Crystal's StorySite


Sissy Stepmother

by Gingerfred Man

A Pantyboy Profile



Cheryl here. You remember me. The 20-year-old pantyboy extraordinaire. Every man's naughty, secret, wet dream. Raconteur without equal.

In "Service" and "Test Driven," I told you about Amy and Judy, two of my lovely roommates, fellow pantyboys and like me, covergirls for "Panty Boy," the only publication worth buying, besides some of those Spermco comic books about us "special boygirls" and the "Sunday New York Times." And Panty Boy doesn't even have a crossword puzzle.

In this story, I'll tell you about my other roommate, Sandy. She's worth waiting for, let me tell you. A redhead with big green eyes, she's already heartbreakingly beautiful, but has been a big cheater by "augmenting" herself with almost A-cup titties! And at three inches, she has the teeniest little popsy of any of us. All of which give her an edge when we compete (which we surely do) for the best men. Those hormones she takes haven't softened her stiffies (which she always seems to have) or her cum production (oceans worth).

But that's enough of a preview. There's so much to tell, so let me get right to it.


Chapter One – George and his Dad

Sandy started life as a boy named George. A red-haired, happy, well-adjusted boy whose life took a bad turn. Thank goodness the bad turn led to a very good turn indeed.

When George was eleven, with no warning to George or to his Dad, Steve Spermmore, Mrs. Spermmore, George's, Mom found that she preferred a lover more than her family and left her loving, faithful husband and devoted son.

That was devastating to both George and his Dad and for a long while, neither thought they would get over it. The only good thing was that it bonded George and his Dad in a way that nullified the usual crap between a teenager and his or her parent. George and his Dad loved and supported each other and got along very well as a family unit.

Until George was 17. And Beth came along.

Soon after George's 17th birthday, Dad started dating again. A lot. Dad would stay out almost all night twice each week and the whole day and most of the night on Saturdays. When George asked him if he was seeing one woman or a whole coven, he admitted that he was spending all that time with an angel named "Beth."

At first, George was happy for his Dad, who was a young 38 and hadn't enjoyed female comfort for five years. Dad had a spring in his step that George hadn't seen in years.

In a way, George was a little jealous, since he was sharing his Dad's affection for the first time in six years.

But mostly he was curious. Who was this Beth? Why did Dad spend every spare minute with her? Why did Dad look so sleep-deprived most of the time? What were his intentions with Beth? But mostly, why was he so evasive about details regarding Beth – and when would George meet her?

Three months into what was obviously a torrid courtship, Dad finally brought Beth home to meet George. George was very excited and nervous about meeting the woman who appeared to have the inside track to be his stepmother.

Dad was almost as nervous. He had cleaned house, set a fine table and made a lovely meal. George was asked to wear a tie and jacket. Dad was obviously very, very smitten with "an angel named Beth."

George was beginning to accept what appeared to be a done deal. But he was totally unprepared for the reality of Beth.

Dad answered the door, kissed Beth deeply, then brought her into the living room to meet George.

We can pardon George for his mouth being agape when they met.

Two facts struck George soundly.

First, Beth was the most beautiful, feminine person George had ever seen. Her long, curled, jet-black hair framed a face of spectacular pulchritude. Her body was the stuff of wet dreams. C-Cup titties. Wasp waist. Killer legs in tan, fully-fashioned, seamed stockings. Impossibly high stilettos that pushed her boobs forward and her bottom invitingly out. Like any hapless male in Beth's presence, George popped a boner.

But that wasn't the stunning part.

Unless George was hallucinating, Beth was at most, three years older than George. Twenty, tops.

This teen babe was going to be his stepmother?

Was Dad crazy?


Worse. Dad was clearly in love. Or in lust. Most likely, both.

It's a pretty firm rule that a man getting regular pussy doesn't think about much other than how to keep getting regular pussy.

And there was something else. Beth looked…….familiar to George. Which made no sense, since there was no way that, if he had seen Beth before, he would have ever forgotten her. She was that "choice."

George recovered his wits a bit and walked up to Beth, extending his hand to shake hers.

Instead, Beth gave George a sweet hug that included pressing her huge headlights against the boy's chest. They were almost against his chin, since, with heels, Beth was over six-feet tall to George's five-foot eight.

That hug, the intoxicating smell of her perfume, and the feel of her warm, glossed lips on George's cheek reinforced the rigidity of his tiny prick.

For the millionth time in his young life, a flash of disappointment surged through George. He routinely cursed the fates that gave his Dad an XXL ladypleaser, while George was stuck with a "little finger" of a penis.


Then he prayed that he didn't gooey his underpants on the occasion of meeting his stepmother apparent.

Evaluating the situation, Dad stepped in and changed the subject a bit. "George and Beth, I'm so happy to be with the two people in the world I love best. Why don't we sit, have a cold drink, and get to know each other.

It occurred to George that Beth and Dad probably knew each other very well. In fact they probably "knew" each other several times each time they got together. Then he felt envious of Dad again. Dad was screwing a young babe and George was still a virgin.

"Focus, George," he thought. "Don't be a baby and ruin things for Dad. If you want a babe like that, go get your own."

A very sensible young man.

Still, Beth was quite a distraction to George, as she would have been to anyone with a pulse.

Everyone sat. George watched as Beth smoothed her skirt over her delicious thighs.

George had to speak, to distract himself. He cleared his throat. "Uh, how did you and Dad meet, Miss….uh."

Beth smiled. George's cock throbbed.

"My name is Elizabeth Loveman, but please, call me Beth, George."

George smiled back.

"Your Dad and I met at a social club," she said. "He asked me to dance and by the time the music stopped, I knew that I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life."

That sounded corny to George, but Dad was obviously hyperventilating with love for Beth. He didn't press her on details about the social club, because it didn't seem relevant. It was and George would, as it turned out, become very familiar with that club.

George did press for some details. "Are you from our town?" She was. "Where did you go to high school?" Clark Griswold High School. That was the school where George was a senior! He wanted to ask Beth when she graduated, but that would be like asking a lady her age, which his Dad taught him is never done.

If George's eyeballing was right, Beth must have been a senior when he was a freshman. The school wasn't that big that George would have missed seeing a world-class babe like Beth. He made a vague promise to himself to check the yearbooks. Maybe she was older than she looked.

Over dinner, George discovered that Beth was easy to talk to and that she seemed genuinely interested in George and his life. George even amazed himself by revealing some details about himself that he did not advertise readily. He didn't have a girlfriend, had never had a girlfriend, and had no one in mind for the position.

Beth didn't seem surprised and she didn't appear to be judgmental either. "I didn't have a boyfriend in high school either, George," she said.

That stopped George cold. Beth had no boyfriend in high school? Boys should have been hunting her in packs.


After dinner, George volunteered to clean up while Dad took Beth home. Dad was very grateful and Beth gave him another hug and kiss. "At least someone in this family should be getting get laid," George thought.

George woke up for an instant when he heard Dad roll in a 3:17 a.m. Yep, he got laid. Good for you, Dad.

Things may have been different if George had followed through with his intention of looking Beth up in the yearbooks, but two days later, when Dad announced that he and Beth were getting married, there were a lot of other things that seemed a higher priority.

Like congratulating Dad. George figured he could live with change if Dad didn't mind people whispering about him cradle-robbing and all that.

There was a lot of scurrying around for a wedding planned for only three months in the future and George was caught up in it. He was, after all, to be the best man.

Over those three months, George got to know Beth well. He found her to be sweet to him, totally in love with his Dad and ten times more beautiful and sexy than he had originally imagined.

Whenever George and Dad went anywhere with Beth, heads turned and men drooled. A lot of men looked at the three of them and concluded that Beth was George's sister, therefore fair game. When their enflamed hormones drove them to attempt an introduction, Beth would say, "And hello to you. Let me introduce you to my fiancé, Mr. Spermmore."

The disappointed lads would register various levels of shock and disbelief, then slink off, muttering about what a "lucky duck" Dad was.

Dad was indeed a lucky duck. But George didn't resent his father's good fortune. And he didn't lust after his stepmother-to-be, which made him the only such male in the state. His feelings toward her were……inexplicable. He felt things he couldn't even identify, let alone explain.

George admired Beth, but it was more. If he had been able to articulate his feelings at the time, he would have said that he envied Beth. George was an ugly duckling, ignored by potential amorous partners – invisible to the world. Beth was the center of the known universe. Every man who saw her wanted to throw her on her back, mount her and fuck her senseless. She ignited male hormones. George didn't want to do the "things" men obviously wanted to do with Beth. At least he didn't think so. But he wanted to be a star, not in the last row of the chorus.

There were surprises in store for George during the engagement. Most notably, the fact that Beth was inviting no family to her wedding. She said she was "estranged" from her family and George was very sad when she began to cry at the thought. He wondered what could have happened between Beth and her family to cause such a rift at such a young age. Had Beth brought home a terrorist, introducing him to her parents as her fiancé? Not likely. Had she been involved in drugs, alcohol, firearms, gambling or littering? Probably not. Maybe Beth had estranged them for some reason. Had a male relative made improper advances to her? Homicidal urges stirred George. He would avenge any wrongs done against his imminent stepmother.

The other, very pleasant surprise was Beth's bridesmaids. Donna, Carol and Cathy were almost as pretty and sexy as Beth (though Cathy was flat-chested). And they all dressed, all the time, as if they were on their way to model for Femininity Illustrated. Just like Beth.

Donna was to be the maid of honor. George was glad. Donna and George spent some time together planning wedding things. Sitting next to each other. Breathing the same air.

Donna was blonde and blue-eyed, with a face that any angel would have swapped for. She was Beth's age, give or take a year. A body that a man thinks he will only see in two dimensions.

And Donna seemed to like George. George liked Donna. In fact, whenever they were together, George's penis was stiff and his poor balls ached terribly. Donna noticed.

Two days before the wedding, Donna came to the Spermmore house to see Beth. George was pretty sure that he had told Donna that Beth and his Dad would be out that night. Donna sure was forgetful, George mused.

"Do you mind if I stay anyway, George?" the angel asked.

George gulped. And his pants got lumpy.

"Do you like me, George?" Donna asked. "I mean the way a man likes a woman."

George gulped in response. And got lumpier.

"Oh," Donna said, looking at his crotch. "I see you do. Would you like to kiss me? Don't be afraid. I won't tease you or do anything mean."

Aside from Beth, Donna was the only woman George had ever felt a sexual attraction to. The reason was unclear to him, but perhaps you can guess it.

Anyway, Donna continued the initiative, patting the spot next to her on the couch for George to sit. With fear of the unknown, but a shuddering anticipation, George sat. It was a good thing too, because, in her big heels, Donna was half a foot taller than George. And had great lips. And boobs to die for. And incredible, stockinged legs that went on and on, ending in shiny, black, stiletto pumps.

Even George knew what to do when she leaned her head back and parted her lips. George dove in for the first erotic kiss of his life. And it was a doozy.

Donna knew a thing or two about kissing. Her lips were full and soft and hot. She surrendered to George, yet sort of instructed him too, showing by her example how to kiss with one's entire head, not merely the lips.

George was enraptured, his eyes assaulted by her beauty, his nose by her heady perfume, his ears by the sounds of her little gasps as they kissed, his lips by the touch of her glossed treasures, and <blush> his tastebuds by the flavor of her darting tongue in his mouth.

His balls were aching. He found himself thinking about how he would have to relieve the incredible pressure on them by <blush> rubbing himself up later. Then those thoughts became moot.

Donna pulled down George's zipper and extracted his cock. Which was quite an accomplishment, since locating such a small object was an iffy prospect.

Two thoughts flashed through George's mind as he felt Donna's warm hand caress his naked cock. First, a beautiful girl is caressing my cock and I like that a lot. Second, I'm humiliated because my cock is so small.

Point two didn't seem to deter Donna one smidgie. She was panting with passion and she kept kissing and stroking George in a very exciting manner. So exciting that, after about five heavenly minutes, George grunted out a cum-warning, but that only made Donna pick up her strokes. True to his admonition, George's gut clenched, he moaned, and George savored the first bilateral orgasm of his young life.

He was spurting like Old Faithful, a large amount of sticky cream, especially from a mere cocktail wiener. Donna stroked on, getting every drop from George's depleted balls. Her hand was drenched with his globs of cum.

She broke off the kiss and said, "I guess you needed that, George. Did you like that?"

George had been thinking of erecting a shrine to Donna in his backyard. As with many of us with our first partner, George considered himself in love. And presumed that Donna was too. He was right about Donna being in love; just not with him.

Donna's next actions were so astonishing to George that he was even more convinced that Donna would soon be begging to carry his child.

Slowly, with obvious delight, Donna licked her cummy fingers clean. Then she kissed George, tucked his pricklet away, zipped him up and said she would see him at the rehearsal dinner that next evening.

Poor George's cranium was in orbit. Did Donna love him? Did he love her? Did she <gasp> stroke off a lot of guys then ingest their sperm?

Even worse, George began to have thoughts that startled and troubled him. He was attracted to Donna, in a way that he had never been attracted to anyone. But he was unclear and confused about what attracted him. If George had been able to think with the clarity of experience, he would have known that what really attracted him was not the thought of making love to Donna as was the thought of being Donna.

But the articulation of that thought was quite a ways off.

The next evening, between the wedding rehearsal and the rehearsal dinner, Donna gave George a lot more to think about again. On a flimsy pretense, Donna maneuvered George into one of those little rooms all churches have in the back. George took a little initiative too, kissing Donna's red, pillowed lips and even cupping and rubbing her marvelous bottom with his hands. She was so hot, so beautiful. And astoundingly feminine.

Donna purred appreciatively, kissing George back with lots of tongue. In short order, steam was coming from George's ears – a good thing. But he was clueless regarding his next move – a bad thing.

Donna took over. She broke the kiss, then slipped to her stockinged knees.

Could she be going to…

She could.

Having familiarized herself with George's trouser fly on a previous visit, Donna slid the zipper down, looked at a panting, extremely excited George, then fished in and extracted his petite peener. Donna held the hot, stiff, throbbing 7.6 centimeters in her girlish hand, rubbing it up and down with her pretty palm.

George liked that.

Donna smiled at George, then kissed his drippy peehole with her crimson mouth.

George shuddered with pleasure.

Donna held George's pink bag of stones in her long fingers, gently stirring them as she kissed her way from his little plums, all the way up to his velvet mushroom.

George knew heaven couldn't be too much better. But then Donna stopped.


"Would you hand me my bag from that table, Sweetie," Donna asked.

That couldn't be good, George thought.

Donna thanked George for the bag, extracted a lipstick and compact, then proceeded to give herself a make-up "touchup."

"A girl has to look her best," Donna told a puzzled George, as she slipped her beauty tools into her handbag and handed it back to George. "Now get over here, Mister!"

George hastily complied with the welcome order. His submissive nature was showing. So was his popsy. Donna began to give it her full attention, licking, sucking, kissing.

George closed his eyes to savor the moment, then opened them so he didn't miss the visual feast of a lovely lady slobbering all over his cock. When Donna began to roll her tongue around the head as she scraped his balls with her red, manicured nails, George felt that wonderful feeling.

The spermstorm was approaching rapidly, preceded by sweet pangs of pleasure that gained in intensity.

Somehow, George was able to form a rational thought. Maybe Donna wouldn't want a big creamy load in her mouth. Since George wanted Donna on her knees, sucking his cock, every day for the rest of their lives, he squeaked out a warning. "I'm cumming!"

Donna kept sucking and licking, mumbling, "I know," with her mouth full.

Omigosh! That babe was going to let him cum in her mouth – every guy's earliest fantasy. That thought pushed poor George off Cum Towers, and he fell at 32 feet per second per second acceleration and a crackling cum-flow rate.

George may have had a small piece of meat, but he made a lot of sauce – about half a cup or eight tablespoons [scientific note – the average ejaculation is two tablespoons]. A gagging amount indeed. But Donna slurped it down like a girl who had been there before.

Donna drained George's balls with zeal and skill, then tucked him in and zipped him up. Other than try to regain command of his breathing, what should George do? Donna answered George's unspoken question once again. "We'd better go, George. We'll be missed."

George helped the pretty cupcake off her knees and kissed her. "Thank you," he said.

"It was my pleasure," she said. And she meant it.

The day of the wedding was a whirl of activity for George. Despite his initial reservations, he was very happy for his Dad. George thought, "Dad's wife and my girlfriend are the same age." That was weird. But who cared. Cumming in a girl's mouth for the first time often changes a guy's whole outlook.

Beth had been very nice to George. He still couldn't figure out what she saw in an older guy like Dad. He was in good shape and all. And Dad was pretty well off, with his own business and everything. But he was twice Beth's age. George was kind of proud that his girlfriend was older than he was. She was his girlfriend, wasn't she?

George had bigger worries that day. He could not lose the rings. And he had to sharpen up his "best-man's" toast. Such toasts could be funny, but couldn't draw blood. So the subject of his Dad getting young quiff was a taboo.

But even the prospect of getting some actual pootie from Donna, his "girlfriend" was insignificant to what George felt when he saw the bride.

George thought that they had better take roll in heaven, because an angel was AWOL. Beth was beyond radiant. She gave off 1,000 watts as she entered the apse of the church in her perfect, white gown.

George almost singed his corneas gazing at Beth's beauty. His heart was palpitating and he had no idea why. He felt no lust for his stepmother-to-be. His peener stayed limp. Yet he was excited beyond measure at seeing her bridal splendor.

Confusing? Oh, yes.

Beth's happiness and love for George's dad made her beautiful. That and a $9,000 gown. During the ceremony, George drank in every detail of Beth's extraordinary femininity. Thank goodness he didn't act like a member of the slow group when the ring moment arrived.

The rest of the day went well with one big reception exception. After the toast, George saw Donna, the maid of honor talking intimately with a man that Beth had invited. He was a very good-looking man in his mid-30s, very well-dressed. At one point in the conversation, he handed Donna a small box. George couldn't see what was in it, but he saw Donna open it, gush tears, kiss the man of the mouth, gush tears, put whatever it was on her finger, gush tears, admire her hand, then kiss him again.

George didn't see that scene as a good one for his chances with Donna. Nor did he think it was good when every female at the reception hall went over to admire Donna's hand and kiss her.

Donna was gracious enough to walk over to George and tell him. "Richard and I have been dating for awhile. He asked me to marry him once before, but I told him not until he made those five major acquisitions. I didn't want to play second fiddle to his multi-millions. He cleared up everything just for me, and I do love him. You understand, don't you George?"

Strangely, he did. And even more strangely, he really didn't mind as much as he thought he would.

Wasn't that odd?


Chapter Two – Life with Stepmother

After the wedding, Beth and George's Dad went to one of those islands for three weeks. George was hoping that, since George was 17, his father and stepmother would recognize his complete maturity and let him stay in the house by himself. No such luck. George's grandmother, whom he adored, was his chaperone. Ironically, George wouldn't have had any parties or anything. He didn't have a lot of friends and even if he did, he was too good a kid to pull a stunt like that.

Three uneventful weeks after the wedding, Dad and Beth returned. They glowed with happiness and it spilled over onto George. You might think that George would have been jealous of Beth, since, for the first time in many years, he had to share his Dad's attention and affection.

Not so. George loved having Beth in the family. He loved her personality and her youth. He loved the way she paid attention to him and talked to him about things young people liked. But most of all, he liked having femininity in the house again. Beth's femininity.

Dad, of course was even happier to have Beth in the house. Every, spare moment when Dad wasn't with George or doing something he had to, he was in his bedroom with Beth, fucking her pretty brains out.

George knew that because Beth was a screamer. And an XXX-rated one at that. George heard it a lot. Typically, it went something like, "Oh, Richard!! Oh, you beautiful man! Right there. Harder! Ahhhhh. Oh! Fuck me, Richard! Fuck me!" Sometimes it was a shade weirder when Beth would scream out, "Oh, Daddy!!! I love you!" Well, Dad was older than Beth, George thought, and maybe Beth got confused.

George didn't mind any of it. Except for those two incidents with Donna, he was a stranger to sex. But he didn't begrudge Dad and Beth their pleasure and happiness.

Again, the situation was atypical. A young man living in such circumstances would often fantasize Oedipally, wanting to make love to his "mother" while being angry at and metaphorically wanting to "kill" his father. Instead, George loved them both and didn't want to bed or kill either. But when he looked at Beth, he felt a yearning he couldn't explain to himself.

When Dad wasn't around, Beth and George hung out together, almost like best friends. Beth would never go clothes shopping without George. She said, "Richard hates shopping. He says it's time that could be better spent <giggle>. But a girl needs her things. You're so sweet, George, and you have a real fashion sense.

It was true. George amazed himself by giving Beth a series of unexpectedly good suggestions when they went shopping.

George had no girlfriend, few friends, no clear plan beyond high school, and a stepmother that kids teased him about. But he was quite happy.

Things started to get even better for George on a day six months after the wedding, three months before his 18th birthday and four months before graduation.

George got home from school and saw Beth, for one of the few times, looking less than her feminine best. She was wearing jeans (!), flat shoes (!!) and a man's shirt (!!!). Still, from the neck up, Beth was still Beth.

But Beth was also <gasp> perspiring! George felt as if he had to do something to set the world back in order.

Beth gave him the opportunity. "I've been cleaning out some of your father's old junk to make room for my clothes, George. Could you take it out to the trash for me while I clean up?"

George was eager to help. And to see Beth "cleaned up."

Dad's old junk was in open boxes. George took the first two boxes to the trash as Beth hit the showers. He took three more out, but when he lifted the sixth and last one, something caught his eye.

It was a stack of magazines. Dirty magazines. Dirty magazines unlike any George had ever seen. Like any young man in that situation, George chose to investigate them, rather than throw them out. He spirited the box to his room, slipped them into his closet and grabbed the top book for careful examination.

George locked his bedroom door. He was fiercely curious to see what kind of porn his Dad enjoyed. It was a comic book, put out by a company called "Spermco," part of their "Young Lovers" series, and drawn by an artist named Teri. It was only line drawings, but the detail was exquisite. The comic George was holding was called "Pigskin Pantyboy."

George wondered, "What's a pantyboy?"

He was about to find out.

The left side of the cover depicted a cute, blond young man in a football uniform, with the number 12. He looked very manly in his shoulder pads and cork streaks under each eye. On the right side of the cover was a lovely young girl in miniskirt, stockings and spiky heels. She was blonde, beautifully made-up and had a dazzling smile. The only unusual aspects were that she had a boy's haircut (though she had barrettes and a ribbon) and her face looked startlingly like the quarterback on her right. In four-inch heels, she appeared to be exactly four inches taller than the young man. George's first thought was that they must have been brother and sister.

Uh, no.

George turned the page. It showed the quarterback doing all kinds of footbally things, in a very successful manner. His team won the game. Boring.

The next page showed the victorious teammates congratulating each other. The burly center, identified as Steve, was carrying the quarterback, named Tommy, off the field. But not on his shoulders. In his arms. When they got into the locker room, Steve lifted Tommy to his lips and kissed him deeply. Tommy kissed back, the said, "Later, OK, Stevie?"

Steve appeared reluctant to release him, but set Tommy down.

George was a bit disturbed. Was this gay porn? Was his Dad gay? But how could he be?

George read on. The rest of the team entered the locker room jubilantly. After a bit, the boys all undressed to take showers.

A room full of naked boys. But Tommy was the only one with bikini tan lines. And a tiny peener, with a little pink purse of testicles.

Oh my, George wondered. What's this?

Tommy took a shower, then dried off, giving George a detailed view of Tommy's testicles, penis and bottomhole.

George's little thing was very stiff and drippy. But things got lots more interesting when he turned the page.

Tommy opened his locker and took out a container of dusting powder and a pair of silky, black stockings. Tommy powdered his lovely, slim body, then sat on the locker room bench to draw his stockings over his shapely, hairless legs. Steve was standing next to Tommy, watching him dress. Steve's massive weapon was fiercely erect. Some of the other, naked players were sneaking looks. They were equally erect, but not brave enough to risk Steve's wrath by courting Tommy.

Much to the delight of naked, erect teammates, Tommy hooked his stockings to a ruffled garter belt, then slipped on a wispy pair of pink panties. He wiggled his pretty feet into a pair of four-inch-stiletto sandals, then took his make-up case into the sink room to "put his face on." Tommy appeared to be not the tiniest bit self-conscious about transforming himself from star quarterback to exquisite pantyboy in full view of his teammates. Tommy's teammates, though they had seen Tommy transform before, seemed to be deeply affected by his feminine charms. In each drawing set in the locker room, the background depicted one or more of Tommy's teammates, ogling Tommy while spurting their hot seed.

But the most affected viewer of Tommy's charms was clearly George. For the first time since Donna had swallowed George's warm goo, George's blood was double-boiling. Transfixed, George watched Tommy expertly apply his make-up, transforming a cute boy into a stunning girl. The pictures were so well drawn that George could see that Tommy's nipples were erect, sharp little nubs and Tommy's popsy was tenting his panties as he drove his teammates half-mad with desire.

To George, the whole comic-book scenario was like walking toward a bright light. He heard an inner voice saying the most important sentence he had ever heard – "Boys can be girls."

And George knew what he had only been able to surmise. He wanted to be like Tommy. He wanted to be pretty and desirable and feminine. Like Beth, his stepmother. If Tommy could do it, so could George.

A vague, inner voice whispered to George that "Pigskin Pantyboy" was a comic book and, just because there's a character named Superman, doesn't mean people can fly.


George was too excited to listen to any voices like that.

He turned the page.

Steve was admiring Tommy, who had returned to his locker and was putting on his bra, then a skirt and blouse. Steve's eyes were moist with love and his big buster was tenting his khakis. The other players were very envious as Tommy got into Steve's car and drove off. Tommy said, "Did you tell your Dad that you're staying over at my house, Stevie?"

Steve kissed Tommy on his gorgeous, glossed mouth, and said, "I told him like a million times. Spending the night with you is the only thing I want to do for the rest of my life."

The lovers pulled into Tommy's driveway. Tommy girlie-ran up the stairs to his bedroom., giving Steve a nice flash of his panties under his skirt. When Steve caught Tommy in the bedroom, they kissed tenderly. Steve lovingly stripped Tommy down to his panties, garter belt, stockings and heels. Then Steve became a very nice naked.

Steve pulled Tommy's panties down to mid-thigh. The lovers kissed, rubbing their cocks together in delicious friction. They were steaming with love and animal lust. When George turned the page, Tommy was squealing as he pumped big globs of sissy cream from his pellets through his popsy, all over Steve's privates and stomach. In the next picture, Steve responded by drenching Tommy's midsection in hot, manly cum.

Poor George could take no more. He gasped and pumped his own sticky juices into his jockey shorts. Ohhh.

George's biggest sex organ, his brain, had just orgasmed. He had been driven wild by the idea that he could live the kind of life he had sensed, but couldn't articulate,

Many males lose interest in sex after a cum. Not George. He was flushed and excited as he stripped his trousers and drenched jockeys off. Naked from the waist down, George lay on his back. He held "Pigskin Pantyboy" in his left hand and teased his cummy penis with his right.

In the next drawing, cum-soaked Tommy was squealing as cum-soaked Steve pulled Tommy's panties down and off and laid the pretty boy on his back. Steve got on his knees and began licking and digging his tongue into Tommy's perfect bottom.

George moaned. "Boys can do THAT to girls like Tommy?" George thought. "Or girls like me?"

Tommy had his legs spread wide and his knees up. His bottomhole was wet and open as Steve rubbed some slippery lubrication on his huge, enflamed cock.

What was Steve going to do to that poor, defenseless pantyboy? Ohhhh. George squirted another messy load again, just at the idea. With each of five ecstatic spurts, George pictured himself on his back, his sopping bottom at the mercy of a rampant man.

George surprised himself by issuing a little girly squeal as he made cummies. His chest was heaving as he planned his future. Panties. Boyfriends. Lots of cumming.

Good plan.

A lake of cum had formed on George's stomach. Dribbles were slithering down either side of his midsection. Yet, he was at peace.

Then his girlish penis sent him a message by re-erecting. "It ain't over for me yet today," the one-eyed little one said.

There appeared to be about 15 pages left in the comic. George pressed on.

As George surmised, Steve intended to push his thick thingee into the world's-prettiest, fictional pantyboy's tight, hot bottom. Tommy appeared to be very eager for Steve to do so.

George watched in awe as Tommy put his calves on Steve's shoulders, inviting his impalement. Steve's cockhead split Tommy's bottomcheeks, drawing a happy groan from Tommy. In the next drawing, Steve's cock was fully in its warm paradise. Tommy's eyes were wide and moist with love. Tommy's pricklet was red and throbbing. Then, in the next picture, Steve leaned over to kiss his lover. Their tongues darted as they fucked with a steady rhythm.

George wondered if all the things they were doing were possible in real life. George knew he would be crushed if they were not. But he suspected that men and pantyboys could do all the things Tommy and Steve had done.

And darned if that didn't make George explode with yet another load of boyish fluids.

George should have had a towel handy or something, because Lake Spermmore was overflowing its banks and flowing onto the sheets. George didn't care. His little testicles were sore. A good sore. He knew that there was a "Steve" out there somewhere just for him. Maybe a whole bunch of Steves.

George was convinced that he couldn't cum anymore, but he had to see the last seven or eight pages of the book. He turned the page and gasped. The bedroom door opened and a lovely woman in delicious black lingerie and skyscraper heels entered the room, just as both Tommy and Steve were about to cum hard. Were they were busted by Tommy's mom?

No. This was a Spermco comic.

Tommy squeaked out, "Hi, Daddy."

Steve moaned, "Hi, Mr. Gurley"

"Everything all right, fellas? Can I get you something to eat?"

"No thanks, Daddy," Tommy said. "I'm really 'full' right now <giggle>"

Mr. Gurley, who was a dazzling babe in his own right said, "OK. Steve, your Dad and I will be in my bedroom if you need anything."

"Thanks, Mr. Gurley," Steve said. "Oh, Tommy, Sweetie. I'm cumming."

"Me too, Lover," Tommy said.

And they both fulfilled their predictions with shuddering, wrenching orgasms, complete with squealing and lots of cum.

Whew! George was stiff and throbbing again. He couldn't cum again, he thought. And he would have been right about that if it hadn't been for the last three pages.

A very hairy, burly, handsome man was making love to the lovely, feminine Mr. Gurley, who was wearing a black babydoll and black, fully-fashioned stockings. Mr. Gurley was on his back, his panties down to mid-thigh and his good-sized, stiff cock exposed to Steve's Dad's big, rough hand, which was stroking it lovingly. The beautiful couple was kissing. Then Steve's Dad moved Mr. Gurley's babydoll nightie to expose a lovely, puffy nipple. The manly man kissed the girly man's little nubbie and brought the pretty man to a very messy cum.

George joined him in cum land. Then he lay back and slept the sleep of the newly resolute.


Chapter Three – Girlish Dreams

One of the many advantages of living with Beth was that she didn't bother you when you wanted to be alone. Dad never wanted to be alone when Beth was home and "ready." It seemed Beth was always "ready." George sometimes wondered about that. Weren't women supposed to have five or ten days a month when they wanted to murder their husbands, then burn the men's vile carcasses? Beth didn't seem to have that problem.

The day that George discovered his destiny, he awoke at 7 p.m., awash in dry and drying cum. His balls ached from the effort of four cums in 45 minutes. Dinner was usually at 6:30, but Beth didn't nag him to come and eat. She and Dad were probably "doing the nasty," George thought. Oh how he wanted a man to "do the nasty" with his girlish self.

George cleaned himself up, went downstairs, fixed himself a bowl of cereal and began to plan. Maybe he would "borrow" some of Beth's things. Just panties and maybe <gasp> stockings. George would get his own stuff when he was 18. He would make himself into a beautiful girly boy, find a rich, randy man and run away with him.

No. Bad plan. Where would he meet someone like that? Even more basic, how could he make himself attractive enough to interest someone like that?

He would need help. Were there others like him?

The other books in Dad's stash!

George cleaned up his cereal mess and hurried back to his room.

In the closet, on the top of the pile of mags, was a second Rosetta Stone for his life. The February 1-14, 2001 copy of the world's greatest publication – Panty Boy.

This was no comic book. These were real little caterpillars, changing from wormy boys to pretty, little, winged, colorful butterflies.

George gazed in awe at a cover photo of what appeared to be a lovely, kneeling girl in a tiny, chiffon-filled, white nightie with little red hearts. "She" was facing the camera and smiling happily, despite a fresh, huge, creamy load of cum that covered much of her face. The source of that goo was a thick, red prick and large sack of pendant nuts, attached to an unseen man standing over the cover girl. But the most thrilling aspect of the picture for George was the girl's teeny peeny, jutting from under her nightie and madly spurting the sticky cream of sexual fulfillment. The cover caption was "Be My Valentine."

George knew at that moment that he was not alone. There were other boys who shared his feelings. Enough that a magazine was put together about them. And for them. And, obviously, for the men who adore them.

George took his pants and underpants off. Then he abandoned all modesty and stripped completely naked. He lay on his bed, frantic with anticipation about what he could learn between the covers of Panty Boy (and how that would serve him between the covers with men <blush>).

He was not disappointed.

The first "pictorial" was about a young man named Val, who worked in a flower shop, designing lovely arrangements. Val was very busy preparing flowers for Valentine's Day. A female co-worker asked Val if he was making an arrangement for a girlfriend. Val said no, politely, but with a very sweet, little smile.

After work, Val hurried home to his apartment and began his transformation to a lovely young pantyboy named Valerie. Oh, the photography was exquisite as it depicted in loving detail every nuance of Valerie's metamorphosis. George shuddered with excitement as Valerie's skilled application of make-up made her male cocoon disappear and her regal beauty emerge. Her eyes were huge windows to her girlish soul. Her lips, soft pillows of red pleasure. Oh how George envied Valerie when she slid her pink, seamed stockings up her delicious legs, then hooked them to her ruffled, white garter belt, with tiny, Valentine hearts. Valerie gave the "reader" an excellent look at her heavenly bottom and even "showed a little pink" to George's excited gaze. The lovely sissy had darling nipples, sharp and pointed, and aching for a man's kisses.

George couldn't help himself. He winced and spurted two thick globs of his sticky cream yet again. His balls protested the overtime work, but produced what would have been a treasured meal to legions of men.

Valerie slipped the little confection of a nightie that was on her cover shot. It was completely girly and totally emasculating, to Valerie's obvious delight. It also exposed her pretty, little pee pee, which was dripping sweetly as she admired herself in the mirror. Valerie slipped her pretty feet into a pair of pink, four-inch, stiletto mules, with little, white puffballs over her toes. Oh, how those big heels made that scrumptious rump protrude! Any man who saw that would be struck dumb and blind. Or at least, very horny.

George wanted to be like Valerie. He wanted to be Valerie. When he turned the page, those feelings tripled.

Valerie answered the door, squealing when she saw that her boyfriend had arrived. He was worth waiting for. Tall, dark, handsome. Mid-30s. Obviously well-off. And even more obviously, smitten-for-life by Valerie.

The man, identified as Alex, was carrying two-dozen perfect roses, an industrial-strength-size carton of world-class chocolates, and a small, but gorgeously wrapped box.

Since Valerie's popsy was stiff and exposed, it didn't appear that they were going for dinner and dancing that night.

The couple kissed deeply, Valerie surrendering completely to Alex's manliness. George whimpered.

Alex stripped naked. Oh. That was a very stimulating sight to George. And to Valerie, whose face was flushed and privates swollen with desire. Alex picked Valerie up, then carried her to the bedroom, then the bed. Their mouths, lips and tongues were locked in ecstasy. Alex placed Valerie on her back, then peeled her nightie up above her nipples. He mounted her and kissed her, rubbing his hairy chest against her tender nipples as he slid his huge, skinned cock against his love's pricklet and pretty pellets.

Oh, the pleasure, George thought. A man dominating a pretty boy. Treating the pantied doll like his <blush> possession. The thought of being possessed by a man like Alex had poor George stiff and dripping again. Valerie and Alex were so in love. Just like Dad and Beth. They were kissing and suddenly, both cumming all over each other in shuddering climaxes.

George trembled and felt his gut explode yet again. That time, only a watery fluid drooled out. The sweet boy's balls were drained.

Exhausted, George slept.


Chapter Four – Experiments

It took George almost a month before he found the courage to borrow some of Beth's things. But it wasn't a wasted month. The lad had over 150 self-inflicted orgasms.

It was no wonder, since there were four other Spermco comics and 17 back issues of Panty Boy. All were well-thumbed, with pages stuck together.

It was a little creepy to George that his Dad had obviously been whacking off to the same material George was. And in his non-orgasmic moments, he sometimes wondered why Dad, who had married such a beautiful woman, had ever lusted for pantyboys.

But mostly George just stroked and dreamed.

George tried very hard not to change his behavior around Beth and Dad too much. He loved them both too much to let them know that all he wanted to do was look at Dad's old stash of porn and pull his peeny. As far as he could tell, they hadn't noticed anything.

As far as he could tell.

The desire to see how he looked in panties finally overwhelmed everything else in George's life. He became a panty pilferer.

George reasoned that Beth would be less likely to notice a dirty pair of purloined panties than a clean pair from her drawer. Plus, the thought of wearing something "scented" by an angel excited George tremendously.

Beth and Dad went food shopping one Saturday when George made his first move. Beth had done the laundry on Friday, so the pink, nylon, bikini panties in his parents' hamper were "fresh."

George trembled when he held the panties and resisted the temptation to sniff them deeply. He ran back to his room with his treasure and locked his door. He laid the pretties on the bed and stripped naked.

George held his first panties in his hands and examined then carefully. He looked for stains in the crotch from his stepmother's juices, but saw none. He looked inside and saw the tiniest hint of a poopie stain. For some reason, that was exciting too. Intimate.

Then George saw something he couldn't explain. There were little stains in the front center of the panties. High. Close to the waistband. Like little drips. How did that happen? Oh, well. George would figure that out later.

He sat on the side of his bed and shivered with anticipation. He thought idly about how nice it would be to have shaved legs and painted toenails. His legs weren't very hairy. But still.

George pointed the toes of his right foot and inserted them in the right leghole of the panties. Then his left foot. More excited than he could remember, he eased the little treasures over his calves, his knees, his thighs. Then over his stiffie, all the way up to three inches below his belly button.


Oh, joy.

George wept as he looked at his pantied self in his full-length mirror. His boyish body took on a girlish aspect in those panties. Beth's Friday panties, but his on Saturday.

He turned this way and that. He turned around and looked at his pantied bottom. The thin material barely covered the separation in his pretty buttcheeks. His bottom looked so feminine. So…..inviting….to a man.

George's peeny throbbed as he thought of pretty Mary Louise in the August 16-31 issue of "Panty Boy." Mary Louise was trying on panties in her room, just as George was. Mary Louise was a boy college student who fantasized about Dr. Hardman, her favorite professor, all day long in class. When she got back to her apartment, she changed into her frillies and tickled her little thingee dreaming that Dr. Hardman was on top of her, pushing his business in and out of her. After a lot of panty-posing and a nice gooey cum for Mary Louise, who showed up? Dr. Hardman. The hunky professor proceeded to make all Mary Louise's cummy dreams come true.

Too bad life isn't like Panty Boy, George thought. Then, as he ran his soft hands over his stiff, pointed nipples, George thought, "But life could be more like Panty Boy."

Yes it could.

George continued to admire his feminine appearance. He fondled himself and dreamed the dreams that pantyboys dream. Men adoring the air they breathe. Men giving pantyboys everything, spirit and possessions, in order to possess the perfect angels. Men kissing them and loving them.

George envisioned himself under a naked, kind, loving man, being kissed and adored. He gasped. And began to pump his hot cream into his stepmother's pretty panties.

Most of us are much older than George when we realize our life's ambition. George's was clear as he approached his 18th birthday. Becoming all the pantyboy he could be. Then sharing that sweet femininity with the nice men of the world.

That day set a pattern for the next three months. George would sneak items of femininity from Beth's things whenever he felt it was safe to do so. Like anyone driven by need, his requirements increased. Making him bolder. Increasing his risks.

He just adored wearing stockings. Those black, seamed, fully-fashioned delights that Beth wore often. And frilly garter belts. The first day he tried them on, he lost his sticky stuff once for each leg. He began practicing in heels. Higher and higher, until he was able to walk easily in Beth's five-inch stilettos. He wanted to try his hand at cosmetics, but thought that Beth might notice their depletion.

George loved nighties. Beth had dozens of them. Whenever he tried them on, he wondered if Beth <blush> left her nightie on when she was <blush> "under" Dad.

George began to wonder how he was going to reveal himself to his Dad and Beth. He had to tell them the truth. He had to live as a pantyboy. He just had to. If he waited until he was 18, they couldn't order him to be a boy. Of course they could order him out of the house. But they wouldn't. Would they?

When George's 18th birthday arrived, there were surprises in store for everyone. It was a Saturday and the family had a dinner planned at George's favorite restaurant.

If he could only have gone as a girl, George thought. <sigh> Dad and Beth were out for the day, scheduled to return at 5, dinner at 7. George had a school event that morning, returning home at 2. That left him a couple of hours in Girlland. Lovely, stolen hours. Hours he needed to exist.

That afternoon, George wore the pink nightie he loved. And the tan, fully-fashioned stockings. White, lacy garter belt. Pink, stiletto sandals. As he had countless times, George was admiring his pretty self in the mirror. Looking this way and that. Thinking about the May 1-15 2001 Panty Boy pictorial where Kelly Ann was wearing exactly the same outfit that he was. Kelly Ann spent most of her pictorial on her knees, sucking and licking Sam's balls, then taking Sam's big boy between her pretty lips and a big, creamy load on her gorgeous face.

He just knew that Sam would prefer George to Kelly Ann. If he just had the opportunity.

George was stroking himself nicely, building heat. Taking it slowly. Feeling very nice. Dreaming girlish dreams.

Was he dreaming when he heard that voice saying, "I have pearls that would look perfect with that outfit. Can I get them for you?"

Aggghhhhhh!!! It was Beth! He had been caught! His life was over!

Actually, it had just begun.

George's face was rigid with fear when he turned to look at Beth. What had she just said to him? What would she do to him? Oh! What would Dad say?

George squeaked, "I……"

Beth interrupted. "You look lovely Sweetheart. Let me get the pearls."


In the 30 seconds it took for Beth to retrieve the pearls, George trembled so hard that his teeth chattered. Strangely, Beth's nonchalance, since it was so unexpected, was more frightening to the young man than if she had slapped him and called him a "faggot."

When Beth returned, humming happily as she stood behind George and held the pearls around his neck, George was incapable of speech.

But Beth wasn't. "There we are, Sweetheart," Beth said. "Don't they add so much to the outfit? We girls have it so more difficult, don't we? We have to think in terms of 'outfits' and 'accessories.' Men have it so much easier. But how could we live without them?"

We girls? Was George missing something? Had he just entered a different dimension?

"Oh, you poor dear," Beth said. "You're trembling. Please don't. Everything is all right. Your Daddy and I have known you were a pantyboy for some time now. Probably before you knew it. To ease your fears, let me just say, we think it's wonderful."

George's input devices (his eyes and ears) were taking all this in, but his central processing unit (his brain) was in vapor lock. Did he hear Beth correctly? And if so, what did it mean?"

Beth, sweet Beth, saw George's pain. She even felt it.

Beth sat on the side of George's bed and beckoned him to sit next to her. Tears were forming in George's pretty eyes as he tottered over to sit on Beth's right. Beth pulled George to her with her right arm, caressing and comforting her stepson. Then she began to explain.

"Your Daddy and I suspected you were a pantyboy even before we were married, Honey."

George wondered how they knew. What was the source of their expertise? Curiosity began to replace fear.

"We decided to see if those 'magazines' of your father's would trigger a response in you. And it certainly did. I paid careful attention to the whereabouts of my frillies from then on and I knew you were 'borrowing' them and 'milking' yourself while wearing them."

George blushed deeply. It was so embarrassing.

"We knew you would get bolder and bolder, but decided to wait until your 18th birthday before we told you what we knew. We wanted the choice of 'the pantied life' to be your first adult decision."

George began to feel much better. He felt loved and that best feeling of all – understood.

Beth smiled, "Honestly, the best part of all this for me was getting rid of your Daddy's magazines. I could understand him lusting after pantyboys when he was single – all sane, heterosexual men do – but I didn't want him looking at those little tarts once he had his very own pantyboy wife."

[Pause for George's heart to skip several beats.]

Yes, Dear Reader. Beth is a pantyboy too. My guess is that you figured that out, you clever figurer-outer. But George didn't. His mouth was agape – a welcome sight for men in his future life as Sandy.

George stammered, "You?"

Beth hugged her stepson and said, "Yes, Sweetie. Yes. It takes one to know one and I knew you were one of us the moment we met."

George then asked the kind of question that, when it leaves your mouth, you know is as dumb as dog poop. "Does Dad know?"

Beth laughed. A sweet, tinkly sound. "Oh, yes, Dear. We've been having marital relations since before we were married. Let me ask, do you remember me from when I was a boy? You saw me."

George's head spun. He couldn't imagine Beth as a boy, let alone a boy he knew.

Beth said, "Do you remember who was the quarterback of the high school football team when you were a freshman?"

George knew that one. "The legendary Randy Seaman. The greatest quarterback in Clark Griswold High School history."

"Very good," Beth said. "What do you know about his college football career?"

George thought. "Nothing. Randy was supposed to go to Fromage University and lead them to a national championship, but he never showed up. It was all over the newspapers."

Beth looked at George lovingly and said, "He showed up three years later at the altar to marry your Daddy."

Good golly! Beth was Randy Seaman? But she had boobs. She had a five-star feminine body. She was the most feminine person on the planet! It was just like "Pigskin Pantyboy!"

"I know it's a lot, George. I'm sorry I hit you with it all at once. But I wanted you to know that it can be done. I did it, and I'm a deliriously happy person with a wonderful husband and a great stepson. Hormones, a good surgeon and determination. It'll be easier for you, if you want, because your Daddy and I will support you. My family rejected me and I had to move in with my football coach. He adored me, but he was married and I'm no homewrecker. His wife couldn't wait to get rid of me, so things were touch and go for a while until I moved into the 'social club' where I met your Daddy."

George almost asked about the "social club," but at that moment he had bigger aquaphibians to sauté.


"You make it sound so easy, Beth," George said.

Beth frowned a little. "Oh no, Sweetie. It'll be very difficult, but you really have no choice, do you?"

George gulped. Beth was right. George was destined for pantydom. Eager, even.

Beth decided that it was time to move things along. "George, Honey, would you like to wear pretty things for your birthday dinner tonight? And show your Daddy how pretty you are?"

George shivered at the thought of being seen in public in his pretties. And <gasp> Daddy would see him too!

Beth knew what George was feeling. "You'll be beautiful, Darling. I know it. Let me help you."

George nodded and submitted to his stepmother.

Good choice, George.

Ninety minutes and an interactive make-up lesson later, George was looking into the mirror in awe.

"You're stunning, George. The prettiest girl I've seen this year. But, Sweetie, you're too pretty to be a George. You remind me of my lovely, redhaired, Aunt Sandra. May I call you Sandy?"

Sandy barely heard her stepmother, she was so captivated with her own beauty. She didn't want to cry and mess up her make-up. But it was a sobworthy moment. Happy sobs. Sandy stood and looked at herself in her full-length mirror.

Oh my. There were still elements missing in her total girlishness. Accessories. Styling for her short, but stunning, dark red hair. But her pretty face crowned her pink nightie, tan, fully-fashioned stockings, white, lacy garter belt and pink, stiletto sandals perfectly.

Sandy was very excited. And her teeny popsy showed it. It was stiff and its tip was sticky-wet.

Beth moved behind Sandy and reached around her right hip. Beth's soft fingers grazed the tender flesh of Sandy's privates. "You poor dear," Beth said. "You were just about to rid yourself of your boy's cream, weren't you? We pantyboys must rid ourselves of that stuff several times each day. But you knew that didn't you?"

Sandy whimpered as Beth stroked her little pricklet ever so sweetly. It was so exciting to see her feminine self in the mirror as a beautiful person skinned Sandy's peeny just right.

"You see it, don't you, Sandy?" Beth said. "Men will see it too. They'll want to possess you." <Stroke> "They'll want you to submit to them. <Tickle> "They'll want you on your back with your mouth open and your legs spread taking in their big, hard cocks wherever the men want to push them."



Beth skinned Sandy's tiny foreskin back and forth. Sandy whimpered as Beth said, "Men, nice men, will adore you. They'll give you things, expensive things. They'll ask you to marry them because they'll drive themselves mad dreaming of possessing you. They'll want to cum in and on you and they'll empty your pretty pink bag over and over until you can't focus your eyes." Sandy felt the big warning as Beth rubbed her manicured thumb all over Sandy's pink mushroom. Then Beth whispered to Sandy, "You'll let men love you, won't you, Sandy?"

Sandy cried out and began to spurt her sticky cream in thick jets. Tears formed in Sandy's eyes as the hot ropes deluged her mirror. Sandy loved her stepmother and she loved men.

Sandy collapsed into Beth's arms. Beth hugged her in a motherly fashion until Sandy asked a most undaughterly question.

"Beth," she asked with a blush, "I know this is crazy, but could I…..I mean. Could I see your….thing?"

Beth acted as if Sandy had just asked her to pass the salt. "Of course, Dear," she said.

Beth stood on her big heels and lifted her skirt to show her pink, bikini panties, white garters and tan stocking tops. Sandy gasped when she saw the bulge in Beth's pretty panties. Who would have ever suspected?

In a day of surprises, what happened next was one of the biggest. Beth put her thumbs into the waistband, then shimmied her panties down to mid-thigh.

Beth, the world's prettiest pantyboy was the proud possessor of a whopper.

Big and stiff. With a big, dark, full bag of testicles.

Oh my.

Now I'm sure many of you know that not all pantyboys are, shall we say, "dainty" between their legs. Some have very large packages indeed. But "long and hard" sissies are the exception. Beth was the exception to the exception. Her pretty popsy was almost eight inches long. I've seen it. I've even "touched" it. Somehow, it makes the total Beth even more girlish.

Beth seemed to enjoy Sandy's look of wonder. "I imagine you believe me now, Sandy."

"You're amazing," Sandy said. "In every way there is."

Beth smiled. "Thank you, Sandy. So are you. And you'll get femmier every day."

The pantyboys hugged. Beth's thick stiffie rubbed against her stepdaughter's silky nightie.

Sandy adored the intimate feelings of her body rubbing against Beth's. Beth's nipples were hard, two pointed little spears pushing against Sandy's flat chest. Beth smelled so …..feminine.

Sandy was horribly excited. Her knee rubbed against Beth's silky stockings – her first nylon-on-nylon experience. Sandy's own teeny thing was erect and throbbing again. Rubbing against the vast expanse of her stepmother's penile equipment. It was so thrilling. The rubbing. Beth's fragrance. Ohhhhh.

The overloaded birthday girl shuddered and began to cum again. The feel of Sandy's hot goo against the lovely Beth's big throbber made Beth lose her own ample load of spermies.

What a mess!

Both pantyboys were a little embarrassed at the unexpected intimacy. And very excited.

But they recovered their composures enough to clean up the splotches of semen, get Sandy scrubbed up, shaved all over and dressed for the birthday dinner. Sandy was "on the verge" again and again as Beth performed motherly, intimate acts, such as <blush> lifting Sandy's ball bag and shaving between her legs and <gasp> shaving the inner parts of Sandy's pretty bottomcheeks. It proved too much for the little angel when Beth lovingly held Sandy's pricklet out of the way with her left hand as she shaved her pubic hair into a tiny patch with her right hand. Sandy gasped and pumped spurt after spurt of her sticky stuff into the air and over the bathroom floor. Beth smiled, but finished her erotic task.

Beth had purchased a scrumptious outfit for Sandy's world debut as a girl. Apparently, Beth had been planning this night for some time.

Beth hooked a lacy black brassiere onto Sandy's flat chest. Sandy quivered as the delicate material grazed her erect, tender nipples. The sharp points strained forward to meet the frilly material. Beth rubbed the lace gently against each hard, little nub, making Sandy wince in an agony of pleasure.

Then Beth had Sandy roll up the silkiest, sheerest black stockings Sandy had ever seen. They felt incredible! When she hooked her lacy, black garter belt to the stocking tops, then turned around to check the straightness of the seams, the sight of her plump, pink bottom, framed by perfect, sexy stockings, had Sandy breathing heavily.

Beth produced a pair of shiny, black, stiletto sandals, which had four-inch heels and weighed less than a tube of lubricant. Sandy stepped into them and pranced around a bit, her peeny straight, her ball bag bouncing prettily. Beth sighed. This one will break more hearts than an alcoholic cardiologist, she thought.

Panties were next, and Beth was surprised to see them settled into place on Sandy without cummy incident. But when the LBD (little black dress) that Beth had driven her husband crazy selecting was eased over Sandy's head and the sweet pantyboy was allowed to view the whole of her beauteous outfit at once, Sandy squealed and ejected what was left in her pink bag into her defenseless panties.

Beth lifted Beth's skirts quickly, to avoid staining the $1,500 dress (though it's not a coincidence that many pantyboys wear a lot of black.) Then Beth peeled the soggy treasures off her excited, but embarrassed stepdaughter's loins. She cleaned Sandy gently with a washcloth and towel, then produced a fresh, identical pair of panties.

"Pantyboys always buy at least five of each kind of panties, Sweetheart," Beth said. "And we always bring lots of spares when we go out. There's a lot in the world out there to excite us. Even looking at ourselves excites us."

Beth was in full "motherly" mode when she spent two more hours showing Sandy how to do her make-up. Since two hours is more than enough time for an 18-year-old's cum bag to refill, Beth was a bit surprised that Sandy didn't spurt when she saw her reflection in full warpaint.

The sight of Sandy's ravishing beauty certainly stirred Beth's loins. Beth thought, the city will have to raise our taxes. Whenever Sandy goes out, they'll have to assign her a SWAT team to maintain order. And a firetruck to douse the blazes she sets in men's pants.

Sandy's reaction was quite different. She began to sob. The tears that only joy in its purest form can produce. Sandy saw her future and it was a very pretty sight.

Beth knew what Sandy was seeing. Beth saw it every moment she was in her husband's arms.

There were other touches that Sandy would need – a nice manicure and pedicure, pierced ears, accessories – but the basics were there, if you could call Rita Hayworth, red-headed-beauty basic.

Beth wasn't jealous. She knew that men who compared her to Grace Kelly were sincere. Horny as hell. But sincere.

At 6:30, Beth left the room and returned with Sandy's Daddy. Like every other man, Daddy knew the pure happiness that having a beautiful daughter could engender. And Sandy knew the bliss a daughter feels from having her Daddy's adoration.

I know I sound sappy here, but it was a beautiful thing, OK?

To say that heads turned in the restaurant when Daddy walked in with Beth and Sandy would be like saying that Rush Limbaugh liked his painkillers.

If a chiropractor had set up a booth outside the restaurant, he could have cleaned up.

Diners' jaws plummeted, waiters dropped plates and men excused themselves to spend several minutes in the men's room (returning with flushed faces and wet zippers).

A few good men, thinking that Beth and Sandy were Daddy's daughters, tried to engage the beauties in conversation. Beth and Sandy gave the men their answer by cuddling up to Daddy and putting their heads on his shoulders. Sandy sneaked a peek at Daddy's crotch the first time they did that. He was very stiff and very big.

That night, Sandy's perfect birthday, ended perfectly when, dressed in a pink babydoll, she got into bed, and was tucked in by her Daddy, who kissed her forehead and said, "I love you, Princess."



Chapter Five – Handled

Sandy spent a lovely Sunday en femme, but was then confronted with the issue of what to do during her last month of high school.

Beth knew that whether Sandy had even graduated from preschool would be completely irrelevant to the rest of her life, but it was to be Sandy's call.

Sandy decided to tough it out, going to school as George (ick!!!), then being Sandy for the rest of her life.

That first Monday morning, Sandy woke up in her little white babydoll after a night of lovely, girlish dreams. Her girlish stiffie was red, drippy and throbbing as she thought about the platoon of dream men who had told her she was the princess of the world. In her dream, she had giggled and blushed, then lay on her back for a good stiff fucking from the man she had picked out of the crowd. He looked a lot like Daddy <blush>, and he showed Sandy a very formidable weapon. Sandy was drooling and ready for her deflowering, but there was this loud ringing in her ears. Ringing. The alarm clock.

Why did that always happen?

It was a real downer to get into those rough, boyish clothes. But Sandy decided that she could disguise herself as a boy for 20 more school days.

Beth and Daddy gave her a nice hug-and-kiss sendoff. Beth knew that Sandy could make the leap to femininity without looking back, but Sandy was still holding back.

Then something very interesting happened.

In her second class of the day, American history, Sandy noticed that Jerry Jizzwell was looking at her strangely. What was that about?

At the end of the class, Jerry rushed up to the person he knew as George. Jerry was nervous, but resolute. "Uh, George," he said, "Can I ask you something?"

Sandy nodded nervously.

Jerry pressed on. "Were you at the Fireside Inn for dinner with your family on Saturday night?"

Sandy gasped. She was busted. Now what?

Jerry saw the fear in Sandy's face and he panicked. "Oh, please no," Jerry said. "Don't be afraid. I thought, I mean…I think you're beautiful! The most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Even prettier than your stepmother, and that's saying a lot."

That was an equine of a different hue than Sandy expected. Jerry knew what she was and the boy seemed smitten with her. Even though she was disguised as a boy.

Sandy did three things. She kissed Jerry right on the lips. In the hall with people passing. Then she thanked him for being so sweet. Then she walked out of the high school, never to return.

Beth was home when Sandy arrived. Sandy told Beth about Jerry and her abandonment of school. They had a warm hug and a good cry. Then they took Sandy's boy clothes and burned them in the backyard.

Later that afternoon, Beth took Sandy to the Pink Purse for the first time.

Per Beth's instructions, Sandy was dolled up to the max as they drove to the place where Beth had met Daddy.

"It's more than a social club to me, Honey," Beth said. "It was my home when my parents threw me out."

The Pink Purse would be more than a social club to Sandy too. Much more.

Beth steered her Mercedes into a spot close to the door of the Pink Purse. It was 2 p.m. – a slow time for the club.

The two panty princesses sissied through the big double door into a wonderful new world. A world of feminine splendor. A world where all the members had both X and Y chromosomes, but half inhabited the continent of extreme femininity and the other lived on the continent of total masculinity.

The surroundings were understated elegance – true class. There was the scent of money all about. And something else. The smell of sperm and semen. Cum, lovingly extracted from the "pink purses" of the world's most delicious pantyboys. Cum lovingly deposited in the sweet orifices of the lovely, feminine angels, by men eager to make them totally and eternally happy.

Sandy didn't really know all that for sure at that time, but she sensed it. And it made her feel very good.

Beth took her stepdaughter to the club's spa and said, "This is what we'll do on your first day, Sweetheart. A lovely massage from Rolf, the club masseur, then a manicure and pedicure. Then we'll get those pretty earlobes pierced. The place fills up with pantyboys and 'daddies' around 7. On your first day, we'll get you out of here before then. The next time we come here, I'll introduce you around, OK?"

Sandy squirmed a little. Her "pink purse" was full of sticky cream and she was a little uncomfortable. She hoped that some relief was on the agenda.

I think we can be reasonably sure of that, don't you?

Beth opened the door of the spa and led Sandy in. No one was in sight, but a large steamy pool invited bathers to frolic. Sandy could imagine what it was like when it was filled with pantyboys and daddies. She shuddered at the mental spectacle of squealing pretties being kissed, licked, sucked and fucked by hunky men. Ohhhh.

Beth opened another door and Sandy entered the massage room. Padded tables, scented oils. And a six-foot-four, startlingly handsome, ripplingly muscled Swedish masseur named Rolf.

Sandy quivered at the thought of being naked and helpless on a table, in complete submission to the skilled hands of Rolf.

Beth evaluated the situation and stepped in. "Rolf, this is Sandy, my sweet, innocent, virginal stepdaughter. She's never been with a man. A man has never even touched her. So make her happy, but keep your penis in your pants, OK?"

"Of course, Mrs. Spermmore," Rolf said.

Beth considered Rolf a moment, then turned to Sandy. "Rolf's a professional. You'll have a great time, but we'll save the really good stuff for later, OK?"

Poor Sandy was so aroused that she was willing to agree to most anything. Rolf was so manly. And her cummy bag was BURSTING!

Beth kissed Sandy and left her to Rolf's tender mercies.


"Miss Spermmore, would you please remove your clothes and lie on your stomach on this table?"

Sandy turned away shyly and began to remove her clothes as Rolf set out towels and oils. She carefully hung her dress, then she took off her big heels. Then she shimmied out of her slip, standing only in her bra, panties, garter belt and stockings. In the same room as a man. A big, good-looking man.

She looked at Rolf and he smiled. "You're very beautiful, Miss Spermmore, but you have to take the rest of your things off or the oils will damage your pretty things. I want to rub oils on the pretty things that are left when you're naked."

Sandy shuddered. Her poor popsy was very stiff and very red. And she was very much "on the verge."

Rolf busied himself as sweet Sandy removed her lingerie and lay facedown on the massage table.

The towels were cool and her nipples tingled as they rubbed on the puckered terry. Her peener was red hot as it grazed the toweled surface. Her head was turned to her left and her legs were slightly parted as Rolf considered his client. Rolf was thrilled at the sight of Sandy's perfect bottom and the rearview glimpses he caught of her testicle bag.

Rolf's cock hardened. He loved his job.

Rolf oiled his skilled hands, then began to massage the little angel's shoulders. Sandy purred as she felt her cares depart and tensions ease. Then Rolf oiled and rubbed Sandy's back and waist, stopping at a point just above the crack in her plump bottom. Sandy arched her back and moaned softly as the masseur applied his skills to her body. Sandy anticipated that Rolf would massage her bottom cheeks next, which she was sure would make her cum wildly. But instead, Rolf moved to oil and rub Sandy's pretty feet, then her calves and knees. Then her silky thighs. Sandy moaned.

Rolf asked Sandy to turn over onto her back. She complied, then blushed all over as she locked eyes with Rolf. Sandy knew the helpless, emasculated feeling a woman feels when she is completely exposed and at her man's mercy. Rolf's leer and his bulging gym shorts told Sandy that her body excited him tremendously. At that moment, she would have done anything Rolf asked.

Rolf was under orders, but he still took some of the liberties Sandy was eager to grant him. He carefully applied scented oils to Sandy's right nipple. Oh. Sandy whimpered. He was being so gentle, as he caressed the stiff, pointed treasure with the pads of his right index and middle fingers. A man was pleasuring Sandy's nipple for the first time. And very well. Sandy gasped and felt a sharp pang in her stomach. Her eyes rolled back, she squealed and began to pump thick globs of her pent-up, creamy treasure all over her down-covered tummy. Oh, it was agonizing, yet ecstatic. Tears formed in Sandy's eyes as she endured the first man-engendered orgasm of her life.

She looked through bleary eyes at Rolf, who seemed quite pleased with himself. Did all his clients "embarrass themselves" as Sandy had? She wondered. Probably so, but not as easily as Sandy had.

Rolf was all business. He scooped Sandy's hot juices with his oily fingers and began to rub them into Sandy's other, equally-erect nipple. Poor Sandy. Less than a minute after she had emptied her guts onto her stomach, her pricklet was stiff, throbbing and needy again. What Rolf must think of her!


When Rolf entered Sandy's girlish pussy with his thick, strong, oiled fingers, Sandy's eyes opened wide and she screamed from surprise and ecstasy. Rolf's fingers were inside her, probing her. Possessing her. Rubbing her most tender spots, especially her <gasp> prostate. Moments later, she arched her back and her pretty little balls gave up their sweet juices. All over the place, in a most un-ladylike fashion. For several minutes after Sandy's purse was emptied, Rolf kept rubbing her prostate. He was merciless. And so incredibly manly. Keeping his fingers inside Sandy's sweet pussy, Rolf began to lick the cum from the pantyboy's soft tummy. Gently. Sweetly.

Impossibly, Sandy erected fiercely once again.

Rolf was pleased. More pleased when he took the pretty doll's stiffie into his mouth and began to pleasure it expertly.

Sandy squealed. Was such bliss possible? It was so much better than when Donna had sucked George's prick, in a different lifetime. This was a man, worshiping Sandy as a woman.

She groaned so loudly that they both laughed. Then Rolf took both of Sandy's petite testicles into his mouth and licked them until she was in sexual desperation. Helplessly, the beautiful treasure spurted another thick load onto Rolf's handsome face.

Oh, the sweet agony!

Later, Beth asked Sandy if Rolf had finished the massage after her third orgasm. Sandy couldn't remember. She remembered some excellent kissing and that, despite her best efforts to remove Rolf's prick from its confinement, Rolf obeyed Beth's orders to keep it in his pants. Apparently, Rolf really liked his job and didn't want to jeopardize it. Smart man.

After that, the manicure, pedicure and ear piercings were a blur.


Sandy was exhausted, but still a bit disappointed when Beth took her home. Sandy was hoping to be introduced to some of the men who frequented the club at night. And to some of the other pantyboys.

"You've had enough stimulation for one day at this stage of your development, Sweetheart," Beth said. "I'll bring you back here tomorrow. Stepmother knows best."

Sandy sighed. It was true. Could any sissy have a better stepmother? Sandy didn't think so.

Sandy enjoyed telling Daddy and Beth all about her day at dinner that night. It certainly seemed to stir Daddy to hear about his little pantyboy's growing sexuality. He took Beth to bed extra early that evening and Beth's screams of panty passion were louder and "cummier" than usual.

Sandy used the evening to practice some of the make-up techniques Beth had taught her. She was discovering that make-up is an art, not a science, and that it would take some time before she would settle on her "perfect look." Thank goodness she had that time.

At 10 p.m., a tired Sandy washed off her make-up, slipped into a diaphanous, black babydoll, and slid into bed. Life was good and about to get better.


Chapter Six – Doctor, Doctor

The next morning, Sandy was awoken by Beth at 8 a.m. Daddy had just left for work and Beth came to Sandy's room directly from their farewell.

Beth's electric-blue babydoll was so short that her drooping, dripping, big girlie meat was completely exposed. Her poor ballbag looked shriveled and empty (it was). Cum was drooling from Beth's perfect bottom and was splattered on her thighs. Cum, most likely Beth's own, was all over her pubic region and stomach. And, most notably, a fresh load of sticky sperm was all over Beth's pretty face. Through it all, she was smiling happily.

"Wake up, lazybones," Beth said amiably to Sandy. "Your Daddy was very frisky last night. I think you excited him. But I think I excite him too, don't you?"

Sandy looked at Beth with wonder and nodded.

Beth giggled; a delightful sound. "I just had a pantyboy's dream night. You're going to have hundreds, maybe thousands of those in your life. Maybe starting tonight. Are you ready?"

Sandy was very ready. And said so.

"Good," Beth said. "Then get up, take your nightie off and put your high-heeled mules on and stand next to me at the mirror."

Sandy did so. Beth took her nightie off and the heeled, naked beauties stood facing the mirror.

Beth provided the play-by-play commentary. "As you can see, we're both very pretty and feminine. You may even be a little prettier than me – maybe it's the red hair – but it's really a tie."

Sandy looked. It was true.

Beth continued. "You have what I call a "pantyboy beginner's body.' It's really a boy's body, but slim and feminine-looking because of your face and your natural femininity. There's nothing wrong with that, believe me. It will drive men wild with passion and devotion. But as you can see, I've made some enhancements."

Sandy smiled. Those big knockers, wider hips and tiny waist were three obvious enhancements. The big cock was natural, no matter what all those email spammers say.

"This is just a suggestion," Beth said. "But would you like to 'enhance' yourself a bit? Not to my level, though you could do that later if you wished. I mean hormones that will kill your beard, shape you a bit and give you A-cup titties?"

Oh!! Sandy was such a lucky little duckling! I wish I had had a stepmother like that, willing to spend money to make me even more beautiful. Not that I need it now, but my Mom wasn't even willing to spend the money to put me through a decade or so of college. But that's another story.

Sandy began to cry and hug her stepmother. Even though Beth looked so "man-used" and was covered with cum. Sandy's own Daddy's sticky goo. And Beth was so naked. Just like Sandy. Sandy had three full inches of "morning wood" and was panting very heavily in her stepmother's arms. Despite a "draining" night, Beth was stiff and randy yet again. And big and thick.

It would have been wrong for them to have coupled in some way, don't you think?

Oh, what the heck.

Sandy surprised Beth and herself by sinking to her knees and sucking Beth's big cock. It was an impulsive, passionate act – the best kind – committed by a pantyboy whose libido was in supersonic acceleration.

Beth had been planning to arrange for a man's member to be the first cock Sandy sucked. But with Sandy's eager tongue polishing her pretty knob, the plans fell through. Sandy was good at her task. Really good, Beth thought. Either she had been studying Panty Boy magazine very carefully or she was a natural-born cocksucker. Or both. Beth knew that her husband, Sandy's Daddy, was the best cocksucker (for a real man) she had ever met. A nice tiebreaker when deciding which of her hundred or so marriage proposals to accept. The thought of a pantyboy stepson was another nice bonus.

Anyway, Sandy was doing a SUPER job at moistening and creating friction at the best places for such attentions. She was also cuddling Beth's pink purse very nicely and oh! That little scamp had two rude fingers in Beth's bottom. Mmmmm.

Beth loved her stepsissy.

Beth wanted to give the little angel a thick, creamy load, but the best she could manage was one substantial glob, then a lot of watery drool. No matter. The ecstasy, when it arrived, was debilitating.

Sandy swallowed her creamy prize eagerly, pleased with herself for bringing such pleasure to her beloved stepmother.

Beth drew Sandy to her feet and they kissed deeply, exchanging tongues and licking off the messy load that had graced Beth's face when Daddy bade her farewell earlier that morning. Then Beth got onto her knees and returned the favor. Poor Sandy was so needy and aroused that she came hard after only two or three minutes of heavenly stimulation. No matter. Beth swallowed it all, sucked and licked sweet Sandy to another stand, then coaxed a second, thick-and-creamy emission from Sandy's tiny bag of juices.

A nice waker-upper indeed.

The ladies showered after that (together, of course), with lots of kisses and tender tickles. Then they got dressed in girlie ensembles with lingerie and heels that would stop traffic wherever they went that glorious day.

The ladies lunched on tiny salads at a chic bistro, then went to Beth's physician to see about some enhancements for Sandy.

Dr. Phillip Feelup had been Beth's doctor for more than three years. "He's THE expert on pantyboy enhancement," Beth told Sandy. "He's also an octopus with his patients. If you don't mind being handled by a naughty man, you'll love 'Dr. Feel.'"

I can testify that the thought of being handled by a man has never deterred Miss Sandra Spermmore. Especially a man like Dr. Feel. He was about 50, gray at the temples, and heartbreakingly handsome.

Sandy almost got on her back and spread her legs, right there in the waiting room when he said hello. Later on, he had her do just that. For medical reasons, of course.

At first, the doctor was totally professional. "So wonderful to see you again, Miss Loveman," he said to Beth. "I'm sorry, it's Mrs. Spermmore now, isn't it?"

Beth smiled. "Yes, doctor. I'm an old matron now."

Dr. Feel laughed at that and so did Sandy.

Dr. Feel asked, "I've been looking forward to your six-month appointment next week, but I see you've brought me a new patient. My, my. You are very, very beautiful, Miss………"

"Spermmore," Beth said. "Sandy is my stepsissy.'

Dr. Feel's eyes were ablaze and his pants were severely tented. "Yes, of course. How delightful. Please come into my office." [said the spider to the fly]

Beth, Sandy and Dr. Feel entered a place that didn't look like any examining room Sandy had ever seen. It looked like a luxurious hotel room, complete with desk and <gasp> king-sized bed. It also had an examining table and <shudder> stirrups.

"Will you be staying for the exam, Mrs. Spermmore? As a parent, I mean."

Beth smiled. "I believe I will. I'll just sit over here and watch, so you won't get too 'frisky.'"

Dr. Feel smiled wryly, then said, "I have no idea what you mean. Please, get real."

Then the doctor asked Sandy to undress to her lingerie.

"Do I get one of those gowns that open in the back to wear doctor? Are you going to leave the room when I'm undressing?"

"Goodness, no to both questions, my dear. Putting an ugly gown on an angel like you would be a sacrilege. And it would just waste time for me to leave the room. You and your stepmother are busy people, right?"

Sandy thought that the doctor must have answered those questions once or twice before. But she complied. Dr. Feel was licking his lips and actually drooling as Sandy stripped seductively. She adored teasing the handsome man with her body. Was he going to fuck her? Sandy eagerly hoped so. In her mind, she had been a virgin far too long. Unfortunately, Sandy thought that Beth would step in before that happened. And there was no way that Dr. Feel was going to antagonize Beth.

Sandy stood before Dr. Feel in only her black, lacy bra; black, seamed stockings; ruffled, black garter belt; wispy, black panties; and five-inch-stiletto mule sandals. The poor guy's prick was bursting through his pants.

"Just stand straight and let me examine you, my dear," Dr. Feel said.

Then he examined Sandy carefully. For about 45 minutes. With his probing, intrusive, but skilled hands. Rubbing. Feeling. Pinching. Asking intimate questions.

Sandy was so submissive to this, this doctor. This authority figure, who was giving his full attention to her sharp little nipples, had the sweetheart in a proper dither. He seemed to be evaluating the breast areas' suitability for development. And making Sandy wiggle with erotic agony in the process.

Sandy was tingling all over with as-yet-unfulfilled excitement when Dr. Feel had her get on her back, remove her shoes and panties, and place her stockinged feet into the stirrups.

Beth seemed very alert to what was going on. Sandy was panting and whimpering softly, hoping that the handsome man would pull his prick out and stuff it in her.

But he did not.

Instead, Doctor Feel lifted pretty Sandy's pink testicle bag and examined her anus. First visually, then with just the pad of his right index finger. Sandy moaned and moved to the precipice of Cum Cliff.

The doctor was delighted at her response. "Your girlish 'pussy' is lovely, Sweetheart. It appears to be extremely tight. Has a male 'visitor' ever been welcomed to that heavenly place?"

What a nice way to ask if Sandy was still virginal! Sandy gasped and shook her head "No." And moved even closer to the edge of cumminess.

The doctor smiled and moved a chair between Sandy's spread legs. He looked at Beth and said, "Well, then I think I need to conduct the same responsiveness check I gave your stepmother when she showed up for her first exam with me."

Beth smiled at the memory, then nodded her permission.

Dr. Feel's eyes lit up. He turned his head back to his patient, then gently spread her bottom cheeks open with his thumbs. Sandy's pink, wrinkled treasure lay before him. Softly, with gentle lips, the doctor kissed Sandy's warm, tiny hole.

Sandy screamed. And sat straight up. And pumped six huge globs of the thickest cream she had ever produced, all over her stomach, pubic region and Dr. Feel's face.

It was spectacular. And then it got better.

Dr. Feel didn't mind having his face glazed. He seemed to really enjoy it. Then he went for platinum.

The good physician pushed his tongue into the sweet sissy's hole and dug and licked and sucked!

That drew several good, healthy squeals from a frantic Sandy, whose teeny peeny was once again erect and angry-looking.

Oh. A man's tongue was in her bottom!!! She was helpless. At his mercy. All she could do was squeal and cum. So that was what she did.

And some people don't like to visit the doctor. How odd!

Sandy was almost begging for mercy when the doctor finally withdrew his tongue and released her. She was a mess. A happy mess. Still unfucked, but hopeful.

Dr. Feel kissed her sweetly on the lips, used a soft cloth to cleanse her soaked pubic region, then cleaned his face.

"I see unlimited potential for you, my dear. Let me give you this injection – with a syringe, not the other 'injector'—then we'll set up an enhancement schedule for you. As much as I hate to say this, please get dressed."

Reluctantly, Sandy did so. Then Beth said, "Here are the car keys, Sandy. Please drive home, take a nap and drink lots of fluids. I'll wake you around 5 p.m. and get you ready for your first visit to a 'Pink Purse' social function. I think you'll enjoy that very much. Don't worry about me. I need to 'confer' with Dr. Feelup about your treatment. I'll catch a cab home."

Sandy was sure she saw the doctor's cock twitch in his pants when Beth said "confer."

Anyway, she did as Beth asked, a formula that seemed to be working quite well for her. The only difficult thing was driving for the first time in five-inch-stiletto mule sandals. Was that why all those male drivers were honking at her?


Chapter Seven – The Pink Purse

Sandy got home and drank a big glass of juice. Then she stripped naked, put on a simple, blue nightie and lay down for a nap. Her dreams were most sweet.

As promised, Beth awoke Sandy at 5. Beth looked a bit disheveled. And tired. Had she and the doctor… Probably not, Sandy thought, sleepily.

Can you see why we all love Sandy so? She's so innocent, even now.

Anyway, Beth scurried a bit, helping Sandy freshen up for the 7:30 p.m. "social gathering" at the Pink Purse. Sandy showered and powdered, perfumed and primped. She barely had time for a watercress-with-lemon dinner, but by 7 p.m., Sandy and a fully babed-up Beth were in the car and on their way back to the Pink Purse.

As usual, Beth had some advice. "Tuesday is 'babydoll social night,' Sweetie. I brought the prettiest little, and I mean little, white, transparent confection for you, along with matching stockings, garters and stiletto mules. When we get there, we'll go right to the pantyboy dressing room. I'll introduce you to the girls I know, but so many of them get married or find 'other arrangements' that I may not know many. I've asked an old friend, Clint Liquer, to introduce himself. If you want, and only if you want, Clint may be the fellow you want to properly introduce you to 'things.' But you'll meet lots of men tonight. One or more of them may make you astounding offers, including, no kidding, marriage proposals. I recommend you just shrug that off and take your time, picking out the men you want. They'll be working hard to pick you out, believe me. The men will all be in tuxes – a club tradition for 'socials.' You'll see men and pantyboys pairing off and 'disappearing.' Again, take your time. This is a marathon, not a sprint. All the men are successful and have lots of money. They need money, because club dues are quite stiff – just like the patrons – and pantyboys like us, Sweetie, are very high maintenance."

Sandy gulped. It sounded wonderful. A little scary to be the object of such raw lust. But wonderful.

"Will you be staying, Beth?" Sandy asked.

"Yes, for old times' sake. I still have a few friends here among the 'daddies,' even though I'm an old married lady now. And please, don't think this affects my love for your Daddy. That's deep and eternal and he knows it. I've arranged for a wonderful evening…and night… for him with Cathy, one of my bridesmaids, so he didn't seem to mind very much."

Sandy connected a few dots in her head. "So, are your bridesmaids, Carol, Cathy and even <gulp> Donna, girls like us?"

Beth was thinking, "My stepsissy is so deliciously dim," but instead, she said, "Yes, Honey," and hugged her.

Arriving at the Pink Purse, the Spermmore ladies sissied their ways into the club. Seven or eight of the "daddies" had already gathered and were sharing drinks and trying to out-alpha each other. The competitive banter ceased when they spotted Beth and Sandy. The daddies sexually harassed the pretty creampuffs as they crossed their gauntlet on the way to the dressing room. It was wonderful! Even old-hand Beth enjoyed it, especially after a six-month absence from the club.

The daddies weren't just woofing either. Beth and Sandy were dazzlingly feminine and sexy. And Sandy <gasp> was new to the club and <big bonus> a virgin.

Still, Sandy was a bit nervous about measuring up to the competition, most of whom were assembled in the dressing room. The competition was indeed stiff. Literally. But Sandy needn't worry.

Beth opened the door to the pantyboy dressing room and Sandy stepped into the doorway. And viewed a dazzling sight.

More than thirty of the world's most feminine young men were stripping, dressing, primping, strutting, giggling and yacking with each other. Some were very pretty. Some were pretty plain. But even the pulchritudinously challenged pantyboys were feminine and attractive, using every scintilla of their femininity to make themselves desired by men. Just like women in certain parts of the United States, especially the southeast, they made up for raw materials with effort and attitude.

Sandy's penis was stiff and throbbing. Any owner of a penis, looking at those hot, pretty boys, would have been in the same condition.

A few sissy heads turned when Beth and Sandy entered the room. The two new entrants were clearly a cut above the average, but the pantyboys bore them no ill will. There were plenty of men to go around. And pantyboys often enjoy white-hot love affairs with other pantyboys.

The Spermmores found an area with a big mirror and hooks to hang their pretty street clothes. They began to dress themselves in their babydoll outfits when they heard a girlish squeal call out Beth's name.

"Jennifer!" Beth squealed back. Jennifer was a pretty little babe in her early twenties, already in full battle array – black babydoll, panties, garter belt, stockings and high, black, stiletto sandals. She and Beth hugged and kissed like the old friends they were.

"How's married life, Beth?" Jennifer asked.

"Wonderful," Beth gushed. "I have a wonderful husband and, it turns out, a lovely stepsissy, Sandy."

Jennifer hugged Sandy and said, "Oh, Sweetie! You're choice! The men will be stepping all over each other to get to you."

Sandy blushed, then felt her pricklet twitch as she thought of being fought over by a pack of men in tuxedos. Needing her.

Jennifer said, "Beth, I guess you wonder what I'm still doing here at the Tuesday night 'meat market.' As you know, I've had dozens of marriage proposals, and an equal number of men have offered to set me up in a financially beneficial 'arrangement.' But I just wasn't ready to settle down. Until now. This is my last Tuesday, Beth. I'll be marrying 'Dollar Bill' Bopbottom on Saturday."

More squealing and hugging. Sandy wondered, was something like Jennifer's fate to be hers?

Sandy took a moment to look around a bit more closely. Beth, Jennifer and one other pretty boy were wearing black. Only Sandy was in white. Everyone else was in pink. Sandy broke the code – she was new and virginal, thus white. Beth and Jennifer were married or taken, but still up for one night of fun, thus the black. The other girlyboys were pink and available.

At 7:30, a soft bell rang and the door to the dressing room opened. The pantyboys "shyly" emerged, under the leering eyes of a roomful of tuxedoed, mostly hunky, all rich men.

It was heaven for both the men and the pantyboys. The smells of perfume, precum and pheromones were in the air as the nancyboys tottered around on their gigantic heels. All were wearing panties, but the wispy little things were thin and transparent, displaying raw sissy arousal to the admiring predators.

Sandy thought, "These men all want to FUCK us! And we're all going to submit to them. I'm going to surrender to a man's lust tonight, taking his cock into my mouth and my tight bottom. He's going to spray his hot cum over me and inside me. He's going to use me as his fuck toy. And I'm going to let him. No, I'm going to encourage him."

Sandy shuddered with lust.

She was 18 – at the very peak of her sexual needs and capabilities – and a man was going to take her to heaven that evening – and, perhaps, all night. But which one?

Some of the girlieboys seemed to have prearranged liaisons. A tuxedoed man would approach a little angel, and she would submit to his tonguey kisses and almost swoon with passion over his advances. Then the man would do something to show the rest of the room that he "owned" her, such as reach under her baby doll and into her panties, rubbing her perfect bottom with his rough hand, then entering her sweet pussy with one or two fingers as he kissed her deeply. Perhaps licking his fingers after he withdrew them from her bottom. The poor pantyboy would usually melt into her lover's embrace, then gasp and fill her panties with the first of what would surely be many of that evening's creamy emissions. The enamored couple would then disappear into one of the many private, well-equipped bedrooms within the luxuriously appointed club.

Other creampuffs would gather in the center of the room, standing submissively and waiting to be approached by a man or men for conversation and the delights that usually followed.

Sandy noticed that Beth was selected early by a man she seemed to know. He was gorgeous!!!! And he acted as if he had just hit the Lotto for $200 million when Beth agreed to go off with him. Beth gave Sandy as sweet little wave as the dreamboat sailed away with her at the helm.

Sandy was on her own. In a group of 15 or so sissyboys. With men, their "arrows pointed," circling the sissy wagons. It was a tense moment, but Beth came through for Sandy once again.

A man every bit as handsome as the Tom Selleck look-alike Beth had gone off with stepped forward and introduced himself to Sandy. "I'm Clint Liquer. You must be Sandy Spermmore. You're even more beautiful than your stepmother described."

No guy ever got kicked out of bed for saying something like that. Especially a guy like Clint. He was delicious. Broad-shouldered and fit. Forty-something, very self-confident and in-charge.

If he smiled at her with one more watt of power, Sandy was sure she would cream her pretty panties. She didn't want to do that just yet. She wanted to spill her goo with that lovely man as full witness. She wanted that lovely man to lovingly coax her spermies from her pink bag. She wanted him to offer her sticky cream in surrender to the man.

It appeared she would get that opportunity.

"Pardon me for saying so, my beautiful one, but you seem very sexually distressed," he said. "May I offer my full assistance?"

Sandy squeaked out a "Yes, please." Clint offered his hand to Sandy and she took it eagerly. His hand was warm and dry. Hers was embarrassingly moist. Like her panties would be if something didn't happen soon.

Clint led Sandy by the hand to his private club room, what the men called a "stabbin' cabin." It was very elegant, with manly touches. Sandy would have been happy with a bare mattress in a hallway at that point, but she still noticed how nice everything was. How many pantyboys had been entertained in that room, she wondered briefly. Then she dismissed the thought, focusing on the present.

Clint closed the door and said, "Darling, I know you're in pain, but allow me just a few minutes to get out of these confining clothes and I think we'll be able to enjoy each other much more."

Sandy was so excited that her right leg was shaking uncontrollably, as she watched Clint remove his dinner jacket, bow tie and studded, ruffled shirt. He pulled off his suspenders, then sat to remove his shoes and socks. He had nice feet, she thought idly, but when he pulled his trousers down and stood before her in his boxers and undershorts, she forgot about his feet. He was about six inches taller than she was, so in her five-inch stilettos, they were almost the same size. He moved in to embrace and kiss her and Sandy felt every boyish corpuscle evacuate her body.

Their first kiss was astoundingly spectacular. She smelled his Brut aftershave and felt the slight rub of his well-shaved beard as his parted, wet lips met her glossed pillows of love. Sandy whimpered softly as she felt Clint's private parts collide with hers. He was very stiff and quite large. Sandy felt Clint's tongue invade her mouth and she sucked it greedily. Ohhhh. His hands were on her shoulder blades, then on the small of her back, then they were caressing the soft globes of her exquisite bottom.

Sandy gasped as Clint's bold fingers slid under the edges of her panties and began to ease them down. Sandy ran up the white flag. Clint could have his way with her. Clint freed Sandy's popsy from its silken confinement. Ohhhh. Clint's own rammer had escaped his silk boxers and was rubbing rudely against Sandy's teeny peeny. Kissing deeply. Rubbing. Oh. Oh.

Sandy's eyes opened wide. She squealed and her gut constricted with the ecstatic agony of womanly fulfillment. Her pretty purse pumped glob after glob of hot, girlish cream all over her trimmed, pubic hair, her little willie and her dangling pearls. She doused her lover's genitals as well and he grunted in satisfaction, but did not cum. Masterfully, he picked her up, carried her to the bed, laying her on her back. Clint lifted Sandy's nightie above her nipples and straddled her quivering form. He began to kiss and worship each pointed treasure in turn, making her whimper in submissive delight. He rubbed his stiff weapon on her silky thigh as he tongued and licked each nipple. Sandy fully expected each erect, tortured beauty to spurt cream. Her lovely clitty was certainly ready to do so once again. Sandy made a pouty face when Clint abandoned her nipples and kissed his way down her soft tummy. She giggled when he tongued her "outie" belly button, then moaned with pleasure as Clint began to lick up the residue of her previous creamy emission. It was so intimate and so dirty! Her foreskin was completely back and her cocklet head was purple with blood. Then Clint took her tiny treasure into his mouth.


The naughty man rolled his tongue around the throbbing head of Sandy's perfect jewel of pleasure. Sandy arched her back and gasped. She was so small and compact that Clint took her entire cocklet and pink purse into his mouth and gave them the full attention of his mouth and tongue. Sandy felt a deep rumbling that presaged a spermstorm – no, a sperm hurricane. Sandy stroked Clint's ears, muttered his name, screamed and came. Hard. Bucking. Crying. Moaning. Pumping thick, hot cum down her lover's throat as he continued to suck her expertly and swallow her creamy fluids with delight.

Another good tip from my stepmother, Sandy thought.

But poor Clint hadn't cum yet. That was about to be resolved.

"I'm going to fuck you now, Darling," he said, as he removed his undershirt and boxers.

"OK, Daddy," the pantyboy said, getting in the spirit of things at the Pink Purse.

Oh, Clint had a lovely body. Hairy and muscled. Sandy got a good look at his cock for the first time. A little above average in length and quite thick. Uncircumsized. And very "angry" at that moment.

Clint reached into the nightstand drawer and withdrew a tube of lubricant. He rubbed a lot on his stiff cock and on three of his fingers. Then he lay beside Sandy as he kissed her lips, telling her how sweet and lovely she was. Sandy soaked up the praise. Then he entered her taut "pussy" with one finger. She gasped and kissed him more ardently. Two fingers. She winced at the initial discomfort, but then enjoyed it.

"You're very tight, Sweetheart. I'll get you good and loose first so that you'll enjoy everything from the first."

Clint was right. Getting the third finger in took some effort. He rolled and rotated his thick fingers, opening the pretty boy up as much as possible. Sandy grunted with pleasure and wild anticipation.

When Clint withdrew his fingers and rolled Sandy onto her stomach. When he eased three big pillows under her belly button, Sandy knew her time had come.

Clint contemplated his spectacular prize. A virginal, eager, totally feminine young angel – buttocks parted and inviting Clint's rigid attacker. Her legs were slightly parted, revealing a hint of her wrinkled, engorged scrotum. Her perfect bottom was soft, smooth, pink, plump and framed by white stocking tops and a white garter belt.

Clint decided to tease her just a tiny bit more. He ran a finger lightly down the seam of each stocking, from thigh to toe. She purred and trembled. Then he lightly kissed the soles of her feet, making her squeal. Clint filed the fact that sandy was very sensitive in the tootsies away for future reference.

Clint terminated the teasing. He got behind Sandy, on his knees. His stiff cock addressed its pouting, moist target. He touched his peehole to Sandy's anus. She whimpered and said, very softly, "Oh, please, sir. Put your thing in me. Make me happy. I want it so badly."

When was the last time anyone said that to you?

It certainly stirred Clint's stones.

Taking perfect aim, Clint pushed his hips forward, easing the intruder into its new home with relative ease. Rather than a tearing sound, all that was audible was a sound best described as a "slurp," as Sandy's pussy swallowed Clint's big boner. She took it all, as he gave it to her in one steady push. Sandy's jaw was clenched in expectation of pain. But the pain never arrived. Only the incredibly warm feeling of being fully possessed by a loving man. Of giving and receiving heavenly pleasure. Of being pretty and feminine and sexual. And feeling very, very "full."

Sandy gasped with delight, as well as with the sensation of a cock in her bottom, stomach, esophagus and throat. It was only an illusion, but a powerful one. She felt a strong and uncomfortable urge to poop, but that went away in short order. As did the feeling of her body being choked by cock.

Sandy's system adjusted and she was left with the pure pleasure of a woman being fucked by a strong, loving man. She giggled a little at the "squishy" sounds as he shoved his business in and out of her pretty bottom. She enjoyed his small moans, which told her Clint was having as much fun as Sandy was. That made her feel extra-womanly.

She adored when he began to kiss her warm neck, saying things like, "You're a perfect angel, made for a man's love. This is the greatest moment of my life." Stuff like that. Sandy would have done ANYTHING Clint even hinted at after that.

But his best move was to reach around Sandy's right hip and begin to expertly stroke her pretty knoblet as he fucked her. Then he reached around her other hip and used his left hand to caress her pink bag and little pearls. He was skinning her so sweetly.

Clint shifted position a bit and Sandy squealed loudly. Each stroke was now rubbing directly on Sandy's prostate!!!! And he was moving her foreskin back and forth along that tender flesh. And softly touching her little peanuts with the pads of his fingers. And kissing her neck.

Sandy felt the primal big bang, from her painted toenails to the ends of each of the thousands of strands of her red hair. She screamed as if she were being murdered (the male part of her indeed was). She quivered helplessly and began to spurt the entire liquid content of her body, well almost, onto the pile of pillows under her peeny. The cock in her bottom tripled the sensation, making it leagues more intense than the most intensive orgasm she had ever imagined.

The sensations that Sandy's stroke-like cum imparted to Clint's cock made his big bag of nuts surrender their cargo as well. Thick strands of hot cum entered Sandy's bottom midway through her extended orgasm, prolonging and intensifying the little angel's sweet agony even more.

Sandy told me later that she could have died happy at that moment with Clint. It would have been a tragic moment for the men of this world if she had. Especially for Clint, whose night of golden memories was just beginning.

Clint was in love. For the first time in his life. Sandy thought she was in love, but her stepmother had given her so many cautions about falling in love with the first guy she saw, that poor Clint was eliminated before he even entered the race. [Of course, winning a sissy's heart, even when you're worth $875 million, like Clint, isn't a sprint. Perhaps Clint will re-enter this epic at some point later on.]

Clint's cock, of course, was the first "manmeat" that Sandy ever sucked.

After their first fuck, Clint rolled onto his back. His cock was still lodged in his Love's bottom, so Sandy rolled with him. Her "invader" shriveled a bit and fell out with a loud "plop." She felt a little empty, but felt much better when Clint gathered her into his arms. They settled a bit more comfortably, but both were breathing very heavily from their vigorous exercise.

"That was incredible, Sandy!" Clint said. "My best ever. You're wonderful!"

Sandy vibrated with praise. She said nothing, but pouted her lips for a kiss.

Where did she learn to do that? Clint wondered.

Clint kissed her tenderly.

They softly caressed each other's bodies. In no hurry. Exploring.

Sandy loved how Clint reacted when she began to fondle his big cock. It was so different from hers. Almost like a different species. It had prominent veins on either side. Blue and throbbing with blood. His ball bag was long and heavy, with thick, hairy skin. His stones were large and hard.

Clint's cock displayed the residue of its recent adventure. It was wet with cum and anal juices and flecked with little specks of Sandy's poop.

To Sandy, it looked like a delicious feast.

She played with his cock for a little while, making him groan and stiffen.

When Clint's rammer was back to its full "potential," Sandy said, "Would you stand up, please, Daddy? I want to be on my knees, totally submissive to you as I make your big thing happy with my mouth and tongue."

"Daddy" was eager to comply.

He stood next to the bed and watched in eager anticipation as Sandy pulled her nightie over her head and stood before her lover in only her stockings and garter belt. Coquettishly, she brushed her lips against his, then knelt in front of him.

Clint gazed down at the sight all men dream of. A kneeling, gorgeous, nearly naked, feminine treasure, eager to suck his cock. Beautifully mascaraed, lined and shadowed eyes, looking up expectantly – seeking permission for the carnal act she ached to commit. Well, he wasn't about to impede her in any way.

Sandy made sure Clint's foreskin was all the way back before she set to work. Clint's pink knob was dripping a yummy stream of sweet, tasty goo. Sandy knew he was dripping in appreciation of her charms and it made her feel warm all over. She giggled as she felt Clint's thick mancream drool from her bottom, down each thigh. She'd have to learn how to put a tampon in there, keeping a man's juices in her bottom where it belonged.

Clint's knob had a lovely ridge around it, sensitive to Sandy's gentle fingers rubbing softly around it. Under the big head, the ridge ran to an arrow point – the most sensitive spot on a man's body. A girl with a wet tongue could drive a man wild if she applied it the right way on that arrow point.

Sandy kissed Clint's cockhead and gave the peehole an excellent tonguing. Clint shuddered with pleasure. She giggled at his reaction. She was pretty good at making a man crazy. Believe me, she got better.

Sandy reached between Clint's legs and carefully scratched from the top of his bottom crack to the bottom, with his red, lacquered nails.

A star was born.

Sandy entered Clint's anus with two manicured fingers as she took his entire cockhead I her mouth and gave it a superb licking. Her tongue circumnavigated Clint's mushroom as she sought Clint's prostate with her fingers.

She found it.

And Clint found heaven.

Because he had cum once before and because he was an experienced lover, Clint managed to hold off for nearly three agonizing, ecstatic minutes before frosting Sandy's face with the full measure of his manliness. Three minutes of red nails scraping his prostate as a wet, loving tongue rolled around and around his cockhead, settled on his arrowpoint, then rolled again.

Just imagine.

Sandy giggled throughout her first "facial." She was happy. And totally emasculated. No hetero man would allow another man to pump thick ropes of hot cum all over his face. Sandy was feminine forever. Submissive, yet freer than she had ever been.

Clint and Sandy's night of golden memories stretched into about 72 hours, during which the lovers left the bed only to answer nature's call, wash up, change sheets or regain their strength by ringing for some food.


Chapter Eight – Fortune, then fame and more fortune

That Friday, when Clint and Sandy finally tore themselves apart, Sandy was tired, but she was beginning to understand the power she had over men.

Pussy was power.

Pantyboy pussy was absolute power.

The submissive, pantied angels wielded power far beyond those of mortal men.

Sandy was reassured of that when, after a much-needed ten hours of sleep, alone, on Friday night, her stepmother awoke her on Saturday and escorted her to a living room filled with a dozen, dozen yellow roses.

It appeared that Clint was very grateful. He also sent her a small box that contained a big prize – a three-carat, perfect diamond, set in a lovely, gold necklace. I've seen Sandy wear it many times. Since it began a collection of jewelry that rivals the British Museum, it had great sentimental value to her.

Sandy's sissy stepmother was very pleased. "You're going to be a world-class pantyboy," Beth said. "I wouldn't be surprised if you ended up in Panty Boy magazine."

Sandy blushed. Surely that couldn't happen, she thought.

Well, we already know it did.

Sandy became the belle of the Pink Purse. She was too popular to need to participate in all the socials – Mary-Janes Monday, Wedding-Veil Wednesday, Lingerie Fridays – but she did anyway. She wanted to experience it all. And she did.

After six months of delicious debauchery, her titties had grown to an A-cup, her waist had shrunken, her hips expanded and her femininity reached a world-class level.

Sandy's reputation, as it happened, had reached Fromage, Wisconsin, home of the Panty Boy empire and its capo di tutti capi, Nick Nickerson.

One Saturday evening, after Sandy had risen from a little liaison with a sweet creampuff named Dolly, she received a note that she had an important visitor waiting for her in the main lobby – Nick Nickerson.

Sandy had dreamed about being in Panty Boy since she had creamed in her panties reading her first issue.

Could the Great One have journeyed to her town to ask her to grace the cover of the next issue? Would he try a glass slipper on her or something?

Sandy insisted on an hour to freshen herself up – two hours would have been better, but she didn't want Nick to give up and leave.

Nick got up when he saw a dazzling Sandy enter the room. The tent in his pants did, anyway.

Even Nick was impressed.

Well, of course you know what happened. Nick whisked Sandy off to Fromage. After he fucked her, of course. Sandy told everyone she would be home in a week. That was two years ago. But she will go back.

Beth and Daddy encouraged Sandy to go with Nick. They knew star quality when they saw it. And so did Nick.

Sandy did that cover pictorial where she showed her girlish, be-tittied body to legions of heterosexual. American men. The one where she dresses for bed in her bedroom, says goodnight to her Mom and Dad, then helps her boyfriend climb in her bedroom window and fuck her sissy brains out. The email address Panty Boy set up for men to write Sandy exploded with responses. Whenever she was in a public place, men would look at her with recognition. Men walking with their wives. Or with their buddies. Afraid to admit to their friends that they ache for pantyboys. The same friends who share that dirty little secret. Men love pantyboys. But they tell no one about that.

Of course, the men, Amy, Judy, Sandy and I know tell us all the time how much they love us.

I'll tell you more about all of us after my next story about, ta-da, me!!!!! It's called "Slacker Moms" and it's a tale of cruelty – mothers who refuse to let their sons (one of whom was me) exercise their birthright, namely, ten or so years to get through college and grad school before we have to get one of those (ick) job things. When we refused to follow their inhuman agenda, they pantied my friends and me!!! Well the last laugh was on Mom. I'll never need a job. Men give me things, besides sperm, I mean.

I'm a pantyboy.


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