Date: Mon, 27 Oct 2008 09:46:36 -0700 (PDT)
From: Fred Gingerman <gingerfred2005@yahoo.com>
Subject: Geography -- transgender

   Chapter One -- Monday morning

   Celeste lay on her back. A thin sheen of perspiration covered her soft,
curvy body and she was breathing very heavily.

   I looked into her eyes and saw intense gratitude for the world-class
fucking I had just given her. I kissed her deeply. Then I rolled off her so
she could get up and shower. She had a plane to catch.

   But my wife wasn't through with me yet. She covered me with her body,
kissing me passionately, with lots of tongue, then kissed her way down to
my half-stiff cock. She licked all her vaginal juices off its pink head,
then bathed the entire seven inches in her sweet saliva. By that time, I
was fully stiff and moaning out my love for the only woman I would ever
love, my sweet wife, Celeste.

   Remembering that she had a plane to catch, Celeste used all the tricks
she had learned during our three-year marriage. She knew that fingers in my
bottom always added to my excitement. And she knew that attention to the
rim of my pink mushroom excited me and stirred my manly juices to a boil.

   Celeste seemed extremely pleased with herself when she was able to make
me arch my back and fill her mouth with my sweet cum. She liked being in
charge at home as much as she liked being in charge at her job. I usually
liked her being in charge too; especially when it involved my ball-draining
orgasms.

   The time for action had arrived. Celeste gave me one more sweet,
cum-laced, tonguey kiss, then scooted off to take her shower. I loved
watching her pretty bottom wiggle as she hurried into the bathroom. I also
loved seeing my cum slithering down the insides of her thighs.

   Mondays were so sad in a way. They involved a huge transition for me. I
went from loving, weekend husband, taking care of all my working wife's
intense needs, to...well, something else. Something good, but very
different.

   Celeste and I had been married for three years. At 36, she was ten years
older than I. Celeste was stunningly beautiful and hugely successful, so it
surprised everyone when, at 33, she married her 23-year-old assistant, only
one year out of college. I'm an attractive man, but not in the traditional
sense. More "pretty" than macho. But I was apparently everything Celeste
wanted. She's gone every week, from Monday morning to late Friday or early
Saturday. And when she's home, she wants to do the things she loves. I take
care of all her household errands during the week and all her physical
needs every weekend. Celeste adores sex and I'm very good at it. I'm loving
and affectionate and seem to have an inexhaustible supply of erections and
thick, gooey cum. And on weekends, I give Celeste my complete devotion.

   It's an odd arrangement, but it works for us.

   That Monday, Celeste was off to the other coast to solve some problem or
other, and wouldn't be back until she got off the redeye on Saturday
morning. I had a long list of things I needed to do for her, but a whole
week to do them. <Sigh> I would miss her. Thank goodness I had my
"diversions."

   When we're together, Celeste really does love me, I'm 100% sure of
that. When geography separates us, I'm not sure how much she even thinks of
me. She's always so busy. We rarely even call each other during the week.

   Celeste finished her shower and I watched her as she re-entered our
bedroom. What a body she has! Lush, full titties, with huge, brown
nipples. A tiny waist with flaring hips. A bottom to die for.

   I was so envious.

   I sat up in bed as Celeste sat at her vanity and expertly applied her
make-up. Gorgeous eyes. Bee-stung lips. I was a lucky man.

   She gave me little glances and smiles and even made a kissy-face at
me. My hard-on was back when Celeste rolled on her stockings and hooked
them to her lacy garter belt. She hooked her bra in front, then turned it
around and encased her big puppies in it. She stepped into her four-inch
pumps. Oh, my. I was stiff and panting.

   Celeste looked my way, then at the clock. "We have 12 minutes before I
have to put my panties and dress on. Are you up for one more goodbye? 'Back
there?'" she asked.

   Was I? Wow. Celeste leaned over, putting her hands flat on her vanity,
offering her perfect ass to me. I grabbed some cold cream from her things,
slathered two fingers with it, then eased them into her ass. I love when
she whimpers. I prepared my path for about a minute or so, then replaced my
fingers with my hard cock. Celeste squealed so girlishly. I love when I
have her, skewered and helpless like that. The inside of her bottom was
warm and friendly to my cock (a frequent visitor), gripping and massaging
it the ways I adored. I reached around Celeste's right hip and found her
clitoris. It was erect and hot. I massaged it unmercifully as I fucked her
perfect ass. She squealed out my name, "Robbie !!!! You beautiful man! My
perfect fucker! I love you, Robbie!!"

   And then she came, shuddering so violently that I could barely hold my
place. I held on through her spasms, then began my own, groaning loudly as
I flooded Celeste's bottom with a goodbye lotion that she could feel all
morning on the plane.

   We kissed again, exchanging promises of love and devotion. But then it
was time. Celeste finished dressing (including an anally placed Tampon to
contain my souvenir for her). I slid on a sweatshirt and shorts, got her
briefcase and luggage and took them to the waiting limo driver. Celeste and
I kissed hungrily, then she got into the limo and left my life for the
week.

   I did too. My male life, that is.



   Chapter Two -- The rest of Monday

   I had much to do, as I did every Monday, so I hopped to it. It was 7
a.m. when Celeste left. By 7:30, I had the bed stripped, changed the
cum-drenched sheets for clean ones and had the laundry going. I made myself
a light breakfast, drank a cup of coffee, read the paper, and cleaned up
the dishes by eight. I was still in my sweats when I entered my "private
room," grabbed my pre-packed bag, and left the house at 8:15.

   When we were married and ever since, Celeste has insisted that we each
have some privacy. One room of my house, guarded by a combination entry
system that only I know, is exclusively mine. Celeste has a similar
room. I've never been in hers and she's never been in mine.

   It was almost as if Celeste knew about "Denise."

   I left the house and headed for Cassandra's, a beauty parlor where I've
had a standing Monday appointment for three years. I don't even shower
before I go to Cassandra's. They take care of everything.

   You see, when I'm with my darling Celeste, and a few other people, most
notably my family, I'm Robbie Carson, a good-looking, fairly intelligent,
rather short, but charming young man who is married to a rich, beautiful,
older woman.

   The rest of the time, which is really most of the time, I'm
Denise. Beautiful, ultra-girlie, fully passable, man-loving, tgirl wonder.

   It's really quite easy to be both. The dividing line is when I'm with my
wife and when I'm not. My wife asks no questions. In fact, she avoids
questions. I've always believed that if I were to go into Celeste's private
room, it would be bare. And she only wanted the "privacy" arrangement so
that I could be Denise without hiding my things in the attic or something.
And so that I wouldn't be bringing men home and fucking them in our
marriage bed.

   It's very sensible on Celeste's part. She gets what she wants. A
devoted, efficient, good-looking husband who gives her the best fucking in
the known universe. A husband who loves her when she's there and doesn't
whine when she's gone.

   And I get what I want. A life spent mostly as a girl. With no threat of
discovery. Lots of cash and a nice home. And some darned good affection and
sex from an incredibly beautiful woman.

   I wasn't about to ruin a good thing by asking questions or stating the
obvious. And neither was she. The best relationships exist through tacit
deceptions,

   I arrived at Cassandra's at 8:50 and the proprietress greeted me
warmly. For what she charges, she should.

   Cassandra led me to Brandy, my regular beauty consultant and, after
three years, a friend.

   "Welcome, Miss Denise," Brandy said. "You look very happy today. Did you
give the wife a nice sendoff this morning?"

   I was still in sweats, had no make-up and my long, brown hair was
straight and pulled back in a manly ponytail, but I was already slipping
into girl mode.

   I giggled. "Now Brandy, you little scamp, what would you think if I
asked you questions like that?"

   She thought a minute, then said, "I would think that you wanted to know
the answer."

   We both giggled.

   Brandy led me into room 6, my favorite. It was filled with beauty
amenities, including a sunken tub. Brandy had it filled with water at
exactly the right temperature, and seasoned with bubbles and salts.

   I stripped naked and, as always, Brandy checked my naked body out.

   "I think your clitty got a nice workout this morning, Miss Denise. It
looks dead."

   I laughed. "Check with me again after my bath, Brandy. I think
resurrection is in its future."

   Brandy held my hand when I stepped into the tub, then left me alone to
enjoy its warmth and comfort.

   At 9:30, Brandy returned, rousing me from my cleansing, and had me
stand. My "beauty consultant" was wearing what many might call an
unconventional outfit for her work. Her big, firm titties were bare and
bouncing. All she had on were a lacy, black garter belt, silky, black
stockings and some very challenging five-inch-stiletto sandals. Her pretty
pink cock was tall and bouncing and her heavy ballbag was swaying as she
toweled me off.

   The intimacy of that act always makes my erection return. Plus, I hadn't
cum in over two hours! And Brandy was one hot tgirl.

   We had a routine and we stayed with it. I stood, then sat on a platform
as Brandy shaved my entire body, except my head, very closely and
expertly. She always saved the inside of my bottom cheeks and my rosy hole
for last, and that always aroused me to the point that I was begging Brandy
for relief.

   Brandy turned me around, then hit her knees and gave me the best blowjob
anyone had ever given me. She was the world mistress of blowjobs. Just the
blowjob would be worth the price of my four-hour weekly makeover.

   Brandy was very tidy, swallowing every drop and licking me up to another
erection. Then she would bend over and ask me for a little attention. Since
we were pressed for time, Brandy's asshole was always pre-lubed and
ready. She truly loved me fucking her and it enhanced the beauty parlor
experience for both of us. Since I had just cum, I was able to give Brandy
a very nice seeing-to. I was tickling her own girlish peener as I pounded
her pussy, and made her cum, squealing sissily, twice to my once.

   Back to work, Brandy styled my hair, did my finger- and toenails, gave
me a facial and did my make-up. The little scamp made sure she rubbed my
naked body a lot with her very nice nipples, so, of course, we fucked once
more.

   At 12:45, I was beautified to the max. Even Brandy seems stunned at my
transition each week, even though it's her handiwork. That day I was
wearing a lovely, pink, summer frock that I had brought along. My hair was
a gorgeous mane. My tan-stockinged legs were world-class, toned by very
high pumps. My face would put Glamour magazine's cover girls to shame. I
was a babe.

   I was sometimes envious of Brandy's breasts, but in my life, they were
out of the question.

   I could probably achieve the same beauty results on my own (and did so
with touch-ups during the week), but it's so much more fun primping with a
friend.

   As always, I stepped into the lobby of Cassandra's between 12:50 and
12:55 and met my lunch date, Andrew Barkley. As always, when Andy saw me,
he looked as if he would need a crash cart. I have that effect on men.

   Andy had already put my bag in his car. He looked as if he wanted to
fuck me right there. On the floor. In front of Cassandra and Brandy. A lot
of men give me that look.

   But there were proprieties.

   We had a lunch date.

   That day we were going to a nice French restaurant, "Toujours." We
always ate before...well, you can imagine.

   Andy and I had been seeing each other since I turned 18. He was one of
my father's friends, 28 years older than I, and I had known him all my
life. Andy knew things about me that I didn't even suspect. I still don't
know how he managed to avoid telling me any of them until after my 18th
birthday.

   Andy always said that a few men, a very few, were what he called "sissy
spotters." Those men could look into a crowd of boys and unerringly pick
out the ones who most wanted to wear panties and stockings and heels and
take men's big cocks into their tiny bottoms. He said that he had seen that
in me since I reached puberty, but rather than break laws, civil and moral,
he had waited until I was legal age to tell me.

   The day after my 18th birthday, he invited me to his house to discuss my
college future, which made sense since he was my high school counselor. His
wife (whom he has since divorced) and kids were out of town. The
conversation was about my future, but had nothing to do with college.

   "You're a sissy," he said to me. "You haven't been able to put it into
words yourself, but you know what I'm saying."

   I gulped. I knew. I felt tugs, strong pulls that I could not
understand. But that didn't diminish them.

   He got up from his chair that day eight years ago and returned with a
pink nightie. In my size.

   "Take your clothes off and put it on," he said.

   I was trembling with fear. And need. I stood and began to strip.

   Andy (I called him "Mr. Barkley" then) sat to watch. It was clear that
he was excited as well.

   I was very shy about being naked in front of a man, but I wanted that
nightie. And that man.

   I stood naked before Mr. Barkley and held out my hand for the
nightie. He put his warm hand on my hip. It burned as he pulled my naked
body to his lap and kissed me, exploring my mouth with his tongue.

   I should have screamed "Gay!!!" and run out, naked or not. But I
didn't. I kissed him back, then whimpered with need when he held my stiff,
sore-with-need cock in his warm hand. He kissed me and said, "You're going
to be a beautiful girl. You're going to wear pretty things and men will
give their souls to you. You will give and receive more pleasure than you
thought there was in the entire world. Do you like to have a man stroke
your girlish clitty like this?"

   "Yes!" I whimpered. Images of myself as a beautiful girl, surrendering
to handsome men washed over me. I screamed with the release of multiple,
thick globs of my sissy cream. Ropes of my goo leaped in the air -- the
fireworks of my emasculation. Mr. Barkley held me and kissed me as I
shuddered, then sobbed with the emotion of the moment.

   The sweet man helped me slip the nightie over my head. I trembled as I
felt its cool silk caress my body.

   I rubbed my hands along its length, sighing with confused need as I
explored, for the first time, the side of life where I belonged.

   Oh! The nightie was short. My peener was hot and stiff again and my
balls were aching.

   I felt so girlie already. And my real life had just begun.

   Mr. Barkley drew me to his lap again and kissed me. "Do you like that,
Sweetheart?" he asked.

   I looked at him shyly, then nodded.

   He kept his seat, then stood me up. He held his head up and asked me to
bend over and kiss him. I did so, eagerly.

   Then he broke the kiss and put one strong hand on each of my nightied
hips. With his thumbs, he sort of skinned my nightie up to my belly button,
exposing my throbbing cocklet. I felt more exposed than when I was
naked. The wonderful man began to place little flutter kisses on my
stomach, then my thighs. I was squirming and panting when he shifted the
attack to my pink privates. Mr. Barkley took both my balls into his mouth
and licked his tongue all over and around them. Omigosh! I squirmed and
squealed as I tried not to think about how vulnerable I was with my balls
in someone's mouth. A nice someone.

   After my balls had experienced a heavenly lickup, my bold lover let my
saliva-bathed testicles slip from his mouth. He kissed the base of my cock,
working his way to the red, fiery tip as I groaned from the first, frantic
warning of impending orgasm. Oh.

   I warned him. I did. "Mr. Barkley, oh. That's so wonderful. But I'm
going to cum!"

   He stopped kissing my doodle for a second, smiled at me and said, "I
know, Sweetheart. I want you to."

   He wanted me to. He was such a wonderful man! I had to give him what he
wanted. He was licking the head of my horribly aroused cock. It was so
intense. The last warning. I squealed. Aaaaaah. I spurted big, girlish
globs of my sticky cream. It was going all over his face! He loved it.

   What a memory that was. I sucked his cock that day, of course. And three
days later, I gathered the courage to let him fuck me. It was divine. And
so it has been the 1,000 or so times he's fucked me since over the past
eight years.

   But this story is about now, not then.

   I knew that that Monday with Andy would be a renewal of that lovely
tradition.

   That Monday, Andy drove us to Toujours, where we had a lovely,
low-calorie lunch (a girl has to watch her figure) and some great
conversation. Andy's witty and sweet and he can talk about interesting
things like current events and baseball. And he also spends a lot of time
talking about my favorite subject, my beauty.

   I was especially beautiful that Monday and Andy mentioned it often. I
like that.

   Sometimes I tease Andy about the other "girls" like me he's fucking on
days other than Monday. I asked him that day.

   He smiled. "Monday is the only day of the week for me, Denise."

   Good answer.

   Andy likes to treat me like his little kept woman. We could go to my
house or his, but he likes to rent a hotel room at our town's ritziest
establishment. We have a standing reservation for their best suite. The
staff treats us as if there's nothing unusual about two people, a young
babe and her "Daddy" seeing each other the same day each week and making
loud love all night long.

   Andy and I got to the room and took our time getting reacquainted with
each other's bodies. Andy is in superb condition for a man of any age. I
love when he's naked.

   His cock is so familiar to me, so I always give it several kisses when I
haven't seen it for a week. That usually heats my lover up quite a bit, but
I always stop before he cums.

   I stripped to my lingerie, and kept my skyscraper stilettos on. Andy
likes me to wear them to bed, that randy scamp.

   Among Andy's many wonderful qualities is his tremendous aptitude as a
kisser. He gets me into a huge dither just by holding me against his naked
body and kissing me softly and soulfully. Sometimes we rub cocks when we're
doing that. When he stopped kissing me, I was panting with need. My
foreskin was back and my pink parts were wet and pulsing.

   That Monday, Andy pulled out silk scarves, so I knew things would be
even more enjoyable than usual. Andy introduced me to light bondage as a
way to help me learn to surrender to a man. I don't do it with anyone but
Andy, because I trust him so completely.

   Andy loves to tie me into a position where I'm helpless and he can eat
my "pussy" for as long as he likes. When I'm not tied up, I'm often a bad
girl, grabbing Andy's big cock and stuffing into my bottom after only an
agonizingly delicious half hour or so of Andy's tongue in my bumhole. Andy
likes to eat me for much longer than that.

   I was fairly trussed and whimpering with helplessness and lust when Andy
eased his tongue around my bottom cheeks. I tried to wiggle my little
pootie to hurry him up a little, but Andy does not rush his pootie
eating. He says I have the best pussy on earth <blush> and to rush its
adoration would be a felony.

   Andy didn't gag me that day. He likes to hear me beg him to stop eating
and get fucking. I'm young. I'm impatient. Andy's smarter and knows that
the longer I stay at a fever pitch of arousal, the more life-threatening
the inevitable orgasm will be.

   I lost track of time that day. Andy may have licked and kissed and dug
into my hole for an hour. Who knew? I do know that I screamed and came hard
twice, followed by tears and begging to be untied, then fucked.

   Eventually, my "master" complied. Except for the untying part.

   My knees were up and my stomach was drenched with my own cum. My asshole
was wet and gaping. I was trembling with lust. Andy sat up and, instead of
fucking me, began to lick and suck my nipples. Ohhhhh. What was he doing?
He had never done that right after his naughty meal before. That was cruel
and unusual. I was ... Oh, no! I was cumming again! Buckets. I was a
helpless, shuddering wreck.

   Just as I loved being.

   Then he fucked me.

   Andy didn't even untie me. He just got on top of me and shoved it in. As
if I were his property or something. His slave girl. And he was some sultan
or something.

   I loved it.

   Andy has a really nice, big cock and when it's all in me, I know I'm
being fucked.

   He was kissing me with that mouth he licked my bottom with. I licked his
tongue.

   I wanted to dig into Andy's back with my short, but manicured nails, but
they were over my head and restrained.

   My body lurched every time he shoved that salami into me. Oh,
goodness. What if he was going to fuck me for a week or so? I couldn't stop
him. I was helpless.

   No one could fuck me for that long. I'm too sexy. Men want to hold back
longer, but they can 't. Lucky for me, eh?

   Like all men, Andy gave off signals when he was going to cum. Andy gave
a certain little groan. If he stopped right after that and thought of world
events, perhaps he could have held back the seminal deluge. But no. He
pushed on. He would cum within two minutes, I knew it. I wished I could cum
with him, but I had cum so many times already that day and... oh. My own
warning. Stronger. Oh. Daddy!!! I mean, Andy! Oh! Not again. My balls were
so sore. My stomach was so wet. Ahhhhhhh!!!! I came again, spurting my
sticky cream helplessly in response to a world-class lover's world-class
love. And so did Andy, grunting that way he does when his balls go nuclear.

   It was already a great Monday and it was only 4 p.m.!



   Chapter Three -- Tuesday

   Some Tuesday mornings I can barely get up. I'm always drenched with my
own cum. Often, my face is so cum-splashed that my eyelids are stuck.

   That was the kind of Tuesday morning I had that week. In other words, I
had had a GREAT Monday!

   After two more morning fucks, Andy always left me to go to work at the
high school. I knew he would be fucking other tgirls before I saw him
again. That made me jealous! But, let's face it. I wasn't exactly celibate
either.

   That morning, I showered and repaired myself as well as I could. I
didn't look as good as when I had left Cassandra's the day before, but
pretty close.

   Before going home, I had errands for Celeste. Since we were married,
Celeste had me doing her clothes shopping for her (another sure sign that
she knew all) so the errands were most enjoyable. Several of my male
friends had open charge accounts in my girl name at the same exclusive
shops where Celeste bought her things, so I d id a lot of my shopping at
the same times I got her things.

   I arrived home at about one, sorted through some things, then got into
my leader's uniform for Sissy Scouts. It was a short, pink dress, of
course, with sashes and a beret. I wore tan stockings with it and pink
stiletto pumps.

   I considered myself in the mirror. It was a wonder that more traffic
accidents didn't happen when I was out on the street. Men were always
risking decapitation and such to get a better look at me.

   I got in my car, then drove to the Sissy Scout hut. Andy had gotten me
involved with Sissy Scouts since I was about 20. Andy "spotted" likely
sissies, communicated his observations to their mothers, then formed the
troop. It was all under the strict supervision of the Sissy Scouts of
America, headquartered in Fromage, Wisconsin, of course.

   It felt so good to give something back to the community.

   That day, I was going to be showing the troop to a prospective new
recruit. Andy had identified him only recently. His name was Ralph, sissy
name, Tara. He was a high school freshman and he was a little wary about
things.

   I arrived at the hut at 2:30 and set things up for the merit badge tests
that day. Some of my "assistants" for the merit badge tests were already
there. They were 45- to 60-year-old men and they were very eager to help
the sissies be all they could be. I put them in another room and advised
then to breathe deeply.

   The sissies started being dropped off by their mothers at three
p.m. What a sweet, feminine bunch of high-school "girls" they were! Their
make-up techniques had been improving, they were taking my diet tips, and
their heels kept getting higher. I was so proud of all 16 of them.

   Tara was the last to arrive. She wasn't in the scout uniform. Wasn't
even en femme. I needed to give her some personal attention, but for then,
I just wanted her to observe.

   "Welcome Tara," I said. "I hope you like our troop."

   She looked very nervous. "Are you Miss Denise?"

   "Yes. Mr. Barkley was right. You're very pretty."

   Despite herself, Tara blushed. "Miss Denise, I'm sorry. I'm not sure
this is really for me."

   "Of, course you aren't, Sweetie," I said. "No one is at
first. Mr. Barkley seems to be right about you girls, though. And look how
happy they all are."

   It was true. Tara looked around at her 16 fellow troopers and saw only
happy, pretty girls.

   "Is your life this happy?" I asked her. That's the killer question, and
I always know the answer.

   She frowned.

   I said, "Tara, you just watch today. If you want to join in, please do,
OK?"

   That sounded reasonable, so she nodded her head. I hugged her, which she
seemed to really enjoy. Then I started the meeting with the Pledge of
Allegiance.

   After that, we got right into merit badge testing. The girls took their
dresses off and stripped down to heels, stockings, garter belts and
bras. The panties came off and I opened the doors to the connecting
room. Each girl put a small pillow on the floor and knelt on it. Seventeen
naked men entered the room to the delighted squeals of my scouts.

   Tara looked horrified.

   A naked man stood in front of each girl, who began to stroke and arouse
their men to firm stands.

   Tara was quivering. She asked me, "Do the Scouts get a merit badge for
<blush> cocksucking?"

   I shook my head. "Of course not, silly."

   Tara seemed mildly relieved at that. She couldn't help but notice the
17th man, who was watching her with great interest.

   I explained further, "The Sissy Scouts have eleven different merit
badges for cocksucking. Today's is a tough one. The girls are to make their
men cum in their faces only by using the tip of their stiff tongues."

   Tara shuddered. I didn't know what that meant, but I had to move on.

   "All right, ladies," I said. "This is not a timed exercise, but I have a
hot date tonight, so don't take all day." <Lots of giggles> "As your man
cums in your face, raise your hand and I'll get a Polaroid for your
files. Then you can take your man into the other room for 'free play.'
Hands off the cocks. Tongues out. Begin!"

   The girls were very skilled and the men were very excited to be with
them. I was taking lots of Polaroids of pretty faces with gooey loads. For
the merit badge records. Of course. My only mild surprise occurred when,
after ten minutes, I heard Tara say meekly, "Miss Denise?"

   I turned to look at her. Her face was flushed. Her upper lip was
perspiring and she was trembling. "Yes, Honey?" I said,

   In the tiniest voice, she said, "May I try that too?"

   I hugged her, then had her strip nude. The extra man, Hal Bronson, was
very pleased, as his erect cock testified.

   I gave Tara a pair of black, stay-up stockings and a pillow for her
knees. She eased the stockings on, gasped, and came all over herself.

   A sissy can deny herself for only so long.

   Then she got on her knees in front of Hal, my old friend and a frequent
date.

   Hal, the lucky man, was receiving the first oral attentions of a newly
admitted sissy. She was a natural. She tongued his balls with the tip only,
then licked the arrow point of the underside of his cock until he grunted
and bedewed her sweet face with his big, sticky load.

   When they went off, arm in arm to the free-play room, my heart warmed
for them both. Why do so many people build their lives around denial of
self and self-denial?

   Free play was very spirited. And arousing. Melissa, my assistant scout
leader, gave me a long, slow, sloppy BJ, then I returned the favor. Mustn't
spill too much goo, because I had a hot date arranged for that night.

   It was a first date, actually, with a man I had recently met -- a doctor
at a hospital where I do volunteer work. He was taking me to a formal
fundraiser that evening and I wanted to make sure that I had plenty of
thick girlie cream for him.

   Dr. Tom Williams had never dated a tgirl before and he was definitely in
for the experience of his life. Unlike a date with a woman, when you date a
tgirl, there are no stupid tension-builders. You already know the answers
to the big questions. Will I get laid? Yes. And you'll love it. So will
she. Will I get to shoot a big load of cum down my date's throat? Yes! As
often as you like. Will I get to fuck my date in her pretty ass? Oh, yes,
please.

   So much more pleasant than all the silly games of dating women.

   I had been in a rut lately, dating a lot of the same men. So I was
excited about the opportunity to take Tom out on the town and his big cock
into my private places.

   He was so cute! He was a doctor! So manly and so in command. He had been
flirting with me since I began volunteering at the hospital. And, thank
goodness, he wouldn't be getting any unwelcome surprises.

   I mean, at the hospital, I never hid the fact that I was a girl with
"extra goodies." I always had a big tent in my miniskirt whenever Doctor
Tom was chatting me up. And everyone there knew all about me.

   As we tgirls know, it's not a good idea to get a man all lathered up,
then tell him about your little secret. Some don't welcome the news, and
that could be hazardous to a tgirl's health.

   I hustled home that night to change. Tom was picking me up at seven and
I wanted to look extra scrumptious for him.

   Since the benefit was formal, I would get an opportunity to wear my new,
electric-blue, slinky gown, with the high slits on both sides; dark, sheer,
tan stockings; and silver, strappy sandals with the five-inch stiletto
heels. I had done my toe- and fingernails in a silver polish and that
seemed to make my outfit even naughtier.

   I did my make-up in dramatic fashion, suitable to the evening, with a
bit heavier application to the eyes than usual and was ready for anything
at 6:58 p.m. That gave me two minutes to admire feminine perfection in
several of my many mirrors. Then I answered the bell for Tom.

   Oh!!! He looked edible in his black dinner jacket. James Bond never
looked half as sexy. This was going to be my lucky night.

   It was apparently his lucky night too. The cutie was practically
drooling when he saw me. I was afraid that he would hyperventilate or
something, so I gave him a nice kiss and just a wisp of tongue. Well, that
just seemed to make things worse, so I got on my knees, being careful not
to wrinkle my dress, and unzipped his trousers. He stared at me with some
surprise, but mostly need. Yes, raw need. Men are so easy to figure out. He
needed calming down so I removed his cock from his boxers and gave it some
proper attention.

   Tom's cock was a fine, manly specimen. Long and thick. His foreskin had
been wrenched from him soon after birth, but all the best parts were still
there. He had a fine, slick mushroom, with a pink head capping a darker
shaft. A peehole glistening with the juices of his excitement. Two fine,
attendant testicles of perfect size and shape, held in a wrinkled bag that
I began to shower with hot kisses.

   He groaned. They all groan. You have to love men. They appreciate us
tgirls so.

   Tom's balls were delicious, but we had to get going soon or we would be
late. So I lavished my attention on the big, leaking morsel that was the
seat of male pleasure. What fun it would be later that evening to take it
into my eager bottom, but for now, I licked, kissed and pleasured his
beautiful knob until, grunting manfully, he spurted his creamy essence down
my throat and into my tummy. My favorite dinner appetizer! And dessert.

   I licked my date clean, tucked him in, and stood up. He stared at
me. Was he dazed by my boldness? Amazed by his good fortune? Confused about
whether he should get on his knees and return the favor. <Yummy!!!> Time
enough for all that later.

   "We'd better get going," I said. "It's getting late. I just didn't want
you to be anxious or uncomfortable about things."

   Men just seem to be overwhelmed when they first experience a tgirl. It's
the submissiveness and sensitivity to men's needs that they like best.

   And the sex ain't bad either.

   Tom recovered from his tgirl "culture shock" quickly and we had a very
nice conversation on the drive to the art gallery where the benefit was
being held. Tom knew a lot about current events and music. He wasn't a big
know-it-all about everything either, thank goodness. I hate when that
happens.

   He did take about 150 sneaky peeks at my legs, which I had managed to
give him an obstructed view of. I love tan stockings and I have great
legs. I think Tom really liked my shoes too. And my silver toenail
polish. There's something about the sight of a girl's feet in wispy shoes
with towering heels that makes men's cocks very hard.

   I made a mental note to give Tom a nice foot job later that evening. If
he had any goo left after I had made him happy several times.

   The benefit was very nice. Lots of scrumptious men in tuxes and women in
killer gowns.

   I must admit. Women look great when they dress up. I often wonder why
they don't do it more often. Are they trying to make it easy for us tgirls
to steal their men?

   Tom was so sweet. All that beautiful art and pretty women and his eyes
were on me the whole night. His cock was hard and evident and <blush> so
was mine.

   At the exact time when we wouldn't look overly conspicuous about
leaving, we left.

   I had to tell Tom to slow down driving home, the impetuous boy <giggle>.

   He wanted me. Didn't he know I was a sure thing? A "round-heels?" I was
"easy" for nice men.

   We hustled into my house and I took him to my private room, the one with
the lock, and we hurried in. I was very steamed up and he was practically
hyperventilating with anticipation.

   I turned around and asked him to unzip my dress, then smiled when I saw
him remove his shoes, jacket, tie, shirt, trousers, socks, undershirt and
underpants, in record time. He was magnificent! Chiseled and hard in the
right places, but soft and loving where he needed to be.

   I had only removed my dress and stood before him in my Wonderbra,
panties, garter belt, stockings and heels. My cock had escaped from my
panties and was standing pink and proud.

   I skinned my panties down and showed Tom my entire, pretty package. If
it were possible, that excited him even more. Tom took me into his manly
arms and began to kiss me. Ohhhh. I offered my open mouth to his tongue and
surrendered myself to his pleasure.

   Men love that act of surrender best. They can feel it happen.

   Tom held my soft ass globes in his hands and rubbed our cocks
together. Our stiffies were about the same size, but his was much gooier
and hairier. I was leaking pre-juices and gasping and purring softly as he
overwhelmed my weak (let's face it, non-existent) defenses.

   In my heels, I was maybe an inch shorter than my lover. He had calmed
down a bit and was taking his time. Slow, soft kisses make me much hotter
than the wild, needy stuff.

   I squealed when he picked me up by my bottom and carried me to my
bed. He laid me on my back and mounted me. Was he going to fuck me right
away?

   No, thank goodness. I like the warm-ups as much as the act.

   Tom sniffed my neck as he kissed me there and I could tell he was
intoxicated by my perfume. He trailed kisses down my body until he reached
my chest. He reached under me to unhook my bra, then began to lavish sexual
attention on my nipples.

   Oh, how I love that. My nipples were as hard as little cocks as he
kissed, licked and sucked them. It was sweet agony as he tormented my
delicate titty flesh with his tongue, lips and teeth. Tom was tickling my
testicles with a free hand as he nursed on my nipples. I know you must
think that I'm a little tramp, but I don't care.

   That combination made me cum. I arched my back, scrunched my pretty face
and squealed as my pink princess spurted her first sissy cream of the
evening. And about time, too. I hadn't cum since the Sissy Scouts meeting
hours ago!

   Tom seemed very pleased at my sticky explosion. So pleased that he began
to kiss and lick my belly, consuming all the spermies as he did so. I'm
almost positive it was the first time the good doctor had done anything
remotely like that, so I felt extra special.

   I felt even better when he took my popsy into his mouth, then licked my
balls to complete the cleaning ritual. He was pretty good for a first-time
cocksucker. Very good. So good that my second crisis became imminent. I
told him. I warned him. But all he did was smile and lick the knob even
more sexily. So it wasn't my fault when I helplessly ejaculated about a
pint of hot, sticky cream all over his face.

   He seemed delighted by it. By the whole experience. I was definitely
going to have to add Doctor Tom to my list of "regulars."

   I was going to do him the courtesy of licking my cum off his handsome
face, but the need to fuck me had suddenly become a matter of some urgency
to him. When I saw his intent, I reached over and handed him a tube of
lube, grunting out the instructions for its use.

   Tom slathered a bit too much lube onto three of his fingers, then
proceeded to kiss me deeply as he tortured my asshole with one, then two,
then three fingers. I still wanted to lick his face clean, but I couldn't
concentrate on much of anything other than cumming hard for the third time,
whimpering and shuddering. Then I was ready to be fucked.

   I put my calves on Tom's shoulders, giving him a nice, finger-expanded
target for his cock. He loved the fact that I still had my stockings and
heels on (just like a porn movie, he told me later). Ah, men!

   I wanted him to fuck me. Really wanted it.

   Tom knew that, so he playfully teased me a bit, but then showed
mercy. My "pussy" has had a lot of visitors, but Tom's big salami was as
welcome as any had been.

   I love how a man gasps when he first puts his cock into my tight girlie
hole. Men are so used to squishy woman pussy. A sissy's grip on a cock is
different -- tighter and hotter -- and really "dirty." Just as they like
it.

   Tom's eyes lit up with the joy of the experience. He was doing things he
had never done -- terrific things -- things that he wanted to do
forever. Oh my. He was probably falling in love with me like so many other
men have over the years. That's a burden I must carry <giggle>.

   He got that whole big boy in there and wiggled it around a bit, just to
make sure it was all in. His meat piston was very happy in its new
surroundings. Tom began a steady, in-and-out motion, pushing and pulling
his way to heaven.

   Half the fun for me is watching and feeling the pleasure I bring my
lovers. Tom had left the solar system and was ready to go to warp speed. My
own sissy popsy was hot and throbbing and my pink bag was flopping each
time he pushed forward. I had already cum three times, so I
couldn't...ohhhhh. That familiar feeling. That wonderful feeling. I was
getting it and so, obviously, was Tom. He was grunting softly and giving
that little side wiggle that men give.

   The good doctor leaned over and kissed me hungrily, then he made a sound
of intense pleasure and began to flood my guts with his manly cream. He was
wonderful! My mother would be so proud -- I was being fucked by a
"professional" man. I dug my nails into his back, squealed and made yet
another mess all over myself, although this one was mostly watery
dribbles. Even super-sissies have limits. Not pleasure limits, thank
goodness. That cum was a freight train, every bit as intense as the first
three. Just a bit drier.

   The rest of that wonderful night, Tom was an animal! He just USED me
like his personal fuck machine. I know, girls, it sounds like bragging, but
it's true. My little pussy was sore and tender and I think Tom rubbed about
a hundred layers of skin off his love machine. He would need a
dermatologist for sure! Of course, before I sent him off to early rounds at
his hospital the next morning, I gave his sore peckerhead a nice, slow,
wet, tongue bath and that made it feel all better.



   Chapter Four -- Wednesday

   Tom left for work at around six. I hoped that he wouldn't amputate any
wrong limbs or anything that day, but hey, even a doctor needs a "physical"
now and then from a friend.

   I lolled around catching up on my sissy sleep until ten, then hustled to
get dressed and ready for my afternoon of volunteer work at Tom's hospital.

   I showered and did my hair. Then I did my makeup and put on two coats of
red polish (silver is too Cindy Lauper for daytime). As I slid on my long,
silky, fully fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-toe, tan stockings, I wondered
if Tom would be "making a pass" at me at the hospital that Wednesday
afternoon. I decided that if he didn't, he would be off the short list for
Denise's pussy. Or maybe I would just put him on probation.

   I sissied over to me closet and pulled out my "Sissy Striper"
uniform. I'm proud to say that, besides being one of the founders of Sissy
Stripers, I helped design the uniform. It was a VERY short dress that
revealed a sissy's stocking tops. It was simple and gray, with, thin, red
pinstripes and a white collar. I had an ID badge that said, "Sissy Striper
Denise. May I help you?"

   Sissy Stripers was a concept that was catching on in hospitals across
our state. The old Candy Stripers would help patients by fluffing their
pillows, reading to them and such. That's nice, but we gave sick people,
men really, what they really wanted and needed.

   There were only two of us Sissy Stripers on duty that afternoon. I saw
my sister sissy Charlene in the parking lot. Charlene was such a
bubblehead, rarely on time for anything, but that day, like me, she was
about five minutes early. Charlene always claimed she was late for things
because the man she was with (and Charlene was ALWAYS with a man) just
didn't want her to leave. She was a dishy, young pantyboy, all right. But I
was prettier.

   I gave Charlene a nice hug and kiss in the parking lot, then we wiggled,
hand-in-hand toward our duty stations. Charlene asked me if I had gotten a
certain young physician's meat in my pooper the previous evening and my
giggles told her everything she wanted to know.

   Charlene started to tell me about one of her recent conquests, but we
were interrupted by a chorus of wolf whistles from the 20 or so male
hospital personnel who had gathered at the front door to greet us.

   I love when that happens and so does Charlene. We flirted outrageously
and the "boys" flirted back. Jimmy Elger said, "Oh, Denise, I'm sick. Will
you bring me a little comfort today?"

   It was an old joke, but we all laughed. Everyone knows that Sissy
Stripers bring comfort to the sick, not mopes on an extended smoke break.

   Charlene reported to Nurse Betty on the third floor and I went to Nurse
Nancy on four. Nancy had my schedule -- a busy one. Four men who were ill
and depressed needed comfort. And no fluffy pillow was going to do it.

   Women just wouldn't do what Charlene and I were about to do that
afternoon. Something about virtue and self-respect. I generated a lot of
self-respect from making people's lives a little better. Beginning with
Mr. Gonzalez in 435.

   Poor guy had been through a series of tough illnesses and, though he was
mostly recovered, his spirit had been crushed. Let me see what I could do
about that!

   Mr. Gonzalez didn't notice me when I first came into his room to fluff
his pillow. Probably figured it was a nurse with a big needle or a catheter
or something. Wrong!

   I wiggled my way around his room, fussing with things and bending over a
lot to show my panties and stocking tops. My panties were so sheer that I'm
afraid that the cleft of my bottom and my <blush> pussy were in full view.

   I sneaked little peeks at Mr. Gonzalez and giggled softly at the
double-take he did when he saw me "straightening" his room. I was pretty
sure that the thing I straightened most was between his legs <giggle>. I
guess it had been a while since he had been so close to anyone so sexy and
pretty <blush>.

   I moved closer to Mr. Gonzalez and stroked his forehead. He was in his
mid-sixties -- older, but far from used up. I could tell that he liked
having me near him. He was sneaking little sniffs of my perfume. And his
sheets were growing into a tent as his underused manhood awoke.

   The usual candy striper would have asked him how he was, ignored the
answer, and left him.

   The Sissy Striper modus operandi differed.

   I kissed his forehead, then his mouth.

   He liked that a lot and his nice Johnson appeared to have regained a lot
of its youthful vigor.

   "You're a nice man, Mr. Gonzalez. But Nurse Nancy said you were
depressed and needed a 'boost.' Can I give you one?'

   Mr. Gonzalez was fully ready for any boost I had in mind.

   I pulled down his sheets, lifted his hospital gown and revealed a nice,
big prick that was showing no signs of depression. The foreskin was back
and the cutest, pink head was peeking out and leaking some
delicious-looking goo. I ran my soft hand up and down its length, getting a
nice feeling when he began to moan in appreciation.

   At first, I thought Mr. Gonzalez would just lie there passively. Some
do. Some get a little disoriented when they see the big tent forming in my
skirt as I stroke them. But that passes quickly.

   Mr. Gonzalez was a little scamp, though. He reached around and began to
stroke my bottom as I ran my warm hand up and down his prick and balls. I
liked that, and it was even nicer when his hand insinuated itself into my
panties and felt warm skin.

   I don't know whether he was more excited by me feeling him up or him
feeling me up, but the gentleman had more naughty tricks. He wiggled a
finger around and then into my pussy, making me squeak and scold him a
little for his boldness. But he didn't take it out. And I didn't insist
that he remove it.

   I leaned over and kissed Mr. Gonzalez as he massaged my prostate and I
ran a practiced thumb around his knob. I don't always do it with my
patients, but he was extra nice, so I took his cock into my mouth and put
my tongue to its best use.

   Mr. Gonzalez's fingers knew their way around a girl's bottomhole. He had
me in a dither as I was sucking him to a very nice conclusion. He gave the
warning grunts about the same time I did and I soaked my panties just as he
filled my mouth with his first hot load in quite some time.

   It was a good thing I always brought plenty of fresh panties on my
volunteer day at the hospital.

   I licked Mr. Gonzalez clean, then chided him gently about being a scamp.

   "Did you like that, Honey?" he asked.

   Unlike a girl, a sissy gives obvious, liquid testimony to her pleasure,
so he knew I was telling the truth when I kissed him and said, "Oh,
yes. You're a very good lover. Would you like to meet some of my friends
when you get out of the hospital?"

   Suddenly, the man had something to live for. Lots to live for. And a
huge boost to his self-confidence. I would hook him up with some of my
network of sissy friends, who would be glad to do a good turn for
Mr. Gonzalez (and for themselves. I suspected he was quite a good lover
when healthy.)

   Mr. Gonzalez knew my panties were a big, cummy mess, so he offered to
lick me clean before I left. How could I refuse?

   He was a very enthusiastic clitty-licker and had me near cumming again
when I insisted he stop. "I have three more calls today, Mr. Gonzalez. You
don't want to be selfish, do you?"

   He was certainly considering jumping up, rolling his bed against the
door as a barricade, then holding me captive and fucking me until a team
with blowtorches cut through the door. But his sense of fair play won out.

   I kissed Mr. Gonzalez goodbye and moved onto Mr. Zimmerman's
room. Mr. Zimmerman had had a difficult surgery three weeks earlier. Two
Wednesdays earlier, I had only been able to give him kisses and a gentle
handjob. One week earlier, I had cheered him up so much that I gave him a
nutbuster blowjob, followed by him returning the favor very nicely. I was
surprised he was still in the hospital that day and, honestly, it appeared
that the 56-year-old man was about as sick as your average 30-year-old.

   I smiled when I saw him and said, "Mr. Zimmerman, you big faker. You're
not sick any more. What are you still doing here?"

   He smiled and said, "You have to ask? I'm here because I knew you would
be here today. They tried to discharge me two days ago, but I told a few
fibs and stretched it out to discharge tomorrow. You're the best medicine I
could have ever had."

   I blushed. It wasn't the first time that I, or my Sissy Striper sisters,
had heard that we had played a major role in a man's recovery. We make them
feel potent and virile again. Women could make men feel that way too. If
they wanted.

   Mr. Zimmerman looked at me with predator eyes. Did he want to...? Oh,
Mr. Zimmerman!!!

   The naughty man fucked me! I don't usually do that in the hospital, with
patients, anyway. But he was so manly and forceful. He had me on my back
with his tongue up my bottom. Then he was on top of me pushing his big,
hard thing in and out of me. Kissing me. It was very nice. And he was
having the time of his life. He pumped a big, squishy load into me, then
had me lick his cock clean. I hadn't cum yet, but he took care of that by
sucking my balls and licking my knob until I split my guts.

   Mr. Zimmerman walked out of that hospital the next day ready for
whatever life threw at him.

   Going between rooms, I often got some stares from nurses and docs. What
were they thinking? Did they think I was a cheap little slut? I saw myself
as a therapist, doing good where it was really needed.

   Between Mr. Zimmerman's room and Mr. Osborn's room, I ran into Doctor
Tom, my date of the previous evening. He was so sweet and so handsome and
he had arranged his break just so he could see me and the first thing you
knew we were in a supply closet together. I was sitting on a small table
with my legs up high and Tom's cock was plowing my butt. It was kind of
silly for us to go into the closet. Everyone knew what we were doing in
there, especially since I'm a very loud receiver of male cocks. I squeal
and scream and beg for more. Tom really enjoys that. He's so sweet. I made
a date for the following Tuesday with him as his cum was dribbling out of
my sore bottom.

   After I took care of Mr. Osborn (foot job with my stockinged toesies all
soaked with his goo) and Mr. Stein (hot 69), I was pretty tired and ready
for my Wednesday night break.

   I never date on Wednesdays. It's my rule to take a small break. I get my
bottom pounded on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays and give Celeste
a preview of heaven on Saturdays and Sundays, but Wednesdays are for
Denise.

   That Wednesday, like most, I nuked a Lean Cuisine, took a long, hot
bath, got into flannel jimmies, applied a mudpack facial, and got into bed.

   I put a weepy, chick flick into the VCR and set air-popped corn and a
big box of Kleenex by my side.

   The night passed without sexual incident as I charged my batteries for
six more nights of love.



   Chapter Five -- Thursday

   Thursday broke for me the way it always did. I was well-rested, my
strategic cum reserves were replenished, and I was horny enough to spread
my legs for the first man I saw.

   That would not be for a while though, because Thursday was clean-up day
in my wonderful life. Cleaning could be a trial, but it was necessary. I
faced a grueling day of supervising my weekly cleaning team, then cleaning
up my private room all by myself. Well, the sheets anyway. There were lots
of cummy sheets to wash. Then I would have to take care of some "tidiness"
duties outside the home.

   By 9 a.m., I was in my pedal-pushers and mannish blouse. My hair was in
a scarf and I looked ready for housework. Actually, I had three people
doing the housework, but I always felt better dressed as if I were ready to
assist them. I had read the newspaper, eaten my bowl of Special K with skim
milk, and was about to finish my black coffee when the phone rang.

   Caller ID said it was the Ritzmore Hotel in Los Angeles.

   Celeste! My darling wife! I was so excited that I developed a very nice
stiffie in the time it took to answer the phone in my most masculine
voice. "Hi, Baby!!!! I miss you so much." It was true. I love Celeste very
much and miss her when she's gone. Not so much that I would want her around
a lot, spoiling my girl time. But I missed her. It sounds complicated, but
it was all settled in my mind.

   Celeste was so sweet. "How's my sweet, sweet loverboy?"

   My cock was throbbing thinking of the fantastic weekend I knew Celeste
and I would have. We're so much in love. And definitely in lust.

   Celeste had a morning meeting (it was only 6 a.m. there) and she was
really busy, but she wanted to make sure I was OK and still loved
her. Well, of course I did. More than ever, I told her.

   We made kissies over the phone and I foreshadowed some of the carnal
delights that awaited Celeste when she returned home around 9:30 on
Saturday morning.

   That made Celeste giggle like a schoolgirl and we said goodbye
reluctantly and affectionately.

   Celeste never asks any probing questions about how I spend my time and
she never returns home unexpectedly. All in all, she's a very sensible
woman.

   An orgasmic abstinence approaching 20 hours in duration and a naughty
conversation with my wife were having their effect on my throbbing
clitty. I hated to spill my goo when there was no one around to appreciate
it, so I got myself dressed properly for the rest of Thursday, saw the
cleaning crew off, and drove to the Stickler Mansion for my day's
amusements.

   I parked in the service lot and got out of my Mercedes. One black,
five-inch-stiletto-heeled-pump foot at a time. My outfit's skirts were so
short that my black stocking tops, garters and even an inch or two of
creamy, bare thigh were evident.

   Wiggling into the house through the servant's entrance, I greeted
Watson, the butler respectfully. "Good day, Mr. Watson."

   Watson liked me, but he knew that firmness was the best policy with the
staff he managed for Old Man Stickler. "I don't believe your French maid
dress is short enough yet, Denise. Didn't we discuss that last Thursday?"

   Oh, my. He was right. Stickler liked to see my whole pink bag hanging
below my skirts. How could I have forgotten? It was only a matter of ¾ of
an inch, but detail is important.

   I apologized profusely to Watson, promised to make amends, then hit my
knees to try to win back his favor. Not surprisingly, when I took out
Watson's big boy and balls and gave his knob a proper polishing, his
reprimand softened as his cock hardened. After a LONG abstinence, it felt
good to have a man's throbbing thing in my mouth again and I swallowed his
gooey discharge with relish.

   Recovering his dignity a bit, Watson said, "Thank you, Denise. Let's
complete your inspection and then you can attend to your duties."

   I liked Watson's inspection. He said that a household couldn't be too
secure these days and he needed to do a body cavity search on me. Any time
a good-looking, nice man like Watson wants to check out my body cavities,
I'm ready. That day, I was extra ready and, after he removed my panties and
checked out my favorite body cavity with three tickly fingers, I squealed
and lessened the load in what had been a too-full bag of sissy juices.

   Watson checked my panties at the door (none were allowed in the
mansion), and I grabbed my feather duster and began my "work."

   No one seemed to be around, though I knew someone was...watching
me. That was part of the fun. I was doing actual dusting - not difficult
work and it required me to lean over a lot, exposing my heart-shaped bottom
and my pink package to the silent watcher. Dutifully, I sissied here and
there in my naughty outfit, with my dangling, swaying peanuts and a stiff
sissypole.

   Rodney Stickler was the one who was watching. He knew the game and
played it very well.

   Rodney let me dust for about 30 minutes before he made his grand
entrance. I often wondered why he took so long. Sometimes I thought he was
savoring the moment, but mostly I think it was the cheap son of a gun
getting some free labor out of me.

   Off course it wasn't really "free." I had a drawer-full of pretty, very
expensive baubles that a grateful Rodney had bestowed on me over the years.

   Anyway, when he felt the moment was right, Rodney stormed into the
room. "What's the meaning of this?" he demanded loudly. "How dare you
despoil my home with that outlandish, indecent display? Where are your
undergarments, young lady?"

   Sometimes Rodney acts so nasty when he goes after me that I'm actually
afraid. That adds a lot to the experience. That day, he was so blustery and
looked so darned mean that I felt a twinge of apprehension in my gut.

   Rodney is in his late 50s. He's widowed, filthy rich (self-made, thank
goodness. Those silver-spoon men are a pain) and adores me. I met him
through a mutual friend three years earlier and we've missed few Thursdays
since then. Rodney is also very good looking and manly.

   I shuddered when I thought about the delights that awaited me the rest
of that day.

   First, though, I would have to answer the question of the missing
panties. I began to sniffle and a few, actual, hot tears streamed down my
face. "Oh, sir! I'm so sorry. I was in a hurry this morning and I forgot my
panties. I would have gone back, but I didn't want to be late for work."

   "Hah!!" Rodney trumpeted. "You're a liar as well as a little tramp. You
deliberately left those panties home because you're a little gold
digger. You wanted to tease me and get me into your bed, get you pregnant
and then pay millions to keep you and your brat in luxury!"

   I protested my innocence. Crying, begging. On my knees to keep my
job. "Please forgive me sir!!!! I need this job, please!!! I'll do
anything."

   "Anything, eh?" my very own Snidely Whiplash said.

   I was already on my knees. His big Johnson was already stiff. Too easy,
though.

   "Stand up, girl," he said. "What's your name?"

   <Sniffle> "Denise, sir."

   "Well, you're a pretty one. [It was true.] Follow me."

   I did so. Usually he began by turning me onto my stomach on the floor,
mounting me with his full weight, and sticking his big thing into my
bottom, using me, thrusting again and again until he blew the first of many
Thursday loads into me. Then he would usually take me to his bedroom,
alternately spanking and fucking me until we both passed out. But there
were lots of variations.

   It appeared that that day was to begin in the "staff punishment room."

   Now I was scared. I had only been in there two or three times. It had
always been fun, but I was always afraid that Rodney would lose control,
ignore my safe word and hurt me. Intellectually, I knew that was only
infinitesimally possible. Emotionally, I was not so sure. Either way, it
was horribly exciting.

   The staff punishment room was dank and dark, with lots of whips and
crops and thick dildos on the wall. There were also various restraints in
evidence. In short, everything you need for a really fun Saturday night.

   Rodney saw that I was trembling and savored the moment. I "knew" Rodney
would never put marks on me either. He knew that Celeste spent a lot of
time exploring my body and would not be amused by whip marks.

   Still, the thought was very exciting.

   Rodney seemed genuinely angry at my failure to wear panties and general
sluttiness. He led me to a set of manacles that enclosed my wrists, then
stretched me vertically. I wasn't off my high-heeled feet, actually, but
within a quarter-inch of being so.

   I was helpless. I could have kicked an attacker. Or bitten him if he got
too close. But those capabilities were removed when I was shackled at the
ankles, then gagged with a red ball.

   Oh.

   Rodney began my "punishment" by brandishing a large, sharp pair of
scissors. He cut my maid's outfit off my body, leaving me in my stockings,
heels, garter belt and bra.

   I was totally exposed and completely helpless. And my cock could have
cut diamonds. It was leaking and dripping goo like a washer-challenged
faucet.

   Rodney was very pleased.

   The naughty man took his time. When he went behind me, I strained to see
what he was doing, but was bound too tight. Then I felt...oooohhhhh.

   Something was entering my (thank goodness) thoroughly pre-lubed
bottom. It was round and went past the sphincter with a little "pop." Then
he inserted another one. And another. I knew what it was. Several
one-and-a-quarter-inch diameter beads on a long string. He inserted eight
of them, slowly and carefully. My bowels were full and I felt as if I had
to go big poopies. I was speculating about how those thick balls would feel
on the way out. Would he pull them out one at a time? Or <gasp> all at
once? Would he do it gently? Or wickedly fast? The fact that I had no
control over the whole matter had my twitching popsy completely "on the
verge."

   So there I was, stretched and defenseless. A string trailing from my
bottom, the puller of which could put me into several varieties of a
tizzy. Mmmmmmmmm.

   Rodney began lecturing me on punctuality and chasteness, all the while
circling my bound body. Then he carefully and slowly unhooked my bra,
exposing my erect nipples to his manly mastery.

   Rodney had had enough chitchat and began to slowly lick and suck my
exposed left nipple. The agony was exquisite. I wiggled my body to move
away from his lips, then toward them, but both moves were futile. My body
belonged to Rodney.

   Just as I was grunting in pre-orgasmic distress, the horrible man
stopped his assault and left the room. For 15 agonizing minutes, I tried to
will myself to cum. I needed to let it go very badly, but Rodney had gotten
me to the cliff's edge, then backed me off. If I could have rubbed my
cockhead against a tree trunk I could have spurted. But all I had were air
and frustration.

   Then he came back. He laughed when I whimpered through my gag. He knew
exactly what he was doing and was very good at it.

   He began to kiss and lick my right nipple, slowly at first, then with
increasing activity. I threw my head back in lustful appreciation, then
shivered as the first warning signs of a magnificent spermstorm reached
me. It was going to be fantastic, one for the scrapbook, it...

   The no-good jerk! He stopped again, chuckled evilly, and left me again,
that time for 20 minutes. I cursed Rodney Stickler's name, his dog, his
ancestors and everyone, except me, who had ever given that devil's spawn
succor.

   Then he returned. And made me very, very happy.

   Rodney was naked at last and his very nice body and excellent cock were
a visual treat, especially to a sissy in my distressed condition. I was
pretty sure that the third time would be the charm and he was going to let
me cum on that go-round. He had better, I said to myself, or Rodney had
better start volunteering at the circulation desk of our local library on
Thursdays. No more pussy from me. Hmmmppphhh.

   The lad did not disappoint me. He got on his knees and took in my whole,
overwrought, seven inches into his mouth and throat. I can't do that and
don't want to learn. But it sure feels good when Rodney does it. Rodney
cupped my sore, needy balls with his right hand as he sucked my popsy to
perfection. He wasn't going to disappoint me that time, I was sure. Rodney
adored a "dinner portion" of my cum, especially an early one like that load
-- not like the watery dribbles of number 12 or 13 orgasm <giggle>.

   I was moaning through my gag, Rodney knew I was going to explode, yet he
kept sucking. He was forgiven. Oh, I knew that the impending cum was going
to be nuclear. I began to gasp and grunt behind my gag. Rodney sucked
deliciously. I squealed as loudly as a gagged sissy can. It was going to
spurt...nooooo...my ass was too stuffed with beads...the cum would back up
and burst me!!!!!!

   Then the bad boy began to pull the big beads from my tender butt. One
every three seconds or so. Throughout a stroke-like orgasm that had me
weeping with joy. Each bead popping my sphincter felt like a carnal gunshot
through my libido.

   When the last bead exited my sensitive domain and the last, creamy drop
of sissy cream drooled down the side of my cock and onto my drained bag,
Rodney began to release me. He undid my manacles, then my foot shackles. He
took off my gag.

   I gazed at him lovingly, with complete gratitude for an excruciatingly
intense experience in lust, submission and ball-draining.

   I fell into his arms and covered him with kisses. But Thursday was far
from over.

   Rodney returned my kisses, rubbing his stiff cock against my temporarily
defeated one. He was going to fuck me. Despite my exhaustion, I wanted that
very badly. I loved being dominated by a loving man and Rodney knew where
all my buttons were.

   There was a nasty-looking, cum-stained, bare cot mattress in the
punishment room and before I had much time to consider who had been there
before me (and what had happened there), I was on my back, one
stockinged-and-heeled leg in the air, the other over Rodney's
shoulder. Rodney had his tongue down my throat and his big cock up my ass.

   Life was good.



   Chapter Six -- Friday

   Whew. I don't like to stay over at Rodney's, so I managed to extricate
myself and drive home by about one a.m. A lot happened in those 12 hours --
naughty things. You probably don't want to know the details, but I'll
summarize -- my cum (several quarts, it seemed), Rodney's cum (less than
mine, since he made me cum a dozen times to his four), Watson's cum (it
gives Rodney a break, he likes Watson, and Rodney likes to watch), promises
of future cum (Rodney said that soon enough, he was going to tie me up and
bring in a construction crew to have their way with me. He wouldn't, would
he? <Shudder>)

   Anyway, I took a long, cleansing shower, threw on some sweats, drove
home, got between the sheets at two and slept until almost eleven. Too
late! Fridays are busy doing the last of Celeste's things, then
straightening up and such so that Celeste doesn't get any nasty surprises.

   Plus, I have a very nice, standing date on Friday night.

   My father-in-law, Vernon.

   I hope you're not thinking that's evil or anything. I didn't intend to
start dating Vernon. It just happened. I know you've heard that before --
"Your honor, I didn't mean to take my rifle up that tower and shoot all
those people. It just happened." But in my case, it's true. Mostly. I mean,
it just happened to me. Vernon was the instigator.

   Vernon is a very rich, powerful, handsome man of about sixty
years. Widowed long before I met Celeste, Vernon dated several women, but
knew something was missing. Until he met me.

   When Celeste and I were dating, it was pretty clear to me that Celeste
was a Daddy's girl. She talked about him all the time and was very sweet
and attentive to him.

   It surprised me a bit when Vernon met me and was sweet and attentive to
me. Most fathers, especially the rich ones, who are close to their
daughters, would have seen ten-year-younger-and-apparently-penniless me as
a gigolo or a gold digger.

   Vernon was a lot smarter than that. He saw me as I really was and he
wanted his cock in my ass.

   Celeste saw Vernon's obvious affection for me as a deal-clincher for our
marriage. I saw Vernon's affection for me as something very welcome, if we
could pull it off with no one getting hurt.

   So far, that's what we've done.

   Two weeks after our honeymoon, Celeste began her business-trip routine
that makes my life as wonderful as it is. I wasn't sure how to use my time
alone until, an hour after Celeste left, a deliveryman brought a single red
rose and a black babydoll nightie in my size. The card said, "I'll be over
at noon. Love, Vernon."

   Vernon is a man who knows what he wants and doesn't mess around.

   I was so nervous at noon that first day with Vernon, but I went ahead
and dressed as he "suggested." There was no need to fear. He treats me as
his woman, with utmost respect, and gives me the best fucking any man could
ever give me. Vernon was also the person who suggested I diversify my
weekly activities, but I had to save Fridays for him.

   I couldn't imagine a Friday without Vernon's hard body on top of me,
filling me with his love and kisses. And his manly seed

   That Friday, Vernon took me to dinner and dancing. He loves to show me
off. Then, as he always does, he brought me home and taught me how a man's
cock can make a sissy deliriously happy.



   Chapter Seven -- Saturday

   On Saturday mornings, I set up eight alarm clocks, set at five-minute
intervals beginning at five a.m. The last thing I need is for Celeste to
come home and catch me with her Daddy's cock in my bottom. That would
strain our relationship.

   Vernon is so bad. He knows that being caught by Celeste is my biggest
nightmare. And being caught by Celeste as I'm naked with Vernon takes my
nightmare into the bonus round. I used to ask him to switch to say,
Wednesday night, but he always refuses. I think he enjoys the extra
naughtiness of it all.

   That morning, I awoke ten minutes before the first alarm went off. It
wasn't a sixth-sense thing that woke me up. It was Vernon's tongue eating
out my pussy. He had me on my tummy with my lavender babydoll up to my
waist, cheeks spread and grunting out his name. The man could eat a sissy
pussy.

   His tongue was like a roto-rooter in there as he rearranged my bowels. I
had cum maybe seven times the previous night and I TOLD him there would be
NO pussy for him in the morning because I didn't want Celeste thinking that
I had been throwing my goo around when she was gone.

   He and I both knew that Celeste had figured out long ago the general
nature of what was happening in her absence. But she was clearly fine with
it. Happy, in fact. As long as she didn't know any details or see any
evidence.

   Vernon said that if he cleaned out my pink, wrinkly bag by 6 a.m., I
would be filled and ready to thrill when Celeste got home at 9:30 for the
first of her many fuckings that weekend. He was probably right. And what
choice did I have? I certainly wasn't going to tell the world's best
analinguist to go home and leave me alone.

   The bad man made me cum hard with his tongue, then he immediately
mounted me and shoved his hard cock in with one hard
thrust. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!!!. That was very nice. Vernon fucked me for forty
minutes, through eight alarms, none of which I was able to turn off. When
Vernon deposited his big load into his favorite sperm bank, he called it an
"eight-alarm fuck."

   He's so naughty! <giggle>

   Even I have limits, though. I insisted that he leave and after some nice
kissing and one last sloppy blowjob that I gave him impetuously because he
looked so horny, he left.

   Ooooohhh. Seven a.m. and lots to do. I cleaned up my private room,
stuffing all the cummy-sheet evidence in the washing machine. Then I
butched up.

   Going back to guyness takes me fifteen minutes, versus the three or four
hours I spend going the other way. I washed thoroughly, put my hair into a
ponytail, put on boxers, a t-shirt, gray socks, penny loafers, khakis, and
a polo shirt. Voila!

   I made one last check to make sure I had no perfume smell or a stray
earring on me or on the floor. Then I sat down to wait for Celeste. It was
only 8:30. Rats. Vernon could have shagged me two more times. But then I
wouldn't have the male yummies for my Celeste. It was better to have a safe
margin.

   At precisely 9:30, my darling's limo pulled up. I hurried out to meet
her, walking manfully, and took her into my arms. We never saw the driver
leave, because we were in a deep clinch, kissing hungrily. My cock was sore
and needy for my sweet wife.

   We went inside, got naked and onto the bed. I put my baby on her back,
kissed her, then ate her pussy until she came twice. Then I got on top of
her and fucked her hard until she came twice more. After I dumped my load
into sweet Celeste, she kissed me with adoration and said, "Let me go fix
you some breakfast, Robbie, my Darling."

   I smiled and rolled off her. It was good that Celeste knew how a wife
should serve her husband.

   She was the perfect wife.

Please tell me what you think at gingerfred2005@yahoo.com.

My other stories on nifty:

"Acting Up" transgender -- control
"Panty Pleasures" transgender -- young friends
"Woodville" transgender -- tv
"Mothered" transgender -- control
"Panty Town" transgender -- teen
"Tradition" transgender -- teen
"Punished" transgender -- high school
"Panty Paradise" transgender -- teen
"Kevin and Molly Go to Camp" -- transgender -- teen
"Lovelife" -- transgender -- high school
"My Three Sissies" -- transgender -- tv
"Acting Out" -- transgender -- high school
"Explorers" -- transgender -- high school
"Pantied" -- transgender -- young friends
"Rebuilding" -- transgender -- teen
"The Au Pair" -- transgender -- surgery
"Birthday Girl" -- transgender -- teen
"Genes" -- transgender -- high school
"Brothers in Panties" -- transgender -- teen
"Coach" -- transgender -- control
"Intervention" -- transgender -- high school
"Winners" -- transgender -- teen
"Teased" transgender -- high school
"Irish Girls" transgender -- teen
"Finished" -- transgender -- teen
"Role Model" -- transgender -- high school
"Freedom" -- transgender -- high school
"Panty Fiesta" -- transgender -- control
"Experiments" -- transgender college
"One Fine Day" -- transgender -- teen
"Stiff Resistance" -- transgender -- teen
"Poker" -- transgender -- tv
"Panty Sabbatical" -- transgender -- high school
"Published" -- transgender -- tv
"Stripped" -- transgender -- high school
"Trained" -- transgender -- control
"Something Better" -- transgender - tv
"Fulfilled" -- transgender -- tv
"Private Matters" -- transgender -- high school
"Hard Times" -- transgender -- tv
"Girl Nights" -- transgender -- control