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Message-ID: <41010asstr$1045872604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} Taken in Adultery by Vickie Tern 7/9 TG femdom
Date: Fri, 21 Feb 2003 19:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Man Taken in Adultery 
Vickie Tern


                              vii.

"Now you're a woman!" she said.  "Never doubt it!  Hurry!  Put a
tampon in your pussy and that new Donna Karan on your back, and
let's go to dinner.  We're running a little late.  You'll find
everything you need in that last bedroom to your left from the top
of the stairs.  That's your bedroom from now on, whenever you need
one while you're here.  Your special place to take someone when you
want to be intimate, or just a private place to get dressed --
you never know.  It has all your clothes and cosmetics and things,
already put away, ready for use.  Of course you might prefer to
keep those things in your own home across the way, alongside
Carrie's things, or in another bedroom that's all your own.  But
that we'll soon see, won't we?"

This time as I sat up I didn't look toward her front entrance door,
that portal beyond which lay my home and safety, that reassuring
married security I'd wanted to preserve until Carrie returned and
I was out of danger.  But now?  I had no reason to believe Carrie
would let me live with her any longer.  Depressed, I brought myself
to my feet and limping slightly, with a ghostly feeling of that fat
mass of meat still stretching my rectum, I went upstairs.  

There on the bureau was a tampon.  I studied it, a plastic piston
in a plastic cylinder pushing a cotton plug.  No problem.  This
time I really do get to fuck myself, I thought.  I pushed the
plastic tube into me, then the piston into the tube.  A cotton wad
with a string attached entered me and swelled up as no doubt it
absorbed Jason's cum.  I pulled the tube out, but still felt myself
filled, full, my rear end plugged up snug.  I supposed this was
what women felt when they wore tampons.  I looked like one now and
had been fucked like one, and now I felt like one.  Like it or not,
I was a woman.  

There was what I took to be a gaffe on the bed, a flesh-colored
satin pad with a little loop to hold a penis and an elastic band
that fit around my rump.  When I installed it my genitals were
pulled back against my crotch between my legs, and I had a smooth
mound in front.  I realized I'd be peeing sitting down for the rest
of the evening.  "I guess so," I said aloud to myself, and
shrugged.  "Why not?"

When I came down again, I was a different person.  That Donna Karan
dress they'd chosen for me was truly elegant, gathered and tucked
and swirled around my hips.  My hair and my face had survived
Jason's lovemaking perfectly, the curls had needed a bit of
fluffing with my fingers but no touch ups even with a hairbrush,
none at all.  It was peculiar.  Until Jason had fucked me and I'd
gone upstairs I'd felt defensive, threatened, somehow subordinated
to Gail's wishes, certainly intimidated by her.  But when I came
down again, wearing that exquisite dress and clutching my beautiful
matching beaded purse, all that had passed.  I felt every bit as
tall as Gail, and every bit as self assured.  And as feminine.  I
needed to think so, and had persuaded myself that it was so.  And
my mirror image had confirmed it.  I'd stood in front of the
three-sided mirror in that bedroom, my bedroom, turning and tugging
and admiring what I saw, making invisible adjustments. 

"Well, here I am again," I said.  "Didn't you say we were running
late?" 

"I've been waiting for you," Gail said a bit sternly, sensing a
kind of insubordination on my part and trying to re-establish our
former imbalance of power.

"I'm sure you have, Gail," was all I replied.  My self-assurance
surprised me.  It wasn't bravado.  It wasn't even that I'd given up
my marriage for lost, though I knew there was no way I could ever
explain to Carrie how the man she'd left had become the woman I now
seemed to be.  It was that I'd accepted myself.  After getting
fucked I'd retreated to a woman's sanctum to touch up my make-up
and dress and select a simple necklace to go with my ear-pierced
studs, and load my purse with another few tampons as might be
needed as well as a comb and lipstick and, well, you know what
else.  Women know.  And wearing that terrific woman's dress, in
that woman's room, doing womanly things, I couldn't put it out of
my mind that in six months I'd have a woman's breasts and a woman's
curves and there was nothing I could do to stop my transformation.
This was my present and that was my future.  I'd given up my
manhood for lost.  As Gail had told me while Jason was still
dripping out of me, I'd become a woman.  She'd gotten her wish.  I
had nothing more to fear from her plans for me.

Her eyes opened wider.  "Don't you mean 'You're sure, ma'am'?" she
asked me, trying once again.

"Yes, of course I'm sure, Gail.  And there's no need to call me
ma'am.  It takes time for a girl to dress herself, you know that. 
If you haven't been waiting, I don't know what else you've been
doing while I've been upstairs changing.  Do you really intend to
wear that same suit to dinner tonight?  The same suit you've worn
all afternoon?  It's really lovely, beautifully tailored, and you
do carry it off well.  But you haven't said a word about this
stunning dress you bought me!  Are you a little annoyed that I'll
outshine you?"

She tried to glare but couldn't, she was simply too pleased to hear
me.  We both broke into smiles.  She understood.  We were now
equals, friends, whatever we'd been earlier.  And that was
acceptable, even desirable.  My emasculation and feminization had
been accomplished.  "It's just lovely," she said with evident
sincerity.  "Perfect for you!  Yvette is a marvel!"

Incredible!  I actually felt pleased by the compliment. I felt
warmth in my belly, and self-confidence surged though the rest of
me.  I pulled my shoulders back and pushed my breasts out.  
"Thank you," I replied.  "She really is."

"Bobbi," she said.  "Now we're a team!  We're both gorgeous, and we
both know it!  True, we're different.  I'm a little older and
regal, imposing they tell me.  And you're cute, adorable -- and
more than that, your figure in that Donna Karan will blow everyone
away!  Here we are, the Hanover girls, we sweep everything before
us!  Ready?"

I grinned back.  I suppose I was a Hanover girl.  A girl created by
Gail Hanover, certainly.  "You don't happen to have a topper you
can lend me, do you honey?  It may get a bit chilly coming back. 
This dress leaves my arms and shoulders rather exposed."

Gail looked concerned.  "It may indeed, Bobbi.  How about a Paisley
shawl?  Drape it over your arms like a mink stole?"

"That should do," I said, not quite sure what she meant, but
trusting her.  "Shall we?"  

As she drove to the Restaurant, Gail was talkative, even chatty. 
I sat there peaceably clutching my new beaded purse, feeling
comfortable for the first time since she'd led me by my cock into
her world.  My main anxiety was gone.  I felt no risk of
embarrassment, of being identified as a man who was wearing women's
clothes and a woman's face and hairdo.  I was far too feminine, too
cute-faced and curly haired a blonde, wearing a dress in such
stunningly good taste it could only command admiration.  I even
felt all the more authentic because of those damned hormones that
idiot had shot into me.  There was more estrogen flowing through me
this moment than through the ripest Hollywood starlet or newlywed
bride.  What more did a girl like me need?  I put far out of mind
my earlier fears of discovery and my more recent depressing
certainty that my marriage was over.

"You know, Bobbi," Gail confided.  "When you got that acute attack
of guilt and it became obvious you were too conflicted ever to
become my handy neighborhood lover, I was unsure what to do with
you.  I had to keep you under control so you wouldn't try to
cleanse your conscience by blabbing to everyone.  That's why I
thought at first that a forced infantile regression might be fun. 
Suggestible subbies like you make marvelous babies I've been told. 
I have a friend whose husband retired not long ago and hasn't been
out of diapers since.  He'd never allowed her the kind of open
marriage Tom and I have, wouldn't even discuss it, I suppose he was
too unsure of his masculinity and found the thought that his wife
could enjoy other men too threatening.  But now he has no such
problem.  He sleeps every night in a crib, sucking warm milk laced
with sedatives out of a baby bottle, and meanwhile she sleeps
wherever and whenever she chooses."

"How did she manage that?"

"A few hypnogogic relaxants, some diuretics, and a little comfort
from mommy's titty whenever he begins to sense there's something
wrong, maybe begins to remember that there was once more to his
life than lying around in a wet diaper waiting to be changed.  But
now it's done.  He's full size, of course, but even so he's a doll,
really adorable in his little snap-bottom jumpers.  She's intends
to let him grow into a little girl soon, and if he enjoys it maybe
she'll let him be a big girl like you some day.  You remember how
you felt yesterday morning, when you were nursing at my breasts and
it helped you to feel so much better about our little intimacies? 
That's how he feels all the time.  Isn't that nice?  It's a lovely
way to feel, I'm sure.  I was thinking then that you'd make the
sweetest baby, that maybe I should help you become one."

"You mentioned it, I remember that well enough.  But as far as your
friend goes, wives have a claim on their husbands.  I suspect
my wife would have had something to say about it."  

I felt a momentary pang.  Carrie'll have plenty to say about what
I am now, I thought, about what this woman has done to me.  That
is, if she bothers to say anything before she walks out on me or
throws me out.  I was reconciled to one or the other by now.  I didn't
deserve it, I thought.  All I'd done was to try to save our
marriage and her career after my one little lapse.  No, I had to
correct myself in all honesty, all I'd done was try to cover up my
one little lapse.  Understanding that, Gail had led me further into
her own uses for me one step at a time.  And now here I was.  I did
deserve it.

"Your wife?  Carrie?  She'd object if I wanted to keep you as my
pet baby?  Oh, Carrie is a young woman with an eye to her own
advantages, I suspect."

"Which means?"  I was annoyed by the implication.  "Are you
implying that Carrie would sell me to you for the right price?"

Gail cast me one of her narrow-eyed "oh be sensible" glances, and
answered, "I mean, Bobbi, that Carrie is very much like me, she
knows what she wants and figures out ways to get there.  It's in
her record and it's obvious!  As for her readiness to sell you to
me, I'm afraid that's not possible any more.  You've already sold
yourself to me, haven't you?"

My anger rose.  I was about to protest that I own myself, that Gail
will soon discover she has no claim on me, and that ... no, she's
right, I did sell myself to her in exchange for secrecy.  Shameful! 

Then Gail added in a gentle voice, "Oh, Bobbi, understand me, I'm
complimenting both of you!  You sold yourself to me to protect
Carrie and your marriage!  That's admirable.  And even if you did
sell yourself, I don't own you!  Of course you're still your own
girl!  You could walk away any moment.  But even so, just look
where we are!  You're here looking beautiful because I realized
yesterday that you'd be more valuable as a companion than as a stud
male or a sweet, helpless baby.  Because I realized that making you
over into a girl would be more fun and more of a challenge.  And
now it's because you realize there's nowhere else you fit in so
well!"

This was all true.  "I don't seem to have been much of a
challenge," I commented.  This time a little bitterly, though I
kept that to myself.

"Oh, enough of a challenge," Gail said.  "You're suggestible,
certainly, but you aren't that easy.  No man risks ridicule easily. 
It's taken a lot of good guesswork to bring you this far.  We're
still on schedule though."  

As I wondered what those last words meant we arrived at "Chez
Antoine" and turned into the restaurant's parking area, where
uniformed valet parking attendants waited.  It was a
sumptuous-looking building with only one small, discreet sign to
identify it.  If you didn't know what sort of place it was, it
didn't intend to tell you.  Wealthy people knew.

"Here comes the valet to open the door on your side," Gail told me. 
"Remember to swivel that cute tush until both of your heels are on
the ground before you try to stand up.  That's how ladies do it. 
Sluts just step down while their skirts pull up, to flash their
unmentionables.  You're a lady now, but pretty enough to enjoy it! 
If you smile at him, he'll be yours for life.  That's something
ladies do to amuse themselves, get men to dance attendance around
them.  Most men love it!  I think lots of them are born wanting to
serve women."

I was in no position to disagree.  Another attendant held the
restaurant's doors open for us and bowed his head as we strolled
through together, and she added, "See?  Didn't I tell you?  Isn't
this nice?  Look how ladies are treated!  Aren't you glad now?"

"Gail, it isn't respect for women, it's respect for money!"

"Oh, of course, that too!  There're advantages to both.  Now as you
walk, keep your thighs together and your elbows close to your body,
and you'll move like a girl without giving it another thought."

The restaurant was large, but divided with plants and low
partitions into many areas with just a few tables in each, so one
always felt intimately seated.  When I commented on it, Gail said
that some people come here to be seen and some not to be seen, and
some to be seen not wanting to be seen.  With this arrangement all
can be seated accordingly.  The Maitre d' greeted Gail as "Madame
Hanovair" and took us to a quiet table, for the moment by
ourselves.  He held her chair for her until she was seated, then
scurried to hold mine.  I was beginning to feel privileged.  Gail
could tell, but said nothing. 

"You'd rather not be seen when you're here?" I asked.

"I've explained why," she said, her mind elsewhere.  "There are the
people who'd love to know what Hanover Associates may be planning
next.  Then too there are the men I fuck, and also their wives,
they sometimes come here.  Some know about me and some don't, 
but either way it saves embarrassment if they don't need to 
acknowledge me."

She hesitated, then went on.  "Bobbi, I forgot to mention, I phoned
to find out exactly what Tina shot into you.  Apparently
it's potent stuff.  It's possible that in three months you'll be
unmistakably curvaceous, not six as Tina thought.  Your breasts
may well be itching already to burst out and fill your bras, as the
nipple areas begin to enlarge.  It'll be fun to watch.  The advice
they wanted me to pass on to you was, eat everything, to be sure
your body gets everything it needs.  It's like being pregnant and
then giving birth to yourself."

I felt my breasts carefully.  Maybe a little tender, but not
itching.  Still, I made a mental note to expect it as my eye ran
down the menu.  We ordered, and our hor d'oeuvres arrived with the
wine.  I realized I was hungry -- my last food had been the cum I'd
sucked out of Gail's cunt hours earlier.  I guess I was thirsty too.
An attentive waiter was pouring me a third glass of wine and I was
feeling a little tiddly when Gail suddenly leaned forward.

"Bobbi," she said.  "I had no idea you'd adjust to all this so
quickly, so I wasn't planning to say this for a few more days at
the earliest.  If I decided to say it at all.  But I can see now
that I didn't misjudge you."

"Oh?"  I cocked one thin eyebrow at her and lifted my chin,
wondering where I had learned that distinctly feminine gesture.   
 
She paused.  "Bobbie, I know you've been concerned with Carrie
and what she'll think when she sees you, but the crux now isn't
Carrie, as you seem to think.  It's you.  I want to put a
proposition to you."

"Oh?" I said again.  My other eyebrow went up as well, and I
realized that without trying I was staring at her with a girlishly
wide-eyed innocence.

"For a long time now I've needed an assistant, a kind of private
secretary and close companion, even a friend, someone who accompanies
me to meetings and social occasions and listens to me, and remembers
what I say and acts on it even when not asked.  Who schedules my time,
serves as a sounding board for my ideas, does other things when I'm
elsewhere with men, and doesn't disapprove of my life style.  You
know, I'm sure.  Ever since we settled into the house next to yours
and I learned that Carrie was one of us and you once were, I've
wondered if we could perhaps re-hire you, or anyhow use some of
your skills and your proximity.  I wanted to bring you on board as a
convenient lover at the very least, always available when I need
someone.  You know the feeling now, I'm sure, the emptiness,
then the satisfying fullness.  But you refused to play that
role, didn't you?  So I looked over your record, and I saw what a 
marvelous executive secretary you'd make.  Unfortunately, as I've 
mentioned, you have one crucial inadequacy.  You aren't a woman.  Or.
you weren't.  So wherever we went you'd be a lightning rod for 
gossip.  But now not at all.  You're perfect."

I listened.  I had nothing to say.

"You'll have other duties too, but mainly you'll be my shadow.
You'll be paid twice what you've estimated for your next year's
earnings -- I've seen your statements, never mind how.  You know
the work and you're good at it.  People in the field trust you.
Well, anyhow they trusted Bob, they'll never trust a curly-headed
replacement named Bobbi, men never trust bimbo-looking women to
understand technical problems.  And if they ever find out that
Bobbi was Bob, their trust in Bob will sink even lower than their
mistrust of Bobbi.  So we won't want them ever to find out.  But
that's no problem.  Bob can pass his clients on to us and then
disappear.  Decide to go to law school or something.  Vanish.
Bobbi keeps the finding fees and a share of the commissions
of course."

That was a tough one to chew on.  I'd now given up my marriage for
dead.  But my consultancy too?  My independence?  Yet Gail was
perfectly right.  If Bobbi ever walked into a client's offices
when they were expecting Bob, all of our understandings would
evaporate, and then all of my clients.

"Now there's plenty for you to do.  Continue to advise us about
your former clients, of course, though the main work would be done
by someone else.  Meanwhile, I have issues to deal with -- Chairman's
and Commissioner's Reports, and technical proposals I've never
understood but need to sign off on anyhow.  And endless meetings
with the Board --  some weeks I'm so busy the few men I have time
to see for my own pleasure need to be fitted into a very 
few available slots."

I nodded, amused, wondering if she realized what she'd just said.

"I need someone who knows the work, knows me, and fits in already.
She must be a girl, for all the reasons I've explained.  That's
you.  You're a girl who's getting more so hourly in body and mind and
can't help it.  You're now a cute, curly headed blonde who looks
like a ditz.  You really are a ditz in one way, Bobbi.  You're a 
straight man who's actually been persuaded to look like a woman and 
have sex as a woman, and is beginning to think she's a woman.  Could 
anyone be sillier?  But that's no problem for this job, because for 
this job what I need is a highly capable, impressionable, curly 
headed blonde whom people always underestimate.  Who seems to be 
a ditz.  I need you."

The more she described it, the more her job seemed to be made for
me.  I wondered vaguely if I'd been made for it.

"Now, why a ditz?  To throw off all suspicion of undue influence. 
Tom is away often, as you know.  As I've told you, in my position
I can't ever be seen to be out with a man, not even with a male
business associate, because people will always talk and talk can
injure the firm's strategies and standing.  I can't have that!  And
women are no better.  I can't ever go shopping or dining or attend
charity receptions with other men's wives, because people will
always assume I'm trying to reach their husbands through them for
some business purpose.  And in fact I often am.  And those
assumptions can also injure the firm's purposes."

"I suppose," I had to agree,

"And unfortunately, I don't know any women in town who aren't
wives.  Or former wives now in possession of their husbands'
fortunes and investments, like my friend with her brand new grown
up baby girl.  Or girls who are much too young.  Do you see my
predicament now?"   

"Yes," I said.  Though it was obvious.  I could see why she thought
it was a predicament.  She was imprisoned by the firm's
confidential maneuverings and other people's gossip. That's why
she'd moved into the woods next door, into an isolation like
Sleeping Beauty's, broken only by various Prince Charmings who
arrived several times each day to awaken her passion.  She had
an open marriage that couldn't be conducted openly, because it
would violate public morality if known, and also because it would
violate good business practice.  People would gossip, but worse,
they'd speculate.  And speculation disperses a company's good faith.

"You're perfect, as an assistant and as a companion.  As a girl
you're altogether unknown, you carry no baggage with you.  You look
like a niece with no more on her mind than doubles tennis played
without a net, the better for swapping partners.  You're good
company when you aren't complaining about things.  You're fun!  And
you're flexible, always willing to try new things.  Think about it. 
Would you have thought two days ago that by this evening you'd be
a full service filling station for men and enjoying it?  Filling
your belly with cum from my cunt when not sucking on a dildo or
being sucked or fucked by a hunky man?  Dressed to kill?  Don't 
pretend you didn't enjoy those things.  I hear you moan and 
shriek even when you're too busy to hear yourself."

She had a point.  "No," I said.  "I'd never have guessed I could do
those things.  Or this."

"I could have persuaded you to take up being gay, you know.  To 
suck Jason's cock as a man, not as Bobbi.  You'd have enjoyed 
the humiliation if I'd tweaked it just the right way, I'm sure, 
and helping you act gay would have been easier than feminizing you.
I once persuaded a man I wasn't sure about to try it, and I got him
over the hump so to speak, over his reluctance, and now we're both
of us sure.  He certainly is, he cruises for cock seven nights a
week!   But you as a new-minted gay man wouldn't have served my
purposes.  You had to be a girl.  And now that's what you are!  A
girl who takes to it naturally, who loves it, who hasn't once
objected to it, and who has orgasms every time.  And in addition,
who looks smashing!  Think about yourself now, and think about your
future, and think about an answer."

She waited.  I said nothing.  This was more than losing Carrie.  Or
losing my client base.  This was losing my whole previous self. 
As the silence grew longer Gail suddenly asked, "How's your pussy
feeling now, Bobbi?"

My rear end still felt sensitive, but still stuffed, plugged up by
the very tampon that was keeping Jason's cum warm within.  It felt
oddly comforting.  This new dress felt as if I were poured into it,
that it was not being worn at all, and I knew that on my figure it
would stop traffic!  Knowing how well it fit me, how lovely I
looked, lifted my morale.  I loved it!  Had I gone mad?  Were those
hormones softening my brain?

"It feels very good," I had to say.  Then I smiled and let a gleam
come into my eye.  "It's felt better though."

Gail caught on and snorted.  "Recently, too, I bet!  Isn't Jason
something?  I'm insanely jealous, he won't look at me, but he's
available for you any time, he told me so while you were still
blissed out."  She looked at me more closely before adding, "I
think you can do better, though.  I know some guys who need a jolt
or two -- I'd love to set them up to suck your dick and then
realize what they've done.  And most of my men would shoot in their
pants just imagining themselves shooting into your back door!
That rear end of yours is a marvel, and it'll only get more so. 
It's criminal that you've been hiding it.  But no more.  That's
another bonus when you work with me, Bobbi.  You can also handle
my sports car overflow, if any of them take your fancy.  You're
going to love your life!"

She turned serious.  "I mean it, Bobbi, about becoming my assistant
and occasional companion.  Really an executive assistant and friend.
Doing things together.  Think about it."

This was much more than I'd anticipated.  I'd thought my life was
altogether ruined.  But then she said something unexpected.

"Talk it over with Carrie, and don't underestimate her.  Hanover
Associates doesn't, we never have.  You have.  I know, you think
you know what's on her mind, how she thinks.  She loves it that you
think that.  But you don't know. It's the other way around, she
knows what's on your mind, how you think.  That's how she's able to
put thoughts into your head you can't resist because you think
they're your thoughts.  Isn't that true?"

I was silent.  How could I ever possibly know if that was true?

"For example, whose idea was it to get married?"

"Both of us got the idea the moment we first saw each other," I
replied. 

"No.  It's in her personnel folder.  She told us once, when we
asked her how come she's so good at closing deals -- she's
incredibly persuasive.  She said it was simple, she closes deals by
assuming that her clients have already decided to close whatever
the deal, then saying something to that effect.  Most decide they
can live with it, so they don't correct her.  She said she got you
to agree the same way.  She'd been watching you for weeks, checked
you out, asked around, and when you showed up at that party -- it
was an office party, wasn't it? -- she already knew you were
exactly the person she wanted for a husband, good looking, smart,
conscientious, gentle, and above all impressionable.  Easily 
persuaded.  She wanted you.  So she helped you believe you wanted 
her.  Isn't that so?  Was there ever a time you made a separate 
decision to marry her?  All by yourself, unassisted?"

I didn't like the implication.  "It's a good marriage," I said 
defensively.  "Or it was.  Carrie's decisiveness was what I wanted.
She always knows what she wants and goes for it.  That's what I 
saw in her from the moment I saw her.  That's why I wanted to marry
her."  I almost added 'and that's how I know she'll throw me out when
she sees that now I'm not the man she married,' but I decided to 
push that dread thought out of my mind.

"Yes," was all Gail answered.  "My point exactly.  Well, look who's
coming to dinner now!  Life just got much more complicated for you
I'm afraid, Bobbi!  Just sit tight and be yourself.  Be the ditzy
blonde you look like, I mean.  Show time!"

A couple had entered our area at the far end, the man wearing a
perfectly tailored dinner jacket and black tie on an impeccable
pleated shirt, the woman gorgeous, kicking her way toward us in a
long, slithery black beaded evening gown that went down to the
floor.  They looked like a perfect couple!  But as they approached,
I was horrified to recognize that the stunningly beautiful woman
was Carrie! 

end 7/9
VickieTern@AOL.COM

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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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