A Change in Our Marriage

by Sara Girl

03

 

STEP AFTER CONTINUING STEP

"John, John…wake up," Sara's voice called to me across the dance floor. I think I was dancing, but I'm not sure.

"What, Sara, I can't hear you," I yelled across the dance floor, trying to keep eye contact with her as I moved around. "Wait, can we stop for a minute, Sara's calling me," I said to my dance partner. My male dance partner. Looking down, my doppelganger self was wearing a satin gown, the tops of my breasts showing. My partner had no face, but was clearly a man, his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to him, his groin to mine.

I winced in pain, not sure how or why he was hurting me.

"John," Sara called again from across the dance floor, laughing, "wake up before you get hurt."

I opened my eyes and Sara was there, standing over our bed. Confused, I shook my head. "Sara?"

"Having a pleasant dream," she pointed to my groin, where my chemise had ridden up, exposing the chastity cage she put on me last night. My dream, dancing with a man, had caused me to swell, and I was confined by the small chamber. There was no way I could tell her what caused this. The thoughts of the dream floated to and from in my mind, blurry. I know he kissed me. I think that's what did this to me in my cage. No way could I confess that to Sara.

She continued to smile at me. I began to seriously worry that she could read minds.

"Listen honey, you don't want to be late for work, do you? We can't call in sick today, so let's get going."

Reluctantly, I got out of bed, my soft sleeping clothes shimmering on my skin, my groin still tight in the cage she put me in. "John, you are going to have to try to avoid having any nasty dreams unless you want to wake up in pain every morning," she pointed at my crotch.

Every morning? How long did she intend to keep at this? "Sara? Every morning? I thought this was just for last night."

"Oh, sweetie, no, no. That chastity cage is a very important part of your training. You see, one thing we are going to work on is teaching you to orgasm like a woman, and forget about that little thing. There may be times I let you out, but trust me, you will be spending some time in there to start. Of course, you may miss playing with yourself, but I'm certainly not going to miss it," she laughed, a teasing, harsh laugh.

I started shaking. This was too much for me to handle. "Sara, I," I could not finish, and burst into tears, shaking uncontrollably.

"Honey…honey," Sara said, genuine concern evident in her voice, the harshness from moments ago entirely gone.

"Sara, I can't do this," I said, violently pulling the satin chemise over my head, breathing heavily. My hands tore at the fake breasts Sara had glued to my chest.

"Oh dear," she whispered, "Oh, John, please, stop…stop, John, they won't come off without the solvent. Oh, John, I'm sorry, I…"

"Sorry? How can you be sorry," I yelled, "this is your doing! This is what you want! Why are you sorry," I shouted, the anger pouring from me.

She just looked at me, not in defiance, not pity, but tenderly, a concerned wife.

"John, I'm sorry because I love you. I'm sorry because I don't want anything that will hurt you. I'm sorry, because I pushed you too fast."

"Sara, I just…this thing," I said touching the chastity cage, "it…"

"No, John, I understand. I just forgot."

"Forgot? Forgot what," I demanded.

"I forgot the connection, the hardwired connection."

I curled my brow, "the connection?"

"Of course, love. In my rush to…well…see you as, feminine, to help you, I forgot that as soft and feminine as you may be inside, as far away from a typical man you may be, and as hard as I push that boundary, you are not actually a woman. You may feel it, obviously, and I may try to see you as it, and mold you into that, but you still have testosterone, albeit not as much as a stud, but still, it flows through you."

"Sara, you are not making any sense to me," I answered, tears dried up, but as confused as I could be.

"John, I almost hate to explain it. I'd almost rather just do it, just work on this with you in the dark, but I suppose, I do owe you some explanations, don't I? See, what I forgot was that a man's sexual desire, his erotic pleasures, always start with the cock. Even for a man, like you, barely a man really, everything starts with the cock."

"What?"

Sara went to her dresser and took out a small key, walked over to me while speaking. "John, I'm going to feminize you completely. I'm going to turn you into a much a woman as I can," she said, unlocking the cage, tossing it aside, taking my soft cock into her hands, massaging it, playing with it.

"I'm going to keep you in satin and silk, bras, panties, stockings," she whispered, stroking my growing cock, "I don't want you as a man, I never did, I want you as a woman, my lover, my soft, tender, lesbian, so gentle."

I shuddered again, not from fear and hurt and anger, but from pure pleasure.

"Oh, Sara," I moaned.

"Is that what you want too, lover? Do you want that? Do you want to wear pretty things for me, to submit to me, to be my wife?"

"Yes, Sara, yes," I moaned, thrusting my hips to match the movement of her hands. With every question, she slowed the strokes of my cock.

"You want to wear my lingerie, my pretty bras and panties?"

"Yesssss."

"Hmmm," she smiled, stroking me faster again.

"You want your own things too, your own pretty lingerie."

"Yes….yes."

"Do you want me to date other men," she asked. I wanted to yell no…but I could not. Her hand…her touch…they were pushing me, overriding my brain.

"Do you," she asked, slowing her strokes.

"Yes, yes," I gasped, as quickly masturbated me again.

She now stopped stroking, and just held me. "Do you want me to fuck them?"

"Oh, Sara, please, don't stop."

"Do you want me to fuck them," she repeated herself.

"Yes….yes!"

Instead of stroking, she knelt down in front of me, and took my cock into her mouth. I almost fell over as the warmth of her mouth surrounded my cock.

Looking up at me, she asked final questions. "Do you want a real man to fuck me and cum in my pussy? Do you want a real cock inside me, filling me with cum while you sit at home in your pretty lingerie?

I shook. I shuddered. I jumped. "Yes, Sara, yes…please…don't stop…please."

"Hmmm," she moaned, "it's so small; it's so easy to get it all in my mouth."

"Ohhhhhhh," I shuddered, quickly going towards the edge, blood rushing though my body. "Sara, I…" I said, trying to pull back, knowing she did not like me ever cumming in her mouth. But she ignored me, sucking harder, pushing me closer.

"Yes," she mumbled, cock in her mouth, "yes, my sissy wants lingerie, wants a bra and panties, wants a real man to fuck me, and wants him to cum in my pussy."

"Saaaaarrrrrrrraaaaaaa," I screamed, releasing, pushed too far. Sara clamped her mouth on my cock, taking it, my cum, holding it, holding me. We were one.

As I shook, shuddered, I felt weak. Sara quickly let go of my cock, pushed me back onto the bed, on my back. She climbed on top of me, her soft skin pressing onto mine, and I felt her heat, wet, damp, her pussy on my cock, opening up, pulling me into her. I was still in the depths of my orgasm, not yet down from the mountain. Her warmth pushed me back up, the lingering orgasm still inside me.

Sara planted her mouth on mine, and I was still hungry for sexual contact, a baby bird, I opened my mouth. In my mind, I expected the taste on her breath and mouth, but I was still surprised when her hungry mouth found mine, when her kiss took hold.

Of course, of course. It was not just the smell or lingering taste. It was the cum. She never swallowed. As her mouth and tongue found mine, she released it. Could I scream? Oh, no, because her pussy, so warm, so soft, so inviting, was on me, still keeping me on the mountain of my orgasm. So I took it, the gift, and we shared, our tongues finding one another, mixing, her saliva, my saliva, my cum, in our mouths. The taste was amazing, because it was revolting and exciting at the same time. I was so hungry for her, I took it, even enjoyed it, and swallowed. My own cum. I swallowed and shuddered.

Slowly, I came down from the mountain. I felt myself shrinking inside her, I felt my breathing return to normal. Sara nuzzled her head in my chest. "That's what I forgot, lover, and I'm sorry. I forgot that you need that to enjoy this. I can't lock your cock up in chastity because you need the sexual stimulation to help you accept the other things."

My mind was so shot, so blown away, so over stimulated, I could not even answer. But deep in my brain, I wondered…should I be scared that she knew this? Would she push me farther? Knowing how she could do it? She knew she had the power now, that my own little cock, would be the key to my own downfall.

I drifted off to sleep, still feeling the warmth of her pussy, scared even more now, because Sara understood all my weaknesses.

Waking up later, now late for work, I looked at Sara's head, nuzzled between the fake breasts on my chest, her pussy, still warm on my now shrunken cock.

"Sara," I whispered, worried about making it to work at some reasonable time. "Sara," I said more urgently, "get up, we have to get to work."

Slowly, she stirred, reluctantly. As she moved, my cock slipped from her pussy, causing me to shudder.

"Okay, okay," she said, rolling off me. "You shower first, I have to pack up my work stuff."

I sighed as she got up from the bed, stood up, and headed to the shower, but she called me back.

"Baby, as much as I would love to send you to the office with your breasts in place, I don't think you are quite ready for that yet, so let's get those off before you shower." Shit, one day with breasts, and they were already natural to me. She was right, no way would I go to work with these on me. I could not face people that way, even though I quickly got bummed, I did not want to lose my breasts.

Sara saw my frown, "Don't worry, dear, you can have them back when you get home."

After she used the solvent, and took off my breasts, I went to the shower and relaxed in the warm water. The feminine smell of the body wash, shampoo, and conditioner felt comforting to me.

Toweling off, I went back to the bedroom, to my dresser, opened my underwear drawer, saw it full of lingerie and frowned slightly.

"Forget about that," Sara asked from the doorway. "Forget what you are already? Forget about the sweet unmentionables you will be wearing from now on, John?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"John. I think that's a part of the problem," she said, sitting on the bed.

"What is," I asked her.

"Come here," she smiled, "sit next to me."

I sat down, and she reached over, ran her fingernails over my chest, down my stomach. I shook, and part of me thought, "damn, she took this eroticism thing to heart."

"John. Your name. Identification as a man. Trying to pretend you are something you know you are not."

I felt myself stir, and it did not escape Sara's eye.

"Yes, that's right. A reminder that you are not much of a man makes you jump a little. I saw your cockette jump."

I felt myself growing still. Her words stung, but excited me too.

Smiling at me, she continued, "No, sweetie, your name, John, makes you think you are a man, when you know you are not. We have to change that. As we continue to strip away the remnants of your stupid masquerading as a man, we need to call you something else. I think I like something more feminine." Her fingernails were raking the skin between my belly button and my crotch. She was avoiding my growing cock, but she clearly knew she was the reason it was growing.

"Jasmine, perhaps? No, that sounds like a stripper. Maybe Joan? Not feminine enough. How about Julie? Yes, I think that is good for now, sweetie, Julie it is."

"Sara…"

"Say it, dear, my name is Julie." The back of her hand was touching my cock as I jumped. The sexual energy was starting to flow. I realized the irony of it.

Yes, the irony. The very thing that made me a man was breaking down the barriers to my becoming a woman. That sexual energy, that testosterone, that very manly thing, was actually helping Sara feminize me. She was actually using my masculinity against me!

"Sara, I…"

Sara turned her hand, taking my cock into her palm. "It looks like this likes the name."

It was really shocking to me. How could my own manhood do this? How could a woman use my own masculine sexual pulses to tear down those very pulses? They say the strongest martial arts are those that do not use brute force, but rather use an opponents strength against him.

This is what Sara was doing. Some jujitsu, taking my strength, my manhood, and using it against me. Sara, intellectually, really was amazing, for she had undergone her own transformation. In a short time, she pivoted from trying to match me, strength for strength, to simply using my own strength to weaken me. How quickly she grasped that the way to take away my manhood was to use it against me.

"My name is Julie. Say that, please," she requested, stroking my cock for the second time that morning.

"My name is Julie," I whispered, the words another sting at my shrinking ego.

"Hi, Julie, I'm Sara," she smiled at me. "Now, Julie, lets find you something to wear, don't we? We need to find you some sexy lingerie to wear to work, don't we?"

She stroked slowly, "you want to wear lingerie to work, don't you?"

"Yes, Sara, yes," I gasped.

"Pretty girls wear lingerie, don't they?"

"Ohhh, yes, Sara, yes."

"Are you a pretty girl, Julie?"

"Yes, yes, Sara, yes," I was coming unhinged.

"Of course, lover, of course." She slowed down her stroking of my cock. "Of course my pretty lover wants to wear sexy lingerie."

The weird thing was that I could not cum. I wanted to, but it was too soon. I was recovered enough to get excited, but not enough to actually orgasm. Sara knew my habits. I'm sure she knew she could excite me, push me, but that there was no way I would hit the edge and go over. All she did was get sexual energy flowing through my body, and it stayed there, charging every fiber and nerve in me.

"We need something a bit more feminine than usual, being your first day like this. No cotton panties for you. Here, this will do nicely. You'll have to wear a tee shirt to hide the camisole, but this set will do beautifully under a suit." She handed me a white satin set, camisole, tap panties, garter belt, and stockings.

"Sara, I can't wear this," I said in horror.

"Excuse me," she said.

"I said I can't wear this to work."

She smiled at me, narrowing her eyes. "Oh, you can't?" I wanted to jump up, because I instinctively knew what was coming.

"Doesn't Julie want to wear the pretty lingerie," Sara smiled, running a single finger over the side of my cock.

"Sara, please, this is not fair," I said.

"But you do want to wear this, Julie, all girls like wearing pretty lingerie to work," she said, a second finger on the other side of my cock. "They love wearing sexy lingerie to work, knowing how feminine they will feel all day, the satin rubbing their skin. I know I do, knowing how all the men will look at me when I'm standing in front of them, giving a presentation."

"Please, Sara, it's too much," I gasped, terrified of the camisole and the garters, terrified I'd be seen, caught.

"Julie, trust me, you will feel so sexy, so soft, all day. The sexual energy will be all over you. And…Julie," she was stroking now, "I'll be thinking of you all day, just counting the hours until I can get my hands back on you."

It was too much. I wanted it so bad. She helped me dress in the lingerie, and worked to cover it with my man's clothing.

Predictably, the day was Hell. How was I supposed to concentrate on work? Every step, I felt the garters tug at my stockings. Sitting, the camisole rubbed my nipples, sore from the breasts, sensitivity heightened. Naturally, every trip to the bathroom, sitting in a stall, pants down, panties around my ankles, seeing my legs in stockings, I had to work to keep my erection down; this was crazy. But amazing, too.

Around lunch, she called. She wanted to tease me again, telling me how sexy I was in my lingerie. She told me how she was thinking about me all morning, her sexy lover, her feminine husband, the prettiest girl in the office. "I'll be home waiting when you get home," she growled.

I don't think I stood up again all day. My erection never went down.

When I finally got home from work, I walked in the kitchen and found Sara sitting at the table. She was still dressed from work, in a skirt suit, the pretty, sexy businesswoman, and my eye was drawn to her legs. Deep down, I was always a leg man…or leg woman, I guess, and Sara's always drew my eyes.

Sara caught my eye, traveling up her leg, to her skirt, which was taught around her thighs. I notice a darker band, the top of her stocking, clearly visible when she sat down. It must have been like this all day.

"Yes, lover, men have been staring at me all day." I stirred. "One even asked me to go out for drinks after work." Her words slapped me. Not to the face, but to the groin. Not painful, but a shot of sexual force. "He was staring at me legs all day. I'm sure he pictured the tops of my stockings, my garter belt. I know he wanted to fuck me."

A moan escaped my lips as I dropped my briefcase, the sound startling me.

"But what could I do? Tell him that as much as I would have liked his big man cock inside me, today, this day, I wanted to rush home to my sissy feminine husband? That as much as I wanted his real cock, today, I wanted my little sissy cock more?"

I tore at her, her words were too much. We kissed, hands pawing at one another, stumbled into the living room, stripping each other as we moved. I easily got Sara out of her jacket and blouse, her soft breasts in her satin bra, staring at me, nuzzling them. She worked at my own shirt and jacket, my tie, finding my camisole, working on my trousers.

Taking off Sara's skirt, feeling her garter belt, I felt something missing. She was not wearing panties. Her mouth found my mouth. She gasped, sexually hungry. "I didn't wear panties, lover, I could have had his cock in me so quickly, but I wanted you tonight."

I was now naked, well, naked to my feminine lingerie. Our legs wrapped around each other, nylon leg on nylon leg. "I want you so badly, today, Julie, even more than his cock." We made love…no we had sex, more violently than usual, tearing at each other. I never felt more feminine in my life, yet never so sexually hungry.

I came for the second time that day. Inside her this time. Amazing. She worked on her own orgasm, after I was done, moving, wriggling her hip, till it hurt me, but I lay there, allowing it. It was the only way she could orgasm this way, manipulating her own body, using mine, not being fucked, but using me. It hurt. And I was never happier.

That day sealed my fate, I think. Sara adapted, learned, and used this to make me her feminine lover.

I had to learn. Lingerie became a 24/7 thing for me. Sara had insisted on it. Deep down, I wanted it too. As troubled and confused I was, she had awoken a deep desire inside me. She knew it, and worked on it. Dressing for work in the morning was a routine for us. Sara would lay out lingerie for the day. Panties and pantyhose. Or a panties, a garter belt and stockings. Maybe stay ups, without a garter belt. Tap panties and a camisole.

After my shower, before getting dressed, Sara would lead me to the bed, her choice for the day resting on the comforter. Next to a pair of my boxer shorts. "Which do you want, lover," she would ask me, "men's underwear or women's lingerie."

"Lingerie," I would answer, my body trembling from the humiliation, my cock hardening, her hand often manipulating me, pushing me. She used sexual tension to make me more feminine. My own strengths against me.

"Women's lingerie," she would correct me.

"Women's lingerie," I parroted back.

"Whose lingerie?"

"My…my lingerie," I would answer.

"Ask," she would command me, as if I actually had some choice in the matter.

"Please, Sara, may I wear my lingerie to the office today," I would ask.

She used it as an opportunity to tease me. "I don't know. Should you play dress up today, and wear these men's boxers, or should we dress you in your pretty lingerie?"

As if wearing boxers was playing dress up. Damn she could twist the knife. But that is how she always presented it. Lingerie was common, boxers were not.

Of course, it was always the lingerie. Never the boxers. Day after day, silk and satin were all that touched my body.

"Too bad you can't wear a bra to work, I'd love to send you to the office with breasts under your suit," she commented one morning, sending terror through me.

"Sara!"

But she knew how to push me here too. My little cock. Always using my cock against me. To torment me, when it was called for, and to use its sexual energy against me.

It was simply a matter of excitement, of the tease. She walked to me, a pair of her panties in her hand, and wrapped them around my soft cock. "What, does that scare you?"

"Please Sara, don't," I begged her, desperately wanting to step away from her, but at the same time, frozen in place.

She stroked me for a minute, before talking again. I wanted her to stop. "Wouldn't you like that, Julie? Don't you want to show off your breasts at the office," she whispered, stroking.

"Don't," I gasped.

"A nice silk blouse, just one too many buttons undone. Your bra showing. All the men staring at you, fucking you with their eyes. Your skirt, maybe just an inch too short. Not bad, but there you are, in the copy room, reaching to get something. One of your coworkers, comes by, and…accidentally bumps into your, his cock pressing against your ass. Would you respond? Should I have? Did you wear stockings that day? Were you naughty? I didn't have panties on that day."

Her stroking was driving me insane.

"It would start with him staring at your tits early in the day, Julie. You want them, don't you? You want to wear a bra today?"

"Sara…Sara…"

"If you didn't wear panties that day, like I didn't, it would be so easy, just push back on him. When he 'bumps' you in the copy room, if you act like nothing happened, and pull away, he simply says he is sorry, and walks on, innocent enough. But if I pushed back, if I pressed my ass back onto him, he knows, he could have me. All because you wore a bra to work, Julie."

She was mixing me and her in the story. What a bitch. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Want to wear a bra today, Julie?"

I didn't answer, afraid to. She continued. "All I had to do was push back, and he could have fucked me right there in the copy room. Oh, Julie, you don't know how bad I wanted his cock. I was so tempted, I wanted a man so badly that day. Soon, Julie, soon."

I was shaking uncontrollably. "Will you wear your breasts and a bra to work, Julie?"

"Yes, yes," I moaned, not even thinking what that meant.

As soon as the words left my mouth, she stopped stroking me. "My, my dear, the trouble this little cock of yours can get you into. Imagine what your boss would think. You are not wearing a bra, yet, sissy, now go get dressed. Uust wait till Friday night, you'll get your breasts back, sweetie."

I knew then, if I did not before, that I was hers. Under her spell, under her control. Forever.

FIRST OF MANY FIRSTS

Laying in bed with Sara on Saturday morning, I shuddered as she kissed my neck, massaged my breasts. Our stocking encased legs rubbed together, sending electricity running through my body. She really was seducing me, drawing me deeper in to a feminine state.

"I got something for you," she whispered in my ear.

"What," I asked, my mind drifting back to my body.

"I bought you a present," she smiled, getting off the bed. She walked to the closet, her heeled slippers clicking on the wood floor. I was staring at her ass, visible through her sheer peignoir, framed by her garter belt. Identical to the one I was wearing. Yes, it was an amazing Friday night.

Sara picked up a shoe box sized package from the closet, pink, with a white bow on it. Walking back to me, she handed it to me, "Here you go, Julie," she smiled.

"What is it," I asked.

"Go ahead and open it and find out, silly."

I loved presents. I loved getting packages. Hell, who didn't. I should have been more nervous, considering the source. I opened the top carefully, one eye on Sara, one on the box. Seeing what was inside, I reacted in horror and dropped the box. "Sara, what the hell?"

She giggled, "What? Don't you like it?"

"Sara," I answered, shocked.

"I'm sorry, dear, I know. I know. It's the first time you have seen one of those," she laughed, watching me recoil from the box and the most life like dildo I had ever seen. It was flesh colored, veined, and big, very big, considerably bigger than me.

Grinning, she moved the box over to the box, carefully, almost reverently, taking the large dildo out. "Have you ever seen one of these before?"

"A dildo," I asked, confused. Sara had a few dildos.

"No, silly, a man's cock? It's quite a bit different than that little cockette you have down there. This has some weight to it. It's thick, and long, and hard. Here, take it," she said, holding it out to me.

I jumped back a little. "Julie, come on, it's just a cock, go ahead, put your hand out."

"Sara, please," I moaned.

"Silly girl, so shy," she laughed at me, "I'm sure you have seen a cock before. Right? You are not a virgin, are you?"

"Sara!"

"Wait a minute. I'm so sorry, dear. I mean, I just assumed…you being a woman in her early 30's…well…that you have…oh honey, here, we can go slow, just, well, this is what a man has to offer a woman, his long, hard cock. It's nothing to be scared of, sweetie, go on, touch it, it's natural," she said tenderly. "Now, I have to admit, its been quite awhile since I actually had a cock in my hands, but its like riding a bike, so to speak."

She giggled.

"I mean, ride a big bike for awhile, and just because you then spend some time on a little bike with training wheels, well, that doesn't mean you forgot how to handle the real thing."

Again, as always, a shot at me.

"Go ahead, darling, touch it."

I tentatively put my hand out, touching the cock, feeling a lifelike vein near the base and the balls.

"See, nothing to be scared of, is there?"

I shook my head.

"Wrap your hand around it, Julie," my wife grinned at me, "go ahead, men love it when you touch them like that. Don't worry, he doesn't bite. And he sure hopes you don't either," she chuckled under her breath.

I wrapped a hand around the shaft, my nails touching my palm, feeling the veins of the dildo. Sara started pumping it a little and I jumped again.

"Julie, don't worry, when you touch a man's cock, he is liable to push a little, trying to get just a little more. It's nothing to be afraid of. Now, come over here, sit next to me," she said, sitting, crossing her gartered legs, "I want to show you something."

As I sat next to her, she pulled me closer to her, our stockings rubbing one another.

"Here, let me show you this, first," Sara said, taking the plastic cock back. "Well, first things first. This is about eight inches, which is average for a real man's cock. There are some with smaller, of course, but don't worry about those because, well, what woman wants some five inch carrot," she laughed. Five inch carrot. That's what I had.

"Anyway, you see the veins, along the side, well, that means the man is just bursting hard. And of course, a man's balls, filled with cum, will drop down, swing, see," she said, pointing, "this means, well, he is dying for some attention from you."

I sat there, mortified by her 'lessons'.

"You look shocked. You know, let's do a little comparison."

Kneeling in front of me, Sara positioned the dildo next to my cock. Or cockett. Clitty. Whatever she referred to me as. I looked down, shocked at the difference, my eyes widening.

"Now, you see, don't you, Julie. You see what I was talking about. Come on, be honest, are you really that surprised? You must have seen a cock before, at least in college living in the dorm in the shower? Or at the gym? Obviously, at some point in your life you saw a naked man, his massive cock, even soft, dwarfing what you have. Maybe a big black football player, ripped muscles, walking by you. Right?"

"Yes, in college" I whispered, embarrassed.

"Of course you have. And did you look at it? At his cock?"

I looked down, my eyes fixated on the two dissimilar things in her hands, my tiny cock, and the massive dildo, staring at the differences.

"Did you stare, honey? Like you are now?"

I blushed, caught again.

"Oh baby, it's okay. I know, there is an unwritten rule, a man never stares at another man's cock, does he. Yet you were, staring, at his cock. You could not help it, could you? Like now? Seeing something like that. Were you naked too?"

"Yes, we were in the shower."

"Oh, my, so he could see you too. Did he catch you looking at him? No, I mean, staring at him?"

My face reddened even more. "Yes."

"Oh, no! Did he get mad at you, darling? Did he think you were gay, and lusting after him?"

"No, he…he…"

"Don't tell me," she interrupted, "because I think I know. Let me guess. I bet he caught you staring at his massive cock, started to get angry, and then realized what was going on. He knew you were not lusting after him, not when he saw you naked. He realized that you were staring because he was so big and you were so small, didn't he?"

I felt the same feeling I felt then. The gut punch pain of embarrassment.

"What did he do?"

"He laughed," I whispered, the pain of reliving the moment flooding me, actually causing my own organ to start to soften, further showing the differences between my little cock and the silicone monster in front of me.

"He laughed," she repeated my words. "Of course he laughed. Why wouldn't he? And did you run out of the shower, scared, terrified, hurt, humiliated."

I nodded my head.

She smiled, clearly loving hearing of my shame.

"Did you ever see him again, in the shower or around campus? Did you try to avoid him? Like a hurt puppy scurrying away from the top dog?"

"Please, Sara, don't. This isn't funny."

"Oh, don't be such a sour puss. Of course it's funny. To me, at least, though obviously not to you. But it is important. You know why? Because I married a man who gets off dressing as a woman, and fantasizes about his wife fucking other men. It's important to me, because I want to understand, where this comes from. I personally happen to think that when a woman's husband has not given her an orgasm in years, is sitting in front of her dressed like a sissy, and feels like a fucking wimp, she has some right to at least an explanation of where this all comes from." Her words, her stinging words. Matched by the reach of her delicate hand, which had come to rest on my cock. Gently rubbing. She knew…she knew how to make the truth come out and always took advantage.

"I mean, honestly John," she said, reverting to my real name, "have I not earned that right? Not only did I discover that my husband has some of the most perverted fantasies, but here I am, instead of divorcing you, actually participating in them with you."

What could I say to that? She was right, she did deserve just about anything she wanted. Of course, I was neglecting to think that she was the one who was pushing all this, not me. I was happy to look at porn, a cuckolding web site or two, even some transvestite stuff. She was the one who was running with this, I was just trying to keep up. I began to wonder whose fantasy we were living here, hers or mine?

I mean, it's one thing to fantasize about your wife fucking another dude. It's quite another for her to keep throwing it in your face. It may be a bit perverted to slip into your wife's panties once in awhile, and masturbate, but she was the one who pushed me into a bra and stockings, and these damn glue on tits. I wondered, not for the first time, if she was playing nice to indulge my fantasies, or whether it was her perverted desires we were living out.

Yes, it scared me, because I think I realized it just might be more of her fun, than mine. It scared me because I suddenly worried how far she was going with this.

"John?"

"I'm sorry, you…you're right. I…what was the question." Still could not meet her eyes, not staring at my little cock in her one hand, next to the massive monster in her other hand.

"Did you see him again, around campus?"

"Just once," I whispered.

"In the shower again," she smiled in anticipation of my self degrading answer.

"No, at a frat party."

She smiled. "Did he laugh at you?"

"No," I answered, softly.

"Did he say anything to you?"

"No."

"Hey, don't be fucking evasive, dammit, tell me what happened," she laughed, stroking me again, knowing that would spur me on.

"I…I was with a girl I was dating. He saw us from across the room, waiting in a long line at the keg. He…he marched over to us, smug, a beer in his hand. He came up to her, we could tell he was half drunk. He grabbed her, pulled her to him with his free arm, and started to kiss her."

"Oh my. What was her name, you date?"

"Jennifer."

"And what did Jennifer do?"

"She…she started to push him away, but he had a good hold on her around the waist. He pulled her closer to him, rubbed his crotch on hers…and…she returned his kiss. They were like that for almost a minute, till they had to breath."

Sara had a huge grin on her face, still stroking. "And?"

"He stepped back, handed her the beer, and said something like, 'You don't need to wait in line, baby, just let a man get you your drink,' and walked away."

"And what did you do? I mean, some guy comes over to your girl, kisses her, and totally dominates you. Did you 'throw down'," she laughed.

"No. I…I just stood there, speechless, while Jen drank her beer. She wouldn't even let me have some."

"That was your last date with her, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Yes, of course. Poor Jen. What was she to do? A prissy white girl from the suburbs, and some big black stud goes all alpha male on her in front of her wimpy date. Her date doesn't even try to stand up to him. She felt that monster cock of his, grinding onto her while he kissed her. Oh, no, I'm not surprised she was done with her bookish wimp of a date. Had you slept with her before?"

"Yes."

Sara grinned, "I imagine, suddenly, feeling what was available out there, going back to your dorm room for a night of frustrating sex with her emasculated date was rather unappealing to her."

I blushed, not having felt so shamed since that night.

"Well, John, my sweet thing, I certainly understand where your feelings today come from, I really do," she said tenderly. "You see, that's the difference though, between Jennifer and I. Even though I crave this," she squeezed the dildo, "I still love the person who only has this," she squeezed me.

"Sara," I whispered.

"But…wait…but, you see, look at a real man's cock, compared to you. Don't you see? Do you understand why I crave the real one?"

"But, Sara…"

"No, come here," she let go of me, moved the phallus off my lap, "come down here, next to me."

I slid off the bed, kneeling next to her.

"Sweetie, I see you staring at the cock, just like you did years ago. Do you understand? Why a woman craves this? How even though it's big enough to even be a little painful, she still wants it inside her. It's biological. Millions of years of evolution. It's instinct. We know, that even though it may hurt, at a primal level, we understand why this monster is what's best for us. It about procreation. At the most animalistic level."

"Remember, while a man's sperm is plentiful, a woman's eggs are not. She only has a small window of opportunity to conceive each month, and inside the vagina, the route to the womb, to the ovaries is a treacherous journey. It's so simple though. This monster will be so far inside a woman, pushing on her cervix, that it's almost a sure thing for millions of sperm to make it to the egg. But baby, with you, someone like you, there is such a smaller chance, that biologically, conception a very risky proposition."

"So, my tiny husband, deep down inside, in her primordial soul, a woman wants this, not one like yours. Sure, modern life has changed somewhat, and there are other attributes in a spouse beyond just mere passing on of the genes, so women marry and settle down with wimpy men. But don't ever forget, how ever happy they may be with their mouse, they always crave the lion."

"It's pure biology. Nature made us orgasm with a monster like this inside us, and made us difficult to physically please with something like you have. Nature says to us, 'If you want physical pleasure, you had better find an alpha male.' It's nature's way of guaranteeing the survival of the species. Nature says, 'Wimps need not apply.'"

A tear was forming in my eye. "Is that what I am? A wimp?"

"Yes, dear, I'm afraid so. And you have always known that. But you know what? Nature did something for you, too. Nature, wanting the species to continue, hard wired you a certain way. Why do you think there are web sites about cuckolding? Why do so many men fantasize about that? Nature insists it that way. You fantasize about your wife fucking a stud because nature wants you to. So when your wife does it, you won't leave her."

"A stud, who has no trouble procreating would never put up with his woman fucking around. Why would he? By virtue of his very body, he can easily impregnate a woman. So, a stud would shun a woman who fucked around, he would never let another man's offspring around him. But a wimp, like you, who is lucky enough just to get any woman to partner with him, would easily put up with that, and no matter who fathered the child, that wimp would be there to raise it. And to be honest, nature wants the woman to love who ever will stay and help raise the child. Wimp or not."

"A wimp wants offspring, but has trouble doing it. A woman wants and needs offspring. So nature hardwired us all to do what's best."

"Put simply, deep inside, being a wimp, you want me to fuck real men. I crave the fucking a real man gives, even as I love you. Real men take what they want. Everyone is happy."

"So baby, don't cry. Nature made you like this, and even though you are little sissy, I love you.

"But,"

"No buts, sweetie, it's not your fault I crave a real cock like this. Why, just seeing it make me start to tingle, makes me feel damn and horny."

I was looking at her, the hunger in her eyes. Holy shit, she really did crave it, there was something deeper at work here. Sara was stroking the cock now, and my knees felt weak.

"I just want to…," she was closer to it now. "Come here, look at it closely." I bent closer. Our faces were inches apart, and mere inches from the phallus, from the swollen balls, from the bulging veins, the bulbous head. It really was quite different than mine.

"If we were this close to a man, the scent would be overpowering. The pheromones, nature's way of calling women to a cock, would be drifting in our noses. It makes up wetter, open up, our bodies preparing to take it in," she said in a hoarse, desperate voice. Her one hand was still stroking the cock, her eyes half way back in her head. Her other hand slipped over the satin covering my body, and found my quivering thing, intimidated by the monster that came out to play.

"I just want to," she repeated, opening her mouth, moving closer, tongue out, taking it into her mouth, "taste it, ohmmmmmm," she moaned, giving the silicone monster the beginnings of a blow job, getting it wet, licking, tasting, moaning. But her other hand found me and began to rub at me.

I was mesmerized by the oral work she was performing on the cock, the slutty words she spoke to it, like it was real, as if it was a man she was moaning to, not a silicone organ.

"Oh, Julie, oh my god," she slurped.

She let the cock slip out of her mouth, and looked at me, a devilish look possessing her. "You see how bad a woman wants it? Do you understand?"

"Yes," I moaned, unable to say anything else with her massaging of my clitty.

"You understand," she snarled, close to terrifying me.

"Yes, yes," I moaned again.

"You understand because you feel it, don't you?"

Between the opposite stimuli of her hand on me and the terrified feeling in my brain, I felt frozen. I was terrified, because I suddenly realized what she was about to say. What scared me is why I knew? Because it was so obvious what she wanted me to do, and I wanted to please her, or worse, because it was what I suddenly wanted, like her.

"Yessssss."

"You understand how a woman craves a cock, because you crave it too, Julie," she stroked me, I was breaking down.

"Sara…please don't," I begged, but she ignored me.

"You understand Julie, because you want it too."

I was panting, my body flooding with hormones. The sight of her sucking the cock, the visual, appealing right to the very core of my brain. The small bit of my manhood rebelled, fought a desperate action, trying to hold back the hordes, but it was hopeless. The battle was quickly over, the part of my mind that revolted at the homoerotic act Sara demanded, that screamed at me not to do this, was beaten back by the libido flowing from my own neglected cock.

In all honesty, it was never a fair fight. Sara's feminization of me, the lingerie, easily weakened the walls of my masculinity, so that when the rush of libido hit, my internal resistance quickly was swamped and folded.

"Open your mouth, Julie," Sara ordered me, "take the cock in your mouth."

"Sara, please," I moaned, a last gasp of the dying resistance to the homosexual act.

"Take it," she growled, squeezing my own balls as she moved behind me, her breasts coming to rest on my back, insistently pushing me towards the siren call of the cock.

"Sara, I…," I said weakly, my mouth open in surrender, the pressure from her body enough to push my mouth, my open mouth, onto the cock.

Suddenly, the hunger washed over me. What ever part of a woman that craves a cock was now running through my body. I'm still not sure how Sara did it, how she overcame my natural resistance, but it was gone, and I tore at the cock like I was starving and this was the only food that would satisfy me.

Now Sara was whispering encouragement. "Yes, baby. Ohhh, watch your teeth, you don't want to hurt him. Hmmm, relax, take him all the way into your mouth and throat." Words as if an actual man was there on the bed. I could almost smell him.

I tore into it, and Sara was moaning every step of the way. Her moans became those of the cock, she was the life force of the organ I was hungrily devouring. As I spent several minutes sucking the cock, Sara took it up one last notch.

If I thought I could not be further depraved, I was wrong. While Sara continued to rub me in tempo with my own feeding on the cock, her free hand trailed down my back, over my ass, under my panties, and came to rest. At the next swallow I took of the cock, she pressed harder on my own organ, and took a finger, wet, I assume with her saliva, or maybe from her pussy, and pushed into my ass. I tried to protest, but she pushed herself back onto me, pressuring my mouth downward onto the cock, and my ass down onto her finger.

"Don't stop," she hissed, working a second finger into my ass, "don't stop now, he is so close to exploding, let him finger your pussy," she moaned, becoming the man to my woman. And so we started a homoerotic ballet, as I delivered a blow job to the monster cock, was stroked by my own wife, bringing me close to orgasm, and for good measure, fingered in 'my pussy' by her, simulating a man.

I did not even know now, where man and woman started and ended in this erotic dance. Whether Sara was man or woman. Whether I was man or woman. Whether this cock in my mouth was real or not. All I knew was that sexual energy was racing through every cell in my body, and Sara had me feeling more feminine than I imagined possible.

I sucked, taking more cock into my mouth than I myself even had. I felt the connection between my little cock and my ass, becoming one big erogenous zone, becoming a pussy. I felt the cock in my mouth, warmer and warmer, becoming more and more realistic.

"Let him cum in your mouth, Julie, finish what you started," Sara hissed, climatically stroking me, climatically pushing her fingers in my 'pussy', and moaning for me to finish.

Emotion washed over me, became palpable, easily sensed by Sara. As I hit the limit, Sara pushed her fingers deep into me, pushed my back down, forcing the cock all the way into my mouth, and as I exploded in orgasm, she moaned and ordered, "Yes, yes, take it Julie, swallow it, swallow his cum."

While I could not taste or feel it physically, mentally, the cum exploding from my own little cock was in the cock in my mouth. I took it that way, swallowing on reflex, even gagging a little, moaning myself, wracked with pleasure.

"Yesssssssss," Sara whispered, bleeding out my orgasm but slowly fingering me, stroking me, "yessssss bitch, take it."

I collapsed, drained, spent, my face on the bed, the cock coming to a rest on my cheek, Sara's fingers pushed into me, her hand wrapped around me. She let me climb down the mountain of orgasm and eroticism. We knelt there, both spent, emotionally and physically. A mess, fluids everywhere.

"Sara, I…"

"Shhh, baby, don't talk yet. Just savor it. Your first blow job," she paused, lowered her voice, "well, your first practice blow job, anyway."

The cock still rested on my cheek. The head pointed to my face, my eyes fixated on it. What was she doing to me? My wife was part evil, I was sure, part sadistic, but part tender, and so loved.

"Kiss it," she said, watching me stare at the phallus. "Thank him for allowing you the honor."

My mouth opened, but I did not move.

"Thank the nice man for his cock," she giggled.

I slowly planted a kiss on the tip of the cock and said, "thank you."

"Such a good girl, my Julie, such a good girl, her first of many firsts," she foreshadowed, causing a tremor to go down my spine, a tingle of fear and anticipation.

"Now, let's go wash up, sweetie, and get dressed for the day."

A SHORT SHOPPING TRIP

Monday morning, after I finished asking permission to wear my lingerie for the day, which consisted of a white satin teddy with garter straps, and white stockings-really pushing the line of discovery, Sara said she had a task for me at lunch.

"Honey, you know, I bought all this lingerie for you, cause I love you so much, and love seeing you in it, well, I'd like you to go buy me something today at lunch. Victoria's Secret has a bra sale ending today, and I think, for all the fun we've had, that I deserve something nice."

"Um, okay," I beamed. Sissy or not, I love buying Sara lingerie. Cause she had a killer body, and there was nothing we did, that she did, that shot sexual energy through my body like seeing her in something new.

"Good. Pick out what you want, dear, something sexy and seductive, but make sure it's a set, you know bra, panties, garter belt and stockings."

Cryptic, but certainly doable, of course.

At lunch, I hit the mall. My first time there alone, since Sara created the new me. Suffice to say, Victoria's Secret took on an entirely new meaning. Talk about "John's Secret" or even "Julie's Secret". Indeed.

But, this I had done before. In fact, I was afraid she was going to send me alone, shopping for me. That would be a horror I was certainly not ready for. Her I could do.

The sale was a demi bra sale. Well, nothing like three fourths a bra to show off Sara's lovely tits. Yes, this would be quite fun. With only minimal help from the sales girl, who I was equally terrified would see my own lingerie under my suit, and also, part hoping she would, I found what I wanted.

The bra was some kind of sheer material, with satin trim. Not only would Sara's tits be showing through the top of the demi bra, but they would be visable through the black sheer material. I wanted a thong, but they had none with this bra. The matching panties were of the same sheer material and satin trim. I smiled, thinking of her trimmed pussy, visible through the panties. The sales girl directed me to the matching garter belt, and we headed for stockings.

"You know, sir, you have such a lovely set here for your…wife," she said, looking at my ring. At first I thought she was wondering if they were for me, but they were too small for that. "Our regular day sheer stockings would be fine, of course, but might I suggest some silk stockings instead. They are a bit more expensive, but just lovely for a night out," she smiled.

I was a sucker for a pretty smile. Silk stockings it was. I thought about getting a pair for me, but backed out, not wanting to have to buy something in my size.

I could hardly wait to see Sara in her new lingerie. Heck, I should have bought a matching set for me. Oh well, it was her gift, not mine.

Rushing home, I was really hoping for a little fashion show, but I was to be disappointed. Sara thanked me for the gift, but begged off opening it, complaining of a headache.

"Honey, I really have to lay down, but why don't you get out of that stuffy suit and into something more comfortable and bring me a nice cup of tea," Sara asked. Of course, anything for Sara.

I did undress, and to be honest, it was nice to get out of the suit. Sara had been having me wear skirts and dresses when I was home in the evening, to "make up for the suit I wore during the day" but I did not feel like getting dressed that night. I did keep on my teddy and stockings, but also put on a long satin robe and some dressing slippers. I felt so vampy and classy, 40's movie starish, I suppose.

Bringing her tea dressed like that felt so natural again, serving her.

"Oh, thank you Jules, you look very pretty by the way. If I didn't have a headache," she trailed off.

I giggled, but would have been content just to sit with her. Surely she could use a backrub, even without anything overtly sexual, and when I offered, she accepted.

EVENING OUT

Yuck. I had a terrible week at the office. Sure, lingerie underneath was great, but it was driving me crazy with pent up frustration, and my boss rode my ass for last minute project changes all week.

Finally, I kicked off early Friday, and headed home. When I got there at about 4:30, Sara was also home from the office, in a bouncing mood.

Friday afternoon routine? Sara puts my breasts back on. In an erotic scene I never tired of, I lay on the bed as she tenderly glued on the silicone breasts. To be honest, I was really coming to enjoy them and looked forward to the second I got them back on. It was weird, throughout the week, to be without them.

"We have to go to the mall Sunday evening," Sara said, "we are out of the solvent remover." She was toying with my breasts, a smile on her face.

At 6:30 she came into the den where I was curled up on the couch, dressed as Julie, as I was habitually now at home. It was simple, really, since I always wore lingerie to work, just slip out of my suit and tie and into a dress or skirt and blouse. So natural. Many of Sara's things fit me, so I had a wonderful wardrobe to chose from, and of course, she had supplemented with some purchases just for me. A little black dress, some simple skirts, and a few things she had not shown me yet.

She was wrapped in a towel, another drying her hair, fresh from the shower. "What's up, Sara," I asked. An evening shower was out of the ordinary for her.

"Oh, I thought I mentioned it this morning," she said, cryptically.

"Mentioned what?"

"You must not have had your coffee yet," she said, "or, despite your journey into the feminine world, you still listen like a man," she laughed. "Is that a part of you that you want to keep?"

"Sara, I…your changing the subject."

"Really, I did mention it, I know I did."

"Mentioned what," I asked, exasperated.

"I really think you should practice your listening skills. I tell you, there is something we have to work on."

"Sara, seriously, please…"

"I told you this morning," she teased, to my sigh. "I'm going out with some girls from work."

"Oh." Big deal. I suppose I had hoped to spend another evening with her, but, oh well.

Right.

She left the room and came back several minutes later. "Baby, did you start any laundry this morning like I asked."

Fuck. That I remembered. She said she was out of underwear, and asked me to start a load of our mutual unmentionables. It actually turned me on a little, thinking of my own lingerie, gently mingled with hers. Fuck. I forgot.

"Um…I'm sorry, Sara, I forgot."

"Just like you forgot I was going out. Dammit, John," she snarled, "I don't have time for this." She must be mad, slipping into use of my masculine name. "I have no clean panties, and really, no bras, either."

I felt bad, because I did screw up. "Sara, you…you could wear the things I bought you earlier this week," I offered. Should I have known it was her trap springing shut? Probably. Most certainly.

"Julie," she perked up, "that's a great idea, I forgot all about that, come on, let's go open it."

Yes, she perked right up. Right away. I followed her upstairs, my heels clacking on the hardwood, staring at her ass peaking out from under her towel. Wow.

She fished the Victoria's Secret bag from the closet, went to the bed, while I sat in a chair watching her. I was a bit unsure about this. Her outfit was amazingly sexy, a bit too sexy to go out in, I thought.

Sara held out the bra, her fingers running over the sheer cups, "Oh, Julie, oh Julie, this is beautiful."

She picked up the panties. "My, oh my indeed. They are soooo sheer."

She picked up the package of stockings, examined them, and gushed, "These are silk. You bought me silk stockings," she said, holding them to her chest, tilting her head, her eyes melting me, connecting to me.

"Julie, Julie, my sweet lover, my darling husband, this is so perfect, so perfect, I can't believe it. Oh, you don't know how perfect this is. These are lovely, just lovely, you did so well."

And, yes, I suppose, at that point, my suspicions were shouting in my head. Going out with friends? Who was she kidding? Matching lingerie and silk stockings are not perfect for going out with some girls from the office. Did she? Could she? I could think of no other explanation, and felt a chill run through my spine. She had a date. There was no other explanation.

"Sara," I choked on my words. I wanted to say, 'Sara, are you going on a date?', but the words froze in my chest. I could not finish my sentence.

"Yes," she asked, looking at me.

I was not sure if I was ready for this. It happened almost too quickly, we came up to this line of fantasy and reality and were driving right across it without comment or question, without discussion of which way to go.

I felt a hardening pressure in my panties. My stupid little cock was swelling in my panties. It knew.

It knows.

I knew.

She was going to go out. With another man.

I thought it. She was actually going to cuckold me.

"Honey, I…I want something," she smiled at me, shaking me from my trance.

"What," I gasped, my mouth dry.

She held out the lingerie, the beautiful bra, panties, garter belt, and package of silk stockings. "I want you to dress me," she smiled.

It was an ultimatum. An unspoken test. A confirmation of my fears. Dress her? Of course, dress her. I knew what she was doing, and without trying to confuse you, dear reader, she knew I knew. The events of the evening were hidden in plain sight.

My wife was going on a date with another man. Another? No, my wife was going on a date with a man. We both knew this. We both knew we both knew. But we did not speak it.

Instead of announcing it, Sara chose to do it silently. And silently was driving me wild.

My hands trembled as I took the lingerie from her hands. "It's okay, lover," she smiled.

Part of me was screaming inside my head. "NO! NO! NO! NO!"

Part of me was more turned on than I had ever been in my life.

My stomach was flipping, I did not know if I could take reality.

Part of my mind wanted to throw the lingerie in the closet, and say, "Fuck this, Sara, no fucking way."

But the words, formed in my lungs, did not come out. Silently, mind screaming, I took the lingerie from her, set it on the bed, and picked up the bra, first.

I was shaking, as reached around her back to help her arms into the bra. I fastened in front, so my hands were visible to her as I brought it under and around her breasts.

"Don't be nervous," she reassured me, seeing my hands, fumbling to clasp the clip. "By the way, I like that it opens from the front…easy access," she smiled, twisting the metaphorical knife in my gut.

The demi bra, the sheer black cups, her swelling breasts were almost too much for me. I saw it unfolding, pictured rough hands taking my wife's breasts in them, squeezing, massaging, pinching. The bra would draw those hands to her breasts. It was an invitation to fondle them. An invitation I put there when I bought the bra for her. I might as well have written in marker on her chest, play with my wife's tits.

I picked up the panties, but she shook her head. I looked at her with a quizzical look on my face. "Garter belt first," she said.

Garter belt first?

Garter belt first!

A month ago, the significance would have blown right by me, unseen and certainly incomprehensible.

But a month in lingerie taught me better.

I noticed these things now. I knew the significance.

And so did Sara.

If she wore her panties over her garter belt, she could take off her panties, without taking off her garter belt and stockings.

Why would a woman do that?

So when she ready, all she had to do was shimmy out of her panties, and she was ready to go. Sexually. It was something a woman would do only if she knew.

Teaching me about all this, she had casually mentioned that outside the bedroom, only a tramp goes out with her panties over her garter belt.

And now my mind was flooded with images.

I pictured her, standing in front of a bed, a faceless man resting on it, a hunk, ripped, naked, watching her as she peeled off her panties, and posed in her bra, garter belt, stockings and heels. "Do you like," she asked the faceless man.

I pictured her outside a bar, in an alley, a dark alley, facing a brick wall outside in the shadows outside the bar's kitchen door, the streets damp. Her hands were on the wall, her skirt was around her waist, her panties around her ankles, while another faceless man stood behind her, pulling her onto his massive cock. Fucking her roughly, quickly.

I pictured her in a car with a man, slipping out of her panties, the cool leather seat on her ass. She pulled her panties off quickly, slipped them off, and was fingering her pussy while a man drove. "Quickly," she begged, as he roughly grabbed the panties from her hands and brought them to his nose. He inhaled deeply, smelling my wife's scent all over them, grinned, dreamed of ramming his big cock deep into her.

"John, the garter belt," she insisted, shaking me from my daydream.

I put it around her waist, still trembling. I think she liked my fear. I think she was getting off, knowing what this was doing to me. Just like she always knew. She knew all along, for months and months, where this was going.

This was her fantasy, as much, if not more, than mine. She wanted not only to fuck a "real man" but to humiliate me in the process. She wanted to cuckold me. And I wanted to be cuckolded.

"Be careful with the stockings, lover," she cautioned me.

I slid the silk up each of her legs, adjusting and fastening the garter straps to the silk.

"Now the panties, sweetie," she smiled.

Kneeling before her, I helped her into the sheer panties, guiding them up her legs, fixing them around her ass, and finally, around her pussy, her temple.

An urge overtook me as I focused on her pussy through the sheer material. Without comment, I leaned forward, closed my eyes, and planted a tender, closed mouth kiss to her trimmed pussy. To my wife's temple.

"Yes, Julie, yes, very good," she said, nodding approvingly.

I was kissing it goodbye. The pussy, her chastity, my manhood, my wife.

The next half hour flew by, and I can hardly remember her doing her makeup or hair. So unspoken, I watched her get dressed for a date. I'd seen her dress for our evenings out in the past, on those special evenings. Anniversary, birthday, new years, and this was no different. She was dressing for a date.

Oh Sara!

Why were we playing this game? We both knew what she was doing. We both knew there were no girl friends in this evening's plans. But neither said it. It was pure sexual tension, and it was better off left unspoken, because it was driving us wild.

Sara took a slinky little black dress out of the closet, and slipped into it. Strappy heels completed her outfit.

"Well, the girls are expecting me at dinner soon," she smiled, motioning for us to leave the bedroom and walk downstairs. I followed behind her again. I don't think I had ever seen her so lovely, looking so sexy, smelling so divine.

"Wait, I almost forgot," she went to her dresser. She pulled out the chastity cage I had worn before, and not seen since. "I want you to wear this tonight, Julie." She carefully locked the cage on me, placing my cock in a plastic prison. Why? Oh, Sara, my wicked Sara.

"There," she smiled, "just trust me, love, just trust me." Trust her. A funny play words, I think.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, Sara turned to me, "honey, I left my purse on the counter in the bathroom. Can you run and grab it for me?"

I turned without word and walked back up to our bedroom, into the bathroom to get her purse. Through the room, I caught my reflection in the mirror of my dresser, saw the feminine reflection looking back, closed my eyes.

Her purse was open, and when I picked it up to snap it closed, my eyes were drawn to the item on top. A condom package. I almost dropped the purse. Bitch! Why was she doing this?

She did that on purpose, I know. One more way of telling me without telling me. To put me close to the edge.

A condom.

A condom, I thought, my hands shaking.

From fear. From anticipation. From excitement. From humiliation.

When I handed her purse to her, Sara smiled at me, held it up, "I can't very well go out without this, can I?"

Did she mean her purse or the condom? Or both? Did she mean her credit cards? Or the need for the condom? She was on the pill, I mean.

"What…if you had left it home, what would you do then," I asked, trembling, toeing the water of her pun filled innuendos.

She smiled. "Well, I suppose I'd just make do without," she smiled.

"W…w…without," I gulped.

"Sure, I don't really need it, do I?" The it was still unspoken. The it could mean her credit cards, or the condom. In all the fantasies I read on those web sites, about cuckolding, husbands were so much more humiliated when their wives fucked a man bare back. That was the ultimate submission. I trembled thinking about it.

"N…n…no…I suppose not," I said.

"You are right, Jules, I don't really need it, here, why don't you just put it back upstairs," she said, a loving look in her eyes, "it's better this way," she whispered.

My brain started screaming again, "NOOOOOOOO," as part of me pictured a naked cock pushing into her, seeking out her pussy, widening her, and finally, cumming in her. "NOOOOOOO, Sara, NOOOOOOO," it screamed.

But I reached out for the purse, anyway, and took it, and its precious contents, the little bit of protection, in my hands.

"Well, I'm off, love," she said, kissing my cheek, as to not ruin her make up.

"Sara…"

"I love you, John," she said, "don't ever forget that."

"Sara…I…are…I…I love you, too," I said, shaking.

"I'll…I'll probably be late," she said, lingering by the door. Was she having second thoughts too? Should one of us stop this? No, it had gone too far for that, way too far.

We both wanted this. Desperately.

With that, she opened the door, and walked out, car keys in hand, dressed as amazing as a woman could dress, classy, sexy, she walked out, of the house, into the night, to go find what was waiting for her out there.

 

To Be Continued…

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