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Subject: {ASSM} New TG: Cute, 5/10 by Vickie Tern M/F m/F M/m F/F etc. Femdom too.
Date: Sun, 28 May 2000 08:10:18 -0400
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New TG: Cute, 5/10 by Vickie Tern M/F m/F M/m F/F etc. Femdom too.
The sex in this story is sometimes heavy and explicit, though not
cruel, so you may not wish to read it. If you shouldn't
read it because you're underaged or overly judgemental, don't.
All comments welcome: VickieTern@AOL.COM
(c) 2000 by Vickie Tern. May be freely reposted, but only on
free archives.
v.
We made more woman's talk while we were eating. I told him that
since he now belonged to our sorority, he should learn everything
we've spent years learning. That our colors were subtle, never
primary like red or blue, and that he'd need to learn names like
aqua, berry, cerise, and melon. I told him we never say "I'll
have..." assertively to a waiter, but instead "I'd like..." as if
we were expressing an opinion, or "Might I have..." as if asking
permission. I told him that from now on, when I told him of some
difficulty I was having, he was not to offer me a solution but
instead, only companionable sympathy. I told him that men tend to
shop like "hunters" -- they go into stores, locate their prey, bag
it, then leave. But women shop like "gatherers" -- go in, look
about, decide among many things what to pluck, and fill their
baskets with them. Then look in a few more stores to see what may
have grown there since they last looked. "Women shop for
recreation," I said. "It's imaginative play, to see ourselves in
different kinds of styles!" He nodded, looking a little worried.
He wanted to do well at this new thing. For my sake.
As I paid our bill, I told him that when a woman gets up to go to
the Ladies' another woman will usually go with her, so they can
talk alone together about their dates, or maybe just to keep each
other company. "I'll expect you to do that too from now on," I
said while studying a picture on the wall, to keep the remark
seemingly casual. Then I stood up.
"The Ladies'?" he asked, sounding a bit shocked?
"Certainly not the Gent's," I said. "The way you look you'd cause
a riot. Or incite a rape. Maybe you'd like that, Laurie?" I
smiled to reassure him. "You said you wanted to be my girl. Where
do girls go when they have to go? Come on, honey, come powder your
nose. Or at least fix your lipstick, it needs it. This is your
life!"
Slowly he rose, and pulled his shoulders back, as if prepared to
march to an execution. Then he followed behind me and passed
through the forbidden portals. And looked around.
"No urinals," he announced. "It looks odd."
"Duh, baby, no urinals, but lots of mirrors, appearances matter.
Use a booth, and be sure to sit down. We want no one in an
adjacent booth seeing feet point the wrong way while you tinkle."
When he emerged from the booth, he looked relieved more than one
way. Another hurdle passed. Little by little his new life was
being constructed. He paused at the mirror and felt in his purse
and swiped at his lips with the lipstick I'd put there. "Now I'm
decent," he said, grinning at me.
"You're beautiful," I replied, grinning back. He beamed. "Just
beautiful. Are you sure you haven't done this before?"
He took the question seriously. "When I was a kid, playing with my
mother's things," he said.
"Oh, did you like it?"
"Yes. It felt like I was her."
"You did it more than once?"
"Yes. Please, Angela!"
He'd never told me, and now he was much too embarrassed for me to
question him further. But his mother had mentioned her dressing
him sometimes, while chatting with me woman to woman. He'd done
more of it on his own? No wonder he was putting up so little
resistance! I was discovering all sorts of new things about my
lovely hubby.
"Let's go get our nails done," was all I replied.
The poor dear. The operators at "The Nail Factory" were busy, and
when we were called we found ourselves in booths separated by the
whole length of the salon and facing away from each other. So I
couldn't advise Laurie, nor even see what his nail specialist was
doing.
When we met in the reception area almost an hour later, he'd had
full nails applied extending a quarter inch past his finger tips.
Their color was an even pale pink, opalescent, and they gleamed
jewel-like, as if still wet. I realized immediately that he hadn't
known what to ask for or refuse.
"Silk wrapped I see. They're very pretty," I said, one eyebrow
raised. They weren't ever coming off, I decided!
"She said she couldn't use clear polish on extensions," he replied
defensively. "And they needed extensions to even them off. I said
all right. Now look! Five coats of 'natural' color on them! She
calls this pearly pink 'natural'! People can't help but notice!"
"Not really," I told him. Though of course they would! "You were
wise, choosing the shorter extensions. They're slimming, yet you
can still type. They won't get in your way."
He accepted that consolation in silence.
"Do they come off?" he asked suddenly as we proceeded back to our
car.
"Not that kind," I said. It was true enough! "Not with the glues
they use. And not with all that enamel laid on. They aren't
supposed to come off, it would be too embarrassing. So they
don't." Of course any nail covers are removeable with enough of
the solvents available at any cosmetics counter. But I hoped he'd
get used to them first.
He tried. "If anyone asks," he said while settling back in the
car, "I'll tell them you like my nails this way so I like them this
way. That should take care of it."
"I do like them! They're the same shade of pink as your new bra
and nightie," I told him. "Tell them that too!"
He looked sideways at me, to see if I was joking. Not a clue!
"Tonight I'll want to see how you look in your bra and nightie
while wearing matching nails." He said nothing, so I added, "Every
little extra helps you look more feminine. We both want it to be
unmistakeable. To avoid embarrassment. So get used to it!"
He looked at me a little mournfully. "You don't want me to be a
man any more? I thought we were happy!"
He was absolutely correct! But could I tell him that our continued
happiness depended on a complete change in his appearance? "I
adore you as a man. Laurie! I adore you now as a woman! But we
want to develop this part of you, to see how far we can go with it.
Is it too uncomfortable already?"
"I guess not. But I thought we were doing this just for fun!"
"It is for fun! But serious fun! All sorts of marvellous and
unexpected things can happen when we cross each other's gender
lines. I love your being on my side of the line now, that my
sweetheart is also my dearest girlfriend. And you do too! That's
why I want you to stay on my side for a while. I'll prove it to
you tonight!"
And I did. At bed time he slipped into his bra and nightie and I
told him he looked just ravishing. That he gave me a hard on, I
told him, and I slipped into my prick panties to prove it. Then I
showed him how to give himself an enema to make room for me in his
pussy, and I told him how he'd do just that each night from now on,
just in case I wanted to honor his womanhood. And to spray a bit
of perfume there afterward. And wear only a touch a touch of
mascara and lipstick, indelible so as not to mess his pillow, but
always a touch. All so I'd find him so attractive I couldn't help
myself, I had to debauch him.
He looked so dear in his nightie and bra, lying in bed on the
stacks of luxurious pillows I'd strewn there, waiting for me to
come to him, a faint smile on his tinted lips and faint
apprehension in his shadowed eyes. I almost had an orgasm just
from looking at him.
I slipped the first of many hormone suppositories to come into his
rear end, the double-strength ones Janet had prescribed for me, and
I slathered Premarin cream on my cock for lubrication. Then
slowly, carefully, I entered him. I worked my entire length into
his anus -- the near-Vincent-sized dildo this time. It nearly
split him at first, but he grimaced and relaxed into it, then
looked pleased, and as the last few inches passed through his
opening and my mound pressed against him, he sighed contented.
Hours later when we'd finished and I was helping him slip his very
first tampon into him, to keep his hormones and my "cum" from
leaking out, he was still rapturous. He'd cum twice onto his
belly. I told him again that I wanted him to enjoy his womanhood
at least as much as he'd enjoyed his manhood. "I do," was all he
could say. "Then I pronounce you both man and wife," I responded.
In the morning when I turned toward him to repeat our breast ritual
of the previous morning, I found he was already awake, looking at
me with so much love in his eyes I almost dissolved in it.
The next day was Sunday. I made shopping lists of things we needed
for him, mules and a housecoat, his own hair brushes and curling
iron, more make-up, and a few skirts, blouses, and dresses. A
starter kit! I meant to shop for these myself.
But first I sent him out of the house on a few errands on his own,
done up proud in one of his new bras and panties, new sandals,
wearing one of my better mini-dresses, and in full makeup. He
looked tempting but respectable, as if he'd just come from a sacred
service at First Church of Mary Magdelene. His first excursion on
his own was to mail a letter two suburban streets away. He came
back shaken but exultant. A man watering his lawn had nodded
politely at him as he went by, and two women walking in the other
direction had smiled at him in passing -- again, he felt accepted
as one of them.
While he was still euphoric I sent him to a drug store in the local
strip mall to buy a manicure scissor I said we needed. He came
back feeling matter of fact this time -- no one had seen him, by
which he meant, everyone had seen him but only as a woman, not as
a man dressed as a woman. He walked invisible through crowds.
Each time he left the house he hesitated and checked himself in the
front hall mirror. "Lovely, sweetheart," I said. "All of us take
a last look at ourselves before we go out to be seen. That's why
that mirror's there. Just be what you were yesterday, and you'll
do fine. Just be yourself!" Finally I sent him all the way across
town to a movie, his first big adventure on his own as a woman.
When he came back I'd finished my shopping and was eager to show
him my new purchases. But first I had to find out how he'd enjoyed
his day as a woman on his own.
He babbled a little. "It was fun, just as you'd said," he told me.
"Everyone is so nice to an unescorted woman! You were right that
I shouldn't hesitate to ask for directions. As a man it's hard to
ask, you're expected to know! A policeman was so very helpful,
they really do take pleasure in helping us. And the ticket seller,
the ticket-taker, everyone! They all try to be so helpful! And I
remembered to use the Ladies'just as you told me I should, sitting.
Which was just as well, because when the picture ended and every
booth was taken I could see women's shoes on both sides of me. So
they could have seen mine if my toes were pointing the wrong way."
He then paused.
"Was there a problem, Laurie?"
"Not really," he said.
"What, honey?"
"A guy tried to pick me up. Well, not exactly -- the theater was
half-empty but he came and sat alongside me anyhow and then
accidentally on purpose put his hand on my thigh."
Oh, dear! It was too soon for a bad experience -- I wanted only
pleasure for him at this stage! "What did you do?"
"I picked it up and put it back in his lap." Laurie then grinned
broadly. "So he put his other hand on mine and tried to press it
into his cock. So I let him. Then he spread his legs apart a
little, and when I could get a good grip on his balls, I squeezed
them as hard as I could with that hand and with the other I raked
my new nails across his face. I know that some broke the skin --
he'll have fun explaining how those scratches got there! Then I
told him in my most mellifluous voice to piss off! Which he did.
Does that happen to us often?"
Well, Katie, that was interesting. Not how he handled that sleaze,
but his use of the pronoun "us." Laurie was trying to tell me
that I now have what I apparently wanted, a husband with an
available feminine identity. I didn't, yet, but I appreciated that
he was trying. "Yes, Laurie, it does happen to us quite often," I
said. "Usually we're the ones who have to move. He probably
thought you would if you were really offended. He certainly didn't
expect an encounter with the Cat Woman!"
"Poor man!" Laurie said. "Maybe I should have let him cop a feel
after all?"
I wasn't prepared to joke about boobs just yet, not while his
hormones were already preparing him for a young girl's adolescence
and an early maturity. So I just changed the subject. "Look what
I bought you today! Only two skirts and two mix and match blouses,
because your clothes should reflect your taste, not mine. You'll
have to shop for your new wardrobe. But these are all Liz
Claiborne, classical yet well-styled, contemporary. You can layer
them and wear them anywhere." He looked pleased, and when I asked
him to try them on and model them he did so with faintly
embarrassed pride. His long, plaid, A-line skirt especially looked
pert and sporty on him. I liked the way this adventure was turning
out. Shopping for him was a lot like shopping for a daughter!
That night I gave Laurie's asshole a rest. He seemed disappointed,
but he did need to recover. At the same time he liked seeing that
his cure had worked, that to keep up my morale I no longer needed
to ravage his pussy. In the morning we resumed our tit culture of
course, the caressing and nurturing of each others' breasts that
would soon become most of what we did when we made love. I wanted
those new feelings to help reconcile him to his new body. Then,
with his plain white satin bra and panties under his shirt and
business suit, off he went to work.
He'd almost persuaded himself that his nails would look
well-manicured but not odd, for a man, though I knew they'd signal
immediately to the entire office that he'd been playing some sort
of transvestite game with me or without me. So when he was safely
away I called Carla and had a long talk with her.
She made some remarkably astute suggestions while pledging
cooperation. "I've always admired your husband and your marriage
both," she told me. "I'm thrilled you've asked me to help you.
I'll take care of the staff, don't worry about a thing."
When he got home that evening, Laurie commented on how remarkably
little stir his nails had made. Carla had commented only that they
were beautiful, more men should do things like that with their
hands, it did so improve their appearance! When a book-keeper came
into his office to go over numbers with him and asked him to point
out various columns and figures, she didn't seem to notice at all
that his nails were all shiny, long, oval-shaped, and pearly pink.
By the end of the day he no longer felt tempted to put them in his
pockets, and he actually decided that a garage attendant had stared
at them when he left the building only because the shade was
uncommon!
So, Katie, it was under way! From then on, three times each week
on average, I put on my prick panties and fucked my darling out of
his mind, certainly out of my own! He came to know what to expect,
and when I'd smile a special smile at him after dinner he'd come to
bed with his colon thoroughly cleansed "to avoid mess" as I told
him, always finishing as I suggested with a "Summer's Eve" vaginal
douche. I told him I loved the scent.
Three times each week I'd slip a double-strength hormone
suppository into his little rear end "for lubrication" as I said,
then coat my dildo with Premarin cream, and then tamp the
suppository into him as far as my cock -- the Vincent-sized cock --
could push it, repeatedly, while I orgasmed over and over. Finally
Laurie would orgasm, his anal muscles throbbing and clamping onto
my dildo so spasmodically I could feel it way inside me in the
dildo stuffed into my own pussy, and I'd orgasm yet again.
The feeling of control was just wonderful! I'm sure I got off on
that as much as anything else! And each time, I'd make sure to cum
into him myself with my own fluids, usually pee, sometimes
something a little more dense during my periods. I loved knowing
that when I possessed him I left something of myself inside him as
my claim on him! It was a little sad that he didn't also know.
But all in due time.
One night with a sly girlish smile he asked me to lie flat on the
bed, and then with my dong pointed to the ceiling he mounted me and
lowered himself onto it. Another way for him to be with me what
I'd been with him! He looked triumphant -- he was servicing his
lover instead of accommodating a lover. He had to lean way back
and brace on his hands to get his ass positioned, but once I was
fully inside him he could lean forward and begin a slow pelvic
rotation that finished frenzied. He gave me orgasms one after
another of an intensity I hadn't known since Vincent! "Wonderful,
Laurie," I told him while still out of breath! But then, to
regain my dominance, "You'll do that whenever I ask, won't you?"
He nodded, no problem. He was pleased that his idea had pleased me
so thoroughly.
Then every morning, variations of that first morning. I'd mount
Laurie and barely move, always somnolent as if half-asleep, and
while his prick was inside me feeling delicious I'd lick and suck
his nipples, always asking him to present one to me with his cupped
hand as mothers do to their babies. And we'd repeat our catechism
-- I wanted him to remember the words -- and then he'd suck my
breasts until he felt his tummy filled with me in spirit. Then I'd
dismount. Obviously his breasts were increasing in sensitivity --
he was beginning to moan when I had them in my mouth. And when he
gathered himself up in a cupped hand, each week I could see he had
a little more to offer me!
Having climaxed joyously just the night before, Laurie wasn't
necessarily *too* desperate to complete our lovemaking while I rode
his cock -- sat stone still on it, really -- and sucked his
nipples. He asked me why I didn't move, and I told him it was
because I didn't want him leaking out of me all day, so I didn't
want him to cum in me in the morning, nor did I want him to use a
condom. Isn't that ironic, when I'd been a faucet pouring Vince's
cum into his mouth all that whole summer? My dear Laurie never
mentioned that he wasn't cumming into me at night either any more,
maybe out of consideration for my feelings -- he knew how I loved
being the prick inside his pussy. He gave up expecting to cum
while we enjoyed our mutual breastfeeding. Katie, months passed,
and I realized that I didn't really need my own birth control pills
any more. So I fed him those too each morning in his first cup of
coffee. I loved watching him sip it. More delicately each week?
His face seemed rounder and softer.
I looked it up, and saw that he now had streaming through his
bloodstream the rich mix of hormones of a young girl during her
peak growth spurts, or of a pregnant woman. That he was saturated
with estrogen and progestin, enough to go from flat-chested to a
full-bodied, "mature" woman's figure in well under a year. As he
had to do to be ready in time! I had no trouble monitoring
Laurie's body as it progressed toward womanhood. Men aren't very
perceptive about subtle changes, but I could see all sorts of
things happening.
His nipples grew tender after only a few weeks, more erotically
exciting for him when I treated them with delicacy, but painful
otherwise. He reported an aching just behind his areola, but
attributed it to all the stimulation he was receiving. I could see
and feel with my fingers and my mouth that some of the glands and
ducts behind his nipple had swollen, and I remembered that had been
the first stage of my own breast growth.
In fact his nipples and areolas soon doubled in size and he never
noticed! I asked him once if he'd rather I not nurse on him, even
though I found it so exciting, so we could give his nipples a
chance to absorb their "bruises" as I called his swellings. Of
course he wouldn't consider denying me my pleasure, the angel! Nor
denying himself -- peculiarly, despite the soreness, he loved our
mornings together more than ever. He never seemed to notice that
each time he cupped himself to offer his breast to me, more and
more plump skin filled his hand and then my mouth. I grew more
passionate about those soft protusions than ever, and he began to
feel proud of them.
Other changes occurred too. He developed a slight case of acne,
which gave me an excuse to get what little blonde beard he had
removed by electrolysis as part of his skin "treatment." Of
course the acne disappeared as his body adjusted to its heavy
hormonal burden, but by then so had all of his body hair. His
belly and hips and tush began to fill out, and when for a month I
put him on a strict diet, some real curves began to show. 'My
little hubby is going to end up a dish!' was what I thought to
myself.
But I said nothing. I saw that the fluid he spurted onto his belly
each time I fucked him became less and less opalescent as his
testicles shut down, as all those women's hormones in him asserted
their women's rights. His erections when we breast fed each other
grew softer, though I still tucked him into me each time. I didn't
want to alarm him. You know men and their fears of impotence!
Until he settled down he had severe mood swings, too, PMS as I
recognized it. I couldn't forwarn him to expect them, but at least
I could comfort him, and I did.
Each evening I insisted that "my girlfriend" put his hair up in
some becoming way and that we lounge about in our housecoats, or
make a casual dinner at home, or go out casually as two women to an
oriental or Italian restaurant, nothing fancy. When I suggested he
wear jeans or skirts, whichever he chose, he settled for a long
denim skirt. It was effortless, and actually more comfortable than
pants, he said, because it didn't bind his crotch the way his
business suit pants and slacks now did. As of course they did, as
his hips spread and his rear end took on mass. But I said nothing.
I saw in that remark the day of his transition to permanent
womanhood at work, but I said nothing about that either.
He began to feel undressed without at least a touch of lipstick and
eye make-up. Even at the office -- one morning I suggested he put
some on because his face looked more "dramatic" that way. He was
so accustomed to seeing himself in full make-up that a bit of it
worn to the office seemed invisible to him. Far from it, but I
said nothing, trusting that Carla would caution the other girls to
say nothing too, as she did. I sent him for repairs as his nail
polish chipped, and he went readily enough. Once when he was busy
at work he stopped by there on his way home from the office, and
was puzzled that the manicurist seem flustered to be working on the
beautifully, impeccably maintained nails of a woman in a man's
business suit.
The weekends were all ours. We made no social engagements,
pleading Laurie's absence on business, but when we shopped or
attended plays or concerts, we began to run into mutual friends.
Laurie soon developed enough distinctly feminine mannerisms -- ways
he tossed his head or his hands -- so no one recognized him as
himself. They all accepted my introduction of him as Laurie's
sister keeping me company while Laurie attended to family matters
or business out of town. Now and then a male Laurie showed up,
just often enough to hold down gossip that we might have separated.
He kept his hands in his pockets.
When he was being his sister, his new angle of vision on old
friends enchanted him. We had a delightful time discussing the
gossip he picked up, exchanging dishy information. There were some
surprises. The wife of a good friend told him in confidence in the
Ladies' room that she'd already slept with a half-dozen other
friends, at one time or another, sometimes several together because
when aroused she became insatiable. She had her eye on Laurie too,
she told Laurie's supposed sister wickedly, but he did seem so
faithful to his wife -- something not to be believed! Her husband
hadn't a clue about her promiscuity, not even about her appetites!
She asked Laurie his opinion, should she tell him about all her
sleeping around, to see if detailed accounts of his cuckoldry
would arouse him to the sexual frenzies required to bring her off?
She'd heard it happened that way in some men.
Laurie thought not. "You can never tell how a man will react when
he hears that another man is plowing his wife," he told her.
"They're so very possessive, some of them! Who can explain it? He
could be aroused to a sexual frenzy, but maybe instead to a
murderous frenzy." He advised her to leave well enough alone.
This was good advice, I decided when Laurie told me about this
conversation. Disclosure of my affair with Vince would also wait
until it was too late to affect anything.
Another wife confessed casually while re-pinning her hair that ever
since they'd first bought their house -- two years ago now -- she'd
been passionately involved with the real estate woman who'd sold it
to them. Always at the woman's place. She now wanted to bring the
woman home for a threesome with her husband, she commented, because
she didn't like leaving him home alone night after night. But her
husband was such a bore that she was sure her lover wouldn't
welcome the proposal, not after the first encounter.
Laurie suggested that she first try to liven her husband up into
someone more attractive to her lover, someone more to her lover's
taste -- say, get him to come to their bed dressed as another
lesbian woman, an ardent worshipper of women's pussies, a
submissive and tireless cunt-lapper who wouldn't dream of making
any other demands on them. That might be acceptable to her woman
friend. She thought that idea just brilliant, and was so grateful
for it that she kissed Laurie square on the mouth. I was angry
when I heard, but Laurie was only amused. "If I'm being a woman
now," he explained, "how can I be unfaithful to you with another
woman? Wouldn't I have to have sex with a man to commit an
infidelity? And as your husband, how would that be an infidelity?"
Well Katie, he said it first, I didn't. But the idea seized me
with such a powerful grip that for a moment I couldn't think or
speak. That had to happen too! My Laurie had to be unfaithful to
me with both sexes! Then when he finally learned about Vincent,
he'd have no moral grounds whatever to stand on. I wondered if
he'd ever become the kind of obsessed slut I'd been with Vince. No
telling.
-----------
end 5/10 This story can be found in it's entirety at www.go.to/furysaga
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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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