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Message-ID: <47933asstr$1085112605@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} Teasing by Vickie Tern 7/9 TG femdom
Lines: 492
Date: Fri, 21 May 2004 00:10:05 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Teasing by Vickie Tern 7/9 TG femdom hum



Seven


She made that clear immediately.  "I'll have lunch now, Pattie. 
Just fix us each a small salad this time.  We'll eat it together so
I can brief you some more.  In the kitchen this time.  Though
normally, expect to eat yours at your desk after you've brought me
mine at my desk."

"Of course, Tara."  'Normally'?  She was back to pretending this
was a long-term arrangement?  "A chef's salad, or something
simpler?"

"I think simpler.  You do need to lose a little weight if you mean
to work for me long term -- first impressions are so important when
clients enter an office.  I could do with less heft myself.  Though
the guys I get down with don't seem to mind."   She wriggled her
pelvis and grinned. 

We entered the house, and she headed directly toward her study.  "I
need to make a few more calls," she said.  "Let me know when lunch
is ready," she said.  "Oh yes, Pattie, this afternoon's likely to
be stressful for you, so why don't you pour yourself another glass
of that orange juice right now?"

I think she knew this would be a test of wills, because when I
stopped and turned toward her to declare my ultimatum, I saw she'd
already also stopped and turned and was looking straight at me. 
"Tara, I ...."

She broke in.  "And while you're at it, put in another of those
vaginal suppositories too.  It's a good cure for a tight ass, if
that's your problem.  They're in the medicine cabinet, a whole
three month's supply, you can't miss the package.  From now on,
you'll insert one each morning on arising -- that should do you for
the day.  But today's special.  You could do with the extra boost." 
Her cat-like eyes never wavered from mine.

"I wasn't going to ...," I began saying.  Then I realized from the
way I'd said it that I'd already given up the argument.  I stopped.

"You said you wanted to please me.  That's what would please me. 
So do it, please, Pattie.  You'll feel more feminine, and then
you'll do whatever's necessary without worrying so much about it." 


I must still have looked reluctant, because she added, "I know! 
Just push it all the way in with your finger and then while your
finger's inside you, enjoy the way it feels!  Wiggle your tush on
it a little.  Take your time.  And do exactly that every morning.
There are marvelous sensations in store for you.  Go see for
yourself right now, and then fix us lunch."  

She smiled, and waited for my slumped shoulders to signal
agreement.  It was not a mere request.  "We're employer and
employee, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends too.  Over
lunch I'll tell you all about Henri, those marvelous hands of his,
how he massages and caresses a girl until her whole body glows.  If
this comes off as I hope, you'll get a session with Henri as your
bonus, honey.  Paid for by the firm.  You'll walk on air for days
after he's felt you up and done you over."  She waited.

"That'll be just lovely," I said.  So Henri wasn't an ardent French
lover?  More a masseur of some kind?  She'd been teasing me there
too?  I went up, pushed in my second suppository of the day, and
wriggled my ass on my finger as ordered.  It did feel good.  Then
I washed my newly manicured hands, rubbed in the hand cream I found
on the sink, and when I was back in the kitchen drank another glass
of special orange juice.  

She was right.  Almost immediately afterward I felt mellow indeed. 
I began humming in my strangely high voice as I tore up lettuce
leaves and sliced cucumbers and tomatoes.  My long, pink-painted
nails somehow fascinated me.  It was fun!  There was nothing to
worry about.  Go with the flow!

During lunch Tara told me more about Henri.  He sounded like fun
too, though I was only half-listening.  It seems that while
massaging different muscle groups as masseurs do, he also helps
women flex and relax by teasing their anus and clit.  He also oils
their nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until they gleam
and all of their muscles have stretched taut in an ecstatic tension
very much like an orgasm.  "You'll see," she said.  "Though you
won't get the full effect until your nipples enlarge.  Soon,
Pattie, be patient."

She smiled when she saw how I vacantly nodded my appreciation, then
continued.  "Honey, let me give you three pieces of advice."  

I nodded again.

"I can see why men have never asked you out.  You don't play the
game.  But we'll change that right now.  When you first meet a man,
look him directly in the eyes.  Then keep your own eyes downcast
after that, and look him in the eyes again only when you're telling
him 'yes' or 'no'.  But always seem absolutely attentive.  That
confers instant maidenly modesty but also a certain sexual
assertiveness men find attractive.  They feel flattered."

This sounded vaguely wrong.  "Should I want to be sexually
attractive to men?"  I asked.  "After all, I'm married."

"But not to a man, so it's all right," Tara replied immediately,
smiling in reassurance.  

This answer confused me.  It was true, but ....

"All girls want to feel sexually attractive to men," Tara replied. 
"That's why we flirt.  For fun if for no other reason."

"All right," I said.

"Secondly, keep your thighs together always, except when ... well,
you know.  Whether you're walking, sitting, or lounging.  Always. 
We often spread our feet wide apart from the knees on down, knees
together, toes pointed inward, that's very girlish, it looks so
helpless.  But open your thighs just once and you'll find some guy
trying to get himself in between them."

"All right," I said, wishing vaguely that I had something to write
these things down with.  "A man between my thighs is bad?"

"Depends on the man, doesn't it?" Tara replied, still smiling.

I smiled back.  A man between my thighs was bound to be
disappointed.

"Thirdly, never mind all that talk about limp wrists and extended
pinkies or anything else you may have heard about effeminate men. 
Just keep your elbows as close to your body as possible, and all
the rest will follow.  If you want to touch your face or rest your
chin on your hand, first tuck that elbow in front of you as far as
it'll go.  It makes for a wonderfully feminine gesture.  Try it." 

I did.  And sat there like that.  It felt cute.

"Oh, lovely, it's as if you'd been a girl all your life!  You'll be
perfect!  I think you're going to enjoy this!  Now upstairs and
change into your secretary outfit, and we'll be off."

Alone upstairs, still feeling very easy, I slipped out of my
stretch pants yet again and then into the stockings and lingerie
Tara had left for me and into the outfit Astrid's secretary had
brought for me -- a good quality Walmart skirt and blouse, an
expensive cardigan sweater going a bit worn, panty hose -- I rolled
them up the way I'd seen Tara roll them before putting her foot
into them, and it worked out fine, chunky shoes with a two inch
heel, and a thick, gold-plated, braided wire necklace.  It would
match those gold wires now looped through my ears, I realized.  The
effect was lovely.  I realized I was thinking like a girl.  

Moreover, I felt as if I'd been one all my life, the way I dressed
myself, as if routinely, daily for the office.  Hooking the skirt
and zipping it up seemed ... instinctive.  That orange juice had
dampened down my feelings of strangeness.  I glanced once more at
my face in the mirror, and approved it.  Then when I came back
downstairs I saw Tara waiting for me, a similar look of approval on
her face.  I raised one eyebrow at her, then took up my laptop and
shoulder bag, and we went together to the car in the driveway. 
Though I usually drove us when we were going somewhere together,
Tara got behind the wheel, so I walked around to sit beside her. 
She was in charge.  It was just as well, I had no idea how my high,
high heels might affect my driving.  I checked my hair in the car
mirror.  Fine.

We were in full view of a neighbor who was clipping hedges across
the street, but there was nothing noticeable about us.  We were
only two women.  He scarcely glanced up.   

**********

It was our town's best hotel, the Regal Palace, an opulent, glitzy
hotel designed to impress even wealthy people, with thousands  of
little glittery bulbs in chandelier after chandelier illuminating
a gilt ceiling high over a capacious reception area, colored glass
sculptures hanging here and there overhead, deep plush carpets
underfoot, cream-colored carvings everywhere, everything inviting
everyone to enjoy luxurious self-indulgence.  The place was dotted
with grave, attentive uniformed flunkies standing here and there,
eager to be of service.  In my dazed state I felt a little dazzled,
but I did my best to move the way Tara'd told me, unashamed, with
my head high, boobs forward, and thighs and elbows close in.  No
one in the lobby took the slightest notice.  Gradually I relaxed. 
Tara smiled at me conspiratorially to encourage me, and I smiled
back.  She was right, it was exciting that everyone to assume I was
a woman.  

She peered through a decorated doorway, saw that her prospective
client was not in the cocktail bar as expected, so she went to the
desk.  I followed but stood slightly back, as befitted my lower
station.

"Mr. Bartram asks that you go right up," the man at the desk told
her after announcing us by phone.  "The Penthouse, eighteenth
floor.  They're waiting for you.  That private elevator there."

"They?" I asked her on the way up in the elevator.

She shrugged.  "Probably an assistant, the same way you're mine. 
Someone expected to sit quietly and take notes and follow up
afterward on whatever's agreed, do the scut work.  High-powered
executives often keep such people close by.  It frees them to
concentrate on the business at hand."

This didn't sound quite right.  "Often?"  I pulled my mind together
and tried to concentrate.  "You thought it likely there'd be
another man with him?  But weren't you afraid to find yourself
alone with him?  Isn't that why I'm here?"

"You're here to help me, Pattie.  If it bothers you, I can give you
a pill like the ones in your orange juice to help you accept
whatever happens as sort of natural and wonderful.

"No need," I said.  I felt quite placid enough.  I quit worrying.

The elevator door opened into a reception area, and in the sitting
room beyond it I saw two men seated.  One was thin and angular,
seated on a couch and leaning forward over a laptop on the coffee
table in front of him, studying its screen.  The other lounged
across from him in a large ornate chair that resembled a throne. 
They both looked up.  The  one on the throne stood and smiled and
came forward toward us, with his hand out to Tara.  He was large,
with a craggy handsomeness.  Obviously Bill Bartram himself.

"Tara, how nice.  And as expected, I see!" He glanced at me, then
looked steadily at Tara, the thoughts behind his eyes well-hidden. 
"All prepared?  I've got a draft letter of agreement you'll want to
look over carefully, but I see no problem.   This lovely lady is
...?"  And he gestured at me before turning to look me over more
closely.  Head to foot.  And back again.

"My secretary, Patricia" Tara said, her right hand enclosed in the
man's paw, waving her left hand at me carelessly.  "Pattie, meet
Mr. William Bartram, the head of Castro Enterprises, and in full
charge of its expansion.  Every bit as good-looking as I'd said,
isn't he?"  Then to Bartram she said, "I don't anticipate any
problems.   We both know why we're here."

"Good," Bill said, glancing at me again.  "Then there's no problem
at all."  I acknowledged Tara's introduction by nodding at him. 
For a wild moment I wondered if I should curtsy.  Bill then
recalled the other man in the room with him.  "Meet Jim
McNaughton," he said.  "My right hand."  

His name having been mentioned, Jim McNaughton leaned further over
the laptop and then stood up, but made no move toward us.  Instead,
he studied me with his cool gray eyes, then looked expectantly at
Bill.  

"Jim looks after my projects for me," Bill said.  "He'll be my man
on the scene if all goes well, as I expect it will, overseeing
everything.  Whatever he approves, I approve, and whatever he
doesn't, well, we don't need to talk about that do we?  Shall we
get to it, Tara?"  He gestured toward the door into an adjacent
room, which I took to be a bedroom.  "The papers are in there.  Any
last minute hesitation, now that you've had time to think about the
whole scheme?"

"None," Tara said firmly, then turned to lead the way into the next
room.  I started to follow her.  She paused.  "Pattie, stay here
and get acquainted with Jim.  See what he may need, offer to be of
help.  Apparently you'll be seeing a lot of each other."  She
waited.  My cue to speak.

"Of course, Tara," I said in my "Twilight Sleep" high-pitched
voice.

Her eyes gleamed satisfaction, and she disappeared through the door
without a backward glance.  Bill followed her and the door closed
behind them.  I stared at it for a long minute.  Just stood there
staring.  The two of them were in there alone.  Why was I here?

"Come sit here if you don't mind, Patricia is it?" Jim said after
a brief moment, gesturing to a space on the couch next to him. 
"You'll want to know what's in the agreement they're reviewing in
there, our mutual obligations and so forth.  I have it on this
computer."

Uneasily, I sidestepped around the coffee table and sat down
carefully on the couch next to him.  The skirt fabric over my
panties slithered against the damask of the couch's upholstery and
reminded me to clamp my knees together and tuck my elbows to my
sides.  Not knowing what else to do with them, I folded my hands in
my lap.  Good God!  There was my cock pressing against the back of
my hand!  Tumescent!  After months of Tara's conditioning, I was
fine-tuned to be aroused by the notion that she and that man were
alone together!  But this time he wasn't a fantasy man, he was
real!  What was really happening in that other room?  Did I want to
believe they were not reviewing that draft letter of agreement?

"Bill wants me to maintain close personal supervision over this
contract until every condition is executed.  For four months, maybe
more.  Your boss Tara thinks it'll take no more than that -- and I
admire her style if she can bring it off in that short a time. 
Then we'll negotiate the secondary contracts, the branch offices,
an additional year's work.  Those depend on how well you perform. 
If I'm happy, Bill will be too, and the work's yours.  Your firm's
anyhow.  But we both need to be satisfied."

"I see," I said.  I was still pre-occupied with Tara and that man
in the other room, but I was listening.  Four months?  Tara will be
busy with this Castro job for four months?  That's nice.  But this
man, Jim, will be here the whole time?  That's more awkward.  Even
in my tranquilized state of mind I realized that could be a
problem.  He'd expect to see Patricia whenever he visits Tara's
office.

"Maybe you see.  Please understand me.  If I'm unhappy about
anything, Bill will not be happy, and there will be no secondary
contracts."

"Yes," I said vaguely.  

"I'll be seeing quite a bit of both of you.  You're taking
possession of the new office space behind your house next week I
understand.  Tara's offered me one of her spare office spaces and
I've accepted.  I'll be there some part of every day during the
first month or so, so I imagine we'll get to know each other pretty
well.  Tara told Bill when they last spoke together that she's sure
you'll make me feel welcome.  She said that if there's anything you
can't provide me, or won't, not to worry, she will.  She really
wants those branch office contracts."

Worrisome.  Despite my mood I began to feel closed in.  Daily?  For
four months?  Plus maybe a year more?  Mine was the face of the
company he'd be dealing with, my face and Tara's.  Had Tara known
this when she'd proposed this day's outing to me?  Was that why
she'd insisted I adopt a permanent mind-set, as if to live as if a
woman for life, not just for today, or else be revealed as a fraud? 
How could I get out of this?  Could I pretend to quit Tara's
employment, then hide out as myself in the main house?  Month after
month?  No, there was too great a risk of exposure -- if he
glimpsed me, Jim would see immediately that Patrick and Patricia
were as similar as their names, and would then certainly advise
Bill that the contract had been attained fraudulently.  

So Patrick didn't dare live at home while this project was under
way.  I had to be Patricia.  Why did Tara do this to me?  

I suppose it was obvious.  She'd needed all her persuasive powers
merely to get me to consent to do this for one day.  She knew I'd
never agree to do it for as long as was in fact required, not right
off.  Fair enough, she wanted the contract.  But then, why did she
want me with her at all today?  She was already alone in the other
room with that man.  And I was alone with Jim, passing the time.

I'm trapped into pretending I'm a woman for months, I was thinking. 
That orange juice still made everything that was happening seem ...
normal.  Usual.  Worry-free.  And what was it Tara had said, she'd
provide whatever Jim wanted if I refused?  What did that mean?  It
sounded like a warning to me to measure up.

I couldn't deal with the implications now.  I decided to be as
gracious and ladylike with Jim as I could, so as not to ruin things
for Tara.  To wait it out.

"Patricia, may I say something you might find too personal?" Jim's
voice broke in.

"Why yes, Jim, of course," I said in my strangely flutey voice,
remembering to look sincerely into his eyes and then to look
modestly at my hands, still folded onto my lap.  My thighs and
knees were still snugged close together.  Was he about to make a
move on me?  I waited.  Should I be flirting with him?  Flirt with
a man?  Unthinkable, yet it also seemed so ... natural.  "Anything
at all," I added.

"You've solved a big problem for me."  

I glanced up.  He was smiling at me now and gazing mildly into my
eyes.  I looked down again, my cheeks heated, probably flushed.  I
wondered if a flush was visible under my makeup, all that
foundation, powder, and blush.

"What's that, Jim?"

"I'm gay."

I'd heard him clearly.  My thoughts tumbled together.  I hadn't
expected this.  It was surprising, even though not at all relevant
to the job at hand nor to my present predicament.  Why was he
telling me this?  To reassure me that he wouldn't be putting moves
on me after all?  I suddenly felt vastly relieved.  He wouldn't be
coming on to me now, nor during the coming months!  Not to me nor
to Tara!  Maybe I could get out from under!  Thank God!

"Oh?"  I said.  And I waited.  Nothing more was forthcoming.  So I
added, "That's all right.  Many men are gay.  That shouldn't cause
any difficulties.  It could even make things easier."  I ventured
a quick, reassuring smile.

But even in my placid state I sensed that something was wrong.  He
hadn't said that it created problems, he'd said that it solved
problems.  "What do you mean, I've solved a problem for you?"

"Well, I represent the company on different job sites, and there's
enough homophobia among construction workers to make for problems,
if anyone were ever to suspect me.  Problems for me and problems
for Bill too, because we often work late together, and we're often
seen together.  We're quite close.  If some of the guys knew about
me and began to make jokes, it could get awkward for both of us. 
And loss of respect for us is loss of respect for Castro
Enterprises, for our financing, ultimately for any of our projects. 
Everyone would cut corners.  You know."

"I see," I said.  I didn't, yet.

"So Bill insists that even though I'm gay I date women, visibly, in
ways the different construction workers and supervisors know about. 
So I do.  I'm not bad-looking, and I apparently have a manner many
women like, so a lot of my dates are women who come on to me and
then never understand why I never come back at them.  They
speculate, and a few stumble onto the truth and feel outraged that
they've been used.  Justifiably enough.  Then they may spread the
word in ways that are bad for me, for Bill, and for the business,
all three."  

"Oh," I said, still waiting for a light to dawn.

"But now with you there'll be no issues.  We can be seen together
to our hearts' content and never raise an eyebrow.  We can
double-date with other people involved on the project.  Even with
Bill when he's in town.  All four of us can go out together, you
and me and Tara and Bill, respectability and propriety all
well-served..  We're a perfect match for each other."  

I felt cold.  I wasn't sure what he was saying, but I suspected I
knew anyhow.  He was saying that he knows all about me!  He knows
I'm not a woman, so I can't object to being used as a cover! 
Maybe. 

"How?" I asked.  "How are we perfect for each other?"

Instead of answering directly he took both my hands in his and let
them rest in my lap.  They pressed heavily against the penis I knew
was lurking just under the thin fabric of my dress.  Surely he
could feel it there!

"I suppose you've felt this way all your life?" he said. 

"Felt how?"  I didn't dare move.

"Felt that you needed to be a woman.  Don't be embarrassed, I think
women like you are the most feminine things imaginable, the most
exciting and enticing.  The sexiest." 

I swallowed.  Stall, I told myself.  "What do you mean, women like
me?"

"Why, transsexual women.  Little girls born into little boys'
bodies who grow up to realize that they're women living in men's
bodies.  Women who finally realize they must live as what they are,
as women, despite their bodies.  Who can really appreciate what it
means to be a woman, because they've been deprived for so long of
all the little things born women take too much for granted.  You're
an enormously attractive woman, Patricia, to me especially because 
-- I hope you won't feel insulted -- to me you're first of all an
enormously attractive man."

I was baffled.  But I had to play along.  "I see," I said.  Though
I still didn't.  Did he think I was dressed this way, that I looked
like this, because I wanted to be a woman?  He did.

"I understand how it is for you, Patricia honey.  I know what it's
like to have desires that are thwarted at every turn by social
convention.  How powerfully you feel the urge to give up on all
pretense and just live as your own true self.  I share the same
desires, and like you I live as an outsider, closeted.  Don't
worry, I won't tell anyone about you -- they'd think it was
deception and want nothing further to do with you.  Nor with Tara,
for that matter.  It would destroy the trust we all need to
maintain our different business relationships.  So this will remain
our secret."

What could I say?  He'd just warned me to play along.  Or else.

"Yes," I said.  Then, "How did you know?"

He now began to stroke my hands as they lay in my lap.  Each stroke
extended to where my penis was bulging against my panties.  The
tips of his fingers grazed my member through the smooth fabric,
over and over.  Then he began to stroke my cock directly, and each
time his hand pressed down it rose to preen itself against his palm
like a puppy.  He patted it affectionately and continued.  He knew.


end 7/9
VickieTern@AOL.COM

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