This is a grown-up tale for grown-ups. Those who shouldn't read it shouldn't read it!

 

A Man Taken in Adultery

by Vickie Tern

 

i.

I'm still happily married, I love my wife, and she loves me, and though things now aren't at all the way they were, one thing is. We're still of one mind about nearly everything. Even more than before, if that's possible. We're still in tune. Whatever she says, it almost always turns out I was thinking practically the same thing! It's remarkable, really!

She sensed that about us from the moment she first saw me. She says I'm everything she'd hoped to find in a husband -- gentle, supportive, venturesome, inclined to agree with her about most things and always reasonable, dedicated to her work as well as my own, a partner in a blissfully happy life. That I'm also cute looking was a bonus, she says. She loves it, it keeps me kissable. But it was never really essential, she says.

She tells me these things now and then when I'm feeling a little down, unsure about how everything worked out. Bad day at the office, a boss who doesn't seem to appreciate my efforts, a client I couldn't satisfy, that kind of thing. That's when she reminds me how we met and agreed to get married, how romantic it was. And then she comes over and sits in my lap and kisses me ever so softly, and reminds me how we decided to change the way we live for the better. As we have. And my heart bursts with joy. I do so love her!

We met at a crowded office party, how long ago, seven years now? I'd arrived late and was just standing in the doorway, still in my coat, absolutely astonished! Because there across the room was the most gorgeous woman I'd ever seen before, absolutely self-confident and at her ease, standing near the punch bowl with one hand on her hip, chatting with someone. Her hair floated as she shook her head to disagree, and then bobbed as she nodded to emphasize something. I was entranced. She was perfect!

Now, gorgeous doesn't usually impress me. I've known lots of gorgeous women. I've always been lean and good-looking, with a perky face and a button nose -- "cute" is the word they all use, sometimes even "adorable." That attracts gorgeous women, I don't know why. In high school, girls who felt threatened by hulking athletes always felt comfortable with me. It was as if I were one of them but my masculinity an additional advantage, a chance for them to exercise their femininity. In college too -- a girl I went with for a while called me "dollface" so often I got used to it. I've had no problem with girls.

But there was this other thing about this one. Even as I looked at her as she stood there talking to some other guy she seemed to be flowing toward me! And she felt it too. She stopped talking and turned her head and looked directly at me and then just stared. Our eyes met, and there was nothing else to say. A perfect meeting of minds, in fact more like a blending of minds. She nodded to the person she was with and then threaded her way through the crowd, and arrived, and stood right in front of me, and asked me my name. I remembered it and told her. "Bob," I said.

"Bob," she said. "I have this strange feeling that we're going to see a lot of each other. And get engaged and get married and live our whole lives together. And that you aren't at all surprised to hear me say this because you have that same feeling too. Don't you?"

It was so flaky, but she was absolutely right! I did! I nodded, my eyes never leaving hers. "Yes," I said, already making a lifetime commitment. "I do."

"I'll get my coat," she said. "Oh, my name's Carrie."

Enough said. We went straight to her place and straight to bed. And that was incredible too. I knew what she wanted, and she knew what I wanted. We danced to each other's music, and gradually became one person, our arms and legs clasping and grasping and stroking and touching, our bodies wrapped around and sinking into each other, our mouths everywhere on each other. My heart rose up and entered into her, and we became one flesh. Even before we became husband and wife, and that followed soon after just as she'd predicted.

We're still that way. People ask how come, how is it we're the most affectionate couple they know? I always give different answers but they come to the same thing -- we care for each other, we feel with each other, we sense each others' needs. We're happy to meet each other's needs, or to see that they're met. When people are as close as we are, questions aren't necessary. We know.

After a few years we did find that we were too close, that we weren't bringing new things to each other. We both worked for the same company, on the same schedules in the same places. We'd see the same people at work all day and then we'd see them socially on weekends. One day Carrie suggested it had gotten a little claustrophobic, and I had to agree. So we began to give each other a little space, so we'd neither of us feel boxed in. Not separate vacations, nothing as radical as that, just each of us free to do whatever whenever the mood struck, without any explanations. We'd mention when we'd be back so the other wouldn't worry, of course, and then we'd take off. Me usually to a sports bar to watch whatever game was in season, or maybe pick up a buddy and head out and go see a thriller movie I knew she'd hate. Carrie to a friend's house to gossip, or to a museum or a shopping mall, or to see a chick flick. We mostly had different friends. Eventually I quit my job with Carrie's firm and became a consultant, and developed my own client list, which kept growing. And just about then Carrie's career also took off. More and more promotions, with responsibilities to match.

Now we found we were at the other extreme. Carrie got to the office earlier and earlier and stayed later and later while I was home working on more and more projects. Or one or the other of us were attending meetings or consulting out of town, often for a few days at a time. Even at night we were apart more often than we were together. We couldn't do couples things with other couples any more, dinners or concerts or shows, we couldn't develop the kinds of lively sociability other young marrieds people enjoy. We were too busy, working too hard, too hard to schedule, too unpredictable. Then when we did get together, usually we didn't want to share our available time with anyone else, we just wanted to be with each other and tell each other everything we'd been doing and make up for lost time. Because we were more in love than ever. We still are. And we still do.

When our incomes first went into steep curves we bought into a suburban tracts on a curved street that ends in a circle and then heads back down, each house buried in its own acre of wooded land. We're one of the two houses at the very end, where the street circles round and returns. We see only cars headed toward one of us, so we're fairly isolated. We're sociable enough when we happen to run into one of our neighbors further down the street, and they're sociable too. But the street isn't really a neighborhood. Everyone protects his own privacy and respects everyone else's. I guess that's why we all bought there to begin with.

That's how it happened that we didn't even know the family in the house next to ours on the circle had sold out to a couple who'd already been living there for a couple of months. We'd noticed there were no more shouts and shrieks of small children coming at us from above the trees, of course, and we'd noticed that for a time clusters of workmen's trucks were going past us toward the other house's driveway, doing renovations of some kind. But we didn't add up what these things meant. Not until a routine settled in, of cars coming round the circle past us toward our new neighbor, then leaving by the same route.

My office faced the front of the house, where through the trees I could see what little traffic there was. The same man in a black Mercedes heading out every morning and returning every evening, but sometimes not for a few days. That was the man of the house I supposed, sometimes gone on business trips. Then there were women who came for a couple of hours in little Toyotas or old Chevvies (cleaning help), or in big SUVs (friends). Occasionally there was a really big SUV that left for a few hours around mid-day, driven by an impeccably tailored and coiffed woman I figured was the woman of the house.

But what really spiced up my car-watching were the cars that came whenever the Mercedes wasn't there. Luxury vans or sedans with distinguished-looking men in suits behind the wheels, professionals or top business executives I figured. But also expensive sports cars -- a Maserati, a Porsche, a BMW, once a vintage Ferrari, driven by vigorous men in leather jackets as often as not, obviously men accustomed to handling fine-tuned power. Often on nights when the Mercedes was in some airport parking lot I assumed, one of these cars would glide past us and disappear into the driveway hidden by our neighbors' trees, then not reappear till morning. It was always gone before the Mercedes returned.

I mentioned this to Carrie, and for a few weekends she watched the parade with me. We'd look out the window as various cars came past and we'd smile at each other. Then a few hours later when they re-appeared and headed down the street Carrie would smile again and shake her head. Or I would. Clearly these were not workmen renovating the house for its new owners. Whether the husband in the Mercedes suspected or not, the lady of the house was entertaining other men, prosperous family men from other suburbs, maybe successful single men too. There was no need for either of us to discuss it. We knew.

But it was none of our business. We kept meaning to go over and introduce ourselves, carrying bread and salt or a cake or a Welcome Wagon pin, some kind of traditional housewarming token. Carrie meant to, anyhow. "We should go say 'hi,'" she'd say. "We ought to see if there's anything they need, you know? See what they're like? We've never exchanged a word." Then she'd add, "But it's always so hard to find the right time!" She meant a time when we weren't either of us too busy or too elsewhere or the lady of the house wasn't already entertaining her other visitors.

But finally, one sunny summer morning when Carrie was off at a sales convention for a few days and I'd just sent off a massive job and was breathing easy, I met the lady herself.

I'd gone way down our front path barefoot to recover a carelessly thrown newspaper, and when I reached the edge of the road something caught the corner of my eye. I looked, and I saw an exquisite fairy-tale fantasy emerge from our neighbor's trees. A tall, thin woman in dainty pink chiffon floated out to the edge of the road. Her arms were bare, and her doll's head was tilted sideways and turned in my direction. Her long dark hair swept her shoulders, and her huge dark eyes stared directly at me. Her red lips were delicately pursed.

She reached out a small, red-tipped hand and gracefully gestured toward me in small arcs, as if she were clearing a path through the air for me to follow, or perhaps as if conducting an orchestra with one player, me. For a moment I thought it was a ballet movement, that she was practicing a dance of some kind. Then I realized she was waving me over.

It was all so unexpected. I didn't move. Then, "Hi! Could you come over here for just a bit?" she called out. "I need to ask you something!"

I came aware suddenly that I was not only barefoot, I was also still wearing the oversized boxer shorts I use for sleeping, cotton broadcloth with an open fly. Nothing else, that was it. Not even a T-Shirt. I was practically naked!

"Ah, in a minute?" I called back. I intended to race back to the house and leap into a pair of pants.

"I need you now," she declared with a superb simplicity. "Please!" Then she turned to walk back toward her house without another word, and disappeared almost at once into her trees. Did she expect me to follow her? She did.

So I did, feeling extremely uneasy, very much out of place. I'd never before set foot on that tree-lined driveway, much less walked down it and then turned onto the walk toward the house while wearing only boxer shorts. I felt more naked than ever.

It was a massive house, almost an estate, formally landscaped, much larger than our own. As I approached I saw her again, still all pink fluff but now standing on the broad brick steps leading to her open front door. She gestured again for me to join her, so I did. And there I was, standing next to her, puzzled why she wanted me, waiting.

"My husband Tom is unfaithful to me," she said.

Oh? My mind registered surprise but also no surprise at all. I just stood there and said nothing. Certainly nothing about her own apparent infidelities during the few months since they'd moved in. If her husband found consolation elsewhere, didn't she deserve the same? Or whoever'd begun whatever it was they did when they weren't together? And what did this have to do with me?

"That's not a problem, not a criticism either, it's simply a fact," she continued. "We have an open marriage. Understandings. We both see other people whenever we wish. And we tell each other everything, so there are never secrets or suspicions. We don't cheat."

"I see," I said, trying to fill the silence that followed. I saw what there was to see. I didn't at all see why she was telling me this.

"I'm telling you now, right at the outset, so you can feel comfortable about it. At ease with yourself, not worry that we're violating any obligations or proprieties. Not worry for example that right now you're standing here nearly naked and being invited into a large house by a woman in a negligee who's standing very close to you.

She was, too! Her face was perfectly made up, her eyes wide open, enormous, staring at me as if in child-like innocence. She was a trim woman in her prime who moved like someone who did Yoga stretching and Jazzercize routinely, a woman with a tight body who works out. A few years older than me. I supposed she does work out regularly, I was thinking, given the volumes of visitors she entertains. But she'd said "Right at the outset." The outset of what? I answered that question immediately with another question, Who do you think you're kidding? But I just stood there stone still.

She glanced down toward my shorts. Was the fly open? Was my dong exposed? Jesus, whether she could see it or not, it was certainly enlarging, I could tell that much! I didn't dare look to see.

"I'm sure you've seen men come see me whenever my husband's away, and leave before he returns. Sometimes staying the night when he's away. Haven't you?"

I nodded.

"I ask different men to satisfy my different desires. Sometimes my whims. Each one becomes a specialist dedicated to one of them and devoted to pleasing me. I like it that way, and so does Tom. hat way Tom doesn't have to cope with my more bizarre perversities or kinks, and as long as he doesn't ever have to meet the men who do cope, he doesn't mind at all that I have them. Can you imagine what some of my whims are? What some of these men do between their arrivals and their departures? You must have wondered."

There was a slight smile on her lips, and her eyebrows were raised high as she stared up at me, as if she were conducting a Sunday school catechism and expected prompt, correct answers.

Suddenly her hips rotated, and the folds of her negligee fell open. Rather, they fell away from the large, ballooning breasts that had pushed them open. Huge breasts on such a pert, thin body! One hung out toward me fully visible, and another peered out ready to join it. The exposed nipple was aroused, distended, huge, primed, ready! My eyes fixed on it and stared.

Then I pulled myself together and forcibly lifted my head, and looked at her with what I hoped was a stern expression. I had to represent common decency here. "I have no idea what you do with those men," I said. I was getting very uncomfortable with this kind of talk. Even more uncomfortably, my penis was now quite thick, maybe even erect and poking out of my shorts! Probably. I still didn't dare look!

But she did. She looked down and fixed her gaze on my crotch. What did she see? "Oh, I think you do. I think you know perfectly well the kinds of things we do, my different men and me. This part of you certainly knows."

And her hand snaked out suddenly, reached toward my open fly, and grasped that intrusive penis. It was indeed now fully erect, an easy handle. Surprised, I stepped back a pace. She held my cock exactly where it was, her arm rigid, yielding not an inch, and I had to step forward again quickly to ease the strain. The outer skin remained firm in her grasp, but the turgid shaft itself slid out of her palm, then back in. In effect I had begun to jerk myself off with her hand! As if to remove all doubt she pulled on my prick again, then pushed back. Then yet again. She was jerking me off! And all the while she was looking straight into my face with those huge eyes and high, questioning eyebrows, faintly amused by my bewilderment.

Then with her hand grip secure, still pushing and pulling, she reached up with her other arm and pulled my head down and kissed me full on the mouth. Then held me there, kept her lips there, and kissed me some more. I wanted to step back, but now I couldn't -- my cock was already stretched to the point of pain as I tried to pull my hips back. Maybe she'd pull it off altogether? She was so close to me she couldn't, I realized -- her belly blocked the way. No, we were nearly the same height and she had long legs, it wasn't her belly, it was her mound! Where her pussy crease began! And I was aimed straight toward it! Again her hand slid back and forth, back and forth, and now my treacherous cock, rigid and eager, was cooperating in every possible way, straining to dip into that slit less than an inch away. It even throbbed hopefully a few times. And her kiss went on and on. She locked my mouth to hers, her arm wrapped on the back of my neck as her tongue entered me.

"What was it you wanted to ask me?" I tried to say while her soft mouth was still pressed against mine. Pitiable! Attempting absurdly, hopelessly, to change the subject, trying to take my mind off that soft hand gently pulling over and over on my engorged cock, those soft, full lips still pursing and unpursing against mine. All that came out was a pathetic mumble. Each of the words of my question mouthed her lips and kissed her back and sucked on her tongue.

"Ohhhhh," was all she replied.

Finally she let go my neck and lifted her head away. Walking backward, her eyes never wavering from my face, she led me by my prick through her front door and down her entrance hall into her living room, then over to an overstuffed sofa. "Sit" she said, steering me gently backward by my cock. I did.

Then she mounted me, kneeling astride my body, and slowly, languorously, guided my cock head to the mouth of her slit. Oh, God! And still studying my face she lowered herself onto it! Oh! My rigid boner slipped gratefully into her warm, wet quim. Then when she'd plunged me in all the way, and settled onto my lap with my cock deep inside her, she said, simply, "Fuck!"

I did. Soft, warm, slippery wet cunt gripped me tight, fluttered slightly, and then began to pulse. Carrie's never did that! I pushed up into her as high as I could. What am I doing? Am I being unfaithful to Carrie? Is it too late? Then I lowered my loins, down, then up again, even though she was now cinched down onto me so firmly and gripped my cock so tightly with her pussy that I had almost no room to rise. She then began the strangest hip rotation, a rolling with a light bobbing thrust downward, repeated again, then again. A half-smile spread over her face as she closed her eyes and the rhythm of it began to possess her, rolling her pelvis over me and into me and onto me, and then around my cock as it surged and pulsated inside her. The most exquisite feelings grew in my groin and began to blossom. I was straining not to push myself inside her as deep as I could get, but I couldn't help it, my cock felt as if it would burst without the relentless pressure of that tight pussy periodically compressing it, squeezing it from all sides at once, and I shoved into her with all my might! I tried again to sit there stone still, stiff and unmoving, but my haunches rose and fell, none of it my doing, and again and again I slid slickly in and out of her.

Then she leaned forward and my face disappeared between those two billowing breasts. I was now buried inside dark, deep, soft, warm titty flesh as she continued to roll and thrust onto me down below. Sweet delight rose up out of my cock and spread through my body like a sunrise, then delicious feelings gathered themselves, concentrated themselves, and broke free of earth in full flight toward the stars, just as I heard her say, "Don't cum unless you mean to lick me clean afterward." As if to emphasize that statement she lunged straight down, and her soft rump rotated and wriggled tight on my thighs. Pushing, pushing!

And I was gone! Gone! Blissfully I arched higher, lifted both of us up off the couch as I tried to weld my cock to her pussy for all eternity. Then I erupted, throbbed, spouted, spewed, squirted into her, deep into her, over and over as she pushed back down to hold me inside her entirely, to seal me in and take ultimate possession of me.

And it was over. I had just been seduced. My first fuck with another woman since my marriage. My first infidelity. I had betrayed Carrie. And all I could think for the moment was, God that was the greatest!

She paused and leaned back from me as we both breathed heavily, enjoying the afterglow. Her eyes were closed, and she was still half-smiling. In a kind of triumph? Or was she just feeling satisfied? At what? Another stupid question. No, not so stupid this time! My brains began to flow back into my head. "Kiss my titty!" she breathed, eyes still closed. And I did. I took a distended nipple into my mouth, and lightly nibbled on it, then kissed it. And released it and looked up. This time her eyes were open, looking down on me benignly, and there was no doubt, triumphantly. She'd conquered me.

 

ii.

As I realized what I'd just done I began trying to wriggle free, to slip out from under her. My penis softened a little, but her thighs remained clamped to my thighs and I couldn't move. Feeling how well imprisoned I was, she let go the back of my neck and began to caress my bare chest, the tips of my lightly perspiring nipples. It felt ... oh, God, not again! I wriggled helplessly under her. In her. And I started to grow! I wanted more! I closed my eyes and pressed up at her.

"No," she said suddenly. "There's no more time for another now. I'm expecting someone soon. There's only just enough time for you to lick me nice and clean again. Think carefully, where do you want to do it? Shall we go upstairs so you can lie flat on your back on our bed, Tom's and mine, and enjoy being one of my loving pussy slaves while I sit on your face?" Or would you rather do it here, kneeling in front of me and bobbing your face into my pussy like a sweet girl giving her darling boyfriend a blow job?

Her whole weight was still pressing on my lap, her thigh muscles imprisoning my legs. I couldn't get away. Do what? I remembered that as I'd risen into ecstasy she'd said that if I came into her I'd have to clean her up. And I had cum into her, deep into her, gloriously into her, and my cum was now deep inside her, sprayed over all the inner walls of her pussy, already leaking past her cunt lips onto my balls. It was unfair -- by the time she'd said it I couldn't help myself! But maybe she didn't know that? No, of course she knew that! Would it have made a difference, would I have stopped and pulled out if I could have? No way!

She'd set a condition and I had to meet it. If I came inside her, I had to lick her clean. Or who knows what else she might do. Tell Carrie? I felt a blow in the pit of my stomach! What a fool I've been! She knows I live next door! She could drop over any time for a neighborly cup of coffee and tell Carrie what an easy fuck she has for a husband! My God, Carrie! Carrie will sense that this has happened, she'll know it the moment she sees me!

I had to go! I had to get out of there and clear my head, and think!

"You're just like putty now, you know that?" she said, squirming on my softening dick. Was she talking about my dick? "Well, which is it?"

I looked over her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of her front door, my escape route. No, my escape route to the front door is now through her pussy! I realized. By licking her pussy. Sucking my own cum out of her pussy. I'd never done that before, not even with Carrie -- oral sex was what we did before we made love, not afterward. When we were eager, passionate! When when we were finished being intimate and we were both deliciously sloppy, we'd just curl into each other and go to sleep.

No way was I going deeper into this woman's lair, to be entrapped upstairs in her bedroom, her husband's bedroom, their bedroom. No way would I become another of her surrogate lovers on their bed, not flat on my back and not face down on her quim either. No way did I want to lose sight of that front door! Did I have a choice? "Knees," I said. "Here."

She rose up and pushed herself up off me, and twisted to sit alongside me on the couch. Then looked at me and smiled pleasantly. I saw she was holding her thighs tight together.

"I thought so." she said. "That's the way you'll do it, then. That's what you'll do for me from now on. All right, kneel down in front of me, and kiss my thigh so I'll know you appreciate what I'm allowing you to do. In token of respect and gratitude for what I'm letting you do. Then take hold of my hips and pull yourself in real close, your whole face, deep between my legs, and I'll open the golden portals and let my twat become your whole world. That's what I want for you. That's how I like it. What's your name, by the way?"

"Bob." Why did this remind me of the way I'd met Carrie? The same question! The same answer, I thought, stupidly. My eyes started to tear. What had I just done to Carrie? I'd betrayed her! I crept down onto the carpet in front of the woman with whom I'd betrayed Carrie and just knelt there, my forehead resting on her knees, abject. I had tears in my eyes.

She leaned forward and took hold of my head with both hands and tilted my face up toward hers and leaned close, as if she were talking to a puppy. "Poor Bobbi," she said. "You do what I tell you and do a good job and everything will be just fine. There's nothing to feel sad about. You just tell yourself over and over that now you're finally where you belong, kneeling between my legs and kissing my cunt in gratitude for what it's just done for you. Because this is where you belong now. Tell yourself that. Will you tell yourself that?"

She continued to hold my head firmly -- she had long, slim, red-tipped fingers but her hands were strong -- was she a tennis player? She looked down at me not unkindly. But she was waiting for an answer and her grip was like a vise. She waited.

"Yes," I said. Anything!

"My sweet Bobbi. I see tears. Well, you just wipe those tears on my pussy and then lick them all up. Then they'll be all gone, and there'll be nothing left to cry about! This is where you belong, Bobbi. Right here. On your knees in front of me licking cum out of my pussy. Do you want me to open my legs now so you can begin?"

"Yes," I said. She was playing with me, playing cat and mouse with her pussy and my mouth! Making me agree to everything! I thought 'Let's get this over with!' but realized I'd better not say it, she would not wish to hear it, there could be repercussions. I had to do what I had to do and then get out of there fast, before she thought of more things for me to do. I had to get back home, pull myself together, think this through, do some damage assessment! Decide what to tell Carrie when she gets home and senses there's something different about me. About us.

But Carrie won't be home for a few more days. Maybe there's time to cover this up? Even in my own mind?

"All right then," this woman said in a relaxed, leisurely way. "Kiss my thigh. Ahhh, so sweet. No, linger there a moment. Now here you are, sweetheart, enjoy!" She scooted forward until her rear was half-off the sofa and opened her legs wide and pulled my head into the gap between them.

Actually, it wasn't too bad. She had a very pretty pink cunt, shiny with our smeared fluids, her shy clit peeking out from its folds, a little larger than Carrie's. There was a pearly glop half-caught just within. I closed my eyes and went to work on her like a dog licking out a dog bowl. My tongue went in and out and up and down that tender pink slot with those moist lips, while she lay almost on her back with her bottom rising and falling off the edge of the sofa, enjoying it all, occasionally moaning.

My cum coated my tongue like thin pancake syrup, only salty instead of sweet. Mixed with hers it soon filled my mouth. I was reluctant to swallow, but as I licked, she grew more and more tense, squeezing out more and more. Then with a great groan she went into an orgasmic spasm and delivered gouts of ropy jism out of her depths into my face, and I had to swallow, then sucked up and swallow down more. It was strange stuff, at first disgusting, like phlegm, but much smoother, finer in texture. I was surprised to find I didn't mind, and could even swallow avidly. It was a little bit exciting to think that there were now live sperm swimming inside me. Peciliar but exciting.

 

By the time I'd emptied her and licked up the last of of me and it was all her own juices, she was nearing another orgasm. So I felt I had to keep going. She tasted like a girl in college who'd once asked me to go down on her, and like Carrie too. It was pleasant! She smelled fresh, flowery fragrant, not at all musky or fishy, faintly soapy. She'd had her morning shower and sprayed cologne on her pussy, I supposed, and then she'd waited for me to retrieve the morning newspaper. Perhaps she'd baited her trap by moving it out to the road herself. And I'd fallen for a trick like that!

I'd been such a fool! To punish myself and also to get it over with I licked and sucked and poked and swiped and swallowed her relentlessly! Desperately! Up above, she began to moan yet again. She was writhing and pressing her groin against my face as if trying to swallow my head. "Oh, good!" she uttered aloud involuntarily as I nibbled her clit, and she lifted her whole crotch to angle it more toward me. "Oh, yes! Yes!" I tried to lift my face away but she pulled my head back into her pussy and wriggled even more, until my whole nose was deep inside her slit. "More!" she commanded. Finally when I'd licked and swallowed her repeatedly, her whole torso rose once more and stiffened, then descended again, and her thighs went slack. Her hands fell away from my head.

"Yes," she whispered to herself. "So good! This is where you belong! This is what you'll do!"

I waited a decorous moment or so while she recovered. Then stood up and again looked toward the door. She didn't stir. Instead she merely said, "You can't go outside like that, you know, Bobbi honey. Practically naked? Whatever can you be thinking?"

I looked down at her. She was now lying back voluptuously, negligently at her ease, that same half-smile on her lips, her eyes now wide open again, large and innocent, seemingly innocent but staring straight at me. Her pale pink chiffon gown lay in disarray across her body. Both of her breasts now hung pendulously in full view, the neatly trimmed bush I'd been mouthing was only half covered, and her legs sprawled carelessly open. It was as if the proprieties no longer mattered, her appearance in my eyes no longer mattered, modesty no longer mattered, she had nothing to hide from me, because I no longer mattered. It crossed my mind that probably even her husband never saw her lounging this casually, this indifferently, her most intimate parts carelessly exposed to full daylight. I wasn't her lover. I wasn't her equal. My opinion of her, how she looked, didn't count, not any more. Now I was a kind of body servant, an extension of her will, something to be used. A pet lap dog? A ladies' maid? A convenience?

I was baffled by that relaxed nonchalance. It seemed intended to put me in my place. As her fucktoy? I didn't move.

"Mmmm, kiss my titties, Bobbi. Again. You forgot to." She stretched out her arms wide. The session wasn't over yet.

"I can't, I've got to go!"

"Wearing what?" she asked again. "That rag you think is protecting your virtue, whatever may be left of it?"

I was getting impatient. "Watch me!" I replied.

"Oh, my dear, just look at those undies of yours, sticky with cum. Our cum! Delicious enough I'm sure, judging by the eager way you lapped it up. But it isn't very decent for you to wear them in the open air in daylight, in the street. Just look at them, torn wide open. What might our neighbors think? What might I think? Your penis is hanging out. It's a pretty penis, it suits you, I loved using it! But even so!"

My shorts were indeed torn wide open, she'd torn them herself. In the midst of all those dips, bobs, and wheels astride me she'd reached down on either side and wrenched them wide open and they'd ripped. I'd assumed it was to give her hole access to the full length of my cock, which was already altogether inside her anyhow. Why else?

"And your face -- it's so cute, really, I'm sure I'm not the first girl to tell you that. But right now it's all caked and gleaming, all soaked in cum and saliva and sweat and tears too, you poor dear. One eyelid is half-glued shut! All those love juices! Surely you don't want our security cameras to see you slinking away with that stuff covering you like the icing on a cake! What a before and after set of pictures! You entering the house with me in only a pair of undershorts, but still, decently covered, kissing me on the doorstep before coming here to a more private place. Kissing me very affectionately too, I loved those little moues and mouthings. But do you want our cameras to show you leaving looking the way you do now? That's rather more ... suggestive, don't you think? Not everyone who sees the security tapes will think the better of you for doing what you just did!. Just think about it."

She closed her eyes and waited. Security cameras! She'd recorded me following her into the house! Being led into the house? How could I get out without being seen? Through a window? No, of course, she was a woman supposedly alone all day in this isolated house! So of course there were cameras. her husband would have set them up probably everywhere! So only invited guests could enter the house, and if anyone misbehaved the evidence would be unimpeachable! My God, were there cameras inside the house too, in every room? Even in this room? She had an open marriage, she had nothing to fear from exposure. But I had everything to fear. What was that reference to 'everyone who sees the security tapes'?

Who might see them? Police? Could she charge me with some crime?

I didn't think so!

"Security cameras?" I could barely croak the words out.

Her innocent eyes looked up at me. "Tom worries about my safety when he's not here. He likes to look in on me now and then," she said. "What with all my visitors coming and going in different rooms. He wants everyone to know he's watching, and that it's all being recorded. For my sake, and everyone else's reputation."

In all the rooms? My God! And what did "look in" and "now and then" mean? Did those cameras broadcast or broadband their images to his office? Or something? Had all my fucking and sucking been transmitted live as it was being recorded?

I asked her, and she nodded reassuringly. Then I got frantic!

Terrified! Carrie could know! She'd see!

She saw the fright in my face and hastened to reassure me. "Oh no, you're mine now, doll, and I'll take good care of you," she said. "Don't you worry at all. Just kiss my titties goodbye for now, and I'll let you go. You'll be fine."

"For now," I repeated, my heart sinking.

Her eyes never wavered, though her eyebrows curved sympathetically. "That's right, honey. 'For now.' Now that we've finally met, I know we're going to be very friendly."

"I have a wife," I said quietly. I felt forlorn. "I don't want to be unfaithful to her. I won't fuck you ever again. I don't want to hurt her."

She seemed genuinely surprised. "Oh?" she said, "That sounds very firm. How very man of principle!" She paused thoughtfully. "Yes, honey, I know you have a wife. It's so darling that you don't want to be 'unfaithful' to her! Wherever did she find a man like you?"

She considered the matter, then a sly grin came over her face. "All right, you be as faithful to her as you can be, and we'll do other things I've always wanted to do with a man. You've got a lovely penis, but I have lots of others. We won't fuck any more, Bobbi. There, does that make you feel better? But what about everything else? Would she want to know about the other things we've done? How ardent you are when you suck cum out of my pussy, how you're such a gentleman that you don't stop until I've had multiple orgasms, one after the other? What about the other things I'll want to do with you? I myself believe in absolute honesty between husbands and wives. Tom and I tell each other everything, if either of us happens to ask. But perhaps you have a different relationship? "

She waited again. She seemed to think I should respond. She also seemed to think I'd be coming back here again! No way!

"We do have a different relationship," I said, feeling superior to her. "No, I don't want Carrie to know," I added. And now I felt like a sneak, that this woman was the one who was morally upright!

Clearly, I was now implicated in a conspiracy to deceive Carrie. Trapped. I'd made the trap myself, and this woman would see to it that I remained there. But what could I do? After what I'd done this morning, how could I re-establish absolute honesty? Tell Carrie what I'd just done?

"You don't want her to know," she said. "I'll remember that. And you'll remember that too, won't you?"

There was a brief pause while her meaning sank in. She'd keep my secret as long as I did the "other things" she wanted to do with me.

Then suddenly she sat up straight and thrust her chest at me. "You'll want to kiss my titties now I think, by way of saying 'thank you' to me for this whole morning's pleasures, Bobbi. Let's see what kind of a sweet baby you can be. And I want to find out something else too. Let me see, I'm looking for that hand cream I was using in this room just before I went out this morning to meet you, I'm sure it's here somewhere. Yes. Do take off those awful undies so I can throw them away. And lie down here alongside me and come rest in my arms, and hug me, tuck my breasts into your mouth, and kiss my nipples. Suck on them, you darling!" She patted the cushion next to her.

I did those things. I lay myself naked in her arms and licked and sucked on her generous boobs, feeling forlorn, snared. I felt terrible. Yet oddly, as she clasped me to her, her soft, warm bosom was comforting. Just taking her whole breast tip into my mouth and pressing my face into those capacious globes, I could forget what this woman had just done to me, to my marriage. Was doing. What I'd done. I closed my eyes and moaned like an infant, working my tongue around her thick, erect nipple. And when she moved my mouth to her other breast, I didn't open my eyes, I only resumed nursing.

And as I sucked, and my mind filled with an uneasy contentment, I felt her hand slide down from where it had been resting on my bare buttocks and reach to probe my rear with one finger, then another. She was seeking my asshole. Her fingers felt cool and slick, almost greasy -- I supposed she'd found that hand cream. One finger poked at my opening and entered it. Then a second finger joined with the first one. Her fingers were inside me!

"There, there, baby," she said soothingly. "You just lie here in my arms and let yourself go, just concentrate on kissing my nipples and nuzzling my breast, and sucking on me, and how nice I feel now that I'm inside you, and we'll soon have you feeling very nice indeed. Very nice! The nicest you can feel."

And those two fingers in my anus began to slide back out, then in again. Slowly at first, but then deeper. In and out. At first I felt full, as if I needed a bowel movement, but then I felt empty, as if something was missing. Then full again, nice, just as she'd said. Gradually the full feeling changed to something else, more than full, a fulfillment, a peculiar yearning that grew until it had me reaching for some kind of completion inside myself. She was finger-fucking me. Masturbating me somehow from inside. I'd done that to Carrie's pussy often enough, but this was the first woman who'd ever done it to me. Had I just lost my virginity?

I whined, and held her more tightly, my face buried in her soft, warm titty, my mouth now working furiously on her thick, turgid nipple. Her fingers flew in and out of me, almost as if fluttering like a bird inside a deep cave. The yearning in me rose higher and higher.

And then I came! My penis pulsed repeatedly! Oh, God, it was so great! My ass muscles clenched tight on her fingers with each pulse, squeezing and hugging them in gratitude. As she felt my body finally relax she hugged me tightly with her other arm and said "There, there, Bobbi baby, didn't I tell you? Isn't that nice? You're so wonderfully responsive!"

I had no reply. My mouth was still filled to the brim with titty. But I whined again in response. I couldn't tell myself if it was a whine of satisfaction or of defeat. "Just lick and suck me now, sweetie," she whispered. "Since you don't want to be a man with me, you can be my baby. Tomorrow I won't ask you to be a man at all." She held my head to her breast. I licked and sucked. Now and then she moaned, or sighed, content. "No, not a man," she whispered to herself. "This will be such fun!" I nursed on her and almost fell asleep. I was no longer in a rush to leave. I felt reassured, somehow. Maybe she could make things right?

Finally she lifted my head away from her breast and said "There, there, that's enough now. Don't be too greedy the first day, baby. Would you like some coffee before you go?"

I accepted, and followed her into the kitchen. I was still stark naked and her chiffon peignoir was still draped carelessly on her partly naked body. I felt like Adam after he ate the apple, and I told her so. She smiled, clearly enjoying her own implied role as Eve the temptress. I told her how deeply ashamed I was, ashamed of betraying my wife, ashamed of what we'd done sexually, even of my nakedness. "You'll live," was all she said, before taking a sip. She sounded confident. "And she will too. You were born for what we did this morning. And you know it was great. So cheer up." Eventually she disappeared upstairs, then came back with something.

"Here," she said. "Wear this home."

It was one of her robes, pink with huge floppy sleeves and a wide satin collar -- very feminine. Did I have a choice? When I put it on I expected her to laugh. Instead, she looked at me intently, then seemed reassured. "Yes, that's possible too," she said to herself. Then to me, "Bobbi baby, you're a natural! It's amazing! That's robe's so very flattering. We'll certainly have to do more of that!"

I felt embarrassed. I asked her if she had something else, something of her husband's maybe that I could wear instead past her security cameras, say another pair of undershorts.

"Oh, no," she declared flatly. "We keep our personal affairs separate, Tom and I, that's our arrangement. He doesn't lend my panties to his women, and I don't lend his briefs to my men."

She sipped her coffee and thought about it some more. Then added cheerfully, "But I can lend you a pair of my panties, if you want to feel covered, if they'd help you feel better! You've already said it, you don't want me to think of you as a man or to use you like a man. Because you want to stay faithful to your wife. Well, I can respect that. But believe me, my husband is very much a man. So his clothes aren't really appropriate, they'd give me naughty ideas about your manhood again, and who knows where that might lead? Isn't it better for you to wear clothes that don't remind me of your manhood? That help keep you faithful to your wife when we're together?"

I couldn't tell if she was teasing or taunting me, or just thinking aloud. "I guess so."

We stood up. "I knew you'd agree." she said cheerfully. "Keep the robe for now," she said. "It's better than walking naked past the security cameras. Wear it proudly. We'll get you something more appropriate next time."

"Who looks at these security camera tapes?" I asked, annoyed. "Whenever you remind me of them, you seem to be threatening me with them!"

"Why no, Bobbi, quite the reverse, I want to protect you from embarrassment with them," she said, as if hurt. "My husband monitors them now and then wherever he may be. In his office or anywhere in the country. Recorded or live, I never know. Sometimes because he's lonely and he feels better if he can see that I'm not, he loves me, the dear. Sometimes to reassure his girlfriends about our arrangement, so they can enjoy him without feeling sorry for me. Mostly though its a security precaution, as I said, a way to assure that any gentleman who comes here remains a gentlemen." She paused. "Unless I ask him to be something else. Then with what's already recorded, they help assure that he'll want to be that something else for me too!"

As I thought. Not exactly blackmail, because it never got that far. Intimidation, maybe, with fear of exposure. "Then there are cameras inside the house too," I said. "In every room. Aren't there? He may be looking at us right now?"

She almost laughed. "Oh, Bobbi, what an idea!" she said. "For me the idea's comforting, but perhaps you'd best not think about it at all! It might embarrass you!"

She didn't deny it. I was now anxious to leave, and stood up. She showed me out, and at her front door she stopped to kiss me yet again. "This has been so much fun," she murmured. "Even better than I'd hoped. Call me tonight so we can confirm tomorrow. I definitely want you tomorrow, probably around noon and then all afternoon, probably the evening too. Then day after tomorrow we'll see. This will be so very marvelous! Much more fun than fucking! It's more fun already!" Her eyes glinted in the sunlight.

We stood together by the front entrance while she said these things and I looked in vain for the security camera. Maybe in a nearby tree, surveilling both of us this very moment? The whole world had turned around since I'd last stood here with her. I felt trapped. Yet I couldn't say I hadn't enjoyed it.

"What's your name?" I asked her, trying to recover some of my dignity. My mouth now tasted of coffee instead of cum, but my asshole still felt a little distended from her fingers, and slick with her hand cream. It was an odd sensation, as if her fingers might now somehow slowly slip in and slide out any time she wanted.

"Gail," she said. "Call me Gail when we're with other people, but I'll appreciate "Ma'am" when we're alone, especially when we're being intimate. I want you always to show me a certain appropriate respect, and never forget that I'm in charge of our relationship. This will be wonderful! You're going to do things with me other men never do when they're being men, everything except the one thing of course that you feel makes you unfaithful to your wife. And we've already done that anyhow. Here's my card with my phone number. I tell everyone that if they don't call me, not to worry, I'll call them and if necessary leave messages on their answerers and voice mails. Which isn't a reliable way to reach them, because their secretaries and wives and girlfriends sometimes pick up those messages and then erase them by mistake. And then erase the men from their affections, too, that happens. Call me this evening and we'll confirm our time tomorrow. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied. I understood well enough. But now I was thinking about her saying I can call her by her proper name 'when we're with other people'? Does that mean what it seems to mean? She will want me to meet 'other people'? Other people talk! They gossip! Carrie will surely find out about us! What does this woman have in mind?

I was so worried that I didn't look at her card until that evening, when I had to know her phone number to confirm the hour she'd specified for our ... assignation. I wondered how she knew I'd be free tomorrow, and the next day too. That Carrie would be away the whole time. How could she know that? We'd never met before, and she'd certainly never met Carrie!

The answer was printed on her card. "Gail Hanover" it read. I sat down and reread it. That was what it said.

"Gail Hanover" was a name Carrie and I had bandied back and forth in the past, because many of Carrie's projects were first proposed by someone with that name, and when Carrie'd brought them off, "Gail Hanover" had written her the congratulatory notes. Gail Hanover was majority stockholder of "Hanover Associates." She'd inherited the company from her parents. Her husband Tom was the president. Carrie was one of the "associates." Gail's husband was Carrie's boss, and Gail was in effect Carrie's boss's boss as well as his wife. I'd just fucked the boss's wife, and now she meant to use me for whatever other kinds of pleasure met her fancy. The security cameras alone weren't what would keep me in line. Nor was it just my desire to keep this liaison secret from Carrie, so Carrie wouldn't leave me, divorce me on the spot. I was also playing for Carrie's career. If I blew it, Carrie would suffer for my sins. This morning, when Gail Hanover had pulled my prick into her house and then sat down on it, I really had gotten myself fucked.

I called Gail as instructed. She sounded almost impersonal. "Oh yes, it's Bobbi, isn't it. Well, I do want you here at noon, and plan on making yourself available the rest of the day and well into the evening. I assume that's no problem. Come dressed the way you left me." And before I could reply she hung up.

Carrie called an hour or so later, just as I was going to bed exhausted. As she always did at least once when away, to ask how things were going. I'm sure I sounded nervous, edgy, guilty, I don't know what else. Luckily she was too hurried to notice. Things were going other than as anticipated, as usual, more surprises, more hassles But she was keeping up with them and she'd changed her game plan, and certain outcomes were already better than expected. She was learning things she'd never known, and the challenge was frankly exciting. But she had to cut the call short now, she was being paged, and she apologized for it. Just as well, I was thinking. I was afraid to prolong our conversation right now anyway. She missed me, she said. "Do you miss me too?"

"Very much," was all I could say. My voice broke, and I was choking. I was sure she could hear it.

She did. "Awww, sweetie," she said. "Well, don't feel bad! Please, believe me, there's no reason. I'll be home before you know it. Love ya! Have fun!"

Always more concerned for me than for herself! I went to bed miserable, sobbing for my lost virtue, and fortunately fell asleep almost at once.

 

iii.

The next morning no Mercedes pulled out of Gail Hanover's driveway -- her husband was still away I guessed. But early on a Corvette pulled in. Some time later it left, and a short time after that a pickup truck that visited until nearly noon, then left. I could only glimpse the drivers -- both men, one rather handsome and well groomed, one a burly guy in a denim shirt with a huge beard. Takes all kinds, I thought. The second guy doing repairs? But at least I wasn't doing the cheating, and I didn't intend to. The bargains we make with ourselves? I was a bit shocked when at noon, just as I was leaving the house, a little Escort turned into her driveway, driven by a woman. But what could I do? I followed in that robe she'd loaned me, feeling like an utter fool.

Even if she hadn't specified it I'd have come wearing that women's robe -- no way was I going to leave it where Carrie might find it. When I arrived at the now-infamous front door with all the security cameras trained on it, she called out "It's open, come in!" And when I came in I saw she was dressed in a robe like mine and seated at an ornate desk in a study just off the front hall. She was leaning back in an executive desk chair, legs crossed, obviously feeling comfortable. "You're here on time, good!" she said when she saw me. "You look wonderful, sleep well? Lunch is ready, but you won't eat for about an hour. I have work to finish. Why don't you go with Cora now, ah, here she is. Cora is my masseuse. What's good is about to become better." And she just sat there.

I turned around. Cora was the woman in the Escort, tall, solidly built, with a pleasant face, who took my hand and shook it the way a man would. It was a very strong hand, stronger than Gail's. "Gail's been telling me about you -- my but she has plans!"

Cora said. "Let's get started!"

She took me to a guest bathroom somewhere in back and without a moment's hesitation stripped me of my robe, then as I stood there smeared me with pink cream, my dong hanging inches from her face while she wiped whatever the stuff onto my legs. She didn't seem to notice. "Very nice," she said. "You're quite thin, shoulders not too broad, and not much musculature. That's helpful. I can see why Ms. Hanover wanted me to condition and tone your skin. You'll do very well."

"I'll do what very well?" I asked. "What do you think she wants with me?" I had no idea where this was going.

"Oh, the same as with all her other men," Cora said. "To play. Don't worry, she loves doing kinky things, but she's never yet had an unsatisfied customer. They get addicted I suppose. At least they all keep coming back."

I had some idea why apart from addiction, but said nothing.

"I've given lots of them massages while Ms. Hanover was recovering from the things they'd done together. Or they were recovering. But you're special. She made that quite clear. 'Bobbi is delicate, be gentle,' she said. Spread your cheeks wide so I can get some of this stuff between them. That's good."

So here was the second strange woman in two days to take an interest in my ass. Carrie liked its shape. She'd once told me it was like a woman's. She called me "bubble-butt" sometimes, teasing me. But she'd never run her fingers into my anus, as Gail had done, or between the crack, as Cora was doing.

"Yes," she said. "You'll do very well. Now rinse off in the shower."

Still wondering what I'd be doing "very well," I stepped in. Hot water cascaded down on me and the shower stall filled with steam, so it wasn't until I stepped out and was met by Cora bearing a huge terry towel that I realized I was now hairless!

"My God!" I said aloud. "What will my wife think?" My anxieties returned all at once.

"She'll think you're gorgeous," Cora said complacently. "Though I'm sure she does already. Now lie down on this table here -- I have lots of creams and unguents for you. Your skin looks starved!"

She began with one that had a distinct flowery aroma. "There," she said when she'd spread it. "This permeates the whole epidermal area, many layers down. This scent lasts and lasts, for at least a month, shower after shower, no matter how often you exfoliate. Your lovers will assume after a while that it's your body's natural scent. Ms. Hanover especially chose this one for you, "Floral Queen." It's her own scent. She likes it because it doesn't come off, so her men don't carry it home to make wives suspicious about where they've been. With this scent in your skin you won't ever need to wear perfume when you're dressed to go out, not even a cologne."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, now even more worried. I'd decided to claim I'd lost all that hair in a charcoal fire starter flashback, people do. But this feminine smell? Carrie couldn't help but ask questions. How could I explain it? "I never use perfume or cologne!"

"That's what I said," Cora said, unflapped. "And now some moisturizers."

I started to get up, but Cora's arms proved as strong as her hands. Her touch was gentle, but as she spread her emollients and balms over my shoulders I found I couldn't lift them against the pressure of her fingertips. "Not yet," she'd say casually, rubbing something into my bum. "All right, now! No don't sit up, just roll over!" And I was flat on my back before I even knew how I'd gotten there, Cora spreading something on my face.

"Lucky there isn't much facial hair," she said. "I've known women with more. This'll give you the softest complexion imaginable. Like a baby's." She smiled down. "I hear you like nursing on Ms. Hanover. Well, now your face will be as soft and smooth against her skin as her breast is to yours. You won't know which is touching which. That's how babies bond to their mommies. Close your eyes now, and keep them that way for maybe five minutes." She spread something on my eyelids too.

Then as I lay there in the darkness, she began to massage a somewhat stiffer ointment onto my nipples and the surrounding chest tissue. It felt nice. It began to feel very nice, and I could feel my prick begin to take notice and start to rise, fully visible to her. It distracted me a little from what she said next. "Premarin cream," she said. "Estrogen in an adsorbent base. Women use it to lubricate their vaginas when they're past menopause. Some women think it'll grow their breasts bigger, but I've only noticed a little improvement in the women I've used it on. You'll need more than a tube or two of it, I'd say, if this is how Ms. Hanover means to get your figure up to par. If that's what all this is about. I can't say I know."

Baffling! I was about to ask her just what Ms. Hanover -- Gail -- had told her, when she grabbed my now partially erect cock with her Premarin-coated plastic glove and began stroking it up and down. Oh, bliss!

"Try to hold off as long as you can, and let me know when you can't," she said. "I can always rub the cream into your balls while we wait for this thing to cool down." And as I gave a warning groan, she did.

"What does that stuff do?" I asked as soon as I could talk.

"The estrogen makes your skin softer by hormonal suffusion instead of just by plumping up the cells like ordinary skin creams," she said calmly. "She loves stroking soft skin. She'll want me to keep you soft this way if things between you work out. This much is only a lick and a promise to see if your body's interested. Your cock certainly is! Let me take care of it for you. You can open your eyes now and watch, if you like."

And she began to stroke my cock, her hand coated in that thick white cream, deliberately this time, her other hand now holding a cup, of all things, ready to catch whatever I might squirt. "Can't use a condom, the way I usually do when I masturbate Ms. Hanover's men to slow them down when they're too eager," she said. "She tells me she wants all the available estrogen in this cream to soak into your balls and your prick, so they'll know right from the beginning which hormones are the boss. It'll soften the skin down there too! And maybe the whole tool? Oh, that idea excites you too, eh? Well, here we go then!"

She stroked one last time and held me firm, and I closed my eyes. It was glorious. As I spurted, each spray arched up and fell neatly into her cup. She handed it to me. "Here," she said. "Drink it down."

"Drink this?" I said, horrified.

"Yes," Cora said. "Ms. Hanover specifically asked me to see to it. It isn't as if you haven't swallowed sperm before. Just do it, and don't make any problems." She lifted my head with an iron forearm on the back of my neck, and held the cup to my lips. "Yes, that's it."

Again, it was strange. Lightly salted, but the texture was still unfamiliar. Like olive oil? Like a raw egg white? It seemed to melt in my mouth. Not unpleasant. This was the strangest massage I had ever had, I was thinking. Cora now told me to stand, and handed me my bathrobe. Gail's robe. "There, that's much better," she pronounced.

I was still in a late afterglow of my climax, but worried again.

"Do you think my wife will notice how my skin is now?" I asked foolishly?

"Of course she will," Cora said. "Any woman would. You can tell her that your flowery smell is now hers to enjoy, something to share. Isn't that the point? So you can enjoy being closer? Same as with Ms. Hanover?"

"I guess," I said. But I was still worried as, with my skin plump and smooth, softened and fragrant, I walked with Cora back to Gail's office. I wondered if Carrie would buy an argument like that. An emollient to help us feel closer. It sounded like a cosmetics ad. Well, women do buy cosmetics, I told myself hopefully. Except that I'm a man.

Gail was still seated where I'd left her, and looked up brightly as we came in.

"Here he is again," Cora announced. "All smooth and pretty as can be."

"Well, not yet," Gail replied with a pleased smile,looking me over. "Though I love that eyelid treatment. Dark and shiny. It's rather seductive, you know? Come closer, honey!"

What eyelid treatment? I hadn't looked at myself at all since Cora began. I came closer.

Her hand reached into the opening of my bathrobe -- her bathrobe -- and took hold of my cock, now flaccid from its climax a few minutes ago. Even so, it began to stir.

"Mmm, that's so nice," she said half to herself. "Smooth, and hairless as newborn peaches soaked in cream. I'd love to feel your whole body against me while we hug each other to sleep. If you're willing to spend the night with me, that's what we'll do. And that's my scent, "Floral Queen," did you know that? My signature scent. So fresh! Now it's as if you belonged to me, isn't it. As if you were an extension of me. Wearing my scent as if you were a servant wearing my livery. As if you were branded. I like that."

"I'll go now," Cora interrupted. "Our next session will be when?"

"I'll call," Gail said, entranced as she ran her hands over my rising cock and under my hairless balls, then down the inside of my thigh. "In a day or two. Probably two fairly athletic men, straight massages but with special attention to their back muscles -- I may try to wear them both out utterly in a single session. Oh, Bobbi, what I'm doing to you is such a turn-on for me!" She didn't seem to notice when Cora let herself out.

"Gail," I said, "I don't think...."

"'Ma'am,' now," she interrupted. "Remember?"

"Ma'am," I began again. I felt like such a fool, calling her that. But I had no choice. She was the woman who had seduced me out of my marriage vows to Carrie, who held the secret that could wreck my marriage. She was also one of the wealthiest women in town, and Carrie's boss's boss, and his wife as well. "Yes, ma'am," I said, more respectfully. "Ma'am, it's all very well, whatever it is you want from me. But there's no way my wife isn't going to get suspicious now when she sees me. Or feels my skin. Or smells me. She'll know something's happening, and she'll find out, trust me, and I'll lose her. Even though we're not having an affair, exactly. Even though I'm getting in deeper just by trying to keep from getting in deeper!"

"Well, there was yesterday, after all," Gail observed, looking brightly at me, though now running her fingertips across my chest. "But that was only a tumble, not an affair, I suppose. A trial run to see how well you handle. Mmmmm! That hormone cream gives your breasts the strangest texture, have you felt them yet? You do feel marvelous, Bobbi! Scrumptious! Now, don't worry about your wife, Carrie's her name, isn't it. I have her personnel folder here, and I know her. She ran several projects for me, and very successfully, too. She's resourceful and clever. I see she's already on our fast track, sure to be promoted soon. There's already a note in her file to that effect."

Was this a bribe? She was saying that Carrie would benefit as long as I cooperated?

"Of course she'll have to earn it. Nothing comes free or for extracurricular favors rendered."

No, it wasn't a bribe. It was encouragement. I felt gratified by that.

"But at her level, she'll need your full support. She'll need to keep her mind clear to concentrate on her work. That's your responsibility. Families of associates like Carrie need to go that extra mile to help them, then volunteer to go another mile still. That kind of loyalty is always rewarded."

It was a bribe.

"I don't want Carrie to leave me," I said simply. "So I don't want her to know. I did a terrible thing yesterday, and I can't seem to rise out of it. There are strange things happening here. I'm not saying they aren't pleasant. Some are very pleasant." Any woman wants to feel her efforts are appreciated, I was thinking. Gail is no different. Keep going on this track. "Yesterday was wonderful," I added. "I want to go along with whatever else you have in mind. But if I could feel less guilty and enjoy these ... sessions more, you'd enjoy them more too. Isn't that true?"

"Yes, I imagine you do now want to 'go along,' for more than one reason. But what makes you think there will be 'sessions,' plural, Bobbi. How do you know this one isn't the last?" She sounded severe. Obviously, she didn't like being predictable.

"You told me. You told me to keep tomorrow open as well as today. And you didn't make my body feel like a princess's and smell like a flower garden just for today. You're playing with me. You said as much."

Her face broke into a pleased smile. "You do remember, don't you. And you're always thinking! Marvelous, see that you keep it up, it's tiresome explaining things to men who never realize their balls now belong to someone else! Some of my men can only hear what their little heads tell them. For a good reason -- their big heads have nothing to say. Well, let me tell you. First of all, it's true, I intend to invest a certain amount of time and attention in you. You're conveniently located and I love convenience. Also, your determination to remain faithful to your wife opens some wonderful possibilities about other more imaginative ways we can play. And I do love to play. There will be substantial returns in the form of satisfaction for me and appreciation for you. Are you with me so far?"

"Yes, ma'am." I tried to make it sound ironic, not respectful, and failed.

"Don't worry about your wife. Just do everything I ask to the best of your ability, without questioning any of it. It'll be fun, I guarantee it. And you'll be investing in Carrie's future, so she'll appreciate it too."

I looked doubtful. Grave. Carrie would sacrifice her husband for her career? I doubted it. On the other hand, that's what I was doing for her, wasn't I?

"Trust me. Let me be even more blunt. Tomorrow you'll fuck me again. Because I'll want to be laid by the kind of person you'll be tomorrow, there aren't too many of you. And to relieve your mind, I'll arrange it so Carrie knows everything. Maybe even watches. Is that so shocking? I promise you, I'll arrange it so she won't object, and she may even feel pleased."

I was dumbfounded! I gawked!

"Oh, it'll change your marriage somewhat, of course, but I promise you it won't end it -- in fact it should make it all the more enjoyable! You two will still live together happily ever after, and love each other more with each passing year, and so on, as far as any arrangement with me is concerned. And Carrie will get full professional recognition for her loyalty to the firm's needs, and you'll get full credit for your loyalty to her professional prospects. She'll certainly appreciate that!"

Was this sexual harassment? No, it couldn't be, I was thinking. I'm not employed by Hanover Associates, and Gail wasn't asking me urge Carrie to do anything. But it was intimidation, sort of, nevertheless. "She'll never consent, ma'am," I said. "Never. And if you try to bribe or threaten her she'll only get furious. I know."

'Well, if she does mind you fucking me, or if it appears that she'd mind, then it just won't happen. You'll be absolved. Does that sound fair to you?"

What could I say? I nodded. Then realized what I'd just done. I've agreed to an infidelity if Carrie approves of it. Never mind whether I'd approve or not. My fidelity was based not on a conviction about the sanctity of marriage but on fear. I was a disgrace. Carrie couldn't avoid reaching that conclusion.

She relaxed. "Then it's settled, Bobbi honey. Time to seal our understanding with a kiss. Why don't you go down on your knees again and kiss my pussy. Since you won't fuck me, that's where you belong -- I've been waiting to welcome you there all the time you've been with Cora. Remember, you decided yesterday that you'd rather kneel in front of me than go to bed with me?"

What could I do? I knelt down in front of her as she sat in her desk chair, just like yesterday, and kissed her thigh in homage, like yesterday. She scrunched forward until her crotch was over the edge of the chair, and then spread her legs wide. She wasn't wearing panties. Her quim looked swollen, and I saw a cloudy fluid oozing out of it now that she'd opened her thighs. A puddle formed quickly on the front edge of her chair.

Oh, God! Those two visitors this morning! The Corvette and the SUV, they'd left this behind when they'd driven off! This wasn't my semen this time, it was theirs. She'd been fucked by two men and had been keeping their cum warm for me. And this is what she wants me to do for her from now on? She thinks Carrie won't mind, that Carrie will appreciate me afterward? Lunacy! What would Carrie actually think of me if she knew that I'd done this. Is a cumsucker much different from a cocksucker? What would I think of me? Would there be an afterward? Is this really what Ms. Hanover wants from me, to douche her cunt with my tongue whenever she fucks other men? Why would Carrie ever want to remain married to a hired cuntlapping cumsucker, a licker up of other men's cum in other women's cunts, fees on request?

"It's lunch time, Bobbi," Gail gently reminded me, as I stared at two pearly blebs suspended between the hairs that scarcely veiled her slit.

I leaned forward and touched my tongue to the little puddle on the chair in front of her pussy. Then to her pussy. Then curled it into my mouth and swallowed. Slick and salty, same syrupy feel, not much different from my own. This was plainly another step toward something on Gail's mind. Best not to think what.

"Yes, ma'am," I said. Then I leaned in all the way, and again took this woman by the hips to hold her cunt firmly against my mouth, and just as if it were my own, but knowing it wasn't, I licked, and ate, and lapped, and drank, and sucked, and nibbled, and swallowed, and licked some more. Gail draped her legs voluptuously over my shoulders while she lay back and moaned and occasionally cried out, and once again seemed to be gasping for breath. All the while I was tasting those cloudy fluids, those pearly pooled blobs and globules and drippings from the pricks and balls of others, feeling the slick gloop spread across my lips and the insides of my cheeks, and swallowing it as rapidly as I could.

Then when she seemed to be pristine, it was over. I leaned my forehead hard against her open pussy with my eyes closed. I remained still, kneeling there between her thighs, breathing in her smells, my head down. I felt so sad. I'd sucked up other men's cum. From inside another woman. I'd crossed a deep valley somehow, and was in another country, my wife far behind on the other side.

 

iv.

Gail seemed to understand. She placed her hand on my head and gently stroked my cum and saliva soaked hair, trying to console me. "It'll be such fun, Bobbi," she said soothingly. "You'll see!"

We remained that way for a few minutes while I recovered from my deep sense of helplessness. My deep humiliation. She understood. "That wasn't so very bad, now, was it, Bobbi? Now that you've done it? It's only cum, after all. And you made me feel so very nice. And now it's your turn to feel nice. Here, put this condom on -- ah, I see your penis did find it a little exciting after all! You like taking my men into your mouth and then into your tummy, do you? Is that why you're so sad? Because you don't like it that you liked it? Oh, sweetheart, I wanted you to know how good it is, other men's cum, it's all part of how I want you! And now the next step! Turn around and let me see that smooth, soft, sweet-smelling baby bottom of yours. No, stay on your knees, put this pillow on the floor and rest your head and arms on it, and lift your precious bottom high up toward me."

I did, wondering what she now had in mind. I heard her stand up behind me, and I wasn't surprised to feel slickly lubricated fingers enter my rear end once again and move back and forth. "Isn't this nice?" she chanted in her soothing voice. "Isn't it? Isn't it nice to feel how you loosen up? You're a natural, I found that out yesterday! That's it, relax onto my fingers." I tried. After a few more strokes of her fingers she withdrew them, and there was a pause. Then something softer and yet quite firm pressed against my opening, much thicker than fingers! It pushed through and entered me! And kept going deeper! Like a difficult turd, partly in but partly outside me, it stretched me wide open and clogged my passage utterly.

"Oooooh!" was all I could say. I was skewered!

"There!" she said soothingly. "Now isn't this really nice?"

That soft, fat thing suddenly slipped way in, and when I felt her hands grasp my hips and her belly pressing on my buttocks I realized that she was wearing a dildo and was fucking me! Then she pulled it almost out. Then in again. And as it left me yet again, I began to feel that same yearning for something not there, that peculiar desire that felt gratified only when the thing pushed back into me and filled me up. A craving spread out from my bottom and gathered strength. I couldn't help it, I began to rear back to meet each oncoming thrust, and to raise my ass high up to prolong its withdrawal.

"Yes, I'm fucking you," Gail's voice said melodiously from behind me. "You can't fuck me, we agreed to that, didn't we? But I can fuck you, and that's what I'm doing. This is my penis, and we're fucking, and that means I'm fucking your pussy. It feels really good, doesn't it? Well, sweetie, make it feel better. Roll around on my penis. Do bumps and grinds with your cunt! Make love to me with your cunt! Stroke your penis while I fuck you. That's it! That's it! Yes, surrender to it all, darling!"

I did. The pressure and the craving mounted higher. I beat my meat and rolled my hips and wriggled. I made love to that thing with my ass, whatever it was. In and out. Then finally "Ahhhhhhh!" I cried out as I finally came in the condom, and my ass again clamped down on that dildo with each spurt, repeatedly, as if hugging it over and over in gratitude. The sense of ripe fullness all through me at that moment was delicious beyond belief. I pushed hard against her penis and held myself snugged tight there as my spasms subsided.

She slowly -- as if reluctantly -- pulled the thing out and waited for me to compose myself, and then to turn around again. When I did, I saw that she was wearing on her crotch an enormous flesh-colored rubber cock, swollen erect as if eager to begin again. A perfect replica of a championship penis. Each purple vein and ripple of pulled-back foreskin still glistened from whatever the lubricant she'd used, and from my own internal lubricants too. As did its magisterially bulbous head. I just stared. That huge thing had just been inside me? An imitation prick? Had I just become an imitation faggot?

"Kiss it," she said. "Show it how grateful you are!"

I leaned forward and kissed the tip.

Then crooningly, dreamily, she spoke aloud while she stroked my hair. "Now take its head into your mouth and just hold it there. Impressive, isn't it. Stretch wider. There! Now this cock belongs to both of us. You're the only other person it's ever fucked, did you know that? When we first married I missed my husband so much when he went away on those long business trips. So I bought this sweet part of a man here to be my boyfriend, and he was always so consoling whenever I felt lonely and deprived! Isn't he nice? I knew you'd love him too. I told my husband about him and my sweet dear realized how much we missed each other, and that was when we gave each other permission to be with other people whenever we couldn't be together. Have you and Carrie ever thought of doing that? Giving each other permission to be polyamorous? That would solve your problem -- then you'd never be able to be unfaithful to each other unless you cheated and didn't tell her!"

I shook my head 'No.' The rubber cock now stretching my mouth weaved back and forth over her groin like a fat cigar.

She continued to stroke my hair. "You really should give it some thought. Now lower your head and take our man in all the way down your throat as far as it'll go. Yes, that's the gag reflex, you can control it, just relax and try again. There, see? All the way in, half-way to your tummy now, nearly! And you get to smell my pussy again too! Have you ever sucked a cock before, Bobbi?"

I looked at her with that dildo jammed down my throat and again shook my head. She was looking down gently at me. "You sweet thing. So many new things. Run your tongue along the veins. Isn't it remarkable how you can feel each one? Now you can let it slide out of your mouth. Don't worry, it'll still be here. Just rest your head on my knees and hold it in your hand as if it were your own and look dreamy, and jerk it off slowly while I tell you my plans. You can kiss it now and then if you feel a wave of affection for it coming on."

I did. My ass felt marvelous. I did kiss it several times.

"We have lots to do this afternoon. I want to take you to dinner to celebrate our new relationship, to a very fine restaurant where there will be people who know me. I can't take any of my regular men, my lovers, ever, people will talk. But I can take you. I'll arrange things so the two of us can be seen together in public and yet we'll both remain respectable."

I lifted my head, shocked. "We're going out? In public? Where we'll be seen? I can't do that!" My throat felt sore from the deep-throating, a bit, and my voice croaked.

"No, don't stress your throat! Just hum your words! Say that again!"

"I can't be seen!" I repeated from the upper part of my throat, not quite sounding like Minnie Mouse. "People will talk!"

"Oh, lovely, do talk like that from now on! Do you hear me?" She paused.

"Yes, ma'am" I said in my throaty contralto.

She was pleased. "No, of course you can't be seen. Not as you are. You won't be, don't be such a baby about it! You see, Bobbi, it's like this. Wherever I go, people take notice. And Tom is a corporation president, and a corporation president's wife is like Caesar's wife, you know, she must always seem to be beyond reproach. Or people will assume he's weak, and try to take advantage. It's very primitive, really, but that's how it is. I can't be seen to be out with a man!"

"But I am a man!"

"Just hear me out. At first yesterday I was thinking what marvelous fun it would be to keep you as a baby, give you muscle relaxants to reduce you to helplessness, and keep you in a crib, and play mommy and nurse you, and change your diaper, and everything. But then I realized I'd need babysitters and bottles and wet nurses, all of that sort of thing, it would be sweet but a bother too. And what I really want is a companion, someone I can spend time with without people talking. Someone who isn't a man."

"But ma'am, I am ...."

"Oh,hush, Bobbi, you still aren't thinking! For example, you could be a man, and be introduced as my brother when we're seen out together. But too many people know that I have no brother, that's why I inherited everything from my parents. Or we could establish that you're really gay, a mincing faggot in fact, so there's no doubt about the nature of our relationship. Lots of women maintain respectability by going to theaters and concerts and so on with known homosexuals. Hisbands never object. But that doesn't seem very fair to Carrie. It would hurt her reputation if people thought she was married to a pansy. And that in turn could hurt the firm's reputation."

My God, how far would this woman go? She was seriously thinking she'd make me into a baby? That was why she'd had me suck her tits? Or make me a queer? Was this why she was feeding me all that cum? Was this why she'd just fucked me up the ass?

"So what we need is, we'll disguise you, so when we're seen together no one will gossip about us. Of course I'm sure you're not eager either to have anyone report to Carrie that they saw us together. You've already made that clear enough."

I only half-heard her. The thought of Carrie finding out about this ... thing we were doing was terrifying! "No!" I exclaimed reflexively. Let news of this relationship spread across town? No way!

"Bobbi, gay or straight, I do not wish to be seen dining out with the husband of an employee any more than you wish to be seen dining out with me when your wife's elsewhere. So that's settled too! I do hope you'll remember from now on that you are not the person in charge here, and that from now on you'll answer agreeably when I tell you what to do! Whatever I may tell you."

She paused. "Yes, ma'am," I finally said.

She smiled suddenly. "Bobbi, stand up now, would you please?"

I did.

"Oh, my, look at that! I'd forgotten. Do empty that condom and dispose of it, would you? No, sweetheart, not there, I'm sure all your little sperms would be much happier playing with all the manly sperms already in your tummy, don't you? Into your mouth with them! That's it."

I spilled the open end into my mouth and tried to suck out the rest. This time there was a faint rubber cast to the flavor, but otherwise the taste and the feel in my mouth were the same. I guess I was getting used to it. Except that this time, I'd ejaculated because she'd put a prick into me, not because I'd put one into her. Was that worse than swallowing the leftovers from those other pricks that had been in her this morning? At least it was mine. A kind of cannibalism I supposed, at worst.

"Now why don't you go into the spare bedroom all the way on the left at the top of the stairs -- there's a full length mirror there. Look at yourself and see if you can guess what sort of disguise I have in mind for you."

"All right" I replied, subdued. And I went.

What I saw in the mirror was a naked hermaphrodite. A slim, slightly willowy -- man I suppose, because he had a bare penis and no breasts. The same body I always saw, but this time utterly hairless. But what was different, what suggested femininity, were the eyes. Cora had somehow stained my eyelids with a dark, shiny toner, so when I lowered them slightly they seemed as sexy and come hither as any movie starlet's eyes. What disguise did she have in mind? I was hairless, with my skin scented and my eyelids shaded, and still stretched out from a dildo up my ass and down my throat. How dense could I be?

I returned to Gail, vaguely grateful that she'd called my asshole a pussy and a cunt, and not what it was. At least she wasn't demanding that I turn queer. "All right," I said. "I see what you mean. Out of loyalty to my wife I won't have sex with you as a man, but you do want me for a companion and also a playtoy, so you want me to pretend to be a woman instead. You want to make me over, to change my sex."

"Oh no honey, not your sex. I like that cute penis of yours. I hope to use it tomorrow, remember? I just want to change the way you look and behave, to bring out the girl in you so others can see it, and no one sees the man in you. A sex-change may follow, if it wants to, if you find you love being a girl as much as I do. But that has nothing to do with me. That would be for you and Carrie to work out between yourselves. Get in my car, Bobbi. You're about to have a lovely adventure."

When she first motioned me over to her house yesterday morning, when I went to get the morning paper, why did I go? Why didn't I turn and walk away? I was being gentlemanly, that's why! Neighborly! Now look at me! "I'm naked," I said.

"Oh, of course, wear your robe then. Our first stop will be to measure you for some new clothes. We'll get you some ready-to-wear outfits for now, skirts and blouses or something, and a good dress for the evening."

"You expect me to wear skirts and blouses? Why? Are you trying to humiliate me?"

Gail looked sternly at me. "I'm trying to do no such thing! Just look at me! There is nothing whatever humiliating about wearing a skirt or blouse! Shame on you for thinking so! I'm being perfectly reasonable with you. You don't want to be a man with me, so you'll be a woman with me! That satisfies your hankering after fidelity but also my desire to have fun with you. We'll see which of us ends up more satisfied." She suddenly grinned playfully. "The security cameras in this house have already seen quite a bit, I'm sure you know."

Of course. Those cameras. The tapes. So her husband can know she's safe as she's being ... attended.

"Does your husband know about me?" I asked. "Has he seen me on tape yet?" I was suddenly embarrassed by that possibility.

"Does he know how I'm using you? I imagine so," she replied, slipping on her topcoat and looking for her purse. "The recordings are broadcast wherever he is several times a day, and he looks at the most recent whenever he gets back to his hotel room. As I've explained, for my safety, but maybe also to ease the mind of some woman he may have brought up there with him. Sometimes to amuse her. It may also turn her on, too! I get pretty hot with my guys!" She grinned.

"So he's seen me cock sucking that dildo, and taking it up the ass!" Now I felt ashamed. Letting a woman order me around and humiliate me like that. I was letting the man's side down, I felt in some vague way that I was being less than a man! That he would think the less of me for that.

"Maybe," she replied with equanimity. "My sweet Bobbi, do I sense homosexual panic? Here you are wearing a lovely robe, your skin hairless and perfumed, your eyelids shadowed, your tummy filled with fresh sperm, your mouth and ass still stretched out by a very realistic cock, and you're worried that another man might think you're gay? Why in the whole world should he think that?"

Then she relented. She took hold of both my forearms and gripped them. "Look at me!" she said. I looked up into her eyes. They were quite kindly. "Just be a girl for me now, please, sweetheart," she said. "Then whether or not you're a gay man will never arise as an issue. It can't possibly."

I looked down again. "All right," I said.

"Now, into the car," she said. "We're two girls on an afternoon's outing. Can you feel that way?"

She paused. I tried. I suppose I wriggled my hips a little.

She smiled at that, but said nothing. "We're going shopping for a few things for you to wear, and then we'll both get our hair done. Then we'll come back here to get ready for the evening."

A different kind of panic seized me. "Please! No changes to my hair! Nothing that shows! Nothing to make my wife suspect anything!"

"You still want to deceive her?" she replied. "You still think you can explain away your soft, scented, hairless skin? Well, I've already told you that there will be no problem with your wife, so show some backbone! Don't be so fearful! Come along!"

I held her robe tight closed as I got into her car, the big SUV. My own car, I knew, was in my driveway on the other side of the trees, a few hundred yards and a million miles away at the moment.

 

v.

Whatever Gail wanted, Gail got. Four hours later when we returned I looked like a cute young woman, all curly headed, with darkened, smudged, innocent, wide open eyes to match Gail's, and my body launched irreversibly on a course to match that appearance. An hour later still Gail was congratulating me on my loss of virginity as a hard-bodied, hairless man with a shaved head pulled his hairless cock out of my asshole and wiped it with a towel Gail provided him, looking rather pleased with himself. "Now you're a woman!" she said. "Never doubt it! Hurry! Put a tampon in your pussy and that new Donna Karan on your back, and let's go to dinner."

How did this happen in the course of only a few hours? Even before we'd left our little suburban enclave and turned toward town, Gail began instructing me. "You look as if I'm driving you to your grave," she said after an amused glance at my somber face. "I'm not, Bobbi. I'm liberating you. I'm taking you to a little shop I know you'll enjoy, it's owned by my own couturiere, so we can plan and order your wardrobe for whenever you're with me and you can begin wearing some of the lovely things she sells and designs. Because wherever we go, you will need to seem to be fit company for me. Lots of the women I know would kill to have dresses and outfits like mine for themselves, even to know where I get them! So you must promise never to say, and you can be sure that they will ask. Well, let them envy you the way they envy me. Enjoy it."

"This isn't just for today and tomorrow, then?" I asked. "Ma'am," I added.

She glanced at me a moment. "Why, no Bobbi. We've discussed this! Why would I order an expensive skin-scenting and conditioning for you for only a day or two's play? Why would I be getting you accustomed to sharing some of the things I enjoy, if I didn't want you for my long-term playmate, sharing everything?" She glanced at me and then returned her eyes to the road. "Everything, Bobbi!"

I was silent. The things she enjoyed doing. She certainly enjoyed collecting cum. Could she actually mean that those streams of sports cars would be seeking me out as well as her?

"I've wanted to share my pleasures with you for weeks and weeks," she continued. "I spotted you almost the day we first moved into this neighborhood. A perfectly lovely man, cute as a button, with a working wife often elsewhere, home all day alone. My neighbor, living right next door. What could be more convenient?"

She was silent now too for a little while. Then, "This isn't exactly what I'd planned, honey. I'd wanted you to play the role of a man with me, like my other friends. I'd have loved to have you as my local boyfriend, discreetly on call whenever I needed him, ready to fill any gaps in my schedule or my body. But you didn't want that, and though they're old-fashioned by my lights I can respect your reasons. You're loyal to your wife, in a manner of speaking. So what we're doing now is your decision, never forget that."

That wasn't entirely true. But I let it pass. This woman was accustomed to getting whatever she wanted for whatever her own reasons. I hoped Carrie would appreciate what I was trying to do for her, what I was trying not to do too. Trying to stave off disaster. When she finds out about this. If she ever does. She had to, but I still hoped not.

"Not that I mind," she said sweetly as she pulled between two carved stone pillars into a driveway leading to a little cluster of rather elegant shops, and parked next to one of them. "This is so much more fun! I've taken girlfriends in hand now and then, and improved their wardrobes and enlarged their social prospects, but I've never done anything like this before with a man! I'm so glad you're special. You really are! Come here!"

I turned toward her, wondering what she meant. Her eyes were soft. "Closer, honey," she said. I leaned closer. She lifted her head and kissed me, her lips sumptuous against mine. For that moment she looked so vulnerable in her beauty, even frail. My heart went out to her, just a little, and I kissed her back.

Just a little.

"I do hope you'll enjoy this too," she whispered. "Tell me you will."

"I'll try," I said. It seemed selfish and pointless not to grant her that much.

She opened her car door. "Now to make you the envy of everyone who sees us together," she said. "Ready?"

"Gail, " I said. "Ma'am, I mean. I'm a married man. My wife has a responsible position working for your husband. That's why I'm going along with this. But I don't want to embarrass her. I don't want to be seen by anyone the way you intend!"

"Silly!" she said. "C'mon now! No one will ever guess who you are when you're with me! Maybe not even your wife!"

As I left the car I was once again embarrassed to be wearing only the pink robe Gail had loaned me, and I clutched it closed. We walked toward the large oak door of one of the shops, and a footman appeared from nowhere to pull it open! Dressed in black boots, white breeches, and a red coat, as if fresh from riding to the hounds. "Ms. Hanover," he said respectfully. "Welcome!"

"George," she acknowledged, nodding at him. "This is Bobbi. She's my dear friend, and she's to have whatever she wants whenever she comes here. It'll be often because she needs everything, and often it'll be without me because I'll be busy. But she'll expect every courtesy!"

'She'? I supposed so. That was her plan, but it was a bit jarring to hear the word for the first time, referring to me. 'Often'? I wondered what that meant.

"Yes ma'am," George said, utterly unflapped that he was looking at a man in a woman's robe when he looked straight at me. "Miss Bobbi, welcome to Yvette's. We hope you'll allow us the privilege of serving you for a long time to come."

I was called on to say something. "Thank you," I said in that high, soft contralto Gail wanted me to use. "I hope so too!"

Now why did I say that? Idiocy! I hoped no such thing. I was caught up in the spirit of things I supposed.

He seated us on small, painted boudoir chairs, in an exquisite salon brilliantly illuminated through huge rear windows and skylights, the walls hung with luxurious white and salmon colored drapes. The afternoon sun made them glow, so the very air took on a rosy cast. And now Yvette appeared. A short middle-aged woman in a smock, brisk in her manner and decisive in her hand gestures, her face impeccably made up, her eyebrows plucked away and then pencilled back on.

"Gail!" she said in what I took to be a faint French accent. "Delightful, as always! And you're Bobbi, how lovely to meet you at last!" She looked me up and down as I sat there hunched over, still clutching my robe closed. "My dear, you look like a bundle of laundry! Stand proud and tall over here on this little platform, and let's see what we have! Just tell yourself, 'I'm a woman, and I'm beautiful!' and that's what the world will see. No, leave the robe behind!"

As she spoke she reached out her hand, and I reached to take it, but she shook me off with a wave of her wrist. Of course, the robe. She wanted me naked. So I took a deep breath and shucked it onto the chair, and then she clasped my hand and led me onto the little platform in the center of the room. Gail sat as if at a fashion show, eyes alight with anticipation. With a single eloquent wave of her hand, Yvette ordered me to stand erect, chin high, perfectly still. And there I was, as fully on display as a nude statue on a pedestal. Her eyes flicked over my body as if photographing it. "Now say it, Bobbi! Tell yourself and tell the world!"

I didn't know what she meant at first. Then I remembered. Let's get it right the first time, I told myself, so this doesn't become an endless repetition. "I'm a woman," I said with all the deep sincerity I could muster. "And I'm beautiful!"

"Yes!" Yvette said, as if absolutely persuaded it was so. There was my thin, flat chest and my there were my penis and testicles and my angular body, and she said it with absolute conviction. "Her figure presents no problems at all," she told Gail. "We can do everything with the cut and fall of the fabrics, and a little bolstering and padding here and there. Very little cinching needed. But shall we leave a certain amount of room? Will she be developing over time?"

"We'll see," Gail replied. "Meanwhile you see how she is, and fit her as she is. She needs everything. She has literally nothing to wear. Right now we need to get her through the afternoon, lingerie of course, and pumps, deep-cut vamps I'd say, and a simple skirt and blouse perhaps, whatever you suggest. A dinner gown for this very evening, something high styled but not too formal, and I'd like it to fit her beautifully. And heels and accessories. Even a purse."

"Of course," Yvette said, as if men stood before her to be fitted for dresses every day. "She has lovely shoulders, not too broad at all, it would be a shame to cover them. So for tonight, a basque to hold up her breasts, and spaghetti straps on a slim silk taffeta sheath to accent her slender hips and yet her femininity. Is that what you were thinking? I have one in her size I think, a Donna Karan."

"Perfect. In cerise, perhaps?"

"Oh, my dear, perhaps later, she'd need superb confidence to carry off that strong a color. For now I'd say a demure fuschia, especially with her coloring. It's one of this year's shades. Then her make-up can match. You know, she's quite shapely, considering. We must show the world the shape of her derriere, many women would kill for curves like those." Yvette paused, then asked. "Her breasts, what have you in mind?"

Gail laughed. "Oh, several possibilities, Yvette!" Her eyes sparkled as the two women exchanged amused glances. I had no idea what they were talking about. "But Bobbi will have something to say about that I'm sure. Maybe her partner too -- she lives with another woman, and they're quite attached to each other I gather. For now, not too much decolletage. But can she possibly show a hint of cleft this evening?"

This charade, discussing an obvious male as if he were female, was annoying me. But this was the first I'd heard that Carrie might have a voice in any of this. I was still pondering that, thinking about Carrie as "another woman" like myself, when Yvette moved around behind me, placed her hands on my ribs and pushed my love handles up toward my chest. "Oh yes," Yvette said. "No problem with a bit of cleft. I have everything her figure needs."

"Then I leave it to you. Meanwhile, let's consider the rest of the season. Sportswear, a summer suit or two, a few casual dresses, a tennis dress perhaps, another really good dress. You know. And as soon as possible. We'll discuss her fall and winter wardrobe another time."

What did this woman have in mind for me? Fall and winter? I more than half-anticipated that Carrie would order me out of the house as soon as she saw me. And when I was no longer Gail's convenient neighborhood playtoy, that would be the end of that!

"Yes, of course," Yvette said. She called into the air, "Celine, s'il vous plait?" and then explained, "We need to take her measurements now."

Gail said nothing. I watched to see what would next happen. A quilted satin door in a far wall opened and a stunning brunette appeared, wearing measuring tapes around her neck as if necklaces and carrying a pink clipboard. She stood perfectly still when she saw a naked man standing there on a platform where dowagers, debutantes, bridesmaids, businesswomen, and little girls usually stood to be fitted. Then suddenly broke into a playful grin. I couldn't tell what it meant. I didn't want to know.

"Celine, this is Bobbi," Yvette announced. "Bobbi is Mrs. Hanover's protege, and she needs everything, and we want to see she gets everything she needs. We'll be fitting her out for some months. But she needs a summer wardrobe immediately. She's thin enough for extremely tight, figure-revealing styles, and I don't think we should deprive her of the pleasure of showing herself off. Not too severe of course. Skirts perhaps A-line with a cross-gore to the waist. Blouses shaped and tucked until we can see if anything develops. For now, a shift she can wear for the rest of the day. Isn't that right, Gail?"

"That's right," Gail replied, watching me to see if I'd understood any of that conversation. I hadn't. "We'll accommodate in due course to whatever may change during her fittings."

"Oui, madame," Celine said. She got up on the platform with me and began taking measurements, all sorts. As she stretched her tape below my nipples and then around them, I felt myself begin to swell. Then she reached into my crotch and pressed an end of her tape measure gently against my balls, looked up at me and smiled as if we were sharing an intimate joke, then stretched the other end down to my knees, then to my ankles, then to the ground. My cock began to harden noticeably. She entered her readings onto her clipboard and didn't seem to notice.

Then suddenly she turned to Yvette. "Madame," she said. "Weel zees ... lady be keeping zees stings?" She pointed her pencil at my cock and balls, now on full display. "Weez zees verry tight styles, ...." She shrugged and awaited an answer. Yvette looked at Gail. Gail looked at me, her face unreadable. Then she said suddenly. "No Bikinis this summer. Maybe a Maillot. We'll see about next summer, quite possibly by then."

I suddenly realized they were talking about my package! The shape of my crotch! About my displaying a woman's snug curve there, not the hint of a bulge. About removing my penis and testicles, so tight clothes would show properly? I got frightened! "Gail!" I called out to her.

Gail ignored me and went on, "But we will want to put her into slacks right away, tight enough to display that cute tush. Isn't it dear? Could any girl's rear be more feminine? But that means snug in the crotch, so measure her for a gaffe," Gail said, unflapped. "Send it along with the dress. Bobbi has enough to worry about right now, bless her heart. We can let her wear pants as well as dresses, if they're the right kind, figure-tight. But you do remind me, when we get home today we'll need to reduce her inclination to bulge out from her crotch, and we'll also want to reward her patience. I'm sure Jason will oblige the lady on both scores. Meanwhile, can we get her dressed for the rest of the afternoon now, and move on?"

"Of course," Yvette said. "Celine?"

"Oui, Madame. Mais les lingerie? Quelle style ...?"

"Sexy," Gail said firmly. "Risque. I want Bobbi to enjoy her femininity, its intimate secrets and its outward appearances, in every way possible! She should want to feel downright seductive at all times."

Celine disappeared. I stood there. Within five minutes she was back, her arms piled high with plastic parcels and small boxes. As Yvette and Gail watched, she then did a kind of strip tease with each item, tantalizingly removing them from their packaging -- a dainty hi-leg lace panty, a wispy matching bra she called a "soutienne-gorge", a frail slip. And then just as suggestively she slipped each item onto me, waiting silently when she wanted me to lift a leg or raise an arm to help her. I cooperated. She rolled thigh high stockings up my legs and slid her hands up my thighs to smooth them. She tucked breast forms into my brassiere, and tugged at the cups until they looked shapely. She handed me slim, delicate, low-heeled pumps, beige, apparently with the "deep-cut vamps" Gail wanted for me, and I slipped them on.

Then finally, when I was fully dressed in my lingerie, she stopped and stood back and smiled broadly at me, as if she were welcoming me into a secret society only other women know about. "Ravissement!" she said. I thought for a moment she intended to kiss me. Then she disappeared. I just stood there in my bra and panties and hosiery, feeling like a Victoria's Secrets catalog model. At least I was no longer naked.

"I think this shift dress for now," Yvette said, handing me a long, loose tube of shiny rust colored fabric without even looking at me, assuming that of course I'd figure out how to slip it over my head, as I did. It went narrowly straight down from my shoulders to my calves and then floated free, yet seemed to cling to my hips and poke suggestively away from my chest. Its sleeves hung gracefully from my elbows. "Yes," Yvette said, looking at me as if I were a store mannequin. "Silk, of course. And the deeper earth tones are certainly her colors. Though she'll want a few summer things in more sprightly shades, lime or berry. Just look at her! Doesn't a well-cut garment always declare itself, no matter how simple? Even though this dress seems severe, it couldn't be more feminine, and flirty!"

"Yes," Gail said. "It's just lovely. I'll send Jason over to take back to the house whatever the blouses and skirts and things she'll need for the next few days, along with everything she'll need for tonight. In two or three hours perhaps?"

"Time enough," Yvette replied. She held her hand out again to help me off the low platform, and as I stepped off I bobbed my knee ever so slightly and rose again -- somehow it seemed more ladylike. The hem of my dress brushed my calves. I was very conscious of the bra and panties, those provocative lacy wisps Celine had snugged onto my body, now hidden under a dress but clinging to me, very much there. Now I'm dressed like a girl, I was saying to myself. My body looks like a woman's. What are these women doing to me?

As we left Yvette's salon, George again held open the heavy oak entrance door, this time looking at me appreciatively, as if I had been transformed into a beauty queen. I tried to pay no attention, but it felt queer.

"Now, don't you feel more confident?" Gail asked me. "More self-assured? Now that you're properly dressed?"

"These clothes feel very strange," was all I could reply. The dress felt smooth and slippery, and seemed to roll and splash on my body whenever I moved. I felt loose and free inside it. The slip's hem danced lightly on the backs of my knees. The bra hugged me like a girlfriend fearful that I might leave her.

Gail saw me attending to each of these sensations, and simply waited. Then she asked,"Strange, but nice?"

"Yes," I had to reply. As if I were being caressed by silken webs, I was thinking, but I didn't want to give Gail the satisfaction. "It's odd. Luxurious." And I had to add "Sort of sexy, too!" I realized that I'd regret taking these things off again. Maybe also not being able to wear them when Carrie was home.

"I'm glad you enjoy them," Gail replied. "I'd thought the novelty might excite you, but it's so much better that you find them erotic. You'll enjoy them much more that way. Lots of women do. And some men." She looked down and saw that my lace-net panties weren't quite holding back a partial erection. I couldn't help it! These clothes really were sexy!

"We'll take care of that when we get home, Bobbi. You won't have that problem at all once we've slipped you into the kind of gaffe I've asked for. But now it's time for our hair appointments. You'll need a facial too, and nails of course. Actually, a complete makeover."

'Nails of course!' This woman was determined to ruin my marriage. But I was already beyond a point of no return for excuses to Carrie. The more persuasive I look as a woman, I was thinking, the less I resemble a cross-dressed male, the greater the chance that she'll find me only a disappointment, not an absurdity. And maybe pity me and stay with me? This was a new thought. I'd try seriously to look like a woman!

Gail led the way two stores down, and we entered another unmarked entrance, this time with a door cherry red in color, and "Private, By Appointment Only" on a brass plaque next to it. Then we walked down a brightly lit corridor and through a door. I found myself in the middle of a boudoir, but with a salon chair near a sink and a mirror by one wall, and alongside it a large round table loaded with plastic boxes of hair rollers, lotions, and other bric a brac. A hair dryer hung over an upholstered armchair by another wall, behind a low table strewn with magazines. It was odd, as if someone had set up a beauty parlor in their own home.

"No one here?" Gail inquired loudly. Then "Hello!" she called out.

A dainty, long-haired blonde came through a door next to the mirror, extremely thin, almost fragile, a girl with beautifully shaped cheekbones, seemingly barely in her late teens. She wore no jewelry, but her breasts were large and thrust forward under her mini-uniform -- powder blue, with 'Tina' stencilled on her breast pocket. They were like gifts, like a bouquet of flowers she carried in her arms. Her hand grazed them as she reached up to brush back a stray lock of hair undone in her haste to enter the room. "Mrs. Hanover!" she said. "I'm so sorry! We thought you'd be with Yvette a bit longer!"

"Well, clearly we aren't," Gail said, just faintly annoyed. She was obviously accustomed to immediate service. "But no matter. Here, Tina, I've brought you Bobbi. As I told Jason, she needs a really pretty but easy-care hairdo, the kind she can fluff with her fingers to keep neat. And I want her altogether presentable for dinner with me tonight in a good restaurant" -- she paused to be sure Tina understood -- "so there can't be slightest chance that she'll embarrass me or I'll feel embarrassed for her. Not the slightest. Soignee! Her gown will be fuschia with spaghetti straps. Bobbi, this is Tina!"

Tina gave me a welcoming grin as if delighted, and a dipped a slight curtsy. Her boobs bobbled. "Hi, Bobbi, lovely to meet you. Yes, Jason's given me exact instructions. The kind of hairdo you want will need a body perm first, Bobbi, so its curls can stay curled. Has it been a while since your last perm? And is that your natural color?"

Curls! How could I ever hide curls from Carrie? Tell her I just happened to be curious how I'd look with curls, so I got some put in? I should stop this right now! But Ms. Hanover -- Gail -- was a formidable women, not easily thwarted. She'd already reminded me of the obligations any employee's family owed the company. I was Carrie's family.

"I've never had a perm before," I said. "This is my first." What was I saying now? My first? Of how many to come? My throat sounded a little hoarse, but I managed to keep the tone girlish. "And my hair has always been this color."

"Really! We'll lighten it just a bit then. Then once you've gotten your perm we can design your hairdo without compromising, from the scalp on up! I think you'll be pleased. That gamin cut you've let grow out wasn't really right for you. Cute, but not really feminine. What I have in mind will make your face seem much more petite. When we're finished, you'll be a teenage girl all over again."

Gail was amused at that. "Tina, Bobbi's never had her hair done, nor her nails, nor her face, and so on, because she's never been a teenage girl. Look closely at her."

Tina looked faintly injured. "Ms Hanover," she said. "I see Bobbi clearly enough. Of course she's been a teenage girl! We all have! And I can see the hope in her eyes right now! I know how it is! When a girl's finally able to say that's what she is, a girl, that she can't pretend she's a boy any longer because she's always felt like a girl! That's how I felt. I never felt any other way! I started myself on hormones on my thirteenth birthday, just as soon as I could earn the money for them, and then and there I became a teenage girl in body as well as mind! Then when Jason advanced me the money for everything else, well, you see for yourself what surgeons can do with a girl's good looks these days. I'll be going into the hospital for my final operation only a few months from now, the day I turn eighteen! My own vagina! My girlhood dream ever since I decided I was a girl whatever anyone else said! I know exactly how Bobbi feels! "

"I'm very glad for you, dear," Gail said. "But now let's fulfill Bobbi's girlhood dream, shall we? I'll leave you two alone. Jason expects me in the other salon?"

"Yes, Ms. Hanover, that's where I just left him."

"Then I'll see you in a few hours, Bobbi. Enjoy feeling pampered. Tina has the most marvelous gifts, she'd be wasted in any other profession. Just leave yourself in her hands, and don't question anything she thinks needs doing."

I heard Gail's statement as a warning, and nodded. Gail re-entered the corridor and closed the door behind her.

"Just lovely," Tina said, lifting my hair up and studying it. "Perfect. You'll be gorgeous, honey. This is the moment you become your true self."

That was what I was worried about. During the next few hours my hair was washed and rinsed and rollered and razored and snipped and toned and dried, and my face was rubbed and lasered and plucked yet again, and covered with several kinds of lotions and unguents. It seems that the dark stain on my eyelids was just that, an indelible stain, so Tina dyed my eyelashes deep black to match, to stand out as a thick fringe when my eyes were lowered. When periodically I sat under the dryer she worked on my nails, glueing and filing extensions on them and layering plum colored polish and gloss on them, until each was a miniature jewel.

And the whole time she talked. She assumed we belonged to the same sorority, bound together for life by being transgendered, convinced from our earliest memories that we were girls in boys' bodies. "When did you begin taking hormones, Bobbi?" she inquired as she whisked some kind of fluid into my tightly rolled hair. "Your skin is so soft and fragrant, it's heavenly. But it isn't as clear as it should be. You've only just begun?"

"I've never begun," I said. My mind was preoccupied. How in the world could I possibly explain my appearance to Carrie when she returned. She'd married a man. She wanted me to be a man. I had to assume it, we'd never played gender-swapping games the way some couples do, and there was never anything kinky in our lovemaking. And she always took the lead, whatever we did, so I knew that if she'd wanted it, she'd have surely proposed it. The topic simply never came up. But now it surely would. I didn't feel in the least reassured by Gail's confidence that Carrie wouldn't mind what was happening to me. She even believed that Carrie wouldn't mind my performing the ultimate infidelity, fucking her! Tomorrow? Impossible!

Tomorrow. She thought Carrie would be back tomorrow? Didn't Carrie tell me it was the day after tomorrow? I was still pondering this suddenly foreshortened period of time before Carrie saw me and left me, outraged, our marriage in ruins. Even though all I'd done was try to stay faithful to her after my one terrible lapse, just one. Even though also all I'd done was try to offend the woman who could tell her about that one time, a woman who could make or break her career, ruin everything she'd worked for all her life. I had to go along with Gail's odd quirks, I was telling myself, when I felt a sudden stab in my upper arm and then a slow burning sensation. Then the same thing in the other arm. I twisted my head and looked up. I couldn't quite see Tina behind me.

 

(continued)

 

 

 

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© 2003 by Vickie Tern. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.