My Pleasures Were (To Say The Least) Undignified

by Optimizer

 

"...in my case, to be tempted, however slightly, was to fall."

 

Friday night, though... my resolve could not hold. When Sherry

re-emerged, she had big plans. I remained as her for the whole weekend -

and a very busy, and expensive, weekend it was. The first thing she did was take a taxi ride back to the store, paying in her customary fashion, and open the safe. (Like many small business owners, I kept a moderately substantial supply of cash readily available for an unexpected crisis.) The second thing she did was go clothes shopping.

My own clandestine purchases had familiarized me with the costs of women's fashion. Later, as myself, I was dismayed but not surprised that Sherry was able to spend nearly twenty-five hundred dollars in the space of four hours at the mall. She'd recruited with ease two guys to help her carry her purchases, and they drove her back to our house.

Before anything else she made sure to procure a bottle of olive oil from the kitchen. She had the guys strip and chose the boy with the largest equipment - perhaps not surprisingly the black one - and took loving care anointing his tool and making it quite slippery. Then she bent over the side of the bed and presented herself for mounting. Anal was everything she'd anticipated. Some pain, of course, but that simply added spice to the affair. Feeling him come inside her ass while the white boy manhandled her tits was inspiring. That was only the introduction; a long night ensued as she modeled several of her new outfits for them. She enjoyed every minute of the process, and didn't mind that many of her brand-new clothes were so quickly torn or stained.

After she'd worn the boys out to the point of uselessness, she idly masturbated herself to sleep. Sherry's dreams are surreal and, of course, highly sexual. An endless stream of porn done by Salvador Dali and David Lynch.

Early Saturday, after a brisk morning romp with her companions, she sent the pair on their way. Her first shower brought to her attention the scandalous lack of a massager, something she resolved to correct as soon as feasible. Then she took a taxi to a local adult novelties store and spent over a thousand dollars. The clerk closed up early, loaded everything into his own truck, and gave her a ride to a nearby Lowe's, then home. She gave him several rides once they got to my house, breaking in a few of her new toys, including the shower massage she had him install.

From the clerk she got an introduction that afternoon to the owner of an area strip club, the 'Corinthian Lounge'. Of course Doug 'Dawg' Simmons hired her on the spot. He was upset about the issue of her lacking any official identity, however. Not out of any moral qualms, of course - he didn't even evince much curiosity about her situation - but apparently tax people paid particular attention to businesses like his. Fortunately this was not a permanent obstacle; it would only delay her start date. Dawg evidently had some extralegal acquaintances that could make such arrangements. Sherry convinced him to front the money for the new identity and take it out of her earnings.

By then it was early Saturday evening. She couldn't be an official dancer yet, but an impromptu 'audition' was held on the center stage and she was a smashing success. There was a certain amount of resentment from the other dancers, but she had clearly won the hearts of the patrons. Sherry enjoyed watching the other girls as much as any of the men there, and her earnings were quickly distributed among their g-strings. (She wasn't heterosexual or homosexual or even bisexual; she was pansexual, omnisexual. Freud had claimed that everything was really about sex. For Sherry, that was literally true.)

She left the club with a particularly rowdy bachelor party. The six guys took her back to the best man's house in the suburbs. She'd never been in a Hummer before, and took full advantage of the ample space to partake of one of the groomsmen on the way. She sat in his lap and the vibration and jostling of the ride added some excitement to the festivities. The stares they drew at a few stoplights were utterly priceless.

Once they arrived Sherry decided she wasn't in the mood for a gangbang.

They were fun, of course, but she felt like focusing and take her time. She appropriated the master bedroom and instructed them to send in one man at a time. She lay on the bed, idly toying with the tassels on the throw pillows, a pleasant anticipation building in her loins.

She wasn't surprised that the best man came in first. The house showed that there was a Mrs. Best Man, but he had demonstrated earlier that he was no stranger to strip clubs. And he'd seemed put out that he had to drive, so Sherry couldn't do much with him on the way from the club. She had him sized up as a macho, take-control type... or, at least, a wannabe. So she gave him what he was looking for.

As he paused at the door, sizing her up himself, she put on a half-fearful, half-anticipating expression. A little tentatively, she asked, "So... whaddaya got in mind?" Her tone, her delivery was just so; it said that he would be able to make her do whatever he had in mind, and he would be able to make her love it.

He paused uncertainly for just a moment, then strode briskly toward the bed. "What I got in mind is for you to get your ass off that bed!" She jumped to comply, and he began pulling off her clothes. She didn't directly help him but he didn't run into any trouble. Soon she was naked, standing shyly but with erect nipples and a modicum of color in her cheeks. He turned her about, and slapped her ass appreciatively.

He shoved her down onto the bed so she was bent over it, her rear facing him. His hand insolently explored her pussy, fondling lips and clit. She yelped and shivered but made no attempt to pull away. Her juices drenched his fingers. "Oh, yeah, bitch, that's a nice tight box."

Then, peremptorily, he stepped back and waved at himself. "Your turn. Go." Sherry leapt hungrily to the task, and stripped him as well, but much more respectfully. She started with his shirt and worked down, so she was kneeling in front of him in a most convenient position as she pulled down his underwear.

She started to kiss his tool but he jammed his dick to the back of her throat. She coughed theatrically. (Not sincerely, though; Sherry had total control of her gag reflex.) Then she began sucking and licking, moving her mouth up and down his shaft, letting out little moans and hums of appreciation.

"You like that, huh? Yeah, suck it just like that, you little slut!" He was acting out his own little porno movie, complete with bad dialogue, but Sherry was happy to star in it. After all, she did like it, and she was a little slut. She sucked him harder, looking up into his eyes as she savored the taste. Then she pursed her lips and pulled back, kissing just the head as her tongue flickered across it inside. With a smacking sound she released him. One hand glided smoothly up and down his saliva-soaked cock as she ran her tongue along his scrotum, lifting and dropping each ball in turn. It was his turn to let out a choked groan.

Her other hand ran her nails gently up and down one of his legs. She brought her mouth back to his tool and resumed servicing. He grabbed her hair as he grunted approvingly. "Uuuh, yeah, that's it, you bitch, you whore, take it all!" Sherry found his words exciting, arousing, nasty in the best way. He stiffened and pulled her head back by the hair as his other hand grabbed his cock and began stroking. An instant later his cum began spilling onto her face and breasts. She extended her tongue to catch some of the sticky rain.

Sherry was wet and turned on by the whole experience. His shudders subsiding, Best Man seemed a little sheepish now that his little drama was over. He gruffly thanked her and put on his clothes as she went to the bathroom to clean up. He was gone by the time she returned.

Next in was the groom himself, pushed along by the the other members of the bachelor party. His reluctance was not a surprise - he'd seemed embarrassed by the entire bachelor party and Sherry thought he was probably fairly shy. He seemed to mostly be going along with his best man's plans. More, she had the idea that he probably genuinely loved his bride-to-be and didn't want to cheat on her.

That just made things a challenge for Sherry, though. She didn't care about his feelings except insofar as they involved getting her rocks off. The groom seemed to sense this, too. He stepped forward like a man entering a she-bear's cave. "Look, really, no offense, but I'd rather just..."

"Shut up," she snapped. "Get over there by the bed." Best Man wouldn't have recognized her; the submissive toy was gone, replaced by a forceful dominatrix. The groom meekly though apprehensively obeyed as Sherry marched to the closet.

She searched for a moment and came out with several neckties. Groom's eyes widened as she stalked toward him but the look in her eyes kept him frozen. "On your knees!" she barked, and he complied. Roughly she hauled his arms up and deftly tied them to one of the short posts at the foot of the bed. A second tie went around his neck as a leash.

"Now, let's see what I've got to work with." He tried to mumble some words of protest as she began to take off his pants but again her glare quelled any actual rebellion. Her hunch was confirmed as his dick was freed; he was getting hard. "Yeah, I figured you were whipped," she sneered, giving his dick a pinch. He looked away from her but his cock stiffened further in her hand, as if it was eagerly admitting the charge.

She deftly stripped him from the waist down. She stepped in front of him, legs spread. and grabbed his head by the hair. Bending over, she dragged his red-flushed face to her feet, his arms straining and stretched. "Worship me. Now."

He balked for an instant, and she icily hissed "Now!" once more. Groom commenced licking her toes and rubbing his face on her feet. She was almost dripping with the intoxicating power she felt. A few guiding tugs on his 'leash' and he started to gradually work his way up her legs.

Once he reached her thighs, she lost patience and directed him insistently to her crotch. "You should know what to do. Get to work!" He began mediocre cunnilingus, but Sherry would have none of that. "Get in there and lick boy!", she commanded imperiously. At that, he started pleasuring her in earnest. He wasn't particularly skilled but she was direct and insistent about what she wanted and soon enough he was doing a creditable job. Without for a moment diverting attention from the experience at hand, she amusedly reflected that she was probably doing his bride a favor.

It went on like that for some time, Sherry being in no hurry. Eventually she came, quietly but very intensely, only a sharply-drawn breath indicating the violence within. He might have heard her, or sensed the tremors - he began to slack off. But a firm hand yanking his head forward restored his vigor. Once the climax had fully passed, she released her grip and let him pull back.

His dick was rock-hard, waving gently in the air as he caught his breath. She bent over and stroked it with just her fingertips. He froze and the tip swelled... Slap. "Not yet, you pansy. I'm not finished with you."

She loosed him from the bedpost and used his leash to drag him onto the bed. First one hand, then the other, was lashed to the headboard. His apprehension grew visibly when she constrained his legs, too, in a spread-eagle arrangement. He tried to sputter an actual protest as yet another necktie was formed into a gag, but by then it was too late.

His struggles to free himself only increased his anxiety as Sherry ambled unconcernedly to her purse, since her knots held fast. But actual terror filled his eyes when he saw what she pulled out of it. She began strapping a dildo onto her crotch, finding his muffled shrieks terribly cute. It was rubbery and flexible, with a longish base that would offer her pussy excellent stimulation during its use. She'd been wanting to try it out all day.

"You don't have a choice about this, boy. But if you quiet down, I promise to use this," she teased, waving a tube of lubricant in her hand.

Once that sank in, he lapsed into silence, save for the racing breath through his flaring nostrils. As she approached she noted that drops of sweat had broken out on his forehead. His tool had deflated markedly, but not completely, she was pleased to see. She sat down on the bed next to him and, with a superior expression on her face, began masturbating him. In no time he was stiff again; his eyes kept being drawn to the phallus wobbling slightly in front of her hips.

"Yeah, that's right, you've probably even fantasized about this, right? Being humiliated, being totally owned?" The throbbing of his prick showed her words struck home. "Does she know? Is she into that?" His downcast eyes gave her the answer. "Didn't think so." If anything, his embarrassment seemed to excite him more. "Oooh, you're getting wet..." Drops of fluid had started emerging from his meatus.

She stood and, as he stared, she drizzled lube onto the shaft at her crotch. She made a show of spreading it around, then climbed onto the bed between his legs. Groom was breathing very fast now, and his muscles strained against his bonds fruitlessly. Her hand guided the tip of her instrument to his anus. She left it there for a few seconds, milking the tension. Then she gradually pushed forward and slid it inside. A muffled moan escaped from Groom as she did so.

"You even sound almost like a girl," she sneered. "I do that, too, when a real man takes me in the ass." She started to move, slowly, back and forth. "Better relax down there, or this'll hurt."

Somehow it didn't seem to be hurting him - or at least, the pain was being outweighed by something else. His cock waved ineffectually in the air as she thrusted; she was careful not to give it any direct stimulation. But one hand snaked forward under his shirt to pinch his nipples. He didn't seem to experience that as pain, either. By now, she knew, his balls would be aching with pressure. He'd been feverishly on edge for almost half an hour now without any relief.

For Sherry's part, she was thoroughly enjoying the exquisite rubbing on her clit as she worked him mercilessly, and revelling in the domination. Her own orgasm arrived, and she tweaked his cock as she began ramming into his ass as hard as she could. His own climax was practically a seizure, shaking the bed. She was impressed with how far his cum sprayed up onto his torso, staining his shirt.

When all was done, she unstrapped the tool and left it inside him. Then she untied one of his hands, and ordered, "Clean that up. And yourself. And send in the next one." She rolled off the bed as he began to untie himself, inspecting the dressers and cabinets for anything useful. His face burned with obvious shame as he went to the bathroom holding the dildo. In a few minutes he was dressed, and he left without a word.

The next groomsman was tall and skinny and not nearly as fetishistic, which suited Sherry just fine. She got things going with a minimum of preliminaries; her pussy needed some serious plumbing. They fucked happily on the bed, with her on her back this time. He rode her high and hard, and kissed her deeply as he pounded into her cunt. She screamed as she came three times before he finally exploded himself.

Once he'd left, another groomsman came in. He was older and on the short and thick side. There was a vague resemblance to Carl, which turned her on in an odd way. She took charge again, though less forcefully, and had him sit on the bed while she performed extended fellatio. He reacted much as Carl would have - with disbelief, wonder, and in the end almost pathetic gratitude.

The revelry continued through the night in that fashion, the men taking their turns with her - except the groom, who devoted himself to drinking with a vengeance and eventually passed out. At least, that's what Sherry heard; she never ventured out of the bedroom. It was quite late before the exhausted group finally gave up and slept.

 

 

*"...within I was conscious of a heady recklessness... a solution of the

bonds of obligation..."*

Sherry was awakened by a frantic hand jostling her shoulders. "Oh, shit, wake up, wake up!" She smacked the hand away and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"What the fuck is your problem?" she snapped, recognizing Best Man.

"You've got to get out of here. I didn't set the alarm, my wife'll be home any minute. She can't fucking find you here!" Best Man looked worried.

Sherry thought for a moment, then slid out of bed. "Okay, fine. I'll just get a shower and go."

"No, you stupid cunt, it's almost nine! She'll be here any minute! I've got to clean this place up!" He grabbed her arm and tried to drag her toward the heap of her clothes in the corner.

Sherry refused to be budged. Best Man glared in her eyes for an instant but then froze as he met what Groom had encountered the night before. His hand fell away from her limply.

"I'm covered in cum. I don't mind that, but when it dries it itches. You clean up, whatever, I don't care. But I'm gonna take a shower." Best Man stared desperately after her as she strode unhurriedly to the bathroom.

She peed, and then took her time in the shower. It was not out of any malicious impulse, she was simply indifferent to anyone's desires unless they matched her own. Cleaning out her vagina was both necessary and fun, and Mrs. Best Man apparently enjoyed shower massagers, too.

When she turned off the water she heard someone outside the stall. She opened the glass door to reach for a towel and beheld Tall Groomsman vomiting into the toilet. She stepped past him and dried herself off. He finished and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at her miserably.

She was wrapping her hair up in a towel as she remarked, "There's another bathroom, you know."

"Occupado. Jerry's in there. I told him to take it easy on the tequila." She vaguely remembered that had been Groom's name. Tall was hovering over the toilet, as if waiting for more.

"Guess you should have, too." She located what looked like Mrs. Best Man's toothbrush and went to work.

Apparently satisfied he was done for now, he sat back on his haunches and grabbed some toilet paper. "Hell, I've drank more'n that before. Don't even have much of a headache. I hope I didn't catch what my kid had..."

Sherry left him in the bathroom and walked out into the bedroom, where Best Man had tossed the dirty bedclothes in a corner and was frantically making the bed with new sheets. He shot her a murderous look as she began putting back on what little clothes she had been wearing. Skimpy panties, a short dress, and some shoes comprised the entire ensemble, so she was dressed, though hardly decent, in seconds.

Best Man had just started pulling the comforter onto the bed when a low hum thrummed from somewhere else - the garage door opening. "Fuck fuck fuck!" he cried. "Look, get out the back, I got Don, he'll give you a ride." He started bustling her down the hall.

Now that Sherry was clean, she didn't mind leaving, even in a rush. A confrontation would be tedious and possibly even annoying. Their haste was in vain, however, as two women came into the kitchen from the garage as they tried to pass by. One of them called out, "Tell Jerry to hide! We're just gonna..." Sherry's presence finally registered, and she trailed off.

There was a tense pause, and stormclouds gathered on both women's faces.

"Who is she?" the other one demanded frostily.

"Uh, honey, this is..." Best Man fumbled for words.

"I'm Sherry." She smiled. "I was just leaving." It didn't mollify them. She had seen hints of this before. Women tended to get defensive of their men in her presence. Though, certainly, the present circumstances didn't help.

"What the fuck is she doing here?" Mrs. Best Man shouted. "What is she, a stripper? A hooker? You said it was just going to be 'the boys', not..."

"I'm not a stripper yet." Sherry interrupted. She realized she could lie at this point, and possibly smooth things over. But she was getting bored and she just did not care what happened after she left. "Like I said I'm leaving now anyway." She turned to Best Man. "Where's Don?"

"You're goddamn right you're leaving, bitch," spat out Mrs. Best Man. She couldn't seem to decide who she wanted to glare at more, Sherry or Best Man.

"Where's Jerry?" asked the other woman, apparently the bride, in a tone that foretold doom. "If he fucked you, I'll kill him. And you," she pointed at Sherry.

Now she was not bored but actually irritated. "Shut up. He didn't fuck me," she said as she rummaged in her purse. "You might want to ask Jerry where this's been, though." Then she tossed something underhand at the bride, who caught it reflexively. Then she dropped it in shock as she recognized the strap-on. She looked back up at Sherry with confusion and mounting horror.

"Go ahead, keep it," Sherry smirked. "Might come in handy with him." As she'd expected, that was a conversation-stopper, and she was allowed to depart unhindered.

Don turned out to be the Carlish guy. She had him drop her off at a nearby mall. She breakfasted in the food court, and got in some shopping time. At noon the court was much more crowded. Her food was purchased by a store manager on his lunch break, who ended up taking the rest of the day off and driving her to a nearby hotel.

Regrettably, though, his reach exceeded his grasp, so to speak. Inside of an hour he was too tired to continue. Sherry donned a swimsuit she had bought at the mall (that was right on the borderline of legal) and went down to the pool to 'advertise'. It was the work of minutes to pick up some travelling businessmen and she moved between three rooms as the afternoon proceeded.

By Sunday evening, though, Sherry was feeling more than a bit queasy. She concluded that the vomiting groomsman had not had a hangover after all. Given the volumes of bodily fluids she'd exchanged, infection was practically inevitable. In her usual selfish manner, she did the only logical thing - she returned home and changed back to me, intending to leave me to suffer through the symptoms. But as the wracking pains of the change subsided, I realized that I felt fine. I was tired, but I wasn't nauseous.

Later experience has borne out what I theorized then - a side effect of the transformation somehow eliminates diseases. I'm uncertain as to the mechanism. Perhaps some aspect of the change kills germs. Or perhaps being sick isn't part of my 'self-image'? However it works, that little byproduct wiped away my last major worry about Sherry's lifestyle, the last hurdle that might have kept me from my current predicament.

 

 

*"...the situation was apart from ordinary laws, and insidiously relaxed

the grasp of conscience..."*

Monday the store was closed as I cleaned the house, laundered the sheets, and attempted to organize the rooms for their new second tenant. I was hooked, being Sherry was intense and exhilarating and irresistible. I knew that I would be Carl only part of the time from now on.

Monday night saw Sherry in a photographer's studio doing some promotional shots. Dawg had called and sent her there - he was spending a goodly amount on advance publicity for the debut of 'Sherry Sweet'. He knew a sure thing when he saw it.

The shutterbug was a guy in his forties who was apparently a friend of Dawg. He was black, and a veteran of some kind; she didn't really care about the details. His girlfriend was there, watching the shoot; she was also a dancer at the club. Sherry enjoyed the process, posing among a pile of pillows and cushions in various outfits and assorted states of undress. Imagining guys stroking off to her image was incredibly hot. Eventually, she was naked and masturbating openly, taking pictures that could be used for the club's "members only" website.

The girlfriend had been watching with awe. Sherry was distinctly aware of her gaze... and equally aware that she herself hadn't fucked a woman yet. "Hey, Jesse? Wanna get a few shots of me and Mercedes?"

"Hell, yeah," Jesse breathed. Mercedes didn't need much convincing to join her in front of the backdrop. At Jesse's insistence Sherry put on a thong and a frilly negligee. They started by looking into each others eyes, and then moving close. "Yeah, just like that," Jesse called, "you're in love and you can't hold back anymore."

Sherry ignored him and kissed Mercedes gently on the lips, one hand on her shoulder. She was a thin black girl, but full-chested with a wonderful caboose. Her hair was straightened and lightened to a tawny brown. She wore a pink cutoff t-shirt, jeans, and sandals. Sherry thought she looked delectable. Mercedes was breathing faster, now, as she leaned in for a hug and a longer, slower, juicier kiss. Sherry reached forward and pulled the other girl's shirt up over her head. The camera clicked wildly.

She leaned forward and nuzzled the offered breasts. They were implants, of course - few skinny girls could have such a bosom naturally - but they felt wonderful, and the stiff nipples tickled her face and lips and, as Jesse took shot after shot, tongue as well. Mercedes was trembling, unsteady on her feet, her eyes squeezed shut.

Sherry stepped back and bent forward, undoing the other girl's jeans. The dusky girl remained still, eyes closed, but she spread her legs slightly to help as the brown-haired beauty eased the pants down. Mercedes was wearing a red thong that flashed invitingly as she stepped, one leg at a time, out of the pants.

Sherry stood up, and Mercedes opened her eyes. She reached forward and lifted the negligee off as Sherry raised her arms, presenting her own bosom for best display. The girls moved close, kissing and embracing. Sherry found Mercedes' soft smooth skin to be eminently touchable, and her full lips felt too wonderful on her own.

Jesse had fallen silent. It was clear that no direction was needed. Mercedes was fondling Sherry's breasts now, and the girls sank down gently to lay upon the scattered cushions and pillows. Sherry eased her hand down between Mercedes' legs and deftly slipped past the strip of fabric. The dancer was quite wet, and she squirmed, moaning through the kisses as Sherry explored her pussy. Sherry commenced gently humping Mercedes' leg through her thong, voicing deep moans as well.

The moans peaked - just shy of screams - as the girls both experienced passionate orgasms. But there was no slowdown as Sherry helped Mercedes remove her thong. She lay on her back, propped up on an overstuffed pillow as Mercedes' head dipped between her legs and began to lap at her sopping cunt. The sensations were enchanting; a girl really did know what a girl liked. Sherry admired what she could see of the dark-skinned body for a few moments, before the exuberant slippery probing at her lips and clit demanded her full attention. She yelped joyfully and rode the surge of excitement to a quick series of climaxes.

The stripper came up with a pleased expression on her face, that Sherry quickly showered with kisses. The smell and taste of herself on the other woman was piquant and provocative. She had to taste the other girl's musk at once. She laid Mercedes onto her back and, with easy, acrobatic grace, flipped herself about to enable them to 69. She buried her face in the girl's shaved and succulent pussy. There was a hint of stubble - not something she'd encountered before - but it made a nice contrast to the smooth slippery convolutions of her labia and channel. She loved the contrast between the dark skin of the labia and the pink sweetness within them.

Matters continued like that for some time, each girl exploring the other intimately. No words were needed as they coaxed repeated ecstasy from their conjoined flesh. The first actual sentence in over an hour was Jesse, hoarse with lust, saying, "That's it. I don't have any more film, or cards." Sherry had forgotten he was even there. Mercedes had consumed her total attention.

And the pair had obviously consumed Jesse's attention. His pleading expression made Sherry giggle and it took her a few moments to compose herself and invite him in with a wave. Scarcely another moment passed before he had dived onto the haphazard softness they were playing upon. Mercedes got to work on stripping his lower half while Sherry took charge of the upper half; she was slower because it was more difficult to pull off his shirt while kissing him.

The contrast was striking and enticing. Jesse was urgent, forceful. Mercedes was passionate, too, but the dynamics were different. Not exactly less selfish, but less... using. More aware of what Sherry wanted. Of course, what Sherry wanted from a man was generally that very male aggression, so in practice she got what she craved. That was the case now, as in short order she settled onto his dick with a sigh while Mercedes sat on his face. Her hips moved in sinuous flow while she kissed and stroked the other girl.

Jesse didn't last more than a handful of minutes. His cock pulsing inside her triggered yet another profound detonation. They remained pleasantly conjoined for a while in the afterglow, and presently Mercedes squeaked through her own crescendo.

The girls returned to a sixty-nine while Jesse worked to rebuild his strength, but this time they were side-by-side. Assertive licking and knowing, gentle teeth soon dragged another climax from her partner, but knowing that Mercedes was licking cum out of her drove Sherry wild. She knew she had to taste that herself. So she took the part of 'fluff girl' and went to suck off Jesse. Under her administration, Jesse erected his tower in record time. Then Sherry sat back on some pillows, Mercedes on hands and knees before her, eating her out. Jesse mounted his girlfriend from behind, staring avidly as Sherry tweaked her own nipples and eyed him languidly.

When he ejaculated with a yell a few minutes later, Sherry pounced. She switched positions with the other girl and began lapping at her twat with glee. Spunk and pussy juice made a delicious cocktail indeed.

 

 

*"...a body that seemed not strong enough to contain the raging energies

of life."*

Again I managed to go two days as myself, but on Thursday, Sherry had a message from Dawg on my answering machine. That night she went to the lounge to pick up her new bona fides. He presented her with the driver's license, birth certificate, and Social Security card for one 'Charlene Ann Dolchay', age 21. She wasn't at all troubled by the misspelling.

She left and went clubbing with her new ID. While certainly not an experienced dancer, she had an instinctive talent for moving her body and a gift for mimicry. Naturally she became a center of attention. When the club closed at 1 am (Boston's liquor laws are rather old-fashioned) she was invited to a rave and gleefully jumped at the chance.

The rave was wonderful, with exposed, gyrating, sweaty flesh everywhere she looked. She became the nucleus of a 'cuddle puddle' and happily turned it to her own ends, seducing and ravishing several partygoers over the course of the night. When it finally wrapped up, she accompanied two aspiring studs to their dorm room and proceeded to fuck them silly until almost morning. Then she annexed one of the beds and slept until noon.

When she awoke, the boys took her down to the cafeteria. Sherry didn't care about my store in any way, and never even considered relinquishing control of our shared form for the day. A coed dorm was practically a candy store for her; she was far more impressed with the selection of students at the tables than the food that was available.

Over the course of several hours she visited at least ten different rooms, and had sex with over a dozen young men and one adventuresome young woman. (Sherry almost fainted with pleasure when the girl fit her dainty hand entirely inside Sherry's passage.) It was late Friday afternoon before she finally organized a ride back to our house. After 'tipping the chauffeur' in her usual way, she had him wait downstairs while she cleaned herself up and selected an outfit for her debut at the club.

 

 

"I began to profit by the strange immunities of my position."

Sherry was backstage getting ready for her first official dance. There wasn't a trace of fear within her, of course, but she was tense with excitement nonetheless, like a thoroughbred itching to race. A few other girls were milling around the cramped space. Almost all of them were fearful to some extent. Sherry was unquestionably serious competition and directly threatened the established pecking order. Adding to their resentment was her sheer unassailable indifference to their subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) snubs and jibes.

The one friendly face there was Mercedes. No doubt part of that was from the excellent fucking Sherry had given her. However, Mercedes also had been low in the previous hierarchy and saw a chance to move up by allying herself with the newcomer.

"You look awesome!" she gushed as Sherry finished applying the last of her makeup. Her garb was not elaborate. High heels and fishnet stockings, of course. There was a skimpy thong, barely concealed for the moment under a skimpy skirt. A lacy bra half-visible under a translucent blouse. Sunglasses and fingerless gloves, just to have something else to take off. She intended the focus to be on her body, not props.

"Thanks," she replied idly. A last review of her appearance in the mirror, and then she turned and strode to the small alcove that led to the stage. From there she was able to discreetly signal that she was ready. For a few moments she examined the audience, peeking through the curtain.

It was a fair-sized crowd. Dawg's advertising had been effective, even on short notice. The current girl, her act complete, was gathering up her money and discarded clothes. She brushed past Sherry without a word. Unfazed, she kept gazing at the patrons, anticipating the thrill of baring her incomparable flesh as they watched longingly...

The house lights dimmed. Loud music began to play, with a sensuous beat and lots of low, pumping bass. (She had asked the DJ for suggestions earlier, choosing the one with the rawest, most sexist lyrics.) Spotlights began waving back and forth. "Gentlemen, the Corinthian Lounge is proud to introduce to you... for the first time on any stage... Sherry Sweet!"

She strutted out onto the platform with a brash, saucy excitement that proved swiftly infectious. Hoots, whistles, and catcalls arose immediately and were unceasing throughout her performance. She had not planned out any routine, trusting to her instincts. They did not fail her.

She commenced a slow walk about the edge of the stage, eyeing the audience with a sultry gaze. Her gait alone was quite enticing, and then she whirled and fell into a split, displaying her uncanny, limber flexibility. A hearty cheer sounded from the crowd, which continued as she rolled onto her stomach and thrust her ass into the air. In that position her skirt provided no cover of any import.

Sadly, few strippers find much enjoyment in the actual process of their work; their motivation is much more tied up in the rewards for their labor. And not many of those who take up the profession possess the requisite acting skill to effectively conceal this. There are men who prefer this state of affairs; having the power to force a woman to abase herself is what they're after.

But very few men, even the misogynists, are immune to the charms of a well-shaped and willing woman who is clearly enjoying the attention of men. The roar of the crowd grew to almost drown out the music. She rose and began to unbutton her shirt coquettishly; when she whipped it off and hurled it into the audience, a brief scuffle broke out over who would keep it.

Imagining the forest of stiff cocks that surrounded her drove her half mad with lust. She spun around the pole, hair flaring out behind her, gyrating with liquid dexterity.

The first song of her set was drawing to a close when she belatedly realized that she hadn't actually collected any money. That was far from her top priority, but the way strip clubs worked, she had to pay a rate for her time on stage, while she kept the excess. As the second song began, she shifted her rhythm and began milking the wolfpack surrounding her. There was no need to choose, bills were being urgently waved at her from every direction.

By the middle of the second song she was nude, but she could have sewn several dresses out of the cash littering the stage. When she almost slipped on some, she moved to the pole and entertained herself (and everyone nearby) with it until her set was finished. She didn't realize at the time just how unusual it was for a stripper to receive a standing ovation.

While she collected and stowed her cash, she was hounded by a surfeit of requests for personal dances in the VIP room. With plenty to choose from, she picked one of the sexiest guys and led him away. He actually came in his pants without her having to touch him. She did two more sets that night, and at least a dozen private dances, with similar results. At the end of the night she went home with a high-roller and probably spoiled him for other women.

Over the next few days she had an absolute blast. She proved to be a versatile and enthusiastic ecdysiast. Saturday night she was a not-that-innocent schoolgirl in pigtails. Sunday night she wore a leather dominatrix ensemble. Monday she was a MILF. Tuesday a haughty-but-naughty fashion model graced the stage. The combination of her superlative physical charms and her obvious, sincere zeal for arousing her audience made her practically irresistible.

Staying within the bounds of the law was difficult for her, of course. The legalistic distinctions between stripping and prostitution did not hold her interest. so she violated the strictures on a semi-regular basis - much to the joy of her clientele. Fortunately, an undercover vice cop sent to investigate her was swiftly compromised by her irresistible allure. Once Sherry had her way with him, he could not report her without implicating himself; and by then he had no inclination to abort her career anyway.

 

 

*"That part of me which I had the power of projecting, had lately been

much exercised and nourished..."*

It was a hot, wet summer for Sherry. Four nights a week, Thursday through Sunday, she performed at the club, almost always going home with someone for the night of their lives. Sometimes she teamed up for a show with one of the other girls, usually Mercedes.

A handful of the dancers still displayed infrequent, residual cattiness, but her dominance was unquestioned. It went without saying that she had Dawg's full support, but in truth, the rising tide of Sherry's popularity was lifting all their boats. She brought in big crowds, and everyone's take was better than ever before.

She even did her part to support the troops. At one point a squad of National Guardsmen came to the club the night before they were shipping out. She left early with the soldiers and gave them a going-away party the USO would never have authorized. It had nothing to do with patriotism, of course; eight horny, macho, and well-conditioned young men were frankly irresistible.

And then one Wednesday morning I was sitting in my desk at the store, idly reminiscing about the two Puerto Rican brothers who had tied Sherry up and used her mercilessly the night before, when the phone rang. I recognized the number; it was Sal. I suffered a pang of guilt at that point, because I hadn't even thought of him once since I'd successfully mixed up the concoction. I answered the phone with genuine warmth.

"Hey, Sal, how have you been? Sorry I haven't called, things have been pretty busy lately."

"I'm fine, thanks. How are you doing? You've cut back the store's hours, I heard..."

"Well, yes, but I'm still doing all right."

"So, what are you up to instead of working?" I could hear the skepticism mixed with concern in his voice.

"Oh, no need to worry about me. I'm not abusing... anything. The truth is, uh, well, I've got a girlfriend now."

"*Really*? Well, we definitely have some catching up to do then. How about tonight? Fleming's again? Bring her along if you like."

"Well... actually, she, uh, works nights. But I can come." Part of my willingness was just a desire to see my friend. But also I wanted to allay his suspicions. If he started poking around... he'd be about the only person in the world who could possibly suspect the truth.

So that evening I arrived just slightly late at our favorite restaurant. The hostess knew me as a regular and escorted me to the quieter back room. Sal was already there, and waved as I was led through the door.

I said before that I wasn't gay, that I didn't eye men on the street or anything like that. But when I caught sight of Sal, of a familiar face from my old days, I was suddenly aware that part of me was checking him out. I realized that I had been lecherously evaluating men as well as women lately, asking myself what Sherry would do with them.

And I realized that Sherry liked Sal very much. She wanted see how this distinguished-looking older gentleman appeared without those tasteful clothes. How well-hung was he? He'd been around. He'd know what to do with his cock, and... I cut that line of thought short with an effort.

I forced a smile and walked to the table, ignoring the odd sensations I felt as we shook hands, then I sat down across from him. For a moment, we were both silent.

"Well, I feel better already," Sal finally said. "I suppose you knew what I was worried about. But you look all right."

"Thanks, I guess." I said ruefully. "I feel fine. I'm actually enjoying life a lot more these days."

"Let's hear about this girl of yours. Sherry, you said? How did you meet?"

"She's, er, quite a handful. I... uh, I've known her for a while, but we've been spending more time together lately." Before I could continue, our waiter appeared.

I might have made it through the meal and got away, were it not for a spot of bad luck - he was new, but I recognized him. Sherry had gone home with him a couple of weeks ago. Unbidden, memories of riding his dick reverse-cowgirl style flooded my mind. He'd been a good lay, reaching around and tweaking my nipples as I'd bounced up and down, squeezing his pole with my pussy walls.. No, Sherry had....

Something of my distress must have shown on my face. The waiter (I suddenly remembered his name was Patrick) said, "Is something wrong, sir?"

I reestablished control of my thoughts and replied, "No, I'm sorry, it's just that you look remarkably like someone I knew long ago in college. It's almost uncanny." I smiled. "Your name isn't Ron, is it?"

"No," he smiled back. "It's Patrick. I'll be your server tonight. Would you like to start off with an appetizer?" I worked strenuously and mostly effectively to forget his active tongue in my mouth.

After he left with our orders, Sal pressed me again. "You were telling me about Sherry? You never mentioned her before."

"Well, we didn't have that kind of relationship. She's pretty amazing, though. Beautiful, smart, knows what she wants."

"I hear the store hasn't been open much lately."

"It's just, she takes up a lot of my time." I shifted uncomfortably.

"High-maintenance, as they say?"

"Definitely."

"If you're cutting back hours, can you afford a woman like that?" He looked me straight in the eyes. "Are you selling something new?"

"It's not like that, really. I wouldn't do that. I'm a dealer, but an antiques dealer." I sipped my water. "Sherry helps. Together we make enough to get by."

"You're living together?" His gaze was piercing, probing. I avoided his eyes... partly because on one level - Sherry's level - I wanted to stare into them.

"Yes." I was trying not to volunteer information, but that seemed to make him more suspicious.

Patrick returned with our wine. As he left I felt my eyes drawn to the young man's rear, but I suppressed the impulse and focused on the conversation. Sal shifted topics, and brought up what I'd been dreading. "Did you ever end up trying the stuff?"

I paused, choosing my words carefully. "Yes. It actually helped me get to know Sherry a lot better. But it's not really my main focus these days."

"Hmmm. Maybe I should mix some up."

I couldn't tell if he was serious or not. "I wouldn't advise it. If you didn't know what you were doing, the results could be..." I searched for a word. "...unpredictable. My situation is, well, kind of special."

"In what way, exactly? What does that stuff do, anyway?"

"It... um... breaks down inhibitions, I guess you could say." I considered a moment how to phrase things safely. "It... brings out repressed parts of the personality."

"I see. That could be dangerous." He took a sip of wine. "Why isn't it dangerous for you? What if you hurt someone, or yourself?"

"My repressions... well, they weren't of a violent nature."

"Might I inquire as to what nature they actually were?" Sal asked with exaggerated politeness.

"Uh... well, Sherry's in my life now." I took a sip of wine.

"Ah. I see." Sal seemed thoughtful. I didn't think he was any less suspicious, though.

"But enough about me. What have you been up to? Still seeing whatshername, Donna?" After I asked I realized I was more interested in his love life than I should have been.

"Not anymore. We just didn't click, I suppose." The conversation moved to safer topics for a time, though I had the strong impression Sal was still evaluating my reactions. But his intense regard wasn't just making me nervous, it was making me horny as well. A substantial fraction of my personality wanted him to pay attention to me.

As I said, I might have made it if not for the waiter. But the combination of thoughts of him, and my unwanted but undeniable new attraction to Sal, upset my equilibrium by too great a degree.

When Patrick returned with our meals, I was struck by his poise and strength carrying the heavily-loaded tray. This time I could not keep myself from examining his ass as he served Sal. Flustered, I sat quietly after he left, pretending to be absorbed by my meal, making occasional encouraging sounds as Sal continued his report on his dating situation. But now, I could not help but notice his deft hands as they handled the silverware, and his mouth and lips as he ate. It was too much.

"Excuse me," I broke in and stood up. "I have to go to the men's room. I'll be right back." Sal looked after me with a concerned expression as I hurried away.

I rushed to a stall in the bathroom, pulled down my pants, and sat on a toilet. I immediately began to masturbate, hoping to relieve the tension and be able to finish the dinner. Stroking my shaft, I fantasized about Patrick, how it had felt riding him. But I couldn't help myself. In moments I was fantasizing about Sal; then I felt a shudder and the pangs of change swept over me.

My last thought as Carl was the realization that I hadn't had an orgasm as myself in months... and then Sherry was rubbing and grunting through an intense climax. The ecstatic spasms ebbed and she sat for a moment in the stall, catching her breath. This was a bit of a problem. It wasn't too much of a surprise, though - involuntary changes had happened to Tawesson as well.

She was attired in a man's suit far too big for her slim frame. We always changed at home; there were no spare clothes in the car and the formula was at the house, miles away. If Sal saw her dressed like this, he'd know something very strange was going on, and that would not do, not at all. There were things that needed to be done before he suspected the truth.

Deciding to take a cue from Cuilidh, she dug out Carl's wallet. She

could imitate his handwriting perfectly, so she penned a quick note on

the back of one of his business cards. *"Sal - not feeling myself, had

to go home. Meet me there, all will be revealed. Carl."*

She heard someone coming in, and stepped out into the men's room. A very startled old man gaped at her, jaw sagging. With total insouciance, Sherry said, "I need you to do me a favor. There's a really cute guy in the back room, mid-40s, touch of gray at the temples. On the left. Give this to him, okay? And tell him a man gave it to you; it's very important he doesn't know it came from me. Can you do that, sweetie?"

He nodded mutely. She smiled and gave him a quick smooch. "Okay, hop to it! Let me know when he leaves!" She turned and went back to wait in her stall; best to avoid a disturbance. Her impromptu lackey, completely bemused, went back out the door.

It wasn't a very long wait, but Sherry was not given to patience. She gave some consideration to the nature of her attire. She hadn't thought of dressing in men's clothes before. Her next set at the lounge would definitely be in drag. Moreover, she could likely pick up some nice femme lesbians like that. Of course, the butch ones had their advantages, too. And those in between...

Perhaps fortunately, the old man came back in at that point, before she could work herself up further. "Excuse me, uh, miss? That, uh, gentleman just left." She emerged from the stall and brushed past her befuddled bravo. She blew a kiss behind her as she walked out the door.

She was used to the lull in conversation when she appeared in a crowd, but never before had she engendered complete silence the way she did now, on her way out of the restaurant. Sherry, heedless, rushed out onto the street and off to the car. There were plenty of gawkers on the trip to the parking garage, but no one got in her way. Carl's cell rang as she was starting the car. When she checked the number, it was Sal. She let it go to voicemail.

It wouldn't have worked in most cities. But Boston - at least the city center - was never designed for car traffic. (Indeed, it was never designed at all.) Sal came from a different direction than us, and we knew where he habitually parked. It was on the wrong side of the restaurant - that is, for reaching our side of town. With the maze of twisty, one-way streets and perennial construction, he would take at least fifteen minutes longer to reach our house than she would - despite our cars being parked less than a quarter mile apart.

  

  

  

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