Birthday Present By Vickie Tern And Rhonda Wagram

Introduction.

This is the first appearance on the Net of the TG novel "Birthday Present," written four years ago by Vickie Tern and Rhonda Wagram.

It began when Vickie posted her story "Girls' Night Out", and Rhonda wrote Vickie a note admiring it, then suggesting how it might be continued. This was flattering -- Rhonda is the author of "Baroness Gloria" and "Fashion's Slave," two of the most popular and literate stories ever archived on the free TG fiction site FictionMania.Com. Better still, her ideas stimulated a great deal of creative play on both our parts as the e-mails flew between us and we sketched out various further possibilities for the characters. We then assigned each other different chapters, agreed to over-write each other's drafts, and went about writing a continuation of the original story (which still begins this novel, in a stripped-down version).

It was a great collaboration, tasking and enjoyable. We admired (but often changed for the better) virtually everything either of us wrote, and knowing that a critical if also appreciative eye would scrutinize whatever either of us wrote, we both wrote as well as we could. Maybe a year later the last chapter was written and revised and it was over and the novel was finished. Only the final revelation -- the "birthday present" referred to in the title -- ever raised any uneasy arguments, and that was finally resolved by describing it with stylistically wicked indirection. By the end of the year we were good friends. When we finally actually met for the first time it was if we'd already seen and talked with each other many times before. Essentially, we had.

We agreed to give this one to readers of print fiction first. It was in printed form that we'd both first discovered TG fiction, long before the Net existed, and we both wanted to give something back to a wider audience than the Net provided. Net fiction was then still a limited grazing ground for people who could afford computers, for corporate layabouts with company computers, and for dorks and nerds who couldn't afford not to have computers. Moreover, print brought the prestige and distinction of a four hundred year old publishing tradition even to erotic fiction, the least regarded and most unjustly disreputable of the genres. Print was where it was at.

Mags Inc is one of the largest mail-order publishers and suppliers of TG and Domination magazines, stories, novels, and videos, with an extensive catalogue (www.magsinc.com). We asked its proprietor Mark if he'd be willing to publish "The Birthday Present." He was and did, in four parts, each illustrated, and he'll continue to distribute it to readers who prefer their fiction pre-printed.

At the time we reserved Net distribution, knowing that sooner or later we would want to post this story with our other stories, freely accessible to any adult who knows where to look. Mark agrees that the time has come. So here, four years after "Girls' Night Out" evolved into a novel with twists and surprises of its own, is "The Birthday Present."

This novel contains scenes of eroticism, femdom, bondage, transvestism, and transsexualism, some of them quite graphic. Those who do not enjoy reading about such things should follow their own advice and not read about them. Those who are not legally or parentally permitted to read these kinds of stories also know what not to do.

Vickietern@aol.com, and Rhondwagrm@aol.com, accolades and rhotomontades welcome

BIRTHDAY PRESENT (c) 1996 Vickie Tern and Rhonda Wagram

Chapter One: Birthday Present (in which our hero becomes his wife's heroine)

Chapter Two: Night Out (in which our hero is treated like the heroine he seems)

Chapter Three: Awakening (in which our hero finds he has become what his wife thinks he should be)

Chapter Four: Past and Future (in which the ladies persuade our hero to accept plans they think appropriate for a heroine)

Chapter Five: Brave New Worlds (in which hero, heroine, and her wife shop for new clothes and then try them out)

Chapter Six: Make-over (in which like it or not, our hero begins to look and sound more like our heroine than he thought she would)

Chapter Seven: Honey's Weekend (in which our heroine learns to do what she's told)

Chapter Eight: Bea's Weekend (in which his wife tells our heroine what she's done)

Chapter Nine: Working Girl (in which our heroine learns to whore for her employer)

Chapter Ten: More Proposals (in which the ladies arrange further ways to improve our heroine)

Chapter Eleven: Prissy (in which our heroine acquires a new name and new household responsibilities)

Chapter Twelve: Prissy and the Poet (in which our heroine finds it advantageous to be the heroine of her own story)

Chapter Thirteen: Prissy and Steve (in which our heroine learns again that she is a woman with no desire to be liberated)

Chapter Fourteen: Prissy At Your Service (in which our heroine is loaned out)

Chapter Fifteen: Prissy Sells Out (in which our heroine facilitates the sale of her business)

Chapter Sixteen: Death and Resurrection (in which our heroine learns she has run out of alternatives)

Chapter Seventeen: Wedding Present (in which our heroine finally finds out why she is as she is)

Chapter Eighteen: Life with Thor (our heroine's satisfactory adjustment to her new life)

Chapter Nineteen: Another Birthday Present (in which our heroine learns it is more blessed to give than to receive, sometimes, and her story comes to a happy end)

Chapter One: Birthday Present

(in which our hero becomes his wife's heroine)

It all began as something else altogether, a year earlier, and I didn't find out what was really happening until a year later, though now it scarcely matters. It was Bea's birthday, and the doorbell rang. I went to answer it while Bea finished dressing upstairs.

"So, I see she did talk you into it! My God, look at you! You're gorgeous!"

There at the door was Pearl, my wife's best friend, looking at me as I figured she would when she saw me, amused but also contemptuous. She stepped back and gave me that same relentless look of appraisal women use on themselves when they look into mirrors. Then she said, "Not bad! Not too bad! But how in the world did she get you to do it?"

I was embarrassed, but tried to hide it. So I looked Pearl over equally deliberately. What I saw was the usual bright and brassy middle aged woman, dressed up for a big night out on the town. Packed into a green silk dress much too short for her, I thought. Matching strappy high heels and a clutch purse. Lacy black stockings. Pinned somewhere back of her blonde curls was some kind of small felt hat with a wisp of black veil. So she was green and black and lacy and sassy, and busy making me feel uncomfortable.

"C'mon in, Pearl," I said. "Bea's almost ready. You look good too, you really do!"

I was sincere -- for Pearl, she looked terrific. But especially I wanted to steer our conversation into compliments right away. I couldn't take her usual mockery, her sardonic put-downs. Not dressed the way I was when I came to the door. I was trying not to be too self-conscious about it. I wanted to be a good sport for this one night, to play it straight. To be a proper lady, one of the girls, the way I'd promised Bea.

But with Pearl nothing ever comes easy. She overreacted like a Disney cartoon character. Her eyes flicked over my coiffure and then down my dress, Bea's choice for me for the evening, a little basic black with satin trim, and a cute peplum to hide my lack of hips, and a wide satin-trimmed collar to cover my now-noticeable breasts. Then she eyeballed my legs -- in plain sheer black stockings, nothing fancy -- and my high heeled black pumps. "Wow!" she said, wiping an imaginary haze from in front of her eyes. Her skirt flipped and she wriggled her hips, then planted her hands on them. "Hoo boy!" she said.

"Aren't you something!" She squared her body and then gave me her ultimate once-over. I'd seen it before. Insolent and amused. Absolutely intimidating. In that posture she looked like a tart naming her price, take it or leave it, but managed to imply that I was the tart. "Henry, I don't know what to say. You're such a stunner! You'll knock 'em dead! How can you stand yourself?"

Her irony was too heavy, and I began to wilt. But Pearl sensed it and immediately reversed field. She said, "No, really, I mean it! I'm impressed! That makeover is fabulous! You're really convincing! They must have spent the whole day working on you!"

"Thanks," I said, "If that was a compliment. Come in and sit down."

She stepped into the hallway like a dainty horse imprinting the ground, glanced at me again, and then let her high heels throw her hips into a seductive swish as she proceeded ahead of me into the living room. I got her message. I had to admit it, I couldn't have looked more swishy. "Yes," she said, "It was a compliment. A pretty girl should learn to accept compliments graciously. Just dimple, and curtsy, and say 'Thank you.' You know, when a girl spends hours or days getting ready for a big date, she should appreciate it when her efforts are noticed."

"Bea told me you'd agreed to be one of the girls tonight, but I just didn't believe her." Pearl went on. She sat down, and carefully arranged her legs on our living room couch, skirt smooth, arms draped possessively across the back cushions, at her ease. "Frankly, Henry, I didn't think you had the guts. No offense. But how many men do you know would do this for their wives?"

I followed Pearl into the living room, rocking a bit on my own high heels, and stood looking down at her. She arched her neck up and said, "Get me a drink, would you, Honey? I'd better start calling you 'Honey' I think, not 'Henry.' A 'Henry' who looks the way you do will start people talking, and I'm not sure you'd want to hear what they were saying."

"Or am I looking at 'Henrietta,' Henry's longtime girly other self? Have I at last found out your guilty secret? Have you always liked dressing up in frilly things? Do you really want to be a girl? Have a stiff drink yourself, hon. You're going to need it before tonight's through!"

I took her advice, belted down a quick one, poured Pearl her usual whiskey on rocks and myself another, handed it to her, then sat down across from her. I clasped my drink in my lap with both hands, and crossed my ankles primly, just as Bea had shown me. Shoulders back, bust out, chin high, shake my curls to get her attention, then speak in a high but sweet voice, if I could manage it.

"Don't, Pearl," I said. There was just a touch of pleading in my voice, for Pearl usually a signal to lunge in for the kill. I had better be more aggressive. "You know perfectly well that Bea has been getting me ready for tonight for months. In fact, what with her planning and shopping and rehearsing me, she's had very little else on her mind for some time. I've never seen her like this, not in all our twenty years of marriage. She's been so happy and busy. So don't mock me, because when you do, you're mocking Bea. And that's not friendly." My voice quavered just a little. Maybe it was pitched too high.

"All right, Honey," Pearl said, her voice softened but not subdued. "I'll be gentle. You're one of the girls tonight, and that's that. Don't cry, you'll ruin your beautiful eyes." This time she looked at my face seriously. "They really are beautiful, in a way. Who would have thought it?"

I felt a little mollified. "Well, Bea always did. Even before I was involved in this."

Pearl's look was unwavering. "All right, Bea thinks you're beautiful. But tell me, my Honey, my lamb led to the slaughter. Whatever possessed you? Why are you involved? I know one version, but I'm curious what you know. Tell me what you think is going on."

Pearl didn't seem to be taking this night seriously enough, so I opened up. It was a chance for me to practice my voice some more, anyhow.

"You know full well how come I'm involved. Bea's had her heart set on tonight since last year. You know that. In fact, it was your idea originally. You remember, Bea's thirty-ninth birthday? How it hit her? Like a house collapsing on her? All that weeping, she was getting old and ugly, life was passing her by. Every day more depressed, popping more pills, then feeling even more miserable. Some days she didn't even bother to get dressed, and I was really worried. Then when I'd try to talk to her, to cheer her up, she'd just look at me and withdraw even further, run into the bedroom or the bathroom and then cry her heart out."

"I remember that time," Pearl said, looking me levelly in the eyes. "It was exactly a year ago."

"So I offered to organize a big party for her to help her celebrate her fortieth when it came around. Invite everyone we knew. Well, that was certainly a mistake! She absolutely forbade it! She ran into the bedroom and slammed the door, and then she really started wailing! I mean loud, agonized, just terrible! I felt awful! I still don't understand it."

"I know about that time too," Pearl said, still looking at me steadily, and taking little sips from her glass. I remembered to do the same -- sips, not swallows, it's much more ladylike, Bea had told me. It felt more delicate. I wondered if my lipstick was smeared. "You missed the point, Honey dear!," Pearl went on. "A forty year old woman doesn't feel like celebrating. It isn't like a man turning forty."

She set her glass down. "Look! A forty year old man is just coming into his prime, even if he isn't quite the stud he was at twenty. He still believes that 'You aren't getting older, just better' crap. Well, if he's any good at business he's starting to get into heavy money just about then. All those years of hard work begin to pay off. His kids are gone, or they don't need him, so he's free of his family. But his wife is no longer a bombshell, if she ever was one. So when a man turns forty he often decides he deserves better from life. And for once he can afford it. So he begins screwing around. Or, he dumps his wife of twenty years in order to award himself a trophy wife. Isn't that right?"

In fact, that's just what Pearl's husband had done. He'd left her well-fixed enough, payment for their years of struggle together, and had gone off to do the Palm Beach and Palm Springs circuits with a new slim long-haired Princess of a wife, calling his broker now and then to ask how fast the money was coming in.

I was forty last year, and I have to admit it now, I was thinking about doing the same thing. Life with Bea had gotten really dull. The sex was as predictable and boring as her cooking, and she seemed to approach both the same way. We shared lots of interests, but there was nothing new to explore. Evenings, she read her romantic novels and I watched television. But I still cared for her, in a way, and I didn't want to hurt her, so I never said anything about it. I wondered if Bea had sensed something anyhow, and had mentioned it to Pearl.

"Well," Pearl went on, "With a woman turning forty it's different. She's nearly past it. Her kids are gone or don't need her either. Raising kids has been her life, and now it's over. She finds it's harder to stay in shape, and she lets herself go a little. Her dresses don't fit her any more, so she spends more of her husband's money to buy more of them, and they still don't fit just right. She logs more time at the beauty parlor. Her husband logs more time at the office, and less with her. There're still things she hasn't yet done with her life, and she knows time is running out, and she knows she's beginning to forget what those things were. That's why Bea didn't want your party. I'm sure she told you that right off when you proposed it to her. There's nothing to celebrate when a woman turns forty."

"She did say that," I said. "I thought she was just depressed."

Pearl looked steadily at me again, and then took another sip.

I went on. "But I really am grateful to you and Kay. When the two of you cooked up these plans for tonight, her mood changed. Almost immediately! It was miraculous! I still don't understand it. My idea for a birthday bash depressed her, but yours gave her a new lease on life! I'd never have guessed it, that what she really wanted was an intimate night out on the town with just her two dearest friends. A fabulous girls' night out. Something she'd never done before. But that was what she wanted! Immediately she started humming around the house, telephoning and planning and talking and preparing. Weeks spent shopping for the very outfit she's putting on right now. All of today spent in the beauty parlor, sitting next to me the whole time, getting her hair and face and hands and nails and body worked over by any number of the women there."

"Anyhow, for months she's been so excited! I'm not sure why. What does she expect? Dinner, a show, some drinks afterward, and talk, lots of hot gossip she's never heard, she says. Do things she hasn't done for years, she says, maybe never done. Bea said that you planned to stay up till morning, the three of you, making girl talk, telling each other racy stories, doing girl things, away from husbands or other such depressing people. If she liked the way it worked out, she said, then she'd do the same things with you girls more often. They'd become her things too. And that's what cheered her up! I suppose, for Bea it's a change. We don't go out much together any more, hardly at all. Not for years. I'm pretty much satisfied to watch television."

"So I've heard," Pearl said. "Well, you've got the drift of it. Turning forty is a serious thing for a woman. Bea wanted to know how we've handled it, me and Kay. What we've really been doing since the big four oh. You're right. A year ago she was way down, and you weren't the only person worried about her. So we told her that on her fortieth birthday, tonight, we'd show her that life begins at forty. We'd tell her all our secrets."

"I'm forty-two now, you know. That rat of a husband of mine left me four years ago. Well, for a year I mourned like a schoolgirl, which is what I still was despite everything, I suppose. Then for another year I thought about the rest of my life, how to take charge of it. Well, since then I've been doing OK. Got me a job to keep busy, started to meet new people -- you don't know the half of it. So I've got lots of good advice to give Bea. I've given her lots already."

"Kay too. Kay told her some things right off that surprised even me, about that husband she still lives with. That Tomcat stud, what's his name, Steve. I've known for years that he's been sticking his prick into anything in skirts the way other people shake hands. But I didn't know he went for anything in pants too. He swings both ways. Did you know that? The man is an animal."

I didn't know that. I'd never met him, but he was a legend around town. I'd heard about his women. We were all maybe a little jealous. That may be why wives and ex-wives always seemed to be so protective of Kay, always inviting her to parties and dinners and sleepovers when her husband was out of town. But he was bisexual? That I hadn't known! "Why does Kay stay with him?" I asked. "She's a doctor. She's got her own practice. She's been our family doctor for years, and she's a good one. Bea trusts her. Kay doesn't need Steve."

"You really are an innocent!" Pearl said. "Because Kay's got her own men too. And her own women. They swing together. They're swingers. That's how they first met, at some swingers' convention, from what I hear." Pearl leaned forward. "But Honeybuns, you haven't told me yet how Bea talked you into joining us for this fabulous night. To do whatever we do. Especially looking the way you do, like one of the ... uh ... girls. What happened? Does Bea have something on you? Did she catch you slipping into her little silky nothings, and then shame you into wearing more of them? Do you have your own panty collection? Are you also a secret swinger?" Pearl lifted her face toward me, waiting for some dishy confessions.

"Well..." I began. But Pearl was on a roll!

"And how'd she get you into that beauty salon? Celeste did a fabulous job, really, Honey! Those are long fingernails, longer than mine! And that is a perm they gave you, isn't it? I suppose it really took guts! Or was it blackmail, or a bribe? Though I must say, you do look terrific. You look ... well, feminine. I don't think there's any doubt you'll pass."

"You know, don't you, that this night has cost you your manhood, as far as I'm concerned, and probably Kay. Maybe even Bea. I don't know how feminized you are inside, but you are certainly emasculated up front. In my eyes certainly. That's quite a sacrifice! You must have known that would happen. So why did you do it? We are never again going to be able to think of you as Bea's dullard husband! You're just too cute-looking! Now we'll spend all our time thinking about fixing you up with cute guys! Maybe even other cute guys in skirts! How in the world did Bea ever get you to agree to this?"

Finally, Pearl leaned back, looking at me cooly. She'd spoken her piece. She handed me her empty glass, and gestured toward mine, and pointed to the bar. I stood up.

"Pearl, the way Bea did it was, she asked me, and that's all there was to it," I said, a little too grandly. Pearl had finally gotten to me.

And then Bea's voice came from the doorway. "That's right, I asked him!" Suddenly, there was Bea. "I decided early on that I wanted Henry with me tonight, but not as Henry. And that's why he's here. I have my own reasons, Pearl."

We both turned to look at her. Bea had really gotten herself ready for this special girls' night out, there was no doubt about it! She looked awesome! My God, what a costume! Short tight black leather miniskirt, and thigh-high boots with incredibly long, thin spike heels. A short stretch of exposed thigh, between her boot tops and her skirt, encased in black nylon. Those thighs looked like dark tubes, inviolable, strong enough to crush any man who dared put his head between them. A black silk blouse thrust forward by bare, jutting nipples, apparently she wore no bra, and then it flowed down and over her arms to be gathered at her wrists, and to billow down to her waist. A collar of red necklaces surrounding her neck like chain mail, and large red drop earrings dangling under her black hair, which was teased way up around her head as big as I could ever imagine it. Eyes outlined in black, and a slash of red across her mouth. Absolutely sensational!

I swallowed hard, and almost sat down again. Next to Bea I was a sweet, shy wallflower, in my pretty black cocktail dress. If there were any feelings of manhood left in me, that I was a guy wearing a skirt because his wife had asked him to, they were gone. There could be no men in the vicinity of Bea's outfit. Only varying kinds of submissives, until she gave one of them permission to try to service her like a man, if he could. I suddenly felt utterly helpless. I tried to compliment Bea, but my hands only waved in the air, and nothing came out of my throat but some high-pitched squeals. She saw at once what she had done to me, and smiled delighted. Her eyes sparkled.

"My God, Bea," said Pearl. "Talk about taking charge of your own life starting tonight!"

"That's what I'm doing, Pearl."

Then she turned to me, still standing and staring anxiously at her. "Don't worry, dear, this isn't for you. It's partly for me, and partly to help me keep some other people in line tonight, maybe. You'll do only what you want to do, no matter what I may ask you to do. I wouldn't want it any other way. Did I tell you upstairs that you look just lovely? Really, that dress is adorable! I knew that satin collar would be flattering once your breasts were large enough to hold it away from your body a teeny bit."

And Bea came over to me, and we held each other's arms gently for a moment, and we pressed our cheeks together, so as not to smudge our makeup or wrinkle our dresses, and then we looked at each other silently for another moment. It was a kiss, woman to woman. I don't know why, but it felt heavenly. I felt a sudden surge of love for her! And at the same time, I felt serene, so wonderfully at peace with myself. "Whatever you do tonight," she said to me in a low voice, "Is for me. I want you to know that. I want you to know I want it that way. And I love you for it." I looked at her gratefully, if a little confused.

"Dear, would you get me a drink," she asked me. "And take care of yours and Pearl's too." I flounced over to the liquor cabinet -- those first drinks were beginning to have their effect -- and I poured us each a double. Pearl looked at hers and set it aside for the moment. I handed Bea hers, and she sipped it, carefully, than set it aside and straddled the back of a chair like a pirate, legs spread on either side. For some weird reason I felt a surge of pride that I was part of her life.

"Here's how it happened, Pearl. A month after you told me your plans, Kay called to tell me she couldn't join us tonight, that she was had to be out of town, some medical convention or other. Well, I was crushed. Henry couldn't cheer me up at all. I told him how terribly disappointed I was. But I didn't need to. He already knew how much this night out with the girls meant to me. He could see the gleam going out of my eye. He felt terribly sorry for me, and he thought about it some. Didn't you, dear?"

I looked at her gratefully again, but I still couldn't talk. There was this enormous lump in my throat.

"When Kay had to beg off, that left just the two of us, you and me. It didn't seem ... well ... festive enough. Then the more I thought it through, the more it seemed right that Henry should help us make up our original threesome. In fact, the more I thought about it, the better I liked the idea. Henry must certainly know what some of the men in town do with some of the women in town, so he could tell us some real hot stories too, I was sure, things he's been too proper to tell me, once we got into the right gossipy mood. It might be fun."

"So the next night I asked him if he'd take Kay's place, so I could still be with my dearest friends, the way we'd planned it. Then I wouldn't have to think about him sitting at home while we were all out together having fun. I told him this would be his gift of love to me, my fortieth birthday gift, a gift I wanted from him more than anything else in the whole world. Well, he told me he'd do it. He didn't think he knew any gossip, but it was enough that I wanted him by my side. So he agreed."

Pearl leaned back into the sofa. "Let me get this straight, if that's the word for it," she said. "And maybe you'd better keep working on your drink, Honey. I think maybe you'll want to begin this evening a little tizzled. Let's see, Bea told you that Kay would be out of town tonight, and that she wanted you to fill in? And you agreed?" She looked me up and down again, and picked up her own drink. She took a swallow. "Dressed and made up the way you are? A real foxy lady, just like Kay?"

I was a little bewildered that Pearl had a problem with this. "Well, not right away," I began. "I didn't realize at first that she wanted me to go all out as one of you girls, to become one of the girls myself, so to speak. To fill in for Kay in every respect. I thought she just wanted me to come along as her husband. But a few days later I realized she meant more than that, when she took me shopping and bought me some brassieres and things. By then I couldn't disappoint her. Pearl, I just couldn't! So I decided I had to go along with it. And that's what I've done."

"Wait a minute," Pearl said, glancing at Bea, who got some kind of message and remained silent. They'd known each other a long time. "You say 'brassieres'. Plural. How many brassieres did you buy that day?"

"Well, actually, seven or eight" I replied, wondering why she should ask. "A training bra and some A, and B cups, and then a few more B cups, different kinds of lacy patterns and colors. Underwire," I added, thinking maybe that information would solve whatever was Pearl's problem. Bea smiled reassuringly at me.

"I see," Pearl said, glancing again at Bea. "And you're wearing one of your B cups tonight?"

"Yes," I said. "After a month or so wearing each of the smaller sizes, they no longer fit me. I kept spilling over."

"I see," Pearl said again. One of her odd grins was forming on her face again, and I didn't understand why. "Bea, by any chance have you been taking Honey here -- I'm calling him Honey now, because I'm getting the message that Henry is not long for this world -- have you been taking Honey here to see Kay, for vitamin supplements or something?"

"Why of course, Pearl," my wife answered quietly. She glanced at me. "Honey had to ask Kay lots of questions about filling in for her. And while they were chatting she wrote him some prescriptions for various of his problems. Not that he has any. But just to be on the safe side. He's been very diligent, taking his pills and showing up regularly for his shots. You can see how healthy they've made him. He's in wonderful shape."

"Yes, that's certainly true," Pearl said once more. "Ummm, Honey, how many new dresses do you have upstairs, besides the one you're wearing?"

"Only a few," I replied. "But one of them is pretty much worn out, because we've used it as a practice dress for months, smoothing it when I sat down, and straightening it whenever I got up from sitting on the toilet to pee, and so on. I wore it all the time, put it on as soon as I came home, and most weekends. My other things, my skirts and blouses and heels and flats and so on, are all still pretty much new. I have a whole closet full, so I don't have to wear any one of them very often. Bea thought it might be useful for me to have them, just to fill out my wardrobe. To get used to wearing what women wear. So I wouldn't feel self-conscious when I was learning how to move the way women move, and how to hold myself, and everything. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," said Pearl. "Another question. A long shot. My idle curiosity, no more than that. This one's going to sound very odd, but I don't think Bea will mind my asking. Did Bea ask you to clean out your bottom today? Just before you started to dress? Or to do anything else down there, anything exceptional?"

I got annoyed. "Pearl, that's rather personal! But since you ask, no, nothing exceptional at all. Months ago Bea asked me to take an enema daily before I put in the suppositories Kay gave me, and that's what I've done. For cleanliness. And today she asked me to put in a tampon when I'd finished flushing myself out, so I'd stay clean all evening no matter what, and not leak accidentally onto my new dress. So that's what I've done. Any more questions?"

By now Pearl was grinning broadly at Bea, and Bea was looking back at her mildly. Somehow they both looked very satisfied with themselves. Women, I thought. Who will ever understand them.

"Well, just one last question. Isn't it time for us to go to dinner?"

Chapter Two: Night Out

(in which our hero is treated like the heroine he seems)

.

Dinner turned out to be the least of it. It was Bea's big night, but it was mine too, the first time I ever left the house looking like a woman. Despite my months of practice I was rather nervous. But we linked arms walking to Pearl's car, and we giggled about something, and some kids walked by without even glancing at us. So I felt better about it. Walking on my heels was no problem after all those months of practice. When we reached the car, Bea reminded me to fluff my hair with my finger tips now and then. "It's a very attractive gesture, dear."

Pearl drove us. When we got to the restaurant's Valet Parking a boy opened the door for me and stood watching, and I was grateful for Bea's lessons how to get out of a car in a skirt -- twist, swing my legs out, straighten my skirt, stand up. The Maitre D' led us to a corner table, and we settled our purses on the floor by our chairs, and read the menus. Bea ordered for me -- clear soup, and a small warm salad. She cautioned me against nibbling on the bread and butter. "Your figure, dear," she said. "Later you're going to feel stuffed, I'm sure, so you don't want to eat too much now." Pearl let out a guffaw, but didn't look up from her menu. She ordered a bottle of Chardonnay, and we finished it, feeling even more tiddly than at the house. Things went very well. I ate teeny bites, and patted my lips now and then. It was just like all those practice dinners at home. Even Pearl began looking at me with admiration.

"You're very good, Honey," she said. "It's as if you were born to it. Do you think you were? Are you a woman in a man's body?"

"Pearl, cut it out!" I said.

Bea interrupted. "No, Honey. Say, 'Pearl, please stop teasing me, or I'll start to cry.'"

I tried again. "Pearl, please, don't!" I said. I really felt hurt. Bea looked satisfied, and Pearl eased off.

"No, tell me. I'd like to know. This is the night for confessions, remember! I asked you earlier if you'd ever done this before, dressed up like a girl, maybe secretly, and you never answered."

"You never gave me a chance, Pearl. Did I try on my mommy's panties when I was little? Yes, I suppose every boy does. Out of curiosity. Did I feel some special charge or satisfaction while doing it? No, nothing, so I did it only that one time."

Pearl leaned back. If she hadn't recently quit smoking, she would have lit a cigarette. I could tell she was about to say something she actually meant! "Honey, it's no secret that I didn't think you'd do this. You're not a gung ho macho man, like that asshole I married, but you are a straight arrow, and not a very sharp one. If you'll pardon my words, you have always seemed to me to be an unimaginative lunkhead, someone who was repressing Bea's natural high spirits without even knowing it. I have often thought that a divorce from you would be a good thing for Bea. But she wouldn't hear of it. Not ever. And now look at you. Never would I have conceived it, that you'd be sitting here tonight in a dress nibbling on a small salad. Looking very much like a lady. I feel like comparing menstrual symptoms with you, you look so believable. And you even sit down every time you go to the bathroom, is that what you said earlier?"

"Yes, that's right. It was Bea's idea, for the practice. It seemed to please her, so I do it all the time now. It did solve all those problems married people have, about leaving toilet seats up or down. So now that's my gift to her too. I sit down for everything."

"Yes," said Pearl thoughtfully. "You may soon have no choice. But tell me, dear, if you weren't born with ... er ... transvestite tendencies, how do you feel about wearing women's clothes now?. How long is it since Bea bought you those first brassieres? When you wear them, do you feel ... ah ... different? Is it ... nice? And you've been retraining your whole body to be more ladylike. Does that feel ... nice? Confession time, now."

"I guess it's like you to ask those questions, Pearl," I said. "Because the answers are a little embarrassing." I glanced at Bea, and saw her nod, almost imperceptively. "OK. At first I just felt silly, a man putting on his training bra every morning. Bea's fortieth was nine or ten months away, and it made no sense. But Bea said that learning to act like a woman is like learning to play the piano, an art that expresses feelings, and that I needed the feelings as well as the techniques, and that it takes a while to develop them. I spent a lot of time imagining how women feel, about themselves, about each other, and about men, which at first was a total mystery to me. Then as my nipples got hard lumps behind them and my breasts started to grow, she helped me with my feelings. Every night Bea would caress my nipples, or tweak them gently, until they got hard. Like Bea's now."

I looked at those finger-thick nipples poking Bea's blouse, a mature woman's nubs outlined in black satin, and again felt proud to be married to Bea. Also, inexplicably, a little jealous. "Every night when Bea caressed me it felt more and more marvelous. So soft, and feminine, and delicious, and attractive ... well ... never mind. I got so I couldn't wait for my skin to get smoother, and my breasts to swell up more, grow into bigger globes that needed bigger bra cups. When I went to the office, wearing my bra, maybe covered by a slip or a Teddy, I was so happy with them I'd often push out my chest, and they'd swell through my shirt on either side of my tie, and my suit jackets would fall back and frame them, so anyone could see who'd bother to look. Just the way women's suit jackets do when they're unbuttoned. I began to feel delighted with my figure, almost as much as Bea. I guess I didn't care who noticed. No one did, that I know of. That disappointed me, sometimes."

"I told Bea, and she said that was my feminine side beginning to express itself, and that I should give it more freedom. So I began turning most of my office work over to my partner, and doing more business by phone. Bea suggested I wear panties, or pantyhose, all the time, and women's blouses and shirts, and women's jeans and slacks whenever I went out, and of course when I was home, skirts, and my practice dress. And I took to moving the way women walk, naturally but with a grace I've always loved in women. You know. Bea has it. Even you have it, when you want to. You sort of float. I like pretending I'm graceful and pretty in my own way, and Bea says I really am now. And more and more, I've been feeling the way I imagine women feel all the time about things, little enthusiasms and sorrows rising up all the time in my heart. Bea was so pleased, the first time I cried for joy at some silly television drama. We cried together, and it was such good fun."

"One by one Bea put away my men's things, and bought me more women's things, and taught me how to wear them, and how to combine them with each other. Now I love them. Even my mens' clothes now are really women's clothes, man-tailored. They feel just ... well ... right. I feel ... complete in them. And waking up every day and choosing my wardrobe is a whole new adventure for me. I love waking up each day!"

Pearl seemed to be overwhelmed by what I had said. "So for months now," she said, almost disbelieving, "you've been wearing women's clothes at home full time, practicing walking in high heels, and fixing your lipstick, and letting your wrists hang free, and things like that, because Bea wants you too, and you like it, and it feels good?"

"Yes. At first mainly because I didn't want to disgrace Bea. For fear that when the big moment came tonight, I would give myself away as a man, and be ridiculed by whoever saw me. But you're right. It does feel good. Nowadays, all I have to do is put on a bra with my breasts gathered up in each cup, and my nipples protruding way forward, and I get the same delicious feminine feelings Bea brought out by caressing me. Then I want to do more things that girls do. Bea and I cuddle a lot together. And today in the beauty salon was such a treat! I love the way my hair came out! You shouldn't mock me about these things, Pearl. That's the way I am, for tonight. And it's how Bea wants me."

"You're right, Honey," Pearl said. She set her fork down and looked at me, and said softly. "I'm sorry. I had no idea things had proceeded this far. I guess I thought Bea had duped you, not that she'd converted you, or discovered you. Maybe you always were a transvestite, or a transsexual, but never knew it." Then Pearl suddenly straightened up, and said in a sprightly way, "but now you're one of the girls, just in time for tonight. That's just fine! Tell me, dear, these feminine feelings, do they include feminine feelings about men?"

Bea interrupted, her voice a trifle sharp. "Let me set the pace here, Pearl. Henry is married to me, and while Honey lives inside Henry she will be as true to me as Henry has been. Henry has never cheated on me, he says, and I believe him. And I'm married to him. That's why it's important that whatever we do tonight, we do it together. Especially tonight. If Henry decides tonight to let Honey be herself, I don't say that Honey shouldn't feel free to find her own way in the world, and to make her own commitments. My obligations are to Henry, the way Henry's are to me. Do you follow me? That's why I'm so delighted that tonight, it's Honey we're out with, that she's one of the girls, not Henry. She'll do whatever she feels like doing, tonight. The way we all will."

I was lost. I didn't understand a word of what Bea had just said, but Pearl nodded slowly. She was obviously impressed.

Bea and I then went together to the Ladies' Room together, my very first visit to any Ladies' room anywhere, and my dear companion my very own wife, while Pearl stayed behind to pay the check. We primped and fussed and chatted, and I combed my hair out a bit, and only when we were leaving did I realize that I had gone into a booth to pee, and sat down to pee, and wiped myself, and risen to adjust my dress, all without thinking about it at all. It was now second nature to me. Maybe even first.

Next we went to a concert, a string quartet playing Mozart and Schubert, Bea's favorites. The pieces they played were all gentle, and beautiful, and some of them terribly sad. At one moment when the music was especially unhappy, Bea leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, very sweetly. I looked over and saw she had tears in her eyes. I took her hand and held it tightly. "What's that for?" I asked in a small voice. "Nothing," she replied. "You'll see." Then she said, "Oh, I do hope everything works out the way I've planned it. I do hope so!" I couldn't ask her what she meant by that, but I noticed that she held my hand tightly in both her hands through the rest of the concert. I remember how satisfying it was, each time I looked down into my lap, to see our newly manicured red fingernails all tangled and coiled together, looking so elegant.

Afterward we went to a night club, one with hot but also dreamy dancing alternating very loudly in one section, near the bar. Stretching for what must have been a city block were rooms and cubicles one after another for drinking and for noisy or quiet conversation. As we settled down in a booth, and our drinks came, and we started sipping them, I glimpsed someone familiar coming toward us. I got the shock of my life!

It was Kay! I half rose in surprise, but then I remembered I was a lady, and settled back down. She came straight over to our table, and Pearl and Bea moved to make room for her. They both were delighted to see her. Neither looked especially amazed. "Kay!" I said. "I thought you had to be somewhere else tonight! Why are you here? I mean, it's wonderful that you're here, because now you can help us with Bea's birthday. But weren't you supposed to be somewhere else? Isn't that why I'm here?"

"Yes, I was supposed to be elsewhere," she said. "But I changed my mind. I figured I'd be more useful here tonight. Hello, Henry. You are Henry, aren't you?" She peered more closely at me. "My heavens, look at you! It's amazing! Those treatments really did their work, didn't they? You look absolutely ravishing, Henry! I love it! You look good enough to eat!"

"Tonight, Henry is Honey, Kay," Bea said. "The way we discussed it. That's the way it should be, and that's the way Honey wants it to be."

"Of course. Honey! You are a real stunner, Honey! I'd invite you home with me, if I didn't know you have other plans. Sorry, girls, I've been drinking, waiting for you to show up. Well, anyhow, I'm here, and now we're all here, all of the girls, including our newest girl." She smiled at me charmingly. I smiled back. She leaned forward. "Well, since there are no men here, let's tell each other dirty stories. Let's say about having sex with men we aren't married to? Honey, you go first. Tell us your favorite infidelity."

"Honey hasn't had any infidelities yet, Kay," Pearl said. "She's too new. She's still a virgin. And Bea just told me that Henry hasn't had any infidelities either. I don't think he's a virgin, though there's some question whether he's ever done anything memorable. Anyhow, Henry's not here tonight. He isn't one of the girls."

So they just ignored me, and started talking. Kay had an open marriage with Steve, her husband, and had slept with lots of men after their marriage. So in fact had Steve -- he was bisexual, and really couldn't decide which sex he preferred, so he slept with whoever seemed most immediately available. When Pearl asked her, she couldn't remember for a moment when the two of them had last slept together, with each other, that is. In fact their marriage was a convenience for organizing swinging sessions -- other couples felt better about trading partners with other partners. She talked about tall and short men, round and thin, big and little. "It's a good thing you've decided to be a woman, Henry," she said. "That little thing of yours is not especially impressive. That's my official opinion as your physician. Speaking as a swinger, I've got to tell you that it's downright pathetic. You'd never get invited again to any of my sessions. But it'll make a terrific clit, when you get around to it. No offense, mind you."

I glanced at Bea. For some reason she wasn't offended by Kay's remark. In fact, she was amused, and merely took another pull at her drink. So I figured what the hell, that was just Kay trying to get my goat. So all I said was, "I'm Honey, Kay, not Henry. For tonight, anyhow. That's what I promised Bea. And I haven't decided to be a woman except for tonight. No way! And as far as my equipment goes, it's good enough for me and for Bea, so it's good enough."

"That's right, Kay," Bea broke in. "You weren't here earlier, so you may not know what Henry knows and doesn't know, and how he understands what he knows. So let's leave it for now, shall we?"

A puzzling remark, but I was getting a little tipsy, so I let it pass. The three women exchanged glances.

More drinks came. I was beginning to feel a bottomless place under me, and that I was teetering on the edge of falling into it. So I didn't notice, until Pearl pointed it out, that the next round of drinks came from three interesting looking men sitting together not far away. They were a bit gray in the temples, two of them, and one had a well-shorn black beard. All were nicely dressed, and rather handsome in fact. Probably professional men. It seems Pearl knew one of them, and she went over to thank them and to chat. She came back.

"They were wondering if we cared to dance, any of us. I told them certainly, but that we wanted a little more time to talk together. Just us girls. I've told them our plans for tonight, Bea, and they've offered to help out in any way they can. I told them we'd see."

"Sounds good to me, Pearl," said Kay.

Then Pearl started talking about the men she'd fucked after she found out that her husband was cheating on her regularly. There were quite a few. All of them, to hear her tell it, men she could dominate and really put through their paces. Talk about the five 'F' -- find 'em, fool 'em, feel 'em, fuck 'em, forget 'em -- Pearl was the champion in the women's division. No feeling for any of them. Wear them out and throw them away.

Then things got a little blurry, then a lot more blurry. The three guys came over, and we had a few more rounds of drinks. Kay told them what we'd been talking about, and they each of them told their own stories of one night stands on business trips, hot sex with willing partners, with every anatomical detail described. They each referred to their own pricks as heavy, or huge, or frightening to their ladies at first. Pearl questioned this, and they said they were willing to bet her they were all three exceptionally well-endowed, put up or shut up, her choice. Pearl just smiled to herself, and took one of the men by the hand and led him off to the dance floor. I didn't see her again that night.

Then my wife Bea spoke to the nicest of them, I thought, the quiet, confident, gray-haired man called Bob. I was a little looped, but I noticed that her voice with him was different from her voice with me. She commanded him, almost. She said, "Well Bob, if you know how to dance, ask me to dance." Bob looked at her, surprised, but he didn't say anything. Then Bea stood up on her spike-heeled boots with her legs spread apart, and she twisted her pelvis slightly, and she put her hands on her hips, and she leaned forward. Her breasts pushed out into her black silk blouse, inches from his face, and the tips of her nipples were practically in his mouth, which fell wide open.

"Didn't you hear me, Bob?" she asked him.

Bob leaped to his feet, "Yes Ma'am!"

"Then what do you say?"

"Uh, would you like to dance, please, mmm...ah..mmm....?" He couldn't finish.

Bea smiled. She seemed to know why he couldn't finish. "'Ma'am' will do quite well for now," she said. "Later I'll expect you to follow your instincts when you address me!" And off they went to the dance floor.

I lost sight of them for a few minutes, but when I next looked they seemed awfully close. Bea had thrust herself up against him, and was looking up into his face with an imperious smile. He seemed to be in a daze, and I noticed that one of his hands was pressed between their bodies. She said something, and he actually took hold of one of her breasts! Her pelvis seemed to be stroking his. She said something else, and he leaned forward and buried his face in her neck.

I turned to tell Kay what I thought I had seen, a little disturbed. But Kay had something to say to me first. "Here's someone who wants to meet you, Honey," she said. "Treat him well and he'll treat you well. Here, let me freshen your drink." A rather tall, thin man with blonde hair across his forehead sat down next to me. He looked at me for a moment, then gazed into my face and said, "I've been wanting to meet you all evening, Honey," he said. "You are absolutely lovely." He was very personable, the kind of man that women find attractive at first sight, I'm sure. He had an odd appeal even I could sense. He took my hand, and I looked down at my hand in his, and I was happy that Marge had made my nails so beautiful. I hoped he wouldn't realize what I really was. I wondered what would happen if he did.

"Thank you," I said. If I had been standing, I'm sure I would have tried to curtsy. Instead, I bobbed my head at him and smiled, and hoped I looked appreciative. This was the first pass anyone had ever made toward me, and the first compliment I had ever received from a stranger. My heart welled up. I knew that given who I was, what I was, really, I should keep him at bay. My purpose tonight was to keep my wife company. That was my purpose. But she was off dancing with another man right now. It would be fun to flirt with this man, I thought.

"Here you are, Honey. Bottoms up!" Kay handed me a glass filled with a straw colored beverage and a few ice cubes. I drank it down in four swallows, before I realized that her advice was not good advice. "I should sip, Kay," I said, feeling further distanced from myself than I knew myself to be. "That's what Bea told me."

"You should always do what Bea tells you, Honey," Kay said. Then she and her own gentleman, the dark bearded one, disappeared.

My new blonde friend hadn't moved from my side, nor had he let go my hand. "I'll get you another drink, Honey, one you can sip," he said. He snapped his fingers in the air. There was another drink in front of me. I sipped it. He said something I couldn't quite hear, and when he repeated it, he came very close to me, and I felt his breath and his lips on my ear. I blushed, and tried to push him away, but teasingly, because he was really such a lovely man. But I almost fell off my chair. Then he was sitting on the other side of me, and I was resting my head on his shoulder, and he was telling me something, and I was listening, and smiling, and nodding. I felt very content. No idea why. I closed my eyes.

Then I don't know. He was dancing me backward, and I was in his arms, following his steps, looking into his eyes and smiling. I thought we passed Bea and her gray haired friend, but I couldn't be sure. There were billowing black sleeves around some man's neck, and a glimpse of her big hair maybe. But their faces were absorbed in each other. Were they kissing? I couldn't see, with my eyes closed. My blonde man kissed my closed eyes, tenderly, and I responded! I kissed his face. I could feel a man's bristles on my lips. He was such a lovely man! I put my arms around his neck and I kissed his mouth. Just like Bea. I felt a lot like Bea. If it was Bea I had seen, her black sleeves. But my arms were bare, and smooth. Bea had insisted I use lotions all over my body. I felt bare, and smooth. I pulled him closer. His tongue kissed my mouth. We danced with his tongue in my mouth, or mine in his, and I put my lips softly on his lips. He tasted so sweet! Had I said aloud what I thought I had seen? Bea kissing? He kissed me again. To the table, another whiskey. A slow romantic dance, and I was plastered against him, I was part of him, so we could dance together. His hands felt my breasts, fondling my little nipples, cupping me and lifting me. They are real breasts I thought. Bea made them for me. They feel very nice. His hands feel very nice. My eyes were closed now. We danced around the table, and his penis pressed into mine and I was feeling strangely excited, as if I were melting into him. My heart melted into him. More music from somewhere, but my eyes were closed. I felt very good. I held him tightly around his neck. Such a very lovely man!

"They're gone," my man said. Who? "I'd better take you home," he said. "I know where you live, don't worry, dear." All right. We'll go home. I picked up my purse. There were no other purses near the table any more. As he steered me out the door, I heard a voice, was it Kay's? A woman's voice. Bea's? Not my woman's voice. I heard "Don't forget to take out your tampon, Honey. Have fun!" My first fun. Where am I? A parking lot. No, I am home in my bed, and it's my bridal night, and I am kissing someone passionately, and I am wrapping my legs around him, and I am moaning in delight, and he is wrapped around me. He is sucking on my tits. I am suckling him. I fold his head in my arms. My love! Oh, my love! He is entering me, and I open my whole body wide to welcome him in.

Chapter Three: Awakening

(in which our hero finds he has become

what his wife thinks he should be)

I came to consciousness of early morning light in the windows. Dawn. I was lying on our big king sized bed, in our bedroom, Bea's and mine, but my head was turned to the foot of the bed, and tucked in snug. My arms were wrapped around bony buttocks, not Bea's round, soft pillows. Someone's boneless finger was deep in my mouth, and I was nursing on it. Deep inside my crotch I felt a yearning for something hot and wet and snug and soft, and I pushed into more wet velvety softness. The finger in my mouth began to rub on the slick insides of my lips, and I could feel it was growing bigger. I sucked on it and opened my eyes.

I saw my nose was buried in a leathery sack, soft and hairy. Someone's balls. That my mouth was wrapped around someone's prick, half-engorged. That I was pulling my face into someone's crotch by hugging his hips with all my strength, and not letting go. That my own prick was growing into more wet, warm, comfy velvet. I moaned and hugged the pillows even tighter. His buttocks. They rolled a little. I was a comma inside a comma, and a luscious feeling grew deeper between my legs. My mouth slipped up and down on some man's dimpled prick, with its royal purple head, like a gladiator's helmet, his lovely, lovely cock. I licked and sucked it while it grew larger, and mine craved to be buried deep in his mouth.

"Oooohoooooh!" I heard a woman's throat vibrate richly, luxuriantly, purring, and I realized that the throat was mine. I thrust my nose deep down, and I pulled his cock deeper into my face. He did too, sucking on my meat, holding my rump firm, lovingly. Rumpled sheets.

I woke up completely. I was in bed with some man, and we were in a sixty-nine embrace with each other, probably because we had slept that way much of the night. Yes. I could smell cum in his pubic hair, someone's, mine or his, and still taste it salty in my mouth, though his sweet cock was still growing in my mouth, and mine in his, and I was sucking vigorously on his. Finally I got up on my elbows and devoted full attention to lapping and kissing his beautiful smooth tower while a sweet tension grew deep behind mine, and I pumped his face. I fucked him, down his throat, which clung to my cock, until I cried out "Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh, nnng" and I came into him pulsing. The most delectable feelings flooded me inside his face. I could feel him swallowing me.

I am on my bed, I thought, and a man has just given me a great blow job, and I am giving him the best I know how. Why am I here? I noticed that my bra and my slip were rumpled around my shoulders, the bra unfastened but the straps wrapped on me. He was licking me off, sucking on me still, until I was small, and clean, and wet. A boneless finger.

"Wait, Honey!"

His voice was soft, musical, gentle. I took his tower into my hand, to assure that it would be there when I turned my mouth back toward it, and I saw my lovely slender red fingernails wrapping around it. Then I lifted my head and looked back along his legs up to his chest and face. My body was smooth and soft, hairless, I could see. I remembered how Bea had showered me with a pungent cream before I went off to the beauty parlor, and had rinsed it away to reveal my soft, woman's body. It occurred to me that my hair must be a mess, and my face. But I didn't dare touch them. His body as I looked along his legs was hairy, my white skin lying against his.

Between my legs, there I saw my friend from last night, with his short, blond, tousled hair, resting on one of my thighs, still caressing my balls and my own softening prick with his tongue, still licking up my own cum. We weren't dancing together any more. He smiled at me.

"It's daylight. One more for the road," he said. I didn't know what he meant. He wriggled out from under me, and turned, and gently straddled my legs. I felt deprived of him. Where was that beautiful velvet penis now? I felt a prodding between my buttocks, and without thinking I humped my hips high into the air to receive it. The soft tip of his rigid cock pressed on my anus, my cunt. He'd been there before, I realized. My body was welcoming him into me again without giving it a second thought, and I was already slick and wet, slippery between my cheeks. Cum from an earlier fucking? No doubt of it, though I couldn't remember. How many times fucked? No knowing. A few, at least. I realized that my cunthole was well-stretched out, that my ass would have no problem taking him in. And in fact his prick, now fully extended, slid into me like an old friend settling into bed.

"Oooooh!" I said in deep satisfaction, and I wiggled my ass into him to sink his prick even deeper. I wanted him to plunge all the way into me. "Ooooh, lovely! Fuck me, you sweet man. Oh, darling, please, fuck me!" Was that me, saying such things? It was! I must have been saying such things for half of last night, they came so easily out of my mouth. I felt so feminine, so ripe, so complete, so fulfilled inside me, so ... just ... well ... just ... lovely. Just lovely, once his meat was deep inside me. His hands came around and grasped my breasts, my beautiful soft mounds, and he cupped them with the palms of his hands, and his fingers touched my dainty tips. My beautiful nipples. My whole body felt such divine longing! I felt so happy that his hands were full. That I could fill his hands. Bea had been so loving when she had trained my breasts out until they hung down from my chest, into the cups of my bigger bras, into his hands where hers had been, where hers were playing with my engorged nipples so deliciously. As always, I felt so feminine, so loved. It felt just...so...wonderful! I loved the feeling. I loved that he was holding me in both his hands, my pussy wrapped around his cock.

I embraced his tower with my buttocks, and we began to move. Faster and faster we probed and thrust into each other, over and over. His hands and his body possessed me! All of me! I was near fainting with the pleasure of it. Then I felt him swell up into me, and deep inside I could feel his hot jism pumping into my bowels. It was so incredible! I squealed again, even louder! As I came down to earth, I realized I had cum again too, that my prick was now sticky wet, pressed into the mattress, having spurted without even getting hard!

He pulled out of me, and kissed the back of my neck, and got off the bed, and started to get dressed. I just lay there dreamily, and looked at him. He was thin as well as blond, with a rangy build, well-proportioned, no sagging anywhere, and he smiled at me as he stepped into his pants. What was his name?

"Will I see you again?" I asked him, still euphoric. What a question! I felt like a one night stand picked up in a singles bar, But that's what I was! It felt so good! I was a deeply satisfied woman, and that is what a satisfied woman asks when her man leaves her bed! I loved that the words had come out of me so naturally. Like his cum now oozing out of my ass, I could tell by the slippery feel when I squeezed my buns together, as if his prick were still somewhere safe there inside me.

"That depends on your wife, Honey," he said gently, with a wry little smile. "Tell her 'Hi!' for me when you see her. And tell her thanks for the use of her husband." He slipped on his undershirt and his loafers, and picked up his shirt and tie and jacket, and headed for the door. "Time to leave," he said. He paused at the door. "You're just great, honeybuns! You have lots of passion down under there, waiting for someone to bring it out. And you have lots of talent for making love, when you're aroused. But be careful! Fucking and sucking the way you do it can be habit-forming."

He reflected a moment. "It was a real privilege to take your cherry last night," he said. "I wasn't sure you even knew, though you were certainly responsive enough, and grateful enough afterward. Each time! Anyhow, you sure knew what we were doing just now! Welcome to the club! Honey, you are something very special!" He kissed the tips of his fingers at me, and went out the door.

I got off the bed, and my rumpled slip fell down over my rump where it belonged. I felt like such a slut, and now my ass began to ooze cum down my legs. Who knew what my face and hair looked like now? But I didn't even know his name! I followed him out the door.

When I got to the top of the landing, I saw Bea just coming in. She still looked sensational, though I noticed she was walking carefully down the front hall toward the stairway as if limping on both legs. She'd been out all night! Where had she been? Doing what? My own wife! With another man? My blond lover nodded to her as they passed, and she nodded back, not even bothering to turn around.

"G'morning, Steve."

"Morning Bea. Is Kay home yet?"

"I wouldn't know, Steve. I don't think so, though. When I left our motel there was still moaning and shrieking coming from her room. I don't know how she can keep that up all night!"

"Oh, there are ways." Steve grinned at her, and cast a glance back at me. "G'Night, Honey. It was really beautiful. You're really beautiful. Any time at all!" He let himself out the front door.

Bea paused on her painful voyage up the stairs, and leaned on the bannister below me. "Well, Henry, are you Henry again, or are you Honey now, now that you know the joys of being Honey? Is there anything you want to say to me, or shall we get to bed!"

I was utterly addled. "No, Bea, for God's sake, I ... we... it was..."

"Yes, it certainly looks that way. Well, Henry, let me relieve your mind, right now, before you have a stroke. You've just had a lovely time with Steve, I'm sure. Pearl and Kay and I have just had delightful times with our guys. Mine was just scrumptious. When we left you with Steve we went back to their motel rooms, just the way Pearl and Kay arranged for us. And we've been with them ever since. All night. Fucking their brains out. And vice versa. My special birthday treat! Bob was my special birthday treat! A surprise for me. The girls brought him in from out of town, can you imagine? A marvelous stallion, plunging into me, and I rode him bareback.

By God, huge, and such powerful thighs. And yet so sweetly submissive when I ordered him around. I could make him do anything! Anything at all! Even when I tied him up! Well, later we'll compare notes. I'm too tired now. And too sore. I need a night's sleep, and that's where I'm headed."

I just stood there in my rumpled slip, my unhooked bra still hanging from me, speechless. She kissed me as she stepped past me, then paused again and looked back with a wicked smile, but it was affectionate too. "Henry, or Honey, my very own husband, my sweet dearest girlfriend, you look as well-fucked as I feel! I'm glad. And you look as if you could do with some sleep too, dear. Are you also a little sore? Does your little pussy hurt? I'll bet it does."

"Now we both have some wonderful tales to tell each other, and to tell the other girls. Later today, tea time, I've arranged for all of us to gather here together for a lovely hen fest. But first, sleep."

She paused again. I think she realized that there was more to be said, because I was still standing there with my mouth open. I had tried several times to say something, anything. But nothing came out. I guess she decided that now was as good a time as any to relieve my mind of its confusion. She leaned on the railing, and then turned toward me, while I was still staring at her.

"I think you can be let in on it now, dear. This much of it anyway. This is what I wanted for my big fortieth year celebration. This is exactly what I wanted. This is what the girls have been arranging for me."

"But it's what I arranged for you, too. You needed to be initiated sooner or later, and this was when. The more we girls talked about it, the more certain I was that this is what we both needed. I want you. I need you, never mind why. I didn't want you to go wandering off, like Pearl's husband. So there was always risk in what Pearl and Kay were planning for me. If I really went out on the town the way they wanted, and you found out what I'd done, you might get uppity and divorce me!

Even if you never found out, then what we're going to do from now on would need to be hidden. There'd be too much sneaking around. Too much dishonesty. I wanted some real adventures, to meet some new guys, to get intimate with them in new ways. One guy in particular I already have in mind, but never mind that now. And if I liked it I wanted to keep doing it, the way Pearl and Kay do. But I wanted to keep you too. I have uses for you."

She straightened a little, and smiled at me sweetly. "So my problem was, how could I renew my life and enjoy other men without you getting all macho and pompous about it, and declaring that our marriage was at an end. Or without you worrying yourself to a frazzle that you had somehow driven me away by your own inadequacies. Men all think that any one of them should be enough for any one woman! They're so silly! So they blame themselves when their wives go astray, the decent ones do. Or their wives blame them. I didn't want you to feel guilty. This isn't your fault. Originally I just wanted to know before I got too old what it would be like to be with another man. With other men. Maybe with lots of other men. To get well laid, in lots of different ways. That's all. But I didn't want you to suffer while I was doing it. I wanted you to know that we are still the same couple we've always been, if you know what I mean. Still together, whatever we may do with other people. Or whatever other special relationships I might have with someone."

"So the girls and I arranged this lovely, lovely night, exactly the way it worked out. You had to become one of us, truly one of the girls, and do everything we were doing, and enjoy it just as much. I've been preparing you for nearly a year. Haven't I? You know I have."

"Pearl never thought you'd do it, become Honey, an attractive girl out to enjoy herself, ready to take pleasure in men, and to pleasure men. And even if you did become Honey, Pearl didn't think you'd go through with the rest of it. 'A woman isn't a real woman until some man has screwed her, one way or another, maybe both ways,' she'd say. 'And he'll never agree to that. He'll wimp out!' So she wasn't much help. But Kay helped out, giving you female hormones all year so you'd look more like a woman, and feel more like one, and maybe enjoy sex more like one. And that's what happened! I'm so glad!"

"When Steve showed up last night, that was Kay's signal to give you a really heavy dose of tranquilizers, so you wouldn't get anxious about me, or about yourself, some sophisticated aphrodisiacs to make you horny, and then also one more dose of female hormones, so you'd feel especially sensitive in your intimate places! You'd never have tolerated my taking up with Bob the way I did, I'm sure, unless you were already stoned out of your mind, and already pretty horny yourself. And I'm sure you'd never have gone to bed with Steve on your own, even as Honey, even as drunk as you were. It took a little more. Kay's magic potion."

"In fact, when we left you, I wasn't sure you were still conscious! But you were, in a way. Enough, anyhow. You did seem to be enjoying yourself, dancing with your head thrown back, and your eyes closed, a huge smile on your face, Steve's hands roaming all over you, and you rubbing your tits all over him. Kay said we could trust you with him. So we left with our guys. Bob and I had already started, even while we were still sitting next to you at the table. I mean, not a foot away from you, there I was sitting in his lap french kissing him, and there he was with his fingers somewhere inside my pussy, doing such marvelous things! Not a foot away! But you were so wrapped up in your own man you never even noticed!"

Bea paused, and then spoke very slowly. "You have given me the most precious birthday present I have ever had, love. Thank you. It was very thoughtful of you. As far as you thought about it, that is. And it couldn't have been more generous. I'm so very happy! It's a gift that will keep on giving."

I still couldn't think of anything to say. "Bea," I began. Then I was silent again.

She came over to me on impulse, and kissed me again. On the lips. I just looked at her. Maybe those tranquilizers still had me a little zonked.

"In a way this been my present to you too. We'll talk about it when I wake up. When I went off with Bob, did you get nice and hard thinking about what we might be doing? And all last night here with Steve, did you feel nice and soft and yielding when he was pumping into you? The way I felt with Bob? Were you the teensiest bit turned on? More than just a teensy bit? Did you have any really grand orgasms, huge rolling ones, the kind Bob gave me? Oh, I do hope so. But don't worry about it if you didn't, lover. You will. I've got plans for you, love. Now that you're not afraid to be Honey, you won't need tranquilizers any more. We'll see to it. It'll just take the right man. I have such plans for you!"

"I must say, Honey lamb, thinking about Steve plowing your ass while Bob was plowing mine was the most wonderful turn-on for me! Bob was everything I'd hoped for! He barely fit into me! The first times we fucked, I just came and came, over and over. But then afterward, whatever we did, I came again every time I imagined you and Steve doing the same things. Bob couldn't understand it when I told him. 'That lady was your husband?' he kept saying. 'Do you go out together often? Why don't you make it with each other? Are you both lesbians?' The poor man was baffled."

"And Honey, there's more. I wasn't going to tell you until tea time later today, when we all tell each other what we did with our fellas. But you might want to sleep on it now. In two weeks we're all going away for the whole weekend to a resort hotel in the mountains. A fabulous place, Pearl says, for singles of all ages to meet and have fun. Tennis, swimming, golf, new friends and companions, all four of us enjoying ourselves. We'll see what action we can arrange. Doesn't that sound wonderful?

"Or all three of us, Henry dear, if you'd rather stay home and watch television. But I think you'd have more fun with us. You are one of us, now, you know. And if you come, we can share everything. A whole weekend! Here I am, forty years old, and I'm looking forward to a whole weekend, the start of a whole new life!"

"But I don't want to force you, Honey. You think about it, and let me know. Even as late as next week. That's when we'll need to phone in all of our room reservations. Don't worry about a thing! I'll help you shop for everything. You'll need lots more pretty lingerie, certainly, and tennis outfits, and some swim suits. You do know you can't go swimming topless any more, ever, don't you? And you'll need to wear a really good brassiere all the time from now on, or those titties of yours will start to sag down to your stomach. Oh, and certainly you'll need to buy a sheer dress or two for your little romantic candlelight dinners. To wear when we're back here in town, too. It's going to be such fun!"

Bea came closer, and now she put both her hands on my shoulders, and looked me straight in the eyes. I glanced down at her boots, and at her thighs, and at her nipples poking through her silk blouse so close to mine, but so much bigger than mine, and then I looked up into those dark-streaked eyes of hers, and I couldn't look away. They held me. Her voice enchanted me. "Honey," she said, "Please come with us. Please, sweetheart. You'll love it! Do it for me! I won't enjoy myself at all as much, if I don't know that you're also enjoying yourself. I'm sure Pearl can fix you up with another guy you'd love to be with. Maybe even Steve again, if he's not busy. Didn't you enjoy Steve? Wasn't he just right for you?"

"We have such wonderful years ahead of us, sharing our new lives, you as my sweetest, dearest girlfriend, maybe sometimes my loving, adorable husband. Now there's no need for us ever to separate, or get divorced, or for you to feel you need to hunt up some trophy wife, the way Pearl's husband did, to renew your life. Last year, I knew you were headed that way, toward taking on some younger woman who would help you feel younger. I could tell. And I was so depressed that I might lose you, and I felt so helpless to do anything about it. You remember! It seemed only a matter of time. Only last year! But I found out some things about myself. And I figured out some things about you. And now, no trophy wife would want you. Not after what I've done to you. And I don't know that you'd want one of them either, now that you know how good it is to be a woman in bed with a man. Now you're really and truly one of us. Now that you're really and truly mine."

"Oh, Honey, there are so many new places we'll visit, and so many new men to get to know. It's a whole new beginning. Say you'll come with us. Do, please, say Yes. Do sleep on it, and then say, Yes"

"But I'm terribly sleepy now. Come, love, take off that slip, and slip into a nightie, and let's just go to bed and hug each other. Just the two of us. I do so want you to lick me to sleep. I'm still wet with Bob, and I know you'll love the way he tastes. Oh, everything's going to be so beautiful from now on. You'll see."

Chapter Four: Past and Future

(in which the ladies persuade our hero to accept plans

they think appropriate for a heroine)

I woke up quite refreshed. The tranquilizers Kay had given me last night must have worn off finally. I remembered going to bed with Bea. First we cuddled a little, and kissed each other's nipples, and munched a little on them until they were hard and hurting just a teeny bit. Then Bea pushed me down to her sweet love-nest and pressed my mouth into it. She was still dripping wet and smelled musky. I liked the smell, it even excited me. It was the smell of a woman after a hot love-bout, mixed with the smell that also covered me, male cum. I started sucking and licking and immediately Bea began moaning deep within her throat, purring like a kitten who enjoys being stroked. I was her birthday present to herself, I realized, and she had gift-wrapped me to look like a well-fucked girl in order to enjoy me all the more. I knew she was enjoying me now just as she'd hoped. Her girl-husband!

After a few minutes she made me turn around, and she started to nibble on my soft prick. It responded ever so slowly, growing into her mouth. She started massaging my inner thighs, then tickling and stroking me ever so softly. My prick grew larger. I redoubled my efforts at her clit, which caused her to gyrate her crotch, pressing it deeper into my face. I sucked and licked as fast as I could.

I realized I was now swallowing cum spurted deep into my beloved wife by a man who had just fucked her. It was as if I were myself servicing his prick with my own mouth, in a way, cleaning Bea out. It was as if he were also fucking me, as if Bea wanted me to be used by him the way she'd been used. Strangely enough, that didn't throw me off. I somehow relished the thought of Bea fucking this guy, sitting on him and riding him like a kicking bronco at a rodeo. I got bigger and bigger, though not really hard. I could feel that Bea was at the brink of her orgasm, when suddenly I felt first one, then two of her fingers enter my anus, pull nearly out, then plunge in again. What gave her that idea? I realized her man must have been in her ass, too, something she had never allowed me. He had taken that part of my own Bea's virginity! I crawled further down between her legs, and sure enough, my tongue found a stream of his cum leaking from her rear. Helpless to do anything else, I slurped it, then licked her sweet rosebud clean. Only a few seconds later we both came, simply exploding into each other. Then neither of us could do anything more, no bed-time rituals, no removing our makeup. We were totally exhausted, and fell asleep within seconds. I thought I heard Bea say almost to herself, "I'm so very happy. We'll always do this, afterward!"

When I awoke I found myself alone in the bed, and heard noises from the kitchen down-stairs. I got up and went to the bath-room, and the face I saw in the mirror gave me the shock of my life. My make-up was smeared everywhere, my mascara in dark blotches all around my eyes. Dried filmy cum covered much of my face and was clumped in my hair, and my bangs were stuck together. I shuddered and went straight into the shower. I showered and shampooed and scrubbed for at least ten minutes. Then I went to work on my face with cold-cream, to remove all traces of yesterday's make-up. Finally I felt like a human being again.

I suddenly realized what Bea might have had in mind months ago when she started me on electrolysis, to remove my beard permanently. "I don't want your face to feel at all scratchy," she had said. I had thought she meant, scratchy to her. But could she have meant, scratchy to some man taking me to bed? Even then was she maneuvering me into some man's bed, to keep me busy while she was in her own man's bed? It was hard to believe. But it had been weeks since I last shaved. When my electrolysis ended just a few weeks ago my face was smooth as any woman's. Of course my beard had been always rather sparse. I had tried to grow a mustache in college once, but gave it up with everybody grinning at me. So when Bea suggested electrolysis, I was easily persuaded. It meant I wouldn't have to bother shaving at all when it was no longer necessary to humor her, and I could be a man again.

I turned to the door to slip on my old bathrobe. It was gone. In it's place hung a soft, feminine, terry-cloth robe with large pink roses all over it, and a big hood. A little surprise gift from Bea? What was it she had said, that yesterday was also my birthday, as Honey? I put it on, and draped the hood over my wet hair. When I turned to look into the mirror, I saw a rather pleasing girl there, clean scrubbed, with fresh rosy cheeks. Unthinkingly I smiled at her, and she smiled back at me.

My terry-cloth slippers were usually by the lingerie-hamper, but instead I saw a pair of satin mules with three inch heels. I slipped into them, and again didn't think about it. They were there, I put them on. Especially during the past few months Bea had been encouraging me to wear women's clothes in the house all the time, and it was no big deal.

When I entered the bedroom, Bea was just coming out.

"Hi sleepy-head," she said cheerily. "All fresh and clean to begin a new day?" I took her in my arms and kissed her. "Here, we have to do something with your hair. Sit down and I'll blow-dry and style it for you," she said.

She moved me to her vanity, 'our' vanity during the past six months, and started to work on my hair.

"Hey, you don't have to do that," I said. "Just comb it out straight down. I'll have to go to a barber anyhow later to get it cut."

She touched a little mousse to it. "Not on your life you won't. I love it long and I want you to grow it even longer."

"But I can't really go to the office with it puffed out like this. This is a feminine hairdo."

"That we can discuss later. Doesn't it look nice this way?"

I had to concede it looked very nice, but it was a woman's hairdo nevertheless. I didn't want to quarrel with her over such a simple matter, so I said nothing. When the time came, I would just go to the barber and have it cut. Maybe after wearing it this long all this time, I should get a really sharp crew cut, I thought. Probably that would make me look years younger.

Such were my thoughts while she reshaped my curls, teasing, brushing, teasing again, and combing them out until she was satisfied. "Now don't you look great?" She set down her brush and beamed at me.

I looked into the mirror and found I had to agree with her, I looked great, for a woman. But I wasn't a woman. Well, I was feeling good, so I thought, let her enjoy herself, and it'll all end Monday morning. "It looks nice" I said rather noncommittally, not to spoil her fun.

"Yes it does. Now just a little lipstick and some blush here and there, and we're done. Come down, breakfast is waiting." I suddenly discovered I was really hungry, so I postponed further discussion of my appearance to a later time.

Passing the living-room on the way to the kitchen, I noticed the couch table was set for coffee and cakes, and that Bea had set out the bone china she used when her friends came over. I had no idea what time it was, and looked at the wall clock in the kitchen. Almost 4:00! I couldn't believe it. Had I really slept that long? I must have. I sat down at the kitchen table and drank half a pint of orange juice. "Now," I asked, "where is breakfast?"

"You just have had it," was her reply. "Look here, Honey. In a few minutes the girls will come over the way we arranged, and we'll sit and drink coffee and nibble at cakes, and gossip. A girl must watch her figure, you know. So you get nothing more right now."

Bea brought more cups into the living room, and I looked into the fridge. Nothing, a head of lettuce, some tomatoes, diet sodas, nothing that could fill my empty, aching stomach. Just then I heard the door chimes, and heard Bea yell "Come in, it's open."

In walked Pearl and Kay in the very best of spirits. I didn't even have time to jump up the stairs and put on a shirt and slacks. They were perfectly dressed, as if for some Sunday afternoon club meeting where ladies go to outshine each-other. Their dresses were elegant, their faces made up beautifully, and their hairdos were impeccable. They greeted us both affectionately. Bea invited them to sit down, and instructed me to serve the coffee while she went upstairs. "Sorry, just have to rush up, won't be a minute," she said, "Honey will keep you company."

So there I was in my bathrobe, my hair curled and set but still damp, while they looked me over like a dog examining a juicy steak before lunging at it. I felt naked. But the awkwardness lasted only for a few seconds. Then both of them started to talk at the same time, obviously to overcome my embarrassment that they were dressed to the nines while I was wearing a girl's bathrobe, satin mules, and nothing else.

Pearl grinned at me, "I noticed that when you and Steve left the club, you were glued to his crotch. The two of you could hardly walk. Did you enjoy last night?" Kay jumped in, "Yes, how was Steve? I mean, did you like him? I mean...ummm.. he's a very good lover, isn't he? He was still asleep when I left, so I haven't had a chance to talk to him, but you must have pretty well worn him out. Did he kiss you goodnight, after he took you home?" She smiled a sweet, wicked smile, and let the question hang in the air.

"Never mind," said Pearl, saving me from Kay's innuendoes. "We'll get to that later. We promised each other a hen-party today, and we'll each tell each other everything about last night, every sweet little detail. But we should wait till Bea gets back, so we don't have to start all over again."

They fell silent for a minute or two, sipping coffee and nibbling on the cakes, then looking at each other and starting to say something again both at the same time, then quieting down again. Then they started to giggle like teenagers for a second, but they caught themselves and turned smiling toward me, just looking at me. I felt very uneasy being stared at like this, wearing my strange get-up, but I felt thankful that Bea had at least arranged my hair to look presentable, and had suggested I put on a little lipstick.

Luckily Bea came down just then. She was dressed as well as the two other women. Her make-up was perfect. She must have been wearing it the whole time, without my noticing. It was beautifully matched to her outfit.

Now I was facing three ladies who were dressed to the nines, still in my bathrobe. I felt very uneasy. Bea noticed, and said "Honey slept so long, and I didn't want to wake her after her heavy date last night, so there was no time for her to dress. And actually, we haven't bought her anything special yet for an occasion like this one. So let me just go look for something I can lend her."

"Don't bother," I cut in, getting up. "I'll just jump upstairs and get a pair of jeans and a shirt."

"No you won't" all three of them said almost in unison. "This is a hen-party, and we don't share our secrets with men."

"You stay a girl today, Honey," Bea pushed me back into my seat. "I'm certainly not going to tell Henry what Bob did with me, and how I loved it. Why, Henry might begin to feel inadequate." She smiled. "And I don't think Henry wants to hear how Honey misbehaved last night, either. Oh no, not the way she looked when I came in this morning!"

"But I ..."

"No no, you just stay here," Pearl seconded her. "I think I might have something for you to wear though." She explained, "You know, just before the divorce action started, I found something in my asshole husband's car trunk, hidden under some plastic garbage bags. It was a dress box from a very expensive boutique, its name embossed all over in pink and gold letters. I wondered what it was doing there. Now you know I'm not curious" -- the others let out little shrieks at this -- "but still, I had to know what was in it."

She then went to the door, to a large bag she had left there when she first came in. "This!" She pulled a beautiful dress from the bag, long and narrow, all in deep burgundy velvet. "And this!" She produced some kind of stiff, black, frilly undergarment. "Look at this, a corset, a real lace-up Victorian corset!" "And finally this!" She held high a pair of suede pumps in the same color as the dress, with slim heels at least five inches high.

"The rat! I could see at a glance that these things weren't mine. And I knew my husband wasn't into wearing women's things, like our dear girlfriend here. So they must have been for that slut of his! I decided then and there not to let her have them, and I hid the box from him. That bastard couldn't ask me where for obvious reasons, but for days he rummaged around in the garage and the house at the most impossible times. He never found it. He was furious, and all the time I kept asking him in the sweetest tones if anything was wrong and if I could help him in any way. Honey, I think these things will just fit you. Why don't you let us try them on you."

"Yes that would be marvelous," Kay chimed in. "You'd fit in perfectly with us, then." All three got up and came over to me. I got up too, looking for a way out.

"Wait, I'll get matching black panties and stockings!" Bea said, and was already on her way. A minute later she came down carrying ultra sheer nylons and a pair of lace encrusted panties. "Just pull them on," she said giving me the panties. What could I to do? They obviously had their minds set on dressing me in these things. There was no escape without a real fight. So I gave in. They could have their little joke. It was harmless.

I pulled the panties up under my bathrobe, and then let them carry it away. Now I was naked from my panties on up, and Pearl stared at my tits with an unbelieving expression. "Well, just look at that! At those! Are they really real?"

"Of course they are, not perfect, but the genuine article," Kay said with a certain amount of pride. "They can be improved, of course, and in fact what happens next is...."

"Marvelous, just marvelous!" Pearl broke in. She couldn't take her eyes off my chest. "Miss Henry's boobs, looking completely at home!"

"Come on, you can admire Honey's figure when we're finished," said Bea. She took up the corset and brought it around my waist from behind, urging Pearl to hook up the stiff front busk. It took her a lot of tugging and squeezing, but she did it. Then Pearl draped the lace cups over my tits, using the opportunity to caress my nipples for a moment. "No playing around, Pearl," said Bea. "My husband is a lady! Now comes the hard part. Honey, give Pearl your hands. Pearl, you hold her steady while I pull on the laces."

I felt cut in half even before the lacing started, but they were relentless until finally the gap in the back closed up tight. Then Bea wound the long laces several times around my nipped-in waist, and knotted them in front. She produced a tape measure. "Six inches off," she declared proudly after measuring. "Now the stockings." I was having trouble breathing, and had to sit still with my back held stiff, straight and erect, breathing by heaving my bosoms up and down, as if I were some passionately aroused Victorian maiden. I understood why Victorian ladies frequently fainted. To bend over and roll the stockings up my legs, as Bea had taught me, was quite impossible, so she pulled them up for me, and fastened them to the garters dangling from the corset. Then she put the shoes on me -- miraculously, they fit -- and helped me get up again.

I was used to walking in high heels. I had worn three and four inch heels in training, and all last night I had danced in them. But these were something else. I was literally perched on my toes. The balls of my feet barely touched the ground at all. I tried to walk, and found that I could, somehow, but only with the tiniest steps.

"Now for the gown!" Pearl brought it over and unzipped the back zipper. "I've never seen a zipper like this," she said. "It's upside down, it zips closed from the top down to the bottom. Way down, it looks like." She unhooked it at the neck, and the whole gown split wide open in back. She pulled it around me, and I slid my hands all the way down the long sleeves, which ended at my wrists with a little velvet flounce. They were a very tight fit, but they did fit, just barely. Pearl fastened the zipper at my neck, then starting to pull it closed. It had a very high neck, reaching almost to my chin and to just under my ears. It must have been boned, because it stood up even when I tried to push the top down a little. In this dress I would have to hold my head up, high and proud.

When I looked down at my bosom as best I could, I discovered that the dress had a generous décolleté, like an inverted heart, narrow at my throat and spreading wider around the outer edges of my breasts, then swooping closed under them. If it weren't for the corset's lace cups, my tits would have been entirely naked. It was a very odd dress.

Pearl had to tug and pull quite a bit on the zipper, because the dress allowed not the least leeway. It stuck to my body like wallpaper to a wall, form-fitting my curves exactly where the corset had shaped them. Obviously the dress and the corset were made to be worn together. It hugged my hips, but not as tightly as elsewhere, probably because my hips were narrower than most other women's. I mean, most real women's. At the thighs the dress again fitted snugly, and all the way down to the ankles. When Pearl pulled down the zipper to the very end, I almost couldn't move at all, my legs were so tightly held together by the velvet skirt. I could take short, mincing steps, maybe four or five inches long, no more than that.

"Now I understand the reason for upside-down zipper," Pearl said. "You can pull it all the way down and you have her pretty well hobbled, or pull it up as far as you want to get clear access to her beautiful ass. How wonderful for Honey, and Honey's lovers! How very ingenious!"

I tried to reach for the zipper, there far below at my ankles, but that proved impossible. I couldn't bend at the waist at all. When I bent at the knees and hips, the skirt pulled even tighter. "Will someone please help me?" I pleaded. "I can't stay like this. I can't walk or even sit down. Would one of you please pull the zipper up, so I can move a little."

They ignored my pleas for a while, circling me, never taking their eyes off me. "Marvelous, just marvelous, you look scrumptious!" they gushed.

"Just perfect," Bea commented.

"Men will stand in line to get at you," Kay said admiringly.

"And you know what you can do?" said Pearl, fussing with my décolletage. "Look, if we fold back the lace just a little she gets even sexier, yes, sexier by the inch. We can even fold the lace back completely and ... voila .. here are her bare tits, nicely framed."

"You know, Honey," Kay added, being frankly descriptive again, "If ever a man sees you like this, he'll come right then in his pants."

Finally, when they had seen enough. Bea bent down and slid the zipper up to just under my knees, so I could walk in tiny steps over to a chair, and then sit down.

When we were all seated, the party really got under way. Each one of them described her previous night with her respective lover, in great detail, Pearl and Kay rating their men's 'equipment' and performances, while Bea listened attentively, I assumed because she was wondering how Bob's scores would hold up after she'd spent more nights with other well-hung studs. I could not believe that women talked like that. Men brag about their successes with women by praising themselves, saying things like "and then I gave it to her like nobody ever did before." But these women went into the tiniest details, how abruptly or smoothly their men moved when entering them in front, behind, or below, from above, underneath, or alongside. They detailed their individual virtues and deficiencies, their attitudes, staying power, speed of recovery, everything! I could not believe my ears! There were three proper ladies, sitting around a coffee table nibbling cakes and drinking from cups with their little pinkies held out, as if they were discussing the seating order for next Sunday's fund-raising dinner for the new church organ. And all the while they were comparing notes on how filled up they felt when yesterday's lovers' cocks were stuffed into them up to the hilt.

I felt very uneasy, listening to Bea describe how Bob did one thing after another to her, things I'd never dared propose to Bea, and how she'd loved them all. She was sure that at one point he had given her an orgasm that lasted perhaps a half-hour -- she wasn't sure, because her ecstasy had blotted out all sense of time. I tried to remember that she later told me she loved me more than ever. I tried to remember that our lovemaking after she got home was glorious, even though we were both exhausted. I tried to remember that I was not Henry, a husband getting more uneasily jealous by the minute, but her dearest girlfriend Honey, with tales of her own to tell.

When finally all was told and they had no more questions of each other, they turned to me. "Now it's your turn," Pearl said, pointedly, while Kay and Bea sat back waiting.

I squirmed and felt embarrassed, but they were so insistent that finally I had to give in. I told them everything I could remember from the night before. Then they questioned me for details, how I had felt when I first realized I was kissing a man, or that I was sucking on his cock, and just when I came to realize I was not repelled, but loved it. "You're one of the girls now, so no holding back," they said.

They urged me on and on until I had spilled everything, even how I felt the next day, when I saw my face plastered with dried semen. "I'm always a little proud when I see that," said Kay. "Were you?"

I think my face got as red as my dress. I wished I had never agreed to attend this party. In fact, I recalled. I had never agreed -- Bea had assumed I would join them, and had never asked me. But is was too late now. I was past caring what these women thought of me.

But the odd thing was, they didn't ridicule me or give me strange looks. They seemed to regard me as one of themselves, a shy one who had to be coaxed a little, but definitely one of the girls.

"He came over, and he said some sweet things to me, and I don't know, he seemed kind of sweet," I said in a small voice. "A very nice man, you know? He saw to it I had a drink, and I felt grateful, and, sort of, a little like I could depend on him to take care of whatever I wanted. And then I got pretty far gone, and I really was feeling real affection for him, you know? He kissed me. He said such beautiful things, my heart melted. My whole body yearned toward him, he was so lovely. I couldn't help myself. And he took me home, I guess. And we slept together all night. Because in the morning when I woke up, I was sucking on his dick and feeling so completely satisfied, and then when he slipped it into me again it felt so natural, as if it belonged there always."

"'Again'? He had fucked you earlier?" Pearl asked. "You've skipped something?"

I felt really embarrassed. "I don't remember. I was so far out of it. Bea tells me I was drugged on tranquilizers. I only remember I wanted him to do everything he did to me. Everything! But I don't know what that was. And I remember that in the morning, when he did them to me again, some of them, it felt like old times, so comfortable, so marvelous. That part I remember. Do you really want to know?"

"No," said Pearl. "I only want to know one more thing, er ... Honey. Think carefully, because I have something else in mind you don't know about yet. I gather Steve, your man, achieved ... penetration with you, and that in the morning you welcomed his ... er ... penetration a second time, or maybe a third, or a fifth." Pearl then gave up. "Henry, listen" she said. "Just answer two questions for me, please. When he fucked you again, did you want him to do it?"

"Yes," I said.

"Then, when he had just finished fucking you that you know of, did you want him to fuck you yet again?"

"Yes."

"Yes to what? Just to getting fucked? Or Yes also to giving and getting head, and everything else? Yes to the whole night? Yes to wanting to do it all over again if you could, when the night finally ended?"

"Yes to all of it, Pearl. Not now, of course, but .... "

"Now doesn't count, Henry. What you've told me is that when you're in the right mood, when you're feeling like Honey, when you're feeling all delicious and feminine and pretty, and you're all warmed up, you're a cock-hungry slut who can't ever get enough. Maybe also a cunt-hungry slut. We'll see. Not that we're not these things ourselves, some of them, each of us in our own way," she added with a grin and then a giggle, looking around. "But it's useful for us all to know that much about you. So Henry can't get enough cock! Well, well!"

When I couldn't tell them any more, they were satisfied. They had wheedled out of me that I had loved it. They concluded that the night had surpassed Bea's fondest hopes.

Then they started making plans for the future. It began with what I would wear next week, their plans to do some heavy shopping for me now that I was a woman who liked men. When I told them I was just going back to being a man, they all laughed. "Baby doll," Bea said. "With those tits and that pretty face you can't be a man again next week. Just look in the mirror." Bea pulled me over to the large wall mirror she had had installed during our training period, so I could check on my movements and posture. I looked at me, and had to concede that what I saw there was feminine. "And you're wearing practically no make-up now. So how can you believe you'll pass as a man!"

There was a lot of truth in her words. Maybe I should stay in skirts a while longer, until I could change my body back to normal. I could work out more, get my muscle tone back, and I could eat more to put on some weight. Probably the breasts would shrink once I stopped wearing brassieres. I could do all this while still wearing skirts, and not raise too many eyebrows.

So finally I agreed to go shopping with them, as Bea suggested. But I drew the line at going with them to that sex-resort hotel the following weekend. They may have wanted to get laid over and over by different men. Even my wife, now that she'd sampled that stud her friends had bought for her. But not me! And given what I had just done, and what I had just confessed about how I felt, I could hardly object to my wife going off with another man. Or other men. Not on moral grounds, anyhow. Not right away, anyhow.

The discussion turned to where to go shopping and what clothes I would need. "She should definitely always wear a corset," Pearl suggested, and the others agreed enthusiastically. "Just look at how this one improves her figure."

"Oh no, that's impossible," I objected, "I can't breath, and just walking up steps would exhaust me".

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, dear," Kay put in. "This one is a very severe one worn only for special occasions, or for figure training sessions. For everyday wear there are others, still tight, but a little more comfortable. And there'd be no problem at all, if we did something to your waist. In fact, it's only a very minor procedure. It could be done in a day, and then you'd have the nicest, slimmest waist you can imagine."

"Well, that we'll see about later," and Bea threw her a disapproving glance. "First there are other problems to deal with. She doesn't need to go to her own office now, but she needs some kind of work to keep her busy. After having gone this far, I think Honey should experience at first hand what it means to be a woman in a man dominated work force. That's what she should do next."

With these words Bea turned and looked directly at me, her eyes never wavering. She was mild and loving, as before, but now she was also firm. I knew there was no arguing when Bea was firm. "So I think she should go to work as a woman somewhere. She hasn't been to her office during the last weeks, and her partners have managed without her. I think she should stay a silent partner a while longer, and try to be a real working girl."

Everybody agreed. My opinion was never requested. "I have just the place for her," Pearl piped up. I was not too eager to hear what Pearl's scheming mind would come up with, but I couldn't stop her. "You know, my receptionist/typist, Sandy, you know her, she always dressed so outrageously, until finally she caught one of those men she slept with, and they got married. She'll be on maternity leave after next week, for six weeks maybe, maybe more. I want her to come back, so I want to keep her position open. I was thinking of hiring a temp, but Honey here would do for me perfectly." She looked me up and down intently, her eyes returning to my decollete neckline, and she smiled openly. "Yes, perfectly. What do you think, Honey? Wouldn't this be an interesting experience for you? Not only one of the girls, but a working girl, what Bea wants!"

I had to answer as if Pearl were serious. "Well, I don't know, Pearl. It might be interesting. But a receptionist has to deal with lots of people, and it would be terribly embarrassing for both of us if I were 'read,' maybe worse for you. I'd rather stay home for a while, until things return to normal. I ..."

Still looking straight at me, Bea broke in, biting off her words. "But I don't want you here waiting for things to return to normal, Honey," she said. "I do my work here, and if you were hanging around doing nothing you'd be much too distracting. As a silent partner, you're drawing much less income from your partnership. We should try to make up the difference. Now, Pearl doesn't pay her receptionist very much. I'm sure, but with all the new expenses coming up we can use every penny. No, Pearl's proposed the perfect solution. Just listen."

She ticked off the reasons on her fingers. "First, you'll work for somebody who knows about you, so there'll be no secret to keep from your employer. Second, you'll learn more about being a girl, and that's what you've been doing more and more for the past year now, isn't it? I know you've enjoyed it -- you told us that last night, at dinner. And you just told us that even this morning you wanted more, more of being treated like a girl." Pearl smiled conspiratorially at me as Bea went on. "Third, you'd be out of my way here, out from underfoot. Fourth, you could earn some money to help us carry our overhead. So there's no argument, is there?"

Bea as ever sounded very logical. Maybe it was for the best. I couldn't see myself sitting at home waiting for reversible changes to make me a man again, and meanwhile do nothing. Going to my own office was impossible. We were a consultancy firm, and our business was built on our clients' trust in us -- if I turned up there wearing skirts, the roof would cave in.

The girls got more and more enthusiastic, and began talking all at once. They could see only advantages . It would only be for a short period of time, actually no longer than I was willing. If I decided to quit before Sandy came back, Pearl could still get a temp to replace me. On the other hand I could certainly help Pearl in lots of ways. They really didn't want to lose their new girlfriend so quickly, I'm so dear looking the way I do. The more they thought about it, the more it sounded like a reasonable plan, all things considered. So finally, I agreed.

The girls all congratulated me for making a good decision, really the only right one. Then they began planning my wardrobe as a working girl.

Pearl laid down the guidelines: she wanted me dressed conservative, but at the same time sexy. "You know, a receptionist provides the first impression that clients get of a business. She needs to be a real 'looker', with lots of 'Come hither!' being telegraphed. Attractive, charming, willing, even a little juicy, you know. But somehow not look too much like a hooker. So I want to see you in nice business suits. Not in drab colors, but lots of pastels, even in cherry red -- that's still in. Get jackets you can wear without a blouse. Then you can show that gorgeous cleavage quite naturally. A blouse would need to be unbuttoned way down to get the same effect, and then you'd look too sluttish."

"And you'll need to wear tight skirts. I think long skirts are more sexy than minis. A long skirt shows off your ankles, and yours are very pretty, Honey, 'well-turned' as they used to say. Just make sure your skirt is slit in the back to at least five inches over the knee. Seen from the back, especially when you're walking, a high slit makes any part of your leg look like a glimpse of forbidden territory."

"Now, a mini puts all the merchandise on display. There aren't many secrets left when you wear a mini. If you want to sell, first make the customer curious about what secrets come with the purchase. Of course on a date a mini's just right, the shorter the better. And there's nothing like a mini for closing a deal, once the customer's really interested."

I protested I had no intention to sell myself or to close deals with customers on dates, but everybody agreed that Pearl spoke the truth, and assured me she was speaking only figuratively. I let it go at that. Bea said she knew exactly what Pearl meant, and would see to it I was dressed properly when I started work.

The conversation then shifted to their planned excursion to the resort hotel the weekend after next. They all urged me to join them, that there would be lots of interesting men, and that I'd really enjoy getting laid by a few of them. Why else go to the trouble of becoming a woman? But I held steadfast to my decision not to go with them, to stay at home instead. I'd have a lot to do to prepare myself for my new job, I told them.

"You know, dear," Bea said, "I do intend to get myself really royally fucked that weekend, as often as I can. I'd feel much better if I knew that my Honey in the very next room was getting her little butt stuffed too, and wasn't just sitting home worrying about me. Are you sure you'll be all right?"

I thought so.

"Well, I'll arrange something so you won't be too lonely. You still have a lot to learn."

It was getting late already, and everyone agreed that the afternoon had gone off better than they'd hoped. But also that after the previous night it was time to go home and get some sleep.

Chapter Five: Brave New Worlds

(in which hero, heroine, and her wife shop for new clothes

and then try them out)

.

Bea cleared away the dishes and things after they left, and I helped where I could, though the dress and the corset and the high heels scarcely allowed me to move. Once in our bedroom, I asked her to help me out of the dress and she did, but when I started to undo the knot in the corset-lace, she protested. "No, keep it on. You can sleep in it. It will do wonders for your waist if it stays on. When you're asleep you won't notice the discomfort. Just clean up as best you can, and let's get to bed. You're turning me on."

I was too tired to argue, so I let it go. I could always take it off while she slept if it became too uncomfortable.

We went to bed and cuddled a little. Bea lay behind me in a spoon position and twiddled my sensitive nipples, and I got quite aroused. Then she turned me on my back and straddled my half erect penis, rolling her pussy around on it once she got it inside her. I couldn't help her at all -- my corset didn't allow for thrusting or rotating movements. Soon I was unable to breathe at all, and Bea relented, slid off, and went to the bathroom. Neither of us had cum, but it had been very pleasant nonetheless. I obviously wasn't the man I'd been, but Bea seemed not to mind.

When Bea came back to bed she started to stroke my ass lovingly, and I gave in to the exciting sensation, pressing my rear against her hand. After a moment I was surprised to feel her push a finger into my ass, then move it gently in and out, finger-fucking me the way I'd finger-fucked young girls as a teenager. I supposed to her, in a way, I was now a young girl. I realized she was using lubrication, because her finger slid back and forth quite easily. I relaxed my sphincter as much as I could and pushed myself closer to her, and wriggled my rear end onto her hand as best I could. That wonderful feeling was returning, spreading from my asshole into my penis.

She pulled out her finger, and suddenly I felt something big and stiff enter into me. I reached back to feel it, and found she was wearing a strap-on dildo, and that she had just shoved all of it into me, and that she was really fucking me with it, seriously, faster and faster.

"Just relax my dear," she said, breathing heavily. "Just give in to your feelings, just feel ...." I got more and more excited. Then she reached over and began to stroke my shaft in synchrony with her movements into my ass. My excitement rose, and I began to pant. It was unbelievably erotic. Here I was, a woman in a tightly laced corset being fucked by her lover! The pace picked up, and I was in total bliss! It didn't take long before we both came. Her orgasm and its wild movements triggered mine, and mine was so exquisite I passed out.

I came to after a short while, to find Bea holding a cold wash-cloth against my temples. I felt just wonderful.

"Are you OK?"

I nodded, and smiled at her ecstatically. She bend down an gave me a deep kiss. "Rest a little, dear, then clean up." I lay there for about five minutes, glowing in the aftermath of a great fuck.

When I returned from the bath-room, Bea stood waiting for me, holding a silk stocking in her hands. "Turn around, Dear, and give me your wrists. I want to tie them behind you. I know you won't want to take your corset off during the night, because you know I want you to wear it. But when you're drowsy you might loosen the laces. And all night, even when you're sleeping, I want you to know that I control you, that you're mine, and I can do whatever I want to you. It's important to me for you to feel that." I was still too blissful to object, so I let her tie my hands. "I think we should make this a habit," she said, cinching the knot.

I was all for lovemaking like this becoming habitual, so I nodded and said, "Yeah, I'd love it, any time!" and I turned to try to kiss her. She tilted her face out of reach.

"I mean you should always sleep in this corset, with your hands tied in back, for figure training and to get used to feeling helpless. I'm so glad you've agreed." She reached up and caressed my nipples lightly for a moment. I was powerless to do anything about it, so I closed my eyes to concentrate on her fingers. But she stopped. "It's a matter of trust," she said. "You'll just have to trust me."

You can't be too careful when you say 'Yes' to Bea, I thought. But tomorrow will be another day, and we shall see what we shall see.

I not only slept the next night in that accursed corset, but every night for some time afterward. I began wondering idly what kind of operation Kay had referred to, that would nip in my waist more naturally. It is really impossible to get Bea to let go of anything once she's taken hold of it. She didn't relent even after we bought several more comfortable corsets for daytime use. Each night that heavy corset would get tied onto me again, and she tied my hands behind me.

Then in daytime she never left me alone. Most of the next week she spent shopping with me. I must have tried on a hundred dresses and suits, and innumerable blouses and skirts. We always came back with the car brimming with bags and cartons filled with the finest fashions. Dresses, suits, skirts, blouses, sweaters, everything, not to mention lingerie of every kind, matched in color or cut to certain dresses, especially to their necklines. It seemed to me Bea was buying me clothes enough to last years, not just for the few weeks or months I'd be Pearl's receptionist. Each day I put off for another day my return to male clothing, and just went along with whatever she wanted.

There were soon so many things that the closet adjacent to the master bedroom was overflowing, and Bea suggested we move my clothing into the guest-room closet. "This will become Honey's special room now," Bea declared. "You'll have your own vanity and everything within reach, and we won't get in each other's way when we dress and make up." I had to agree it was a practical decision. The room had been freshly decorated only a half a year earlier, I had wondered why in a frivolously feminine style, in delicate pinks and satins and small patterned flowers. But my new women's clothes fit right in. The vanity was equipped with all the cosmetics I would need, and all the necessary combs and brushes and curlers, even my own blow-drier. If I was dressing to go to work, and Bea had to go somewhere else at the same time, there would be no confused sharing of each others' things.

A big surprise came that night, when I came into the room to get into bed as usual, and Bea said, "What do you want here? You have your own room now." When I protested, she simply said, "You're a woman now, Honey, so you'll have to live the way women live. Completely. I am not in the habit of sleeping with a woman on a regular basis.

"I'm not a woman, Bea, I'm Henry, your husband. Honey was last week. Remember?"

"Oh? You mean that was my husband Henry who slept with Steve, and loves to wear that closetfull of women's clothes? My husband Henry is a faggot cocksucker who can't get enough dick into his rear end? No, I think you're Honey, dear, a woman who knows how to enjoy herself. From now on, if I want sex with you, as Henry or Honey, I'll let you know, and either I'll come to you or you'll come to me. But now we're two single girls sharing this house. We're girlfriends now. Understand? Now, fix your hair for the night and get to bed."

I didn't understand, but what could I do? I would never force myself on Bea. I loved her, and for a year now I had made myself want whatever she wanted, no matter how strange it seemed. Because she'd wanted me to be one of the girls, I had grown breasts, and now I'd sucked cock. I'd even agreed to delay becoming Henry again, for a little while longer. I was wearing a filmy pink nightgown. So I could hardly insist now on a husband's prerogatives.

Luckily Bea loved sex as much as I did, and since she had turned me into a woman, she seemed to enjoy it even more. So actually nothing changed much. Either she called me into her room, or she visited me in mine, most nights or mornings. Whether we had sex or not, she insisted on lacing me into the Victorian corset for figure training, as she put it, each night. Then after knotting the laces, I would put my hands together palm to palm behind my back, and she would tie my wrists together, usually with a stocking or something similar, secure, soft, and not too uncomfortable. I thought of it as dependency training. She wanted me to need her, and I thought that was kind of sweet in a way. I had no problems sleeping while tied up. But in the morning, when I asked her to untie me, she would produce any number of reasons why not yet. She delighted to see me hampered this way, to feel her total control over me. It developed into a kind of game each morning. She invented all kinds of things I would have to do for her before she released me. To be honest, I came to love those moments of dominant/submissive role-play, and most of the time, if we hadn't dawdled too long, we would finish with some pretty steamy lovemaking.

"You know," Bea said to me at breakfast, after a night followed by a morning of absolutely rapturous sex, "basically you are a pretty straight guy. Before last year, you were boring, sexually. I suppose that was half my fault. I didn't realize you don't like to take initiatives, that you're too cautious to propose new things, to live out your daydreams. But now that you're in no man's land and I'm in control, it looks as if you'll take whatever sexual experiences you can get, any way you can get them. You've never said 'No' to anything I've wanted. You're wonderful, my darling girl-husband! You adapt to all of my fantasies, and play any role I ask of you."

On this particular morning Bea had left my hands tied, all through some especially exhausting lovemaking. They were still tied when she had accompanied me to the bathroom, where I attempted to urinate standing up at her insistence, while she held my penis and aimed it. Twice I had gotten too hard to pee, and she had playfully slapped my prick until it softened and I could proceed. Now, still feeling playful, she poured my coffee into a soup bowl on the floor so I could lap it up, and put a sweet roll alongside. So while she was praising me I was bowed down at her feet, lapping and nibbling breakfast on my knees. Thereafter, that was how I ate breakfast with her more often than not.

But she continued. "I'm so glad I made you break your borders and forced you into this new world of ours. If I hadn't, we'd probably have separated soon. I'm sure you wanted to try another wife before you settled into old age with whoever would have you. But I wanted to keep you. You're sweet, and gentle, and generous, and we enjoy each other so much, and -- well, in my way I love you. I always have, and I still do, dear, make no mistake about that! And I have uses for you, as you'll find when you've gone further down the path I'm laying out for you."

"You were so boring! I didn't want you the way you were, watching TV every evening, going to work every day, making love a few times each month if you weren't away on business, and nothing new to say to each other ever. Even if we'd stayed together from habit, each of us would have been living apart in our own cocoons, light-years apart. I was going to try out other men soon anyhow, just for the novelty, whatever you would have thought about it. And I know what you'd have thought. Even though you were already bedding down other women in your mind, you were a prig. You'd have gotten uppity and left me the first time I took some stud to bed. Now, no way. Now we have whole worlds of new experiences to share. I have so many ideas we can try. This is just fabulous."

I couldn't but agree with her. I really liked this new world Bea had tricked me into entering. I liked it, but I had to stay alert, or I could completely lose myself in it. These new feelings were terribly seductive. But I knew I also wanted my other life as well. I was also a successful business man. I had to find a way to make Bea understand and accept this. I had no idea yet how my two selves could coexist, but there had to be a way. For the time being though, I was drunk with desire, and loved everything Bea did. We giggled a lot together, and she found there were certain things she could do to me to make me feel utterly her slave, utterly happy.

Which is why I was surprised, when Saturday night rolled around, and I came out of dozing and watching afternoon football on the TV in my study, still wearing one of those damned corsets, that Bea had fixed an early light supper for the two of us, and had already set it out. Upstairs I could hear her splashing and soaking herself, no doubt in a perfumed oil bubble bath like the one she had taken a week earlier, the night we celebrated her birthday. She was going out?

I went upstairs and glanced through the door into our bedroom -- her bedroom now. No doubt about it -- there were those five inch high heeled short boots she had bought earlier this week, when she tried to persuade me to get a pair just like them, and that short leather skirt, waiting on her bed, and -- Good Heavens! I just recalled she'd bought it only a few days ago -- a conical leather brassiere that converted her soft breasts into hard missiles poking out of her chest.

"You get a skirt and bra like this one too, dear," she had urged me. "Men go catatonic when they see a girl wearing an outfit like this. You'd love ordering them around, getting them to lick you and suck on you, and kiss your feet."

But I'd refused, telling her it was enough I was wearing all the women's things she wanted me to wear, and putting on makeup and fixing my hair, day after day, and loading my drawers with lingerie I'd never have a chance to wear when I quit pretending I was a woman in another month or so. I didn't want to order anyone else around, anyhow.

"Just checking, dear," she had said, and she kissed me on the cheek. "You're a born submissive, I know. Well, I'm discovering that I love being dominant. So from now on don't worry your pretty little head about giving orders to anyone. I'll tell you whatever you need to do, and then you'll do it, and you'll never have to think about it at all. Right?"

"If you say so," I had said. Then I realized what I had said, and we both laughed. Afterward, I noticed, she no longer picked up leather panties or garter belts while looking at me speculatively. Instead, she hummed to herself while collecting the frilliest feminine things in my sizes, barely glancing at me on her way to pay for them, sometimes handing them to me with the instruction to just try them on to make sure they fit, never consulting me.

Now there were her power clothes laid out on her bed, and there she was in the tub, oiling and perfuming herself like some Pasha's harem girl.

"I'll be right out, Honey," she called to me. "Then I want you

to get in and soak, and then put on those fussy lacy things I've laid out on your bed. Honestly, I don't see why you men like to wear them. But I know they help make you look pretty. We're going out tonight."

"What for?" I asked. "We went out last week. You're going away next week. We've been having a fabulous time in bed. Why go out at all?"

"Because, lover," she said, emerging from the bathroom naked under her towel, patting herself dry. She reached around my neck with both arms, and pressed her naked breasts against me, and seemed to be pushing a knee between my two thighs. "Because it's been a week since we last went out together. I had such a fabulous time last week, and so did you. I've been having a fabulous time all week with you ever since then. But now, I told you. I want to try out some other cocks besides yours. I need more practice getting men to do wicked things with me, and I don't want to ruin you by trying them out on you too soon. And Honey, it's been a week since you've been laid by a real meat prick, not a dildo, right? Don't you feel a little yearning down there under your skirt, the way I do? When we were all girls sharing secrets, didn't you tell us how you loved feeling a man squirm into your ass? By the way, don't put on pantyhose like the ones I feel you're wearing now. No man wants to fight his way past them to reach your pussy. Just use the stockings and garter belt you'll find on your bed."

I got frightened. The woman was serious! To repeat that sequence of accidents and plots and catastrophes yet again? Already, Bea hadn't allowed me to wear a stitch of my own clothes for a whole week, not even slacks. "You know you need to wear women's clothes all the time to remind you to sit up straight, shoulders back, bust out, and not slouch like a man. The second you put on even a T shirt you hold yourself like a couch potato. No, you'll wear your corsets, bras, skirts, everything during the day, and your training corset at night." She never told me what was wrong with slouching like a man.

I decided to be firm. "Bea, I'm not going! And neither are you!"

Her laughter was like a chime of bells up and down the scale. God she was beautiful! "Why ever not?" she asked. The towel now hung off her shoulders behind her like a cape, and she stood with her feet apart, hands on hips, breasts and bush confronting me, a naked Maenad. Her relaxed, confident femininity overwhelmed me. I gulped and went on.

"Well, for one thing, you seem to forget I'm not a woman. If a man gets close to me and discovers I'm really a man with breasts in drag, he'll become very angry. If he's much bigger than me, he could leave me a broken and bloody mess, wherever it was he found out."

Bea looked at me a moment, and then seemed to make up her mind how to reply. "Then don't go," she said. "I'm going. Of course if you're too afraid of some man getting too rough, then I'll have to take my chances alone, and hope no one gets too rough with me."

"No," I said. I looked at her. Was her posture a little mocking, as she stood naked in front of me with both barrels of her gorgeous body aimed straight at me, hands on her hips? She was asking me to protect her? I was about to say, "I forbid you to go!" but somehow what came out was, "No, then I'll go with you." I tried to recover. "But dressed like a man!" That didn't sound right. I am a man! "Dressed in men's clothing!" I corrected myself. Not much better.

"Dressed to look like a man?" Bea did sound mocking. There was a slight smile on her face. "No, Honey, with that hairdo and with the softening of your face from Kay's hormone treatments, you wouldn't look very persuasive. You've never been a really persuasive man under the best of circumstances. I'm afraid you wouldn't discourage anyone mean from getting mean with me. But you might discourage some nice man from getting nice with me, if you were loitering in my vicinity like some weird husband or brother. No, I'm delighted you've said you'll go with me. Now I'll hold you to that. But you see, you'll have to go dressed like my girlfriend, not like some guardian angel. I have to hold you to that too."

"That's no big deal, is it dear? You've already gone out dressed for a date, and I know you had a lovely time, even if it wasn't exactly what you expected. Your clothes are laid out on your bed. If you don't want a man to get too close, why it's your prerogative as a woman not to let him. I'm glad it's decided. Remember to douche, love, even if you don't intend to seduce some handsome stud tonight. Just as part of your personal hygiene. You never know."

And she turned, walked into her room, turned to look back at me and shook her head to herself with a slight smile, then closed the door. Maybe she was right that I should always let her tell me what to do, then do it. I wasn't getting anywhere with her on my own. I continued on into the bathroom, and started my own perfume and oil soak.

Two hours later we were entering the fastest action singles bar in town, a large elaborated night club on the top floor of our largest hotel, the city's night lights turning and sparkling far below us. A band was thumping something New Age far from the bar, and as we came out of the elevator we saw three couples waiting to get in, holding hands or plastered to each other, looking both determined and nervous, as if they had just met and meant to get to one of the rooms below in order to fuck before one of them changed their minds. I wasn't happy that Bea paused to pick up a room key on our way through the hotel lobby -- it turned out she had pre-registered, and even brought a bag up to her room earlier that afternoon. "Just love toys I mean to use tonight, she said. Nothing you're ready for yet, Honey. No clothes, of course. I don't mean to wear any after a while. Are you sure you don't want a room to share with a boy friend or two?" she asked. I could only shake my head No and turn away.

We looked for all the world like a lesbian couple out for the evening, Bea the butch in her short spiked boots, leather mini, conical leather bra, dark eyes, and slash of scarlet across her mouth, and me the femme in the dress and undergarments Bea had selected for me, layer after layer of frills and flounces and laces curving away and down from my narrow hips as if they were generous hips, emphasizing my corset-constricted waist, and revealing the curve of my breasts inside my low Princess neckline. Bea had glued false eyelashes to my eyelids and stroked on layer after layer of mascara. "That's so you don't ever have to talk," she said. "Just bat your baby blues as if you understood. But if you must say something, remember Honey's voice, not Henry's."

She also insisted my hair be piled up in curls all on one side, and was delighted with the effect. "You look like such a pretty ditz now, darling," she said. "Now no one would ever ask you to do anything you didn't already want to do. They'd figure you'd never understand them anyhow. Just play dumb. That won't be too difficult, will it?"

Again, was she mocking me or protecting me from my own fears?

We settled in at the bar and had scarcely gotten our drinks when two men approached us, one on either side. "Ladies," said the taller and more self-assured, an ingratiating grin on his face, "We're a delegation from that table over there, where as you can see there are six gentlemen and only two ladies already enjoying each others' company. We've been sent to ask if you would be willing to make the odds eight to four."

The man leaning over me said nothing, but as I looked up at him, he smiled back. Shy, registered in my mind. No problem. I smiled and batted my eyes once, then listened to hear what Bea would say.

"That's six, two, and even," she said. "Aren't those handicappers' odds? Well, if you figure each of the ladies at your table are entitled to their own gentleman, and if you figure my friend here needs two gentlemen to distract her, so she won't worry excessively about me, that's four for me. That's about right. Are there four of you ready to meet me downstairs in a half-hour for a strenuous all-night workout?"

The two men glanced over us at each other, and I saw the one near me tense up and shake his head. The man near Bea stiffened for a moment too, but then eased into a delighted smile. "I'm sure we can manage it," he said, as if Bea had asked him to contribute to a Red Cross fund drive. "Let's go over and put your interesting proposition to the others."

"You," said Bea. "I never repeat myself. Tell them you're a delegation from me, and if it's worth my coming over, I will. What my friend here does with her friend next to her is up to her. They seem to have hit it off all by themselves."

Bea's delegate went over to the table and seems to have said something, because the two ladies stood abruptly, gathered their purses, and stormed off, two of the gentlemen pursuing them, each glancing over at Bea before disappearing into another area of the night club, not to be seen again, nor their ladies. "I think that's a 'Yes,'to your proposal," said the shy man at my elbow. "But if you don't mind, I'd like to be one of this lovely lady's admirers for the evening. Even from a distance, if she'll allow me. I'm not up to anything too strenuous at this time of night. It's been a difficult week."

"That's understood," said Bea. "Honey?"

"Yes," I said in a small, high-pitched voice. "Yes, I'd like that." I looked at the man leaning over me, and batted my eyes at him twice more. He melted visibly. Without lifting a finger, Bea had gotten herself at least four studs ready to fuck her silly, someone nice to keep me too distracted to get jealous, and someone else to keep the nice man too distracted to make serious moves on me. What else could I say but "Yes"?

Bea signaled a time-out and we both went to the Ladies'. She then gave me further instructions. "When you're dressed like a southern belle the way you are, all you need to do is say 'Yes' in different questioning tones of voice, and act coquettish. That means smile, tease, and neither agree nor disagree, whatever they ask. This admirer of yours here is easy. If I were in your panties I'd have him sucking my cock inside of an hour, and proposing marriage before the end of the evening. Maybe I'd even marry him, just to see what it's like being married to a nice guy without much else to recommend him. But I'm not you. I'm already married to a nice guy without much else going. He's so nice he even lets me turn him into a woman. And because he's a woman tonight and doesn't want anyone to know, he has to let me fuck anyone I want any way I want, even under his nose. Doesn't he? Smile and say 'Yes,' Henry, so I know Henry knows. Then you can be Honey the coquette while I'm off balling our friends here."

"Why, yes, Bea," I said in my squeaky girl voice. "But why are you calling me Henry again? You act as if you want me to be jealous as well as helpless. Why is that?"

"Very good, Henry!" Bea said with unfeigned admiration. "You're not altogether a fool, are you? It's simple. I want my husband Henry to find it intolerable that he's Henry, whose wife does whatever she wants, including fuck other men and feminize him, and him powerless to stop me. I want Henry to run and hide and want to become Honey, a girl who does whatever she wants, if I want her to. I want to make life miserable for Henry and delightful for Honey. I want Henry's soul to change into Honey's. Why is my business. Then I'll change Honey's soul into someone else's, and let that someone else know why, maybe. That's why I want you to feel jealous and helpless, Henry. But I also want you to flirt with men and enjoy yourself as Honey, and there you're still a little reluctant it seems. Still, I think I'm doing pretty well, wouldn't you say?"

What could I say? I scarcely understood her. "Yes, Bea," I squeaked

Then my gentleman admirer escorted us over to where the four remaining men sat, and the delegate stood waiting to greet us. "Ah, ladies," said the delegate. "We need to get better acquainted. I'm Bert, and these are Larry, Rod, Stu, and Jeffrey. The gentleman accompanying you is Fred -- I'm sure he's been too shy to say. And you are?"

"Bea," Bea said. "And my girlfriend here is Honey. Don't bother rising, gentlemen, I'll have you on your knees soon enough. It's Stu who means to keep Honey company along with Fred?"

"Why, yes, how did you know that?"

"Well, four of you are leaning forward and drooling, but Stu here looks miserable. Cheer up, Stu. Maybe there's something in the evening for you after all, if you can sweet-talk Honey the right way. You too, Fred. But meanwhile I want to dance with each of you guys, to feel out your moves and plan some of my own. You first, Rod, you sound the most promising. Meanwhile, order us all some drinks."

Bea danced differently with each man. With Larry, she lay her head on his shoulder and melted into his arms. With Bert she stood aloof at arm's length, almost stiff, but with her pelvis rotating obscenely until Bert was almost on his knees trying to bury his face in it. With Rod she did dirty dancing, crawling all over him while he crawled on her, each with thighs inside the other's thighs and rubbing on each other. Jeffrey was the most peculiar -- he stood still, tense as a flamenco dancer, while she rotated around him making figures with her arms, but now and then slapping him on the face or clubbing him with her forearm, almost knocking him down. A huge boner developed in his pants, and seemed to get larger each time she struck him.

When she came back with her second partner, Bert, she reached into her purse and handed him her room key, and said, "You're the one. Get down there, strip naked, and wait on your knees for each of the others to knock. Then let them in, and as they come in, undress them and suck their cocks to get them nice and hard. You'll find some cock rings in my bag by the bed Slip them over each cock once you've gotten them full size. But no one comes without my permission. Ever. Your reward for preparing those cocks will be, you can choose whichever one you want to have fuck your ass all the way until you come. Then if you can get hard again, great! I'll use you. If not you'll be my official mouth, and if you're very good at it, my official toilet. We'll see."

I was shocked. What kinds of fantasies was Bea living out? Or had she done this before, and I never knew? She had an instinct for each man's most secret obscene desire within a few minutes of dancing with him -- when she sent Jeffrey down to her room, she told him to phone someone that he wouldn't be fit for work until the middle of next week at the earliest, he'd be too bruised. With Rod, all she did was pat his penis and say "We'll soon find out if this thing swivels off," and she told Larry to be thinking about how it would feel to have her arm inside him as well as wrapped around him. "And, of course," she told Stu and Fred while looking straight at me, "They're all four of them going to be in me, around me, on top of me, and under me, a few together at a time, all night long. I mean to get reamed out utterly at every end. I won't be home until tomorrow, Honey. Take a taxi when you're ready to leave, or cadge a ride. And you'd better use this, if you don't plan on being raped yourself. Stu here has some ideas about getting into your pants, I can tell. You'd better get into his first. I'm glad you came with me to protect me, Honey, but now you're on your own." She handed me a bottle of hand lotion and disappeared toward the elevators and the room where her four hard cocks were waiting for her.

While I was watching Bea dance and arrange her orgy, or gang bang, or whatever it was, Fred had his arm around me, and I had snuggled into him, and it had felt nice. It was a little confusing. I'd feel like Honey, but then I'd realize that I was a man with my head on another man's shoulder and this was unthinkable. Then while Fred had both arms wrapped around my waist and I was leaning back against him so he could breath into my perfumed hair, I felt like Henry, an absolute pansy, a real faggot. Stu would then reach over and caress my nipples even so lightly, and then I was Honey, smiling at him demurely, and trying not to surrender to the delicious sensations. "Let's take her down and get a room for ourselves, Fred," Stu said. "She's plenty ready. Honey, you look ripe enough to eat. I'll bet you're juicy, too."

"I don't think you'll want to eat me tonight," I said, trying to remember how girls usually turn off unwanted attention -- lots of girls had told me lots of ways when I was dating them. "I'm having my period." Should I have just said "No"? Bea had told me to be a coquette. "Besides, I wouldn't know how to choose between two big strong men like you two," I said. I batted my heavy eyelashes several times.

Stu had an answer ready. "No need to choose, Honey. I think if your friend downstairs can handle four men at once, you can handle two. In fact, I think you can handle two of us right now. Use that hand lotion. Under the table will be fine."

I tried to maintain the charade, and said "You're so impetuous!", and I tried to flick a limp wrist at him, teasing, as Bea had advised.

But Stu was having none of it. He began to look hard and narrow-eyed. "Sit between us, Honey, and let's both see what you're good for." I glanced up at Fred's face, still with my head on his shoulder, and saw he was looking down a little apologetically and regretfully, but eagerly too. I decided I would do it for Fred, settled between them, smiled nicely at each on turn. and picked up the hand lotion.

I'd never noticed it before, but while I was rubbing the lotion onto my hands and my skin was softening and lubricating, my hands looked provocative, even obscenely sexy as they stroked and turned inside each other. Stu watched fascinated. "Hey, Honey," he said. "You have a real talent for hand jobs! Look at that!" It was true. Maybe because I had never held a man's cock in my hands before in my life, except my own, and maybe Steve's, my hands had taken on a reluctant, slow, amorous, lingering motion, as if they were looking forward to every stroke but delaying the moment as long as possible. "I can't stand this!" Stu said, and in a single motion he sat up, unzipped his pants, and released his staff to point straight up just under the edge of the table. I felt Fred do the same. I took a deep breath, poured some more of the pink lotion generously into each palm, reached down on either side of me, and wrapped each hand around a man's cock, my right hand on Stu and my left on Fred.

Each felt different. I spread the lotion on each with a few wrist motions, then began using my fingertips to rub and stroke and tug and tickle each cock. Stuart's was short but very fat, and felt pimply, like the neck of a chicken, with loose skin to push around. It felt hot to the touch. Fred's was thinner and a little longer, velvety to my finger tips, like a cool, smooth tube. Both cocks were considerably longer than mine, though neither equaled Steve's at its most swollen. So this is what every woman knows, and no straight men, I thought to myself. Pricks have personalities as different as people's. I twisted my wrists into the most voluptuous hand gestures could manage as I pulled and slid and jerked off each.

But most of all, with each prick I felt different. When I concentrated on stroking Stu I felt demeaned, as if I were some school kid forced to jerk off the town bully. I was little Henry, my manhood eroding with every rise and fall of my fist on his chicken-skinned cock, intimidated into behaving like a girl, hoping desperately he wouldn't force me to the extreme indignity. But he did. As his breath came quicker he began to tense up until suddenly I felt my head pushed down by his left hand. I glanced frightened at Fred, and he said reassuringly in a low voice, "Go ahead, Honey. I can wait." But I had no choice. Down I went and just barely had time to wrap my lips around the head of his cock when it began spurting cum back into my throat. I squeezed my eyes tight shut, and swallowed as fast as I could, and tried hard not to breath. Disgusting! Then when his hand released my head I sat up and wiped my mouth.

Stu looked at my grimace, amused. "I bet you never sucked cock before," he said. Wrong, of course. It was his cock I found offensive. I remembered that sucking on Steve had been like sucking on a lollipop, that his cum had tasted like sweet cream. I tried to think of that, as I smiled flirtatiously at Stu, trying to placate him the way Bea had told me, in case my twisted mouth with his cum still on my lips had insulted him. But Stu had turned his attention elsewhere. "Hey, there's Ben and Diana and that crowd," he said suddenly. "I bet there's some action over at that table! G'bye Honey, you got magic hands! See ya, Fred." And he was gone. I felt insulted, defeated, and resentful.

But my left hand was still on Fred's cock, still stroking him up and down, I realized, and I softened immediately. In fact I was so grateful to be holding Fred by his most intimate member I looked up at him and kissed his cheek, and he looked down at me tenderly. I think he understood. I felt so protected. In fact, when he came close to coming, I leaned over and put my mouth on him and finished him off with my lips and both hands, and as I drank him down he tasted as delicious as Steve.

We talked for a while more, and he told some amusing stories, and I tried to make silvery, tinkly laughs like Bea's, not too successfully I'm afraid. He offered to drive me home, and when we were both standing on our front steps I turned impulsively and reached up with both arms, and pulled his head toward me, and kissed him passionately, pushing my tongue way inside his mouth, and then we both said goodnight. He wanted my phone number, but Bea had said that was a No-No, so he gave me his card. He was such a nice man!

The next day around noon Bea came staggering home, her hair still damp from a fast shower before she left the hotel. "I couldn't just leave when I woke up," she said. "I was covered with cum, some of it still slick in the cleft of my ass. And the guys were already gone, even the one I had manacled to the clothes bar in the closet, with the baseball bat hanging out of his ass so he wouldn't feel lonely after I pulled my arm out of him. The manacles were still there this morning, but the bat was gone. I bet he means to use it on himself, now that he knows how good it feels."

I was appalled. "What else did you do, Bea?" I asked. What do you do with four men?

She smiled. "You're a little young to know, Honey. But we'll teach you all of it little by little. Henry my husband is never going to know most of it, only how I can do interesting things with cocks a lot bigger than his. I'll tell him all about those things. But tell me, girlfriend, how did you make out?"

So I told Bea everything, especially the different ways I felt about jerking off Stu and Fred, and catching their sperm in my mouth.

Bea was very interested. "Well, well," she said. "Treat 'em rough, and there's Henry feeling competitive and defeated and resentful. Treat 'em nice, and there's Honey, all cuddly and grateful. You need discipline, dear, lots of it, but this tells me to administer it to you sweetly. My Henry is a loser who can't stand losing, and my Honey will do anything as long as she feels loved and protected. That makes things a lot easier."

Again, I had no idea what Bea was talking about. But she did.

Chapter Six: Make-over

(in which like it or not, our hero begins to look and

sound more like our heroine than he thought she would)

Two days later, a week before I was scheduled to begin my career as a receptionist, Bea commented that I had to do something with my voice. It was passable for an evening out, when I could speak in a soft near-whisper, but it wasn't really suited to answering phones and talking to customers. She talked it over with Kay, who suggested that I have a small operation on my throat. Apparently there was a method she called 'cricothyroid fusion,' by which the cricoid and thyroid cartilages are joined. Kay had a friend not far away who had done many such operations. According to her, the procedure was entirely reversible and its risks were negligible. It could be done without an overnight stay in a hospital.

Bea insisted that I at least see this doctor and get the full picture. Kay phoned him, and as luck would have it, an operation scheduled for that very afternoon had been canceled, and her friend was able to see us right away. Well, what can I say? Kay was as determined as Bea, and before I had time to think over the implications, I was in the OR. I can't say it was a pleasant experience, and I wouldn't want to do it again. But the results were fabulous. I was told not to try to speak for two days, until my voice came back, first croaking as if with a nasty laryngitis, but near the week-end I had a perfectly girlish soprano. Bea was overjoyed. She finally agreed that accompanying the girls to the sex resort would put too much strain on my throat, and stopped trying to persuade me. I would stay at home. I was glad for that. I had plans of my own for the weekend. I wanted to be alone, to think over my situation and somehow devise a way to return to my old life without hurting Bea too much.

Friday morning Bea declared that she had booked us both for complete make-overs at the beauty salon, for herself to get ready for the week-end, and for me to get a new personal style suitable for my work.

We drove there together and were greeted effusively by Celeste, the owner. She remembered my first make-over two weeks earlier, and she looked at me with curious interest. "My but you've changed so much since I last saw you," she said. "I must say for the better. That figure is fabulous." She felt my waist. "I thought so, you're wearing a corset. Very nice, very nice indeed. Men must be swarming all over you, dear. Now what can I do for you ladies this time?" She wasn't in the least surprised I was still in skirts. Bea explained to her what she wanted for herself and then what in her opinion I needed for my new job. "So you'll be a working-girl from now on! I'm glad to hear that. A woman should have a job, not just be a home-maker. It gives her a much broader view of the world. We'll make sure that you'll be the prettiest girl in your office, dear."

When she turned away to assign the girls to attend us, Bea turned to me and said, "Honey, I think you should enquire about permanent make-up. Find out how permanent it really is. You know, you aren't yet very experienced doing makeup yourself. It's going to take you a long time each morning to put your face on, and repairing it during the day may also be a problem. But what they call permanent makeup holds up for a few weeks, I think, and that would be perfect for you. Go, ask them, and think about having it done."

Celeste returned with two of her girls. "Linda, dear, take care of Bea here," she said. "You know her, and I'll be with you in a second." She then turned to me, while Bea and Linda disappeared into the depths of the salon. "Now Honey, let's take care of you. I think I know exactly what you need. Bea told me you're starting work as a receptionist? OK, you should be a real 'looker', a knockout to anyone who glances at you even casually. I think blonde is fine, but not enough. You'll want a hair color that's altogether unlike you, in case anyone who knows you wanders into your office. So I think we'll make you a red-head. Giselle here will handle it all, she's my best girl. First we strip all the color from your hair, and then build up the new color. I think a very light orange, almost metallic -- yes that would look stunning on you. You'll be the envy of all the other women there, and men will crawl at your feet just to have you smile at them. I'll leave you in Giselle's hands now. I'll be back later to discuss your make-up style and colors." And she was gone.

Giselle busied herself with my hair. Obviously nobody thought of asking my opinion. Well, whatever they do can be reversed and redone, I thought, so why not wait to see what they do. I took the opportunity to do what Bea had asked. "Giselle, I'm told you do permanent make-up here. Is that true?"

"Oh yes, we do," Giselle replied, lifting swatches of my hair up, and examining each critically. "Or rather, Celeste does it herself, because it's a little tricky, and you have to have a very sure hand and lots of experience. But it's getting increasingly popular with professional women who've made up their minds what they want to look like, who want to save time recreating it every morning. You know, it's not for young girls who change their look twice a day at least, or for models who have to change styles constantly. But if you've decided on your look, it saves tremendously on time and effort."

"How permanent is it really?" I continued. I realized it really might make things easier for me, so I became seriously interested.

"Oh don't believe what they say," Giselle advised me. "It's not that permanent. Not like a tattoo or anything. From what I've seen, the ladies come here for a touch up every few weeks. I think it completely disappears in about six weeks. You see, what it really does, it dyes the uppermost layer of skin. Just like wood stain, if you've ever worked with that. Well, this is similar. Skin renews itself at a certain rate all the time, and top layers are replaced all the time, and any color on them goes too. Now, it's different with different regions of skin. On the hands, it can wear away at once, but not on the skin around your eyes. You see what I mean?"

"So it'll hold up for two or three weeks on the face, right?"

"Yeah, don't let them tell you otherwise. It's not really permanent. It has to be redone all the time."

I mulled over this information and decided that this so-called 'permanent' makeup was perfect for me. I'd maintain it while I was working with Pearl, and stop retouching it before quitting my job. I'd save a lot of time and effort. Yes, I decided, I'll tell Celeste to do it on me.

After a while, I was almost finished with the drier, and Celeste poked her head into our cubicle to ask if everything was to my satisfaction. "I'll be right with you do discuss your make-up. You know, I have to do it and at the same time show you how, so you'll learn to do it alone." Giselle finished her job and put a light scarf over my locks, still with rollers in them to let them cool down slowly. Celeste came back and started in. "Now what I think you need is a very careful day-makeup. It should almost look natural. So we'll go easy on the colors and focus on the eyes."

"Listen," I said. "Giselle told me all about your permanent make-up. Could you do that for me? I mean, I'm not very experienced, and I'm not sure I could recreate my look every day. So if it's possible, please make it permanent right now."

Celeste was impressed. "Well, Honey, what an interesting decision! I was afraid to suggest it, because permanent make-up is a major step towards permanent femininity, you know, and I wasn't sure you've progressed that far yet in the way you think of yourself. But if that's what you want, I'll be delighted to do it." I didn't want to tease her about the loose definition of 'permanent', and I really had all the information I needed. So she went to work and talked while she worked. "Now with the eyeliner, we can be a little dramatic ... lighter on the bottom lid than the top, and a dark stripe above the lash line of your eyelid. So. I'll use just a light brownish grey for eye-shadow, just enough to darken the area a bit. If you want a more dramatic effect for a night out, you can use any color you desire then ... easy on the blusher too, just a hint of healthy rosy cheeks, here we go ... now for the lipstick. I'll use a rather bright pinkish red. It goes perfectly with the color of your hair and isn't too dark to be covered with another, darker color if you so desire. You could even brighten it and give it a special mother-of-pearl effect if you covered it with a special white lipstick, you know, like girls did in the sixties all the time ... Now for that special, sexy wet look, just rub a little Vaseline on like this, you see? Done! Do you want permanent eyelashes too? You know there's a new process -- we glue them to your own one on one. They won't come off under any circumstances, unless the real ones fall out. They're much thicker than natural lashes, so you don't need mascara at all, and yet they look absolutely natural. You'd need a microscope to see they're not real."

I nodded for her to go ahead.

When she was done, she took the scarf off and started combing out my hair. "You see, a head full of curls does suit you best. The color is what makes it special, so we don't want a very intricate hairdo too. Also, this style is easy for you to maintain -- just brush it out, shake your head, and there it is. Almost as easy as when you were a man."

That made me edgy. Why did she have to say 'when I was a man'? Why in the past tense? I still was a man! I might not look like one now, exactly, but that was only temporary in spite of my 'permanent' make-up, so-called. 'Permanent,' what a fraud. What women settle for! But I didn't want to discuss whether I was still a man with Celeste; it was strictly between Bea and me. She can believe what she wants, I decided. I couldn't care less. She was just providing Bea and me with her paid services, so why should I care what she thinks.

Giselle had turned my seat around with my back towards the sink and the mirror when washing my hair, and it had remained that way because the light from the window was better for Celeste's work too. Now finally she turned me around to face the mirror.

I went into shock! I was looking at an archetypal bimbo! A red-headed, empty-headed bimbo! She had a beautiful face, really beautiful, with a mass of reddish curls framing it. But nobody would trust a girl with that look to sharpen a pencil! When I opened my eyes wide I looked like a child, and when I drooped my eyelids my eyes smouldered, as if I were dreaming about bedrooms. My lips stood out full and red and wet. The lips and the eyes together sent out one clear message, 'Please, sir, I want to suck your cock'. I was flabbergasted. I didn't know what to say. I must have sat in silence for a whole minute. This was the new ME? I couldn't believe it. Only a few weeks ago, if I had seen a girl in an office looking that wide-eyed and yet that gorgeous, I would have gotten some very slippery ideas, and an instant hard-on. Now the mirror told me I was that girl.

Just then Bea appeared, and she immediately fell all over herself exclaiming how great I looked, and how wonderful my hair was, and those dreamy eyes, and my lush mouth. She complimented Celeste on having created a masterpiece.

Well, if Bea liked it I would have to deal with my doubts later on. I couldn't do anything now anyhow. I did look sensational, but it wasn't the look I'd wanted. I'd hoped to look sort of pretty but a little shy, like the kind of nice girl who's always asked to dance last at the Christmas-party. I certainly didn't want to make waves at Pearl's place. But the way I looked now, when I walked in there'd be no question what I was there for. Something had to be done. But here and now was not the right time and place to discuss it, because Bea was so enraptured with me. I tried to collect my composure, and finally I smiled at Celeste and thanked her. "I'll be seeing you for the touch-ups in two weeks probably," I said to her on our way out.

"What touch-ups?" She looked puzzled.

"Well Giselle told me, the so called permanent make-up is not all that permanent, and has to be touched up every two weeks or so."

"My, oh, my, that was in the past! Progress never stops! A week ago I got an entirely new line of products for permanent make-up. They now guarantee it'll hold for at least a year, longer in sensitive places like around the eyes. You see, this is a new process, in which the colors we apply on the surface slowly sink deeper, by osmosis I think. So by the time the upper layers of skin flake off, the dyes have gone quite a few layers deeper. Let me assure you, dear, you won't need touch-ups for a very long time."

"Of course the more women there are who get this new permanent makeup, the fewer women I'll see for regular make-overs. But since the process itself is very expensive, I won't really lose anything. I won't be able to keep up with everyone's gossip quite so often, is all. But of course you're an unusual woman, so I'll always be delighted to see you. If you're in the neighborhood, please do drop by to say hello. Maybe after a few months you'll want me to change your hair style. You'll always be very special to me."

I felt as if somebody had kicked me in the knees. I fumbled backward and sat down. To look like this for a whole year? A mindless blow-up doll! The worst of it was, I had nobody to blame for it but me. I had walked into my own trap. I was so clever, getting the wrong information. I should have listened when Celeste called this kind of makeup a 'major step towards permanent femininity' but I was feeling so smug I didn't hear her. I felt like fainting. "Are you alright, dear?" Celeste was very concerned. She waved to one of her girls, "Quick, a cup of coffee and pour a good shot of brandy into it!" Within seconds she was holding the cup against my lips, and I drank. Anything now, but no fainting! I looked at her thankfully, still unable to speak.

When I handed back the cup, it had no lipstick marks even though I had seen that my lips were bright red. Another ominous sign. My make-up really was permanent.

"She'll be alright," Bea said. "Maybe it was all a little too much for her." And moving closer to Celeste's ear, she said, "You know, with the tight corset and everything, what women have to endure to be pretty is too much for a man sometimes. So much for the way they call themselves the 'stronger sex'."

Celeste nodded conspiratorially and turned to me. "Just rest for a minute or so, dear, and you'll soon be alright. Take your time. Nobody will disturb you." I closed my eyes and sat there for about five minutes before I felt strong enough to walk out together with Bea. I was unable to utter a word the whole way home. My whole world was shattered. Permanent makeup! A whole year! I had a lot of thinking to do this weekend! As yet, I had no idea how to handle this situation. But there must be a way out! It was just a matter of finding it! Bea saw that I was brooding, and had the good sense to leave me alone until we reached home.

When we reached the house, she came around to my side of the car and helped me out. She was very consoling. Standing right there in the driveway, she hugged me. "Cheer up darling," she told me. "Everything'll work out fine, you'll see. And you really look gorgeous. What's lost if you look the way I want you to look a little longer than you'd expected? You're still the same person, but much, much prettier now. Think about how other people will see you. They'll enjoy you so much more! Now lets go in and not give it another thought."

Well, no use crying over spilled milk, I thought to myself. I have to live with the facts, and I may as well be cheerful about it. I didn't want Bea to feel guilty because she had suggested I ask about permanent make-up. I could only blame myself. So I gave her a big smile and thanked her. "I really need you!" I said. And then I began to cry -- I'm not sure why. The year's worth of female hormones Kay had shot into my butt, I suppose. A feeling I'd gotten into something I couldn't get out of, maybe. "That's my girl," Bea beamed, patting my backside lovingly. "Come on, I have to get ready for my trip to the mountains. Help me pack!"

It was very strange, advising Bea which of her dresses were the most tastefully provocative, the most genteel even while announcing her sexual availability. I kept thinking I was being her pimp, every time I told her that this blouse, or those shoes, would set any man thinking about that or another part of her body. She kept asking me whether this dress or that one was a slow tease or a fast proposal, which might make a horny man's prick even stiffer. Then when she had packed everything she meant to take along, there was still another half-hour before Pearl was scheduled to show up and carry her away. The bags were at the door, and there was nothing more to do.

"Listen, Honey," she said. "You can do me a great favor. I'll miss you. I want to have your picture to take along with me. Dress up really sexy for me, will you? Please? Now that you look the way you do?"

I thought about Bea wanting to bring my picture with her to this weekend retreat, where she expected to bed down with several other men. It was reassuring, in a way. In fact, it was a very sweet notion, very loving. After all, I could have gone along with her, and it was my decision to stay at home, so wanting to take my picture along was really thoughtful. The sexiest thing I had was that dress Pearl had brought me last Sunday. I decided to put it on, although I hated the corset that went with it. But it would only be for 30 minutes, I thought. So what the heck, I'll survive it.

I carried everything I needed to her room, and asked her to help me. She loved my selection, and was only too eager to lace me into the tight corset. She made me sit down, and she pulled the stockings up my legs as if she were my personal maid. I loved it, because she lingered near my crotch while fastening the garters, caressing my inner thighs with her finger tips, sending shivers of delight up and down my spine. Then she put my highest heels on my feet and stood me up to put the dress on me. She wanted a really sexy picture? She would have one. I pulled the lace on the corset's bodice down from my bosom and folded it back into the dress. My tits stood out naked and proud from the décolleté. I started to tease them, and they responded immediately, my nipples getting hard. Bea then finished pulling down the zipper to the skirt's very end, hobbling me completely. Finally, she got out her polaroid camera and shot picture after picture of me, from every angle, suggesting different poses each sexier than the previous.

She laid the pictures out on the vanity to develop. When she was done, I minced over to look at them, in the teeny four inch steps the dress allowed me. My nylon-clad legs rubbing against each other were very erotic. But the pictures were even more so. They showed an extravagantly clad, gorgeous woman with bare tits, offering herself to the viewer. Even though I knew I was looking at myself, I felt a familiar stirring in my nether parts.

Just then Pearl sounded her horn and Bea scooped up all of the pictures, gave me a hug and a kiss, and headed for the door. "Bye love," she called over her shoulder. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do! Gotta hurry now." She was downstairs before I could make it to the bedroom door, and out the front door before I reached the top of the stairs.

"Hey, wait, you've got to help me get out of this! Come back a second!" I called to the empty downstairs hallway. But she was already gone. I heard the car door slam, and the car drive off after sounding its horn three times. In farewell? Mockingly? But I was in a fine mess! I couldn't bend down far enough to reach the goddam zipper. I didn't want to cut myself out of the dress. So I lay down on Bea's bed to think of some tool to hook the slide and undo the thing.

Chapter Seven: Honey's Weekend

(in which our heroine learns to do what she's told)

I must have fallen into a sound sleep. When I came conscious again, I was dreaming that somebody was licking and sucking at my right nipple. I loved it. Then in my dream I felt a hand stroking my left breast and concentrating on its nipple. It felt great. I hoped the dream would never end. Then the mouth went away, and another hand fingered my right nipple. I moaned deeply. A tongue entered my mouth, playing with my tongue, oh how sweetly. May this moment never end, I thought. I didn't want to open my eyes in my dream, because it might wake me. I gave in to my delicious sensations for a few more seconds while slowly regaining full consciousness. They didn't stop. Somebody was kissing me. Suddenly afraid, I opened my eyes, and there was Steve's face. When he saw I was awake, he leaned backward.

"Hello, Snow White, your prince has arrived," he said. I closed my eyes again, opening my mouth and lifting my face for another kiss, which immediately followed. I was so glad he was here.

I let my hands roam over his body, and realized that he was completely naked. I found his cock and slowly stroked it. It was standing at full attention already, and grew even harder as my hand closed gently around it. After a little while Steve stopped the kissing and nipple-teasing, and rolled me over on my stomach. He unzipped the dress all the way and peeled me out of it. Then he turned me on my back again and slid between my legs. He lifted them and hooked each onto his shoulders, then fumbled somewhat at his crotch and my ass. Ahh, I realized, lubrication! Before I could think further he was pressing his huge soft cock head against my rosebud asshole, then working just the tip of his prick in and out. I began to feel a powerful yearning, and I lifted my whole body up toward him, trying push my bottom around his shaft. Then suddenly he thrust deep and impaled me altogether. He began slowly rocking back and forth, creating the most wonderful feelings in me. By now I had gathered my wits, and the situation struck me as a little funny. There they were, three horny women driving toward that hotel hoping to get fucked, leaving me alone at home. And the first of the four girls to get fucked was the new one, me, while they were still on the road!

I pulled Steve's mouth to mine and kissed him deeply. My arms wrapped around him and held on tight, while his long cock never stopped working in and out of me, sliding up until his balls pressed my ass, then withdrawing until I ached for him to thrust back into me, to fulfill me completely. His hand reached for my cock, and it throbbed each time he squeezed it. The ecstasy ended all too soon, when we both of us came almost at the same time.

After a few minutes to rest and recover, Steve said, "Come on, darling girl. Let me dress you again, and let's go downstairs. I'm hungry". We got up, and he put me back into the dress, but left the zipper open just enough for me to be able to walk downstairs. I went to the kitchen to see what I could come up with, and discovered a magnificent bunch of roses in a vase on the coffee table in the living-room, all of them long-stemmed and deep red. Steve came down barefoot, in his jeans and a T-shirt. "Forty-nine, count them, seven times seven, a lucky number for my lady," he said.

"You brought these for me?"

"Who else is here?"

"Oh you sweet man!"

I felt so thrilled! I slinked back to him in my long gown, and kissed him again. "They're marvelous, thank you." He certainly knows how to treat a lady, I thought. My beautiful lover Steve is a real gentleman. I never before felt more like a woman than at that moment, not even when he was making love to me.

It turned out he had brought several cartons of Indian food with him. We put it into the microwave to heat up, and then sat down to eat. It was terribly spicy and my eyes began to water. I dabbed at them cautiously, trying not to ruin my make-up, as Bea had taught me.

"You can really wipe your eyes now. It won't come off. It's there to stay, and stay as beautiful as you are," Steve said.

He had brought back my memory of that awful misjudgment of mine in the beauty salon, when I trusted that Giselle knew what she was talking about! But he was so wonderful! He seemed to sense it.

"Hey don't blame yourself," he said. He reached over the table and took one of my hands in both of his. "Let's talk about it. Honey, I want to level with you. I can't stand back and just watch what this trio of scheming pussies is doing to you. I like you too much, and I think you should know everything that's going on." I looked at him expectantly.

"You see, it all was planned exactly, to the smallest detail, about a year ago. I heard about it from Kay -- we share all our secrets. Bea wanted to turn you into a woman for reasons of her own. She hasn't really shared them with anyone yet, maybe just to amuse herself? So she engaged the help of her two best friends. Kay was to take care of the medical side, and to judge by those gorgeous tits of yours, and that sweet softening of your face, she sure did! Pearl was supposed to come in now and then when her help was needed. Let me tell you, compared to the way they laid their plans, step by step, taking into account every possibility and working out in advance every way to cope, all the war plans of a some super-sophisticated military General Staff would look like valentines drawn by a bunch of bungling children. Of course you know that Bea's birthday party last week was all set up in advance, with nothing was left to chance, including me taking you home for our night of lovemaking. That was one of the risks they took. They didn't know how you'd respond to my making love to you, you'd become such a proper lady. So they decided you should be flying high on tranquilizers when I delivered my meat to your back door. But it all came out for the best, didn't it?"

"That hen fest on Sunday, after the party, was also a set up. Did you really believe that Pearl swiped this corset, and the dress and shoes, from her husband? No, they were made to your exact measurements even before Bea dieted you down to them, and the shoes were bought to fit your feet. But Pearl invented a good story, so you'd accept them without feeling guilty, or ashamed, or suspicious, that such expensive and voluptuous clothing had been made just for you. Wearing that dress as if it were was made for somebody else, that's still masquerading, and masquerading's acceptable, right? But accepting it and wearing it brought you deeper into feminity. Then other less sexy dresses seemed more normal, more ordinary, and you wore them without a second thought while shopping all through last week, even into the beauty salon."

"You agreed to wear feminine apparel during your training period, because you wanted to give Bea the birthday present she'd asked for, you done up as a passable woman. But you've never suspected that you are supposed to be the gift that keeps on giving! There was a chance you'd call the whole thing off after the birthday party, you know, after we'd all had our fun, figuring that now it's over. So they set you up with this scarlet woman dress, and the story that came with it. Sitting there among the other women, dressed even more sexily than they were, with your little pussy still fondly remembering how my cock felt dipping into it, and telling the ladies all about it, while they marveled and cheered you on, that was the real beginning of your acceptance of their larger plan, your agreement to be dressed as a woman for a longer period, probably to become a woman in every respect, if they can bring you that far. You keep an eye on your balls, Henry, because one day you may wake up and they won't be there any more, and when that day comes you may not even mind."

I wriggled uneasily in my tight corset, but I held on tight to his hand across the table, and he kept talking.

"The sudden opening of a slot for the operation on your voice was a myth. That operation was planned for this date and time maybe six months ago. It's been on Kay's calendar at least that long. And to top it all off, you were set up to ask for a permanent make-up job this afternoon. The girl who was working on you was primed to give you exactly the wrong information, and in exactly those words. I think they even rehearsed it like a stage play in several versions, depending on how you'd react. If you hadn't asked Giselle at all, she would have brought up the subject. But Bea's suggestion was enough to get you interested. They counted correctly on your male reasoning: 'if I have to put on make-up every day, then let's be efficient about it, and not waste time every day.' You got hooked like a trout on the first day of the fishing season."

"I'm telling you, because I know you blame yourself now that you've got to live like a woman for a whole year, until that makeup wears off. Well, let me tell you, you didn't stand a chance. That you'd live like a woman at least that long, probably longer, maybe for the rest of your life, was decided a year ago. Nobody could have resisted their plans, the way they laid them out."

"And I must say, from what I know, Bea has some very good reasons to turn you into a woman permanently. If you prove to be agreeable, willing to go along step by step, it probably would be for the best. It's the only solution if you two want to stay together. For so many years Bea has been the submissive partner in your marriage, the dutiful housewife waiting for you to take the initiatives, and you ran out of initiatives long ago. Much of it ran against her real inner feelings. She either had to reverse her relationship with you or separate from you. Now, if society expects the woman to be the submissive half of a couple, then you had to be made aware what that means, and turned into a woman yourself, at least for a while. You'd have to live as one, and go to work as one the way you will in a few days."

Steve smiled, and reached over and put his hand on my cheek for a moment. "And if it could be arranged, you'd have to make love as one. And I must tell you, Honey, you have a natural talent that way. As far as sex goes, you're wasted as a man. Not many women are as responsive as you are, as passionate when someone else is calling the shots. Kay asked me if it was true, what you confessed to Pearl when she questioned you about it, that you have the makings of a really sultry sex-slut. I told her that once you were warmed up, there's nothing you wouldn't do. It's true, Honey. We could go upstairs and I'd prove it to you, right now. In a while, we will, anyhow. But you'll have plenty of opportunity to find out for yourself soon enough. Wait till you start work in Pearl's office. There will be some very interesting experiences waiting for you there."

"So that's the situation, old buddy, my darling girl! Now what do you want to do? You actually do have to live as a woman now, for a while. That's settled. You may get to like it even more than you do now, and that's what they're counting on. But the question is, do you want to leave Bea, because she deceived you when she led you into this, not just for her birthday but for the long haul, for good? Or, do you want to stay with her and accept your new role in life as her female companion, or whatever she chooses to call it, doing pretty much whatever she wants? Go ahead and think about it."

Steve got up and poured himself some coffee, then sat down again. He poured some for me too, but I couldn't touch it. "If you want to hear my advice," Steve then went on, "What I would do if I were tripping around in your high heels is, I would stay. Apart from the fact that Bea loves you, and you love her too when you can muster up that much emotion. Just compare your situation last year with today. You were like a zombie, watching football on TV for excitement. Sex was mostly a thing of the past, and it was all bland and boring. You yourself were thinking of splitting from Bea and finding more excitement elsewhere, in the arms of some new woman. But a new woman would've taken you for whatever she could get and then dropped you. No other kind of woman would've wanted you, you were such a bore, and you're so trusting you wouldn't even have known she was gone until she was long gone."

"But now you've got yourself a new woman, really new, and one who really cares for you, and really does look out for your best interests as she sees them. Two new women, counting you! And now look back at last week. Wasn't it exciting? Didn't you and Bea find all kinds of new feelings and experiences to share? Aren't you having great sex, doing all kinds of things you never dreamed you'd do, now that Bea feels free to suggest them? Now that you want to, because as a woman, sex is a brand new thing for you, with no inhibitions built in? And let me tell you, you two have just barely scratched the surface. Trust me, I know from experience. Stick with Bea and follow her lead, and she'll open new worlds for both of you. That's my advice. The girls may have been running you around in circles, but they know where they're really taking you, and it's a great place! Relax and enjoy the ride."

To say I was shocked, hearing all this, would have been the understatement of the century. My mind went perfectly numb. I could only sit and say nothing at all.

Steve was very affectionate. "You should sleep over it. It's getting late and I'll take you to bed. I'll take care of the dishes later." He reached out with both hands to me and I took them. I felt so helpless. He pulled me up, and we went upstairs. He slowly peeled me out of the dress again, and took off the shoes and stockings, but left the corset on. "Go wash your face and brush your teeth," he told me, shoving me gently towards the bathroom, where I went through the required motions.

When I was finished I went back to the bed we had just used earlier for making love. I was still dazed, and I suppose I was drawn to my memory of lying there on my back, my legs high over Steve's back, feeling so happy that his meat and his cum were shooting deep inside me. Now, it seemed, he was my only friend in the world.

But the dear man took my hand, and then took me gently by the waist, and led me out toward my own bedroom. "This is the MASTER bedroom," he said. "Not yours anymore, remember? This week-end I am the MASTER and I shall sleep here, and my little love-slave will sleep in her room until I call her. Understand?"

It seemed so natural the way he put it, I just went along. I had no power to resist. When I started undoing the corset lace, he stopped me. "This is your training corset, and you have to wear it through the night remember? Now be a good girl and turn around and give me your wrists so I can tie them properly." I gave in completely. If my only friend in the world wanted my wrists tied the way Bea wanted them, I had to go along. I wondered how he knew. Bea must have told him. What else did she tell him, I wondered. Did she tell him to stop by to give me that glorious fuck, to remind me how nice it is to be a woman fucked by a man, especially while she's at that hotel reminding herself of the very same thing? Did she tell him to tell me everything he had just told me, man to man, or maybe man to woman, so when she came back there'd be no more secrets separating us?

"Isn't it nice to go to bed in full make-up knowing it'll still be there in the morning, as beautiful as ever? To be beautiful all the time?" he asked. He made it sound as if he were envious -- just to make me comfortable, the darling man, I thought. He tucked me in like a little child, and then gave me a good night kiss. He turned out the light and I was asleep before I even could start thinking about what I had heard and experienced this long day.

I woke up hearing the shower in the bathroom and Steve splashing away, singing at the top of his voice. I felt much better, and looked forward to facing the day. I felt a little more like my old self. I was still slightly annoyed that Bea had tricked me into womanhood. But this morning I couldn't blame her. She did have her reasons, and she did love me. I'd slept the blues away, and now hearing Steve lifted my spirits even higher. That was odd in itself. True, Bea and her friends had fixed me up with a female face I didn't want, but had accepted, anyhow, for only a little while longer. But they had set me up with Steve too. And he had a wonderful knack. He made me feel delicious that I looked like a woman, and he made me want to be even more of a woman. Bea wasn't wrong when she thought I'd get hooked by his lovemaking. Right now I wanted to be a woman for Steve with all my heart, and I was glad they had made me beautiful for him.

After about five minutes he peeked in to see if I was awake, then came over and sat down on the bed right next to my head. He smelled of soap and after-shave. I snuggled even closer, and kissed his thigh. "Good morning Honey," he boomed in the best of spirits, "slept well? Let's see how you feel today." He bend down to kiss me on the mouth and at the same time he felt for my nipples, teasing and rolling them between his fingers. Oh, my, I thought, here I go again, as the sensations he aroused began to overwhelm me. My cock started to grow. His hands caressed my corset, following its curves downward. Then he pushed away the covers and mounted me, my head between his knees, facing my thighs, his cock dangling right over my mouth. No words were needed. My hands were still tied behind me, and I had no choice. I wanted no choice. As I took the crown of his cock between my lips and began to suck on it, I only wished I could also hold and caress him.

He then busied himself stroking my cock and fingerfucking my ass, slowly, stroking and fingerfucking, over and over. I raised my ass higher towards like a bitch in heat, and when I felt his orgasm getting near I stopped sucking, because I wanted more before he came. I wanted much more. He got up and took some cold cream from the vanity, and spread it lovingly on my ass, then raised my legs over his shoulders and pressed his cock into my rear pussy. With all that cream, he slid into me with hardly any pressure. It felt heavenly, like a great soft banana squeezed deep into my slippery innards. Then he stuffed a pillow under my ass to raise it more, and that took most of the pressure off my arms, still bound behind me. It was so erotic, my feeling of utterly helplessness. I was completely in his power, and I submitted altogether. My world became his lips on my nipples and his cock pushing itself deep into my ass. I tried to grip him with my sphincter muscles and hold him deep inside, but he was too slithery. He plunged in and out at will, and I moaned in frustration each time he withdrew, then cried out for joy when he returned and filled me again. I didn't know it was possible, but by the time his seed spurted deep inside me I was coiled into a tremendous orgasm, every muscle tensed, and shrieking as loud as I could in my new soprano voice, altogether out of my mind. I was utterly his!

We then lay quite still while I tried to recover. Steve had done most of the lovemaking, but even so, the tight corset restricted my breathing, and I was panting as though I had done all the work. Funny, I thought, even though the corset was uncomfortable and restrained me in many ways, it seemed to heighten the pleasure of sex remarkably. When I compared my first encounter with Steve with these sessions, with me wearing my corset, I had to admit that everything felt much more intense. Maybe it compressed everything inside me, so Steve's cock could stimulate more of the right places. If this was also true for women, then modern women had given up extraordinary pleasure in exchange for comfort, and the Victorian ancestors they usually pitied for their subservience were better off in this respect at least. I made a note to talk to Bea about it.

After a while Steve turned and shoved his cold cream and cum-streaked cock into my face. I was delighted to begin licking it clean, and within minutes he had produced another boner. I didn't want to let him go this time, so I licked and sucked until he came again. He then fell down beside me to rest. But before he closed his eyes he untied my wrists, finally undid the corset laces, and then sent me off to the bath-room.

Looking into the mirror, I was amazed to see that my face was made up perfectly, as if I'd just stepped out of Celeste's beauty-salon, except for some cum-streaks around my mouth, which I quickly wiped off. I took my time with what had become my morning routine. First I cleansed my innards with a generous enema, and meanwhile I drew a warm bath laced with an aromatic bath-oil. Then I luxuriated in the warm water for a long time, taking care that my hair stayed dry. I brushed myself clean under water with a stiff-bristled brush, massaging my skin everywhere, and meanwhile I replayed in my mind our glorious lovemaking. These memories had a visible effect on me, and I played for a while with my hardened nipples and my cock.

Then I got out and dried myself with a wonderfully soft, warm towel, and sat down to brush out my hair. I counted more than a hundred strokes before I felt that I had done my whole head adequately. Then looking into the mirror I arranged my loose curls, brushing them back here, pulling some out there, teasing one lock and combing down another, until I was satisfied with the overall effect. Celeste's prediction was accurate, my hair did look freshly styled. I felt beautiful, perfect. Walking to the door, a thought suddenly struck me, and I went back, took a big blob of vaseline from the jar in the cabinet, and massaged it into my asshole. 'If a girl spends a whole day with her lover,' I thought, 'Anything can happen, and she had better be prepared.'

The better part of an hour must have gone by before I came back to my bed-room. I found Steve in T-shirt and jeans busily fastening something to the wall opposite the closet. I saw he had just fastened two pulleys to the ceiling, one close to the wall, one about five feet from it. A cord passed through both, one end with a special hook dangling down, the other end leading down the wall to the motor-driven winch Steve was just bolting down. I looked at him questioningly. He grinned, proud as if he had accomplished a major feat. "It's a lacing bar. Let me show you." He picked up a bar that looked like a trapeze and connected it to the hook hanging down from the ceiling. "Come here, grab the trapeze." When I did, he pushed a button and the motor-winch pulled it up till I stood on my tip-toes. Then he stopped it and started putting my Victorian corset around me again. "Oh no, please," I objected, and I let the trapeze go.

"I have my instructions from Bea," Steve said, amused by my resistance. "She specifically asked me to lace you into it for the whole time I'm here, and I've already given you a long rest period. If you don't want to risk her displeasure, you'd better let me do it. I won't force you, but I'm sure you want to do what she wants of your own free will. Come on now, give me your hands." He looked at me steadily.

I lost all will to resist when I looked into his eyes, transfixed like a rabbit by a snake. I hesitated, then offered him my hands reluctantly. He took them and kissed each one, then in a few seconds they were strapped to the bar, which was on its way up again. When I was again on tip-toes, Steve replaced the corset and started to tighten its laces. "Please, Steve," I pleaded with little hope, "Don't lace it so tight, let me have a little more room to breath, please Steve it feels awful when it's laced entirely closed, please Steve, I beg you, pretty please ..."

He just hauled away on the laces. "Listen sweety, you are far too noisy about things that are going to happen whatever you may wish," he said. "I do what I have to do." He bent down to his bag and picked up something I couldn't see. "Open your mouth, Honey." I was just about to start another round of complaints, but before I could utter a word, he shoved a ball into my mouth that was fastened to a broad leather strap. It disappeared completely into my mouth, filling it and firmly holding down my tongue. I could almost close my mouth over it, but that didn't help me, because the padded strap sealed off all the air as well as any sounds that found their way around the ball. Steve gave the strap a good tug, then buckled it and snugged it down. I could only hum through my nose. The beast!

He returned to lacing me into that instrument of torture. I gave in -- struggle only hurt my strapped wrists. In five leisurely minutes he had me breathless again.

"Listen," he began, "Now you have two choices. Either you promise to behave and do what you're told, with no whining or protesting, or else I'll just leave you here. I'll be very nice, and I'll even put your high heels on your feet to take some strain off your toes. It's your choice. But if you promise to obey me, you'll have to obey me all week-end long. Or else I'll string you up a little higher with no shoes. So take your pick. Shall I leave you here?"

I frantically shook my head.

"Then you will promise to be a good girl and obey me implicitly, whatever I may ask of you?"

I hesitated for a moment, unwilling to surrender so completely. "OK, have it your way." He turned away from me and started to leave. "HMMM HMMM HM HM HM HMMM HMMM!" I was near panic. "Oh," he asked turning back again, "Have you changed your mind? Will you behave?"

I was glad he had turned back, but I wanted to negotiate, and I felt frustrated that I was reduced to either 'yes' or 'no'. I wanted to argue my case, to get him to accept certain conditions. But that damned gag ended all discussion before it began. He started turning away from me again. "HHHMMM, HMMM!" "So? Do you agree to be an obedient and docile girl for the rest of the week-end?" I had to give in, and nodded slowly. He let down the trapeze and unstrapped me from it.

"I want you to remain gagged for now. Your hands are free, and you could take off the gag, but I want you to keep it on. Right now you only need to listen to me and nod 'yes', and the gag won't prevent that." I nodded. "Go put on a nice dress and heels and come downstairs then."

It was a strange feeling, selecting a dress, putting it on, and slipping into a pair of high heels all the while my mouth was filled with a gag I could remove at any time. Why didn't I remove it? Did I want to, but was afraid? What was I afraid of? He would never have harmed me physically, certainly. Was I beginning to enjoy submitting in my own house to a lover acting under my wife's orders?

I selected a flowing floor-length hostess gown made of red taffeta with large roses printed on it. It had its own layers of two petticoats, also taffeta, and my every move was accompanied by a lovely rustling of skirts. The dress buttoned in front all the way from my bust, where it showed a lot of cleavage, down to the floor. I left the lowest four buttons open to show a bit of black petticoat, I don't know why, but it felt more seductive that way. That may also be why I selected my red 5 inch heels to wear with it. I checked myself in the mirror -- my face was perfect, of course, and my hair was still neat. So I swivelled downstairs, swinging my hips, my skirts swaying and swishing.

Steve sat at the coffee-table holding a mug of coffee, and he eyed me appreciatively. Was there a growing bulge in his jeans? I sat down in a straight backed chair opposite him. Experience had already taught me that my corset made any other kind of chair uncomfortable, and made getting out of them impossible.

I had no idea what he had in mind, and sat quietly, waiting. He finished his coffee, and took his time about it. Then when he finally spoke, his voice was firm and decisive. "Now we talk about your adaption to life as a woman," he said.

I started to protest that I was still a man, but the gag prevented me from saying it. It didn't matter. Steve already knew what I would have said. He continued, "Up to last week you were still a man, Henry, whom Bea had trained to wear dresses and walk and move like a woman. Maybe you were still a man when I first slipped my prick into you, even, though you could have fooled me the way you squeezed onto me and pumped like a bitch in heat. But this is different. Now for the foreseeable future you will have to live as a woman, not as a man masquerading as a woman. As a man you were taught to be competitive, assertive, decisive, dominant. Society expected it from you, and you had to adapt. Bea tells me you weren't especially good at it in your relationship with her, but you tried. Now, as a woman Bea wants you to be the exact opposite, cooperative, shy and hesitant, submissive. We will have to eliminate your male traits and supplant them with these female traits. This would be a very long process ordinarily. But we don't have time, because your life as a woman has already begun. You've got to learn these things immediately if you're to be the woman Bea wants her husband to be, and if you're to be undetectable as a mock woman when you go to work for Pearl. So you need a crash course in feminine submission. Do you follow me so far?"

It seemed logical, so I nodded.

"The first thing to learn is what I call anticipated obedience. You must read the desires in another person's eyes, and fulfill them even before they can be spoken, fulfill them completely, whatever they may be. Sometimes you'll need to overcome feelings of embarrassment or humiliation at some of them, but that is the very basis of submission, and submitting to your lovers' desires must become your glory. Agreed?"

Again I nodded. It sounded strange, but it made sense. If I had to live as a woman, I had to be slavishly submissive if only to compensate for my inherent masculinity. I was glad that this servitude was for only a limited period of time, and that then I would revert to being a man again. It might even be a valuable experience, because when it ended I would know how women think and react in all kinds of circumstances. That would probably help me in my later dealings with women. Certainly it was good for my relationship with Bea. In the past she had complained that I was sometimes inconsiderate, and ignored her feelings, and I had no idea what she was talking about. Now I would learn.

"All right, now for the practical training. Up until now, whenever we have made love, I have always had to lubricate you first. This can inhibit any romantic feelings I may have for you. I know you'd love for me to rise on the crest of my desire for you. Wouldn't it be much nicer if you were always prepared, if your love-hole were always slippery?"

I beamed with pride as I stood up and raised my skirts and bent over, presenting him my ass for inspection.

"Well, that's wonderful! I see you've already figured it out for yourself! That deserves a reward! You may take off your gag."

I had trouble loosening the tightly buckled strap at my neck, but finally succeeded and pulled out the hug ball with a plop. I was still standing in front of him, but it suddenly occurred to me to curtsy and thank him. I did a slight curtsy, not deep enough to make a parody of it, and said "Thank you, dear Steve, that's very kind of you."

"You are welcome my dear," he said, "You learn fast. But please, always call me Sir, or Master Steve, or just Master." He consulted himself for a moment, and then smiled at me, ready to teach me his next lesson. "Now, if I found that your love-hole was too tight, you might get hurt if a really well-endowed lover should try to enter you. What would you suggest we do about this?"

I thought for a moment. "Maybe we should make love more often to train my little hole?"

"What a charming idea," Steve said, grinning openly. "But even I have my limitations. Let me tell you though, you're on the right track."

"A butt-plug?" I ventured cautiously, hoping I was wrong.

"Absolutely correct! My, you are quick! Yes I want you to wear a butt-plug from now on, all the time. I've brought you a few samples for different occasions. Here's a very ordinary one you may want to wear at Pearl's office. Nothing special, not uncomfortable, but also not very exciting. There are various sizes of this type to accommodate you as your training progresses."

"But this one here is a little more refined," he went on. "It has a rather thick head. Once it's pushed beyond the sphincter, it will not plop out by itself. The shaft behind it is very thin at the beginning, but widens to over two inches in diameter at the other end. Imagine what this one would do for you, when you sit down, or when you get up, or sit down again. Or whatever. Think about wearing it while driving cross country in a Jeep, bouncing up and down in your seat."

I just stared at it. I didn't know what to think. A self-fucking butt-plug!

"Or this one. It's rather long, and it contains a vibrator. It should be able to give you a lot of thrills when it's switched on. The best part of it is, it's radio-controlled. Some person holding the control-unit can give you a thrill any time at all! Imagine your feelings, standing in line at the bank, drawing out some cash, and while the teller counts it out for you this thing suddenly goes off. That would get you to smile, wouldn't it?"

I didn't know if that wouldn't just be very embarrassing, but thinking about it, my cock grew a little.

Steve noticed. "I see, you do find it something of a thrill, don't you, your most private feelings under someone else's control. Well, let's fit you with one right now. I'll start you with a small one today, but don't worry, we'll increase the size as soon as possible. You do want to be ready for anything, don't you?"

He made me get up and bend over the back of our overstuffed easy chair, and he threw my skirts over my head, and then proceeded to insert the plug. The "small" one must have been about the size of his cock. It felt just like his cock, and it stretched me somewhat. Well, I'd experienced his cock more than once, and I can't say I'd found it unpleasant. In fact, it was just grand. I was ecstatic for the few minutes it took him to seat it inside me. I wondered how I would manage with something his size constantly inside me. And he had spoken of even bigger ones. Oh, boy, what was I in for!

When the plug was well seated, Steve threaded a strap through a ring in front of my corset, carried it around through a hole in the butt plug's base, then drew it back to the same ring on my corset, and tightened and buckled it. No way would it come out on its own. I wondered at the Bea's ingenious planning. Those rings were there the whole time. I just hadn't noticed them.

"I've just buckled the straps," Steve said. "You can remove them any time you like. But I've got to warn you, if you remove them for any reason other than getting fucked or going to the toilet, I'll have to punish you. Then I'd have to lock the next ones on, make no mistake about it, and you can be sure the next ones will be a lot bigger, as big as your ass can tolerate without tearing, in fact. Then when you stretch out, the ones after that will be bigger still. I can make your asshole big enough so you'd never notice when I've gotten my whole fist and forearm inside you, if that's what you want. So do I have your cooperation?"

I vowed I would do as he had requested.

"Now a major thing," Steve continued. "We want you to feel helpless at all times, as a true submissive does. The dress you had on yesterday is perfect for that purpose. The dress you're wearing now gives you too much freedom. You need to be restrained.. Do you have any suggestions how? Think about it for a moment, then tell me."

I was confused. What was he asking for? That I should feel restrained? But how? Maybe the way I went to bed last night, hands tied behind my back? Nothing else occurred to me, so I hesitantly asked, "Would you like to tie my wrists?"

"Exactly!" Steve said. "That's remarkable! You really are a true submissive!. Now turn around and give me your hands."

I again turned away from him and put my arms back. Within two seconds he had handcuffed my wrists. "End of first training session. I'll make us some lunch. But while I do, go over to the mirror and stand in front of it, and look at yourself. You don't have to speak now, so let me replace the gag. Open up, sweetheart."

What could I do? I opened my mouth and plop! -- the thing went in, and stopped up anything that I might have said. I walked over to the mirror as he had requested, and I looked at me. There I stood, wearing a stunning gown, perfectly made-up and styled, but with my hands locked behind me and my mouth gagged. I should have died then and there from humiliation. But instead, what I saw was a beautiful lady, bound, with a hard on pushing out the front of her skirt. Steve must have had more insight into my true nature than I did. I'd accepted my submission to him without a fight. I suppose I'd even asked for it, though I still couldn't believe what was happening. My asshole submitting to get stretched out to accommodate anything up to a fist? Why? But poking out in front was undeniable evidence that I loved what was going on.

I had been standing there for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, a gorgeous lady with an outstanding prick, when Steve called me into the kitchen. The smells drifting from the kitchen were delicious. It smelled like he was grilling a steak. "Lunch is ready!" he called out, and I went over to him, and offered him my shackled wrists, so he could release them. Instead he just unfastened my gag.

"Sit down, I'm going to feed you," he said. "You don't need your hands." I sat down obediently, and he set a big bowl of salad in front of me, garnished with a hard-boiled egg and some shrimps. Then came a plate with a big, juicy steak still sizzling from the oven. My mouth began to water.

He then started to feed me salad. Up came all kinds of lettuce leaves from the bowl, with now and then a meager shrimp or a piece of egg speared on the fork and thrust into my mouth. After he'd fed me a half-dozen mouthfuls, he set down my fork, picked up his own, picked up a steak knife in his other hand, and sliced into the steak on his plate. I watched juices drip from a huge slice as he cut into it, charred on the surface, then brown and pink, and still bright red in the center. He shoveled a few huge pieces into his mouth, then fed me another forkful of lettuce. I felt foolish not being allowed to eat by myself, waiting for him to feed me, and watching him devour his steak, and I told him so.

"Do I hear a complaint there?" he said, his mouth full, chewing away while he looked straight at me.

"No, no complaint at all," I said. "Just maybe could I have a bite of that steak too? I'm really hungry."

"I'm glad there's no complaint," Steve said, slicing another fork full and filling his mouth with it, "Because then I would have to gag you again. No, no steak for you, just vegetables." He chewed vigorously and kept talking. "You really have to lose a little weight. Everyone's agreed about that."

I wondered who this everyone was, who had decided I should be starved. But I was glad I had asked cautiously. I didn't want to seem complaining, and get gagged again. Maybe I could get at some food later.

When we were finished, Steve washed down his steak with a bottle of imported beer, and I rinsed down my salad with some Perrier. Then he took me upstairs to my room. "After a big meal like that, it's good to rest a little," he said. He stood behind me, and before I knew what he was doing, he had tied my elbows together with some kind of soft cloth or stocking. Not really tight, but they were snugged close together. "Now let me show you what else we can do with this lacing bar," he said. He let the bar down to the height of my crotch, and I began to worry. But suddenly he hooked a cord behind me between the bar and my handcuffs, then raised the bar and my arms, until I was bent way over from the hips with my ass pushed well back behind me for balance. "Now isn't this a sweet sight," he teased. He patted my obtruding rear end, and poked the butt plug once or twice to be sure it was still there, and no doubt to remind me it was still there.

Looking ahead into the mirror, I saw myself hanging absolutely helpless. This was my own house, and look at me! But I had to humor him. "Please, don't leave me like this," I begged. "I'll be a very good girl."

"I am absolutely certain of that," Steve said. "But I want to lie down for a while, so you need to keep out of trouble. I'll want to gag you again too, so I can get a little sleep. But I'm not inconsiderate. I'll see that you enjoy this little interlude."

He approached me with the gag again, and I opened wide for fear of provoking his wrath, and he filled my mouth with it again. Then he pulled my skirts up behind me and busied himself at my backside. I felt the butt plug being removed, and sighed with relief as the pressure in my rear end eased. But he immediately inserted another one, bigger this time, in both circumference and length. It really filled me, deep into my abdomen, and when he refastened the strap it was pushed even deeper into me, and I could feel it touching a very sensitive part of my prostate.

"OK, girly, now have fun," he said, and threw a switch on a controller in his right hand. Immediately the damned thing began to whirl and vibrate in my ass, and my ass began to whirl and twist in response. "I'll be back after a wink, don't go away, just hang in there!" he said with a grin, and he was gone.

I stomped my feet in protest, but there was no one to see or hear me. My ass wriggled, and I began to dance a wild fandango on my toes, my arms still pulled up behind me. But he didn't come back.

So I tried to find a comfortable position. I tried to move forward to straighten up a little, but this put even greater strain on my arms. I tried to bend further forward to relieve the strain, but then the whorling thing in my ass pressed against my prostate, and I could feel sexual tension begin to mount up. I tried to stand on my toes, but my five-inch-heels already had me there. Finally I gave up, and just swayed and wriggled back and forth, changing the strain constantly. The vibrator in my ass began to drive me crazy. I couldn't stop it! It drove me higher and higher toward a need for release, but no release ever came! I tried every position available in order to bring on an orgasm, but nothing worked! Nothing!

After about ten minutes of dancing the batteries seemed to give out, and I found myself just hanging there, unsatisfied and horny as hell. During the whole time I could see myself in the mirror, a pretty girl gagged and strung up in a beautiful dress, my ass shoved way out and wriggling provocatively, my body writhing as if in heat.

I must have hung there another ten minutes before Steve returned, yawning and stretching himself. "Well my dear, did you have a good rest too?"

I wanted to glare at him, but he kept behind me, loosened the butt-plug straps, and pulled the thing out of my bottom. What a relief! "You seem to be quite agitated," he said, amused. "We'll have to think of something to loosen you up."

Then he bent over me from behind and grabbed my tits, playing with my nipples, careful not to put more strain on my arms. My head reared back as pleasure spread across me, and I wriggled my naked ass back into his crotch. I could feel his erection against my gaping ass hole.

"Such a hot little girl," he muttered, partly to himself, partly to tease me for my eagerness, but suddenly he shoved his whole prick into me and started pumping. That delight lasted only a few seconds, it seemed, because almost immediately I found myself squirting into the room while his hot cum gushed deep into my ass. Oh what bliss!

He then loosened the rope and disconnected it from my hand-cuffs, and I slumped into his arms, my wrists still pinned behind me. I would have fallen if he hadn't hugged me tightly. Then he picked me up and laid me on the bed, still handcuffed and gagged. Despite everything I felt a surge of gratitude toward him. He took such good care of me! He was so sweet! He kissed me on my cheek and said "Rest a little, my love, and I'll take care of the dishes." I fell asleep before he was out the door.

When I woke up I went downstairs and found him sitting in the living room, reading a newspaper. He looked up inquiringly, but said nothing. I hummed and gestured that I had to go to the bathroom, and he nodded, ungagged me, and released my wrists without getting out of his chair. I shot upstairs, stripped, and cleaned myself thoroughly. My ass was stretched open and still leaking Steve's cum, so I gave myself an enema, thinking to myself that it was now more like a douche, as Bea had described it all along, and then I re-lubricated my rear end as Steve had requested earlier. I even brushed my teeth. As before, my makeup was still perfect. I changed to a clean skirt and blouse, dabbed a little powder over my nose, and stroked some perfume onto my wrists and throat. I brushed out my hair, and found I looked great. Quite content with myself, I went down again.

As I re-entered the living room, Steve pointed silently to the gag and the handcuffs. I understood him. He wanted me to gag and cuff myself. It was a little humiliating, but Bea had put me into his power to teach me obedience, so I obeyed. I pulled the gag strap tight behind my neck and closed the handcuffs behind my back, then stood in front of Steve, waiting. He gestured for me to move closer, tested the gag strap's tightness, and pulled it in one more notch. "Always wear it real tight," he said, "Or it won't function properly." Then he reached into a box alongside him, pulled out a long, fat butt plug, and stuffed it into me. Each time I seemed to be graduating to larger sizes. Then I just stood there, for perhaps a half-hour, perhaps longer, while Steve read more of the paper and acted as if I weren't there at all.

Finally he finished, set the paper aside, and motioned for me to sit down on the couch. He then told me a little more about what was happening.

"You already know that Bea wants you to be a woman for the foreseeable future, and you know something about the kind of woman she wants you to become right now. You saw it in the mirror when they finished with you in the beauty salon. Ideally, a big-haired, empty headed bimbo, obedient to Bea's least wish and to anyone else she places over you, even Pearl, uncomplaining, grateful to whoever fucks your ass and squeezes your tits, a neat, serviceable slut who keeps herself clean and does what she's told. As Henry you were part way there -- there wasn't much you wanted for yourself, or could even think of wanting. Now as Honey you're learning to want nothing but to please others, to do what they want. That's what Bea wants from you."

"And what Bea wants you will give her. From now on you are hers, her property, her chattel, body and soul. She'll care for you and see that nothing bad happens to you, because she does love you, and she does intend for you to serve her purposes. Your life will be sheltered, but also exciting. Bea is planning to be promiscuous sexually with no complaint from you, as you already know, and as you know she wants you to enjoy yourself the same way. Well, not exactly the same way. She means to call the shots. What that means is, you can have as many lovers as you want, because she intends to have as many as she wants. She'll even help you find them. Of course, with your looks your lovers will all be men. That's how she wants it. That's why she's making you into the kind of woman men love to take to bed, beautiful, compliant, a little adventuresome, always grateful, no threat to their minds or their egos. Bea intends to remain the only woman in your life, and don't ever forget that."

I didn't know what to say to this, even if I had been able, which I wasn't. Obviously, Steve assumed I was there to listen and to accept what I was being told.

He then enlarged on what Bea had called her philosophy of a good marriage, things she couldn't tell me earlier or I'd never have agreed to become what I now was, but things she wanted me to know now that I'd become what I was.

"She'll tell you herself when she gets the chance," Steve said. "More than a year ago, she decided that you had dominated her long enough, for the whole twenty years you've been married in fact. Now for the next twenty years she'll be in charge. She feels it's her turn. Probably you're thinking you'll find a way to become a man again soon, or eventually. Well, don't count on it.

Steve continued, "If that's how Bea sees it, there's very little you can say in your own defense. I imagine you never intentionally dominated her, that you always thought you were pretty much equal, that you made all of your decisions together. But since Bea feels otherwise, you probably do have to give her a chance to catch up. And if you look at your situation realistically, you've got no way to object to her plans for you any more anyway."

As Steve talked, I saw he was right. So I resolved to agree with Bea, and make the best of it. Sometime in the future, she'd feel she had gotten her equal time, and then we could really be equals. I just had to sit it out, and wait for my time to roll around again.

In the meantime why not enjoy what I've got? I now have an attractive female body. Though I'd never dreamed I could enjoy sex with a man, Bea and Steve had already taught me otherwise. Maybe Bea knew more about me than I had known about myself.

But I made up my mind about one thing. Sex with men would be the exception for me, not the rule. First and foremost I loved women, and most of all Bea, and today I wanted her more than ever. I could accept that she wanted to experience other lovers besides me, the same way I could accept that she wanted to experience loving me as a woman as well as loving me as a man. Variety, as they say, is the spice of life. So why not let her sample other varieties? It even excited me to know that right now she was probably in the arms of another man, because I knew she would always come back to me. As long as I did what she wanted. I began pondering how to deal with the fact that she wanted me to have sex with lots of men, even though I didn't want to. And lots of sex with Steve, which I loved. No answers came to me.

It was getting dark when Steve ran out of words. We sat in the gloom for a short while. Then Steve roused himself, glanced at his watch, and suggested we go out to see a movie. He took off my gag and handcuffs and sent me upstairs to change. "Wear a real short skirt this time," he said. "And push that larger dildo into you. We won't be able to fuck, but I don't want you to feel deprived."

I complied with his wish, and came down with a very short pleated skirt and a dark blue wool sweater, over which I had hung a long blazer. The skirt showed only about two inches below the jacket. Walking with a big dildo up my rear gave my hips the most salacious swinging motion -- I loved it! Steve took the blazer off, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he put the handcuffs back on me. And as if it was the most natural thing in the world, I let him do it without the slightest protest. He draped the blazer back over my shoulders, and we left.

And we sat through the movie like two teenagers with heavy crushes on each other. We sat in the back, ate popcorn which he fed me, drank a coke he held to my lips, and enjoyed the film. During the big love scenes he caressed my thighs above the tops of my stockings, and I got so excited I leaned over to kiss him, and to let him kiss me. More than once. I wanted to go down on him, to wrap my lips around his delicious penis, but he restrained me. "Now honey," he said gently. "Behave yourself!"

After the movie he took me to a little Italian restaurant, where he was obviously well known. We had pasta. He ordered what he wanted, and fed me from his plate, and all the while refused to release my bonds. "I can't take the cuffs off, I left the key at home," he said. I knew this wasn't true, but I could no longer object to remaining helpless in his company. Nobody seemed to care about our strange behavior anyway. Others all around us, all of them couples, were completely occupied with themselves. This restaurant seemed to be popular with people who were in love with each other. After an espresso we went home, and nobody gave us a second glance.

That night I was allowed into the master bedroom, corseted as usual and with my hands still tied behind my back. That did not deter Steve from making love to me in every possible way. But this time he made it a point not to come in my ass. He saved his cum for my mouth, and when I came in his mouth he saved it all for me, and then fed it back to me with his kisses. I swallowed a lot of cum that night.

We spent Sunday leisurely, like young people in love. He took me boating on a pond in the park, again with my hands cuffed behind my back, and with a really huge butt plug in my backside, the biggest yet. And he kept me cuffed all day long. Steve wanted me to get used to the feeling, he said, because I would be spending a lot of time like that in the future. Well, I thought, I will have to take this up with Bea when the time comes.

After a nice picnic lunch by the pond, sitting among many other people, Steve took me home. I don't know if anyone noticed my predicament. None of them said anything, anyway. When we arrived back at the house, Steve just kissed me goodbye on the doorstep, opened the door for me, turned, and left. I invited him in, but he just grinned and waved, got into his car, and drove off without looking back. So there I was, alone in the big house, my hands fettered behind me, waiting for my wife to come home.

Chapter Eight: Bea's Weekend

(in which his wife tells our heroine what she's done)

The women arrived around four o'clock, bubbling over with excitement. Pearl was anxious to get home, so they just helped Bea carry her bags into the house, and then left. Bea greeted me as if we hadn't seen each other for ages, and kissed me deeply. She tasted funny. Was it another man's cum lingering in her mouth? Or had she eaten something strange? She wasn't the least bit surprised to find me in handcuffs. "Come into my bedroom" She said, "I have so much to tell you." She literally dragged me upstairs.

"Bea, would you release me now, please?" I asked her as she sat me down in her overstuffed divan chair and sat down on her bed.

"No, sweetheart, not now. Didn't Steve explain it to you? I want to tell you all about the different men who fucked me, and how they felt when they held me with their cocks stuffed deep into me, and how they moved inside me, and what I did to them. And I want you to feel absolutely helpless while I tell you. I want to make you feel as jealous of me as you can be! I want you to positively twist and writhe."

"Not jealous because they fucked me, my darling, dearest girlfriend. Not jealous because you're my husband, and husbands think they own their wives. Not at all! You know we're in a new kind of relationship now, don't you, and you've accepted it with pleasure, haven't you? We've both had our lovers over this past weekend, haven't we?"

And she gave me such a dazzling conspiratorial smile that I had to smile back at her, and my rear end squeezed tight onto my butt plug as my mind recalled the ways Steve had used me.

"No, I want you to feel jealous because I had so many more lovers than you did, and you didn't get to fuck them too. Are those handcuffs comfortable? Good! Those men were such wonderful lovers, my dear, and each one so very different. All of them with much bigger cocks than yours, darling, and much more stamina, and they made love so much more imaginatively than you ever did when you were still a man. Are you wearing one of those butt plugs right now that's bigger than your own cock? I told Steve I wanted you to finish the weekend with a really large one tucked into you. That's nice. Steve is bigger than you are, as I'm sure you know, but it's especially nice that right now you're stuffed in back with much bigger equipment than you've got dangling in front. It lets you know what you're good for."

She looked over at me smugly, visibly pleased with herself. "I've given you such a wonderful gift, darling! Aren't you happy that your modest endowment doesn't matter any more, that for you from now on, a man with a bigger cock is not a rival but a potential lover, someone who can satisfy your sexual needs when you submit your body to him? And I've been thinking of you the whole time! I even made sure to suck off each one of my lovers, so I could teach you the different techniques that seem to work best with different size pricks. You can never tell when you'll need to know things like that, can you, my dear sweet little husband-girl. Oh, it's so good to be back with you again! You look so pretty! You'll have to tell me all about your weekend. But first I want to tell you about mine."

She kicked off her shoes and lay back on the bed, staring dreamily up at the ceiling. "I met my first man even before we pulled up to the main building to check in. He was down the hill by the main gate, talking with a caretaker who lived in the gate house, and as our car stopped to be checked in he winked at us, three good-looking women obviously looking forward to a few days of fun. He was pretty good-looking himself, with a chestful of curly blonde hair, and tight shorts, and all over he was gleaming with sweat. I guess he'd been out jogging. Kay and Pearl looked at each other, and then at me, and Pearl said, 'Bea honey, this one's for you. We've both caught lots of fish, but you're new at it. No time like the present! We'll check you into your room and get your baggage stowed.'"

"Well, I had a plan figured out even before I finished getting out of the car. Pearl pulled away, and I walked over to the caretaker as if the jogger didn't exist."

"'Can I help you, ma'am?' he asked me."

"'Yes, you can,' I said. 'Have any really terrific studs checked in yet this weekend? I don't like wasting my time with second raters.' And I glance at my gleaming blonde, my fish, and then I give the caretaker a big smile. 'You know what I mean.' Then I glance again at my blonde fish, and sure enough, he's already wriggling, trying to edge into the conversation. So I coolly turn my shoulder away from him, and add, 'Are there any regulars up yet, men who expect to stay up for the weekend and who come often?' I placed my hand on the caretaker's arm and leaned into his face, still smiling. He looked a little uncomfortable."

"Well, I'd read that only the bellhops and the waitresses were allowed to service hotel guests, and only if asked to do it directly and unambiguously. They're specially trained for it, and medically tested regularly. All the other staff are strictly forbidden. So I knew the caretaker was no problem for me. Anyhow, he had a big beer belly that hung way down over his cock. I'll want to try out a man like that some day, to see if his weight gives a little extra heft to his moves when he's inside me. But not yet."

"By now, Mr. Jogger is in trouble. Did I mention that his shorts were tight? Well, he's got a boner you wouldn't believe. Even I didn't believe it. Another glance over at him, as if he's bothering the two of us and I want him to go away, and this time I notice his huge bulge. In fact the whole head of his cock has poked above his belt-line. It's a huge purple dome the size of an apple, and his T shirt doesn't even begin to conceal it. Now that's really flattering to a girl, you know? I began to get really wet down under, you know? I mean, I knew I'd have to stop teasing him, or I'd start dripping and splashing all over the floor!"

"Well, golden boy comes to the rescue. 'Ma'am,' he says a little timidly. 'This is my first time here, but maybe I can show you the way.'"

"I looked him over, the way Mae West used to look over her next piece of meat, from head to foot and back again, then down to his crotch, then up into his face. 'Maybe,' I said, and I reached for that huge knob sticking above his pants, and I pulled it toward me like a gear shift lever. 'C'mon, let's see.' And I led him away up hill a little distance and into the woods, the same way I'd lead a dog on a short leash. In fact later that weekend we had dinner together -- I ate dinner while he crawled under the table and ate me -- and I suggested that he get a cock ring installed for clipping on a dog leash, so it would be easier to lead him around by his prick. He said his girlfriend back home meant to do just that with him. She wanted to take him to concerts and dinners by a leash sticking out of his fly, so she could tug on him to make him keep up with her. After his session with me, he said, he had decided to let her do it."

"Well, it turned out he was as submissive as you are, dear, but much better trained,. When we got to a secluded part of the woods I let go of his cock and turned, and just stood there looking at him, to see what he'd do. Immediately he dropped to his knees, and lowered his head. So I just spread my feet apart, and put my hands on my hips, and thrust my pelvis at him, and asked who had taught him to do that. He told me it was his girlfriend. I asked how his girlfriend felt about his servicing other women. He said she was angry with him, and had ordered him to please as many women as he could during this weekend, to learn to respect them better. Then he lifted his face and leaned way back, and I stepped forward a little, and straddled his head, and there we were. He's on his knees facing straight up, and I'm straddling his face, looking down into his eyes. He started to suck on my snatch, his tongue working into me as if it were the strongest and longest muscle in his body, his eyes looking straight up into mine the whole time, imploring my approval, as if every moment he was worried I might not be pleased with him. When he found my clit and diddled it with his tongue, I came, and I suppose I did gush real fluids into his mouth, because he was making loud slurping noises all through the next two times I came. Later on, when we were walking back to the hotel, he told me that his girlfriend loved to have him drink up her pee mixed in with her cum juices, and he wondered why I hadn't honored him the same way, by pissing into his mouth. I told him if I meant to use anyone as a toilet it would be my husband. You see, darling, I was thinking of you the whole time."

"Anyhow, after a while I took pity on him, though I'm sure that tongue of his could have gone on and on. I gestured that he should lie on his back, and he did, and lower his shorts, and he did, and I tried to lower myself onto that huge purple knob. Well! It was almost embarrassing! If it hadn't been for Bob, a week or so ago, when the girls gave him to me as my birthday treat, you remember, the same night I gave you Steve, you remember I'm sure, well, if it weren't for Bob I'd never have fit. Your prick certainly never prepared me for anything like this!"

"I was wet enough, and I sat down on him very carefully, and I pushed myself onto him very slowly, but even so I could take him only an inch at a time, and then I had to pause to stretch out. A few times I feared I'd split wide open. It was like having a baby, I imagine, only in reverse. He wasn't very long, or I really might have split wide open, but he had the thickest cock I saw during the whole weekend. When he was altogether inside me, I felt the way a female dog does when the male's knob has swelled up in her and he can't withdraw, you know? I couldn't move. But it didn't matter, because he thrust at me a few times and came, and then with his cum oozing all over both of us we both came again. I think he had three orgasms, and I never stopped having one after another, wave after wave, for the whole hour we were welded together. And all with me scarcely moving!"

"You know, dear, when you were Henry, you didn't even begin to measure up to that man. It's as if you were a different species. That little prick of yours could diddle me all right, and sometimes bring me off, and I love having it around, and I mean to use it from time to time, but trust me, dear, you're much better off being a woman. You've made the right decision."

I started to protest that I had never made any such decision, but Bea had returned to her story, her face dreamily recollecting.

"He never got soft until after the last one, when he came out of me with a funny 'plurp' sound, and I decided that was enough for one afternoon. So I sat down on his face, and he licked me clean enough so I could walk without leaking. But I saved a lot of his cum inside me for you, dear. Later I let it drain into some new nylon panties I bought just for that purpose, and I put it in a baggy in my valise over there. Those panties will be your night-time gags all this week, so you'll know how my men tasted. You see, dear? I want to share everything. Anyhow, I licked and sucked his cock clean, and found I couldn't get my mouth onto him when he had gotten fully hard again. But licking the underside of that thick shaft brought him off. Remember that, darling, when some man's cock is much too big for even your mouth. In a way it was like trying to kiss the top of a fence post!"

"And you know something, Honey? It turned out that the whole time he was lying on his back and I was riding on top of him, his back was getting all scratched up by brambles and nettles underneath him. He must have been in real pain the whole time. When I saw how his skin was torn, I felt terrible for him. But he just laughed, and said that his girlfriend whips him all the time, that the pain adds a little extra spice when he's making love. Well, my dear, you may be quite sure, as I train you to become the girl I want to have for my husband, that I will never inflict pain on you. Never! Unless you need and deserve it, to punish you for disobeying me. But you never will, will you, darling. Come here!"

She sat up on the bed, and crooked her finger at me. I got up out of the divan chair and wiggled my butt over to her, very much aware of the butt plug in my rear, and much aware that her story had given me an erection. Then when I was directly in front of her I also dropped to my knees, I still don't know why. She seemed so self-confident, so deserving of my worship. "Oh, aren't you sweet!" Bea exclaimed, sounding charmed and delighted. She spread her legs so I could lean forward and kiss her slit through her panties, and I buried my face in her crotch. She held my head there for a moment, and kissed the top of my head, and patted me affectionately, as if I really were her beloved pet. I nuzzled her and looked up, and she motioned me back to my chair with her head, looking pleased.

"Well," she said. "I see that Steve has been busy with you. I'm so happy that you appreciate what I'm doing with you, my dear, and why, and what I'll want you to become as our marriage progresses. And that now you understand everything, or enough anyhow, for now. And that you don't mind some of the tricks I used to get you where you are now, especially when you didn't know what I really wanted."

I started to object that there were many things we needed to discuss, but again Bea wasn't listening. She lay back again on her bed, and started in again.

"Now, you'll appreciate how I arranged for my second really good fuck. The opportunity came about two hours later, during the cocktail hour, and I guess you could say that it continued through dinner. It seems that as a first-time visitor, the management arranged some special things for me --a bouquet of flowers in my room when I arrived, and a box of chocolates, and free access to the room's wet bar for the first night, and one of the Hotel's more dependable guests requested to look in and see if everything was OK."

"He was a doll! Short, a little shorter even than me, and cute as can be, with clean, chiseled features, and the nicest smile. His manner was a little shy and utterly charming. While I was putting away my clothes, and in fact just as I was stuffing my first pair of soaked panties into a baggy for you, there came a knock on the door, and when I opened it, his darling round head popped through and smiled at me and said, 'Hi, Bea! I'm Edgar! Call me Eddie! I'm a guest this weekend too. The management asked me to look in to see if you have everything you need. I tried to bring along your two friends, um, yes, Pearl and Kay, so we could have a kind of cocktail hour of our own, all together. But they're busy, and Kay told me to run along and tell you not to look for either of them until much later tonight.'"

"I opened the door wide and invited him in, and in he came, with a kind of jaunty dance step. I saw immediately what special kind of fun I could have with him, and I started right in. 'Eddie,' I said. 'You're just in time! Please, I need your advice! Which of these two dresses should I wear to dinner tonight?' I picked up two that were still lying on the bed, about to be hung in the closet, a rose chiffon, and a beaded black velvet with appliques, and I held them in front of me, first one, then the other. He looked admiringly at both.

"'Well, Bea,' Eddie said, 'They're very different, Are you feeling frivolous and feminine, sort of helpless, like the pink dress, or do you feel more controlling and severe, more of a femme fatale, like the black one?'"

"'I don't know,'" I said. "'Maybe you can help me decide.' I handed him the chiffon. 'Would you hold this up against you for a moment so I can see what the effect is?' Well, he was a little disconcerted, but he did it. 'Yes,' I said sort of vaguely. 'You know, Eddie, that's a good color for you. Does your wife like to dress you in rose?'"

"By now he was blushing, just as I'd hoped. 'No,' he said, 'My ex-wife didn't like to see me wear anything flowery, not even Hawaiian shirts. She wanted me to look like a real man.' He smiled and glanced at me, then looked away, blushing even deeper. This, I thought to myself, is a piece of cake!"

"'And if you were to wear that color, you wouldn't be a real man?' I asked, looking him steadily in the eyes. I decided to take the plunge. 'Let's see! I'll take this dress off, and my bra, and panties, and everything, and you put that dress on, with a bra, and panties, and everything, and then we'll see if you can still be a real man!' Eddie got so confused, the poor dear, that he just stood there with an odd smile on his face, looking at me, and looking away, and clutching the dress even closer to him. I don't know if anyone was ever propositioned like that before. I'm sure he hadn't been. Before he could come back to his senses I quickly laid out a bra and slip, and stockings and a garter belt, and the laciest panties I could find in a hurry, all at hand on the bed next to him. 'There you are, Eddie,' I said. 'If you're a man, welcome to Paradise!' And then very slowly, looking steadily at his eyes the whole time, I began to unbutton the top button on my dress."

"'I...uh...do you...?' he started to ask, but I just kept staring at him with my femme fatale smile, finished the top button, and began on the second."

"'I think I feel controlling and severe,' I said to him. 'I'll wear the black velvet to dinner. Do you feel frivolous and feminine and helpless? Will you accompany me tonight wearing that dress you're still holding? Can you make love to me in that dress right now, and then go to cocktails and dinner with me?' Then in a single movement I swept my dress off over my head, and then swept my hands down over my breasts, cupping them and lifting them, and preening myself up on tiptoe for a moment. Then I bent over, eyes still fixed on his, and reached for the hem of my slip. I knew he could see way down the cleft between my breasts."

"Well, my dearest hubby-girl, at that point Eddie turned to jelly, and he was mine. I wish I'd thought to do something like that with you a year ago, to get you into your first dress. But by that time, sex with me wouldn't have been enough incentive for you, I suppose. And you didn't need to prove to yourself that you were a man -- you thought you were one. Anyhow, Eddie gave out a little moan, and set the dress onto the bed, and started to unbuckle his pants. I waited until they were draped around his ankles, and then I came over to him and took his head between my hands and kissed him on the lips, slowly, and then I took off my slip and sat down on the bed just a few feet away, still looking directly at him. I'm sure he noticed that I was wearing a bra and nothing else, naked from the waist down, looking at him. His eyes fixed fascinated on my bush. I crossed my legs. 'Well?' I said?"

"Inside of a minute Eddie was stark naked. He picked up the bra and slung it around him, fastened it in front, turned it, cupped himself, pulled up the straps, straightened the bandeau in front, and reached for the panties. Well, well, I thought to myself. Eddie has done this before."

"'Stockings and garter belt first,' I said, 'Or your panties won't come off fast enough for you to fuck me while I'm available. Is the bra as comfortable as your others?"

"'Yes,' he said, blushing even deeper than before, if that was possible. 'How did you know that I have others?'"

"'Oh, we girls can always recognize each other,' I said. 'But unlike your wife, I like men who wear brassieres. In fact, I have a hubby at home I'm turning into a wife right now, and he loves it."

At this point I couldn't sit still any more. "Bea, listen!" I said. "I don't ...."

"Oh yes you do!" Bea said suddenly, sitting straight up and ... well, glaring at me for a moment, then softening again. "Henry, I'm telling you this story for a reason! I love you, and I especially love what I've made you, and I mean to go much further with you, as you'll soon find out. So far you've been understanding, and considerate, and you've gone along with everything. But don't think I can't feminize another man to my purposes, if you should decide you don't want me to make you the sweet, compliant, useful woman I know you can be. You do want to keep going with you, don't you?"

I wasn't sure what she meant by that last -- of course married people go with each other. Or did she mean turning me into Steve's fuckslut, or her own, or into whatever else she had in mind? So I just nodded.

"Say it, Henry!"

"Yes, Bea, I want you to keep going with me." And I did! And then out it came! "I need you, Bea!" I cried out to her. I was feeling strange about her jogger, and a little jealous of Eddie, and a little humiliated, and terribly vulnerable! If my hands weren't still cuffed behind me, I'd have wiped my eyes. They were filling with tears.

"Well that's just lovely, Honey!" Bea was moved when she heard how I said it, and saw how I felt. "Then rest assured, my precious. I will certainly keep going with you. We won't stop."

She relaxed and resumed her story. "Anyhow, Eddie got into the rose chiffon gown, and he looked so sweet, just like a girl going to her first prom. I put makeup on him, and he was in seventh heaven. A real transvestite, his dick getting rock hard just from the thought of putting on a dress or mascara, and I soon had him as pretty as could be in both. You know, his wife suspected, but she never knew. And when she finally found his cache of dresses and lingerie, she left him. Can you imagine? Walking out on a man who can maintain a practically permanent erection as long as he's dressed like a girl? So silly! So terribly wasteful!"

"Well, I kept my word and we made love a few times, but I was still so stretched out from my golden boy I couldn't feel Eddie, much. So I only came twice, after about an hour of steady screwing, only toward the end, when he was languishing and sighing and blissed out and finally starting to get soft. I was the first girl he'd ever fucked dressed as a girl, and he told me he was never again going to make love any other way. He developed such a crush on me! When we were finished, he wanted to lick me out, and he was terribly disappointed when I told him 'No'. But I wanted to save his cum for you, so I put on another fresh pair of panties and oozed into them all through cocktails and dinner, and then put them all damp and lovely into a baggie for you for tomorrow."

"I put on my black velvet gown and looked really svelte, and he dressed up as cute as could be in my chiffon, and ran down to buy a blonde wig from the beauty salon, and then he stayed dressed and by my side the whole weekend, my devoted servant, even when I was making love to other men. He got himself a complete new wardrobe and make-over for Saturday night. I spent Saturday night learning bondage tricks from a man who was a master at them, who had brought his very own slave, and I needed a slave to practice on. Eddie really was a born panty slave, no doubt of it! He went home this afternoon planning to throw out all his male clothes and begin a course of hormones and go all the way toward becoming a woman, all on his own. Maybe even try sex with men. He was so grateful that I'd liberated him, as he put it!"

"But you see, Honey, there's nothing for you to feel jealous about, that I had another girl picking up after me during the weekend, sucking me out, and slurping up cocks I'd wet down.. I wanted it to be you, remember. And it will be, dear. Trust me!"

It was getting dark out, and Bea's story still hadn't gotten to Friday evening, much less to Sunday afternoon, when the ladies' all kissed their gentlemen goodbye and went home to their husbands, and the gentlemen returned to their wives. Without saying a word, Bea took the key to the handcuffs out of her bedside drawer and released me, and the two of us went downstairs together. She went into the living room and began reading the Sunday newspaper, and I knew what was expected of me. I looked through the fridge and found that Steve had thought out even this moment. There was a note pointing to goose pate, crackers, and chilled wine, lobster salad, potato salad, two huge Italian club sandwiches, and the fixings for espresso coffee. I brought them all in on a tray, set them down on the coffee table in front of Bea, poured out the wine, and then unexpectedly, knelt down on the floor in front of my wife. And just as I had done when I came home from Celeste's committed to be a woman for a year like it or not, I started to cry. But this time once I started, I couldn't stop. I buried my face in her lap, and just kept sobbing, inconsolable.

Bea wasn't at all surprised. She remained seated on the couch, and she leaned over and stroked my head affectionately. "There, there," she said. "I know! It's all moving so fast for you, now. You think you've lost all control over things. But darling, you never did have control over things. You only thought you did. Trust me. Surrender yourself to me. I know what's best for the both of us. I'll tell you about the rest of my weekend some other time. There were a few more wonderful men, and I have their cum on my panties for you to share, and one wonderful pair of panties covered with the cum that leaked out of my ass. But you can taste them later. And you don't have to know now how else I was fucked, or by whom. We need to look to the future."

"Tomorrow you begin being Honey full time, and begin working for Pearl, and step into a whole new world. We have to get you ready. As her receptionist, you'll need to receive all kinds of clients for her. Let's just enjoy this delicious dinner you've brought in right now. All right?"

"And darling, tonight I want you to sleep with me. As a special treat, in my own bed. With your hands tied behind you, of course, because I want you to be thinking always about what you can't grasp for yourself, what you need me to do for you. I want you to feel helpless, the way you feel right now, and dependent on me. Don't worry, darling. I'll be smothering you in kisses all night. You're such a sweet angel! You're giving up everything for me, even some things you don't even know about yet. But I do. You'll understand soon. Just wait."

She held out a wine glass. "Here, dear. I'll leave your hands free for now, so if you want you can help yourself!"

I ate a few bites, and then cleaned up, and went upstairs with Bea, and prepared for bed, and slipped on a nightie, and then presented my wrists to her once again. She wrapped some kind of velcro band around them, nicer than the handcuffs, and I got into bed with my wife, and she comforted me. She told me how pretty I was, and caressed my breasts, and called me her darling girl, and her precious baby. I felt so very strange! I was no longer sure who I was, and when she gave me a pair of her cum-soaked panties, the jogger's she said, I sucked gratefully on them until I fell asleep. I remember thinking to myself that he tasted a little like Steve, but not a lot. She was sharing him with me. She was right. There was a whole new world out there.

Chapter Nine: Working Girl

(in which our heroine learns to whore for her employer)

.

"Wake up, curleytop! Time for you to fix us breakfast, and then to get dressed to go to work. Your face is already lovely, as always these days, though a little more eye shadow and mascara might be appropriate." Bea looked me over critically, then continued. "Oh, I'm so pleased you decided to get permanent makeup! Do you know yet which suit you'll wear? Remember, Pearl likes her women sexy but businesslike, so no blouse under your jacket. It should be an interesting day for you, dear, whatever you wear."

For a moment it seemed like old times, the two of us in bed together, except that Bea was uncommonly animated. In the old days, if she awoke ahead of me she'd just crawl out of bed and start her own day. Now I was expected to start her day for her.

"Hi!," I said. I felt a little like my old self. But instead of giving her a peck on the cheek, as was usual when she woke ahead of me in a good mood, I rolled over and asked, "Can you release my hands now?"

"Why of course dear!" she replied. "This morning you're a working girl. I'm certainly not willing to be cited for sexual harassment of a girl on the job."

"I'm not a girl," I muttered as I rubbed my wrists back to their usual comfort level, and looked at my long, beautifully finished nails, smooth and elegant with four coats of nail polish on them.

"Well, you lovely thing, you could have fooled me!"

I suppose she was right. I glanced in the mirror on my way to the bathroom, and there I was, my face as elegantly feminine as my nails, the red hair Celeste had given me tousled to match the bedroom look in my eyes, my lips pouting with that "fuck my mouth" look she and Bea thought so attractive. Well, I thought, Steve didn't mind my looking this way, not at all. So why should I? I took care of myself in the bathroom, shower, enema douche, tampon, the usual, and went down to start the coffee, thankful that my butt plug and training corset weren't on today's agenda. Bea came down in her peignoir, still reminiscing.

"Did I tell you I ran into Bob again at the hotel?" she asked. "Sunday morning. I barely had time to put on this very robe when he knocked on the door and came in, and told me how delighted he was to see my name on the guest register. Then in five minutes he had the gown off me and was into me. We had a wonderful, wonderful reunion. I was climbing all over him, just like that night when he was my birthday present from the girls. Do you remember how he tasted in me that first time? I've brought you a pair of my panties with his cum leaked into them, to remind you. But really, what I remember most about Bob isn't his taste, or even the size of his cock compared with your little thing. It's how he moves when he's inside you. It's mysterious, a sort of pulling back and yet at the same time plunging deeper, and terribly exciting. Look, I'm wet just thinking about it. I can't explain it. You'll just have to find out for yourself how it feels to have a man like that inside you."

I poured Bea the coffee I'd just made, and she warmed both hands on the cup. She was in a marvelous mood.

"Oh, Honey, you're wonderful!" she announced to me. "No other husband in the world would do what you're doing! You don't know how lovely it is that now I can talk about men with you, now that you're my very best girlfriend and we can talk about anything at all. It's like being a teenager all over again. And I haven't even given you a chance to tell me about Steve. Was he very hard on you, all that the obedience training I asked him to give you? You do need it, dear. And more. But if he was mean to you, did his lovemaking make up for it?"

"Bea," I said, "that's what I don't understand. He kept saying that you don't want me to be a man with you any more. But I'm still Henry, down underneath, and I will be again when this makeup wears off."

"Still Henry?" Bea said, the lilt in her voice a little subdued, her voice a little more serious. "With that voice? And those breasts? And that face? No, thank God, you're not. Don't even dream it, Honey dear. Henry doesn't live here any more. Steve's cock may have pushed into Henry's ass the night of my birthday party, but once it was buried there it performed magic. It turned Henry into Honey. Then when Steve's cock pulled out of her ass Honey took over the premises. Isn't that true? Was it Henry or Honey who spent this past weekend making love to Steve?"

"No, the only part of Henry I ever really loved is you, Honey. You were so buried in that pompous fool. it took me a whole year to find you inside him and bring you out into the open. Why in the world should you want to become Henry again? That boring excuse for a man! But now, just look at yourself! Gorgeous! I must say, I loved looking at you this morning before you woke up. My very own hubby turned into my very own luscious bimbo, and now getting ready for her first day as a working girl. I don't want to hear about Henry again. Which reminds me, you aren't wearing your training corset yet -- we'll need to go into your room to lace you into it. And did you insert your bigger butt plug this morning?"

"No, Bea, only a tampon!"

"Oh, my dear Honey! A tampon is for when you're having your periods! I'll tell you when. You need to wear your largest butt plug always, now that it fits you, unless I tell you to slip that big dildo into you instead for special occasions. You can never tell when you'll need to feel all stretched out and ready for anything. Now go upstairs and change, and get your training corset out, and I'll come up shortly to help you lace it up. I've already laid out your outfit for today."

"I'm sure Steve told you what I'm expecting from you. When you're a good girl, you'll find out how much I love you. When you're disobedient, you'll look back fondly to when Steve used only your vibrator to punish you. He was really just teasing you with it, but I won't be that soft-hearted. Now go upstairs and fix your hair." She stopped talking, and poured herself another cup of coffee. I had suddenly ceased to exist.

"Yes Bea," I said, got up, and went upstairs. I don't know if she even noticed. I remembered what Steve had said about lubrication, and was careful to use lots on the butt plug before inserting it. It slipped right in. Then with a few touches of the curling iron I fixed my hair back into piles of curls heaped up on each other. That style looked a little vulgar to me. All that curly elaboration seemed to be telling the world I'm willing to go to great lengths to look desirable and available, that I'm feminine and fuckable. But that's the hairdo Bea wanted for me, and that's what Celeste gave me. I slipped the corset over me, went over and put my hands on the stretching bar, and waited. Somehow, when I knew Bea was coming to help me, it didn't seem right just to sit and wait for her.

An hour later Bea was letting me out of the car on the block where Pearl had her offices. I was in a trim, close fitting lavender wool suit, with a jacket collar that plunged just past my bra, which peeked out from the deep V of my neckline. My skirt was just over calf length but slit up the back to way over the knees, the way Pearl wanted me to dress daily. She wanted me wearing minis only when I'd be used to close deals, whatever that meant. Bea had made me slather on tons of mascara and eye shadow! "You want to look mysterious, dear," she said. Then, on my permanently red lips she smeared a bright red lipstick with no subtlety whatever, glossy with gold flecks in it. As she dropped the tube in my purse she said "Use this often, Honey, every chance you get. Let men see you using it." When I protested it would stain anything it touched, she just smiled and said, "That's the point."

So there I was, dressed up like an office girl who was once a tramp, standing on the sidewalk, looking for the entrance to Pearl's building. Bea looked me over from behind the wheel, and of all things there was a sweet smile on her face.

"I feel as if I were sending my little girl off for her first day of school," she called to me. "You're going to learn so much. Be sure to tell me all about it when you get home. And don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Finally I saw Pearl's office building entrance on the far corner, at the other end of the block! Bea had deliberately let me off a distance away, to force me to strut my stuff. I was a little annoyed, but there was no place to hide, so I started down the street primly, clutching my purse to my chest. Then as Bea pulled away she called to me "Hips, girl, hips! Swing 'em!" Well, unfortunately, the butt plug I had in me also told me I was being too tight-assed, and it began to rub. So I had to take Bea's advice. By the time I reached the corner my hips were undulating like a pendulum, working women striding past me were glaring straight ahead, and cars in the street alongside were scarcely moving.

The door to Pearl's office suite was already open when I arrived, and Pearl was at her desk in her inner office. She called out, "Well, Henry, there you are! Stay right there, don't move! Bea's told me what she's done to you during the past week or so, and what Steve's been doing. I want to see for myself."

So I stood right there by the receptionist's desk, my desk I realized, clutching my purse with both hands and looking wide-eyed at her when she came into the waiting area. I realized that I should try to make a good impression. Pearl was my new boss, after all!

"Oh, sweetheart, don't look so frightened!" Pearl said. She threw me one narrow-eyed glance. "You'll do just fine." She herself was dressed in a gray pinstripe with a skirt that ended below her knees, and next to her I felt like a cartoon slut. But she was all business, "I'm not going to bite you, dear. Not me, anyhow. Even though you do look good enough to eat. I will never understand how Bea did it. There was Henry, a middle-aged executive, a senior partner in an important firm in town, and now here's Henry, who has never liked me, ready to be my brainless bimbo, all dressed up to spend the day on his back or his knees if that's what's required. It's wonderful, really."

"We've had this conversation already, Pearl," I said. "Knock it off! And I'm Honey, not Henry."

Suddenly I realized that was the old Henry speaking, barely tolerating his wife's friend and letting it show. Honey would never have the nerve to speak to her boss that way. I felt a pang of fright. Instinctively I put my fingers to my lips, shocked, and my eyes grew even wider. I looked at Pearl apprehensively. "Oops!" I said. "Oh, dear! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. Please forgive me, Pearl. I mean, I don't even know what I should call you. And what is it you want me to do? I'm so terribly sorry! Really!"

That reflex apology shocked me even more than my insolence of a moment earlier. But for a different reason. I had thought until that moment that I was playing at being Honey for the pleasure it gave Steve and Bea, and because they seemed not to want to see Henry ever again. But deep down I knew I was really Henry. Until that moment. But with that sardonic crack to Pearl, Henry suddenly felt so far out of place, and out of line, that I unwittingly switched him off and apologized for him, frightened. I really was Honey blathering that apology, not Henry. I had to wonder where Henry had gone, and whether Bea was right that he was dead, my body haunted by his ghost only now and then.

But even worse. Honey was apologizing to Pearl, of all of Bea's friends the one Henry held in contempt. Honey wanted Pearl's approval! And Honey was finding her mindless desire to please Pearl a comfort, and was taking refuge in it. And I was Honey!

Pearl sensed some of this, and suppressed her amusement. "As much change on the inside as on the outside, I see. And in only two weeks! Well!"

Then suddenly she became all business. "I'm glad to see you know your place, Honey. Just keep Henry out of the office -- he's not welcome. Your job is whatever I say it is, understood? Call me Mrs. Peters, and nothing else during business hours. This is your desk. That's your filing cabinet, if you're ever asked to file anything. You'll find the folders are in alphabetical order, top drawer to bottom drawer. The alphabet's as much intellectual work as you'll need to understand. On your desk is a Rolodex with names, also in alphabetical order, with descriptions of each of my clients you'll find useful. I expect that the moment one walks in you will look him up and read the entry, even before you page me to tell me he's arrived. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mrs Peters," I said. I still felt a little wide-eyed, a little terrified that I'd made a mistake the very first moment of my new job. Yet my new Boss didn't seem to mind. This time.

"Let me show you around and introduce you to the others. I share this office with three architects, named. oddly enough, Tom, Dick and Harry. Tom's father founded their business, and two ladies left over from his time are still working for the three of them. They're both way over fifty, and they do all the typing and filing. But if there's a work overload, you're expected to help out. I've arranged for Tom to try out your talents as a typist. You know how to work a word-processor?"

She saw my indignant look on my face. "Oh, of course, I forgot, Henry was a computer consultant. I really can't relate Henry's talents to yours, by the look of you now. Bea really must feel proud of what she's done with you! I doubt you appreciate it. But you will, dear, you will. In time!"

I didn't understand what she meant by that, but no matter. We stood in front of a door with the lettering 'Thomas Carrington' on it. After a short knock we entered. "Tom," Pearl said, "This is my new girl-of-all-trades, Honey. If you want to try her out, she is all yours now."

"Hello Honey, welcome to the chaos. You can see I'm not very tidy, and I hope you'll bring some sort of order into this mess. My ladies had too much work with a deadline during the past two weeks, and let things slip a little." Tom was a good-looking man in his mid-thirties and had the aura of a man in command.

"Yes, Mr. Carrington," I said, with as much wide-eyed sincerity as I could muster, "I'll be glad to help in any way I can."

"Let's do away with formalities," he said, looking me over with approval, I was glad to see. "Everybody here calls me Tom, and so should you."

"Thank you Tom. Do you have anything for me to do?"

"Yes, in fact I need to have this tape typed out," and he handed me a Dictaphone tape. "I want it back by lunch."

"I'll attend to it, if Mrs. Peters doesn't have other things for me to do."

"Even if I do," Pearl said. "We don't make our own schedules around here, do we Honey? We do what we're told, don't we. That's what Bea wants me to teach you, especially. So get used to it!"

Pearl steered me out, and we headed toward Dick McFadden and Harry Weingarten. There standing guard over their inner offices were their two elderly ladies, Nancy and Jane. They were as plain as their names suggested, but seemed to be lovable, motherly types.

"Hello," Nancy said. "I hear you're a man. Aren't you ashamed to be dressed like that, and to look like that?"

"Yes ma'am" I said truthfully. "A little. It's a kind of experiment. My wife wants it. She can get pretty determined, and in some ways I can't help doing whatever she wants. And in some ways I've found I enjoy looking and acting like this, if that's what she wants. There're advantages."

"Like getting laid by men?" Jane said. "Pearl told us about that. You can't have been much of a man, if that's what you enjoy now. It's probably just as well some woman's taken charge of you. Maybe you'll make a better woman. Of a certain kind, anyhow," she added, looking me over a little sternly.

Pearl continued with her tour of the office. "Over there's a coffee room, with a couch, and a carpet, and other useful amenities. Think of it as a private office, where you do some of your work when you're away from your desk. Look it over and get familiar with it. You'll find there's a lock on the door, and a key in your top desk drawer. Use it. There will be no embarrassing revelations while you're in there -- they're bad for business. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, though I didn't at all.

"Yes Mrs. Peters," Pearl snapped. "Didn't I just tell you it's Mrs. Peters and nothing else? You really are stupid, aren't you?"

She looked at me closely, and I was embarrassed to find I was blushing. This was really crazy! Who does Pearl think she is? But who do I think I am? I was confused, and tried to say "Yes, Mrs. Peters," but nothing came out.

"Well, Honey, I suppose you'll catch on soon enough. Do you think you can boil water?"

I nodded reassurance, too confused to resent the insult.

"Good! Put up a pot of coffee, and bring me a cup as soon as it's ready. Oh yes. You'll find your desk drawers have all the makeup and hairdo and manicure supplies you'll need during business hours. I'll expect you to be seen using them whenever you're at you're desk. Your job is to look as pretty as you can, what men in the construction trades think is pretty, and to look as if that's what you work at all day long. Have some kind of nail file ready to use if a customer should walk in unexpectedly. That red lipstick and a small mirror would be better still. The shade is perfect, incidentally. Bea's choice? Keep using it. I want to keep seeing that tube in your hand and your lips looking as if you meant to suck on it."

She turned to walk back into her inner office. "Bea's really done wonders with you, Honey. I hope you're grateful. I told her to dump you over a year ago, but she thought you were still usable, still worth keeping around for some things. She said she had her own reasons. Maybe she was right. We'll see. I want that coffee in five minutes!"

And she was gone. I went to the desk and set down my purse, and got the key, and opened the coffee room. It was practically a living room, though windowless. Over the couch was a portrait of a reclining nude woman, a Titian or Goya or somebody. There was also an easy chair, and over by the far wall, under a huge framed painting of Marilyn Monroe, a bar with a coffee maker and a small sink. I started the coffee going immediately. Exactly five minutes later I brought a cup of it in to Pearl, and she took it without bothering to look up from some papers she was reading.

I then sat down at the computer, and typed up Tom's tape in under an hour. I brought the typescripts over to him, and saw he was engaged in a screaming match with one of his contractors. He waved to leave the file on his desk and get out.

Five minutes later I heard him scream through the door. "Honey, get in here! Where are the copies?" When I got in, he started screaming at me for something I hadn't done, obviously, but I didn't understand what he meant. "Alright, I should have know by the way you look, you are just another dumb Bimbo. Now get out of here! I'll have to do everything myself -- as usual! GET OUT!"

I was close to tears as I left his office, but Jane consoled me. "It's just a matter of stress. He's had too much during the last week. He didn't tell you he wanted copies. He'll probably apologize in five minutes. Just go back to your desk, dear."

I did, and occupied myself with Pearl's filing system. Jane was right. About five minutes later my phone rang and Tom asked me to come in. When I entered his office, he was standing there. "I want to apologize, Honey, please have a seat."

He motioned me to the leather couch, and when I sat down he sat down next to me.

"Jane has already told you, we've had a lot of stress in the last few weeks. The contractors are falling behind and the developer is holding back money and threatening fines. I know, you weren't at fault. You did a good job actually. Please forgive me."

I smiled at him as he took my hands, kissing both of them lightly.

"You know," he continued, "It isn't only the stress here. My wife of ten years left me with the kids just last week. I feel totally destroyed. And then you walked in, and -- I don't exactly know what, your walk, your smile -- you somehow reminded me of her. Maybe I wanted to punish her through you."

With that he actually started to cry. He buried his head in my shoulder, sobbing, and then slid down to my breasts. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know this man, and now I had to console him. I'd never consoled any man. I patted his head, and told him everything would come out fine, and stuff like that.

He finally recovered his composure somewhat. "You understand me, don't you? I'm sorry. Let's make up with a kiss."

Is this what it means to be an office girl, I wondered? He held me close and before I knew it, he had pressed his mouth on my lips and entered me with his tongue. I don't know why exactly, maybe I felt sorry for him, but I didn't push him away. I thought of Steve and found I was kissing him back, and licking his tongue with mine! We kept at it for several minutes, and then he took my hand and put it on his crotch. I felt a really big hard-on. He let go my hand, but never stopped kissing me, and pulled down his zipper and took out his cock, and placed my hand on it.

"Please," he said, "do me. I haven't had it for so long and I need it -- and you are so beautiful. Please." He pressed me down off the couch and onto my knees between his legs, holding my head just a few inches from his cock. "Please, I beg you, Please."

The next thing I knew I had his cock in my mouth, sucking him as best as I could. It felt different from Steve's, shorter and fatter, and I wondered if in some way I was being unfaithful to Steve, or to Bea, or to somebody. But Tom was moaning in bliss. It didn't take two minutes until he came in my mouth.

When I had drained him of every drop of his cum, licked him clean, and replaced his cock in his trousers, I felt a little embarrassed. Henry would have been mortified. But Honey didn't know how to act in such circumstances either.

He got up and put his arms around me. "Thank you," he said kind of solemnly. "That was the nicest thing anybody has done for me for a year. Thank you my dear. But it's best now if you just let me alone." He guided me to his door, gave me a little kiss on the cheek, and let me out.

To say I was perturbed when I walked back to my desk would have been an understatement. I was all shook up by what had happened. I hardly knew the man, who was kind of also my boss, and I had succumbed to his wishes and sucked him off on my first day at work as Honey. I had intended to be a proper office-girl, cheerful and helpful, to see what it was like, mostly because Bea wanted me to have the experience, and wanted me to have something to do now that I couldn't go back to work in my own office soon. But now! How could I let myself go so quickly? Why did I do it? I should have been appalled even the suggestion, but instead, I had gone right along with the suggestion. After all the time I had spent learning to do everything Steve wanted, it seemed somehow ... familiar and easy to do what Tom wanted. To be quite honest, I even had enjoyed making him moan and squirm when he came. What had come over me? What would Bea think when I told her?

The rest of my day was uneventful, except that Dick and Harry seemed to want to loiter in the coffee room. At least they went there quite often, passing my desk with encouraging smiles as they came and went.

That night, I told Bea what had happened with some trepidation. But she seemed scarcely interested. "Well, dear, that's the kind of thing working girls always have to put up with. And you're a working girl now, isn't that so? I'm glad to hear you're having the full experience. There's no harm done, if you enjoyed it too." I was amazed that this was her only comment.

The next morning Harry called me to his office, and I found Dick there with him. "We want you to understand that we are Equal Opportunity Employers," Harry began. I was a little confused, because I didn't see what that had to do with me. But Harry then explained himself. "We think that all of us here at the office should have equal opportunities, and we heard that you gave Tom a blow job yesterday. We think you should give us the same opportunities. Don't you agree, Dick?"

"Of course -- and if I may make a suggestion, perhaps on a regular basis, like every morning, when you bring us each our morning coffee."

"A very good Idea, Dick," said Harry. "I'm sure Tom will agree to this arrangement. Let's set up a schedule. Whoever comes in first, gets served first, and then we continue in order of arrival. If two of us arrive at the same time, the older one gets blown first. I think this can be a great incentive for us to come in early. Honey, you'll be doing the firm a great service."

I was flabbergasted. Who were they to even suggest such a thing? Such gall! "But I mean ... I cannot ... This is not what I am here for ... I mean ...."

"Of course you aren't here only for the cocksucking, Honey. But it's a nice fringe benefit, for all of us", Dick said in even tones. "And you can't deny to the other partners what you've already given to one. We all have the same rights here. We can't make an exception just for you."

"But I was just trying to be nice to Tom, to relieve him from his stress and make him feel comfortable. I mean it was a special situation and all ...."

"We are all in the same situation every morning," Harry ventured. "We all have our marital problems, we're all stressed the same way as Tom, so what's special about him? Did you like his dick that much? Wait'll you taste mine! And Dick's dick has never had any complaints, he tells me! He's proud of its name! Let's settle this right now."

With that he opened his trousers and took out his half erect cock, and I must say, even in this state it looked impressive. He took me by the shoulders. Dick moved behind me and nudged the backs of my knees, which folded. I would have fallen, but Harry steadied me, and I found myself kneeling in front of him with his cock in line with my mouth.

"Oh no!" But my next words were already muffled by his cockhead wedged between my lips. Holding tightly onto my head, he began fucking my face. I felt his cock growing, and somehow the situation caught on, and against my will I started getting aroused too. It was all so strange. I embraced his thighs and pulled him toward me, and slid my head back and forth, and sucked him as if my life depended on it. It was over soon, as he shot his hot load into my throat.

"You really are a great talent -- Tom was quite right. Now it's Dick's turn." He stepped away from me, and before I had swallowed all of his cum, I had my mouth filled with Dick's cock. Dick's was a little smaller, but had a huge, bulbous head, very sensitive I soon found out, maybe because he wasn't circumcised. He came as quickly as Harry, though I had the impression he had tried to hold back.

"Now that wasn't too bad, was it?" Harry asked as he helped me up again. I didn't know what to say, my feelings were all churned and confused. In a way it wasn't bad at all. I even liked it. But on the other hand, I felt shouldn't have done it at all. Only sluts and whores and loose women suck off different men each day. And I was married!

"Honey, don't think the worse of yourself. What you did was very natural, and if I judge your reaction, you enjoyed it too. So actually, we all enjoyed it. And there's no reason we shouldn't enjoy ourselves. What's that old saying, 'carpe diem,' seize the day? Life is too short to deny yourself enjoyable things. Now go back to your desk, have a cup of coffee, and we'll see you tomorrow morning." Just as Tom had done, both kissed me lightly on my cheeks and sent me out.

Well, what can I say? It did become a habit. Again I told Bea, while she was reading a magazine, and all she said was, "That's nice. I'm so happy for you!" And then she returned to her magazine.

Each morning I sucked off all three of them, and after a while I even began looking forward to it. Some of it was my pleasure in the feeling of control I had over them while I was driving them half out of their minds. Some of it was in the pleasure I felt, being a woman submissive to a man's desires. Henry would have been disgusted and outraged, but Henry seemed to be in hiding. So it was Honey who asked Bea how she should feel.

Bea eased my feelings of guilt. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, really, if they're nice men, and whatever they're asking isn't revolting to you. Exactly what do you feel guilty about? It's consensual, and exciting, and millions of women do it every day. It's quite natural. Nobody really forced you. You've told me that you like doing it. So go ahead and do it. It will broaden your experience with men. Each day, try to improve your cocksucking techniques. Try different sucks and licks with each of them. The knowledge may come in handy some time. You never know."

I thought about it. With Tom, Dick, and Harry, sex was a fun game. With Steve it was like being in love, there was so much feeling and understanding involved. Steve always knew exactly how I felt, and cared, and sometimes it seemed that he felt the same way. With Tom, Dick and Harry my sexual services were just good clean fun we all enjoyed without any complications, with no romantic feelings at all. We even joked about it sometimes. It was a new experience for me to have that kind of relationship with men. I wondered if they know I wasn't a real girl. Their two older secretaries knew, of course, but maybe they'd never said anything to their bosses. Maybe they were too embarrassed. I asked Pearl never to reveal what I really was, and she didn't. Maybe some kind of female conspiracy kept the women too amused to tell them.

On the other hand I made sure that our sex was strictly oral sex. I told them I wanted to save the rest for my boyfriend, and they respected me for that.

Monday of the second week Bea told me to wear a suit with an extremely short skirt. It barely covered my ass. "I hear Pearl has some quite important assignments for you today," she said. I wasn't even allowed to put on panty-hose.

After I had seen and sucked Tom, Dick and Harry as usual, Pearl called me into her office. "OK, Honey," she said. "You've passed your first week's test. Your work today will be a little different. Last week you were getting acquainted with everybody, and I hear you've made quite a hit with the boys. This week you'll have some new responsibilities. Now here's what."

She held out a thick sheaf of legal papers, then slipped them into a folder and set them on her desk in front of me. "These contracts need to be signed, by a tough son-of-a-bitch named Mahoney who wants every advantage he can get. Let's see if you can earn this week's salary right now. He's in his office a block away. These papers are what he's agreed to. He's going to say he was promised more, and that it should cost him less. Get him to sign anyhow. This is very important. And make sure to bring back the check due upon his signature. That son-of-a-bitch has strung me along for so long, I'm furious with him. And I need the cash flow. If I went to see him myself, I'm sure I would kill the bastard when he came up with more of his usual shit. Don't come back without the check. If you don't get it, you may as well go home, because you're fired, whatever I promised Bea. This is business! You understand me?"

I didn't, really. Receptionists don't negotiate contracts. But "Yes, Mrs. Peters," is all I said.

"Good. And be back in an hour at the latest. You'll be needed by then. Oh, and don't wear that suit jacket closed. I want everyone to see how those tits of yours bounce when you walk."

Well, everyone did see them. By the time I reached Mahoney's office there stretched behind me a street full of grinning men, and of women who either looked grim or else smiled encouragingly. And I was embarrassed. Partly because I was dressed like a slut when in fact I was a good girl. Partly because I wasn't a girl at all but a man whose wife had him living like a girl, and looking like one. But partly because in all these months, with all the women's clothes I had been wearing at Bea's request, I still felt a little uneasy when I was out in public alone, dressed as a girl as if by my own choice. Here I was, with no one coaching me, being Honey. Was I?

"Yeah, you're Honey all right," Mahoney said, after I knocked timidly on his office door and he let me in. "C'mon in. There's no one else here yet." He led me into his inner office and sat down behind his desk, legs apart, just looking at me. There on his desk was one of the pictures of me Bea had taken before she went off to her hotel. A very sexy pose too, wearing that dress with my tits all naked. I felt a little embarrassed. Bea must have given it to Pearl, and Pearl must have given it to Mahoney. And to other customers and clients? I wished she hadn't.

"You're wasting your time, Honey," Mahoney said. Then why did I think he was opening a negotiation, not closing one off? "Is that the contract you're carrying? I won't sign. I told your boss I want additional compensation to sign."

"What kind of compensation?" I asked. I realized this was Henry speaking. This conversation was bringing Henry back again. Henry had negotiated lots of contracts.

"I like to feel good about reaching an agreement," Mahoney said. "I don't feel good yet. Maybe I should be talking to your competition."

Henry sensed where this conversation was going, and went back wherever he had come from. Honey returned. "What would make you feel good, Mr. Mahoney," I asked him. It was as if the lines were scripted.

"Well, looking at those tits of yours waving like flags is making me feel good, for openers."

There was nothing else I could do. I had to ask the next question. My job depended on it. "Would you like to look at them more closely, Mr. Mahoney? Would that help you feel good?" I started to unbutton my jacket further.

Mahoney just sat there watching. I freed them altogether, put the jacket and my bra on his desk, sat down in the chair alongside his desk, and pushed them out in his direction. Mahoney stared at my swollen breasts and naked nipples without a word. "Would it feel good for you to suck on them, Mr. Mahoney?" I asked. I stood up, straddled his lap facing him, sat down, and thrust a nipple into his mouth. He immediately began sucking on me like a starved infant, and I felt a familiar delicious sensation rise up inside me. I wrapped both my arms around his head. "More," I said, and to my own surprise I meant it. I began to breath heavily. He pulled harder on me, and then lunged at my other breast and sucked on that for a while. I felt something prodding at me down below, at my crotch.

I realized the obvious. To get this contract signed, I was letting a man I had never seen before use my body. It was embarrassing. It was one thing to give Pearl's office associates certain services. But now I was being Pearl's company whore. Did Pearl expect this when she sent me here? Probably. But she hadn't told me I had to do this. I had just decided to do this. Did I have a choice? Mahoney's mouth on my nipples was working me up so I even had trouble remembering why I was here.

"Mr. Mahoney," I said. "The papers are all on your desk. They need your signature in two places marked ... (he began to tongue me) ... in red. Now you sign in two places right now, one for each breast. Then I assure you, you will be so eager to sign the check due upon signature I won't be able to stop you. That's how it will be for you. It'll feel just like having an orgasm! I guarantee it."

My boob held firmly into his mouth, Mahoney reached around me and scrawled something next to two of the red marks. Gently I disengaged his mouth, knelt between his legs, undid his zipper, and watched his cock spring up out of his pants. Average size, I took due note, a little bigger than mine, quite a bit smaller than Steve's, a minor variation on Tom's, or Dick's or Harry's. No problem! I took his purple cock head into my mouth and squeezed my lips onto it a few times. He groaned. I saw pre-cum begin to leak from his pee hole, and tongued it. He squealed a little. I realized why Bea and Pearl had wanted me to use that cheap lipstick, and why the three architects always asked me to wipe my mouth before mouthing them. Already his prick had red rings smeared on it, little memorials of my services to him. I plunged my head all the way down his shaft, and when I could feel my lips touching the hair right next to his balls, I imprinted my trade mark again as hard as I could. I wondered if he would have to explain these hieroglyphics to someone else.

As I licked his shaft, I realized that this was already the seventh prick I had had in my mouth, Steve's being the first, then Stu and Fred briefly, and of course Tom, Dick and Harry's. But Steve cared for me, whatever else, and I cared for him. It was like love. With those guys at the singles bar it was just something you do on a date. With the partners it was fun, and we kidded each other a lot about it. But not this. I couldn't help thinking, as I ran my tongue and then my rounded lips up and down the veins on Mahoney's penis, that now I was just a hired cocksucker. A cocksucker for Pearl, a woman I did not respect. No, I thought, as I took Mahoney deeper into my throat, a cocksucker for Bea. Bea wants me to suck cocks. Why? Bea wants me to be a woman. I sucked him all the way down with all my might.

Mahoney groaned aloud, and I knew he was close. His hips began trying to fuck my mouth. This would never do.

"Just wait," I said, and I stood up. Mahoney moaned his disappointment, but I turned around with my back to him, slipped down my panties and pulled my butt plug, stood between his legs, and lowered my asshole onto his moist, stiff, prick. When I felt its tip touch my anal opening, and he was clutching my breasts one in each hand, and he was trying to thrust himself into me, I said, "Mahoney, the signature on the check!" Mahoney whimpered, let go a breast and grabbed the pen, pulled out a check-book and filled out the check, signed it, and then pushed into me with all his might as I lowered myself into him, then lifted up, then lowered again. He cried out, "Ayeeee!" and lifted his whole pelvis way up then down, nearly slithering out of me. Then I sat down hard on him, his prick deep inside, and he couldn't move. His prick throbbed, and as my buttocks held him rigid I could feel him pump hot cum into my bowels, spurting again and again. "Oh? Oh? Oh?" he asked, then "Ah! Ah! Ah!" he answered. Then his head collapsed and his hands fell slack onto my thighs.

I stood up, slipped a tampon into me to blot his fluids, pulled up my panties, gathered up the papers on his desk, making sure the check was filled out and signed correctly, and felt his hands pat my rear end with a kind of farewell familiarity. "You were right, Honey," he croaked, his throat still tense. "Best piece of ass in a long time. Tell Pearl thanks. She was right."

No question of it. Now I was Pearl's company whore. Pearl had set me up to do this, and I had gone along with it. Certainly Bea had known things like this were going to happen, and had wanted me to have the experience. Maybe I should feel good about it. Now seven men had used my body. But somehow this time I felt cheap. Demeaned. Slutty. "I'll call you, Honey baby," Mahoney said, as I re-attached my brassiere and slipped into my jacket. "That was the first asshole I've been in since high school. You ever want to leave Pearl and work for me, you let me know."

I returned to Pearl's office without a word, and dropped the papers on her desk. She first looked for Mahoney's scrawls, then for the check, and then looked up at me with a huge grin. "Well, Henry, you keep surprising me! You did it after all! Real company loyalty after only a week. Bea was right about you -- you are exactly the right girl for this job! I hope you got something out of it too, though Mahoney is usually all get and no give. You'd better fix your hair. And smear on more lipstick. Last week was last week. This week I'll need you to perform personal services like these fairly often. In fact, your next appointment is due in shortly."

As I turned to leave, she wasn't done. "It's a good thing Kay has you on birth control hormones, dearie, or you'd be knocked up by the end of the week. If it's any comfort to you, this is a big contract. You didn't sell yourself cheap." I headed down to the women's wash room, and I heard Pearl add gloating, "Except to me!"

I settled down at my desk, took out a nail file, fixed my lipstick, and waited. Nothing happened. So I started opening my desk drawers where there were fixings enough to equip an entire beauty salon, even hair rollers, though who would wear them during business hours stopped me. As I already knew, Pearl's receptionist's chief duty was to look beautiful. Correction, to be seen making herself look beautiful.

At 10:00am precisely the door opened and a large jovial man entered, saw me, smiled broadly, and strode toward me.

"How do you do?" he said. "You must be Honey! You sure are a honey! You look a lot better than that picture Pearl sent me!"

"Who shall I say is calling?" I asked him.

"Bollen. Bill Bollen. Old 'Bats and Balls' Bill to my friends, 'cause I've got 'em. Oh, boy, I'm gonna love this!" He kept looking at me, and he seemed to be reaching for me but then holding back.

I buzzed Pearl. "Mrs. Peters, there's a Mr. Bollen to see you," I said.

Pearl was furious, and this time I was really shocked by her response. "Not 'a' Mr. Bollen, you stupid idiot," she said into the phone. "'Bill Bollen!' Any client of mine is an intimate friend, do you understand me? And very welcome! Twit! Send him in in fifteen minutes, and meanwhile you get to be his intimate friend! Fast! You know how."

Another mistake! Again, I felt frightened! I didn't even know enough to hold down a job as a receptionist? I gathered up all the reserve I had left, and I said to the cheerful man in front of me, as coolly as I could, "Mrs. Peters will see you shortly, Mr. Bollen. But can I get you anything while you're waiting? Coffee?"

"You bet, Honey!" Pearl's client said. "I see the coffee room's already open. I'll wait for you in there." And in he went.

Now I really did have a problem. The man seemed to want coffee, but it didn't sound like it, exactly. Suddenly I remembered Pearl had told me to read the Rolodex entry the moment any client walked in. Yet another mistake! I felt sick as I looked up "Bollen, William," and found him almost immediately.

There were his business and his home addresses, the dates of previous contracts, the dates of previous visits, and at the bottom of the card I saw a peculiar code notation, "fa.fu., as.fu"

This was beyond comprehension. A credit rating? It occurred me to try to decode the note by looking at other notations, and gradually everything came clear. They were the notes a call girl might make to remind herself about her clients. "St.Fu" was a straight fuck. "Bl.Jo" was a blow job. "Li.Cu" stopped me for a moment, but and as I flipped other cards and saw it again, I realized it was "Lick Cunt." Not mine, anyhow, I thought, but then I noticed that notation was also on cards with women's names. Bollen's preferred method of passing time in the waiting room was "face fuck," and "ass fuck." My specialties. I was feeling intimidated. Was I ready to whore for Pearl on a regular basis?

When I walked into the coffee room, he was already seated on the couch, his fly unzipped. I went to the coffee pot, but realized no one was drinking any, and then went over to Pearl's client. Either do it or get fired, I realized, and who knew what Bea would do if that happened? I closed the door and turned toward him.

"So, Bill," I said with a forced smile he never looked up to notice, "What'll it be?"

"Just get down on me, cuntface!" he said hoarsely. "Thatta girl!" I knelt between a man's legs for the fifth time that morning, and suddenly his knees clamped shut on my ears. Then his hips started pumping his cock into my mouth, repeatedly, even before I remembered to cover my teeth with rounded lips. No matter. In ten or fifteen quick strokes he was pumping hot semen down my throat, and I was swallowing it as fast as I could. I tried to cry out "Oh, God!" but all that came out was a gurgle.

"Oh, yeah, I hear you, baby! I know! You love it!" Bill said. He pumped some more and grew hard again, and I pulled and sucked and swallowed him again. Eventually his hips relaxed and he sat back into the cushions, and I could lift my mouth off him. I remembered to look into his eyes with a grateful smile on my face. Again, I left circles up and down his pecker, evidence that I'd done what I'd done, I guessed so Pearl could call attention to it if her negotiations should reach an impasse.

There wasn't time for more. I licked Bill clean, kissed the tip of his pecker as if it were a national treasure, and zipped him back up. I stood up and led him to Pearl's office, and held the door open for him. "Pearl, baby!" he said.

"Hi, Bill," Pearl said. "Thank you, Honey. You happy with my new receptionist, Bill?"

I said nothing. I could still taste his cum, lightly salty, not as creamy as Steve's, less like egg white than any of the partners'. Nothing special. "You bet, Pearl," Bill said. "She's got a real good head on her shoulders!"

"That's what she's for," Pearl said. "Now, here are the project modifications. Initial them and we're done, and you can get better acquainted with Honey on your way out."

"You got it!" Bill said. I barely had time to get back to the coffee room when Bill was back, this time groping my tits from behind. I had the presence of mind to close the door, then to lie face down over an arm of the couch, my rear end high in the air. Mahoney's cum still lubricated my ass. Bollen crammed his re-stiffened dick inside and with a dozen thrusts he finished himself off. He had masturbated himself in my ass, I realized, as if I were warm meat -- I myself felt nothing. I blotted up his semen by stuffing some Kleenex between my cheeks, led him back to the reception area, handed him some tissues, and seated myself behind my desk.

"It's been good, Bill," I said. "Please come again whenever you can."

"Oh, yeah!" he said. "What time do you finish work?"

"Whenever Mrs. Peters says, Bill. It's up to her."

"I'll give you a call some time," Bill said, his mind already elsewhere. And he was gone.

I wasted no time checking Pearl's next appointment. An "as. li." was due in at 3:00pm, and a su.co. an hour later. I wondered whose "as." would get licked, his or mine.

It turned out to be hers, and her cu. also, by special request. The lady was thin, high-cheek-boned, very much a lady as she came into the office, but she too knew Pearl's routines. I went into the coffee room to get her a cup of coffee, black. She followed me in, closed the door, sat down, spread her legs, and looked directly at me without a word. I felt peculiar, and without even thinking I fell to my knees and buried my face between her legs. I stroked and licked her slit until she came, rather quietly and elegantly, raising her pelvis into my mouth as if it were on a tray and making small mewing sounds. When her hips stopped bucking, I pulled my soaked face out of her crotch. There was Pearl standing in the doorway, amused to watch me at work.

"You know, Penny," Pearl said to her, "you might want to train your husband to take care of his clients like this too. Honey here's on loan to me from his wife Bea. She wants him to experience completely what it is to be a woman."

"Really!" Penny replied, looking at me with renewed interest. "His wife? She's really done a marvelous job with er ... Honey. I'd never guess!. But I'll leave my husband just the way he is, thanks. He's lecherous and buries his big cock all over town, but I still get first crack at it. I don't suppose Honey's cock was ever much use, or his wife wouldn't have thought this up for him. His tongue shows promise, though. He'll make a fine lesbian."

"No," said Pearl, "I doubt it. He fell in love with the man his wife brought in to break his cherry. I think Honey here is a straight arrow."

"A pity," Penny said. "Well, shall we get to work?" And off they went, leaving me on my knees with my face still wet. After a while I stood and cleaned myself up, then went to my desk, and put on my makeup all over again. Even my mascara had smeared.

I felt sad, a little. I'd started looking like a woman because Bea needed to be cheered up. Now these two women were discussing my sexuality as if I were theirs to use or forget. I was Pearl's corporation prostitute, all right. Why did Bea want this for me? Because she thought I'd enjoy it?

The appointment marked "co.su" came in, and I sucked his cock. It meant nothing to me. I consoled myself that sex for me is a personal thing, that I need to feel loved before I can feel excited, and that I could cherish my sessions with Steve, or with Bea, because I felt for them and they cared for me. We respected each other. I liked the partners -- they respected me, and always tried to amuse me. But these people just used me. Strangely enough, by the end of the day I didn't feel dirty. Just used.

That first day of what Pearl had called my 'new responsibilities' Pearl locked up the office and drove me home without a word. Maybe even she realized she might have gone too far, mocking me for cooperating with her so effectively. Then, as I got out of her car she said, "Tell Bea that tomorrow's a calf-length skirt day again. Only a few conferences scheduled, and no closings. We may have overdone it, today, a little. Tomorrow you'll have a little time to do your nails and hair, and let your asshole drain and dry out. Maybe even to file some papers. Wednesday things'll pick up some, but there's nothing much more happening until Friday, maybe not until next week. Of course I'll want you to come in as usual, busy or not, to give our new customers a look at the services we offer them. I borrowed those pictures Bea took of you before last weekend, as you know, and gave out a few, and I put one into our company newsletter. Maybe they'll rustle up some new trade."

"Good night, Honey. You could have been a little more enthusiastic this afternoon, but I didn't hear any complaints from my customers, so I don't have any. Maybe you aren't the sex-crazed slut I thought you were. Maybe you're just like the rest of us so-called good girls, a dedicated whore only when people pay you off with love and affection."

When I got in, Bea called from her study to ask how things went, and I went in and told her, client for client, word for word. She listened carefully, nearly expressionless, and then took me upstairs to unlace my corset and let me get into something more comfortable, a plain skirt and sweater. She suggested I douche before coming down for dinner. While she was behind me untieing my corset laces she reached around and gently pulled on my cock with one hand until I came into a Kleenex she held in her other. It was the nicest thing that had happened to me all day. So thoughtful! That night she gave me another pair of her sex-weekend panties specially saved for me, with cum in them from her very twat, and I sucked on them as she requested. But my heart wasn't in it.

The next few days were easier, as Pearl promised. Working for 'Mrs. Peters,' pursing my mouth and lifting my ass for her clients when asked, refreshing my lipstick when anyone was watching, became so routine I stopped paying attention to the faces, just to the occasional cock I found thrust under my nose or my rump. They were each a little different. Each night, Bea gave me another pair of her cum-soaked panties from her weekend, to suck on during the night like a baby being fed a bed-time bottle. She asked me to notice how each man's cum tastes a little different. But I was getting to know that already. Originally she had wanted me to develop a taste for men by tasting a lot of them, so I'd be as enthusiastic about having sex with them as she claimed to be. But what we both learned from my encounters with Bea's underpants and Pearl's clients was that for me, sex wasn't enough. As Pearl had told me in her usual insulting way, for my heart to become a whore, the price was love and affection.

On Thursday night Bea said she had a special treat for me. When I was already in bed she came into my room and sat down next to me, then took the laciest and most elaborate panties I had ever seen out from a special plastic case that had kept them moist, she said, since the Saturday at the hotel. They had a strong smell, several different smells, really, not really unpleasant. But they had been drenched! Those panties were nearly as stiff as if they had been dipped in cum over and over, the way candles are dipped to build up the wax coating. I asked Bea how many men's cum had soaked into them.

Bea replied with pride and delight, "Just one, dear! Only one man did all this to my panties, in only one single night! A marvelous man! The finest man I've ever known! The one I mentioned to you Sunday night, remember, a Master Dominator who came to the hotel with a fully trained sex-slave, named Eva? I spent all of Saturday night with him, with my little apprentice slave Eddie. His name is Thor. Anything he wanted done, Eva did. Anything! You'd be amazed! And then anything I wanted him to do to me, he did! Quite a few times, some things, when I asked him! I was amazed! All that cum!" She stopped speaking for a moment, overcome by some fleeting memory. "Then by morning," she said suddenly. "Anything he wanted me to do for him, I did. Anything! It was so wonderful!" And then she was silent some more.

I had never seen Bea like this. "Are you all right?" I asked her.

"Oh, yes," she said. She turned to me with half-closed eyes. "Oh yes, dear! Here, Honey, take these panties. I want you to love them the way I do. Pay close attention to all the flavors you find here, spicy, salty, flowery, all of them. Some are what leaked out of my cunt. Some is cum from my rear end. Some of it I wiped off my face and breasts after Thor had finished using them. Some of it I saved in my mouth instead of swallowing it, so you could be sure to taste him too! I want you to know everything you can about Thor's cum, and about the way his cum mixes with my juices. I want you to share my pleasure, and to look forward to it the way I do. I think you'll be tasting a lot more of him from now on, Honey. But we'll talk about that another time."

"I really don't need this, Bea," I said. I must have been feeling a little jealous. "You know that tomorrow, Pearl has a busy schedule. I'm going to have my hands and my mouth full. And my asshole too, I suspect."

"Yes dear, I appreciate that you're a very hard-working girl now, trying to do your best for your employer. But this cum is different. For my sake? Begin by kissing it, and then see where it leads you." And she leaned over and kissed me.

"All right, Bea. For your sake." And with that I took the lace panties and started to kiss them, then suck on them, paying close attention. First the crotch, then the back panels. I was still exploring subtle differences in the scents and tastes here and there, the sticky parts of the cum and the parts that had dried on her smooth, ribboned satin, when I fell asleep. When I woke up, I found that Bea had come in and gently draped the panties over my sleeping face, with the elastic behind my head, so I could breath through them all night.

Friday was more arduous than I had imagined. We ran almost two hours overtime, and when the last client left, smiling, or smirking, or grinning, waving goodbye to Pearl and waving little obscene gestures to me, I was exhausted. My asshole hurt terribly, and I hated to push my butt plug back into it, but I had to, or else come home with the back of my skirt soaked. My mouth was sore, and my jaw ached. Both my hands were cramped from squeezing or jerking people off while sucking on them. At one point I had taken on three corporate partners all at once, because they had gotten drunk at lunch, and then insisted that they share equally in all of the company's dividends.

"Honey, would you come in here a minute, please, dear," Pearl called from her office.

Reluctantly I got up and limped to her door. "Yes, Mrs. Peters?" I said wearily.

"You did some good work for me today, Honey, and I want you to know how much I appreciate it. Here!"

To my astonishment, Pearl slouched way back in her chair, no panties, her legs spread apart, her bush and her slit fully visible. I could even see her clit, erect and poking out of the little folds of skin that normally covered it. I just stared.

"Honey, I said 'Here'! 'Here' means 'here,' right now! Don't tell me you didn't hear me. Today was a good day! I want you to drink a toast to me! Out of me! On your knees, lover girl! Let's see what that tongue of yours has been up to all week, that so many people have been coming in here and signing contracts without even reading them!"

"Pearl, I don't think...."

"Mrs. Peters during office hours, I told you!" Pearl's voice suddenly picked up an edge. "Now Honey, I asked you to do something for me!"

So I went over to her, and I dropped to my knees once again, and buried my face in her snatch, and licked her, and stroked her with my tongue. When my tongue got too tired to move or poke with, I used my nose. Pearl got more and more heated, and started to tremble, and finally she clamped her thighs tightly around my head and began to buck into my face. I was almost knocked off my knees, but I hung on until finally she released me, and I fell to the floor for a moment. Then I stood up and turned, without a word, and began to limp toward the door.

"Honey, I didn't dismiss you yet," Pearl said. "Turn and face me! Look at me!"

I turned and faced her. She was appraising me like a piece of meat.

"That was very good, Honey," she said, in the lightly sarcastic tone that passes for friendliness with Pearl. "You're a real asset to this firm! From now on you'll mop up my cunt last thing every day, as an additional duty, just as you suck off the boys in the morning. Do it with real devotion, and I'll see you get a bonus when you leave my employ. You've got talent, there's no doubt of it. You're like some virtuoso playing a concert between my legs. You feel just great!"

"But there's another reason I want a daily suck from you, and I want you to know it. It's this. Whatever you look like, I know you're a man. Just like my ex, that son of a bitch. Now, I love having a man on his knees in front of me, lapping away on my cunt. It gives me something I can anticipate all day. If you're real good, maybe I'll install you under my desk full time, and get some other whore to take over your other duties."

I didn't want any more trouble. I was out of energy. So all I said was, "Yes, Mrs. Peters. But you'll have to take it up with Bea."

When I finally got home, I told Bea about my day as always, leaving out nothing, and then went upstairs to soak my rear in the tub. Bea came with me, and sprinkled perfumed bubble beads into the hot water, then left me alone and went downstairs. I heard her talking on the phone, and at one point she raised her voice, not angrily, but firmly. Then her voice lowered again, and by the end she was chatting and laughing in her usual friendly way. When she hung up, she came back upstairs and into the bathroom, and sat down on the stool by the sink.

"Honey," she said. "I've just had a long talk with Pearl. You've understood it, I know, that I want you to have lots of sexual experiences with men, to get you used to being a woman, and you can have all the woman-to-woman sex you want too, for the same reason. But just remember, your prick is mine. Any man-to-woman sex you may want, or be asked to perform, is to be with me only, unless I tell you otherwise. If Pearl should ask you to diddle one of her women clients, or herself, find some way to do it without your cock. Remember what I told you when you started working, don't do anything I wouldn't do? Just be sure you don't. Right?"

I just looked at her. I was too tired and sore to respond.

"I just made sure Pearl knows this too, so there's no mistake. She tells me you have a prize-winning tongue. That makes me feel very proud of you. I've always thought so, though I can't say you were ever generous with it before now. When you've finished soaking, put on something tasteful, not another daytime tart outfit, and we'll go out to celebrate your first two weeks spent as a working-girl all by yourself. My treat!"

That cheered me up, some. I had the prettiest little shawl collar dress I was dying to wear, but it was too conservative for Honey. I told Bea, and she smiled. "Then tonight my darling, don't dress up as Honey. Dress up as Henry, my adorable husband who enjoys looking like a woman because he knows I enjoy it, and has good taste in his dresses. It'll be like old times."

So I did. I'd changed a little. When I had gone out with the girls as one of them only a few weeks ago, on Bea's birthday, I still felt like Henry in a dress. Now I felt like a girl in a dress. In fact, after two weeks of moving around in Pearl's office, or swishing down the street on errands, my hips had an exaggeratedly provocative wiggle, my ass pushed out in back and my breasts thrust way forward. Bea had to remind me how ordinary women walk, and by the end of the evening, for the first time in my life I felt like an ordinary woman. That night, Bea invited me into her bed, and I made love to her as Henry, several times. With a difference, of course, because our breasts squashed into each other when we embraced, and while resting between rounds Bea played with my hair style and chatted about changing it to something shorter and more manageable. But I felt happy, like an ordinary girl in love with his wife who feels loved in turn. That's all I really wanted.

Three more weeks as Pearl's personal service receptionist went by like the first two, though they were a little less busy. I suspected that Pearl had set up that second week to be so rushed I wouldn't have time to think of myself as anything but a prostitute turning tricks the way she's told. Well, it worked. That was how I felt. My mouth and my ass were hers, and I used them for her without thinking, the way an auto mechanic uses his hands when asked to do a job. Fucking and sucking and smiling at clients became daily routine requiring no real thought or attention.

Pearl kept urging me to fix my hair or check my makeup, and by the fourth week my hands were always as busy as an orchestral conductor's, patting hairs into place or touching curls into shape, or taking a little mirror out of my purse to stroke on more mascara or lipstick. It became second nature, something I did all the time, altogether unaware of it. Bea commented on it one night, when we were just sitting at home reading while my hands danced all over my face and hair. She said that if I should take up chewing gum, I'd be indistinguishable from any office bimbo waiting to get knocked up and married.

Starting the fourth week, Pearl told me to develop a simple, round, open, girlish handwriting, altogether different from Henry's angular scrawl and more suitable to Honey's character. During my idle hours at my desk, she had me copying statements like "I just love being a girl," and "Fine dressing begins with pretty panties," over and over, until they began to show up in my conversation. Then she said I needed to develop a more romantic imagination, and she got me copying the hot passages from cheap drug store love novels. I looked at the sample passage she marked out for me:

"The candles were burning low by the time I served him coffee," I read, "And his eyes began to burn into mine. I blushed, and my heart beat fiercely beneath my heaving breasts, as he lifted his wine glass to me for one last toast. 'Don't go,' I heard myself saying. 'Please, I need you.' 'And I need you,' he said, rising from his chair and leaning forward toward me. We kissed, and our souls melted into one another, and then our bodies."

"Mrs. Peters," I said, "This is junk. It has nothing to do with my fucking your clients, or cleaning your cunt at the end of the day."

"Honey, you have the wrong attitude," Pearl said. "By the end of next week I want to read a really purple description in your own words of how it feels for you to clean my cunt, as you call it. Just copy lots of these, and let yourself dream. After a while you'll think Mr. Right is reciting sonnets to your eyes while some fat contractor is balling your ass."

So I wrote Pearl a note about the sublime taste, touch, sight, smell, and sound of our closing sessions each day, about longing to touch her woman's mound with my soft, wet tongue, and so forth. She had me correct it as too clinical, or too gushy, or too insincere, until one Friday after I'd been working for her about a month, I got the right amount of passionate sensuality into it, with the right descriptions of tides and heaving oceans and crashing waves for her orgasms, and fireworks in the night sky for mine. In fact I couldn't take any of this seriously, this busywork for receptionists to chew gum by, as Bea called it. But Pearl's emotion-starved life apparently thrived on it. Or else her cynicism.

Which may be why one Friday night she came carrying my one-page sampler into the coffee room while I was cleaning up the week's spilled coffee and cum, and told me to lie down on my back while she rewarded me, because I had gotten the experience of licking her cunt just perfect. She had a 'special treat' in mind. It turned out to be simple. First she sat down on my hips and lowered herself onto my cock, which rose up stiff just in time for her cunt to surround and overwhelm it. Then she humped me until I came. Then she slid forward and sat on my face until I sucked all of my own juice out of her, and hers too. "There," she said when she was through with me. "Taste good? Nice work. Next week I want to see a love letter about your prick in my cunt, in Honey's handwriting."

That was all there was to it, but it ended my career as Pearl's slut girl. It meant nothing, and I told Bea about it, the way I told her everything. Again she got Pearl on the phone while I soaked in the tub. This time I couldn't hear voices, but after a while Bea came in, looking serious.

"Well, I forgive you, this one time, Honey," she began.

I looked at her astonished. What had I done wrong?

"Pearl told me she took advantage of you. She knew you were too tired to think an hour or so ago, and that you don't think about sex in her office at all anyhow, you just do it, like some gas station attendant pumping gas, or some car getting gas pumped into it. She thought you didn't know she'd fucked you until after it was too late."

She'd fucked me? I was bewildered! When? Suddenly I realized she really had! And wanted me to get romantic about it in writing!

Bea continued. "She also told me she'd gotten curious just how submissive you actually are, whether you'll obey any orders no matter what. Also, she said, she'd just had a good week, and you'd just made her cunt feel like Christmas Candy with something you written, and she was feeling horny. I can understand that. She thinks it's just marvelous what I've done to you, that now you'll do anything I ask. So I told her about your spending the night kissing panties soaked in Thor's cum, and she was impressed."

"But now it's over. Honey, I shouldn't have let you stray so far from home while I'm training you. You're already too passive and impressionable. And I mean for you to become much more so! Really, I want you to end up doing anything I ask you to do, with your whole soul, and loving it! From now on you need supervision."

"Pearl knew that your penis is my private property, that you were not supposed to be intimate with any woman other than me, but she's just naturally contrary. I told her that those lesbian businesswomen you slurp up were just fine, but that there shouldn't have been any fucking with your prick, even with her. She apologized. So I forgave her. Of course I told her that she'd have to terminate you as of today, with two week's severance pay. And she agreed."

"Anyhow, my dear, you've just had one more feminine experience. You've been sexually harassed by your Boss. But now you're a lady at liberty, a real lady this time, not just Steve's crossdressing paramour, and you're free to fulfill some of my other plans for you. You've worked as a woman, and you've had sex with quite a few men, different kinds of sex. Some was fun and some certainly not as pleasant as the sex you've enjoyed with Steve. I suspect you've gained in self-confidence as a result of your experiences. Those are a lot of pluses."

"So get out of that tub and put on your prettiest dress. We'll go out to dinner again, just the two of us. And then I want to bring you home, and put you in my bed, and make love to you again. All night. Let's call this your graduation ceremony as a working girl. That part of your life is over, I think. We'll talk about the next phase soon. Trust me, dear girl, I do have wonderful plans for you! I've made you what you are thus far, and you'll love what you're going to become. Not always at first. But you'll see! I promise!"

Chapter Ten: More Proposals

(in which the ladies arrange further ways

to improve our heroine)

After I left Pearl's employment things quieted down a bit. That Saturday morning -- well it was not exactly morning anymore, closer to early afternoon when I woke up in Bea's bed and began to make myself presentable. While lying luxuriously in my scented bubble bath, I let my mind drift back over what I had been and what I had become. All in all it was lovely, this experimental living like a woman. Bea had wanted it -- still did -- and I had no regrets. But I had to reverse the process now, and change myself back into a man. I owed it to myself. I knew that with my body and especially my face the way they were, it would be a long process. Making me this way had taken about a year, so I figured reverting to my former status would probably take another year. I patted myself dry, and dusted some fragrant body powder all over, and slipped on some tight jeans that showed off my tush, and a loose shirt that hid my boobs for once, and I just lightly coated my red lips with Vaseline to make them glisten, and I fixed my hair nicely. I wanted to look attractive to Bea, to show there were no hard feelings about what she had done to me, that I appreciated it, but enough was enough. I sat down with Bea to discuss how we could undo what had been done.

But Bea didn't want to hear it. She already had the next phase of my life planned out for me. "No," she said firmly, as soon as she realized what I was about to propose, "Are you still on that subject? Forget it! Just look at yourself! I want you just as you are. I want a girlfriend and a lover, someone who'll share things that most matter to me. I don't want that husband again, ignoring me, or trying to take charge of things. Never again! I'm in charge now!"

I was surprised at how upset she was. She got up and paced the room, and she spoke her thoughts almost at random. "I've missed you the past few weeks, Honey. Some mornings I was having so much fun with you I hated it when the time came for you to put on your suits, or mini-dresses, and your heels, to waggle your ass off to the office to whore for Pearl's clients. Then when you came home, you seemed so tired and dispirited I couldn't ask you to play girly games with me. But now I don't want to share you any more, unless I myself decide when, where and with whom."

"I want you to be my companion, but I want to train you to be a much more attentive and respectful companion than you've ever been, and that'll take lots of patience and effort. For years I was your obedient and dutiful wife, so it's only fair for you to be mine now. Don't you agree? From now on I want you waiting for me when I come home, looking your prettiest. Especially when I come home with some new man who needs to be impressed that I'm no one to trifle with. Think of the effect on any man who's trying to make out with me, who sees you and hears you were once my husband, and learns that I did this to you because you were unsatisfactory. From that moment he'll be devoted to pleasing me, much more careful to see that I'm satisfied."

Bea smiled to herself, and then smiled over at me. "Besides, if you're here all the time, you'll be able to keep the house picked up, and save me a lot of bother."

She stopped pacing and came close to stand over me. I looked up at her, and she looked down. "I see no reason for you to change back, except some misplaced force of habit. You are quite happy with your life, now, aren't you?" It was obviously a rhetorical question, and she didn't wait for me to answer her. "Yes, you are happy. I can see that. You love your dresses, and looking pretty, and wearing perfume, and attracting men. You love to flirt, I've seen it. I take good care of you. You have no burdens, no responsibilities, not a worry in the world. Of course you're happy. You can't want to change back."

I tried to tell her I'd also enjoyed my former life as a man, and that it had its positive sides too, and that it was only natural for me to return to being a man.

She didn't let me finish. "Honey," she said, "Look at you! You're a woman, not a man. You're a much nicer woman, much more desirable, than Henry ever was as a man. Of course you weren't unhappy to be Henry, you didn't know any better. But look where we were headed, straight toward separation and divorce. And now look. We're closer than we've ever been."

"Why not think of it this way? Even if you were just as happy being Henry as you are being Honey, even if the two lifestyles were equally enjoyable -- which isn't the case at all, but let's just suppose it was -- wouldn't it be right for you to choose the lifestyle that was better for both of us? Don't you feel an obligation to choose a lifestyle that makes me happy too? Of course you do."

"So, that's that! I don't want to hear anything more about this silly notion of yours, to give up a happy life for both of us just to return to something that already has failed." She said this with the finality of a judge. I could almost see her bring down the gavel. She then looked silently at me for some time, waiting for what she had just said to sink in.

I couldn't tell her that I didn't care how she felt, because that wasn't true. I cared very much for her, and I supposed that I really should take her feelings into account more than I had in the past, in my former life. But I had better wait before bringing up this subject again, I thought. Better go on as she wanted right now. She's upset right now. So I nodded agreement to her last question. "I want you to be happy, Bea," I said simply.

Bea looked at me a moment longer, then sat down again. "All right. Just so I know you understand. Now, here's where we go from here. You've been Pearl's helper. Now you can be mine. I think you should stay here and take care of the house work, to free me for my other work. You don't really need money, but I'll pay you a regular salary, and that'll give me a tax break. Good idea?"

I nodded my consent.

"I'm glad you see it the same way I do. Actually the house isn't too much work, and with your usual efficiency you'll do it in no time. Let's try it for the rest of the time you need for your make-up to wear off, let's say six months -- OK?"

After working in Pearl's office, I was glad to stay quietly at home for a while. And Bea's reference to my make-up wearing off sounded hopeful. "OK," I said, "Six months. I agree."

"Wonderful. Now we have a deal. You'll have time to help me with my other work too. You can sort of be my girl Friday. For example, I'll be hosting the next meeting of our Literary Society in two weeks, and there're lots of things to prepare. The guest speaker will be Nicolai Voloshov."

She looked at me as if she had announced "Robert Redford." I had no idea who this Nicolai Someone was and my face showed it.

"Of course you wouldn't know him, my pretty little air-head. Cultural matters are beyond you." I started protesting that literature was her field and I had my own, but she continued. "Voloshov is the most controversial and exciting of the new Russian poets. I did a long critical article on him not long ago, on his brilliance and originality. He's living in this country with a Boston lady who likes to support deserving artists. You could handle all the details of his visit, arrange interviews with the local media, and show him around town. Wouldn't you love to do that?"

I liked the idea. It sounded interesting, and would get me out of the house, where I could meet new people.

"But first you need to look more suitable. To work at Pearl's office you needed to be -- well, let's say 'thought-provoking' for any man who saw you. A foxy slut with red hair and red lipstick and bedroom eyes and a walk that looked like a stripper with a rotating ass. Now you need a different look. Monday we'll visit Celeste, and see if she can make you a straw blonde again, maybe with a few highlights. Then we'll need to get you some clothes that are more appropriate, too."

Her plans were made, and there was nothing more to discuss. We spent the rest of the day puttering around the house. It was a very pleasant Saturday, actually. At night she took me to her bed again, and our love-making was as gentle and tender as the day we had just spent. For the first time since her birthday, I was feeling at peace and in control of myself again.

Sunday morning I didn't want to get up at all. I wanted to prolong the previous night as long as possible, and I kept Bea occupied by all means available to me. I conscientiously cleaned our body fluids off her with my tongue, all kinds of fluids, and then we made many more. But she finally put an end to it by reminding me I had to fix myself up. The girls would be over at four for our usual Sunday hen-party. She literally threw me out of bed. I went downstairs to prepare a light brunch for us both.

At four o'clock, right on the dot, I heard Pearl's Mercedes in the driveway. I was in my room, primping before the mirror, checking everything for the last time. Bea had insisted on lacing me into the Victorian corset again, so if I had to suffer the svelte figure it gave me, I wanted to make the most of it. So I was wearing a rather tight beige sweater that showed off my bust, and an ankle-length skirt of reddish brown wool. I cinched my waist with a wide brown belt, to accentuate how it had slimmed down. I felt dressy, but not overdone, just right for an afternoon at home with friends. Most extraordinary were the shoes Bea gave me to mark my new role in her life, a pair of sensible brown oxfords complete with the traditional patterns, laced high on the instep -- but with five inch stiletto heels. They were stunning, and I was sure Kay and Pearl would be jealous. Of course I couldn't walk any distance once they were on my feet, but most of the afternoon I would be sitting, and I was amused that the shoes displayed me to be a woman who was poised, tasteful, cultured, but even so, fuckable.

Bea had already greeted Pearl and Kay when I made my grand entrance, walking slowly down the stairs, swinging my hips and lifting my long skirt just a bit to draw attention to my shoes. They were not unnoticed. Kay and Pearl at once complimented me on them, and on my walk, and I felt proud to be appreciated. "Thank you, ladies," I smiled, and did a little curtsy to both of them. "You are very kind." I was the epitome of a well-bred girl. I went on to the kitchen to bring in coffee, and then I served them, and again smiled nicely while asking, "Do you care for cream or milk, and perhaps sugar?"

I played 'daughter-of-a-good-family' to the hilt, and could feel how all eyes followed my every move until I had served everybody and then sat down myself. With my corset and those heels I couldn't sit in the deep cushions of the sofa, and had to choose to sit very straight in an old-fashioned straight backed chair. But that gave me even further opportunity to cross my ankles, display my legs, and show off my shoes. When I finally seated myself, Pearl broke the long silence by asking, "Is that it? Do we applaud now?" Then normal conversation resumed. I'd made the impression I'd wanted to make.

Bea reported on her plans for the Literary Society meeting, and that she had commissioned me to take care of the guest of honor. She explained how she meant to change my looks.

Pearl disagreed at first. "She looks very attractive right now, and she proved it during the past few weeks. No man who looks at her can keep his hands off her, and no women either, of a certain kind."

"That's exactly what I want to change, Pearl," Bea said firmly, her meaning unmistakable. "Now she needs to look like a proper secretary, someone who works with her mind, not only her butt."

Kay agreed. "Honey has a very attractive backside, if I do say so myself," she said. "The hormones I prescribed were designed to make Honey look sexy coming and going, to give her both tits and an ass. Now she can just sit on it for a while, I suppose. But that doesn't mean we can't improve her looks a little in other ways. Especially if she's going back to her original hair color, we could enhance her other features to compensate. It would take only very minor alterations. For instance, we could raise her eyebrows just a little bit, and arch them, opening her eyes more and removing little creases here and there." She got up and demonstrated what she meant on my face. "And we could enhance her lips just a wee bit, make them just a little fuller. She'd look ten years younger then. Less like a slut, more like a doll. When does the poet laureate fly in? In two weeks? We have just enough time to do it so all traces of the operation will have vanished. Our new Honey will look better than new."

I was not at all eager to have these women make further changes in me. I already had boobs, and curves where they weren't welcome except to men, and that made returning to my former self difficult enough. A beauty-operation on my face would only make me look more feminine. But I knew Bea and her friends. Any show of resistance, and they'd overwhelm me, and who knew what else they'd start recommending? I sat silent, hoping Bea would think enough was enough.

To my dismay Bea found the idea well worth considering, and said so. Pearl was of course all for it; she liked my getting more "kissable lips," and she commented that a fuller mouth would also enhance my cocksucking if I should ever want to return to that as a career. After discussing the pros and cons, they all agreed that I should see Kay in the morning and have my face rearranged.

I felt so helpless with these domineering women. For months I'd been conditioned to be sweetly compliant, and now I had no strength to oppose them.

I tried. "Now wait a minute," I said. "I like my face the way it is!"

It was as if I'd said nothing at all. They simply paid no attention. They'd already agreed among themselves what was in my own best interest. As previously, I finally gave in.

"Actually," Kay continued, not yet done, "While we're at it, we could do a little more. You see, I've already reduced her hormone dosage to the level she needs now to maintain the figure she's got. And that's not too bad a figure, for a girl who's new at it."

They all glanced at me appreciatively. I sat very still.

"But we could make her body even more nice and round and feminine in all the right places by redistributing some of her adipose tissue. I've recently begun using a new minimum incision process, and we don't need to make any cuts that will be noticeable later on. We merely enter with a probe through the folds of her belly-button, remove the fat at her waist, and re-deposit it on her bum and her breasts. Since it's all the body's own substance, there are no adverse reactions, and the whole thing heals very quickly."

"But," I broke in, "I mean -- can it be removed again? I mean when I go back to being a man, later on? I mean, if I want to?" It sounded doubtful. So did I.

Kay exchanged a quick glance with Bea, and then assured me, "If you really want it removed again, I can do it. Just think about it this way. If I can remove fatty tissue from your waist, I can remove it from other places too. The only permanent change will be that you won't grow a spare tire around your middle, because there won't be fat cells there to swell up. And this would most certainly not be a change for the worse. You should be happy with that. However, with the additional fat deposits on your bum and your bosom, I must warn you not to eat too much. You could easily grow to formidable proportions in those areas."

Her explanation sounded logical, and eased doubts despite my unease. "OK then," I said, still a little uncomfortable. "Just do your best."

"Good girl!" Bea applauded my decision. "And for being such a good girl, I'll give you a little reward. I'm not telling you now what it'll be, I don't want to ruin the surprise, just this much: It'll be sparkling."

I ruled out diamonds, of course, but a nice cold bottle of Champagne or even Spumante on a romantic night with Bea was something to look forward to, so I gave her a sweet smile. "Alright, love," I said. "I'll hold you to that and I'm looking forward to it."

That much settled, Bea then spoke in glowing terms of the great poet Nicolai Voloshov, who would give a reading in two weeks.

"Well what can we gain from listening to a Russian poet?" asked Pearl. "I don't speak Russian and neither does anyone else I know."

"He speaks perfect English. In fact he worked at the Soviet Foreign Ministry in the translation department for a long time before he became known for his poetry. He also speaks German and French, but English best. He has translated all of his own work. And I hear he is quite a lady's man, so even if you aren't much interested in modern Russian poetry, you might gain something from his visit." Bea said this with a meaningful side-look at Pearl.

The party went on for some time longer. But Kay thought that in view of the early morning operation tomorrow, we should all go to bed early. "Just wait, Honey," she said to me when they were leaving. "I'll make you look scrumptious, at least ten years younger! As cute as a Barbie doll. Just trust me!"

We went to bed right after they left, and Bea tucked me in after she checked the lacing on my corset and tied my hands in back as usual. "I'm sure that with your slimmer waist we'll be able to lace you down even further," she said. "You'll have a sensational figure." I didn't want to hear that. I had figured that with a smaller natural waist, the corset would not be so uncomfortable. Maybe I could persuade her to relent when the time came.

Chapter Eleven: Prissy

(in which our heroine acquires a new name

and new household responsibilities)

.

Well, I'll pass over the next week. It was altogether very unpleasant. When I came to after the operation, I ached all over and looked like a 4000 year old mummy, all bandaged up. I could have gone home after a few days, but we thought it would better if I stayed at the hospital for the entire week, until the bandages could be removed. Kay told me the bandages were not covering wounds, since there were none, but were necessary to hold the redeposited fat in position until it could grow into its new locations. My face was discolored and swollen around the eyes and the mouth, and looked perfectly ugly, but Kay assured me that would disappear within a few short days, and she proved to be right. After a week almost all traces of the operation had disappeared.

Bea came to pick me up, and was present when Kay removed the bandages. She started from the bottom up, and right away I could see that my bottom was nicely rounded, really feminine, with soft round cheeks. Bea loved it, and complimented Kay for the wonderful result.

"Wait till you see the rest," Kay said. She proceeded to unwrap my waist. "Look," she said, "all of four inches less!"

"Wonderful, just marvelous," Bea gushed.

Kay continued the unwrapping. "Now for the 'grande finale', the big surprise! Ta Ta Ta Taaaa!" she trumpeted in a flourish while undoing the last winding from my breasts.

When she stepped aside so I could look into the mirror, I saw it! I had full, round breasts that were almost perfectly spherical. But most surprising was that they each sported a golden ring through the nipples, a bit larger than half an inch in diameter. They were slim, about 1/16 of an inch where they went through my nipples but wider toward their lower half, about an eighth of an inch where they hung down prettily and curved around the nipples' lower halves. There, inserted into their surfaces were three little diamonds, not on the edge facing downward as with rings worn on fingers, but on the side facing forward. When I touched the rings, the diamonds felt almost flush with the surrounding gold.

"That is the surprise I promised you," said Bea. "Don't they sparkle?"

They did indeed. I was flabbergasted. I looked into the mirror, and looked down, and tried to find out how Kay had done it. It looked as if I had been born with them. I turned then very cautiously in their holes through the nipples, to find an opening or the trace of a joint, or something. But the surfaces of both rings were perfectly polished and even. "How did you do it" I asked Kay.

"Well, since we had you under full anaesthetic and you were to be bandaged for a few days anyway, I simply slit open the nipples and taped them shut over the rings. By now the little incisions have had time enough to heal. There is no way to get them off except slicing open the nipples again -- which I wouldn't recommend. I think they look just lovely."

"Yes darling, they do look marvelous," Bea chimed in. "So delicate! Better than I had imagined. I just might get myself a set of my own. And look! The breasts have come out just gorgeous! Look here, let's do the pencil test." She rummaged though her bag and came up with a yellow pencil, held it under one of my breasts, raised it a little and then let it fall back. Then she let go of the pencil. It fell down. "See what I mean," she said, beaming at me. "You must be feeling so proud! Lots of young girls can't pass this test. And your breasts are now C or D cup, too! Oh, they look so yummy! Steve will go nuts over your new figure when he sees it, don't you think so, Kay?"

Why did she have to bring up Steve -- and in front of Kay too? But Kay didn't seem put off at all. "I'm sure Steve will like her even better now," she said. "He's always been a big tit man. And Honey's are just gorgeous!"

I had to admit that my tits looked seductive! Together with my narrower waist and my newly rounded bottom, I had a feminine figure many girls would die for. I raised my eyes to study my face. I hadn't thought that my face could be any more feminine than it had been, but it was true, now it was even more so, and a lot prettier too. I had full pouty lips, and my nose looked smaller, and my eyes seemed to be much bigger, more almond shaped. I saw the face of a very good-looking, even beautiful woman, refined and well cared for. No trace of masculinity at all. I wondered how in the world I could ever look masculine again.

"I suggest we let her face rest for a few more days, and then that you take her to Celeste and have her make-up renewed. Then she'll be perfect," Kay said to Bea, who had started dressing me.

I couldn't turn away from the mirror. Was that really me?

"Enough of this self-admiration for now," said Bea. "Yes, sweetie, you are beautiful. But now we've got to go." She held a corset against my back, and tried to wrap it around me. "Here, you hook up the front."

I tried, but it was quite a struggle. My corsets should have fit me more easily, now that I was so much thinner. Had Bea already gotten me new corsets, to lace me even tighter? It seemed so. I felt no less crushed than before. Panties and stockings followed. Bea brought forward a pretty, floral print shirt-waist dress, and when I put it on I cinched it with a wide, black patent leather belt. I had to admit, I had a marvelous figure now. High heeled shoes, gloves made from a thick cotton lace, and a large scarf wound turban-like around my head -- my hair looked really shaggy after more than a week in bed -- completed the outfit. Then off we went, kissing Kay good-by.

"You have to thank her, Honey, she created a masterpiece," Bea reminded me. I agreed, I looked marvelous. But it was me, and I didn't want to look marvelous -- I wanted to look more like a man. Even so, I thanked Kay profusely for all she had done for me.

"Don't mention it," Kay said. "I love it when my work turns out so well. That's reward enough in itself." She hugged me, and gave me a friendly slap on my bottom.

Bea decided not to go home directly. Instead she went to the shopping district, and stopped in front of a store that displayed all kinds of work uniforms in its windows. There were uniforms for security guards, nurses, chauffeurs, all kinds of servants and attendants.

"What do you want here?" I asked her.

"Come on," she came around to my side of the car and opened my door. "I think that now, now that you've taken over the domestic duties in our home, you should dress the part." She took my arm and guided me into the store.

"What do you mean -- dress the part?"

"Well, if you're going to be my maid, shouldn't you dress like one?"

"Bea, you can't be serious! I mean, we're wife and husband together in our house. I'm our maid, maybe, not just your maid. Besides, why can't I do my housework in ordinary dresses?"

"I am quite serious, Honey. Your dresses are still quite new, and it would be a shame for them to get soiled doing ordinary housework. Most of them aren't even washable, and would have to be sent out to be dry-cleaned. That's expensive. Now a maid's uniform is made for the purpose. It can be washed frequently, and it will stand up to a lot of abuse."

"Furthermore, and this is very important, a maid's uniform will denote our new relationship. Remember, you agreed to let me hire you? I am your employer, and since we're so close normally, it's good for us to clarify our relationship with an outwardly recognizable sign, like a uniform. Whenever you wear it, you'll be in no doubt that I'm your employer and you are the hired domestic."

I was not at all sure that I liked this idea. But already we were approached by a sales lady asking if she could help us. "Yes," said Bea. "This young person with me needs a whole set of maid's uniforms, and all the accessories. I think three morning uniforms in light grey, blue and pink, and aprons to go with them, perhaps a half a dozen, and some nice caps too. Then she'll need something for afternoon and evening wear, I think very dark blue or black dresses with lacy aprons. All of these should be tight and figure fitting -- she has such a nice figure, it would be a shame to hide it."

"It would be a shame indeed -- come here, Dearie, and let me take your measurements." She took my bust size and looked appreciatively at the measuring tape. "Quite nice" she stated, and then wound the tape around my waist. "Wow!" She looked at the tape, then at me. "Do you always wear a waist cincher that's this tight, dear? I mean, should we have all of your uniforms made to this waist-size?"

I didn't understand her, but Bea did. "Of course she always wears a corset. She is so proud of her small waist."

"Well then ...." The sales lady shrugged, and wrote down the numbers. "There isn't much choice among our utility, day-time maid's uniforms," she informed Bea. "They all have A-line skirts going down to just below the knee. The dressier uniforms offer a wider choice. There are some designed to be rather mini, and others that reach to the knee, and some are three-quarter length. Then we have a really historical model, the kind a proper upstairs maid would have worn in the 'Gay Nineties,' floor length with several rustling petticoats underneath. I think your young domestic would look fantastic in it, with her small corseted waist."

"Let's see!" Bea followed the sales-lady as she went to the back of the store, and motioned for me to come along. Then I never saw her act more decisively. With no hesitation she picked out three morning uniforms and six different styles of more formal wear in black and dark blue, plus the Victorian special, which really did look wonderful when the sales-lady held it up to me. Then before I could venture any opinion, Bea progressed to the aprons, and selected a dozen different styles, from strong utility aprons to pinafores with wide, flouncey shoulder straps, to frilly lacy confections which were purely feminine and decorative. She then swiftly selected a variety of caps, some covering the hair entirely, some just wispy starched lace things that had to be pinned to the hair.

I tried to get a word in now and then, but she was not to be distracted, and she ignored me completely, discussing her selections only with the sales-lady. The only thing I was allowed to do is to carry everything to the front of the store, and there was so much I had trouble peering over the pile in my arms.

"How can you decide on these things so quickly?" I asked Bea, amazed.

"Oh, I've been thinking about this moment for quite some time now," she said. "For months, in fact." I was about to ask her to explain that amazing statement, but the sales lady interrupted.

"Of course, none of our standard sizes will fit your maid right now," she said, "But we can alter them in no time at all. If you'll leave the dresses here, you can have everything by tomorrow afternoon. It's mainly a matter of taking in the waist."

"That sounds just perfect," Bea said. "But I want her to try on at least one, just to be sure."

"Of course, she should." The sales-lady directed us to a changing room, and Bea gave me one of the dark afternoon uniforms.

"Here,": said Bea. "Put this one on and then let me see how you look."

I went in to change, and then presented myself. Bea added a white, lace edged apron, and fastened a little cap to my hair. The dress hugged my round derriere, and then tapered tightly down to just above the knees. It had a high neck which ended in a little lace stand-up collar. The sleeves ended in lace cuffs just above the elbows. All in all, it fit quite well, except at the waist, but the apron strings snugged it so my small waistline was still quite noticeable. Though I felt a little demeaned to be trying on a servant's uniform, I was pleased that the curve from my waist around my hips was quite noticeable. Bea decided that I should wear this one home, cap and all. "For new beginnings, dear," she said, "There's no time like the present." And she carried off the dress I had worn into the store, so I had no alternative.

"You see," the sales-lady said to me, "All of the accessories are fastened with snaps, so you can take them off easily, and wash them separately, and replace them quickly. That way, your mistress will always see you wearing a fresh apron, even when you're coming directly from the kitchen to serve her guests dishes you were preparing moments before."

"All right, let's add up what we owe you." Bea steered me to the cashier's desk, and the sales lady busied herself for a few minutes adding up the sale. It came to a substantial figure. "Honey, is this your credit card?" She took my billfold out of my purse and gave the card to the sales-lady.

"Wait a minute, Bea," I protested. "I don't want these things, so why should I pay for them? This'll practically clean me out."

"You have to pay for them, dear. If the payment comes from your account, it can be called your personal business expense, tax deductible against your wages. But even if not, you don't expect your mistress to pay for her servant's personal belongings, do you?"

Again she had me where she wanted me. Not only was I to wear maid's uniforms at home from now on, I had to pay for them myself. I had to hand it to Bea, she was really ingenious in getting her own way. I looked into one of the store's big mirrors while the sales lady processed and cleared my credit card, and I had to admit that I looked nice. Trim, even a little sexy, a neat girl ready to perform gracefully whatever she was asked to do. In a way it was thrilling.

The sales-lady handed me the slip to sign. "The card reads 'Henry'," she said. "Are you sure you can sign for it, deary?"

Bea spoke right up. "Of course she can, she is Henry," she said. I wanted to sink into the ground.

The sales lady looked at me, and then at Bea, not knowing what to make of this last statement, and then she looked at me again with a wide, incredulous smile. "You're Henry?," she asked. "That's remarkable! Sign right here, 'Henry'." She checked my signature against the card, looked at me yet again, smiled, and handed Bea both the sales slip and the credit card. "I'm sure you'd better keep these," she said. "Thank you for letting me serve you."

And she piled onto me all those things that didn't need alteration. They mounted well over my head, and I peered around them as she held the door open for both of us. "Goodbye, madame. Goodbye, Miss Henry. Have a nice day," she said.

Bea walked straight to the car without looking back, leaving me to follow as best I could. Then she got behind the wheel, handed me the car keys, and said in a firm, authoritative voice, "Put everything in the trunk. Then when we get home, hang them carefully in your closet. I expect you to take good care of them, and to look properly presentable at all times from now on."

Not a request, an order. My new career as Bea's domestic servant had begun. The sales lady still stood in the door, looking at us, still smiling. Bea smiled back, and waved her hand as we departed.

When we arrived home Bea told me to bring everything up to my room, then to freshen up and make my hair presentable, and then to appear downstairs for further instructions. I sat down at the vanity and brushed my hair, and pinned it into an up-sweep, and arranged my curls in a becoming way. Then I perched the maid's cap atop the curls so it looked cute, even saucy. I liked it. There in the mirror was my new image, a pretty servant girl, pert and a bit sexy, not overdone, not a caricature. I smiled at me, and the pretty girl in the mirror smiled back. Somehow that gave me a thrill. I felt a little stirring of excitement between my legs.

Bea was sitting on the sofa with her legs crossed, watching me come down the stairs. "Come over here, let me have a look at you," she said in a voice that was somehow kind yet impersonal. She directed me to a spot in the middle of the room. "Stand there." She let her eyes roam over me for about a minute. "Turn around -- slowly -- again -- turn again." She made me turn several more times, always watching me intently, until finally I was facing her once more.

"Yes," she said. "You turned out just as I'd hoped. Actually, better. I want you to keep those pretty eyes wide open always, the way they are now, the way Kay shaped them. It suggests a naivete quite charming in a maid. And those pouting lips are very becoming. You exceed my expectations."

"Very well." She straightened up and began to speak with a crisp assurance that had me listening closely. "Let me lay out the ground-rules for your employment here."

"One: You get up 30 minutes before me, that is at 7:30, and you get yourself ready -- meaning you thoroughly clean inside and out, and you do your hair in a style that's practical for housework -- that up-sweep will do very well, or a French Twist if you like. Just remember that we can't have it floating romantically off your shoulders, the way you wore it when you were seducing Bea's clients. You'll then dress in one of your morning uniforms and get breakfast ready for me. If I need any personal services in the morning, like getting my clothes laid out or helping me get dressed, I'll let you know."

"Two: I'll have all my meals in the dining-room from now on, and you will be serving them. You can eat in the kitchen whenever you like. But I warn you: do not gain weight, or I'll have to put you on a very strict diet."

"Three: After breakfast you'll start cleaning the house, and do the washing, ironing, whatever needs to be done. Then you'll cook my lunch and serve it at about 1:00 pm. After you clear the table and do the dishes, you'll have two hours of free time. You can rest, or read one of the women's magazines I've subscribed to for you, 'The Happy Homemaker' always has recipes you'll want to try out, and 'Romantic Confessions' has stories that satisfy the desires and yearnings maids always seem to have. Then you'll get dressed in one of your dark afternoon uniforms. Which one or which style depends on the occasion. I'll let you know if I think you have chosen an inappropriate style. At 4:00 pm you'll serve me coffee in my office. Oh, incidentally, I've converted Henry's den into an office for me. Henry no longer lives here."

"Four: I work here, and I do not wish to be disturbed. So whatever you do, do it in such a way that I hear and see as little as possible. You have your tasks and I have mine. I have no inclination to instruct you how to keep house. You are paid to know what to do, and you will have to find out for yourself what you don't know. That includes everything from where we keep the bleach to what temperature is proper for ironing a blouse. As of today, the housekeeping is entirely your responsibility, and I want nothing to do with it. I will provide you with a budget for the food and supplies you'll need, and you'll account for your expenditures periodically. I expect the house to be clean, and my clothes in perfect shape at all times. How you manage it is your affair."

"Five: I want to see you perfectly groomed and dressed at all times -- of course not while you are scrubbing the kitchen floor, for example, but before and after. And certainly, when you serve my meals I will want to see clean uniforms and aprons. Expect to change aprons at least three times a day, so they always look freshly starched, particularly if you're wearing one of your nice pinafores with those flouncey shoulder-straps."

"Six: You will address me as 'Madame' at all times and in the third person, as for example, 'would Madame like another cup of coffee?' I am always your employer even when you are off duty, and you will always show me appropriate respect. We are no longer social equals. Forget that I was once married to your former self, and that you once called me 'Bea.' Now, whenever you enter a room I'm in, you will curtsy at the door, except while serving meals or beverages. When you address me, you will always curtsy before you start to speak, and ask permission. When I give you an order -- and you may regard all of my requests as orders no matter how politely I phrase them -- you will acknowledge it by curtsying and answering something like 'very well Madame,' or 'I'll do it right away, Madame,' or whatever else may be appropriate."

"Seven: At night I'll let you know when your services are no longer required. From then on you may dress as you please and do whatever you wish. If I want your companionship, I'll let you know. You must understand, that our relationship from this moment is strictly that of employer and employee. I am your mistress and you are my servant. Your days off are a half-day Wednesday afternoon after lunch, and the weekend from Saturday after lunch to Monday morning. How you use that free time is up to you. If you should consent to pass those hours with male companionship, I will expect the men to be drawn from your own station in life, and you are absolutely forbidden to allow them into the house."

During this entire soliloquy I was standing where she had directed me, in the middle of the room, listening attentively, while she sat in front of me and while she spoke, stared straight into my eyes to impress upon me that she meant every word. I was astonished, even a little outraged! For a moment I couldn't speak at all. Then I began. "Bea," I said, "There's no way I'll ever agree to...."

"OHH?" she interrupted sharply, drawing out the sound with measured anger. "Forgetting the rules so soon? If you want to say anything, start with a curtsy and ask whether you may speak! And refer to me with proper respect!"

She looked at me with her face fixed in a fury, and all of my courage evaporated.

"This one time I'll answer your objection before you have a chance to be impertinent and raise it. Yes, you agreed to be employed by me for domestic service, the Sunday before you went to the Kay's clinic to have your face and figure enhanced. I said I would hire you to do all the house work, and that I would pay you a regular salary, for tax purposes and other advantages. And you agreed. Don't tell me you don't remember."

Now it came back to me, that was what she'd said. I clearly remembered the tax angle.

"Now, whether it is written or verbal, an agreement is an agreement. You can't back out of your commitments without appearing contemptible to everyone, and you may be sure I would make well known what your word is worth, after you'd packed up and left this house in disgrace. Our agreement was quite clear, that you would do domestic service here for at least six months. You agreed, and I hold you to this agreement."

Yes, she had said something about the six months it would take for the make-up to wear off, and I remembered feeling good about it, that afterward she might let me return to being Henry.

"Now, as your employer I make the rules for your employment. What I've just laid down are my rules. I'm not asking you to do anything you can't do. I'm not asking you to do anything that domestic servants haven't done for generations. There is nothing extraordinary about what I ask of you, unless it's in the extraordinary amount of time I allow you to be left to your own devices. My rules may seem a little old-fashioned, but they serve well to emphasize the difference between your station and mine in our relationship. Only by drawing a clear line between our previous private lives together and our present relationship as employer and employee can this work."

"You should be grateful to have a position like this. You've already proven to yourself that you don't like the kind of office work for which you are best qualified, and if you don't want to work the street, there is nothing much else for you. For you to become a domestic servant and work for me is certainly better than your working in an altogether strange household, where no one appreciates that there is more to you than meets the eye."

"Well then, make up your mind. Will you abide by our agreement, or do I have to throw you out."

Bea had a way of pointing out choices that made it really simple to choose. "OK," I said. "I'll go along with you."

"What!?"

"Yes, Madame," I said slowly. "As you wish."

"And...?"

I stared at Bea a moment, and then realized what she was driving at. I curtsied.

"Yes," Bea said. "As I wish. That is the way it is. I'm glad you can still listen to reason."

My new Mistress now relaxed. She leaned back against the couch cushions and became almost friendly in her tone of voice. "Now, we have to decide what to call you. 'Honey' is no longer suitable, no more than 'Henry' was suitable once you decided to live your life as a woman."

I couldn't remember any such decision, but I realized that this minor correction was not worth the curtsy and request for permission to speak that it entailed.

"I cannot call my maid 'Honey,'" Bea said. "I think 'Priscilla' would be a nice name for a proper, respectable maid, 'Prissy' for short. Don't you agree?"

I knew there would be no point in arguing with her, so with a deep sigh -- as deep a sigh as my stays allowed -- I nodded my consent.

"Wonderful! My dear Priscilla, that is your new name! I'm so pleased you like it as much as I do! Now I'll see that it becomes your only legal name. I want all of your records to show that your name is 'Priscilla'! Social Security card, early school records, everything! I think with Pearl's help we can even get you a driver's license with your picture and the name 'Priscilla.' She knows one of the key people at the Motor Vehicle Bureau. In fact, from what she's told me, you know him too, perhaps not by name but by the taste of his cum."

Her reference to my previous employment embarrassed me. "I can't recall, Madame," I said. It was hopeless!

"Well, no matter. Now, Prissy, we know where we stand. Everything is clear to you, I'm sure. You may now take your leave and fix lunch for me."

What could I do? I curtsied, said "Very well Madame," and went into the kitchen.

Chapter Twelve: Prissy and the Poet

(in which our heroine finds it advantageous to

be the heroine of her own story)

During the next few days the household routine settled in as Bea required. With modern materials and appliances, washing and cleaning for the two of us wasn't arduous. I did spend a lot of time ironing. In fact, most of my time between afternoon coffee and dinner was filled with it. Bea allowed me to wear flat shoes with my morning attire. But all through the afternoon and evening I had to wear shoes with at least four inch heels, and I was glad that I had a kind of a bar-stool to sit on while ironing.

My time off after lunch turned out to be not a rest-period after all, but time Bea reserved for me to help her with Nicolai Voloshov's impending visit. The meeting would be held at a local hotel, and attendance was expected to be several hundred people. It would begin around 4:00 pm on Sunday afternoon with various introductions, then continue with the reading and questions, which would last to about 6:00 pm, at which time a light supper would be served. This much was for the general public, and for those who had subscribed to the entire season's series of literary events. Then the board of the Literary Society -- all women of consequence -- were invited to meet the guest of honor at a reception to be held at our house beginning at 8:00 pm and extending as long as anyone wished. On the preceding Saturday I would guide the guest of honor around, and bring him to interviews with the local press and TV station. The interviews would be broadcast twice, on Saturday night during the 11:00 pm news, and again at noon on Sunday, when the churchgoers would be back home anticipating their Sunday dinner and wondering how to spend their afternoons in an edifying way. Bea expected the interviews to boost attendance on Sunday afternoon, and even to sell more tickets for the Sunday supper. I had to take care of all the details, such as seeing to the limousine service, and that the guest of honor was properly met at the airport, and shepherding him through his interviews, and overseeing the selection of food for the supper and the organizing of volunteers to serve it, and arranging for proper sound equipment for the reading, and so forth. It kept me really busy.

Friday night the hired limousine picked us up to go to the airport and meet our guest. Bea agreed that my maid's uniforms were inappropriate. I wore instead a rather short flaming red business suit, which showed off my figure and a lot of cleavage. It was one of the suits Pearl had favored, and had insisted I wear without a blouse (and also without panties). Surprisingly, it now fit my much smaller waist, and I realized that Bea had sent it to be altered while I was at the hospital. Bea herself was dressed much more conservatively, also in a business suit, but dark blue, with a high-necked blouse under it.

We had no trouble finding Nicolai. He was an imposing figure, very masculine and masterful, over six feet tall with broad shoulders, looking more like an athlete than a poet, and looking at everyone else with mild interest and amusement. He was in his fifties, but his full head of hair, cut short, gave him a boyish charm. I had seen his picture on the back of a book jacket, but he looked much more handsome in person. I imagined that his effect on the ladies was usually devastating.

He greeted us as if we were old friends. Bea was granted a courtly, continental kiss on the back of her hand. "Of course," he said to her, "The lady who looked deep into my soul, and then wrote those profound comments on my poems. You were too kind. I did not deserve your praise, though I shall always cherish it. Now, who might this charming little lady be?" he asked, looking at me.

"This is Prissy, my maid and assistant. I've asked her to see that you get whatever you may need or want. She'll be your companion and guide during your stay here, and will take you to your various appointments, and bring you back again safely. She's altogether at your service."

"Is she? I am delighted to hear that," said Nicolai, taking my hand but foregoing the kissing of it, since I seemed to be of a lower social caste. "Glad to meet you Prissy."

"Glad to meet you, Sir," I answered, dipping into a little curtsy. I had not intended to, but something in me made me do it. For once, a curtsy seemed altogether appropriate.

He gave me a big smile and patted my cheek. "I am sure we'll get along fine," he said.

He collected his bag and we went to the waiting car. Bea and Nicolai took the back seat and I sat down opposite Nicolai, with my back to the driver. During the whole trip back to the city Nicolai did not take his eyes off me. Bea explained his interview and performance schedules to him, and gave him some papers he put into his brief-case. He used the opportunity to let his hand graze lightly down my calf to the instep. I was not sure, but I thought I detected a slight bulge forming in his pants. Bea seemed not to notice.

We brought Nicolai to his hotel, and I went in to help with the check-in while Bea stayed in the car. When we were done, Nicolai took my hand, pulled me close, and gave me a little kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow morning at 9:30, then, my dear. Good night, Prissy!" He strode toward the elevator, entered it, turned, saw me still watching him, and threw me a brilliant smile. My heart suddenly swelled up in my chest and skipped a beat or two, and then felt marvelous! Flustered, I returned to Bea.

"You seem to have made a conquest already, Prissy," Bea said when I got back into the car and we were driving back home. "Well, we shall see about that later on. I just might have some interests of my own to defend." I assured Bea that I had no desire to make a conquest, certainly not in competition with my Mistress, although it was certain that Nicolai's looks and charm had somehow gotten to me. Bea grinned and said nothing more.

I was at the hotel at 9:30 the next morning, and spent the whole day with Nicolai. We took care of all his appointments, went to lunch, and went sightseeing. When we passed a lady selling flowers, Nicolai insisted on buying me a small bunch of violets, which he pinned to my jacket. Fumbling with the pin, he let the back of the hand that held my jacket slowly graze down across my breast, then rise again across the nipple. His touch excited me, and I held my breath. Then I had difficulty catching it again. He must have seen my arousal in my face, but he said nothing, just completed his gesture across my breast and touched my face, then smiled sweetly. I noticed that then he put his right hand into his trouser pocket and felt for something, failed to find it, and eventually pulled his hand out again.

When I left him at his hotel later in the afternoon, he said goodbye with a light kiss on my lips. I reminded him that Bea would meet him for dinner at 7:30, and I went home.

I changed into my maid's outfit, and at Bea's request brought her a small glass of sherry. When I set it beside her on the end table, Bea asked how the day had gone. I gave her a detailed report, including the violet episode, and the good-bye kiss. I expressed the opinion that it was quite impersonal, that Nicolai was only being instinctively chivalrous, and that he wanted any woman he was with to feel desired.

"Well, he is said to be a lady's man," said Bea. "And it does seem that he tries to live up to his reputation."

Bea took extra care dressing and making-up for dinner. She wore an exquisite dinner gown, which showed her figure to perfection. "I don't think I'll need your services anymore tonight, Prissy," she said as she left the house, "So don't wait up for me." When I heard her return, I was surprised to notice it was only 11:00 pm.

The next morning, Bea came down to the kitchen where I was cooking breakfast, something she had never done before, eager to talk to someone, and filled with accolades. How charming Nicolai was, and how attentive, and how courteous -- she seemed unable to exhaust her praise of him. When I asked her how the evening had ended, she frowned.

"It was most unfortunate, but he got a call from some important people on the west coast, and he said he couldn't put them off, so we had to say goodbye around 11:00 pm."

Somehow I had to smile inwardly. She had said nothing about a good-night-kiss.

I didn't attend the reading or the supper, because I had to prepare the house for the reception afterward. I needed to re-arrange the furniture for the many women who had been invited, set the tables, set up the bar, prepare snacks, bake some cookies to go with the coffee we would serve to hint when it was time to leave, things like that. I was terribly busy all day.

Bea flew in only 20 minutes before the reception guests were due to arrive. "Prissy, quick," she called to me. "I need your help."

I heard her run up the stairs, and followed her. She must have gone to the beauty parlor instead of the supper, because her hair was intricately done up, and her make-up was gorgeous. "Quick, Prissy, give me a sponge bath, and help me change. I'm running terribly late. Celeste just wouldn't finish today."

She slipped out of her dress and rushed to the bathroom. I sponged her off with water to which I added some cologne, then powdered her. I felt a powerful urge to make love to her, my dear wife, whatever our relationship was now. She looked and smelled wonderful. I wondered what would happen if I pulled her to the bed and made passionate love to her. I told her just that, and she smiled, and patted me on the cheek. "What a lovely compliment, dear," she said. "You're very sweet. It's so precious, when you get horny now and again. But we have to hurry. The others will be here in just a few minutes. Be sure you're presentable too!"

She put on the lingerie that I handed her, tap pants and garter belt in a set of pure lavender silk, and no bra at all. I rolled her seamed, black sheer stockings up her legs and fastened them, while she slipped into her dress. It was a bright red silk jersey with big dolman sleeves, high necked in front and with no back at all, and with a narrow skirt that stopped at her knees. She accented her thin waist with a narrow golden leather belt. Then around her neck she put a long, heavy gold chain with a huge medallion that hung low between her breasts and pulled at the jersey between them, draping each one. Her nipples poked out like eraser heads, big and hard. Just as she dabbed perfume on her wrists and behind her ears, I heard cars turning into the drive-way.

I dashed downstairs as fast as I could in my ultra high heels. Just as I reached the front door, the bell rang, and I opened the door and greeted the first guests with a curtsy.

"Won't you please come in? -- may I take your coats, please?" I was altogether hospitable, gracious, and courteous. The ladies were quite nice to me, and handed me their coats while they discussed me with each other. "Well!" said one. "Writing criticism must pay well these days. I didn't know Bea had a maid." As I guided them into the living room and asked if I could bring them a drink or a liqueur, they continued. "And so well trained too." And "She must pay her a fortune." Bea came downstairs and greeted the ladies, and soon all were in animated conversation, while I brought around the hors d'oeuvres and kept their glasses filled.

I too had taken great care with my appearance. I had brushed out my hair and set it, and enhanced my make-up by using some darker eye-shadow and more dramatic eye-liner. My lips glistened. For this special occasion I was wearing my Victorian maid's dress, more a stunning outfit than a uniform. My corset had to be laced extra tight, but for this one evening I was willing to endure the discomfort. "To be beautiful, one must suffer," I told myself. I wanted to look very beautiful when Nicolai arrived, ravishing. I had no idea why. My petticoats rustled, and my high heels forced me to take small, delicate steps whenever I moved. The guests all asked Bea and each other who I was, and I caught many glancing sideways at me, as they tried to look me over closely and yet remain politely distant.

Nicolai came ten minutes later, his timing perfect. I opened the door for him and curtsied. "Welcome, Sir," I said with a large smile. I was delighted, and I'm sure I looked it. I loved seeing him again!

"Hello Prissy dear! I missed you all afternoon."

"I was too busy here, and couldn't make it. I'm truly sorry about that. Really!"

"I believe you, my dear girl," Nicolai said. I took his overcoat, and when I turned around to hang it up, I felt a kiss on my neck. A pleasant shiver passed through me.

Nicolai was greeted with a standing ovation, and immediately went to each of the ladies in turn and kissed each of their hands. Never had a man exuded more charm! Everyone was enraptured! I busied myself as before, and people stopped noticing me. But whenever I stole a glance at him, I saw that he was following my every move with his eyes.

The party went on for about two hours, the coffee and cookies were served, the guests left, and finally the only people remaining were Bea, Nicolai, and me. I went about the room collecting plates, cups, and glasses, and generally putting the kitchen back in order. Bea and Nicolai sat together on the sofa, discussing the two days of his visit.

"Nicolai, you've been just wonderful!," Bea said. "Wonderful! All the ladies loved you, and that includes me. I can't thank you enough. If you were to ask any favor of me, I know there's no way I could refuse you!"

"Oh really, my dear Bea," Nicolai said with sincere gravity, "It has been my pleasure to be with you and your friends, and it was a great honor for me that I was allowed to present my works to you. But if you really mean it, I would love to ask a favor of you."

Bea slid just a little closer to him. "By all means, Nicolai, ask -- anything. Anything at all."

"Well, if you insist! It is this. Could you give your maid the rest of the evening off? I would very much like to take her out now, she has been so helpful during my visit here."

Bea was visibly taken aback. "My MAID? I was thinking more ... well, never mind.... Of course, she is yours for the night. Bonne chance! You already know that Prissy is quite attractive. That's no accident. You will find that she's a very special girl, just full of surprises!" She smiled, and actually seemed to laugh inwardly, as if she just had thought of a great joke.

"Prissy, come here for a moment," she called to the kitchen.

I had overheard this conversation, but had pretended not to as I went about my business. I came in and curtsied nicely to Bea. "At your service, Madame," I said, raising my skirts just a little bit higher than necessary, so my ankles and my petticoats showed. I did it for Nicolai's benefit, of course, and it worked. He gazed fascinated at my instep and ankles, as if they were hidden intimate secrets accidentally revealed. The erotic mystery created by a raised skirt! I was beginning to enjoy my power to invoke it!

"Prissy, I don't need you anymore tonight. Take the rest of the night off, and tomorrow morning too if you need it. Now go and dress nicely. Nicolai has graciously offered to take you out, to thank you for whatever you've done for him. Run along now."

"Well thank you very much, Madame," I said, curtsying again with my skirts raised high, "And thank you, Sir," again curtsying with my skirts raised even higher. Nicolai eyes were about to pop out, and I had a suspicion that something else was in danger of popping too. "I'll be right back! I won't take a minute!" And I rushed upstairs in a whirl of petticoats and skirts, as fast as my high heels would carry me.

I wondered what to wear. Quickly I pulled off my uniform and my cap and went to the bathroom for a quick sponge bath -- no time for a real shower. I cleaned myself inside thoroughly with my douche -- I always felt so very feminine doing that -- and I carefully slathered a lot of cold cream into and around my little hole before I put in my now-customary plug. I selected a larger plug than usual. You never know what you might encounter later, and it's best to be prepared. Some perfume on my wrists and my neck, and in my little bush, and I was ready to get dressed again.

I looked into my closet. Dressing for a date is always do difficult. Should I wear a long skirt or a short one? Wide or tight? What kind of top? I scanned my wardrobe. No long skirt now I decided, Nicolai had seen me all evening in a long skirt. Flared or tight? I didn't intend to wear panty-hose, because stockings are so much sexier, and make for greater accessibility when clothing is in the way. But a tight skirt tends to ride up and show the tops of stockings when sitting down. That's sexy, but sluttish. So maybe now a flared skirt would be better.

I looked and found a black silk dress with a demure neckline and a short flared skirt, reaching only to mid-thigh. It was cut on a bias, so it really hugged and showed off my breasts. Perfect! I put it on and cinched the waist with a red leather belt. I was still constricted by my cruel Victorian corset, but after Nicolai had seen my small waistline, I couldn't suddenly expand there. The dress had short sleeves, puffed a little at the shoulders. It was a really wonderful, really simple little basic black, suitable for anything, the kind every girl has in her closet, because it answers to so many purposes.

Then I put on elbow-length black suede gloves, and a little red hat decorated with a black rose and a black veil, and finished the whole ensemble off with a very short bolero jacket, one with long narrow sleeves made of a shiny material that glistened like vinyl. It hugged and played peekaboo with my breasts whenever I moved. I checked myself in the mirror. My legs and shoes! I was still wearing the four inch black heels I had worn under the long skirt, and a pair of ordinary black stockings. I had to do better. I took out a pair of seamed, ultra sheer black stockings with a demure Swiss dot pattern running through them, and put them on. It wasn't easy, with my gloves already on, but I managed. Then I put on my sexiest heels, bright red patent leather with very slim 5 1/2 inch heels -- Pearl had called them "fuck me pumps," essential in any girl's closet. Well, I was sure that Nicolai would get the message. I checked the mirror again. I was a vision in black and red. A quick dab with a powder puff and I was done. At this moment, I couldn't have been more thankful for Celeste's permanent make-up.

When I came down, Nicolai and Bea were standing and were already saying their goodbyes. Nicolai came over to meet me. "You look wonderful, my dear," he said. It was a polite cliche, meaningless, but the way he said it it seemed to come from his heart, and my heart went out to him. I couldn't say anything. Suddenly I felt terribly vulnerable. I smiled hopefully at him, and he understood, and smiled reassuringly back at me. Then he took my hand and led me out.

I was barely able to say goodbye to Bea. "Have fun, Prissy -- and don't do anything I wouldn't do," she said to me. I was sure I wouldn't! If I understood this situation correctly, Nicolai wanted to do with me exactly what Bea had wanted to do with him. Somehow it filled me with pride that I had beaten Bea to him, and without lifting a finger. He was more attracted to me!

But Bea couldn't have been more gracious. "You can take the BMW," she called, as she saw us walking toward my car. "Thank you," I waved back. She was really in a wonderful mood tonight. I wondered why. I had expected her to be bitchy after I had taken away her date. Perhaps it was because she still felt obligations to a guest who should have whatever he wanted, and if he happened to want me, so be it. Perhaps it was that. But perhaps there was more to it than that.

Nicolai was a perfect gentleman, all poise, and elegant continental charm. He insisted that he drive, and he opened the car door for me. That old joke came to my mind, if you see a man opening a car door for a woman, you can safely bet that either the car is new, or the woman. Tonight I was the woman. I realized that this was my first real date since becoming a girl. I then realized that I was becoming a girl in my mind and desires, not just my appearance and manners, and that for the first time I really liked it.

We drove to a very good but still cozy restaurant, and had an excellent late night dinner. It was a pity that I could hardly eat anything, because of my corset. But we didn't send anything back. Nicolai declared that he had an enormous appetite, looking straight at me, and then ate most of my dinner too. He was in an exceptionally good mood, witty, his chatter spiced with little innuendos complimenting me on my looks, and my personality, and promising unmentionable delights later on, perhaps. He even complimented me on my intellect and wit -- and what woman who already knows she looks smashing doesn't want to hear her intellect praised! I was rapidly losing myself to him, and I wasn't even tipsy. Of course we had wine with dinner, but again, Nicolai drank most of it, because I had no room. My heart seemed to fill my whole body.

After dinner he took me to a piano bar -- Bea must have hinted to him where to go. Again, it was a very cozy place. At first we just talked. A woman came offering roses, and he bought one for me. A few people began dancing to the music, and soon I was in his arms and we were gliding around the floor together. During the slow numbers he pressed me against his chest so tightly that I had trouble breathing. He was so strong! He towered over me, even though I was wearing my highest heels. I laid my cheek against his shoulder, and let him guide me. I felt so safe, surrendered to him like this.

Gradually he slid his hand down to the small of my back, and pressed his hips against mine. Then with his right leg he stepped between my legs, rubbing his thigh gently into my crotch. I felt his massive erection pressing into me, and I did nothing to evade it. We danced, and got hotter with every step. The music ended just in time to prevent one of us from having an accident. I felt quite damp in my crotch, and I am sure he felt the same. I hoped he hadn't noticed that I was bulging too, under my corset, yet I hoped he knew that I was. All flustered, we went back to our table and he ordered another drink. I had to excuse myself, and go to the ladies' room to calm down a little.

I didn't know whether Bea had told Nicolai about my sex. She'd had ample opportunity, but she also had reason to hope Nicolai would discover it as an unpleasant surprise. I had to play it safe. I wanted to have sex with him, more and more with each passing moment, but I was afraid of what would happen if he discovered my secret. I had to find a way to keep him too occupied with himself to really care. A plan was forming in my head, but I had to take the initiative and stay on top of the situation.

When I came back to the table, Nicolai suggested we leave when we had finished our drinks. We listened to the music, each of us caught up in our own thoughts. I was sure his were similar to mine, but neither of us said a word. Nicolai finally waved to the waitress and paid, and we left, clinging together, our arms wrapped around each other.

He drove to his hotel. "Would you care to come in for a night-cap?" he asked. Again, an old cliche that sounded like a brand new idea as he spoke it. I was glad he didn't offer to read me some of his poems. But poetry was on neither of our minds at the moment.

Of course I accepted, trying not to sound too eager. We crossed the lobby heading straight for the elevator, and passed the desk before the night-clerk had time even to look up from his comic-book. The elevator doors had hardly closed when he took me in his arms and kissed me -- hard and deep. His tongue played with mine as if it were a lollipop. I was now a lost soul, drowning in my aroused feelings for him, unable even to stand up. I pressed close, and clung to him, and kissed him back passionately. With all the fervor that was in me! He was wonderful, and I wanted him! Now, at once!

I couldn't get into the room fast enough, and I pushed him in, pushed him to a sofa, and made him sit down. I kneeled in front of him, fumbled with his zipper, finally got it down, and pried his huge cock free of his jockey-shorts. Oooohhh! For a moment I just looked at it, overjoyed! I stroked it a few times with my gloved hands, and it seemed to send shivers through him. He laid back, moaning, with his eyes closed. I played with his balls, and stroked his shaft, by now swollen almost bursting. The soft suede leather of my gloves pushed him to sheer ecstasy. I took the tip of his cock into my mouth, licking the gleaming surface slowly with my tongue. He started to move his hips, trying to push deeper into my mouth. But I leaned back a little -- it was too early for that. I sucked a little, and let my teeth graze over its surface, and licked him some more.

I had to steel myself. I didn't dare drown in the erotic maelstrom that I had created. I had to keep a clear head. I had to prepare him for the big surprise.

"Nicolai, darling." I continued playing with his cock and balls. "I have to tell you something," I went back to sucking a little. "You know, I am a woman, your woman now, and I have never been more of a woman than I am at this moment (Lick). But I cannot serve you like a true woman. I can only offer you my mouth and my derriere." (Suck) I intensified my ministrations to his cock, which seemed to grow even bigger, if that were possible. (Lick).

"I don't care what you cannot do, my darling, my very own darling, all I care is that you don't stop -- please," he moaned with his head thrown back and his eyes closed. (Lick)

"You see my darling Nicolai," I continued, trying not to listen to myself, so I could get it said before my courage failed me, "I am a woman, (Suck, Lick) but originally I was a man."

There I had said it. I timed it so that at that same moment I could feel his orgasm begin. I sank his large cock into my mouth as far as I could, taking it all in, and sucking from it all the jism he began to spurt, and then continued to spurt, over and over. His release from the tension he had built up was so immense that he slumped over like an automobile tire somebody has stabbed with a knife. He wasn't able to say anything for several minutes. I never stopped stroking and licking his tool, and it never went completely limp. I waited.

After quite some time, what I had said seemed to register with him. "What did you just say?" he asked, whispering hoarsely. "You were originally a man? Say it again! I can't believe it!"

I repeated what I had said earlier, word for word.

"Really and honestly? You are not pulling my leg?"

I was pulling something very different at that moment, which didn't seem to mind at all. In fact, it was growing again. I kissed it tenderly, as a mother might kiss a baby while tucking it in for the night. But this baby was already an adolescent, and even as I watched, it again became a full-grown man, tall and straight, a bit heavy-set, but in great shape.

"Honest and true," I said, now fairly sure I would survive my revelation to him. I wished at that moment I had been born a woman, but I hadn't been, and hadn't had the surgery to approximate it, and Nicolai would soon have discovered this anyway. I hoped our evening together was not now at an end.

"Whatever you are, tonight you are my woman," he said, "And you have just given me the best blow-job I ever received."

Tears sprang to my eyes! I couldn't help myself! I felt suddenly grateful to Tom, Dick, and Harry, and to all of Pearl's clients, my school for sucking. I raised myself from the floor and snuggled up next to him. "Oh, Nicolai," I said, trying not to sob, "Nicolai, you are the most wonderful man in the world!" Then I broke down. I cried and cried for joy, and covered him with kisses and tears, and couldn't kiss him deeply enough!

He seemed pleased, and tried to comfort me, but he realized that he had to let my profound feeling for him run its course, and he just waited, a satisfied smile on his face, as I continued to kiss him. As I regained control over myself I began to run my hands over his body. Then I started to undress him, to make him wriggle out of his jacket, then his shirt, and then his trousers and shorts, and then I pulled off his shoes and socks. Now my beloved man was naked, and I could kiss him anywhere. I hardly knew where to begin!

He got up, and made me stand up too. "Now you," he said. "Take off your clothes -- slowly please."

He was not at all embarrassed to be standing before me totally naked, his glorious staff angled upward in proud salute, while I was still fully dressed, and even still had on my little red hat with the black veil. To my eyes he was ravishingly beautiful! And I had never felt prettier!

I stepped back from him a few paces, fixed my eyes on him, and started to give him a strip-tease. First my hat. I slowly unpinned it and set it aside, knowing that a woman with both hands raised to her head looks as vulnerable and seductive as she feels, her breasts seeming fully exposed even when they are covered, as mine were, by many layers of fabric. Always looking into his eyes and smiling slightly, I removed my belt, bolero, dress, and slip, one item after another, slowly, as carefully as I had selected them earlier that evening, playing with them, tossing them at him with teasing flips of my wrist, until I had on only my corset, panties, stockings, shoes, and -- for a specially erotic effect --my long gloves. I waved him closer, and gestured that he should remove my panties. He came to me and sank to his knees. He put his fingers into the lacy elastic confection of their waistband, and slowly pulled them down. My own cock sprang up as soon as it was released, almost directly into his mouth.

And he took it into his mouth! He started to lick and suck it, just as I had licked and sucked his. I had been feeling so much affection and gratitude for him, but now I began to feel something else as well, and my breathing grew faster and heavier.

After a little while he let it go and stood up. When he saw the disappointed expression on my face, he laughed, and put his palm on my cheek. "No, my dear, don't worry. The night is still very young. I have licked a lot of pussies in my time, but never one with a clit this size," he said. "Now we must make ourselves more comfortable, so we can devote ourselves completely to each other."

He gathered me up and carried me over to the bed, where he put me down gently. Then he lay down next to me in a 69 position, rubbed his body into mine, and began to lick and suck me as before. I pulled his stiff cock into my mouth, and for a while only the sounds of slurping and kissing filled the room. While he was embracing my clit with his lips, I felt him play with my butt-plug, moving it in and out very slowly as if to test my reaction. I tried to move with his thrusts, urging him on.

Suddenly he pulled out the plug, disentangled himself, and turned around, facing me. He put my legs over his shoulders and pressed his cock against my anus. I gave a happy cry, and wrapped my arms around his dear, dear head, and thrust myself at him. I was only too eager to have him sink deep into me, and in spite of his cock's enormous size he entered without any real pain. Then he fucked me, and I was in total bliss, feeling every inch of his cock in me while mine was being pressed and caressed in the same rhythm by our two bodies. It took only minutes until I felt him spurting deep inside me, so deliciously that I spurted my load and we both collapsed. So this is what a woman feels when she has been royally fucked by a Prince, I thought to myself. Not the way I felt when those men in Pearl's office used me, but this. This! I kissed my Prince gently on each eyelid, and we rested for a short time. Then I went to the bathroom to clean myself.

The rest of the night was spent as it had begun. At one point Nicolai insisted that I remove my corset, and he was delighted to find that I had a genuinely thin waist and real breasts! He kissed his way around my waist, from my navel back to my navel, and then he went up to kiss my nipples, his eyes shut. When his lips found my nipple rings he opened them, and I worried that he might find those piercings perverse. But all he said was, "Charming! Beautiful! Like two wedding rings!" And he took one gently in his teeth and tugged slightly, and I shrieked in sheer joy, overwhelmed, in a paroxysm of bliss! For the rest of the night, whatever else we did, play with my nipples was part of it. We tried everything, and the better things two or three times, until we were totally pooped. Finished. Utterly spent. Wiped out. We lay wrapped up in each other, dead asleep, stirring in dim, happy awareness of each other only when the other stirred.

When the wake-up call came at 8:00 am, the phone must have rung for at least a whole minute before one of us was awake enough to answer it. Then, unfortunately, we had to hurry, because his plane was leaving before too much longer. We rushed through breakfast, then got dressed. Nicolai took great pleasure in lacing me into my corset again, and would not let me put on my dress until he had once again pacified his raging hard-on in my ass -- which felt a little sore after all the action it had seen during the night, but welcomed him anyhow, and all my heart as well. He seemed to take a special delight in putting back my butt-plug while his most recent cum was still deep inside me. "Now I will be a part of you intimately for a little while longer," he said. "In your sweet body, not merely in your memories." He was such a dear! I kissed him yet again!

We had to rush to the airport -- this time I drove, and we barely made it in time. Saying goodbye in the car, he held me by both shoulders and looked into my face, while I looked into his. "Prissy," he said, "Whatever you really are, and whatever you wish to be, last night to me you were the most wonderful woman I could imagine. I wouldn't have wanted to miss this night of my life for the world. You are lovely. Tell Bea I envy her."

He gave me a last kiss, collected his bag, and ran off, turning at the door to throw one more kiss at me. I felt -- I cannot describe it -- like floating three feet off the ground. I started the car and turned to go home.

Chapter Thirteen: Prissy and Steve

(in which our heroine learns again

that she is a woman with no desire to be liberated)

When I got home, I was afraid that Bea would be angry. Though she had given me permission, I had not been there to make breakfast for her. And I had kept her car when she might have wanted to go out early on some errand. But most of all, I had probably spoiled her hopes for a romantic evening with a magnificent poet by accepting Nicolai's invitation. I cautiously stole into the house, avoiding any noise, and rushed upstairs. I didn't see Bea. She must have been in her office, working. I changed quickly into my pink morning uniform -- this morning I just had to wear pink -- and went down to the kitchen. Bea had left her breakfast dishes on the table. She must have heard the noise of my loading the dishwasher, because suddenly there she stood in the doorway, looking at me as I moved around to set things straight.

"Well, had a nice night, Prissy? I see you are walking differently this morning. Feel a little sore? Well, most women feel like that after a night with a really superb lover -- we all wish it were something we could get used to, though we never do get enough of it. Congratulations! Nicolai is known to be a great lover. You've made a real conquest."

Through this whole speech her face was impassive, studying mine, revealing nothing. She left the kitchen, and a minute later called me from the living-room. "Prissy, come here, would you? We have to talk."

Well, here it comes I thought. I went in with a really guilt-ridden expression on my face. "Madame wishes?" I said, and I curtsied as low as I could under the circumstances. I didn't want to anger her further.

"Sit down Prissy," was all she said.

Was it really so bad that I wouldn't be able to take it standing up? I sat down on the edge of the chair opposite her, my head hanging low, avoiding her eyes.

"Prissy, let me ask you something. Last night, when you accepted Nicolai's invitation to go out, did you want to go out with him?"

"Oh yes, Madame!" I replied, not daring to raise my eyes.

"And when you were dressing for your date, did you want to make yourself as attractive as possible for him, as feminine as possible?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Did you want him to make love to you? Were you thinking about it even before the two of you left the house?"

I felt so ashamed. "Yes, Madame," was all I could reply, in truth.

"Now just three more questions, my dear." She sounded as if she meant to be kind! I looked up for a moment, then cast my eyes back down again. "When you left the house, did you wish that you really were a woman, so you could love him as only a woman can?"

"Yes, Madame."

"I won't ask if you did make love. That's obvious, and anyhow, a lady never confesses such things. When you were making love, did you feel like a real woman? Never mind how some real woman might have felt in your place. Did he make you feel you were real, a true woman loving and being loved, and not just a feminized man?"

"Ohh, yes Madame. Yes. He did."

"Last question, Prissy. Consider your answer carefully. Now, at this moment, holding in mind everything you have felt since you left here yesterday evening, would you rather be a woman or a man?"

I burst into tears again. "Oh, Madame, a woman! The joy of it! I so much prefer being a woman! I do! I do!" I choked back a sob, and tried to regain control over myself.

I was astonished at what I had just said! Up until now, I had been playing at looking and acting like a woman, even feeling like one, to please Bea, or to pleasure Steve or myself, or to satisfy curiosity, and mostly because Bea had backed me into corners, and to get out of them I had to go along with her. But now I really did want it for myself. To look like a woman, and act like one, to be one, to feel more of what I had felt from that first day when we picked Nicolai up at the airport, to feel more of what I had felt with him all of last night! I loved being a woman!

"And so you are, Prissy," Bea said to me, gently. I realized that her catechism had not been designed to shame me for stealing her man from her, as I had thought. It was to bring me to realize what it meant, that for the first time I done and felt what women do, without any self-consciousness or regret. That for a time there had been no trace of Henry in me at all. "So you now are," she repeated, her voice growing kind, genuinely affectionate, "And so you shall be, my dear, for the rest of your life. I mean to see that you get your wish."

I lifted up my eyes, and looked at her. I didn't know what to think. Had she trapped me again? Did I like that idea or not? The implications were enormous. It was like being re-born. I wasn't sure I had liked it the first time. Bea had been leaning forward to project each of her questions at me with point and force, but now she leaned back onto the sofa cushions, relaxed, and began to speak freely.

"Prissy, I have been waiting for this moment for a long time. On the morning after my birthday celebration, I told you some of the reasons why I had taken a full year, with some trickery I'll confess it, to change Henry into Honey. Steve told you some other things about what I was doing to you deliberately, though even Steve doesn't know the whole story. What it comes to is this. I want you to be a woman. I want you to be a woman of a particular kind, but never mind that for now. You had so little zest for life as Henry, that I was sure you would enjoy yourself more as Honey, and I proved correct. Certainly as Honey, Steve's paramour. Not as Honey, Pearl's company slut, though I'm sure that had it's moments. And I'm sure the experience you gained during that month of fucking men indiscriminately was invaluable preparation for last night. Am I wrong?"

I nodded, not knowing what I meant. But Bea understood.

"I wanted you to enjoy yourself last night, as Prissy, as a pretend girl become a real girl, Bea's maid, enjoying real forbidden fruit."

I nodded again. Bea had nearly lost me. She sensed this.

"Prissy, during the last days, and mostly last night, you took a giant step further into permanent womanhood. Do you realize that for the first time you went into competition with a real woman for the attention of a man? Do you realize that you were pleased to draw a man's attention and avert it from all the other women around? That you successfully seduced a man to take you as a lover -- a man who did not know your little secret, but thought you were as much a woman as I am? More of a woman?"

"You know your affair with Steve was nothing like this. Steve knew who and what you were, and enjoyed you whatever you were, because he's bisexual anyhow, and anyhow I asked him to initiate you. You could never be sure what part of you he found most attractive. Working for Pearl, all of the sex you had was thrust at you as part of the job. It had little or nothing to do with desire, or love. You could always tell yourself that there was nothing you could do but go along with it, endure it. Again, you didn't really act like a woman out of your own choice. Or rather, you acted like a woman, but it was only acting."

"But with Nicolai it was different. You knew I was romantically interested in him. And you proved more attractive. In effect you took me up at the game of seducing an attractive man, and you won. The better woman won. You got him, and you spent the night with him. And now you know something about yourself you might never have known, if it had been only Steve, or those contractors Pearl bought with your body. And I don't mind at all, Prissy. In fact, I think it's wonderful!"

"Let me let you in on a secret. I wasn't really in the game at all. I led Nicolai on, a little, I showed interest, to flatter his ego, and because that's what he expects of women literary critics. But he's an old hand. He knew he'd never be able to get me to bed. If he'd asked me out last night, he knew all he'd get was talk about his last collection of poems and a good-night-kiss on his cheek. You're new to all this, so you can't yet read all the signals I sent him, that he should keep his pecker in his pants when he's around me. I agree, he is a very interesting man and if the circumstances were different, I might have given him a fling. But I'm a professional, a serious literary critic -- I can't run around bedding everyone who publishes a book and gets a reputation for sleeping with the women who review it. But I had to put on a show for you, to be sure you knew that Nicolai was not only desirable, he was available, and that your mistress was angling for him. It crossed your mind that you could put out for him yourself, maybe beat me at my own game. Or maybe it didn't cross your mind, but something feminine within you rose up and told you that you wanted to go to bed with him. And so you did, Prissy. So you did. I was hoping this would happen! I was so hoping! And it did. And now you know, deep within yourself, how it feels to be a woman. And that deep within, you are a woman. And that a woman is what you want to be."

"As I said, this was a giant step forward for you. I just wanted to be sure you know it, and know that I know. I don't think you can escape it any more. I think it's time now that you put yourself completely into my hands. Think about it."

"Now run along and fix lunch."

She got up and came over to me, and as she spoke these last words she patted me lightly on my cheek and went to her office, not looking back, never expecting an answer from me. It was just as well. I was dazed. As usual. she was way ahead of me. I was unable to debate her. It was too complicated.

I brought a small luncheon plate into the dining room and informed Bea that her lunch was served. When later I brought in her coffee, she was reading a book as she ate, and didn't even look up. I backed away, curtsied, turned, and left the room. Obviously I was no longer on her mind.

As I was just finishing my own lunch she came into the kitchen. I scrambled to rise and curtsy to her once again, respectfully, but again she seemed not to trouble noticing. "It occurred to me", she said, "that you may not know. A year ago I was offered a guest lectureship at my old alma mater, requiring I remain in residence there for two months. Your conditioning as one of the girls had scarcely begun, so I put off accepting it. But a week or so ago, when you agreed to have your face and figure reshaped, your progress seemed irreversible enough for me to risk leaving you. So I accepted the invitation. It's quite an honor. I'll be away for two months, beginning this weekend."

I was astonished. I knew nothing of this. My mouth hung open. Bea paused, and seemed to be waiting for something. I remembered, and curtsied. "Yes, madame," I said.

But my mind raced ahead of itself. Two months to find out what kind of a girl I really wanted to be! Not just a servant with permission to date repairmen or other domestics on my days off, but what I was, an educated woman with a mind of my own! That is, if I really wanted to be a woman. It crossed my mind I could also try out life as a man again, to see if I'd rejected it too hastily when Bea was interrogating me. I was still glowing from my night with Nicolai. But it couldn't hurt. I'd need make-up to cover my permanent make-up, of course, and I'd have to wear looser clothing, and a man's wig. It would be a lot of bother, trying to pass as a man, but it could be done. Perhaps I owed it to myself to try.

No chance. "I've asked Steve over to keep you company, Prissy," Bea went on. "Kay says she doesn't mind at all -- she'll just ask a swinging couple she knows to keep her company. It won't do for you to be alone. But you two can play at being husband and wife while I'm gone. Steve still has a few more things to teach you."

Was she mocking me a little, reminding me that I was no longer a real husband even in my own house? I set that thought aside. I loved having Steve around, proposing games for us to play. And two whole months without being Bea's maid seemed like an endless vacation. She was a rather strict and exacting mistress, as I had reason to know. The weekend couldn't come fast enough.

Five minutes after I came back from delivering Bea at the airport Friday morning, Steve was at the door, in a wonderfully sprightly mood. "Hi, Prissy, how are you this fine morning?," he almost sang at me. "Ready for a few games?"

I looked at him with a big question-mark all over my face. Games? He took my shoulders and pulled me over to him and kissed me, lightly on the lips at first, then long, and hard, and deep, and passionate, and I started to feel warm. I could feel his cock growing and pushing into me, and when finally he broke his embrace I was all hot and flustered.

"Games," he said. "Role playing games. 'Husband' and 'wife' of course -- that's what Bea suggested. But also other roles, and acting out other situations, like 'Lord of The Manor And the Upstairs Maid' or 'The Pirate and the Princess' or 'Sir Dystic D'Arcy and Sweet Gwendoline.' Those are all scenarios for bondage games. Look, I'll show you."

He went to his bag and pulled out an illustrated book showing a blonde beauty on the cover, tightly gagged and tied to a tree. "Here," he said and gave me the book. "Take a look. These are by John Willie, still one of the best artists ever to draw bondage pictures. Everything he shows, real people can actually do. He often tied up his models in different ways and then drew them from life."

I started leafing through the book, looking at pictures of women tied up in the most extravagantly helpless positions. It gave me a funny feeling imagining myself those ways.

Steve picked up on this right away. "A little disturbing, and a little exciting, right? Well, let me tell you, what you are looking at is beyond belief. Incredible to experience. Why? You won't believe me, but this woman in these drawings knows that total enslavement is total freedom. No? Look here!"

Steve pointed at pictures from 'Gwendoline and The Missing Princess.' "You see," he said, "Gwendoline likes to be tied up. She provokes her friend U69 to tie her, always under the pretense that she needs to learn how to escape. Then U69 does things to her, and she's helpless, and has to endure them, because she never does manage to escape."

"It's a game." Steve looked at me with a wry smile, because he saw I couldn't take my eyes off some of the pictures. "Actually, Gwen is giving herself to U69 in a way that relieves her of all responsibility for what happens. She wants to do outrageous things, and she doesn't want to do them. But when she's helpless and unable to resist, U69 can force her to do them. Then she's not responsible. Then she can give in to her feelings, and do things she'd normally never do. See, here she is tied tightly, offering U69 cords to tie her even more tightly."

I had never looked at bondage this way, but it seemed to be true. It was a power game, Gwendoline yielding up her will to escape from the prison of her inhibitions. The idea was strangely thrilling.

"Come one, let's try it. You be Sweet Gwendoline, and I'll tie you, and when you're utterly helpless, well, we'll see. Take off your dress, darling."

I was reluctant at first. Of course I knew Steve would never really hurt me, but one never knew for certain. I had to have absolute trust, and surrender myself to him completely. My common sense told me not to. Against this better judgement I got up, pulled off my dress, and did whatever he asked of me.

That week-end I spent tied up in every conceivable way, my most vulnerable parts exposed to Steve's least whim. We had the most fantastic sex ever. Giving up all self-control brought a whole new dimension to our love-making. I was totally his, body and soul, his love-slave. I adored every moment. He and Bea had both tied my wrists behind me to keep me corseted and skirted whatever I might wish, and I had not found my submission to them altogether unpleasant. But this was fantastic, another world altogether. As a slave, I submitted to him absolutely.

Otherwise Steve became my husband, and behaved like one. He moved right into the master bedroom, as before, but this time he let me sleep there too. I soon became his loving wife, just as Bea had predicted. I don't know whether I ever had a choice, or could have objected. I didn't. I loved it. Steve was always an attentive husband. When he came home from work each evening, he usually brought me something, often flowers, which I just loved, or a chocolate confection, or a piece of costume jewelry. He was so very gallant. I did my best to make him feel comfortable in what was now his home too. I tried to be perfect for him, always pretty, the house always neat with fresh charming touches, dinner always nearly ready, and a drink waiting for him when he came home. Life with him was quite different from life with Bea. To Bea I was a servant merely, an employee, and only rarely did she call on me for intimate services. And when I did make love to her, it was not as a husband but as a chambermaid expected to do her bidding. Now Steve and I were actually living as husband and wife, and I was always the wife. It somehow seemed to be my conjugal duty.

It was an old fashioned marriage, with Steve the head of our household, and me a devoted housewife and lover. He took the lead, and I followed him. When I didn't, he found ways to punish me during our bondage games. Yet most of the times even my punishments led to wonderful love-making -- even being spanked usually made me feel very hot, and when he released me still in tears, I would jump him and start kissing, licking and sucking him as soon as I could reach him.

We had wonderful shopping sprees. When I shopped with Bea, Bea always selected whatever it was I tried on bought, as if I were a child. With Bea, I did what I was told. With Steve it seemed quite different. He made me select the things that I liked, and I would try them on, and then ask his opinion. He would tell me whether or not it was becoming. He had excellent taste. If he didn't like something I would usually agree, and I gave in even when I disagreed, because I wanted to please him. I was dressing for his approval, anyhow, so why not?

He preferred very feminine things. We bought lovely dresses that displayed glimpses of my bosom -- always in good taste, of course, and dresses that accented my slim waist or my long legs. I loved long and voluminous skirts, and so did he, and skirts with rustling petticoats with scalloped embroidered edges, and skirts that were narrow and tight, slit from the ankles nearly to the hip. Worn with a lacy elastic band to hold sheer nylons high on the thighs, they looked very erotic. We bought tops with high stand-up collars so form-fit around my breasts they looked sprayed on, and tops with big balloon sleeves, and necklines so plunging that my breasts and my modesty were at risk, and others with no back at all. And of course we bought shoes for every outfit, always very high-heeled. There was a store that specialized in heels of five inches and higher, and we depleted its stock. I loved seeing my feet in them, so elegant yet so sexy! I was now quite accustomed to walking in heels that high, and I wore lower only when doing house-work, when Steve was not at home.

Usually I cooked dinner for us, but I always dressed my best for Steve even when we ate at home. I was eager to wear all those wonderful things we had bought. Often I set the dining-room table with our best china, and decorated it with flowers and candles to create a romantic atmosphere. Steve joined in the festive spirit, and always came down wearing a jacket and tie. When I called him to dinner, he joined me in the living-room, greeted me with a kiss on my hand and led me to the table. He was such a gentleman! Sometimes I played a different role, and pretended to be the servant of a lofty aristocrat, and served my Lord attired very formally in a dressy uniform with starched petticoats, and a small lace apron with streamers tied behind me in a very big bow, which bobbed above my derriere with every step. And of course I wore a cute little maid's cap. I curtsied at every opportunity, saying "Very well, Milord" or "Will there be anything else I can do for you, Sir?"

It was quite different from being Bea's maid, far more enjoyable for both of us, and I had visible proof that Steve enjoyed it. Whether I was led to the table as an elegant lady, or stood behind his chair as his servant, just after the last course Steve always became a Lord having his way with his maid, and ravished me.

We continued our bondage games each weekend. I usually spent Saturdays and Sundays restrained one way or the other, all day and all night. Steve pushed me deeper and deeper into submission to his will. He devised ways of tying me up under my clothes, and took me to the movies, or to a museum in broad daylight, and then to a restaurant, where he fed me. My arms were often strapped to my body under a loose cape that scarcely reached my crotch, and my black tights and high heels showed exposed beneath it. I felt so deliciously helpless! I must have looked quite sexy, because many men stared at me intently. My arms were hidden, but I was thrilled that many suspected I was tightly bound.

When Bea had been gone for about a month, Steve asked if I would come slave for him at his place of business. It seemed an odd but delightful way for him to ask me to help out, so I replied at once, "Your wish is my command, Master!." He smiled at me. The next morning, I made myself pretty in a red and white checkered cotton blouse with puffed sleeves and an off-the-shoulder neckline, and a wide knee-length skirt with its own crinoline petticoat, red high heeled shoes, and my hair tied back with a red satin band with a large bow on top. After breakfast, me looking fresh as a daisy, off we went. We drove to the trade district of the city, and stopped in a side street in front of a smallish single-story brick building. We entered through a series of studios or workshops, and went straight to the back rooms where Steve showed me his office. I couldn't make out what Steve manufactured and sold here, and I asked him.

"I thought you knew, you silly girl. Bondage gear! I make all sorts of wrist and elbow cuffs, harnesses, gags, helmets, slave collars, whatever your heart desires. They're made from all of the materials you can imagine, too, leather, steel, even carbon reinforced plastic, the latest in space technology, stronger than steel and yet much lighter. I do my own designs and make things to order, but I also sell mass produced stuff from other manufacturers. Here, come along to the show-room."

He took me to the front of the building and led me through a door into pitch darkness. Then he flipped a switch, and the whole scene was illuminated like a stage. There on display were a dozen or more mannequins, most of them female, wearing all kinds of shackles, fetters, hobbles, and cuffs on every part of their bodies, and every conceivable kind of gag from simple ball gags with straps passing through them to huge dildoes attached to intricate head-harnesses. Now it became clear to me why he knew so much about bondage, and where he had gotten those toys we had been playing with.

I looked around, and couldn't help but imagine how I would feel wearing this stuff. It got me quite hot. The previous week-end in bondage had taught me to love the thrill of feeling completely helpless, yielding my freedom and my will altogether to someone I loved and trusted. I felt my panties getting quite tight.

"Come over here, Prissy," said Steve. "This one I like best of all." He brought me over to the far end and flipped another switch. A few spotlights lit up the figure of a girl harnessed to a sulky, as if she were a horse hitched up for a trotting race. "That's my pony girl costume. You like it?" I didn't want to let on how thrilled I was to imagine myself as this girl. Her arms were fastened high behind her to gleaming leather straps running from a belt over her shoulders criss-crossed between her breasts to the belt in front. Another strap ran under her crotch, to keep her belt from riding up. Her breasts were naked, but contained in a complicated network of straps that supported them. Most thrilling was her bridle and bit, with reins attached that led to the carriage. She was entirely at the mercy of the sulky driver. A wonderful predicament, helpless, powerfully driven, magnificent!

I tried to be noncommittal. "Yes, it looks very interesting," I said, but my hoarse tone gave away my excitement.

"I thought you would like it. I you wish, I'll make one for you."

"Oh no, by no means, not for me. Where would I wear it?" When I said that, I realized I had practically said that I would love to wear it if I only knew only where. I could have bitten my tongue. But Steve seemed not to notice, and we went back to the office.

He then showed me what he wanted me to do. His computer had gone down and many entries had backed up, and now that it was functioning again they needed to be entered properly, back-dated There was a lot to do, though it was easy work. I sat down in front of the computer and switched it on. "Just so you don't wander off and hurt yourself with dangerous tools, or at a punching machine, I'll put this on you," Steve said in a considerate tone of voice. He came up from behind me, and before I could react he closed a collar around my neck with a sharp click. I turned and saw a chain stretching from my collar to the nearby wall, long enough to let me move around the office, but too short to allow me to leave. "To work now, my little slave," Steve said cheerfully, as he left the office. I had no choice but to stay there and begin doing what he had asked me to do.

He kept me there all day long. He came in to look at me a few times, and brought me a sandwich and a soda at lunch-time, and let me got to the toilet when I needed to go, but he didn't remove the collar and chain. That night, he unlocked the chain from the collar and substituted a leash. Then he put elbow cuffs on my arms and connected them with a very short chain. I could use my hands for many things, but was unable to reach my mouth, which he filled with a simple ball gag. When I saw he wanted us to leave, I resisted as well as I could, because he clearly meant for me to walk outside cuffed, gagged, and leashed, and I couldn't! But my resistance was easily overcome, and I found myself walking as fast as I could toward the car, where I stood while he took his time locking up his shop and checking every lock twice. Finally he unlocked his car, and I was relieved to duck inside without anybody seeing me.

From then on, I worked for Steve during the day, tried to be his wife evenings and at all hours of the night, and served him as his submissive slave in our weekend domination games. This became our routine. But I not only computerized his paperwork, he often used me as a model when trying out new designs. He would make various kinds of gear and ask me how they felt, if they were uncomfortable immediately or only after a longer period of time, and how uncomfortable -- enough for punishment, or enough to reward someone who liked punishment? I stayed bound for most of my time at work. We were scrupulous in our testing procedures, especially when testing a submissive's availability for sex with different combinations of straps, belts, and chains. So I usually fucked and sucked Steve's cock several times a day while wearing different arrays. I must say, I never imagined that product testing could be so pleasant. And since the test gear was all made to my measure and to be discarded if I didn't approve it, I ended up with a lot of unusual things for tying men and women up, into, and around each other..

Being bound by Steve always thrilled me. Giving myself to him was always exciting. With every strap he put on me this excitement grew, until by the end of the day I wanted to grab him and pull him to bed. But I couldn't until he chose to release me, most of the time only after we were home. Sometimes he kept me restrained through the night and all through our love-making. I came to love being 'forced' to do things that he wanted me to do, and at those times I experienced the strongest and most fulfilling orgasms I had ever had. Sex by my own desires began to seem tame by comparison. At night I dreamed I was being raped, repeatedly, by an army of gentle and considerate Steves. Awake or asleep, I was happy.

Being bound most of the time did not allow me to cook dinners like those of our first month playing house. Most of the time, as the old joke goes, all I could make for dinner was reservations at nearby restaurants. When we went out, Steve used the occasion to test even more of his inventory on me, his various hidden bondage devices. It was terribly embarrassing, but I must say, it was also terribly thrilling.

Looking back at these two months with Steve, I can see now that these games and practices destroyed most of my residual masculinity. I had already decided that being loved as a woman was glorious, preferable to being loving as a man. Even so, the back of my mind always registered a sense of shame, because despite all I was a man, and men do not enjoy being submissive. So I believed. But being 'forced' to make love as a slave girl gave me an excuse. I was unable to object to what was being done to me, and gradually the little masculine voice within me became higher pitched, then disappeared, and my feeling of guilt with it.

My birthday came near the end of this time I spent with Steve. He saw to it that I was showered with presents. There were several boxes almost like jewel boxes. When I opened them, I found collars, bracelets, anklets, cuffs, necklaces, and other beautiful jewelry whose prime purpose, I realized, was to restrain me. I was right. He took everything out and put it on me. They all locked, and could only be opened with one key. Everything fit closely, and was made of golden metal links similar to those of the bands of expensive watches. But more. They all could be linked together with special clamps, cuffs to collars or necklaces or whatever, by catches they all had disguised among the links. Steve showed me how much more comfortable these articles were than ordinary handcuffs. If my wrists were connected with these bracelets, I could lie down comfortably or sit in a car without actually feeling either the bracelets or their connecting clamp, pleased to be wearing expensive jewelry.

Chapter Fourteen: Prissy At Your Service

(in which our heroine is loaned out)

When Bea returned, I could see at once that she had had a marvelous time. She was radiant, relaxed, glowing with good spirits, and really nice to me. Of course I was once again her maid, with all of the discipline and formality and rules of behavior she had set down for me. But somehow there was a difference. She seemed less distant, almost friendly, almost as if I were an assistant instead of a servant. Of course she allowed me no familiarities -- I was still required to curtsy regularly, and address her as Madame. But now, when giving me orders, she would say "please," or "would you be so kind." She seemed happy, and concerned that I should be happy too. She was concerned too that I looked nice, and when we had guests for tea she made sure I was perfectly coiffed and attractively dressed. In fact, she took some of my uniforms back to the store and had them altered to look sexier. When they came back, their necklines plunged much deeper, baring my breasts nearly to my nipples, and my hemlines left little of my thighs to be imagined. "You have such a cute ass, now, Prissy," she said. "When you bend over, tease people. Let them glimpse it. And wiggle it now and then."

After one of those tea parties -- I think it was for some committee of a charity -- Bea told me that the other ladies were quite envious of her pretty maid. One of the ladies even asked to borrow her for a party the following week, and Bea agreed. "I'm sure you'll find it interesting," she told me.

I was doubtful. Being a domestic servant here in my own house to my own wife was one thing, but in a strange household, where nobody knew me -- the idea made me uneasy. What if someone realized I was no ordinary girl?

"On the contrary," Bea countered, "If nobody knows you, there's no danger that your little secret will be discovered, unless I were to say something like 'Don't keep my pretty little husband out too late. That cute tush of his needs its beauty rest.' I'm not likely to do that while you continue to do whatever I think appropriate, now am I? And this woman is prepared to pay you generously. Let's see. If you were there from about seven in the evening, and stayed until the last guests left, and helped clean up afterward, you could earn as much as $200! In a single evening! Just think of all the lacy lingerie you could buy with that! I think you should give it a try."

Well, I knew that Bea's suggestions were never casual. If she wanted me there, somehow I would be there. And so I was. And I must say, it was indeed interesting, modestly flaunting my charms to strangers. It was a party to announce their daughter's formal engagement, an announcement that surprised no one, since she and her fiance had already been living together for almost a year. The guests were all gracious and courteous to me, and I collected quite a few tips in addition to my salary, mostly from older gentlemen who passed most of the evening peering at my décolleté. Two or three were even so bold -- when they were sure their wives were occupied elsewhere -- as to ask if I was free to have dinner with them on my day off. I declined, naturally, but somehow I felt flattered.

When another of Bea's lady friends asked to borrow me for a party, I was quite willing to accept without Bea's urging. This time the party was to celebrate her husband's promotion to high executive status in his corporation, and a lot of people from the company were present, most of them men. One of the guests asked me to prepare a special drink at the bar, and while he was leaning forward to instruct me, he said suddenly in a low voice, "I think we've met before, haven't we?"

Well, that old line got from me an unthinking "I'm awfully sorry, sir, but I don't think so."

Then he shocked me. "Oh, but I am sure of it. You were a red-head then, and working as a receptionist for a Pearl somebody we sometimes do business with. I'm sure of it. Your face is changed a little, and you're a blonde now, but I could never forget your walk, those swinging hips prancing in those sky-scraper heels. And of course I remember the great blow-job you gave me."

I looking around to see if anyone had heard him. "Psst -- sir, I beg you," I said. My past life had caught up with me!

"Well, how about a repeat performance?," he said with affable assurance, looking to everyone else as if he were discussing differences among kinds of vermouth. "I'm ready to bet $100 that you can find the time and a place to accommodate me tonight. Or would you rather tell the hostess that I've asked to sample your special talents? Or shall I?" He peeled five twenties off of a fat money clip, rolled them up, and stuffed them into my cleavage.

I looked at him. He wasn't that bad looking. The five twenties were not an important incentive, but I dreaded the repercussions if word got out that Bea's maid had once been a corporate slut, a kind of salaried prostitute, and was now in business for herself. Bea might have to throw me out to preserve her own respectability.

I told him to wait five minutes and then come up to the guest room, the second door to the right on the second floor. I knew we could be private there, because that was the room given to me to change into my uniform. Still, I was a little apprehensive when I went there, and sat down to wait for him. He came in almost immediately, shut the door, and stood in the middle of the room, his cock hanging out before he had managed to stand still. Without a word, he pointed to a spot in front of him, and I kneeled down at his feet to do him. Oddly, it felt a little exciting, the way it felt when Steve was ordering me into bondage and I had to comply. I used all of my skills to bring him off fast, and succeeded in record time.

"You are a very talented girl," he said, patting my hair, as I licked him clean and zipped him back where he belonged. "If you should need any references, tell anyone to call Phillip Sculley, I will be glad to recommend you. Thanks a million, dear." He then left, leaving me still kneeling in the middle of the room. I was dazed. I was also humiliated.

I tried my best to forget the incident, but when I came home and undressed, the money fell from my cleavage and Bea saw it. I had to tell her what had happened. All she said was, "Well, that could become an interesting side-line to your job."

It soon was. Bea loaned me out a few more times, and one job three weeks later was memorable. It was an Elk's meeting, with about a dozen men, and I was the only woman. The newly elected chapter president was Philip Sculley, and he wanted to give his lodge brothers a treat -- me. That night I had no problem walking or standing in my high heels for long hours. I was mostly on my knees. Some guys came back for seconds, or even thirds. In the end my knees and my jaw were sore, but I cleared $1,200 in tips.

Bea had no problem with this. She took note that it was more money than I had ever earned before in 3 hours, and she took note that it was tax free, with no overhead to carry. "You should appreciate the fact that so many men find you attractive," was all she added. It was true enough. All those men waiting eagerly for me to get to them to suck them off had given me a feeling of importance, even of a special power I had over them. It was kind of thrilling. Even so, I thought, I'd rather select my own lovers, and take them on one at a time.

These extra jobs with their generous tips on top of my regular salary filled my bank account quite nicely, and when our wedding anniversary came closer, I wanted to give Bea a special present. Despite everything, we were still married, and I still loved her. On one of my free afternoons I went shopping, and found in a second hand store Steve pointed out a marvelous big Hèrmes hand-bag, looking absolutely new. This was exactly what Bea would love, I thought, since she usually tries to carry her whole office in her handbag, writing pads, Dictaphone, batteries, tapes, and sometimes even books. I wanted to surprise Bea with it, and asked the store owner to hold it for me, because at the house Bea might find it accidentally.

The surprise, however, was on me. A few days before our anniversary Bea told me she wanted a special present from me.

"Yes, Madame," I replied, wondering what was coming. I couldn't tell her I already had gotten her one. "What is it that Madame wishes from me?"

"Prissy, now we're talking about our anniversary, and anniversary presents should always be personal, from the heart. So you needn't maintain formality with me when we discuss this one subject. Now we're not mistress and maid, but two women sharing our lives with each other. What I'd like is a ring."

"A ring?"

"Yes, a nice little Prince-Albert ring," she said. "Not for me, darling, for you. I want you to wear it so you'll always be reminded of me. As a kind of memento, a keepsake. Especially now that other people find you so attractive, I think a ring like that would be helpful. I'll even buy it for you. Your present to me will be to wear it. Please, will you?"

That sounded rather sweet. I hadn't thought that Bea still felt that sentimental about me. "Of course, dear," I said grandly. "I'll be happy to wear it." I was especially happy she hadn't once reminded me to say 'Madame'.

"Why, thank you, darling. I'm very pleased that you've consented. I wouldn't really have wanted to order you to wear it, not at all. Not something so personal. I'll inform Kay tomorrow morning."

"What does Kay have to do with it?" I asked. "Are you buying it from her?"

"In a way, yes -- and Kay has to insert it."

"Insert it where?" I was bewildered. "I never knew Kay was also a jeweler."

"Why, in the tip of your cock of course. That's where men wear Prince-Albert rings." She paused and looked at me wide-eyed. "Don't tell me you don't know what a Prince-Albert ring is."

I had not the slightest idea. I assumed it was one of those elaborate pieces of jewelry the Victorians liked to wear.

"A Prince-Albert is a piercing that goes through your urethra, from the tip of your cock to its underside. A ring inserted into a Prince-Albert is a Prince-Albert ring. It's very simple."

I was completely dumbfounded, and feeling a little frantic. What was she doing to me this time? "I never agreed to a piercing through my cock!" I said. "Never!"

"Of course you did. I asked if you would wear a Prince-Albert ring for me, and you said you'd be happy to wear one. Not two minutes ago! Now don't try to go back on your word. You know I won't let you renege on any agreement you make with me."

She had done it to me again. I had agreed, not knowing exactly to what. I had fallen into her trap again. I knew it was useless to argue with her now. She wasn't even bothering to look at me, to see if I meant to protest.

"You know, I'll enjoy your wearing it. I heard about it from a friend whose husband wears one. She told me it felt sensational when they fucked, because it rubbed her sensitive tissues so enticingly. She told me it was a big help to their lovemaking, because her husband was not very big, and this made up for what was missing, and what she was missing. It was even better than a big cock, she told me."

"And you know," Bea went on, "Many men have bigger cocks than yours. I've sampled quite a few by now, as I'm sure you know. That's why I'm so happy to arrange for Steve to come by to distract you, when you might be worried that I'm fucking better men than you are. So you won't have time to brood about it. I'm sure you wouldn't want to deprive me of the added pleasure a Prince-Albert ring could give me when we're making love, would you?"

Well, what could I say to that? I'd do anything to enhance Bea's pleasure, so she'd want to keep fucking with me. "No, not at all," I muttered.

"I didn't think so," Bea said. "And you'll be delighted that a Prince-Albert has an additional use, too. We can tie a ribbon or something to it, then pull your whole cock back, to avoid unsightly bulges in your panties. You'll have a mound just like mine. Just think of it, you won't have to wear tight girdles under everything any more, and with the summer coming, you could wear wide, cool panties if you wish, and even skimpy string-bikini bottoms, without fear that your cock will expose you. Won't that be nice?"

I had to agree there were advantages.

"Fine. I'll call Kay then, and let her know you've agreed."

Kay insisted on a full anesthetic for this little operation, as she insisted on calling it, because I had to be fully relaxed, with no risk of a sudden rush of blood to the operating field. She told me that it would not be very painful afterwards, because the piercing would be done by a laser gun. The heat of the laser would seal the inner sides of the little hole, and speed healing enormously. I would be good as new within a few days. "Better than new," she added. "I hear that when you were new, you weren't that much."

When I came to after the operation, my whole groin was bandaged. By now I knew enough to look at Kay with deep anxiety, and she grinned. "Don't worry," she said, "It's all still there. And a little more. That little tube there is to let you pee past the piercing without irritating it. Keep it like that for a week, and then we'll remove it, and everything will be fine. Then you can test your ring's usefulness if you like. And if Bea likes."

That would be the day of our anniversary, and I planned to do a lot of testing then. Actually I was really glad that Bea was once again interested in my masculinity. This could be the start of a change in our relationship.

When the bandages were removed, I saw the ring for the first time. It seemed to be quite thick, though its diameter was rather small. I imagined that Bea would enjoy feeling it tucked into her cunt. Steve happened to be hanging out in Kay's office, and offered to take me home. I gladly accepted, because I was still sore, and felt a little queasy, "But first we have to pick up that bag I bought for Bea, at that store you showed me. I left it there."

The store owner went to fetch the bag from her store-room, and Steve meanwhile examined her other kinds of merchandise. He showed me a long gold chain with heart-shaped locket, opened the locket, and found a little padlock inside, complete with key. There were words engraved inside the locket in a small, fine script, hard to read. Steve took it to the light, and with squinting eyes read them aloud, "You've locked up my heart, And we'll never part, And this is the key To the rest of me."

"Now that's the kind of sentiment I appreciate," Steve said. "This would have made a very nice anniversary present too." He took out the lock. "It really works!" He opened and shut it with the little key, and the mechanism clicked open and shut smoothly, like a fine watch. "This is probably quite expensive, the way it's crafted. A real masterpiece," he observed as he put it back.

Just then the lady returned, her face sorrowful. "I must apologize, but we don't have that bag any more. My assistant must have sold it, not realizing that it was already sold. I'm truly sorry. This is very embarrassing for me. All I can do to compensate you for your disappointment is, offer you anything else in the store up to twice the price of that bag, for the same money. Or else, if you wish, I'll return you your purchase price, with apologies."

Of course I was very disappointed, but Steve again picked up the chain and locket. "How much is this?" It turned out to be more than twice what I had paid for the bag, but Steve began to haggle with her, and finally got her to agree to accept the trade. She put it into a leather covered box lined with red velvet, where it looked even more expensive.

I thought we had made an excellent deal, and gave Steve a big kiss when we got back in the car. "Was that Prissy's, or Honey's, or Henry's kiss, that you are so pleased with your wife's anniversary present," Steve asked, amused. He noticed that I was wearing my bracelets with the lock-clamps, and he clamped them together behind my back. "This will show Bea that you are all hers when we get home," he said.

When we got home, Steve opened the front door for me and carried the leather box with the chain and locket into the living room. There was Bea, arranging some flowers. I rushed over to her and gave her a kiss, and said, "Happy anniversary Darling." I then added, "And as a further token of my love for you, I've brought you a present". Steve handed her the box. She was really surprised. When she opened it and saw the chain and the locket, she put it around her neck right away. "The locket opens. There's something in it," I explained.

She opened it and took out the little padlock, marveling at its miniature precision. Then she read the inscription. "Oh! Darling, how sweet of you! I didn't know you wanted this so soon. Thank you, thank you, dear. But now let me see my other present."

She pulled up the wide skirt that I was wearing and took down my panties. "Sit down and lean back, I want to see all of it quite clearly." I sat down and pulled up my knees to give her a good view. "Wonderful! It's just what I had hoped. Now let's try it right away."

"Try what?" I asked, thinking she was inviting me to enter her pussy with it.

"Well, your other present, of course," Bea said. She took the little lock and hooked it into the Prince-Albert ring. Then she pulled my cock back between my legs and I heard something click. She let my cock go, but it stayed where she had put it, tucked way back. I tried to look, but couldn't see anything.

Bea was now deliriously happy. "This is the nicest present you've ever given me. Thank you sooo much, my darling. I wanted to use the ring to tie back your cock, so I asked Kay to install a second ring in your perineum, between your balls and your asshole. Then I could tie a ribbon between the two rings, to keep your cock out of sight whenever you wanted to wear a scanty bikini. I never dreamed you'd agree to a padlock. That's so wonderful! It's what I've wanted for so long. Now your cock really is all mine. I love you for it! Come, let me kiss you again."

I didn't understand. What did she say I had asked her? She was so happy, I didn't want to dampen her euphoria. She pulled me over to her and kissed me with a fervor I hadn't experienced in many weeks.

She let me go after what must have been several minutes, opened the locket again, and held it into the light to read the inscription again. "I still can't believe you agreed to this," she said, "but here it is engraved in gold for eternity: 'I give you this lock, To bind my cock, And this is the key To the rest of me.' That is so sweet! To give me complete control over your most private part, and make it mine exclusively, under my lock and key. So that now, not even you can use it without my consent! Oh, you are such a darling. What a wonderful anniversary present. And you're so right, that my control over your prick gives me control over all the rest of you. I just love it!"

What in heavens had I done this time? Had I really asked her to lock up my cock? I was speechless for a moment. I looked around for Steve, but he must have excused himself because he was gone. I simply could not tell Bea that it was all a misunderstanding.

The fact remained that my cock was locked up now, and would stay that way. Bea refused to remove the padlock. "Why? It's so sweet! And it's so practical for you! No more panty-girdles! No embarrassing bulges! You'll have to sit on the toilet all the time now, of course. But that's no hardship -- all women do that, and you've been doing it for the practice I know. And now, I know when I lend you out that none of those love hungry hostesses will be able to seduce you into making love as a man."

"Then again, there are other dangers. You're going to meet many more men soon, Prissy, and I've realized it was only a matter of time before some man using you as a woman wants you to use him the same way. There are such men. But now you can be a man only with me, and only when I want you to be. If I ever want you to be! I love this! No, we'll leave you locked up. And I'm so pleased that it was your idea."

And that was the end of it. There was no further discussion. The next morning, our anniversary over, I brought Bea her breakfast at the appointed time, curtsied, and asked the Madame if she wanted anything else. She just smiled.

Soon after, Bea informed me that Mr. Sculley had phoned her. He had asked whether it would be possible to have my services twice a week for his city apartment. He told Bea that he lived there as a bachelor because his wife never came to the city, preferring to stay in the country with her kids. His talents for keeping the apartment in order were very limited, he told her. He had a cleaning woman who came in twice weekly, but now she intended to retire and move to Florida.

I told Bea this was probably untrue. What he really wanted from me were very personal services. Bea saw no problem anyhow -- he'd paid well, and I couldn't say that he was personally revolting. At the Elk's meeting he had actually been nice, and had seen to it that I wasn't too swarmed by the other men. He was somebody one could grow to like.

I had my reservations, however. "Going to be his maid twice weekly could lead to trouble if his wife found out," I told Bea. "I mean, he's happily married with kids and all that. It could blow up right in my face. I could even be hauled into court as the 'third party' in a divorce action."

Bea calmed me. "He told me that his wife didn't expect him to live like a monk all week long. She understands he'll have affairs, as long as nothing serious develops. He told her he was getting 'extended maid service' as he called it, and his wife thought it a good idea, to have somebody take care of him who would be paid for her services. I told him that I could arrange for you to see him Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, and that as long as you were back the following morning, I wouldn't complain."

Now I had two jobs as a maid, one of them as a call girl as well. Mr. Sculley in fact paid me more for the two afternoons than Bea did for the rest of the week, and the work was not all that hard. He was rather tidy, and made little mess. He never ate at home, and all his washing was done by his wife. So I just had to vacuum and dust and make the bed. Yes. The bed. It did not take long each time before I found myself lying in it face down, with my ass high in the air, awaiting his cock. Mr. Sculley was not a man who took no for an answer, and he could see no reason why I would suck him off but balked at being fucked. I tried my best to hide my secret, and succeeded for about two weeks. But in spite of all the tricks I used, he discovered that I had a cock too. I could not use 'those days of the month' as an excuse when they extended all through the month and into the next.

At first I thought he would kill me -- but all he did after the first moment of surprise was to laugh. "Just think!" he roared. "All those stuffed shirts you sucked off at that meeting, all those super straight, macho guys who know all about women, who would rather jump from a thirteenth story window than have sex with a man! Prissy, you are worth a million! What you've been getting away with! Come here, Prissy! To me you are what you seem to be, a very pretty and sexy woman. Turn around, and I'll show you how I make love to a woman who is 'indisposed' to receive me in her cunt." And he did. And then again. And twice each week, after that.

He turned out to be a gentle and considerate lover, with lots of stamina. Soon I was looking forward to seeing him. Steve was no longer an occasional lover. He called a few times, and we agreed to get together, but we never did. Maybe he had been Bea's accomplice once too often -- his "accidental" discovery of that lock and key inside the locket, and his misreading of the inscription, were no more accidental than his bondage games. But he had done most of what Bea wanted. Little by little he had accustomed me to becoming her submissive, virtually her slave, now on loan to others.

Now my love-making with my wife was entirely limited to the kinds of lovemaking women perform with another. Mostly I pleasured her with my tongue. But as it turned out, once my cock was locked up she didn't again wish to release it for either her mouth or her cunt. Even masturbation was impossible with my cock locked back as it was. As I got more and more hard up, my asshole and my tits became more and more erogenous, the most erogenously available parts of me. I started to use a vibrator on myself, and my big butt-plugs made me horny. But they brought no real satisfaction. So l began to welcome having a lover twice a week, getting gloriously screwed, and getting paid for what I loved to do. Mr. Sculley never made me feel like a whore though. He was a real gentleman.

Even when he turned me into a real whore, he never let me feel like one. After a very satisfying love bout, while we were still recuperating side by side, he looked at me and said, "Prissy, you are wasted as a maid. How much do you make anyway? It's peanuts compared to what you could be earning. With your talents you could pull down half a grand for two hours work, really two hours of playtime for you, or a grand to enjoy yourself with a client for the night. Now, I'm not in that business, but I know a lady who runs an escort service for men. Would you be interested?"

"I'm not that kind of a girl," I replied. That cliche was the first thing that came to my mind when Mr. Sculley made that outrageous suggestion."

"Well, my dear, Bea called me. She tells me she'd like you to become that kind of a girl. She says she's always urged you to enjoy more men. Lots more men. She says you've understood that since your first night with Steve, when you first discovered the pleasures of feeling Steve in your ass. Isn't that so?"

It was so.

"She also said that it wasn't good for your self-respect to be dependent on her for your income. She pays you for your maid services, of course, but she says a girl like you needs a profession to fall back on if she must, a source of independent income. It builds confidence."

"Bea wants me to be a call girl as well as her maid? What if I won't do it?"

"Well, dear, if I'm any judge, you will do it. Her mind seems to be made up."

He was right. Bea had already decided. From then on I was listed as a specialty in the books of a very discreet escort service.

The men who hired me were all 'well-to-do,' and not very young any more. They all thought it thrilling to date a beautiful she-male. We usually went to a great restaurant for dinner, though sometimes only for cocktails, then usually back to their hotel. No money ever changed hands, and all financial matters were handled in advance by the escort service and Bea. I cleaned for Mr. Sculley twice each week, and was usually home in time to prepare dinner for Bea. Then, those evenings I went out again, booked for the evening or for the night, sometimes booked 'open end' and sometimes not.

'For the evening' meant up to 10:00pm, and 'for the night' meant until 7:00 am. 'Open end' meant that my butt-plug would not be locked on, and my ass was available. Bea had found that the little ring to which my 'Prince-Albert-ring' was locked could also be used to lock up my butt-plug so it couldn't be removed. So with a 'closed end' the pleasures I offered were strictly limited to my hands, tits, and mouth.

Even an 'open end' booking didn't necessarily mean I'd be fucked. Some of the gentlemen never made use of what they paid for. They just wanted to have dinner with me and to chat about life as a she-male. The first time I may have been a little morose -- I wasn't sure I wanted to be a call girl. Word got back to Bea, somehow, and she informed me that girls on dates are always lively, vivacious, lots of fun, delighted to talk about themselves, and always terribly interested in the man they happen to be with.

So that's what I became, a sprightly companion. Some men must have envied my apparently care-free life. Others, the older ones, probably wanted only to be able to tell their friends that "I booked her 'open end,' and then stuffed her shut!" I developed a reputation in certain circles as both good company and a good lay. I felt more and more like a woman. As I took off my maid's uniform some evenings, and selected an evening gown or dinner dress suitable for my scheduled night's work, I realized that I had no time to think of myself as a man any more. That kind of consciousness hardly existed. Its only remnant was my locked-back cock, a souvenir from a former life as someone else.

Chapter Fifteen: Prissy Sells Out

(in which our heroine facilitates the sale of her business)

My life took on a routine. I began to suspect that Bea had always had something in mind for me that she wasn't telling me, from the way she had hurried me from my dull masculinity of two years ago to now, my days spent in formal servility as her maid, and my nights spent entertaining other men with my mouth, ass, and a lively feminine charm I was still developing. Now I wasn't sure what Bea was doing. She took to going away most weekends, never telling me where or why, but she never left me alone to think things through for myself. When the escort service didn't schedule me to serve as some wealthy man's delightful companion, Steve returned to help me fill the time. Most of that time I spent bound and helpless. He devised several intricate ways to restrict me even when we were out in public, and I came to feel uneasy the few times he left me free, on my own.

Once, in fact, he took me to dinner and then unlocked my handcuffs, excused himself, told me he'd see me back home in two hours, and left me. No explanation. I tinkered with my food but couldn't eat, felt ashamed to call for the check, and felt even more helpless, even embarrassed, trying to decide how much of a tip to leave. Then the thought of calling for a taxi and paying the driver almost paralyzed me. I had become so dependent on people taking care of me in return for sexual favors, that I felt helpless without them. Even a little frightened. When I arrived home Steve was waiting for me in the living room, and I begged him to tie me up. When he had bound me hand and foot, only then did I feel secure enough to smother him with kisses, I could hardly wait for the love-making that followed.

So I was grateful when one day Bea called me into her study, and when I had curtsied and said "Madame?" she leaned forward on her desk, and clasped her hands, and looked me in the eyes.

"You know, Prissy," she said. "I think we need to evaluate your current situation. You've lived and loved as a woman now for many months. You like it. You're growing more and more dependent on Steve, and your other men, and on me, and more and more uncertain about money, and business. In a way it's part of your femininity. Who would have thought you'd lapse back to being such a sweet little girl in some respects? Now then. I'm sure you don't want to go back to being an active partner in your partnership, ever again. You've lost your head for business, from using it so often for other things. I think you should sell your shares, and put the proceeds in a trust fund for your retirement. Don't you agree?"

I had wondered about that myself. Returning to work now seemed quite impossible, but if I were to sell out, I'd hardly realize anything from my shares in the firm. My partners were shrewd, and would certainly use my present helplessness to bring down the price. I said so to Bea.

"Prissy -- let me do it. I'll need your cooperation, but I already have a plan." I had learned to worry about Bea's plans, and I wondered if I should feel sorry for my partners. But I didn't.

A week later, on Sunday, Bea invited my three partners, Martin, Randolph and William, to our house. But she invited Martin for breakfast, Randolph for lunch and William for dinner, and told each of them not to talk about it to the others. As the man who had started the business, I held 28% of the partnership's shares, and each of the others 24%. Bea hinted to each in turn that I was prepared to sell my shares to him alone, giving him more than 50%, effectively giving him uncontested ownership of the business. All three of them were quite interested.

On that Sunday Bea made me wear a special uniform prepared just for this occasion. It barely covered my tits, and if I bent over and jiggled even a little, they popped out altogether into plain sight. Then she gave me my instructions.

"When Martin comes, I'll start the discussion and make him the offer. Then I'll let the timer go off in the kitchen and excuse myself to attend to it, promising to be back in a few minutes. It's then up to you, Prissy. It'll be your job to seduce him. Wiggle your ass and pop your boobies in his face while you pour his coffee, get him hot, then go down on him and suck him off. You can do it, my dear. I've heard reports. You're a professional! A virtuoso! I hear there's no stopping you when there's a prick slipping in and out of your mouth! I'll re-appear shortly after he cools down. Then you'll do the same with the other two."

I did not like this scenario. It was humiliating for me to suck my own partners' cocks, but Bea assured me it was necessary, and they'd never recognize me. I had sucked so many pricks recently, she said, that three more couldn't matter in the slightest.

Bea judged my partners exactly right. Each time she disappeared into the kitchen to attend to her timer, I came in with a little tray of petite fours and coffee. I bent low to set it on the coffee table, my tits full in each of their faces, and when I stretched up again they jumped out of my dress and stood out naked, nipples hardened. I feigned embarrassment while accidentally touching my nipples to each man's face as I stood. Each tried to console me, yet each reached to caress my tits and ended by taking my nipples into their mouths. After a few moments I could feel their pricks straining against their trousers, and I rubbed against them until they seemed ready to burst. Each time I had to hurry to take them out and suck on them, and in just another moment each of them squirted cum into my mouth, too frantic to wait any longer. After I had carefully tucked them back into their pants, they each asked me for a date. "I am sure I'll see you again soon," I answered, "I'll call you."

I then withdrew and let Bea have the field. She told me the negotiations proceeded quite pleasantly, and that she received substantial offers for my shares. She said to each that she would think it over, and suggested a partnership meeting for next Wednesday at 11:00 am at the office. All agreed.

The next Wednesday we went to the office. It was a strange feeling for me to go to my own office again after more than a year. So much had happened. The secretaries checked me over, because I was dressed on the edge of indecency, but none of them dreamed I was their former boss. Early in my transformation Bea had kept me home so the regimen of hormones could take over, and I could get accustomed to wearing only skirts and dresses, and to moving like a woman. Now here I was, wearing the cherry-red business suit Pearl had me wear to assist her with advantageous deals for her company. I was a wet dream, provocative when I worked for Pearl, and now with my far-bigger tits quite devastating. The partners were astonished to see that Bea had brought her maid, but said nothing.

Bea explained to them all that she had received offers from each of them for Henry's share, but that she thought those offers much too low, given the circumstances. They each protested, and told her to look at the figures. They had been more than fair. Bea then hauled out her heavy artillery. Knowing how she had manipulated me out of my manhood, into subservience, and into prostitution, I watched with some interest and a little amusement.

"I think under the circumstances, Henry deserves a far better offer than any of these. In fact I think Henry's share in the partnership is worth more than any one of you can afford. I think it would be wise if you pooled your offers and came up with a joint offer consisting of all three. Then you could re-divide Henry's shares however you chose, after we've gone."

"Impossible!" said Martin.

"Each one of us has already offered much more than those shares are worth" said Randolph.

William stood up and declared "No way will we pay more!" Then he sat down. They all were adamant.

Martin obviously thought Bea was naively unrealistic, being only a woman. "Why can't we talk it over with Henry? Where the hell is he? Why isn't he here?"

"But he is here," Bea said, and she turned to me. "This lady here is my husband. This woman is your partner, who owns a controlling share in the partnership and if she wished, could drive it into the ground and render your own shares worthless. Unless you can agree. May I present your partner and I am sure your favorite cocksucker, Henry?"

I hadn't expected this at all, and tried to sink into the ground. My face suddenly matched the color of my suit. A deadly silence ensued.

Then William spoke up, almost whispering "You mean to tell us ... I mean this...this... is... ?"

"Yes, of course he is," said Bea. "Honey, pull up your skirt and show them what's left of the old Henry."

Well, the damage was done already and there was nothing more for me to lose. Any dignity or respect I had enjoyed among my partners had just gone down the drain, I thought, so what the hell, I would show them.

I raised my skirt and lowered my panties. Now I knew why Bea had forgotten to re-lock my cock after my morning cleansing -- accidentally I had thought when it happened, though I should have learned by now that nothing Bea did was ever accidental. They all saw what was left of the old Henry -- and to my shame, it looked as if what little there was was growing.

"Are you satisfied, Gentlemen? OK Honey, you may cover yourself again."

She turned back to the men, each still under shock. "Oh -- before I forget. Since you all loved being serviced by my little she-male maid last Sunday, I've brought each of you a little present." She dug into her purse and produced three gift wrapped video-cassettes. "Here -- let me see, I put the names on these little cards. This one is for you William, and this is yours, Randolph, so this one must be for you Martin. Don't bother to look now, I know that these tapes will be thrilling for you to watch. They each show a respectable man, supposedly respectable, being seduced by a servant girl who is actually a she-male. I think the setting looks rather familiar. Your wives and employees will enjoy seeing them. We'll see they do. I'll keep these cassettes for the moment until we settle our deal."

"Now I think the two of us will leave you for five minutes, to let you make up your minds, and confer, and come up with a sensible offer. I've mentioned the sum of your individual offers as reasonable. And I know you can each of you pay that much, because each of you was prepared individually to pay that much. Here's a contract. Please look it over. Henry has already signed it, and it is notarized, and the figure I've mentioned is already entered. We lack each of your signatures. Come along, dear, give them time to think it over."

She took my arm and we went out.

"Did you have to tell them who I am, Bea?" I asked. "It's humiliating!"

"Oh, I thought they should know who they're dealing with. Besides, how can being a woman be humiliating? I'm sure you felt privileged when I told them!"

One of the secretaries brought us coffee while we waited in the reception area. In less than five minutes, Martin stuck his head out of the conference room and bade us to come in again. They evidently had not quite recovered, but had nevertheless agreed.

Randolph spoke after clearing his throat noisily. "Bea, we have decided to accept your offer, which is clearly an offer we cannot refuse. But we must have those tapes and know that no other video tapes exist depicting us and some ... person, supposedly ... Henry, in a compromising situation."

Bea reached for some other papers in her dispatch case. She smiled. "I had anticipated that you would listen to reason. Of course I understand your position. I have here prepared a declaration here, signed by Henry and me, that says 'We hereby certify that none of us have any copies of the video-cassettes handed to you today nor have we stored copies of it nor the original recording tape at any third place and that the copies now hereby handed over to you are the only ones of this kind we have ever had in our possession.' I think that should be satisfactory to you." They nodded their agreement. "Now if you would just all sign the agreement, I think we can conclude our business of today."

They all nodded and signed, and at their insistence, in their presence, I signed again. There must have been some doubt in their minds that I was who Bea said I was. The amount they were paying us seemed to me staggering. But we each exchanged signed copies, Bea handed over the gift wrapped cassettes and we took our departure.

"Have a nice day, Gentlemen," said Bea. "It was a pleasure to do business with you," Bea waved her hand graciously at them as we went out "We expect your check by Monday next week. Oh yes, as a special bonus, you can each have another one of Henry's champion blow jobs if you wish, right now or at your convenience."

I was devastated and humiliated. But my partners had had enough of me. "Keep him," said Martin. "She's all yours."

I recovered from all this only after we sat together in the car for a while. "I never knew you had taped our er ... activities last Sunday? Where was the camera?" I asked Bea.

"Are you out of your mind? I never taped anything. That would have been blackmail. I'm not a criminal."

"Then what was on the cassettes you gave them?"

"What I said, a picture of a she-male maid seducing a man. I picked up three copies of a she-male picture on 42nd Street the last time I came through New York. That is what I gave them. And I could truly state that I had neither the original recording tape nor any more copies of this picture in my possession. It is all very true. I can't help it if they assumed there was something else on the cassettes. They'll discover that to 'assume' often makes an ASS out of you U and ME, as a lawyer friend once told me. Now don't worry, they don't have anything to stand on if they want to go to court. Believe me, their check will be in the mail Monday. Do you really think they would risk putting their behavior in front of a jury? In front of their families? Don't you worry your pretty head, darling, your Bea has taken care of all the angles. I promised you that I would look after you. And I always will. As long as you do whatever I say."

Well, despite Bea's self-confidence, I was skeptical. I knew my partners. I knew they would move heaven and earth to get out of this contract, and on Monday I thought I was right. There was no check in the mail. But Bea was unperturbed when I mentioned this to her respectfully -- I did not want to imply that I had been right and she had been wrong in assessing the situation. "It's still Monday, so the check can still arrive on time," she said, "and I am sure it will."

In the afternoon she told me to cook a gourmet dinner for two, because she expected a guest. "And make yourself especially pretty. I've put out a uniform for you to wear. Put on sexy face, you know, more eye-shadow and mascara, and paint your mouth a really bright red." I was curious whom she expected, but didn't dare ask. Did she want to show me off to one of her lady friends? Or even to a man, a new lover maybe?

I put on the uniform dress. It was black taffeta and probably the tightest I had. I had to wear an extra tight corset to fit into it. It left most of my boobs bare and followed my figure closely to below my calves, accenting my round derriere and my thighs. The skirt was so tight, I could scarcely walk, and I knew I would have a hard time going down the stairs, especially with five inch heels. But as I crossed to the mirror I could feel my hips rotate sensuously, and within a few steps the skirt was forcing me to undulate in the most shamefully provocative way!

My apron was a lacy thing that accented my round, narrow waist and seemed to point right at my crotch. The cap was just a starched piece of lace that was worn like a tiara. I tried to follow Bea's demands for my makeup without looking downright sluttish, but it came out exaggeratedly sexy anyhow. With mascara on them, my lashes were extremely dark and long, and with the added heavy eye-shadow they became perfect 'bedroom-eyes'. To stay in style, I outlined my full lips with a rather dark red pencil and filled it with fire-engine-red lipstick. All in all, my face had the opposite of a 'natural look' -- in fact, it was a face of a woman with unnaturally exotic sexual appetites.

When I went down to start the dinner, Bea looked at me and nodded approvingly. "That's the look I wanted for you. Have dinner ready promptly at seven thirty. My guest will arrive at seven.". She still gave me not the slightest hint who the guest would be.

I had dinner nearly ready, and had set the table for two, when the door chimes sounded. I went to open the door and found myself face to face with my former partner Randolph! Of all people, I would never have expected him! He smiled at me with a barely restrained leer as I curtsied and begged him to come in.

"Well, Henry, there you are again," he said. He shook his head. "What women can do to us when they set their minds to it! But you're practically one of them yourself now, aren't you. The way you wrap those lips around a man's cock! Where did you learn that? Well, Bea was nice enough to invite me for dinner when I called her and told her I was dropping off the check after work today." He handed me a nicely arranged bunch of flowers.

"Please come in and make yourself comfortable, I'll get a vase for these." It was so mortifying to face him like this, I felt a deep blush rise to my face. Why did Bea have to invite him? It was awful enough that she had revealed my true identity at the meeting. I mean, making me seduce and suck off all three of my partners was bad enough, but they probably still thought my appearance as Bea's maid was just a setup for that occasion. Now worse, Randolph could see that I actually was Bea's maid, not just playing it for their benefit.

When we entered the living-room, Bea -- her timing perfect as always -- came down the stairs and greeted Randolph as if an old friend. She had changed to a beautiful cocktail dress, and her makeup was elegantly restrained, nowhere near as sexy as mine. "Would you like a cocktail before dinner? Or a glass of champagne?" Bea asked sweetly.

"Nothing strong please, I have to drive back. A small glass of champagne would be fine."

"All right then." She turned to me, "Champagne for our guest, and I'll have a very dry martini please, Prissy."

I curtsied, "Very well, Madame," and swiftly went to the kitchen. I had to sit down for a moment to recover from my embarrassment. What a shameful situation! I wanted to die! But I didn't, and there was no way out, so I put the flowers into a vase and brought them their cocktails. I couldn't bear to look into my former junior partner's face, so I kept my eyes downcast. I had taught him the business, and now here I was serving him champagne, dressed up as a sexy maid in my own house.

Bea seemed amused to notice my confusion, but paid no attention and carried on her light conversation with Randolph. I returned to the kitchen and then brought out the flowers, placing them on the coffee-table.

"Thank you, Prissy, that'll be all for now. Let us know when dinner is ready to be served," she said to me. Then, to Randolph, "She's a great cook too, not just great looking, as you'll see. And I've taught her such lovely manners!"

"Dinner can be served any time now," I said as I curtsied, and tried to withdraw to the kitchen.

"Then, by all means, let's begin," said Bea. They both got up, and very much the gentleman, Randolph offered her his arm to guide her to the table.

I had to put my mind to serving dinner now, with no time for other thoughts. I lit two candles on the dinner table, and then served them with all my skill, and as formally as the occasion seemed to require, asking if more was wanted, or refilling glasses. But I felt nearly destroyed! Why was Bea doing this to me? I noticed Randolph's eyes following my every move. Several times he was so much caught up by what he saw, that he forgot his conversation, and Bea had to repeat a question she had just asked.

After the appetizers he finally raised the subject that was evidently foremost on his mind. He did it while I was in the kitchen preparing to serve the second course. When I entered, I heard Bea giving him a short report how she had led me into femininity, always accentuating the fact that I had agreed to every step, even asking for permanent makeup myself, so now I had to remain feminine for the foreseeable future. I only caught parts of their conversation while moving between the kitchen and their table.

"... tried working in an office of a friend of mine, but it didn't work out. Within a week she was the company slut. I had to pull her ..."

"... I offered her a job as my personal live-in maid and she took it, even bought all of the necessary uniforms. I pay her a small salary, but room and board are free of course. At first I thought it wouldn't work out either, but with patience and strictness I trained her, and she became a well-behaved, devoted and obedient servant. You would not believe how long it took her to learn to curtsy properly. All little girls seem to pick it up automatically and never forget how to do it later. But it took a lot of training for Prissy until she did it correctly, showing the necessary respect and not making a parody of it by overdoing it. Isn't that true, Prissy?"

"Yes Madame, it is." It was so humiliating, but I had to say it and I had to curtsy respectfully as she had demanded. With the ultra tight skirt it was not easy, but she gave me a smile, showing she was content with my efforts.

"Amazing, simply unbelievable," Randolph observed, never letting me out of sight. "Who would have thought that dear drab old Henry would have it in him. He really has turned from an ugly caterpillar into a beautiful butterfly."

"It was a long and slow process," Bea took a sip from her glass, musing about his 'caterpillar to butterfly' remark. "But there came a time when the feminized man became the girl I wanted him to be, even in her own mind ...."

It was terrible to hear them talk this way about me, but the worst was yet to come. "Shall we take coffee in the living-room?" Bea asked after they had finished dessert, rising already. Randolph got up too. "Prissy bring the coffee over. You can leave this for the moment and clear up later." Why would she have said this? Just to show how she was able to give me orders?

When I brought the coffee, I heard Randolph saying "... quite an interesting offer when you left us Wednesday, and I want to take you up on it. You said -- if I remember correctly -- 'you can each have another one of Henry's delicious blow jobs if you wish, right now or at your convenience.' Well, the others don't seem to be inclined, but after an excellent meal like this, I must say, a blow-job by your marvelous husband would be delightful -- better than a cigar, and certainly it wouldn't interfere with my ability to drive."

When I heard where this conversation had gone, I just put down the coffee for Bea to serve and tried to disappear back to the safety of the kitchen as quickly as my tight skirt and high heels allowed. No chance. All I managed to do was turn and wriggle my ass temptingly at them as I tried to get my feet moving.

"Why don't you pour the coffee Prissy? Milk, sugar, Randolph?"

"Just milk please, thank you."

"You heard what the gentleman said, Prissy. So serve him."

I returned to the table, poured black coffee for Bea, and coffee with milk for Randolph. "Will that be all, Madame?"

"Of course not. Didn't you hear me? I said serve him. I mean give him the blow-job I promised him. Don't fidget. Down on your knees, Henry, and do it NOW!"

I felt terrible. Why did she suddenly use my old name? Did she really mean it? I looked at her. The stern expression on her face told me without the slightest doubt that she did mean it. I had to do it. I knew. There was no way around it. I knelt down in front of him, opened his fly and took out his already growing cock, holding it in both of my manicured hands. For some reason I had never before noticed how red my nail-polish looked when my fingers were wrapped around a man's cock. I glanced up. Randolph was smirking. I glanced at Bea. She was smiling too, interested, watching me closely.

Well, I did my best to bring him off quickly, and I soon succeeded. By now I knew what turns men on. I could have written a text-book about cock-sucking. As he spurted into my mouth I swallowed his load dutifully, then stole another look at Bea. She had watched the proceedings without changing her expression, still an amused smile.

"That's my sweet Prissy! I can see why so many men have said you have a natural talent for sucking cock, and are wasted doing anything else. You've gotten really expert. Now clean him nicely, put him back in his pants, and thank Mr. Goodman for letting you enjoy him."

This was the ultimate humiliation, but I did as I was told. "Thank you, Sir," I said from between his knees, addressing his crotch, unable to raise my head to look him in the eyes. "It was a pleasure."

"Oh, no trouble at all, in fact it was my pleasure. You are welcome to it any time, Prissy."

I got up as fast as I could, and curtsied to Bea. I wanted to get out as fast as possible. I felt devastated. "Is there anything else I can do Madame?"

"No Prissy, I don't need you anymore tonight. You can go after you clear away the dishes. Say good night to Mr. Goodman and thank him for the trouble he took bringing me the check."

I curtsied to Randolph. "Thank you, Sir, for coming over to bring Madame the check. It was a pleasure having you here." He got up and came to me. "Prissy, I have to thank you for an excellent dinner. You deserve the highest praise for all of your talents." He took my hand and shook it. He left something in it. I curtsied again to both of them and went into the kitchen. When I looked at my hand, there was a $20 note. OH NO! Even this! Tipped for my services as a cock-sucking maid by my former junior partner. And I could do nothing about it. I just let myself fall down on the nearest chair, overwrought and exhausted, and started crying, sobbing uncontrollably.

That is how Bea found me after Randolph had left.

"Is something wrong, Prissy?" She sounded concerned.

"How could you do this to me?" I sobbed. "How could you?"

Bea responded swiftly, her jaw tense, as if she were suppressing great anger. "Prissy, don't you dare to act up now. Do you hear me? Look at me!"

I looked up at her, tears streaming. My mascara must be ruined, I suddenly thought irrelevantly. My face must be a mess. Oh, dear! What must she think of me?

"What I did was entirely necessary," Bea said. "As is everything else I do with you. In this case I had to sever your last ties with your past as Henry. Now this has been done. Tomorrow all of your partners will know who and what you are, your new position in life, exactly. They will know that there is no connection between today's Prissy and the former Henry. I had to clear away any doubts they might have."

"But far more important, I had to clear away any doubts you might still have. If anyone was humiliated tonight, it was Henry. Prissy would never have felt humiliated -- Prissy loves to serve, and she's good with men, isn't she? Yes, she is! I hope Henry now knows that there's no place for him here, and that he's gone for good."

"I accomplished exactly what I set out to accomplish. We have the money for Henry's business. You know now that you are better off as Prissy, that Henry is only an embarrassment to you. It may have been difficult for you, but there was no other way for you to learn it, was there? It's finished now, it's been done. No use crying. Now dry your tears, Prissy, do the dishes, and go to bed. Good night!"

With this she left me to my anguish. I sobbed a little more, then sat up and looked into my little hand mirror. I was right, my face was a mess. I started blotting up my tears.

Chapter Sixteen: Death and Resurrection

(in which our heroine learns she has run out of alternatives)

Almost a year had gone by since Bea's fateful birthday party. I could see that my permanent make-up was finally beginning to fade. I had to use lipstick all the time now to look respectable whenever I went out, because my lips were now only slightly pink. I also had to put on blusher and eye-shadow all the time, as these pigments had disappeared completely. Only the eye-liner still was clearly visible. The day the eyeliner disappeared was to be the day when I could resume my life as a man. I would be a man with breasts and pouting lips, and a woman's voice and eyes and curving figure, and a cock ring, but still, I was determined to believe, a man.

But now the question was -- did I want to? I was feminine not only in my looks but now, my actions, and most astonishing to me, in some of my thinking and feeling. I really did not know what I would do if I were once again a man. Of course biologically I was still a man. But could I live as one again? Would I want to go through a transition period in reverse? How would it be to wear trousers and heavy flat shoes? Could I give up my never-ending variety of dresses and skirts and, yes, cute-looking maid's uniforms, just for the choice between either a drab three piece business suit or jeans and a T-shirt?

Men can take no pleasure in the way they dress. What choices do they really have? Now, when selecting a dress, I could reflect and express how I felt, how I wanted to be seen and judged by others, how I wanted to be treated. Could I exchange all of this for the right to wear a three-piece suit? Why? And their underwear! Men's choices lie between boxer and jockey shorts -- period. But what an unlimited variety there is for women to chose from, all of them feeling delicious in the skin, silky soft. Should I give up all these?

Then too, I was coming to love being a woman with a man. Being taken care of, and treated like something precious and fragile, in exchange for looking beautiful and now and then giving them great head and a well-turned ass. Bea was right, I was good at giving blow jobs. And I had to admit it, I was beginning to love the feel of a cock in my mouth, or in my ass. That was when I felt most ... somehow ... complete!

But there remained the undeniable fact that I was born a man, and had lived so long as a man that it ought to seem unnatural for me to live as a woman. I certainly should turn back.

While I contemplated all of this I didn't know, although I should have expected it, that the decision had already been made. One evening after I had finished with all my duties and had asked Bea -- curtsying nicely -- if she needed my services any more tonight, she waved to me to join her. She was sitting at the coffee-table and had a lot of papers around her. When I wanted to sit down next to her on the sofa, she motioned to me to kneel next to her on the floor. I did, and she patted me on the head rather affectionately.

"Prissy Darling, I know that you've had troubling thoughts about your future. I want you to know that you need never fear that you will be left alone. I shall always see that someone looks after you. I love you, not for what you were, but what you've been willing to become for me. For what you are. I'll take care of you."

I thought that I had been quite capable at protecting myself in my former life, and would probably be able to do so in the future, but she went on.

"It is quite impossible for you ever to become a man again, your former self. It's ridiculous for you even to think of it. But I know that you feel somewhere between your two existence: the former Henry and the present Prissy. So I have decided to do away with this ambiguity. As from today you will only be Prissy, legally and in every other respect."

She handed me a stack of papers. "First of all, look! Here is a birth certificate for one Priscilla Littlecock, born in Kansas, now age 32. With what Kay did to rejuvenate you, you don't look a day older. Here is a driver's license in that name, with your picture on it. Here's a passport with your name and picture -- and all of the papers are genuine and perfectly legal. Here are a few credit and charge cards in your name, and your social security number, and in this box here are IRS records -- everything you may need for a perfectly legal existence. You are now Priscilla Littlecock. Nobody can deny it. Least of all, you."

I looked at the stuff she showed me -- it was true, there was an entire valid identity for me as Priscilla Littlecock. But I still had a choice!

Bea seemed to motion me away, and I stood and was beginning to curtsy again in farewell when she said, "But you cannot be two persons at a time. So second of all, I have had to do away with Henry. Here, look at this. This says that dear Henry passed away on a jungle excursion in Mexico, bitten by a snake, and that he died before he could get help. That I had to fly down to identify him. That I was mourning deeply -- and I looked beautiful in my black dress with the widow's veil, and everybody was so nice to me and full of sympathy. The mayor of the little town tried to cheer me up, and said 'You are still so young and pretty, you will find another husband soon'. I told him, that I sincerely did hope to find somebody to help me recover from my terrible loss. Of course, I had Henry cremated and buried where he died."

"I thought you should know this, Prissy. And I thought you would want to hear the news standing, out of respect for poor Henry. He is dead, and nothing either of us can do will bring him back to us. You may take a moment to pay your last respects, and then kneel down again."

The fact that I was now dead hit me like a bomb. No matter what Bea had done to me, I had always preserved the idea that I could go back. It might cost me my marriage, and any chance of a future relationship with Bea. But I could go back, and be a man again. So I had thought. I knelt down now, and bowed my head.

I was not prepared for what came next.

"You remember, just after we married, we made out our wills, each naming the other the sole heir. Well, now that Henry is dead, I have inherited everything from him. Now I own this house, and all of Henry's bank accounts. That includes the account with his investment bankers who administer Henry's investments, and the proceeds from the sale of his business -- well, that should have been mine to begin with, because Henry would have sold his interest for so little, and I got so much for it. But no matter. It's all mine now. Henry is dead, and has left everything to me. And I've since collected Henry's insurance, too."

"To my certain knowledge Prissy Littlecock has no tangible assets anywhere to speak off. She has earned quite a bit of money as a whore, but what with expenses, and taxes, and supervisory charges, there's nothing of that left. So Prissy should be grateful that I intend to take care of her, and that I give her a home, and clothe and feed her. Prissy, I'm sure you are grateful. I'll appreciate your telling me, right now."

Bea looked down at me, still kneeling next to the couch where she sat. Did she mean for me to kiss her in gratitude? Somehow I thought not. There was a formality about Bea at this moment, even a severity....

I stood up, and straightened my skirt, and curtsied as low as I could. While I was as far down as my legs would bend, and my chin was tucked far into my neck, I said, "Thank you madame, I am grateful for your kindness to me."

I realized then that the extravagance of this comment to her could seem sarcastic. She was testing me, and wanted to know that there was nothing she could say or do from now on that would strain my subservience to her least whim. Nothing! Never mind the disappearance of tens of thousands of dollars I had earned with my mouth and asshole, and of all of the wages she had contracted to pay Prissy. This was the moment when I had to tell her I would accept whatever she did, no matter how outrageous, or else leave.

I stood up, and repeated my thanks to her. "I am very grateful to you, Madame. My only wish is to serve you. Please allow me to continue to serve you. Please." And to my astonishment, my eyes overflowed, and tears came down my cheeks. And my mouth repeated my last word. "Please!" I said again. More tears.

Bea looked up at me with delight, a little amazed at how thoroughly she had done her job. She gestured for me to kneel again at her feet, and I did.

"But child, I've told you that I shall never let you go, my sweet, faithful Prissy, my favorite girl, my own creation. If you had just announced that you wished to leave me, I would merely have arranged for you to have more training and conditioning for the life I want you to live from now on, until you could give me the response I just heard."

"My dear, you will stay in my employment forever. But now you confront a moment of real choice. Now that I know you wish to stay, I will allow you to accept or reject the my conditions for your staying. I have a contract drawn up here under which I employ you for the next ten years, with a recurring option for both parties to continue for another ten years, and so on. I guarantee you a life without fears or difficult choices. But I'll want something in return. This contract says I can use you for any services that are not outright forbidden by law, if you are able to render them. Any services, Prissy! I don't think that this is too much to ask of you under the circumstances. If you agree, sign here. If you don't agree, then pack up your maid's uniforms and leave here by tonight, and I will never wish to see or hear from you again. I'm sure you can always earn your living as a servant somewhere, or peddling your ass on the street. I've taken care that way that you'll never have to starve. But it would be ungrateful for you to leave, after all my efforts on your behalf. Make your choice now."

With that she handed me a multi-page legal document. "If you sign it, please initial all of the pages at the bottom. And of course sign it with your true legal name: Priscilla Littlecock."

Did she say I had a choice? What choice was that? If I didn't sign, my only chance to survive was to find work as a maid, but with no references, or find work as a whore, and get picked up by a pimp, and shot full of drugs to be made compliant, and turn tricks for him as he directed me. How long would I survive that? A week, a month, maybe even a whole year? A she-male has a dangerous life out there on the streets. I didn't think I had a choice. I signed.

"I knew you would make the right choice." Bea collected her copy and gave me mine. "Now, my dear Prissy, good night. I don't need your services any longer tonight. This is a special time for you, the first night of your life as no one but who you are. As Prissy Littlecock. Enjoy your freedom from all previous worries about managing your own life, Prissy. Sleep well!" She turned her attention back to her papers on the coffee table, and as before, I no longer existed for her.

I got up, and without thinking I curtsied and then went to my room. My fate was sealed. I would now be a woman for life, maybe a whore too for as long as men found me attractive, and Bea's maid for life too. It was not a bad life really, as I had experienced it during the past months, but it was terrible to have no other choice. I cried silently into my pillow until sleep overtook me.

When the alarm rang the next morning I got up and went through my morning routine. I cleaned myself inside and out, and brushed my hair -- now reaching my shoulder-blades -- and repaired my make-up. All this I did automatically, without thought, as I thought about last nights revelations. There was no doubt about it, I was now legally a woman. My former self as Henry was dead and buried. I was a woman named Priscilla Littlecock. I resented this name, because it reminded me of my former existence in a rather humiliating way. But I was stuck with it.

I realized that Bea had sealed every loophole I could have found. I was not only stuck with this terrible name, but with the whole person that came with it. I had signed that long-term employment agreement with Bea, and was now her maid for the foreseeable future. Well, I had been that before, and life had been bearable. No, in some ways, life had been quite enjoyable. And actually, not much had changed since last night. It was a life with very few responsibilities, and the most important was always to look beautiful and sexy.

Well, that was a task I could manage. I had come to love my dresses, even my maid's uniforms. I loved the feel of skirts flowing around my legs, and the feeling of taut stockings brushing together at my thighs. I even loved my corsets -- not because they felt good, but because they gave me such a great figure that men would twist their necks to look at me. All in all, I had become quite comfortable in my feminine persona. Last night it was just the shock of it, I decided, the finality, the confirmation that my status as a woman now was irreversible. Without admitting it, I had suspected as much for a long time, but somehow I still had held on to the illusion that I could go back and become a man again if I wanted to. Bea had now destroyed this illusion. In reality, that was all she had done, destroyed an illusion I had held on to much too long. I had to admit that my head was clearer now than last night.

Well, so be it, I said to myself as I got ready to start the first day of the rest of my life as Bea's maid. I should have known by this time that Bea had other ideas for me.

A few weeks later, Bea suggested that I go to Celeste to renew my permanent make-up. I think she did it to test whether I had accepted the irreversibility of my feminization. I didn't disagree with her at all. I simply curtsied as usual, and said "Yes, Madam. Right away!"

I was glad to have it done. It had served me well in the past, and it was good for any woman of my station in life. I told Celeste to make it more dramatic and sexier than the first time. I considered that it wouldn't matter in the morning, when no one would see me, and that if I went out in the afternoon in my uniforms or dresses, a provocative make-up was appropriate.

Celeste agreed with me completely, and was delighted to go all out with her art. "Prissy, it's been a pleasure to help you arrive at the truth about yourself. Why in the world you ever wanted to be a man I can't imagine. Bea's done wonders convincing you. I'll bet in another six months she'll have you menstruating! You'll get my sexiest makeup this time. You won't be able to look at yourself with getting the stiffest dick on either coast. Lean back, dear."

When I came back to the house -- now that I had my own driver's license again, I no longer needed Bea to drive me -- Bea was impressed.

"Oh, my!" she said. "You really are dolled up, my dear Prissy. You'll need a stun-gun or a cattle prod in your purse from now on, to fight off your admirers. Seriously, dear, you look great. Just the look I want to see in my darling love-slave. Always love-hungry, always ready to go. I think your escorts from now on will love your look too. It promises so much!" Bea was right. They did. More of them requested my services than ever. I felt so desirable, and I loved the feeling! Really, I was a happy girl, serving my mistress, and serving my men, and doing both jobs well.

Chapter Seventeen: Wedding Present

(in which our heroine finally finds out why she is as she is)

As Bea's birthday neared, I was wondering what I could do to surprise her. But as usual I needn't have worried, because she had a whole bag full of surprises prepared for me.

She suggested that to celebrate her birthday, and mine too, because a year ago Henry had been reborn as a woman, we should go together to that love-resort she had first urged me to go to with her.

"When I went there the last time, all I could take along were your pictures. This time I want you to come with me, and of course you will. I'm sure you'll like it. I'll see to it that you get as much sexual pleasure as your little heart may desire, in every form, manner, and quantity. What you'll desire will be, of course, what I desire for you."

This time I had no reason to stay home, and I agreed to accompany her. And as usual, when she had my consent she revealed that I had committed to more than I realized..

"You'll meet a lot of interesting people there, and I promise you'll be able to suck and fuck to your heart's content. You'll love it. We'll go there next week-end. The occasion will be special then -- the theme will be 'Masters and Slaves'. Everybody has to come dressed as one or the other, and of course you'll come as my love-slave. I'll find something suitable for you to wear."

Friday, after I had cleared from lunch and cleaned the kitchen, Bea was waiting for me in my room. "I've already packed everything you'll need, Prissy. Now just get yourself all cleaned up again, and make yourself pretty, and be sure your pussy is ready for action, and quite slippery. Here, use this instead of a butt plug."

She handed me a dildo, not the very biggest in our arsenal, but quite long and life-like. It was the one I favored when I was horny and Steve wasn't available to service me. My asshole and that dildo were old friends, comfortable together. I was a little apprehensive about sitting on it for the whole drive to the hotel, but I thought I'd manage.

When I came out of the bathroom Bea had already dressed herself. She wore a long sleeved dark blue dress of shimmering heavy silk, cut much like a double-breasted coat, with a big collar framing her shoulders and a plunging neckline revealing almost all of her magnificent breasts. The dress followed the lines of her body down to her ankles, and was held closed by four large Rhine-stone covered buttons. Her feet were shod in four-inch pumps made from the same silk. She looked simply stunning, and I just stood there, rapt, a devoted worshiper.

"Well, you seem to like it," she said with a slight smile. "I do want to look especially nice for when we get there. It's really very practical too." She unbuttoned the dress and opened it, and I saw she was stark naked underneath, except for her sheer nylon stockings with lace self-garters. I rushed to her and planted kisses on both of her erect, large nipples, sucking and playing with them with my tongue. She stood there and enjoyed it briefly, then declared, "Enough of that now," and she pushed me back. "This isn't really for you. We must dress you as my slave, my dear, and get going." She closed and buttoned her dress again, and again looked regal, nearly unapproachable.

My slave outfit was rather interesting. First of all she laced me into a stiff and narrow corset which raised my breasts and brought them together to form a narrow, deep cleavage, but left them entirely free for anyone to reach and handle. It was somewhat longer in front than in back, and left my butt as exposed as my breasts. After she had knotted the laces in front she fastened my wrists to my backside with some wide straps, one to each cheek. Similar straps clamped my upper arms together, and when she had finished I found I couldn't move them, though their bondage wasn't at all uncomfortable. She made me sit down, and rolled up my thighs some very sheer seamed nylon stockings, which she then fastened to my corset garters. Then she put on black sandals which consisted of just a few straps, a thin sole, and six inch heels, the highest heels I had ever worn. My dark red toe-nails could be seen through my stockings. Around each of my ankles she fastened anklets made of thin spring steel covered with suede leather, that each closed with a flat golden lock, and that were connected with a golden chain about eight inches long. She made me get up and try to walk. It took quite some balancing even to stand. The fact that my arms were so tightly bound behind my body made it even more difficult, and like a person on stilts I had to shift my weight between my feet constantly. When I tried to walk, I found I could manage only very small steps. Then she put a collar around my neck similar to the anklets. It closed in the back and sported a golden ring in front.

Finally she brought out my dress. Black velvet, just stunning! I had trouble stepping into it with my feet hobbled so closely together, but when I had succeeded and she began pulling it up, I found it was ankle length, with a narrow hobble skirt. It was so tightly cut that it showed off my narrow waist to perfection. but even more, it showed off my butt and my breasts, which were left completely uncovered. After Bea zipped it closed in back, I turned before the mirror, and saw that it had cleverly draped material in back which disguised the fact that my arms were bound inside it. I looked like a woman with no arms. Seeing me looking so elegant and yet feeling so helplessly bound thrilled me immensely.

I turned and primped before the mirror a few times, until Bea said "Enough self-admiration now. Come on, we have to leave." With that she snapped a golden chain leash to the ring on my collar, and started leading me out. I had trouble following her in the high heels, the tight skirt, and the hobble. Negotiating the stairs was really difficult, and Bea had to help and steady me.

"But I can't sit in the car with bare breasts!" I said.

"I know," Bea replied. "Don't worry for now. But remember, if I should decree that my slave will sit in the car stark naked, then that is what she will do. And she will be proud of her nakedness, because it will be what I wish for her!" She picked up a large silk shawl from a chair and put it around my shoulders, knotting it over my breasts and spreading out the ends. "Now if you sit very still, you'll stay covered." We appeared to be two elegant women in evening clothes sitting in the car, and truck drivers looking down at us smiled without hooting or whistling.

During the whole trip I was in constant fear that the shawl would slide down and expose me, but it didn't, and we arrived without any embarrassing incidents. At the big gate to the hotel's grounds Bea just nodded to the gate-keeper, who seemed to recognize her, and opened the big wrought-iron gate to let us pass. I wondered whether Bea had been back here during those many unexplained stays away from home, when Steve had kept me company. I couldn't see why. I was eager to give her all the sex she wanted, though she didn't seem as eager with me. Whatever my speculations, after a short trip we arrived in front of the main building.

Two young men dressed as Roman slaves opened our doors and helped us out, then opened the trunk and carried our luggage into the hall. Bea took off my shawl. Now there I was, in a long, narrow black velvet dress with my breasts fully exposed. I was so embarrassed! Yet people coming and going in and out of the lobby scarcely glanced at me. Nobody seemed to think it anything extraordinary, though I noticed a few appreciative glances from men as well as from women. Bea then took my leash and led me hobbling into the lobby. She didn't go directly to the reception desk, but instead tugged me to the middle of the lobby, where there stood a thick pillar artfully decorated with flowers. She hooked my leash to the pillar, to one of the decorative bronze fixtures circling the pillar to hold floral decorations. And then she left me there, unable to do anything about it. I waited a moment, then hobbled around the pillar to see where she had gone.

Suddenly I thought I was looking into a mirror! There facing me was a woman who could have been my twin! She was wearing the same dress, the same sandals, the same ankle-chain, and also the same dramatic make-up I had requested from Celeste, and the same hair-do in the same blonde color! She was fastened to a hook on the other side of the pillar with the same kind of leash leading to the same kind of collar. Her breasts were as fully exposed as mine, and they were pierced by the same kind of nipple rings, complete with the same diamonds as mine.

I was shocked -- was I dreaming? The only difference between us was that she was wearing a black ball-gag in her mouth. And, I suspected from her dainty features, that she was not a recent convert like me but had been born a woman,

When she saw me, she was not at all surprised! She nodded, and seemed to smile. Who was she? Did she know me? Did she expect to see me? In no way could this be a coincidence -- two women in absolutely the same get-up leashed to the same pillar at the same time in the same place! This was planned! I realized at once that it had to be well-planned, weeks in advance, for our dresses and bondage gear to match. No, I realized with awe, months in advance, so that even our nipple rings matched!

What was happening? Where was Bea? I glanced over to the reception desk and saw her completing the registration forms. Then came another shock! She turned, and recognized a man standing next to her. He was a man of commanding presence, with a large, handsome face and an aura of hidden strength, powerful, well over six feet tall, looking imposing in his black tuxedo with a black tie. She broke into a warm smile, his arms encircled her waist and hers encircled his neck, and they embraced, and pulled each other close together until their bodies and faces blended into a long, deep kiss that went on and on, and grew more passionate as they twisted their bodies more tightly into each other. A minute passed, and then another. Finally they broke off, and still holding each other, looked entranced into each others' eyes. Not a word spoken between them. They seemed to need none!

Never in all the years of our marriage had Bea ever greeted me like that! Who was he? Why was Bea kissing him so intimately? How long had they known each other? Finally, the man turned, and with a slight hand gesture signaled the Roman slave boys to take away our bags. They hustled to comply. Then with his arm still around her waist, he guided Bea over to where we were standing and watching the entire scene. .

Bea saw me staring at her with my eyes and mouth wide open, and her eyes gleamed mischievously. But she said nothing. Instead she greeted the woman next to me with two light kisses on her cheek, "Hello Eva," she said. "Had a good trip here? You've already met Prissy?" The gagged woman nodded to both questions, and Bea took her leash off the hook, turning to the big man, who had just taken my leash in hand. "Thor," she said, "this, as you can guess, is Prissy, once upon a time my husband Henry. Didn't he turn out well? He's so very pretty now! And as you'll see, Prissy is beautifully trained." Then looking at me, she said, "These are Eva and her Master Thor. You may remember, I mentioned them a while ago."

I didn't recall having heard of them, and my face must have shown it.

"When I first came here, a year ago, I told you about the wonderful night I had spent with Thor, and I told you that he had a fully trained slave, Eva. I wanted to share my pleasure with you, remember, so I let you suck Thor's cum from my prettiest panties, all night. Don't you remember, dear?"

Now it came back to me -- she had mentioned a couple where he was master and she the slave.

"Now don't you want to greet them properly?"

I curtsied nicely to Thor. "How do you do, Thor," I said. "I am pleased to meet you." Then I curtsied to the gagged Eva and said "Eva, I am delighted." Eva nodded slightly in recognition of my curtsy.

Thor then pulled me towards him with the leash and kissed me on my lips, his tongue forcing itself into my mouth. It was so powerful and at the same time so thrilling that my knees began to weaken. Never had I ever met a man exuding so much power. I could well understand Bea's passionate kiss of a moment ago. He steadied me with one arm. Then breaking off his kiss, he commented to Bea, "We're running late. The show begins in about 30 minutes, and we have to hurry through dinner. I have already ordered, so dinner should be ready. Shall we?" He offered Bea his arm, and they each proceeded into the dining room, each with a slave on a chain in tow.

We entered a rather dark room that was laid out in a half circle around a darkened stage, and were met by a pretty hostess in thigh length boots with spike heels, a gleaming leather corset, and shoulder length gloves. She led us to our table in the center of the room. "Two persons, two slaves? Will that be all tonight?" she asked.

"Absolutely. Thank you, Clarisse."

"I wish you an enjoyable evening, Madame, Sir. The waiters will be here in a moment to serve you," and with that she took off.

She paid not the slightest attention to Eva and me. The little table she guided us to had only two chairs. Thor and Bea sat down. I was unsure what to do -- to look for more chairs, or wait till they brought us some? A sharp tug on my leash brought me back. Thor pointed to a little cushion in front of him. Was I supposed to kneel there? A second sharp pull and the fact that Eva was already kneeling in front of Bea made his intention quite clear to me. I sank to my knees. Bea meanwhile unbuckled the strap that held the ball gag in Eva's mouth, and pulled it out. "Just so you understand the rules, Prissy," she said to me, "You are not allowed to speak unless you are asked a question, or unless you first ask permission. But I think tonight you would do well not to ask anything. Just observe and learn, and use your mouth as your Master wishes. As Eva will with her Mistress."

I was kneeling in front of this man, and sent a questioning look over to Bea, but she ignored it. Kneeling, my arms bound, my ankles hobbled, my feet shod in sandals with six inch spike heels, this powerful man holding my leash -- I saw no way out. Even if I were to get up and run, run where? Bea was sitting at her ease. Obviously this was all planned. I had nobody I could turn to, and I was afraid that if I spoke up at all, I would end up with the ball-gag strapped into my mouth that Bea had just taken from Eva.

The waiters came and served dinner -- for two. However the portions were large and we slaves were fed by our masters from their plates, and we were even allowed to sip some of the champagne they were drinking. When I looked around, I saw a lot of tables just like ours, with masters sitting in chairs and slaves at their feet. Eva and I could consider ourselves lucky. Some of the other slaves were gagged and couldn't eat, or served as foot-stools for their masters and lay face down on the floor.

When dinner was finished, a gong was sounded and the waiters hurried to collect the dishes, as the show was about to begin. I was curious what kind of show they would have. Would it also have to do with "Masters and Slaves"? Thor was facing the stage and I was kneeling in front of him, with my back to the stage. I tried to shift my position so I could see the stage too, but a powerful tug at my leash prevented me. "You are not here for your amusement, but for mine," Thor said as he pulled down his fly zipper and took out his cock.

It was big, but not enormous, and it was long. It was about the same size as the dildo still pressed into my ass. I knew what he expected, and I started to lick and suck on this wonderful cock. Thor and Bea exchanged glances, I thought, but it was difficult for me to see, so I couldn't be sure. "I want you to lick and suck my cock through the entire performance, but don't make me cum," he said. Then he repeated, "Did you hear me? You will pleasure me but not make me cum. If you should disobey and make me cum, you will regret it. Understand?" I nodded several times, deeply, his cock sliding between my lips, in and out of my mouth, and I nearly deep-throated him. Thor gasped. "Very good, Prissy," he said. "You'll get to swallow my cum later, but no matter how much you may want to, not now."

The show started and I saw nothing. I noticed there were light changes, and some sounds coming from the stage -- I heard a whip crack a few times, and some sighing and groaning, and some heavy breathing. And I heard the audience's reaction to what was going on on the stage. Sometimes it was absolutely quiet, the audience's tension palpable, then a sigh of relief would go through the crowd and applause came up.

The whole show must have lasted for more than an hour, and all the time I was sucking and licking Thor's cock, always being careful not to excite him too much. That was no easy task, because he was excited not only by what I was doing, but also by what he saw on the stage. Several times I had to interrupt my ministrations completely, and two or three times I even had to cool him down by blowing air on his engorged member. He seemed to like what I was doing, because several times he patted my cheek or stroked over my hair. When I was able to glance sideways, I could see Eva similarly engaged, her face plunged into Bea's crotch.

Finally the lights came on after what must have been an impressive finale, to thunderous and sustained applause. Thor motioned for me to sit back, and replaced his cock in his trousers. He then took the ball-gag from the table and told me to open wide. In a second the gag filled my mouth and was fastened behind my neck. We all got up and left the theater.

On our way out Thor said to Bea "I must congratulate you, my dear! Prissy is a lovely cocksucker, very well trained indeed. Of course she's been practicing regularly for a year now, given the opportunities and inducements you've provided her. But she exceeded my expectations. It seems to be true that she-males make the best cock-suckers, because they remember what they liked when they were males."

"The other way around it's the same," Bea said. "Cunnilingus by a male can never equal the cuntlapping of a female. I think your idea that we exchange our slaves has worked out beautifully thus far."

We went through the lobby and to the elevator. Nobody took the slightest notice of the two bare-breasted, armless female slaves, led by their masters on leashes, mincing in tiny steps behind them. What we were all four doing together began to seem normal to me, even rather ordinary.

When we got to our quarters, I saw we would be living together in a three room suite, with two bed-rooms with baths and a living-room between them. Thor pointed to a soft rug in front of a large sofa facing a fireplace. I understood and knelt on the spot. He placed his palm on his forehead for a moment, and then swept his hand down, palm down, looking into my eyes to see if I understood. I did. Immediately I bent way over and placed my forehead on the rug, then continued to kneel with my head way down and my rear end high up.

"Very good, Prissy," he said. "You show signs of intelligence as well as obedience. Keep that up, and I'll see that your ass is filled with something nicer than a dildo before morning." I heard him get out a bottle of champagne from a cooler, open it, and fill two glasses. He motioned Eva to sit beside him. Bea returned from the bathroom and sat down on the sofa on the other side next to Thor. He handed her a glass of champagne, took one for himself, put the bottle in the cooler, and sat down. He was in no hurry.

"You must be wondering what is happening now, why you are here, and who we are, and why we are here. I'll tell you all you need to know. And if I forget anything, Bea can fill you in. In fact, I think Bea should start, because she started all of this. This beautiful moment is her creation."

Bea stared at me silently for a moment, preparing herself to say things she had kept hidden from me for a long time. Then she began.

"Remember," Bea said. "Remember when Henry was still alive, and I was married to him? And his notion of an evening with me was sitting and watching football on the TV while I read a book? And we had nothing to say to each other, and made love without thinking about it, when we remembered to make love at all? Well, Henry was too dull to know it, but I was getting ready to leave him. I know he was thinking about exchanging his wife too, for a younger one, hoping she could renew his youth in some way. We were married from mere force of habit."

I kept my body very still, my forehead pressed against the ground, my eyes shut, though no one had told me to shut them. I wanted to hear every word, every innuendo.

"Henry was loveable in his way, but he lacked strength of character. He had been taught that a man's position in a marriage should be to lead, to take charge, to be aggressive, but he simply wasn't built for it. He was a natural nice guy, but a wimp. Of course, when we married, neither of us knew that. What do you know of life when you are barely 20? Nothing. So for many years we thought we were happy. And in our innocent little way, I suppose we were. We didn't know there was anything else."

"Then I met Thor, and it was like being struck by a thunderbolt! We saw each other at a literary reception for a lecture series he had endowed, at a local college. And even though we were the guests of honor, a half hour later we were in bed together making love furiously, magnificently, tenderly, delicately, overwhelmingly! Oh! Gorgeous!" Bea paused, obviously remembering that time again in great detail. "We had scarcely spoken. We didn't need to speak. We instantly understood each other! We were instantly in love with each other! And we have been ever since!"

"Immediately I knew what was missing from my life. He was so powerful, so decisive, so strong. I knew that I was like him, that a dominant nature was buried deep within me too, but covered up by misconceptions of women's proper roles. Thor brought it out. I decided I wanted to live my life with Thor. My marriage to Henry ended in that bed that first evening, though Henry as yet had no idea. He was too attentive to his Monday Nite Football programs to notice. It went on another year, as previously, but meanwhile Thor and I saw each other whenever we could, wherever we could, for as long as we could. Our relationship strengthened, and grew more profound. There were times I came home covered with the smells and fluids of Thor's body, and filled the house with its aroma, because I wanted him close to me as long as possible. Henry never noticed."

"Now, you should understand that Eva is not Thor's wife. He inherited her. Eva is the daughter of a wealthy and powerful industrialist, and Thor was adopted by this man to be his son and sole heir, to inherit factories, shipyards, banks, and many other enterprises when Eva's father died. Thor has inherited them, and great power over thousands of lives and millions of dollars. He uses this power well. But he also inherited Eva, and the problem of caring for her."

"You see, though she was raised with every privilege, Eva's nature is naturally suggestible. She loves to do what other people tell her, to obey almost anyone, and several times while growing up she fell under the influence of the wrong kind of man, a sadist who tortured her once, and once a psychopath who drove her toward self-destruction. So on his death bed, her father made Thor swear to look after her, because she would never be able to look after herself. And Thor has done just that. He trained her to become his eager and devoted slave, a woman who will do anything her Master requests, and whose sole happiness is in fulfilling her Master's requests.

She is blissfully happy to be Thor's slave. You'll have ample opportunity to find that out for yourself, because Eva is also a woman of extraordinary intelligence. Eva and Thor share a rare kind of love for each other, a mixture of affection, gratitude, and respect, a true love that only Masters and slaves can experience. The kind of love we too will develop in time, Prissy, as you allow your own deeply submissive nature to emerge and flower, and allow me and Thor to become your only reason for existence."

"When we first fell in love with each other, I told Thor I wanted to bring Henry into our relationship. Eva was already there. I met Eva and saw how submissive she was, and I detected many similarities between Henry and Eva. I talked with Thor about it, and he told me first to put Henry to the test. I did, and it quickly became obvious that underneath Henry's pseudo-macho shell was a true submissive, eager to serve."

"The test was to find out how quickly I could feminize and humiliate Henry, with his consent, on some flimsy pretext. The pretext was that I wanted my fortieth birthday party to be celebrated by just a few of my girlfriends, and that I wanted Henry to be one of them. Well, Henry had no inclination toward transvestism at first, fetishistic or any other kind. But I persisted. I got him into women's clothes, and onto hormones, and using tampons, and walking, talking, and sitting like a little girl, then like a young lady, then like a woman who needs a prick shoved into her and can't wait much longer. As the months went by and my demands grew more outrageous, Henry fulfilled every one of them. Out of love for me, he thought. But clearly, it was more because something in him needed to satisfy me, that he wanted my approval, that he felt fulfilled in some way when he did whatever I asked. What little manhood he had disappeared. The climactic test of his submissiveness was to get him to spend the night in bed with a man while dressed as a woman, and to enjoy it as a woman, all on his own, as if he himself desired it, without my ordering him to do so. And Prissy, he did it. Henry loved it. You remember! We all remember our first time with a man. When I got home the next morning, it was obvious from the expression on your face that your life and your desires had changed altogether, for the better."

"But how would Henry fit into any relationship with me, Thor, and Eva if he were to move in with us when I moved in with Thor. Last year the three of us met here a week or so after Henry's gave me his birthday present, his night on the town dressed like a girl and fucked like a woman. We talked about how submissive Henry was, and whether he would consent to become my slave if I moved in with Thor, and whether Eva would accept him of her own free will. Even though Eva will do anything Thor asks, gladly, we were discussing a possible marriage, and in a marriage everyone should do what they most wish to do, and not consent merely to please others."

My forehead was still glued tight to the rug. I was listening intently, and I didn't dare move. For the first time in two years the universe Bea had spun around me was beginning to make some sense.

"I wanted Henry to come here with me so Thor could see for himself what I had done to him. He was still more effeminate than feminine, and not at all as pretty as Prissy, but he was already attractive enough to whore for Pearl. His subordination to my will was impressive, and I was sure I could persuade him to accept more of it. But Henry didn't want to come. And I didn't want to push him too hard too soon, so I didn't press him to come. Instead I arranged for Steve to continue his obedience training, and took some pictures of him looking girlish to show Thor and Eva. Eva was especially taken with them. She thought you looked just darling in your lingerie. I think she likes you, Prissy."

"It seemed a good idea, that if Thor had Eva as his slave, then I could have Henry as mine. You remember Eddie, the latent transvestite I told you about? Well, you remember that I brought him as my feminized slave to Thor's suite? Not feminized enough! Thor realized he could never tolerate another man in his house, even if the man was his wife's slave, like Eddie, and dressed like a woman. He was quite adamant about it. So, it looked as if there was no place in my future for Henry after all. I had ruined him ever to marry a trophy wife, by getting him to grow breasts, and getting him to like it when Steve fucked him. But I had to abandon him anyhow. I felt a little sad about it. But those were the breaks."

"Then Thor jokingly said something. 'If you had a female slave -- that would be different. I could even go so far as to accept a she-male slave. In fact, I hear she-males make very good cock-suckers. I might get to like that. But she will have to think she is a woman, and accept that she is a woman and not a feminized man.'"

"And he laughed. But in my mind a plan was forming already. I loved Henry for the good times we had had together, and didn't want to abandon him. The task I saw ahead seemed to be a real challenge for me. But I love real challenges!"

"So I asked Thor if he would take Henry in if I presented him as a fully transformed, well trained she-male maid, slave, and cocksucker. He said he would. He would even pay my costs, because making Henry into Prissy became very expensive, with all those clothes and medical bills. But I told him 'No,' I would arrange for Henry and the woman he'd become to earn and pay for everything themselves. A present is a present, and I told Thor that a trained, she-male cock-sucker would be my wedding gift to him. Of course I know that money means nothing to Thor -- his enterprises make more each day than hundreds of Thors could possibly spend. But we all have our pride. And a feminine Henry was to be my gift of love to Thor."

"He said he doubted that I would ever be able to succeed, that no man would ever let himself be used this way. But I took his dare and set out to transform Henry, always making sure he agreed to every new step he had to take. Well, my dear Prissy, the rest you know. I enlisted Kay's help, and her husband Steve's, and Pearl's, everyone who had helped me test out how far I could go with you. I told them only as much as they needed to know, but I suspect they guessed what I was doing, because they were so marvelously cooperative. Even Celeste, who has never been in on the secret. Then today came your final test, Prissy, and you passed it with flying colors. You are a true submissive, a true slave. We all welcome you among us. And tonight you have met your new master."

"You see, the dare I accepted from Thor was, if I could deliver you to him as a fully trained she-male slave, and without any explanation or inducement you would kneel in front of him among a crowd of people, and would suck his cock without even being asked, and would do it in a precise way specified, he would take you into our house. And Prissy, I am very proud of you. You did it!"

"Now I want you to raise your head and look into Thor's eyes and answer some questions truthfully by nodding or shaking your head."

"Did I use any force to transform you?"

I sat back on my heels and raised my head. Looking into Thor's eyes and answering her question was so humiliating. I thought about it for a moment. No, she really never used any kind of force during the whole time I was transformed. I shook my head.

"Did you agree to be dressed as a woman and become as feminine as possible, even grow breasts for that purpose, for my birthday party?"

I nodded. It was quite true. She had persuaded me to go along with her desires for this party, and I had agreed to everything she had asked me to do.

"Did you let Steve fuck you willingly?"

I felt a blush coming to my face when I nodded. Having to confess this to Thor was terrible.

"Did you willingly put yourself in bondage, strap a gag into your mouth, snap handcuffs on yourself, and ask permission to wear a butt-plug?"

I remembered how Steve had introduced me to bondage play and it was true, I had done all of this. I nodded.

"Did you agree to work for Pearl as a woman?"

Again I nodded.

"Did you ask to be turned into a woman permanently by asking to have permanent makeup put on you?"

I had to nod, it was true, I had asked for it myself, even if I didn't really foresee all the implications.

"When Pearl lined up all those men for you to suck and fuck as her company slut, did you do so willingly, to the best of your ability, and in between, did you keep yourself made up to look as sexy and seductive as possible?"

I nodded. I smiled to myself as I remembered how I would stop traffic every time my hips swivelled down the street on an errand for Pearl.

"Did you agree to be employed by me as my maid, and did you pay for all the maid's uniforms that we selected for you?"

It was only too true, and I nodded.

"Did you agree to have plastic surgery to even more feminize your figure and your face?"

I nodded -- it was true, although when it was done, I still thought it would be reversible.

"Did you go into competition with me for the attention of a man, and did you attract him and make love to him and enjoy it?"

I thought back to the wonderful time I had with Nicolai and I smiled again a little when I nodded.

"Did you agree to work as a high-class call-girl, servicing men, sucking their cocks and getting fucked by them for money?"

The blush crept to my face again as I nodded.

"And most important: Did you agree to have your cock fitted with a ring and did you then give me this locket with padlock and key asking me with the inscription to lock up your cock, thereby making you my complete slave?"

The way she put it, I had to nod, even when again I hadn't really known what I was doing. But to any outsider watching us, it would have been quite clear that I was asking Bea to lock me up and make me her slave. I nodded.

"And consequently, when I asked you to come here as my slave, you agreed again. True?"

With a deep sigh, I nodded again.

"Finally, to be clear about this, two last questions. When I began with you, when I asked you to become one of the girls at my birthday party, did you believe you were a man with a man's desires, and in no sense a woman?"

I nodded.

"And now, as you kneel here before us, do you believe that you are a woman with a woman's desires, and in no important sense a man?"

I nodded. Now I had told my wife's lover everything, that I had agreed to be turned into a woman, and had accepted my bondage and willingly become a slave to Bea.

Thor smiled at me and reached out to pat my head lightly. "I never would have imagined it could be done. Bea has created a masterpiece and I thank her for it."

"You now may bend down to the floor again," Bea said. "I am very pleased with your answers."

I'm sure my face flushed bright red. That was as much praise as Bea had given me in a long time, and my heart swelled with happiness. Meanwhile, I was glad not to have to face Thor anymore. I bowed down again before him, still sitting on my heels. To my surprise Eva reached out with her feet and nudged my behind.

"Raise your pretty round bum, Deary, show us your girly tush." She felt free to correct me, it seems, as my superior, though also a slave. I complied with her request -- or was it an order?

"Incidentally, Prissy," Bea continued, "if you object to my assigning you over to Thor, remember that we have a binding contract which entitles me to your services for the next ten years. You will remember the small print that says that I can assign your services to anyone whose net worth is equal to mine. Now Thor's net worth is incalculably greater than mine, even after I inherited Henry's fortune. So there is no question I can assign you to Thor, and that is exactly what I have done. You now belong to Thor. In our contract, it also says that Thor can't make you do anything that would be illegal. He therefore can never sell you to a pimp and into prostitution, in this country. But it so happens that one of Thor's holding companies owns a brothel in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, accepted in payment of a bad debt, and useful for purposes such as this one."

"I love you, Prissy, as I sort of loved Henry, but I love Thor with all my heart, and I must warn you. Prostitution is not illegal in Brazil. By sheer coincidence, this brothel specializes in she-male whores. So far they have only local talent there. But I know of a genuine blonde she-male who would make a big hit with the clientele. So if you think you can play games with Thor, think again. You are now his love-slave. Serve him with all your heart, as you would wish to serve me. Anything he wishes is now your wish for him. Be warned."

My forehead was still on the rug, and my dildo-filled ass high in the air. I listened, the ball-gag filling my mouth preventing me from saying anything. But I had nothing to say anyhow. I was way out of my league!

"Oh, one more thing." From the corner of my eye I saw Bea take the chain with the locket from her neck, "I have no further use for your cock, and neither has Thor, to whom I have given you. So we have no need for the key to that little adornment hanging down there, that seems to be so precious to you. We think it best to make Eva the keeper of the key. She may use it in any way she desires."

I must have made some kind of squeal of protest, because Bea next said rather sternly, "Prissy, understand this, once and for all. Whatever you once felt for me no longer matters to me. I have seen to it that your love, or affection, or dependency on my love, whatever it was, has been converted altogether into a deep desire to obey and serve me, and because I order it, to serve Thor. That does matter to me. You now have a further duty as well, to serve Eva as well, as she wishes."

"I recognize that you're soft. Though you're now in effect a woman, you crave a woman's affection. Though you now find satisfaction satisfying men's sexual needs if I wish it, or Thor wishes, you have a penis, and still crave sex with a woman. Eva will satisfy these cravings, if she sees fit. She has greater experience as a slave, and from now on she'll take over where Steve left off, and oversee your further feminizing and further sexual enslavement to us. If you satisfy her in these matters, she'll see that you're satisfied in other ways. You're her reward for years of faithful service to Thor, and she'll reward you for devoted service to the both of us. Your chief reward from now on is, of course, the pleasure of serving us. If you understand me, show it by shaking your pretty butt."

I understood her, so I waggled my rear as provocatively as I could. I didn't know how I felt about it. I heard Eva giggle.

With that Bea put the chain with the locket around Eva's neck, giving her a little kiss on each cheek. Eva's face broke into the grin of the cat that had gotten the canary. I knew that I was the canary.

"Well," Thor said, refilling Bea's glass of champagne, and his own, "Bea has already told you everything. Now you know the whole situation. I'll marry Bea soon. You'll stay with us as Prissy the maid. You'll perform any personal services requested by Bea, me, or even Eva for that matter, because you are on the lowest rung of our ladder. If you function well and observe the rules, you'll have a comfortable life with no cares and many pleasures. I think you can do that, and I think you want that. You have done it for at least the last six months, and all you need to do is, continue. Being obedient will have its rewards, just as any infractions of the rules will carry punishments."

"I shall not ask you whether you will agree, because what I have just said is based on previously signed agreements. It is not even 'an offer you cannot refuse,' because you have no alternative. So therefore I welcome you to my house. Prissy, my slave, I am pleased to welcome you to my personal service." He raised his glass towards me and saluted me.

While Thor was speaking Bea took Eva's dress off, so she could be a bit more comfortable. Then as he finished she called to him, "To bed, lover-boy. Enough talk! I can hardly wait to feel you in me! Prissy needs some time to think over what she's just heard, so we should just leave her here, I think. Maybe Eva can cheer her up a little."

Thor took another sip from his glass and followed Bea into the bedroom.

I was still kneeling in front of the sofa, my forehead down and my ass held high, completely dumbfounded.

Eva got up from the sofa and minced over to me. She ducked under me and started kissing my tits, sucking on them, rolling them between her teeth and her tongue. This excited me so much that I could think of nothing else after a minute or two, nothing at all. Then she slid behind me and with her teeth pulled on the strap that held my ball-gag and succeeded in unbuckling it. I spit the ball out and at once she started to kiss me on the mouth. We both fell to the ground and were kissing each other wherever we could. It grew into a real frenzy. Suddenly she stopped and asked me to turn on my stomach. She pulled down the zipper of my dress so I could wiggle out of it. Then she began to undo the straps holding my arms to my corset and about three minutes later my arms were free. She asked me to free her too. I was very cautious and asked her if our masters would not be angry with us if we did that, but she said, "If we can get free, we are allowed to, they expect us to. If they want to keep us bound, they will make sure we cannot free ourselves."

We didn't take off our corsets, though once our arms were free, we were soon in a jumble of limbs caressing each other in any way possible. Eva was a woman who could make you forget anything. I was beginning to see that my enslavement as Bea's wedding gift to Thor had certain advantages. Eva loosened the strap that held my dildo in my ass and started to fuck me with it. I lay in her arms, my breasts against her breasts, and became so excited that I came in less than a minute. "Now its your turn," she said, and gave me the dildo. I pushed it into her cunt and stroked it into her as best I could, gently, as a woman would, and brought her to several arousals and orgasms in hardly any time at all.

Then we lay next to each other on the thick rug. I felt deeply impassioned by the sight of her, and Eva smiled. "It's a form of narcissism," she said. "You're turned on by me the way you're turned on by your mirror image, by yourself. And we do have a lot in common. We're both slaves to masters who love each other. We are both submissive to their least whims. We're both women. And wonderfully, I can still think of you as a man and can even make you perform like one, if I wish." She reached for my penis, which got hard almost immediately. It was not an impressive size, locked back as it was, but she stroked it a few times, looking playfully into my eyes. Then she let it go -- I had hoped she would unlock me, but she didn't. She returned to playing with the dildo.

"Did you get a good look at this?" she asked me, "Doesn't it look familiar?"

To me it was just another dildo, very nicely designed though, I thought, very life-like, with a lifelike representation of a royal cockhead, and of thick veins running its length.

"It was made from a plaster cast of Thor's cock. All the time you've used it on yourself, you were in a way already fucked by Thor." I was amazed again. The two masters had planned even that down to the last little detail. Bea had selected that dildo for me to wear just this afternoon.

Just then I heard Thor call me. "Prissy get in here and clean us. First me, then Bea."

I crawled in with my forehead close to the floor, the way he had left me, and when I was next to their bed I looked up at him.

"I told you you would get to swallow my cum tonight. Now you can suck it from Bea's love nest too. Be gentle about it. I don't want to hear any complaints."

First I took on the task of licking Thor's cock clean. It was true, it looked exactly like the dildo I had been using to bring myself off after servicing Bea. I couldn't resist doing a little more than was needed to clean it, and was soon rewarded with a fast growing cock. When it was good and hard again, he stopped me. "Go ahead and do what you were told," he reminded me.

Bea had been watching me the whole time with great interest. "You look as though you love my man almost as much as I do," she said. I slid over to her side and buried my tongue in her pussy, sucking and slurping as best I could. She took my head in both her hands, and held my mouth to her most sensitive places, and allowed her head to fall back onto her pillow in delight. I knew her sensitive spots and did my best to excite her. Within seconds, she was writhing about in ecstasy. Suddenly I felt Thor kneeling behind me. He raised my butt to meet his cock, and soon was he was buried deep inside me. His long cock felt so familiar, like an old friend! It was wonderful. I was giving Bea a continuous orgasm with my tongue and face while at the same time I was being fucked by her man, my master. I came again after a short while, and so did Thor, and then we all collapsed.

After a short rest period Thor told me to get up and clean myself, and get ready for bed. "I suppose Eva already has gone to bed. Call me when you are ready." I went and did as ordered, and called Thor as I entered the other bedroom.

I found Eva already in bed, and I slipped in too. We were not either of us wearing nightgowns, and we snuggled our bodies together. Eva's smooth skin felt delicious. When Thor came in, to my great surprise he told Eva to unlock my cock. Although I had come two times already that night, my contact with Eva's magnificent body let it grow again. "Just so you don't walk in your sleep and hurt yourself, I'll take a little precaution." he said. With that he took in hand the lock he had taken from my cock, and locked my right nipple-ring to Eva's left. Then he produced a second padlock and locked the other two nipple-rings. We were now locked together inescapably. "Good night sweeties, sleep tight together," he said from the door as he left us in our predicament.

Well, we didn't sleep for quite some time afterward. "So you were once 'Henry,'" said Eva in a drowsy teasing voice. "And this is still Henry's cock, isn't it. Well, Henry, how does it feel to be a woman locked tit-to-tit to a woman. Does it feel good? Does it give your cock ideas?"

She began to move her torso back and forth, ever so slightly, so the little tugs on my nipples began to turn to pure liquid desire, and the desire made my cock rock-hard. "From now on, I'm going to call this little skin dildo 'Henry'," she said, clamping down on my prick with one hand and running her fingers over my lips and eyes with the other. "And whenever he's unlocked, he's mine. Not yours. Understood?"

I nodded my understanding, and we fell yet again into each other. Eva slipped her fingers round and round my little Henry until it began to come again of its own free will, unconcerned with who owned it. "I can't swallow your Henry's juices, Prissy dear," Eva said, "So feed me."

Henry had spurted and squirted on our bellies, and I scooped up finger fulls, so we both could lick my fingers clean. "Ummmm," said Eva licking and sucking my forefinger as if it were a cock, "I'd hoped you would taste this good."

Then we settled in to sleep, locked and snugged together. Locked together as we were, we could either sleep on our sides or else atop each other, taking turns which. We woke up several times when it was necessary to change positions, and each time we resumed out love-play.

Chapter Eighteen: Life with Thor

(our heroine's satisfactory adjustment to her new life)

Thor loved to lock us together this way, whenever he wanted to put us on hold, and leave us to our own devices. Otherwise we were quite free to move about and use our hands. We were naked most of the times, but sometimes we wore corsets with stockings and high heels, or even dresses that left our tits bare. In any event, our closeness usually provoked mutual caressing, stroking, and loving scratching of each other. Soon enough my free dangling cock would then find its way into Eva's hot quim. We had to be very careful to keep our movements controlled so as not to over-stretch our nipples, but the gentle tugging on each other enhanced our pleasure even more.

Thor invented a further restraint. He would pull an old-fashioned girdle over both our hips. It was hard work to get it up, and it was quite impossible to separate our hips from each other. Thor always made sure that my cock was buried inside Eva when he pulled up the girdle. Then he locked our arms together around each other, so that we could not shove down the girdle. It would have been a rather frustrating set-up for both of us, my cock deeply within her and not able to move back and forth. But Eva had a wonderful way to use her vaginal muscles to set up a pulsating contraction that set my cock to quiver. It caused my cock to almost vibrate and when I pulled myself up as far as I could, the vibrations were transferred to her clit. Without so much as a twitch visible on the outside she could make us come in a few minutes -- or, if the fancy struck her, in an hour or longer. But this I experienced only much later.

Saturday morning at the hotel Thor came and woke us, released us from our love-bondage of the night, and told us to join Bea and him in the master bedroom. There I was instructed to clean out Bea's love juices from the previous night, a task I had come to love. I knew that this way I could pleasure Bea in ways her lover couldn't or didn't. This kind of pleasuring was reserved for me. The most she ever said was, "Very good, Prissy," after a rolling orgasm that wouldn't quit, though usually she said nothing at all when she dismissed me. But I know Bea always appreciated my desire to please her.

We had breakfast brought by room-service, and again, slaves were not allowed to sit with their masters. Nor were we fed at all, this time. Since our wrists were locked behind us, we had to slurp out coffee from bowls and pick up pieces of bread from a plate on the ground. I suddenly remembered that Bea had had me do just that early in my life as Honey. Then I saw no deeper meaning to it, but now I realized that it was part of my training to be a slave.

After breakfast we were told to put on make-up and do our hair as similarly as we could, to re-create yesterday's twin-look. Eva was not satisfied with my efforts, and while she was leaning over me to re-pin some of my tresses I playfully tweaked her nipples.

Before I knew what was happening, I felt a stinging pain on my cheek, and my head was knocked sideways! Another blow knocked me onto my back! I looked at Eva, and she was glaring at me, her palms still outstretched. "This is serious, Miss Prissy!" she said. "We have been ordered to look like each other, and that is what we shall do, to the absolute best of our ability. Just remember, I have spent time in bondage to a very demanding master, and I know how to inflict unspeakable pain on you if you require it. And I'll do it, too, if you require it. I know that Mistress Bea and this Steve person have worked miracles with you without ever severely disciplining you. But I have other methods. Clear?"

I nodded. "Yes, Eva."

"Yes, Miss Eva, Miss Prissy!"

"Yes, Miss Eva."

"Good! Now that you understand that, I'll allow you to kiss each of my toes. Once each. Quickly. Make the best of it!" She sat down.

I knelt and sucked gently on the first few, then frenziedly on the rest in quick succession. Then after a moment I stood up, looked into her eyes, and smiled. She raised her eyebrows, and seemed satisfied.

We had to lace each other into cruel little corsets that made our tits and asses stand out most provocatively. My cock was locked back as usual before I pulled up and buttoned the same skirt that Eva wore. When finished -- still with naked tits -- we went to Thor, who fastened our wrists together behind us, and pulled capes of a very thin, clinging material over our head. They reached barely past our breasts, and showed off our tiny waists, and the fact that our arms were locked behind us.

Then Bea and Thor attached their leashes, and Thor took me, while Bea took Eva, for a leisurely stroll through the park around the hotel. Eva seemed to be quite at ease, accustomed to this kind of treatment. I still felt humiliated, and blushed whenever we met anyone. Bea greeted one couple effusively. They were a tall, statuesque woman, quite fashionably but comfortably dressed, followed by another smaller woman, teetered behind her carrying a large parasol to protect her from too much sun. When I came closer I saw that her bracelets were welded to the parasol, and wore a terribly tight hobble skirt and unbelievably high heels.

"Well if it isn't Eddie," Bea exclaimed, looking at the shorter woman with the parasol, then greeting the tall woman. "I am so glad to meet you, too, finally. My but you've improved on Eddie's appearance. She must have lost at least 40 pounds."

"43 pounds to be exact, but she'll have to lose another two at least," the tall woman said in a husky, sexy voice. Could it be that the tall woman was a male too? She looked very feminine, but I had learned that if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, chances were only about 50/50 here at the hotel.

"We'll, it's so nice to see that what I began is still in good hands. Eddie will probably have told you about me, and the first time I put him into skirts."

"Of course he did. It gave me a wonderful start, when I found him and made him my slave. He became a very accomplished cock-sucker under my tutelage, and he tries to please me in every way."

I looked over the second woman, and must say that I never would have guessed that she was or at least had been a male too if I had met her anywhere else. She had quite a nice figure, a little rounder than mine, but suitable for her type. Bea and the tall woman chatted for a while, and parted with "see you around soon." I didn't talk to Eddie, as I had learned already that slaves are not allowed to speak unless addressed by their masters, or given permission to speak. Eddie must have had the same instructions. So when we parted, we just curtsied to each other and to our masters, and went our way.

Our masters kept us really busy all weekend long, but it would be too much to recount all the details. Suffice to say that I learned a lot more about being a love slave to a stern, but wonderful and loving master. It was true, Bea had given me to him, but I didn't really mind after I came to know him better. I could very well understand how Bea had fallen in love with him, and understood equally well Bea's attraction for him.

Late Sunday morning, Eva made good on one of her warnings to me. She had left my cock unlocked for thorough cleaning, and as I came from the shower back to our bedroom I was absent-mindedly pulling on it. It felt good, and I picked up the pace just as Eva came back from servicing Bea.

"What are you doing with my cock?!" she shrieked. "Let go of that!" And before I knew what had happened she reached into a bureau drawer, picked up a short leather whip, and delivered two swift blows, forehand to my balls, and then before the incredible pain had a chance to travel and spread and intensify, backhand to my penis. It shriveled instantly, as I sank writhing on the floor clutching at them. She said not another word, and didn't need to. It was very odd. I knew I should have resented her highhandedness, but in a peculiar way I felt grateful to her. Later I told her this, and she smiled.

"Yes, it figures," she said. "That's Henry in you. A true submissive, as Mistress Bea said. He wants to be punished and humiliated by a woman, doesn't he? Well, if you don't behave, you may be sure I'll oblige. If pain makes him feel grateful, I can make him grovel out of his mind with gratitude to me, any time. Don't tempt me."

I should mention, Eva meant it. A month later I did tempt her, and with Bea and Thor away she had no fears about disabling me for a day or two.

Thor had said something like "She is a little hard to enter sometimes -- maybe we should train her pussy to be more supple." And Bea at some other time had mused, "Her walk is feminine now, but it isn't dainty. Maybe higher heels would help...?". Well, Miss Eva -- as I had to call her when she was disciplining me -- simply combined the wishes of our masters into a new training program for me. She got a pair of 'ballet boots' for me that had no soles at all, just heels and a sharp point touching the ground when they were put on. On the inside they were fitted to the toes and the balls of my feet, so when I stood up in them, my weight was evenly distributed like a ballerina's on point. I had to confess they looked fabulous, but I couldn't stand in them for more than ten or twenty seconds.

Then, to achieve more elasticity in my pussy Miss Eva inserted a training dildo with a thick head, then a slim shaft widening to over two inches at the end. Whenever I sat down on it, it was driven into my pussy and forcefully spread out my little hole. Then when I stood in it slipped back out to the narrow shaft. Well, fitted with the ballet boots and the training dildo I found myself with hard choices. Miss Eva allowed me to walk until I couldn't stand it any longer, then to sit down only on a low wooden stool. It was impossible to sit slowly and gracefully in ballet boots, I found out. I plunged down onto the stool and immediately let out a shriek. "Not one sound! Not one!" she shouted, so I clamped my lips tight shut. Then, to be sure I sat down unassisted by my hands, instead lowering myself gracefully with my legs alone, she cuffed my wrists behind me. Then she made me repeatedly stand, walk, sit, and 'rest'. "An hour of this each morning for the next three months, and our Master and Mistress will find no fault with your pussy or your walking -- he'll feel he's slipping into a pot of honey when he enters you, and you'll look daintier than any little girl in her Sunday best," she said.

At first it was sheer hell. When she left me, I tried a few more walks and 'rests' on the stool. Then since she wasn't standing over me, I went to my knees and just rested that way for a while. I shouldn't have dared. Eva returned before I could scramble back to my feet, and again she shrieked "What are you doing!" But this time she got a long, slim bamboo cane, and said through clenched teeth, "Prissy, you know what your Master and Mistress want! You must want what they want! Apparently you don't! Can you count to fifty?"

"Yes," I said, standing there frightened, the pain in my feet forgotten.

"Good!" she said. "Walk! Begin counting!"

So I began, and Miss Eva walked to one side of me delivering a stripe to my buttocks with each number I spoke aloud, each one angled neatly below the previous I found later, though a repeated sharp, excruciating pain was all I felt at the time. At the count of ten she had me sit on the stool. Then ten more walking, and another 'rest' sitting. By this time I was altogether unaware of pain from the boots or the dildo, especially when she ran out of unstriped skin and walked on my other side delivering crosshatched stripes to my buttocks. When it came time for me to walk to receive the last ten my blouse was soaked with tears and perspiration, and without realizing it I was moaning aloud like an animal between the inarticulate cries that stood for the last ten numbers I had to call out. The stool felt like red hot coals on my buttocks while she finished my punishment, but I sat there.

"There!" she said mildly. "Prissy, I am proud of you. You didn't cry out once. You must love your master and mistress very much. Let me get you some soothing lotion." She had me lie on my stomach, and she stroked her cool, smooth, lotion-filled hand so lovingly across my fiery back and backside that at one point couldn't help it. I seized it and smothered it with grateful kisses

When Bea returned, she glanced at the fifty crosshatched bright red whip marks on my back and buttocks, but all she said was, "Well, been naughty, Prissy? I hope you enjoyed it." I was still in anguish, but didn't know what to reply. Thereafter I really was Eva's slave too, in a way. I did what she told me. After this episode, I learned to walk in my ballet boots quite easily, not for long distances, but enough to get around in the house. And Thor never again complained that my pussy wasn't pliable. But all that happened later.

As the time finally came to leave the hotel that Sunday afternoon, Eva and I packed all our belongings and put them outside the door to be picked up by the bell-boys. I stood there awaiting what would happen next, wearing a very short, simple cotton dress that did little to hide my figure.

Thor told me, "You are coming with us, as you'll move in with us right away. Bea will return to her house to arrange selling it, and join us later. Unfortunately I came in my Sports-Mercedes, so there is no seat for you -- you'll just have to travel with the baggage. It's best if I bundle you into a package, for the boys to carry you down and stow you away."

This is not what I had wished for, but I knew, resistance would only make the journey far more uncomfortable. So I just lowered my eyes. Thor waved me nearer and produced a small string, not two inches long. "This is all I need to make you into a nice little package," he said. I didn't believe him. But he proceeded to tie together each of my third fingers. That was all. Now my hands were tied together in front of me, but otherwise I was quite unrestrained. This puzzled me.

When the bell-boys came for the luggage, they put our suitcases on their trolley, and one of them rolled it away. Thor told me to sit down and put my arms around my knees. When I did, the remaining two bell-boys shoved a bar between my bent elbows under my knees, picked up the ends of the bar, and unceremoniously carried me out. To my horror they took me dangling from the bar by my knees down the guest elevator, through the lobby, and out to the car that was waiting in front of the hotel. As if I was just another bag they stowed me in the trunk between two large suitcases. "Have a nice trip, and come back soon," one of them said as he shut down the trunk lid, and left me in the dark.

Well, life as a slave has it's surprises, I thought, and I settled into what I thought would be my most comfortable position. Soon enough I heard the ca doors slam, and the car start to move. What I had hoped would be comfortable turned out to be rather stressful, because I sat on my bottom on my butt plug. Every pothole in the pavement, and every bump, bounced me against my butt-plug, which slid out of me an inch or two, and then was rammed back in. I really got fucked this way, but not rhythmically enough to come. So when the journey ended, I was desperate for someone to bring me off. That night, Eva again brought me sweet relief. I was beginning to love her.

When we arrived at Thor's mansion, I began living the life Bea had had in mind for me from the start, and had been designing my body and mind to accept for over two years, from the moment she first met Thor, and decided to end our marriage, but decided I still had my uses. She had remade me into Thor's slave, his personal servant, woman enough to please him in endless ways and eager to do so, yet man enough to keep him from feeling too affectionate, never a threat to her.

Lying in bed mornings, Thor felt completely at home in his universe. Usually he was propped high on satin pillows, glancing over his day's schedule, Bea beside him correcting proof on some article she had written, the two of them stretched out luxuriously while I lay between his legs and nursed gently on his cock. I had no complaints. Occasionally as a special reward he would allow me to suck him to orgasm, Bea smiling approval, and I felt honored to drink from his spurting tip. Most mornings Thor was content just to allow me to contribute to his cock's feelings of well-being before he arose to begin the day. And I was content to suck on him, then occasionally, when Bea was out of town, to feel him lunging into my ass. It helped me feel so ... girlish!

Once, I suspect Bea was feeling a pang of remorse for what she had done to me. Thor ordered me into the room and told me to strip naked, then unlocked my cock and told me to dance for them. And so I did, my breasts bobbling up and down, and my prick flapping and waving from side to side. I felt ridiculous, and must have looked even more ridiculous, because in no time the two of them lay there pointing at me, helpless with laughter. I was delighted to have given them such pleasure, and danced all the more enthusiastically, shaking my titties and my ass in different rhythms, and waving my arms as seductively and sinuously as I could. When I finished, Thor waved me good-naturedly out of the room, still laughing, and I heard him ask Bea, "Well, do you still think so?," and I heard Bea reply, "No, you're right, he doesn't mind, in fact he seems to love it."

Bea moved in with us after re-arranging her lecture and publishing schedules, disposing of our home, and selling off most of the accumulation of our two decades as husband and wife. She sold the house, and had the movers bring only a few pieces of furniture, mostly her office equipment, and of course my uniforms and our skirts, blouses and dresses. I was now a personal upstairs maid in Thor's grand establishment. It was magnificent place, situated in a landscaped garden so big, you could call it a park with a little stream running through it. The house was a large mansion dating from the beginning of this century, with high ceilings and large French windows. Thor had other servants of course. There was a French couple, Josephine the chef who prepared elaborate French dishes, and Gauchos the chauffeur and handyman. Gauchos could fix anything, and had a big tool-shed next to the garage where he made anything that Thor desired. From what I gathered he had run into some trouble in France because he was too handy with locks and keys, but Thor brought him over and provided for him, and for Joey too. Both were devoted to him and quite used to his eccentricities. The housecleaning and gardening were done by outside contractors, and with other maids and pantrymen on the household staff, there wasn't a great deal for me to do. "Your job," Bea explained to me, "Is to look as pretty as you possibly can, all day, so you'll be able to give as much pleasure as you possibly can whenever you're wanted. And to serve us with love and gratitude."

Thor attached great importance to my looking my feminine best. A lot of my time was spent dressing and primping, and I came to love it. Thor liked seeing me in real Victorian servants' uniforms, with long skirts over several rustling petticoats, a severely corseted waist, and large ruffled pinafores with wide shoulder straps that bobbed up and down like wings when I walked, and with a large bow on my backside accenting my ass. I had to make sure my pinafores and aprons were always clean and crisp, and therefore had to change them often. I also had to wear five inch heels all the time, and I must say, I soon felt quite uncomfortable without them. Somehow my Achilles tendons must have shortened from wearing them, so my feel hurt when I walked around barefoot. Of course the heels and my corseting influenced my walk. My ass really stuck out and wiggled provocatively with every step. But that seemed to be exactly what Thor desired. He said that a sexy Victorian maid went perfectly with spirit of the house.

He also took great pleasure in lacing me tightly, and it became a game between us. I sometimes deliberately did not close my corset in the morning so that the uniform could barely be closed over it. As soon as Thor saw me, he would notice and make me get out of it so that he could close the gap. When he pulled on the laces, I would wiggle my behind and try to push it into his crotch, while he pulled my laces as tight as he could. I am not sure what caused it, but usually he got hard in no time, and the scene usually ended with his prick deep inside me. I just had to watch out that Bea did not see me first, because she also would not be content with just closing the gap, but she would warm my bottom considerably with her hair-brush for my negligence. To get around this, I had persuaded Eva to be my accomplice and keep Bea busy on these mornings.

To emphasize their independence, Bea and Thor had separate bedrooms, but they always spent part of each night together. Eva's and my bedroom was between the two master-bedrooms, so we could easily be summoned if the services of one or both of us were required by either the Master or the Mistress. It evolved, that most of the time Thor wanted my services and Bea wanted Eva's. They began to think of us with affection as a cute pair of girls delighted to serve them, as indeed we were.

They entertained a lot, the usual business and social set who cluster around rich and prominent couples, and another much smaller crowd, with a lifestyle similar to Thor's and Bea's, who brought their own slaves with them. With the social crowd I was a pretty, well trained maid carrying canapes and refilling drinks, and Bea and Thor were envied that they had me. With the others, Eva and I were skilled and devoted slaves, and often we were instructed to play scenes with other slaves, highly erotic games in which any of our bodily openings were available to anyone else's bodily protuberances, and elaborate new combinations were roundly applauded.

Once Thor invited a Sheik from one of the Gulf Emirates to stay with us for a few days, a business associate, while they re-negotiated some interests they shared. He was tall and swarthy, with a sinister-looking beard, and obviously accustomed to having his every wish fulfilled instantly. Thor explained to us that he had the four wives his religion allowed him, but that he also had a harem of about twenty concubines, three of them boy-girls like me. Eva and I were instructed to cater to every wish that Mr. Rifad might venture.

Bea was out of town on a lecture tour when the Sheik came to visit. Thor evidently wanted to show Mr. Rifad that even in the West a lifestyle similar to his was possible. He unlocked my prick, then asked Eva and me to dress ourselves in tasteful but sensible afternoon dresses, nothing resembling harem costumes, but nothing proclaiming that we were slaves either. That much was fun. The two of us giggled together as I chose a lovely yellow silk print with a swirling skirt for Eva and she chose a stately blue organza off-the-shoulder for me, teasing me that any boy should feel privileged to wear something so deliciously provocative. Then we did each other's hair in the highest styles we could design, and came down to meet Mr. Rifad hand in hand, looking like very elegant girlfriends.

Mr. Rifad evidently found it hard to believe that we were what Thor called us, so Thor demonstrated his absolute power over us by giving us commands we obeyed instantly, to kiss each other passionately as if we were lesbian lovers, then to kiss him as if we were begging for his cock to slide into us. Mr. Rifad became quite interested in us. Thor then ordered us to strip down to our bras and panties, and we did. I hesitated when Thor then asked us to remove our panties, because I was beginning to feel ashamed that I wasn't a real girl, and didn't want Mr. Rifad to see my pecker. To a sternly masculine Arab, I knew, to be a feminized male in a liberal western society is the ultimate humiliation; it meant I had chosen the life voluntarily, abandoning all self-respect by trying to live my life as the lesser, weaker sex, subject to my master's whim.

We were not allowed to speak without permission, but when Eva sensed my reluctance to uncover my loins she started to hum a tune I recognized as "Brazil ...". I immediately understood its meaning: Thor's transgender brothel in Brazil, where I might end up if I made any trouble. I swallowed my embarrassment and shame, dropped my panties, and stepped out of them, revealing to Mr. Rifad my true sex. He looked shocked, and glared at me a moment. Thor then asked us to put on a sex show for Mr. Rifad, with several sex acts.

"Prissy may look like a complete woman, but she is still able to fully function as a male," he explained to Mr. Rifad, and he made Eva prove it. I was mortified almost to paralysis, so Eva took over. She took me gently by the shoulders and pressed me to the floor on my back, then she mounted my face and rode me until it was dripping with her juices and my boner rose to the sky, finally she mounted my stiff cock and rode me nearly to climax. When I was desperate to erupt into her, she suddenly slid off, took my rigid shaft in her hand, pulled on it a few more times, and exploded me so I shot my cum all over my breasts, nearly to my mouth. Then she collected it all with her fingers and made me suck them clean. Whenever I seemed reluctant she started humming "Brazil ...," and I did whatever she wanted with renewed fervor.

We were then sent out to freshen ourselves and put on starched uniforms, and at dinner we both served as maids. I overheard Mr. Rifad ask how Thor had found me, and heard Thor explaining how my wife had seduced and trained me into femininity on a bet, as a present to him when they first discovered that they loved each other. To hear two people speak this way about me while I served them dinner, as if I weren't there, was perhaps the most humiliating experience of all.

Mr. Rifad seemed to be quite taken with me and even tried to buy me from Thor. He asked what his expenditures had been for having me trained, modified, and outfitted -- he would double any amount Thor had spent on me. When Thor asked why he wanted me, Mr. Rifad explained that he had three boy-girls, but they were castrated, not really boys any more, and unable to entertain his friends as Eva and I had just done. He had never seen a creature so feminine and yet so fully functional as a man. He would especially love to have a blonde western male as a harem slave -- I would be a collector's item, unique in his circles.

I was most relieved when I heard Thor declare that under no circumstances would he sell me. I was a love gift, and he cherished me. He offered Mr. Rifad his services finding some other suitable man for his purposes, and someone willing to alter and train him to whatever were Mr. Rifad's specifications. That night I felt especially grateful to Thor, and tearfully lavished my affection on him. Amused, Thor reassured me by tugging gently on the rings in my nipples and the ring in my crotch until I squirted all over myself.

After a few months, Thor formally proposed marriage to Bea, and Bea accepted. The wedding soon followed. Eva and I were the bridesmaids, and were fitted with gorgeous dresses, again we were made up to look like twins. The wedding was more or less the way all weddings are, but for me it was a very special, moving experience. I cried. I couldn't hold back my tears when I saw my wife of so many years walk down the aisle to marry another man, her face radiant, while I was serving as her Maid of Honor. It was a very sentimental moment. Although basically nothing changed in our relationship, this wedding marked the end of another period in my life. My wife Bea was now someone else's wife and my mistress, no more than that.

The wedding night was something special too. I was called on to undress Bea and prepare her for her husband, while Eva provided the same services to Thor. Then we both undressed each other, and gave our masters a sex show of our own. Thor instructed Eva to be sure I didn't climax, because he wanted me to stay horny all night -- it seemed somehow fitting for Bea's first husband to stay sexually frustrated while her second husband was enjoying her lavishly. But I was not only allowed, I was required to make Eva cum as many times as possible, and I know I succeeded, judging by her shrieks and moans and writhings, and the towels she soaked wiping herself between performances. At some point we lost our audience when they decided to retire to their own entertainment instead of just watching ours. After a while we were called in and asked to clean them -- Eva took care of Thor, while I enthusiastically sucked Thor's cum from Bea's love-nest. She looked down at me affectionately. "No jealousy at all, my little Prissy?" she asked. "Do you love Thor now as much as I do?" I shook my head so vigorously, burying my nose and tongue so deeply into her slit, that she came again on the spot.

My mistress then granted me an extraordinary favor, and on her wedding night! My loving efforts so re-awakened her passions that she got up and equipped herself with a double dildo, one end of it in her twat, and the other swiftly buried in my ass. I saw that Thor had taken on Eva and was fucking her so vigorously that her body shook each time he slammed into it. My cock was still hard again too, and Eva's ass looked so invitingly humped up to receive me that I couldn't hold back. Soon we were all connected to each other, humping and bumping and tumbling all over each other. Once, I nearly forgot myself and began tensing to orgasm into her ass. Eva felt it, and again hummed a warning phrase from "Brazil." But mostly I remembered that Thor wanted to keep me hard up on the night when he was reaming my wife silly, so I controlled myself. I loved him, and wanted to do anything he asked of me.

As all good things end, so did this wedding celebration. It ended with Eva and me in our bed, once again locked together face to face by our tit-rings, giggling and kissing, trying to get to sleep but always distracted by one of us exciting the other. When Thor came to tuck us in and lock us up, he told me to tuck my dong into Eva's cunt. "You've been a good girl all night," he told me, "So now my bridal gift to you both is, you may fill Eva's cunt to overflowing with your jism as many times as you can manage, for the rest of the night. We are overflowing with happiness, so it seems only fitting that you two should too!" Then later, although we couldn't see it, the sounds coming from Thor's room showed that our happy newlyweds were still at it.

In February we vacationed from the cold weather by flying down to Rio to see the famous Carnival. I was a little apprehensive about being left behind in a Brazilian brothel, but my fear was unfounded and our stay was fabulous. Eva and I went as twins again. My worst moment was when I was left on deposit at Thor's brothel with the Madame, Señora Juanita, who turned out to be a beautiful Drag Queen dressed like the widow of a Spanish grandee. Thor and Bea went on to one of the big hotels on the Copacabana, with Eva to serve as their maid.

Everyone at the brothel was very friendly. They regarded me as a colleague and an honored guest. The building had been a first class hotel in its better days, complete with ball-room, conference rooms now used for private parties, a little boutique, and a beauty shop specializing in make-overs for men. The place really came alive during the Carnival season, as many closet TVs emerged to get made over for their costume parties. Señora Juanita noticed that I was wearing permanent makeup, and complimented me on the skill with which it had been applied. She told me that during this season, always a few husbands were sent to the beauty shop for a makeover for some Grand Costume Ball, only to discover afterward that their wives had ordered permanent makeup for them. Then, she pointed out, these men would have to choose between looking ridiculously effeminate for a year or so, or else going further and try to become feminized enough to pass as real women, and to live like real women for the year.

Most of the time their wives did this so they could feel free to take lovers and bring them into their own bedrooms while their husbands were still living in the house -- as maids. Whatever the husbands chose, for the year they were in permanent makeup they were unable to object without appearing completely ridiculous, revealing what they were. In fact, some wives required their husbands to service their lovers and themselves nightly, to do whatever the new couple might choose. Some of these husbands might even end up working here, Señora Juanita told me, their wives bringing them in the evening and collecting them in the morning together with all the husband had earned during the night. Others, however, came to like their new lives, and one of them at that very moment was the most profitable courtesan on her rolls, glamorous enough to attend the needs of ambassadors and ministers without detection.

I didn't inform her that I had been a husband like that myself, once.

But the brothel's real business was humming too. There were at least 10 'girls' on duty day or night. They worked in shifts, all well organized. Señora Juanita held a tight rein. In the evening, usually around 10:00 pm, there was always a costume ball in the ball-room. As I as had not come prepared with an appropriate wardrobe, the 'girls' fitted me out with some beautiful beaded and appliqued ball gowns, and I danced into the small hours nightly. Some men who danced with me took my fancy, but I was not allowed to take them into a private room to enjoy them.

I asked Señora Juanita why not, and she explained that she could not allow clients to be taken away from her regular girls, who depended on the income.

"But if you insist," she said, "I can set you up as the 'pencil sharpener'."

When I asked her what this meant, she said "come along, I'll show you." She took me to a corner of the hall, close to the ball room entrance and the elevators to the rooms. Actually it was a little alcove just off the hall. She asked me to remove my panties, and she took out my butt-plug.

Then she led me to a stool with a cushion on it and a long dildo rising straight up from the cushion. She had me sit down on the cushion in such a way that the dildo fitted into me and held me snug on the pillow, and asked me to work it up and down a few times to be sure it was comfortable. Then she took a collar chained to the floor and snapped it shut around my neck. I was securely fastened. I could sit comfortably, but I couldn't move.

"Now what you do is, make the clients horny if they aren't already. It saves the girls time, so they're back in circulation faster, if their guests are almost ready to shoot when they go into the rooms to fuck. To get a slow client to this point is your responsibility. Suck him as well as you can, but don't make him cum. The girls will send guests here for this special service if they feel it would take too long to excite them. I think you'll see quite a lot of action here tonight, and get to suck on many cocks."

With that she left me. This was not exactly what I had hoped for, but now it was too late to do anything about it. The problem was, I got all the girls' Johns excited -- after all, Bea had made me into an expert cocksucker, in order to impress her lover enough for him to want to take me in. But while sucking cock I got all excited too, and I had no way of get release. I tried to hump the dildo, but it didn't reach my sensitive spots. I was quite frustrated and very horny when Señora Juanita came to release me after what must have been more than three hours. By that time traffic had slowed down and the 'girls' had more time for themselves.

And for me. They were grateful that I had done such a splendid job preparing their clients for them, and they now saw to it that I was well taken care off. Three of them took me into a room for what they called "a full body rubdown," their naked bodies writhing against mine for over an hour, until I had no cum left. Everybody agreed that from now on, I should be the 'pencil sharpener.' As usual, I had no vote. But I didn't much mind, especially after sampling the way they expressed their gratitude..

When the Carnival ended and Thor came to collect me, Señora Juanita was filled with praise for me, and told him that whenever he got tired of me she would always be happy to take me on. Well this kind of news was not what I wanted to hear. On our way back to the airport Thor brought the matter up again. "Wouldn't you like to live here and work in that brothel?" he asked. I was shocked. Frightened, I told him "No, master, please!" I told him I loved him, and Bea, and Eva, much too much to ever want to be separated from them, ever, even to be sent to a charming place like Rio.

"I don't mean now," said Thor "as long as you satisfy me, and as long as Bea will have you, you'll be a cherished part of our household. But think about it. Juanita will retire some time, in ten, twelve, fifteen years maybe. You could inherit her job. I'm always looking to promote skilled management."

I told him I would think about it then, but that now I wanted to stay with him and make him as happy as I could. I snuggled up against him, and put my head in his lap, and kissed the mound I could feel rising under his pants fabric. On the plane trip back to Thor's mansion, I kept my head in his lap and his prick in my mouth the whole time, covered by a blanket. Bea glanced over now and then, and each time she saw that I was still at it, sucking gently on him, she smiled, pleased with herself that she had done such a good job with me, that I had turned out to be worth the effort.

Chapter Nineteen: Another Birthday Present

(in which our heroine learns it is more blessed

to give than to receive, sometimes,

and her story comes to a happy end)

Things settled into a peaceful life for all of us. It wasn't all sex and domination/submission play. Of course, Eva and I are love slaves, and we know it and glory in it. We are usually restrained in some fashion. In the house I wore hobbles until I learned to walk as if I were wearing them, as Eva did always, daintily. Our heels were never less than five inches. When I complained once, Eva suggested to me that I serve dinner the next night 'en pointe', wearing a tutu. I had to, of course, and Thor and Bea were amused, and I never again complained of anything. Handcuffs were needed only when I forgot to clasp my wrists behind me while waiting for orders or listening to them, but after a short learning period I never did.

I love the way we live now. I'm essentially a woman, and my days are filled with women's things -- tending my uniforms and dresses, rinsing out my underthings and Bea's (sometimes Eva's when she wants to assert her authority over me), bringing Thor or Bea their morning coffee or afternoon cocktails, keeping myself neat and pretty at all times, and serving my master and mistress in any way they ask. Now and then, as if in a dream, I remember I once wore a suit and tie and dealt with business clients, or stretched on the couch watching TV and waiting for Bea to call me to dinner. But sometimes what I remember is sitting at my desk at my old firm fixing my lipstick, or going to a power lunch in a pretty dress, or asking my secretary to set up an appointment for Celeste to do my hair. But those things couldn't actually have happened. Sometimes, remembering my marriage, I think of myself as Bea fixing dinner for Henry, and I feel happy.

My relationship with Bea has utterly changed. She's now my mistress, my beloved master's wife, and I know I exist to gratify her least whim. I no longer look directly at her when she gives me her daily orders. I curtsy respectfully, then scurry to do her bidding. I am privileged that she sometimes allows me to touch her, because it's so rare. Mostly Eva tends to her. Ordinarily Thor doesn't like anyone with a prick near his wife naked, even a prick locked up like mine. But as Thor's primary slave and designated cumsucker, sometimes Bea will require that I use my lips and tongue on her cunt, though nowhere else, to suck and lick and clean Thor's cum out of her when she's too sleepy to bother with a douche. Sometimes I suspect she does this by mood or whim, just to assert her ascendancy over me, or Thor's. I try to please her, and sometimes she moans when I tongue her as deep as I can. But more often she falls asleep. I'm afraid I still bore her sexually -- she was excited to be intimate with me when she was training me to become Thor's slave only, though I had thought she was finding new pleasure in our new relationship, .

But even when she's asleep, I'm pleased to remember that if I continue to lick her tender places to the best of my ability, she'll awaken feeling cleansed, whatever her night's debaucheries, ready to begin the new day. That's my gift to her, whenever she allows me. I'm sure she remembers sometimes that I was once her husband, the man she seduced into becoming a girl, then tricked into bondage and whoredom, the man she feminized to become a cock slave to the man she was sleeping with at the time. But she never shows it. So far as Bea is concerned, I suspect, I'm her cunt's second string tongue to be called on when Eva is otherwise busy, and also an available house servant. But above all I'm her husband's personal maid.

What she most often instructs me is for me to satisfy Thor. She's amused that she can allow Thor any number of intimacies with me, an apparently pretty girl in bed with her husband, and yet know that he remains true to her. As she sees it I'm a not really a woman. I have a residual prick, balls, and no vagina, so as she sees it, sex with me isn't really infidelity. I am eager to pleasure Thor, of course, as often as asked. I clean his prick with my mouth each night after he and Bea have finished taking their pleasure with each other, while Eva is cleaning Bea. I set out his clothes, and dress him if he asks me. But best of all is especially when Bea is away on a lecture tour. Then when Thor is preparing for bed, I can't wait for him to call for me, because then he uses me as if I were Bea. I'll bathe and perfume myself, and put on my prettiest nightgown, and arrange my hair to fall just so, and darken my eye-shadow, and ask Eva to tie my hands behind me, so he'll know when I appear that I'm completely his. My asshole throbs to receive him.

Eva teases me I'm in love with Thor, not just trying to satisfy his needs because that's my job. Maybe. When he tells me to kneel on his bed with my pussy held high up, and there I am, waiting for him to grasp my hips with his strong hands and center himself, and then thrust his cock into me, I'm in heaven. Nothing in my life as a man can compare with my bliss when his meat is pushing and pulling in and out of me, filling and emptying me, while I writhe and wriggle and press against him to heighten his pleasure and my own, all the while squeezing his cock with my pussy to the rhythm of his own lunging groin, until he presses the full weight of his body onto me and I can't move, and then his mighty spasms fill my bowels with spurt after spurt of his milky seed, and I cry out loud with love and gratitude.

Bea happened to return home one evening while we were at it, and just stood there amazed. She shook her head at how excited I had gotten, how rapturous. "Prissy," she said, "You really have found your calling! You weren't much of a man, but you're such a wonderful cunt for my husband. I'll bet you love Thor's cum squirting into your guts even better than your own cum squirting into Eva. You look so delighted when Thor's fucking you! Just now you were wiggling on his prick like a hula dancer. And your skin is simply radiant! Eva's put you back on higher doses of hormones again, hasn't she?"

She had. Massive doses. It began a couple of weeks earlier, when we were locked together to sleep as we sometimes slept, nipple to nipple, and I had just finished fucking her. Eva enjoyed her ownership of my cock. Usually she made a teasing ritual of unlocking it and pulling on it until it became useful to her, then sliding it up and down her split until she was dripping, as if it were a dildo. Finally she would wrap her legs around me and when I entered her I felt I had come home. Wonderfully complete. Joined to my other womanly self. She would begin to rock, and I would rock back, until the teasing grew serious and I was trying to push my whole body into her crotch. Then I could feel her tense and grind herself into me, then pause stiffly before suddenly releasing her body to melt all over mine, while I exploded.

That night seemed like all the others at first. She was absent-mindedly sluicing up my cum and her own juices with her fingers, dipping it up repeatedly from inside her, then feeding it to me, when she suddenly said, "You know, it'll be Mistress Bea's birthday again soon, in another month or so, her forty-second I think. And a double anniversary. Your third since Bea started turning you into a girl -- but you didn't have a clue about that when it happened, did you, so we'll call it your second since you were reborn a girl by your own choice, sort of, the night of Bea's birthday. And it'll be your first anniversary as Thor's slave and my companion."

"You know," she went on. "You'll need to give your mistress some kind of a very special present, one that really tells her 'Thank you, Mistress Bea,' for what she's done for you, for your tits and your enslavement, everything, your days and nights for the rest of your life spent giving head and getting laid. She told me she worries sometimes whether she did the right thing, feminizing you. Because she did trick you, you know. You never did know what was really happening."

"I don't resent what Bea did," I replied. "I love my life now, doing all these womanly things, and being taken care of, and taking care of my mistress and my master."

"And these things?" Eva reached between my legs and took my balls in her hand. "Are these womanly?" She squeezed them, and smiled at me, looking straight into my eyes. A dull ache spread out from my crotch into my abdomen, but instead of letting go, she squeezed them harder, and then held on. "Are they?"

"No, Eva," I gasped, beginning to double over in pain.

"No, Prissy, they're not." She didn't let go, and now my knees tucked up tight around her body from the agony, but I knew never to complain to Eva about anything. I whimpered, to let her know, but she just held me clamped in her hand. "In fact, at this very moment these souvenirs are pumping out more male hormones than are good for your figure. Your skin isn't as smooth as it was, and your tits aren't as ripe either. Master Thor has commented on it to me. We're raising your estrogen hormones starting tomorrow, back to your doses when Mistress Bea was first converting you. Master Thor wants no near-men doing personal service to him or his wife. You know he likes his she-males on the soft side, almost women. That's what you are. An almost woman. But these are in the way, aren't they." She gave a sudden sharp squeeze, and twisted them, and I yelped in agony.

Then suddenly she let go. "I've consulted Kay, and she'll be coming down next week to look you over, once you're doing all of the new pills and shots. She tells me that as long as these testicles keep sending out testosterone to fight the estrogen, it'll take these heavy doses to get you back to what Thor wants, but that it can be done."

"Kay coming? And Steve too?"

"Yes, Steve too. Master Thor told Kay he'd send a plane for the two of them, and it seems he'll be sending two planes, because they're no longer living together. An amicable separation. They each have someone else now. You'll see. Their new partners are coming with them."

And as we lay there together, getting drowsier, Eva stroked my cheek and said, "Think about it. A birthday present for your mistress she'll really appreciate. It has to be something you thought of all by yourself. That's what Master Thor told me, and he's right. To convince Mistress Bea that it's straight from the heart, that you're delighted now to be a woman, and that you don't ever want to be anything else."

Maybe it was jealousy, or maybe just that Eva was a creature of moods, but most nights after that Eva amused herself before going to sleep by squeezing my nuts. "Big brave, strong man," she'd say, amused. "Do these things hurt?" They did. So badly that I thought she might be damaging them, and I told Master Thor. He was uninterested. "I gave you to Eva for whatever further training you need," Thor said. "Work it out with her."

I tried, but all she'd do is squeeze them harder, and ask me if I'd thought of something to give Bea yet. I hadn't. I wanted to, especially after she'd complimented me on my responsiveness when Master Thor was fucking me. But nothing came to mind.

A week later came the day! Kay and her new man were expected in the late morning, and Steve and his new woman in the afternoon. It had been nearly a year since I'd seen them. Eva wanted Kay to check my hormone levels, to see whether I was now all the woman I could be. And of course I felt great affection for Steve, the first lover of my womanhood, who had first begun training me to helpless servitude to my superiors. Eva and I took special care dressing ourselves. Our hair and make-up were perfect and we wore identical dresses. Our heels were almost six inches high and our waists tightly corseted, but little else implied that our chief purpose in life was sexual service. We looked like twin China dolls. Bea looked us over and said, "You two are just darling. Now Prissy, you'll especially want to show our old friends what a marvelously happy and obedient servant we've made you, won't you? You won't forget your place?"

"Yes madame," I said, curtsying. "No madame, I won't."

"Good girl," she said, patting me on the cheek. "Then maybe later today we'll let you mingle a little with them."

From an upper window I saw Kay arrive, get out of the limousine, and reach for the hand of a thin, rather pretty girl who came with her. Then hand in hand they walked toward the front entrance. Well, that was news! Kay's new man couldn't come, I guessed, so she'd decided to bring -- whom? A niece? A young friend? Kay looked much the same, in a tailored suit. But the younger woman was exquisite, dressed in a high fashion powder-blue print dress, her make-up and her blonde hair done up even more elegant than ours. The daughter of a very wealthy family? There was a shy fragility about her that was just charming. She glanced hesitantly at the awesome facade of Thor's mansion before she disappeared from my view. It occurred to me, I'd been assuming Kay would come with a new man. But she always did go either way in her sexual tastes. Could Kay have traded Steve for a younger woman, for her own version of a trophy wife?

I didn't have to wait long to find out. The servants' bell rang from the library, and Eva and I came down together to answer it. There sprawled out on a divan was Thor, very much the Master of the house, taking his ease and in good spirits, telling some kind of story. Bea was listening from a comfortable stuffed chair, sitting up straight, also smiling, and Kay and her friend were together on the couch facing them, knees touching, Kay holding her friend's hand clasped tight in her lap with both of her own hands, protectively and reassuringly. From close up, Kay's friend looked even more delicate, and as fresh and lovely as a dewdrop. Thor paused as we entered, curtsied, and together said, "Madame? Sir?."

"Ah, Prissy, there you are," said Thor jovially. "I think there's someone here you already know. Kay?"

"How are you, Prissy dear?" Kay asked. "You are looking just lovely! Your life here obviously agrees with you!"

"Yes, ma'am," I said. "I love it here, thank you, ma'am." Strictly speaking, as a servant I shouldn't have volunteered that last information, but I said it as politely as I could, with my eyes on Bea. She wanted me to show Kay how her husband was now her perfect servant, perfectly contented. As I was. But I realized that Eva might be right. Even though Bea was very much the lady of the manor, poised, stately, self-assured, she seemed gratified when she heard me say it. Could she be privately uncertain? Could she be feeling a little guilty about what she had done to me?

"That's just fine," said Kay. "Oh, Prissy, I want you to meet Joan. Joan is my new husband. Isn't she the prettiest thing you've ever seen? I just adore her!" And she lifted Joan's hand and kissed it, then smiled reassuringly into Joan's eyes. Joan smiled shyly back. They were obviously in love. But Kay saw the look of bewilderment on my face, and said, "Yes, that's right. When we were legally married Joan still looked enough like a man to satisfy the town clerk. Just barely, because I'd already been working on him for some time, and he was shaping up beautifully. Now I've made him over completely, into my perfect angel. Isn't she gorgeous now? I just adore her!"

"I don't think the others have heard, so I might as well tell you while we're all together. You and Bea are partially responsible for this. When I saw how well Bea's plans for you were going, how you were becoming exactly what Bea wanted, I thought, well, that's what I want too. A sweetly submissive girl-boy of my very own! Well, I worked on that idea with Steve for a while, but he wasn't at all responsive. No, Steve enjoys telling people what to do, as I'm sure you know, Prissy, not doing what he's told. At least with me, Steve was much too independent minded. Maybe he needed a man to tame him, to bring out his own femininity."

"So I went looking elsewhere, and I found John at a Halloween party dressed -- you won't believe it -- as 'Little Miss Muffet'. It was his first time in a dress, ever, and he was so very shy, so terribly embarrassed when I told him how sweet he looked. He said it did feel sort of nice. Well, we spent most of the night talking, and the next morning he agreed to put himself into my hands so I could help him feel sort of nicer. The poor dear never did understand exactly what I had in mind, I think, but just like you, Prissy, step by step, he went along with everything I wanted. Now he has the body of a lovely girl, and all the right feminine conditioning, and now she's Joan, and feels sort of very nice indeed all the time! Oh, I could just eat her up! And there's lots to eat, because despite the way she looks Joan is hung like a horse! A monster cock, and all mine!" Again, she gazed at Joan fondly, then covered her hand with kisses. Joan blushed and dimpled prettily, embarrassed, yet obviously also delighted.

"But Prissy, come. Let's examine you, and get that part of my visit out of the way. Just as a precaution. You are on some heavy doses of some drugs, and we need to take good care of you, so you can take good care of your Master Thor." She stood and without looking back headed toward the door. I watched her for a moment, then bestirred myself, curtsied to my mistress, and scurried after her. She went up to her suite, and I followed.

"Never mind formalities with me, now, Prissy," Kay said when we were settled in, and the door was closed, and she was drawing samples of blood for various vials she carefully labeled and stowed, "Just tell me how things are with you."

"Really, very happy, Kay. But tell me, I didn't know you were a sort of lesbian. I thought that after Steve, and after all the men you've been with, you couldn't do without a man."

"You're right, Prissy. I love cock! I can't do without it. But I can certainly do without men. And now, I don't have to compromise. Joan has the biggest cock I have ever been privileged to suck on and fuck with! Why do you think I went to all that trouble with her? So I could have my cake and eat it too! So that after she became a girl, really a sweet young thing, submissive enough to do anything I ask, I could still get laid and splayed the way I like. When I'm straddling her and ramming that thing into me, I worry that she's going to split me wide open. She's so wonderful! I do so love her! Oh, my! I'm getting wet just thinking about her. I wonder if there's time for me to carry Joan off for a quick fuck before lunch?"

"You look surprised. Oh, you must have thought that Joan is such a gentle, girlish thing I must have had her fixed! I see! No, Prissy, that would have been a terrible waste. If she'd been hung like you, I wouldn't have hesitated. You were never much. Though I hear Eva doesn't mind it."

"But Henry -- I have to talk to Henry now, because it's Henry's original body you're occupying, and Henry who's making mischief, so it's Henry who may have to pay for it -- Henry, that testosterone count of yours is way too high. So I've prescribed some very high doses of androgen blockers, but they've made your blood pressure too high. If you continue with this hormone regimen as is, you're going to face some serious risks. And I'll bet you've already noticed that I've had to pump you so full of female hormones your penis isn't performing the way it once did. Hasn't Eva noticed?"

I told Kay that for the past week Eva hadn't unlocked my penis, but instead entertained herself by squeezing my balls to the point of pain. I wasn't sure I could get hard now anyhow.

"Then she's noticed. Eva can tell her friends from her enemies. For Thor, you need to be soft and smooth and plump, and that means pour on the estrogen. For Eva, you need some testosterone to get it up, and a little more for you to want to get it up, no more. But Thor's needs come first, and for Thor, we've had to drown out your body's testosterone altogether. So Eva's feeling a little deprived. Your balls keep me from fine-tuning your hormones like Joan's, so you can be a perfect lady and yet a reliable stud day or night. I can't blame Eva for resenting your balls and trying to punish them."

"You had this problem a couple of years ago, when I first put you on hormones. But I was monitoring you then. Then you were approximating a girl's adolescence, souped up of course, but it was an almost natural process taking place over time. Now you're approximating a mature woman's hormonal balances. Back then Bea was always worried that she might seriously injure you, with heart disease, or a stroke, while you thought you were taking vitamins and practicing for your one night stand with the girls, and meanwhile she was turning you into Thor's long-term fuck-toy. I could assure her the risks were trivial. Now she's worried again, I'm told, and all I can tell her is that it's not her decision. It's up to you."

"Here're your options, Henry. First, go back to your low sustaining hormone regimen, and let your breasts sag and bag a little, and your skin lose elasticity, and live a long time. Of course Thor may not want you after a while, so you may end up as an accountant in that South American whorehouse he owns. If not one of his whores. Incidentally, right now with all the hormones you're on you look just gorgeous."

"Your second option is also obvious, continue as you're doing now. Pour in the female hormones, drown out the male hormones, let your dingus dangle when it can't do, and let Eva deal with her frustrations as she will. We'll monitor you as closely as we can, and hope nothing happens. There's some risk to your vascular system. By the way, if you do end up dead or crippled, Bea will miss you, I think. She has a big investment of time and effort in you. She might even regret having done this to you, some day. But that's just my opinion."

"Now, the third option is one I discussed with Bea way back, and it would have been desirable then too, though it didn't seem as essential. Anyhow, she couldn't think of a way to trick you into it, because it's irreversible, and you thought you were only going to be queen for a day and then would become Henry again. Cut 'em off. Orchiectomy. Surgical removal of the testicles, and if you're going that far, I'd recommend hormonal implants to replace your balls. Keep your prick, for Eva's sake, the way Joan has kept hers. You'd feel the same and look the same, as far as Eva is concerned. Then I could reduce your hormone dosage to safe and tolerable levels and get the same result as now, because the war between boy Henry and girl Prissy would be over, with Henry only a prick and a memory. Then if Eva felt like squeezing your balls, they'd be your slow-release hormonal implants, and it would be in gratitude, not resentment.

"So there you are, lady and gentleman. Think about what I've just said. Give it some thought. Tell Eva what you decide, and she'll tell me, and I'll make whatever arrangements are necessary. Now if you ask me, and you're not asking, I'd get rid of those things. They're no use. There's no way Henry's coming back in your lifetime. Give it up. Make a present of them to Bea, set in a pair of earrings, or get them decorated like Fabergé eggs -- I once saw a new girl had hers made into little miniature medieval castles. Joan let me cut off her balls, and now I have no problem with keeping her looks and getting her stiff and keeping her that way whenever I please, and you better believe it. And she's delighted, because that monster tucks back so prettily that now she can wear the skimpiest bikinis and still show the most maidenly crotch! She just loves high thigh, French cut sexy lingerie, my sweetheart. She loves everything girlish. She can't get enough of it. Let me get your body back the way it should be, with more girl in your bloodstream and less boy between your legs! But it's up to you, Henry. Prissy, you talk to him!"

And with that she grinned, smiled reassuringly at me, packed up her materia medica, stuffed her bottles and vials and instruments back in her bag, snapped it shut, and said half-aloud, "I'm sure I've got time to fuck Joan's brains out before lunch." Then she was out the door.

I sat there for a moment, smoothing my skirt, thinking. Give it some thought, she'd said. Make a present of them to Bea, she'd said. Eva's words of a week earlier. Bea did feel vaguely guilty about me? She'd like to know for certain that she did the right thing? Was there a birthday present for Bea in this somewhere? It seemed as though there might be. And Eva resented my balls because they weren't letting me serve Thor and yet also service her? The arguments were mounting. I thought I'd better sleep on them.

After we'd served lunch and the servants had cleared, Eva and I retired to refresh ourselves and await Steve's appearance. I told her what Kay had told me. She said nothing except, "Prissy dear, whatever you do, it has to be your idea and your decision. Mistress Bea once said that she used to tell you what to do, and why, and that was that. But this one should be for your own reasons."

An hour later we were standing silently against the wall in the library, wearing short taffeta uniforms and fresh starched aprons, in case we should be needed, when suddenly the door burst open and in walked -- amazingly -- Nicolai! I almost rushed over to him to greet him with a kiss. Then I saw he hadn't come alone. He was accompanied by a striking beauty, not very young anymore, but well preserved. The kind of woman who has no age. She could have been 28 -- if you were friendly, or 48 -- if you were bitchy. Probably she was 38 I thought, but she was certainly beautiful. She was elegantly dressed, not flashy. She had class. She wore a fur cape that Nicolai took off her shoulders. She had a very small waist, accentuated by a gold belt about an inch wide. The waist was perfectly round -- typical for a corset underneath. The belt seemed to be solid metal, it gleamed highly polished with no joints visible. She carried a little clutch purse close to her body. On both her wrists she wore wide golden bracelets.

Nicolai seized Bea's hand and kissed it, then Kay's, then paused to shake Thor's hand and say something to him in Russian, to which Thor responded briefly in what sounded like equally fluent Russian. I was impressed, and remembered that he was a powerful international industrialist, not just the man who owned me, with the cock I loved. I waited for Nicolai to turn and notice me when in came, even more amazingly, Pearl! With a huge hunk of a man in tow, wearing an expensive suit and heavy gold men's jewelry, obviously very well-to-do. My mouth fell wide open. Who were all these people? Where was Steve? Obviously Pearl had been invited too, because Thor and Bea both rose to greet them with perfect equanimity.

In the hubbub of arrivals and greetings, Bea said, "Eva, if you don't mind, please take everyone's coats, and then see that they all have whatever they want to drink. Prissy, I see you're surprised! Well, this was a last minute arrangement, and almost as much a surprise to us as to you. Pearl heard that Steve was coming, and wanted to come herself to introduce her new husband. Should I have told her not to? Why don't you forget your proper duties for the moment and sit down. Pretend you're my guest. I'll let you know again when you're my servant, or Thor will remind you when he wants your services."

I curtsied, said "Yes, madame," and sat down on the couch next to Joan.

She turned and smiled nervously at me, and said "Hi!" in a low voice. "I hear Kay wants me to be just like you. Is it nice?"

Kay hadn't yet finished with her vocal chords. "I love being me," is all I said. But it looked to me as if Kay had figured out her timing before lunch, because now Joan looked well-fucked, her body relaxed into an easy, almost sluttish curve, her face slightly flushed. "You look perfectly charming," I added.

"Thank you," Joan replied, with the prettiest smile and dimple. "I feel just delicious. I do everything Kay asks me, and I'm the happiest girl in the world."

I heard Bea saying, "Pearl, delighted to see you. So this is your new husband George -- George, welcome, I've heard so much about you. Nicolai, you're a dear, but none of us have had a chance to meet your new wife Stephanie. And Stephanie, for goodness' sake, stand still! After all, you're the only one of this crew I originally invited! Prissy, you know Stephanie better than anyone except Kay, in some ways even better than Kay, maybe. She was once Steve, Kay's first husband, your first lover and disciplinarian. Stephanie, as if you didn't know, this is Prissy".

I just sat there and stared. How could anyone believe what I had just heard!? I nodded to the elegant beauty who had come in with Nicolai. "How do you do," I said. "I admire your belt and bracelets."

"As well you may," I heard Steve's voice reply out of the same woman, a bit higher pitched and with a distinct feminine intonation. "You've worn things like them now and then, when I had to fasten your wrists to your waist. Delighted to see you, Prissy. Slavery agrees with you. You look fabulous."

"Well," said Bea. "Poor Prissy is addled utterly. Stephanie, you'll explain to her in a moment. But Pearl, suppose you tell us about yourself, and introduce George. I don't think either of you have met my husband Thor yet, have you? At least not yet socially."

"How are you both?" Thor asked in his most ingratiating manner. "Welcome! Pearl, this is your new husband? You traded in your old one?"

It was a polite inquiry, intended to be amusing. Pearl took it seriously. "No, the sonofabitch thought he was trading me in," she said, "But when our lawyers are finished, his grandchildren if he ever has any will owe their asses to my grandchildren, if I ever have any."

Then she turned to me. "George, meet everyone! This is Prissy. Prissy is Bea's former husband Henry, the loser I told you about, remember? My ace cock-sucker, you remember, who settled all of my outstanding contracts with his mouth and his tits and his ass? I hear that now he thinks he's a girl. Prissy, meet George."

"Hi, guy!" George said. "Well, different strokes for different folks. Whatever turns you on. Gettin' enough lately?"

I nodded at him, and took Pearl by the elbow. "Tell me more about him," I said as I led her towards the bar in the corner of the room. "You seem to get on. How long have you been married?"

"Well, I met him soon after you moved away. It was a fairy-tale courtship. I got mad at him, and he shouted back louder than I did. He was marvelous! So I slapped him, and he really slapped me! Then suddenly we were getting married. And I love every minute of it, this time."

I gave her a drink. "You do look awfully happy, and I must say, marriage, er, agrees with you."

"Yes," said Pearl. "I've gotten fat all right. But George likes his women ample. More to grab onto, he says. I'm still a little sore from last night's grabbing."

"You're into rough play, then?" I asked in wonderment. "You, Pearl?"

"Well," she said smugly. "It's mutual. I give as good as I get. He's all man, no wimp, Prissy, and unlike you he doesn't take any of my sass. So I don't give him any. Or much. But sometimes when I just need to let loose bitterness or frustration on someone, there he is, taking anything I can dish out. It took me a while to realize I wasn't dominating him or bullying him, that he was just being nice, helping me out. And now when he needs to take it out on someone, really kick the shit out of them, I help out. I'm available. We yell a lot at each other. I adore him. We're very happy."

Was this the same woman who manipulated most men and despised all of them? Incredible! "You're as perverse as ever," I said.

"Yes," she said contentedly. "But George doesn't like it if I stay away from him too long -- he wants to insult me while I'm there to hear it, and I love to hear it," and away she went, over to her husband. I saw him put his arm around her possessively, and she lifted her head to kiss his cheek.

"Prissy, my own true love," I heard Nicolai call behind me. "Have you met my new wife Stephanie yet?"

"Yes, we know each other, darling," Steve's higher voice said from the face of the ageless woman hanging on Nicolai's arm.

"Yes, I know Stephanie," I said, "But why -- I mean you were all man when we -- I mean when you and I ... . " I didn't know what to say.

"No mystery, Prissy. You know, I swing both ways. I love women and men. And when I saw you develop into a woman, you looked so happy, I wanted to try it. As I led you to become more and more dependent and submissive, I wanted to try that too. So when Kay wanted someone like you, I agreed to let her experiment on me. She brought me a long way before we found out that I just wasn't the right girl for her, that I need a strong man to dominate me. So she fixed me up to satisfy men at both ends, like you. My ass is her masterpiece, beautiful round globes tucked between the tops of my thighs and my wide-curving waist. Ask Nicolai, he uses it all the time! And now you should see me in a short, tight leather skirt and a leather bra, Prissy. Nicolai can't even speak when he sees me dressed that way. He collapses into a chair, and I collapse on my knees in front of him, and we're both in heaven!"

"You weren't the right girl for Kay?" I asked, still a little addled.

"No. Kay wanted a sweet little homebody like Joan, and with my ass I could make any man's prick feel like a mahogany log just by walking past him. Once I started using it she couldn't keep me at home. Especially after I found out what it's like to be gang-shagged every night, then take my pick of my men and fuck them! Bliss? So Kay and I agreed one morning when we met in the driveway that we no longer had what we each needed. So we separated and divorced. I never paid her for my tits, but I got custody of them. She still has visitation rights." Stephanie smiled, her red lips curving deliciously, then clutched tighter on Nicolai's arm.

"Well, one evening I was passing the time of day getting laid in the back room of a bar, when I ran into this Russian name of Nicolai, getting laid by nobody. We talked, and I blew him, and he fucked me, and he told me about the most erotic experience of his life, and I told him how I had once trained someone to do just those things, and it turned out we were both talking about you. So what could Nicolai do? He was carrying the torch for you, Prissy. But when he found out I had taught you how to please him, he became more interested in me. He really wooed me, flowers, candy, and he can stay hard for hours, stroking in and out of me! 'Why mourn the loss of a sheep when you can fuck the shepherd,' he said, an old Russian proverb, he said. So he married me. We're developing a chain of bondage and fetish gear shops across Russia now, selling franchises as fast as I can get the belts and whips manufactured. Nicolai writes a poem about each new item, and his new collections of poetry are now also fetish gear catalogues. He thinks our latest specialty collection, 'Cast Iron Jockstraps,' may win a Pulitzer Prize."

"Prissy," Bea called from across the room. "I'm sure you and Stephanie have lots of memories to share, but Eva could do with your help I'm afraid."

"Yes, madame," I said, turning and curtsying even without thinking. It was a lovely reunion, but my mistress wanted me to serve our guests. So I did. As I cleared glasses and passed hors d'oeuvres I realized that from the very beginning, even when Bea had first proposed that I join her as one of the girls celebrating her next birthday, whatever Bea wanted me to do I have always wanted to do. My deepest satisfaction has always been making Bea happy. There was still one more thing I could do for her

That night Eva and I provided the after dinner entertainment for our guests, a slow-motion lesbian lovemaking routine we had worked out in bed together, stroking and fondling each other so excruciatingly slowly that by the time our noses began to approach each others' genitals gratified cries and shrieks rose up involuntarily from all over the room. During the applause I heard Pearl mutter to Kay, "So if it's locked up like that, who needs it?" and Kay replied, "That's his business!" To which Pearl responded, "Yeah, but he's a girl now. He doesn't need a business. He needs a cunt." And George said, "Pearl, just shut up. You're a cunt, no mistaking it. But what you've got between your legs is a pair of brass balls!" And Pearl kissed him! I decided I was never going to understand Pearl, but that finally she had found a man who did.

Maybe it was that remark as much as anything else that helped me make up my mind. Maybe it was Joan's example. Maybe I just wanted Bea to be happy. But before we went to sleep that night, while we were lying in bed together cuddling like two schoolgirls, and Eva was just beginning her nightly squeeze on my balls, I told Eva what I had decided to give Bea for her birthday. She patted my scrotum, then took her hand away. "Mustn't injure them, then," she said. The next day Eva told Thor, and Thor told Kay, and Kay set it up for soon after, when Bea would be leaving for a three week lecture tour. I would be all healed when she returned, and she'd have as a surprise the present she most wanted, my decision to feminize myself further. Eva made it clear that my cock would remain where it was, because that was hers, not mine.

Well, Bea returned yesterday, on her 42nd birthday, and last night Thor arranged an intimate welcome and birthday dinner for her, just the four of us. We sat at dinner together as if we were equals. Eva told me later that was a rare privilege, as I slid my swollen, iron-hard prick in and out of her for a full hour (Kay had adjusted its hormonal requirements to Eva's specifications). In fact, Eva couldn't remember when it had ever happened before.

After dessert, during coffee and cognac, Thor announced that in honor of Bea's birthday he was granting a special dispensation. It had always given him special pleasure to fuck Bea while her former husband was nearby with his cock locked up, allowed to touch his former wife only with his face and tongue, and then sometimes allowed to take Thor's cock up his ass. But from now on, he said, if Bea ever wanted to cuddle with me in her bed all night, instead of Eva, she was free to do so -- "Prissy is no longer man enough for me to care," he said.

At this, Bea's eyes grew wide. She said nothing, but she looked at Thor, and then she looked at me, and then back at Thor, a small smile forming on the corners of her mouth. "I can't ever thank you enough," she said to neither to me nor to Thor, but to both of us together, I think. "You've made me very happy. Not that I care to sleep with Prissy ever again. But for what I think this means." Oddly, she looked not just pleased but triumphant.

Thor then presented Bea with a birthday present, the deed to a large house in Cap d'Antibes, and a large settlement of cash to help maintain it with a full staff. Bea was overwhelmed, and said immediately that she was going to turn it into an artist's colony, where writers, painters, and composers could come for short periods of time to finish important work in beautiful surroundings and each other's presence. Thor said he thought he knew at least one Russian poet who would come there and probably never leave.

Then Thor placed around her neck a beautiful pendant, two huge pearls the size of quail's eggs, each circled around the top with small rubies, dangling together from a long golden chain. "From all of us," he said. "Eva played her part, and I played mine. Even Kay. But above all from Prissy. It was Prissy who selected this beautiful gift to give you. Whenever you wear it, may it serve to remind you of the past you and she once shared, and may it always remind both of you of your present relationship."

Bea fingered the pearls for a moment, looking down on them fondly. Then she stood up and leaned across the table, her new pendant swinging forward to touch my lips for a moment, and she kissed me on the forehead. Her eyes were moist. "Thank you, Prissy," was all she said. "How sweet!"

My eyes flooded with tears too, and for a moment I couldn't speak at all. "You're very welcome, madame," I managed to choke out. It was a beautiful moment.

Later that night, for the first time in a long while, our Master and Mistress called Eva and me in to minister to them after their night's lovemaking, and Bea chose me to kiss and lick and suck Thor's juices from all of the spaces between her legs, while Eva cleaned Thor. She was still wearing her new pendant. "I'll always want you to see that I'm wearing this pendant whenever you service me," she said when she saw I'd noticed. "That'll be my special pleasure."

While her thighs were clamped over my ears, or Eva's ears, Bea had grown accustomed to chatting with Thor as if we could hear nothing. Even if we did hear, she knew, servants aren't supposed to listen, so it didn't matter what she said.

Their voices were muffled, but while Eva was licking him clean and Thor was lounging back, relaxed, I'm sure I heard him say to Bea, "So, your scheme worked. He actually did agree to do it."

And Bea, "Yes. He may be the prettiest little she-male slave you'll ever have, but he's still as stupid as ever. I told you I could get him to do it as a gift to me, if we got Eva to set it up and Kay to push him over the edge. Are you sure no one suggested it to him directly, or ordered him to do it? He thought of it all by himself, and agreed to do it of his own free will?"

And Thor, "Pretty much so. The bet stands. You're a miracle worker, darling. It was worth losing that house on the Riviera to you, just to watch you set it all up and bring it all off."

And Bea, "Well, I had common sense on my side, too. She's just as well off, now. Better off. And Eva doesn't mind. She no longer has Prissy's balls to torment, true, but Kay said he'll be priapic whenever she unlocks his cock. So, everyone's happy."

And Thor. "Yes. Oh, incidentally, I know you won't mind, my dear. I've been thinking. After tonight I'm sure I'll want to fuck Prissy as often as I fuck you, maybe even more often. That will relieve you of some of the burden. I respect you as my equal, of course. And you are my wife. But now that Prissy has made her supreme sacrifice, has given up the core of her manhood forever, I find her sweet submissiveness most delightfully feminine, utterly charming in its sincerity. I find I'm beginning to daydream about burying myself in her ass and then banging her through the bed for half the night. Thank you for everything you've done to prepare her for me. She's marvelous testimony to your methods. A rare gift indeed!"

I couldn't hear what Bea replied, because when I heard that I was so overjoyed I pushed my face half-inside her pussy and slurped and tongued her as never before! I could feel Bea move her hips, even a little violently, but I just hugged her thighs tight and kept at it. Master Thor wants to fuck me even more than he wants to fuck Bea! I thought. Now I understood why he bet her the Riviera villa and let her win it -- of course he knew he would lose, I'm sure of it. With that villa and the money that came with it, Bea will be away much of the year, probably dominating lots of men there, creative artists, the kind she most enjoys. And then Thor will be all mine. The darling man.

Bea is right! She's always been right. Now I'm completely what she wanted me to be. Now everyone really is happy.

END

(c) 1996 by Vickie Tern and Rhonda Wagram

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