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From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
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Subject: {ASSM} Sucker by Vickie Tern 7/11 TG Femdom
Date: Fri, 25 Aug 2000 02:10:06 -0400
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{ASSM}Sucker by Vickie Tern (7/11) 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 -
Debbie saw my consternation, though she remained utterly impassive,
her expression implying nothing. "Don't fret, Samantha honey," she
said in a syrupy velvet voice that told me immediately that she
expected my very best behavior. "It was time for a few people to
know that you're now finally becoming the woman you have always
thought you were. And doing it quickly to avoid all the problems
of a lengthy transition. Marcie knows I'm standing by you, helping
you in every way I can. And she's offered to help too!" A glint
in Debbie's eye told me I should go along with this or I'd be dead
meat.
I was still speechless. Instinctively I tried slouching back in a
kind of John Wayne wide-gaited, defiant sprawl, as if to say,
"Yeah, well I'm dressed a little odd, but I'm still a guy, got any
problems with that?" But my high heels wouldn't allow it. Instead
they tilted me forward, with one foot decorously posed in front of
the other, knee bent, as if I were helpless and pleading. When I
opened my mouth, all I could squeak was "A few people know?"
"Samantha, as a woman I'm sure you can appreciate this," Marcie
continued. "I was telling Debbie only a few days ago about a
problem I've got with my husband, that he's so depressed about his
birthday coming up. His big four oh. And she told me about the
problem she's had with you and about how the two of you have been
working it out. And it came to both of us all at once how we could
both help each other out, if you're willing to cooperate!"
Debbie fixed a hard gaze on me. I replied in my own mellifluous
voice, the equivalent of Debbie's, "Of course, Marcie. Anything!
How can I help?"
"It's a very big favor, and I'm a little embarrassed to ask it, but
Debbie told me it would be a favor to you too. I'm sure that
you'll want to accommodate me.
A threat to tell Debbie about us? "What, Marcie? Tell me!"
"I want to give Gabe a special present!"
"'Gabe?' That's lovely! What present?"
"You!"
"What!!?"
"For a whole evening! To do things he wants to do with a woman
that I don't like doing, that we never do together. So at this
particular time of his life he won't feel he's being deprived."
I was bewildered. "Give me to him for an evening?! To play
scrabble, or watch football on the TV, or something?"
"Oh you dear innocent girl! No, it might have been that before you
... came out of yourself, but not now. I mean sexual things with
him! It would do a lot to make up for ... a time I neglected him
for a week, when was it, a year of so ago?"
Debbie's face remained inexpressive.
"Mainly, I don't know why, but he's always after me to take him
into my mouth. And to receive him in ... my other end too. You
know! I don't like even thinking about it! I was telling Debbie,
and she told me you were like that too when you were still
pretending to be a man, asking her to do special things all the
time. And now that you're a woman you still like the idea, but
from the other side! That you'd be happy to do those things with
a man now!" She smiled. "In both ends!" She smiled more broadly,
confidently, now that we were all of us girls together. "And that
you've been practicing those very things!"
"That's certainly true," Debbie said brightly. "She's been using
her mouth and her rear end on a pretend penis, to see how she likes
it!" She looked at me with an approving gleam, "She's gotten
quite used to it. In both ends."
"Yes, so you tell me," Marcie said . Then she turned to me again.
"I've thought maybe I'd hire a professional sex worker to service
him. You know, a whore. But Gabe is such a sweet dear, and that
seems to me so ... impersonal, after all! And then Debbie tells me
that you'd just love to do it! That you're eager to experience
everything women can do with men just as soon as possible!"
"That's right, Marcie," Debbie echoed in that mellifluous,
authoritative tone I could never dare contradict. "Once she
decided to quit trying to be a man and decided to try attracting
them instead, she's been a changed girl. I couldn't keep her away
from Vita's. Isn't that hairdo fantastic? And Sandra's done
wonders for her figure too, as you can see. And she's loves oral
and ... other kinds of penetration with male-shaped objects. I
think she's about ready for the real thing!" All the while her
eyes informed me to agree or stay silent.
"She does look just lovely!" Marcie agreed. "I know Gabe will be
so pleased. I'm counting on it! Though I certainly won't tell him
that his little birthday present partner once thought she was a
man! Not until the next time I'm mad at him for something."
Marcie was telling me that cooperation was my only recourse. She
was one of those well-endowed wives who kept her figure slim and
whose tits therefore seem huge. She was wearing a sweater that
draped them decorously, so they showed as a mere bulge. It was
obvious though that she wore no bra today -- her extraordinarily
large nipples poked at the sweater, declaring what they were
unmistakably. I stared at them, then realized that in my leotard,
my own were declaring almost the same thing! Also unmistakably.
Did I look that sexy?
"I'm sure," I told her. Sure of what?
"Then you'll do it? I just know you have every reason to want to!"
said Marcie, looking steadily at my crotch, then unwaveringly into
my eyes. That was true enough. Also, I was beginning to feel
hypnotized by those two pointy nubs projecting from her sweater,
the way I'd been when we last ... accommodated each other. I could
feel how desirable they were. I already knew how desirable they
were. It was nice having a pair of my own this time, I realized.
With my own I didn't desire hers in quite the same way. But it was
hard to say 'no' to her!
Debbie broke in. "Marcie, I told you, she'd love to do it. You
see, the weekend after this one we celebrate Samantha's birthday
too. Her first birthday as Samantha! That's when she'll complete
her journey into womanhood. She has a heavy date with a man in my
office, and they're going away together to a resort for a kind of
honeymoon. I know that she'll come back a different person! That
we'll feel much closer about lots of things afterward!"
She stared at me yet again, lovingly it seemed, this time. I hoped.
I said nothing. Then, because I thought I thought I should say
something, I asked, "It'll be my pleasure, Marcie. When's Gabe's
birthday?"
"Oh, I'm so grateful to you, Samantha! And to you too, Debbie, for
sharing your darling hubbie with me."
I flinched.
"It's next Thursday," she went on. "Just before you go off on your
own ... kind of honeymoon. Is that too soon? That's his actual
birthday. They'll be getting him a cake or something at his
office, so he'll be coming home a little later than usual. That's
why I wanted something more than just a cake waiting for him when
he got home. Can you come over by eight? That's when he's due
home."
Why was Debbie encouraging this? Did she know about our past
history, and now she was using my vulnerability to get even? Was
Marcie simply amusing herself? Was it all an awful coincidence?
"Will you be there?" I asked Marcie. Was this supposed to be some
kind of kinky three-way?
"Oh no! I'll just introduce the two of you with the proper
fanfare, so he knows exactly why you're there. Then I'll come over
here and visit with Debbie for a few hours. That ought to give you
enough time. Gabe is good for only two or three climaxes an
evening anyhow!"
"Perfect!," Debbie said. "Samantha's been dying to get in some
practice! She has every reason to want to do it right the first
time!" And it was settled.
Debbie suggested to Marcie that we should all go down and pour
ourselves a nice cup of coffee and catch up on things. An
invitation she made clear I couldn't refuse, now that I really was
one of them, one of the girls, about to be initiated as intimately
into their circle as any girl could be. Marcie went off to use the
bathroom, and Debbie made it all quite clear.
"You'll come too, " she said. "You need practice just sitting and
chatting with other girls! Sooner or later we'll be having my
friends over, and I don't want you to embarrass me because you
can't do what every girl's been doing all her life!"
"Make girl talk, you mean?" I asked. "With all your other
friends?" I decided to put my foot down. "What for! I'm done
with all this after next weekend! And why did you tell her I'd
love to have sex with her husband? This was supposed to be a one
night stand! One blow job, remember? More and more keeps getting
added on!"
"You think you're done after next weekend, honey?" Debbie said,
amused. "Dream on! That's only the beginning! That's when your
new life begins! Your face and figure are your fortune now,
Samantha. Look at them. That's what they're like for the next few
months minimally! Welcome to the foreseeable future!"
A sly smile, then, "Besides, maybe you'll like what you and Bruce
do. Maybe you'll want to do lots more of it with other men! Maybe
I'll have to peel you off them every night! Or maybe you and
Marcie's husband will hit it off and he'll want to see more of you!
You never know! You seem to have made quite a hit with Marcie!"
She paused. I couldn't tell if she was being tart or merely
teasing, but that concern flew out of my head with her next
statement. "Besides, you forget, other people also know about you
now. And what I've told them will be harder for you to undo than
your curly hair or your permanent make-up or your figure."
I'd forgotten! She'd mentioned "a few people"! There were others!
A sudden pang stabbed my vitals! "Know? Know what? Who else?"
"Well, sweetie, it was only fair to tell the people you work with.
Your boss. And the affirmative action officer in your personnel
office had to know that now there's one less man and one more woman
in her company roster. She was so pleased!"
The office! My life was over! In ruins! I staggered and took
hold of the back of a chair until I could recover. Then I said
just that to Debbie, adding, "How can anyone respect me?"
"Oh, they think it's just fine! Your boss hopes you'll have a long
and even more successful career with them in your new gender. She
wouldn't care if you painted yourself blue as long as you maintain
your sales record. And all the women in your office admire you for
having the courage to be what you are, I hear. The men? Who knows
what the men in your office think? They tell me some of them
smirked, though no one has actually said anything. Anyhow, who
cares? It doesn't matter what men think of you any more, Samantha,
does it? Except for certain men, those you're interested in. Of
course if you change back to being a man again, you'll seem to be
insincere, frivolous, playing all sorts of titillating gender games
with yourself. Then no one will respect you."
That was true, I realized. I was trapped. I would need an
elaborate script of some kind I couldn't now conceive for my
transition back to manhood when all this was behind me.
"Why did you tell people at work, Debbie? Deliberately? To box me
in?"
Her eyebrows rose. "You boxed yourself in, baby. You've consented
to everything, all of it. Like it or not, you'll have to be a girl
for some time after you and Bruce hit it off, won't you? I
couldn't very well let you go back to work pretending you were a
man but wearing a curly hairdo and permanent makeup and those tits
now, could I?" she said. "And every move delightfully effeminate,
after all this practice? You'd disgrace yourself! So relax and
enjoy being a girl with the rest of us until it all wears off. If
ever!"
What could I say? She was right. Other people thinking wrongly
that I was some kind of pervert wasn't my worst ordeal in prospect.
Now there were two cocks to suck, and two ass-reamings to endure.
Worse still, what if I liked them?! Mr. Dildo hadn't been
half-bad!
Marcie rejoined us. And in fact the coffee and girl talk was much
less boring than I'd expected. I couldn't look at Marcie now
without wondering how she felt being penetrated, feeling a man
thrust himself into her. Or how Debbie felt. I'd been that man,
but hadn't ever concerned myself! All women do it, I consoled
myself, and most of them like it. No big deal.
Then when we talked about style, I contributed what I'd read only
the day before about how the summer's ankle length skirts and
dresses would be extending into fall couture this year, unlike last
year, and that it was flattering for tall, thin women especially.
"It'll look wonderful on you through the fall then, Samantha,"
Marcie said gravely. "Don't you think?" She didn't seem to expect
a reply.
We talked recipes, of course. "We're both dieting to improve our
figures," Debbie said. "But Samantha will be in the kitchen a lot
more often than Sam was, of course, when she's completed her little
journey."
They lamented that Marcie's sister was leaving her husband for
another woman, and after eight years of marriage. "It's so
unnecessary!" they agreed. "Look at us, for example!"
I raised my eyebrows. Marcie explained, "Women visit each other
all the time openly, the way I'm visiting you and Debbie right now.
Men tend to visit women secretly because people like to assume
there's something sexual going on, and they love to talk!" She
smiled innocently at me. "Women visit each other for sex, yet
their spouses never think anything's amiss. I visit Debbie often,
and we're seen out together, and no one thinks anything of it.
So there's really no need for lesbians to get divorces. When
girls get together it raises no more gossip than when guys get
together!"
Debbie asked, "You mean guys like our husbands getting together?"
This started a fit of hilarious giggling between them. I smiled
faintly. But it was true. In their eyes I was now only a former
guy. A girl. A done deal. I was now one of them.
ix.
Each morning and evening we writhed and twisted and swooped to our
exercise tapes. My posture and gestures became increasingly
smooth, dainty, and refined while my midriff thinned out even more.
Overall I continued to lose weight. Yet the replanted fat in my
breasts, hips, and butt grew heavier, and my breasts swelled up
plump until the support of a full figure bra became a necessity,
especially when I jogged in place. The planes of my face
and my body softened and took on curves. Lunch and dinner still
consisted of a large glass of hi-hormoned and medicated milkshake
to help my body become more plausible and my mind more mellow.
But sometimes also a small salad or fruit salad.
My life settled into a routine. Mr. Dildo was mounted on a chair
for my convenient access, and each morning I tried to bring him to
orgasm with my mouth no matter how silly it seemed, and each
afternoon I tried to do the same thing with a freshly douched
asshole. Now and then Debbie asserted her prior claim on my rear,
strapped him on, and mounted and penetrated me. It got to be fun!
As expected my maleness eroded rapidly. I felt timid often, and
experienced some extreme mood swings. A few times I felt miserable
and depressed that my manliness was harder each day for me
to locate, and might be irrecoverable when the time came. Debbie
advised me when those glooms hit me to simply go out and treat
myself to something utterly frivolous, a sinfully wicked pair of
panties or a new shade of lipstick I could use defiantly to cover
the permanent red stain on my lips. I did, and oddly, it worked!
Some days I'd feel so pleased with my change of life that I'd spend
hours caressing and tweaking my swollen nipples while waves of
ecstasy radiated from them. My penis was off limits to me --
Debbie wanted me to accumulate desire down there until I felt
overwhelmed me and I'd be swept among, ready to perform or submit
to anything no matter how twisted. But she wanted me to enjoy my
breasts to my heart's content. The rich rapture each one generated
when touched or fingered surpassed anything I had ever felt in my
cock. It was strange -- a sensation of deep contentment, gratified
desire, excruciating pleasure, and a breathless exultation that
they were mine! I felt so very feminine, having them! I loved
them! Their shape brought profound satisfaction as my figure
ripened. Those breasts hanging from my chest seemed so essential
a part of me, in fact, that soon I couldn't conceive of myself
without them. These, I decided, I would keep when I reverted to
my proper sex. Even though a bra was now essential to support
their jouncing and sagging. So I'd need to wear my bras to work from
now on, and cover them with oversized shirts somehow. And never
wear T-shirts! Then I could still revel in their size and shape!
I loved my hips and rear too, and lamented that I'd need to leave
them behind.
It all seemed increasingly worth while.
Still other days I'd relapse. I was a man performing an elaborate
charade, pretending to be a girl, all as part of the deal I'd cut
with my wife so she'd finally perform her proper duties as a wife.
I'd keep my part of the bargain but that was that and that was all.
Then this nonsense ceases, I told myself. Whatever I'll need to do
to get back to what I was, I'll do. No question of it!
That was my state of mind, unfortunately, during the last week of
my training. Debbie had gone to her office to catch up on work,
and after my morning session with Mr. Dildo I spent the day in my
study phoning new customers for re-orders, listening to their
reactions to things, jollying them, using my old voice instead of
the sweet soft voice Debbie'd trained me to use, feeling altogether
my old self. I was too busy to keep my afternoon appointment with
the dildo chair. When Debbie came home I was relaxing in front of
the tube watching a football game, a Cosmopolitan open on my lap,
an article called "Six Ways to Drive Him Wild" forgotten while I
watched a fourth down ground play gain six yards for a first and
ten.
She came in and saw, but said nothing. I was curled up tight and
snug on the couch, the stretching exercises having given me joints
as supple as they were rounded, slim, rounded, bulging beautifully.
I was wearing tight stretch blue jeans and slipons along with a
clingy coral sleeveless knit shirt that revealed every curve of my
bust. And little drop earrings, my favorites. My face
might have been looking a little more dramatic than usual -- on
impulse I'd added eye shadow to my indelible eye liner that morning
-- but inside me at that moment I was male, my old self, and
football was football.
"Hi, doll!" I said breezily. "How was work, OK?" Then I returned
attention to the game, not waiting for an answer.
She sat down and studied me, my unmistakenly girlish appearance,
the magazine in my lap, but above all my narrowed eyes as I watched
a quarterback sneak, and she came to a decision.
"Samantha, in just a few days now you'll be trying to satisfy me by
trying to satisfy Bruce, so he won't need to satisfy me himself.
Won't you? You have a lot at stake there. And it's tomorrow you
lend Marcie's husband your mouth and your asshole to use as he
chooses, remember? As the husband of my friend, and also as an
opportunity to perfect your skills for the weekend. You'll want
to bring your whole heart and soul to it."
"Yes," I replied. I'd forgotten. Still in my male state of mind,
I can't say that the prospect pleased me.
"You'll want to use Gabe well when you do what you've promised to do.
And of course you'll want Bruce to feel he's really special. I
know what will help. Remember how we originally planned for you to
visit a gay bar, for some concentrated experience, so you can learn
about different men's responses to the different things women can
do to them, to educate your instincts? Free of charge, nothing
personal implied, your anonymous mouth wrapped around different
anonymous pricks? So you can suck on your first real meat and
swallow your first semen direct from the source? Acquire a taste
for it? Make mistakes and correct them, no penalties?"
I just stared at her. She spoke matter-of-factly. But was there
a certain vindictiveness underneath? How dare I watch football
when I'm supposed to be a woman!
She stared back at me and then said in measured tones, "Checking
out the build on those guys, honey? That's what you're doing? Big
shoulders, nice, tight butts? Powerful thighs? The packages
between their legs? Is there any one of them in particular your
heart hankers after? One you'd lie down for in a second? All of
them?"
I just shook my head, wide eyed. But as I watched another play
executed, all I could see now were pistoning thighs and packed hams
and strong arms, any pair of them fit to pry my legs wide open.
And shove in what? Now I saw only portable man meat crouching and
running across the field! They were studs strutting their stuff,
some lithe, some heavy duty. I groaned. She'd feminized the way
I look at football with a single remark!
She saw her ploy had worked by the way I was now looking at the
screen and shaking my head, and she grinned broadly. "Cheer up,
honey. Tonight we'll go out and get you a man of your very own,
not as well built, but still, a man. A few of them. No more
feeling hard up for something to slide into your face or between
your legs. Starting tonight you won't ever be a virgin again!
Go drink your girl-juice now, and I'll lay out a pretty outfit
for you!"
For a few hours after each breakfast and dinner milkshake I always
felt especially mellow and expectant, "like a confident girl
anticipating a good time" was the way Debbie described the effect
she and Dr. Sandra wanted and the additives were meant to create.
Even so, I was shocked when I got to my room and found on my bed
the scantiest shiny leather mini skirt and flimsiest, most transparent
top, along with thigh-high boots.
"It's a warm night," Debbie said. "You won't be chilly I'm sure,
and now that your waist is so thin and your hips so broad this
skirt will flare out beautifully. Tasteful yet wicked! Go do your
prepping douche and then put these on. No underwear, love, no bra
and no panties. Tonight you flaunt it. When I came home and saw
you watching football, I thought, 'Maybe she's forgotten who she
is?' Well, after tonight you'll remember! You'll have lots to
remember! Heavy make-up! No purse, I'll drive you there. Move
provocatively. Tell the world why you like to watch those
delicious guys thrusting themselves at each other over and over in
public!"
I was nervous when we left the house. A couple walking
their dog in front of our house stopped and looked at me, mouths
agape, as I waggled from the front door to the car in my highest
spike heels. Now I was apprehensive but prepared for anything.
Fatalistic. I'd committed to all this, I'd agreed to it, now I was
doing it, and there was nothing more to think. Though after this
weekend, that would be that!
Even so, I was shocked when we pulled into the parking lot of the
Lotus Club and Debbie merely stopped, engine running, waiting.
Then said only, "Well? Here we are. Get out! I have other things
to do! Try not to stay out too late!"
My heart fell into my stomach! I was momentarily terrified! "You
won't come in with me?"
Now she really did look smug. I was trapped! "Of course not! I
thought I might, but not now. You don't need me. And I don't need
to know how to please men! Just hold in mind that Bruce will teach
me whatever I need to know if you're not good enough!"
"But how will I get home? I don't have any money."
"The way any girl gets home when she's been ditched by her date!
Sweet-talk some man into driving you home. Feeling dependent on a
man will be good for you. It'll make you more of a woman!"
I got out, and she drove off. I turned toward the Lotus Club
entrance with the gravest foreboding. The only way home was
through that door.
Six hours later I was half pushed out of a car in front of my house
by a guy who was now eager to get home himself. When I unlocked
the door, Debbie was still up, waiting for me on the other side.
She must have heard the car and then my fumbling. I hoped she
didn't hear my sob as I grasped the doorknob of my home, my old
home, and realized that I would never enter it again as what I had
been. A man who had agreed to look, behave, and feel like a girl
if he could had left the house dressed slut femme. A bit
racy-looking. A play-acting girl, pretending to satisfy his wife's
whims even though sometimes getting into it. But a sperm-soaked,
slattern cock sucker had returned
For real, because that's what I now was. An worn-down whore.
Someone who had knelt down in front of many other men as they
arrogantly, triumphantly stretched back and thrust their pelvises
forward, who had bowed and bobbed down before them over and over as
their pricks slid in and out of her mouth. Someone whose ass had
been used repeatedly too. With no shred of dignity or self-respect
left. Mouth coated with cum. Face and leather skirt crusted with
cum. Anus gaping and leaking cum down both legs for lack of
panties to collect and puddle it. A human condom, filled and
tossed away. A used scum bag. When the door shut, I couldn't hold
it back any longer. I began to weep quietly, first deep inside me,
then noticeably. My manhood was gone. Utterly lost!
Debbie was standing just inside, studying my face. Then she threw
herself into my arms, crying out, "Oh, darling, I'm so
sorry! So very sorry! I never should have let you go in there
alone! I never should have deserted you! Never! I was so angry!
So stupidly angry! Over nothing! Over your teeny lapse, your wanting
to watch football the way you once did. I did this to you! I
left you alone when you most needed me! And now look at you! It
should have been beautiful! And look at you! Can you ever forgive
me?"
- o - o - o -
End Sucker 7/11
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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