances of my new life. Mom seemed more comfortable than Dad. She even said, "Tell me if the Greg milkings work out, Dylan. If not, I have a long list of boys who will want to spend some quality time in your bedroom."

I blushed fiercely at that. Lots of boys? Oh my. I was getting needy again. It was a good thing Greg was coming at 10.

After helping Mom with the dishes, I went to my room and did homework until 9:30. Then I straightened the room and spritzed myself up a bit. I dabbed some seductive perfume at strategic body points, fussed with my make-up and noted that I was as randy as I had been before Jesse gave me three trips to Paradise.

Precisely at ten, Mom led Greg into my bedroom.

Dating has never been so easy.

Mom smirked a little at my obvious "condition," then she said, "Take good care of Dylan, Greg. He needs you very much right now." Then Mom left. Thank goodness.

I was such an eager tart that I had omitted panties, so my need was extended almost three-and-a-half pink inches in front of me.

Greg took note. His own "package" was an obvious lump under his khakied trousers.

"Hi," my glib suitor said.

"Hi," I responded. "Could we talk later? I kind of need help now." And I propped myself on my back on my bed, lifting my camisole up over my red, erect nipples.

So much for modesty.

Greg seemed delighted with my directness. He removed a small bottle from his pocket and sat next to me on the bed.

"You're very beautiful," he said, pouring baby oil into his small, right hand.

"Yeah, yeah," I thought. I wanted him to get on with it. I did like the compliment, though.

The naughty boy slathered the slick liquid on my flat tummy, rubbing very seductively. I liked that a lot. Then he moved up to my nipples, giving them an oily tormenting with skilled fingers.

He wasn't kissing me, though I parted my lips and made little sounds. He wasn't like Jesse at all. Cute, rather than handsome. And less involved in the lovemaking part of milking than Jesse was.

Still, he was technically very proficient. His nipple torture/caresses alone had me grunting and squealing and he didn't seem surprised when I started spurting my warm cream all over my stomach.

Oh, that was delicious.

Two different boys and two different types of orgasms. Would all boys and men affect me in different ways?

Greg seemed very pleased with himself when he moved into phase two. He dipped his hand in my cum-covered belly, added a bit more oil, and began to massage my "pink bag."

It was exquisite, girls.

The bad boy hadn't even touched my penis yet, or shown me his own and I was whimpering my way to a second seismic spermstorm.

Those soft, slick fingers were caressing and adoring my most sensitive parts – my girlish testicles. Greg fingered each pearl, holding it just firmly enough to be erotic, not painful. Treating each sphere like a great treasure. And he kept a running commentary going about my beauty and femininity. He seemed to be truly moved by how sweet and girlish I was, which added to my erotic enjoyment tremendously. When the inevitable eruption came, he kissed me long and deeply. It wasn't a Jesse kiss. Different somehow. But very sweet. I sucked his tongue as I ejaculated helplessly under his expert, testicular massage.

As my baby-oiled, cum-flecked chest heaved in post-orgasmic cool-down, I felt a great urge to return at least part of the sweet favors my milker had given me.

"Let me feel your prick, please!" I groaned through my sexual haze.

But Greg only said, "Mmmmmm," as he continued to milk the last sticky drops from my testicles. Then he said, "I can do better than that."

He stood, and removed his pants, boxers, shoes and socks, then, naked from the waist down, lay next to me on my single bed.

He had a very nice lower body. Slim, healthy legs. Hairless. Fine feet with cute toes. And a very nice pubic package.

Greg's cock was bigger than my pathetic prick, but much smaller than Jesse's. It was slender and long – sort of "pretty" and he "accessorized" with a cute, pink bag of nuts.

He wasn't traditionally manly below the waist, but tradition was far from my mental nexus at that moment.

Greg produced the baby oil again, this time lubricating his own pretty prick, then refreshing my droopy little sissy soldier with some clean oil.

For the first time, he held my prick in his soft hand. It felt wonderful and I quickly regained half of my stiffness. I took equal liberties with him, reaching down and pleasuring his stiff willie with my girlish touches. He wriggled in appreciation, then kissed me as we tickled and cuddled and rubbed each other into a frothy state.

I apparently excited him tremendously, since he arched his back and shot big jets of cum, then under my continued ministrations, repeated the lewd act ten minutes later. During his second cum, I produced my third, squealing like the sissy I had become.

We cleaned up, kissed and promised a repeat performance at 6:45 the next morning.

What a week that was! Greg milked me every day at 6:45 a.m. and 10 p.m. Jesse met me in the school boiler room at noon each day, then "did" me at 6:30 p.m. each evening.

Who was better? Who cared? I liked it all.

I was going to start dating one or both of them, but I worried about the jealousies that could create. So I decided to discuss it with the "girls" at my Friday night chapter meeting. I was also <blush> going to ask their advice about whether I should be taking my "milkmen's" cocks between my lips and even <gasp> swallowing their seed.

It was a good thing to have a support group.

 

Chapter Three – A Peek at the Future

That Friday was a special meeting of the Boy Brides Society, because Dennis Lemont's older brother Gene, the founding sissy of our chapter, was going to be visiting and giving us a discussion about what life is like for a 28-year-old "boy bride."

I'll admit that I wasn't even thinking about Gene when I was in the dressing room with my Seven Sissy Sisters: Tommy, Jay, Dennis, Eric, Jimmy, Patrick and Billy.

The little creampuffs were all giggles and tickles as we sissied up for our weekly, sperm-drenched reunion. Anyone with at least one functioning testicle would have been very hot and very bothered in "their," actually "our," midst.

We had all decided to wear black that Friday, so silky, seamed, reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings were being slid up luscious, shaved legs. Delectable, black lingerie was being attached to warm, soft skin. Boys were painting their full, kissable lips and adorning their inviting eyes. Pantyboys were teasing and preening. The dressing part of the evening alone was as exciting as the rubbing, kissing and sucking that would make it a night to remember.

Was it any wonder that one could hear the gasps and pants and squeals and smells that signified the spilling of sperm?

As I slipped on my black, four-inch-stiletto, patent-leather, CFM pumps, I thought about asking for some advice. I hadn't gone on a real date yet – hadn't been asked – though I guessed my milkmen, Jesse and Greg, didn't need to take me out when they were quite intimate with me already. I hadn't sucked their cocks yet, either. In fact, I hadn't sucked any male cocks – sissies didn't count. Should I start? How should I act on a date? What if <gasp> my date or a milkman or a teacher or a <gulp> construction worker wanted to fuck me?

Not that I wanted any extraneous objects like that in my bottom. <shudder>

And I had a really weird question that I wanted to ask my sisters, but was embarrassed to. Neither Jesse nor Greg seemed put out in the least when I told them I wouldn't need their services for the evening and morning. Why were they so complacent?

Anyway, I was delighted and excited to be among the sweet, cum-filled flowers again. My balls were aching for release and I was confident that they would be emptied over and over that night.

The "Sissy Seven" treated Gene like an icon. A liberator, almost. The thought of their lives without a Boy Brides Society was too horrible for them to imagine. Gene, in their minds, was a lifesaver.

"Lifesaver" wasn't the word I would have used to describe Gene when I first saw him.

If words were possible, I would have uttered merely one: "Babe!"

My first impression was that I was being joshed. The feminine masterpiece I saw before me couldn't have ever been a boy, a man or anything but an erection-producing, wet-dream-inducing, ultra-feminine beauty.

Gene was wearing a very expensive, Chanel suit. Conservative, but incapable of camouflaging either Gene's bra-buster breasts or raging sexuality. Her/his voluptuously perfect legs were encased in tan, fully-fashioned, seamed, reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings. Gene's heels were pencil-thin and skyscraper-high. Gene's luxurious, blond hair was long – to the middle of his/her back – and perfectly coiffed. His/her make-up accented a classically beautiful, heart-stopping face. She/he wore his/her 28 years well, seeming to be at the very beginning of her/his sexuality and beauty, not near its end.

I guess I looked bewildered and a bit skeptical because Gene walked up to me, introduced him/herself, then set me straight in the only foolproof way. Smiling, the angel lifted his skirt, pulled down his panties and showed me a lovely, very erect, five-inch cock.

So it was true! Gene was a boy! A man, actually. No, no. A transvestite. Or a crossdresser. A she-male? Screw it. Gene was feminine and gorgeous.

Had I been a bit more forward, I would have dropped to my knees and sucked that sissy stick until I got to the warm cream filling.

Instead, I just stood there, mouth agape, panties tented obscenely.

Gene smiled with love and understanding. He gave me the sweetest kiss, right on the mouth, then said, "I'm so glad you joined the Society, Dylan. You're a hall-of-fame boy wife in the making. Beautiful and innocent. Sweet and feminine. And, I'm guessing, submissive to a man in all the right ways and at all the right times."

I blushed and trembled. It was like Babe Ruth telling a rookie that he was going to be a great ballplayer. Even if the "rookie" wasn't sure that baseball was what he wanted.

Dennis played the sissy taskmistress again, clapping his hands and saying, "All right, ladies. Enough milling around and admiring each others peenies. There'll be plenty of 'up close and personal' time later. We want to get started because Gene will need to get home to his loving husband later this evening. The poor man arrived home tonight and had no place to 'stick his business.'"

Everyone giggled at that. I was amazed at the devotion of a boy wife to his husband. Gene was actually concerned about denying his husband one session of sex. Even if he planned to make it up to the dear man many times later that evening and night.

Gene thanked Dennis and said, "Yes. If I don't get home soon, Harold could be poking a blow-up doll or even some 'freelancer.'"

The nancyboys all gasped when Gene said "freelancer." I had no idea why, so I asked.

"What's a freelancer?"

At first, no one answered, but then Gene said, "Freelancers are our competition, Honey. The Boy Brides Society, I mean. Like women, they're not serious competitors because they're not as feminine as we are. But sometimes men like to wander a bit, especially if we're not draining their ball bags as often or as well as they want. Any genetic male with a pair of panties, a mouthful of saliva and a well-Vaselined bottomhole can be a freelancer. They don't have our standards, beauty or self-discipline. But men seem to 'get into them' all too frequently."

Well. That was a bit unsettling. We were the cream of the crop but men sometimes sought their dairy products elsewhere? "Why do men like them?" I asked.

Dennis answered. "Who really understands men? They're driven by their cocks and every man likes some 'strange pussy' now and then. Freelancers aren't evil. They just drag down the sissy standards. And no sane man would ever marry one. Although men do marry freelancers. Occasionally."

How odd. Freelancers seemed to really aggravate the Boy Brides. As if every big-dicked, rich, handsome man should be theirs alone.

Gene brought the agenda back to his topic. "I come here once a year to talk to you all, which is about as frequently as Harold can stand being away from me. He's such a good husband. Rich, loving and generous. And he fucks me at least four times a day. My first husband, Lloyd, fucked me five times a day, but I was younger then. I managed to negotiate my marriage agreement with Harold down to four times a day to give me a little more free time and to allow some rest for my aging bottom." <giggle>

From where I sat, that bottom hadn't aged one bit.

"For you new girls, Boy Brides marry for five years at a time. Lloyd and I were very happy and he was despondent when I told him I wouldn't renew. Of course that despondence eased a bit when I introduced him to Maurice from our Montreal chapter. [That spread-legged, open-mouthed, little tramp!]

"I was barely 18 and a half when I married Lloyd. He was 20 years older, richer than Daddy, and he swept me off my high-heeled feet. I could have had any number of men, you know. They were circling me like wolves and pelting me with marriage proposals. But Lloyd was such an ardent suitor. Did I mention that he was rich? Anyway, you'll think me shallow, but his was the first nine-inch 'sissypleaser' I had ever seen. It was so thick and dark and hairy that, poor virgin that I was, I was sure he would kill me when he put it into my tiny bottom. But what a way to go!"

<Giggles all around> Even from me. I liked Gene. Though I didn't want to be like him. Completely, at least.

Gene continued. "Well, Mom helped me get a lovely gown and Daddy got me a terrific pre-nup that guaranteed me five million dollars at the end of our five-year marriage. All I had to do was make Lloyd a happy man by making myself as beautiful and feminine as possible and by giving myself to him at least five times a day. Can you imagine that? Doing things I adored and getting five mil for it! Of course you girls should do even better, what with the competition for the best boy wives these days. Everyone wants a pretty, submissive, ultra-feminine wife who enthusiastically submits to a husband's filthiest desires.

"The five fucks a day were a great pleasure. Lloyd fucked me in my bottom of course. A lot. It stung like fire the first time, but then the pleasure was total ecstasy. Lloyd also fucked me in my wet mouth, my soft hand, even in the crease between my bottom cheeks and between my stockinged feet. He would have done me in my boobies, but I didn't have them then.

"No, I decided to get these beauties when I was almost 24 and between husbands. People ask me why I didn't get them when I was married so my husband would pay. Do you think someone who looks like me or you girls ever pays for anything from a man? Of course not. I paid the finest surgeon on earth with two weeks of heaven. And he called it a bargain.

"I loved being a boy wife, but I wanted to be a bit more 'womanly' when I went after hubby number two. It's a pretty nice rack, don't you think, ladies?"

And at that, Gene removed his jacket and blouse, then unhooked his overtaxed bra to expose a spectacular set of titties.

I mean spectacular.

There was oohing and aahing all around. I wondered if some of my pantyboy sisters would run out and get a "set" for themselves. But Society rules were clear on that. No "artificial enhancements" until after the first marriage. Men who married us were getting an extremely feminine boy with a virgin bottom.

Anyone who violated the Society rules could be banished. Forced to be a "freelancer." Or worse, a panty-less boy.

Gene continued. "The men who pursued me for a second marriage were looking for a bit more sophistication and a bit more 'womanliness.' They even wanted a female name they could call me now and then. I chose 'Gina.'"

A great name, I thought. Would I get a girlie name too? And <gasp> boobs? Big, perfectly shaped ones like "Gina's?" With big, brown, erect nipples? My prick was throbbing at the thought.

Gene said, "I took about a year after my marriage to Lloyd to look around and see what the men situation was like. I know you're thinking, what did I do since I wasn't getting sex five times a day from my husband? The answer is, I was getting it about eight to ten times a day from some very eager suitors. And that time, I wasn't worried about preserving my anal virginity.

"It was a great year for me.

"When Harold came along, I knew he was the one. The one I wanted to live the next five years with. To grow older with – from age 24½ to 29½. Maybe longer. But probably not. I just love meeting new people, don't you? I must confess. I cheated on Lloyd. A lot. On Harold too. They never caught me, but they knew. They cared, but not enough to divorce me. Harold spanks me when he suspects I've been unfaithful. Hard. When he's done, I get to my knees with tears streaming down my pretty face and suck his cock until he frosts my face twice. That act of total submission and the begging I do for forgiveness makes me cum hard without even touching myself. And Harold likes it too.

"But it certainly doesn't make me faithful. Goodness no. There are too many sweaty workmen and pool boys in the world for any pretty boy to be faithful to his 'Daddy.' And beneath it all, the 'daddies' know it.

"As I look around the room, I see some very stiff situations. I'll leave you to your fun. Must get home to Harold. Don't want him bending our butler's assistant over the kitchen counter, pulling down the lad's panties and filling his freelancing bottom with sperm that is rightfully mine. Enjoy your night and your wonderful lives, girls!"

We all cheered wildly as "Gina" left. What an incredible person. A role model. For some. Not me, of course.

I didn't dwell on that thought because Tommy was on his knees in front of me, pulling down my panties in a frantic effort to suck my cock. Listening to Gina had made us both quite randy. I surrendered to his attack and let his soft, wet mouth envelop me with delight.

The entire evening, night and morning was one of guilt-free (since I was doing it with girls) pleasure. I was thinking now and then during the Friday-night spermfest about the prospect of sucking my first male cocks. Saturday, I vowed, would be Jesse and Greg's lucky day.

I was right about that, but for the wrong reasons.

 

Chapter Four – Sour Milkmen

After a very active night with some very randy pantyboys, I made it home around noon. Mom and Dad were off shopping somewhere. Despite some heroic feats of overnight ballbag draining, my little sack was full again. And I had that dull ache that accompanied my condition.

I called Jesse's house, but no one was home. Greg's house was just across the street, so I decided to walk over, through the pain of a crampy stomach, and have him set me right. If he used those soft hands on me just right, I was prepared, I thought, to suck his nice thin prick and swallow his boyish cream. A big step for me. But I was feeling good about it.

As I crossed the street, I realized that I was in boy's clothes, with no make-up. I had panties on, of course, but I wondered if it would seem too gay to Greg to milk me in that state. I doubted it. He was always a very enthusiastic participant in the medically necessary, milking procedure.

The only cars outside were a Chevy (Greg's) and another that looked familiar, but I couldn't place it. Greg's parents' car was gone. Goodie. And the door was unlocked. Double goodie. I would sneak upstairs and surprise him.

Slowly I mounted the stairs. I heard little grunts and pants coming from Greg's room. The poor dear. He was racking himself off because I wasn't there to make him happy. Well, that would change. The sounds were getting more intense. As if he were getting near cumming. If I hurried, I could put his prick into my mouth just as he was about to spurt. He would like that.

Then I smelled cum. Fresh cum. Greg had probably been masturbating since I left yesterday. Oh, what a shame. He deserved a nice hug and kiss as well as a killer blowjob.

I got to the doorway of Greg's bedroom, pushed it to surprise him and…got surprised instead.

Horrified is a better word.

I hardly believe it myself, even now.

The sight almost burned my retinas.

Greg was on his back, knees up. Pubic area drenched with the residue of multiple orgasms. He was wearing a pink nightie, pink, fully-fashioned stockings and some very well-applied make-up.

That's not all. Jesse, my Jesse, was on top of Greg. He was completely naked and grunting with the effort of pushing his thick cock in and out of Greg's tiny bottomhole. Jesse was clearly near his orgasm. So near that he didn't even stop fucking when I screamed in shame and horror.

I was so ashamed that I had given myself to those two-timing losers. Greg was…he was…a FREELANCER! And Jesse stooped so low that he was fucking a freelancer when he could have had me. Part of me anyway.

Jesse's eyes filled with shame when he looked at me, but he was near orgasm too, so he didn't miss a stroke as I stood there shaking and screaming.

Pretty bizarre, huh? But no one who makes creamy orgasms will be deterred from the completion of said action, regardless of the circumstances.

I had to stand there as Greg spilled creamy globs all over himself and Jesse pumped his manly juices into a "freelancer's" sub-par bottom. Though it didn't look that sub-par to me. But if my sisters said so, I agreed.

When they were finally done, for the fifth or sixth time by the looks of things, they acknowledged my existence.

Jesse spoke first. "We didn't plan this, Dylan. It just happened."

The most popular excuse of the 21^st Century. "I didn't mean to shoot all those people, your honor. It just happened."

Well I wasn't buying it. I straightened my spine, turned on my heels and walked away from those two chumps. At first, I hoped they hadn't seen my tears, but then I didn't care what they saw. They were no longer in my life. I was hoping they were so upset that Jesse wouldn't be able to fuck Greg for at least another hour. That would teach them.

We Boy Brides Society members have our pride.

At that moment I also still had a full "pink purse." Hot cum was sloshing around and making me feel queasy. Daddy would have given me a good seeing-to, but he wouldn't be back for hours.

What to do?

I guessed I would have to milk myself.

OK, I thought. I can do this.

I stripped to my pink panties and admired my form in the mirror. I was very HOT. No wonder all those boys at school had been eyeballing me. When the word got out that I needed a new milking crew, I would have several applicants. No doubt. But that was Monday morning – 45 painful hours away

Then I remembered that Jay had given me an "emergency pack" for those rare times when milkers were unavailable. I hadn't thought about it really, since milkers seemed to be lined up around the block for me. But now that I had been betrayed, I broke the pack's seal.

What was that? <Blush> A four-inch-long, thin, gelatinous, cock-like object with a small battery compartment left little doubt as to its usage. A warning label recommended lots of Vaseline on both the object and its intended target. There was also an official communiqué from Boy Brides Society HQ in Fromage, Wisconsin that said use of such items did not compromise virginity.

Nor did inserted fingers.

I knew that.

And what was the other thing? A comic book put out by a company called "Spermco," titled "Timmy, the Boy Wife: Honeymoon."

A comic book? Hmm. The cover was only black-and-white line drawings, but very well done by an excellent artist named "Teri." It showed a man in groom's formal carrying a very lovely boy in a princess' wedding dress across a threshold to a suite in a ritzy hotel room.

That looked interesting, but I thought I had better insert the little buzzer in my bottom before I opened the comic book.

I stole little glances at my pantied self in my full-length mirror as I sissied around the room, getting the Vaseline, lubing up my first, "training-wheels" dildo, lying on my back, pulling my panties down, using my fingers to lubricate my tight "pootie," gasping and arching my back as I inserted the buzzing little object where only fingers had gone before.

Ohh. It was small, but it was buzzing right on my prostate. And in my desperate condition, all I did was rub a little of the Vaseline on my oh-so-sensitive cockhead and bam! Cum was leaping from my aching nuts and all over my pretty tummy.

It felt wonderful. Heavenly. But it was not enough. I needed to cum again.

So I picked up the comic book and opened it.

Timmy was a gorgeous little sissy who had just married a man who was twice his size, rippled with muscle, and old enough to be his Daddy. Timmy was doing a naughty striptease for Edward, who had removed all his clothes except for his heart-adorned boxers. Edward's cock was a good ten inches long, exposed, thick as a log and dripping a substantial amount of manly fluid.

Timmy was about to be fucked without mercy and he seemed quite unafraid. Eager, in fact. The boy (18+, of course) was down to his corset, garter belt, fully-fashioned white stockings and five-inch-stiletto pumps. His panties had disappeared and his pretty, dripping pricklet was standing its full three inches. Edward was a man totally in love with his new wife Timmy and completely consumed by lust.

Timmy sissied over to Edward and sat on his lap. Their mouths kissed hungrily as they toyed with each others' cocks. Timmy could barely get his hand around his husband's monstrous "business." Edward was skinning Timmy's foreskin most deliciously.

Timmy shuddered and came hard, in thick globs, all over Edward's hand as they continued kissing passionately.

I joined Timmy. All over my hand. And my stomach.

It was an extremely exciting book. The ideas in it, I mean. A sissy boy married to an alpha male. His total fuck toy. The man was the boy's lord and master.

Oh.

I turned the page. Timmy's head was thrown back in ecstasy as his husband sucked and licked his erect, delicious-looking right nipple. In the next picture, the boy bride was cumming again as Edward sucked the sissy's left nipple.

On the next page Timmy was on his knees in adoration to his husband. He was licking Edward's leaking knob like a lollipop and Edward was grinning in manly satisfaction. Then Timmy gave his husband a thorough ball bath with his girlish, little tongue. That made Edward so happy that he spurted a gigantic load of thick, hot cream all over the boy's beautiful face. Timmy was smiling angelically. I thought about having an Edward of my own to submit to like that and I blew my second load of the milking session.

Timmy got into position to take his husband's cock into his mouth again, but Edward took Timmy to the bed. He laid Timmy on his pretty back and got on top of him. Then he kissed and licked Timmy's face clean – his own cum! This was a man who adored his sissy. Edward continued kissing Timmy, rubbing hard, leaking cock to sissy clitty until they made a sticky mess all over each other.

Was that what a wedding night was like? Oh my.

Edward got on his back and had Timmy ease his bottom over Edward's handsome face. Edward tongued Timmy's girlish pussy as a squealing, grunting Timmy leaned over and sucked Edward to a creamy cum, then a new, strong cockstand.

It appeared Timmy's moment had arrived.

Mine had already been there. I blew my third load at a picture of Edward's tongue halfway into Timmy's G-I tract.

The pleasure!

Did I have the courage to turn the page and see Timmy get what every wife longs for? Yes. Did I have an erection? No. It appeared that my little tickler was too exhausted. But my curiosity wasn't.

Edward lay on his back. Timmy straddled Edward's hips, facing him. The analingus had opened Timmy a little, but when the sissy boy began to sit on his husband's thick pole, tears of pain were in his pretty eyes. The brave little sissy pressed on, however, easing down, millimeter-by-millimeter, until Edward was in "to the hairs." Timmy's angelic smile and soft kisses of his husband's lips showed his complete enjoyment of anal sex at its best. Edward was obviously completely in love with his boy wife and, in many ways, would surrender to Timmy in all matters when they were not in coitus.

I wasn't hard but…unnnhhh. I was…. WHAM! Cumming so hard my eyes were watering. But only a few thin dribbles oozed from my limp penis.

I guess that was a complete milking. And I did it myself.

Sissies can be self-reliant too.

And we can spite our ex-milkers by being so.

 

Chapter Five – A succession of wonders

I guess I became a bit more realistic about things after Jesse and Greg decided to BETRAY me as they did. Some may say that I was sort of betraying them by sharing my girlish charms with more than one snorting, spurting male. But we sissies are supposed to be "generous" like that. There are not enough of us to go around, after all.

When Mom and Dad came home late that Saturday afternoon, I didn't like the glint in Daddy's eye when he realized that he was my prime milker once again. Apparently, Mom didn't either, because she quickly got on the phone and lined up some eager volunteers for me.

None arrived in time to save me from one more stupefying session with Daddy's knarly fingers in my little pooper, however. Tormenting my innards, especially my tender prostate, until I was a whimpering, orgasming little puddle of sissiness. Where did that man learn to do that so well? Did he and Mom……? Ewwwwwwwww!

Anyway, Mom lined up several, she wouldn't say how many, "nice boys" for me and the first one appeared for duty at my bedtime that night. Daddy had drained me so well at 6:30 that I was sure I wouldn't be able to manage even an erection. As I had been for most of those past few weeks, I was wrong.

The first member of my "work crew" brought my dingle to full attention when he walked into my bedroom. Seeing me on my back in a tiny pink nightie, with my pink package exposed and needy, made my new milker's trousers quite lumpy as well. Norm Creamer was like the hunkiest guy in school. He was so popular that even the popular guys stood in awe of him. And there he was, swollen and panting, practically drooling at the opportunity to make me cum all over myself.

He was so good looking that I didn't think he would have to work very hard to accomplish that.

I won't bore you with a long description of what we did. Well, maybe I'll bore you a little. He was so bold that he stripped right there. In front of me. Down to his bare self. A young man comfortable in his nudity. He lay beside me, took me into his arms and kissed me. I moaned. When he brushed my cock with the back of his gentle hand, I squealed and came hard, arching my back and pumping goo like Old Faithful.

What a tramp Norm must have thought I was.

I didn't care.

He was still kissing me and rubbing the hot cum all over my wrinkled bag. Making me hot and hungry again.

I sucked his tongue as I reached for his cock. It was wet and hot. I was going to have to slow this down or I would be losing my virginity, my Boy Brides membership and my chance for a hugely rich husband (not that I wanted one) in one "penetrating moment." I would be doomed to the sad life of a freelancer. Sucking every cock that came along. Taking large, penile objects into my anus without the benefit of a gown, two rings and a pre-nup. Horrors.

I had to put on the brakes, but the thought grabbed me as I rubbed the eager boy's velvet knob: what was Mom telling these milkers she recruited? They all came after me with heat and frantic lust.

Or did I just inspire lust in boys, no matter what Mom suggested they do with and for me?

Norm was certainly the most aggressive of the three milkers (not counting Daddy) whom I had had so far. But as I stroked his cock and sucked his sweet tongue, I realized that I was now in control – not him. He was grunting and wiggling in anticipation of that moment all the boys live for. Had I stopped at that moment, he would have been crushed. Thus my power.

I decided to wield it benevolently. I stroked and tickled and kissed and made girlie noises until Norm cried out, then bedewed my girlish fingers with several tablespoons of manly sperm and semen.

When our breathing came back to normal, I took charge again. "That was very nice, Norman. Thank you very much. I look forward to seeing you the next time. Please see Mom for your schedule on the way out."

Norm lay there. Naked. Chest still heaving. Splatters of his cum on his flat tummy.

He played his last card. "Are you sure you're fully milked, Sweetheart?"

That set me back a bit. Truth was, I was not sure. I felt stirrings of little swimmers still hiding in my pink purse. Maybe it was best to get them out. Medically best.

I blushed and said, "Maybe once more, but remember, I'm a virgin and I'm staying that way. No funny business!"

Norm smiled broadly. I had the power to reward and to punish. Hail Princess Dylan!

Norm's and my definitions of "funny business" differed sharply. Which, as it turned out, was good.

He rose to his knees, perpendicular to my hips. I was on my back on my bed. What was he….

The scamp leaned over and took my cock into his mouth!

A boy had never…. I didn't know boys did…. He was so VERY good at sucking me that I almost didn't wonder where he learned to do that. It was heavenly. He swirled his tongue around my velvet knob. Then abandoned it for soft kisses on my balls.

Too much.

Too good.

Returning his wet mouth to my restiffened shaft, he bobbed his head up and down on my delighted cock. Then, shockingly, he entered my bottom with two uninvited (but very nice fingers).

I screamed.

Then I pumped thick globs of sissy cream into his hungry mouth, squealing and screeching in lustful exhilaration.

It was a good thing he wasn't an axe murderer because neither Mom nor Dad entered the room to see if I was still alive.

Norm rose from the bed, gave me a sweet, cummy kiss, dressed and went home.

I hoped that Mom would schedule him often.

But Mom had other plans.

I don't know how Mom knew, but whenever it appeared that I had gotten really hot and heavy with one of my milkmen, the lad wasn't scheduled for another draining session with me for quite some time. Maybe Mom had a hidden camera or something <BLUSH> <MORTIFICATION>, but Mom knew things and she acted on what she knew. I didn't see Norm again for almost three weeks! Though I did see 18 other boys over that period. All woven into my four-times-a-day, medical-procedure schedule. And the ones who drained me while boiling my blood the least got the most opportunities.

Mom, as it turned out, had decided that she wanted to be the mother of the bride at one more glorious wedding – mine. She wanted me to marry a wonderful, rich man who would make all my dreams come true and fuck me until his cum came out of my ears. So she kept my milkings moderate. They all occurred in my bedroom, except for the appointments she arranged for my lunchtime milkings at school. Since they happened in areas that were, at best, semi-private, no lunchtime sessions got overly steamy.

Thanksgiving was nearing, but still I hadn't been out on a real date. I guess I was pretty worried about what I would tell my seven older siblings when they came home and found their kid brother in makeup, panties and stockings. Mom said not to worry, but this was the woman who was on the phone every day setting up appointments for me to be masturbated by my very eager classmates.

A week before Thanksgiving, I had to deal with the first of our chapter's Boy Brides Society quarterly fundraisers. BBS headquarters required chapters to send them lots of money. Money well spent, as it turned out, since they were the ones who did all the research and vetting on potential grooms for us boy-wives-to-be.

When my "sisters" told me it was to be a Saturday car wash, I laughed out loud. How much money could we make from a car wash?

That Saturday, after the usual Friday night spermstorm, we showered and got into our car wash outfits. I was expecting jeans and tees.

But no.

We were eight sissies in sheer black panties, black training bras, black, seamed stockings, black garter belts and strappy black sandals with four-inch, pencil heels.

We got into Mr. Lemont's van and he drove us to the site, where cars were lined up for miles. A sign over the door said, "Charity Car Wash -- $250."

$250?

Huh?

And they were lined up forever.

The car wash place was indoors and heated. Our washing equipment consisted of four hoses, four buckets with soapy suds, four big sponges and eight lovely nancyboys.

The other sissies thought it was great fun as we broke into two-pantyboy teams. I was with Dennis Lemont. The first car pulled up to our station. It was a black, 2005 Mercedes something-or-other in immaculate condition. The man had given Mr. Lemont his $250. He got out of his beautiful car, smiled at Dennis, leered at me <blush> and sat in a folding chair to watch us wash his already-perfect car.

Dennis didn't think it strange that someone had spent a great deal of money to get a clean car washed by two people who could only be described as grossly incompetent car washers.

We sprayed and sudsed, making a terrible mess. The poor man, who would have to take his beautiful car to a real carwash afterwards, seemed very happy nonetheless. He loved watching us sissy here in there in our big heels and skimpy lingerie. He loved watching us stretch and reach, our pretty bottoms tightening up with the effort.

When we were finished ruining his car, he gave us each a $100 tip, for which Dennis gave the man a nice, tonguey kiss. Then he looked at me.

I couldn't be ungrateful, could I?

I tottered over to the man, blushing fiercely. Then I pouted my lips for my first kiss from a man. He held me in his arms and tongued my tonsils. It was wonderful. Wonderful. I felt his beard stubble rub against my soft chin. He smelled like aftershave and an expensive cigar.

My poor popsy was "pointing" my panties.

And his trousers were very lumpy – because of little old me.

Again, I was amazed at how much I enjoyed everything my sisters introduced me to. Really enjoyed it.

The first real man I ever kissed left and I didn't even get his name. But there were others. 34 others that lovely day – and $4,260 in tips, just for me!

The most fun was the lunch break. Men who had paid $1,500 each got to relieve our "pain" several times as we relieved theirs once. It was carefully supervised, of course, by Mr. Lemont. And done all at once and in one large room.

Mr. Lemont didn't pay anything, but Eric and Billy each relieved his tensions – with their girlish mouths.

The host should get some consideration, don't you think?

That fundraiser was my first taste (though just a nibble) of men, and first inkling of the funds that sissy boys could draw from men's porous wallets.

Five days later was my first Thanksgiving as a pantyboy. I had dreaded it, but all my worries were carried away on clouds of joy.

My brothers and sisters began arriving late Tuesday. By Wednesday night, the house was full – the way it should be. Not just with my four older sisters and three older brothers. There were three husbands, and two wives and four grandchildren.

With all that going on, I thought, maybe no one would notice how I was now dressing in girlie things – stockings, heels, dresses, makeup – having boys come into my bedroom four times a day, milking me to a succession of screaming cums.

Uh huh.

I was very much the topic of discussion for the first day or so, but then everyone decided they had their own stories to tell, so my new status was pretty much ignored. I mean they were all pretty encouraging and sympathetic and listened to my story carefully. But then everyone started talking about the grandchildren and so-and-so's promotion and so-and-so's pregnancy or engagement.

Yeah. Like THAT's half as important as stuff about me!

What did I need to do to get noticed in that family anyway?

Thank goodness for my brother Alex.

Only 14 months older than I, Alex was the shy one in the family. Not a good survival tactic in a bunch like ours.

He was a freshman in college, only 100 miles from our home.

He seemed delighted that I was a member of the Boy Brides Society. Like everyone else on Planet Earth except me, he knew all about the organization and its presence in our town.

It was nice that someone was paying attention to me. Besides my milking crew, of course. And nearly every man who looked at me.

Alex praised my beauty and my courage. I liked that. Then he began to cry. I didn't like that.

I held Alex in my arms as he sobbed. I asked him what was wrong.

The answer was a surprise.

"It should have been me, Dylan. I should have been the member of the Boy Brides. I wanted it all my life. But they didn't pick me. They picked you."

Lots more sobbing.

Well. That was a surprise.

OK, I'll admit it. I'm self-centered. But I felt for Alex. And I did something about it.

Making no promises to Alex, at my first opportunity I called Dennis Lemont.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Dylan" the pretty creampuff said. "Did you enjoy the car wash on Saturday? A few more like that and you can buy your own Mercedes. And in four and half months you'll be 18 and can go for the big rewards."

I hadn't thought of that. Wow. I would be rich! Men would probably give me expensive gifts just to smell my perfume.

Focus, Dylan, I thought. "I have a serious problem, Dennis. If you can help, I'll be very grateful."

"Ooooooh," Dennis said. "I would love your gratitude, Honey. What can I do?"

I told him all about Alex and his needs and hopes. I made good arguments and was prepared to address his objections.

But I didn't need to.

"That would be great, Dylan," Dennis said. "Alex's very pretty and submissive. It's my fault that I didn't recruit him last year. Bring him to tomorrow night's meeting and we'll 'swear him in.' He'll have to drop out of that stupid college. Why would he waste his time trying to learn enough to get a $40,000/year job when he can make that much a week as a rich man's wife? He's already almost 19, isn't he? Daddy will be very excited to meet Alex too."

And it was that easy. Mr. Lemont had a pretty good thing going with the over-18, unmarried members, so the more (if they're qualified) the merrier was our chapter's motto.

I was a hero to my brother. Once I checked with Mom to tell her everything and get her permission for Alex to drop out of college.

Like most women, Mom was extremely practical. She knew what was best for Alex and me. And the quicker she shut me up, the quicker she could get back to spoiling her grandbabies.

When I told Alex the wonderful news, it was as if he had seen a beatific vision and that I was a new saint in his eyes.

He hugged me and, between happy sobs, kissed me until things got too hot for further carryings-on and we broke it off.

How was Mom going to work out a milking schedule for both of us?

Somehow, she did.

Alex settled in beautifully with the sexiest sissies in the world. Things were a bit awkward with nine – an odd number – for a while, but there was Patrick's wedding in December to bring us down to eight. It was a little weird watching my brother pump his hot cream into every BBS member's face but mine (I have SOME standards, after all), but I got over it. I wanted Alex to be happy and he was certainly that.

And a lovely wedding Patrick's was.

We all looked scrumptious in our bridesmaid dresses, which we bought from our carwash tip money.

An astounding number of passing-by men happened to visit church that afternoon. They all sat in the balcony to watch the ceremony. And there seemed to be a lot of involuntary grunting and moaning going on up there.

Patrick married a very nice, very wealthy man named Bradford Withers, who beamed with love for his virginal prize.

At our first meeting after Christmas, we all watched the honeymoon pictures. Patrick took a supersized salami into his pretty pootie and didn't wince. He did however cum a bucket, right onto the lens of the camera, so we missed part of the fun. At least from that camera angle.

The following night, the Saturday between Christmas and New Year's, I had my first real date as a sissy.

A double date with my brother Alex, of all things.

Alex had been a shy boy, but as a pantyboy, he went after what he wanted.

 

Chapter Six – Turning things up a notch

As it happened, Alex had been "freelancing" a bit at college. As much as I disapprove of the practice, Alex seemed to be a very desirable freelance sissyboy. Offering his lance freely and having it accepted by an outstanding young college man.

Named Connor.

Connor had been sampling Alex's considerable charms at school. He and his roommate Jeremy were home in our town for the month-long, winter holiday that American college students get. Connor had honored Alex's insistence on keeping his bottomhole intact for his eventual husband. And the poor young man was deeply disappointed that Alex wasn't coming back to school.

Connor and Jeremy were also delighted to be taking us out for dinner, a movie and "whatever."

Alex had told me that he had met Connor during the first week of school the August just past. Alex was walking across the quad, stumbled and dropped his books. Connor. A senior, was walking by, stopped and stooped to help Alex, a freshman whom he didn't know, pick up his books.

So already, we know Connor was a nice person.

Connor was as heterosexual as Homer Simpson. Yet, something inside his brain engaged when he locked eyes with Alex.

Alex felt it too.

Big time.

The sissy-to-be trembled. Memories released themselves from anchors mired in his brain's murky bottom; bubbling to breathe oxygen once again. "Borrowed" panties. Furtive, pantied moments in a house where privacy was the rarest commodity. Gasps and pants and cum-stained frillies as girlish dreams engendered sticky emissions. Dreams, waking and sleeping, of men mastering a pretty, girlish boy, the pleasures of forbidden, shared ecstasies. A wedding gown. The honeymoon. And the ultimate intimacy.

But Alex wrenched himself back to reality. It was all useless now, he had thought. His only chance had been selection by the Boy Brides Society. And that, Alex thought, was gone.

Still, Connor wasn't looking away. Instead, he seemed to be searching for words. What did he want to say? What would it be?

"Hi," the eloquent young man said. "I'm Connor."

Good enough, Alex thought. "I'm Alex. Uh, thanks for the help."

[Silence.]

[Even more silence.]

Alex was about to flee from the increasingly uncomfortable situation when Connor said, "Uh, say. Would you like to get a cup of coffee or something?"

Alex was dumbfounded. He had clearly been "asked out" by another male. After less than a minute of interaction. In a public place. If he had any sense of "decency," Alex would walk away in a huff.

Thank goodness he didn't.

Alex nodded. "Yes. That would be nice. Coffee. Yes."

Three hours later, Connor and Alex were in Alex's dorm room. Alex was wearing only a pair of skimpy, pink panties, pulled down to mid-thigh. Connor was naked. They were locked in a sweaty, desperate embrace. Tongues dueling. Cocks rubbing against each other, then ejaculating wildly all over each other for what was clearly the third or fourth time for each of them.

Talk about love at first sight.

Connor and Alex had a torrid affair, constrained only by Alex's refusal to allow Connor's cock in his pretty bottom. Fingers and <gasp> tongues were permitted. But Alex was still embracing the slim possibility that he would be able to join the Boy Brides.

Jeremy was Connor's roommate. He was eager for a "turn" at the lingeried lovely. But Alex was no tramp. He was sort of half in love with Connor. But sweet Alex wasn't ready to commit to anyone for life. The Boy Brides' five-year contract was much more sensible.

Ah, Alex thought. The Boy Brides. He wanted to be one of those pretty creampuffs. The elite of sissydom. All out of reach. <Sigh>

Then it came true. Alex was a Boy Bride. But was it all worth it to lose Connor?

Connor had been at Alex's side during much of his Christmas vacation. Sleeping over with my pretty brother, with Mom's improbable approval. Two or three nights each week. Taking the little doll on beautiful, real dates.

It was nice of Connor and Alex to set up my first date that night. I hadn't met Jeremy, but Alex had recommended him highly. To that point, the only time I had been dressed in a pretty, flirty dress had been at Patrick's wedding. I was delighted to be girlying up that night. Powder and perfume. Big hoop earrings. Sexy makeup. Two barrettes and a ribbon in my boyish hair. A white party dress with black polka dots. Black, seamed, RHT stockings. Four-inch stiletto sandals. Sizzle!

Alex looked so pretty too. We kissed and hugged. Something we would have never done when we were just boys.

We kept the boys waiting a few minutes. It's good for them, Mom says. Then we grabbed our tiny purses and sissied down the stairs to make our grand entrance.

Everyone gasped. Even Mom and Dad. But especially Connor and Jeremy.

Jeremy was as advertised. Hot, hot, hot. And his expression was that of the aforementioned Homer Simpson contemplating a doughnut.

"Mmmmmmm……..pantyboy."

Well, he was going to have to earn his pootie. I was no roundheels.

As Jeremy was admiring me, making me all stiff "down there," I glanced at Mom. Why was she allowing Connor to sleep over with Alex? Why was she allowing me to go out with Jeremy, even letting him "stay over" if I wanted him to?

Then I found out.

As we were about to go out, Mom showed Connor and Jeremy two small boxes with their names written on them. The young men blanched when they saw the boxes. Later, I found out why.

Mom had told the lads earlier and more than once that the boxes would house their testicles, should either of them penetrate Alex's or my anal pussy.

Mom meant it. And the boys knew it.

Despite Mom's threats of ultimate emasculation, Jeremy was awfully sweet and polite to me. He praised my beauty until I blushed. He held my coat for me and opened doors. I could get used to that.

We went to an excellent French restaurant – more plate than food – and Jeremy was so attentive.

Truth be told, I would have liked a plate groaning with meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy. But I had to watch my figure, because Mom said we would be shopping for wedding gowns in mid-January. Can you imagine? I didn't even have a boyfriend and she was getting ready for me to get married around my eighteen-and-a-half birthday! To a man! With an excavating cock and I was the goldmine. The only comfort was that Alex and I would be shopping for our gowns together.

Back to our date. In the restaurant, Jeremy wasn't fresh at all. Unlike my milkmen, he didn't stick his tongue down my throat as he rubbed my precum all around my cockhead with his thumb.

Why not?

Was I ugly?

It was clear to me that Alex had Connor's cock out and had already wanked him to a nice, creamy emission.

Maybe Jeremy was just being a gentleman. Maybe I was his first sissyboy and he didn't know how to act.

Between the entrée and the salad (it was French!), Jeremy held my hand. His hand was warm and strong. I was so glad I had gotten that manicure that morning.

Between the salad and the cheese/fruit tray, he kissed me.

Ohhhhh. Girls! So much better than those milking kisses. Which were nice. But this was an older, college man. A senior. On a real date. Kissing me. Showing the world that he was a sissy lover. Suffering all the hot stares of the other diners – disgusted women and envious men.

My panties were stretched terribly as Jeremy slid his tongue into my mouth. Why was it so warm in that restaurant?

I lost all interest in the movie we had planned to see and, thank goodness, so did everyone else.

Jeremy and I got a little hot and heavy in the back seat as Connor raced the car to get us home. The bad boy had reached under my skirts and petticoats and was reaching under my garter straps to caress my hot thighs. I surrendered completely to his soft kisses and endearments. I gasped when he felt my popsy through my delicate panties. If he kept that up I would make a big, sticky mess.

But the car stopped. We were home. Where we could get down to some serious exchange of bodily fluids. Still, I was a little disappointed that I hadn't had the opportunity to ruin my panties in the car. Oh well.

We tumbled out of the car. Two hours earlier than planned, we scurried through the front door, catching Mom and Daddy in a kissy clinch on the couch. Was Daddy's "thing" out? That old rascal. And was Mom's left nipple showing? My my.

Neither of them got up when we walked by on our way to the bedrooms. Mom croaked out a "Have fun, but protect your assets," to us. We giggled thinking about what we had just interrupted.

But then it was time for some serious business.

Connor and Alex disappeared into my sissy brother's room. Jeremy and I slid into mine.

I was red hot. Ears burning with hormonal arousal. Jeremy kissed me deeply, sliding the zipper of my dress down with one hand as he cupped my plump bottom with his other. He helped me pull my pretty dress over my head, then tossed it out of harm's way.

I was gasping with lust as Jeremy eased my panties up and over my painfully-stiff cock. Somehow, he managed to wiggle out of most of his clothes, down to his underwear.

We kissed and groped our way to my bed, where he flopped me onto my back, then tore off his undershirt and stepped out of his very full underpants.

And there it was. My very first, non-milkman, "male thing." All for me. Wet. Red. Iron-hard. But most of all, needy. Needy for my kisses and caresses. Needy for my tongue and my lips. I was needy too, but a submissive femme takes care of her man first.

Even then I knew that, as I lay there, on my back, in a black, lacy bra; frilly, black garter belt; silky, fully-fashioned stockings; and black, very pointed panties.

Somehow I managed to convey my intentions non-verbally. As I wished, Jeremy straddled my shoulders, presenting his weapon for my inspection. A delicious pearl of seminal goo had formed at his pouted pee lips. Despite never having had a man or boy's penis between my lips (sissies don't count!) I gave the pearl a flirtatious lick. Mmmm. Sweet and sexy.

As I'm sure you know, cum is one of a sissy's four major food groups. I'm not sure what the other three are, but I'm just a bubble-headed sissy, after all.

Jeremy groaned. And a thicker, larger pearl replaced the one I had just ingested.

I licked that one off too, then held his hips, scootching him into a position where I could suck his cock properly. And thoroughly.

Being a sissy can be lots of fun. For our boyfriends too.

I ingested my first, meaty cockhead, marveling at its simultaneous, velvety smoothness and diamond-like hardness. It was delicious. I adored the submissive, girlish feelings it engendered in me. I loved the way my young man was enraptured by my sexual attentions. I quivered with excitement as Jeremy began to gently fuck my face, groaning with raw lust as he thrust into and out of my oral pussy.

Jeremy's full balls were banging against my chin as he pushed and pulled and moved himself to the edge of Cum Cliff. I felt like a naughty little receptacle for his manly juices – emasculated and objectified.

It was wonderful.

I began to tickle and cuddle his balls as he fucked my mouth. They were pulsing with hot goo that was eager to be liberated. It would have happened soon enough, but I guess I sort of made things conclude a bit more quickly when I reached around with my other hand and tickled his anus with the pad of one index finger.

It was almost as if he were choking on a chicken bone or something. He convulsed slightly, then his cockhead seemed to swell. He groaned loudly, then pumped a huge, hot sticky blast of sperm and semen down my throat. Then another. And another.

Gagging on the manly goo, I pulled my mouth from his cockhead and struggled to swallow as Jeremy hurled three more thick projectiles at my girlish face.

What a mess I was! Choking on my first huge load of manly sperm as Jeremy grunted in selfish, male satisfaction. My makeup was ruined. What a fright I must have looked, with my eyes glued shut from sticky cream.

Men do this to us, I thought. Then they walk away. Bragging about their conquests.

Isn't it wonderful? At least I couldn't get pregnant like GGs.

Jeremy wasn't walking away. His big cock was limp and wounded. His balls were temporarily empty. But he was itching to repay me for what must have been a thrill ride to remember.

The first thing he did was to unstraddle me, then slide to my right side. He gave me a long, cummy kiss, then licked my face clean. Mmmmm. He began to kiss me softly all over – my cheeks, my chin, my neck. My chest and <gasp>, my right nipple. When he saw me arch my back at the nipple adoration, he stopped kissing me there – wanting to have me cum according to his plan and his needs.

I was carried away on a raft of pleasure as he kissed the area just above my pubic hairs, then kissed his way to my pretty, pink bag. He licked my right testicle, then took it in his mouth. Unnnhhhh. Then my left testicle. Sucking. Licking.

I thought he was going to suck my sissy cock, but no. He placed a pillow under my hips and began to kiss the outside of my wrinkled pussy! Then the inside. He had his tongue in my dirty place and the way he was digging, he must have been an archeology major.

Just then, I heard someone screaming. Was Connor killing Alex? No. <Blush> I was the one screaming. And seconds later, I was cumming. Hard. Little peter straight up and flinging juices into the air. Tears flowing freely from my eyes.

Messy, messy, messy.

I really enjoyed my first date. We did everything but "the ultimate tango."

That proved that he respected me. Or he was sensible enough to keep his testicles right where they were.

When Jeremy got up and left me at four a.m., I pretty much figured that I had been kidding myself.

Everything the Boy Brides had said was true. I was going to lead a life very similar to Gene Lemont. And all the creampuffs I spent my Fridays with. I would meet a man, marry him for five years, and become financially secure as I orgasmed five or six times a day. It appeared that I had a real talent for such activities. Not to mention my growing like for them.

Things could have been worse, don't you think?

 

Chapter Seven – Girls just wanta have funds

Things were very nice for the next two weeks. Until Jeremy and Connor went back to college. Alex and I enjoyed the lads' frequent attentions. Frequently. They seemed to be mesmerized by our femininity and obsessed with making us cum our little pink purses off in every way but one. The way that would have <gasp> ended the fun for them for the rest of their lives.

Would Mom have really separated them from their testicles if they had fucked us? I honestly think she would have. To me it was a theoretical question. To Jeremy and Connor, it was much more.

Anyway, it was a difficult time too because, as a high schooler, I was in class from 9-3, missing out on six good hours of orgasms. Alex and Connor were pretty much making each other spurt round the clock. Jeremy would meet me every day after school, kiss me feverishly, then take me to my room and kiss, lick, suck and fondle me until I was mad with excitement and drenched in my and his goo. He would even oil my thighs, get on top of me, and fuck me between my upper legs. Kissing me. Creating a pussy out of slick thighs. It was delicious.

Honestly, <blush>, I was hoping that he would take the chance and "put it in me." In my bottom. No matter what those stuck-up Boy Brides said. I was hot as a July Saturday afternoon in Hades. And ready to "give it up" to a man.

But no.

My lover dug his tongue into my wrinkled hole. Ohh. Very nicely. He fingered me there a lot as he kissed me. Ummm. He even rubbed my prostate as he sucked my peeny. Heavenly!! But I was to remain a virgin until my wedding night.

Rats.

I was sad when Jeremy left. He was lots of fun and my first real boyfriend. But Jeremy was devastated about leaving me. I think he actually fell in love with me! I loved him too, but didn't, you know, LOVE him. You know what I mean. Plus, there were LOTS of boys and men eager to take his place. But there weren't many Boy Brides.

Poor Jeremy was on Cloud Nine compared to Alex and Connor when they had to separate. I thought they were going to jump off a cliff together or something. Alex cried for like 48 hours or something after Connor left. But then it was Friday night, we had our chapter meeting, and my sissy brother was OK again.

A well-emptied ballbag is a great picker-upper.

Plus, something really good happened to Alex. Since he was already 18, he began to date men. Real men. Men older than him by 20 years or so. Men screened by the Boy Brides Society headquarters. Successful men who knew how to take care of a significant other. Men who wanted to marry Alex.

Which was another great picker-upper.

Things began to happen pretty rapidly in February. The first Friday of that month, my friend Tommy, who had turned 18 in November, announced his engagement to a billionaire entrepreneur in Florida. They would be getting married in June, right after high school graduation, which barely gave him enough time to "finalize his wedding gown," which he had been pursuing since the previous October.

We were all invited, of course, and I remember wondering vaguely what I would wear. Then I thought, "Should I be looking for my gown?"

Mom answered that the next day when Alex and I returned home after a full night and morning of exhausting sissy sex. "I don't know what's the matter with you two," she said. "Do you expect two wedding gowns to fall from the sky? Get yourselves together. We're going shopping."

And we did.

It was a delightful experience. With all my married siblings, Mom knew a lot about the subject of weddings and the gowns that form their centerpiece.

It was great to shop for my gown with Mom. And even more fun to be there with Alex. But the most fun was the total rush of femininity I got from being in a wedding gown.

There's nothing like it, girls.

I had a full erection during the entire six hours we shopped that day. Not an "I'm-going-to-cum-any-minute" erection. Rather a "it's-a-total-rush-to-be-so-feminine-and emasculated" erection.

My milkers that afternoon, Billy Krantz, and that night, Rob Stone, were shocked at the copious amount of cum I spurted that day.

I guess I liked the idea of a wedding. Though a marriage can be a different matter entirely.

Mom said we would shop for gowns every Saturday until we found the right ones.

Well, if we had to…..

On the night of February 14, Valentine's Day, we of the Boy Brides Society Chapter had our second quarterly fundraiser – a kissing booth.

Mr. Lemont rented the Knights of Columbus hall for the event and, though he did not advertise it and it was on a day when men should be taking their women someplace fancy, the place was teeming with men eager to pay $100 a kiss.

That's right. $100. For a kiss.

And I don't mean a kiss on their cocks or anything. A kiss on a Boy Bride's mouth. OK, open mouth. With a reasonable amount of tongue.

But a kiss.

Now, girls, not all of these men would have given Robert Redford a run for his money in the looks department. But that wasn't the point. These men. These male creatures. They were so taken by our femininity and beauty that they were willing to grovel before us. That's what paying for sex is, really. Groveling.

I felt very powerful as I stood in the K of C hall that night. Sissied to the max. Perfect make-up. Boyish hair combed back. Tiny miniskirt that barely covered my tan, fully-fashioned stocking tops. Confident in my five-inch, fuck-me pumps.

The men there that night were a different breed than the men who end up marrying my sissy sisters. The men in the hall that night paid $100 to possess us slightly for an instant. The men we would marry would pay millions to possess us totally for five years.

Either way, we were the desired ones. They desired us more than we desired them. Otherwise, why would they give us money?

We formed eight lines and kissed each man for about one minute each. It was very nice, really. They were so needy and almost all of them were polite and well-behaved. [Except for the occasional one who "copped a feel" of our pretty tushies. Not that I minded.]

It was especially fun for me because 1) I had the longest queues! 2) I got to keep a third of the $9,300 I made in two kiss-filled, stiff-cocked hours.

The part at the end when we cleared the hall and we girls relieved all our "tensions" with each other was a lot of fun too.

Still, that was the most time I had spent in amorous contact with men. Not college boys like Jeremy. Men. I liked it a lot. And I liked how they liked me.

Over the next few weeks, I didn't really date. I would be 18 in April and I wanted to finally date some real men.

My February and March days were full – school; frantic, heaving milkings by eager boys; Friday-night Chapter meetings; bridal-gown shopping every Saturday; and listening to Alex describe his sexual-without-anal-penetration adventures with men.

Alex was having a great time. But in some ways, he still seemed to be aching for Connor. Connor wrote these long, romantic emails to Alex at least once a day. He called Alex twice a day and professed his undying love. At first I thought Alex would brush it off. He was in the zone, dating multi-millionaires who would marry him and take him to a land of sex and financial security. The Promised Land for sissies.

Would Alex end up doing something he would regret? And what exactly would that be?

If you want to find out, you'll just have to keep reading.

 

Chapter Eight – Men at Last, Men at Last

I thought a lot about what to call this chapter. At first I was going to call it, "Men," but that seemed too simple. So I thought of calling it "What Men Want" or the answer to that statement – "Pussy."

Yes, girls, men want pussy. Tight pussy. Submissive pussy. Pussy that's attached to a lovely, feminine person – whether a boy or a girl. Sometimes pussy is all a man thinks about. Sometimes pussy is almost all a man thinks about.

But men love pussy.

Mouth pussy. Vaginal pussy. Hand pussy. Titty pussy. Anal pussy. Foot pussy.

Pussy.

And those of us with pussy to give to men only need to recognize that simple, obvious fact in order to have a legion of male admirers and a happy, secure life.

Trouble is, many females, despite their possession of the one pussy that sissies don't have, just can't bring themselves to submit to men during sex. Even though that submission brings the "pussy-bearer" almost absolute power in their relationship with a man.

<Sigh>

Well, thank goodness that my newly-18-years-old mouth, hands, nipples, feet and <blush> anus were completely ready for whatever men wanted. I liked being a pussyboy and I was ready to share my body with the world of men.

My 18^th birthday started out as most of my days did. Or so I thought.

I awoke at 6:45 to the loving attentions of a milkman du jour. An eager male tongue caressing the underside of my cockhead as I roused myself from the slumber of the innocent.

Nice technique, I thought, as I gasped with carnal pleasure. I hadn't opened my eyes, playing a little game I often played and called "Guess the Milker." Mom's schedule had no discernible pattern, so I was wrong as often as I was right. My guess that day was Barry Evans, who had been my bunkmate at Boy Scout camp in 6^th grade and had evolved into the best sissysucker I knew.

VERY nice technique, I thought as I whimpered softly and held my wispy nightie all the way over my nipples. To suggest a next target for his mouth's loving attentions.

It had to be Barry, I thought, but it wasn't quite right. Someone new, perhaps?

Curiously, I opened my eyes. And saw who it was. And screamed!

It was Mr. Kelly, my English teacher. The one who had been leering at me, even in my boy's clothes that I still wore to school.

He was a very good-looking, 30-something man who made Shakespeare come alive for me in class. But how had Mr. Kelly gotten into my bedroom and why was I cumming so hard into his mouth that I almost fainted?

I felt Mr. Kelly's reviving kisses on my wet mouth as he lay next to me. Then he was licking, sucking and <gasp> nibbling my nipples, just the way I like. The firm way I love being handled.

I was so ashamed. How would I go to his class that day? How had my penis gotten all stiff again? And why was I getting that familiar feeling in my gut as he sucked my titty bumps and tickled my pickle?

I arched my back and HEAVED out a second load of warm, sticky juices – thicker and creamier than the first portion. Mr. Kelly abandoned my nips (boo!) and licked and sucked up all the cum from my tummy and "pink parts." (yay!) Then he began kissing my mouth again as he removed his own, stiff "business" from its confinement. He rubbed his monster against my little drooler, kissing me deeply, with tons of tongue. Handling me. Treating me like his possession. Like a man with his sissyboy.

Two minutes later, I orgasmed so hard that I actually did pass out.

There's a big difference between being with a man and with the boys I had had. The one constant was that they were all afraid of Mom and her threats of testicle-removal. In my weakened condition, he could have fucked me three or four times before I would have had the energy to scream for help. I would have even helped him take advantage of me.

But no.

When I recovered, just to be friendly, I decided to give Mr. Kelly a nice treat.

I disengaged myself from his naked embrace and left the bed. Looking and feeling very submissive, I sank to my knees and asked him to stand in front of me so I could suck his <blush> big cock.

Mr. Kelly wasted no time getting into position for what, many have told me, is the best oral sex in the galaxy. My eyes were cast down, but when I looked up, I got my first real look at a magnificent sight. A mature, heterosexual man's huge, painfully stiff cock. Stiff because of little old me. Needy for something only I could give him.

Mr. Kelly's cock was exceptional. (Thanks for the birthday present, Mom. But how did she know that…..?) It was thick and dark. Except for the pink, drippy head that was peeking out of a long, fleshy hood. His balls were humongous, hairy and heavy with cum. Just the way I love them!

I loved being on my knees before this man. The fact that he was my teacher made it extra dirty.

I knew he was married. Had he been thinking about me when he was fucking his wife? Ooooh. I'll bet she wouldn't do what I was doing for him. Beginning with a nice, long, slow, wet ball bath.

I loved watching him tense and squirm as I licked and kissed his testicle bag with my girlish lips and tongue. Maintaining eye contact with my first man.

"Good girl," Mr. Kelly said. "Mmmmm. Good girl." I felt my tired cock twitch when he said that. He was calling me a girl. Which I was, sort of. A girlish boy. With a body made for and eager for a man's adoration.

I left his ball sack and licked all along his shaft. Slowly. Up a blue vein. Along the foreskin. Then I took the entire mega-mushroom into my mouth. Licking, sucking.

I managed to get a firm hold on his foreskin with my lips then pushed forward – unhooding his sensitive parts in one motion.

Mr. Kelly gasped. Then moaned audibly when I ran my tongue over his most sensitive flesh.

"I'm gonna give you a 'sissy's favorite breakfast' in a very short time, Honey," he said.

I thought two things: 1) "gonna?" Wasn't Mr. Kelly an English teacher? He must have been very excited and 2) I was looking forward to that hot breakfast he promised me.

I didn't have to wait long. I had the poor man in quite a dither and five minutes of world-class cocksucking later, he grunted, began a fucking motion forward, back, forward and bam! Big, creamy globs choking me. I swallowed as much as I could, but a lot ran out of the sides of my mouth. I counted seven hot blasts. And 50 kisses when Mr. Kelly drew me to my feet and devoured my mouth with his.

All in all, a very nice birthday wake-up.

I liked being 18.

Legal.

Tender.

For all men, public and private.

And things had just begun.

Mr. Kelly kissed my cummy face one last time, then said, "See you in class at 4^th period, Dylan. I believe I have milking chores for you during my free, 5^th period in my classroom. See you then."

And he left me.

Standing there. Nightie over my head and off. Cum on my face, stomach and privates. Peehole oozing goo.

How could things get better?

In anticipation of my 5^th period rendezvous, I added a bit to my usual wardrobe of khakis, pullover shirt, boat shoes and panties. Under my ugly, boy things, I wore a lacy black bra, with matching garter belt, attached to long, silky, seamed, black stockings. And wispy black panties of course. Wouldn't Mr. Kelly be surprised?

Not as surprised as I was when I wiggled into my seat during Mr. Kelly's class that day. I was milked five times a day, so it was sort of, you know, no biggie. But that day, with Mr. Kelly on deck, my tummy was turning with excitement. I swear, every time he made eye contact with me, my heart skipped. I looked around to see if anyone else in class had noticed that Mr. Kelly and I were now "milking partners."

The girls, who saw me as the most intense competition they had ever faced, continued their habit of ignoring me. The boys, as always, were sneaking looks at me, dreaming of the creamy moments they longed for with me. I thought about it a moment and realized that I had sucked every one of their cocks at least twice. Thinking a bit more, I realized that I had sucked every cock in the senior class at least twice. Except Julian Sparks and Robert LaFemme -- who were very gay and very much a couple.

It was time to move on to men.

A sissy needs new challenges, after all.

I blushed crimson when, at the bell to end class, Mr. Kelly said, "Class dismissed, except for you, Dylan. We have to discuss that extra-credit project you're working on."

If my classmates were only 99% sure that I was playing slap and tickle with Mr. K, that little comment moved it to 100%. Extra credit! Why did he embarrass me like that?

I forgave him instantly when he locked the door and took me into his arms. He gasped with pleasure when he stripped me and saw my girlie lingerie. The man was possessed with lust for me! So much that he stripped naked, right there in his classroom, and ordered me to bend over his desk. He got behind me and I was sure that he was going to fuck me. I didn't mind. In fact I wanted it. I would leave the Boy Brides. He would leave his wife and children, quit the school and get a fast-food job. We would live in a seedy apartment and fuck seven times a day on a bare mattress. We would live on love!

There was a plan!

But no. He hit his knees and spread my bottom cheeks with his thumbs. Then he began to lick my "pussy" with zest and ardor. It was heavenly – so good that I shot thick wads of sticky juices across his desk and all over some student term papers.

No matter. He was on his feet. Naked and erect. Behind me. His cock at the same height as my wet, defenseless pussy. I was bent over, exposed and helpless. Whimpering with need. Oblivious of the consequences. He rubbed his dripping cock tip around and around the entrance to my hot, virgin bottom.

Mr. Kelly was going to fuck me! I wanted it. Didn't care about chapters or Lemonts or oil barons or pre-nups. All I could think about was that cock in my ass. And the sooner the better.

I had come pretty far since October, hadn't I?

Mr. Kelly grabbed the front of my thighs and lifted me – until I was horizontal. From the waist up, I was lying on his desk. I gritted my teeth for the inevitable pain as he entered me. It couldn't be that bad, could it? The others all survived.

Turned out that "inevitable" turned out to be pretty "evitable." Mr. Kelly fucked me all right, but he didn't "ruin" my virginity. He had stirred up so much spit and anal juices that my inner bottom cheeks were very wet. He nestled his massive meat in the valley between my inner cheeks and fucked a makeshift pussy. It was very nice, especially the rubbing of the underside of his cock across my tingling pussy entrance each time he pushed or pulled. He made it extra nice by cuddling my pretty bag with each thrust. His continuous praise of my beauty and docility were delicious and I soon made a second, squealing, frantic cum.

But it wasn't fucking, girls.

It was clear to me that I was going to have to get married for that to happen.

According to Mom, that was going to happen sometime around October, my 18and 1/2th birthday. Six months from that day. She was pushing Alex and me to make our gown choices and I was pretty sure that she had reserved halls and bands for Alex's and my weddings (no double ceremonies, thank you – I was NOT sharing my "princess moment" with any mere mortal).

I hadn't even met an eligible man yet – Mr. Kelly was married – but Mom was picking out napkins. I guess she knew that once a sissy started getting "close" to men, the poor pantyboy couldn't wait to give up his virginity. And his bachelorettehood.

I was thinking about all that as I knelt and sucked Mr. Kelly's cock until I got my "sissy's favorite lunch" as he called it. Meals at his house must be interesting.

I swallowed a big creamy load then set about cleaning the cum – mine and his-- from my pubic area, tummy, chest, bottom, back, thighs, chin and face. But not until he sucked out an "English teacher's favorite lunch" with some outstanding cocksucking!

We kissed goodbye and I was pretty sure that I wouldn't be milked by him for a while. Mom wouldn't let us get too close.

That afternoon, when I got home, I was expecting some kind of an 18^th birthday celebration. I got just that, but it was quite odd. Daddy had come home early. Mom was there. Alex was there too, with his latest suitor from the Boy Brides Society – a computer billionaire who was geeky and had hygiene issues, but had as many billions as he had inches – nine.

Our neighbor, Mr. Robbins from up the street, was there too. Why was he….. Oh. My afterschool milker. We repaired to my room and 75 delightful minutes later emerged – lighter, but more comfortable. So far, like Will Rogers, I hadn't met a man I didn't like.

At 5 p.m. (!?!?) we sat down for cake, ice cream and off-key singing. Mr. Robbins looked at me as if he wanted to run that ice cream all over me and…..

But no. At 5:30, my four-months-older friend Tommy, dressed in full babery appeared. He kissed me, wished me a happy birthday, then hustled me upstairs to get into a miniskirt, stockings and fuck-me pumps.

"We're going to the baseball game," my sexy little friend said.

Huh? I didn't even like baseball. And Tommy was such a tasty little creampuff, the best present would have been a nightlong sixty-nine.

But no.

"There's someone you need to meet, Sweetie," Tommy said. "Carlos' friend, Rocky, who's even cuter and richer."

Oh. That's right, I thought. Tommy had been getting serious with some relief pitcher named Carlos somebody. He was a multi-millionaire, of course, but at 33, on the downside of his career. Rocky, Tommy assured me, was only 27, sexy, rich and crazy about sissies. He had also been approved by the Boy Brides Society as a potential mate.

That BBS lost no time, did they?

Well, I got into full babe mode in record time, with special attention to my bedroom eyes. I just love the looks I get from men when I toddle past them in a microminiskirt, showing off my seamed-stockinged legs and pretty toes in my strappy, black, stiletto sandals! Poor Mr. Robbins looked as if he wanted to VIOLATE me right there, in front of my family. Thank goodness men have learned to suppress some of their instincts anyway. That big lump in his trousers showed that everything hadn't been suppressed.

Tommy drove us to the baseball field and we pulled right up to a special parking spot, just for Tommy. I didn't have to ask him how he got it – sissies can get anything we want. All we have to do is "ask" men nicely.

We sissied into the park, drawing stares and wolf whistles all along the way. I just adore being sexually harassed by men, don't you?

The men we passed by were all harmless, darn it, and we arrived at our seats unmolested. Tommy said it was his regular spot – by the bullpen, he called it – where all the extra pitchers hang out during the game until they need to pitch. They were "bulls," all right, hunky and masculine. And they couldn't take their eyes off Tommy and me.

Right away, two of them came up to us. Tommy gave a big hug and tonguey kiss to the first man – Carlos Navarro, his latest flame. Poor Carlos looked as if he needed immediate attention to a "growing problem" between his legs. But that wasn't going to happen until after the game. Tommy would be on his pretty knees sucking Carlos' fat cock until Carlos felt much better.

Meanwhile, Carlos was introducing me to his companion, a swarthy, Mediterranean relief pitcher named Rocky Florentino. Oh my. I wanted him to give me relief right then! He was so handsome, with an extra dollop of virile. I hadn't even heard him speak yet and I was dreaming about cumming in his mouth as he explored my anus with his calloused fingers.

He was so darned manly that I almost expected him to grunt out a "Yo, Dylan!" when we were introduced. Instead, he had a very pleasant, articulate voice, with a gentle manner about him. Too bad, in a way. We "girls" enjoy a "beast" now and then.

Still, he was very attractive and BBS-approved. And rich. What was not to like? Plus, I had been 18 almost a whole day and had only sucked two men's cocks. Time was a wastin'!

Rocky and I flirted a bit as Carlos and Tommy were in the lewdest possible embrace. As Carlos sucked Tommy's tongue, he had his hand up the enflamed sissy's skirt in into his pretty panties. From Tommy's gasps and pants, Carlos must have had at least one finger in Tommy's pussy. Right there. During batting practice!

I could never be such an exhibitionist! But I had to admit, watching Carlos and Tommy "go at it" had my cock as stiff as could be. Rocky noticed the naughty bulge in my skirt and, gentleman that he was, he reached under my skirt, and into my panties. He laid his pitching hand on my raging pricklet and rubbed it sweetly, all the while telling me how beautiful and sexy he thought I was. Well, I can see how that hand could throw a "fast ball," because I was filling my panties with hot cum in no time flat. Good thing I always carry several extra pairs of little teasers, just in case. I gave him a nice kiss for giving me such sweet relief, and, yes, girls, I would have sucked his cock right there if they hadn't put us on the stadium "jumbo-tron" television. The thought of 40,000 witnesses was the only thing that could have cooled us off.

Rocky asked me to "go out" after the game and how could I refuse? I mean, I couldn't wait for him to show me what he knew about "balling."

The nine innings went very slowly. I was kind of bored, except for the lustful looks Rocky gave me every time I looked in his direction. He was undressing me with his eyes! Worse, he was fucking me with his eyes! And I was prickteasing right back at him.

I was so interested in Rocky that I almost didn't notice the section Tommy and I were sitting in.

"Notice anything unusual about our seatmates, Sweetie?" Tommy said as he tickled my peeny. He had placed a blanket over our laps in order to hide the constant "tickles" we were giving each other during the game.

For the first time, I looked around. Sissies. More than half. Of all ages. Some very pretty. Some pretty ugly. Some with dates. Some on the prowl. But lots of them.

"They all flirt with the ballplayers and the men who go to the games," Tommy said. "Freelancers. <hmmph> Not up to our standards, but who is?"

I nodded as I gasped out my third load of sticky cream for that evening. Some of those "undisciplined" girls looked very good. And some had very hunky dates. All of whom were taking them home after the game and fucking the little creampuffs until they were no longer ambulatory.

I envied them that. For the first time, I was getting tired of waiting. I wanted to pick a man and marry him. Then submit to his cock many times every day for five years.

I mean, I WAS 18! I wasn't getting any younger.

Maybe Rocky was the one. I had my eye on a wedding gown that was a layered sheath, with V-neck, fishtail train, short sleeves in peau satin and embroidery. But Alex said we should keep looking. I guess that was good advice for men too. I would want at least three choices before I commit.

I found myself wondering what Rocky would be like. Naked, I mean. How would he treat me? I knew I could be bratty. Maybe I needed a firm hand from a man.

In the 9^th inning, Rocky got up and started throwing to some squatting guy. The squatting guy was yelling at Rocky because he kept looking at me instead of paying attention to where he was throwing the ball. Then something happened. Suddenly, Rocky left the area where we all were and he walked down by where most of the people in the stadium were looking most of the game. He got on this little hill and started throwing the ball extra-hard. He must have done it very well, because people cheered him like crazy, then all his teammates came over and hugged him and everything.

I began to worry that one or more of his teammates was a sissy freelancer and would suck him off in the shower. I thought, "That first creamy load is MINE!"

Tommy told me not to worry. He just led me to the car, then drove us to this really nice apartment – Carlos's place – and Tommy had a key.

It was great in there. Big and rich. Tommy took me to the master bedroom and let me pick a nightie from his lingerie drawer. I blushed as I selected a wispy pink thing with holes where the nipples were. It was fitted for a sissy, not a DD-boobed GG. And it was very sexy. At Tommy's suggestion, we showered –separately, so our men would have nice, creamy loads to swallow. Then we primped and made up, finishing our preparations just as our bedmates for the evening entered the apartment.

Their eyes jumped out of their heads when they saw us – primed and primped for love. Or at least some good-old lust. Poor Rocky hadn't emptied his bag in HOURS, so he must have been in terrible discomfort.

I helped him.

Less than a minute later, we were on the king-sized bed in the spare room. Rocky was naked. I had my nightie up to my armpits, exposing all my girlish charms for Rocky's pleasure.

As I had hoped. Rocky was very oral. He was a fantastic kisser, but an even better nipple sucker and he had me frantic with lust in very short order. His best oral moments, however, were when he began to address my "pink package."

He cradled my little "peanuts" in his calloused finger tips. Stirring them gently until I was gasping in anticipation. Reverently, he kissed first my right testicle, then my left. Then licked each one gently. Then sucked each one with enough pressure to bring pleasure, but not enough to bring pain. I was whimpering sissily as Rocky licked my pink shaft, then capped my "helmet" with his wet lips.

Men all want to suck my peeny. All of them. And they adore it when I squeal and cum in their mouths.

Rocky was no exception.

I wriggled and moaned in girlish ecstasy as Rocky sucked and licked my pretty penis. He was so ardent and so darned hungry for me that I felt completely adored. It was a very nice feeling. So was the gut-ripping orgasm I had when I evacuated my sperm reservoir and blasted his throat with hot, sticky, sissy juices.

Rocky seemed to enjoy it as much as I did. I felt the same way when I slipped to my knees, removed my nightie and gave him the enthusiastic, naked, blowjob that only a small fraction of men experience in their lifetimes. Rocky experienced it three times in one night.

"OK," I thought in school the next day, "That was Bachelor Number One. Who else does the Boy Brides Society have lined up for me as husband candidates?"

Before I found that out, there were family members to attend to.

 

Chapter Nine – All for Love

I guess in the "heat" of my storytelling I neglected to tell you about all the milestones in our BBS chapter. Dennis was engaged and would be a very lovely June bride for an Italian automaker. Though he was the last Lemont sissy boy, Mr. Lemont had graciously agreed to continue to host the regular Friday meetings. What a great guy!

I didn't even tell you about Jimmy's wedding in March to that South American dictator. Or Brent, Randy and Bruce, the new "girls" who joined us on their seventeen years, six months birthdays. How could I forget them? Not only were they cuter than speckled puppies, and as feminine as you could ever wish for, Randy and Bruce had very large <blush> packages. Mmmmm.

But where I was really remiss was that I haven't kept you "abreast" of what was happening with my pretty brother/sister Alex.

Alex was someone who longed to be a Boy Bride, but once he become one, something wasn't right. The other pretty boys adored Alex, even though he was an "old maid" of more than 19. Alex adored the pretty boys. And he seemed to enjoy the platoon of wealthy, sissy-loving men that BBS headquarters paraded through his life.

But it didn't satisfy Alex.

I knew Alex was very fond of Connor, but no sane Boy Bride member would forsake a wealth-creating, five-year marriage with a powerful, accomplished man for a 22-year-old, poor fledgling, just out of college.

Would they?

I guess I first knew that Alex was going his own sissy way at the first Friday spermfest after my 18^th birthday and date with Rocky. I was trying to tell Jay all about my date, but he was paying more attention to my cock. Which he had in his warm mouth, as he knelt between my stockinged legs.

I loved Fridays.

Alex and I sort of avoided each other at those semen-drenched affairs. We didn't need to do that icky-bad, I-word thing. But I couldn't avoid him completely. That night, I happened to glance over at him and what I saw shook me greatly.

Alex was sprouting titties. Small. Only a bit more than puffy nipples. But definitely titties.

Titties were against the rules of the Boy Brides Society. So were hormones, which he was obviously taking.

At that moment, I knew what Alex was planning. But what to do about it?

The next night, a Saturday, Alex had a "date" with Connor, who was, as he had been more and more, home from college for the weekend. Their dates were actually nights of vigorous sperm exchange in Alex's room. A cheap date, but very satisfying for both parties. Alex had been seeing his BBS suitors during the week and his college-senior lover practically every Saturday night. Since I was now a "belle with the balls," I was rarely home on Saturday nights, but that evening, I cancelled my date and stayed in to check things out.

By 8 p.m., I could hear Connor and Alex going at it hammer and tongs. Squealing, screaming and lots of rumpus. Darn it. They were actually in love. That just ruined everything. But the situation was retrievable. Unless they were….. I had to find out.

I took a deep breath, left my room and stood in front of Alex's unlocked door. I knew I was breaking a trust, but it was like an intervention. Alex was throwing his life away for…love. The BBS girls told me not to worry about love until the third marriage. At around age 30. And they hadn't steered me wrong yet.

I reached for the doorknob, turned it, pushed and came upon a scene too horrible to describe.

Alex and Connor were fucking!!!

Alex was lying on his back, his lovely lavender nightie pulled above his swelling nipples. His head was thrown back in ecstasy as his teeny weeny was pumping strands of thick, hot cream all over his soft tummy. Connor was mounted on Alex and <gasp> pushing his long, thick prick in and out of the shamed (to my mind) sissy's wet, elastic pussy. Alex whimpered with lust on every stroke, long after his sticky spurts ceased. Connor leaned over to kiss Alex lovingly, sucking Alex's tongue into his mouth. Connor grunted, quickened his stroke and began pumping what was clearly not his first deposit in his love's sperm bank.

Fucking!

Boy Brides don't fuck until they're married. To a rich guy. Connor was broke. His dad was a barber. He was an English major, for crying out loud. But Alex apparently loved Connor enough to ignore all that.

I slipped back to my room unseen, but hardly slept all night. What with all the worry for my brother's future happiness and the noise of the five or six doses of current happiness he was getting up his pretty bottom.

What a mess.

The next morning, after Connor apparently gave Alex a couple of somethings to remember him by until the next weekend, I went to Alex's room and confronted him. The little puss couldn't deny it. He was lying on his stomach when I entered the room and I could see the manly goo oozing from his stretched "pussy."

Knowing he had been caught "red-bottomed," Alex rolled over and faced me. His nightie was bunched and sticky with dried cum, which also covered his pretty privates. His lipstick was smeared and there was evidence of massive quantities of seminal discharge around his pouty lips and mouth. Alex made sissy fists and said, resolutely, "I don't care what you, the Boy Brides, Mom or Dad say, Dylan. I love Connor and we're getting married on June 30. Mom set that date for me in November and I'm using it with the man I love."

I tried to convince Alex that Connor was not yet a man. Not like the mature, successful men with whom we Boy Brides traded pussy for lifetime financial security.

But Alex was in love. How could he pick the path that male-female couples take when he was a sissy – every man's cum-speckled dream? He didn't need to suffer for years until his husband's ship came in. He could have an instant fleet.

I was angry at him, puzzled by him and yes, just a bit proud of him.

Love should count for something in this world, shouldn't it?

Mom seemed to agree. She and Daddy whooped with joy the next weekend when Connor showed up at the house with a half-carat ring, got on his knee and proposed to a tearful Alex. Alex and Connor kissed and hugged for a long time, then Mom, Dad and I joined in.

I was choosing a different route, but that didn't make Alex wrong. The right to be different is the greatest right of them all.

 

Chapter Ten – More suitable suitors

As my first man. Rocky acted like he owned me. Calling me all the time. Telling me I'm beautiful. Sending me expensive presents. Draining every molecule of cum out of me every time we got together. Giving me several doses of his hot goo, over me and in my throat.

But I wasn't ready to be exclusive.

It was difficult to think "exclusive" when every man you ever knew, teachers, family friends, neighbors, even <blush> pastors, was on a rotating schedule to appear in your bedroom and relieve you of all your sperm.

The difference was, I wouldn't marry any of them. But Rocky was a possibility.

So was David, a U.S. Senator from a neighboring state, who appeared with BBS approval in early May, and Gavin, a well-known, cinema action hero, who appeared in mid-May.

Neither seemed concerned about his reputation if he married a pretty boy. Each seemed to think it would enhance his standing among envious males and among women who would think such a union was romantic.

Well, I didn't know if that was true, but I do know that both of those men would be very suitable husbands for me. They were both crazy about me and very generous with their money and their sperm.

James, whom I met in early June and who was the last of my suitors, was a surprise. He had made lots of money making and selling computer stuff and at 45, was ready to enjoy himself at last. He was the least good-looking of the Fantastic Four, but he was very sweet and he had a very large cock.

When I graduated from high school in mid-June, two weeks before Alex and Connor's wedding, I knew I would marry one of those wonderful men in October – just four months away.

The details of the wedding were developing nicely and I had narrowed my gowns down to six possibles.

The groom was the last piece of the puzzle.

I'll tell you all about how I sorted it all out in the next and final part of my story – The Boy Bride Three – Married.

    

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

  

  

  

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