The characters in this story are all adults who think they know what they're doing but don't. If you aren't legally an adult, you aren't even entitled to know what that is. So pretend you don't, and don't read this story.

 

Happening

by Vickie Tern

 

i.

Sometimes you're set up to act out a role in your own life, and you don't even know what the script is.

For instance, Bill and Stacy live next door, and they've always been decent neighbors, nice people. He travels a lot and works an irregular schedule, a systems analyst of some sort, and she's an artist, mostly home painting big canvasses or gluing odd combinations of things together. The same thing with us, only in reverse—Cindy's the last to leave her law office most days, and she's often away elsewhere taking depositions and the like, while I'm home this summer trying finally to finish my novel. Otherwise I'm home a lot anyhow—I teach writing in our local Community College.

It's a pretty good arrangement. Cindy's tough-minded, and likes to see other people hop to her tune, and they do because she brings in most of the firm's and the family's money. I listen to students and strays in my classes and try to help them help themselves. I didn't mind at all when Cindy got real busy and I took over more and more of the housekeeping—shop and cook, make the beds, do the laundry. I soak my socks, grungy because I don't put my shoes on lots of days, and I soak and hand wash Cindy's unmentionables—her panties get pretty stained sometimes, some woman thing. I do it all. During the semester I'll prepare classes and write all over whatever the students are writing. And otherwise stare at my computer screen, unhappy with what I read there, and stare at the ceiling and try to imagine better. During the summer that's all I do.

So I didn't mind at all when Stacy asked us both over for pot luck a few days ago—only a few days ago? -- and when I told her Cindy was away on a case she said "Well, come by yourself!" I showed up around five for drinks, and when she announced dinner two hours and a lot of booze later she mentioned that Bill was also away for a couple of days. That made me a little uneasy, alone in a big house with an absolutely gorgeous married woman and all that. Stacy really is a stunner—tall, with a steeply curved body she covers in a loose sweat shirt and not much else, black hair piled high who knows how, and eyes that seem secretly amused when they look at you. But by the second bottle of wine—a really great wine, Bill could afford to indulge himself that way—I'd forgotten it was just the two of us.

She asked me how the novel was coming, and I told her about this woman character who wouldn't come clear in my mind, a movie actress with a two-timing boyfriend. I don't know anything about actresses, I said. And Cindy and I don't two-time, or even flirt. So I couldn't imagine how she'd feel, her man getting it on with another woman. Or what she'd want to do about it.

Stacy told me she'd done performance art, and happenings, where you arrange so other people act out scenarios and don't even know it, but she didn't know much about actresses. She could help me if the character were an artist, she said, and we were now splashing after-dinner Cognac, so I said, "OK, she's an artist."

Next thing I knew we were in Stacy's studio looking at art supplies, odds and ends to mention to give things "verisimilitude" as I tell students. So the story seems real. Then we looked at her most recent paintings, all of them huge lush nudes of herself. Some were of her in heat, offering herself to the viewer. God! Next thing I knew we were in Stacy's bed with our clothes all over elsewhere, humping up a storm, and I wasn't being true to Cindy any more, and I didn't care. We went at each other in a frenzy, all night. Stacy was a shrieker when her orgasms hit, and by morning she'd lost most of her voice.

I'd gotten used to sex with Cindy, first some caressing, then a prick inside a pussy, and some affectionate kissing afterward, Cindy always in control. Cindy didn't want my mouth down there ever, she said. "It can get pretty messy when I get all excited," she'd tell me, sharing her secret smile with me, and I'd smile back. She wouldn't take me in her mouth either—in fact once she told me that pricks are ugly, and deserve to be kept where men always want to put them, in dark places.

But Stacy wanted it all, all at once. Well, nearly all. She didn't suck cock either, she said, something about a small mouth and jaw. But almost right away she spread her legs wide open to me, and I got my nose and tongue in there, and almost right away she started trickling and squeezing fluids into my mouth, and arching her back, and going into spasms with her whole body, and screaming from the back of her throat. God it was great! There again was that delicious fermy pussy smell, that sweetly salty flavor I remembered from college! I couldn't get enough of her.

When I first began to kiss her bush and improvise little rhythms and sequences of worshipful lovemaking with my lips and tongue, Stacy got up for a moment, stroked my head and said "Don't move," put on some music, lay down again, and again offered her crotch to my face. A classical piece, and I found myself diddling, licking, or swirling her clit, nuzzling, rubbing, or lapping her slit, or pressing, poking, and penetrating deep into her pussy along with different instruments, melodies, chords, and musical notations and structures. She held her breath through an entire tongue and nose fugue, absolutely rapt, unmoving, and later as a cadenza swept through her to climax she was shrieking her joy so hysterically I was afraid she'd lose consciousness. But she gestured, gasping, that no way should I lower my baton.

I then pushed it deep between her legs, and then again repeatedly. It went on and on. She'd just barely roll her hips around it, and my craving would build until I couldn't tell who was pushing into who. When I'd squeezed myself out, down went my face into her pussy again, and she'd cry out her delight just anticipating how I'd feel snugged in there again. Hours went by before I'd recovered my cock and could go again, but she didn't care. As long as my lips and tongue could reach into her groin, she'd keep pushing that wonderful slit into my face, and we were both happy. "You're a virtuoso," she murmered at one point. "We'll preserve this much of you at all costs!"

Then because I was so incredible with my head between her legs, she said, I should have a reward. As a special treat she wanted me to feel my prick tucked up inside her ass! Well, that was something! It was the softest, tightest little place I've ever been anywhere! Incredible! Then once I was inside there was the strangest rippling sensation! She could make her anal muscles feel like an oiled hand pulling and squeezing on my cock, and so much sweetly agonizing pressure built up in my loins that finally—it seemed—I came in buckets! It felt like a faucet at the base of my prick opened wide, and some gigantic hand pulling my hips into her. When I spurted I was utterly spent.

It hardly mattered that she then made me lap and suck it all back out of her asshole again—she said she likes a guy who appreciates her no matter what. It wasn't really different from when she wrapped that delicious pussy around my cock and rocked up and down on me, and I spewed and spewed and couldn't stop, and then licked and sucked our juices out from between her legs. She always seemed to be soaked anyhow!

I ended up spending the night and most of the next day with my prick deep in her grasping asshole or else her dripping pussy, when it wasn't lying alongside her drying out and gasping for air while I mopped up with my mouth. Usually, once my face was inside her crotch she wouldn't let me out until she'd come herself two, three times at least, and once she went into a rolling seizure that I thought would never quit. I could scarcely breathe. She had thigh muscles you wouldn't believe, and when I was positioned she'd lock my head in place until she chose to release me, and I could have nothing to say about it anyhow. She'd done a lot of horseback riding, she told me. Riding my face was relaxation for her.

By late afternoon the next day her voice was gone, and she could only croak her ecstatic outcries, and my cock was a flap of soft skin too drained and sore to stand for any kind of provocation. Finally my face was red and irritated and my lips were puffy, and my tongue hurt, and I needed a breather. The cocktail hour had come round again, so we sat naked and sipped Bill's terrific wine.

"You're a real discovery," she said, looking my face over closely. "We want to take care of that mouth. At least get it insured, the way concert artists insure their hands. You're one of the all-time greats!"

That pleased me. You like to feel you're good at what you do. So we got back to the novel I was writing, and talked about how the character with the two-timing boy friend, an artist now, might react when she heard about it, about how some women feel helpless but others want revenge. A woman goes to all that trouble to be attractive for her man, Stacy said, to look sexy, and then her man cheats on her. If I were such a woman, she asked me, how would I feel?

I had no idea. I didn't even know how much trouble it was for a woman to look sexy. It seemed to me that Cindy wore suits to the office and jeans at home, and only enough make-up to look respectable, and hardly ever even looked at the one or two provocative dresses she bought only at my urging. "There's no need to attract men if you've already enough to provide what you want," she'd tell me, and I'd take it as a compliment. And she'd joke about how clothes only seem to be in the way anyhow when you're eager, the way we were before we were married. Afterward, our lovemaking got tidy and under the sheets, with our clothing first put away where it belonged.

"You don't know how a women sets about seducing a man?" Stacy asked me, a little shocked. "How a woman feels when she's sending out signals and getting responses? We have lots of secrets. Hair, make-up, the way we carry ourselves, how we move. How we dress. The different ways we dress for different purposes, revealing and concealing, always promising more. You don't know how it feels to have that kind of power over a man's desires, to tease him along until he'll do anything for you? You don't know? And you're a writer?"

That was a challenge. We were finishing our third bottle of Bill's best Moselle, and feeling increasingly mellow. I could even feel a certain stiffness beginning again down below. "Show me!" I said.

She looked at me. "I already have," she said. "Now I'll do better than that. I'll fix it so you know how it feels from the inside out, the way a writer should." She was thoughtful for a moment. "You need something on that face of yours anyhow, where it's all irritated. Though your puffy lips do look kissable just as is—models pay good money for collagen injections to get that wrap-around-the-cock look! Let's go back to the bedroom."

Once back there she made me stand straight and perfectly still. She looked me over and especially checked my pecker—no longer a wilted worm, but no way engorging. "It'll be a while yet, I see," she said. "We've got time. C'mon!" She suddenly grabbed me by that same pecker and began pulling me toward the bathroom, and I shuffled to keep up with her. She practically threw me into the tub.

A half-hour later I was in deep trouble. My skin was perfumed and softened from the bubble bath she'd used, but that wasn't it—that much would shower off. The problem was, I was hairless. Between shaving my whole body and Nair my skin was as ivory smooth as hers. She'd left a little triangular patch around my cock, like hers around her pussy, pointing down between my legs, but she'd sheared the sides to make a "bikini cut" as she called it. "Think how a high-legged bathing suit can give a guy a hard on," she advised me. ""Or lacy, high-legged panties. I'm going to give you a pair to wear."

Well and good, but how could Cindy fail to notice? What could I tell her? I might not be able to show myself naked or sleep with her for a week or two. And what could I say to explain that?

Then it got worse. Stacy sat me down and tugged away with tweezers above my eyes, relentlessly, then showed me what she'd done with a hand mirror. No eyebrows! Or hardly any! A thin, high, delicate line tapering to nothing! "Now they're shaped," she said. "Well-groomed. With a little eyebrow pencil they'll be beautiful." She saw my expression. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm sure Cindy will have other things on her mind than worrying about your eyebrows." Cindy often said "I'm sure" too, without any basis for feeling sure. Some things are never sure things. But it was too late, now.

 

"I guess that poor dear face of your next," she said. "We have to protect it. The way you tuck that nose into a girl, some day it may be declared a national treasure!" Creams on and off, foundation, a powder puff, a sponge of blush, a thin line of liquid eye-liner, a pencil where I once had eyebrows, a wand of mascara on my eyelashes, and then again more mascara. A lip liner pencil, then lipstick that went smoothly onto my swollen lips, and instantly felt better. Then she asked me to close my eyes, and she sprayed my face several times over with something she said would set all that makeup and protect it, so it wouldn't rub off or run easily. I mentioned that all of these emollients and cremes on my irritated face felt soothing, and she said "That's nice. This is for both of us. I love how your lips feel on my lips, the ones down below. And on your face now they're irresistible."

 

As she started to put my hair up in rollers she reached for my cock, which was starting to swell a little, but not yet stiffen. "All in due time," she said. "Wearing women's make-up turns on some men. I've wondered about you. You do leave your hair a little long for a man. Did you ever want to be a girl? You're about to get your wish." She finished setting rollers onto each hair-spray soaked strand, then a few minutes later unrolled them and touched my head here and there with a brush. "There now," she said. "See for yourself what it's like to look sexy. See how it feels." She stood me up and guided me over to the large mirror alongside her bedroom door.

I was a little shocked when I saw myself. My body was utterly bare, and my face was now a girl's face. There was scarcely anything visible of the rumpled man who'd come to dinner the previous day. What I saw was what she had said about my new eyebrows. My face was well groomed, neat, suave. Perfect. My reflection looked back at me, a sweet-mouthed girl wide-eyed in her innocence. It seemed wrong that I didn't have breasts. Unaccountably, my cock rose to full attention and then stood there. I turned me on!

"That's how a sexy woman feels," Stacy said. "C'mon. Let's enjoy it!"

We did. She lay back on the bed, and I dipped my aroused cock into her slick, honeyed pussy again, until we were twisting our groins against each other. She grasped my head with both hands, fingers twined into my curls, and held my face over hers, gently. "Oh, yes!" she whispered, "Yes! You're just lovely!" I picked up the pace and lunged my tongue into her mouth with greater and greater ferocity. "Yes!" she said when she could.

She shuddered uncontrollably, then a few minutes later again, before I finally reached my climax and squirted deep into her, and finally we caught our breaths and I dismounted.

"You didn't scream this time," I said.

"No," she replied. "I'm saving my voice. I'll need it later. But it was just beautiful. You're a doll!"

Then she scurried her rear off the edge of the bed, her pussy clear of the sheets, her legs spread wide and her feet braced on the carpet. She leaned back on her elbows and looked at me. "Now eat me, lover!" she almost hissed. "Eat me, you doll-faced beauty! You sweetheart!"

"Won't it ruin my make-up?" I asked almost without thinking. Then I realized what I had said and grinned. How thoroughly feminine!

"We'll fix it, precious girl!" Stacy said. "Just eat me! Please!"

So I knelt between her thighs and did, once again, looking up the whole time into her sleek eyes with what I knew was my own teenage, round-eyed, girlish innocence. She looked down into mine, her mouth set in its mysterious half-smile. My mouth was invisible to her, buried in her snatch, and my tongue was far inside her. Now and then she reached down to smooth one of my curls, or to twist it onto a finger.

I sucked my own cum from deep inside her as usual, and it flowed into my mouth almost immediately, and I swallowed it, but she kept me mouthing her clit and tonguing her pussy for a while longer, and her body tensed and shuddered twice more as I slurped and lapped at her, before finally she opened her thighs and released me.

She then made my face perfect again, as doll-faced as before. "You beautiful thing," she said. "How can anyone resist you? Don't you feel pretty?" I had to admit I felt pretty good.

Stacy then rummaged through an upper drawer in her bureau, tossing lingerie out and muttering "Now where did I put them, that day I found them in our bed. Oh yes, here!" She hauled out a pale blue bra and handed it to me. "This one doesn't fit me. Have you ever tried to wear one of these?" she said.

"No way!" I said. "Stacy, that's enough now! What are you doing?"

She paused just a moment, dangling from one finger a matching pair of pale blue panties, also of some shiny satiny material, and she said with great deliberation, "We were talking about how a woman feels when she knows she's attractive but her man goes roaming anyhow. You're writing about a sexy woman artist who's been betrayed by her boy friend, and you haven't a clue. You asked me to show you. No more complaints now, or this little lesson ends, and you'll never get your book written!"

She glanced down to my lap, where my cock was again still recovering. I realized she was prepared to send me home, and I wasn't finished with this wonderful woman's sweet body. She did have things yet to teach me. "How does this thing work?" I asked her, holding up the brassiere.

At first it felt like an elastic band clamped around my chest, but after a few minutes it was more like two hands, each fastened to a breast, each grasping the skin around each nipple and pulling it up into what I saw was a small mound. "Not bad," Stacy said. "It's a beginning, anyhow. Touch the nipples." They hardened, and Stacy smiled, and said nothing. Then the matching hi-leg panties slid slick against my skin and framed the edge of my pubic hair.

"Get used to both of them," she told me. "They're a woman's heavy artillery."

This was not a moment to tell her I didn't want to. I glanced again in the mirror. Under the inquiring innocence of my face, my body was now challenging, even seductive in that shiny satin bra and those lacy panties. I should reduce my waistline, I thought idly. And she wasn't finished with me yet!

"Now lets go to your place. I have no dresses here that fit you, but you're just about Cindy's size I'm pretty sure, so we'll look in her closet!" I started in under the bed and among the tumbled bedclothes, trying to find the pants and shirt and sneakers I'd put on to attend her pot-luck dinner yesterday, and then taken off I couldn't remember where. Nothing visible anywhere.

"Never mind," she said. "Wear this." She handed me a velour men's bathrobe, Bill's I guess, to cover my body in its bra and panties when we crossed through our two front yards.

I put on the bathrobe and tied it. She shrugged a dress onto her shoulders and tied it around her waist, and suddenly it draped into place on her figure and looked elegant. Then she barely paused to step into a pair of high heels on her way out the door. Once outside, I was very much aware that the face above my men's bathrobe was a girl's face. As long as no one could tell it's me, I thought to myself. "I'd lend you a negligee, but mine wouldn't fit you, I'm afraid," Stacy said, "And anyhow you might get arrested wearing one on the sidewalk."

In our house she headed straight upstairs, and when I brought up a pitcher of Margaritas and salt-edged glasses I saw that she had been busy in our bedroom. She'd laid out on the bed a wisp of lace and froth I saw was one of Cindy's slips, and one of Cindy's most fetching cocktail dresses, black silk, cut low in the bodice, long and slinky. Now she was rummaging in our closet for matching heels.

"I knew you were about Cindy's size," she said. "There you go, lover. Take off that bathrobe and put these on. We're going out for dinner. We're going to celebrate your new feelings, and maybe some men'll hit on us tonight and we'll both get lucky. You'll need to know how that feels, how married girls are tempted by other men, and how it feels when your own man is tempted! Which reminds me, is that limp thing of yours ready for another dip,, or should we just go?"

 

Out!? In public!? Where men would think I'm a woman? Or worse, would realize I wasn't? My heart leaped up and pounded against my ribs! I was suddenly terrified, and I began to tremble! What is this woman doing?! If my face weren't so heavily covered by make-up, I knew I'd be stricken pale.

 

"Stacy, I can't possibly go out and meet men yet," I said in a tiny voice, trying not to sound helpless. "I'm not pretty enough!" When I realized what I had really just said, a huge rush of blood came to my cheeks, and like any schoolgirl I started blushing!

"Your voice is perfect! Keep it that way!" she replied. Then, "That's sweet! You're blushing! It's wonderful for your complexion. I heard you! You do want to feel attractive! Isn't it a wonderful feeling? Let's just freshen you up a bit more!"

She leaned over me with more mascara, and while I looked up at her wide-eyed she slathered more on my lashes. Now that we were in my house, mine and Cindy's, I began to feel edgy again. "Not too much," I said. "Cindy'll may figure that something's been going on."

"Don't worry about Cindy. Just make a mouth." I opened wide and stretched my lips as instructed, and Stacy stroked fresh creamy red onto my upper lip. "There," she said. "That's one of Cindy's 'kissable' lipsticks. The color won't come off for days, they say. That's what we want. Now press!" I pressed my lips together the way she'd shown me earlier. "Pretty!" she said. "We do want you to feel especially pretty tonight. You just said so yourself. And now you are! Shall we finish that pitcher of Margaritas?"

ii.

A half-hour later I was frightened to death, but standing very still next to Stacy as the Maitre d' greeted her by name. We were in one of the best restaurants in town, one with pale purple tablecloths and napkins to match, and waiters in wing collars. It was crowded with well-dressed men and elegant women, and all of the women seemed to have long, tapering, graceful fingers tipped in red. I realized mine were no way feminine, and Stacy was amused to see me repeatedly stroke my silken hips, feeling for pockets to hide them in. I clutched tightly the empty purse she had handed me as a prop as we left the house. "My treat, lover" she said. "All my treat!" The Maitre d' found a name on a reservations list. "The private dining room," he said. "Will M'Sieur join you soon?"

"No Andre," Stacy replied. "Mine is a different reservation in my own name. I'm here tonight with my friend."

"I see," he said, his expression suddenly impassive. He turned and led us to an excellent table in the middle of the main dining room.

"Swish, dear," Stacy said to me as we followed him between the tables. "And flap your wrists a lot. Small steps. Push out your breasts as far as they'll go. You're just lovely. Feel lovely. I'll order for us." Those were her only instructions to me in the art of femininity. But I was certainly beginning to know how it felt. Men at different tables eyed my body as I went by them, not once pausing in their conversations. I worried how a woman fends one of them off. Then I smiled to myself. Plenty had fended me off before I'd met Cindy.

I nibbled. I was much too nervous to eat anything. I kept glancing sideways in every direction, looking to see if anyone was staring, fearful that someone might recognize me under my lacquered face and curled hair, seeing with incredulity that there was Cindy's husband gussied up in one of her dresses, out on the town with another woman. Once I thought I saw Bill's back rounding the bar and heading for the men's room, and I felt a pang in my vitals. Here I was dining with his wife and pretending to be a woman! He'd have to suspect something. I'd never survive the humiliation! When I looked at Stacy, I saw her looking toward the bar too, with a gleam in her eye. But half the people there looked like half the people I know, and none of them were. I hoped.

Once a man Stacy knew paused and stood at our table and made brief small talk, and glanced at me, then left. Then as I thankfully watched him go, another suddenly sat down next to me with his arm over the back of my chair, and leaned toward Stacy to tell her Bill had called him about a big score this trip, and that he was heading home. "I'd heard," was all Stacy replied. The man then looked appreciatively at me, and I looked down modestly from under my crusted mascara eyelashes. I was trembling again!

Stacy introduced me as her sister, saying to me, "Sissy, this is Tim, a client of Bill's."

"I'm happy to meet any of Stacy's sisters," he said, and he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. He prolonged the pressure of his shaved cheek against mine, and enclosed one of my hands in both of his. I tried to tug away, but couldn't. His after-shave lingered. "You're as beautiful as she is. Will you be in town long, Sissy? I'd love to show you around."

Stacy rescued me when I didn't dare reply. Maybe she rescued me. "Of course, Tim," she said. "Sissy loves seeing all kinds of things. But you should know that she's taken."

"Well, I'm taken with Sissy," Tim said as he stood up and leaned down, and in a single smooth movement placed one hand gently behind my neck so I couldn't back off and kissed me full on the lips as if he'd aimed for a cheek and missed. He pressed his tongue in on me, licking and feeling for an opening. In my shock I raised both hands to try to fend him off, and was horrified to find he'd placed his crotch just where the back of one hand stroked it and then couldn't move away. He was quite hard! He pressed in on that trapped hand, and then finally released me.

"I'm delighted, Sissy," he said with a smile that was almost a smirk. "I'll call very soon." And he weaved away among the other tables.

I had held my breath the whole time he was seated, and was now breathless. Stacy seemed to be delighted. "An ardent gentleman does bring out the passion in a girl," she said. "I saw you reach for his cock! But you're not yet ready for that. You look ripe, but you don't quite know enough. You really do need first to feel royally fucked. You will, don't worry."

There were no other incidents, and I almost began to enjoy sitting in a fine restaurant with my arms bare, a long silk skirt caressing my knees, my hair curled to look as fetching as any other woman's. I mentioned this to Stacy, and she nodded. "I knew you would," was all she said.

We got back to my house relatively early. I found my pecker fully recovered, so we went straight back to the bedroom, and without bothering even to slip off my dress or heels I lifted my skirt and pulled aside my panties and pushed into Stacy yet again. I held back for as long as I could, but all the while it felt like rocketing to another planet. Stacy's voice had recovered its pitch and volume, and again she screamed and shrieked through several orgasms.

Then when I finally came, without a pause she twisted and lay back on the bed with both of her legs spread wide over the bed's edge, the side toward the far wall, motioning for me to kneel between her knees between the bed and the wall and once again let her pussy know how affectionate I felt. I did. I snugged in and devotedly French kissed her clit and her slit, licking trickles of my own cum from her lower lips as she squeezed it out of her. She rested each thigh lightly on each of my shoulders, knees tucked behind my neck, and then locked her ankles into the small of my back. Then using only her leg muscles, she squeezed my mouth tightly into her quim. I found I was locked in there, my head immovable, bound and gagged, my tongue trapped deep in that sweet cunt. So I slurped still more cum out of her, along with her own delicate juices. I looked up over her mound and into her eyes, I suppose a little soulfully, with my wide, innocent doll's eyes, my high, thin eyebrows, and my curly hair squeezed and tumbling over my ears. I must really look cute to her, I thought. I saw that this time, as she leaned back on her elbows and looked down at me, she seemed positively triumphant.

"Suck on me, darling Sissy," she said. "Suck deep. Think about nothing but our mouths joined into one mouth!" I needed no urging. I continued to look up at her earnestly while my mouth performed heroically, plumbing the last dregs out of her gorgeous pussy and then dancing arabesques and minuets on her clit, and she looked down, satisfied, even gleeful, her crotch alternatively tensing and relaxing into my face.

Suddenly the bedroom door opened and light from the hallway streamed onto us! I shifted my gaze. There, framed in the doorway and silhouetted against the light was a woman's figure, standing quite still! Cindy's! The dark apparition held there unmoving, one hand still on the doorknob. I looked at the deep shadowy area under her close-cut hairdo, where her face should be. Blackness. She stood stone still, not even moving her head, and I realized that the light from the doorway had to be full in my face. There I was, curly hair high above Stacy's groin, my mouth crammed deep into her pussy, my nose snugged into her bush, my mascara-coated eyes staring blindly at the black shadow in the doorway, my eyebrows raised, as it were, in supplication. The figure of Cindy said nothing. It just stood there.

"NMMMMM, MMMNNNNNNNNNN!" I said as I tried to heave my shoulders, to break loose, to warn Stacy that we had been discovered, to push her to release me. I needed now to stand and take the full measure of this disaster! Surely Stacy saw that light from the hallway was pouring in on our dark privacy. Could she see that black figure looking at us? Stacy's back was to the door, and she seemed if anything to strain her thighs all the more firmly to hold me to my knees, my head clamped even more firmly into the fork of her crotch. The pressure muffled even incoherent cries from far inside my throat. I glanced at her face. She was still looking down at me, and she wore the same triumphant expression, as if she'd just achieved a glorious victory, or a glorious orgasm. Or both.

After an eternity, the shadow suddenly cried out a loud, furious "You!" It was Cindy's voice! Then she stepped back into the hallway and pulled the door shut after her with a slam. The room was suddenly dark again.

I lurched to my feet despairing! Stacy kept her legs on my shoulders as if reluctant to yield the moment, then almost lazily slipped them off, one at a time, and then relaxed back on the bed, still propped up by her elbows, watching me almost casually.

"She meant me when she said that, lover. Not you. But you're going downstairs to plead with her now, aren't you." She spoke in an almost friendly tone of voice. "Fix your lipstick first. You'll make a better impression. I'll gather up my things and be on my way now. It's been fun, my sweet Sissy! Nothing personal, mind you."

I hesitated, and now looked down at Stacy, horrified. I realized that as she'd advised it I actually almost did pause to fix my lipstick. Had I gone insane? Should I at least pause to change out of my dress? Cindy's dress? What for? She'd seen me! Her freak feminized husband, his face nursing on another woman's pussy! Time was crucial now! She'd be out the door in another moment, and I'd never see her again, except maybe when my alimony payments came late. What would any lawyer do to an unfaithful husband caught like this, flagrantly performing obscene oral sex on another woman in his own wife's bed. Dressed like a pervert! What couldn't Cindy do? My ruined marriage! Think of the glee in the tabloids alone! My ruined life!

"Aaaaaarrrgghhh!" A disembodied cry of despair out of my own throat! No time for that! I vaulted over the bed, long skirt and all, and then raced out of the room and down the stairs, still in my high heels I realized when I was part way down! Cindy's high heels! And flounced and tripped down the stairs! I had to stop her from leaving! I listened for the sound of a car door slamming out in the driveway, a motor starting. Nothing yet!

Then when I got to the foot of the stairs and stepped into the living room, I was dumbfounded. There she was, seated on the couch, looking quite calmly at me, not a hair out of place, holding a squat tumbler nearly full of what I recognized was a Perfect Bourbon Manhattan on ice, her favorite drink for unwinding at the end of a day. She was wearing the white blouse she often wore under a tailored suit, one that decorously revealed her femininity, her bra and slip straps, but otherwise revealed nothing. I saw that when she'd come in, she'd taken off her suit jacket and laid it neatly folded across the back of a chair near the fireplace. Its matching skirt was tucked primly under her as she sat there and then, without breaking eye contact with me, lifted her drink and sipped at it.

Next to her on the couch, forming a cozy couple with her, sat Bill. He too looked calm, at his ease. In fact he looked at me with a certain bemused curiosity, as if there were nothing much to think about encountering a man in a living room wearing full-scale women's regalia, hairdo and all, lipstick smeared from an hour's passionate lovemaking with Stacy, his wife, his neighbor's wife, having earlier fucked her ass. He too was taking a first sip at a drink, something amber on the rocks.

I had a mad thought, that he must have been fixing those drinks calmly while Cindy was upstairs standing still in the doorway, and had handed Cindy hers without comment when she arrived back downstairs to sit and await me tumbling after. Another mad thought, these might even be refills. They may well have been here for a while, drinking their first after-dinner drink and listening to Stacy shriek, waiting for an appropriate moment for Cindy to go upstairs and show herself. There was an ice bucket on the side table directly in my line of sight! Was the ice in it partly melted? Would I be utterly insane to go look? Would it matter? Then yet another mad thought careened out of my head—I must look a mess—I do look a mess—and I realized I really was going crazy. I had to seize the initiative, at least try to contain this catastrophe!

"Cindy!" I cried out to her. I decided to ignore Bill altogether. At this moment, with me in a dress and his wife upstairs in my bed, even a simple nod to acknowledge his presence wouldn't serve. "Cindy!" I began again. I had no idea what would next follow, but I knew I'd think of something. I'd have to think of something!

I had no opportunity to find out what. "Not another word!" Cindy said distinctly. She looked perfectly calm, but her voice was like ringing steel. I was stopped in my tracks, and just stood there. "Not another word, Sissy!"

"To begin with," Cindy then said, her voice still sharp-edged, "you look a mess! I won't have my husband looking like some street tart after a hard night! Go back upstairs and fix yourself up! Don't change a thing, not a thing, do you hear? But arrange your hair properly and fix your face! And get that woman's pussy juice off it! And your own cum, if that's what that crusty stuff is on your cheeks! You're disgusting! Then come back down here. I want to look you over, and maybe tell you how you can save our marriage, and maybe save the rest of your life from ruin, if those things are of any interest to you."

Absolutely addled, I went back upstairs. Stacy was still lying on the bed, propped up by pillows, dressed now, looking at me as I came in and awkwardly went over to Cindy's makeup table, where we'd left a few cosmetics. I realized I should wash my face first, carefully so as not to disturb the coatings of cosmetics underneath. "I told you you should fix your lipstick," she said. I didn't reply.

I'd been set up, absurdly, ludicrously, utterly set up, and I didn't know why, and I didn't know what to think about it, and I didn't what to do about it. I was fucked! Royally fucked! Stacy had just told me at dinner that I would be, and I hadn't heard a word of it!

But right now I had to do what Cindy told me to do or I'd lose everything. I took a moist cleansing tissue and blotted my face, then wiped some smeared mascara off my cheek, then replaced my lipstick as neatly as I knew how. I pressed my lips together to blend it, then blotted it on a tissue, and touched my hair a few times with my fingers, and then went back downstairs. Through the whole ritual Stacy watched me wordlessly. I didn't dare look at her the whole time.

"That's better," Cindy said. "I see you decided to wear my black silk tonight. Very becoming. You'd better be careful with it—its one of my favorites, and I bought it for myself, even though I've scarcely worn it. The same with those heels."

"Cindy, listen!" I began.

She continued as if I'd said nothing. "Listen closely, because I'm going to say this only once. Tonight you are up the creek, and I have the paddle. Tonight you will take off that dress and those shoes and then without hesitating even to take a sweater from the hall closet you will walk out of this house and I will never see you again. You can keep whatever you're wearing underneath, but you'll take nothing else at all. You'll then get a lawyer, but it won't matter. I'll see to it that for the rest of your life your standard of living is one handout away from starvation on skid row. There's the door. It isn't locked. All you have to do is walk through it."

She paused. I knew what she said was true. It was over!

Then she said, "But!"

I heard her. There was more! Maybe it wasn't over! I stood absolutely still, listening. Bill seemed only half-attentive. He pulled at his drink, and his eyes began to scan our small collection of VCR movie tapes across the room on the bookcase. I waited. I didn't dare breathe.

"There is an alternative. Tonight and for the foreseeable future you will beg my forgiveness. Not with words. With a contrite and loving heart. With a desire to make amends. With absolute, unquestioning obedience to my least whim. With utterly selfless devotion to whatever I desire."

I didn't understand what she was talking about. Cindy and I had had a sharing marriage. We'd cared about each other, I thought, and we'd always accommodated to each other's desires. Mostly. How was this different?"

"I'll ask you to do things you may find embarrassing. Humiliating. Maybe loathsome. I have some in mind. You'll do them. Not reluctantly, but gladly. With no discussion. Do you understand me? Gladly!"

I waited a moment. Then I said, deeply depressed, "Yes, I understand you. We've had a two-way marriage. Now you want it one-way or no way. For how long?"

She smiled at me with no warmth. "I want it my way, or no way. For as long as there's that door, and you can walk through it and walk away, and let your lawyer deal with me."

I heard her. I didn't move.

'This thing you've been doing with Bill's wife, with Stacy. As far as you're concerned it was utterly unprovoked by me or by Bill, by anything we were doing separately or collectively, or by anything either of us had previously done to you, or to anyone else, wasn't it? With no sense of grievance against us? You freely entered into it of your own will, didn't you? While of sound mind?"

What could I say? "Yes," I said.

"To gratify your own uncontrollable and perverted lust?"

"Yes."

"And how long has this been going on now?"

"Since yesterday."

"Since yesterday." Cindy looked me up and down, and a slight smile crossed the corners of her mouth. "She made pretty rapid progress with you, didn't she? In another day or two she'd have had you cruising bars and earning money on your knees or your back. Isn't that true?"

I didn't want to contradict her. "Maybe," I said.

"Maybe," Cindy repeated. "Maybe it would have taken more than a day or two to transform you from a dull husband into a slut whore, maybe even as long as a week. But I think less, from what I see in front of me right now. My husband the penitent pervert looking sorrowful while wearing one of my best dresses. No, not really penitent. Only sorry he got caught."

Suddenly she relaxed and took another sip of her drink. "Bill doesn't make these mixed drinks as well as you do," she said. "Empty this one and make me one of yours, please"

I took her glass. I couldn't think!

"Bill's glass is about empty. He's drinking scotch and water, I think. Bring him another too."

No problem there. That's merely being a host. Though I didn't invite him here this evening, Cindy did. What for? Had he heard Stacy's screaming from next door, and come to inquire? He didn't look like any jealous husband I've ever imagined or heard of, not at the moment. During my interrogation he'd gotten up and walked over to our collection of art books on the bookcase alongside the VCR, and at this very moment he was idly turning the pages of one of them, as if bored. Was that VCR light on? And on the camera above it? Recording what?!

"Then go upstairs and change the sheets on our bed. I suppose you and Stacy have been mussing them up. Well, Bill and I are tired. We've had a long day. Send Stacy home, and tell her 'Thank you' from us. She may not understand. You can thank her for yourself too, I suppose, if you feel like it. Then come back down and let us know when our bedroom is ready."

I had to take this new revelation one step at a time. First the drinks. I brought them each another drink. Then I went upstairs. Stacy was gone, out the back way I suppose. When I had remade the bed with clean sheets and set my cosmetics apart from Cindy's on the dressing table, I went back down.

Cindy and Bill were together again on the couch, but this time Cindy had stripped off her skirt, blouse, and shoes. Wearing only a flimsy slip much like mine, she was curled into Bill's arms on his lap, her legs spilled over onto our couch, holding him close with her arms around his neck. He was leaning over her and kissing her, deep, his tongue apparently way inside her mouth, and her mouth clinging to his. They paid no attention to me.

Cindy moaned, and reached down to unzip Bill's fly, and Bill released her mouth and leaned back to unbuckle his pants and lower them a little. Then, my God! What cock flesh! It kept coming! Higher and thicker each moment, a huge pink tube, then it grew to resemble the thick end of a baseball bat! Was that what all this was about? Her hand held it delicately, and her fingers stroked it as if with feathers, and they returned to kissing and tonguing each other. It grew even more huge, already too large for her to close her hand on it, but she stroked and petted it like some familiar, loved domestic animal. A gleaming pearl appeared at its tip.

Finally I must have caught the corner of Cindy's eye. This time she acted playful. "Oh, there you are again, my dear. My lovely Sissy dear, in your lovely dress, with your lovely innocent face. Sleep in the guest room tonight, Sissy dear. Or down here if you wish. If you're still in this house tomorrow morning, it will be because you mean to stay on my terms, and we'll discuss more of them."

She returned to kissing Bill, and to caressing his cock, no longer interested in me.

I turned and went back upstairs into the guest room, and took off my dress and hung it neatly in the guest room closet. I couldn't think. I'd gotten almost no sleep the previous night, I recalled. I don't even remember getting into bed.

During the middle of the night I suddenly woke up. It was pitch black, and there was no sound anywhere in the house. I thought of getting up and at least turning on a light, then I thought better of it. I stared into the blackness for a long while. Then I must have gone back to sleep.

When I woke up the next morning the sun was already high, and I could hear Cindy in the kitchen. For some reason I thought she'd be angry if I went into our bedroom for a change of clothing, so I came down dressed the way I'd gone to bed. She was seated at the breakfast table holding a cup of coffee in both hands, wearing Bill's velour bathrobe, the one I'd used to cover myself coming from Stacy's house. I must have left it in our bedroom. She was reading the morning paper. She looked up at me.

"Well, I see you're still here," she said. "Bill's already gone to his office. Don't sit down. Where did you get that bra and panty set you're wearing? I've been missing them for months."

"From Stacy. From her underwear drawer. She said they didn't fit her, but they might fit me, so I could have them."

"Yes," Cindy said. "So that's where they've been. I suppose I left them at Bill's a few months ago, that time we were both in a hurry to make a plane. I suppose Stacy found them and figured things out. And bided her time. I've been wondering how she knew."

I just stood there, feeling vaguely that I hadn't yet been dismissed.

"So she used you to send me a message. That two can play at husband-stealing. To even the score. In fact, to ruin you in the process, to emasculate you in my eyes before she gave you back to me. Cute. She did it, too. I can't think of you as a man now. Look at yourself." She looked up at me, steadily, examining my face for signs of disagreement.

I was still absorbing what she had just said. My wife has been fucking Bill for a few months, at least. So Stacy set me up, just as I'd figured last night. She really fucked me! The artist with the two-timing husband turned out to be an actress after all! The whole time I was blissfully dipping into her ass and her cunt and sucking on both, she was getting even with Cindy! But we're all even now, in a way! Not me and Cindy fuck for fuck, there she still owes me, lots of them! Why does she act as if I owe her?

"I'd wondered why she wanted to be seated at that center table at Andre's," Cindy continued, now thinking aloud to herself. "In full view of everybody,. Bill saw Stacy perched there center stage the moment we came in, of course, and asked me who you were. I recognized my black silk right away, sitting there with you inside it. Then we both saw you making out with that man in full view of everybody. Have you slept with him yet? No opportunity yet I suppose."

She paused for a moment and glanced at me with a gleam in her eye, amused, as if she'd just thought of something else to say but then thought better of it. "I don't know why she didn't just take out an ad," she said partly to herself. "When we pulled into the driveway last night her shrieking could be heard half way down the block. She was obviously taking no chances we'd miss out on knowing what you two were doing."

Then Cindy looked up at me directly. "You're here, so you're eager to please me. I'm afraid you get no breakfast—you slept through it. Now go back upstairs and shower. Your pretty ass is mine, now. Light make-up for today, and you'll have to do something with your hair until we can get you a perm. The bra and panties are yours from now on—you can wear them one more day, but rinse them out tonight, and maybe tomorrow we'll buy you more. I left out a blouse and skirt for you on our bed—Bill's bed and mine—and you can wear my sneakers today until you're properly outfitted, with sensible shoes for what you'll be doing. Then when you're dressed and tidy, unpack my bags and put the dirty clothes in the laundry. Put my panties in to soak."

She smiled to herself, still eying me steadily. "You once asked about those dried stains on my panties, and I was a little vague, it's a female thing, I said? I suppose it was. Cum leaking out of me, mostly. You see dear, I've never thought you were much of a man. Almost since we were first married I've been getting myself laid when I could, between classes, in the supply room at the office, wherever I could. Then after I first saw Bill's cock last New Year's, it was wherever and whenever the two of us could arrange to meet, daily when we were both in town. Several times daily. Usually with no chance for me to clean up afterward. So I'd never let you lick me down there when we made love. Even you might have caught on. But now there's no reason why I shouldn't use you the way Stacy did. To judge by what I saw last night, you're starved to suck cum from pussies anyhow. So that'll be one of your duties from now on, and you won't need to put my panties in to soak any more."

All this time I just stood there in her lacy slip and pale blue underwear and listened, a little awkwardly, feeling like a fool. I was a fool. But I had to ask.

"Cindy, I can't see why you're angry with me. You tell me you've been sleeping around. I've been faithful to you, except for yesterday, and the day before too I guess. So how can you feel I've cheated on you?

"You didn't know I was sleeping around," she said, a little bored that it needed explaining. "So you had no excuse. You did it all by yourself. With Stacy's help, of course. But you're thinking about this the wrong way. This isn't a matter of moral or legal equity. Of fair treatment for both parties, what you would call getting even and then calling it quits. No, not at all."

She set down her coffee cup and placed both palms flat on the table, and looked up at me with her back arched into a taut bow. This was her lecture and instruction mode. "It's a matter of what I want and what I can get. Now I've got you by the balls, and you've got nothing at all. I have witnesses at Andre's, and up and down the block, including Stacy if I need to depose her, and I have videotape of your statement last night, and I have your ridiculous appearance, and now there's also the fact that you lack the guts to walk away and wait for me to crush you, as I would. I learned in law school, when someone's balls drop into your hand, squeeze." She paused. "Or better, yet, cut them off."

I was now very uneasy, but I kept going. "I see now why Stacy got me up to look like this," I said. "To show she could, to use me to mock you. But why do you want me to stay dressed like this? To show Stacy that you don't mind, she did you a favor emasculating me? To punish and humiliate me? To keep me in a kind of subservience?"

"My, my! Questions! Those are the last you'll ever ask me, Sissy! From now on, as I told you, you'll do whatever I ask gladly, with your whole soul and no questions at all. But I'll answer these, because you already know the answers. 'Yes' so Stacy understands she's done me a favor, putting you into my bra and panties. 'Yes' to punish and humiliate you for betraying your vow to me to be true and faithful. People don't break their promises to me. 'Yes' to keep you subservient in a way. Not because to be a woman is to be subservient. But because that's what you'll be. Your old life is over! In my eyes you're no longer a man, so we'll see if as a woman you can be sufficiently servile."

"There's a fourth reason too. Bill and I discussed it last night after we got back from Andre's, while we were finishing our first round of drinks and waiting for Stacy to finish her screaming. We hadn't figured on Stacy putting you into a dress. Who'd have thought her that ingenious? You're quite presentable, you know. Bill even thinks you're kind of cute. So there's something else I'll expect you to do. You'll find out tonight."

"You can walk out any time, dear. Then your... er... inclinations will become part of the public record, and I'll see to it every man in town thinks you've been a whore for some time now. With alimony payments, you'll spend the rest of your life deprived of necessities in order to pay for my luxuries. Or if you actually do decide to become a whore, I'd take no more than a pimp would from your earnings, though no less. You could get your tits blown up, and have a few good years. But that's up to you."

She lost interest in me. Her eyes glazed over, and she picked up her coffee cup again and returned to her newspaper. "I think you have work to do around the house, and I have to get to the office now," she said. "Light make-up, remember. I don't want a slut keeping house for me." I felt dismissed. I turned to leave, and she didn't notice.

 

iii.

By that afternoon I'd waxed and polished and dusted and washed everything I could think of, and then after a moment's thought set the dining room table for dinner for only two, and a place for myself in the kitchen. Do it Cindy's way. I then went next door to talk to Stacy, to find out what she understood, to look for some less ruinous way out of this predicament. Or at least to get some advance word what Cindy and Bill might be thinking of for me. Maybe work out an alliance—we both had long-term unfaithful spouses, after all. I was wearing the blouse and skirt Cindy'd laid out of course, and light make-up—I wouldn't dare not. I found Stacy in her studio, painting yet another portrait of herself nude.

"Oh, hi," she said, preoccupied. She only half-listened as I told her how Cindy and her husband had reacted to this brief thing of ours. "Stacy," I said. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me!"

"Lust, Sissy dear," Stacy replied. "Sincere lust. That was the most sincere tongue I've ever felt moving inside me." She studied her canvas. "And it was fun! Do you like this? It's for you, you know. Cindy wants to hang it in the guest room, the servant's room from now on, yours, so you'll be reminded why you're there. And, I imagine, so you can have something to look at when you need to masturbate. Otherwise she means to keep you celibate. It's nice to think I'll still be helping you get off!"

She blended brush strokes on her portrait's hairy twat, and continued. "She commissioned it from me this morning. Do you like these highlighted skin tones on my labia, their puffy appearance? I was thinking about the way your lips looked after an hour of kissing mine. Puffy, the same way. And I'm rather pleased with the shiny trickle here from my pussy down my thigh. I'm trying to paint myself the way I felt when we ended our affair last night, well-fucked."

"Stacy, I'm well-fucked right now!"

"Yes," she said, mixing up a swirl of pink pigment, "I suppose you are."

"You made a sucker out of me!"

She paused and glanced at me for a moment, and then a smile lit up her whole face. "Yes, I surely did!" she said. "You were just wonderful! You have a great talent! Rest assured, it will not go to waste!" She then resumed stroking curves onto her likeness on the canvas.

I tried a different tack altogether. "Stacy, what does she have in mind for me?"

Now she stopped and studied me closely for a moment.

"You do know why Bill decided to live in your house for now, don't you, and to leave me to this one if I want it?

"No. But I can guess."

"No, you can't guess. It isn't just to sleep all night with your wife, though he will I suppose. Nor to leave me, his unfaithful wife, to my lonely fate. Cindy thinks that's why. But she's no big deal to sleep with, as you should know. And he'll be fucking me anyhow, as usual."

"Then why?"

She returned to her painting, lifting and lowering her right arm in sinuous sweeping motions, her right breast rising and falling each time. It was a very delicate effect. Her arm and her breast in motion I mean, not what she was painting. She glanced at me again. "If you're going to get hard-ons watching me while wearing a skirt," she said. "You'd better gaff yourself. Try gaffing tape. It hurts but it works. Sanitary napkins in your panties are good too for covering the genital mounds of ladies who sport cocks and balls where they should have smooth pussies." She looked at my erection again. "You've got to soften up and stow it, lover, or else whack off!"

I figured our conference had ended. I started back toward the door.

"See you tonight!" she said without turning her head.

"What?!"

"Oh, of course you don't know. I'm in this too!"

"In what?"

"See you!" she said. She began tipping her portrait's nipples with rosy highlights. Now they looked good enough to eat.

Bill came home first and hung his suit jacket in our front hall closet, then settled into the living room with the evening paper. I figured, cover all bets. So I came in carrying a scotch on the rocks for him. He glanced at me at first as if I were furniture. Then he saw the scotch.

"Well, that's promising," he said. "Without my even asking. You want me to put in a good word for you with your wife, don't you, for whatever you think she has in mind. Well, I will. Don't worry. What she has in mind, between us, incidentally, is dressing you to look like a woman until you get to believe that's what you are. Among other things. Nice hairdo, uh, Sissy is it? But you could do with some jewelry. Oh, I'd like a splash of club soda with this too, please, and a little more ice."

He handed it back to me, and I got him what he wanted.

Cindy came home soon after, carrying a package she'd picked up on the way home. A serviceable gray cotton work dress, calf-length, a frilly white apron, black pantyhose, black low-heeled pumps, and a white starched fringe of lace that was supposed to sit in my hair.

"Here, dear," she said, looking quickly around. "The house looks lovely. Now put these on, and when it's ready serve us dinner. And remember, whenever you're wearing this uniform, you address me as 'Ma'am' at all times. I'll call you by your given name, which is 'Sissy' and nothing else. Forget your past name and your past life. And for goodness sake, Sissy, it's getting to be dark outside! After five in the afternoon wear more eye makeup, and a darker lipstick! Where's your self-respect?" She then went in to chat with Bill in a low voice.

I went to my room to change, and then served them both dinner. It was irritating, seeing Bill lean back in my chair making familiar conversation with my wife while I stood back, occasionally refilling a wine glass or handing one of them a plate. He tried to look up my dress once, amused, I think to tease me. But he was always courteous when he asked for anything. Cindy was blunt and sometimes insulting. I resented it. Other men's cum had been dripping into her panties for years, and I'd been soaking and rinsing it out for her, and she begrudged me my one lapse! But she was right. Justice had nothing to do with it.

I was loading the dishwasher when Stacy arrived, and they talked among themselves for a while before they called me in. Bill and Cindy were sitting close together on the couch, being quite affectionate. Bill had his arm around her waist, and Cindy's hand was placed possessively on that monumental bulge in his pants. Stacy was sitting cross-legged in the big easy chair opposite, and when she saw me looking at her she grinned and gave me two quick pussy-kisses with her lips. For a woman who was looking at another woman holding her husband's cock, she seemed remarkably at ease. Everyone did, in fact, but me. They didn't invite me to sit down, so I just stood there. "Ma'am," I said.

"First of all, dear," Cindy said. "I want you to know that we all appreciate the remarkable adjustment you've made to your new status, in only a single day. You were never the Lord and Master of this house, but now you are certainly the servant, and we do appreciate that you're trying to please us. It shows what you can really accomplish when you try." She paused.

She's right, I suppose, I was thinking. I just fixed and served dinner to a man whose cock is still wet from sliding around inside my wife. But why can't she get to the point?

"The point of all this," Cindy continued, "is that there is only one real man in this room at this moment. Stacy and I are agreed on that. You'll do, but next to Bill's your cock is bush league, and your stamina is only average. Stacy and I both have needs we want to have satisfied. Bill has agreed to satisfy those needs, and we've agreed to share Bill with each other. It makes sense. That's where we are now. Bill will fuck either of us whenever he feels like it, or whenever either one of us feels like it."

"Where is there room for you in this? Well, first of all, we'll keep you on as a domestic servant, as our maid. You've done all the housework for me all along, so there isn't much new there. But it will now be as a maid, not a man, and now it'll be as a servant to Bill too, and also Stacy, so we need to formalize the relationship."

"You are not to think of yourself as our social equal. You may eventually want to develop friendships with other domestics, cooks, gardeners, people in service. We have no objection. Even to an intimate relationship with some male friend after a decent interval, since you'll never get pregnant by him. But I insist on that social restriction among your friends from now on, so you'll remain accustomed to your altered circumstances."

"And of course you'll continue to live as a woman, so nothing reminds you of your former life and former privileges as my husband. I'll want that commitment to be irreversible. I've thought about having your balls cut off in token of your good faith, as I mentioned to you this morning. But that does seem extreme right now. So your word will serve, and Stacy's suggested certain medications."

You can write your novel in your time off, if you wish, and you can even teach your usual evening courses in the Community College, after an appropriate change of gender registered in your credentials. Nothing much needs to change for you. Stacy suggests you'll be a better novelist as a woman, because now you'll understand women, especially those who feel betrayed. Before this you didn't know diddly."

"Oh, yes, another thing. As I've mentioned, Stacy's strategy did work. When I saw my pretty husband dining in public all femmed up in flounces, and kissing that man so shamelessly, he disappeared as a man with a penis. On the other hand, Stacy testifies that you do have certain gifts women can appreciate. I've denied myself their use out of a mistaken concern for your pride, but no more, and I must say, you've certainly impressed Stacy. She thinks you're a rare genius at cunt sucking, and that you'll make a perfect hygienic specialist for both of us. I've already told you I'll expect to see your curly hairdo between my legs whenever it's necessary, at least every morning before I go to work, and Stacy expects the same service. I think you can feel proud, that whenever Bill fucks us, we'll want you to clean his cum out of us. Stacy also agrees with me that your little prick has seen its last partner, I'm afraid, apart from your own hand."

"Now there's one more matter. As you know, I'm not very oral, and neither is Stacy. We don't enjoy sucking cocks. Call us silly, but that's how we are. On the other hand, since you'll be cleaning us out after our sessions with our man, it's only reasonable that you'll lick him off too, fairly frequently. It also happens that Bill gets hard often, and likes to relax with that thing of his out of his pants, kept wet, cooled down. So he'll expect that service from your mouth too, I suppose at any time at all. We may get you a beeper, so he can call you from his office. Then, when neither of our cunts is available to him, he'll be expecting your mouth to serve him adequately. He was going to ask you for a blow job this afternoon when he came home, he told me, but decided to wait until I could tell you in my own way. So I'm telling you now. Sissy, until further notice, you're my lover's designated cock sucker. Any time he asks for it."

"That's all I have to say. Now, my dear, you're very clever. We all know that. Can you think of an appropriate way to show us right now that you agree to provide for Bill's pleasure, and to show how much you appreciate the privilege?"

She was still sitting alongside Bill, her hand now rubbing his bulge in slow circles. The cock beneath was tenting and straining against his pants. They both looked at me expectantly. Bill broke out with a reassuring grin, and Cindy with an inviting smile, but I sensed that just underneath her smile was severity, quick to lash out if I delayed.

All right, I said to myself. Her boy friend wants a steady supply of blow jobs. Cindy was probably right. If I'm sucking his cum out of them, why not suck it out of him too? Does it make that much difference? Do I have a choice? I thought for a moment about that huge cock head, big as an ice cream cone. As I fell to my knees between his knees and reached to unzip his fly, I decided that licking was the best I could do with something that size. It would never all fit in my mouth.

I proved to be wrong, and a half-hour later Cindy and Stacy had been squealing in delight almost non-stop while watching my head at work in Bill's lap. When we finished they spontaneously applauded. I managed to get Bill so hot that he himself screamed, half crazed, as he squirted and spurted and gushed into my mouth. He was still gasping for breath when I stood up and nodded my appreciation for the applause, still swallowing as rapidly as I could. Some of the slippery stuff had escaped down the corners of my mouth, and I couldn't lick it while my mouth was full. Then I moved back to my proper place in the room. "Ma'am?" I said, when I'd arrived there, still working some out from under my tongue.

"That's was wonderful, dear," Cindy said. "Just wonderful! Breathtaking! That's all now. I'll be out of town tomorrow and the next day, so you'll do errands with Stacy, go shopping for clothes, set up beauty parlor appointments, see the doctor, and so forth. She'll keep you busy. About what time should he meet you, Stacy?"

 

"I think come by around ten," Stacy said. "That was soooo scrumptious, lover, what you just did to Bill. You'd have made a fabulous woman, I just knew it! Such delicate finesse and yet such powerful self-assurance! You made me so wet just watching! I'm going to especially enjoy sitting on Bill's cock tonight, I just know it! And your mouth tomorrow, sweetheart! Maybe come by around 9:30 instead?"

 

I went back to the kitchen, and as I finished cleaning up I could hear shrieks of laughter and giggles from the living room, and hilarious cries of "Did you see what he...?" and "That sweet little ..." and "Can you imagine...?" Were they mocking me? There was nothing I could do about it, so I went to bed.

 

iv.

When I got to Stacy's the next morning I called her name from the kitchen, and she called back "Up here, lover! The bedroom!" Her stunning body was wrapped in a filmy negligee that seemed to float her off the floor, and immediately my cock rose up in my skirt, pushing the front pleats way out and awry.

She noticed, of course. "I'm not doing anything with that part of you any more, sweetheart. Against the rules. We're teaching you how to be a lady, and ladies don't ever get their erections satisfied. If I want a man in me other than Bill, it'll be someone other than you. I know where to find one. Cindy does too, which is just as well, because sooner or later'll she'll need one too. You're spoken for now, as Cindy's domestic convenience and as a mouth for the three of us. Things are right on schedule. In fact I'm betting that after watching armies of women parade through Bill's bedroom, I'm finally seeing my marriage enter steady state."

She looked me over, lifted my skirt, and shook her head. But not because of my hard cock. "Mmmmm!," She said. "I just love looking at a man wearing women's undergarments! I see Cindy gave you panty hose to wear with that outfit. She's such a sweety! There's no way she's wearing them these days. No prick can push into the promised land through panty hose, not without tearing them, and that gets pretty expensive. The way Bill is, I'd ruin a few pairs every day, and Cindy too. But stockings don't get in anyone's way. We'll have to buy you stockings and a garter belt or two."

I was addled. "Stacy, what are you talking about? Nobody'll push into my promised land! I don't have one!"

"Really?" Stacy was genuinely amused. "Really? Not one, and I've got two? You've already forgotten how not two days ago I was milking your cock with my ass like some teenage girl doing a hand job on her favorite boy friend? Only two days, and you've already forgotten how you fell head over heels in love with my ass, and into it too? It was so delicious! Well, I mean to return the favor! I want you to be happy!"

"But first some unfinished business. Where were we when Cindy interrupted us the other night? Oh, yes, I was off the edge of the bed like this, and I'd already spread my legs real wide like this, and then I'd put them on your shoulders, that's right, just like that, and then I'd begun to squeeze my cunt into your mouth so you couldn't say anything when Cindy showed up, and ooooooohhhhh! Lover! Yesssss! Just like that!"

A half hour later we'd finished as if Cindy had never arrived and interrupted us and put me into this terrible predicament. Stacy moaned through most of it, with only a little full-pitched shrieking. I supposed that earlier she'd been trying to attract attention at the top of her lungs, for whenever Cindy happened to come within hearing. But she did seem completely satisfied. I was lying back on the bed with my eyes shut, savoring her flavor and the serene expression I'd finally seen on her face, and resting my strained neck muscles, when I next heard her voice suddenly from next to the bed, "Here we go, Sissy. More happiness."

I opened my eyes and couldn't believe what I saw. Stacy was standing next to me, but her beautifully trimmed bush was nowhere in sight. Instead, not six inches from my face was a huge pink dong, veined, crowned with a royal purple cock head. She was wearing what seemed to be a nearly invisible pink rubber panty girdle, and angled up from her crotch and fused to it seamlessly poked an enormous dildo.

"This is the kind I love," she said. "Not those contraptions with straps. This one is simple. One size fits all. Well, maybe not all but we'll see. Your turn to put your legs on my shoulders, lover."

I turned pale. "Stacy, I've never....I don't think....Stacy, it's so big!"

She kissed my cheek. "What a sweet compliment! That's exactly what I told my first boy, in exactly those words. I remember how I felt when I first saw that tree trunk of his, and I knew he meant to put all of it high up between my legs. You know what he answered? 'Sweetheart, you'll know it's there, but you'll know you love it.' And didn't I? Don't I?"

So I closed my eyes and pulled my legs up as high up as they'd go, and when I felt her shoulders pressing gently underneath my thighs, I relaxed onto her. I felt so helpless! That...thing pressed on my anus, and I could feel something slick and slippery sliding onto me, her finger.

"Just relax that sweet pussy," she told me. "This is what it's all for."

Her finger rotated in my hole a few times, then departed. A moment later it was as if some huge locomotive had driven in instead. I felt stretched out, in a terrible agony, and I almost shrieked like Stacy. Then a moment later I realized that the pain had eased.

"Oh, Stacy, thank God you pulled that thing back out. It was unbearable!"

"No lover. Wiggle your pretty hips, and push your ass into me, and you'll feel it. I'm all the way inside!"

I did. She was.

She them began slow stroking, and at first my ass felt crammed and raw as she moved her member in and out. "Try to love me with your cunt, sweetheart," she said. "Try to grip it and milk it while it slides into you, and don't let me slide out if you can help it." I did as she told me, but whatever I did, her stroking grew more and more strenuous, and I began to feel a familiar yearning for release in my prick, and I thrust against her with greater force, until finally I could feel my ass-cheeks broad siding against her thighs as she pumped me with the marvelous...thing she carried on her crotch, and we banged into each other, and she banged me until I came and came, my cum a glorious fulfillment. Then I just lay there with my legs on her shoulders, while she slouched down on my body, spent. I think inside those rubber pants, the thing she'd thrust into me was attached to something thrust into her. She'd come too. It was sort of like a marriage.

"Are you happy now?" she asked me when we'd devoted a few minutes to breathing deeply while pressed closely to each other.

"Oh, yes, Stacy! Yes!" I said. There was nothing else I could say.

"Good!" was all she replied. Then she said, "We won't buy you any more pantyhose at all, ever, unless you decide to enter a nunnery."

As I washed and made my face up, and Stacy was dressing, I asked her what she meant that some day Cindy might have to find another man to satisfy herself.

"Did I say that? Well, I guess I did. Long range planning, lover, prepare for the inevitable. No one lasts with Bill forever. I last. I'm married to him, and know him well, and provide for his needs. Cindy obviously isn't thinking ahead. If she should want to return to you after she and Bill have worn each other out, there isn't going to be any you left by then. None she'd care about. So she'll need to go looking."

It struck me that Stacy was remarkably free of animosity against her rivals. I said so.

"Oh, no! I've always shared Bill. He's impossibly horny, all the time. A girl needs to get away from him now and then to recover, and to do other things. I need time off from him now and then. Like now, lover girl. So I'm glad there's always a spare cunt nearby."

"Then you didn't resent Cindy? What you did to me wasn't to get even with her?"

"Resent Cindy? Good heavens, no! I introduced them to each other myself, at my last New Year's Eve Party, and practically sprinkled rose petals on the bed before he nailed her there. I had a feeling they'd hit it off. Six months now she's been waving at everybody from the top of his flagpole. Not to you, you never see anything under your nose, if it isn't a pussy."

She paused, then came over and kissed me on the lips, quite seriously, and then went back to fixing her eyes at her dressing table. My eyes suddenly got wet. I hadn't expected that. "With a pussy you are a very great artist," she said quietly. "I mean every word of that. You sculpt a girl's sensations with your mouth the way Michelangelo sculpted marble. It's genius! But if Cindy thinks I was resentful and vindictive that she's been fucking my husband, it's only because that's how she is. Just naturally mean and vindictive."

I was appalled. "You mean everything I'm trying to get used to now, this feminizing of me, this setting me up in a menage in what used to be my own house, this turning me into a domestic servant and cum-sucker for my wife, and her lover, and his wife, it's all because all you wanted was a casual fuck a couple of days ago, and then to play dress-up games with me on a whim?"

Stacy was pulling up her stockings, and fastening them onto her garter belt. "No, not a whim at all." she said inattentively. "There are always reasons for things. If you hadn't shown me almost the moment we tumbled into bed that you have that great mouth, that superb technique, I wouldn't have gone further and dolled you up in a dress and make-up to see how you'd look. But you did, so I did. You'll be happy I did. You have enormous talent when you're on your knees between a pair of legs, but it takes planning and discipline for an artist to achieve greatness. We're going to work on it. Practice, practice, practice!"

She'd whipped lipstick onto her face and checked the effect. Gorgeous, as always. Then she glanced at me, made a face, and said, "Well, you'll do for now. First stop now the doctor. Then your appointment for your perm and makeover and ear piercing. Tomorrow we'll shop some of the better stores for your dresses and underwear and things. You need everything, for all the years ahead of you. We'll do your nails and wax and oil your body tomorrow too. Oh, here, a sanitary napkin to put over that dingus of yours for now, to flatten it out. And here're a few tampons for your purse. You'll need them later and we won't be coming back here."

I was getting desperate! "Stacy, I don't understand! I agreed to lick cunts, and I have to suck Bill's cock I guess, and I'll take care of the house. I'll wear that stupid maid's uniform. If I don't, Cindy will crucify me in the divorce courts! If I do, I don't get my life confiscated, and I can wait her out. That's all!"

She straightened her dress, twisted her hips left and right in the full-length mirror, approved, and headed out the bedroom door. Without bothering to look at me, she said, "Yes, you believe that. And Cindy even believes some of it. But Sissy girl, you really don't have a clue, do you? Get in the car, lover, and I'll clue you in. By the numbers."

Once backed out of her garage and headed down the street, she glanced at me sideways and almost laughed. I was by now frantic! She prolonged my agony just a bit longer. "We have to buy you a bigger purse," she said. "You've got no place to put anything. No wonder you're coming apart."

"STACY!!"

Finally she smiled. "All right, sweetheart. By the numbers. One. There's a threat hanging over you of a divorce action brought by a vindictive wife for alienated affection or something because you fucked your neighbor's wife. Me. OK so far?"

"Yes! That's what I just said!"

"Don't interrupt!" Stacy turned a corner and headed onto the Freeway. "Two. Let's look at this so-called divorce. How long before justice delayed is justice denied? Or vindictiveness delayed is vindictiveness that begins to look silly? Three months? Six months? How long does Cindy continue to live with you in your new domesticated state before getting thrown out of any courtroom for pleading adultery way back there then whenever? What can she say? 'Judge, six months ago my husband fucked my neighbor, because her husband had moved in on me and had been fucking me for the past year, but who knew, and my husband has been waiting on me and the other husband night and day for six months now, and for sex he's been staring at the ceiling and dicking his hand, and I want compensatory damages! O yes, alimony too because I'm a lawyer and earn six times what he earns, and he's a professor with an unpublished unwritten novel, though his real talent is giving incredible head to me and to my boyfriend's wife. Also to my boyfriend, but we'll leave out how come, judge, because then words like extortion and blackmail and rape come into play.'"

Now we were caught between two slow cars, and Stacy gave the traffic her complete attention. Then onto an off-ramp, and she resumed. "How long before a plea like that puts her in the funny papers? Don't get me wrong. The threat's real enough right now. Your ass is hers, and I'm using that fact for my own purposes. And yours too, long range, Sissy girl. But soon it'll be ludicrous."

"And Cindy knows that. She's a lawyer! The parties to a real divorce action are always cautioned to stay far away from each other, to try if at all possible to avoid sucking each other's cunts and dicks. So we arrive at point number Three. Oops, also at the Doctor's office. We'll resume with "Three" when we're back in the car. And then "Four," and that should explain it all.

We pulled into the parking lot of a professional building, and Stacy got out of the car. "C'mon!" she said.

I got out more slowly. "What's this for, Stacy? A checkup? I'm OK. Physically, I mean. You know that too. But Stacy, I'm a little embarrassed. I'm dressed like a girl, and I'm wearing lipstick and so on, and the Doctor, he's going to see that I'm a man."

"Yes, she is, Sissy my love. But she already knows that. She knows lots of things about you. Cindy's been on the phone with her for hours. Some of the things Cindy's told her about you are even true. Don't worry about it. You don't really have a choice right now. And it's really for the best. Here we are."

Stacy said something to the Doctor's receptionist, who waved us into an examination room, and the Doctor appeared a minute later. A small, elderly woman with white hair and a wrinkled face, wearing a hearing aid.

"This is the transgenderist? Her wife spoke to me?"

"Yes," Stacy shouted into her ear.

She turned to me. "And you are the man with a woman inside trying to get out, who needs to become that woman or your wife will divorce him because when he was a woman she slept with ..." she checked her notes "...another woman, so the man now needs to hide from his wife inside the woman inside him. You now want to be a woman with a man inside trying to get out, or your wife does. Is that true."

It sounded familiar. But I couldn't be sure. I nodded slowly.

"Then we'll begin. These injections will change your body to match who you are. You will gradually become what you have been, irreversibly, irrespective of what you thought you were. You may think you are what you've thought you were, but your gender will change nevertheless. To say more than this might be confusing. I have your wife's informed consent to this process, to wit." The Doctor held up a paper with Cindy's signature. "She tells me she has yours to this too. To wit." She held up another paper.

"To what?" I asked her, puzzled.

"Very well then," she replied.

A half hour later I was heavy with injections. Four in each buttock, and three in each arm. Time release needles in the fat of my belly and under my arms. We got back into the car. Stacy was delighted, practically glowing, as if I'd been kissing her bottom the whole time.

"Stacy, are these really necessary?" I asked.

She shot me a quick look as we started out again. "Are they? Cindy wants you female and docile. Can you refuse? Do you have a choice? If its any consolation, I want you female too. And now you will be, irreversibly, irrespective of what you want, and irregardless of what anyone else wants. To wit. So now you've got no choice. Relax and enjoy becoming what we want you to be."

"All right. I've got no choice. But what will I become?"

"A woman. Those injections are heavy-duty, broad spectrum female hormones, lover, and you are now crocked to the gills with them. Lots. A full six month supply, slow release, time release—you're a walking drug store. In six months you'll be a woman, a pretty one I should think, except for the chromosomes and the reproductive apparatus. You'll have breasts, and wide hips, and a round ass, and a smooth skin, and soft facial features, and a clit a little more modest that the one you're sporting right now, and an inclination to fix your hair often, and maybe even a desire to suck cock. The woman inside you is definitely coming out. And she'll be a nice person, really sweet, because there are also some long range tranquilizers in you, too."

"My God, Stacy, why?"

"Ooooh!" Stacy looked intently at a car coming toward us, and followed it as it whisked past. "Did you see the hairdo on that woman in the van? A precious poodle cut! And so practical! You might want something like that, that can't muss, and that springs right back into shape. Just comb it with your fingers, or with any girl's pussy, and it's beautiful again."

"Stacy, why?"

By the numbers? "'Three' is why Cindy wants you feminized. Cindy figures that by the time her divorce threat has no teeth, you won't remember you ever were a husband anyhow. She figures that with enough female hormones you will no be longer interested in sex with other women, because you'll have become a woman. Your penis will have forgotten what it was for. The ultimate punishment for an erring husband. You'll be a compliant servant. You'll wait on her hand and foot. She thinks all those hormones will recondition you to cry if she finds fault with your cooking, and to be overjoyed if she lets you lick dick on whoever she's fucking."

"Will it!?"

"I've got female hormones, lots of them. Have I lost my interest in sex? Cindy's got hormones too. Is she interested in sex? Well, in her case big-dick sex, not with you obviously. But I think that's because she resents it that she never grew her own. And is she sweetly submissive and eager to please others? I rest my case."

We parked alongside the largest quality women's store in town, and walked alongside the lingerie section to the purple and perfumed area in back, where their select beauty salon was located. "

"Now, Sissy, stop peeking at those pretty things. They're all lovely, aren't they? Ever since you hit puberty and noticed that girls are different you've been a little jealous of us, haven't you? Our faces and hair and bodies are desirable. The delicate lacy nothings that cover our sweet ass cheeks and moist pussies are desirable. The dainty, flimsy, sheer fantasies that lift our heavy-hanging breasts and point our nipples toward your mouth are desirable. Our grace when we move is desirable, and when we look at you with dark eyes and talk, heavenly choruses sing."

"You've been one quivering, masturbating, fetish-driven wreck in the presence of girls, ever since teenage, daydreaming without end of some moment when you can become one with these adorable creatures. Blend into one of us. I could tell the moment your nose touched my clit, so reverently, worshipping, and I knew it beyond any doubt when you tried to climb into my pussy head first."

"Well lover, it's done. You are such a lucky girl! Each hour, more and more hormones are seeping into your body and mind, and you are becoming more and more desirable. You're already one of us. An adorable creature who always surrounded by nylon and lace and silk and wisps of satiny cloth around her growing breasts and curving figure, perfumed and sparkly and red-lipped. Tomorrow, any lingerie you see here will be yours to touch, and own, and wear, and become you. Anything feminine in the whole store. Today your face and your hair will become feminine, and you'll look feminine for the rest of your life. Isn't that the most desirable thing in the world?"

"Yes," I said. Everything she'd said, repeating it so sweetly in her fluted voice, lulled me with the memory of our own pleasures together, how desirable it was to be close, to share, to be what she was. She seemed to speak for my most ardent unspoken wish. Two lovely young women in pastel pink and green uniforms waited for us by the desk at the entrance to the beauty salon. They smiled. I was bathed in perfume and light. "This must be Sissy," one of them said. "Sissy dear, are you ready to become a beautiful girl, and to be beautiful for the rest of your life?"

Maybe it was the hormones. Maybe those tranquilizers. Maybe because everything Stacy had said now resonated as my heart's truth, and because I couldn't help it now anyhow.

"Yes," I said.

 

V.

The drive back home was a little different. I was zoned out, a sweet smile never left my face Stacy told me later, and my eyes held in their glow a peaceful, contemplative inwardness, as if I were a woman who's just been told she's going to have a baby, that her femininity, her desire to love, be loved, and be lovely has been fulfilled. My hair was strawberry blonde and frost-tipped, curled, piled in lush, high, pretty curves, with loose braids woven in until my own longer tresses could grow out. I was touching and pushing it to peaked perfection with my fingertips even before we left the salon. Stacy told me that was the most naturally feminine gesture a girl could make, that it lifts the breast and defines grace itself as a beautiful upward motion of a girl's arm. She was always trying to paint it. I remembered her lifting her arm to paint her own portrait.

My lips were now permanently stained berry red, after a beautician told me I'd never again need to re-apply lipstick after heavy smooching of a woman's pussy or a man's cock, and then the other beautician had spoken with such feeling about the look of a woman's red lips sliding down a long, ivory tube of a penis. I wanted to see for myself. Stacy told me that Bill was home waiting for us that very moment, eager to greet me with a kiss. My brows had already been shaped, but now electrolysis of the follicles would preserve their high arch permanently. My lashes were dyed, and a beauty consultant had shown me how to apply shades of eye shadow to preserve the look of a wide-eyed, innocent but passionate girl. As a few nights earlier, a heavy foundation creme gave my cheeks and jaw a matte, fragile appearance. Each ear lobe was diamond-studded.

"You're just gorgeous, Sissy!" Stacy exclaimed when she saw me after three hours of effort had reshaped and recolored me. "You're going to be so very, very happy!" I was looking deep into a salon mirror as she said it, feeling a rich, flooding joy as I saw myself. I was desirable. I loved me. To complete my enchantment, Stacy bought me a deep turquoise matching bra and panty set, the panty with slit crotch and matching garter belt, stockings, a loose-draped white Satin blouse, and a tight bright red mini skirt. I put them on at once, and I felt so sedate yet sexy! I was lovely! In some vague way, I felt loved! It was just wonderful!"

As we drove home, Stacy was reluctant to disturb my delicious serenity. "Darling," she said. "It isn't all the tranquilizers talking. You know now why you want to be a girl, even though you didn't know that's what you wanted. I wanted that for you too. But there's more. Let me tell you now why I invited you to dinner a few days ago, and seduced you, and feminized you, and convinced Cindy to approve your being here now in this euphoric state she'd never have approved had she known. My reasons, by the numbers, are what make up number four. In this case, the last and determining reasons."

"Woman to woman, I can now tell you what has always been my woman's instinct about your marriage. Bill and Cindy are winding down. I'm sure he'll be out of her trenches by Christmas. He's restless already—I've seen it many times before. He meets many out-of-town women in the course of his business—buyers, customers, salespeople—and many are attractive. Many are attracted to him. The first time they dance with him, and they can feel his dong on their bellies, they're done for. And once they're in bed together, Bill always behaves like a gentleman, and attends them in their bed, never his. And if their bed is out of town, then for months, until his passion ebbs, Bill will be out of town. Then I'll miss him terribly sometimes, because then I can't fuck with him for weeks at a time."

"I've been looking for someone local to groom to replace Cindy, so he won't be tempted out of town. There are no suitable women. But my instinct kept returning me to the notion that you could be suitable. You're small for a man, Cindy's size. You move with an easy grace many women don't have. For some reason, the way your head moves, and your lips when you're eating a hot dog or a banana, or a certain concentrated devotion in your eyes when you look at women and women's things without even thinking, I thought it might be you give good head. Imagine my surprise when Bill told me Cindy doesn't, none at all! So I thought you might. You might do. To supplement Cindy. To replace Cindy. To help me pass the time when Bill's otherwise occupied. And then I got into bed with you, and you got into my cunt with me, and my God! What can't you make a woman feel?"

We passed by the turnoff to the Doctor's office, and I looked at the building as we went past. My birthplace, I thought fondly. Where I've been born again! It wasn't all the tranquilizers, I knew, as Stacy had already told me. My mood was also the joy of release from a prison. Cindy had wanted to put me into gray and black skirts and dresses for the rest of my life. Stacy was buying me beautiful colors to wear, and the freedom to wear them however I wished. I loved Stacy.

"Understand me, Sissy darling. Bill is a straightforward heterosexual male who happens to have a prick like a May Pole. He is not gay. He loves feeling a woman's mouth on his prick, and yours is the first genetic male's ever to wrap around it. His current women don't like giving head. Would Bill accept your mouth on his prick? Only if you're a woman. Maybe he'd accept you, if he thought you were on your way to becoming a woman."

"But first, would you blow a man? Properly motivated, yes. You saw last night that once inspired, you can be a great artist who can blow cock like Louis Armstrong blowing a trumpet. So I set it up for Cindy to inspire you. She did, as only a relentlessly self-serving woman lawyer like Cindy could. And last night you sucked Bill's cock like an angel!"

"I had to persuade you to look like a woman and persuade Cindy to help keep you that way. Then, it seemed, all problems would be solved. Then Bill would be happy, getting laid repeatedly daily by two local women, and blown regularly by a local master cock sucker who resembles a third woman. Then Cindy would be happy, getting laid repeatedly by Bill, who is further secured to her because her husband blows Bill repeatedly, under duress, true, but then duress is her favorite way to motivate anyone. And when she's not rotating her hips in the vicinity of Bill's cock she can order her husband about like a servant to her heart's content."

"And then I'd be happy, getting laid repeatedly by my husband at home or just next door, and like a good wife providing for his needs now and also later on. I could also feel humbly gratified that I was advancing the career in cunnilingus of a very great oral sex artist, and assist in bringing his art to perfection."

"The four of us have each had different reasons for participating in this plan. The plan assumed that some would misconceive some other people's reasons, get them wrong, act accordingly, and then do the right thing thinking they were doing something else. But all reasons converged on you becoming a woman. And now that female hormones are flowing through you irreversibly and irrevocably, as your Doctor likes to say, you're effectively a woman. Now I suspect you may want to blow Bill silly whenever he wants, and he'll love it."

But there's more. Woman to woman, an instinct has also told me that under the right circumstances my husband would want to fuck your ass silly, and that you'd love it. Now, Bill loves getting his prick into a girl's ass! Another reason why you had to become a girl. And as we found out this morning, a man's prick in a girl's ass can serve as her stairway to paradise."

"I bet even now you're already feeling that you have a girl's ass. Wiggle it for me just a little, would you, Sissy? See? See? Doesn't it feel yummy! In a few more weeks your little pussy could well be dripping KY Jelly in eager anticipation of Bill's prick pushed into it, the way my cunt drips my lubricant when it isn't already dripping Bill's cum, the way your wife's dripped Bill's cum for so many months while you had no idea. Bill now has a new woman's ass to fuck, and he will. Soon, and then for a year or more, your ass will be dripping Bill's semen night and day. Around Christmas, when Cindy's accustomed cunt will be a year old and stretched to boredom, your asshole will be fully educated, cunning, and desired, entering its prime. That's in addition to your mouth giving the best head in the Western Hemisphere. In six months you'll also be a woman in fact. I'll have done my wifely duty, by preparing for Cindy to be replaced in Bill's bed by Cindy's former husband. Then when Cindy has moved on, the three of us can live together happily, and can keep finding new reasons to live together happily."

As we pulled into the driveway, I saw Bill standing in the doorway waiting for us. "Here we are, sweetheart," said Stacy. "I'll leave you two alone to get re-acquainted. Remember those tampons in your purse, if you should need them to absorb any cum oozing out of you later on."

It was very strange. My mouth and my ass both felt a deep desire to embrace him. The hormones? The tranquilizers? No. It was partly gratitude to his wife for the many erotic pleasures we had shared, as I now understood it, on his behalf as well as our own.

It was partly out of devotion and awe before a woman who was in her own way a good wife, faithful and devoted to her husband's needs, and also as Shakespeare said about Cleopatra, cunning past man's thought.

It was partly because for the first time in my life, I felt myself to be like Stacy, a beautiful woman, worthy of love, and affectionately loving.

It was partly because, having tasted Stacy's dildo only that morning, and felt what it could do, I longed to feel real, warm, throbbing flesh deep in my vitals.

And it was partly because, having felt that bliss in my rear, and now about to experience the joy of a real cock plunged into me, my heart went out to this glorious man who had never himself known such ecstasy. I would see that he soon did. I was already considering how I might continue to provide Bill that same pleasure, in six months or so, when the hormones within me had done their work and my own erection would no longer be stiff enough to penetrate his ass.

I would need before then to find some other man, sufficiently feminized of course, whose penis could replace my own, sufficiently well-fit to fuck both me and Bill into the distant future. Tim was rather taken with me, I remembered, and had said he would call me very soon. I would test out his penis myself first, of course, and that's what Tim obviously wanted with me. He had no concept now of the future I could plan for him. But first I would need to see if he was worthy of my ass.

END

 

© 1996 by Vickie Tern

  

  

  

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