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Subject: {ASSM} Scenes, by Vickie Tern, 6/17  TG Femdom F/m m/M F/M etc
Date: Mon,  1 Oct 2001 14:10:05 -0400
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Scenes, by Vickie Tern, 6/17  TG Femdom F/m m/M F/M etc

This is a tale about a married couple who try to meet each 
other's needs, and also their own.  What they think are each 
other's needs, that is.  What they think are their own.

It includes explicit sex scenes.  Married sex, mostly, gentle, 
loving, and appreciative, mostly.  If by reason of age, 
temperament, or moral principle you shouldn't or don't want 
to read about such things, think hard what to do about it, 
and you'll figure it out I'm sure.








                  Scenes from a Marriage
                      by Vickie Tern
                 
                    (vickietern@aol.com)   




                               6.

Carl's self-fulfillment as Carol and Maddy conceived it came much
sooner than either imagined possible, and by a somewhat different
route.  

After dinner Carl glanced at one of the issues of "Cosmopolitan"
Carol had tossed on the hall table, then actually picked it up and
carried it back to his chair.  The girl on the front cover stared
out at him with a challenging expression, her mouth open and her
lips glistening, her satin robe fallen open, her ripe breasts
visibly suspended in a frivolous lacy black and purple bra that
matched the nearly bare panty he could glimpse crossing her crotch,
one of many "Adorable Underthings" pictured in the cover story to
justify her appearance on the cover.  Could any man resist her?  "I
want you!" she told him in her husky voice.  "What do you intend to
do about it?"  

A moment later he was looking at the other gorgeous young women
posing brazenly in different kinds of lingerie across several inner
pages, each displaying another variety of women's underwear and
another variety of the fetishism women can so easily provoke in
men.  Carl felt provoked.  Some bra and panty models smiled at him
invitingly, warmly welcoming his gaze.  Some looked at him
preoccupied, frowning, as if considering certain obscene ways to
punish him for his erotic thoughts.  Some of the lingerie was
supposedly "Vampish," some "Romantic," some "Funky."  He couldn't
tell the difference.  They were all of them bare wisps of seductive
froth decorating warm, soft, moist, eager female bodies.  The
panties were all decorative archways over the gates of paradise.

Carl got a hard boner almost immediately.  Cosmo's models were a
lot more seductive than the comparatively sanitized girls of
"Sports Illustrated."   And the articles and pictures all turned
toward one topic -- just between us girls, how can we arouse a man
so skillfully that he'll devote his last breath to trying to
satisfy us?  Or how can we arouse many men to serve our pleasure? 
One article advised about a man's "Moan Zones."  Another assured
married women that a quick escapade with another man was harmless,
and in fact could bring zest back into a dull marriage.  Several
women praised such extramarital flings as non-caloric, drug-free
pick-me-ups -- and their husbands got the benefit of their better
moods afterward.  So it was hardly cheating -- in fact they should
feel grateful!  

The ads looked especially provocative.  One full page showed a
girl's face swelling passionately toward the viewer, her lips a
deep wine color, open and pouting as if preparing to wrap
themselves around the nearest cock.  She looked directly at Carl,
asking him "Is yours hot and hard, and ready?"  It was.  All of the
women in these ads stared out at him boldly, challenging him to
fuck them while their pussies were still dripping from encounters
with fantasy lovers.  

Carl was amazed.  This magazine was a virtual whorehouse, a harem
of hot women thinking only about how to get laid or how to drive
his imagination mad!

Under hooded eyes Carol saw her husband sink into an intense
reverie, studying each page closely, then dwelling intently on the
next page, then the next.  She waited a few minutes.  Then as if
casually, in passing, she glanced down at the magazine in his lap. 
Unnaturally high up in his lap.  "That magazine's appeal is to
women," she said.  "Enjoying it?  See anything there you like
especially?"

"This blonde here is incredible, Carol," Carl said in a deep,
almost reverent voice.  "She has no shame!  Look at her!  No
reflection on you, I love yours, but look at those boobs!  I don't
know how that delicate material can hold them up that high!  Or why
those straps don't dig into her shoulders while hoisting all that
flesh!"

Carol glanced down.  She saw a shapely girl wearing one of
this-year's dark toned jacquard bras, an underwire.  Burgundy, she
noted, color coordinated with her lipstick and nail gloss.  The
very same bra I bought just last week!  Do they want us to buy a
different bra for every shade of lipstick we wear?  Of course they
do!

The gleam of an idea suddenly became THE perfect idea.  What an
opening Carl had given her!

"That's their new 'Romance' line, honey," she informed him.  "It's
lovely, don't you think?  Sheer, lots of lace, and elastic padded
straps that stroke your shoulders.  It's a lot less fragile than it
looks -- there's an underwire below each cup for uplift.  A
well-designed bra doesn't ever sag or bind or dig into you.  It
hugs your body while it lifts and shapes your breasts.  You'd enjoy 
something like that?"

"Her boobs?  Sweetheart, I'd enjoy yours if you'd let me!  You're
the woman I want!  But I do like the way that brassiere displays
what she's got, yes.  What man wouldn't?"  

The poor dear must really be feeling hard up, Carol thought.  "I've
got that very bra!  Brand new, I haven't worn it yet.  So
comfortable!  Wait, see for yourself, I'll get it for you."

She was gone before he could tell her not to bother.  And back
again almost immediately, and dropped that very bra -- the same
deep maroon confection -- into his lap on top of his open magazine. 

"Here, honey, examine the mysteries of women's bras to your heart's
content."  And she sat down again as if returning to her book.  She
watched Carl closely without seeming to look up.  His first bra, in
a way.  How would he handle it?

Carl couldn't remember ever holding an actual brassiere in his own
hands before.  He'd unhooked them, yes, when he and Carol were
dating and getting serious, but Carol did that herself these days. 
And he'd taken them out of the dryer when asked to bring up the
laundry for sorting.  But he'd never examined one closely.  

He picked it up carefully by one strap as if it might explode. 
Then as if there were still a woman inside it he decorously,
reverently felt for the underwire.  And found it.  It was magical! 
A cup billowed out as he touched the underband as if suddenly
occupied by a ghostly breast.  His prick throbbed!  

"Oh, yeah!" he said.  This thing is cunningly engineered, he was
thinking.  Complicated.  Like the women who wear them.  They look
fragile and delicate, but they're tough as steel.  You couldn't
hacksaw this fabric, I bet.  "This doesn't bind?" he asked,
thinking he should say something, since she'd gone to the trouble
of fetching it for him.

"You find it attractive?  The shade?  The style?  No, not at all,
you hardly know you're wearing it!"

"I imagine so.  Yes, it's very nice,"  Carl said.  Enough of this
show and tell.  He was impatient to return to Cosmo's page after
page of provocative models, eager to let his imagination bring more
of them to life.

But Carol wasn't through.  "No need to imagine.  See for yourself,
sweetheart!  Try it on!  If you like it, it's yours!"

Carl considered what Carol might mean by that last weird statement. 
She was acting very peculiar.  What had she been discussing with
Maddy?  "You mean mine to look at?  Mine for you to wear, and
you're mine?"

Slow down, Carol told herself.  Too eager.  "Carl, that's so sweet! 
No, I mean yours for whatever purpose you choose.  Yours.  Put it
on now, seriously, wear it a while!  See for yourself how a woman
feels while wearing a well-designed bra.   Keep it in your
underwear drawer, so you can look at it and feel it and see how
they're constructed, figure out how they work, whenever you wish. 
Centuries of design experience go into the slant cut of any section
of a good bra."

"Ahh, Carol honey, no.  I'd ruin it."  Carol must be more exhausted
than I'd figured, he was thinking.  She's losing it!

"Only if you put it on the wrong way.  Here, let me show you how. 
Strip to the waist."

"Best offer I've had all day," Carl replied.  "But no thanks."

"Honey, you wanted to know how it feels, and I'm offering to help
you!  So strip!"  A loud, imperious voice.  A command, really!

She's insulted!  This is her whim, how can I fight it?  Carl
glanced regretfully at the girl in the burgundy brassiere in the
ad, promising he'd be right back.  He was startled to see her eyes
light up!  She'd been observing what was happening, and a faint
smile appeared on her lips.  "Do see for yourself, lover," she said
to him.  "Go ahead!  Take your time, enjoy it!  I love my bras!"

Or was that Carol speaking?  

Carl pulled his sport shirt over his head without unbuttoning it,
and Carol quickly slipped her bra over his arms, then hooked it in
back, where -- she was thinking -- probably he couldn't reach to
remove it.  As with a link puzzle he'd need to figure out an
indirect way to get at the hooks.  "Now reach in and pull your
breasts up into the cups," she said to him in a faintly bored
voice, as if nothing extraordinary were taking place and her mind
was partly elsewhere.  "Then you'll see how a good bra provides
support without stress."

"I don't have breasts," Carl said.  "That's your department."

"This morning you had breasts," she said in a level voice, her gaze
never wavering from his face.  "I saw them.  You showed them to me. 
Now stop pretending."

Embarrassed once again, Carl reached down into each cup and pulled
his chest skin and flaccid pectoral muscles up past the underwire. 
He loosely filled each cup, and they took on shape.  Now his chest
did project out, a little.  Anyhow, it was no longer flat.  He
looked at his wife, feeling slightly ashamed.  

"See?  Now you've got breasts too.  A good bra helps every girl
make the most of whatever she's got.  See how comfortable it
feels?"

He did indeed have small, perky bulges on his chest, shaped to a
point as if to nipples.  The elastic band and the straps hugged him
on all sides.  It was embarrassing.  His nipples, thrust forward,
felt incredibly sensitive.  What little breast tissue he had felt
molded, treasured.

"Nice," he said.  "Comfortable.  Point taken.  Would you unhook me
now, please?"

"What's your hurry, honey?  Wear it for a few hours, see if it
pinches or binds anywhere.  If it's a good fit, you'll forget
you're wearing it in no time.  And all the while it'll be providing
you both shape and support."  She smiled.  "You do look cute,
sweetie.  But now put your shirt back on.  Nice girls don't sit
around the house in only their bras.  What if someone should come
in, or a neighbor should see through the window?"

Carl felt a pang in his belly at that!  A neighbor see him?  A
reasonable concern, he thought.  Carol's in a weird mood, but I can
humor her for a few hours.  He pulled his shirt back on.  The bra
still embraced him, but it was no longer visible, so at last he
could return to his magazine.  As he looked down at it in his lap,
he saw faint hints of new breasts poking his shirt forward.

So this is what those girls I hung out with were talking about, he
was thinking, with their whispering to each other, reciting names like
"Playtex" and "Bali" and "Vanity Fair" and "Warners" and so on, and
giggling. I suppose for them it was exciting, part of their
becoming women, knowing that they're attractive to men.  Like these
babes in this magazine.  He glanced back down.

The pictures had changed!  The girls weren't telling him any more 
that they were nearly naked so he'd be eager to plunge his fat 
dick into them, that they couldn't wait for his mouth to go down 
on them and make them moan.  Now they were intimate with him in a
different way.  They were pleased to welcome him into their club,
their select group of gorgeous women in lingerie.  It was like high
school all over again, but the good part of it, feeling accepted by
girls as if he were one of them.  Only better, because now he
really was one of them, in a new way, sort of.  Privileged to wear
their undies, maybe even attend their sleepovers this time! 
Unexpectedly, wearing a bra felt comforting as well as comfortable. 
"Hi, honey!" said one of the models.  "I haven't seen you here
before!  Well, isn't that bra gorgeous?  I bet you love it!"

On the next page, another luscious beauty advised him to start
wearing her new liquid lip color too -- it matched, and would stay
bright and kissable all day, she confided in a low voice, and all
night too, no matter what.  "Pucker up," she said, "And kiss your
man anywhere."  There was no doubt what she really meant.  "In the
park, in a restaurant, in your place or his place!  No matter how
you get it on, it stays on!"   

He shook his head, then read on.  Carol didn't fail to notice that
now and them he reached up to cup his little breasts in both his
hands.  Because one of the Cosmo models was doing that, and he now
felt he had their permission to see what it was like?  Maybe.  She
noticed that as he felt them, his thumbs touched the tips of his
little bulges delicately.  Repeatedly.  Of course!  His nipples
were erogenous!  She watched him discover that when projected out
in a bra they're much more so.  He's hooked already, she was
thinking.  Maybe for life?

But her main question had been answered.  Carl wasn't lusting after
those Cosmo girls.  He was chatting with them.  In his mind he was
one of them.  

When they went up together to change for bed, as always Carol
carefully removed her suit jacket, hung it up, then her blouse.  Now
she stood there in her skirt and bra, suddenly aware that Carl was
standing next to her in his pants and bra and inspecting her heavy
breasts, the way they hung forward yet were pulled back up securely
by her bra.  He's identifying with me as well as with those models,
she realized!  My!  He's wondering what it would be like to have my
breasts!  She reached behind to unhook herself, and as her bra and
her breasts fell free of each other Carl turned his back to her. 
She was puzzled momentarily, then realized that Carl was wordlessly
asking her to unhook him too.  He was too embarrassed to ask her
directly.  Or no doubt to take lessons.  No matter, the darling! 
She reached around his torso to grasp one of his little breasts in
each hand and give them a little squeeze.  Then with one in each
hand she pulled him toward her, hugging him, his back pressed
against her own breasts.  She let her thumbs stroke his nipples.

Carl thought he would cream in his pants right then and there!

"Mmmmm!" she said.  "I like this."  If he's worried how I feel
about his manhood, she was thinking, this should reassure him. 
He's so sweet!  He does whatever I tell him!  "Is it nice?"

"It's very nice," Carl replied deep down in this throat.  It was,
too.  If they weren't going to be fucking, Carl was thinking to
himself, kinky things like this are a lot better than nothing.  It
does please her, plainly, and that's the main thing.  She'd felt
she had to deprive him of the sex they both enjoyed so he'd recover
faster.  So to make up for it she now wants to share her other
pleasures.  Even those of a comfortable bra.  How can I refuse her?

Maybe that's reason enough for me to go along, he thought. 
Meanwhile, it does give me a different slant on those babes in that
magazine, too.  They like it that I can understand them, share
their concerns, even know something about how they make themselves
beautiful.  Girls always have wanted to share their experiences
with me.  These want me to wear a bra as a badge of membership in
their club?  So they'll feel free to climb all over me and pleasure
themselves while I'm jerking off?  I can do that.  That's a fair
swap. 

Carol kept kneading his boobs, let her fingertips dance on their
tips, on his nipples, delighted to feel Carl's whole body stiffen. 
This really did reach him!  "Mmmmmm!" he said, leaning back onto
her, his eyes closed, smiling.  He was in heaven!  No question of
it!  I will get him bras of his own to wear all the time! she
decided.  And he'll wear them all the time, too!  He loves them!

He did, too, and he actually regretted it when finally Carol
released him and his bra band swung free, unhooked.  Who'd have
thought it?

"Tomorrow's another day," she consoled him as his disappointment
crossed his face.  

He shrugged the bra off his shoulders and folded it and placed it
carefully in his underwear drawer, just as she'd suggested.  Carol
watched.  No more arguments.  He's such a dear, my Curly Carl,
always trying to make me happy, she was thinking.  And it's so
cute, the way his feminine side is finally emerging.  

Unexpectedly, she felt a faint tinge of sadness too. This was
trickery, not altogether honest.  When this is done, she was
thinking, when this thing has run its course, I'll find some way to
make it up to him.  Or to her.  Whoever I find I'm married to.  

She called Maddy early the next morning to tell her the news.

"Were we right or were we right?" Maddy replied.  "Have you started
him on his pills?"

"Yes, as soon as I got home, as a matter of fact."

That could have done it in itself, Maddy thought.  A man puts on a
brassiere with no qualms, no anxiety about his manhood?  Either he
hasn't got any or he's so high on tranquilizers he doesn't care. 
No matter, the end result's the same.

"Will you be sending him to FormFit Figures this morning?"

"I think so."

"Good, I'll give them a call to let them know he's coming.  Maybe
we can arrange something a little special!"

"You're a doll, Maddy!"

"Just trying to help.  Carl's the doll I suspect!  Or anyhow, he
soon will be, from what you tell me.  Will you send him to FormFit
in his new bra?" 

"Oh Maddy, he already has enough to cope with, the poor dear! 
Besides, it isn't a sports bra, its for under his blouses and
dresses."  There!  She'd said it!  They both realized together what
it was she was anticipating for him, and giggled!  

Carol felt just wonderful as she hung up.  She was helping her man
help himself, and she did feel altogether in charge.  As Carl
pulled on a loose jogging suit to go to FormFit she reminded him to
take his pills for the day.  So he did that.  She proposed that
they make taking their pills their first thing together each
morning, so he wouldn't forget -- she'd take hers while he took
his.  Until I no longer need mine, she said to herself, because he
won't be able to put himself into me any more anyhow.  She paused,
and again felt a touch of sadness.  She wondered how she'd manage
when that happened.  No matter, Carl's needs come first.  
                             


end 6/17

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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