Sam's wife finally agrees to perform oral sex on him if he'll do it first for her. Little by little he discovers what she means by that.Since this is a rather long story, it will be posted a several parts.
Enjoy!
Sucker by Vickie Tern (Parts 7 - 9)
vii.
"You're a natural, honey! I don't know why we didn't do this years ago. Here we are only a week or two into your training and the physical part's well under way. And the more obvious mannerisms are coming on nicely, your voice and all, and I know that your sense of yourself and your interests are getting more feminine every day. In lots of ways you're already a girl. Bruce has no idea what's awaiting him! Maybe that's why now we need to begin on the hardest part. Now, I think."
"What's the hardest part, Debbie?"
I was sitting at breakfast with her reading the morning paper, a fashion column to be precise, after only a glance at the sports pages. I was still filling in my wardrobe, because I wanted to be stylish without calling attention to myself, and there were so many ways to do just that! I was wearing a babydoll not unlike Stacy's, though with the panties that went with it, because we'd do our Jazzercize right afterward, and I felt embarrassed that my hairless penis and testicles flopped and bounced as we danced. Debbie and the girls on the tape all had trim, tight crotches. I could only admire their neat, compact appearance when we all did leg extensions or high kicks. This particular morning Debbie was wearing a sexy negligee. We were two women starting our morning.
"Changing your sexual orientation is the hardest part, babydoll. Getting you so you really and truly want to make love to guys. Not so you're willing -- that's where we are now. So you're thrilled to do it. So you'd be the happiest girl in the world if the right guy told you he wanted you to suck his cock."
Now it wasn't just Bruce but "guys." I said nothing. I'd learned that Debbie likes to talk around an issue until the person she's with volunteers to do whatever she had in mind all along. Then she praises his marvelous idea and doesn't claim any responsibility -- "I'm so helpless and grateful!" is her message after a successful manipulation. As a new woman I was trying to develop that strategy myself to use on others, but it didn't come easy, especially since I wasn't in charge of anything. Not even myself.
"They say it can't be done, make someone heterosexual into someone gay, or straighten out someone who's gay, and I suppose strictly speaking that's true. But everyone's a little bi-sexual way down under I think, even if it's only a very little, even if that very little's been completely suppressed by conditioning -- mockery, shame, contempt, disgust, you know, the usual ways people put down the unique as if it were deviant. That gives us something to work with, to try to encourage. That and the fact that people do what they have to do. In prison men fuck each other because they have no choice. I bet a lot of them like it, even under duress, or maybe because of the duress -- because it relieves them of the need to suppress an actual desire. Even the toughest and most macho of them."
She was circling closer.
"Maybe it's just what's accustomed?" I suggested. "Getting used to things? People don't notice routine activities. For instance, I'm now spending hours each day it seems licking and sucking on that soft rubber dildo you bought me. Doing everything to it that Stacy does to that guy's cock. I throat it now without even thinking. Paying no attention. It was so embarrassing, the first time, and kind of exciting too, because it violated something deep inside me. But I did it, and now it doesn't seem to matter."
"Yes, I've watched you. Those new puffy lips of yours look so natural sliding up and down that imitation cock! That's what they're for! And you were passionate enough the first day. But now you look as if you were smoking a cigar and reading a book. You aren't focussed. You no longer seem to feel privileged to be kissing a man's member, nor humiliated either. And that's what's missing. It isn't fulfilling for you, and it isn't helping you feel more girly. So it isn't deeply satisfying. You need motivation. Can you think of any?
"Do it to avoid worse? But what could be worse? Getting slapped around? I wouldn't stand for it. No girl should."
"Let's think. What might be even more humiliating for a man than giving head to another man while wearing a dress? But fulfilling if the man in the dress thought she was a woman? There's still enough man in you to think of something, I'll bet. What's the most glorious thing a woman can want a man do to her that a man would be ashamed to have happen to him? Unless he's gay."
"I don't know. What things do gay men do with each other that're like what men do with women?" I knew I'd be sorry I said it the moment the words came out of my mouth. Oh my God!!
"Of course, honey! Why didn't I think of that? Why else are you growing those beautiful globes on your tush? They're so provocative! You do know of course that yesterday when we were at the supermarket and you were wearing those tight slacks, men were stopping and turning around to watch you walk away from them? It was so funny! You have a beautiful ass now, and with your new walk it swings and sways as if you were on the edge of an orgasm. Men would love to get themselves into you there, I bet. I just know it! I wonder if that's a way to re-awaken your interest in your dildo? I'll bet you'd be more devotedly attentive to any cock in your mouth if you knew that if you weren't, it would soon be in your ass."
She was off and running. What could I say? I'd surrendered control of my life to her, and she always talked herself into whatever she wanted to believe. Then talked me into it. "Maybe," was all I replied.
She poured herself more coffee. I was still sipping my morning's enriched milkshake. I was allowed two each day now officially, and it contained additives now that kept me in a strange, eager, expectant but compliant mood. My breasts felt swollen, and I often felt wet down below -- my penis was seeping some kind of fluid. My nipples were more enlarged and sensitive than ever, and Debbie encouraged me to play with them each night, since I couldn't play with her. I sneaked in other times too, it felt so good!
"Or," she went on. "Maybe getting fucked would be positive reinforcement for you, not at all a negative! Knowing that if you blow him really well, your man will *reward* you by fucking you in the ass. That bubble-shaped butt *is* one of your more attractive features now, Samantha. I'll bet if we exposed it no man could resist. Lots of girls flirt by showing off their asses. That's what tight skirts and shorts and pants are for! And thongs, and many kinds of bathing suits!"
She paused, then continued. "Now that's a really provocative idea. Don't you think so? That would be altogether new for you! And so very feminine!"
I said nothing.
She started daydreaming. "You might like it, getting fucked. I don't see why not!"
Was she teasing me? Thinking of a way to punish me for the unwanted fuckings I'd given her? Was she serious?
"Bruce could easily reach around to caress your tits while he was pumping into you between those beautiful globes. You'd be in heaven. I'll call him right away and ask him what he thinks."
"Debbie!" I called out. But she was already gone.
She came back pensive. "Bruce thinks it's a marvelous idea, and he says he'll be happy to accommodate you if your rear end is all I say it is. Whether it's a punishment or reward doesn't seem to matter to him."
She started to clear the breakfast table as if our conversation was over. Then, "And he had another suggestion as well."
Finally I asked, "What was that?"
"What? Oh, Bruce's suggestion?"
"Yes!"
"That if you don't suck his cock with the right finesse then he should do not only your rear but mine! And my pussy. That I make up for all of your deficiencies."
Her rear!!? Where I'd never dared go? And what else!? "All of my deficiencies?" I cried out. "You mean, you'd blow him too!!? Even before you blow me?!"
She was stacking things in the dishwasher now. "Yes." she said absently. "Of course! I told him that sounded only fair."
This was appalling! I'd never had the least qualms about Debbie being unfaithful to me with another man! She'd never seemed interested enough in sex to risk our marriage by sleeping with someone else, for one thing. She was too strong-minded to fall like some enamored ditz into a frivolous affair, for another. I knew that she loved me, I never doubted it, but I knew she didn't like to express it physically, that was the problem. That was why we were in this strange situation right now. Did I now need to save her from a fate worse than death by nobly devoting my all to sucking on the cock that threatened her honor? Craven, suck off another man with all my heart and soul to avoid being cuckolded? And possibly fail anyhow? On both accounts?
I'm sure Debbie sensed that like many men I've sometimes felt defensive about my manhood. The male ego may be tough, but it's also fragile. I was never that well-endowed, and the thought of my wife getting it on with another man and ending up better satisfied by him has always seemed to me catastrophic. Unthinkable! A fear that she might prefer him, that she'd leave me, paralyzes me whenever the thought enters even the outskirts of my mind. So I suppress it. But now she'd raised it.
"He's gay!" I protested, as if reminding her would change what she'd just somehow arranged with Bruce. "Bruce is! You told me!"
"Bi-sexual, honey. I never said exclusively gay. He'll do boys or girls I hear, though they need to look like girls, either way. I thought I'd made that clear!"
I couldn't argue the point now. Instead, I spoke directly to my greatest fear! "Debbie! Honey! You'd cheat on me!?"
She turned to face me. "Samantha honey, it isn't cheating if my husband knows all about it and has every opportunity to prevent it and doesn't, and is in fact there watching. I'd insist that you watch, so you'd at least learn something about how women instinctively do such things! How to do it right on your next attempt! How not to disgrace yourself altogether! And how to enjoy it!" She turned her back to rinse the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher racks, then said self-righteously, "Anyhow, what I'd do is no more than you intend to do, blow him and let him fuck you. So who'd be the first one of us to cheat? Answer me that!"
"Debbie! You told me I *had* to blow him! I'm doing all this just to satisfy you! And fucking as an issue never even arose until just now! And it would be a penalty, if it happened!"
She glanced at me under half-closed lids. "I'll bet!"
"It would be!!" I felt in retreat! I'd already lost this argument too! How did I get into these?
"No, Samantha!" She spoke my name as if it had a cutting edge. "Don't blame me for your own self-indulgence! You're doing all this for your own pleasure and satisfaction, not mine! So I'll be willing to blow you, remember? It's rather selfish of you in some ways, agreeing to this deal, but I've been willing to go along with it. And I will go along with it. Up to a point! Anyhow, you'll notice it wasn't me who first suggested that Bruce might want to squeeze himself into your cute tush. It was you who wondered what gay men do to each other! Have you been thinking about it much? Daydreaming about it?"
I felt a little wild-eyed at this revised version of what had happened! She sat down again and leaned back and said peaceably, even smugly, in the face of my shocked expression. "Oh, sweetheart, do get used to the idea. You're a married woman who's preparing herself to suck another man's cock and is ripe for fucking! You don't have any alternatives now, do you? Look at you! With your face and figure, would any normal woman besides me want you? Maybe some bull dyke, someone you'd be afraid to come near in daylight much less the dark. But honey, men will want you! You'll inspire them! Sandra thinks maybe those extra milkshakes triggered your own body's production of female hormones, and that maybe it's irreversible. For whatever reason, you're hell-bent toward a figure that's every man's wet dream. At this moment all those extra fat cells she installed are multiplying and multiplying, in all the right places -- for a woman, that is! That's your future! As a man you're already a joke!"
Then she added more sympathetically, "I love you. I hope you know that. I'll always want you close to me no matter what. And I know you love me. But maybe it hasn't occurred to you -- you're like those men in prison now, aren't you? Those guys who do what you're going to do with Bruce, because they haven't any choice any more? So they do their very best to make their man happy? You really do want to make Bruce happy, don't you? Because giving pleasure is pleasurable, and because of what could happen if you don't? What might happen anyway?"
She looked at me meaningfully, and I realized she'd already made an arrangement with Bruce. First I'd be unfaithful to her, then she'd feel free to be unfaithful to me. With Bruce. Not only with Bruce?"
"Learn to live with that idea, my darling Samantha! Dream about it! Hope for it! Better, learn to love it, be eager to see it all happen! Then you'll feel much better about it!" For a moment she looked altogether satisfied with herself -- she'd now actually done what she'd set out to do this morning -- get me well-motivated to blow Bruce, get me fucked, and then wrap her own legs around that office stud while I stood by helplessly watching! I'd been utterly out-maneuvered!
Then she added, "Time for our exercises, love, and then you'll want to be nice to your dildo for an hour or so with those new soft lips. I brought home a few more porn tapes, the kind they make for gay men this time. With lots of anal penetration, so you'll get an idea how it's done and how it can be enjoyed. All well-hung men with glistening, oiled bodies for you to look at. You'll see how to prepare yourself for the possibility the way any girl does when she's going on a really heavy date. Watch the tapes with Mr. Dildo, and see if either of you get any new ideas."
Mr. Dildo got one big one. That night, after first giving me an enema, then a douche, then perfuming me and asking me to wait for her in my finest nightgown, Debbie entered my room wearing Mr. Dildo, turned my legs wide over my head, and then gently entered me. As she pushed into my newly plump rear end I felt stretched, a burning that eased to a full, full feeling, then a loss of it as she withdrew, then it returned as she pushed in again. I was surprised to find it was not unpleasant. She persisted, and I began to anticipate the fullness -- it made me feel complete. Then to desire it. The tips of her breasts waved across and touched mine with the most excruciating delicacy, now and then, repeatedly. My desire mounted, and rose, and almost blossomed into a gorgeous completion when suddenly she withdrew and sat back satisfied.
"That's all for now," she said. "Now you're a real lady! You were making the most darling mewing sounds just now, lover! My sweet pussy-cat!"
viii.
The next morning she still felt especially pleased by my reaction to my first fucking. I hadn't been allowed to cum, of course -- she wanted to keep me horny for Bruce -- but I'd pushed back into Mr. Dildo quite a few times after a while, she reminded me, the last times feverishly.
I was pleased with myself too, because it was all new and pleasurable, even though I couldn't tell why I was doing any of this, exactly, any more. I would do this thing with Bruce whatever it was, creditably, I decided. Because Debbie had extracted promises from me, and I meant to keep them? Because Debbie apparently needed an excuse to be with another man, and now I was that excuse. and I wanted to please her? Because if Bruce actually was the great lover she seemed to think him, I'd love doing it with him?
With that thought, I realized that she'd actually done it! Changed my sexual orientation, at least for sex with Bruce. It was astonishing, how she had done it. And also amusing. I wondered if anything she'd said was true. Whether any of it would actually occur. If Bruce didn't fuck me now, I was thinking, I'd actually feel disappointed.
A few days later we were doing our morning exercises. I was now wearing a leotard with my breasts held firm in spandex and my genitals tucked tight between my legs, as trim in the crotch as any of the other girls, doing some vigorous rhythmic movements in special high heeled shoes designed for ballroom dancing, Debbie alongside me as always. My tendons were stretched by high kicking, and I was adding a pelvic twist as instructed. Debbie complimented me on the femininity of those gestures, how supple my body seemed, as if ready to wrap around anyone's. We'd just begun another number when the front door chimes sounded.
Debbie broke off to answer it, deal with it, and get back to our morning routine. Then she returned.
I didn't notice until my dance number ended and I turned to get a towel to wipe perspiration off my face. Debbie was leaning over the back of a chair and confiding something to another woman who was sitting in it quietly and watching me! Another woman! Marcie! My God, it was Marcie! From way across town -- why was she here? I'd slept with her for a week for God's sake! Marcie and Debbie knew each other? Did she recognize me? Did she know that I'd once been a man, did she think that now I was some kind of wannabe femme faggot! I couldn't speak! It was too late to hide!
"You look wonderful, Samantha!" she said before I could fully register that she was real, not a hideously humiliating hallucination. "Debbie told me everything!"
I was shocked by that, but then she went on, "I do admire what you're doing!" Her eyes sparkled.
Debbie beamed as though the compliment had been directed toward her. "Samantha, meet my friend Marcie," she said. "From that Ikebana class I took. Flower arranging, remember? We hit it off the moment we saw each other!"
"Marcie!" I repeated. Shocked! She sees me like this! What can she be thinking!? Did she tell Debbie anything about us?
"You were right, Debbie," Marcie continued. "She looks absolutely precious! I think you'll really enjoy her this way!"
Debbie saw my consternation, though she remained utterly impassive, her expression implying nothing. "Don't fret, Samantha honey," she said in a syrupy velvet voice that told me immediately that she expected my very best behavior. "It was time for a few people to know that you're now finally becoming the woman you have always thought you were. And doing it quickly to avoid all the problems of a lengthy transition. Marcie knows I'm standing by you, helping you in every way I can. And she's offered to help too!" A glint in Debbie's eye told me I should go along with this or I'd be dead meat.
I was still speechless. Instinctively I tried slouching back in a kind of John Wayne wide-gaited, defiant sprawl, as if to say, "Yeah, well I'm dressed a little odd, but I'm still a guy, got any problems with that?" But my high heels wouldn't allow it. Instead they tilted me forward, with one foot decorously posed in front of the other, knee bent, as if I were helpless and pleading. When I opened my mouth, all I could squeak was "A few people know?"
"Samantha, as a woman I'm sure you can appreciate this," Marcie continued. "I was telling Debbie only a few days ago about a problem I've got with my husband, that he's so depressed about his birthday coming up. His big four oh. And she told me about the problem she's had with you and about how the two of you have been working it out. And it came to both of us all at once how we could both help each other out, if you're willing to cooperate!"
Debbie fixed a hard gaze on me. I replied in my own mellifluous voice, the equivalent of Debbie's, "Of course, Marcie. Anything! How can I help?"
"It's a very big favor, and I'm a little embarrassed to ask it, but Debbie told me it would be a favor to you too. I'm sure that you'll want to accommodate me.
A threat to tell Debbie about us? "What, Marcie? Tell me!"
"I want to give Gabe a special present!"
"'Gabe?' That's lovely! What present?"
"You!"
"What!!?"
"For a whole evening! To do things he wants to do with a woman that I don't like doing, that we never do together. So at this particular time of his life he won't feel he's being deprived."
I was bewildered. "Give me to him for an evening?! To play scrabble, or watch football on the TV, or something?"
"Oh you dear innocent girl! No, it might have been that before you ... came out of yourself, but not now. I mean sexual things with him! It would do a lot to make up for ... a time I neglected him for a week, when was it, a year of so ago?"
Debbie's face remained inexpressive.
"Mainly, I don't know why, but he's always after me to take him into my mouth. And to receive him in ... my other end too. You know! I don't like even thinking about it! I was telling Debbie, and she told me you were like that too when you were still pretending to be a man, asking her to do special things all the time. And now that you're a woman you still like the idea, but from the other side! That you'd be happy to do those things with a man now!" She smiled. "In both ends!" She smiled more broadly, confidently, now that we were all of us girls together. "And that you've been practicing those very things!"
"That's certainly true," Debbie said brightly. "She's been using her mouth and her rear end on a pretend penis, to see how she likes it!" She looked at me with an approving gleam, "She's gotten quite used to it. In both ends."
"Yes, so you tell me," Marcie said . Then she turned to me again. "I've thought maybe I'd hire a professional sex worker to service him. You know, a whore. But Gabe is such a sweet dear, and that seems to me so ... impersonal, after all! And then Debbie tells me that you'd just love to do it! That you're eager to experience everything women can do with men just as soon as possible!"
"That's right, Marcie," Debbie echoed in that mellifluous, authoritative tone I could never dare contradict. "Once she decided to quit trying to be a man and decided to try attracting them instead, she's been a changed girl. I couldn't keep her away from Vita's. Isn't that hairdo fantastic? And Sandra's done wonders for her figure too, as you can see. And she's loves oral and ... other kinds of penetration with male-shaped objects. I think she's about ready for the real thing!" All the while her eyes informed me to agree or stay silent.
"She does look just lovely!" Marcie agreed. "I know Gabe will be so pleased. I'm counting on it! Though I certainly won't tell him that his little birthday present partner once thought she was a man! Not until the next time I'm mad at him for something."
Marcie was telling me that cooperation was my only recourse. She was one of those well-endowed wives who kept her figure slim and whose tits therefore seem huge. She was wearing a sweater that draped them decorously, so they showed as a mere bulge. It was obvious though that she wore no bra today -- her extraordinarily large nipples poked at the sweater, declaring what they were unmistakably. I stared at them, then realized that in my leotard, my own were declaring almost the same thing! Also unmistakably. Did I look that sexy?
"I'm sure," I told her. Sure of what?
"Then you'll do it? I just know you have every reason to want to!" said Marcie, looking steadily at my crotch, then unwaveringly into my eyes. That was true enough. Also, I was beginning to feel hypnotized by those two pointy nubs projecting from her sweater, the way I'd been when we last ... accommodated each other. I could feel how desirable they were. I already knew how desirable they were. It was nice having a pair of my own this time, I realized. With my own I didn't desire hers in quite the same way. But it was hard to say 'no' to her!
Debbie broke in. "Marcie, I told you, she'd love to do it. You see, the weekend after this one we celebrate Samantha's birthday too. Her first birthday as Samantha! That's when she'll complete her journey into womanhood. She has a heavy date with a man in my office, and they're going away together to a resort for a kind of honeymoon. I know that she'll come back a different person! That we'll feel much closer about lots of things afterward!" She stared at me yet again, lovingly it seemed, this time. I hoped.
I said nothing. Then, because I thought I thought I should say something, I asked, "It'll be my pleasure, Marcie. When's Gabe's birthday?"
"Oh, I'm so grateful to you, Samantha! And to you too, Debbie, for sharing your darling hubbie with me."
I flinched.
"It's next Thursday," she went on. "Just before you go off on your own ... kind of honeymoon. Is that too soon? That's his actual birthday. They'll be getting him a cake or something at his office, so he'll be coming home a little later than usual. That's why I wanted something more than just a cake waiting for him when he got home. Can you come over by eight? That's when he's due home."
Why was Debbie encouraging this? Did she know about our past history, and now she was using my vulnerability to get even? Was Marcie simply amusing herself? Was it all an awful coincidence? "Will you be there?" I asked Marcie. Was this supposed to be some kind of kinky three-way?
"Oh no! I'll just introduce the two of you with the proper fanfare, so he knows exactly why you're there. Then I'll come over here and visit with Debbie for a few hours. That ought to give you enough time. Gabe is good for only two or three climaxes an evening anyhow!"
"Perfect!," Debbie said. "Samantha's been dying to get in some practice! She has every reason to want to do it right the first time!" And it was settled.
Debbie suggested to Marcie that we should all go down and pour ourselves a nice cup of coffee and catch up on things. An invitation she made clear I couldn't refuse, now that I really was one of them, one of the girls, about to be initiated as intimately into their circle as any girl could be. Marcie went off to use the bathroom, and Debbie made it all quite clear.
"You'll come too, " she said. "You need practice just sitting and chatting with other girls! Sooner or later we'll be having my friends over, and I don't want you to embarrass me because you can't do what every girl's been doing all her life!"
"Make girl talk, you mean?" I asked. "With all your other friends?" I decided to put my foot down. "What for! I'm done with all this after next weekend! And why did you tell her I'd love to have sex with her husband? This was supposed to be a one night stand! One blow job, remember? More and more keeps getting added on!"
"You think you're done after next weekend, honey?" Debbie said, amused. "Dream on! That's only the beginning! That's when your new life begins! Your face and figure are your fortune now, Samantha. Look at them. That's what they're like for the next few months minimally! Welcome to the foreseeable future!"
A sly smile, then, "Besides, maybe you'll like what you and Bruce do. Maybe you'll want to do lots more of it with other men! Maybe I'll have to peel you off them every night! Or maybe you and Marcie's husband will hit it off and he'll want to see more of you! You never know! You seem to have made quite a hit with Marcie!"
She paused. I couldn't tell if she was being tart or merely teasing, but that concern flew out of my head with her next statement. "Besides, you forget, other people also know about you now. And what I've told them will be harder for you to undo than your curly hair or your permanent make-up or your figure."
I'd forgotten! She'd mentioned "a few people"! There were others! A sudden pang stabbed my vitals! "Know? Know what? Who else?"
"Well, sweetie, it was only fair to tell the people you work with. Your boss. And the affirmative action officer in your personnel office had to know that now there's one less man and one more woman in her company roster. She was so pleased!" The office! My life was over! In ruins! I staggered and took hold of the back of a chair until I could recover. Then I said just that to Debbie, adding, "How can anyone respect me?"
"Oh, they think it's just fine! Your boss hopes you'll have a long and even more successful career with them in your new gender. She wouldn't care if you painted yourself blue as long as you maintain your sales record. And all the women in your office admire you for having the courage to be what you are, I hear. The men? Who knows what the men in your office think? They tell me some of them smirked, though no one has actually said anything. Anyhow, who cares? It doesn't matter what men think of you any more, Samantha, does it? Except for certain men, those you're interested in. Of course if you change back to being a man again, you'll seem to be insincere, frivolous, playing all sorts of titillating gender games with yourself. Then no one will respect you."
That was true, I realized. I was trapped. I would need an elaborate script of some kind I couldn't now conceive for my transition back to manhood when all this was behind me.
"Why did you tell people at work, Debbie? Deliberately? To box me in?"
Her eyebrows rose. "You boxed yourself in, baby. You've consented to everything, all of it. Like it or not, you'll have to be a girl for some time after you and Bruce hit it off, won't you? I couldn't very well let you go back to work pretending you were a man but wearing a curly hairdo and permanent makeup and those tits now, could I?" she said. "And every move delightfully effeminate, after all this practice? You'd disgrace yourself! So relax and enjoy being a girl with the rest of us until it all wears off. If ever!"
What could I say? She was right. Other people thinking wrongly that I was some kind of pervert wasn't my worst ordeal in prospect. Now there were two cocks to suck, and two ass-reamings to endure. Worse still, what if I liked them?! Mr. Dildo hadn't been half-bad!
Marcie rejoined us. And in fact the coffee and girl talk was much less boring than I'd expected. I couldn't look at Marcie now without wondering how she felt being penetrated, feeling a man thrust himself into her. Or how Debbie felt. I'd been that man, but hadn't ever concerned myself! All women do it, I consoled myself, and most of them like it. No big deal.
Then when we talked about style, I contributed what I'd read only the day before about how the summer's ankle length skirts and dresses would be extending into fall couture this year, unlike last year, and that it was flattering for tall, thin women especially. "It'll look wonderful on you through the fall then, Samantha," Marcie said gravely. "Don't you think?" She didn't seem to expect a reply.
We talked recipes, of course. "We're both dieting to improve our figures," Debbie said. "But Samantha will be in the kitchen a lot more often than Sam was, of course, when she's completed her little journey."
They lamented that Marcie's sister was leaving her husband for another woman, and after eight years of marriage. "It's so unnecessary!" they agreed. "Look at us, for example!"
I raised my eyebrows. Marcie explained, "Women visit each other all the time openly, the way I'm visiting you and Debbie right now. Men tend to visit women secretly because people like to assume there's something sexual going on, and they love to talk!" She smiled innocently at me. "Women visit each other for sex, yet their spouses never think anything's amiss. I visit Debbie often, and we're seen out together, and no one thinks anything of it. So there's really no need for lesbians to get divorces. When girls get together it raises no more gossip than when guys get together!"
Debbie asked, "You mean guys like our husbands getting together?" This started a fit of hilarious giggling between them. I smiled faintly. But it was true. In their eyes I was now only a former guy. A girl. A done deal. I was now one of them.
ix.
Each morning and evening we writhed and twisted and swooped to our exercise tapes. My posture and gestures became increasingly smooth, dainty, and refined while my midriff thinned out even more. Overall I continued to lose weight. Yet the replanted fat in my breasts, hips, and butt grew heavier, and my breasts swelled up plump until the support of a full figure bra became a necessity, especially when I jogged in place. The planes of my face and my body softened and took on curves. Lunch and dinner still consisted of a large glass of hi-hormoned and medicated milkshake to help my body become more plausible and my mind more mellow. But sometimes also a small salad or fruit salad.
My life settled into a routine. Mr. Dildo was mounted on a chair for my convenient access, and each morning I tried to bring him to orgasm with my mouth no matter how silly it seemed, and each afternoon I tried to do the same thing with a freshly douched asshole. Now and then Debbie asserted her prior claim on my rear, strapped him on, and mounted and penetrated me. It got to be fun!
As expected my maleness eroded rapidly. I felt timid often, and experienced some extreme mood swings. A few times I felt miserable and depressed that my manliness was harder each day for me to locate, and might be irrecoverable when the time came. Debbie advised me when those glooms hit me to simply go out and treat myself to something utterly frivolous, a sinfully wicked pair of panties or a new shade of lipstick I could use defiantly to cover the permanent red stain on my lips. I did, and oddly, it worked!
Some days I'd feel so pleased with my change of life that I'd spend hours caressing and tweaking my swollen nipples while waves of ecstasy radiated from them. My penis was off limits to me -- Debbie wanted me to accumulate desire down there until I felt overwhelmed me and I'd be swept among, ready to perform or submit to anything no matter how twisted. But she wanted me to enjoy my breasts to my heart's content. The rich rapture each one generated when touched or fingered surpassed anything I had ever felt in my cock. It was strange -- a sensation of deep contentment, gratified desire, excruciating pleasure, and a breathless exultation that they were mine! I felt so very feminine, having them! I loved them! Their shape brought profound satisfaction as my figure ripened. Those breasts hanging from my chest seemed so essential a part of me, in fact, that soon I couldn't conceive of myself without them. These, I decided, I would keep when I reverted to my proper sex. Even though a bra was now essential to support their jouncing and sagging. So I'd need to wear my bras to work from now on, and cover them with oversized shirts somehow. And never wear T-shirts! Then I could still revel in their size and shape! I loved my hips and rear too, and lamented that I'd need to leave them behind.
It all seemed increasingly worth while.
Still other days I'd relapse. I was a man performing an elaborate charade, pretending to be a girl, all as part of the deal I'd cut with my wife so she'd finally perform her proper duties as a wife. I'd keep my part of the bargain but that was that and that was all. Then this nonsense ceases, I told myself. Whatever I'll need to do to get back to what I was, I'll do. No question of it!
That was my state of mind, unfortunately, during the last week of my training. Debbie had gone to her office to catch up on work, and after my morning session with Mr. Dildo I spent the day in my study phoning new customers for re-orders, listening to their reactions to things, jollying them, using my old voice instead of the sweet soft voice Debbie'd trained me to use, feeling altogether my old self. I was too busy to keep my afternoon appointment with the dildo chair. When Debbie came home I was relaxing in front of the tube watching a football game, a Cosmopolitan open on my lap, an article called "Six Ways to Drive Him Wild" forgotten while I watched a fourth down ground play gain six yards for a first and ten.
She came in and saw, but said nothing. I was curled up tight and snug on the couch, the stretching exercises having given me joints as supple as they were rounded, slim, rounded, bulging beautifully. I was wearing tight stretch blue jeans and slipons along with a clingy coral sleeveless knit shirt that revealed every curve of my bust. And little drop earrings, my favorites. My face might have been looking a little more dramatic than usual -- on impulse I'd added eye shadow to my indelible eye liner that morning -- but inside me at that moment I was male, my old self, and football was football.
"Hi, doll!" I said breezily. "How was work, OK?" Then I returned attention to the game, not waiting for an answer.
She sat down and studied me, my unmistakenly girlish appearance, the magazine in my lap, but above all my narrowed eyes as I watched a quarterback sneak, and she came to a decision.
"Samantha, in just a few days now you'll be trying to satisfy me by trying to satisfy Bruce, so he won't need to satisfy me himself. Won't you? You have a lot at stake there. And it's tomorrow you lend Marcie's husband your mouth and your asshole to use as he chooses, remember? As the husband of my friend, and also as an opportunity to perfect your skills for the weekend. You'll want to bring your whole heart and soul to it."
"Yes," I replied. I'd forgotten. Still in my male state of mind, I can't say that the prospect pleased me.
"You'll want to use Gabe well when you do what you've promised to do. And of course you'll want Bruce to feel he's really special. I know what will help. Remember how we originally planned for you to visit a gay bar, for some concentrated experience, so you can learn about different men's responses to the different things women can do to them, to educate your instincts? Free of charge, nothing personal implied, your anonymous mouth wrapped around different anonymous pricks? So you can suck on your first real meat and swallow your first semen direct from the source? Acquire a taste for it? Make mistakes and correct them, no penalties?"
I just stared at her. She spoke matter-of-factly. But was there a certain vindictiveness underneath? How dare I watch football when I'm supposed to be a woman!
She stared back at me and then said in measured tones, "Checking out the build on those guys, honey? That's what you're doing? Big shoulders, nice, tight butts? Powerful thighs? The packages between their legs? Is there any one of them in particular your heart hankers after? One you'd lie down for in a second? All of them?"
I just shook my head, wide eyed. But as I watched another play executed, all I could see now were pistoning thighs and packed hams and strong arms, any pair of them fit to pry my legs wide open. And shove in what? Now I saw only portable man meat crouching and running across the field! They were studs strutting their stuff, some lithe, some heavy duty. I groaned. She'd feminized the way I look at football with a single remark!
She saw her ploy had worked by the way I was now looking at the screen and shaking my head, and she grinned broadly. "Cheer up, honey. Tonight we'll go out and get you a man of your very own, not as well built, but still, a man. A few of them. No more feeling hard up for something to slide into your face or between your legs. Starting tonight you won't ever be a virgin again! Go drink your girl-juice now, and I'll lay out a pretty outfit for you!"
For a few hours after each breakfast and dinner milkshake I always felt especially mellow and expectant, "like a confident girl anticipating a good time" was the way Debbie described the effect she and Dr. Sandra wanted and the additives were meant to create. Even so, I was shocked when I got to my room and found on my bed the scantiest shiny leather mini skirt and flimsiest, most transparent top, along with thigh-high boots.
"It's a warm night," Debbie said. "You won't be chilly I'm sure, and now that your waist is so thin and your hips so broad this skirt will flare out beautifully. Tasteful yet wicked! Go do your prepping douche and then put these on. No underwear, love, no bra and no panties. Tonight you flaunt it. When I came home and saw you watching football, I thought, 'Maybe she's forgotten who she is?' Well, after tonight you'll remember! You'll have lots to remember! Heavy make-up! No purse, I'll drive you there. Move provocatively. Tell the world why you like to watch those delicious guys thrusting themselves at each other over and over in public!"
I was nervous when we left the house. A couple walking their dog in front of our house stopped and looked at me, mouths agape, as I waggled from the front door to the car in my highest spike heels. Now I was apprehensive but prepared for anything. Fatalistic. I'd committed to all this, I'd agreed to it, now I was doing it, and there was nothing more to think. Though after this weekend, that would be that!
Even so, I was shocked when we pulled into the parking lot of the Lotus Club and Debbie merely stopped, engine running, waiting. Then said only, "Well? Here we are. Get out! I have other things to do! Try not to stay out too late!"
My heart fell into my stomach! I was momentarily terrified! "You won't come in with me?"
Now she really did look smug. I was trapped! "Of course not! I thought I might, but not now. You don't need me. And I don't need to know how to please men! Just hold in mind that Bruce will teach me whatever I need to know if you're not good enough!"
"But how will I get home? I don't have any money."
"The way any girl gets home when she's been ditched by her date! Sweet-talk some man into driving you home. Feeling dependent on a man will be good for you. It'll make you more of a woman!"
I got out, and she drove off. I turned toward the Lotus Club entrance with the gravest foreboding. The only way home was through that door.
Six hours later I was half pushed out of a car in front of my house by a guy who was now eager to get home himself. When I unlocked the door, Debbie was still up, waiting for me on the other side. She must have heard the car and then my fumbling. I hoped she didn't hear my sob as I grasped the doorknob of my home, my old home, and realized that I would never enter it again as what I had been. A man who had agreed to look, behave, and feel like a girl if he could had left the house dressed slut femme. A bit racy-looking. A play-acting girl, pretending to satisfy his wife's whims even though sometimes getting into it. But a sperm-soaked, slattern cock sucker had returned
For real, because that's what I now was. An worn-down whore. Someone who had knelt down in front of many other men as they arrogantly, triumphantly stretched back and thrust their pelvises forward, who had bowed and bobbed down before them over and over as their pricks slid in and out of her mouth. Someone whose ass had been used repeatedly too. With no shred of dignity or self-respect left. Mouth coated with cum. Face and leather skirt crusted with cum. Anus gaping and leaking cum down both legs for lack of panties to collect and puddle it. A human condom, filled and tossed away. A used scum bag. When the door shut, I couldn't hold it back any longer. I began to weep quietly, first deep inside me, then noticeably. My manhood was gone. Utterly lost!
Debbie was standing just inside, studying my face. Then she threw herself into my arms, crying out, "Oh, darling, I'm so sorry! So very sorry! I never should have let you go in there alone! I never should have deserted you! Never! I was so angry! So stupidly angry! Over nothing! Over your teeny lapse, your wanting to watch football the way you once did. I did this to you! I left you alone when you most needed me! And now look at you! It should have been beautiful! And look at you! Can you ever forgive me?"
I was past thinking, past the ability to forgive. Feeling her warm body so close, feeling her sympathy, I just wrapped my arms around her, and I buried my face onto her shoulder and started to cry even harder. Small gasping, mewling sounds at first, but then they opened into loud sobs and wails. She led me toward that same chair in the game room I'd used to watch that football game, to watch that tape on sucking cock a lifetime ago.
Little by little I became aware of her sitting on my lap and pressing her body against mine and hugging me close. "I didn't mean for it to be that bad, Samantha baby! Was it that bad? Oh, Samantha, it was, wasn't it? Oh, sweetheart, you look so terribly unhappy! I have never seen you look so miserable."
"Oh Debbie," I began. I couldn't go on. I was too choked.
She took charge. "Get undressed, Samantha! Completely! At once! Into the shower and into a nightie and into my bed. You're spending the rest of the night with me, love! In my arms!"
I did as she asked, and soon, still numb, had crawled into bed with her. Everything looked so dark! So bleak! I wasn't a man any more! I was a cock sucker. I was an open ditch. Some man's Nancy girl. Many men's. My asshole hurt.
"Oh precious baby , precious girl," Debbie said, embracing me! "Don't cry, sweetheart. You're my one true love. I know it doesn't seem like that now, that I'm running you over hurdles and you're jumping them just to please me, and I'm never satisfied! But that isn't the case at all! I do love you. I do want what's best for both of us. My sweet baby girl. Let it all out. It won't be so bad. I do understand, sweetheart!"
I allowed a racking sob to escape me. Then another. Then there was no holding them back. "Oh Debbie," I cried out in my anguish. "I'm not a man any more! All I wanted was a little pleasure from you, and now look! I'm not a man!"
"I know dear sweet baby, I know. You're not a man any more. You're better! You're my girl! Just think that thought, over and over -- you're my girl. Then it won't be so bad. Girls suck cocks all the time, and they don't suffer for it. It's nice. It's how they express their femininity. It's what girls do, isn't it. You've said so yourself, often enough! So just think of yourself as a girl who sucks cock. Girls like it. Didn't you like it just a little?"
I had to wait a long minute to answer her, and I had to swallow once or twice. But I had to tell her everything! I had to maintain absolute honesty with my own wife! In a barely audible voice I said, "Some. Some of them! That's the trouble! Oh, Debbie!"
She embraced me. "Yes, love. Of course you did! From the very first? Tell me all about it!"
"None of them at first. But those tubes kept coming at me, and I hoped it would get sort of mindless, you know? Like with Mr. Dildo? But each cock was different! And felt different in my mouth! And some of the men were mean and some were nice, really appreciative. I liked the nice ones. Then after a while even some of the mean ones, if they had really impressive cocks, because, oh Debbie, I felt privileged to do cocks that big! And they'd groan and grunt, and beg for me to bring them off! There was this feeling of ... gratification. Of power! I did like it! Then when they came they'd call me a whore! By then I guess I was!"
"Why, honey? You were doing it for love, not money. How were you a whore?"
"I don't know!"
"So they were wrong, weren't they?"
"I guess. Maybe! When the bartender first saw what I wanted he told me to use one of the back rooms. 'The guys who want you will find you,' he said. 'Marlene isn't here tonight. She's our regular here. So you can fill in this once. I get ten percent.' And he handed me two clean bar towels, telling me there were clean sheets, but I'd need these. I told him I wouldn't charge. He was surprised. 'On the house?' he asked. 'Night on the town, mister? You do it for the fun of it? OK, some of our 'girls' do that too! Enjoy! But keep it down! Don't disturb the regular customers!' I promised I wouldn't, so I didn't. Even when, even when ...." I was stopped by my own deep, racking sob.
"Even when what, honey?" Her arms were tight around my neck, and her legs were wrapped tight around my thighs for the first time in many weeks. We were cuddled together as snug as was possible. My soft prick was squeezed against her opening, though it never stirred.
"Oh, Debbie!" I hesitated, then blurted it out. "They raped me!"
"Did they?" Debbie sounded less horrified than I expected. "Did it hurt?"
"The first time yes, it did. He was a lot more rough than Mr. Dildo, and my saliva on him wasn't slippery enough I guess. But he left so much cum in me that the next guy slid right in. Then it was ...."
"Then it was what, baby doll?"
"Oh, Debbie!" I started to cry again. "It was so easy! I got so slippery and stretched out and ... I began to help them!"
"And began to move that sweet ass of yours back against those men in rhythm? Because it felt so good?"
"Oh, Debbie!" was all I could reply.
"You got excited and came yourself?"
I nodded.
"Several times?"
I nodded again.
She understood and hugged me silently. Sympathy poured from her as she clinched my body to hers. But also satisfaction! I could feel it.
"Sweetheart, that's terrible! I feel so sorry for you! No girl should go through that her first time! But now you know what it can be like, don't you? Don't you? Yes! Well, we'll make it up to you tonight. We'll make sure that tonight you'll have a beautiful experience! Gabe is a tender, kind, considerate man. A real love! Someone you can enjoy!"
"Debbie!" I sobbed. "I'm a man! I'm not gay! I don't want to have sex with men! I feel so ... used! So inferior!"
"Honey, concentrate on that. Say it to yourself. 'I'm not an inferior man, I'm Debbie's girlfriend! I'm a beautiful intelligent girl and I'm attractive to men, and I love it when men want to get close to me. Say it to me!"
Somehow her words were actually comforting. "I'm not a man," I said dispiritedly. Now that a man -- and how many men afterward? -- had been in my mouth and in my ass, how could I respect myself as a man? "I'm an attractive girl. Your girl friend."
"And?"
"I like it when men like me."
I repeated that last phrase several times. It was actually consoling! I snuggled up close and she held me close, her smooth warm skin pressing against mine, her softness squeezed on mine. I couldn't tell where I ended and Debbie began. We were like two naked women together in bed, for a moment, pressing softly against each other. No, I was her husband, a man who had just sucked cock.
But somehow it was comforting to be Debbie's girlfriend. In the morning I'd tell her more about some of the guys who visited me in that back room. Old codgers, college kids, tough guys, refined gentlemen. All sorts of men went to that gay bar! One kept saying 'Thank you, Lord!' with every push, and wanted to blow me in return for his fuck. But I was all spurted out by then, my groin awash in cum with more trickling from my gaping anus, and more boy friends waiting their turn outside the door. Most never said a word. One had a silly, penny-ante ego, and thought he was a superior creature because my kind of girl had gone down on him and was sucking him off, when in fact any girl could have had him -- he was easy. We'd share a laugh or two about that afterward, about the strange ways men behave when they're in heat.
Gradually my sobs quieted, and as I fell asleep, I realized I could have dribbled cum into any of my lovers' mouths if I'd thought of it. Made them cock suckers too, at one remove. They'd have agreed to let me kiss them, I didn't doubt it for a moment, and that was all it took! Then maybe they too would find they couldn't forget how it tasted and felt on their tongues! But they'd have deserved it! Maybe even liked it. I guess despite everything, I liked it!
--continued--
You have read this article Forced Femme Stories
with the title Forced Femme Stories: "Sucker" by Vickie Tern ( Parts 7 - 9 ). You can bookmark this page URL http://blackpoetrypmrapedtwice.blogspot.com/2011/01/forced-femme-stories-by-vickie-tern_22.html. Thanks!
