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Subject: {ASSM} Sucker by Vickie Tern 6/11 TG Femdom
Date: Fri, 25 Aug 2000 02:10:04 -0400
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{ASSM}Sucker by Vickie Tern (6/11) TG Femdom Wife F/M M/M
The following story contains explicit descriptions of sexual
behavior, several kinds. It should not be read by those too
young to do so lawfully or by others who do not enjoy such stories.
The young don't listen, the others sometimes need to be reminded
who they are.
- o - o - o -
"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.
vii.
"You're a natural, honey! I don't know why we didn't do this years
ago. Here we are only a week or two into your training and the
physical part's well under way. And the more obvious mannerisms
are coming on nicely, your voice and all, and I know that your
sense of yourself and your interests are getting more feminine
every day. In lots of ways you're already a girl. Bruce has no
idea what's awaiting him! Maybe that's why now we need to begin on
the hardest part. Now, I think."
"What's the hardest part, Debbie?"
I was sitting at breakfast with her reading the morning paper, a
fashion column to be precise, after only a glance at the sports
pages. I was still filling in my wardrobe, because I wanted to be
stylish without calling attention to myself, and there were so many
ways to do just that! I was wearing a babydoll not unlike Stacy's,
though with the panties that went with it, because we'd do our
Jazzercize right afterward, and I felt embarrassed that my hairless
penis and testicles flopped and bounced as we danced. Debbie and
the girls on the tape all had trim, tight crotches. I could only
admire their neat, compact appearance when we all did leg
extensions or high kicks. This particular morning Debbie was
wearing a sexy negligee. We were two women starting our morning.
"Changing your sexual orientation is the hardest part, babydoll.
Getting you so you really and truly want to make love to guys. Not
so you're willing -- that's where we are now. So you're thrilled
to do it. So you'd be the happiest girl in the world if the right
guy told you he wanted you to suck his cock."
Now it wasn't just Bruce but "guys." I said nothing. I'd learned
that Debbie likes to talk around an issue until the person she's
with volunteers to do whatever she had in mind all along. Then she
praises his marvelous idea and doesn't claim any responsibility --
"I'm so helpless and grateful!" is her message after a successful
manipulation. As a new woman I was trying to develop that strategy
myself to use on others, but it didn't come easy, especially since
I wasn't in charge of anything. Not even myself.
"They say it can't be done, make someone heterosexual into someone
gay, or straighten out someone who's gay, and I suppose strictly
speaking that's true. But everyone's a little bi-sexual way down
under I think, even if it's only a very little, even if that very
little's been completely suppressed by conditioning -- mockery,
shame, contempt, disgust, you know, the usual ways people put down
the unique as if it were deviant. That gives us something to work
with, to try to encourage. That and the fact that people do what
they have to do. In prison men fuck each other because
they have no choice. I bet a lot of them like it, even under
duress, or maybe because of the duress -- because it relieves them
of the need to suppress an actual desire. Even the toughest and
most macho of them."
She was circling closer.
"Maybe it's just what's accustomed?" I suggested. "Getting used to
things? People don't notice routine activities. For instance, I'm
now spending hours each day it seems licking and sucking on that
soft rubber dildo you bought me. Doing everything to it that
Stacy does to that guy's cock. I throat it now without even
thinking. Paying no attention. It was so embarrassing, the first
time, and kind of exciting too, because it violated something deep
inside me. But I did it, and now it doesn't seem to matter."
"Yes, I've watched you. Those new puffy lips of yours look so
natural sliding up and down that imitation cock! That's what
they're for! And you were passionate enough the first day. But
now you look as if you were smoking a cigar and reading a book.
You aren't focussed. You no longer seem to feel privileged to be
kissing a man's member, nor humiliated either. And that's what's
missing. It isn't fulfilling for you, and it isn't helping you
feel more girly. So it isn't deeply satisfying. You need
motivation. Can you think of any?
"Do it to avoid worse? But what could be worse? Getting slapped
around? I wouldn't stand for it. No girl should."
"Let's think. What might be even more humiliating for a man than
giving head to another man while wearing a dress? But fulfilling
if the man in the dress thought she was a woman? There's still
enough man in you to think of something, I'll bet. What's the most
glorious thing a woman can want a man to do to her that a man would be
ashamed to have happen to him? Unless he's gay."
"I don't know. What things do gay men do with each other that're
like what men do with women?" I knew I'd be sorry I said it the
moment the words came out of my mouth. Oh my God!!
"Of course, honey! Why didn't I think of that? Why else are you
growing those beautiful globes on your tush? They're so
provocative! You do know of course that yesterday when we were at
the supermarket and you were wearing those tight slacks, men were
stopping and turning around to watch you walk away from them? It
was so funny! You have a beautiful ass now, and with your new walk
it swings and sways as if you were on the edge of an orgasm. Men
would love to get themselves into you there, I bet. I just know
it! I wonder if that's a way to re-awaken your interest in your
dildo? I'll bet you'd be more devotedly attentive to any cock in
your mouth if you knew that if you weren't, it would soon be in
your ass."
She was off and running. What could I say? I'd surrendered
control of my life to her, and she always talked herself into
whatever she wanted to believe. Then talked me into it. "Maybe,"
was all I replied.
She poured herself more coffee. I was still sipping my morning's
enriched milkshake. I was allowed two each day now officially, and
it contained additives now that kept me in a strange, eager,
expectant but compliant mood. My breasts felt swollen, and I often
felt wet down below -- my penis was seeping some kind of fluid. My
nipples were more enlarged and sensitive than ever, and Debbie
encouraged me to play with them each night, since I couldn't play
with her. I sneaked in other times too, it felt so good!
"Or," she went on. "Maybe getting fucked would be positive
reinforcement for you, not at all a negative! Knowing that if you
blow him really well, your man will *reward* you by fucking you in
the ass. That bubble-shaped butt *is* one of your more attractive
features now, Samantha. I'll bet if we exposed it no man could
resist. Lots of girls flirt by showing off their asses. That's
what tight skirts and shorts and pants are for! And thongs, and
many kinds of bathing suits!"
She paused, then continued. "Now that's a really provocative idea.
Don't you think so? That would be altogether new for you! And so
very feminine!"
I said nothing.
She started daydreaming. "You might like it, getting fucked. I
don't see why not!"
Was she teasing me? Thinking of a way to punish me for the
unwanted fuckings I'd given her? Was she serious?
"Bruce could easily reach around to caress your tits while he was
pumping into you between those beautiful globes. You'd be in
heaven. I'll call him right away and ask him what he thinks."
"Debbie!" I called out. But she was already gone.
She came back pensive. "Bruce thinks it's a marvelous idea, and he
says he'll be happy to accommodate you if your rear end is all I
say it is. Whether it's a punishment or reward doesn't seem to
matter to him."
She started to clear the breakfast table as if our conversation was
over. Then, "And he had another suggestion as well."
Finally I asked, "What was that?"
"What? Oh, Bruce's suggestion?"
"Yes!"
"That if you don't suck his cock with the right finesse then he
should do not only your rear but mine! And my pussy. That I make
up for all of your deficiencies."
Her rear!!? Where I'd never dared go? And what else!? "All of my
deficiencies?" I cried out. "You mean, you'd blow him too!!? Even
before you blow me?!"
She was stacking things in the dishwasher now. "Yes." she said
absently. "Of course! I told him that sounded only fair."
This was appalling! I'd never had the least qualms about Debbie
being unfaithful to me with another man! She'd never seemed
interested enough in sex to risk our marriage by sleeping with
someone else, for one thing. She was too strong-minded to fall
like some enamored ditz into a frivolous affair, for another. I
knew that she loved me, I never doubted it, but I knew she didn't
like to express it physically, that was the problem. That was why
we were in this strange situation right now. Did I now need to
save her from a fate worse than death by nobly devoting my all to
sucking on the cock that threatened her honor? Craven, suck off
another man with all my heart and soul to avoid being cuckolded?
And possibly fail anyhow? On both accounts?
I'm sure Debbie sensed that like many men I've sometimes felt
defensive about my manhood. The male ego may be tough, but it's
also fragile. I was never that well-endowed, and the thought of my
wife getting it on with another man and ending up better satisfied
by him has always seemed to me catastrophic. Unthinkable! A fear
that she might prefer him, that she'd leave me, paralyzes me
whenever the thought enters even the outskirts of my mind. So I
suppress it. But now she'd raised it.
"He's gay!" I protested, as if reminding her would change what
she'd just somehow arranged with Bruce. "Bruce is! You told me!"
"Bi-sexual, honey. I never said exclusively gay. He'll do boys or
girls I hear, though they need to look like girls, either way. I
thought I'd made that clear!"
I couldn't argue the point now. Instead, I spoke directly to my
greatest fear! "Debbie! Honey! You'd cheat on me!?"
She turned to face me. "Samantha honey, it isn't cheating if my
husband knows all about it and has every opportunity to prevent it
and doesn't, and is in fact there watching. I'd insist that you
watch, so you'd at least learn something about how women
instinctively do such things! How to do it right on your next
attempt! How not to disgrace yourself altogether! And how to
enjoy it!" She turned her back to rinse the dishes before placing
them in the dishwasher racks, then said self-righteously, "Anyhow,
what I'd do is no more than you intend to do, blow him and let him
fuck you. So who'd be the first one of us to cheat? Answer me
that!"
"Debbie! You told me I *had* to blow him! I'm doing all this just
to satisfy you! And fucking as an issue never even arose until
just now! And it would be a penalty, if it happened!"
She glanced at me under half-closed lids. "I'll bet!"
"It would be!!" I felt in retreat! I'd already lost this argument
too! How did I get into these?
"No, Samantha!" She spoke my name as if it had a cutting edge.
"Don't blame me for your own self-indulgence! You're doing all
this for your own pleasure and satisfaction, not mine! So I'll be
willing to blow you, remember? It's rather selfish of you in some
ways, agreeing to this deal, but I've been willing to go along with
it. And I will go along with it. Up to a point! Anyhow, you'll
notice it wasn't me who first suggested that Bruce might want to
squeeze himself into your cute tush. It was you who wondered what
gay men do to each other! Have you been thinking about it much?
Daydreaming about it?"
I felt a little wild-eyed at this revised version of what had
happened! She sat down again and leaned back and said peaceably,
even smugly, in the face of my shocked expression. "Oh,
sweetheart, do get used to the idea. You're a married woman who's
preparing herself to suck another man's cock and is ripe for
fucking! You don't have any alternatives now, do you? Look at
you! With your face and figure, would any normal woman besides me
want you? Maybe some bull dyke, someone you'd be afraid to come
near in daylight much less the dark. But honey, men will want you!
You'll inspire them! Sandra thinks maybe those extra milkshakes
triggered your own body's production of female hormones, and that
maybe it's irreversible. For whatever reason, you're hell-bent
toward a figure that's every man's wet dream. At this moment all
those extra fat cells she installed are multiplying and
multiplying, in all the right places -- for a woman, that is!
That's your future! As a man you're already a joke!"
Then she added more sympathetically, "I love you. I hope you know
that. I'll always want you close to me no matter what. And I know
you love me. But maybe it hasn't occurred to you -- you're like
those men in prison now, aren't you? Those guys who do what you're
going to do with Bruce, because they haven't any choice any more?
So they do their very best to make their man happy? You really do
want to make Bruce happy, don't you? Because giving pleasure is
pleasurable, and because of what could happen if you don't? What
might happen anyway?"
She looked at me meaningfully, and I realized she'd already made an
arrangement with Bruce. First I'd be unfaithful to her, then she'd
feel free to be unfaithful to me. With Bruce. Not only with
Bruce?"
"Learn to live with that idea, my darling Samantha! Dream about
it! Hope for it! Better, learn to love it, be eager to see it all
happen! Then you'll feel much better about it!"
For a moment she looked altogether satisfied with herself -- she'd
now actually done what she'd set out to do this morning -- get me
well-motivated to blow Bruce, get me fucked, and then wrap her own
legs around that office stud while I stood by helplessly watching!
I'd been utterly out-maneuvered!
Then she added, "Time for our exercises, love, and then you'll want
to be nice to your dildo for an hour or so with those new soft
lips. I brought home a few more porn tapes, the kind they make for
gay men this time. With lots of anal penetration, so you'll get an
idea how it's done and how it can be enjoyed. All well-hung men
with glistening, oiled bodies for you to look at. You'll see how
to prepare yourself for the possibility the way any girl does when
she's going on a really heavy date. Watch the tapes with Mr.
Dildo, and see if either of you get any new ideas."
Mr. Dildo got one big one. That night, after first giving me an
enema, then a douche, then perfuming me and asking me to wait for
her in my finest nightgown, Debbie entered my room wearing Mr.
Dildo, turned my legs wide over my head, and then gently entered
me. As she pushed into my newly plump rear end I felt stretched,
a burning that eased to a full, full feeling, then a loss of it as
she withdrew, then it returned as she pushed in again. I was
surprised to find it was not unpleasant. She persisted, and I
began to anticipate the fullness -- it made me feel complete. Then
to desire it. The tips of her breasts waved across and touched
mine with the most excruciating delicacy, now and then, repeatedly.
My desire mounted, and rose, and almost blossomed into a gorgeous
completion when suddenly she withdrew and sat back satisfied.
"That's all for now," she said. "Now you're a real lady! You were
making the most darling mewing sounds just now, lover! My sweet
pussy-cat!"
viii.
The next morning she still felt especially pleased by my reaction
to my first fucking. I hadn't been allowed to cum, of course --
she wanted to keep me horny for Bruce -- but I'd pushed back into
Mr. Dildo quite a few times after a while, she reminded me, the
last times feverishly.
I was pleased with myself too, because it was all new and
pleasurable, even though I couldn't tell why I was doing any of
this, exactly, any more. I would do this thing with Bruce whatever
it was, creditably, I decided. Because Debbie had extracted
promises from me, and I meant to keep them? Because Debbie
apparently needed an excuse to be with another man, and now I was
that excuse. and I wanted to please her? Because if Bruce actually
was the great lover she seemed to think him, I'd love doing it with
him?
With that thought, I realized that she'd actually done it! Changed
my sexual orientation, at least for sex with Bruce. It was
astonishing, how she had done it. And also amusing. I wondered if
anything she'd said was true. Whether any of it would actually
occur. If Bruce didn't fuck me now, I was thinking, I'd actually
feel disappointed.
A few days later we were doing our morning exercises. I was now
wearing a leotard with my breasts held firm in spandex and my
genitals tucked tight between my legs, as trim in the crotch as any
of the other girls, doing some vigorous rhythmic movements in
special high heeled shoes designed for ballroom dancing, Debbie
alongside me as always. My tendons were stretched by high kicking,
and I was adding a pelvic twist as instructed. Debbie complimented
me on the femininity of those gestures, how supple my body seemed,
as if ready to wrap around anyone's. We'd just begun another
number when the front door chimes sounded.
Debbie broke off to answer it, deal with it, and get back to our
morning routine. Then she returned.
I didn't notice until my dance number ended and I turned to get a
towel to wipe perspiration off my face. Debbie was leaning over
the back of a chair and confiding something to another woman who
was sitting in it quietly and watching me! Another woman!
Marcie! My God, it was Marcie! From way across town -- why was
she here? I'd slept with her for a week for God's sake! Marcie
and Debbie knew each other? Did she recognize me? Did she know
that I'd once been a man, did she think that now I was some kind of
wannabe femme faggot! I couldn't speak! It was too late to hide!
"You look wonderful, Samantha!" she said before I could fully
register that she was real, not a hideously humiliating
hallucination. "Debbie told me everything!"
I was shocked by that, but then she went on, "I do admire what
you're doing!" Her eyes sparkled.
Debbie beamed as though the compliment had been directed toward
her. "Samantha, meet my friend Marcie," she said. "From that
Ikebana class I took. Flower arranging, remember? We hit it off
the moment we saw each other!"
"Marcie!" I repeated. Shocked! She sees me like this! What can
she be thinking!? Did she tell Debbie anything about us?
"You were right, Debbie," Marcie continued. "She looks absolutely
precious! I think you'll really enjoy her this way!"
- o - o - o -
End Sucker 6/11
If you are missing a part then this story can be found at
www.go.to/furysaga under Vickie Tern's Wives and Girlsfriends Page
(c) 2000 by Vickie Tern. May be copied to free archives and
accessed from them. But do let me know, VickieTern@AOL.COM
VickieTern@AOL.COM
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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