The Evolution of Amy Singer                     by: Madeline DesChamps

Chapter 1

Michael was living the American dream. He and his wife, Jan, had a home in the suburbs, a new Explorer, an older Escort that Michael drove to work, and two VCRs (one for each Trinitron). He and Jan had prosperous careers, he as a stockbroker and she as a marketing manager. They were the type that worked hard and played hard and were generally the envy of all their neighbors.

As is often the case in these matters, there was more going on in this marriage than was visible from the outside. Jan, never the warmest of people, had become more distant than ever in the past year as her job responsibilities increased. Michael often wondered if she loved him at all or if it was simply more convenient to stay married.

Michael had issues of his own. There'd always been some part of Michael that liked to be feminine - he's started dressing as a girl whenever he could at age 10 but Jan never could accept her husband's desire to occasionally be a lady.

Michael tried to stop dressing, but every time he did, the urge would sweep over him until he couldn't stand it anymore. He'd sneak a chance to dress now and then on business trips and when he was home alone. Jan always knew somehow when he'd been playing around en femme. Michael never was good at hiding guilt. Jan made it clear that, if he felt he had to do this, it was up to him, but if she ever saw him "that way", their marriage was over. Preventing her from finding him "that way" was entirely his problem. Michael loved his wife, so he told himself that her demands were entirely reasonable. He was the one with a problem. Still, he found himself wishing he could spend just one whole day in feminine glory. Yeah, just one day would probably get it all out of his system.

Those very thoughts happened to be going through his mind one day when Jan announced that she was going to spend the weekend with her sister. Michael claimed he had some work to catch up on and would have to stay behind. He spent the week prior to her departure figuring out just which of Jan's outfits to try on and contemplating his first attempts at applying makeup. Jan would go early on Saturday morning and return late Sunday night. He would have 36 uninterrupted hours to indulge himself.

Michael waved goodbye on the long-awaited Saturday morning and began his adventure, unaware that his life was about to change forever.

First, he went to his car. The night before he'd visited the mini-warehouse that (unknown to Jan) he rented and picked up a wig and some lingerie he kept stashed there. He practically ran into the house and had most of his clothes off by the time he was in the bedroom. Today he would be what he wanted to be - A GIRL! Today he was no longer Michael. Today he was...hmmmm. He'd never thought about it before, but he could hardly be a girl with a name like Michael. How about Amy? Yeah, just like Amy Pearson, the cheerleader he'd had a crush on in high school. He repeated the name out loud. Yes, he was no longer Michael. She was now Amy.

Jan had been gone for about four hours. Amy had carefully applied makeup for the first time. She'd done fine with the lipstick, blush and eyeshadow, but that eyeliner took about three tries before she'd gotten anything she could be satisfied with. That was going to take some work.

She'd already tried on Jan's little black cocktail dress, one of her business suits, and her outrageous party dress from last Christmas. Fortunately, Amy was small in build and Jan was large for a woman, so the clothing fit nicely.

Now Amy had pulled on Jan's lacy black bustier. Rolled up pantyhose served as her breasts and some silky, seamed black stockings clung to Amy's shapely legs like a second skin.

Amy looked in the mirror. Her blonde wig reached for her shoulders, the bustier pulled her in in just the right places, and the makeup (ok, so it wasn't perfect) looked all right. God, she looked hot. Michael would have gazed at a babe like her for an hour!

She went to Jan's closet and found her tight leather skirt. After a bit of a squeeze, she got it fastened around her waist. She dashed back to the mirror. "Oh, baby! You are one genuine fox!", she said in the best girl voice she could muster.

Now back at the closet she found Jan's bright red silk top. She pulled it over her head and found it tight going over her shoulders. Gently she pulled it bit by bit down to try and get her arms free.

In the following months, when Amy thought about this day, she wasn't sure if it was her rush of feminine euphoria or the tight top holding her hair down over her ears that prevented her from hearing the front door open. All Amy knew was suddenly she heard Jan yell, "Michael, I think there's something wrong with the car."

Michael's heart went cold! She was home! There was nowhere to hide. He fought to free himself from the silk top around his head. With a loud ripping noise, the garment dropped to the floor.

Michael looked up to see Jan staring at him. The look on Jan's face, that of a volcano about to erupt, made Michael's heart stop.

Jan took a deep breath and quietly said, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I...uh...well...," Michael stammered

"You faggot son of a bitch!" Jan yelled through her teeth. "Where are the keys to your car? I'm getting out of here!"

Michael couldn't move or talk. He simply pointed to his key ring on the dresser.

Michael heard the Escort engine start and the tires squeal as Jan drove away angrily. Could she have meant what she said about seeing him crossdressed? He knew he'd find out soon enough.

Michael cursed his weakness as he pulled the wig from his head and took off the skirt. What the hell WAS he doing and what made him want to do it? He removed the rest of the clothing and went to the bathroom for a shower.

 

Chapter 2 

The next morning the phone next to Michael's head started to ring at 7:00AM. It had been a bad night. Michael was unable to sleep as the look on Jan's face had been etched into his consciousness. He'd finally dozed off about 5:30.

"Michael? It's Jan.", came the icy voice from the receiver.

"Baby! Where are you? I've been worried si...."

"I'm coming over to get some things," Jan interrupted. "I want you out of the house when I'm there."

"Honey, I just want to talk to you!", Michael pleaded. "I'm not going to leave the house. I need you, babe."

"Ok, if you're not leaving, I'll be there in an hour.", Jan replied quickly. "Don't get too excited about it, though. Howie's agreed to help me and he knows all about it."

Michael heard her hang up.

Howie! Oh, christ!

Michael could never stand Jan's brother. He was everything Michael was not.

In college, while Michael worked his butt off to maintain his scholarship at a decent business school and made pizzas at night to pay his rent, Howie was at a southern school on a full football ride. That's what happens when you're all-state for three years at middle linebacker in high school.

Between his natural size, healthy doses of steroids, and the "boys-will-be-boys" attitude of his father, Howie grew up big, mean, and convinced that the world was his to play with.

While in his junior year, Howie married a sorority girl he'd knocked up after a party one night. Though she was proud to have a campus hero for a husband, everyone knew she was paying a price from the abuse and infidelity practiced by her out-of-control spouse.

Although he'd been scouted by a number of NFL teams all through his college career, Howie's left knee had been shredded in a game early in his senior season, so, after graduation, the pros wouldn't touch him.

A little thing like a total lack of marketable skills didn't get in Howie's way, though. His father took him into the family construction business, taking great pains to tell him he had to start at the bottom and work his way up.

"Working his way up" turned out to mean an automatic promotion every six months or so, even if it meant firing a good employee for the boss's kid. Howie was currently in a management position. The fact that he was a bully with his employees as well as a poor manager of resources did little to slow his rise to the top.

Howie's wife was long gone after one particularly severe beating when Howie had learned that his knee would never cut it in pro football. If Howie ever even thought about the child she bore him, nobody knew it.

It drove Michael crazy to think that, in light of Michael's considerable success at the brokerage, the only story that seemed worth telling at family gatherings was the one about Howie getting three sacks against Florida State.

In a nutshell, the only thing Howie respected was brute force. While Michael was in reasonably good shape - he ran a mile or so every day - he was only 5'5", thin and never cared to develop his upper body. What's more, Michael was the cerebral type who read a lot. Howie was never sure what he was thinking, so Michael's contempt for his brother-in-law was returned in kind by Howie.

At precisely 8:00AM, Jan walked in with "the Hulk" (a nickname Michael never told anybody he'd assigned Howie) close behind.

"Oh, honey! It's so great to see you!", Michael said rushing toward her.

Jan brushed past him without a word and Howie planted himself between them. The look in his eye was that of a predator as he gazed at Michael.

"I oughta take you apart for what you did to my little sister," Howie growled.

"It's none of your business, Howie."

Michael knew as soon as he'd said that that it was a mistake. Two huge hands slammed him against the wall.

"Psychos like you don't deserve families!", Howie screamed.

"Look who's calling me a psycho.", Michael thought, but had enough sense not to say.

"Howie, stop. I need him in here.", Jan said in a surprisingly casual voice.

Howie grabbed Michael by the arm and nearly dragged him into the bedroom.

Jan had taken the bustier, stockings, and leather skirt that Amy had tried on and thrown them into a pile on the floor.

"What else of my things did you put on?", she demanded.

Michael pointed them out and, as he did, they were pulled from the closet and drawers and thrown onto the pile.

"Howie, all the things in this closet can go.", Jan told her brother. "I don't want the things in that pile. Also, leave all my makeup. I don't know what this pervert touched and I don't want to use it after him."

Michael tried to talk to Jan as she and Howie carted her belongings to the Explorer, but he might as well have been invisible. When the last of her things were loaded, she got behind the wheel.

Michael ran to the door.

"Please, honey, say something to me."

He felt himself being hurled to the ground.

"Don't you ever go near her again!", Howie bellowed.

"Howie! Don't!", cried Jan. She'd seen what her brother was capable of and didn't want to see it now.

Howie wasn't used to taking orders from a woman, but it seemed that a show of solidarity was in order at the moment.

"Ok, faggot. You got off this time, but you're gonna pay!"

The big man got in the SUV and they drove away leaving Michael sprawled on the ground.

Michael went back in the house and started to hang up the clothes Jan left in the pile on the bedroom floor. He felt awful. Not only was his wife gone, but that ape of a brother-in-law seemed to be calling some of the shots.

In the days that followed, Michael stared at the clothes Jan had left behind. Part of him wanted to feel the fabric against his skin again. Another part told him that that's how he got into this mess and he needed to be a man and fight.

 

 

Chapter 3 

The following Saturday night, Michael had gone through his mental war and held off his urge to dress for another day. He was in the bedroom watching television in a pair of running shorts when he heard the doorbell ring again and again, followed by fierce pounding.

He went to the living room, turned on the porch light, and looked out the peephole. There he saw Howie and another equally huge man standing outside his door.

Michael was terrified. He turned off the light and ran to the kitchen to call the police. He'd dialed two numbers when one of his redwood lawn chairs came crashing through the sliding patio doors. Howie lunged for Michael, batting the phone from his hands and knocking him to the floor. Howie's buddy picked up the phone and slammed it against the wall. Michael expected to be beaten then and there and knew there was no escape.

"Well, hey there little lady! Why aren't you all dolled up tonight? Weren't expecting company, were you?" Both Howie and his pal reeked of beer.

"Howie, what the hell do you want from me?" Michael wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Such talk from a refined young thing like yourself! I was just tellin' Ron here about how you like to be a pretty girl and we thought we'd come over and let you show us. Now how 'bout you go and get all dressed up and show us what a cutie you are." Howie sounded like he was out for laughs, but the look in his eyes told Michael that he was dead serious.

"Howie, I..."

"Oh, you need some help? I'm happy to oblige.", Howie said dragging him to the bedroom by his arm.

In the bedroom, Howie ordered Michael to take off his running shorts. Michael knew he should resist, but he was completely intimidated at this point. Besides, Howie and friend would have their laugh and probably just leave.

Howie then went to the dresser, pulled out the bustier, threw it at Michael and ordered him to put it on. This was followed by the stockings and the cocktail dress. After at bit of searching, Howie found the wig and planted it roughly on Michael's head.

"Now, sweet thing, paint you face up pretty for the man!", Howie said, pulling Michael over to the dressing table.

Although his hands were shaking, Michael managed to get made up without losing an eye.

"How's Miss America?", asked Ron, leaning around the doorway. Michael noticed he'd helped himself to a beer.

"See for yourself.", Howie answered with a grin.

"Oh, baby! You are lookin' some kind of good!", Ron hooted. "You look better than the bitch I was hittin' on before we got thrown out of the bar!"

What the hell did that mean? Michael got a sick feeling that these two were here for more than a laugh.

"Oh, 'scuse me, baby. Where are my manners?", Howie said with mock chivalry. "I didn't introduce you to my friend Ron. Honey, this is Ron. Ron this is...um...just what do you call yourself, baby?"

Michael wasn't going to answer, but before he could stop, he softly said "Amy.".

"Well, Amy, let's walk you around here and have a good look.", Howie said, grabbing Michael's arm and towing him around the room.

"Yeah, I think Amy here's just what the doctor ordered.", Ron said with an unwholesome look in his eye. "You like to suck dick, honey?"

Michael couldn't speak. He felt completely numb. So this was the plan. These two couldn't get laid, so they figured they'd have some fun with him and get their rocks off all at the same time.

"Ron's talking to you, Amy. He asked you a question. I just went to all the trouble to get you this pretty, now I think you owe us something, don't you." Howie was ordering him and the level of menace was rising in his voice.

"No.", Michael said in a soft voice

"Wrong answer, bitch!" Howie now had fire in his eyes.

"Hang on a second, Howie.", Ron interjected. "Let me try to reason with her." He turned to Michael. "Now Amy, Howie and me, we're just here to have a little fun. Men like to have fun when they're out on the town. Now, you're standing there looking so fine, if you don't give us a little something we might just think you're nothing but a little cockteaser. If you didn't want to put out, why'd you make yourself look so hot?"

The question made Michael angry. "You two just broke into my house and made me dress up like this. Mister, you're out of your mind."

"Ain't that just like a cockteasin' bitch to blame everybody else for whatever trouble they get into!", Howie screamed.

"Easy, Howie. Can't you see you're scarin' her?" Ron gently took Michael by the shoulders and sat him down on the bed. He sat down beside him, slipped his hand around Michael's waist, and continued his sales pitch. "Honey, can't you see that when a real man sees a lady like you, he can't control himself. He's gotta have you and you owe it to him."

There was no question that Michael was scared, yet these two apes were the first people that had ever insisted he behave as a female. What's more, he was flattered by Ron's constant insistence that he found Amy so attractive. Ron was gently caressing his arm as he softly spoke and Michael felt his masculinity melting away. Still he told himself that this was no time to get caught up in feeling female.

"Honey, you're behaving like a little girl, so I'm just gonna have to treat you like one.", Ron was saying. He suddenly stood up and pulled Michael to his feet. Ron pulled the bottom of the skirt up above Michael's waist, quickly sat back down, and pulled Michael face down across his lap. Before Michael knew what was happening he felt a sharp sting on his ass. Ron was spanking him.

Each blow both stung more than the last and pushed Michael deeper into his humiliation. Very quickly Michael found himself submitting to the inevitable. It was Amy they wanted and it was now Amy they had. She began to sob softly. She was powerless against the two giants and she knew it.

"Ok...ok...I'll...I'll do what you want.", she sobbed.

"You'll be my girlfriend, tonight?", Ron asked.

"Yes, oh yes. Whatever you want.", she replied. The only way out of this ordeal was to please these men and she was willing to do whatever it took.

"Ok, honey, come to papa.", Howie ordered.

Amy turned to see Howie with his pants already off. His dick was hard as a rock and the biggest she'd ever seen. He was sitting on the small chair beside Amy's bed.

Amy got up slowly and padded over to Howie. She knelt down in front of him with her hands on his legs. As her face made contact with Howie's legs, she began kissing them as Howie drew her head toward his crotch. She slipped her mouth around each of his balls and gently sucked for a moment. Howie moaned with pleasure.

Amy was beginning to get into it. She worked her way up the base of his cock, slowly seeking each nerve ending with her probing tongue. Now she gently slid her tongue up the considerable length of Howie's organ, stopping just shy of the head. She'd never done this before, but she knew how Michael liked it. Actually, Amy wasn't thinking at all. She was running on autopilot, a pleasure machine and Howie's grunts and moans were the fuel that kept the machine running.

She took the cock in her hand and gently licked the first trickle of cum from the tip.

"How 'bout lettin' me in on that action.", Ron said standing beside them.

"No problem, man, take my place. I'll get the other end.", Howie replied.

Amy was oblivious to the chatter. She picked up where she left off on the new cock and hardly noticed the switch. She had resigned herself to the role of pleasure giver and it didn't matter to whom she gave the pleasure. So wrapped up was Amy, she didn't even notice the photographic strobe as it flashed twice while she worked on Ron.

Suddenly, she felt a rush of searing pain as Howie thrust his big, wet cock into her ass. She tried to scream, but Ron pumping her mouth. With each of Howie's thrusts, a new stab of pain ravaged her body. She needed to catch her breath, but Ron's cock prevented that. She wanted to faint but her mind and body wouldn't cooperate.

She realized that she was being used by two men. She felt sexy, humiliated, wanted, and abused all at once. These men were raping her, but there were doing it because of the woman she was. This wild confusion of emotion blended with the physical sensations of pain and ecstasy. Amy was totally out of control. At this moment, these two men ruled her.

Ron and Howie exploded into Amy almost at the same time. She felt a wave of pleasure and pain like she'd never had before. She wasn't sure her mind could survive the kind of emotional storm was taking place. The men withdrew and Amy crumpled to the floor, sobbing.

"You make a lot better girl than you do a guy", Ron said with a smirk after a moment. "Well, Howie, I'm ready to move on. I'm feelin' pretty relaxed. Meet ya at the car."

Ron pulled on his pants and left the room with no further acknowledgement Amy's existence.

She turned and looked at Howie. The man had just caused an emotional tidal wave in her mind and now, more than ever, she feared him.

Amy trembled as Howie stood up and walked over to where she sat on the floor. His eyes had changed. The look was now one of - well - tenderness, or at least as close to it as Howie could come. He reached down and wiped a tear from under her eye.

"Don't worry about the patio door. I'll send over a crew from the company to fix it," Howie mumbled. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of money. He pealed off three hundred-dollar bills and tossed them to the floor beside Amy. "That should cover the phone. Take the change and buy yourself something pretty for next time.", he said. He turned and left Amy on the floor.

Next time? What did that mean?

She stopped crying after she heard the car leave. Her first impulse was to take off the women's clothing, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was sore and felt broken and abused, yet, at this moment she felt more feminine than she ever had before.

She cleaned herself up, straightened her makeup, and brushed her hair. She took off the cocktail dress and pulled a pair of jeans and a sweater on over her bustier and stockings. After adding a pair of sneakers, she went out to the garage to get a piece of plywood and some duct tape to cover the patio door. It never even occurred to her to wonder if the neighbors saw her like this. She was a woman and this is how women look.

She covered the hole, went inside, and carefully picked up the glass from dining room floor. As she worked, she thought about what she was feeling.

Amy, or rather Michael, had seen and read many magazine and television articles on victims of rape. She realized now, that, although what had just happened was a terrible, vicious crime, it was a crime that happened to women. She thought about calling the local rape crisis line, but decided it would take too much explaining when they heard the pitch of her voice. Still, she identified more with the rape victims in the stories than anybody else, right now. And they were all women.

"Great," Amy thought, "Do I have to be a victim to really feel feminine?"

Quite suddenly, everything that happened that night caught up with her. It was time to sleep, even though she wasn't quite ready to give up being Amy.

She went to the bedroom, pulled off her clothes, and put on one of Jan's lacy nighties she'd left behind. Leaving the wig on her head and her makeup in place, Amy crawled into bed and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

 

Chapter 4 

"You make a lot better girl than you do a guy." Ron's parting words cut through Michael's mind like a chain saw. Before the rape, Michael felt the pain and humiliation most men feel during marital separation. Now, a new kind of humiliation held him in its grip. Not only was he not man enough to hold on to his family, he couldn't even prevent two bullies from invading his home and making him their plaything.

Michael had always prided himself on his mental toughness, but now little of his confidence remained, at least at home.

Michael's only source of mental peace was his job. This struck him as strange, since he'd always referred to the firm as a "pressure cooker" and a "sweat shop". It was at work, however, where he could get caught up in the IPOs, and new product introductions and leave his torn up personal life behind.

He'd always had a reputation for aggressiveness in his office. Beginning with Jan's departure and even more since the rape, Michael's style was becoming almost reckless. Fortunately, his hunches were paying off and everybody was beginning to treat him like a star. The market was hot and Michael was playing it like a violin.

His professional success had two effects: not only did it earn Michael a pile of commission money, but it also salved his bruised ego. He might not have been Mister Macho at home, but here he was the king, the team captain, and the fastest gun in town all rolled into one.

While he was able to stretch his days to 10 or 12 hours, eventually he simply ran out of steam and there really was no reason not to go home.

Each evening Michael ran his customary mile and ate a light dinner. After dinner, Michael faced the urge to give in to his wish to be Amy. Sometimes, he could hold out, but other times, Amy enjoyed a night on her own.

Howie made good on his promise and replaced the patio door on Monday. The fact that he was a man of his word made Michael wonder more about his reference to the "next time" before he'd gone.

Michael had refused to touch the three hundred dollars Howie had left behind. It sat on the floor just as it had that night.

It was just like Howie to buy his way out of trouble. To spend that money would only legitimize Howie's belief. That's what Michael told himself. That's what he really wished he believed. The problem was, another part of Michael wanted to grab the money and buy a cute red silk dress he'd seen in the mall.

Nine days had passed since the attack. Michael had just run his mile, showered, and downed a Lean Cuisine. As he walked into the bedroom his eyes fell upon the money on the floor. He really did need to replace the dining room phone. After all, Howie and his friend smashed it, why should he pay for it? He was rationalizing and he knew it, but he really didn't care. Michael reached down and picked up the bills. He set them on his dresser and made up his mind to go shopping.

Instead of his usual casual clothes, Michael found himself pulling on a pair of Jan's nylon panties and some pantyhose. He put on a bra, even though it seemed a bit silly. He certainly didn't have anything to put in there. Over all this he pulled his regular jeans and a loose sweater - one that would not show the bra straps - and a pair of Docksiders.

He picked up Howie's money and left for the store.

Finding a telephone took only a few minutes. He grabbed a cheap one at a discount house and was walking toward the mall entrance when he realized that he was outside the store where he'd seen the red silk dress. He felt he was in a trance. He walked into the store and right to the rack where the dress had been.

There it was! He knew that Jan's things fit fairly well, so he looked for Jan's size and quickly found it. As he walked toward the cashier, he noticed a striped knit that would look fabulous on Amy. As he found the proper size and draped it over his arm, his eyes fell on a satin top that just screamed to be worn with the black leather skirt Jan had left behind.

He finally got out of the clothing department, but walked directly into accessories. "I guess Amy does need a purse. In fact, most women have several purses", Michael thought. He picked out three fine leather models, added a few silk scarves, and noticed the jewelry counter. After selecting a couple of necklaces, some lady's rings in his size, four pairs of clip earrings, and three bracelets, Michael thought he finally was set to leave. He was wrong.

On the way to the door he noticed the cosmetic counter. While his beard was rather sparse, he knew he needed to cover it better if Amy was to look convincing. He spun some yarn about being in community theater and not liking greasepaint to the lady on duty. She worked for commission and didn't care why he wanted cosmetics, as long as it was a sale. Between Michael's shopping frenzy and her salespersonship, Michael didn't get away until he'd purchased foundation, toning cream, setting powder, skin cleanser, a full set of makeup brushes, "the finest organic sponges on the market", and an ounce of perfume at prices that otherwise would have knocked him to the floor. Normally quite frugal, Michael had become a store manager's dream: a compulsive shopper with money to spend. Oh well, at least he got a free tote bag as a gift from the cosmetic company.

Michael was finally out of the department store. His arms were full and he tried to convince himself that he'd gotten Amy more than enough. That's when he saw the discount shoe store with the magic four-letter word: "SALE!". A couple of years ago, one of his running magazines had a comparison of men's and women's shoe sizes. Quite involuntarily, Michael had memorized that 9 was his size in women's shoes.

He wandered in the store and found one, then another, then another, then yet another pair of perfect shoes in his size. He found himself falling in love with the sexy pumps with their long spiky heels. They were all marked down the $16.99. He bought seven pairs.

Somehow, he managed to get all his goods to his car. Finally, he'd escaped the retailers. He knew he'd more than spent Howie's money. How much he'd contributed, he didn't want to think about. He was finally on his way home when he remembered the wig shop along the way. He thought about the flat and phony-looking cheap hairpiece Amy wore. She deserved better. "Oh, what the hell", he said out loud and turned toward the store.

The new hair he selected was gently curled and flowed far past the shoulders. It would look fantastic on Amy.

Tired and shopped-out, yet very excited, Michael finally pulled into his own driveway.

All he really wanted to do was try on everything, but he told himself that it was late, he was tired, and he needed to get up early for work. Besides, Amy'd done plenty for one day, it was time to rest.

Michael carefully hung up his treasures, took off his clothes and crawled into bed. As he felt sleep coming on, it occurred to him that tonight's shopping trip was the first real fun he'd had since Jan left. It cost an arm and a leg, but in a way, it was worth it. Then he drifted off.

 

Chapter 5 

"You make me feel like a Nat-u-ral Woman", Aretha crooned from the clock radio.

Amy opened her eyes, stretched, and checked the time. She'd better get a move on. She decided to skip breakfast and grab something at the office.

She hurried through her shower, being careful not to get her long, blonde hair wet (she'd just had it done), dried off, and went to her underwear drawer. She certainly had more to choose from than she remembered. Selecting a lacy underwire bra, she fastened it around her ample breasts. She pulled on matching panties, some pantyhose, and topped it all off with a beige camisole.

From her closet she pulled the new red dress and slid it over her head. Checking the fit in the mirror, she was pleased at the way it displayed her figure and showed off her cute little behind. Next she added her red pumps, mascara, eyeliner, blush, and lipstick. Now all she needed was jewelry. Again, she was surprised at how much she actually had. She selected stylish, but tasteful earrings, rings, bracelets and a necklace.

Grabbing her purse and briefcase, she was out the door and on her uneventful drive to the office.

"Hi, Kim. Any mail for me today?", Amy asked the receptionist as she entered the brokerage.

"Morning, Amy. No, just the paper", came Kim's reply.

Nice kid, that Kim.

"Morning, Amy", said Lou, her supervisor.

"Hi, Lou", she replied.

"You know that Allied Technologies buy-out rumor you were talking about yesterday?", Lou asked. "There's a piece about it in The Journal. Read it over and tell me what you think."

"I'll do that first thing", Amy replied and made her way to her desk.

As she neared her cubicle, she noticed a large figure sitting in her chair. The person spun around on the chair and grinned at Amy.

"How's my girlfriend, today?", asked Howie with a leer.

Amy froze. Panic rushed through her entire body. She tried to scream. Nothing came out...

Michael sat up in bed. He glanced at the clock and saw it was 3:58AM. He'd dreamed about being a girl before, but nothing this realistic. He even found himself checking his chest just to be sure breasts hadn't grown there overnight.

What was this Amy stuff, anyway? It wasn't like multiple personalities from the movies. When he was Amy, he still had the same memories as Michael. He could account for all his time whether he was Michael or Amy. It was more like his entire point of reference changed from male to female. He decided that Amy was Michael if Michael had been born female. Wierd...

Well, he sure was wide awake now. He reached for a book he'd started the other day. As he opened it, it occurred that he really hadn't had the chance to try on all his new outfits.

He turned off the alarm clock, got out of bed and looked in the makeup bag. He figured he had time to try on his new foundation before he needed to get ready for work, so he went to the bathroom and got started.

First he shaved very closely. Michael had never shaved more than twice a week, anyway. His only facial hair was a little on his upper lip, chin, and in front of his ears. This morning, he scraped as close as he dare without cutting the skin.

That task out of the way, he applied the foundation, just as the lady in the store had instructed and smoothed it out with a sponge. He covered that layer with powder and brushed away the excess. The color match was just right. All signs of a beard line had disappeared.

This inspired him to add some blush. Before long, he'd done a complete makeup job. This seemed like a perfect time to see how his new hair looked. He gently removed the wig from the bag and placed it on his head. When he looked in the mirror, he knew the transformation was complete. Amy was there looking back at herself.

She went back to the bedroom and put on a bra, panties, and pantyhose. She had to see if the red dress would look as good as it did in her dream.

The dress fit, but something was missing. Oh, yes. The butt. She remembered some shoulder pads Jan had in one drawer and got an idea. After finding them and slipping two over each of her cheeks, she checked the dress again. Much better. Now for some shoes.

She slipped the red pumps on her feet. Her first step nearly brought her to the floor. The Amy of her dreams walked in these with the grace of an angel. The real Amy needed some practice.

After a few laps around the room, Amy felt she could at least maintain her balance.

She added some of the jewelry she'd gotten last night to her ensemble and was ready to check the mirror again.

There was no question in her mind: she looked stunning. She walked back and forth in front of the mirror admiring herself.

It occurred to Amy that it was quite a bit lighter outside than when she'd gotten up. A glance at the clock told her why. She had been so wrapped up in making herself pretty, three hours had slipped by. She, or rather Michael should be on the road by now. The problem was, she was really into her femininity and couldn't stand the thought of giving it up.

She knew what she could do. Michael had purchased the computer and a modem last year so he could work at home, hadn't he? He'd sprung for a DSL connection so he could receive calls while he worked. His company’s network accessible through VPN. Why not?

She knew Lou would be in by now. The man was a workaholic.

"Roberts, Laing, Sinclair, and Gardner. Lou Davis speaking."

Amy remembered at the last possible second to talk like Michael.

"Hey, Lou, this is Mike. I'm a little under the weather, today, so I think I'll work at home. Nah, nothing serious. I think it might be a 24-hour bug. OK, sure. I'll be in tomorrow. Yeah, Lou, take care."

Lou wasn't nosey. He was a truly nice man who genuinely cared how Michael was. Michael was what Lou's son should have been and Lou had taken him under his wing from the day he set foot in the brokerage.

"Oh, Lou. If you could have seen who you were talking to...", Amy thought as she hung up the phone.

The one thing Amy needed was a copy of the Journal. Actually all of the information it contained could be had online, but Michael had always felt better with the Journal on his desk and those work habits spilled over into Amy.

Without a second thought, Amy put some money, Michael’s driver's license, and a hair brush (she wasn't sure why, it just seemed to belong there) in her red purse and, giving herself a splash of perfume, went out the door.

She went to a newsstand in an office complex just outside her neighborhood. As far as the vendor was concerned, she was just another business lady there for just another workday.

As she walked away from the shop, she realized she hadn't had breakfast. She looked at the deli beside her and, on impulse, walked in.

The teenager working behind the counter gave her a strange look as she ordered a bagel, coffee, and orange juice, but said nothing. The girl kept staring at her as she waited and Amy was getting nervous. The counter girl went back and started talking excitedly to the staff in the back. One by one, she saw sets of eyes peek out at her over the opening to the kitchen.

Amy was really starting to panic now. She knew she couldn't run in the heels or she would have tried by now. The girl reappeared and looked her in the eye again.

"Sorry it took so long. That will be $5.75."

Amy couldn't speak. She was concentrating on not shaking as she took the money from her purse.

"Can I ask you something?", the girl said.

"Umm...Sure." Amy prepared herself for the worst.

"Aren't you Andrea Fletcher from the news?"

Amy almost fainted. She thought the girl was ready to call the police or something. Actually the kid thought she was the glamorous, husky-voiced blonde anchor from a local television station.

"Oh, no. But thank you", Amy smiled.

She sat in a booth and tried to calm herself. She almost laughed out loud at the thought that she almost panicked and attempted to bolt for the car because of some kids who thought she was a local celebrity.

Amy opened her paper and found some stories of interest as she sipped her coffee and nibbled daintily at the bagel. This all felt so right. Even though she'd never been out in public as Amy, in public was where Amy belonged.

A man walked up to her table and smiled.

"You're Dick Marshall's secretary, aren't you?"

"Uh...no. I'm just here waiting for a friend who's on a job interview." He'd caught Amy completely off guard.

"Oh, yeah? Which company?", he persisted.

Amy didn't have the slightest idea what companies were in this building. She thought she'd seen some names of law firms on the way in.

"She told me, but I don't remember. She's a legal secretary."

"Really? Could it be Reynolds and Meyhew?" This guy was dead set on conversation.

"I really don't recall."

"Well, if it wasn't, tell her not to take a job until she comes by. We've been looking for someone. Please give her my card", said the man tossing the business card on Amy's table.

"I certainly will do that", Amy assured him and dropped the card into her purse.

"I'm sorry, my name is George Reynolds", he said extending a hand. "R & M is my firm."

"So I gathered," Amy replied. "What type of law do you practice?"

"Oh, divorces, wills, the household stuff. Nothing too spectacular, but it's a living," said George. "I have to run, but I'll be happy to tell you all about it over dinner."

Again, Amy was surprised. "Er...uh...well...my schedule's pretty crazy for the time being."

"Will you call me when it's not?" George was obviously attracted to Amy.

"Um...sure. Okey." Amy told herself she was out of her mind.

"What's your name, anyway?" George asked as he started to leave.

"Amy. Amy...Singer."

"Nice to meet you. Please call. Okay?" George gently shook her hand and left.

"Nice to meet you. Sure, I’ll call." Amy Singer? Oh why not. It had a nice ring to it.

She realized she'd better get to work herself.

Amy drove home, fired up the computer, launched her connection, and got down to business. A girl has to make a living.

She worked until about 4:00PM when the New York exchange closed. She thought about pursuing some NASDAQ leads, but then decided she should get the mail then, before too many neighbors were home. She strutted out to the box, removed its contents and went back into the house.

From the looks of the credit card bills, Jan had started replacing the clothes she'd left behind. She was going first class, Amy could tell. It wasn't all bad - Amy loved the things she'd left - but Michael would have to cut off the credit soon or be bled dry.

Amy's eyes fell on an envelope that was different from the others. It was simply sent to "Miss Amy" at her address. Howie and Ron were the only ones who knew who she was and that she lived here.

Not much seemed to be in the envelope. She tore it open and out fell a photograph.

As Amy examined it she began to feel terror welling up inside her. The picture was of her on her knees in front of Ron. Her arms were wrapped tightly around Ron's legs and his entire penis was in her mouth. The other side simply contained the handwritten message: "Love ya, babe".

Clearly, Howie wasn't through with her yet.

 

Chapter 6 

Since the morning in the deli, Michael had taken to watching the news on Channel 7 every day so he could study Andrea Fletcher. That Amy could be confused with her was a real complement. Michael remembered one friend commenting that Ms. Fletcher could read his teleprompter any time she wanted - in Braille!

She had lovely, almost sculptured facial features and eyes that drew in the observer like a magnet. She also had a sultry speaking voice she'd trained to be both sexy and authoritative at the same time. Her beauty and sex appeal did not prevent her from acquiring a reputation as a respected and, occasionally, feared interviewer. She never gouged for sensationalism, but she also never flinched from the big questions when they needed to be asked. If there was a better role model for Amy, Michael couldn't imagine where to find her. He watched closely for the way she used that voice or held her head or moved her hands, any clue that could make Amy more like her.

It was Thursday evening. Michael turned on the television at the beginning Andrea's time slot. As the picture came on the phone rang.

"Well, hi there Amy. Did you get the pretty picture I sent you?", Howie's voice boomed.

"The name is Michael."

"You'll always be my little Amy! Ya know, I showed that picture to Ron, he nearly begged me to get him a copy. I figured if he liked it that much, I'd just make one for you, too. In fact, I also made copies for Jan and Lou, you know, that Lou you work for," Howie announced with a cackle.

"You filthy son-of-a-bitch!" Michael yelled, livid.

"Hang on now, A-a-amy," Howie drew out the name as he said it.

"I said my name is Michael!"

"Whatever. I didn't give them their copies yet. I thought you might like to talk about it first. How about Saturday night over some drinks. I'll even buy you nice dinner, if you look real pretty."

Michael thought for a moment. Howie was using the picture as a blackmail tool, apparently to get a date with Amy. Something more than revenge was going on here.

"Howie, you are a sick man, especially if you think I'm going to go out in public..."

"Well then Jan and Lou are gonna get an eyefull, aren't they?" The tone of Howie's voice became more menacing.

"He has me. That piece of dirt has me by the short hairs," Michael thought.

"Okay, I'll do it if you have all the prints and the negatives with you. If you don't, I'll turn and walk out and I don't give a flying what you do." Michael decided that was his only option.

"Now you're makin' sense. I'll pick you up about eight. Bye, doll." And the phone was dead.

Michael was in shock again. He was afraid to even think of what Howie would want him to do on Saturday. The thought of being sodomized by his brother-in-law again made him sick. What's more, how long would this go on? Would Howie ever just leave him alone? He needed time to let all of this soak in. It was more than he could think about right now.

He dropped onto the couch and found himself drawn in by the news story Andrea was reading.

A topless dancer had been brutally beaten and raped by four bikers. A right-wing circuit judge had ruled that, due to her line of work, she had essentially been asking for it, therefore, the men were acquitted. Michael nearly wept for the young girl as she waved away reporters leaving the courthouse.

"Probably more than any man alive, I know how you feel," he heard himself say out loud.

Naturally, women's rights organizations were going wild. Andrea was now interviewing Melissa Anderson of the Women's Task Force Against Sexual Crime regarding the group's initiative to recall the judge involved in the case.

"Ms. Anderson, there are some who feel that being politically active depreciates that which makes a woman feminine. How does your group respond to that line of thought."

"I call that nonsense and rationalization. In Western culture, women have always been second-class citizens. People attached the idea of being repressed as a feminine characteristic. Well, that's just not true. A PERSON DOESN'T NEED TO BE A VICTIM TO BE FEMININE. Those who think..."

Ms. Anderson's last statement hit Michael right between the eyes.

"Damn it, lady. You're right!", he said. Howie had sneaked up on him last time. Amy'd been blindsided and, armed with incriminating photos, Howie figured that he must own her. Now the big jerk was so sure he had Michael and Amy right where he wanted them, he even gave away his plan for Saturday night.

Michael remembered a stag film he'd seen once at a bachelor party. At the time it had unnerved him somewhat. Now it seemed like a perfect idea.

Michael turned off the television and headed for the car. He had a few things to buy and he wasn't sure where to find them. All he knew was, whatever the details were of Howie's plans for Saturday, they were in for a change.

 

Chapter 7 

Amy had spent all of Saturday in female form just to make sure she had the moves down and even spent most of the morning cleaning house while wearing heels to get used to the feeling. She tried to take a nap after lunch, but found herself too excited.

She'd picked up some scented bubble bath and used it for a long, relaxing soak around four. During the bath, she shaved her legs and armpits for the first time ever. Since her arm hair was light and thin, she felt it looked natural for a lady, so she left it.

After she dried off and shaved what little hair had grown on her face, she started on her makeup. Tonight was going to be a special occasion, so everything had to be perfect. She'd picked up a makeup guide and studied the looks she wanted to portray.

After she was satisfied, she got dressed. Jan's party dress would be perfect, at least for the first part of the evening. It was made of metallic cloth, drawn tightly at the waist, and would show off her padded buns like nothing else could. The whole idea was to dazzle Howie into feeling like he'd won. He was such an idiot, that shouldn't be too hard. Besides, Amy was having fun dressing to the teeth.

As with everything else in the ensemble, her jewelry had been carefully selected to catch and keep Howie's eyes. Lots of gold and rhinestones.

Amy topped it all with a pheromone-based perfume. Did this stuff really work? Who knew? If it did though, it should play right into her hands.

She checked around the house one more time to make sure everything would be ready for their return, then she went to the kitchen, poured herself some white wine, and waited for her escort.

Promptly at eight, the doorbell rang. Howie's eyes nearly popped as he looked at his date for the evening.

"Jesus, you look great. I mean it! You're gorgeous. Man, I just don't believe it." Amy had never seen Howie stumble for words before and she enjoyed it.

"Well, good evening to you, too." Did she sound like Andrea Fletcher? It was hard to tell.

"Oh, yeah, hi. Well, uh, let's go." Amy realized that she looked so good, it was making Howie nervous. This was priceless.

All through drinks and dinner, Howie (who had calmed down on the ride to the restaurant) made small talk. Amy played the gracious beauty who smiled often and tried to look interested.

Finally, Howie and Amy sipped the last of their coffee. He'd paid the check and was starting to stand up. Amy decided to test his intentions one last time.

"Howie, have you enjoyed our little date tonight?" Her Andrea Fletcher imitation had improved as the night went on. It was starting to feel absolutely natural on her.

"Oh yeah and I gotta tell ya, you're really surprising me," said Howie.

"How so?" Amy cooed. This should be good.

"I thought you may try to make me look bad by not dressing up or maybe not behaving. You're really a fine lady to be with." came his reply.

"Well, the reason I asked was, we were supposed to discuss a certain picture you have. So far, all you've talked about is you and it's getting late." Amy kept her voice smooth and feminine, but looked Howie straight in the eye.

"Now why would you try to mess up a nice evening like this by bringing that up?", Howie moaned.

"Because, lover, that's the only reason I agreed to be here tonight," was Amy's reply.

"Well, darlin', all I can tell you now is the pictures you want are close at hand. As far as I'm concerned our date runs until I decide to leave you." Howie was looking right back into Amy's eyes. "I just bought you a very nice meal. I intend to get more than conversation for it."

"Well, I guess I've got no choice," said Amy with a look of resignation.

"Don't you worry, baby. I'll go easy on you tonight," said Howie with a leer.

"Okay, you slug. I gave you a chance to back off. You're going to be sorry you ever heard my name," was what Amy was thinking as she smiled softly at Howie and said, "Oh, thank you." Amy was beginning to understand how some women could get away with murder with some men. It wasn't that difficult once you saw how their egos and penises ruled their brains.

The valet brought up Howie's Corvette and held the door for Amy. She slipped in as gracefully as one could and Howie dropped his huge frame behind the wheel.

Howie started toward Amy's house, but stopped at a liquor store along the way to pick up a bottle of champagne, claiming this was a "special night". Amy almost laughed. There would be some celebrating to do, all right.

When they'd reached Amy's house, Howie followed her through the door without asking.

He started to reach for her as soon as the door closed but she slipped away.

"Let's get the champagne on ice first, okay?" she asked and it seemed to hold him off.

She found the ice bucket, surrounded the bottle with ice in it, and set it on a tray. Next she found two long stemmed glasses and added them to the tray.

"All right, darling," she said in her best vamp voice, "I'm going to go put on something special I got just for this night. I want you to take the champagne to my bedroom and wait for me there."

The lust in Howie's eyes could have melted her clothing away. "Don't take too long, honey. I'm about to burst," he said, apparently thinking he was sexy.

He reached out to pull her over for a kiss, but she slipped out of reach.

"No sneak previews, stud," she said with a lusty smile and went to the guest room to change.

It took Amy about 10 minutes to get the new outfit on right. She came back into the master bedroom and found Howie sprawled across her bed.

He gazed at her in amazement. There she stood in a long black vinyl raincoat with black skin-tight gloves and black boots. She leaned against the door frame with her hands behind her back and a big grin on her face. Something was unsettling about her, though. Maybe it was the way she stood, or that grin, or the look in her eyes.

"Well, I know this is the moment I've been waiting for," she said evenly.

Howie's eyes were like saucers when she brought her hands around to the front and he realized that what she'd been hiding was a Glock pistol. She was pointing it at his head.

"Look...Amy...er..uh...Michael....," the big man stammered.

"Whatever," she replied.

"Look, the pictures? They're here in my coat pocket," he said starting to fumble for his coat.

"If you move again without being told, I'll blow your fucking head off!", Amy shouted. "Do you really think this is about your little snapshots? You're even dumber than I thought."

Howie was learning a lesson every two-bit bully must face someday: most people will tolerate some pushing around, but when they're left with nothing to lose, they can become very, very dangerous. Howie had taken Michael's pride. Now he threatened his whole way of life. Michael was cornered and dangerous. As Amy, he was here for his pound of flesh. For the first time ever, Howie feared for his life.

 

Chapter 8 

"Stand up very slowly," Amy ordered. Howie complied.

"Okay, now slowly remove your clothes. If you get any ideas, please remember that this gun is cocked and loaded. I do know how to use it." Howie knew that. Michael had bought the gun at Jan's insistence when there had been break-ins in the area. Before he'd allow it in the house, he'd made sure that Jan took shooting lessons with him.

"Kneel down, you maggot," Amy ordered once Howie was standing naked in front of her. Howie was too frightened to resist.

Keeping an eye on Howie, Amy reached in a nearby drawer and pulled out two pairs of handcuffs. She walked behind Howie and ordered him to put his hands behind his back. He did.

Holding the barrel of the gun behind his ear and allowing the barrel to lightly touch his skin, she used her free hand to fasten his wrists together behind him. Next, she did the same for his ankles. The cuffs were a tight fit there. They probably hurt, but, frankly, she didn't care.

Convinced that her brother-in-law was sufficiently immobilized, she walked back to the front of him and removed the raincoat to reveal a black leather bustier, tight black panties and black fishnet stockings. The boots started with 5-inch spike heels and came up to the tops of her calves. Her gloves reached her elbows.

Amy reached back in the drawer where she'd hidden the cuffs and pulled out a riding crop.

"What are you going to do with me?" Amy had never heard such meekness in Howie's voice before.

She didn't answer yet. Instead she walked around behind him, planted the sharp heel of her left foot between his shoulder blades, and pushed his nose to the carpet.

Crack! Crack! She slammed the riding crop across his exposed ass.

"You are nothing but a worthless collection of dust and dogshit," she barked. "You will speak only when I ask you a question! Is that clear?"

"Okay," Howie mumbled.

Crack! Crack!

"Learn some respect, worm! If I permit you to speak and you wish to answer in the affirmative, the answer will be: 'Yes, Mistress'. If the answer is negative, you will say: 'No, Mistress'. Are you finally learning something?"

"Alr...Yes, Mistress," was Howie's feeble reply.

Crack! Crack!

"I didn't hear that! I will permit you to answer again." This was more fun than she had expected.

"Yes, Mistress," Howie said with a touch of (could it be?) conviction.

"I will permit you to breath, otherwise, don't even think of moving. Better still, don't think at all. That shouldn't be too tough in your case since you've had so little practice."

Amy popped the cork on the champagne and poured herself a drink. Well she had him now. This all went better than she'd planned. She'd worried that he might get loose and do some real damage, but now he seemed completely subdued. The question was what to do with him. It was a bit early for the grand finale she'd planned and she didn't have any experience in such matters. Then she noticed something she wasn't expecting. Howie had an erection. She downed the champagne and poured herself another.

With her glass in one hand and the riding crop in the other, Amy strutted over to her plaything.

She thrust the crop under Howie's chin and forced him to sit up. She was right, his penis was like a rock. She touched it with the crop.

"Well, well. Mr. Football likes to be chained up and beaten. Isn't that true?"

No answer.

Crack! She slammed the crop across Howie's back.

"Yes, Mistress."

This opened up all sorts of possibilities. Amy went in the other room and got the stockings and panties she'd worn to the restaurant. Now back with Howie, she dangled foot of the dirty nylon in front of his nose.

"Do you like what you smell?", she asked.

This time there was no hesitation. "Yes, Mistress!"

Amy tickled his nose and mouth with the stocking, then suddenly tied it tightly over his eyes.

She held her dirty panties in front of his nose. "How about this, does it smell good to you."

Howie was beginning to tremble. "Yes, Mistress!"

Amy wadded up the panties and shoved them into Howie's mouth. It seemed like a good time for the other surprise she had for her new toy.

She knew when she saw the large dildo at the adult bookstore that it would be perfect for the occasion. She went to the drawer where all the other goodies had been hidden. It was about ten inches long and three and a half inches in diameter. Amy knew it would do to Howie about what he'd done to her. She finished this glass of champagne and poured herself another. Her moment was here.

She walked behind Howie. "Get that nose on the floor," she ordered. She was getting used to his quick obedience. Taking the dry dildo, she shoved it with all her might up Howie's ass. He screamed with pain through the panties in his mouth.

The champagne she'd consumed must have been getting to her. Despite the fact that she felt like she belonged in her female role, she still had a penis and it was starting to make its presence known in the tight panties. Although she hadn't planned on it, she was seized by a notion. She pulled off her panties allowing her own stiff member to hang freely.

Moving in front of Howie, she grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head up, tore the panties from his mouth and buried her cock in their place. She pumped fiercely as Howie sucked hard.

Amy was on fire! She knew she was about to come, so she pulled free from Howie's mouth and went back behind him. She savagely tore out the dildo and sunk her cock into Howie's rear. "Oh, god," Howie screamed. Amy began to slam herself into Howie again and again. Her dick was a weapon and she was using it with its maximum force against her former tormentor.

Far too quickly, Amy gushed into Howie as each of them let out a scream. She crumpled onto his back until she got her breath. Pulling herself free, she walked back around to his face. She dangled her now-flaccid penis in front of his mouth and ordered, "Clean me up."

Howie obediently licked all the sperm, blood, and feces from her. Amy looked down and noticed that Howie'd had an eruption of his own on the carpet. "Now, clean up the mess you made on my rug."

Again, Howie didn't think twice. He moved himself around, put his nose to the carpet, and started licking.

Amy sat down on the edge of her bed. This mistress stuff was exciting, but tiring and all that champagne didn't help. She began to wonder what Howie would do when she finally set him free. He did seem pretty quiet, so she wasn't really worried. Still, before making another move, she took the gun from the top of the dresser and slipped it under her pillow.

Taking a key from the drawer, she unlocked both sets of cuffs. "Okay, Howie. You're free to go," she told her slave.

His answer came as a complete surprise: "Thank you, Mistress."

Amy stared at her brother-in-law, the one she'd just pointed a gun at, handcuffed, gagged with a pair of dirty underwear, and sodomized...the one who'd just thanked her.

Howie had started to look at her, but upon seeing her staring at him, averted his eyes.

"Mistress?"

Amy knew she could learn to enjoy the title. "Yes Howie"

"Please let me know when I can serve you again," he said with a touch of awe in his voice.

"Fine, until then, I'll take those pictures." Amy had almost forgotten.

Howie pulled four prints and two negatives from his jacket pocket.

"I'm sorry, Mistress. I had another picture I hadn't told you about," Howie said with pain in his voice. "Now I understand that I was wrong. Please forgive me."

"We'll talk about it some other time," Amy commanded. "Now, leave me."

Howie did as he was told while Amy removed her boots and stretched out on the bed.

She began to take stock of what had just happened. Singlehandedly, she'd taken charge of the situation. Howie changed from her tormentor to her toy. She'd also changed herself from a victim to a victor. She realized she had the power to turn her life in whatever direction she chose. Whatever happened from now on, it would be on the terms she, Amy Singer, devised. That felt good - like a Natural Women.

 

 

© 2000
The above work is copyrighted material. Anyone wishing to copy, archive, or re-post this story must contact the author for permission.