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 4 - 6)
iv.
On Monday I went in and reported on my sales trip to the boss. She was so pleased with the new customers I'd developed and with the size of their orders that she told me to take two weeks off as a bonus, then for another week or so just check up on them by phone and fax, from home, as necessary.
"Just so they know we care," she said. "In another month maybe I'll want to send you out again for an even longer period. But I don't want to wreck your home life, you're too valuable to us. We don't want to risk anything that might demoralize you or your wife. So stay home now, and work from home for the present. You've earned it!"
I assured her that my home life has never been better. I was feeling just great!
Debby was absolutely thrilled when I told her at dinner about my two weeks of paid leave followed by time spent at home. At yogurt, I guess I should say. We were seated in the dining doom, eating a cup each by candlelight. I was twisting my spoon to make it last, and thinking about maybe sneaking another extra milkshake from the powder in the pantry after Debby retired for the night. Though I'd certainly be retiring with her, so we could spend another night tangled together. "That's perfect!" she said. "Two weeks leave, and then work from home! Perfect! I'll book a few days at the Avalon Resort in the mountains for your birthday, that's exactly a month from now. And I'll take three weeks of the vacation time I'm due, and I'll re-schedule myself for the last week. Because now we have the time we need to prepare you and then do it!"
"Prepare me for what?" I asked. "Do what?"
"Prepare you to do what you said you'd do! Surely you haven't forgotten! I asked Bruce today, and he's agreed! He'll do it with you whenever we feel ready, though he's set a few conditions. He'll be away for the next two weeks and he has other plans for when he gets back, but luckily he's free from Friday all through the Sunday of your birthday weekend. So that's when we'll do it. It's a shame you won't meet and get to know each other first, but there'll be time enough. We'll go to the Resort and I'll introduce you there, and then when you're feeling familiar and comfortable with each other you two can get it on to your heart's content. All weekend long if you like. No fuss and no mess!"
"Get it on? In only a month? For a whole weekend? I thought this was for fifteen minutes!" I was a little shocked. I realized I was thinking my upcoming loss of masculinity was like a major operation, or like some extensive dental procedure, something to be dreaded and put off, yet also something best done as quickly as possible.
"We've got a lot to do before then, Sam. We've barely four weeks to get you ready. But then when you have a whole weekend to relax with each other, you'll see, it'll be that much more enjoyable."
"A lot to do? Do what? Try not to think about it is what I mean to do."
"Wrong, honey. Just the reverse is what you'll need to do. To think about nothing but the Big Day! Because when it happens, if you're to be the way you'll want me to be, you'll have to feel three things. Horny, experienced, and desirable. That'll take most of our time between now and then. The weeks you've got off are just barely enough!"
Debbie was now looking at me with a determined gleam in her eye. I'd seen it a few times before, and I knew that there was no stopping her in that state of stubborn certainty. And she'd been so pleased with me, and so ... rewarding, that I didn't want to object to any of her plans. "Yes. But explain, please," was all I dared say.
"Baby, you've got talent, I know that from watching you with that banana, when you didn't have any feeling for it at all but I could swear you were making passionate love to it. And what you did with my thumb the next morning clinched it. And since then, whenever you've found one of my fingers or toes -- don't think I haven't noticed. Well, this time you'll be making really passionate love to a man's penis. Something you're reluctant to do, I know. Something you've been conditioned and cautioned and inhibited against ever since you were a little boy. That's not easily overcome! But we want it done right, and done right the first time! Bruce will expect it. You agree?"
"Yes," I said. Because what else could I say?
"So first of all, we need to help you feel eager to do it. No inhibitions! Keen, really avid. So there'll be no more sex with me from now on, not until you've performed with Bruce satisfactorily. Is that agreed?"
"No more of everything we've been doing the last few days?"
"No more of any of it. Not until afterward".
I decided to defer argument about that one. "Debbie, what does 'satisfactorily' mean? I mean to do what the video showed Stacy doing, to the best of my ability. That's all. That's what we agreed."
"Honey, Bruce agreed to be your partner sight unseen on my say so. And as you know, Bruce is a very special man. He has no problem finding the kinds of ... lovers he likes, and he takes on only certain kinds. Remember? The kind that make the girls in our office feel envious? Well, when he agreed, he set certain conditions, and I've told him there'll be no problem with them. So don't embarrass me by hedging at this late stage. 'Satisfactorily' means he's satisfied. He decides whether or not it's been done right. And he has very high standards."
This was appalling! "Debbie," I said, "I agreed to suck Bruce's cock so you'd be willing to suck mine now and then. It's an odd bargain, but it has a kind of logic, and it seems to be what you need to dispel some sort of resentment that I want you to do it, so I agreed, and that's what I agreed! I certainly didn't agree to serve as his Cock sucker-in-Training for some indeterminate period, until he's finally willing to certify me! That could take forever!"
"I know. It does look like an open-ended commitment, doesn't it? I can see why you're concerned. You can see yourself kneeling in front of him until you've gotten too old to see what's under your nose and he's too old to remember. Isn't that it?"
Debbie had an unerring ability to speak my mind when she chose to. And she was mocking me again, a little. So I just smiled weakly and nodded.
"But remember, I'll know. I'll even be watching."
Somehow I hadn't considered that! My wife would be there the whole time? She'd witness my humiliating submission? She'd see her man kissing the cock of another man! That would change the way she thinks about me altogether, for all time! She'll never be able to respect me as a man again, I thought. Why does she want this?
But then I realized that for Debbie, for some perverse reason, that change in our relationship had already taken place in her mind, just with my agreement to do it. And that it was a huge change for the better! So I just nodded. She went on.
"I've got the final determination. If I see you dedicated to pleasing him, and Bruce seems to me to be satisfied, then that's what he is. You'll have to satisfy me by what you do to him, that's all. That's what you'll want me to do with you, isn't it? Satisfy you?"
"Yes," I had to agree. I didn't fully understand the implications of what she'd just said, but it sounded reasonable. Even so, this somehow no longer sounded like our original agreement, and in honesty I had to say so. "I thought that just once would do it, Debby. Once is all it takes to make me a cock sucker. One suck on one cock and bingo, your straight husband is a pervert, a guy who sucks cock. And that's that! Isn't that so? Isn't that enough?"
"If that's all you want from me, baby. But I think you want more than that from me. One suck doth not a satisfactory cock sucker make, does it? It takes technique and dedication. You saw what Stacy was doing, and even though it was only a banana you blew, you know what's involved. You'll want me to be a satisfactory cock sucker for you too, won't you? Isn't that so?"
"I guess." I was beginning to be sorry I'd ever asked her to go down on me.
"And didn't we make this a quid pro quo? I do what I'm not pleased to do because you've already done what you're not pleased to do?"
"That's certainly true, yes."
"And we do it with our whole hearts?"
"Yes. I guess."
"Then you'll do everything you can to satisfy him. And he's a pro, in a manner of speaking. Oral sex is a big part of his sex life. So you'll have to meet some pretty high standards. Do you understand now?"
"Yes. I think." Why was it that everything simple I agreed to became complicated once Debbie explained it?
"That means among other things you'll really have to *want* to satisfy him. Really be eager to please him! That cock will have to be the only thing in your life when you take it into your mouth, and his happiness your only happiness. You'll have to be sincere, in other words. Because he'll be able to tell. That's what I meant by 'horny'."
"How do I get to want to do with him what I want you to do with me?"
"Don't worry, honey, I'll help. I have some ideas, even apart from the main ones, and all of them are meant to get you feeling as hard up as I can get you. So you'll dedicate your whole soul to him, if only to get back in bed with me!"
No deferring that issue any longer! "*Back* in bed? We really won't even be sleeping in the same bed?"
Instead of answering, she reached for my cock. It was still in my pants, but it firmed up as soon as she began to squeeze it, then stood solid as a rock. She began to stroke it. It throbbed.
"Mmmmmmm! That's nice! But now I'll leave you like this. Horny, eager to give in order to get." She took her hand away. "See?"
This was cruel! But this was a new Debbie, too, and I can't say I wasn't responsible! "Debbie!" I pleaded. "I've really been looking forward to tonight, to more of what we've done all weekend.
"No, not even to help you make a mess in your panties now, lover. Not until you're my sweet, certified cock sucker. That's when I'll be yours!"
"Well, you've sure taken care of the motivation part of this deal," I said, already feeling frustrated. "No sex with you until I can please this Bruce of yours, or at least convince you I've done it."
"Sam, lets be very clear about this. You won't please Bruce until you really and truly want to please Bruce. A satisfied Bruce has to be your most ardent desire, your whole purpose in life. You'll need to love him sincerely, devotedly, totally! It's more than just a matter of behaving a certain way. Any whore can fake desire. You'll have to mean it! Do you really want to satisfy him?"
"No, frankly. This is for you, not for him. But if you want me to, I'm willing to try."
"All right. It's a beginning. But we have a lot of work ahead of us. Teaching you how to want to please a man!"
"What kind of work?" This had started out as a brief ordeal to be lived through and forgotten. Now it was beginning to look like a lifetime employment.
"For one thing, giving you pride in your abilities. Sophisticated skills. Improving your techniques. Getting enough experience with cocks and with sucking on them so you're comfortable and familiar with their different shapes and how they feel." She paused. I could tell what that pause meant. Then it came. "Learning how different men respond differently to different approaches, until the right techniques become second nature. So you'll know instinctively what to do with Bruce's penis when the time comes."
I looked at her. I had no idea what my facial expression was telling her, but I saw hers settle into a hard, unyielding mask. anticipating my objections and ready to stick by her statement. "Different men?" was all I asked.
"You know perfectly well what I said," she replied coldly. "Bruce gave me the name of a bar where you can get a lifetime of experience in only one night, if you're diligent and use your time well."
"This was to have been only one cock, one time," I reminded her solemnly.
"A big league cock," she replied. "You aren't even a bush leaguer, yet. Sam, I don't hear enthusiasm in your voice. I don't see you leaning forward toward all the challenges. You aren't eager to learn this new skill and learn to enjoy your virtuosity! You told me you'd come to the realization that it's an art form!"
"When I was watching Stacy cock suck Chuck," I corrected her. "She's the artist. I'm not."
"You will be. You'll have to be, won't you? Just think of it this way. We're sending you to art school to bring out whatever talent you've got. You supply the dedication. Talent is a gift. I really do hope you've got it. I really don't want to lose this new you. The last few days have been the happiest of my life, Sam. And the most promising."
I had nothing to say. I had, after all, initiated this whole thing, and I had agreed to go first. What I was willing to do was a done deal. The only remaining questions were how good did I have to be, and how would I get that way. And the answers to those were settled in Debbie's mind. I had no alternative ideas. I had to go with Debbie's.
"They've been the happiest for me too," I replied. Debbie's face relented, and she smiled almost gratefully. "Worth it. Worth whatever they need to cost me!" I added. In for a penny, I thought, in for a pound. "Worth anything!"
At that she flew into my arms. I held her close. I kissed her face everywhere I could reach, when she had stopped sobbing her joy into my shoulder. I was consoling her! Amazing! My cock began to harden again. Better not, I thought. Not if somehow I have to work up a strong desire to suck off Bruce. And a small voice in my head now added, 'And lots of other guys first."
Debbie felt my bulge and rubbed her belly against it. "I love you," she said simply.
"Must we do this?" I asked her?
"That's why I love you," she added. "Because you're willing to do this. You're incredible!"
I had no reply to that. "Anything else?" I asked. I hoped that we were done. I had a difficult few weeks ahead of me, brainwashing myself to make love to a guy, more than one guy, a whole saloonful of queers it looked like.
"Only one other thing. It's something that'll make everything else much easier," Debbie said. "In fact it might even give you the same kind of pleasure Stacy gets. The kind I'll get, I hope, when I finally go down on you, sweetheart."
She remained in my arms, hers arms around my neck as if she were reluctant to let go. I felt her breasts pressing against my chest, warm and pillowy. Her belly slid against my raging cock yet again. I couldn't help it, I pivoted my own hips ever so slightly up and across its softness. But she didn't pull away. Her eyes looked steadily into mine while she waited for me to ask.
"What other thing?" I asked.
"You'll need to look desirable to Bruce, or he won't be interested."
"I'm not now desirable? You said he agreed to do it!"
"Conditionally."
"What's the condition?" How bad could it be, after everything else I'd just heard.
"Sweetheart," she said, still watching my face while her belly slid and rotated across my cock. "You remember what I told you about Bruce's dates, those gorgeous girls who come to the office to meet him when they're en route together to some cocktail bar and dinner and who knows what else?
"The girls who are guys underneath. Or used to be guys. Yes, I remember."
She just continued to look at me, silent. Did her mouth curl ever so slightly? She waited. Finally I saw what she meant, and I felt a surge of pure terror!
"No!!" I said.
"Yes!" she said. "We'll need to make you over into one of those girls." And she closed her eyes and tightened her arms around my neck, and pulled me down to her face, her red lips partly open. "You want what Bruce wants, and that's what Bruce wants. I want it too! I want you to! You'll need to, if you're to manage all the rest! You'll be a girl when you give him head, and that's why you'll love it! That's why you'll do it so well! You'll be sensational! It'll be fabulous! You'll be so beautiful, darling!"
And she covered my mouth with hers, and I felt her tongue thrust into my mouth. Her arms now clamped our faces together, her hands on the back of my head, holding me immovable. I could say nothing. I sucked instinctively on her tongue. She pressed her belly closer against me and rotated it inexorably, and I felt a slow rise of desire and pleasure there. I couldn't stop it. My pleasure overflowed! Pure joy! And my penis erupted! Spasms! Bliss!
I couldn't help myself! I came! My cock throbbed against her belly and pumped cum into my underwear. I was sure she could feel me pulsing, maybe even feel the wet spot slowly spreading out, yet she never stopped pressing her belly snug against me. It was odd, that orgasm into my pants. A feeling of fulfillment yet impotence, of filling an erotic need and yet emptying one, of squirting at random, of rapturous discharge into ... nothing. She wanted me to become a girl! Is that what it would feel like? Our kiss went on and on. Her belly slid on my softening prick.
Finally she eased the pressure of her arms on my neck just a little, and I pulled away from her until our noses barely touched. In the afterglow of my climax I had come to a decision. No way! This had gone too far. I would have to break it to her. "I'm sorry!" I began, in a firm whisper. I had to tell her that I meant to bug out altogether. This was the most precious darling girl in the world, my wife, and I loved her past reckoning, and to deepen and secure our relationship I was now reconciled to sucking off her faggot office manager and first whoever else it took to learn how to do the job right. But no way was I going to become a girl who was once a man! My voice choked, and I was tearful, but I had to say it! "I never intended to go this far...," I began.
What would have happened if Debbie had understood what I was about to say? Did she in fact understand it but refuse to acknowledge it? I won't ever know now. She interrupted what was to have been my farewell speech with a speech of her own.
"It's all right, baby, it's all right!" she said consolingly, still rubbing her belly against me. "Don't be sorry! Be glad! I'm really delighted that the idea excites you so much that your penis explodes at the very thought! It excites me too! It's the most exciting thing I can imagine! My darling husband, my soul mate, my partner for life, agreeing to look like a girl for me. And live like one until it feels so natural he almost thinks that's what he is! Giving up his manhood for me! Because he wants to feel closer to me! Did any man ever do such a thing for his wife before now? It's just awesome!"
"No, Debbie, that's not what ..." I started to say again, trying to correct her. But she took that as the answer to her question, and continued as if I hadn't spoken at all.
"All right, apparently giving up his manhood! That's an even bigger sacrifice in some ways! Doing whatever's necessary to seem to be a real girl when she sucks off her man. Not some sissy cock sucker, not just one more queer, but to seem to be an actual voluptuous girl, desirable and desiring! And all because that's what I want him to be!"
She looked me up and down, delighted.
"To please me! Oh, sweetheart, it'll take weeks of hard work, but I know you'll do it beautifully! I can tell by the way you move to my exercise tapes! You're a born girl! Or very nearly! Don't be sorry about soaking your undershorts, precious! That's the last time you'll ever wear those bulky things anyway. We'll replace them with beautiful, beautifully trim satin and nylon and lace panties you'll prefer to wear by far, and you can cum into any of those any time your darling heart desires! That's what they'll be for! Or cum into me, through any opening your heart desires, when all this is over! And we'll buy you exquisite bras to match! And slips, and dresses, and ... everything! You'll be stunning! A perfect girl! You'll adore it! And I'll adore you!"
It was a filibuster. No room to get words in edgewise. She went on and on, and not once did her hips pause in their slow rolling against my crotch. My prick never had a chance to lose its tumescence. It softened a little, then began growing again.
"Oh, it'll be so wonderful! I do hope you'll learn to love being a girl even after we're finished with Bruce, so we can do other things together, go out together both of us and enjoy ourselves being two women out together, live our lives together...."
"Debbie!" I tried again. But she was lost. She had drifted in her imagination into another world where I was already a woman, never letting go of me the whole time. She held me tightly, lovingly, around the neck. I'd already agreed to give up a large part of my manhood. I'd agreed to become a cock sucker for her, not just once for this one guy Bruce but for lots of others, to train myself for the main event. And psych myself up to *want* to do it! Would there be any of the old me left anyhow? And what had she said -- that if I was a girl the cock sucking part of it would be much easier? That was probably true. When a girl goes down on a man, she's even more of a girl, she doesn't lose any part of herself. Girls enjoy it! They're completed by it! Isn't that what I'd argued to Debbie? And now here Debbie was, her body pressed against mine, her face turned up to mine, her red lips moist and parted, her eyes closed, telling me the same thing. Waiting for my reply. I kissed her. And with that kiss I was lost.
v.
My training began at once.
When we disentangled our arms from one another, Debbie stood back and looked at me. "I do so want to wrap myself around you sweetheart, and never let you go. But from now on, we both deny ourselves! You don't come near me, except maybe to hug me the way girlfriends hug each other. You don't come near any climax that Bruce or the thought of Bruce doesn't excite in you. I'll get you a picture of him so you can masturbate looking fondly at him, if you must. But only while thinking about him. You're his, physically, from now on. I want you to be so hard up in only one month that you'll do him rapturously in order to get me ready to do you! You'll do him because he wants you to do him, the way you wanted me to do you! Because that's what you want to do, because he's so handsome and you're so much in love with the idea. I want you so smitten by him that if he were to ask you to do it, you'd do a whole barnyard of animals " She paused, and her face took on a mischievous expression. "Or you'd let a whole barnyard of animals do you!"
"Thanks!" was all I could say to any of that.
"Oh, you'll thank me, honey! Take my word for it! You will! But meanwhile I need to thank you! This is better than anything I'd ever dreamed I'd have when we first got married. I knew you were a love! But a darling husband who lets me remake him into anything I want? Into a cock sucker? Into a Barbie doll? Into a cock sucking Barbie doll? How many girls have one of those?"
Was it too late to retrieve myself? I needed clarification. "Bruce will want me to look like a girl when I do him, I understand that, Debbie," I began.
"The same as you'll want me to look like a girl when I do you, Sammy honey! Isn't that right? So let's get started"
"But you want that too? For me to look like a girl when I do him?"
"That's what I want too. That's right. That's what I want you to be for me too. Right now, and from now on. Believe me, sweetheart, it will not injure our relationship for me to see you looking like a girl! It'll make things better in many ways. It'll bring us closer, because I'll feel you understand me better as a woman. That as a woman you understand me better. That you're my husband-wife. My girlfriend-sister. I'll love it!"
"Debbie, what do you mean, 'from now on'?"
"Sweetheart, one day at a time. I think we can each decide later what it is we want to see happen later."
That made sense.
"All right, then," I said.
"All right!" she replied." Did I hear a trace of elation in her voice? "Now, for these next weeks you're a girl. We'll do everything we can to make you look like one. You'll live, talk, and think like one, and you'll need to forget that you were ever anything else. Do you agree? Can you do that? Do you see how it has to be all or nothing, and all at once?"
"Yes."
"No arguments about whether we're going too fast? Or too far?"
"No, Debbie. I'll do whatever you think best."
"You give me your word on that?"
I thought I'd better be wary. Limit the agreement. "For the next four weeks, yes. No arguments. You have my word."
"Good. So why don't you strip naked right now, honey, and we'll begin. Right here. A girl shouldn't be wearing those clothes. They're too mannish."
There was no reaching her. And no going back. I undid my belt buckle. A minute later I was peeling off my sticky, soaked underpants and stood naked in front of her.
She was thinking out loud. "I guess first, we'll need to get rid of all that hair. Let's go to the bathroom and we'll depillate you. Make your body as sweet and smooth as mine. Take those wet panties with you. In fact, stuff the soaked parts into your mouth right now. It'll save on needless conversation and it'll start you getting accustomed to the flavor."
I looked at the sticky mess of broadcloth in my hands, my reluctance obvious.
"Sam! If you won't do what your dearest girl friend tells you, I'll have to order you to do it as your wife, and then get much more severe! For your own good! You agreed to all this! And I like telling men what to do, and I know how to get them to do it! By whatever means! Hold that in mind! That's how I get things done at work, and not only at work!"
I started to cram my undershorts into my mouth, not altogether understanding her.
"Wet places first, please," she said as if she were a schoolmarm talking to an unruly child. I took out whatever I'd managed to shovel into my mouth.
"Yes ma'am!" I said with defiant irony. Debbie said nothing. She simply waited.
This time I crammed it in cum first. It was all still tacky, and not as warm as when it was next to my body. Mostly it was just cloth, and the sticky stuff was a little like the warm egg whites I'd tasted from her gravy baster? A lot like that stuff in the gravy baster, in fact. No fishy flavor, but about as slick. Saltier? A bit bitter? A hint of ammonia or chlorine? And what else was there in it, not unpleasant, but unfamiliar?
"You'll get used to the flavor of sperm soon enough, honey," Debbie said, as if she could read my mind. "You'll have to. All sorts of that delicious cock-cream you're always urging on me. If you're good at your new job, that is!"
Then she added, and I couldn't tell if she was being sincere or ironic, "Feel grateful whenever you taste it, baby. Learn to love it! A man's semen coating the inside of your mouth or discharged down your throat will have to seem to you altogether natural, usual, and customary. Because it'll mean a job well done. Every reason for you to feel proud of yourself. That's the kind of pride that makes a girl into a woman -- we'll just have to see what it makes you! You heard what the girl in the video said. Sperm is your reward for finally bringing your man off! It's the proof of the pudding! It *is* the pudding, isn't it! Eat and enjoy! Now let's get started!"
I couldn't answer her, of course, with my mouth filled with cummy cloth.
An hour later I was standing in the guest bedroom looking down at a nightie she'd laid out for me to wear to bed. I was a girl in a man's body, and that was that! A hairless body. My skin was bare everywhere below the eyebrows. Even my prick and balls were naked, looking rather lonely and pathetic hanging there as if a little out of place. When finally Debbie'd let me take my cum-soaked shorts out of my mouth, I'd asked her "Why no hair down there? No one but you will ever see me there?" She'd replied simply, "You never know."
Then she'd had me rub body lotion all over me, to soothe the irritated skin and help me feel smoother. "A girl's skin should feel the way yours felt before your adolescence," she said. "You'll get back to that as you develop, but meanwhile you'll need to use creams and lotions several times each day.
"Develop?" I asked?
"Look your best. And feel good about the way you look. Don't worry about it," she said. She then sprayed me with cologne. The lotions were soothing, and I have to admit that even the coarsest-feeling parts of my body -- my arms, for example -- now felt velvety. But now I smelled like a flower garden. The way she always smelled. I commented on that.
"Tomorrow we go shopping," she said. "You'll choose your own signature scent and then stick with it -- an aroma that seems fresh during the day but a little heavier and more romantic in the evening." Now she was putting my hair up in rollers. "Your scent is what your men will remember about you when you move from one to another. These rollers? They're so you can look pretty tomorrow. Tomorrow we'll get your hair done so you won't need to sleep wearing rollers again. Something as pretty but more practical. After tonight you'll appreciate that too."
"My men? You mean the guys I'm supposed to practice on before I get to Bruce?
"Those too," she replied, distracted. She was staring at my chest. Almost absent-mindedly, she reached out and touched a nipple. I jumped. It was so sensitive! Erotic desire shot through me! "So soon," she said mostly to herself. "Who'd have thought it? You do have a talent for this, Sam!" Then abruptly, "Good Night, sweetie!"
She shut the door. I slipped the nightie over my head. It felt wonderful on my bare skin. Then once in bed I realized I'd have to lie almost immobile on my back to keep the hair rollers from poking into unaccustomed parts of my head. So I kept real still, and eventually managed to get to sleep.
When I woke the next morning Debbie was already beside me, sitting by my bedside, reading. As I turned my head toward her I felt those curlers pressing on my scalp. How did I get into this? A chain sequence. To get Debbie to go down on me whenever I wanted I had to go down on a guy once, looking like a girl when I did it, and I had to be good so I had to practice on a few other guys first. All in a few weeks. Thinking of it all at once like that it seemed a little scary, because it was all new, but it wasn't too bad a deal I thought, not too difficult. With a lifetime's reward! It will be easier, I thought, if for the next weeks I really try to forget who I am. Put my manhood on hold. Be an actor. Pretend I'm a girl who loves to hold a prick in her mouth.
"Good morning, Samantha," Debbie greeted me brightly. 'Did you sleep well?"
"Samantha," I repeated. It figured. "Why yes, thank you," I replied. "It's so very sweet of you to ask! I slept just marvelously!"
I thought I sounded like Scarlet O'Hara. I didn't mean for it to sound swish ironic, but that's how Debbie heard it. "It is indeed, Sam. Most women are wakeful the first night they try to sleep with their hair set in rollers, and they look terrible the next day. They get used to it, but it's one of the sacrifices they make for men that men never know about. One of many. I think you might appreciate my concern for you a little more sincerely. I do love you, you know. You may not believe this, but everything we're doing here is because of that!"
I felt chastened. "I'm sorry, Debbie," I said. "A little. I know that women are always saying 'How very sweet!' and 'It's just darling!' and 'How adorable!' and things like that men never say. I was trying to fake it, yes. But it felt good saying it. Kind of liberating to be able to say it. Because it *was* sweet of you to ask!"
That pleased her enormously. "Well, Samantha darling, it's sweet of you to admit that. I think there's a chance that this just might work out. We're being women full time now, remember, from now at least until we come back from our weekend at the Avalon, so there is nothing inappropriate you can do that pertains to being a woman, and nothing appropriate you can do that pertains to being a man. Remember that."
I nodded solemnly. I wasn't a good enough actor to act out being a girl, I decided. Pretending won't persuade anybody. So I'll try to do it her way.
"From now on you'll want to do feminine things with no hesitation, Samantha, and surrender yourself into them, and feel natural about it. Even pleased. You'll see. It'll be a little like walking through a narrow door into a widening corridor leading finally outside to a different world. A woman's world. Liberating yourself -- your word, baby -- into that world. I think it's a wonderful world. You'll see for yourself. Today you pass through the door. Here, let me show you how to wrap a turban around your hair so we can do our exercises. We'll do them naked. There'll only be us girls here, right? You're one of us now, remember that!"
It felt strange high-stepping and weaving my shoulders and shaking my bootie and my chest with all those women on the tape, all the while completely nude, Debbie right next to me doing the same thing in her deliciously girl way, also nude. I saw that her slim waist curved to wide hips with her pussy plumb in the middle, and her firm-breasts gently bobbled with each hop or twist or step. The girls on the tape had the same proportions even though their bodies were held firm by leotards or tank suits.
There was a full-length mirror on the wall of our game room. I could see that I needed still more fluidity, more grace, in comparison with the other girls, and I tried harder. The TV girls in spandex and Debbie in her skin were all round places and graceful bulges and cute curves. By the end of the session I was beginning to feel vaguely that I was the wrong shape -- too skinny, straight-as-a-stick, my waistline too large for my hips, my hips too narrow to swing wide around both sides of my groin the way the girls' hips did. And while my shoulders weren't too broad -- they never had been -- I was flat-chested. I had none of the beautifully curving mounds the TV girls showed proudly, nor was my flesh hanging softly down, yet uplifted to large pink nipples like Debbie's. Only jouncing balls and a floppy cock. I felt somehow wrong, as far as dancing to the exercise tapes went. Debbie and the other girls looked impressive whether standing or moving. Neatly composed. I looked unattractive.
When we were finished and dripping with sweat and heading for the shower, I commented on it. "I see I've got to work on my figure," I said, a little self-amused. Debbie, still breathing hard, only glanced at me and said nothing. She gave me a plastic bubble shower cap to protect my hairdo, still in rollers, but as we were getting out and drying off she commented, "You're right. You might be a little more attractive to Bruce if you were a little rounder in the right places, that's true. Certainly you'd be more attractive to me. And to yourself! We can't do everything in a month, but I can speed what's under way already, honey. Would you like me to?"
What would a female reply to that be? Could a woman refuse an offer that was kindly intended? "I'd like that very much, Debbie. You're a dear. But you don't have to."
"Oh, I really want to," Debbie said with a smile. "But this time you better mean it. Is today too soon?"
"For what, Debbie?"
"To arrange for a little more rounding in the right places." She watched me closely.
My reply was casual, because I'd merely been registering how my shape compared with everyone else's I'd seen this morning, none of them male. My standard of comparison had to be female. "I don't mind, if it can get me through this trial period with less hassle," I replied. "Sure!" It seemed to me that a little more rounding meant I'd be getting a little more to eat. At least an honest second milkshake each day. I didn't like sneaking the extras, so far three days out of three. "Would I be allowed two of those diet milkshakes?"
"It's possible. They'd help. I have a doctor in mind -- I'll ask her. You're showing exceptional response after only three days, and I don't want any harm to come to you, sweetheart. But I know she can also help improve your figure another way, by redistributing some of your fat cells. Take a few away from here and put them there. Just enough to hint an improvement in your figure. If you'd feel much better about yourself I'll arrange it. You wouldn't mind?"
"No, of course not." What harm could there be in that?
"Lovely!"
That settled, whatever it was we'd settled, I asked Debbie what our plans were for the morning.
She looked surprised. "Didn't I tell you? We're going to Vita's in about an hour. Then we'll have lunch out. Your first excursion into the public eye as a girl. We'll be two women out together enjoying a bite to eat -- it'll be such fun! You'll find that when other people think you're a woman, and you know they do, it'll be easier for you to believe it yourself. Especially when other women think you're a woman, because we're all a kind of universal support and reassurance group for each other. So it'll be good for you. Like the exercises, it'll help you develop a feminine self-image."
"I guess."
"What we'll really want of course is for you to feel more like a woman when men think you're a woman. For you to develop that part of your feminine self-image too! To feel shivers or to glow when you know a man's admiring you. A little flirting with those brutes can be lots of fun!" She smiled now, and looked up at me wickedly. "That'll take a little longer for you to get into. But maybe not. Maybe we'll both be surprised! Are you sure you never wanted to kiss a fella or toy with his affections?" Now she grinned broadly, openly teasing me. After all, what was flirting, when I'd already committed to heavy duty sex with Bruce? A kind of sex, anyhow.
I nodded. "I'm sure. Though I suspect that when you're finished with me I won't be so sure. Who's Vita?"
"Our hairdresser. Mine, now ours. You'll need a cut and perm and styling, if you're to escape the drudgery of setting your hair every night and then sleeping on rollers. I promised you last night, remember?"
"A perm? Is that necessary? It sounds so ... permanent." I wanted to cooperate, but I was a little worried about overdoing this kick Debbie was on. I had a life to live after this month of trying to be a girl who was being trained to be a cock sucker.
"Of course a permanent. With a perm, hair holds its curl better, and soft waves last longer. What I have in mind for you is a crown of curls, and waves bordering them at the neckline, very simple, comb it with your fingers or brush it upswept for sophisticated evening wear. Easy to care for yet flexible. I think your hair is just long enough."
"But will it come out? Can it be undone afterward?"
Debbie's face turned serious, a warning sign that I'd overstepped myself. "Anything can be undone afterward, Sam. Even marriages, when people don't keep their promises to each other. You should be thinking 'A perm? Marvelous! I'll look so pretty afterward!' Suppose you say that right now."
I did.
"Good. One day at a time, remember? Later is later and afterward is afterward. Right now you're a girl, and girls expect to remain girls all their lives. Don't they?"
"Yes," I said.
"Now suppose you get dressed so we can do your hair and make-up and show you to the world."
I decided to keep quiet. She'd do whatever she meant to do, that was coming clear. The clothes she'd laid out for me were simple: a wide denim skirt gathered to a shaped waist band -- she called it a "yoke", and told me to learn the language of fashion as soon as possible -- and a pink, lace-trimmed blouse with a boat neck, with a powder blue cardigan to match the skirt. She herself was wearing slacks and an oversized sweater, nothing feminine at all. I wondered why she wasn't giving me the same for my first day out, but I didn't dare ask. I suppose it was part of her "all or nothing" approach to my re-education as a female.
I mentioned that. She replied, "That's right! I know who I am, Samantha. You obviously don't yet know who you are! By the end of today there'll be no confusing you with a man, not by me, maybe not even by you. That's my intention! Not that I ever really did confuse you with a man!"
I flinched. There was a gratuitous insult, implying what about our marriage? What did she mean?! She saw I was hurt by that crack, that even though I was supposed to be a girl, I wasn't there yet. So she then added more gently, "I'm sorry, that wasn't necessary. But do try to think you were always a girl, never a man, honey! Remember, you aren't quite the real thing. Soon. The more like a girl you dress, the more likely it is that people will be persuaded that's what you are, and the less they'll wonder about little manly oddities in the way you behave. Here, put these on first."
She handed me a stretch girdle with removable foam pads on the hips and over the cheeks, tight in the crotch, no concession whatever made to male genitals. I looked at it. Here was an instant figure! Then she handed me a heavy-duty padded bra. "We'll take out the foam pads in the girdle and bra later," she said. I asked her why?
"If we visit Sandra after Vita, you won't need them," she replied. This was incomprehensible, but Debbie was already annoyed by my foot-dragging, and she was in charge, so I went with it. Somehow, I'd expected something flimsy, wispy, some pretty feminine nothings for my first undies, and I said so as inoffensively as I could.
For the first time she grinned. "Sweetheart, you'll have plenty of those when you've got pretty feminine somethings to put in them. Today you'll need firm support, things that really grip and shape you. Trust me."
Did I have a choice? I sat down at her dressing table and she swiftly undid the rollers. It was miraculous! Three strokes of a hairbrush and my hair uncoiled into springy, swooping waves piled high on my head, no sign of a curl.
"That's very nice," I volunteered timorously. "I didn't know that's what hair rollers did."
"It *is* becoming," Debbie agreed, looking at my sculpted hair in the mirror. "But too much trouble. And if someone were to use it to guide your mouth where he wants it, it wouldn't look neat any more. Later when the hairdo I have in mind for you grows out, you can try this one again if you like. That'll be up to you."
I didn't like the sound of that reference to 'later,' but decided she meant only what she'd said earlier, that I'd decide things for myself again when this month's ordeal ended. She quickly stroked lipstick and eye liner on me -- "Your face will be remade at Vita's," she said. I didn't look half bad, I must say! She then made up her own face much more carefully, adding mascara, blush, and other cosmetics I have never thought she needed -- her bare face always looked beautiful enough to me. I told her that, and she beamed, but then told me coquettishly to watch her do her makeup in order to learn how. An amusing thought! She then handed me open sandals and a purse, and said, "There! Now to go meet the world! Remember, when you walk, glide. Flow. Don't stride. You'll pass. But if you don't, they're wrong. You're a woman no matter what anyone thinks, right?"
I glimpsed myself in the mirror. "I guess so," I said, astonished. My eyes looked bigger, my lips cuter, and my face smaller under the swirling waves above it. When I went out the front door with Debbie I was a conflicted mess of bravado, cringing fear, modest pride that I looked as good as I did, and a twinge of sadness at something I seemed to have lost or misplaced somewhere back at the house.
vi.
Debbie drove. Other drivers and their passengers glanced at us from time to time, but saw nothing wrong, and I began to relax -- this was not a day for feeling humiliated after all. We had to park a block away from Vita's and walk among many other pedestrians. I glided, elbows at my sides, and it went fine.
"Don't make eye contact with men," Debbie advised, noticing that I was checking out the passers-by to see if they noticed me. "Lots of them won't leave you alone once you look them in the eye. But with women, feel free. We all understand each other." It was true. I smiled at one, then another, and they both smiled back. That never happened to me when I was a man. They'd have frowned, most of them. Maybe looked for a cop!
She introduced me to Vita, who handed me off to a young woman in a purple smock named Allison and went off to chat with Debbie for a while. Then Vita returned. "Debbie's gone shopping and arranging other things," she said. "But we know what you want. Just relax and enjoy being pampered!" Then she disappeared.
During the next several hours young girls came, did things to me, and disappeared, but I never saw Vita again that day. Allison seemed to be in charge. She seemed a little hostile. I said so to her.
"Mister," she said. "I shouldn't say this, and Vita would kill me if she ever found out. But I don't know why you're doing this. It does seem to me an invasion of womynspace, and I resent it. I mean, why do you men have to colonize and appropriate even the way we look and dress?
I told her that my wife wanted me to look and dress like a woman, and I had agreed to do it.
"Really? Why in the world would any woman want you to do that?"
I decided a frontal attack was the only way to deal with this feminist. "So I'll look like a girl when I go down on a man she knows, to suck on his cock. Which I've agreed to do because that's what she wants."
Allison was silent for a long time. Then finally, "Wow!" she said. "That's some penance! You must have done something really bad, you and maybe that man too! I mean, to get two birds with one stone! Humiliating both of you, making you do that. I've got to admire a woman like that!"
I decided not to straighten her out. I wasn't sure I should explain to her that it was all so my wife would agree to suck on my cock. She wouldn't approve, even given the price Debbie had exacted from me.
Allison cut and snipped and rolled and sprayed and poured onto my hair carefully and thoughtfully, while a manicurist came and went, then a "colorist," then someone who punctured my ear lobes and hung a small hoop in each. Then a make-up artist came, and spent a long time doing my lips and eyes. I said nothing. I was determined not to worry the short-term, long-term implications of dyed hair and pierced ears. I reconciled myself to whatever Debbie had decided -- she was in charge for now. I no longer wondered how I'd return to my normal appearance afterward. I'd manage. Now was not the time to feel concerned. Later.
"There you are," Allison said finally, whipping a pale purple sheet off me and turning me toward the mirror. "I told everyone what your wife is doing to you, and they were all impressed. So they've all done their best work on you! It's a wonderful idea! I've got to find a way to get my boyfriend to do that to my ex! He's been two-timing me, and I was just about ready to throw him out! But this is much better! Awesome! First change him, then throw him out! Talk about a kissoff? Well! Aren't you the gorgeous girl now?"
I looked into the mirror. I was! Allison had taken my moderate length sandy colored hair and converted it into a cute mop of streaky-blonde curls. And the others had remade my face from the bare skin on out, and added tips to my fingernails and then painted them the color of my lipstick. Even my beard shadow was gone, buried under an invisible foundation and blush. An attractive girl looked at me from the mirror.
But after the first shock of recognition -- that's really me? -- I forgot my mirror image. I was suddenly concerned by Allison's assumption that Debbie meant only to humiliate me and Bruce en route to a kissoff. That she wanted to end our marriage! Why? Was Debbie that duplicitous?!
"Yes, she certainly is!" I heard Debbie's voice behind me. "She certainly is the gorgeous girl now! You've outdone yourself, Allison! I never thought Samantha would finish that pretty! Samantha, you can't imagine how many marvelous things I've bought for you! I know you'll love them! I can't wait till we get home so you can try them on! But now we need to go to lunch, and I've made a 3:00pm appointment for you at the clinic. Remember, you wanted to look just a little more rounded, a little more appropriate? Well, you're about to get your wish!"
Allison's eyes opened even wider when she heard that, but she said nothing. Debbie offered Allison a large tip, and to her astonishment Allison refused it. "I can only admire what you're doing," Allison told Debbie solemnly. "And I wish you every success! You're an inspiration!"
As we walked to our restaurant, halfway back to the car, Debbie asked me what that was all about, and I told her. I then asked her if she was doing this to punish me, and maybe Bruce too. Whether this was in fact what Allison assumed it was, a humiliating kissoff! "Do I know everything you're really doing, Debbie?" I asked her, near tears?
I asked that last question in a low, intense, and worried voice just as the Maitre D' showed two women to one of his more centrally-located tables, one of them a natural beauty in slacks and one of them elaborately coiffed and made up, wearing a designer denim skirt, each a credit to the attractiveness of his establishment.
Debbie waited until we had both ordered, two small salads and two black coffees, and the waiter had left. She then looked at me with tears starting in her own eyes! "Samantha," she said. "I want to be absolutely honest with you. No, you don't know everything I'm really doing. No, I can't tell you until the proper time. But then I will certainly tell you everything! Everything! Soon, I hope! Until then you'll just have to trust me!"
She smiled, but now the tears welled up. They overflowed, and a teeny streak of mascara coursed down her cheek. She blotted it with a kleenex and looked at the black stain it left.
"Well, look at that," she said. "I'm ruining my mascara. But I can't help it. Samantha, everything I've told you is absolutely true. I can't possibly go down on you until you've done it first to someone else. That's the way I am and that's how it is! And you do need to be feminine if Bruce is to be your man, because that's the way he is. This is not some kind of cruel prank, a 'kiss off.' I do love you. I do want to spend the rest of my life with you. In fact I'm doing everything I can think of to make sure that happens, despite the way I am in some ways. Because if I weren't doing this, it wouldn't happen! You know that I haven't been able to warm up to you sexually. Our marriage was really threatened! But you accepted my challenge with Bruce, and I'm glad, because now I think we can spend our whole lives together. It's much more likely. I hope so!"
I was utterly mystified. I suck Bruce's cock, and then she sucks mine, and then we live happily ever after?
"I think it's absolutely essential that we be absolutely honest with each other! In a month you'll be a changed man. I know it. An altogether changed man, because no longer a man at all, because that's what you've promised me! And that's when I'll be able to explain everything, not to a husband but to a girl I married for life! I mean to keep my word! You suck off Bruce the way we've agreed, and I guarantee you the best sex you've ever had for the rest of your life. You'll be happy, trust me, and that's what I'll be too! In only a month. Do you believe me?"
"Yes," I said, simply. And tears came into my own eyes. She looked so earnest, pleading with me to wait! I had to believe her! I put a kleenex to my eyes too, and then we both started to sob.
"This is terrible! We're making spectacles of ourselves! Let's go to the Ladies and get a grip and fix our faces!" Debbie said, rising. I rose too, and remembered to glide as I followed her.
Once there we fell into each others' arms and just cried and hugged and sobbed. There was nothing more either of us could say. Then gradually we recovered. We believed each other. There would be no more talk about kissoffs.
As Debbie repaired her face in the mirror she looked at me standing alongside and admiring her. My Debbie! Soon to be all mine, our intimacy wonderful, the way it had been this past weekend, but for our whole lives! More than wonderful! Now that I was no longer anxious about our relationship, we were able to make ordinary girl-talk.
"Now that's really lovely!" she said, studying me in the mirror. "What Allison did with your hair! I wish my hair had that kind of fullness and body. And it curled so beautifully! Now it'll look pretty no matter how passionate you may need to get with Bruce, no matter how he may grip or twist it when you send him off the deep end! And it'll be so easy to fix -- all you'll need to do when you stand up again is run your fingers through it!"
I was studying it in the mirror. My new crop. My crown of curls. If I were a girl, I'd think it looked adorable, because it was! But on me? So unmistakably a girl's hairdo? How could I return to those customers in a month or so for their re-orders? How could I let my boss see me? I was no longer the Sam they knew. I tried to share my concern indirectly. "Honey, it's just stunning. I love it. But it's so feminine! I've never seen a man with this kind of streaky blonde hair, curled and styled like this. This is what girls wear! What will people think?"
"Of course you've never seen a man wearing your hairdo! It *is* a girl's style. It looks effeminate? I hope so! It's lovely! Very flattering, Samantha! It'll get you lots of compliments. Anyhow, why do you care what people think? It's what I think that matters, doesn't it? And we've agreed that'll depend on what Bruce thinks. Isn't that so?"
How did Bruce somehow get between me and her feelings about me? "I suppose you're right," I replied. She simply wasn't going to concern herself with what I'd have to face later on. So I couldn't either. One day at a time.
As Debbie finished and returned all her make-up to her purse, her face once again neat, it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't touched mine, yet it was as perfect as when I left Vita's. But I'd cried too! I'd wiped my eyes. We'd hugged each other tearfully. But my mascara stayed on my lashes the whole time.
"Why didn't my face smear like yours?" I asked Debbie as casually as I could. I had an awful feeling that my eye liner and lipstick might have been tattooed on! Would I need to wear this face for the rest of my life? "My eye liner seems to be indelible!" I added in as amused a tone as I could muster, that being my deepest fear.
"It is, more or less," Debbie replied. "I asked about tattoos, but they don't like to do them on faces any more. So I told them to use permanent stains instead. They aren't sub-dermal, like a tattoo, unfortunately. Eventually they wear off. They call them "permanent," though they're no more permanent than a permanent wave! Perfect for a few months, anyhow, but in six months it all needs retouching!"
"A few months?!" I said, trying to sound pleased by this disastrous announcement. I now had one of those perfect, enameled female faces movie stars seem to have, and it wasn't going to go away soon! "That'll be convenient!"
"Oh yes!" Debbie said. "I'm glad you agree. It was the only way to go. There's no time in only a month, three weeks really, to teach you how to apply daytime make-up and then the more sophisticated kinds for evening wear. That can take years. And this is the only make-up that withstands the stresses of serious lovemaking. You'll be rubbing your face in lots of men's crotches soon. Ordinary lipstick can't survive encounters like that, and you'll want to look as pretty afterward as you did before, I'm sure. Especially if your men cum on your face and you'll need to wipe it off without smearing. And anyhow, men don't appreciate seeing lipstick or eye make-up on their penises or their clothes the next day. And neither do their wives, if they have any. Permanent make-up was the perfect solution, it seemed to me. Don't you agree?
"Oh, yes," I said. I was ruined! Even pierced ear holes could be hidden or covered, but I'd need to use make-up on top of this make-up in order to resume life as a man. And even "natural" make-up looks artificial, feminine, even at a glance -- that's how they make it. Then when any "natural" make-up wears off, there I'll be with my deep red lips and black-outlined eyes all over again, an effeminate man who thinks he looks like a pretty girl For the first time, I began considering that I might be in this for the long haul, that my girlhood might not be over when Bruce was satisfied and we went home from our weekend in the country with new understandings of each other! Looking like a girl certainly seemed to be extending well past then. I wondered if Bruce's was the last cock Debbie expected me to suck. I wondered if she had longer-range plans she hadn't yet revealed to me.
When we left the restaurant, Debbie suggested we walk to the doctor's office a few streets away. It was remarkable how well I blended in. Debbie had to remind me now and then to keep my toes pointed forward when I walked, and to sway my hips by seeming to walk on a line, but no one paid us the slightest attention, except perhaps in passing. We were two young women strolling and chatting with each other.
Debbie talked almost non-stop, orienting me to my new gender. "Men offer solutions to problems instinctively" she told me. "That's what they do instead of exchange recipes. But women offer sympathy, not solutions, and that's what other women really want. Men don't like to ask anyone for help -- it implies dependency, weakness, impotence I suppose. But women love to ask, because they know men love to help them. Oh yes, don't talk in falsetto, Samantha honey -- just find a high natural tone with lots of range and then stress your voice a little when you speak. I love the way Allison plucked your eyebrows into that high, high arch -- it looks so delicate and refined." All, I realized, to distract me from asking more questions. At 3:00 pm promptly we arrived at the clinic. The nurse took a blood sample from me and I waited while Debbie went in and consulted. Then I was ushered in.
The doctor was a woman of about Debbie's age. In fact, Debbie introduced me to her as her oldest friend Sandra -- they'd been sorority sisters in college, trusted custodians of each other's secrets. "What we owe each other you wouldn't believe!" Debbie said.
Doctor Sandra asked me to take off my blouse and bra, which was a little embarrassing, though she didn't seem to notice. She inspected my chest. Then she got to the point. "You'd like your adipose tissue redistributed the way Debbie described it to me?"
"Here and there," I said. "Nothing extreme." That sounded like a safe response.
She looked at my blood workup. "You have very high hormone readings. It's already begun to increase tissue mass here and there. Have you begun to notice emotional swings? Crying jags, things like that?"
I realized that my little session with Debbie earlier today had been the first since my early teens. I nodded, wide-eyed. How could this be? The exercise tapes? The mere fact that I was wearing a skirt?
"Any cells I move are likely to multiply themselves as your hormonal processes continue. Then you'll really end up looking like something else! That's what you want?"
I said nothing. "He's been on double strength milk shakes," Debbie said. "And also sneaking an extra one each day. Plainly, that's what he wants!"
"All right," the doctor replied. "They're remarkable, aren't they, those shakes?" she said to me with a grin. "Brand new! Intended for morning-after contraception! They overwhelm any leftover sperm with so many male hormone blockers and so much estrogen that the sperm isn't just sterile when it gets near an ovum, it's flouncing around wearing bras and panties and trying to screw other sperm! Nothing male survives. Women in the test cohort reported that their bodies and feelings both became noticeably more feminine, and that they felt inclined to use that femininity. They felt increases in sensitivity and libido, both. That's exactly what's wanted in your case, of course. And I can see results already. Look here!"
Reaching out, she gently pinched one of my nipples, and I almost swooned! A rich, delicious feeling of well-being suffused me. I was almost breathless. "They're already enlarged, too!" the doctor said to Debbie. "See how the nipples have thickened and begun to stick out? Only three days, and already it's cop a feel and he'll follow you anywhere! They won't need much collagen at all to look pointy. They're absolutely delicious!"
"I'm counting on that, Sandra," Debbie replied.
"Well, let's get started. Follow me, please."
We went into a room lined with gadgets, and Debbie and her friend Sandra went off again. A nurse came in, had me strip and lie down under a sheet, and put an IV in my arm. ""The procedure is safe," she said. "It's been done hundreds of thousands of times without incident. But it's more comfortable done under Versid, the tranquilizer I'm administering just now through this IV. You'll seem to nod off without knowing it, and then wake up without remembering anything. OK?"
I nodded.
"Good, he's back," the nurse replied. "How're you feeling?"
I then heard Debbie say, "You mean, she's back, don't you? Hardly 'he,' now."
I looked over, and there was Debbie sitting beside me. It was over? Already? The nurse helped me sit up. Somehow I was dressed again, bra, girdle, skirt, blouse, and all. The bra and girdle still felt full, still padded. Debbie had added even more foam?
"There you are," the nurse said. She handed me a small glass of orange juice. "You can leave any time you like -- the doctor's seeing another patient. Everything went as expected. I'm afraid you'll need to leave that bra and girdle on all night tonight and all through tomorrow and tomorrow night, just to be sure everything stays in place. But the next morning you can wear your usual underthings again."
After a moment I stood up. My waist felt a little sore, and my skirt felt very loose in the yoke but tight around the hips. The bra cups pinched where they passed under each arm. My lips felt puffed, as if in a steady pucker. I looked at Debbie, who was watching me with a faint smile.
"That's right, honey. Collagen to reshape your lips a little, to give you that "soft suck" look porn stars all seem to have. And now you have the improvement in your figure you'd asked for. A little less in the waist, and a little more in the hips and rear and bust. Your bra and girdle are still holding the shape you'd wanted. But instead of padding it's all you."
It was strange. The skirt had been tight on my waist and loose on my hips. Now it was just the reverse. I felt my rear end. Padded there too? Me? And boobs? Boobs!?
"It's all you, baby! You'll love it! But you don't get to see it until the day after tomorrow, when you're firmed up. Sandra does liposuction -- fat cells taken from your waist are now where they'll do your figure the most good as your hormones multiply them. It's all still you. But redistributed, the way we'd discussed."
My God! The shape of my body, changed? "How long does it last?" I asked timorously.
"Until you change it to something else. Which in a few months, when the hormones have done their thing, will be a major undertaking, Sandra tells me. From now on its like with every woman, everything you eat goes to your hips and butt and breasts. So you'll want to eat lightly, and depend on the shakes for your chief nourishment. In three weeks I don't doubt you'll have exactly the kind of figure Bruce likes. Whether he hugs or caresses you, I think you'll be quite satisfactory in that department."
I could only stare at Debbie. What had she done? What had I agreed to do? I looked down and felt my smooth crotch, a woman's crotch, a shape that the tight girdle enforced.
"Oh, it's there, lover. Same place as always. We both have uses for it. But this way you get the figure you want without any need to remove it."
"You've been giving me hormones for my figure in those milk shakes?" I asked her. I was still feeling for something to resent.
"For your figure and your disposition. You're already nicer, honey, and a lot prettier. Your face is softer. You feel more mellow. Even more refined. And we've both been giving them to you, remember," she corrected me. "Half of what's kicked you into this incipient femininity is what you prescribed for yourself without even telling me. I told you it was potent stuff. Maybe you didn't hear me?"
"I was hungry," I replied. It sounded childish. But what else could I say? The thought crossed my mind that since she knew all along, she could have stopped me or warned me. But I wasn't supposed to complain.
"We'll have a small lamb chop each tonight to celebrate your new shape," Debbie said. "And a huge salad, all you want. Though it's best if tonight you eat it standing up. You now have the cutest, bubble-shaped rear end now, lover! And the sweetest haunches! We don't want to flatten them. In another day they'll be the way they'll be, and then grow even more so. When we exercise in the buff again, now you'll surely look and feel like one of the girls."
I heard her in silence. An image of those girls on the exercise tapes flashed on my inner eye. Then it occurred to me. "What about these?" I asked her, lifting my breasts in their bra. My God they felt heavy!
"What about them? They're breasts. All girls have them." She just looked at me.
I tried one last time. "I'm not a girl, Debbie!"
"You're wrong. You told me you were. You agreed that you'd have to be so Bruce could persuade himself that you were. So you could persuade yourself. Do I need to ask you again? Are you a girl?" She looked at me keenly, unwavering, waiting.
"Yes," I replied. "I'm a girl."
"Every day more and more, and better and better. Let's go home, lover. The car's loaded with your new clothes, and I want to see how they fit. All classic styles today, basic wardrobe. Tomorrow we'll shop together for specialty items, dreamy things, flouncy things, slut wear, whatever you like. You can decide for yourself what kind of a girl you are and dress accordingly."
I didn't dare ask her why I needed more clothes. I knew she wouldn't tell me. Did Debbie and Bruce plan to find me unsatisfactory for months? Years? I renewed my determination to do this thoroughly and right, so the designated few weeks would be all it took, and my birthday present from Debbie would be the return blow job she'd promised, and that would be that. Then undo whatever needed to be undone, whatever it took. For now I was a girl. With these boobs, apparently, a sexy girl!
The next day no exercise tapes. I was too woozy from something the doctor gave Debbie to give me so I'd make no sudden moves and risk injury to my new figure. I remember we shopped, and I got some minis and swim wear. And an evening gown, off the shoulder, very soignee Debbie called it, perfect for Saturday night at the resort! She held up each item, and I nodded or else shook my head, then tried on whatever I'd nodded to. So they were all mine by choice. Wearing dresses was all by my choice. These were clothes I wanted for my very own to enjoy wearing always, dresses and panties and the like that expressed my own taste, my own femininity. Debbie reminded me repeatedly that I was choosing to be the kind of girl I was, that I was responsible for me. Then we went to a movie, something about a girl and her relationship with her mother and two guys, how she preferred the guy who was sweet to her but did enjoy now and then a wild night with the other one. I'm not sure, I fell asleep. We got home, and I could barely drink my second milkshake before tumbling into bed still in my bra and girdle. Doctor's orders.
I woke up the next morning half-persuaded I really was what Debbie'd been calling me, a stylish young woman. I ran my fingers through my hair a few times to free up curls that were tangled and flattened. Then with relief I finally stripped off my girdle and bra and stepped over to the mirror. Yes, there were my cock and balls, small, centered in a generous expanse of gracefully curving hip. Curving up to my new wasp-waist, and back to form my bubble butt as Debbie described it. And hanging suspended above were two new protuberances tipped with nipples that indeed looked larger than only a few days ago. I touched them, and again I was seized with a strong, delicious, helpless desire for ... what? I touched them again and again, until I realized I was breathing heavily. They felt so delicious, my new breasts! I adored having them! The thought shocked me!
There was no question this time. I was a girl. I went in to see Debbie still naked, just as I was, and sat by our bed. She was still asleep, but she sensed something and opened her eyes, and saw me sitting there looking at her, my hair a pretty corona, my face beautifully made up, my breasts pendulous over a narrow waist, my hips substantial on the narrow chair. And she smiled. Why not? I smiled back.
--continued--
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