Good Riddance

by Gingerfred Man

 

Chapter One - Ambiguity

I was always conflicted about my gender. I mean I knew almost everyone in the world saw me as a male, despite my bob of blond hair, doe-like eyes and long lashes. But I didn't.

I saw myself as a female.

A female with a little cock and some pretty little testicles. At least they were pink and mostly smooth.

So it was me against the world.

Most of the world, anyway. The mirror was undecided.

Naked, with one hand covering my "parts" and the other arm covering my nipples, the mirror said it could go either way. Especially since, at almost 19, I had passed the part of my life where many "girls" like me had lost "it." By 19, many would-be girls have heavy beards, hairy bodies [Ick], manly muscles and deep voices. Not me, on all three counts.

I was ambiguous, not to mention androgynous.

My whole life seemed like a Fred Astaire - Ginger Rogers dance. Part of me was "Fred" and part of me was "Ginger."

Well, a really, really large part of me was "Ginger." But that pesky "Fred" was always lurking in the background.

Not that I was "bi-sexual" or anything silly like that. And I most certainly wasn't one of those gay "pantyboy" characters! I liked girls. But I also liked being a girl.

After all, sometimes a "man's" gotta do what a man's gotta do - even if it's becoming a woman.

That made perfect sense to me. But it didn't seem to make sense to anyone else.

My parents named me Anthony. Anthony Della Femina. Most people called me Tony. I have great parents. Loving and supportive. When this all the stuff in this story started, I hadn't found the limits of that support. I was about to see just where those love boundaries were.

I mean how many parents would you think would help a son with his own, voluntary emasculation? I don't mean surgical emasculation! Ick! I'm talking about ridding myself of all my masculine feelings and traits. Willingly and eagerly. And permanently.

Some people are able to do that on their own. I needed help. And I got it. From the professionals at Emasculation Station. You've seen their ads on television. The beautiful, feminine, transgendered babe who chases off her masculine demons. That's the glamorous side of it all. The real process is hard work. Very hard. With large dollops of humiliation. But [blush] fun too.

I guess, like most of you girls, I knew early on that I was different in lots of ways. Though quite ordinary for a part-time, hide-in-shame, deep-in-the-closet crossdresser. "Borrowing" panties from my two older sisters and Mom. Being almost caught dozens of times.

Where I guess I differ from many of you is that I was never caught. Or even suspected. One reason, I guess is that I didn't do "nasty things" in the panties I borrowed. I was too scared or naïve or something. In fact, I didn't ever wank my willie as a child. Didn't have an orgasm until I was in college. Which is a story in itself.

In high school, I hung out with the audio-visual-club and chess-club crowds. If they had a competitive femininity team like many high schools do today, I'd like to think I would have been one of their star athletes.

Probably not, though. I was very conflicted. And in the far reaches of the closet - where even moth balls feared to tread.

In my dreams, my real dreams, I was a full-time woman. Lovely and sexy. With an extensive wardrobe of the girliest, sissiest things. Big heels and sheer stockings every day. Lots of makeup and powder and perfume. Pretty jewelry given to me by admirers.

Another issue - in my dreams, I couldn't get it straight who the admirers were - men or women. They were all just androgynous admirers.

Did I mention that I really, really liked admirers, androgynous or otherwise?

These days, of course, I know that I wanted the admirers to be handsome men. But my pesky little masculinity wouldn't even allow me the clarity of my dream. It also wouldn't let me suffer the inevitable indignities and conflicts that a true transformation would require.

So, get rid of the masculinity and the dreams come true, right?

Intellectually, I understood that perfectly.

Emotionally, it terrified me.

What would everyone think? How would they treat me when - if ever - I "crossed the river?" What would my new life be like? Would I lose all my friends and all chances for employment? Would I be cast adrift on a raft with three days rations and a cyanide tablet?

What about the sense of loss I would feel when the masculine traits I had had all my life were gone forever? Myra Breckenridge sang, "I'll Be Seeing You" when they cut off her boy things during her sexual reassignment surgery. Could I be so cavalier about mere personality traits?

Not until I met Abby.

 

 

Chapter Two - College Days

I arrived at college an 18-year-old virgin, which was fine with me.

I didn't know which side of the plate I was hitting from, so I didn't even dare grab a bat. And did I want to bat anyway? Catching always seemed much more interesting.

I stuck to studying and playing Dungeons and Dragons with my fellow socially-challenged student-nerds.

By a happy coincidence, early in my freshman year, something wonderful happened in my college town.

A Panty Pride opened.

You may have heard of Panty Pride. Founded by the great Miss Barbara, Panty Pride is a sanctuary for pantyists the world over.

It's a place where we pantyists can wear our panties openly, for our own enjoyment and for the visual enjoyment of our fellow pantyists.

It's a place that saved my sanity, since at college and living in the dormitory, I never had the privacy I needed to wear my pretties and satisfy my burning needs. Of course, had I been properly emasculated at the time, that would not have been a problem. I would have "just done it," no matter what anyone thought

See what I mean about masculinity being troubling?

Of course it took me about six months to muster up the gumption to attend a Panty Pride meeting. It was in March of my freshman year that, blushing fiercely as I clutched my carefully sequestered frilly white panties, matching garter belt, lace stockings and heels, I gathered the courage to sign up for a trial membership.

Standing there in the lobby I was very nervous when I filled out the forms the big, hunky security guard gave me. Publicly, sort of, acknowledging my passion for the first time.

The guard was awfully nice, which put me at ease a bit, but then I had a terrible thought - was he flirting with me?

Was I flirting with him? Well, he was kinda cute...

Oh no, I didn't want "that." After all, I was so not "that way."

My anxieties began their usual full-scale assault and I probably would have left right then had I not heard, "Hi, you're new here. Welcome. My name is Gerald, but at Panty Pride I go by Abby."

I turned to see a young man about my age. He had the sweetest face - not handsome, more like "cute." And the friendliest smile.

His ease was contagious. I smiled back and said, "My name's Tony. I don't really have a girl name. I'm really nervous about this."

Gerald, I mean Abby, was terrific. "Everyone is like that at the beginning, Tony. Stick with me tonight and I'll show you how things work. Are you a student at the university?"

I nodded shyly. Didn't want to disclose too much about my identity to a stranger.

Abby said, "I'm not probing, Tony. Just being friendly. I'm a student there too. A sophomore. I'm 19 and I've been coming to Panty Pride since they opened in September. This is a very nice chapter and it has something for everyone. Let me show you the locker rooms."

I relaxed a bit as Abby led me into a very nice room with benches and about 100 lockers. There were maybe 20 men in there - of all ages, but mostly college boys like us. They were all undressing, then putting on girlish things.

"No need to be shy in this bunch, Tony," Abby said as he quickly removed his male outer garments. Oh my. He was wearing a sheer pretty pink camisole with the cutest possible lace trim and matching sheer stockings, lace garter belt and panties. He looked even better when he slipped into pink satin five-inch stiletto heels that made his legs look like a runway model's. Pretty in pink taken to the brink!

Darn, why didn't I bring a cami? I even had a cute, matching one in my "stash." The garter belt and heels had been a stretch when I packed, but now I felt, well, "under-dressed."

I blushed when he noticed that I was staring at him.

"That's OK, Honey," he said. "We come here so we can dress, but also so we can see each other. What do you think?"

I thought a lot. First, why did he call me "honey?" I guessed that was all right, since we were playing at being girls. That settled, I said, "You look wonderful. Do you wear those things all the time under your boy clothes"

"Thanks," he said with a killer girlie smile. "I do wear my 'pretties' all the time. Couldn't imagine being without them. I have my own apartment off campus, away from the 'nosies.' If I could get completely rid of the rest of my masculinity, I'd wear femmy things all over - all the time - pretty short dresses, big heels, styled hair, jewelry, earrings, proper make-up. I just need to get over a few more hurdles."

Wow. Abby was pretty far across the "Unknown Sea" and didn't show any signs of trimming his sails. Did he really intend to keep sailing? What if there were dragons or he sailed off the edge of the world?

He snapped me out of it a bit by saying, "I'm going to put my make-up on now. Maybe you'll want to get dressed."

Oh. Yes. Dressed. In the panties and stockings I brought. That would involve stripping nude in front of all those men. And Abby.

What makes the Hottentots so hot? What puts the ape in apricot? Courage.

I sighed deeply and began to undress. Sheepishly looking to see if anyone was looking at me. They weren't. Everyone was either chatting or giving their attention to their own finery.

That was a little disappointing.

Abby had gone over to a row of well-lighted large mirrors behind a long table on the far wall of the locker room. He was sitting and applying lipstick and eye makeup, with his back to me.

I removed my trousers. My willie was stiff and had even wormed its way out of the flap of my boxers.

I stood naked pondering one of The Panty Life's truly basic questions. How was I going to get my frilly silk panties on over a stiff peenie?

"I see your problem, Tony," Abby said. He startled me. "That's a very pretty pink package you have, Honey. You have four options. Try to stuff ten pounds of boy-joy into five pounds of panties. Slip your pretties on and leave Little Miss Tickles' head sticking out, which is against house rules by the way. Deflate your peener unpleasantly - a good snap of the fingers on the head ought to do it [I winced at the thought]. Or, and this is what I recommend, deflate it pleasantly."

I looked at Abby. Did he mean…? I couldn't. Not in that place. I hadn't even done that in private. Wait. Was Abby offering to…?

I couldn't!!!!!!

Abby saw the terror on my face and just smiled sweetly. Leaving things up to me.

Despite my panic, I couldn't help admiring the results of Abby's recent cosmetology. Very nice! Very, very nice! He looked like a pretty girl. A very pretty girl. From the neck up at least. And from the neck down if you ignored his lack of breasts and the big tentpole in his panties.

In fact, though my eyes were downcast with fear and shame, little stolen glances around the room told me that every pantyist there was stiff and drippy.

Being in panties is VERY exciting to a pantyist. Especially when other pantyists are sneaking peeks.

Abby saw that I was torn and he gave me a graceful exit. "How about if you just sit there and I'll help you do your make-up. If you concentrate on something else, your willie will wilt. OK?"

I nodded. But the makeup thing was a problem. "I don't have any makeup, Abby," I said. "I've never used it…but I'd like to."

Abby looked at me as if he had just met the Forrest Gump of pantyboys. But he had real class and grace. I wasn't sure about the box of chocolates though.

"Sure, Honey," he said. "Our coloring is close. Let me just use some of my stuff here. Maybe some foundation and blush. And lip gloss, of course. And maybe a little eyeliner and shadow."

That was a lot. I sat there with my panties at my knees and my willie erect as Abby gave me my first makeup lesson. Watching him work and paying attention to the details made my pole sag enough that I could, with a struggle, "cage the beast" within the little white [virginal?] bikinis I had brought for my "debut."

Of course, when I saw the results of what Abby had done, I was tenting the dainties yet again. Thank goodness they had a full cut in front and were only gathered at my sides with cute satin bows

I looked good.

Really good.

Equal to Abby good. And he admitted as much.

"You have great potential, Tony," he said. "But the Dark Side (the masculine Force) is strong within you. We must vanquish it!"

"Thank you, Miss Yoda," I said. And I heard Abby laugh for the first time. It was an excellent sound. I wanted to hear it again and again.

"Get your stockings and heels on. We'll go in and I'll introduce you to everyone I know. And don't worry about being stiff and drippy. Everyone will be when they see you, you little fox."

Abby thought I was a "little fox?" Wow.

I liked Abby.

As we neared the door, Abby said, "Oh, and keep your panties on. It's a rule violation and a week suspension if you take them off until after the program."

I stammered, "But why would I take my panties off, Abby? I came here to wear panties, not take them off."

Looking back on it, I was a nitwit.

But Abby was very patient. "After the Panty Pledge and a short program, usually involving 'testimony,' anyone who wants to remove his panties, exposing all his naughty bits, is free to do so. And anyone wishing to fondle, caress, kiss or otherwise honor anyone else's pink bits is free to do so, if the fondlee gives permission, of course. I see you're shocked. Don't be. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You can leave if you wish. Or just sit over in a corner with all the couches. The club calls it the 'No-Fly Zone' and no one will bother you."

Scarier and scarier. It was a good thing I had Abby with me. I would have been a mess when the panties came off! But then my panties were rapidly becoming a mess. The tug of my garter belt's suspenders and clicking of my white four-inch satin pumps was driving me batty.

We entered the room and the most interesting thing about the scene was its banality. OK, not totally banal. Sure, there were guys in all sorts of female lingerie with not a limp cock or stiff wrist in the lot, but everyone was acting as if they were at a cocktail party. Just standing around with a drink munching on petit canapés. Talking to friends. Some were watching a baseball game on a big-screen TV that displayed the buns on the players to perfection.

Still, when Abby and I walked by a small group of guys, I heard a wolf- whistle. Was that for me? Oh please no!

Oh, please yes.

I turned to see where it came from. It was a nice-looking man in his early-40s. He was wearing a pink negligee, with matching panties, garters, stockings and four-inch-stiletto pumps.

"Who's your friend, Abby?" the man asked.

"Tony, let me introduce you to Denise, one of the randiest members of any Panty Pride anywhere in the world. Of course he's all bark and no bite. Though I did try not to get close enough to feel his teeth."

Denise laughed. It was obviously a sketch they had acted out before. "Pleased to meet you, Tony. Is that with a 'Y' or an 'I?'"

"A 'Y,'" I offered quickly, then realized that I was already an oddity, since I didn't have a girl name.

"Either way, it's a pretty name for a pretty girl. It's good to see that Abby is finally hanging out with a better class of people."

What did he mean? Was Abby in a rough crowd? Then I realized. Denise was kidding.

Yes. I was thick.

Abby moved me here and there, introducing me to Kelly, Maria, Ginnie, Marilyn and a whole bunch of other pantyists. They were all very friendly and nice. And every single one of them flirted with me.

Was I that attractive? Or were they that randy?

After a very nice hour of meet and greet, a bell sounded and the program began. Denise, who was the "hostess" for the evening led us in the Panty Pledge.

"I am a panty enthusiast! I love the constant caress of silky teasers on my girlish testicles. I love to rub my stockinged thighs together as my pretty penis shoots its sissy cream all over me and my companion of choice! I may be a 'girls-only' manly sissyboy, a 'male lesbian' who favors the pleasures of my fellow pantyists, or a cock-sucking little slut, who adores men and welcomes their big pricks into my tiny pussy. But whatever I am, I am who I am - without shame or guilt - and without judging my fellow pantyists. I am pantied and proud!"

Everyone except me knew it by heart. And they all recited it enthusiastically. It was a little too sexual for my taste. After all, it wasn't as if I was gay or even bi. But I liked the parts about pride and not being judgmental.

After the pledge, Kelly, a 30-something, married pantyist gave testimony. He said he cherishes his evenings at Panty Pride. His wife does volunteer work on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so he can only show up then, since he's deeply closeted. "But here, among you, my sisters, I am free."

It was all very sweet and nice and everyone was congratulating Kelly on a good talk. I was having a really nice time.

But then the evening changed. About 15 of the 50 pantyists in the room moved to the corner Abby had called the No-Fly Zone. The rest started a mating dance. They began easing their stiff, drippy cocks out of their panties!! Exposing themselves to the lustful stares of other men. Oh my! Oh no! How gay!

I scurried to the No-Fly Zone and hoped the wall of couches around it held off the testosterone-crazed pantyists beyond.

They were all flirting and teasing each other. Some were kissing and even [gasp] stroking each other's cocks! Many were fondling their partner's nipples - even kissing them.

Now that looked interesting. Hum, I'd have to think about that more.

Where was Abby? I certainly didn't see him among the Saved.

Then I spotted him. That little tramp Denise was on his knees. Abby had his panties down to mid-thigh and Denise was sucking Abby's mid-sized cock. Quite well, apparently, if Abby's grunts and moans were any indication of customer satisfaction.

I had chosen a first friend poorly. It appeared Abby was gay. And shamelessly so. Maybe all the nice things he did and said were just gay tricks.

Oh my! Abby's stomach was clenching. Was he…? Abby was cumming! Right into Denise's lipsticked, hungry, obviously-gay mouth. Denise was swallowing it with great relish.

How horrible!

I should have looked away. Should have sped to the locker room, dressed en homme, and fled the Panty Pride facility, never to return.

But I looked. And saw Denise stand on his big heels and Abby, panties still down and cock lewdly drooping and drooling, get onto his stockinged knees in front of Denise.

Was Abby going to…?

More horror!

Denise slid his panties down to expose his stiff cock and pendulous balls. Abby looked at that disgusting package as if it were a tasty treat. He held the shaft in his soft, right hand, then moved his fingers up to Denise's thick foreskin. Abby eased the skin hood back to expose Denise's pink knoblet!

Abby opened his mouth to swallow Denise's popsie pride. But just as he was to commit that terrible act, he locked eyes with me across the room. And waved to me. Involuntarily, I waved back. Why did I do that? And why did I continue to watch as Abby slurped and sucked and licked and kissed Denise's swollen goods.

I didn't want to watch as Abby expertly sucked Denise to a creamy conclusion. But I did. And. I'm ashamed to admit, I was not only disturbed, I was aroused. Stiff and droolingly aroused. I wanted to worry that someone would notice my stiffie and the gayness it implied, but all I could do was watch Denise's pump go into hyperdrive and Abby smack his lips as he swallowed it all.

Then someone behind me said, "Are you all right?"

I spun around, blushing fiercely at having been discovered. And saw a very cute young pantyist in black pretties - panties with little pink bows, silky, seamed stockings with reinforced heels and toes, bra with ruffled pink piping, four-inch patent stiletto pumps, and a pink-with- black-lace-trim garter belt.

The sight of him was not helping my stiff condition.

He saw my discomfort and seemed to understand. "I'm Megan. You're new here. Don't worry. All those 'explorers' won't be able to penetrate our force-field of couches here in the No-Fly Zone. You can't blame them really. There's something awfully exciting about being dressed as we like and seeing others like us. Sometimes I join them over there. Sometimes I just talk to my less adventurous pantied friends over here. But I'm always excited. I see you're excited too. It's OK. Perfectly normal."

Megan was very sweet. And very cute. A freshman at my university, I guessed.

I didn't know what to say so I just looked down shyly.

Megan smiled. "Honey, I think you need relief very badly. If you don't relieve the pressure in those balls you'll be injured. Come on. Let's just step over there and I'll help you."

Was that cute, sweet pantyist offering to masturbate me? Or even that other naughty thing that Denise and Abby were doing?

Time to run again. Feet, don't fail me now!

They did.

All I could do was place my hand in Megan's and follow him into the Wild West outside the No-Fly Zone.

Well he was a major, major cutie. And that sexy black lingerie was "killer" hot.

Megan said, "You just close your eyes, Honey, and relax. I'll stand behind you, reach around, ease your panties down and give you a little relief before you faint, OK"

I whimpered. Megan took that as assent.

I closed my eyes and imagined Megan was a girl and we were on a date together - both of us girls. I gasped when he eased my panty hem up and over my stiffie, then down to mid-thigh. I was terrified to open my eyes and see other pantyists looking at my exposed popsie! No one had seen me in panties at half mast and bare-cocked in my life. Who knew how many gay pantyists were looking?

Megan smelled nice, which made it a lot easier to pretend he was a girl. And he handled my peenie very nicely. Rubbing it with his soft right hand while his left gently caressed my tight silk purse. The way I did sometimes when I was being just a little naughty. Telling me how sweet and pretty and femmie I was. He knew just how to rub the head and… Oh. What was that funny feeling in my stomach? Throughout my entire body? Why did my nipples feel so stiff and odd?

As if on cue, his left hand came up and began to gently roll my hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

I felt a sweet agony and began the sweetest girlish squeal. Then, quite helplessly, I started releasing almost 19 years of girlish cream. In thick gobs as my squeals became lust riddled moans.

It was almost as if it were coming from someone else, not me.

It was wonderful!

But within a minute after the last spurt, I was assaulted by shame and guilt. I was a man, not a sissy faggot pervert! I was a man. I shouldn't be in a place like Panty Pride. Letting some other sissy faggot pervert jerk me off. I could actually feel the shame pressing on my shoulders - not to mention the Megan's prickette pushing on my fanny.

Megan looked at me as if he understood. He may have had good intentions, but he was a sissy faggot pervert, and I had to get away from him and Panty Pride immediately. Without even pulling my panties up or saying good bye, I ran from that pit of gay iniquity to the locker room. .I dressed hurriedly. Cleaning off the cummy mess with tissues. Stuffing my girlie things into my backpack. Mistake. Should have tossed it all right then. Ran past the flirty security guard - did he look disappointed? Well, too bad! Got back to the dorm and went to sleep.

Whew! That was a close call.

Was I ever glad to be away from there!

I was going to go back to the dorm and try to forget about what had just happened. Burn all my girlie things. Live the manly life.

Ever get those feelings, girls?

Well, I had them, and I was acting on them! I was going to be a man forever!

For the next week, I was the manliest guy on campus. Well, one of the manliest. OK, more manly than normal. Then fate stepped in.

Actually, it was Abby.

I was walking across campus and heard my name called. I turned around to see who it was. It was Abby. Only he looked like a Gerald. Which was his boy name.

Even in boy clothes, he made my cock hard. I had been thinking all week about how Abby had sucked Denise's cock. And Megan had tickled mine.

"Tony, I'm glad I ran into you. What happened last week? Why haven't you been back to Panty Pride? Megan and Denise have been asking for you?"

I blushed fiercely. This girlish man knew my dark secret. My former dark secret, now that I was a reformed pantyist. I stammered, "I just…I mean…I don't do that anymore. It was a mistake."

Gerald/Abby looked at me with kind eyes. "We all think that now and then, Tony. But the need never goes away. If we can just be fully emasculated, we won't have that problem any more. I'm doing something about it. And I'd love to talk to you about what I'm doing. Can we talk? Can you come over to my apartment on Friday around seven? I'll get a pizza and I'll tell you what I'm doing. Please come."

The male part of me ("Fred") said "NO!!!!!!!! Danger! Gayness alert!"

But it wasn't the dominant voice in my head. "OK," the feminine part ("Ginger") said.

"Ginger" is such a little slut.

"Fred" can be a real pain.

I was a wreck all week in anticipation of Friday. Would Abby try any funny stuff? Did I want him to try funny stuff?

At seven that day, I knocked on Abby's door. It opened and there Abby was.

He was wearing incredibly feminine things - all pink lingerie: a lacy brassiere; ruffled garter belt; tiny, severely-tented panties that matched the bra; deliciously decadent, sheer white fully-fashioned stockings; and four-inch pink silk stiletto pumps; all covered by a gossamer-thin, pink peignoir with the cutest ruffles imaginable about its openings. His make-up was perfect - his lips were a lush, moist red and looked enormous, as did his black lined and frosted blue-shadowed eyes. He was even wearing a high-end, blonde, curly wig with a pink satin bow at its crown and strands of pearls about his neck, wrists and even one ankle.

I almost came in my boy briefs, which I had worn so that there wouldn't be any funny gay business.

Abby hustled me in, then hugged me warmly. He gave me a sweet kiss on the mouth, then said, "I'm so happy you came. I knew you would. We girls need each other. Did you bring girl clothes? No? No matter. I have things you can wear. You do want to dress tonight, don't you?

"Fred" was screaming, "NO!" "Ginger" won again, "Very much," I admitted.

Abby squealed happily, then took me to his extremely girlie bedroom. Even his room was pretty in pink. He helped me get undressed (no funny business yet) then made my face up to match his. That little slut even painted my nails to match our lip-licking red lipstick.

Watching my wet nails, he then dressed me in the world's prettiest sheer white babydoll nightie with tiny pink-ribbon trim. Its bodice was actually a built-in lacy bra that did wonders for my tiny tingly titties. From the bra the top opened up in front to reveal matching tiny lace panties (tented just like his) and a white ruffled garter belt like Abby's about my slim, girlish waist. Both garter belt and panties had matching pink trim and little bows.

Fully-fashioned stockings like Abby's, high-heeled white satin mules and identical sexy pearly strands to his completed my emasculating ensemble. The strands rolling over my throbbing nipples were heaven on earth.

With a not-so-little spritz of slutty Shalimar perfume "Ginger" had won, at least for the evening.

It seemed odd when we sat in Abby's kitchen, dressed like that, eating pizza with our delicate varnished nails. But Abby said that to be a girl, you have to be girlie in all kinds of situations - even the most banal.

"You should have seen the pizza-delivery man's eyes when he saw me," Abby giggled. "He probably thought it was his lucky day."

I knew that most pizza-delivery men were getting all the sex they could handle, so I didn't feel sorry for him.

Abby didn't take long to get to the point. "I can't do this anymore, Tony. This dual life. I'm going full-time girl, right after the school year ends in three weeks."

Full-time? I was astounded. "What do you mean by full-time, Abby?" I asked.

Abby smiled sweetly. "You're such a sweet, innocent kid. So feminine and, at times painfully naïve. And so inhibited by your masculine side it's a wonder you can get up in the morning. I'm going to put away manly things completely. I'm going to live as a woman. Wear only women's clothes. Change my name. Change my driver's license and birth certificate. Bury Gerald. Date men. Take their big cocks in my backpussy. Marry a man and raise our adopted children. But I can't do it alone.

I stared in horrified astonishment.

How was Abby going to do any, let alone all, of that? It was impossible. It was against nature. It was unmanly. Even gay! And did he expect ME to help? How?

"I see you're skeptical," Abby said. "I don't blame you. Six months ago, I would have lacked the courage to do something like that too. But I've taken the first big step. I've convinced my father to finance my program at Emasculation Station. They guarantee success. And they achieve it 90% of the time."

Skeptical? I was terrified for Abby. What about the other 10%? Finally, I managed to choke out, "You told your father that you're a pantyist? How did he react?" I was absolutely certain that I would never have the courage to tell my Dad that I was a little nancyboy. Did I admire Abby for being honest or pity him?

Abby said, "Not well, at first. But it had to be done. In fact it's step one on the Emasculation Station program. Once I told him my feelings and my plans, he softened a lot. I sat on his lap and cried too. And his love for me took precedence over his disdain for the Panty Life. It always does with a good person. And my Daddy is a good person."

I just sat for a minute and decided. I didn't pity Abby. I admired him. Or "her," now that she was going to get off the fence and fully embrace the Panty Life.

I gave her a big hug and said, "I'm very proud of you, Abby. I wish you all the best."

We hugged and cried a little. Like girls. Then Abby said, "Thanks, Sweetheart. When I reach the other side, I'm coming back for you. That's a promise."

Huh?

What did she mean by that? Was it bye-bye for "Fred"?

But she didn't explain. What she did say was, "My agenda is shaping up and tonight, you're the whole page. Tonight, you're going to take my anal virginity. Tomorrow, I start dating men, beginning with Dr. Sodoma, my English teacher. I dressed as girlie and as pretty as I could because I know you're 'not gay.' But I'll bet you would like to make love to a girl like me, wouldn't you? Especially one that's all sweetly douched for you."

Douched?

"You don't have to suck my cock or do any gayish things. Just kiss me and hug me and put your cute little popsie in my tight, hot pootie. Open it up for all the men it'll welcome for the rest of my life."

Was Abby mentally stable? What kind of plan was…

Oh.

Abby was lying on her bed, on her back. She had the peignoir open, exposing her flat tummy and her pretty pink lingerie. And the pretty party tent in her panties. "Please kiss me," she said.

My male hormones ignited. If fact ALL my hormones went berserk.

My poor peener stood and saluted Abby's feminine allure.

She looked so girlie. She was a girl. And I was a man. Sort of. In a pretty nightie. Wearing makeup. But a man. You go Fred!

And certainly not a gay one. Nope, not me.

A man receiving a carnal invitation. The kind men don't refuse.

I got on top of Abby, lifted my nightie and melted into her soft arms. Inexpertly, but enthusiastically, I kissed her swollen lips. And rubbed my pantied stiffie against Abby's swollen panty pouch. It was heavenly!

Lipstick on lipstick. Girlish fragrance mingled with complementary girlish fragrance.

Gasps. Pants. Little sissyish moans.

Abby let me be the man. Mostly. She eased her own panties down and over her heels, baring her peenie and peanuts to my rubbing woodette.

When we were completely hot and totally bothered, Abby moaned for me to reach into the nightstand drawer for a tube of lubrication. "Put some on your fingers, Darling, and 'prepare' my pussy. Please. I need it!"

Even "naïve little Tony" knew what that meant. I was a little "icked out" by putting my fingers in her pooper, but the payoff promised to be worth it.

Even "Fred" approved. "Ginger" was yet to be heard from.

Oh my. One and then two lubed fingers slid in there quite easily. It was very warm in there. And Abby was clenching my fingers very sluttily. It felt kind of nice in there. Especially when I saw and heard Abby's gasps and little squeals of appreciation from my efforts.

I got my fingers in there nice and deep, twisting and lubing and rubbing sweetly. I discovered a little walnut-sized place in there that seemed awfully sensitive. Abby seemed to tense when I touched it. So I concentrated on tormenting it. Abby squirmed and squealed. Then she tried to speak, but could only grunt and moan. Then she sat up abruptly, cried out, and began to pump thick globs of her girlish juices all over her pretty tummy, garter belt and bra.

That walnut was the key to something. And it was something good.

"Ginger" was quietly taking notes.

When Abby drained her testicles and her breathing returned to normal, she lay back and looked at me. "Very nice, Tony. Now fuck me, please. Pull aside your cute panties and put some of that lube on that naughty little boy-joy and stick it in me. Just ease that pillow under my bottom…that's it…like that. Put that stuff on…lots of it…Good. Now let me just put my stockinged calves on your shoulders, like that."

Abby drew a breath, preparing herself for her deflowering. By me! Of all people. And my well-below-average, foreskinned-but-pink-and-bare- at-the-moment penis.

I was going to fuck a girl! Well, almost a girl. Prettier than most. More feminine than all but a few.

And she was extremely eager to be fucked.

I lined up my stiff stick with Abby's cute little pucker. My fingers got in there just fine. I knew my cockette would slip in.

But it didn't.

Not at first.

Anal sex is a challenge. Especially in the missionary position. With a virgin. Two virgins, actually.

I couldn't line it up just right. Poke…miss. Poke…miss.

Abby saw my difficulty and helped. She grabbed my cockette and gently guided it to the correct position and wriggled perfectly as I eased it in.

In.

I was fucking.

It was wonderful.

My cock knew where it was, even if I wasn't sure. It wanted to spurt within seconds of arrival in heaven.

I resisted.

Unsuccessfully.

In about 20 seconds, I pumped a good quart of cum into Abby's perfect "pussy."

I was humiliated.

Abby was delighted.

But "she" was not only sympathetic. She knew how to fix things.

"Scoot up and feed me your cock, Baby," she said. "I'll get you hard and you can fuck me properly. Without cumming right away. No big deal. Please."

Should I?

Heck, yes.

I straddled Abby's shoulders and fed her my limp, cum-drenched, anally- tainted ticklepole.

Oh. That was nice. My first fuck followed by my first blowjob. It was the best day of my life so far and getting better every minute.

Was this gay?

Who cared!

Abby licked and sucked very nicely - she was quite experienced at cocksucking other pantyists. She did just enough to excite me and stiffen me.

When she sensed I was ready, she said, "Now we'll really do it, my sissyboy stud. Put it back where it belongs."

I got back in place and found the right location all on my own that time. Losing my first load had calmed me down, so that I was able to fuck properly. And kiss Abby's luscious lips and perky little nipples as we groaned and pushed.

I gave my "best girl" 20 minutes in paradise. Proud to say that she came twice to my one big stunner of a ball draining.

And that was just the beginning of a night of the best fun I had ever had.

Until it ended.

Abby and I fell asleep. Fucked out.

We woke up at eight that Saturday morning and fucked again.

I wanted to do that every day of my life.

But no.

"I'll make you breakfast now, Tony, my sissy studmuffin," Abby said. "And then you'll have to go. The next time I see you, I'll be rid of all my masculinity and I'll be able to help you lose yours."

Bummer.

I wanted to lose a little more of my liquid masculinity in her pussy a few more times that day.

We ate our Cheerios in a sad silence. I kissed her, showered, dressed in my boy things, kissed her, and left.

Would Abby keep her promises to me? Would I want her to? When would I see her again? When would I get laid again?

Read on.

 

 

Chapter Three - My true beginning begins

So there was my sex life so far. A shame-laden jackoff from one pantyist, Megan, and a night of golden memories from another, Abby.

And that was it for quite some time.

After "Abby Night," I was more confused than ever. Was I a studly guy (who liked to wear girlie things) or a submissive little simpering sissy pansy who would lie on his back to receive cock? Increasingly, I found myself wondering more about how Abby had acted that night. Was I really like her? That really frightened me.

However, I chose my usual action when confused - let alone afraid. I did nothing.

I took and passed my school exams. Won a Dungeons and Dragons tournament. And kept myself away from Panty Pride.

School ended and I went back to my home town. Dad had arranged for a cushy indoor intern job for me. My high school nerdy friends were back in town.

I was bored out of my mind. And I needed to dress.

I decided to visit the Panty Pride chapter in my town - just once.

"Once" was three nights a week. Then four. Then five.

I expanded my feminine wardrobe. And I made friends. All of whom were fellow denizens of the No-Fly Zone. We were there to wear our pretties. Not for that disgusting disgustingness that went on outside the Zone. Though it did make my balls ache to watch it. And remember Abby.

One Wednesday, early in July, I showed up at Panty Pride, as usual. Said hello to the security guards in the lobby, as usual. Wondered whether they were flirting with me, as usual. And I was about to leave the lobby when there was a commotion.

"Excuse me, Madam," I heard, Butch, the security guard say. "No women are allowed in this private club."

I started to turn around to look when I heard a very feminine, vaguely familiar voice say, "I, sir, am in fact a woman. Fully feminine. However, I am, as you can see, eligible for your private club."

Was that…?

I looked and saw only the raised skirts of a very pretty pastel summer dress. Under the skirts were light petticoats with the prettiest frilly lace hems and fine legs, which were graced by Hanes Silk Reflections stockings held up by pretty garters and ending in very high-heeled, stiletto pumps that matched her cute, frilly dress.

A brief examination of the lady's gossamer-thin pink panties saw that "she" was packing a nicely stiff peenie underscored by the finest of fine pink purses - a purse that, I might add, seemed plump full of creamie goodies.

Butch said, "Sorry, Miss. It's just that you're so feminine. No one who ever came in here was so…."

She lowered her dress showing her classically beautiful face and cupid- shaped lips. Then leaned over and with full red lips, kissed the guard's cheek.

I stood there with my mouth open.

It was Abby.

She was back, with a capital 'S.'

Back to retrieve me. To lead me forward. Moi? Ginger?"

Oh my. Oh no!

And when she noticed, by happy coincidence that I was right there in the lobby with her, she smiled broadly.

Kinda like a fox to a hen. But, it was a gorgeous, dick-stiffening smile.

"Tony, my sweet boy," my dear Abby said. "I'm back. And I'm going to keep all my promises. Take my hand and follow me."

Say goodnight "Freddie!" Hellooo "Ginger."

Why do these things happen to me?

I took her hand and followed her. Right out the door of Panty Pride. A place Abby later called "a mere halfway house on the way to true femininity."

Abby and I walked in silence to her car, which she had parked a block away. Then she said, "Well, do you want to kiss me and tell me how beautiful I am?" I did both. In that order. Again and again.

I may have been the 'man,' but Abby was the conductor on my life train. "Let's go to my new apartment, Tony. I've been thinking about you making love to me ever since I completed my program at Emasculation Station."

Good offer. I took it. Somehow the whole 'emasculation' thing was trumped by my throbbing wonder weenie. My "Fred/Ginger" conflict was gonzo, at least for the moment.

We tumbled through the apartment door in a feverish clinch. Kissing and sucking tongues. Oh, how I had missed Abby. Oh how I had missed sex!

But was I really the pitcher or the catcher? The passer or the tight end? It was all too much for my long deprived and creamie-drooly popsie.

Who cared?

Abby whispered to me that she had already lubricated and dilated her "pussy" with a pink plug. She muttered something about the Pantyboy creed of LDP, but it was all lost on me as I - manly Moi - was the designated buttpounder of the evening. All I would need to do was remove the plug and replace it with my capable cockette.

Talk about 'prepackaged!' The only thing I was waiting for was the TV pitch, "But wait, there's more if you fuck this strumpet in the next five seconds."

Finally, Ron Popeil's secret life! Double my order!

I managed to bend her over her bed, lift her petticoated skirts, pull down her panties, remove the plug, drop my own drawers and fill her with my cock - all in about ten nanoseconds.

But who was counting?

We fucked like wild beasts, each cumming twice before we calmed down enough to withdraw and regroup. We kissed and cooed until Abby suggested that she strip to her heels, stockings and garter belt, and I could wear whatever I had taken to Panty Pride for that evening's 'fashion show.'

I didn't want to leave her, even for that. But I did want to show her how my wardrobe and makeup skills had improved. I stripped naked, then put on a lavender lace trimmed teddy with matching, stayup stockings and 5-inch serious fuck-me-pumps.

Fuck me? Now that didn't make sense. Let alone the 'serious' idea. But I had other priorities this evening...

My stiffening cock and pretty plentiful pink purse were perfectly displayed through the sheer snapped bottom, just waiting to be undone by the little poppet.

Then I carefully applied foundation, lilac lip gloss, eyeliner, purple eye shadow, mascara and a bit of blush. I turned around to show Abby and I could tell she was impressed. Her cock stiffened. That's how I knew.

Mine stiffened even more when I saw Abby in her white Reflections stockings and white garter belt. For the first time I noticed that there was no wig - her hair was midlength, but all her own. Beautifully colored, managed and curled.

But that wasn't the big surprise.

Abby was sprouting titties! And with the most perfect pert petite nipples I'd ever seen!

"Your breasts…" I said.

"Do you like them? I started taking hormones a while before I met you. They've been sprouting lately. You look fabulous too! I love how you're doing your face. I'm glad you like my titties. They're so sensitive. I cum whenever I touch them. And spurt if someone else kisses them."

If that wasn't an invitation…

I joined Abby on the bed and began to adore her titties. The bad girl was right.

My licking and sucking went south before I even knew what I was doing.

Well, it just seemed like the thing to do! Not really gay, mind you, just the natural thing to do! Polite and proper, I guessed.

Taking her little 'thingie' into my mouth certainly was not gay - just 'natural,' if you know what I mean, which I'm sure you do! In short - too short - order I had her cumming hard in my way too-accepting mouth.

Oh, my! Now that was 'gay,' but "Fred" was nowhere to be found. Anyway, it tasted kinda sweet and the feel of her little peenie-popper was divine.

When she returned the favor, unsnapping my bottom [with her teeth no less - now that's a trick I liked!] and easing back the teddy's top to suck my nipples, I was stunned by how much I enjoyed it. And by the super tanker load of semen it produced even more.

Without bragging, I can tell you that I kept Abby very happy until about 10:00 p.m. Since I had to go to work the next day, I told her I would have to go home - my parents' house. She could have made fun of me, but she didn't.

Instead Abby said, "You can see how much I've changed. I don't wear boy clothes any more. Gerald is dead. And I'm going back to college as Abby. I'm living my life as Abby. I know you want that too, and I'm going to help you get there."

Abby was very brave. And she gave me credit for being a lot braver than I was. Yes, I would have loved to be a full-time woman. But it scared me to death. And I couldn't let go of that fear.

Silly me!

Abby read my mind. "It's not the fear that's keeping you from your heart's desire, Tony. It's your masculinity. Mine is gone, and I'm happy. When you discard your masculinity, you'll lose the fear and gain the happiness. Here's what I want you to do. On Saturday morning, meet me at this address at 10:00 a.m. Wear boy clothes if you wish. You'll spend all day. I want you to meet the lady in charge, Miss Crushman. She runs the local Emasculation Station. They helped me. They'll help you. Promise me you'll be there."

You don't turn down a request from someone who's giving you great pussy. I promised. But I was scared poopless.

As promised, I met Abby a little before 10:00 in the lobby of the nondescript building that housed Emasculation Station. She looked fabulous! Where did she find those old-school dresses that required fluffy, frilly petticoats under the skirts? And those fully-fashioned, seamed, silk stockings?

But in how many schools did girls wear 5-inch FMP's?

I kissed her softly, to preserve her makeup. She was as excited for me as I was terrified of what was to come.

At precisely 10:00, a stunning, middle-aged woman appeared. She was at least six inches taller than my pathetic five-six. Her black-stocking- encased legs would put the average 20-year-old babe to shame. Her face was elegantly, if not haughtily, beautiful. The rest of her was a schoolboy's wet dream: six inch pointed-toe black patent stilettos, black satin pencil skin and severe Victorian starched white blouse with a high, tight collar.

I thought she would be a stern taskmistress. But she wasn't. She spoke and acted kindly toward me, whom she didn't know, and Abby, whom she seemed to know extremely well.

We went to her well-appointed office, where we took seats, and Miss Crushman began to talk business. "Abby recommends you most highly as a potential client, Tony. That's a point in your favor. Abby is one of our finest success stories. But Abby's endorsement is only the beginning. We'll need to do extensive psychological and personality testing to be sure that full emasculation is both what you want and what you need. The testing will also be the foundation of the emasculation program we design specifically for you."

Reasonable. I guess I could at least go through the testing. See what they say.

Full emasculation is a big step.

Miss Crushman continued. "Let me caution you. Our program is very intense and very expensive. Abby has been a very good friend to you by paying your testing fees."

Wow. What a kindness. I was going to show Abby some serious appreciation the next time we got in the sack.

Miss Crushman went on, "Of course the actual program fees will be considerably more - at least $40,000 plus expenses."

Well. That was that.

No way I could afford that. I felt relieved. And yet, a bit sad. Maybe I did want full emasculation.

But wait. There was more.

"Of course," she continued, "candidates for full emasculation never pay their own fees or expenses. Getting the money is their first emasculating act."

Huh? Was I supposed to give blowjobs in a public toilet or something to get the money?

Worse.

"Tony, you must ask your father to pay your emasculation fees and expenses. Not your banker. Not a boyfriend. Not a lecherous uncle. Your father."

Abby told me later that she wished she had a camera to catch my expression. It looked like the kid in "Home Alone." Oh the horror.

Miss Crushman played rough.

"Take the tests," she said. "Be sure that full emasculation is what you want. If you do, then you'll know that asking Daddy is the only logical approach. You know you won't be able to hide your new and permanent femininity from Daddy. And you won't want to lose your family. You can't afford your own proper emasculation. And you'll need to jump a big hurdle to get your therapy started."

It made sense. In a sick way.

But logic was the last thing on my mind.

Though sex still figured prominently.

Abby took me home with her to "discuss my future,"

And let me fuck her hot ass off until it let off sparks.

She was very convincing about me taking the tests.

So I took them. Over the next two weeks. With lots of "encouragement" from Abby.

When Miss Crushman brought Abby, who was my sponsor, and me in for an evaluation of my tests that Saturday morning, I was out of sperm and open to suggestion.

"Tony," Miss Crushman said, "Your tests show us that you are the most ideal candidate this branch of Emasculation Station has ever evaluated. We have developed a personalized program that we are virtually certain will succeed. Will you ask your Dad for the money?"

I looked at Miss Crushman, then at Abby. Suddenly I realized that full emasculation was my fondest wish. Whatever it took.

"Yes," I said. "I will."

 

 

Chapter Four - Emasculation Phase One - Mom, Dad and Daddy

Definitely easier said than done.

The plan was that Abby would drive me home, and I would tell Mom and Dad that I was a nancyboy, panty-loving pansy who wanted them to spend a small fortune to strip away the wisps of masculinity I still clung to. Then I would get Dad to sign a contract, and I would get back in the car with Abby and drive to a place where my real training would begin.

Right.

As we left Miss Crushman's office, I didn't feel very good. I sped to the men's room (would it be for one of the last times?) and puked up my breakfast. Left the men's room. Saw Abby. Ran back and recycled at least three more meals.

The Road to Emasculation was already a messy one.

Abby calmed me down, got me into the car and drove me to my parents' house.

My fear was boundless. Should I sneak in the kitchen door and hide all the sharp knives before I told them? Should I have worn a Kevlar vest? Maybe a Kevlar jock strap?

Abby kissed me deeply, handed me the contract and said, "I'll be right here. It won't be as bad as you think. It was easier for me than I thought. Trust me."

I trusted her, but I was so scared, I didn't even want to fuck her at that moment. Imagine that.

The Death March to the front door began.

I entered the only home I had known. And there they were. Mom and Dad. On the couch. Were they waiting for me?

"Hello, Dear," Mom said.

"Hi, Champ," Dad said.

I croaked out a hello. Took a deep breath. And moved to a chair facing them. "Mom, Dad, "I have something to tell you and something to ask you. First, let me tell you that I'm not really the masculine son you think I am."

"Of course not, Sweetheart," Mom said. "You're a pantyboy. You have been for some years. Actually, ever since you were a toddler and had tantrums when I wouldn't put you in frilly little outfits."

Shock. Terror. They knew! But how? I was always so careful.

Dad answered my unspoken question. "You've left quite a trail, son. Mom and your sisters are women. They notice things. Like when their intimate things have been handled. And worn. Thank goodness you never did naughty things in them. And let's face it. You've been out after work every night this summer, and the last few weeks you've been coming home smelling of some vigorous sex. And frankly, we didn't think you had a girlfriend. We're not stupid, Tony."

Was I dreaming?

Mom went on. "And Doris Fletcher saw you going into that Panty Pride place several times a week earlier in the summer. Doris and I went to high school together and she lives across the street from Panty Pride. She told me you haven't been there for a while, though. Since you met Abby."

They knew about Abby? If there had been anything left in my stomach, I would have lost it then.

"It's all right, Tony," Dad said. "We are who we are. I told Abby exactly that when she was here for lunch on Tuesday when you were working. She explained everything and of course we approve. She's quite a dish, Tony, you little about-to-be-former studmuffin."

Huh?

"Of course we'll sign the contract, dear," Mom said. It's clear to us that you not only want full emasculation, you need it."

Dumbly, I handed Dad the contract. He read it a moment, then signed it. "Those fees are pretty stiff," he said. "But so is a lot of stuff that goes on there, I'll bet."

Did Dad just make a joke about erections?

Dad handed me the contract and continued. "I'm not worried about the money. You won't be going back to college for the fall semester, so we're saving there. Plus, I'm sure when your rich boyfriends give you things you'll remember how we financed your emasculation."

Rich boyfriends?

I sat there staring.

And staring.

Mom and Dad stood. Reflexively, I stood. They both hugged me, then Dad said, "Make us proud, Sweetheart. We want you to be the sexiest, prettiest nancyboy on the planet."

I managed to hug back and croak out a thank you. Then I left.

Somehow I ended up in Abby's car.

And we were driving. Abby was talking. "Wonderful people, your parents," she said. "I'm glad I could reduce the pressure on you a bit. It was still very emasculating for you to ask them for the money. All I did was reduce the pain for you."

Abby was wonderful! For a flash, I wanted to just forget about the emasculation and marry Abby. As a man.

But that wouldn't work. I wanted to be emasculated.

Right away. If not sooner.

I didn't have long to wait.

We drove back to Emasculation Station and delivered the signed contract to Miss Crushman. She congratulated me and hugged me. Then Abby hugged me and said, "See you on the other side, Honey. I'll be back at college in a few weeks. Call me when you're finished with your program."

Abby was leaving me?

My eyes filled with tears as we kissed goodbye.

The she left. I was alone with Miss Crushman.

She spoke. "Tony, your program will begin with an introduction to the man who will take you through the first two phases of your program. You will call him, "Daddy" and you will obey his requests in every way. Do not fear. Your Daddy is a sweet and gentle man who is very experienced in emasculation techniques. He will not harm you in any way. You will, I'm sure, come to admire your Daddy very much."

As Miss Crushman pressed a bell on her desk to summon "Daddy," another jolt of fear grabbed me. A man!?!? But I didn't want a man. Did I? What if he…

Oh.

A tall, 40-something, extraordinarily handsome and well-built man entered the room. Miss Crushman was right. Despite his Alpha Male mass, he looked and acted very gentle and loving.

"Hello, Tony," he said as he held (not shook) my hand. "I'm proud that I'll be your Daddy. I've read your file carefully and I know we'll get along just fine. Miss Crushman, I'm going to take Tony to my apartment now and move him in. Tony, I'm sure you're hungry and exhausted after your ordeal this morning. Let me get you home and I'll take care of you."

A man was going to take care of me? What did that mean? And why was my cock so hard?

So much for being gay. But somehow this was different. Very different.

Daddy took my hand and led me out of the office to the parking lot. He held my hand all the way, as if I were his little boy or something. People were staring. It was very embarrassing! But kind of nice. I felt "taken care of."

In the car, as we drove, Daddy asked me all kinds of questions about myself. What I liked. What I didn't like. He was a very good listener.

We arrived at a nice apartment complex in the better part of town and Daddy held my hand again all the way to the door. We went in to see a very masculine-looking, three-bedroom apartment with a nice view of downtown and the river.

"Come into the kitchen and I'll make you a sandwich," Daddy said. "Do you like peanut butter and jelly?"

I did. "Yes, Daddy," I heard myself say. The first time I called him that.

Was my voice in a higher register as well?

He made me a nice PB&J sandwich on sourdough bread, cutting off the crusts, just the way I like. He made himself a thick roast beef sandwich and sat with me as we ate.

"You're a very nice boy, Tony," he said suddenly. "I know we'll do well together. How did you feel when I held your hand outside?"

I thought a moment and said, "Embarrassed. But, kind of cared-for too."

He smiled broadly. "Perfect. You've just described the beginnings of your training. You'll be embarrassed a lot. Humiliated, even. But you'll be better cared-for and happier than you've ever been in your life."

Wow. That sounded thrilling. And it proved to be just that.

Daddy and I talked about me and my life all afternoon. Then he made me a nice macaroni and cheese dinner as I watched a DVD of "An Affair to Remember."

We ate in a growing sense of companionship, then cleaned up the dishes.

It was 8 o'clock. "Time for maintenance and bed, Sweetheart, Daddy said.

Omigosh. He called me sweetheart. Was he going to try and kiss me or something? What was maintenance?

I found out.

Daddy took my hand and led me to the smallest bedroom. "This is your room, Sweetheart."

It was a nice room - gender neutral - with old-fashioned maple furniture.

"Take off your clothes and I'll get you ready for bed."

I had to be naked in front of a man?!?!

Daddy saw my hesitation and waited patiently.

It was no big deal, I decided. My guess was that far worse emasculations were to follow.

I stripped. Daddy watched.

I blushed nuclearly and tried to cover my titties and peenie in the most girlish way as Daddy looked over my naked form. "You have a very nice body, Tony. You'll make a terrific girl. Now follow me to the bathroom."

I did. Daddy began to fill the tub with scented, bubbly warm water. "Why don't you have a seat on the toilet and take care of your 'needs' while I get your bath ready?" he asked.

Well, I did have to go - both number one and number two. And I would. Then I would bathe myself. Just as soon as Daddy left.

Daddy saw my thought process and said, "I'm not going anywhere, Honey. I'm bathing you, right after you pee and poop."

More humiliation. He certainly knew how to dish it out. I sighed and did as he asked. Then flushed the toilet. How embarrassing!

Daddy then took my hand and helped me into the tub. It was warm and comforting. It was my first bath after many years of showers. It felt wonderful. Especially when Daddy soaped a wash cloth and washed my whole body. He cleaned my ears and then shampooed and conditioned my longish hair with his strong fingers. . I was mortified as my cockette was at full stand the whole time.

He had me stand so he could clean my "heinie" carefully with a soft, fine wash cloth. That was really mortifying. Then, to my ultimate horror, I spurted my creamies into the washcloth as he cleansed my privates.

Daddy smiled when he saw that. "That's perfectly normal for a sissy boy of your age, Sweetie," he said. "Now we're going to shave your legs and bottom."

Oh my. I stood naked in the tub before Daddy as he carefully and gently soaped and shaved my legs for the first time in my life. He shaved my armpits too. Then he had me turn around as he shaved the hair from my bottom cheeks and even [blush] around my anus. He first used his thumb and forefinger to hold my cheeks apart as he shaved me there, and then, carefully holding my peenie and peanuts began shaving the peach fuzz off my privates - all of them and everything around them.

The sheer, utter humiliation of it all!

My popsie returned to full hardness.

Finished shaving, he rinsed my body with a hand-held shower head, helped me out of the tub and patted me dry with big, fluffy pink towels. He was so big and strong and gentle and manly I almost spurted again from sheer excitement of it all - and HIM.

Bath chores completed, Daddy took me by my hand back to my bedroom. He lightly blow dried and combed my hair, putting a little baby-blue barrette into it to hold back the unruly part, making a nice wave in the process.

Then Daddy gently, slowly rubbed baby powder all over my legs, chest, bottom [oh], and privates. Slowly. Gently. I didn't mean to squirt again, but I did. In thick globs. Daddy ducked or it would have hit him right in the face. He didn't seem to mind.

"Perfectly natural," he repeated.

Then Daddy gave me my nightshirt. It was white, cotton and boyish. Early 20^th-Century boyish. But boyish.

He pulled down the covers of the perfectly made bed and said, "Hop in, Honey. You've had a long, hard day and you need your sleep. I'll wake you at seven for breakfast, then church."

Church?

I got in bed, feeling very loved and cared for. And VERY sexually aroused by the big lump I saw in Daddy's pants. Taking care of me seemed to excite Daddy. A lot.

My nightshirt must have been severely tented too because Daddy said, "Oops. Can't let you go to bed in that condition."

What condition? What was Daddy going to do?

Daddy reached into the nightstand drawer and extracted a tube of cream. He squeezed an ample amount onto the fingers of his right hand and said, "Lift your nightshirt, Baby. Daddy will help you."

Oh, girls. That was a moment, let me tell you.

I lifted my shirt, exposing my smooth pink parts to Daddy and his slippery fingers. He sat on the side of the bed and, with his thumb and forefinger, skinned back the hood to expose my weeping peehole and pink glans. I arched my back slightly at his touch, then calmed down, allowing Daddy to do his very good work.

Daddy knew how to masturbate a sissyboy. He teased and pleased. Tickling and stroking. Rubbing and caressing. I was gasping and panting and then I arched my back yet again, but this time it was to expel the last of that lovely day's sperm production all over my tummy and Daddy's loving hand.

"Good boy, Tony," Daddy said. "You needed that. Any time you need that, you let Daddy know, OK, Honey?"

I nodded dumbly. I could see where I would need that a lot.

Daddy went into the bathroom to retrieve a wet washcloth and a towel. He cleaned me up, dried me off, added a little more powder, and then tucked me in.

"Good night, my Darling," Daddy said. Then he leaned over to kiss me. First on the forehead and then briefly, on the lips.

It was a very good ending to my first day of training.

The next morning I awoke to Daddy opening the curtains and letting all the sun in.

"Good morning, little Sleepyhead," he said. "We have another big day today. Lots to do. But I see you need Daddy's special cuddles again before we get you dressed."

"Daddy's special cuddles" were special indeed. Blushing fiercely, but eager for Daddy's cuddles, I lifted my nightshirt to expose my "morning wood." My pricklet stood as tall as it ever had that morning and my balls were swollen with need.

Daddy said, "You must have had sweet dreams last night, Baby. Did you dream of Daddy?"

Oh my. Another humiliation. I did dream of him and he could see it all over my face.

By then, he probably thought I was gay or something. But he didn't give me time to think about it.

Daddy chuckled at my blushes. Then he said, in a teasing way, "I think a certain young fellow has a crush on his Daddy."

Oh the sweet mortification! The gayness of it all! Horrors!

He was right.

And it made me very uncomfortable. Until Daddy lubed his calloused fingers again and gave my "little gentleman" some excellent attention, with manual courtesies offered as well to my "pink purse."

Daddy was a very good sissycreammaker. I made big gloppy gobs of boy juice as I saw the gates of heaven yet again.

For a fleeting second I wondered if I should offer Daddy similar relief. What a strange thought. Though a courteous one. But Daddy didn't give me a chance to. He hustled me into the bathroom, where, after I sat and peed, he cleaned my tummy and then gave me an all-over washcloth bath. He toweled me off, dusted sweet smelling powder over me, and then gave me a sweet kiss, right on the lips. Which made me hard and needy all over again.

"Oh, my," he said. "My sweet boy is all stiff and needy again. That must be painful, Dollbaby. Let me help you."

Then, gayness of all gayness, humiliation of all emasculating humiliations, Daddy sat on the toilet, then had me sit on his lap. Naked. With my stiff weenie begging for his caresses.

Daddy rubbed my bare back and shoulders with his left hand as he stroked my aching peenie with his right hand. I could smell his Old Spice aftershave and the sweet, mild perspiration of his lust. I increasingly felt his 'urgency' pressing against my bottom and liked it.

When his left hand found my left nipple and began caressing it between his fingers it was Fourth of July all over again. I endured the delicious agony of Daddy's caresses, burying my face into Daddy's chest, so he couldn't see my gay shame.

But as I neared what I knew would be a searing orgasm, in an impulse I couldn't explain, I lifted my head and parted my lips for a kiss. Daddy accepted my invitation.

He slid me his tongue as I writhed in pleasure under his loving kisses and masturbation. I wanted the kiss to last, but I was so excited and Daddy was so skilled that I had only about twenty fabulous seconds in paradise before I spurted my boy's cream yet again.

Daddy broke the kiss and said, "That was very nice, Honey. Very nice. You're progressing very well. Let's get you dressed and fed, though. Don't want to be late for church."

I was quivering with lust when Daddy led me by the hand back to my bedroom, where he brushed my hair into a nice little bob, using the wave the barrette had set up, applied some light pink lip sheen, and gave me a small spritz of some sort of icky sweet scent.

He gave me my underwear - baby blue, very brief, silky jockeys and a matching, low neck t-shirt that looked more like a camisole. Then he gave me my outer clothes. And that was when things took a bad turn.

I could NEVER wear what Daddy wanted to wear in public.

NEVER.

The whole affair started off with a white polished cotton shirt-blouse with a round "Peter Pan" collar. It was just like those I saw Mom wearing in her boarding school pictures. Matters got worse with a pair of red polished cotton, very-short-shorts with a high, tight broad waist band and flared legs. Mortification took on a new meaning when he zipped them on my left side, leaving the front quite flat, at least for the moment.

Down south, matters were equally humiliating. Sheer white knee socks with lace turn-over tops. Each top had two little red ribbons dangling down on its side. Completing my little sissy ensemble were red shiny sandals that looked decidedly more girlish than boyish. They even had one and a half inch heels and straps that went about my ankles.

I was about to tell Daddy that I was quitting the program and moving to Kazakhstan, when he said, "These clothes are part of the program, Sweetie. I know you'll want to please Daddy and wear them. Daddy loves to please you and I know you want to please Daddy."

Nice use of guilt, Daddy. At that moment, I knew it would be a Catholic church we would be going to that morning. Only a Catholic would know how to spray guilt like that.

Weighing the matter, I came down on the side of Daddy. I VERY reluctantly dressed, as Daddy made breakfast.

Bacon and eggs. Toast and orange juice. All prepared very well.

So during my training, it was clear that I was going to be hygienic, well-fed and well-loved. And my testicles were to be constantly emptied.

All in all, that's quite a bit from any relationship.

I was sniffling in dread as Daddy gathered his keys and wallet to take me to church.

Daddy hugged me and said, "You look adorable, Sweetheart. You'll get a lot of stares at church. Envious stares from girls and boys. Lustful stares from men too. You'll enjoy it a bit, I'm sure."

Easy for him to say. He was wearing a Polo, khakis and penny loafers. I looked like the Sissyboy of the Western World.

But girls, and I'm not making this up, I was stiff and drippy again in anticipation of what that day would bring me. Let alone my outfit.

It didn't get good right away, though.

Church. Daddy held my hand from the parking lot to the pew. The FRONT pew, where everyone could stare at the sissyboy. I was covered in welts of shame. I could feel my masculinity leaving my body in ever- increasing portions. Which was the point of all that, wasn't it?

At the "sign of peace" during mass, people shake their neighbors' hands or, if you're with a family member, a kiss on the cheek is appropriate. Not for Daddy. He kissed me right on the mouth. With tongue!

Everyone in the place, even the priest, stared at us.

How's that for humiliating?

I couldn't make eye contact with anyone as we left church, but Daddy was in no hurry. I was praying all during mass that we would go back to Daddy's apartment after mass and spend the day kissing and making me cum.

But no.

"Isn't it a beautiful day, Tony," he asked. "Let's go to the zoo."

Panic! Fear! The zoo?

A whole afternoon in public? The way I was dressed?

Daddy saw the fear in my eyes and said, "A boy your age needs fresh air and exercise. And I love the zoo. You don't want to disappoint Daddy, do you Honey?"

I certainly didn't want to do that. Trembling with fear and dread, I agreed.

We had a very strange day at the zoo. The other visitors seemed to spend more time looking at Daddy and me than they did looking at the animals.

What they saw was a very sissily dressed almost-19-year-old boy, with shaved legs and a red balloon tied around his thin, limp wrist, walking hand-in-hand with a very manly middle-aged man who was obviously smitten with the boy.

My masculinity took a huge direct hit that afternoon. But oddly, I enjoyed being with Daddy so much that, on-balance, I liked it.

We walked and walked and walked and by five o'clock, I was so tired that Daddy offered to carry me, my head on his shoulder, my arms wrapped around his neck, to the car. Insanely, I accepted. Which was another scene that was captured on several cameraphones by people who couldn't wait to 'show and tell' others what they had seen at the zoo that day.

How do you spell Y-o-u-T-u-b-e?

I slept the entire drive "home" and when we arrived at Daddy's apartment, I felt refreshed.

Daddy offered to carry me to the door, but I declined. He sat me down in front of the TV while he made dinner (chicken fingers and potato salad) and I watched a show where people sent in all their most humiliating videos.

We ate and chatted about all the animals we saw that day and when Daddy asked if I had fun, I answered truthfully that I had.

He asked me how I liked the show about humiliating videos, and I said I could relate to it. He laughed. A lovely sound.

After we loaded the dishwasher together, Daddy said we could get ready for bed, then if I wanted, I could watch TV until 9 - but no later, since I had work the next day. I had almost forgotten about my job. It was my last week anyway. I would have rather spent the time with Daddy, but he said we have to honor our commitments.

Daddy took me into the bathroom and stripped me naked. I was happy to get out of those sissyish clothes. I sat on the potty and "did my business" as Daddy filled the tub and got all the towels, washcloths, soaps and shampoos ready.

I was looking forward to my sweet scented, bubbly bath. As Daddy could see by my red, stiff peenie. I thought he would take care of my "condition" right then, with some kissing thrown in for good measure. But Daddy was all business. He bathed me and shampooed me, cleaning all my cavities. When he finished toweling me off, I thought he would "relieve" me. But no.

I was practically gasping for a wanking when Daddy powdered me all over from my nipples to my knees. But no.

A little tear of disappointment formed in each eye as Daddy slipped the nightshirt over my head. Was I going to go to bed unloved?

No again.

"You look adorable, Sweetheart," Daddy said. "I see you need Daddy's loving attention. Come into the living room and I'll make you happy."

[Gasp]

[Pant]

I followed Daddy like a little puppydog - and very randy puppydog. There was a three-cushion sofa in the living room as well as a two- cushion "love seat." Daddy sat in the love seat. And beckoned me to sit on his lap.

I didn't tease at all. Hadn't learned how yet. Instead, I moved directly to Daddy's lap, lifting my nightshirt up to my belly button so Daddy would have full access to all my "pretty parts."

Daddy chuckled at that. Then he looked me in the eyes and said, "You're a perfect angel."

And then he kissed me.

A deep, loving kiss.

As he enfolded me in his strong arms.

You're going to think I'm such a little tramp when I tell you this, but, I spurted. A lot!

Daddy didn't even touch my tinkler. And I spurted. Thick clots of boy's cream. All over Daddy's nice khakis and polo.

He didn't seem to mind. I grunted and squeaked through my orgasm. Daddy embraced me more tightly and kissed me more deeply.

A good deal of my juices had landed on my belly. Without breaking the kiss, Daddy located the warm syrup with the fingers of his right hand and began to massage my aching balls with my own cum.

Oh. I arched my back in an agony of pleasure as I stiffened again and felt orgasmic rumblings in my stomach. Daddy began to kiss my neck so he could hear my grunts and squeals as he brought me again to the portal of ecstasy, then pushed me through to a second, heaving, crushing orgasm.

Daddy just hugged me after that.

"We'd better stop, Kitten," Daddy said. "I don't want to injure you."

I thought, "Injure me! Injure me!" But I didn't say it because Daddy knew best. Instead I said, "Yes, Daddy. Whatever you say."

But then a strange, new impulse attacked me and I surrendered to it immediately.

"Daddy," I said, in my sissiest voice.

"Yes, Honey."

"Daddy, you've been so good to me. You must need help too. I can feel something hard against my leg. Can I help you too?"

He regarded me with new eyes. "That's so sweet of you, my Darling," he said. "Normally, at this stage of your emasculation, most people wouldn't be ready for that. But you are definitely a quick learner. And I am definitely in need of your attention."

I was going to make Daddy cum!

OK. We were getting near the gay line, I know. But you go with the moment, don't you? And at that moment, I needed to help poor Daddy. After all, I had always been brought up to be kind, considerate and courteous.

Was that the Boy Scouts motto or the Girl Scouts? Maybe the Brownies?

Daddy tenderly eased me off his lap. Then he stood, faced away from me, and removed his cum-stained khakis, shoes and socks, tossing them aside.

When he turned around, what I saw fascinated and frightened me.

Daddy had a whopper.

It was red and angry.

Long and thick.

And pointing straight up.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

But when Daddy sat down and repositioned me on his lap, be began to kiss me again and my fear disappeared.

He tickled my deflated peenie and got it to stir very nicely. I was in heaven yet again.

Then I remembered that mine wasn't the only stiff cock in the room.

Slowly, hesitantly (which I think excited Daddy all the more) I touched the head of Daddy's cock.

It was so hot that it almost burned my hand!

I rubbed the skin up and down with my hand the way I liked mine rubbed. Daddy moaned. I liked making Daddy moan. And he leaked lots of sticky, semi-watery fluid. Which I rubbed all up and down the thick shaft. I was going to rub Daddy's balls too, right after I gave his peehole and pink head a nice cuddle. But Daddy seemed to like me rubbing the velvety head so much that I stayed the course on that. Plus, I loved the warm, throbbing feeling in my slender hand.

Soon, Daddy and I were both panting pretty heavily. I knew I was about to lose my third and last load of that glorious evening. But I wasn't sure about Daddy.

And then I was sure.

Daddy grunted very manfully, then began to pump about a half gallon of pure Grade A Man-Milk all over my hand and arm and nightshirt. I was so excited about what I had done that I returned the favor for Daddy.

There we were. Daddy and sissyboy. Drenched in each other's cum. Kissing and saying sweet things to each other.

I could have lived the rest of my life just like that.

But it never works out that way, does it?

Daddy stirred first. "That was wonderful, Baby. Just wonderful. I think I need to get you cleaned up and in bed. Don't want you all cranky at work tomorrow. OK?"

"Yes, Daddy." Emasculation for me was clearly about submission and giving myself to a man. A good, loving, manly man.

Daddy took me to the bathroom, stripped me naked (was there to be more hanky-panky? Sadly, no), washed me and re-powdered and re-nightshirted me. All this, of course, while he was naked from the waist down. And VERY rampant once again.

It was pretty clear that I excited Daddy. He certainly excited me.

The sight of Daddy's tight, hairy buttocks as he left the room were something for me to dream about that night.

The next morning, Daddy awoke me with a kiss, a nice wank, our bathroom regimen, another wank, and a nice breakfast (Cocoa Puffs). Daddy didn't want me to wank him that morning so I didn't.

Everything was fine until I was to get dressed for work. Daddy had laid out an outfit almost identical to the one I had worn to church and the park the day before! The only difference was that the shorts and shoes were navy blue and the shirt/blouse was baby blue.

I couldn't wear that. I looked at Daddy and my eyes filled with tears. He hugged me and said, "Don't worry. You don't have to wear this all day. You just can't wear regular boy clothes when you're with me. I'll drive you to work dressed as a sissyboy, then you change in the bathroom at work. When I pick you up to come home, you have to be dressed as a sissyboy again, OK?"

"Yes, Daddy."

That was a sticky one. What if someone I worked with saw me in sissyboy clothes? How humiliating!!!

Of course, "humiliating" pretty much described my life the past 48 hours, along with "gay," "orgasmic" and "delicious."

I dressed as Daddy suggested, then joined Daddy in the kitchen. "Here's your lunch, Sweetheart. A nice baloney sandwich with lettuce and tomato, a bag of chips and a banana for dessert. Let's go."

We went. Three or four people probably saw us as we walked to the car. I'm not sure, since my eyes were downcast the whole way. The drive to work only took 15 minutes, during which Daddy lectured me on the value of good work. He was being such a "father."

When we arrived at 8:45, at least he parked right outside my building. I said, "Goodbye, Daddy, I'll meet you at 5:15 right here. You won't make me wait with everyone staring, will you?"

Daddy smiled, "I promised to be here at 5:15, and I'll always keep my promises to you. May I have a kiss?"

That was always a pleasure. I leaned over to give Daddy a quick peck, but he turned it into a one-minute, tonguey soul kiss. Which made me all weak and needy. But instead of relief, I got out of the car and got a gauntlet of starers who had seen Daddy and me "Frenching."

Another large blob of masculinity left my body as I ran into the building and into the men's room on the first floor - not such an easy feat in heeled sandals and a huge tent in my shorts. As quickly as I could, I changed into my business casual duds and shoes, carefully folded [by an instinct I failed to comprehend] my sissyboy outfit, placed it in my backpack and reported to work precisely at nine o'clock as required.

I wasn't sure that anyone from my office had seen me - either kissing Daddy, wearing my sissyboy stuff, or both - but people I hardly knew seemed to make a point of saying hello that day. Male people. With obvious bulges in their pants. Already I was affecting men and I wasn't even a girl yet. Several commented on my pretty, wavy hair and sweet scent.

At five p.m., I bolted from my desk, grabbed my backpack and raced to the first-floor men's room. I changed into my sissy clothes, then at precisely 5:14, I bolted from the men's room, tore out the door and to the curb. Just as Daddy pulled up.

I jumped into the car and closed the door. "Take off, Daddy," I urged silently. But Daddy wanted to ask me how my day went. And how my lunch was. I answered him politely, but he could see my anxiety.

He embraced me and said, "I missed you very much today, Darling. Let's go home."

And then he kissed me. And I didn't care who was watching. It was magnificent. And we had the night ahead of us.

Daddy drove us home and we chatted about my job. He even handed me a brush and lip gloss so I could "repair" my look.

We walked into the building hand-in-hand, as always. Daddy had supper well in progress. Meat loaf, mashed potatoes and string beans. With Daddy for dessert, I hoped.

Actually the first dessert course turned out to be apple pie. But Daddy was the whipped cream.

After dinner and cleanup, Daddy said we needed to do our maintenance. He took me into my bedroom where he had set up manicure/pedicure gear. He took off my shoes and socks and slowly, lovingly gave me the first thorough nail treatments of my life. It was especially intimate for Daddy to work on my feet. I panicked a bit when he applied red polish to my toenails, but Daddy said he would only put clear polish on my fingernails. I would be OK at work as long as I didn't use my hands for anything, I guessed.

I loved having the little cotton balls between my toes. Daddy was very thorough, working first on my cuticles, then filing and shaping and finally applying two coats. Red to my toes and a pinkish clear to my fingers. I didn't quite understand the whitener he placed under my fingernail tips, but it sure looked great. Later I would learn that they were called French Nails.

While it dried, Daddy had me sit on his lap. He kissed me sweetly, with very little tongue and no genital touching. I felt very loved. When the nails dried, Daddy was all business again. He stripped me naked, took me to the tub and scrubbed me clean. Then he dried me off and shaved me all over again. "Mustn't have stubble, Princess," he said.

When that was done, Daddy powdered me the way I love, with lots of peach-scented talcum on my newly shaved parts.

Daddy then put on my nightshirt and carried me into the living room for what I hoped would be the day's main event.

It was.

Daddy laid me down on two cushions of the three-cushion couch, and he sat at the other end—an inauspicious beginning. But then he did a very naughty and intimate thing. He picked up my left foot, caressed it gently, then began to kiss each pretty painted toe.

If there is such a thing as "swooning," that's what I did.

He repeated the toe kissing with the right foot and my "little gentleman" was threatening a tsunami.

Then, and I'm not making this up, Daddy took the little toe of his right foot between his lips and began to lick and kiss and suck it. It was outrageously intimate and sexy!!!!

After he had adored one-tenth of my "piggies," Daddy stopped and looked at me to see if I was enjoying things. My face must have looked like the very definition of "needy lust." But just to be sure, Daddy lifted my nightshirt to expose my "pink package." It was straining and quivering. Satisfied with his work, Daddy left me exposed and proceeded to kiss and lick and suck and [gasp] nibble all of my toes

Déjà vu all over again.

I spurted a gusher on the third toe. And again on the ninth. One little piggy was a regular shopper at the cummy market!

Daddy was a very naughty boy. On my second cum, he scooped up my boy's cream from my tummy and rubbed it all over my painted toes, then licked it ALL off.

Daddy was eating my cum!!!

I had never been so excited in my life. I also squirted again.

When Daddy had licked up every cummy drop, he asked me to sit up, since he was in great need of relief. He took off his shoes and socks, dropped his pants and boxers and presented his magnificent man-meat to me for my and his pleasure.

I could have sucked it. Maybe I should have. But I wasn't ready yet. Instead, I rubbed it up and down and kissed Daddy deeply. Oh my goodness, I loved how it pulsed in my hand! He held me in his manly arms and kissed me back until, with a deep moan, Daddy pumped out his thick manly cream.

I LOVED giving myself to Daddy.

I LOVED giving Daddy pleasure.

I LOVED being emasculated.

Oddly, I hadn't heard from "Fred" for some time.

I even loved the naughty thing I did next. Daddy's cum was all over my hand and arm. As Daddy watched, I licked it off and swallowed it.

The first time I had tasted man-cum.

It wasn't really tasty and the feeling that lingered in my mouth was strange, but it was curiously appealing. However, it certainly made Daddy happy to see me eat it. So it was worth it.

Maybe it was an 'acquired' taste...

Daddy and I kissed and hugged some more, but without making spurties. He put me to bed, tucked me in and gave me a sweet kiss goodnight. I slept the sleep of the innocent.

The next morning was our workday routine, except that Daddy said it was too hot for me to wear socks with my sandals. So my red lacquered toes were exposed to the world!

One would think you reach a limit to your mortification - where being humiliated doesn't bother you yet. I wasn't there yet. Also that running about with a super-stiffy in my short-shorts was especially troubling, not to mention difficult. It made me run in the most awkward manner.

Much like the day before, several men in the office were little chatterboxes around me that day. Asking about my going back to school. Asking where I was living those days. Whether I had a girlfriend (wink, wink). I just blushed, smiled at them and answered nicely.

Were they being mean to me or were they hitting on me? Probably some of both.

I made my 5:14 dash to the car wondering how many people in that busy crowd of commuters noticed that the sissyish-looking, fast-moving boy had painted his toenails. I know that none of them knew that my cum had been sucked off those pretty toenails the previous evening.

What was in store for me that evening?

I couldn't wait to find out.

Daddy and I exchanged a sweet kiss of greeting. Then the car started moving. In the opposite direction of home. I noticed. I asked.

"Daddy didn't have time to cook today, Baby, so we're going for pizza. I have a favorite spot and it's such a nice night, we can sit outside and eat it."

So Daddy was going to humiliate me in public again, eh?

It was a good thing I was addicted to what followed the humiliations.

It was mortifying sitting at a sidewalk café in sissy clothes and painted toenails with my legs crossed over my knees. The giggles. The pointing. The lustful stares from the men. Still, when my training was over, I was guessing that Daddy would move on. So I was OK with the training. Being mortified with Daddy was way better than normal life without Daddy.

Daddy sensed that he had made his emasculation points for the day, so we didn't linger. We went home and Daddy gave me my bath and powder.

Then he put my nightshirt on and said, "Do you know that a sissyboys' nipples are some of his most sensitive parts?"

I answered honestly. "No, Daddy." I hadn't really thought much about my nipples, though I had enjoyed it when Abby had sucked them and Daddy powdered and toyed with them.

Daddy brushed my hair and put in my "sleeping barrette." I think you need to learn about your nipples tonight, Sweetheart. Do you want Daddy to teach you?"

I shuddered with lust. How couldn't I? They were already as hard as little bullets.

"Oh, yes, please, Daddy."

"Good. Then come join me in my bed. We can do this best if we're in bed together."

Daddy's bed!!!!

Oh.

Daddy led me hand-in-hand to his very masculine bedroom. And very large bed.

He left my nightshirt on and said, "Lay on your back, Darling. I'll be right with you. Please lift your shirt above your nipples. I need full access to those little treasures.

I got in bed and settled myself, slipping my nightshirt up and over my nipples, leaving me almost naked, vulnerable and submissive to Daddy's every wish. I looked at Daddy and…!!!!...???...!!!

He was almost nude! He was getting into bed with me wearing only a t- shirt. I could see almost all of his magnificent, manly body.

Daddy was in bed with me. And he was kissing my right nipple as he…uhhh. Electric shock! No one had ever…"

Daddy only had to suck my nipple and stroke my cockhead for about 20 seconds and I was gushing my sissy guts out.

I was a very "easy" date, wasn't I?

"Did you like that, Baby?" Daddy asked.

I could only whimper.

Then Daddy set about his task in earnest. He drew me to lie on top of him, as he adored first one, then the other of my nipples. My cock rubbed against Daddy's hard, warm belly as his cock found its way between my thighs.

We came so many times that I thought my balls had been whipped with a birch rod.

At 9:30, Daddy reluctantly carried me back to my bed and tucked me in with a sweet kiss.

The next day was the same routine. It was the nights that were spectacular. I found myself thinking about Daddy all day long and when he picked me up at 5:15, my heart soared.

I didn't care that he humiliated and emasculated me. That was what I wanted. It was what I needed.

That Wednesday night, we ate at home. Pork roast and sauerkraut, though the only pork I was interested in was the meat between Daddy's legs.

After "extended maintenance" (every two days I got a body shave and nail treatment), Daddy was ready to introduce me to something new.

After my nice talcum powdering and the nightshirt going over my head, then Daddy combing and barretting my hair, Daddy asked me to join him in his bed again. He stripped to his t-shirt as he had the night before. "Oh, what would we do this wonderful night?" I mused.

Daddy's cock was standing skinned and proud as he stood over helpless little me. He reached into his nightstand drawer and extracted some lube. I guessed he was going use it on my peenie. I was half right.

Daddy applied a liberal amount of lube to my aching peenie. Then he got next to me in bed. It looked as if I would be getting a rerun of kissing and wanking. That was fine with me.

I was wrong. Boy, did I underestimate Daddy.

Daddy applied more lube to his fingers, lots more. Then he asked me to raise and spread my legs. I submitted to Daddy, as I always did. Daddy reached for my pubic area and I tensed up for the pleasure I thought was imminent. And felt something VERY different.

Daddy's finger was tickling the ring of my wrinkled anus.

Lubing it up.

It was so dirty and so wonderful. But not half as wonderful as when he gently penetrated my tight pucker with his slippery middle finger. I squealed!

When he entered me with a second finger, I shuddered with lust.

Then he found my prostate.

"Skyrockets tonight, sissy's delight!"

And I screamed.

It was warm summer evening and the windows were open.

Nobody called 9-1-1. Doesn't make you feel very safe, does it?

I screamed like a banshee with multiple double-ought buckshot wounds.

The pleasure! Was such pleasure possible?

It had to be a sin! Which only made it naughtier and sweeter.

Then, to make things even more intense, Daddy did two things. As he tortured my prostate, he began to kiss and suck my nipples. And with his other hand, he began to stroke my peener.

How was I supposed to keep from cumming?

Twice?!?!

The fingers in my bottom when I was cumming intensified and extended the duration of my orgasm. All the way down to my painted toes. In fact, my entire body felt the tectonic orgasmic shock, or shocks as the immediate case was.

I was in paradise.

But Daddy wasn't through with me.

He had me get onto my knees, then knelt behind me as he fingered my pootie and wanked my pricklet.

One hour of all that would kill anyone over the age of 25.

I survived.

And realized that Daddy hadn't cum yet. I came back from the dead and asked him to lie on his back. He complied.

In an impulse of passion and without Daddy's permission, I placed little feather kisses all over his cock, from his balls to his peehole. Feeling him with my lips was heaven - the silky shaft and the velvety knob, all throbbing with the most masculine hormones. Rapture!

I didn't suck it. But that didn't matter to Daddy. He blasted my face with a huge portion of babyjuice. My first sticky facial.

It was messy.

He was appreciative.

I was exhausted.

Daddy carried me back to my room, cleaned my face and body as well as he could, then tucked me in.

Life with Daddy was fun!

The next day, Thursday, I sensed something was in the air. Daddy was five minutes late picking me up from work!!! Five minutes of standing there in full sissy mode as passers-by and even [gasp] my co-workers saw me in short-shorts, shaved legs and painted toenails.

I was a sight trying to pull down my short-shorts, crossing my feet to hide my bright red toenails while my peenie and nipples seemed to be conducting their own "outreach" programs.

I was mad at Daddy until I realized that (1) the next day was my last day of work, so what did I care what that bunch thought? (though there was the matter of that last day) and (2) I had forgotten to extract a promise from Daddy that morning that he would be on time. So in a way, it was my fault.

Anyway, I was shivering with humiliation, trying to cover my many errant parts when Daddy picked me up. Quite a crowd had gathered to watch him kiss me hello, camera phone at the ready. Daddy didn't seem to mind all the catcalls and in a way, neither did I.

We went straight home, had dinner and did our nice "maintenance." Daddy powdered me and I raised my arms for my nightshirt. But instead, Daddy combed my hair. Which he always did after the nightshirt so I wouldn't get my hair mussed.

[Click] I wasn't getting a nightshirt! Daddy wanted me to be naked!!

I was OK with that. It's about as submissive as you can get. Somehow 'gay' had left my lexicon and "Fred" was long gone.

But what was Daddy's plan?

I found out quickly. Daddy was seated in a hard chair in my room and I was standing in front of him. I thought he would invite me to his lap, but instead he lubed up his fingers.

Ooohh. "That" again!

Daddy reached around and entered my bottom, very gently, with first one, then two, then three fingers.

And he rubbed my prostate with all three of them.

"It doesn't get any better than this," I thought. Wrong again.

Daddy pulled me closer and I thought he was going to kiss me as he "fingered" me.

But he didn't.

Daddy took my stiff little cock into his mouth and began to suck it.

Quite expertly.

With lots of tongue.

As he fingered my boyhole.

Ladies, that was a moment for the scrapbook. And my sissy-ish squeals proved it!

Another neighborhood serenade.

Daddy was a much better cocksucker than Abby. And he could suck cock and tickle pootie at the same time.

It's good to have a skill set. An advanced skill set at that!

Daddy stopped sucking and asked, "Do you like that, Baby?"

I nodded and moaned. Then croaked out in a high-pitched voice, "Please, don't stop, Daddy!!!"

Daddy's eyes smiled. "Good. You deserve this. You've been the best of the best. And it's time we stop wasting your precious cream. I'm going to suck you and finger you until you cum in my mouth twice, OK?"

I nodded. And wished he would get back to work.

Daddy resumed. Oh the way he swirled that tongue. The way he finger fucked my little twat. I loved my new life and I was only in Stage One. Let them talk tomorrow at work.

Daddy stayed with me as I gushed my sticky cream down his throat in an anguish of bliss. Then, true to his word, he worked me up to a second stiff stand and coaxed out a second load of what he later called, "the tastiest treat in the world."

When he was finished, I begged Daddy to let me suck his cock just as he had sucked mine.

It didn't take all that much convincing.

Daddy shucked off his pants, shoes and socks and sat in my room's comfy chair as I knelt between his legs. Kneeling created another huge rush - sooo submissive, sooo naughty-slutty, sooo about-to-be-used! I loved it.

I also loved the idea that I was about to imbibe in real time the primary pansy food group.

I drew in a breath and, knowing there was no turning back from what I was about to do, took a man's fat cock into my tiny mouth for the first time.

I then proceeded to make that man very happy.

I took my time, skinning back his foreskin with my teeth. Licking and sucking and tasting what Daddy was all about. I simply was an inspired sissy.

My lips and tongue darted everywhere. Silk shaft, velvet head, a little-of-each corona, precum peephole, underside arrow of manly angst, fat balls, the crease betwixt thigh and crotch, and even a brief exploratory mission beneath his beautiful balls. The boy got it all!

And I loved giving it!

Daddy was enchanted with me and kept full eye contact during what he later called the best blowjob of his life. He grunted manfully and muttered sweet endearments for a good twenty minutes until, unable to hold back any longer, he pumped out his life's cream in six musky spurts.

No way I could swallow it all. Not the first time out. It was so hot, it burned my tongue. And so much of it!

I did manage to swallow about half and form a cummy beard on my chin with the other half. Both of which appeared to delight Daddy.

I sat on Daddy's lap and we shared cummy kisses for a long while after that. I wanted to go again, but Daddy said we mustn't overdo a good thing.

I told you he was Catholic.

So he cleaned me up, nightshirted me and put me to bed.

Where I dreamt the nicest dreams ever.

I knew the next day wouldn't be pleasant at work. So I decided to face it head on.

I didn't take my boy clothes with me to work. Friday was casual day and we were allowed to wear shorts. I wore my blue sissy shorts. And my round collar white blouse - no way was it even remotely related to a nasty 'boy-shirt.'. And skimpy sandals that revealed my pretty red lacquered toes.

The 'boy' and "Fred" were left elsewhere. "Pansy and Proud!"

Daddy kissed me extra long when he dropped me off that morning. "I'm proud of you, Sweetheart," he said. "You know who you are and you're proud." I'll see you at 5:15."

I smiled and hugged Daddy. "Make it five o'clock, Daddy. I'm not changing today."

Well, I certainly caused a stir at work, but I didn't care. I was a little cocksucking fairy sissy and proud of it.

Sissy pride is a huge factor in emasculation.

The women at work were OK with me being me. But the men were in two camps - disgusted or aroused. Some were even in both camps. If it hadn't been my last day, I would surely have been fired.

I know that a lot of those men would have wanted me to suck their cocks. And, to tell you the truth, if one of them had asked me to, I probably would have let him lead me to a supply cabinet, gotten on my knees and sucked down his big, creamy load. But no one did. The cowards!

Daddy watched from his car as I strode out proud and sissified to his car. I even smiled when the cameras flashed. He kissed me so long and seemed so aroused, that I thought he would suck my cock right there.

I certainly was willing to suck his!

Daddy got me home and fed me, but then the routine varied. "Why don't we just give you a sponge bath tonight and you can spend the night in bed with me? We can clean you up in the morning.

"In fact, forget the sponge bath. I want you now."

And the old rascal carried me into the bedroom, ripped my clothes off, and undressed himself to a very nice nude.

"Saturday's washday, so we may as well dirty the sheets," he said, practically.

Nothing new that night. Just a review of the week's instruction. Lots of review. With a great need for laundry the next day.

(continued)

  

  

  

*********************************************
© 2007 by Gingerfred Man. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.