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Saturday, December 11, 2010

Forced Femme Stories: "Mother In Law" (part 2 of 3) by Sara Girl

"Stand up." I did. She pulled the hosiery up my knees, my thighs, over my hips, ass, my crotch, pulling the elastic up, tight. Susan reached into the front of the control top, tugged, pushed, pulled my limp penis, my balls, pushing my balls inside me, pulling my limp cock down and back between my legs, pulled the hose tight, very tight.

"There, much better."

I looked down, winced. Everything was tight, constricted. There was no way my penis was going to move a millimeter, no way it could ever get hard.

"Hmmm, feel it, bitch? I told you, I don't want to see it or feel it."

How could she? I was held tight.

"Feel it? Get it?" Susan moved her fingers to my crotch, rubbed. "Control top pantyhose work to hold everything a woman has in place. Funny, works just the same for something like this. Something small and tucked away."

She kept rubbing, gently, teasing. I felt, like yesterday with her mother's stocking, blood rushing to me, trying to fill me, but with nowhere to go. "I told you I felt naughty, didn't I? I told you, I don't want you thinking like a husband today, I want you thinking like a bitch...my bitch...in fact..."

Oh god, what, what?

"I'm disappointed; I can still see a tiny lump. I don't want to see anything. Anything."

"Please Susan, just...just let me..." Lick you. I just wanted to lick her. "Just let me...serve you let me "

"Small and hidden...I didn't use panties because I didn't want you growing. I don't even want to see this little lump." She quickly stood, went to her dresser, opened her lingerie drawer. As soon as she turned around, I knew what was in her hand. A pink satin pj set that consisted of loose tap panties, a satin top, part of a set I bought her last year for her birthday.

"Susan, no, please, I can't...I don't want to..."

"You already said you'd wear panties to be my bitch...didn't you? These would never have held you in place, but they will do the trick covering things up. Put them on...they are boy shorts, after all, so what's wrong with my little boy wearing them?" She smirked at her pun. She set the top down on the dresser, held the panties towards me.

"Susan..." I couldn't. What was she possibly thinking? This wasn't just naughty...this was...

-- End of Part 2 --

"Michael," she said softening, "please, oh god, please. I...I know, this is strange, but...I...I told you...I feel so...so naughty. I don't know why, I don't know what it is, but please. I...I felt like this since yesterday, please, I just want you to...to serve me, to...to pleasure me...to please me...please...just...just...please. I...I can't explain it, I just feel...

Her mother had forced me to wear panties to punish me. She was begging me to wear panties to please her, to serve her.


"Yes, oh god, yes."

I took the panties from her, hands shaking, slipped my nylon-covered legs into them, pulled them up, pulled them on, hiding my trapped penis in pantyhose, in panties.

"Please, be my bitch, Michael."

Uneasy, even shaking, I lowered my head, lowered myself to my knees, lower. I lowered myself to her feet, to her stocking covered feet, slowly, kissed each one, slowly, acknowledging my submission to her.

Susan sat down on the edge of the bed. "Worship me, Michael."

"Yes, Susan," I moaned, licking her feet.

"Serve me, Michael," she ordered me.

"Yes, Ma'am," I groaned.

"Be my bitch, Michael. Start with my feet, lick me, kiss me, worship every inch of my body."

"God, Susan."

"Start down there, Michael, take off my heels, be my bitch, worship my naughty feet, bitch."

Hands trembling, I slowly removed one of Susan's heels, gently planting kisses on her nylon-covered foot. I dropped her foot, switched to the other, looked up at her, into her eyes, saw the lust, the hunger, the passion on her face. I'd done no more than kiss her toes and already her eyes were fluttering with pleasure.

Kneeling before her, one of her feet in my hands, mouth open, sucking one of her toes, I gasped in my own pleasure.

"Hmmm," Susan giggled as I shook. The way I was kneeling, her other foot in front of me, she simply had to move her other foot forward ever so slightly and it came in direct contact with my crotch. Her foot, nylon stocking, in direct contact with the pink satin of the tap panties I was wearing, covering the pantyhose that so tightly held my penis folded back, trapped against my body.

Her foot felt amazing, so soft, so sensual, so exciting.

"Keep licking and don't move," she ordered quietly.

Move? Why would I want to move? The feeling of her stocking covered foot against my stocking covered limp organ was amazing, breathtaking.

"Don't move an inch," she said again, stroking me now through layers of nylon and satin.

I looked up at her. "Never, Susan," I smiled with my eyes, my mouth full of her toes.

I was swelling, swelling.

"Uugh," I grunted. In a few seconds, my swelling penis quickly switched. In mere seconds, pleasure began to fade.

It was replaced by tightness. "Susan," I moaned.

"Don't move."

It dawned on me. I thought Susan was telling me not to move, as in, not to press harder against her foot. It was just the opposite. She was telling me, in advance, not to back away. As she rubbed, blood flooded my penis, trying to make it swell. Bent back as it was, held tight by her control top pantyhose, there was nowhere for me to grow.

"Susan," I gasped.

"I told you I felt naughty, didn't I, Michael? You begged just the same." Her foot pressed into my bent shaft, daring it to grow, to swell more than it could.

I sensed just enough of her mood that I should not only stay still, pressed against her foot, but that I also should continue my kissing, licking, worship of her other foot.


I looked up at her, puzzled, her foot half in my mouth.

"You wanted me to wear something like this for so long, didn't you? Dreamed about it, fantasized about it."

"Yes," I answered, continuing my tongue bath of her foot.

"Ironic, then."

"What," I grunted, the pain in my crotch increasing as she continued her massage of my trapped penis.

"Ironic, lover," she grinned, obviously enjoying my mouth on the sensitive skin of her foot. "Ironic," she pressed into my swollen organ, "that you weren't there to see me the first time I wore this."

I moaned loudly as some unseen store of erotically charged energy tried to flood into my trapped penis at the thought of her wearing this lingerie in front of Tom. I caught Susan's eyes, a wry smile, a twinkle. I waited for her to say something about Tom, to tell me, to confess. But she just watched, rubbed, enjoyed my mouth on her foot.

"Ironic, because after all that fantasizing about seeing me dressed like this, I would have thought you'd get an erection."

"I I can't, Susan," I moaned, balls in pain, penis in pain.

"I know. Ironic. A man would get hard seeing me dressed like this, Michael."

I just looked at her, eyes begging, hungry, needy.

"I want your tongue all over me, bitch," she growled, pulling back, moving her foot away from my crotch, pulling herself back onto the bed. "Serve me, Michael, serve me."

I attacked her. I wanted to fuck her like a wild animal, but I couldn't. I couldn't even get hard. So instead I attacked her with my mouth. Fine, if I couldn't do what I really wanted to do, I could at least ravage her with my tongue, my lips. It was like every sexual neuron redirected from my penis to my mouth.

My attack wasn't hard. It wasn't fast. It was quiet, it was stealth. It was a release, really, a release from wanting to fuck her, to an instant later, wanting to lick her. Everywhere.

Her calves, her thighs, her knees, her stomach. Her wrists, her ass, her ankles. The inner skin of her legs. Her fingers. Her elbows.


Everywhere but her pussy. I was saving that. I wanted to make her cum as many times as I could before I got near there, before I gave her that.

It was in kissing my way up her right arm that, looking back, everything changed in our marriage. Well, everything might have already changed, but that's when it really dawned on me, probably dawned on her just the same. Maybe I pretend to know more than I do. I don't know.

But it was while I was kissing my way up her arm. I'd been licking and kissing her everywhere for a half hour, an hour. I was kissing and biting my way up her arm, to her neck. Her arm was under me when I felt it, the dance of her fingers.

I realized my crotch was hovering over her hand. I'd purposely, for the last hour, done everything I could to avoid letting my penis touch her, for as turned on as I was, without the physical contact I was slightly, but not uncomfortably swollen.

I felt her fingers lift up, tease me. I was kissing her neck, could feel her hot breath in my ear. I started to move, but she licked my ear. Her wet tongue froze me in place, froze me directly over her hand. She teased me, danced her fingers over the satin panties while I nuzzled her neck.

"You can't get hard, can you," she whispered in my ear.

I responded non-verbally. I bit her neck gently, lover to lover.

"It's ironic," she whispered in my ear. I felt her fingers back, where the tip of my penis was trapped. Rubbing. Quickly. "You wanted to see me dressed in lingerie like this so badly and you can't even get hard."

I bit her neck again, harder, nuzzling, attacking, feeling her shudder in pleasure.

"It's ironic. You can't get hard. It's ironic. I thought you'd be so excited seeing me wearing this you'd have an instant erection. Any real man would. In fact, Tom didn't have any trouble getting hard when he saw me wearing this."

I gasped, I moaned, I kissed her harder still. Tom. Tom! TOM! Her words, the mention of his name, shot through me.

"Susan," I moaned, feeling the blood, the erotic energy that had been dispersed all over my body suddenly rushing to my crotch.

"What, lover, what?"

I was quivering, moaning, humping her hand.

"You're jumping, lover, why?"

"Susan," I moaned again.

She said nothing for several minutes, just let me kiss her neck, nuzzle her. She moved her hand away from my crotch, enjoyed my tongue on her.

I just kissed and kissed and kissed. She moaned, touched. I felt her tongue, her wet tongue, in my ear, her breath, hot, blowing. Wet matching my wet.

After several minutes in this position I felt her fingers ever so lightly on my trapped penis, teasing, toying, so lightly.

"His cock was so hard, Michael," she whispered in my ear.

"Oh god," I choked. I don't know why that instant things changed. Why that second I realized I was in bed with my wife, wearing pantyhose and panties. Why right then I felt my trapped penis. Why that was when it all flooded into my brain.

Why did she know his cock was hard? Why would she



"Susan," I exclaimed, "how do you...

She seemed to be waiting for it, seemed to be reading my mind, seemed to have anticipated.

"Shhhh, Michael, shhhh." She licked me, continued teasing my penis.

His cock was so hard. His cock was so hard!

How did she know? She didn't didn't my brain could barely think it. She didn't fuck him???

"Susan," I said again, trying to sit up.

"Michael, shhhh, please, trust me "

Trust her. Trust her. Why wouldn't I trust her? She was my wife, my friend, my lover. Trust her. Trust her.

"But "

She giggled. "Lick my breasts, Michael."

I looked down from her face, down towards her chest. Her breasts were inside her beautiful black bra. I felt hungry.

"Serve me, Michael, serve me." She said this while continuing to rub me, continuing to rub my soft, but throbbing penis through the panties and pantyhose.

"Susan," I moaned.

"Lick my breasts, Michael."

I submitted, moved slightly so my head, my face, my mouth, were on the top of her breasts, licking her, tasting her skin. Her hand was still pressed against my crotch, but she was no longer moving it, just letting it rest there.

I kissed her breasts, licked, touched. I listened to her moan as my tongue would flick near, but not quite touch, her nipples.

I once again got lost in pleasing her, serving her, submitting to her.

I once again focused on Susan, her skin, her breasts, licking, kissing, teasing, touching.

I once again forgot about my own pleasure. It was all about her. I forgot about my own orgasm. It was about her. I forgot about my trapped penis. It was about her.

I had her right breast mostly out of her bra as I kneaded it with my fingers while teasing her nipple with my tongue, licked it.

I had a game I played, imagination; her breast was an ice cream cone. I licked around her nipple, the swell of her breast, as I would a dripping cone, licking off each imaginary drop of melted ice cream. Slowly, circling, darting over her nipple as she moaned, closer and closer to orgasm.

I had her nipple in my mouth, holding it gently in my teeth, flicking her nipple with my tongue, as she shuddered, cumming.

"Oh, Michael," she moaned, shaking, "Michael Michael "

"Yes," I asked, as I flicked her nipple again, making her cum again.

"His cock was so hard, Michael." I moaned, suddenly aware, once again, of her hand on my crotch. Her hand had not moved at all, but as soon as she said those words, my penis felt tight, trapped again, sore.

"Susan," I moaned. Susan shook and shook and shook with her nipple pinched in between my teeth, her hand pressed against my twitching trapped cock.

"Susan," I gasped, "you you " I couldn't bring myself to say it, to accuse her. She couldn't have, wouldn't have!

Before I could try to ask again, Susan used her free hand, the hand not pressing against my penis, used the free hand to pull my head off her nipple, towards her face, and plant her mouth directly on mine.

"Susan," I tried to say, but couldn't, not with her tongue deep inside my mouth, probing, kissing, licking.

I felt her hand shift, her leg, her whole body move to one side. Suddenly I was moving, as Susan, mouth still attached to mine, shifted, flipped, our bodies traded position, and suddenly, Susan was on top of me, still kissing me.

Immediately I realized her panty covered pussy was pressed directly against I shook against my panty covered penis.

Oh god. The pain was all over me, sore, tight, pain. I was twitching, folded, trapped in the pantyhose, desperate, but unable to fully swell, to get hard. I wanted it so badly, couldn't have it, needed it, was denied it.

I tried not to focus on it, tried to ignore it, tried to think of anything else. Susan's legs were next to and touching mine. I kissed her, moved to kiss deeper, felt my leg slip against hers. "Ohhh," I groaned and heard her groan at the same time. Her legs were so soft, mine, so soft, nylon against nylon.

"That feels so good, Michael," Susan said as she kissed me deeply, as she rubbed her leg up and down mine. "So soft, Michael, so pretty."

We kissed for several tender minutes, our wet mouths pressed together in passion, amazingly, our nylon-covered legs rubbing against one another.

Slowly, seductively, Susan moved her legs upward so that she was straddling my midsection, her pussy once again pressed right against me, teasing me. "Do you trust me, Michael?"

"What," I asked, pulling my face away from hers. What kind of question was that?

Susan had a spark in her eyes. She started grinding herself back and forth across my penis, across the folded bump, across the spot that was hitting her right on the top of her pussy.

Susan slowly rocked back and forth on top of me while she kissed me, rocked back and forth pleasuring herself while doing nothing but teasing me.

Then she spoke again, spoke in between kisses, spoke in a desperate, hungry whisper. "Do you like the lingerie you bought me lover?"

"Oh my god, yes, Susan," I moaned, kissing her deeply to try to show just how much seeing her beautiful body dressed like this turned me on.

The evil laugh returned, the dominant laugh, the naughty laugh.


"Irony, Michael," she kissed me deeply, rubbing her crotch, her panties, faster against mine. "It's ironic that..." She inhaled deeply. "...your little penis is so soft...but his cock was so hard..."

I jerked upward right into her pelvis, my folded, trapped penis, right into her clit. Susan stopped kissing me and simply took several quick, short breaths.

"Susan." I could not take this! Why did she keep saying this? What did she do? What had she done? "Susan, what..." I started to ask.

"Don't talk, Michael," she said. She commanded. Susan was moving as she said this, moving her body upward, off my crotch, scooting up, up my body. She tilted to one side, twisted, then the other. I realized as she moved upward again, she had deftly removed her panties. Her panties were in her right hand. I watched them closely as she moved her hands to the sides of my head to give herself leverage to move up.

I realized this as she moved up and her scent hit me. The scent, the deep musky smell of her pussy, her damp, wet, pussy. The scent was all over her panties which were not even an inch from my face.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the smell, the sweet sexual smell of her, of Susan, of my wife. Susan must have seen what I was doing. I don't know for I could not, would not open my eyes. I just inhaled. She must have seen for the panties that were close to my face were now pressed against my face. I inhaled and inhaled and inhaled. I felt so humiliated in this instant.

Humiliated for what I was wearing.

Humiliated for my soft penis.

Humiliated for what I'd done to her mother's panties.

Humiliated for submitting to Susan.

Humiliated for whatever she'd done...what had she done?

Humiliated for sniffing my wife's panties right in front of her.

Humiliated for being her bitch.

I was her bitch. I was Susan's bitch. I was my wife's bitch.

Susan moved the panties slightly to my right. My head followed the movement so my nose never left the scent. "Open your mouth," she told me as, eyes closed in shame, I continued to inhale the scent of her sexual excitement. "Be my bitch."

I gulped and slowly opened my mouth. I expected Susan to take her panties from my nose and put them into my mouth. Instead, I felt Susan, wet, soaked, dripping, more than I'd ever felt her. Instead of her panties, which were still on my nose, Susan herself, my wife's dripping pussy, was pressed against and into my open mouth.

"Lick me," she said, commanded, ordered, insisted.

Immediately my tongue darted upward, guided on its own, easily finding and quickly flicking her swollen clit, sending her into an immediate and sudden orgasmic spasm. "Oh my god, Michael, that feels so..." She tilted herself forward to push her clit into my mouth, knocking her panties off my nose in the process.

I held her in my mouth, flicking and flicking, shocked how fast and how violently she was cumming. "Oh god, Michael, oh god, oh god, yes, I love that yes...oh god." Susan's hands were on my head, pulling me into her pussy. This was so unlike her. Usually she wanted tender, gentle licking, slowly, over time, to make her orgasm. Now she was violent, harsh, demanding.

But even her orgasm was different, not the gentle washing of waves of pleasure, but now, a storm, violent, harsh, powerful.

And then I felt warm liquid all over my face, even in my mouth. Immediately I thought she was urinating on me! Oh, holy fuck, it was in my mouth! Susan was shaking so hard, cumming so hard, she...

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," she was crying out.

I started to gag, disgusted at the thought of pee, I started to thrash, but she was too strong on my face, holding me to her.

Then it hit me. The smell, the taste. I thought I was going to vomit. But part of my brain was functioning and realized...

Susan wasn't urinating!

The taste. The smell.

The same smell from her panties.

The same taste as minutes ago.

She wasn't urinating.


Susan was cuming in my mouth. She was cumming so violently and so hard that cum was quite literally pouring from her pussy.

It was not pee, it was cum. My wife was cumming so hard that the cum was everywhere.

I fought back another gag and realized I had no choice but to take it, to accept it...

To swallow it.

My wife was cumming in my mouth. It filled me. It dripped down my cheeks. It soaked my face.

And I swallowed it. Like a woman must when her lover unexpectedly cums in her mouth, when suddenly a cock explodes. I felt the way a woman must swallowing cum. Swallowing my wife's cum. Gag or swallow.

I swallowed.

Susan was now lifting and lowering herself to my mouth. Lifting up, taking the pressure off her pussy, her clit off my tongue. Then quickly lowering for a second or two so she could have a quick burst of pleasure, of orgasm.

Finally, Susan just shook. Without me touching her she just shook and shuddered as she surrendered to the pleasure. Normally, if we were fucking, I'd have my penis in her, shaking myself, but now, it was her, just her. I wasn't even hard! She had cum so much it was all over me.

Susan lowered her body, but not to my mouth. She scooted back down me, collapsed on top of me and burst out laughing. "Oh my fucking god, Michael."

"Susan," I moaned, my own crotch was sore, trapped, strained.

"Oh, Michael," she giggled, "you...you have cum all over your face." Yea. And in my mouth and down my throat.

"Susan, what the hell?"

"Michael," she giggled again. "Here." The panties had fallen right next to my mouth. Susan took them in one hand and wiped her cum off my face. They were soaked. I'd never, ever seen anything like that! Not from her, not from anyone. She wiped up enough cum that the panties were soaked.

"I'm so sorry sweetie," she laughed, "I...I should have said something." I felt like our roles were reversed, that she was like a man apologizing for cumming in a woman's mouth.

She was still wiping off my face so her scent was again pushed into my nose, even my mouth. She moved off me, next to me, wiping my face, doing little but spreading her cum all over me, finally leaving the panties laying on one of my shoulders where I could see them, and more, smell them.

"Michael, that was amazing," she sighed, her free hand now tracing circles on my chest. "You're fucking amazing!"

It was humorous in a way. Susan was in an after sex mood, I suppose, having had such an explosive, massive, overwhelming orgasm. She was cuddling me like we'd just made love. I, on the other hand, was as horny and excited as I could be. Disturbed, to certain, but horny just the same. Disturbed in so many ways. Not the least of which, disturbed by Susan's continued, but unexplained, teasing about Tom.

Susan's hand worked its way down my chest and stomach to the dual waistband of the pantyhose and panties. Her fingers traced circles around my stomach, right to the edge of the lingerie, dancing in a way that made me jump with each approach lower.

Her hand moved lower, onto the panties, onto where, if not for the pantyhose, my fully erect cock would be. Now, trapped as it was, my soft penis wasn't there.

But she moved it lower, to my penis. "Hmmm, so soft," she cooed.

I was uncomfortable now. Confused. Humiliated. Hurt. I could still smell her, now could I not, with the panties right by my face. I was both hurt and, I realized, excited. A strange, unexpected combination. "Susan, you you "

"Michael, nothing happened," she said, reading my mind.

"But but you said I thought "

"I said his cock was so hard."

"Yes," I groaned. She was playing with my penis, now, the trapped lump, the bent, trapped, sore lump.

"It was, Michael, it was ironic, I said his cock was so hard your penis, so soft."

"But " I didn't know what to say. I knew what I wanted to say. I wanted to scream at her how the fuck did she know he was hard???

"You know what's also ironic, Michael," she asked.

"No," I answered, actually afraid.

"Every time I said it, every time I told you his cock was so hard, your soft little penis twitched. It was like," she almost blushed, "almost like you were turned on hearing how hard Tom's cock was seeing me in the lingerie you bought me."

Oh, fuck. Of fuck! I realized she was right. I must have turned red, how could I not? She was right. Hearing my wife talk about how hard some strange guy's cock was turned me on. It fucking turned me on!

"Susan, no, you "

"His cock was so hard, Michael," she smiled. I felt it. She felt it. Her hand was on me. I twitched. I know it. I felt it.

"You're so small, Michael but his cock was so hard."

"Susan," I moaned, as I twitched again.

"You want to know how I know, don't you how I know his cock was so hard seeing me in the lingerie you bought you want to know because it excites my little bitch, doesn't it."

I didn't say anything. Not because I didn't know what to say. I said nothing because I was afraid to talk, afraid to betray something afraid to betray the excitement I felt.

Susan started rubbing just my penis now. "He came into my room when I was on the phone with you, when I was wearing just this lingerie, this black lingerie you wanted me to wear tonight, Michael. He saw me in it before you did."

I couldn't help but quickly inhale, gasp.

"He thought I was seducing him. I don't blame him. I was on the phone with you. He came up behind me, quietly. After I hung up with you, he was right behind me, all of the sudden, his arms were around me, he oh Michael, he was kissing my neck it was so so sudden."

I couldn't take it. If she had not been rubbing my sore, trapped penis, I would have run from the room screaming. Or told her to fuck off, or anything. As it was I just twitched. And twitched.

"I didn't know what to do at first, Michael. I mean, I'm a married woman. Totally in love with my husband but here I was and I " She swallowed. "Here I was, dressed like this so sexy and I'd felt so horny all day so naughty and here was this " She swallowed, almost embarrassed.

"Here was this strong, handsome man, arms around me, kissing my neck and and that's when I felt it, Michael, he was he was pressed against me and his his cock was was. His cock was pressed against the back of my leg, my ass and it was oh god, his his cock was so hard, Michael."

It was the rubbing. It had to be the rubbing. The rubbing she was doing to my own penis.

"I I he turned me around, Michael, and he he kissed me and I "

I don't know how I paid attention to her words. I really don't. I don't know how anything happened. How I was wearing lingerie. How my wife was TELLING ME ABOUT A MAN'S COCK. And worse, how I kept twitching, kept listening, how I was getting excited.

"I wasn't even going to tell you, Michael, but it it just slipped out when I felt your "

"What, Susan, my what?"

"No, Michael, it it's mean."


The words just came rushing out of her mouth. "His cock was so big, Michael, so hard I you I mean compared to you he when I felt it I I for a minute I just wanted him to bend me over and "

I don't even know what she said. I assume she said fuck her. I didn't hear it because I started to get dizzy, to pass out.

"Michael," I heard Susan, my loving wife whisper in my ear.

"Susan," I moaned.

"You you you like hearing it Michael." Her fingers circled my penis, relentlessly, teasing me, toying with me.

No. No. I couldn't. Yuck. No. "Yes," I whispered. Yes.

"I wanted him to fuck me, Michael," she whispered in my ear. "I wanted his cock I felt it, through his pants, pressed against the front of my panties. I...I was so wet, and I felt his cock press against me, I...I started to shake, Michael, I started to cum."


"I felt so naughty, Michael I wanted a man's COCK."

I hurt. I actually hurt. I was so sore, so excited, so humiliated, so turned on. I didn't realize Susan had moved until I heard her voice from somewhere else.

"Michael," she said. She was down, now, her head, her mouth, directly above me, above my pelvis, above the burning soreness of my trapped

"Michael," she teased me, "all I could think was how bad I wanted his cock inside my pussy."


She took the waistband of the panties I was wearing as well as the waistband of the pantyhose, quickly pulled them down, over my penis, freeing it at last. It all happened so quickly, my penis was free, the blood rushed into it, all while she looked at me, spoke directly to me. "Bitch," she growled, "your penis is so small, but his COCK was so hard."

She lowered her head, her mouth open, and took my entire penis into her mouth. It was too much, the warmth, the wetness, the smell of her all over me, the taste of her in my mouth, the word cock, over and over.

Susan moved her head up, off my penis, now incredibly swollen, looked me right in the eyes. "I wanted his cock, Michael, I wanted it so badly..." She lowered her head again, took my penis into her mouth again, looked up again.

"I wanted him to fuck me, Michael." She lowered her head for a third time. My penis had been in her mouth for two seconds, no more, but I couldn't help it, couldn't stop if I wanted to.

I exploded, a return, her cum in my mouth, my cum in her mouth. I exploded inside her mouth, the first time I'd ever had an orgasm like this, the first time I'd ever cum in her mouth. She's warned me, I wasn't going to fuck her today, but I honestly never expected this! The feelings rushed through me as quickly as the cum rushed out of me. Everything Susan had said, everything I had felt, the way I was dressed, everything.

The instant I was done, the very second the last drop left me, Susan moved her head, gently, but quickly, so my now spent penis dropped down to my stomach. Susan immediately lifted the waistband of the pantyhose and panties over my still twitching penis, trapping it once again under the layers of nylon. As she did so, she slithered back up my body, nuzzling me with her nose, running it up my skin, my stomach, my chest, my neck, up to my mouth.

As soon as her mouth was over mine, I smelled it. Her own cum soaked panties next to my face were suddenly overpowered by the smell of my cum, the smell on her mouth, her lips. I knew exactly what she was going to do.

She was going to kiss me.

Oh god. My pulse quickened.

She was going to kiss me!

I'd never cum in her mouth before. Never. Obviously I had inside her. Never in my life in her mouth, though.

There had been many times we'd made love twice in a night. Those were the only times we had sex that was not precluded by me going down on her. Before the second time. She'd said something a couple of times. I remember telling her that I loved licking her, but that, well, yuck, I wasn't licking her after I'd cum inside her.

Her lips, wet, were suddenly pressed to mine.

CUM. I cringed.

Her eyes said everything. I was her bitch.

Her eyes said everything. She knew exactly what she was doing.

I was her bitch.



I opened my mouth; Susan matched my movement. Her mouth was open, the taste, strong, bitter, immediate.


Not the sweet, tender taste of Susan's cum.

No. Bitter, strong. Cum. Taste matching odor.

Then, suddenly, worse. Texture. Her tongue pushed into my mouth, followed immediately by

Stringy, wet, liquid.




My own CUM!

Susan's tongue moved around my mouth, spreading. Spreading my own cum all over the inside of my mouth, my tongue, everywhere.

Susan had my own cum in her mouth, had held it, the strong tasting disgusting cum held it and forced it into my mouth.


My own cum.

I was her bitch.

I was Susan's bitch.

I tasted my own cum.

I was Susan's bitch.

After several minutes of kissing, Susan gently moved to my side to cuddle. This was a tender gesture, almost out of place with the last hour. Her head rested on my shoulder, her arm wrapped over my chest. One of her legs lay on top of mine. After a minute Susan slowly moved her leg up and down mine, massaging.

I sighed. The softness of her leg on mine sent a jolt through me. Normally, her leg on mine, skin to skin, felt warm, reassuring. Now, with two layers of nylon in between our skin, the feeling was completely different. It was sensual, sexual.

"That feels good, doesn't it," she asked, speaking for the first time in several minutes.

"Yes," I answered, voice shaking. If did feel good, but, beyond the physical feeling of the immediate moment, I had an intense discomfort in my stomach. Now, in the after glow of sex, or, really, semi sex, I could not get a nagging feeling, a disturbed thought from my head.


"Susan," I started to say, started to ask about this man, this man she kept mentioning.

But she had her own thoughts. "I never realized it before, Michael, but you really have such nice legs."

"Susan," I shifted towards her, to look at her. She was thinking about my legs? All I could think about was a tall, muscular man, his cock pressed into my wife's leg, his cock...

"Almost...pretty." Her hand had moved down my chest to my stomach, lower, even, to the top of the waist bands of the pantyhose and panties.

I'm not sure if it was the confluence of the two frames of mind. I'm not sure if that was really when things suddenly felt different. In that instant, I was thinking about a man fucking my wife while my wife was telling me how pretty I looked in pantyhose. Susan with a man suddenly, to me, did not mean Susan with me. I don't know if Susan understood what just happened, if she planned it, if she meant it. I know it happened, regardless.

Susan's had touched the tip of my penis. At that very instant I was about to ask her about Tom's cock. I realized something. She kept talking about Tom's cock and my penis.

Tom's hard cock.

My soft penis.

No, no, no, I couldn't let this thought stay in my head. No. NO!

A man's cock.

A sissy's penis.

No, no, no, no, no, NO!

Susan never called me a sissy. No. NO! That was her mother, not her. NO!

"Even your penis looks and feels so pretty," she said, touching me, nuzzling my neck again.

Tom's hard cock. My pretty penis.

"Susan," I said again, mouth dry, "did...did you..." I could not finish my question. I was afraid.

I couldn't see Susan's face, just the top of her head. She was looking down my body, to my penis, to my legs, I presumed. Her hand, her fingers, were still on top of my penis, tracing circles, lightly, dancing.

After a minute of silence, after a minute of her fingers toying, teasing me, Susan looked up at me. "No, Michael," she said, knowing what I was trying to ask.

I exhaled a quick breath, took in, and let go two more short ones. "But...but you...you said..." Again, I could not talk, could not finish, could not form the words.

"That his cock was so hard?"

I inhaled again, troubled, shaking, but in the distance, still, I felt, a jump, a twinge. Her fingers must have felt it too. At the word. Cock. "Yes," I groaned.

She looked me in the eye. "You jump every time I said that, Michael. Every time. You jumped and twitched. I felt your penis move every time. His cock WAS so hard, Michael."

I twitched again. I could not help it! I looked away, unable to continue to meet her gaze. I turned my head slightly, away, only, of course, to see her cum soaked panties next to my face. The panties she was wearing...oh my god, did...did his cock touch her panties?

"Michael, do you trust me?" Her eyes held real love in them. How could I not trust her. She was my wife. I loved her. She loved me.

"Yes," I swallowed.

"I didn't sleep with him Michael."

"But, you...you kept saying..."

"I know. Michael..."

She told me what happened. She had indeed worn the black lingerie, the garter belt, the bra and panties, the stockings, the very things she was wearing right now. She wore them yesterday.

"They did make me feel naughty, Michael," she said. "Just like they did today."

She wore them to her meeting, she said. Wore them, and, even though she knew the men couldn't have known how she was dressed, she felt powerful, naughty, horny. They all, Tom especially, were flirting with her. They all, Tom especially, were undressing her with their eyes.

"I was supposed to go to dinner with Tom that night. I thought we were going to meet in the hotel restaurant. So, when we were on the phone, I was only wearing my lingerie. I thought it was the other woman I was traveling with knocking at my door when we were talking. Michael, I was shocked when Tom walked in."

Tom apparently got the wrong idea. I suppose I couldn't blame him, could I? He walks into my wife's hotel room, sees her dressed just like she was now, just assumed she was responding to his advances.

"I know this is wrong, Michael, believe me, but all of the sudden he was behind me, kissing me. I couldn't very well scream at him, I mean, what was he supposed to think. He misunderstood, he wasn't being a creep. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, or, worse, come across like a total bitch. So I tried to gently tell him that things were not as they seemed. That I was a happily married woman."

"I was telling him this, Michael, and the whole time his cock...his cock was pressed against me...and...and..."

"...it was so hard," I said for her.

She looked away, the guilt on her face was apparent. "I'm so sorry, Michael," she whispered.

"But nothing happened," I asked. Well, except she was wet and started to cum.

"No, Michael, no..."

I sensed something else in her. "But..."

"Michael, at...at dinner...I...all I could think about was...was...his cock." I felt it. I twitched. Again.


"No, Michael, let me finish, please. All I could think about was his cock. How hard it had been, how it felt through his trousers pressed up against my leg, against my..." Her voice cracked. "What it would feel like," she swallowed, "inside me."

I realized I wasn't just stirring anymore. I was hard. My penis was still in pantyhose, but no longer bent. It was trapped in the nylon, but it was fully erect.

"All I could think about, Michael, was...if he had...if Tom had...had...if his trouser had not been between us, if he had taken two seconds to take off his pants...if he had done that, when he turned me so he was pressed against my back, his cock, his hard cock would have slipped right between my legs and would...would have been pressed right against my panties, right against my pussy. Not through his pants, just his naked cock, pressed against my panties, my pussy."

My eyes were closed now. Susan was rubbing my penis through the panties and pantyhose. Her leg was still on mine and it only took a slight shift of her body and the fingers of my hand were on her pussy. She was soaking wet. I could feel her. Her panties were still pressed against my face. I could smell her.

"All I could think about at dinner, Michael, was his cock." She let out a low moan as my fingers rubbed her wetness.


"All I could think about at dinner, Michael, was his hard cock inside me." Her eyes were closed now, enjoying her thoughts, my fingers.

"Susan," I moaned myself. What hell? What was going on? My wife was talking about some guy's cock and she, no, both of us were rubbing each other, moaning. What the fuck was going on? This was the same thing that happened to me the other day. I was fantasizing about my wife fucking another man.

"Oh, Michael, I wanted him to fuck me, as soon as I felt him pressed against me, all I could think about the rest of the night was how badly I wanted that hard cock inside me." As she said this she started shaking all over, shaking as a powerful orgasm washed over her, crashed over her. She lay there, pressed against my fingers for a good minute, riding it, enjoying it, breathing heavily, shaking.

Finally, her fingers started toying with my erect penis again and she spoke. "I'm sorry, Michael," she whispered.

I didn't say anything. I was still looking away from her. I was still turned away, my face in her panties, inhaling, eyes closed, lost in fantasy. Lost picturing my wife standing, her back to some strong, naked man, his cock between her legs.

"You're not soft anymore, Michael."

"Uuuggg," I moaned.

"Every time I said it, you twitched, Michael."

For effect, uncontrolled by thought, I shook.

"That...that excites you, doesn't it," she asked me softly?

"Ummmm," I moaned.

"It excites you, hearing that his cock was sooooo hard, Michael."

"Yes," I whispered.

"That excites my," she licked my neck, "my pretty husband, doesn't it?"

I was breathing heavily again, smelling her. I felt her shift, move. Her leg kept rubbing mine, her hand, teasing my penis.

"His cock was so hard, Michael. So hard, so much bigger." I felt Susan's arm over the top of my head. I felt her other hand flicking my penis. "So much bigger."

"Uhhnnmmm." I was moaning uncontrollably. Fuck. FUCK. My wife. Why? Why was she doing this?

"I wanted it inside me, Michael, I wanted him to fuck my wet pussy." Her arm was over my head in just the right position. She reached for, touched, and pressed right against my nose her damp panties.

"I was so wet feeling his cock on my panties. All he had to do was undo his pants, pull my panties aside and slide his hard cock inside me, Michael."

I was humping upward, humping her hand, breathing. Fuck. FUCK!.

"I should stop, Michael, this is too naughty."

"No, no," I begged.

"Michael," she teased, "are you sure? I should stop." She did stop. Stopped moving her hand. Stopped talking.

"Please, Susan," I begged again, wanting nothing more than to have her keep talking, keep rubbing.

"You're naughty, too, my pretty." She started massaging my erection again. "You know, Michael, he has no idea how weak I was the hotel room. How horny I felt, how naughty, now his hungry longing for me all day had effected me."

She was moving the panties with her left arm, moving them all around my face and nose, pressing them to me, forcing me to inhale her scent.

"I was so weak, Michael. If he had taken off his pants, when he first kissed me I would not have felt his cock through his pants. I would have felt his bare cock pressed up against my pussy with only these panties between my pussy and his cock."

"I was so weak, Michael, if that cock was pressed against my pussy, all he had to do was gently pull my panties to one side."

"I wanted it so badly, Michael. One rub. I was so wet, dripping wet. One rub. One rub backwards and his cock would have slid into me. I would have let him, Michael. I wanted a...a real cock so badly."

Real cock. Hard cock. Big cock.

"If he had pressed, if he had pushed me, just a little, I don't know if I would have, could have, stopped it."

"God, Susan!"

"Do you want him to fuck me, Michael?" She kept rubbing me, teasing me.

"Yes," I groaned, unbelieving the word came out of my mouth.

"Do you want his hard cock inside me?"


"Fucking me?"

It took me a minute to realize Susan's hand had stopped moving, stopped massaging me. Her hand was gone from my crotch. Only her other hand was still there, still holding her wet panties to my face.

"Then his cum would be all over my panties, too."

I just kept breathing, breathing in her scent, smelling, loving.

"His cock. His cum. Smell them."

I just lay there, breathing.

"Smell them, Michael. My cum. Smell them, where his cum would be."

A minute, two, three.

"Michael," she whispered.


"Are...are you okay?"

"Yes," I answered, which was certainly a lie. No I wasn't fucking okay. My wife just told me she wanted to fuck some guy. How the fuck could I be okay? I just told her I wanted her to fuck him! I wasn't fucking okay!

Worse, I wanted to cum. She stopped before I did a second time. I wanted to cum. I was full of hormones, libido. I wanted to cum! An image flashed in my mind, the mental picture of Tom with his cock between my wife's legs, pressed to her pussy. I shook. It didn't shame me, I was so excited, it just excited me even more!

"Are you sure?"

"No," I admitted.

"I'm sorry, Michael, I thought, well, you kept, I don't know, you seemed excited. Every time I said his cock was hard, you seemed to get more turned on."

I sucked in a quick breath. "I...I did, Susan, that's the problem, I did."

She bit her lip. "I know."

"Know what?"

"You're embarrassed? It's my fault."

"Your fault? Why's it your fault?"

She continued to bite her lip. "It...it's something my mother said. The other day, before I left. She said you were not much of a man, and, well, Tom was so...masculine...when I felt his cock, I thought about what she said and I just could not help but think of fucking a man and I...I don't even know why I asked you to wear these stupid pantyhose and panties and then talk to you like this..."

"Susan, stop," I said.

"I feel so guilty, Michael. I'm a happily married woman and there I was dressed like this, with a man's cock pressed into me and instead of thinking of my tender, loving husband, all I can think about was his cock inside me."

I shuddered and inhaled. I was still dying to cum, dying to be inside her.

"I feel so guilty, Michael, because it doesn't matter what size your penis is, you're the most wonderful husband in the world. It doesn't matter, because you make love to me like the most tender person in the world."

"What's that supposed to mean? You don't like when I screw you?"

"Don't like? Honey, stop, of course I like it."

"I don't make you cum when I screw you."

"Michael, honey...you make me cum all the time when you lick me."

"But inside you?"

She didn't answer. "I love you, Michael."

We both drifted to sleep for awhile. I woke up when Susan did, moving. "I'm going to get something to drink, Michael, I'll be back in a minute." Half asleep, I watched my amazingly attractive wife slip into a robe, open the bedroom door and walk into the hallway.

Eyes slowly opening and closing, trying to wake up, I just stared. Wow. What had happened?

Eyes closes.

Eyes open.

Open to see Mrs. Stanton standing in the doorway, arms crossed, grinning at me.

I remembered. I was wearing lingerie. I froze. She took a step, then another into the room. "Hmm," she said simply, turning and walking out.

Eyes shut. Open. She was gone.

The next morning Susan was out of bed and on her way to the office before I even woke up. I knew she had to make a report on her trip at a budget meeting at 7:30, but I was hoping to say something to her before she left, to make sure she was okay, that I was okay.

I was in the kitchen making coffee when my mother-in-law walked in. I immediately turned away from her, face reddening.

"Good morning, Michael," she said.

"Morning," I mumbled.

"Oh, is someone grumpy this morning?"

I turned, angrily, glared at her, but her return glare was stronger, more humiliating than mine. I quickly broke gaze first.

"There is a pair of panties on your bed, Michael."

I sighed. "I have to go to the office, Mrs. Stanton, I don't have time to..."

Her mouth tightened. "Not to wash, Michael. To wear."

I opened my mouth to complain. "But...Susan's back and..."

"She did not seem to have a problem last night, Michael."

I reddened, looked away from her.

"Oh, now stop. It will be good for the two of you. You'll be wearing panties today, Michael. I suspect after Susan gets home tonight and sees you in panties, again, you'll be wearing panties every day. Besides, this will help her see things my way."

"Your way, what do you mean, your..."

"Do you know what a cuckold is, Michael," she asked, cutting me off.


"A cuckold, Michael. Do you know what a cuckold is?"

"No." I'd never heard the word before.

She turned to walk out of the kitchen, then looked back at me. "A cuckold, Michael, is a man whose wife has sex with other men."

My eyes widened.

I just stared at her. What did Susan tell her?

"To tell you the truth, Michael, I don't know if I should be disgusted or relieved. Disgusted that my daughter's panty sniffing husband fantasized about her fucking a man, or relieved that he might realize that he is just a sissy."

"Mrs. Stanton, I...I never said..."

"Your panties are on your bed, sissy," she said, turning her back to me and leaving.

She was right. My panties were on the bed. Except they were not my panties. Well, Mrs. Stanton set them out for me. I recognized them immediately. They were not my mother-in-law's panties.

They were Susan's panties.

A pair of pink satin briefs.

I walked uneasily to the bed, hands trembling at the sight of Susan's panties, picked them up.

"You're so small, Michael," Susan's words rushed into my head.

"Sissy," Mrs. Stanton's verbal slap.

"His cock was so hard."

"Cuckold wife sleeps with other men."


I could feel myself stirring, swelling, growing inside my pants. I was growing, I was getting an erection.

Sissy. Cuckold.

No. I shook my head, no. I was neither. I wasn't a sissy. I wasn't a cuckold. I was a man. I was Susan's husband.

But all I could think about was Susan, wearing black lingerie, a man behind her, pressed against her.

I was shaking. I undid my pants, took them off, took of my boxer shorts.

Susan told me now pretty my penis looked in panties. Was I pretty? I wondered as I stepped into the panties. Pretty. Pretty?

I touched my swollen cock through the satin. Pretty.

"Fuck me, Tom," I pictured Susan telling a man as he rubbed his erect cock against the outside of her pussy.

Stop. I had to stop. I was on the verge of masturbating to the image of my wife fucking some man. Stop. I was on the verge of cuckolding myself in my own mind. Stop. Stop.

All day at work, I thought about Susan. I don't know how I got a thing done. I thought about Susan. I thought about her fucking. I thought about her screaming with pleasure.

Every step I took, I thought about Susan. Every time I moved, I felt myself in her panties. I felt like she was touching me. I felt like she was looking at me, now soft, my small penis. "So pretty."

The worst thing was it made me want rush home and fuck her silly.

The thought of her fucking made me want to fuck.

Later afternoon I got an email from Susan. "I have a conference call at 5, so won't be home till late. Can't wait to see you though."

Knowing Susan would not be home till late, I too worked late, leaving the office after 7. I was still afraid what she'd think about the panties. I thought about changing out of them when I got home. I wasn't sure if I should be more afraid of Susan's reaction or her mother's.

Unfortunately, Susan was home when I got home. She was in the kitchen, glass of wine in hand, waiting for me the minute I walked in the door from the garage.

"Worked late too, huh, love?" She was at the table, still dressed in work clothes, a light colored skirt suit.

"Yea, I had a project to finish. How did your conference call go?"

"Um," she looked down sheepishly, "it was fine, I'll tell you about it later. Listen, why don't you grab a glass of wine and we can go upstairs and relax. I'm still so tired from the trip." She said it in a tone that said she was tired and not to expect sex.

I got myself some wine and followed Susan upstairs, her ass practically in my face as I walked behind her. "You know, sweetie, you've got to get me more garter belts and stockings. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I hated wearing pantyhose today."

Like that didn't cause my penis to twitch, reminding me that I was still wearing panties. I figured I had only to use the bathroom and I could put on a pair of boxer shorts from the hamper.

When we got into the bedroom, Susan sat on the bed, crossed her pretty legs. "Michael," she started, a playful look on her face.

"Just a sec, hon, let me use " I pointed to the bathroom, turned.

"Michael, wait," she said again.

I turned back.

"I want to see."

I frowned. See? What was she talking about? She wanted to watch me pee? What the

"I want to see."

"See what, Susan?"

She looked down, almost as if embarrassed. "Mother said "

My eyes immediately widened.

" said that you that you asked her if, if you could wear a," she looked up at me, determined, "a pair of my panties today."

I was dumbfounded. I did nothing of the sort. It was her mother! Her mother!

"Susan, I "

"Are you wearing my panties, Michael."

"Susan, your mother said "

"Michael," she cut me off, "are you wearing my panties?"

I dawned on me that there was no way out of this. Her mother, by telling her, had taken the decision out of my hands. There was no way to sneak to the bathroom now. Nothing I could do. Nothing.

"Yes," I gulped.

"I want to see them, Michael. Please."

She said it in a voice so sweet, so tender, so needful, so loving. "Susan, she "

"Please, Michael."

I was shaking as my hands went to my belt, undid it.

"Wait, Michael, before you um take off your shirt and tie."

I did. And for the first time since I've known Susan, I was self- conscious. I felt ashamed about my body. I was never big, never strong. After yesterday, after her teasing me about Tom, I was self-conscious that I was so small, so un-muscular. So un-masculine.

"Your shoes and socks, too, sweetie."

All that was left was my pants. This was so strange, in that just yesterday I willing wore panties and pantyhose for her. Now, though, I was shaking as I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, lowered them, exposed myself.

I heard her gasp. "Oh god, Michael."

"Susan, I'm trying to tell you, she "

But she wasn't listening. "Michael, you look so pretty, so so good."

I looked up. I didn't know what to say.

"Turn around Michael." I did. "Michael, I just never thought about I mean, I never realized until I I never realized how feminine a body you have."

I should have been insulted. Perhaps I was, as I certainly felt humiliated. My wife just called me feminine! But, she was only voicing the very thoughts I had in my own mind.

"Susan, I I don't know."

"I know, Michael, I don't know either. I'm confused, too. All I could think about all day was seeing you in panties, Michael. Seeing you so soft. Seeing you looking so pretty."

I was breathing heavily, shaking.

"Come here, Michael." I walked towards her. "After last night, Michael, all I could think about today was seeing you wearing my pantyhose and panties yesterday. Then, when mother called, I wanted to see you so badly." Her hand reached up, touched my swollen, but not erect, lump.

"All I could think about, Michael, was you in my panties." She was rubbing the front of my penis through the panties. "I'm so happy you asked her, Michael."

"Susan, please." I realized, that even not fully erect, I was on the verge of cumming.

"All I could think about, Michael, was you as a..." She lowered her hand. She must have sensed just how close I was. "My sissy."

"Ohhhh," I moaned, hips still moving to the air, to her hand that wasn't there. "Susan," I begged, "don't don't stop."

"Not tonight, Michael, not tonight."

"Oh, Susan, come on," I begged.

She actually giggled. "I know, Michael, I do, but I'm so tired, really. Please, just cuddle me, just, let's go to bed, snuggle, fall asleep."

I sighed, deflated. "Fine," I pouted.



"I love you."

"I love you, too, Susan."

"Let's get ready for bed then," she said, standing, starting to undress.

"Okay," I answered, and began to lower my panties.

"What are you doing," she asked, pausing.

"Um, getting undressed for bed," I answered, "why?"

She stuck out her lower lip. "Don't you want to dress pretty for bed?"

I gulped. Of course.

"You wanted to wear my panties today. I guess I was hoping you'd wear them to bed, too."

I raised the panties back up over my hips; Susan grinned. "There's a matching babydoll," she said with the smile that she used to get me to do anything she wanted.

"Susan, I don't know."

"It's very pretty," she persisted. "I'll wear something pretty to bed, too."

Sissy. Sissy. SISSY.

"Fine," I agreed.

Susan beamed, quickly walked to her dresser, opened a drawer, and took out the pink matching babydoll. "Here, sweetie. You can figure out how to put it on, it's nothing complicated, like the garter belts you got for me. I'm going to go freshen up and get dressed for bed myself."

Putting on the babydoll for Susan was in many ways, much more difficult than doing it for her mother. I loved Susan. I was her husband. I had these role and gender ideas in my head. I was, in essence, giving up, giving up my role as man, has husband, as provider, as protector.

I was submitting to her. How it was different than the past, I wasn't sure. Just yesterday I submitted to her. Really, I'd been submitting to her since I met her. But this was not subtle. This was overt.

I slipped the babydoll over my head, belatedly realized I'd bought this for her. I was self conscious that I, unlike presumably, Tom, had a figure that was actually flattered by my wife's lingerie. I certainly did not look as good as she did in this very outfit, but my frame, thin, delicate, was enhanced by the soft satin.

I looked, I felt feminine.

Some minutes later, Susan opened the bathroom door and walked out. Talk about feminine, my lovely bride, naturally, far overshadowed my appearance. She was wearing a silver satin teddy I'd never seen before. Her breasts were hardly contained by the satin and lace bodice. Her legs looked impossibly long in the tap panty style, high cut leg openings. She spun for me. Her ass was framed by the slippery satin.

"Susan," I shook.

"I'm not the only one who looks so pretty, sweetie."

"Susan," I grinned.

"I told you, lover, not tonight. I really am exhausted." She climbed into bed. She had to be kidding. Exhausted? We were both dressed to fuck, and she was too tired? I knew sometimes I could push things, but other times, she'd get angry if I tried to initiate sex.

She positioned herself so I was spooning her, my arms wrapped around her beautiful body, my limp, panty covered penis pressed into her own panty covered ass.

We talked for a few minutes. I tried to kiss her neck, but she would not surrender to my kisses. She asked me about my day. Idle chit chat.

"You know, I think it's so cute you asked mother if you could wear my panties. I was afraid I was to pushy last night. To be honest, I was afraid you might have found it too weird."

I just kissed her neck again, I didn't know what to say.

"Are you going to wear them again tomorrow?"

"I hadn't thought about it, Susan."

"I'd like you to, Michael. You do look so pretty in them, I'd like to know you're walking around tomorrow wearing something so pretty."

I kissed her neck again.

"So soft."


"So feminine. You like that thought, don't you, Michael?"

"I I don't know."

Susan moved her hips, rubbing her satin covered ass against my satin covered penis. "Feels to me like you like it, lover."

"I maybe."

She laughed.



"No, what?"

"Nothing, really. You know, I thought you'd beat me home today."

"Well, you said you had a conference call, so I worked late."

"Yea," she said.

"How was the call? You didn't want to talk about it earlier."

"Just a wrap up to my trip, presented the report to corporate with the natives on the phone."

"The natives?"

"The people from Atlanta."

I gulped. The natives were sure to include her friend from down there, sure to include Tom.

"Did did the locals include "

"Tom? Yes."

I was suddenly self-conscious again. I actually backed away from her every so slightly, trying to hide the twitch in my satin covered penis.

"Hhmm." A small moan escaped her lips. She felt it, felt me twitch. She knew. She felt it.

"I actually thought the call would go longer, but we ended early because there are some things corporate wants to talk to Atlanta about in person."

Oh my god, I knew exactly what she was about to say. I knew it. I knew it.

"So, they are having Tom fly up here to meet with us all next week." Susan said this slowly, carefully, grinding her satin covered ass on my satin covered penis.

"Uugh," I croaked. "Do do you, um, do you have to meet with him?"

Susan said nothing for several seconds, said nothing, just breathed. "I'm his local host/contact person."

I sucked in another breath.

Susan snorted a small laugh. "What?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking, it's nothing."

"What, Susan?"

"Nothing, really," she said in a tone that said, "something."


"You're swollen, Michael?"


"I can feel your penis on my ass."

"Yes," I sighed, rubbing.

"You're swollen," she giggled.

"What, Susan, what?"


"Susan, what? Why are you giggling?"

"That that's exactly where Tom's cock was," she said, shaking.


"I can't help it, Michael."

"You're thinking of him."

"Yes," she admitted.

"You wanted him," I managed to say.

"Yes, yes. He was so hard, Michael, so .so big."

"Bigger than me?". "Oh god yes, Michael," she moaned, continuing to rub my penis with her ass.

I reached around the front of her, intending to play with her pussy, intending to unsnap the crotch of her teddy, intending to fuck her.

"No, Michael, no, don't. Don't. I don't want to, really, I'm sorry, I'm just so tired, Michael, so tired."

"Susan," I begged, "please."

"Tomorrow, lover, tomorrow."

I wanted her so badly, right now, I wanted to fuck her so badly. It had been at least a week since we'd had sex and, now, half humiliated, half teased, my penis pressed against her ass, I wanted her so much. I reached from behind her instead, flicked my fingers across the crotch of her teddy, across her pussy.

"Michael, I'm tired," she complained.

"You felt his cock press against your ass, Susan," I growled in her ear. I thought, maybe, if I could keep her hot, keep her turned on, maybe she'd relent, maybe she'd get excited enough.

"Ohhhh," she moaned as I flicked her crotch again, "yes, yes."

"Right here," I said, pushing myself against her. "Right here, where my my little penis is that's where his cock was."

"Hmmmm," she shook. I moved a finger against her satin covered pussy, rubbed, teased.

"His cock was so hard, Susan, wasn't it?"

"Yes, yes!"

"So big, Susan?"

"Nothing like yours sissy," she said, breathing heavily.

"Did you want him to fuck you?" As I said this I moved my panties to one side, freeing my own penis, pulling it so it was between her legs, replacing my finger

"Michael," she begged

"Did you want him to fuck you, Susan," I demanded, "did you want his cock inside your pussy?"


I kept rubbing against her, pushing forward, rubbing my penis on the crotch of her teddy.

"Did you want him to fuck you, Susan," I asked again, moving my hips backwards, away from her.

"Please, Michael," she begged.

"Answer me, Susan. Did you want Tom's cock inside your pussy?"

"Yes," she yelled, "yes."

I rewarded her by unsnapping the crotch of her teddy, by placing my own penis on the outside of her pussy lips, rubbing, toying with her clit.

"Why didn't you, Susan? Why didn't you fuck him?" I thrust back and forth on the outside of her wet lips. If I could not make her cum inside her, I could sure do it this way.

"Because I'm "

"Don't you want a cock," I challenged her, ready, any second, to thrust into her.

"Yes, yes," she moaned.

"Why didn't you fuck him?"

"Because I'm married," she spat back at me. I felt her fingers on her pussy, on my penis, rubbing herself, wet, rubbing me. I was so close, so close to moving back and pushing into her. Almost, almost.

"What if I said yes," I whispered in her ear, "what if I said I wanted you to fuck a a real man. As I said this, I pulled back from her clit, dragged my penis across her, shifted, knew it was on the edge of her lips, ready to go in.

"Ahhhhh," she moaned, "oh, fuck, oh fuck." She started shaking, breathing uncontrollably. She was cumming. Fuck, she was cumming so hard again.

"I want you to fuck him, Susan. I want you to fuck a real man. I want you to have a real cock."

I positioned my penis at the outside of her lips, was just about to thrust into her, when she turned slightly, turned onto her back just enough that I lost the angle. "No, Michael, no," she breathed, still shaking in orgasm.

"Susan," I begged at the sudden loss of her pussy. I was so close, so close to entering her. Suddenly, the power shifted, she was in control, not me.

"No, Michael, no, I want cock. I want cock! You said I could have cock."

"Susan, please, let me "

"Cock, I want cock. I want a man's cock," she moaned. "I want Tom's cock."

"Susan, please "

"NO! You're mean, Michael. You were mean! You're teasing me just so you can get what you want."

"Susan, I was just "

"Just what? Just pretending? Just teasing me? So you could try to fuck me? Fantasizing that I'm some slut, so you can get what you want?"

"No, Susan, no."

"Just acting like a naughty sissy?"

I recoiled at her accusation, at the word.

"Were you kidding or not, teasing or not?"

I didn't answer.

"Oh, then I can have cock? Tom will be here next week, Michael? I can fuck him? Is that it? You were not kidding?"

"Susan." She was twisting my words. Or was she? No, she was. I was teasing her.

"Were you teasing me?"

"Yes." What else could I say?

"Then why does your penis get so hard every time I mention his cock? Why did you get so excited talking about me fucking him? Why do you get so turned on thinking about being a cuckold?"

I involuntarily gasped at the word.


She realized immediately.

"You've heard that word before, Michael? Cuckold," she said again?

"Yes," I quickly admitted.

"Cuckold," she whispered.

I yelped, driven by lust, but my own desire to fuck.

"You're just fantasizing, Michael, right?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Cuckold," she said again. "Sissy cuckold."

"Susan," I yelped, stunned at her words.

"Shhh, Michael, shhhh, I'm just teasing you, just teasing you."

I was shaking. Humiliation. Pleasure. Excitement. Shame. Teasing me? She had me wearing lingerie. She kept calling me a cuckold. Teasing me? Was that it? I just lay there quietly for a minute, trying to calm down.

"Susan," I finally asked, "did did you really want to fuck him?"

She looked at me deeply, started to say something, changed her mind. She took a deep breath. "I'll answer, Michael, but I want you to tell me something, too."

"Okay," I said.

"Yes, Michael. Yes. When I felt his cock press against my ass, suddenly, I want him so badly, I wanted his cock inside me, I wanted him to fuck me. I I didn't, only because of you."

I was rapidly breathing, dizzy.

"My turn. What about you, Michael? Were you really fantasizing about me fucking a man? Were you really fantasizing about a real cock inside me?"

I grunted, just a little, hesitated. Did I really want a man to fuck my wife? Who the fuck knows. Did I really fantasize about a man fucking her? Yes, YES.

"Did you really fantasize about being cuckolded?" She turned, touched my still erect penis.

"Yes," I moaned. I couldn't help, I was too turned on, too erect, too dying to fuck, too dying to cum.

"Where you really fantasizing about Tom fucking me?"


"Do you really want me to fuck him, Michael?"

"Yes," I gasped, "yes."

She turned back away from me, cuddled up against me, so my penis was pressed right back into her ass. "Cuddle me, Michael, I'm tired and I just want to fall asleep in your arms."

"Susan, I can't we "

"Tomorrow, Michael, tomorrow. Just hold me, please."

I sighed, still twitching, still erect, still needing to cum, thinking only about Susan fucking a man.

"Michael," I heard a voice. "Can I? Can I fuck him?"

"Hmmm," I groaned, in pain.


"Uugh, cock."


"I'm going to fuck her, sissy."

"Isn't it so cute in panties? So pretty?" Susan was flicking my penis, looking at him.

"Michael." Something moved me. Shook me. "Michael, wake up, you're dreaming."

"Huh," I said groggily.

"Shhh, wake up, sweetie."

"Susan," I moaned. I was dreaming. Had been dreaming. What happened. Cock? What was

"Have you been hard all night, lover," she asked me, gently toying with me, touching me through the panties.

"What time is it?" It was light.

"Seven, honey, you need to get up."

"Okay," I said, still in a fog of sleep.


"Yes," I asked, eyes opening and closing slowly. Susan was standing over me, dressed for work.

"I I want to think of you today."

"Um, okay."

"You've been so good to me the last two days, I want to repay you."

I opened my eyes all the way at that. "You mean "


I reached over to touch her leg, to see if she was wearing

"No, no, not now, Michael, later, tonight."

"Uugh," I half moaned.

"I want to think of you, god, I'm embarrassed. I want you to to do something for me. I want you to, um, to serve me today. I want you to think of me all day."

"Fuck, Susan, you know I will."

"Michael, do you know how turned on I was last night, now, the night before, seeing you look so so pretty."

I moaned, already horny. "Yes."

"I want you to be pretty for me. I want you to think of me all day, I want you to be pretty for me all day. I want to think of you all day. I want you to serve me, Michael."


"Serve me, Michael."

I just looked at her.

"I I want you to wear panties again, Michael," she finally blurt out.

"Yes Ma'am," I answered immediately.

We both looked at one another, at the same time, both looked away.

"Um, which which ones should I "

"Ask her."

"What?" I started to look back at Susan, but couldn't. Instead I looked at her dresser, at the floor, at the walls.

"Ask her, Michael."

"Susan, you don't mean for me to "

"You asked her yesterday, Michael. Ask her to pick them out for you. Ask her like you did yesterday."

She thought I actually did ask her mother yesterday. Of course. She assumed. She had no idea. No idea!

"Susan, why...why do I have to ask her?"

"You asked her yesterday. You asked her to wear them and to help you pick out what to wear."

"But Susan..." That was the thing. I didn't ask her!

"To tell you the truth, Michael, I got kind of excited hearing about you asking her."

"What do you mean? Excited?"

"Serving me, Michael." She looked away, almost embarrassed by her feelings.


"Mother said you were so cute, so sheepish. It made me...well...thinking of you doing that for me. Wanting to wear panties for me is cute enough, but to ask mother to help you? That's so...so romantic, Michael."

"Romantic?" How the irony. I didn't ask! This was all her mother's idea. Her mother! This was all a mistake. This wasn't right. I looked at the lingerie I was wearing. This was not right! I was a man. I was her husband.

"Yes, Michael. I'll let you wear panties for me again, but I want you to ask mother again."

"Let..." I bit my lip so hard I almost drew blood. Let me? Let me? How was she letting me? She asked me to do this. Her mother asked me to do this. No one was "letting me" do this, they were making me do this. If anything, I was the one doing the "letting" of this. Not them. Didn't she just tell me not five minutes ago she wanted me to wear panties? She wanted me to be pretty for her? I NEVER asked her or her mother anything of the sort!

"Yes, I'll let you, but you have to ask mother. Don't worry, honey. I know it's kind of humiliating, but again, it's serving me. It really does make me, well, excited. I didn't realize it. The other night, yes, it was amazing, I know I felt naughty, I was just teasing, playing. But then, when mother told me you asked her and how ashamed you were, I...I...I got so excited...I don't know, Michael. I...I never imagined my husband was a," she swallowed and looked at me. "A sissy."

"Susan, I'm..."

"Ask her Michael. All you need to do is ask her." She leaned over, kissed me. "Just ask her, Michael. Ask her."

"Susan, I don't know."

"Shhh, you did it once already, Michael. Ask her. I can't wait to see you tonight." She walked to her dresser, picked up her keys. "She'll let me know if you asked, so I'll know, Michael. I'll know and I'll think about it all day."

She walked to the doorway. She was playing with me. Teasing me. What did she want? Did she know what she was doing to me?

She put her hand on the door, about to open it, back to me. "Ask her Michael, ask her," she turned to look at me, "ask her and when I talk to Tom in Atlanta this afternoon, all I'll be able to think about is my pretty husband wearing lingerie, waiting to serve me."

I inhaled loudly, loudly enough for her to hear it, to realize the excitement that just shot through my body.

"That's what you want, isn't it, Michael? If you do, ask her." She opened the door. "Ask her. Ask her."

Her pretty husband. Wearing lingerie. Serving her.


Serving her, fantasizing about her serving another.


My penis, pretty, trapped in lingerie.


Her back to a man, his cock pressed against her.


I didn't want to do this. I had to do this!

The first problem was the practical. Okay, I had to do this. The first problem was practical, though. I got out bed, still in the babydoll and panties I wore to bed. I didn't know what to wear. I probably had to go to my mother-in-law's room, but I had to wear something. Panties? A robe? Sweats?

I had to go ask her to wear panties but oddly, I did not want to do it wearing panties. So I took off the panties and the babydoll. I didn't know what to wear. I felt if I wore boxers and a tee shirt my mother- in-law would get pissed at me. The last thing I wanted was to piss her off.

The only alternative was a bathrobe, so I grabbed on of mine, wrapped it around me, tied it, and left the room.

I assumed from a lack of noise in the house that she was still in her room. Well, maybe in bed. Maybe sleeping. I padded down the hall to her door, but me ear close to it, listened for any sound that she was awake. I thought I heard sounds, maybe the television, maybe the phone. I wasn't sure, but I thought she was awake. Maybe not. Maybe I should not do this. Maybe I should wait.

I took a step back, but what was that going to accomplish? I had to go to the office this morning. So, I had to get dressed. I had to talk to her. Or not, and let Susan be disappointed.

There was no easy way to do this, was there? Not that there was any reason to even do this.

Susan wanted me to do this. Serve Susan. This is crazy.

I reached out and softly knocked on the door. Nothing. She was asleep. I felt relieved, actually. Okay, okay, decision made for me. She was asleep.

I started to back slowly down the hall. Then her door opened. My mother-in-law was suddenly standing in the doorway right in front of me. Mrs. Stanton, wearing pink satin pajamas of the very color of the lingerie I wore to bed, was standing there, looking at me.

"Yes, Michael," she said.

"I'm sorry, I..." I took another step back. This was wrong. This was a mistake. I couldn't do this. Seriously what was I doing?

"Michael," she snapped, her tone commanding me to stop. "What do you want?"

"Mrs. Stanton...I...I...want..."

"You want what, Michael," she asked, leaning against the door frame, folding her arms in front of her.

I looked down. I couldn't say this and face her. I had to say it, but I couldn't look her in the eye.

"I...I want to wear panties," I whispered.

"I'm up here, Michael. Look at me when you speak."

I looked up at her, at her smirk. She was enjoying this. Fuck, she liked this. She knew, whatever I was asking for, I was humiliated. She heard me. She had to have heard me. She wanted to humiliate me.

"I want to wear," I looked down, "panties."

"At me, Michael."

I looked up again. I asked again. "I want to wear panties today," I said, exhaling sharply.

She shifted, tilted her head. "You want to wear panties today? But Michael, you're not a woman, are you?"


"You're not a woman but you want to wear panties? Now, now, why would that be, Michael?"

"I...I don't know," I mumbled.

"You don't know? Hmmm, I find that hard to believe. Let's see if we can figure this out. Women wear panties, don't they?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"You're not a woman, are you?"


"Certainly men don't wear panties, Michael, do they?"

"I...no, but..."

"Do you think any of the men you work with wear panties?"

"No, of course not."

"Think any of the men Susan works with wear panties, Michael?"

She knew what she was doing. She knew how to take my humiliation and push it and push it and push it.

"You ask me if you can wear panties, but you're not a woman. And men don't wear panties. See my confusion, Michael."


"Why do you want to wear panties, Michael?"

She was a bitch. "Susan said..."

"Susan said? Susan isn't here, Michael. Why do you want to wear panties. You're not a woman. Men don't wear panties. Why, Michael, why?"

"Please, Mrs. Stanton."

"Why do you want to wear panties, Michael?"


"Because you're a sissy, Michael." She was standing with her arms crossed, smirking at the verbal slap.

"Mrs. Stanton, I'm not..."

"Are you a woman?"


"Do you want to wear panties?"

I wanted to say no. No, no, I didn't want to wear panties. But Susan. Susan wanted me to. What could I say? "Yes," I admitted.

"Then admit you're a sissy, Michael."

"I...I can't," I almost cried. "Please, I'm not..."

"NO!" She interrupted me with a forceful voice.


"No, Michael. You may not wear panties."

That was not a good thing. Susan asked me to. Told me to ask her mother. I had to. I had to get permission. Twisted as it sounded, I had to get her permission to wear panties.

"Please, Mrs. Stanton."

"For someone who won't admit he's a sissy, you're awfully insistent in wearing panties. Admit it then, Michael."

"But I'm not!"

"What did you wear in bed two nights ago?"

"Panties," I gulped.

"What did you wear yesterday, Michael?"

"Panties." I was blushing now.

"Are you a woman?"


"Do men wear panties?"

"No, no."

"What are you, Michael? What are you then?"

"But I'm not," I begged.

"I told you before, Michael. Deny it if you wish. Pretend you're not. But MEN DON'T WEAR PANTIES."

"But " I couldn't. I wasn't. No. No.

"What did you wear to bed last night, Michael?"

"Panties," I whispered.

"What did you ask me to wear today, Michael?"

"Panties, panties, panties," I spat out.

"Who wears panties, Michael?" She glared at me, smirked, almost laughed.



"Sissies," I said so quiet I'm surprised she could hear me.

"Sissies. And you want to wear panties, Michael?"

"Yes," I said, "Yes."

"And that makes you "

"Please." I couldn't bear to say it. I wasn't a sissy. I never thought of myself as a sissy. Never. Never.

"Men don't wear panties, Michael. Men NEVER wear panties. Women and sissies. I don't care if you like this conclusion or not, but the conclusion remains the same."

She was wrong. I never wanted to wear panties. She made me. Susan made me. I never wanted to. I told her this, I yelled this. "I'm not a sissy."

She laughed. A deep, cynical laugh. "Not a sissy? I told you, whether you're a sissy or not is certainly not an open question. The question is whether or not you admit it and whether or not you accept it. You're a panty wearing sissy. Do you want to wear panties today?"

Susan. Serving Susan. I was serving Susan. "Yes."

"What are you? What are you? You're not a woman, Michael, what are you?"

"I I'm " I couldn't. No, I wasn't.

"Say it, Michael. Say it."

"I'm a sissy," I finally said, exhaling, deflated.

"What are you," she asked again, staring at me, challenging me.

She said it was hard to admit? How could I admit it? How could I admit I was a sissy? Women wear panties, men do not. That was certainly the truth. Men don't wear panties. Men don't wear panties.

"I'm a sissy," I said for the second time.

"Yes, Michael, yes. Of course you're a sissy. Of course. Say it again. Tell me again."

"I'm a sissy."

"How many times have you worn panties in the past week, Michael? Men DO NOT wear panties. Do you want to wear panties, Michael? Isn't that what you asked? You want to wear panties?"

"Yes," I mumbled.


"Because I'm a sissy," I said again.

"Yes, Michael, yes. Take off your robe," she told me, motioning with her hands.

I hesitated, still ashamed to be naked in front of my mother-in-law.

"Take it off, Michael."

I did, let the robe fall to the floor, standing naked in front of her.

"What are you, Michael?"

Suddenly it just got much worse. Standing in front of her naked, ashamed. I felt weak, humiliated. I felt emasculated. I was emasculated. I was naked, in front of my wife's mother, admitting I was a sissy.

"I'm a sissy," I said quietly.

"But your hands behind your back, Michael," she ordered me. "Good, hold them there."

Mrs. Stanton had been standing against the door frame. She now stood up straight, took a step towards me. I don't know how I managed not to flinch. "Of course you're a sissy, Michael. Look at you." She reached out towards me, her hand, her fingers, reached for me, towards my naked chest.

I started breathing heavily. Terrified. Humiliated.

"Of course you're a sissy, Michael. Look at your body." She touched my chest and I shivered. "Your hairless, soft skin," she said, fingers lightly teasing me. "So pretty. So pretty."

A small moan escaped my lips.

She looked down. I was afraid she was going to touch me, grab me. She just looked. "Such a small penis, so pretty. Of course you're a sissy, Michael."

Her fingers just danced on my smooth chest, electric, her touch so soft it was almost painful.

"You're not a man, Michael. I've known that from the moment Susan introduced you to me. I immediately thought, my god, my daughter is dating a sissy."

"No, I..." How could she think something like that?

"Yes, Michael. You just didn't know it yet. You just didn't know. But I knew, I could tell. I saw you and knew immediately, that you were a sissy. Do you want me to let you wear panties today, Michael?"

"Yes," I gasped.

"You've always been a sissy, Michael, you just didn't know it. You're a sissy, always."


"Always, Michael, always."

I looked up at her. "Always, Michael. You may not want to admit, but I know, deep inside, you feel it. You felt it every time you've worn panties the last few days. It brings up deep thoughts. You think on your life, you think of men you were friends with. You were never one of them, Michael. Friends, but never one of them."

"I..." I thought of my friends, then, now. I had men friends. I did. She was right, though, I wasn't one of them.

"You are a sissy, Michael. You didn't even know it, but that's why."

She turned, towards her room. "Come with me, Michael." I followed her into the cave, into her room, into what felt like a dungeon.

"You fantasized about it, Michael, didn't you?"


"Being a pretty girl?"


"A woman's lingerie...I know it always fascinated you, Michael. You beg Susan to wear pretty lingerie, why?"

"Because she's so beautiful."

"Because you secretly want to wear it, Michael. You didn't even know it, did you?"

"I...I want her to wear it because she is pretty."

"You want to be pretty like her. You want to wear panties, Michael?"

"Yes," I mumbled, not sure if I was agreeing for Susan's sake or my own.

"You know you're not a man, don't you," she asked, sitting on the edge of her bed.

Involuntarily, standing before her, I looked down at my crotch.

"Oh, please, Michael," she chuckled, seeing me look at my penis. "What do men have between their legs?"


"Cocks, Michael, they have cocks. Do you...have you ever, honestly thought of that as a cock? Do you call it your cock?"

"No," I blushed. She was right. It was my penis. It wasn't my cock.

"You know it, Michael. Susan knows it too."

My eyes went wide. "That's not..."

"Why do you think she got so excited feeling her co-workers cock pressed against her?"

My penis jumped. She was looking right at it, saw it, watched it jump. "And you can't admit you're a sissy. You get excited, too. Imagining your wife with a man. That's because YOU'RE A SISSY."

I was almost hyperventilating.

"She got so excited by a man, Michael, because she knows she's married to a sissy."

"Mrs. Stanton," I moaned, "please, she..."

"Do you want to wear panties, Michael," she asked, cutting me off.

"Yes," I gasped.

"Do you want to look pretty for Susan, again?"

"Yes, yes."

"Fine. You may wear them, then." She stood up, walked to her dresser. I watched as she opened it, took out something and turned back to me. "Let's get you dressed, then."

I looked at her confused. She was holding her lingerie from her dresser. Not just panties, either, but a small stack of garments. Her garments. "That's...that's your lingerie," I stammered.

"Yes," she answered, a pleased look on her face.

"But I meant, I mean, I thought that..."

"I know what you thought, sissy. You thought you'd wear Susan's panties. You thought you'd please her by showing her how cute you looked in her panties."

My face gave me away. The hopeful look on my face.

"She expects to come home and find you in her panties, doesn't she?"

"Yes," I whispered. Of course she did. She expected to find me later, wearing a pair of her pretty panties.

"Sissy, sissy, sissy, she's going to come home tonight and find you dressed in lingerie, not just panties. She's going to come home and find you in MY lingerie."

Oh fuck. OH FUCK. She was such a bitch. Such a complete bitch. It flashed by me quickly. "Please, Mrs. Stanton, I can't wear..."

"You could handle panties, couldn't you? You got yourself mentally prepared for panties. You thought I'd let you pretend to be a man wearing panties. I've got news for you, Michael. You're not a man." She lowered her voice, almost to a whisper. "You're a sissy, Michael. You're a sissy. She's going to see you as a sissy, not a man in panties."

"Why," I moaned, "why?"

"What are you," she asked.

"A...a sissy," I said, shaking, voice cracking. My god, I was on the verge of tears. "But she's going to hate me," I said.

"Shhhh, no she won't Michael, no she won't. You're making a poor assumption, Michael. You're assuming she sees you as a man, now. Ask yourself, honestly. Do you really think she sees you as a man?"

I looked at her, eyes swelling.

"Do you question if she loves you, Michael?"


"She dressed you in panties, Michael. Do you think she sees you as a man?"

"I don't know, I don't know!"

"I know, Michael. I know. You're struggling to admit to yourself what you are. I know. You don't have to, Michael. Turn around. Leave my room. Go ahead. Go put on underwear for a man. Go ahead. Pretend. Pretend you're a man."

I stood there unmoving. I though of Susan telling me over and over how hard Tom's cock was. I thought of my penis. Cock. Penis. Man. Sissy.

"If I'm wrong, Michael, go...go now. Go pretend to be a man."

I lowered my head. I could not look at her. She was making me face something I felt somewhere inside me, but never knew what it was. I wasn't a sissy, was I? Was I? I didn't move. I didn't leave. I just stood there.

"Put your arms up, Michael," she said. I looked up. She'd set the pile of lingerie down on her bed except for a garter belt that she held up towards me. It was silver. Satin. There was black lace trim on the front and back, beautiful lace trim, so pretty. The straps were black with sliver ribbon on the tabs.

She walked towards me, gently now, walked behind me, wrapped it around my waist, carefully fastened it around my waist. "Panties are not enough, Michael. You need to feel pretty all over. You need to look pretty all over. And there is nothing more feminine than a garter belt and stockings."

My eyes were closed; a moan escaped my lips. I felt her lean into me, felt her breath near my ear. I felt her breasts push against my back through the satin of her pajama top.

"What are you Michael," she whispered in my ear.

"I'm a sissy," I exhaled.

"Yes, Michael, yes." She backed up, placed her hand on my back, on my bare skin. It felt electric, dangerous. She pushed me gently. "Sit down, Michael," she said, pushing me towards the bed.

"You know how to do this, don't you," she asked me, picking up a pair of dark tan stockings from the bed and handing one of them to me?

I took the stocking from her. "Yes, Ma'am," I answered. I carefully gathered up the delicate nylon in my hands, lifted my right leg up to the bed, pointed my toes, and slipped one of the nylons up my leg.

"Stand up, now," she told me. She instructed me on attaching the garters to my stocking, assisting me with all three. Sexual tension suddenly surrounded me. It was so strong, so powerful, that Mrs. Stanton couldn't help but take notice of it as she clasped the three garter straps to my right stockings.

"You see what pretty lingerie does? This feeling? This is how a woman feels, too, Michael. Do you see why you're a sissy? Do you see why even if it is hard to comprehend, hard to admit, that it's true? No man, even if he would put on a stocking, would ever feel this way."

I wasn't. Or, I never thought I was. It never occurred to me. I'd never believe it. Maybe I was. Maybe I really was a sissy.

She watched me put on the second stocking myself, watched me clip the garters to the stocking top. "Very good, you're a natural," she commented. I saw her look down, look at my legs. I looked down too. "I don't mean this to be flippant, Michael, but you really do have very nice, very shapely legs, very feminine legs."

"Thank you," I forced myself to say.

"Although," she frowned, "while you're not naturally, um, hairy, you're really going to need to start shaving your legs or else you're going to get too many runs in your stockings."

That was what I was afraid of. No, not runs in my stockings. Afraid of her implication. That this was not something that was happening once. That she had bigger plans. This was not right. No, no, I needed to stop. I opened my mouth to speak. As the words were about to come out, as I was about to say no, as I was about to say stop, as I was about to rip off the garter belt and the stockings, Mrs. Stanton picked up something from the bed and held them out.


Not just any panties, either.

The most beautiful pair of panties I'd ever laid eyes on.

Silver. Satin. Liquid. Black. I quivered. My heart raced.

"These are tap panties, Michael," she said, watching me stare at the panties she held before me.

They were silver. An exact match to the garter belt. The black lace trim matched the garter belt too. Whereas the lace on the front and back of the garter belt overlapped the silver satin, on the panties, the black lace that trimmed the leg openings began where the satin ended, leaving the lace semi-transparent. In a word, the panties were beautiful.

"Do you want to leave, Michael? Or do you want the panties?"

I gulped. I wanted the panties. Oh, god, I wanted the panties. I didn't want to want them, but I wanted them just the same. I wanted the panties.

"Here, Michael, let me help you." She sat down on the bed, turned the panties around in her hands, held them open. "Step into them Michael, let me help you."

Shaking, I took one step forward towards her, lifted one of my legs up, and placed my delicate, nylon covered foot into the opening. My mother- in-law slowly, sensuously, carefully, deliberately, began to slide the panties up my legs. As she did so, her fingers brushed me, her fingers rose slowly up my nylon covered skin, so hot, so dangerous.

"And you question whether or not you're a sissy, Michael? There's no question, no question at all," she told me as she pulled the panties over my hips, as she slowly pulled them over my front, over my penis.

"Look down, Michael," she told me. "You see? Do you see?"

"What? What," I sighed.

She reached out with three fingers, reached out, touched me, touched the front of my panties. "Such a pretty little mound. If I man wore panties, his cock would be obscene, disgusting, out of place in the soft satin. All you'd see is a big cock sticking out of a pair of woman's panties. It doesn't look right.

"But you see? You see how it is for a woman...or a sissy? Look," she told me, gently touching my penis.

"See, just a soft mound. So inviting. The hidden treasure. A cock is so obscene. Sticking out, thrusting out. A cock would look so out of place in panties. A woman's beautiful pussy covered in satin. It is hidden. That's what lingerie does for a woman. The illusion. The softness. The mystery. You know something is under there, but you can't see it. A woman's treasure is hidden. Teased. The same for a sissy. A sissy's pretty penis in satin folds. Soft and gentle." She continued to ever so lightly touch me, toy with me. "Do you see, Michael? Do you see it?"

"Yes," I moaned,

"A man's cock in panties would be obscene, harsh, thrust outward. A woman's folds are hidden. A sissy's penis is hidden, small, undiscovered. You're a sissy, don't you see? A woman's pussy is something soft and tender and seductive. Just like a sissy's penis. Just like your penis. Soft, tender, seductive. So pretty in panties, so small, so pretty. So soft, so pretty."

I don't know why her words were so powerful. Why they were so seductive. I was a sissy. I was a sissy. Small. Pretty. Soft. Sissy. Sissy.

"What are you, Michael?"

"I'm a sissy," I answered immediately. "I'm a sissy."

"Yes, yes. My sissy. Susan's sissy." She dropped her hand, looked up, smiled at me. "We're almost done, my pretty." Mrs. Stanton reached behind her on the bed and picked up one more silver and black satin garment, unfolded it and held it up. "Just the matching camisole," she said.

It matched the panties perfectly. Silver satin with silver spaghetti straps. Transparent black lace around the top edges and all down the front held together with silver satin buttons. She stood up. "Lift your arms, Michael."

I froze. Wait a minute. I had to go to the office today. I could do some things from home, but I had to go in for a meeting at 11:00. I couldn't wear that. "Mrs. Stanton, I...I have to work today, I...I have to go to the office."

"I know, Michael, Susan told me. That's why just the camisole and not the bra, too."

My mouth was dry. "Bra? There's a bra?"

"I know, I'd prefer you wear the bra, too, but you're small chested, Michael, you can get away with just a camisole and not be indecent."

I tried to talk, my mouth was too dry. I licked my lips, trying to find some moisture, something to allow me to stop this, to stop her. "Arms up, Michael. Arms up," she repeated when I did not move. She put the camisole over my arms, my head and I felt it shimmer into place. "Stop worrying, Michael. Wear a tee shirt, it will hide your pretty camisole till you get home. We'll save the bra for then."

She stepped back, walked towards the dresser again. "You really are beautiful, Michael. You're lucky, you know. With little effort, with your hair done, a little makeup, you'd pass as a woman, a very pretty woman, in fact."

Hearing her said that shocked me. It seemed a slap in my face. "A woman?"

"You're not a man, Michael. That's my point. I've known all along, Michael. I've told Susan all along. It's so obvious, so obvious."

"What do you want from me," I demanded, shaken by her accusation.

She stared at me impassively. "In good time, sissy, in good time. Now, you're going to the office today?"

I glared. I was angry at her. What was she doing to me? "Yes," I answered.

"You're wearing a suit?"

"Um, yes, why?"

"What color?"

I furrowed my brow. "Blue, why?"

She didn't answer, instead opened a dresser drawer. "Here," she said handing me something dark blue, balled up.

"What's this?"

"A pair of my trouser socks. While you're wearing stockings and there is no reason to wear socks, I recognize you can't very well have your legs showing like that, so you may wear these."

I looked at the ball in my hand. Dark nylon. These were women's socks. Wait, Susan had socks like this.

"Don't worry, Michael, they are opaque, close enough to a thin pair of men's socks. But that's the point. I don't want you thinking like a man. You can wear a suit and tie, but you don't think like a man.

"In fact, there is a little exercise I want you to do at work today. Remember something. When a woman wears pretty lingerie, no one knows she's wearing it but her. It is her secret, how pretty she looks. That makes her feel so feminine, so pretty. Remember. So pretty. So feminine. That's what I want you to think, all day, how pretty, how feminine you are."

"Go get dressed, Michael. But remember, you're not a man. You're pretty. You're feminine. Sissy."

I dressed for work. I spent a good twenty minutes staring at myself in the mirror, looking at myself from every angle. Could anyone see anything? Lace? Satin? Anything through my shirt? A camisole strap? More lace?

I only had to get through one meeting. One meeting. No more than an hour.

Riding up the elevator to my office, I did not know how I'd do it. All I could think about was the lingerie I was wearing. Every step made me think about it. With every step my stockings tugged at my garter straps. With every step my panties swirled around my penis. With ever step I could feel the camisole on my nipples.

Every step. Ever step reminded me I was wearing lingerie. Reminded me my mother-in-law thought I was a sissy. Reminded me I wasn't a man.

"Hey, Mike," Paul Baron, one of my co-workers walked up to me as I wandered down the hall to my office.

"Paul," I managed to say, feeling the garter straps with ever step. All I could think about was I wasn't a man. Paul was a man. I was a sissy.

"Catch the game last night?"

"Um, no, Susan and I just spent a night together."

"Nice," he said, raising an eyebrow in the way a man would, making that unspoken comment he understood...a night of fucking my wife. Oh, god. No. No.

I realized. Fuck, I wasn't one of them. I was walking down the hall with "one of the guys" except one of us, me, was dressed head to toe in lingerie!

Paul walked into my office with me. "You have that stuff ready for the meeting?"

"Um, yea."

"What's wrong, Mike, you okay?"

I looked up at Paul, standing a few feet in front of my desk. I couldn't help thinking. He was a man. My god, he was a man. He was a man much like Tom, the man my wife met in Atlanta, was a man. Paul was tall, handsome, strong. He was a man. Involuntarily I looked down at his crotch. Paul had a cock. A cock!

Much like the cock that just days earlier was pressed against my wife's ass. The hard cock.

"You sure you're okay, buddy?" He laughed. "Up too late with that hot wife of yours?"

Instantly I realized, that of course, Paul wanted to fuck my wife. Paul was a man and wanted to fuck my wife. Not that he was in love with her, infatuated with her, or anything inappropriate. Just that he was a man, found her attractive, and if not for being my co-worker and friend, would fuck my wife.

"Yea, that's it," I mumbled. The image shot into my brain, hurled there, violently. Susan. Susan.

The image in my brain.


Over my desk. Susan bent over my desk.

Susan, my wife.

Susan, bent over my desk, wearing just her black lingerie.

Susan, my wife.

Susan, looking me in the eye. Susan, my wife.

And Paul. Paul standing behind my wife, naked.

Susan and Paul both looking at me. Susan, whispering, "his cock is so hard, Michael."

All I could picture as Susan, bent over my desk, and Paul, my friend, my co-worker, naked, fucking my wife. Fucking her. Fucking her hard. "His cock is so hard, Michael. And it feels so good, so good."

All I could picture was my friend Paul fucking my wife. Oh god, oh god.

"You'll bring the stuff to the meeting," Paul asked me.

"His cock is so hard, Michael."

"Yea," I mumbled. I realized that my penis was hard. I felt it in my panties. It was hard. My penis was hard picturing Paul fuck my wife.

Hard. My penis was hard as I fantasized about Paul's hard cock.



Oh, god.

Oh, dear.

I was a sissy.

I was a cuckold.

I was a sissy cuckold.

I sat at one end of the conference room table during the meeting with the head of the product group and some of his support staff. I was not the main presenter, so there were times my mind could wander.

During one of those, when a question was asked of me, I barely heard it, though was able to answer appropriately, even though all eyes were turned my way. Just after answering that question, I thought of Susan, sitting in a room much like this one in Atlanta, all eyes on her. All eyes looking at her. Her thoughts of being naughty. Of sitting at the end of a table, secretly aware of the beautiful lingerie she was wearing.

I thought of it because that was just how I felt at that instant.

I was sitting in a room with several other men. Only I didn't think of myself as a man. I was the only sissy. I was the only one wearing lingerie. I was the only one who was pretty. I was the only one who wasn't a man!

My BlackBerry vibrated. I glanced at it. Susan. "You talk to mother."

Normally I would not answer an email or a text in a meeting, but the attention was again elsewhere.

"Yes," I responded.

"Hmmmm. Proud of you."

A minute went by. "She say yes?"

I frowned. This was actually humiliating. "Yes, she said yes."

She responded. "I'm dying to ask you which pair of my panties she said you could wear but I want to save it for tonight."

If she only knew the half of it.

"Do you feel pretty, sweetie?"

Again, she didn't know the half of it! "Yes, I guess."

"Love you."

"Love u too, Susan."

"Get sushi for dinner?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I responded.

I ended up at the office until late afternoon working on a few minor details from the meeting. I probably could have gotten finished earlier if not for the constant thoughts of my lingerie, of Susan. She expected to come home to me in a pair of her panties. Hers. Not a full set of her mother's lingerie! I thought perhaps I'd talk to her mother, maybe she would change her mind, maybe I could just put on panties.

That thought was basically dashed when I got home and Susan was already there. I walked into the kitchen with our sushi and a bottle of wine and Susan was waiting for me. For the looks of things I'd only missed getting home first by minutes.

"Hey...ran late at the office?"

I explained about finishing up some things. I left out the distractions I kept having thinking of her fucking Paul. "You want to eat now?"

"Eat? Are you kidding me? I've been thinking of...well you know what I've been thinking of, Michael. Put that stuff in the fridge, I want to see now, I can't wait any more."

I put the food away and let Susan drag me upstairs. I felt like I was being taken to a death chamber. "I've been picturing you in different pairs of my panties all day Michael, I can't take the anticipation anymore. I've got to see which pair of them you're wearing."

In the bedroom, I took off my coat and tie, but then just stood in front of Susan, looking at her. "You're nervous, Michael?"

"Yes, of course," I said, in more ways than she knew.

"I thought you might be, so I have a little surprise for you. I've got something to show you. Maybe I should go first." Susan reached down to the hem of her skirt. "I really loved wearing the garter belts you bought you...you've no idea how sensual they feel all say...so I thought maybe I'd get a few more."

Susan lifted the hem of her skirt slowly up her legs, up her things, showing more and more nylon covered leg. More until she reached her upper thighs and the nude nylon turned darker. She was wearing stockings! The dark fabric was the welt.

"Are you going to show me which pair of my panties you're wearing? Or should I show a little more, first?"

Susan lifted the hem of her skirt higher, to the tops of her stockings, slightly higher, revealing gold ribbon garter tabs, black garter straps and the milky skin of her bare upper thighs.

"Oh, god, Susan."

"More, lover? I could just do this?" She dropped the hem of her skirt, reached behind herself, moved and suddenly dropped the skirt to the floor revealing a black with mocha trim garter belt holding up her nude stocking, under which she wore sheer black panties.

"Your turn, lover. If you want to see the rest, I want to see which pair of panties you're wearing. Undo your pants, Michael, show me, show me how pretty your little penis looks in my panties. Show me."

"Susan...I...I don't know."

"You're wearing panties?"

"Yes." I answered, leaving out the full answer. That I was wearing more. That they were not hers.

"Show me, Michael, god, I want to see them, please, show me. Show me."

I undid my belt, the button to my pants, the zipper, spread my pants open slowly, exposing the silver satin of the tap panties I was wearing.

I heard her gasp. Susan knew right away. I froze. "Those...those aren't my panties," she exclaimed. "Where are those..." She started breathing heavily. "Oh, Michael, oh god, Michael, are you..."

We locked eyes.

"Are you wearing my mother's panties?"

I couldn't answer. I was terrified.

"Are you wearing my mother's panties," Susan asked again.

"Susan, she..."

"Are you wearing her panties, Michael," she asked impatiently.

"Yes," I whispered, looking up at her.

"Take of your pants, now," she said, furrowing her brow.

"Susan," I protested, "you told me to ask her if I could..."

"Now, Michael," she repeated.

I took a deep breath, dropped my trousers to my ankles, exposing the panties, the garter straps extending underneath and the stockings, too.

Susan gasped again at the sight of me. After staring for a minute, looking me up and down, ankles to waist, she reached down, pulled up her own skirt and re-fastened it around her waist.

"Susan, please," I begged.

"Don't you move," she snapped, walking to the bedroom door and opening it. "Mother," she called out into the hallway.


She turned at me, eyes alone silencing me.

"Yes, darling," I heard Mrs. Stanton say, coming closer to the bedroom, appearing in the doorway.

"Oh," Mrs. Stanton smiled. "You've seen. Tell him to take off his shirt, too."

My wife looked at me. I turned away, unbuttoned my shirt, removed it, the tee shirt, revealing the matching camisole. "Your pants and my trouser socks, too, Michael," Mrs. Stanton said.

Now, finally, I was standing before both of them wearing only the lingerie, only the clothes my mother-in-law had dressed me in.

"Mother, he's wearing..."

"He's a sissy, Susan."

"But he's..."

"I told you, Susan, didn't I?"

"But I..."

"You've always known, Susan. I told you. I told you he wasn't much a man, didn't I?"


"Well here you have it. Do you want him to change? Do you want me to take back my things? Or do you want me to go get the bra that goes with that set and leave you two alone?"

Susan didn't answer. She just started. She just stared at me.

"I'll be right back, Susan," her mother said, leaving. We just stared. I stared at the floor. She stared at me.

Walking back into the room, bra in hand, her mother walked towards me, speaking to Susan. "He doesn't really need a bra, of course, for support, but it is an important psychological tool. This one is a little padded to give the illusion of breasts, but you'd need silicone breastforms for the feel and weight. We'll talk about that later, of course."

She helped me remove the camisole, put on the bra, then back on with the camisole. "He's got lovely legs, I think, though they'd be much more shapely in heels. Would you like me to get a pair?"

"No, Mother, this will do. For now."

She stood next to my wife. "I told you, Susan. I told you. Michael," she looked at me. "Tell her what you are."

I looked down. "Tell her, Michael. She already knows, but you need to tell her."

"I'm a sissy," I whispered. "I'm a sissy."

"We'll talk later, Susan." Mrs. Stanton turned, left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

We were alone. I was standing in front of my wife wearing incredibly pretty lingerie. Her mother's lingerie. I was mortified and humiliated. Susan was going to leave me, I knew it.

"Susan, she told me..."

"Enough, Michael, enough." Susan'd started undressing again. Starting with her skirt, she undressed, her blouse too. She was also wearing a sheer black bra, sheer enough that the outline of her breasts and her nipples were visible. Still in heels, she was dark and powerful. Naughty, nasty, scary.

Susan took a step, then another, towards me. She was menacing. "Susan, please," I said.

She took the last step to me. Her eyes were burning a hole through my skin. She moved a hand up towards my face; I thought she was going to strike me. I would have moved backward, but I was up against the edge of the bed already. But instead of hitting me, she put her hand behind my head and roughly pulled my face towards her.

"You're my sissy," she growled like a giant cat as she opened her mouth and roughly kissed me. "You're my bitch," she snarled, breaking the kiss, pushing me backwards so I fell on the bed.

"Susan," I cried out.

Susan climbed on top of my body. "You're my sissy, Michael, my sissy."

"Yes," I admitted, "yes."

Susan's crotch was pressed into mine, our mounds, our panty covered mounds, touched.

"You're not a man, Michael."


She started rubbing her pussy against my penis. "Panties, Michael."

I was quickly swelling. "Panties, Michael, your little penis feels so pretty in satin panties. It feels so...so pretty in my mother's satin panties."

I groaned and moaned. "You like that, don't you?"

"Yes, Susan, yes."

"Wearing panties?"


"Feeling pretty?"

"Oh god, yes, yes!"

"Wearing my mother's panties, like a sissy," she asked, raising her eye brows.

"Yes," I gulped.

"Having such a little penis?"

"God, Susan, yes!"

"That turns you on, doesn't it sissy? Having a small, sissy penis, trapped in satin."

"Ohhhhhhh," I moaned, from her words, the friction of her pussy.

She found my buttons, found them, pushed them, twisted them.

"You're so small, you know, Michael, so small."

"Hmmmmm," I groaned as she rubbed her pussy on me.

"That's why Tom's cock felt so good, Michael."

"Oh, Susan, Susan."

"That's why all I can think about is a real man, Michael, a real man in me, you in panties."

"Susan, Susan!"

Susan leaned over, kissed me again, deeply, roughly. "I want you in panties, Michael."

"Yes, yes."

"Always, Michael, always."


"You're never wearing men's underwear again, Michael. Why? Why?"

"Because I'm a sissy, Susan," I moaned.

"You're my sissy, Michael."

I was Susan's sissy. Susan's sissy!

"Ohhhhh, Susan," I almost yelled. I was about to lose it. This was entirely too much. The room was spinning, it was hot and cold at the same time. I was shaking. And then she stopped.

"You're not cumming, Michael," Susan snapped at me, "I am. You're my bitch, serve me."

Susan rolled us over and I attacked her immediately. My mouth and hands and tongue attacked her like I'd never been with her in my life. I ravaged her. I licked her everywhere, anywhere, all the while she touched me. My skin, both bare and through my lingerie. Her fingers were everywhere as I licked and kissed. On my nylon covered legs. On my satin covered stomach, ass, penis. Everywhere.

Everywhere as I licked her pussy, starving. Everywhere.

Finally, after twenty, thirty minutes of licking her pussy, her soaking wet pussy, she moaned to me. "I need to be fucked, Michael."

I almost came right then, just hearing those words. "Oh, Susan," I moaned. Finally, finally.

"I need to be fucked," she growled.

I licked my way up her stomach, over her garter belt, towards her bra. "Yes, Susan, yes."

"I need cock," she growled again.

My tongue on her bra, I paused. I had one hand down on my own panties, pulling them aside.

"Susan, I..."

"I need cock inside me, Michael," she growled, "I need to be fucked."

I had my panties over my penis, my erection out, pointed towards her.

She looked down her body, then back up at me. "What are you doing?"

"I...I was going to..." I felt a rush of guilt. Like I'd done something wrong. I just wanted to make love to my wife. I started to say I was going to fuck her, but that did not sound right, somehow, dressed as I was. "I...I was going...going...to make love to you."

"I want to be fucked, Michael. I don't want to make love. I need a cock, Michael, I don't want your small, sissy penis."


Susan shifted her body so I rolled off to her side. She was playing with herself, rubbing herself. "I want cock, Michael, I need cock."

We just looked at one another. She looked at me, stared into my eyes as she masturbated herself. "I need cock, Michael. I want to be fucked. I need cock inside me, sissy, I don't need my bitch, I don't need that little thing." She knew she was humiliating me. She knew, but also knew how excited she was making me.

I didn't know what to do. What to say. I was...a sissy! I begged. "Susan, please, I...let me make love to you."

"I don't want to make love, Michael. I want to be fucked."

"What do you want me to do, Susan," I begged?

"Go to my dresser. To my lingerie drawer," she gasped, making herself cum.

I stood up. "Hurry, Michael. On the left, all the way in the back, behind my bras."

I opened her drawer and was quickly overwhelmed. I would have recognized most of her bra and panty sets, pretty, but nothing incredibly fancy. Not like what she was wearing right now. Opening her drawer, I recognized nothing. The drawer was full of things I'd never seen before. Bras. Panties. Garter belts. Satin. Silk. Pretty things. Not her basic lingerie, all fancy, all frilly, all wonderful.

"Quickly, Michael, quickly."

She'd completely redone her lingerie wardrobe to match every fantasy I'd ever had. Her lingerie was every thing I'd ever wanted to see her in. I was weak at the knees.


I snapped out of my trance, put my hand into the drawer, felt the back, behind the bras and found...what...I didn't understand...part of my mind knew exactly what I'd found. I wasn't a prude. I wasn't naive. But part of me was confused, in part of my mind, it didn't make sense. Then, I suppose it made total sense. Completely.

I pulled it out and stared at it.

A cock.

No other way to describe it.

A cock.

Long, thick, hard, lifelike.

"Susan," I started to ask.

"Hurry, Michael, hurry, please."

Susan wanted to get fucked. She wanted cock. She wanted me. She wanted me to fuck her. But not with my penis. She wanted me to fuck her with a cock. This cock.

"Michael," she begged, "Michael."

I climbed back onto the bed, the life like dildo in my hand.

"I need it, Michael. I need cock. Ever since I felt Tom's cock, I've needed it."

"You...you want this cock, Susan," I asked tentatively.

"Yes Michael, yes."

It dawned on me what she wanted. I suddenly understood what she really wanted. I was afraid to ask it, though. Where was the line between fantasy and reality? Where was she? Did I want to know? I did, in fact, I had to know.

"Did you want Tom's cock, Susan?" As I asked this I touched the tip of the cock I was holding to the back of her fingers as she played with herself. I knew the answer. I knew what she'd say. She knew, too. But she said nothing, just rubbed her clit with two fingers, her other three stroking the cock I pressed against her.

I had to ask again, I had to hear her say it. I don't know why, but that seemed the most important thing in the world. So I pulled the cock back from her fingers, up, so she could not touch the cock and her pussy at the same time.

"Do you want Tom's cock," I asked, changing the question from whether she wanted it several days ago to whether she wanted it now.

"Yes," she moaned, "yes."

I admit that without the lingerie I was wearing, without the sexual frustration, pent up, built up, without seeing Susan playing with herself, without seeing her in lingerie, without her verbal and physical teasing, I'd never have done this. Any of this.

"Do you want his cock, Susan," I asked again.

"Yes, please, yes. Please Michael, please." She stopped touching herself, moved her hands away, so her bare pussy was staring me in the face, so there was nothing between her, between it, and the cock I was holding, hovering over her. "Please Michael. I want a cock...I want...I want his cock. I want Tom's cock, please Michael, I...I need it."

Susan's eyes were closed, her head tilted back, her mouth slightly open. I lowered the cock to her pussy, lightly, gently touched it to her, grazed her, then moved away.

"Ohhh," she gasped. I wanted to shove it inside her. I wanted to slam it into her. Part of me was angry at her teasing. Part of me was furious at her, at her mother. Part of me wanted to fuck her with the cock in anger.

But more of me wanted to see her squirm. Not in pain. I loved her. Squirm in pleasure.

I wanted to make her cum. I wanted to make her wet. I wanted to make her cum.

I lowered the cock back to her pussy, longer this time. I let it linger on her. I used it to rub her, to tease her. I used it to make her want it.

She was so wet. Rubbing the cock over the outside of her pussy again and again made the cock wetter and wetter. It teased her and played with her and made her wetness completely cover the cock. She was all over it, now. It was shiny, wet, sticky, full of her.

Part of me wanted so much to throw the cock aside and fuck her silly. To slam fuck her.

But she wanted cock. She didn't want me. She wanted cock.

"Do you want him, Susan," I asked her, "Do you want Tom to fuck you?"

"Yes. Yes."

"Do you want him inside you."

"Yes, oh god, yes. Please. I want him to fuck me, please. Please..."

I rubbed her slowly.

"Please Michael, please. Please let him fuck me. Please." She found her own way to rub me. Her stocking covered foot found the front of my panties, rubbed slowly, carefully, against my penis. Not enough, not near enough to make me even approach orgasm, but enough, just teasing enough, to drive me insane.

She wanted cock. My wife wanted cock. She wanted a man. She wanted cock. She didn't want me. She wanted him. Tom!

I was her sissy. Her husband. But her sissy. And she wanted a man.

I put the head of the cock against the outside of her pussy lips. Soaked. She was literally soaked. "Do you want to fuck him, Susan?"

"Yes," she moaned, "yes, please, let him, Michael, help him. I want his cock."

I pushed the head of the cock into her, just the head, just an inch, maybe two, into her.

"Ohhhhhhhh," she groaned, shaking in orgasm. Her arms were drawn up now to her body, squeezing her breasts as she shook. She wasn't just playing. She wasn't just horny. She was suddenly drowning in an orgasm.

I'd seen her cum before, naturally. I'd seen her cum often. She'd cum so hard, her thighs wrapped around my face. She'd cum so hard with my fingers dancing on her. What I'd never seen was her cum like this. I'd never seen her cum like this from my own penis slowly slipping inside her. I'd never, ever made her cum like this, fucking her.

"Do you want him to fuck you, Susan," I demanded.

"Yes, Tom, yes, please, yes, fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me!"

I didn't though, not yet. I pulled the cock back, instead of pushing forward. I pulled it back and pushed it up, the wet bulb of the head up against her clit as the orgasm continued to wash over her, then, just the bulb, the large bulbous head, into her wetness.

"Ohhhhh," Susan moaned, eyes still closed, mouth open, gasping in pleasure, sucking in oxygen.

Seeing Susan's mouth open, feeling her nyloned foot touch me, I shook. I knew what to do. My own fantasies were exploding inside my head. Some known and fantasized about for ages, some new, fresh, barely touched. The thought of a man fucking my wife, the thought of being cuckolded was new, so new, not yet comfortable in my mind.

But the old rushed in, too. I loved seeing Susan masturbate. I loved seeing my wife touch herself. I loved the taste of Susan, I loved having my mouth, my tongue, my face, covered in her juices.

I always tried to get Susan to share that, to taste herself. I loved seeing her masturbate because I fantasized about her reaching up, touching her lips, tasting her own cum. She was never that interested. She rarely sucked my penis, but she certainly never did after it had been inside her. She kissed me after I went down on her, but only on rare, very rare, occasions, would she seem to really enjoy it. I wanted her to taste herself. I wanted her to suck her self.

I looked at the head of the cock in her pussy, wet. Wet with her juices. She was all over the head. She was all over the shaft from my rubbing it on the outside of her. She was so wet and it was everywhere. All over her. All over the fake cock.

I looked at the cock covered with her. I looked at her mouth. I felt her foot gently grazing my penis.

I slowly pulled the cock back out of her pussy. "Ohhh, you're teasing me Mic..." She caught her word. "Tom."

"You want Tom's cock, Susan?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Tell him," I said softly.

She turned her head from side to side eyes still closed, mouth still open.

I moved up her body slightly, carefully, trying not to touch her with my penis, but instead, dragged my satin covered hip over her pussy lips, as I moved slightly to one side.

"Tell him," I whispered again, this time into her ear.

"Please," she begged.

I bent my leg, so my nylon covered thigh was now pressed against her pussy, her drenched pussy.

"Tell him what you want, Susan."

Susan was shaking as I rubbed against her. "I...I want your cock, Tom," she whispered.

I brought the glistening cock up towards her face. It was covered with her. Covered with Susan. Covered with her wetness. Covered with her cum.

"Tell him, Susan."

"I want your cock, Tom," she moaned again.

"Open your mouth, Susan," I said, shaking, voice almost cracking. I wanted to see this so badly right now. I wanted to see her mouth open. I wanted to see cock in her mouth. I wanted to see her sucking a man. Tom. I wanted to see her tasting herself. Sucking her pussy juice off cock. I was DESPERATE to see it.

Susan didn't open her mouth. Instead she opened her eyes. She looked at the cock hovering inches from her face. Then she looked at me. Her eyes were so hungry. She looked back at the cock, Tom's imaginary cock. I could tell from the look in her eyes she saw it. She saw what I was doing. She saw herself all over it. She saw that the cock, Tom's cock, was covered with her pussy juices, her wetness.

She looked back at me. For several seconds I expected her to push me away. To tell me to fuck off. To tell me I was a pervert. A creep.

And then she closed her eyes again...

She said, "I want your cock, Tom..."

...and opened her mouth!

I shook, then moved the cock right there, right to her mouth, right there. I watched as my wife started sucking, licking, TASTING!

She wasn't just doing it, she was relishing it. She was sucking the head of the cock, more, sucking herself, tasting everything, licking everything. I held the cock for her as she licked and sucked, I held the cock for my wife as she whored herself out for cock. Licked and licked herself off it, tasted herself.

Finally, she let it slip out of her mouth, opened her eyes, and looked at me.

"Now fuck me, Tom, fuck me. I want cock. I want his cock, I want your cock. I want Tom's cock. Fuck me. Fuck me."

I wasted no time. I needed this as much as she did. I wasted no time. I took the cock, "Tom's cock", down, to her, to her pussy, to her wet lips, and in one, slow, steady motion, pushed it into her, deeper and deeper into her. Deeper than I'd ever been inside her.

"Oh, fuck, Tom," she moaned as it went in, filling her wider and deeper than I'd ever done.

For ten minutes I fucked her. Susan and I made love when we were intimate. Right now, I was fucking her. Fucking her for the first time in my life. Fucking her with a cock for the first time. Fucking her. And my own organ was still trapped under my own panties. Cock. She had cock inside her, not me.

And for the first time ever, Susan had orgasms unlike those I'd ever seen before. Powerful, shaking, orgasms.

She had her legs up and I was pushing it straight down into her. Her eyes were wide open, she was biting her lip, sucking in air. "Oh, fuck, OH FUCK, oh god, oh fuck!"

I was hitting her in a spot I'd never, ever hit her before. Deep inside her. Her eyes suddenly rolled back into her head and I was actually concerned I hurt her, I started to pull it out.

"No...NO!" She grabbed my hands and pushed them into her, holding the cock in her. "There, Tom, there, there," she moaned just holding for minute after minute. "Ohhhhhh, fuck, ohhhhh."

"Susan," I whispered.

"Shhh," she said.

I was so turned on. Oh, fuck. "Susan." I started to pull it out from her.

"No, wait. NO. It feels, oh god, it feels so good to have a cock inside me."

I just held it for several minutes. Waiting.

"Lick me."


"Lick me while he fucks me, lick me, lick me."


"Lick me. I want your mouth on me while his cock is inside me."

"Susan," I said again, shocked at her language, her tone.

"Lick me, bitch," she sneered.

I tried to bend down, almost fell on top of her, till she held me. "Here, let me," she said, moving my hands away from the cock. "I'll guide Tom, you just lick, sissy, lick."

I got closer, eying the cock as I did so, got closer, tentatively, opened my mouth, touched my tongue to her, humiliated, scared, excited. Even though she was only fucking herself with a dildo, even though it wasn't a "real" cock, it was real enough, close enough.

"Ohhhhh," Susan groaned, moaned, pushing the cock in and out, lifting her pelvis, pushing herself onto my mouth, my tongue. "Ohhhh, Tom, oh god..." Susan fucked herself, I licked her, to an orgasm, then another, until she was shaking, laying on the bed shaking, the cock pressed deep into her, held there, like a man would cumming in her.

Finally, I stopped licking, she stopped shaking, just lay there, breathing. She slowly moved her hands, she slowly guided the cock out of her pussy, moaning in post orgasmic bliss the entire time it was coming out of her.

"Oh, god Michael, that...that was amazing. That was the most amazing..." My mouth was still hovering on her clit and I shook, jolted, when I felt the cock touch the underside of my jaw as is popped out of her.

"Susan," I moaned, experiencing the wonder of her pleasure, but needing, dying for, wanting my own. "Can I," I looked up at her, my eyes begging to fuck her.

"No, Michael," she said gently, "you're not going to fuck me. I told you that earlier. Besides, Tom took care of me," she smiled, moving the cock from under my chin, around my head, placing it on top of her, just at the top of her pussy, as if it was she that had a cock.

I just stared at it, could not help it, stared at the cock, obscenely sticking out from my wife's skin.

I saw her, saw her eyes looking at me, burning into my own, saw a harshness, a resolve. "Open your mouth, Michael," she said, an order, not a request.

Open my mouth? Why would I open my mouth? I looked at her, scrunched my eye brows. Open my mouth? That seemed...no...no...no, she didn't mean...she wasn't telling me to...she didn't think I'd...

My eye brows went up, shocked.

"You made me taste myself, Michael, you made me. Did you think I wouldn't do the same for you...bitch?"

"Please, Susan," I begged, eyeing the cock again, "you...you're a woman...you..."

"And you're a sissy, Michael...open your mouth and lick it, before I shove his cock down your throat."

I swallowed hard, swallowed, closed my eyes, tentatively stuck my tongue out, blindly, until it touched the shaft of the cock. "That's a good girl, Michael, that's it, lick it, taste me, lick me off of it.

For a minute, licking it was easy...I just tried to forget what it was, forget, focus on Susan's taste, not the plastic cock. She sensed, she must have sensed.

"Lick, Michael, lick, taste me, taste my pussy on his cock."

Again, cock, again, my eyes went wide.

"That's right, sissy, cock, you're licking cock."

I gasped, humiliated, desperate to stop, afraid to stop.

"Lick the cock that fucked me, Michael. Taste it, Michael, taste me on his cock."

I was dizzy, I felt the room spin. Cock. Cock. "Ohhhh," I groaned as I licked, realizing that my penis was on her, resting, trapped against her nylon covered foot. She could obviously tell I was hard, throbbing, jumping. She knew, knew her humiliating words were exciting me as they tormented me.

"Cock, Michael, taste his cock. Open your mouth, Michael, open," she said, "open."

I couldn't help it, not with her taste, not with the smell, not with her all over it.

"Taste his cock, Michael," she said, "taste his cock." She shifted, bent herself, bent the cock, so the head of it was on my lips, on my tongue, on the opening of my mouth. "Taste it, Michael, taste his cock, taste...suck...suck it, Michael, suck his cock," she hissed, pushing her hips upward, pushing the head of the cock into my mouth. "Suck it, Michael, suck his cock. Suck cock, Michael, suck cock."

I opened my mouth, allowed it into me, allowed the head of the cock into my mouth.

"Suck his cock, Michael, suck his cock."

For minute after minute, I was lost in a haze, most, tasting Susan, the cock filling my mouth. "Be my cock sucker," Susan was encouraging me, "be my cock sucker," she said, over and over, thrusting the cock into my mouth, gently rubbing my own penis with her leg.

"Hmmmmmm," I groaned as pressure built up in me.

"Cock sucker, cock sucker, cock sucker," she said until I finally started to hump her leg.

"Get off me, Michael, turn over," she said quickly, pushing me moments before I exploded. I was breathing heavily. I wanted her. I needed her.

"Susan, please," I begged to no avail as she turned me on my back while she climbed onto of me, sat on my thighs.

The cock was still in her hands. For leverage, to adjust herself, she put her hand on my hips, cock in one hand, twisted herself on me. The cock came to rest just to the right of my crotch, just to the right of my penis.

We both looked down at it. "That looks strange, doesn't it?"

"What," I asked moaned, twitching, trying to hump the air even as she was holding me down.

"Seeing a cock down there. When you're used to a pretty little penis."

I don't know how many shades of red I blushed. "Susan!"

"What, lover," she laughed in a post-coital laugh, a light mood, one not shred by me. "I'm just saying, I don't expect to look down at you and see a cock staring back at me." She kept the cock in one hand, touched my penis through my panties with the other. "Don't worry, lover, you've got exactly what I want, a soft, pretty little penis. Don't worry, leave the cock to real men."

"Oh, Susan," I moaned at her touch.

"See, lover, that's it, just relax, enjoy having such a pretty little penis. Don't worry about cock. Just relax, be a sissy, don't worry, don't worry." All the while she was rubbing me with two fingers though the satin tap panties. "That's it, relax, let me touch you like a girl, just relax, breathe, be my girl, be my sissy, be my girl."

"So much less pressure than being a man, sweetie. Let the man worry about fucking me, you just worry about other things, more feminine things."

Susan leaned towards me, dropped the cock to side of my head, kissed me. "Forget about the cock, sissy, take of your panties, let's play with you," she said.

She helped me. We wasted not time peeling the satin off me. She was back on top of me, sitting on me, letting her wet pussy touch me all over, rubbing on me, up and down me.

"God, I'm so wet, lover, so wet," she cooed, kissing. "Tom...Tom made me so wet. So excited. I got so wet when I felt his cock, honey, so wet."

I jumped, shook at both her words, at being touched by her. She was rubbing her wetness all over me, everywhere, all over my penis, talking at the same time. Whereas I was teasing her before, it was her turn now, to tease me, to torment me.

"He made me so wet, Michael. Touching him felt so good." She licked me, neck to ear, lifting herself off my penis. "I got so wet feeling a real cock after all these years of this little penis." Back down on me, sliding on me.

"You're so excited, I can tell, Michael. Does it excite you knowing your wife fucked a man?"

"Yes," I moaned as much from her pussy on my penis as her words.

"Does it excite you to be cuckolded, Michael."

I couldn't answer, verbally, though physically, there was no doubt as to the answer to the question.

"A man's cock inside me, Michael."

"Hhhh, hmmm," I moaned again.

Susan put her lips to my ear. "Do you want him to fuck me, Michael? Do you want Tom to really fuck me?"

"Yes." The word escaped my lips before I could hold it down. Her wet pussy rubbing along my shaft froze my brain, froze it so that I couldn't stop the words from coming out.

"Do you want his cock inside me, Michael?"

"Yes, yes!"

"He's coming here next week, Michael, do you want me to fuck him?"

I hesitated, the image in my mind, burning. "Yes," I whimpered.

"His cock wet, so wet with my pussy juice?" She lifted herself off me yet again. I was dying for her touch, her warmth.

"Please, Susan, yes, please."

In response, she rubbed me again, stopped again.

"Do you want him to cum inside me, Michael? Do you want Tom to fuck me and cum inside me?"

It was my turn to buck in tremendous pleasure. She had stopped moving so I was on the verge of entering her. My penis was pressed against her lips. I shifted my hips forward, trying to enter her but she matched my movement, moved her own hips forward so I could not.

"Answer my question, sissy. Do you want him to cum inside me?"

"Yes," I whimpered quietly, shaking. She shifted again, shifted, so the head of my penis was on her lips, surrounded by them.

"You want him inside your wife? Fucking, cuming?"

"Yes, Susan, yes!" She lowered herself slightly again, so the head of my penis was inside her, warm, wet.

"You want Tom's cock in my pussy, my pussy filled with his cum?"

"Ohhhhhh," I moaned.

"His cock is covered with my juices, Michael. My juices and his cum." She lowered more, allowing more of me inside her.

"Hmmmmmmm," I whimpered.

"Do you want to lick it, Michael, lick him clean? Are you a cock sucker, Michael?"

In and out, in and out I breathed, heavily, shaking. Susan bent down, all of my penis was inside her, but she did not move, just allowed me to bask in the warmth of her, the wetness, while taunting me.

"I want Tom's cock, sissy, I want his cock inside me. I...I want it so badly," she moaned, confessed.

Suddenly, without warning, without her moving, without anything, I shook violently, more violently than I'd ever felt. I shook and just exploded into her. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," I moaned through the cock filling my mouth. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

"Cum in my, Michael, cum in me just like Tom will."

"Ohmmmmmmmmm," I moaned and moaned.

For a minute, two, finally, three, we lay there. My penis inside her quivering, Susan whispering. Cock sucker. Sissy.

"Susan," I started to say.

"Shhh, don't talk, Michael."

"Susan, please."

"Shhh, just relax, Michael, just relax."

"But Susan..." I was scared about what just happened. Terrified, actually.

"Michael, just relax. Not yet. Just relax. Not yet."

I knew what she was trying to say. Having just cum, my libido was destroyed. I felt guilty, hurt, confused. My sexual frustrations were gone, shot inside her. I was scared. Confused.

We drifted off to sleep. At least I did. Maybe only for a few minutes, I don't know. I fell asleep, inside her.

I woke feeling the same warmth, the wet warmth, I fell asleep to. It was darker. Hard to see. I opened my eyes. Couldn't see. Later. I felt the wet warmth. Then I realized something was different. The weight. Susan's weight wasn't on me. But I was still inside her.

I realized it. I was inside her. I wasn't inside her pussy. I was inside her, just not her pussy. No weight because she wasn't on me.

I couldn't see, just sense. Susan was on her side, next to me. I felt her warmth, not of her pussy, but of her mouth. Susan was laying on her side, next to me, sucking me. I wasn't even hard, but she was laying on her side, my limp penis in her mouth.

"Susan," I moaned in pleasure. I wasn't hard. I couldn't get hard. Not this soon, not ever soon after.

"Oh god," I moaned again as I realized what she was doing. My wife, who would never give me a real blow job, who would never taste herself, was on her side sucking my limp penis. Sucking it, covered as it was with her cum, with my cum.

"Hmmm," Susan moaned, running her tongue all over me. "It's so soft, Michael," she whispered. "So limp, so soft. I like it this way, I like the way it feels, soft, feminine, pretty. The opposite of a man's cock.

It was the oddest feeling. My wife, licking my limp penis, telling me how much she liked it soft, was exciting me like crazy, but I couldn't get hard.

"It's like a pussy, Michael. Soft, wet. It even tastes like a pussy." Susan shifted her body again so she was straddling my face in a sixty- nine position. "Share, Michael, try it with me."

I opened my mouth a few seconds before my brain caught up to the consequences of my action. I opened my mouth and started licking her, so excited was I by what she was doing to me, licking her cum and my cum, that I forgot that I was about to do the same.

It dawned on me that I was licking cum, too. Licking my cum, too. It dawned on me but I kept licking just the same. Slowly, enjoying, feeling the sexual energy fill my body slightly.

Slowly, too, we stopped until we just lay there, until finally, Susan climbed off, turned, and lay next to me.

"I love you, Michael," she said, kissing me. "I love you so much."

We lay there for several minutes, just cuddling, our bodies entwined. The most erotic part was our legs, our nylon covered legs gently gliding and rubbing against each other. It felt so soft, so sensual, so feminine. "That feels so nice, Michael."

"Hmmm." My mind understood it did, though was drifting, confused.

"What," Susan asked.

I wasn't sure how to ask, how to phrase. Even if I should say something.

Finally, I worked up the nerve. "Susan, were...were you serious...do you...do you really want to, er, fuck," I swallowed, "fuck Tom?"

Through the pale light of evening coming though the sheer curtains, I could see her face, saw her bite her lip, look at me. She opened her mouth to respond, but didn't answer. For several minutes, she just looked at me.


"Michael," she finally spoke. "Were YOU serious? Do YOU really want ME to fuck Tom?"

I opened my mouth to tell her no, but no words came out. As with her, I just stared at her. Finally, I started to speak. "Susan..." No more words formed.

"Say no, Michael, and I'll never think of it again. Say no, tell me you don't really want me to fuck a man. Tell me no. Tell me you don't want me to cuckold you and I swear, I'll never think of cuckolding you again."


"Say no, Michael, and I'll be happy with you forever, with your little penis forever. Say no."

I swallowed hard, but said nothing. My brain was screaming. No. NO. NO! But no words would form. No words would come out of my mouth. Of course no. She was my wife! Of course no. No. No. NO.

But that part was too small. I couldn't form the words. Cuckold. Cuckold. That word was all I could think of. I wanted to say no, but that word was trapped by the other word. Cuckold.

"Susan," I started again and stopped.

"Say no, Michael. If it's no, say no."

I said nothing. As much as I wanted to say no, I couldn't form the word. Nothing came out of my mouth.

"Say no, if you don't want this, Michael, say no."

I closed my eyes, swallowed, remained silent.

Susan said nothing in return. She lay her head back on my shoulder, nuzzled me, kissed me.

After a few more minutes, Susan moved over towards the side of the bed, turned on the light. "I'm hungry, you?"

"Yea," I answered, realizing my stomach was grumbling. "You want to go down and eat?"

"I'd rather eat in bed, why don't you go down to the kitchen and get the sushi and a bottle of wine."

I looked down at myself, the uncomfortable look obviously was apparent on my face. I had to change clothes.

"No, Michael, take a breath," she said, knowing what I was thinking. "Get up, put your panties back on to start with."

I looked at the panties sitting on the edge of the bed with some trepidation.

"Michael, I know what you're thinking. This is important to me. Especially now, after sex. Not before, after. I don't want you wearing men's underwear again."

I continued to stare at the panties, unmoving.

"Put your panties on, Michael, go ahead."

I took the panties in my hands, stood, gingerly slid them up my legs.

"There you go. Better. Now, even though mother dressed you, it's still not very lady like to walk around the house dressed just like that. Why don't you...um...at least put a chemise or a slip on. Here," she got out of bed, went to her dresser, opened a different drawer than contained her bra and panty sets, took out something. "Here, this will do," she said, handing me something black and satin.

I opened up what she handed me. A black satin slip. Black satin with lace edging, similar to the other lingerie I was wearing. "Put that on, sweetie," she encouraged me, "it will cover you up a little and it coordinates with your other lingerie."

I hesitated.

"Michael," Susan said softly, "it's okay. Really. I want to see you in it, I really, I do. Please."

I inhaled, lifted the slip over my head and pulled it down over my frame, over the other lingerie.

"You're so pretty, Michael," Susan said, "it's really amazing."

I actually felt myself blush.

"I'm serious, Michael, you're really very pretty, I mean it."

We just looked at one another.

"One more thing. I don't want you snagging your nylons on the floor, you should put on some slippers." Susan went to her closet and brought back a pair of heeled mules. Slippers, I suppose, but certainly not like my men's corduroy slippers. "Here, slip these on, they should fit. There, perfect. Now run along and get me my dinner, bitch," she said, tilting her head with a playful smile.

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