Geography
by Gingerfred Man
Chapter One – Monday morning
Celeste lay on her back. A thin sheen of perspiration covered her soft, curvy body and she was breathing very heavily.
I looked into her eyes and saw intense gratitude for the world-class fucking I had just given her. I kissed her deeply. Then I rolled off her so she could get up and shower. She had a plane to catch.
But my wife wasn't through with me yet. She covered me with her body, kissing me passionately, with lots of tongue, then kissed her way down to my half-stiff cock. She licked all her vaginal juices off its pink head, then bathed the entire seven inches in her sweet saliva. By that time, I was fully stiff and moaning out my love for the only woman I would ever love, my sweet wife, Celeste.
Remembering that she had a plane to catch, Celeste used all the tricks she had learned during our three-year marriage. She knew that fingers in my bottom always added to my excitement. And she knew that attention to the rim of my pink mushroom excited me and stirred my manly juices to a boil.
Celeste seemed extremely pleased with herself when she was able to make me arch my back and fill her mouth with my sweet cum. She liked being in charge at home as much as she liked being in charge at her job. I usually liked her being in charge too; especially when it involved my ball-draining orgasms.
The time for action had arrived. Celeste gave me one more sweet, cum-laced, tonguey kiss, then scooted off to take her shower. I loved watching her pretty bottom wiggle as she hurried into the bathroom. I also loved seeing my cum slithering down the insides of her thighs.
Mondays were so sad in a way. They involved a huge transition for me. I went from loving, weekend husband, taking care of all my working wife's intense needs, to…..well, something else. Something good, but very different.
Celeste and I had been married for three years. At 36, she was ten years older than I. Celeste was stunningly beautiful and hugely successful, so it surprised everyone when, at 33, she married her 23-year-old assistant, only one year out of college. I'm an attractive man, but not in the traditional sense. More "pretty" than macho. But I was apparently everything Celeste wanted. She's gone every week, from Monday morning to late Friday or early Saturday. And when she's home, she wants to do the things she loves. I take care of all her household errands during the week and all her physical needs every weekend. Celeste adores sex and I'm very good at it. I'm loving and affectionate and seem to have an inexhaustible supply of erections and thick, gooey cum. And on weekends, I give Celeste my complete devotion.
It's an odd arrangement, but it works for us.
That Monday, Celeste was off to the other coast to solve some problem or other, and wouldn't be back until she got off the redeye on Saturday morning. I had a long list of things I needed to do for her, but a whole week to do them. <Sigh> I would miss her. Thank goodness I had my "diversions."
When we're together, Celeste really does love me, I'm 100% sure of that. When geography separates us, I'm not sure how much she even thinks of me. She's always so busy. We rarely even call each other during the week.
Celeste finished her shower and I watched her as she re-entered our bedroom. What a body she has! Lush, full titties, with huge, brown nipples. A tiny waist with flaring hips. A bottom to die for.
I was so envious.
I sat up in bed as Celeste sat at her vanity and expertly applied her make-up. Gorgeous eyes. Bee-stung lips. I was a lucky man.
She gave me little glances and smiles and even made a kissy-face at me. My hard-on was back when Celeste rolled on her stockings and hooked them to her lacy garter belt. She hooked her bra in front, then turned it around and encased her big puppies in it. She stepped into her four-inch pumps. Oh, my. I was stiff and panting.
Celeste looked my way, then at the clock. "We have 12 minutes before I have to put my panties and dress on. Are you up for one more goodbye? 'Back there?'" she asked.
Was I? Wow. Celeste leaned over, putting her hands flat on her vanity, offering her perfect ass to me. I grabbed some cold cream from her things, slathered two fingers with it, then eased them into her ass. I love when she whimpers. I prepared my path for about a minute or so, then replaced my fingers with my hard cock. Celeste squealed so girlishly. I love when I have her, skewered and helpless like that. The inside of her bottom was warm and friendly to my cock (a frequent visitor), gripping and massaging it the ways I adored. I reached around Celeste's right hip and found her clitoris. It was erect and hot. I massaged it unmercifully as I fucked her perfect ass. She squealed out my name, "Robbie !!!! You beautiful man! My perfect fucker! I love you, Robbie!!"
And then she came, shuddering so violently that I could barely hold my place. I held on through her spasms, then began my own, groaning loudly as I flooded Celeste's bottom with a goodbye lotion that she could feel all morning on the plane.
We kissed again, exchanging promises of love and devotion. But then it was time. Celeste finished dressing (including an anally placed Tampon to contain my souvenir for her). I slid on a sweatshirt and shorts, got her briefcase and luggage and took them to the waiting limo driver. Celeste and I kissed hungrily, then she got into the limo and left my life for the week.
I did too. My male life, that is.
Chapter Two – The rest of Monday
I had much to do, as I did every Monday, so I hopped to it. It was 7 a.m. when Celeste left. By 7:30, I had the bed stripped, changed the cum-drenched sheets for clean ones and had the laundry going. I made myself a light breakfast, drank a cup of coffee, read the paper, and cleaned up the dishes by eight. I was still in my sweats when I entered my "private room," grabbed my pre-packed bag, and left the house at 8:15.
When we were married and ever since, Celeste has insisted that we each have some privacy. One room of my house, guarded by a combination entry system that only I know, is exclusively mine. Celeste has a similar room. I've never been in hers and she's never been in mine.
It was almost as if Celeste knew about "Denise."
I left the house and headed for Cassandra's, a beauty parlor where I've had a standing Monday appointment for three years. I don't even shower before I go to Cassandra's. They take care of everything.
You see, when I'm with my darling Celeste, and a few other people, most notably my family, I'm Robbie Carson, a good-looking, fairly intelligent, rather short, but charming young man who is married to a rich, beautiful, older woman.
The rest of the time, which is really most of the time, I'm Denise. Beautiful, ultra-girlie, fully passable, man-loving, tgirl wonder.
It's really quite easy to be both. The dividing line is when I'm with my wife and when I'm not. My wife asks no questions. In fact, she avoids questions. I've always believed that if I were to go into Celeste's private room, it would be bare. And she only wanted the "privacy" arrangement so that I could be Denise without hiding my things in the attic or something. And so that I wouldn't be bringing men home and fucking them in our marriage bed.
It's very sensible on Celeste's part. She gets what she wants. A devoted, efficient, good-looking husband who gives her the best fucking in the known universe. A husband who loves her when she's there and doesn't whine when she's gone.
And I get what I want. A life spent mostly as a girl. With no threat of discovery. Lots of cash and a nice home. And some darned good affection and sex from an incredibly beautiful woman.
I wasn't about to ruin a good thing by asking questions or stating the obvious. And neither was she. The best relationships exist through tacit deceptions,
I arrived at Cassandra's at 8:50 and the proprietress greeted me warmly. For what she charges, she should.
Cassandra led me to Brandy, my regular beauty consultant and, after three years, a friend.
"Welcome, Miss Denise," Brandy said. "You look very happy today. Did you give the wife a nice sendoff this morning?"
I was still in sweats, had no make-up and my long, brown hair was straight and pulled back in a manly ponytail, but I was already slipping into girl mode.
I giggled. "Now Brandy, you little scamp, what would you think if I asked you questions like that?"
She thought a minute, then said, "I would think that you wanted to know the answer."
We both giggled.
Brandy led me into room 6, my favorite. It was filled with beauty amenities, including a sunken tub. Brandy had it filled with water at exactly the right temperature, and seasoned with bubbles and salts.
I stripped naked and, as always, Brandy checked my naked body out.
"I think your clitty got a nice workout this morning, Miss Denise. It looks dead."
I laughed. "Check with me again after my bath, Brandy. I think resurrection is in its future."
Brandy held my hand when I stepped into the tub, then left me alone to enjoy its warmth and comfort.
At 9:30, Brandy returned, rousing me from my cleansing, and had me stand. My "beauty consultant" was wearing what many might call an unconventional outfit for her work. Her big, firm titties were bare and bouncing. All she had on were a lacy, black garter belt, silky, black stockings and some very challenging five-inch-stiletto sandals. Her pretty pink cock was tall and bouncing and her heavy ballbag was swaying as she toweled me off.
The intimacy of that act always makes my erection return. Plus, I hadn't cum in over two hours! And Brandy was one hot tgirl.
We had a routine and we stayed with it. I stood, then sat on a platform as Brandy shaved my entire body, except my head, very closely and expertly. She always saved the inside of my bottom cheeks and my rosy hole for last, and that always aroused me to the point that I was begging Brandy for relief.
Brandy turned me around, then hit her knees and gave me the best blowjob anyone had ever given me. She was the world mistress of blowjobs. Just the blowjob would be worth the price of my four-hour weekly makeover.
Brandy was very tidy, swallowing every drop and licking me up to another erection. Then she would bend over and ask me for a little attention. Since we were pressed for time, Brandy's asshole was always pre-lubed and ready. She truly loved me fucking her and it enhanced the beauty parlor experience for both of us. Since I had just cum, I was able to give Brandy a very nice seeing-to. I was tickling her own girlish peener as I pounded her pussy, and made her cum, squealing sissily, twice to my once.
Back to work, Brandy styled my hair, did my finger- and toenails, gave me a facial and did my make-up. The little scamp made sure she rubbed my naked body a lot with her very nice nipples, so, of course, we fucked once more.
At 12:45, I was beautified to the max. Even Brandy seems stunned at my transition each week, even though it's her handiwork. That day I was wearing a lovely, pink, summer frock that I had brought along. My hair was a gorgeous mane. My tan-stockinged legs were world-class, toned by very high pumps. My face would put Glamour magazine's cover girls to shame. I was a babe.
I was sometimes envious of Brandy's breasts, but in my life, they were out of the question.
I could probably achieve the same beauty results on my own (and did so with touch-ups during the week), but it's so much more fun primping with a friend.
As always, I stepped into the lobby of Cassandra's between 12:50 and 12:55 and met my lunch date, Andrew Barkley. As always, when Andy saw me, he looked as if he would need a crash cart. I have that effect on men.
Andy had already put my bag in his car. He looked as if he wanted to fuck me right there. On the floor. In front of Cassandra and Brandy. A lot of men give me that look.
But there were proprieties.
We had a lunch date.
That day we were going to a nice French restaurant, "Toujours." We always ate before…..well, you can imagine.
Andy and I had been seeing each other since I turned 18. He was one of my father's friends, 28 years older than I, and I had known him all my life. Andy knew things about me that I didn't even suspect. I still don't know how he managed to avoid telling me any of them until after my 18th birthday.
Andy always said that a few men, a very few, were what he called "sissy spotters." Those men could look into a crowd of boys and unerringly pick out the ones who most wanted to wear panties and stockings and heels and take men's big cocks into their tiny bottoms. He said that he had seen that in me since I reached puberty, but rather than break laws, civil and moral, he had waited until I was legal age to tell me.
The day after my 18th birthday, he invited me to his house to discuss my college future, which made sense since he was my high school counselor. His wife (whom he has since divorced) and kids were out of town. The conversation was about my future, but had nothing to do with college.
"You're a sissy," he said to me. "You haven't been able to put it into words yourself, but you know what I'm saying."
I gulped. I knew. I felt tugs, strong pulls that I could not understand. But that didn't diminish them.
He got up from his chair that day eight years ago and returned with a pink nightie. In my size.
"Take your clothes off and put it on," he said.
I was trembling with fear. And need. I stood and began to strip.
Andy (I called him "Mr. Barkley" then) sat to watch. It was clear that he was excited as well.
I was very shy about being naked in front of a man, but I wanted that nightie. And that man.
I stood naked before Mr. Barkley and held out my hand for the nightie. He put his warm hand on my hip. It burned as he pulled my naked body to his lap and kissed me, exploring my mouth with his tongue.
I should have screamed "Gay!!!" and run out, naked or not. But I didn't. I kissed him back, then whimpered with need when he held my stiff, sore-with-need cock in his warm hand. He kissed me and said, "You're going to be a beautiful girl. You're going to wear pretty things and men will give their souls to you. You will give and receive more pleasure than you thought there was in the entire world. Do you like to have a man stroke your girlish clitty like this?"
"Yes!" I whimpered. Images of myself as a beautiful girl, surrendering to handsome men washed over me. I screamed with the release of multiple, thick globs of my sissy cream. Ropes of my goo leaped in the air – the fireworks of my emasculation. Mr. Barkley held me and kissed me as I shuddered, then sobbed with the emotion of the moment.
The sweet man helped me slip the nightie over my head. I trembled as I felt its cool silk caress my body.
I rubbed my hands along its length, sighing with confused need as I explored, for the first time, the side of life where I belonged.
Oh! The nightie was short. My peener was hot and stiff again and my balls were aching.
I felt so girlie already. And my real life had just begun.
Mr. Barkley drew me to his lap again and kissed me. "Do you like that, Sweetheart?" he asked.
I looked at him shyly, then nodded.
He kept his seat, then stood me up. He held his head up and asked me to bend over and kiss him. I did so, eagerly.
Then he broke the kiss and put one strong hand on each of my nightied hips. With his thumbs, he sort of skinned my nightie up to my belly button, exposing my throbbing cocklet. I felt more exposed than when I was naked. The wonderful man began to place little flutter kisses on my stomach, then my thighs. I was squirming and panting when he shifted the attack to my pink privates. Mr. Barkley took both my balls into his mouth and licked his tongue all over and around them. Omigosh! I squirmed and squealed as I tried not to think about how vulnerable I was with my balls in someone's mouth. A nice someone.
After my balls had experienced a heavenly lickup, my bold lover let my saliva-bathed testicles slip from his mouth. He kissed the base of my cock, working his way to the red, fiery tip as I groaned from the first, frantic warning of impending orgasm. Oh.
I warned him. I did. "Mr. Barkley, oh. That's so wonderful. But I'm going to cum!"
He stopped kissing my doodle for a second, smiled at me and said, "I know, Sweetheart. I want you to."
He wanted me to. He was such a wonderful man! I had to give him what he wanted. He was licking the head of my horribly aroused cock. It was so intense. The last warning. I squealed. Aaaaaah. I spurted big, girlish globs of my sticky cream. It was going all over his face! He loved it.
What a memory that was. I sucked his cock that day, of course. And three days later, I gathered the courage to let him fuck me. It was divine. And so it has been the 1,000 or so times he's fucked me since over the past eight years.
But this story is about now, not then.
I knew that that Monday with Andy would be a renewal of that lovely tradition.
That Monday, Andy drove us to Toujours, where we had a lovely, low-calorie lunch (a girl has to watch her figure) and some great conversation. Andy's witty and sweet and he can talk about interesting things like current events and baseball. And he also spends a lot of time talking about my favorite subject, my beauty.
I was especially beautiful that Monday and Andy mentioned it often. I like that.
Sometimes I tease Andy about the other "girls" like me he's fucking on days other than Monday. I asked him that day.
He smiled. "Monday is the only day of the week for me, Denise."
Good answer.
Andy likes to treat me like his little kept woman. We could go to my house or his, but he likes to rent a hotel room at our town's ritziest establishment. We have a standing reservation for their best suite. The staff treats us as if there's nothing unusual about two people, a young babe and her "Daddy" seeing each other the same day each week and making loud love all night long.
Andy and I got to the room and took our time getting reacquainted with each other's bodies. Andy is in superb condition for a man of any age. I love when he's naked.
His cock is so familiar to me, so I always give it several kisses when I haven't seen it for a week. That usually heats my lover up quite a bit, but I always stop before he cums.
I stripped to my lingerie, and kept my skyscraper stilettos on. Andy likes me to wear them to bed, that randy scamp.
Among Andy's many wonderful qualities is his tremendous aptitude as a kisser. He gets me into a huge dither just by holding me against his naked body and kissing me softly and soulfully. Sometimes we rub cocks when we're doing that. When he stopped kissing me, I was panting with need. My foreskin was back and my pink parts were wet and pulsing.
That Monday, Andy pulled out silk scarves, so I knew things would be even more enjoyable than usual. Andy introduced me to light bondage as a way to help me learn to surrender to a man. I don't do it with anyone but Andy, because I trust him so completely.
Andy loves to tie me into a position where I'm helpless and he can eat my "pussy" for as long as he likes. When I'm not tied up, I'm often a bad girl, grabbing Andy's big cock and stuffing into my bottom after only an agonizingly delicious half hour or so of Andy's tongue in my bumhole. Andy likes to eat me for much longer than that.
I was fairly trussed and whimpering with helplessness and lust when Andy eased his tongue around my bottom cheeks. I tried to wiggle my little pootie to hurry him up a little, but Andy does not rush his pootie eating. He says I have the best pussy on earth <blush> and to rush its adoration would be a felony.
Andy didn't gag me that day. He likes to hear me beg him to stop eating and get fucking. I'm young. I'm impatient. Andy's smarter and knows that the longer I stay at a fever pitch of arousal, the more life-threatening the inevitable orgasm will be.
I lost track of time that day. Andy may have licked and kissed and dug into my hole for an hour. Who knew? I do know that I screamed and came hard twice, followed by tears and begging to be untied, then fucked.
Eventually, my "master" complied. Except for the untying part.
My knees were up and my stomach was drenched with my own cum. My asshole was wet and gaping. I was trembling with lust. Andy sat up and, instead of fucking me, began to lick and suck my nipples. Ohhhhh. What was he doing? He had never done that right after his naughty meal before. That was cruel and unusual. I was ………. Oh, no! I was cumming again! Buckets. I was a helpless, shuddering wreck.
Just as I loved being.
Then he fucked me.
Andy didn't even untie me. He just got on top of me and shoved it in. As if I were his property or something. His slave girl. And he was some sultan or something.
I loved it.
Andy has a really nice, big cock and when it's all in me, I know I'm being fucked.
He was kissing me with that mouth he licked my bottom with. I licked his tongue.
I wanted to dig into Andy's back with my short, but manicured nails, but they were over my head and restrained.
My body lurched every time he shoved that salami into me. Oh, goodness. What if he was going to fuck me for a week or so? I couldn't stop him. I was helpless.
No one could fuck me for that long. I'm too sexy. Men want to hold back longer, but they can 't. Lucky for me, eh?
Like all men, Andy gave off signals when he was going to cum. Andy gave a certain little groan. If he stopped right after that and thought of world events, perhaps he could have held back the seminal deluge. But no. He pushed on. He would cum within two minutes, I knew it. I wished I could cum with him, but I had cum so many times already that day and…… oh. My own warning. Stronger. Oh. Daddy!!! I mean, Andy! Oh! Not again. My balls were so sore. My stomach was so wet. Ahhhhhhh!!!! I came again, spurting my sticky cream helplessly in response to a world-class lover's world-class love. And so did Andy, grunting that way he does when his balls go nuclear.
It was already a great Monday and it was only 4 p.m.!
Chapter Three – Tuesday
Some Tuesday mornings I can barely get up. I'm always drenched with my own cum. Often, my face is so cum-splashed that my eyelids are stuck.
That was the kind of Tuesday morning I had that week. In other words, I had had a GREAT Monday!
After two more morning fucks, Andy always left me to go to work at the high school. I knew he would be fucking other tgirls before I saw him again. That made me jealous! But, let's face it. I wasn't exactly celibate either.
That morning, I showered and repaired myself as well as I could. I didn't look as good as when I had left Cassandra's the day before, but pretty close.
Before going home, I had errands for Celeste. Since we were married, Celeste had me doing her clothes shopping for her (another sure sign that she knew all) so the errands were most enjoyable. Several of my male friends had open charge accounts in my girl name at the same exclusive shops where Celeste bought her things, so I d id a lot of my shopping at the same times I got her things.
I arrived home at about one, sorted through some things, then got into my leader's uniform for Sissy Scouts. It was a short, pink dress, of course, with sashes and a beret. I wore tan stockings with it and pink stiletto pumps.
I considered myself in the mirror. It was a wonder that more traffic accidents didn't happen when I was out on the street. Men were always risking decapitation and such to get a better look at me.
I got in my car, then drove to the Sissy Scout hut. Andy had gotten me involved with Sissy Scouts since I was about 20. Andy "spotted" likely sissies, communicated his observations to their mothers, then formed the troop. It was all under the strict supervision of the Sissy Scouts of America, headquartered in Fromage, Wisconsin, of course.
It felt so good to give something back to the community.
That day, I was going to be showing the troop to a prospective new recruit. Andy had identified him only recently. His name was Ralph, sissy name, Tara. He was a high school freshman and he was a little wary about things.
I arrived at the hut at 2:30 and set things up for the merit badge tests that day. Some of my "assistants" for the merit badge tests were already there. They were 45- to 60-year-old men and they were very eager to help the sissies be all they could be. I put them in another room and advised then to breathe deeply.
The sissies started being dropped off by their mothers at three p.m. What a sweet, feminine bunch of high-school "girls" they were! Their make-up techniques had been improving, they were taking my diet tips, and their heels kept getting higher. I was so proud of all 16 of them.
Tara was the last to arrive. She wasn't in the scout uniform. Wasn't even en femme. I needed to give her some personal attention, but for then, I just wanted her to observe.
"Welcome Tara," I said. "I hope you like our troop."
She looked very nervous. "Are you Miss Denise?"
"Yes. Mr. Barkley was right. You're very pretty."
Despite herself, Tara blushed. "Miss Denise, I'm sorry. I'm not sure this is really for me."
"Of, course you aren't, Sweetie," I said. "No one is at first. Mr. Barkley seems to be right about you girls, though. And look how happy they all are."
It was true. Tara looked around at her 16 fellow troopers and saw only happy, pretty girls.
"Is your life this happy?" I asked her. That's the killer question, and I always know the answer.
She frowned.
I said, "Tara, you just watch today. If you want to join in, please do, OK?"
That sounded reasonable, so she nodded her head. I hugged her, which she seemed to really enjoy. Then I started the meeting with the Pledge of Allegiance.
After that, we got right into merit badge testing. The girls took their dresses off and stripped down to heels, stockings, garter belts and bras. The panties came off and I opened the doors to the connecting room. Each girl put a small pillow on the floor and knelt on it. Seventeen naked men entered the room to the delighted squeals of my scouts.
Tara looked horrified.
A naked man stood in front of each girl, who began to stroke and arouse their men to firm stands.
Tara was quivering. She asked me, "Do the Scouts get a merit badge for <blush> cocksucking?"
I shook my head. "Of course not, silly."
Tara seemed mildly relieved at that. She couldn't help but notice the 17th man, who was watching her with great interest.
I explained further, "The Sissy Scouts have eleven different merit badges for cocksucking. Today's is a tough one. The girls are to make their men cum in their faces only by using the tip of their stiff tongues."
Tara shuddered. I didn't know what that meant, but I had to move on.
"All right, ladies," I said. "This is not a timed exercise, but I have a hot date tonight, so don't take all day." <Lots of giggles> "As your man cums in your face, raise your hand and I'll get a Polaroid for your files. Then you can take your man into the other room for 'free play.' Hands off the cocks. Tongues out. Begin!"
The girls were very skilled and the men were very excited to be with them. I was taking lots of Polaroids of pretty faces with gooey loads. For the merit badge records. Of course. My only mild surprise occurred when, after ten minutes, I heard Tara say meekly, "Miss Denise?"
I turned to look at her. Her face was flushed. Her upper lip was perspiring and she was trembling. "Yes, Honey?" I said,
In the tiniest voice, she said, "May I try that too?"
I hugged her, then had her strip nude. The extra man, Hal Bronson, was very pleased, as his erect cock testified.
I gave Tara a pair of black, stay-up stockings and a pillow for her knees. She eased the stockings on, gasped, and came all over herself.
A sissy can deny herself for only so long.
Then she got on her knees in front of Hal, my old friend and a frequent date.
Hal, the lucky man, was receiving the first oral attentions of a newly admitted sissy. She was a natural. She tongued his balls with the tip only, then licked the arrow point of the underside of his cock until he grunted and bedewed her sweet face with his big, sticky load.
When they went off, arm in arm to the free-play room, my heart warmed for them both. Why do so many people build their lives around denial of self and self-denial?
Free play was very spirited. And arousing. Melissa, my assistant scout leader, gave me a long, slow, sloppy BJ, then I returned the favor. Mustn't spill too much goo, because I had a hot date arranged for that night.
It was a first date, actually, with a man I had recently met – a doctor at a hospital where I do volunteer work. He was taking me to a formal fundraiser that evening and I wanted to make sure that I had plenty of thick girlie cream for him.
Dr. Tom Williams had never dated a tgirl before and he was definitely in for the experience of his life. Unlike a date with a woman, when you date a tgirl, there are no stupid tension-builders. You already know the answers to the big questions. Will I get laid? Yes. And you'll love it. So will she. Will I get to shoot a big load of cum down my date's throat? Yes! As often as you like. Will I get to fuck my date in her pretty ass? Oh, yes, please.
So much more pleasant than all the silly games of dating women.
I had been in a rut lately, dating a lot of the same men. So I was excited about the opportunity to take Tom out on the town and his big cock into my private places.
He was so cute! He was a doctor! So manly and so in command. He had been flirting with me since I began volunteering at the hospital. And, thank goodness, he wouldn't be getting any unwelcome surprises.
I mean, at the hospital, I never hid the fact that I was a girl with "extra goodies." I always had a big tent in my miniskirt whenever Doctor Tom was chatting me up. And everyone there knew all about me.
As we tgirls know, it's not a good idea to get a man all lathered up, then tell him about your little secret. Some don't welcome the news, and that could be hazardous to a tgirl's health.
I hustled home that night to change. Tom was picking me up at seven and I wanted to look extra scrumptious for him.
Since the benefit was formal, I would get an opportunity to wear my new, electric-blue, slinky gown, with the high slits on both sides; dark, sheer, tan stockings; and silver, strappy sandals with the five-inch stiletto heels. I had done my toe- and fingernails in a silver polish and that seemed to make my outfit even naughtier.
I did my make-up in dramatic fashion, suitable to the evening, with a bit heavier application to the eyes than usual and was ready for anything at 6:58 p.m. That gave me two minutes to admire feminine perfection in several of my many mirrors. Then I answered the bell for Tom.
Oh!!! He looked edible in his black dinner jacket. James Bond never looked half as sexy. This was going to be my lucky night.
It was apparently his lucky night too. The cutie was practically drooling when he saw me. I was afraid that he would hyperventilate or something, so I gave him a nice kiss and just a wisp of tongue. Well, that just seemed to make things worse, so I got on my knees, being careful not to wrinkle my dress, and unzipped his trousers. He stared at me with some surprise, but mostly need. Yes, raw need. Men are so easy to figure out. He needed calming down so I removed his cock from his boxers and gave it some proper attention.
Tom's cock was a fine, manly specimen. Long and thick. His foreskin had been wrenched from him soon after birth, but all the best parts were still there. He had a fine, slick mushroom, with a pink head capping a darker shaft. A peehole glistening with the juices of his excitement. Two fine, attendant testicles of perfect size and shape, held in a wrinkled bag that I began to shower with hot kisses.
He groaned. They all groan. You have to love men. They appreciate us tgirls so.
Tom's balls were delicious, but we had to get going soon or we would be late. So I lavished my attention on the big, leaking morsel that was the seat of male pleasure. What fun it would be later that evening to take it into my eager bottom, but for now, I licked, kissed and pleasured his beautiful knob until, grunting manfully, he spurted his creamy essence down my throat and into my tummy. My favorite dinner appetizer! And dessert.
I licked my date clean, tucked him in, and stood up. He stared at me. Was he dazed by my boldness? Amazed by his good fortune? Confused about whether he should get on his knees and return the favor. <Yummy!!!> Time enough for all that later.
"We'd better get going," I said. "It's getting late. I just didn't want you to be anxious or uncomfortable about things."
Men just seem to be overwhelmed when they first experience a tgirl. It's the submissiveness and sensitivity to men's needs that they like best.
And the sex ain't bad either.
Tom recovered from his tgirl "culture shock" quickly and we had a very nice conversation on the drive to the art gallery where the benefit was being held. Tom knew a lot about current events and music. He wasn't a big know-it-all about everything either, thank goodness. I hate when that happens.
He did take about 150 sneaky peeks at my legs, which I had managed to give him an obstructed view of. I love tan stockings and I have great legs. I think Tom really liked my shoes too. And my silver toenail polish. There's something about the sight of a girl's feet in wispy shoes with towering heels that makes men's cocks very hard.
I made a mental note to give Tom a nice foot job later that evening. If he had any goo left after I had made him happy several times.
The benefit was very nice. Lots of scrumptious men in tuxes and women in killer gowns.
I must admit. Women look great when they dress up. I often wonder why they don't do it more often. Are they trying to make it easy for us tgirls to steal their men?
Tom was so sweet. All that beautiful art and pretty women and his eyes were on me the whole night. His cock was hard and evident and <blush> so was mine.
At the exact time when we wouldn't look overly conspicuous about leaving, we left.
I had to tell Tom to slow down driving home, the impetuous boy <giggle>.
He wanted me. Didn't he know I was a sure thing? A "round-heels?" I was "easy" for nice men.
We hustled into my house and I took him to my private room, the one with the lock, and we hurried in. I was very steamed up and he was practically hyperventilating with anticipation.
I turned around and asked him to unzip my dress, then smiled when I saw him remove his shoes, jacket, tie, shirt, trousers, socks, undershirt and underpants, in record time. He was magnificent! Chiseled and hard in the right places, but soft and loving where he needed to be.
I had only removed my dress and stood before him in my Wonderbra, panties, garter belt, stockings and heels. My cock had escaped from my panties and was standing pink and proud.
I skinned my panties down and showed Tom my entire, pretty package. If it were possible, that excited him even more. Tom took me into his manly arms and began to kiss me. Ohhhh. I offered my open mouth to his tongue and surrendered myself to his pleasure.
Men love that act of surrender best. They can feel it happen.
Tom held my soft ass globes in his hands and rubbed our cocks together. Our stiffies were about the same size, but his was much gooier and hairier. I was leaking pre-juices and gasping and purring softly as he overwhelmed my weak (let's face it, non-existent) defenses.
In my heels, I was maybe an inch shorter than my lover. He had calmed down a bit and was taking his time. Slow, soft kisses make me much hotter than the wild, needy stuff.
I squealed when he picked me up by my bottom and carried me to my bed. He laid me on my back and mounted me. Was he going to fuck me right away?
No, thank goodness. I like the warm-ups as much as the act.
Tom sniffed my neck as he kissed me there and I could tell he was intoxicated by my perfume. He trailed kisses down my body until he reached my chest. He reached under me to unhook my bra, then began to lavish sexual attention on my nipples.
Oh, how I love that. My nipples were as hard as little cocks as he kissed, licked and sucked them. It was sweet agony as he tormented my delicate titty flesh with his tongue, lips and teeth. Tom was tickling my testicles with a free hand as he nursed on my nipples. I know you must think that I'm a little tramp, but I don't care.
That combination made me cum. I arched my back, scrunched my pretty face and squealed as my pink princess spurted her first sissy cream of the evening. And about time, too. I hadn't cum since the Sissy Scouts meeting hours ago!
Tom seemed very pleased at my sticky explosion. So pleased that he began to kiss and lick my belly, consuming all the spermies as he did so. I'm almost positive it was the first time the good doctor had done anything remotely like that, so I felt extra special.
I felt even better when he took my popsy into his mouth, then licked my balls to complete the cleaning ritual. He was pretty good for a first-time cocksucker. Very good. So good that my second crisis became imminent. I told him. I warned him. But all he did was smile and lick the knob even more sexily. So it wasn't my fault when I helplessly ejaculated about a pint of hot, sticky cream all over his face.
He seemed delighted by it. By the whole experience. I was definitely going to have to add Doctor Tom to my list of "regulars."
I was going to do him the courtesy of licking my cum off his handsome face, but the need to fuck me had suddenly become a matter of some urgency to him. When I saw his intent, I reached over and handed him a tube of lube, grunting out the instructions for its use.
Tom slathered a bit too much lube onto three of his fingers, then proceeded to kiss me deeply as he tortured my asshole with one, then two, then three fingers. I still wanted to lick his face clean, but I couldn't concentrate on much of anything other than cumming hard for the third time, whimpering and shuddering. Then I was ready to be fucked.
I put my calves on Tom's shoulders, giving him a nice, finger-expanded target for his cock. He loved the fact that I still had my stockings and heels on (just like a porn movie, he told me later). Ah, men!
I wanted him to fuck me. Really wanted it.
Tom knew that, so he playfully teased me a bit, but then showed mercy. My "pussy" has had a lot of visitors, but Tom's big salami was as welcome as any had been.
I love how a man gasps when he first puts his cock into my tight girlie hole. Men are so used to squishy woman pussy. A sissy's grip on a cock is different – tighter and hotter – and really "dirty." Just as they like it.
Tom's eyes lit up with the joy of the experience. He was doing things he had never done – terrific things – things that he wanted to do forever. Oh my. He was probably falling in love with me like so many other men have over the years. That's a burden I must carry <giggle>.
He got that whole big boy in there and wiggled it around a bit, just to make sure it was all in. His meat piston was very happy in its new surroundings. Tom began a steady, in-and-out motion, pushing and pulling his way to heaven.
Half the fun for me is watching and feeling the pleasure I bring my lovers. Tom had left the solar system and was ready to go to warp speed. My own sissy popsy was hot and throbbing and my pink bag was flopping each time he pushed forward. I had already cum three times, so I couldn't…..ohhhhh. That familiar feeling. That wonderful feeling. I was getting it and so, obviously, was Tom. He was grunting softly and giving that little side wiggle that men give.
The good doctor leaned over and kissed me hungrily, then he made a sound of intense pleasure and began to flood my guts with his manly cream. He was wonderful! My mother would be so proud – I was being fucked by a "professional" man. I dug my nails into his back, squealed and made yet another mess all over myself, although this one was mostly watery dribbles. Even super-sissies have limits. Not pleasure limits, thank goodness. That cum was a freight train, every bit as intense as the first three. Just a bit drier.
The rest of that wonderful night, Tom was an animal! He just USED me like his personal fuck machine. I know, girls, it sounds like bragging, but it's true. My little pussy was sore and tender and I think Tom rubbed about a hundred layers of skin off his love machine. He would need a dermatologist for sure! Of course, before I sent him off to early rounds at his hospital the next morning, I gave his sore peckerhead a nice, slow, wet, tongue bath and that made it feel all better.
Chapter Four -- Wednesday
Tom left for work at around six. I hoped that he wouldn't amputate any wrong limbs or anything that day, but hey, even a doctor needs a "physical" now and then from a friend.
I lolled around catching up on my sissy sleep until ten, then hustled to get dressed and ready for my afternoon of volunteer work at Tom's hospital.
I showered and did my hair. Then I did my makeup and put on two coats of red polish (silver is too Cindy Lauper for daytime). As I slid on my long, silky, fully fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-toe, tan stockings, I wondered if Tom would be "making a pass" at me at the hospital that Wednesday afternoon. I decided that if he didn't, he would be off the short list for Denise's pussy. Or maybe I would just put him on probation.
I sissied over to me closet and pulled out my "Sissy Striper" uniform. I'm proud to say that, besides being one of the founders of Sissy Stripers, I helped design the uniform. It was a VERY short dress that revealed a sissy's stocking tops. It was simple and gray, with, thin, red pinstripes and a white collar. I had an ID badge that said, "Sissy Striper Denise. May I help you?"
Sissy Stripers was a concept that was catching on in hospitals across our state. The old Candy Stripers would help patients by fluffing their pillows, reading to them and such. That's nice, but we gave sick people, men really, what they really wanted and needed.
There were only two of us Sissy Stripers on duty that afternoon. I saw my sister sissy Charlene in the parking lot. Charlene was such a bubblehead, rarely on time for anything, but that day, like me, she was about five minutes early. Charlene always claimed she was late for things because the man she was with (and Charlene was ALWAYS with a man) just didn't want her to leave. She was a dishy, young pantyboy, all right. But I was prettier.
I gave Charlene a nice hug and kiss in the parking lot, then we wiggled, hand-in-hand toward our duty stations. Charlene asked me if I had gotten a certain young physician's meat in my pooper the previous evening and my giggles told her everything she wanted to know.
Charlene started to tell me about one of her recent conquests, but we were interrupted by a chorus of wolf whistles from the 20 or so male hospital personnel who had gathered at the front door to greet us.
I love when that happens and so does Charlene. We flirted outrageously and the "boys" flirted back. Jimmy Elger said, "Oh, Denise, I'm sick. Will you bring me a little comfort today?"
It was an old joke, but we all laughed. Everyone knows that Sissy Stripers bring comfort to the sick, not mopes on an extended smoke break.
Charlene reported to Nurse Betty on the third floor and I went to Nurse Nancy on four. Nancy had my schedule – a busy one. Four men who were ill and depressed needed comfort. And no fluffy pillow was going to do it.
Women just wouldn't do what Charlene and I were about to do that afternoon. Something about virtue and self-respect. I generated a lot of self-respect from making people's lives a little better. Beginning with Mr. Gonzalez in 435.
Poor guy had been through a series of tough illnesses and, though he was mostly recovered, his spirit had been crushed. Let me see what I could do about that!
Mr. Gonzalez didn't notice me when I first came into his room to fluff his pillow. Probably figured it was a nurse with a big needle or a catheter or something. Wrong!
I wiggled my way around his room, fussing with things and bending over a lot to show my panties and stocking tops. My panties were so sheer that I'm afraid that the cleft of my bottom and my <blush> pussy were in full view.
I sneaked little peeks at Mr. Gonzalez and giggled softly at the double-take he did when he saw me "straightening" his room. I was pretty sure that the thing I straightened most was between his legs <giggle>. I guess it had been a while since he had been so close to anyone so sexy and pretty <blush>.
I moved closer to Mr. Gonzalez and stroked his forehead. He was in his mid-sixties – older, but far from used up. I could tell that he liked having me near him. He was sneaking little sniffs of my perfume. And his sheets were growing into a tent as his underused manhood awoke.
The usual candy striper would have asked him how he was, ignored the answer, and left him.
The Sissy Striper modus operandi differed.
I kissed his forehead, then his mouth.
He liked that a lot and his nice Johnson appeared to have regained a lot of its youthful vigor.
"You're a nice man, Mr. Gonzalez. But Nurse Nancy said you were depressed and needed a 'boost.' Can I give you one?'
Mr. Gonzalez was fully ready for any boost I had in mind.
I pulled down his sheets, lifted his hospital gown and revealed a nice, big prick that was showing no signs of depression. The foreskin was back and the cutest, pink head was peeking out and leaking some delicious-looking goo. I ran my soft hand up and down its length, getting a nice feeling when he began to moan in appreciation.
At first, I thought Mr. Gonzalez would just lie there passively. Some do. Some get a little disoriented when they see the big tent forming in my skirt as I stroke them. But that passes quickly.
Mr. Gonzalez was a little scamp, though. He reached around and began to stroke my bottom as I ran my warm hand up and down his prick and balls. I liked that, and it was even nicer when his hand insinuated itself into my panties and felt warm skin.
I don't know whether he was more excited by me feeling him up or him feeling me up, but the gentleman had more naughty tricks. He wiggled a finger around and then into my pussy, making me squeak and scold him a little for his boldness. But he didn't take it out. And I didn't insist that he remove it.
I leaned over and kissed Mr. Gonzalez as he massaged my prostate and I ran a practiced thumb around his knob. I don't always do it with my patients, but he was extra nice, so I took his cock into my mouth and put my tongue to its best use.
Mr. Gonzalez's fingers knew their way around a girl's bottomhole. He had me in a dither as I was sucking him to a very nice conclusion. He gave the warning grunts about the same time I did and I soaked my panties just as he filled my mouth with his first hot load in quite some time.
It was a good thing I always brought plenty of fresh panties on my volunteer day at the hospital.
I licked Mr. Gonzalez clean, then chided him gently about being a scamp.
"Did you like that, Honey?" he asked.
Unlike a girl, a sissy gives obvious, liquid testimony to her pleasure, so he knew I was telling the truth when I kissed him and said, "Oh, yes. You're a very good lover. Would you like to meet some of my friends when you get out of the hospital?"
Suddenly, the man had something to live for. Lots to live for. And a huge boost to his self-confidence. I would hook him up with some of my network of sissy friends, who would be glad to do a good turn for Mr. Gonzalez (and for themselves. I suspected he was quite a good lover when healthy.)
Mr. Gonzalez knew my panties were a big, cummy mess, so he offered to lick me clean before I left. How could I refuse?
He was a very enthusiastic clitty-licker and had me near cumming again when I insisted he stop. "I have three more calls today, Mr. Gonzalez. You don't want to be selfish, do you?"
He was certainly considering jumping up, rolling his bed against the door as a barricade, then holding me captive and fucking me until a team with blowtorches cut through the door. But his sense of fair play won out.
I kissed Mr. Gonzalez goodbye and moved onto Mr. Zimmerman's room. Mr. Zimmerman had had a difficult surgery three weeks earlier. Two Wednesdays earlier, I had only been able to give him kisses and a gentle handjob. One week earlier, I had cheered him up so much that I gave him a nutbuster blowjob, followed by him returning the favor very nicely. I was surprised he was still in the hospital that day and, honestly, it appeared that the 56-year-old man was about as sick as your average 30-year-old.
I smiled when I saw him and said, "Mr. Zimmerman, you big faker. You're not sick any more. What are you still doing here?"
He smiled and said, "You have to ask? I'm here because I knew you would be here today. They tried to discharge me two days ago, but I told a few fibs and stretched it out to discharge tomorrow. You're the best medicine I could have ever had."
I blushed. It wasn't the first time that I, or my Sissy Striper sisters, had heard that we had played a major role in a man's recovery. We make them feel potent and virile again. Women could make men feel that way too. If they wanted.
Mr. Zimmerman looked at me with predator eyes. Did he want to…………..? Oh, Mr. Zimmerman!!!
The naughty man fucked me! I don't usually do that in the hospital, with patients, anyway. But he was so manly and forceful. He had me on my back with his tongue up my bottom. Then he was on top of me pushing his big, hard thing in and out of me. Kissing me. It was very nice. And he was having the time of his life. He pumped a big, squishy load into me, then had me lick his cock clean. I hadn't cum yet, but he took care of that by sucking my balls and licking my knob until I split my guts.
Mr. Zimmerman walked out of that hospital the next day ready for whatever life threw at him.
Going between rooms, I often got some stares from nurses and docs. What were they thinking? Did they think I was a cheap little slut? I saw myself as a therapist, doing good where it was really needed.
Between Mr. Zimmerman's room and Mr. Osborn's room, I ran into Doctor Tom, my date of the previous evening. He was so sweet and so handsome and he had arranged his break just so he could see me and the first thing you knew we were in a supply closet together. I was sitting on a small table with my legs up high and Tom's cock was plowing my butt. It was kind of silly for us to go into the closet. Everyone knew what we were doing in there, especially since I'm a very loud receiver of male cocks. I squeal and scream and beg for more. Tom really enjoys that. He's so sweet. I made a date for the following Tuesday with him as his cum was dribbling out of my sore bottom.
After I took care of Mr. Osborn (foot job with my stockinged toesies all soaked with his goo) and Mr. Stein (hot 69), I was pretty tired and ready for my Wednesday night break.
I never date on Wednesdays. It's my rule to take a small break. I get my bottom pounded on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays and give Celeste a preview of heaven on Saturdays and Sundays, but Wednesdays are for Denise.
That Wednesday, like most, I nuked a Lean Cuisine, took a long, hot bath, got into flannel jimmies, applied a mudpack facial, and got into bed.
I put a weepy, chick flick into the VCR and set air-popped corn and a big box of Kleenex by my side.
The night passed without sexual incident as I charged my batteries for six more nights of love.
Chapter Five – Thursday
Thursday broke for me the way it always did. I was well-rested, my strategic cum reserves were replenished, and I was horny enough to spread my legs for the first man I saw.
That would not be for a while though, because Thursday was clean-up day in my wonderful life. Cleaning could be a trial, but it was necessary. I faced a grueling day of supervising my weekly cleaning team, then cleaning up my private room all by myself. Well, the sheets anyway. There were lots of cummy sheets to wash. Then I would have to take care of some "tidiness" duties outside the home.
By 9 a.m., I was in my pedal-pushers and mannish blouse. My hair was in a scarf and I looked ready for housework. Actually, I had three people doing the housework, but I always felt better dressed as if I were ready to assist them. I had read the newspaper, eaten my bowl of Special K with skim milk, and was about to finish my black coffee when the phone rang.
Caller ID said it was the Ritzmore Hotel in Los Angeles.
Celeste! My darling wife! I was so excited that I developed a very nice stiffie in the time it took to answer the phone in my most masculine voice. "Hi, Baby!!!! I miss you so much." It was true. I love Celeste very much and miss her when she's gone. Not so much that I would want her around a lot, spoiling my girl time. But I missed her. It sounds complicated, but it was all settled in my mind.
Celeste was so sweet. "How's my sweet, sweet loverboy?"
My cock was throbbing thinking of the fantastic weekend I knew Celeste and I would have. We're so much in love. And definitely in lust.
Celeste had a morning meeting (it was only 6 a.m. there) and she was really busy, but she wanted to make sure I was OK and still loved her. Well, of course I did. More than ever, I told her.
We made kissies over the phone and I foreshadowed some of the carnal delights that awaited Celeste when she returned home around 9:30 on Saturday morning.
That made Celeste giggle like a schoolgirl and we said goodbye reluctantly and affectionately.
Celeste never asks any probing questions about how I spend my time and she never returns home unexpectedly. All in all, she's a very sensible woman.
An orgasmic abstinence approaching 20 hours in duration and a naughty conversation with my wife were having their effect on my throbbing clitty. I hated to spill my goo when there was no one around to appreciate it, so I got myself dressed properly for the rest of Thursday, saw the cleaning crew off, and drove to the Stickler Mansion for my day's amusements.
I parked in the service lot and got out of my Mercedes. One black, five-inch-stiletto-heeled-pump foot at a time. My outfit's skirts were so short that my black stocking tops, garters and even an inch or two of creamy, bare thigh were evident.
Wiggling into the house through the servant's entrance, I greeted Watson, the butler respectfully. "Good day, Mr. Watson."
Watson liked me, but he knew that firmness was the best policy with the staff he managed for Old Man Stickler. "I don't believe your French maid dress is short enough yet, Denise. Didn't we discuss that last Thursday?"
Oh, my. He was right. Stickler liked to see my whole pink bag hanging below my skirts. How could I have forgotten? It was only a matter of ¾ of an inch, but detail is important.
I apologized profusely to Watson, promised to make amends, then hit my knees to try to win back his favor. Not surprisingly, when I took out Watson's big boy and balls and gave his knob a proper polishing, his reprimand softened as his cock hardened. After a LONG abstinence, it felt good to have a man's throbbing thing in my mouth again and I swallowed his gooey discharge with relish.
Recovering his dignity a bit, Watson said, "Thank you, Denise. Let's complete your inspection and then you can attend to your duties."
I liked Watson's inspection. He said that a household couldn't be too secure these days and he needed to do a body cavity search on me. Any time a good-looking, nice man like Watson wants to check out my body cavities, I'm ready. That day, I was extra ready and, after he removed my panties and checked out my favorite body cavity with three tickly fingers, I squealed and lessened the load in what had been a too-full bag of sissy juices.
Watson checked my panties at the door (none were allowed in the mansion), and I grabbed my feather duster and began my "work."
No one seemed to be around, though I knew someone was…watching me. That was part of the fun. I was doing actual dusting - not difficult work and it required me to lean over a lot, exposing my heart-shaped bottom and my pink package to the silent watcher. Dutifully, I sissied here and there in my naughty outfit, with my dangling, swaying peanuts and a stiff sissypole.
Rodney Stickler was the one who was watching. He knew the game and played it very well.
Rodney let me dust for about 30 minutes before he made his grand entrance. I often wondered why he took so long. Sometimes I thought he was savoring the moment, but mostly I think it was the cheap son of a gun getting some free labor out of me.
Off course it wasn't really "free." I had a drawer-full of pretty, very expensive baubles that a grateful Rodney had bestowed on me over the years.
Anyway, when he felt the moment was right, Rodney stormed into the room. "What's the meaning of this?" he demanded loudly. "How dare you despoil my home with that outlandish, indecent display? Where are your undergarments, young lady?"
Sometimes Rodney acts so nasty when he goes after me that I'm actually afraid. That adds a lot to the experience. That day, he was so blustery and looked so darned mean that I felt a twinge of apprehension in my gut.
Rodney is in his late 50s. He's widowed, filthy rich (self-made, thank goodness. Those silver-spoon men are a pain) and adores me. I met him through a mutual friend three years earlier and we've missed few Thursdays since then. Rodney is also very good looking and manly.
I shuddered when I thought about the delights that awaited me the rest of that day.
First, though, I would have to answer the question of the missing panties. I began to sniffle and a few, actual, hot tears streamed down my face. "Oh, sir! I'm so sorry. I was in a hurry this morning and I forgot my panties. I would have gone back, but I didn't want to be late for work."
"Hah!!" Rodney trumpeted. "You're a liar as well as a little tramp. You deliberately left those panties home because you're a little gold digger. You wanted to tease me and get me into your bed, get you pregnant and then pay millions to keep you and your brat in luxury!"
I protested my innocence. Crying, begging. On my knees to keep my job. "Please forgive me sir!!!! I need this job, please!!! I'll do anything."
"Anything, eh?" my very own Snidely Whiplash said.
I was already on my knees. His big Johnson was already stiff. Too easy, though.
"Stand up, girl," he said. "What's your name?"
<Sniffle> "Denise, sir."
"Well, you're a pretty one. [It was true.] Follow me."
I did so. Usually he began by turning me onto my stomach on the floor, mounting me with his full weight, and sticking his big thing into my bottom, using me, thrusting again and again until he blew the first of many Thursday loads into me. Then he would usually take me to his bedroom, alternately spanking and fucking me until we both passed out. But there were lots of variations.
It appeared that that day was to begin in the "staff punishment room."
Now I was scared. I had only been in there two or three times. It had always been fun, but I was always afraid that Rodney would lose control, ignore my safe word and hurt me. Intellectually, I knew that was only infinitesimally possible. Emotionally, I was not so sure. Either way, it was horribly exciting.
The staff punishment room was dank and dark, with lots of whips and crops and thick dildos on the wall. There were also various restraints in evidence. In short, everything you need for a really fun Saturday night.
Rodney saw that I was trembling and savored the moment. I "knew" Rodney would never put marks on me either. He knew that Celeste spent a lot of time exploring my body and would not be amused by whip marks.
Still, the thought was very exciting.
Rodney seemed genuinely angry at my failure to wear panties and general sluttiness. He led me to a set of manacles that enclosed my wrists, then stretched me vertically. I wasn't off my high-heeled feet, actually, but within a quarter-inch of being so.
I was helpless. I could have kicked an attacker. Or bitten him if he got too close. But those capabilities were removed when I was shackled at the ankles, then gagged with a red ball.
Oh.
Rodney began my "punishment" by brandishing a large, sharp pair of scissors. He cut my maid's outfit off my body, leaving me in my stockings, heels, garter belt and bra.
I was totally exposed and completely helpless. And my cock could have cut diamonds. It was leaking and dripping goo like a washer-challenged faucet.
Rodney was very pleased.
The naughty man took his time. When he went behind me, I strained to see what he was doing, but was bound too tight. Then I felt……….oooohhhhh.
Something was entering my (thank goodness) thoroughly pre-lubed bottom. It was round and went past the sphincter with a little "pop." Then he inserted another one. And another. I knew what it was. Several one-and-a-quarter-inch diameter beads on a long string. He inserted eight of them, slowly and carefully. My bowels were full and I felt as if I had to go big poopies. I was speculating about how those thick balls would feel on the way out. Would he pull them out one at a time? Or <gasp> all at once? Would he do it gently? Or wickedly fast? The fact that I had no control over the whole matter had my twitching popsy completely "on the verge."
So there I was, stretched and defenseless. A string trailing from my bottom, the puller of which could put me into several varieties of a tizzy. Mmmmmmmmm.
Rodney began lecturing me on punctuality and chasteness, all the while circling my bound body. Then he carefully and slowly unhooked my bra, exposing my erect nipples to his manly mastery.
Rodney had had enough chitchat and began to slowly lick and suck my exposed left nipple. The agony was exquisite. I wiggled my body to move away from his lips, then toward them, but both moves were futile. My body belonged to Rodney.
Just as I was grunting in pre-orgasmic distress, the horrible man stopped his assault and left the room. For 15 agonizing minutes, I tried to will myself to cum. I needed to let it go very badly, but Rodney had gotten me to the cliff's edge, then backed me off. If I could have rubbed my cockhead against a tree trunk I could have spurted. But all I had were air and frustration.
Then he came back. He laughed when I whimpered through my gag. He knew exactly what he was doing and was very good at it.
He began to kiss and lick my right nipple, slowly at first, then with increasing activity. I threw my head back in lustful appreciation, then shivered as the first warning signs of a magnificent spermstorm reached me. It was going to be fantastic, one for the scrapbook, it……….
The no-good jerk! He stopped again, chuckled evilly, and left me again, that time for 20 minutes. I cursed Rodney Stickler's name, his dog, his ancestors and everyone, except me, who had ever given that devil's spawn succor.
Then he returned. And made me very, very happy.
Rodney was naked at last and his very nice body and excellent cock were a visual treat, especially to a sissy in my distressed condition. I was pretty sure that the third time would be the charm and he was going to let me cum on that go-round. He had better, I said to myself, or Rodney had better start volunteering at the circulation desk of our local library on Thursdays. No more pussy from me. Hmmmppphhh.
The lad did not disappoint me. He got on his knees and took in my whole, overwrought, seven inches into his mouth and throat. I can't do that and don't want to learn. But it sure feels good when Rodney does it. Rodney cupped my sore, needy balls with his right hand as he sucked my popsy to perfection. He wasn't going to disappoint me that time, I was sure. Rodney adored a "dinner portion" of my cum, especially an early one like that load – not like the watery dribbles of number 12 or 13 orgasm <giggle>.
I was moaning through my gag, Rodney knew I was going to explode, yet he kept sucking. He was forgiven. Oh, I knew that the impending cum was going to be nuclear. I began to gasp and grunt behind my gag. Rodney sucked deliciously. I squealed as loudly as a gagged sissy can. It was going to spurt…..nooooo…..my ass was too stuffed with beads…..the cum would back up and burst me!!!!!!
Then the bad boy began to pull the big beads from my tender butt. One every three seconds or so. Throughout a stroke-like orgasm that had me weeping with joy. Each bead popping my sphincter felt like a carnal gunshot through my libido.
When the last bead exited my sensitive domain and the last, creamy drop of sissy cream drooled down the side of my cock and onto my drained bag, Rodney began to release me. He undid my manacles, then my foot shackles. He took off my gag.
I gazed at him lovingly, with complete gratitude for an excruciatingly intense experience in lust, submission and ball-draining.
I fell into his arms and covered him with kisses. But Thursday was far from over.
Rodney returned my kisses, rubbing his stiff cock against my temporarily defeated one. He was going to fuck me. Despite my exhaustion, I wanted that very badly. I loved being dominated by a loving man and Rodney knew where all my buttons were.
There was a nasty-looking, cum-stained, bare cot mattress in the punishment room and before I had much time to consider who had been there before me (and what had happened there), I was on my back, one stockinged-and-heeled leg in the air, the other over Rodney's shoulder. Rodney had his tongue down my throat and his big cock up my ass.
Life was good.
Chapter Six – Friday
Whew. I don't like to stay over at Rodney's, so I managed to extricate myself and drive home by about one a.m. A lot happened in those 12 hours – naughty things. You probably don't want to know the details, but I'll summarize – my cum (several quarts, it seemed), Rodney's cum (less than mine, since he made me cum a dozen times to his four), Watson's cum (it gives Rodney a break, he likes Watson, and Rodney likes to watch), promises of future cum (Rodney said that soon enough, he was going to tie me up and bring in a construction crew to have their way with me. He wouldn't, would he? <Shudder>)
Anyway, I took a long, cleansing shower, threw on some sweats, drove home, got between the sheets at two and slept until almost eleven. Too late! Fridays are busy doing the last of Celeste's things, then straightening up and such so that Celeste doesn't get any nasty surprises.
Plus, I have a very nice, standing date on Friday night.
My father-in-law, Vernon.
I hope you're not thinking that's evil or anything. I didn't intend to start dating Vernon. It just happened. I know you've heard that before – "Your honor, I didn't mean to take my rifle up that tower and shoot all those people. It just happened." But in my case, it's true. Mostly. I mean, it just happened to me. Vernon was the instigator.
Vernon is a very rich, powerful, handsome man of about sixty years. Widowed long before I met Celeste, Vernon dated several women, but knew something was missing. Until he met me.
When Celeste and I were dating, it was pretty clear to me that Celeste was a Daddy's girl. She talked about him all the time and was very sweet and attentive to him.
It surprised me a bit when Vernon met me and was sweet and attentive to me. Most fathers, especially the rich ones, who are close to their daughters, would have seen ten-year-younger-and-apparently-penniless me as a gigolo or a gold digger.
Vernon was a lot smarter than that. He saw me as I really was and he wanted his cock in my ass.
Celeste saw Vernon's obvious affection for me as a deal-clincher for our marriage. I saw Vernon's affection for me as something very welcome, if we could pull it off with no one getting hurt.
So far, that's what we've done.
Two weeks after our honeymoon, Celeste began her business-trip routine that makes my life as wonderful as it is. I wasn't sure how to use my time alone until, an hour after Celeste left, a deliveryman brought a single red rose and a black babydoll nightie in my size. The card said, "I'll be over at noon. Love, Vernon."
Vernon is a man who knows what he wants and doesn't mess around.
I was so nervous at noon that first day with Vernon, but I went ahead and dressed as he "suggested." There was no need to fear. He treats me as his woman, with utmost respect, and gives me the best fucking any man could ever give me. Vernon was also the person who suggested I diversify my weekly activities, but I had to save Fridays for him.
I couldn't imagine a Friday without Vernon's hard body on top of me, filling me with his love and kisses. And his manly seed
That Friday, Vernon took me to dinner and dancing. He loves to show me off. Then, as he always does, he brought me home and taught me how a man's cock can make a sissy deliriously happy.
Chapter Seven – Saturday
On Saturday mornings, I set up eight alarm clocks, set at five-minute intervals beginning at five a.m. The last thing I need is for Celeste to come home and catch me with her Daddy's cock in my bottom. That would strain our relationship.
Vernon is so bad. He knows that being caught by Celeste is my biggest nightmare. And being caught by Celeste as I'm naked with Vernon takes my nightmare into the bonus round. I used to ask him to switch to say, Wednesday night, but he always refuses. I think he enjoys the extra naughtiness of it all.
That morning, I awoke ten minutes before the first alarm went off. It wasn't a sixth-sense thing that woke me up. It was Vernon's tongue eating out my pussy. He had me on my tummy with my lavender babydoll up to my waist, cheeks spread and grunting out his name. The man could eat a sissy pussy.
His tongue was like a roto-rooter in there as he rearranged my bowels. I had cum maybe seven times the previous night and I TOLD him there would be NO pussy for him in the morning because I didn't want Celeste thinking that I had been throwing my goo around when she was gone.
He and I both knew that Celeste had figured out long ago the general nature of what was happening in her absence. But she was clearly fine with it. Happy, in fact. As long as she didn't know any details or see any evidence.
Vernon said that if he cleaned out my pink, wrinkly bag by 6 a.m., I would be filled and ready to thrill when Celeste got home at 9:30 for the first of her many fuckings that weekend. He was probably right. And what choice did I have? I certainly wasn't going to tell the world's best analinguist to go home and leave me alone.
The bad man made me cum hard with his tongue, then he immediately mounted me and shoved his hard cock in with one hard thrust. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!!!. That was very nice. Vernon fucked me for forty minutes, through eight alarms, none of which I was able to turn off. When Vernon deposited his big load into his favorite sperm bank, he called it an "eight-alarm fuck."
He's so naughty! <giggle>
Even I have limits, though. I insisted that he leave and after some nice kissing and one last sloppy blowjob that I gave him impetuously because he looked so horny, he left.
Ooooohhh. Seven a.m. and lots to do. I cleaned up my private room, stuffing all the cummy-sheet evidence in the washing machine. Then I butched up.
Going back to guyness takes me fifteen minutes, versus the three or four hours I spend going the other way. I washed thoroughly, put my hair into a ponytail, put on boxers, a t-shirt, gray socks, penny loafers, khakis, and a polo shirt. Voila!
I made one last check to make sure I had no perfume smell or a stray earring on me or on the floor. Then I sat down to wait for Celeste. It was only 8:30. Rats. Vernon could have shagged me two more times. But then I wouldn't have the male yummies for my Celeste. It was better to have a safe margin.
At precisely 9:30, my darling's limo pulled up. I hurried out to meet her, walking manfully, and took her into my arms. We never saw the driver leave, because we were in a deep clinch, kissing hungrily. My cock was sore and needy for my sweet wife.
We went inside, got naked and onto the bed. I put my baby on her back, kissed her, then ate her pussy until she came twice. Then I got on top of her and fucked her hard until she came twice more. After I dumped my load into sweet Celeste, she kissed me with adoration and said, "Let me go fix you some breakfast, Robbie, my Darling."
I smiled and rolled off her. It was good that Celeste knew how a wife should serve her husband.
She was the perfect wife.
THE END
Please let me know what you think at gingerfred99@yahoo.com
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