Dear Reader,
The following is the first of what I hope will be several shorter (for me), romantic pieces that I'm calling "Panty Boy Love Stories." They will be told either from the perspective of the man or his sweet, feminine lover and, like all my stories, will have happy endings. Please let me know what you think at gingerfred99@yahoo.com

 

Trained

by Gingerfred Man

 

Chapter One – Chance Favors the Prepared

We met one lovely day, ten years ago, on a train from Oxford to London.

I was returning home from a business meeting and chose a six-seater compartment in first class.

The details of the meeting went through my head and I decided that it had been an unqualified success. You could have described me in those same words. At 35, I was succeeding in business in a way even I could not have predicted. That success was a key reason for my appearance on several "most eligible bachelor" lists in London. That and my good looks and sculpted, manly body.

Was I proud? Yes. Conceited? A little. Cocky? Almost nine inches worth.

So why was I still single?

I hadn't met the right girl. Until that train ride.

My self-review ended soon after we left the station, as two people joined me in the previously empty compartment.

A very attractive pair they were. A lovely woman of about 40 years and a dazzlingly beautiful young girl who appeared to be in her late teens.

The woman nodded slightly to me and she and the girl took their seats across from me. The angelic girl was agitated and uncomfortable. The woman seemed to be making things worse, not better, by nagging the little doll. "Sit up, straight, girl. Mind your posture. Hold your head up."

The pretty teen said, "Yes, Mama," but it appeared she was near tears.

The mother was wearing a pink Chanel suit, with satiny beige stockings covering an excellent pair of legs. She was blonde and wore her long hair in a bun. She had taken some time with her make-up and it showed.

The girl had a very pretty, frilly, white, half-sleeve dress, with skirts so short that she had to hold them down to avoid flashing me. She was bare-legged, with lacy white socks and shoes that I believe are called Mary Janes. What I could see of her face, when it wasn't cast down, was amazing. The most beautiful face I have ever seen, before or after that moment. Big, liquid eyes, made to mascaraed, shadowed, lined, enchanting perfection. Puffy, red-glossed lips that begged for a man's soul. High-cheekbones and a firm chin. And skin the texture of silk and color of cream.

I pretended to read my Financial Times as I sneaked peeks at the earthbound angel. After about 15 minutes of the hour-long ride to Paddington Station, the mother's nagging drove me to say the single most important sentence of my life.

"Your son is incredibly beautiful, Madam."

The woman's face was ashen. She stammered, "H-h-how did you know?"

I smiled. I had both ladies' full attention.

"I' m a lifelong admirer of sissies, Madam. Some say I have a gift for spotting sissies. But your son was an easy identification. She's far too beautiful and feminine to be a genetic woman. She's spectacular!"

The girl moaned in what appeared to be real pain as she looked at her mother, then at me. Fear and humiliation were in her eyes. My heart went out to her.

"How long have you been dressing like this, Sweetheart?" I asked the feminine treasure.

Her mother, of course, answered for her. "Six months. Since she was 18. I didn't want any of those do-gooders coming after me with child-rights violations."

Since it didn't appear that the girl would say anything except "Yes, Mama," I asked her mother, "Why is she so agitated?"

"Hmmmpphhh," her mother said. "Good question. I give her everything. Buy her lovely clothes. Even hired a woman as a femininity coach. This is the thanks I get."

I didn't ask the obvious question of why she was being feminized. If that angel had remained a man, someone should have been arrested.

What I did ask was, "How did you go about feminization?"

I didn't expect the woman to answer, but she did. She described the hormone program (wrong types of drugs for that lovely), the punishments and humiliation (stupid, stupid, stupid for someone for whom men would start global conflicts over), and the general nagging that seemed to be the mother's specialty.

I suppose the expression on my face demonstrated my disapproval, because she said, "Do you think I should have done things differently?"

I could have given the mother a litany that would have taken us to London and back, but all I said was, "I believe the major reason you've had difficulty is because you've used all stick and no carrot."

The mother appeared very interested. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"This beautiful person has experienced all the difficulties of transition with no taste of its rewards. She hasn't had the delicious comforts of her fellow sissies or experienced submission to the will and needs of an adoring man."

"You mean she needs ……………….."

"Yes," I said. "Regular injections of hot spunk in her bottom delivered by a man who would put her on a pedestal higher than any woman ever dared to dream of. Love. Kissing. And at-least-thrice-daily purges of her boyish juices through loving milkings. When was the last time this young lady was milked?"

The woman was completely startled….. searching for words. "Milked? I had no idea," she said.

Why do amateurs try to feminize? Especially with someone who, if there were a Mount Rushmore for sissies, would occupy the center position.

This was truly horrible. That lovely child had never been milked!! The sperm and testosterone were still in there, working against her femininity. Tormenting her.

I sprang into action. "Madam, I believe this is an emergency. If you'll allow me, I will show you how you need to have a man, not you, a boy or a sissy, milk this lovely person. At LEAST three times a day. Do you have any Kleenex, Madam?"

Puzzled, she said, "Yes, I believe so."

"Then get it out and be ready to catch your lovely sissy's spunk when it flies. We don't want it all over the compartment."

Things were moving very rapidly, but the sheepish mother was in my command for that moment. The sissy was another matter.

She was not stupid. The little creampuff knew that something was about to change in her life and she wasn't sure she wanted it.

I was completely gentle with her. "Come sit on my lap, Darling. I'm going to help you feel much better. I won't hurt you, I swear."

She was very fearful. When she looked at her mother, who ordered her harshly to go sit on my lap, she obeyed. But she was still terrified.

Her warm bottom caressed my thighs. I could smell her delicious perfume. Her femininity assaulted my senses.

I put my left arm around her waist and held her right hand gently in mine.

"What's your name, Sweetheart?" I asked.

She looked at her mother first, who nodded. Her gorgeous eyes were downcast as she said, "Angela."

I knew she was an angel. I told her so. "That's a beautiful name, Angela. I thought of the angels when I saw you. Now I know your mother must have too when she named you."

Angela gave me the briefest hint of a smile. And I saw a significant rise in her skirts. For the first time in a while, Angela was enjoying something.

I asked her, "You have a dull ache, don't you? You feel it all over, but especially in your privates."

She looked at me and nodded enthusiastically, without even looking at her mother for approval. The key to any woman's heart is always a man who understands her. "Yes, she said. That's it. What can I do?"

I gave her a little hug. "We're going to begin to take care of that right now. I'll show you how, but your mother is going to have to follow up for you, OK?"

Angela looked at me, then her mother. She didn't seem very confident that her mother would help her.

Turning to the matter at hand, I said, "My name is Thomas. I want to be your friend. Could I have a little kiss?"
Without looking at her mother, she brushed her lips against mine.

She gasped. I gasped. It was a gaspworthy moment.

I wanted to take that sissy home and make her the queen of my life. I knew nothing about her, but I wanted to spend the rest of my days learning it all.

Her eyes were very wide and I didn't know what she was thinking. My guess was that she felt similarly.

I interpreted her dive into my arms and attachment of her lips to mine as confirmation of my supposition.

My head spun. Her lips ignited my soul.

I had had several girlfriends in my life, GG and sissy, and from that moment on, I never remembered a single one of them or what they looked like.

We kissed like starving animals. The excitement was adding to her unmilked predicament, so I kept kissing her as I slipped my hand under her short skirts.

Her tiny panties were very crowded with her stiffie. I felt her pantied privates and was stunned by the heat her little cock and balls were emitting. You could have heated half the East End for a week in January with that radiation.

She was gasping and panting as we kissed and when I touched her covered little pricklet, she squealed.

That was the single greatest moment of my life to that point. But things got better.

Somehow, I managed to nudge her panties over her red, swollen, throbbing clitty without her cumming her pretty guts out. She closed her bare, warm thighs on my hand and I almost destroyed my quite expensive, tailored trousers.

I broke off kissing her to ask her to lift her skirts for me. She did so and I gazed at her treasures for the first time. I held her bare clitty in my gentle hand. It was about three-and-a-half-inches high, with proportionate thickness, and attended by a lovely set of little peanuts in a pink, wrinkled bag.

She squirmed passionately, making sounds that enhanced my enjoyment tremendously.

"You're the most beautiful girl in the galaxy," I said truthfully, then covered her lips with mine. She kissed me ardently as I tickled her nuts and rubbed her cocklet in all the right spots. When she gave the cutest grunt, I signaled to her mother to place the Kleenex in position.

When Angela spurted, I muffled her scream by inserting my tongue into her beautiful mouth.

She shuddered with pleasure, helplessly ejecting most of the remaining vestiges of her masculinity.

Then she began to cry.

I knew they were happy tears. I held Angela lovingly as her mother used her Kleenex to mop up the remains of a great amount of sticky, sissy cream. Angela's face was buried in my chest as sobs of love and femininity racked her perfect body.

Then the door to the compartment opened.

Well, we didn't expect that.

Angela was on my lap. Her skirt was up to her delicious belly button. Her cocklet was limp and dripping big strands of goo. Her mother was holding a wad of cum-soaked Kleenex. And I was holding a cum-drained Angela.

The conductor said, "Tickets! All tick…."

Then he stopped. And assessed the situation.

Angela pulled her skirts down and looked horribly embarrassed. But she didn't leave my lap.

The conductor said, "Sorry to interrupt, sir. Madam. That's a beautiful sissy you have there, sir. A right prize, she is. Are you her father?"

A good question. A loving father would take over much of the milking duties in a sissy's happy home.

"No, Conductor. The young lady and I have just met, actually."

The conductor took our tickets. Angela's mother seemed very embarrassed.

"Well, then, sir," he said. We only have 25 minutes until Paddington, but I'm guessing you'll need some items. I'll be right back."

The three of us looked at each other. Then I resumed kissing Angela and stroking her beautiful popsy back to a half-stiffie.

Three minutes later, the conductor reappeared.

"Here you are, sir. Fresh panties for the young lady. Just in case there are messes, you know. A size medium aren't you, miss?"

Angela nodded.

"And for you, sir. A tube of K-Y lubricant. I know sissies need regular injections of our manly spunk. You'll be wanting to fuck her pretty bottom for sure. No man with opportunity would pass up a bum like that. The wife's a sissy, you know, and we're blissfully happy. And here, sir. Two kinds of gags – ball and cloth – so the little sweetheart doesn't startle the passengers as she screams when you penetrate her. And don't worry, sir. I'll make sure you're not disturbed."

My goodness! What an enlightened public servant. I took out a fifty-pound note and gave it to him. He made a show of refusing, but accepted. Then he tipped his hat to all three of us and disappeared, saying, "Enjoy your sissy, sir."

I had 21 minutes. Should I lube her up and stick my big business into her?

It seemed awfully crass. But what if I never saw her again? Would I always regret not having taken that treasure's cherry?

We kissed some more and I made my decision. Angela deserved to be loved between clean sheets and under a naked man.

But there was other fun to be had. And Angela initiated it.

Angela may have been acting on sissy instinct, but she did exactly the right things. She got on her knees and pulled down my zipper.

My cock was outrageous when she extracted it from my boxers. She gasped when she saw its size, then blushed when she saw that I had witnessed her delight.

Her mother watched with great interest as Angela kissed my cockhead with the world's fullest, reddest lips.

As a mature man, I always prided myself in my ability to hold back my emissions until the exactly correct moment. Not that day.

Angela kissed my cockhead for less than a minute, gave it seven licks, then swirled her tongue around its large circumference. My guts ignited and I covered my perfect baby's face with nearly a pint of my manly goo.

I felt so stupid for cumming so fast. But that feeling was crushed and shredded by the joy of my stupendous orgasm. My eyes clenched from the agony of my delight, but when I opened them I saw a smiling, no, a beaming Angela's cum-drenched face and I made up my mind that the rest of my life would be spent adoring her.

Her mother was a different matter. She sat there unsure of what to do. She would have needed a boxful of Kleenex to clean Angela's face. I solved the problem by licking Angela's pretty face clean, which grossed out Mama, but made Angela stiff and ready once again.

I stood my Love up and sat myself in the seat. She held her skirts up and offered me her pricklet once again. It was red and throbbing. And a picture of femininity. I began by giving her little sissy bag a good licking. Mmmmmm. She liked that. And she squealed very sweetly as I sucked each little nut gently. When I took her little popsy into my mouth, I massaged her perfect, bubble bottom with both hands.

"Oh, Thomas," she said. "Oh, Thomas!" Then she squealed (rather loudly, I'm afraid) But no one disturbed us. The 50 pounds were well spent.

Her cock and balls were tiny, but she came in buckets. Her juices were nectar. Creamy and sweet. Girl's cum. From an angel.

Drained and limp, she fell into my arms, where I covered her with kisses and praise.

Since London would be upon us in ten minutes, we had to make ourselves presentable for detraining.

Angela's mother thanked me for my "instruction," then she nagged Angela unmercifully to get herself in order.

Angela kept looking at me for a clue as to what to do.

One minute out of the station, Angela asked me, "Will I see you again?"

I said, "It's your choice, my love. You're an adult and can decide for yourself. You can go with your mother, which is a situation you know. Or you can come with me. I swear to you that I will treat you like the princess of the world for as long as you want me. You can come to my apartment in Chelsea and live with me in comfort and I will love you, protect you and worship you. But you don't know me, so I could be lying."

Angela's mother said, "Don't be stupid, girl. Let's get moving."

The train stopped. Angela looked at me. She looked at her mother, who had her by the arm and was hustling her off the train. I followed at a respectful distance.

They dismounted the train. Mama was pulling the love of my life away. Ten feet. Twenty. Angela looked back at me over her shoulder and I held out my hand across the 30 feet.

Angela broke her mother's grip and ran back to me and into my arms.

I smothered her in my embrace, lifted her, and swung her around 360 degrees. I covered her with kisses as she sobbed tears of joy. I sobbed too. I was in love, for the first time in my life, with someone I had known for one hour.

Her mother stood and looked at us for a few seconds, dismissed us with a nasty gesture and stormed off.

How did I ever get so lucky?

 

Chapter Two – Together

As we stepped outside of Paddington Station, Angela's emotions were on a sine curve. She was clutching me as if I were her only hope for survival, sobbing softly, worried that she had rejected her mother, who gave her life, for me, who had promised her the full pleasure of that life. Was I for real? If I were, would I love her forever? If I did, would it be worth what she had just done to her mother?

We found a cab quickly and Angela and I climbed in. I think it eased her anxiety when I gave the driver a very fashionable address. If I had taken her to an East End rowhouse, I think her despair would have been enormous. OK, she wanted the good life.

As the cabbie negotiated the midday traffic, I held my darling in my strong arms and gave her all the comfort I could muster. I didn't want the driver to know our business, but I did say, "Your mother will come around, Sweetheart."

I think Angela doubted that. But she gave me a brave smile. She was so sweet and beautiful, even when she was sad.

I had to ask, "Your father?"

She frowned. "He left when I was eight."

No male influences. A domineering mother. The girl needed a man's love and I was her man.

We arrived at my home at around 2 p.m. It's a fine residence on a lovely street. Angela was brightening.

I paid the cabbie, then rang my bell. '

Angela was wondering whom I lived with.

That was answered when the door opened and a sturdy, good-natured, 40-something man appeared. He was wearing a white shirt, red tie and black vest. His eyes lit up when he saw us, especially when he saw Angela. She stuns men.

"Welcome back, sir," he said. "And a welcome to you, Miss."

"Thank you, Charles. The lady's name is Angela and she will be staying with us forever."

Charles is my valet and true friend. He looked at both of us and darned near forgot himself. I thought he was going to hug me, but valets don't do that.

"Are there any bags, Mr. Wesley?"

"No, Charles. I'll need your help concerning the lady's things."

"Very good sir. May I fix something to eat for you and Miss……."

I was embarrassed to say that I didn't know my true love's last name.

Angela giggled and said, "Wesley. Angela Wesley."

The little scamp had us married already.

We went to the kitchen, where Charles fixed us a light snack and some fluids (which we would need later that day.

Then I took Charles aside and gave him instructions about items Miss Angela would need. Fortunately, there's an all-night sissy-supply store only three blocks from my flat.

Charles disappeared. I took Angela into my arms to kiss her.

"It's wonderful in your home, Thomas," she said. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"Would you like to see the rest of the flat?"

Angela blushed, "Only your room, for now."

Her skirts were bulging again.

Wow.

I picked her up and carried her, squealing happily, to the master bedroom.

I have a huge, king-sized bed and an adjoining bath, with a doublewide, sunken tub and doublewide shower.

My flirty little princess said, "I feel so dirty. Maybe I'd better shower. You're a little dirty too."

Invitation accepted. I unzipped my darling and helped her out of her pretty, white dress. She stood before me in bra, slip, panties, shoes and frilly socks. Ohhhh, she was beautiful.

I removed my suit coat, then my pants and shoes. Angela took her slip, shoes and socks off. Her feet were darling! Pink, painted toes, begging for kisses. Her legs were smooth and luscious.

I kept undressing and stood nude, hairy and buff before the love of my universe.

She gasped in awe. And erected fiercely. Then she removed her bra and showed me the prettiest, puffiest nipples in history. They weren't titties yet, but weren't flat either. They were almost two-inches in diameter, dark brown, puffed and delicious.

We stood naked, separated by two feet of air. We closed the gap. Then we were clutching, rubbing, kissing like crazy people. I wanted to throw Angela on the floor and fuck her there. She would have enjoyed it and so would I. But making love to Angela was to be savored, not rushed.

I cupped her warm buttocks in both my hands and carried her to the shower. I turned it on to a preset, pleasant temperature, then toted her into its warm stream.

"Thomas, Oh, Thomas," she moaned. "Not yet, I have to pee very badly."

I kissed her, licking her pallet with my tongue. "Then pee," I said. "I'm not releasing you."

She blushed. "I couldn't," she said.

"You could," I insisted.

Being naughty was something she had to learn. But I was happy to instruct her.

I clutched Angela even more closely to me. Then I heard her gasp and felt her warm, fragrant, golden liquid stream over my chest and stomach. The water washed it quickly away, but she really liked the naughtiness. Angela hadn't seen nothin' yet.

One good pee deserves another, so I released my strong urine all over her. She squealed with surprise, then grabbed my cock and aimed the stream back at me. Very playful. And sexy.

I took a face cloth and soaped it lavishly. Then I stood behind my lover and fused her back with my front. She sighed. I rubbed my stiff cock against her creamy, silky back. She trembled with lust.

I kissed her neck then stepped back and began to wash her rear portions – neck, shoulders, back, delicious bottom, legs, heels. I did it slowly and sensuously, a proper appetizer for the lovemaking feast that would follow.

When she was squeaky clean in her rear areas, she turned completely around and pouted her mouth for a kiss. I fell into the pool of her lust. We kissed greedily and selfishly. Only Angela mattered to me at that moment and for many moments thereafter.

As she clutched me, I freed my right hand and directed my stiff cock where it would be well enjoyed. Angela's fiery, sensitive cockhead was leaking her girlish juices as I rubbed my own big knob against it. She moaned as we kissed and rubbed hundreds of nerve endings together. My left hand cupped her smooth buttocks, then fingered the cleft at the top of her cheeks' separation.

Rubbing. Kissing. Exploring. Loving.

The little treasure said, "Thomas, I……" And then I felt her hot cum spurting all over my manly privates.

It was a wonderful moment. So wonderful, that I immediately returned the favor, creaming her stomach with hot ball juice.

I said it first, although I knew it was centimeters from her tongue.

"I love you, Angela."

Angela's eyes ignited. She hugged me as warm water cascaded on us and said, "I love you more, Thomas."

Well. It was good that we established that. I was completely certain that both statements were true (except for Angela's "more" part) and will be true forever.

Somehow, I managed to get through the business of soaping and cleaning my sweet baby until, giggling with happiness, we stepped out of the shower. We dried each other off with the huge, fluffy towels that Charles had provided, taking lots of teasing, kissing breaks until the jobs were done.

When I led Angela back into my bedroom, the value of a good valet was apparent. Charles had zipped over to the 24/7 sissy-supply store and had laid out on the bed three lovely options for our enjoyment. There was a mega-naughty, frilly, black basque with garter straps that would hook to silky, black stockings, with matching spiked mules. A pink bra and wispy panties; with lacy, pink garter belt and pink pumps. And an amazingly erotic, sheer, white babydoll nightie; stay-up, seamed white stockings; and white, six-inch-stiletto mules.

Good man, that Charles. He had also left Miss Angela's (as he called her) purse and its cosmetics for maximum effect.

Angela blushed as she saw the garments. Hadn't her mother given her pretties like that to wear? She also knew that one of those sets she would always remember as the one she had on when she was finally and totally emasculated (and fucked).

I watched with interest as she made her selection. She looked at me for my preference, but it was her call.

Still, when she chose "virginal" white, I wasn't surprised.

Angela gave me a kiss that promised the world's finest delights, then told me, "Be a good boy while I fix my face and get dressed."

I loved when she was a little cheeky like that.

I was already naked, so, after removing the black and pink outfits from the bed and storing them for future adventures, my only task was to breathe deeply and try not to waste a good cum just from anticipation.

I waited. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. Pleasure delayed is pleasure enhanced, I told myself. And at 22 minutes and 18 seconds, I was proven right.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have seen feminine carnality in all its perfection thousands of times since that day, but, since that was the first time I witnessed it, really witnessed it, I was dumbstruck!

Angela had naughtied up her make-up, especially on her beautiful eyes. Her long, smooth legs were highlighted by her silky, white stockings and deliciously toned by her spiked mules. Five inches shorter than I am, Angela was equal to my height in those skyscrapers. The nightie was far sexier than nudity, though its filmy folds revealed virtually every aspect of her tasty form.

Angela's bottom jutted backwards in lewd invitation. I hadn't seen her "pussy' yet, but I was feeling lucky.

My Love's little pricklet was tenting the material of her nightie, whose briefness barely extended to cover her little wrinkled bag of walnuts.

I was lying on my bed naked, propped up with pillows. My drooling cock was at full stand.

She smiled at me.

Oh, my.

"You are the most beautiful, gorgeous, sexy girl on this planet or any other. And I am the luckiest man who ever lived," I said.

That was and is an accurate statement.

Angela glowed from the praise.

Then she joined me on my bed.

Where to start?

Some nice kissing is always a good idea, so I turned onto my left side and began to see how kissproof her red lipgloss was.

As we kissed, I used my flat hand to rub Angela's little popsy through her nightie. The little dessert was hard and gasping.

It was time to get serious.

I stopped kissing her long enough to retrieve a large tube of K-Y ointment that Charles had thoughtfully purchased for us at the sissy-supply store. The half-gallon-size reservoirs are always the better value.

I wanted to lubricate Angela's pussy, but first I wanted to inspect it and adore it. I eased three pillows under Angela's hips, then lay flat on my stomach in a position between her legs. My angel spread her legs wide for me and even, though blushing fiercely, held her bottom cheeks apart for me.

Add an eighth wonder to the world.

Angela's sissy pussy was so small, I feared for her safety when I would get around to fucking her. But not so much that I wouldn't fuck her. Oh no. Her little treasure was pink, with little hints of brown. It looked very tight and completely unused by man, woman, dildo or her own pretty finger.

I knew it was embarrassing and emasculating for Angela to be in that position, so I took my time. Emasculation is a gift to a sissy and I was going to shower her with such presents.

I imagine it was emasculating when I licked the inner folds of her bottom cheeks. So delicious. So intimate. She whimpered and spread her bottom cheeks and legs even farther for me. Then I kissed, very softly, the center of pleasure for my universe. Angela screamed. And moved to open her legs and give me even greater access.

I extended my tongue to taste her naughty hole. She squealed loudly. Then, when I gave her pretty hole its first proper licking, Angela's senses could take no more. She began to sob and spurt her sissy cream, all over her tummy, making sticky stains on her pretty nightie.

She was almost senseless with pleasure when I lubed the middle and index fingers of my right hand with the K-Y, then gently, but insistently entered where no man had gone before.

I was grateful for my triple-pane windows, because my sweetheart made quite a ruckus when I did that. It was sort of a combination squeal-scream, followed by a lot of "Ohs!" gasping and panting.

She liked it.

I moved beside her again and eased the bodice of her nightie down to expose her nipples to my lustful attentions. Angela's pleasure center was trying to process my lubed fingers rubbing her prostate, when I multiplied her excitement by licking the prettiest nipple in England. The naughty little thing erected fiercely, just like a little cock. When I kissed the other one, it stood hard and proud as well. Through Angela's frantic moans and attempts to gain her breath, I heard a little squeak, then looked down to see her little pricklet in the midst of yet another ejaculation.

My angel pulled me to herself and almost kissed the life out of me. I removed my fingers from their luscious prison and said, "I'm going to fuck you now, Darling. I've opened you up back there, but you're still very tight, so it may hurt. It will be the first of thousands of times for us, my love, and I want you to enjoy it. When we're done, I'll leave my seed in you and you'll be mine forever. All your boyishness will be gone, though we'll still need to milk you frequently to get rid of that cream of yours. I'm going to fuck you on your back, sweetheart, so that you're helpless and totally emasculated. My sweet little fucker. My girl. My property. Do you understand?"

Her eyes were wide with love, anticipation and fear. Her words were exactly what a man wants to hear. "Kill me if you have to, but put it all in me. I can't live another minute without your cock inside me.'

Wouldn't all of us men like to hear THAT a little more frequently?

I mounted her. The little, remaining male part of Angela was ashamed, then it left her body as I placed the leaking tip of my helmet against Angela's warm hole.

"Please," she said. "Push it in."

I complied.

I nudged the head in, and felt Angela's nails dig in my back as she groaned.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

Her eyes were closed. "It's heavenly," my brave little trooper whimpered. "Push more."

The girl had courage. And the warmest, tightest hole I had ever been in.

I pushed and I was in to the hilt. Angela arched her back and dug her nails into me more deeply. I even enjoyed that. Sort of.

Still alive, Angela said, "Fuck me, Daddy. Please fuck me."

I don't know where that "Daddy" stuff came from, but I liked it. To this day, my Love calls me "Daddy" only during the most intense sex, in other words, several times each day.

At that moment, honorifics were low on my priority list. I had the hottest, most beautiful, newly "former virgin" under me and she was begging for a fucking. I gave her an excellent pounding and she gave me the best orgasm I had ever experienced, followed by no loss of erection, and yet another orgasm five minutes later. Looking back on it, I believe medical science should have been notified, but I was rather busy at the time.

The white nightie was drenched in Angela's own sticky cream, which she released three times during our historic little wrestle. What a wonderful day I was having.

It got even better. When my little man finally drooped and fell out, Angela eased me onto my back and climbed on top of me. Through a molestation of kisses, she swore undying love to me and THANKED me for what I had done for her.

Well, a lot of the pleasure was mine.

The little creampuff then showed her naughty side by licking my cock and balls clean, including the flecks of poop and anal juices and copious amounts of cum from the recent combat. I of course asked her to sit on my face to return the favor in her bottom, which I did with great relish. She really liked me digging into her gaping, just-fucked pooper like that, and before you knew it, she was sitting on my cock. That time I was on the bottom as she rode me to glory.

I liked that girl!

We sort of stayed in bed for three days, with some breaks to bathe, eat or answer's nature's calls. Angela wore the other two naughty outfits (black and pink) to full effect and Charles found three others to our liking as well.

On the fourth day, I began to think about going back to work. But there was one critical matter to attend to first.

Angela and I got dressed for the street. She was in the white dress she wore when we met. I took her to a lovely jewelry store that was known to me, and together we picked out a two-and-a-half carat engagement ring. Angela was blushing when I got on my knee right in the store and begged her to marry me. But she gave me an enthusiastic yes. Which we followed by a quick scamper home and three more days of fucking.

I love Angela so much.

 

Chapter Three – Married

Five weeks later, Angela and I were married at a little chapel in Gingerfredonia, a European island country known to be friendly to girls like my darling and to us men who worship them.

Angela's mother, as I predicted, "came around," especially after she saw the ring and visited my home. She was a lovely mother of the bride and gained the extra perk of hooking up with my boss, who was a groomsman and is even richer than I am.

At first, bridesmaids were a problem. I had no siblings and Angela, who did not grow up as a girl, did not have female friends suitable for the position. We kicked the idea around now and then as we were catching our breath from anal inseminations and came up with a fascinating solution.

Angela grew up with six close, male chums. With my input, she composed and dispatched to each of those young men a lovely, written invitation to put on stockings, make-up, heels and dresses and serve as her bridesmaids. She enclosed a picture of herself as she was as a lovely girl and even signed it by her former male name, "Michael."

Ian's response, the first we received, made her cry. His refusal was rude and hateful and if I ever meet the young man, I will thrash him soundly.

Nigel and Neville responded next. They were polite, but citing the "inappropriateness" of it all, respectfully declined.

James, Edward and William accepted!

Angela was dizzy with excitement. To think that three of her chums were sissies just below the surface, like her, was intoxicating to her.

William later lost his nerve and declined, but James and Edward showed up at our flat 10 days before the wedding for some "preparation" and fittings.

Since Angela and I were busy with wedding preparations and constant fucking, Charles was put in charge of feminizing the lads in only ten days.

My valet attacked his assignment enthusiastically.

James, who asked to be called "Tessa," and Edward, who preferred "Megan," were apt scholars. Several Charles-led panty expeditions to the sissy-supply store, where I had achieved "preferred customer' status, had the new girls fully outfitted.

Charles then gave Tessa and Megan several all-day, all-night tutorials in femininity. Their happy, orgasmic screams brought many giggles and a measure of true happiness and redemption to my darling.

The day before the wedding, I called Charles in to discuss his future.

"I won't really need a valet, Charles, since my sissy wife will devote her life to every detail of my happiness. But my business will need an office manager. And my other home will need someone to live in it and keep it filled with joy and love. And I need a good friend."

Charles threw out thousands of years of British tradition by hugging me, then addressing me as "Thomas" when he thanked me.

I hadn't named a best man from my groomsmen until that moment. Charles accepted proudly.

He also confided in me that he was planning on asking Megan to marry him. Or Tessa. He couldn't decide. He had a friend lined up to match with the one he didn't select.

Anyway, the wedding was exquisite and was even attended by King Fred himself, who said to me, in all sincerity, that my bride was the loveliest person he had ever seen.

It was true. My darling Angela wore a beautiful ivory wedding gown that featured a corset-style bodice made from crushed velvet, lavishly trimmed with pearl and glass beadwork. The long, puffed sleeves of the gown were made from the finest Venetian lace, and the heavy, satin skirt was decorated with sequin appliqués and supported by an attached hoop to maintain its fullness.

The bridesmaids were lovely too in their elegant, strapless, floor-length gowns made entirely of peau satin in a soft, peach color with matching shawls.

We honeymooned in Greece and when we returned, we found that Charles had selected Tessa. They were married ten weeks later. Megan found a rich "Daddy" all by her sissy self. And they both owed their happiness to my angel.

With Angela behind me, I've been even more successful over the past ten years. And deliriously happy.

Angela is 28 now and grows lovelier with each passing microsecond. We made some adjustments to her hormone treatments because a body like Angela's needs to be nudged toward femininity, not the hurling her mother was doing. She now has a total female form, complete with narrow waist, wide hips and a bubble butt that I worship several times a day.

Sometimes I think about the whole question of submissiveness. Angela is indeed sweet and submissive to me in all matters, especially in bed. But she also knows that I devote my life to her and will grant and have granted every request she makes without question. Her complete happiness is my highest goal. So who's the submissive one? I guess we submit to each other, which is the best prescription for happiness there is.

One big request my darling made was to become a mother. So seven years ago, we adopted a baby boy through a Gingerfredonian service. Little Winston is the love of both our lives and we are all bursting with happiness.

And Angela's breasts are bursting with milk. Her hormones took her to a B cup, but when Winston came along and she wanted to breastfeed him, the hormonal-lactation adjustments pushed her up to a C cup. I'm not complaining, believe me. Angela hasn't weaned little Winston yet and I must admit to taking quite a few sips from my angel's bosom as well.

Breastfeeding a seven-year-old boy won't necessarily make him a sissy.

But it won't make him John Wayne either.

Winston openly tries on Mommy's panties and has taught himself to put on make-up. Last week, Angela dressed him in a pink party dress with petticoats, white frilly socks and Mary Janes and took him to the park. When people asked his name, he said, "Fiona." He tells me he wants to meet and marry someone just like me.

He could do worse.

 

THE END

Special thanks to the lovely and talented Terry North, who "dressed" the brides and bridesmaids in this story.

 

 

 

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