What's Your Perversion?

What's Your Perversion?
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Friday, December 31, 2010

Forced Femme Stories: "An Unfaithful Wife" by Vickie Tern

I love the writings of Vicky Tern. Often, her "forced femme" is more like "coerced femme," which makes the feminization all the more delicious. Ms. Tern wrote about this recurring theme in the preface of one of her other works:
I like finding new reasons and ways for a woman to feminize her man and new reasons why he'd acquiesce. I enjoy the casuistry, the earnest if deceitful reasoning by which she persuades him and he persuades himself. I like the way he comes to understand what's been happening, how he may resent it but also how he deals with it.

In short, I like liberated if unscrupulous women and the men who love them not wisely but too well and accept the consequences of their own complicity. I like schemes and con games and hidden agendas, and above all I like the step-by-step compromises that add up to a totally transformed self.

I enjoyed "An Unfaithful Wife" so much that it inspired me to create the captioned image above. If you are a sissy like me with certain inadequacies then I suspect that you'll enjoy this story too!


An Unfaithful Wife
by Vickie Tern

She was in a weird mood, I think. Or maybe a teasing mood. We were getting dressed for work, Cassie to go to her law office downtown and me to my study downstairs to read over a long report comparing software technologies one last time and then fax it to the client who'd commissioned it. She was just about to pull on her frivolous french lace panties, the ones that drive my cock crazy when I see the bottoms of her sweet buttocks peeking out from underneath them, and she'd paused to inspect the no-nonsense cotton lining in the crotch. She saw a stain? It evidently started her thinking. What came out was sudden.

"Hal, honey, have you ever wondered whether I masturbate? I mean, say, at the office sometimes, whether I take care of my own sexual needs sometimes when you're not with me to help out?"

I was startled, and stared at her. The word "masturbate" had never crossed her lips before. She stood there, panties in hand, looking at me and waiting for a reply.

"No, why?" came out of my mouth before I could correct it. An honorable but dishonest answer, and I'd sworn to her and myself always to be scrupulously honest with her. So I corrected myself, "Yes, sometimes."

"You're ashamed to admit it, aren't you?"

"Yes."

I was. It was true. I stared into my sock drawer, looking for a matched pair and avoiding her gaze.

"Why do you think you're ashamed?" Cassie often dug into whatever reasons were given for deeper reasons still.

"I don't know." That was untrue. I had my suspicions, and they weren't welcome. Because Cassie loved sex. She seemed insatiable sometimes, eager for more well past my penis's ability to perform. I was never sure I'd satisfied her. So for years I'd supplemented our lovemaking with my face between her legs, always before we made love. Then sometimes for hours while she did other things, made notes on legal papers or read or watched TV, even talked to friends on the phone. The first time because she asked me to. But now she merely pointed when she wanted me to lick her cunt. "It feels so nice," she'd say. "Even when I don't end up with an orgasm. Just knowing that you're there for me no matter that."

Why was I ashamed to ask her about masturbation? I struggled to find a reason.

"Because masturbation is a terribly personal matter," I said finally. "Some people think it's shameful in itself. So I wouldn't want to intrude on anyone by asking."

"Yes, but it's not too personal for us, honey!" She looked at me, gently chiding. "Sweetheart, we're already so very personal with each other! We couldn't be moreso. The truth, now!"

This was awfully uncomfortable. But I knew better than to try to change a subject once Cassie opened a line of questioning. She was one of her firm's best trial lawyers.

"Because ... because if you masturbate, that might imply we aren't sexually well-matched. That I don't satisfy you. That I'm not man enough for you."

"'Might'? Only 'might'?"

I kept silent on that one. She was determined to leave me no place to hide.

"Well, are you man enough, do you think?"

"All things considered, I think so. I hope so!"

"Then why are you ashamed to ask me if I masturbate? Because if you aren't man enough, you don't want to know?" She had me.

I had to end this. "Do you masturbate sometimes?" I asked. I began pulling on my socks, feigning nonchalance.

I expected answers as evasive as mine, but instead, Cassie said in a quite matter-of-fact tone of voice, "Yes, Hal. I have needs. So I relieve them. Often."

A strange feeling began to creep over me, but she'd established the scenario and I had to follow it. "Because I'm not man enough?"

"I didn't say that. I'd use you if you were there. But you aren't. So I use what's available. My finger often. Like this."

Her bush was still fully visible—her lace panties were still hanging from one hand. I stared. She smiled flirtatiously and placed a forefinger gently onto the top of her slit, just over her clit I was sure, and rotated it delicately. "Mmmmm!" she said. "Mmmmmmmmm!" Then she stopped and looked directly at me. "That's nice. But oh, if you could see your face now! You're feeling threatened, aren't you?"

My throat had tightened and I could barely say it. "Yes," I had to reply. Threatened, but also annoyed. She was deliberately provoking me. Why?

"By a finger? You're jealous of one slim little finger? You think your penis may not measure up even to this?" She held her slim finger up erect, inspected it closely, then waved it reprovingly at me. "Your cock can't hold a candle to my finger?"

Now she was playing word games, taunting me! Better to alter the direction this interrogation was taking. "You say you use your finger 'often,' Cassie? What does that mean, 'often'?"

She was now gathering the hair at the nape of her neck to twist it and pin it up, businesswoman style. With both hands behind her head and her elbows out, she looked adorably helpless, yet supremely self-assured, altogether in control. I was reminded again how breathtakingly beautiful she was, how lucky I'd been to attract and win her love, and how privileged to keep it. She just looked at me inexpressively, and said nothing. She was accomplishing whatever it was she'd set out to accomplish, I could tell that much. Making me uneasy, that much was certain.

Since I felt goaded, I tried again. "'Often' implies there are other things too," I tried to explain. Black suspicion where she was going with this began to form in my head, and I thrust it away, but nevertheless I could feel my balls pull up, my scrotum tightening defensively. "Like what?"

"Other things, yes. Fingers aren't always enough. You know how I am sometimes when we're in bed together and we're neither of us ready to sleep, and we decide to make love. Sometimes I'm already as wet as if we'd already made love. Fingers can't do that. A girl needs ... well, other things to help her out."

Was she telling me ...? "What other kinds of things do you mean exactly?" I asked again, trying to suppress the tension in my voice.

"Whatever other kinds of things are available. All offices are full of them." She was by now nearly dressed, and inspecting herself in the mirror, looking out at me in all wide-eyed innocence.

I could only croak out what she'd been leading me toward. "You mean you sometimes use ... other men?"

She seemed satisfied. Was that where she'd been leading me? "Oh, if I used men to get myself off, that wouldn't be masturbation, would it, Hal? Any more questions? No?"

But what had she said? "I have needs. I relieve them. Often." So we weren't talking only about masturbation! And unthinkable as it was, she wasn't saying she didn't use other men when I wasn't available! She knew I couldn't possibly ask the obvious next question. Marriages are based on faith. I didn't dare doubt her fidelity and then ask about it. I was feeling strangely demoralized, yet also agitated.

"Oh, dear," she said, staring at the rock-hard erection now tenting my underwear. "I see all this talk has excited you." She glanced at her wristwatch, a delicate little thing I'd given her for our first anniversary, she never wore any other. "And there's no time now to do anything about it. Well, you have my permission to masturbate today before I get home. But you'll have to tell me what your masturbation fantasy was tonight when I get home. Every detail. Promise? Bye bye, sweetheart!"

I did sometimes sneakily masturbate during the day, while reading porn stories on the Net. I didn't think Cassie knew. And now, she'd given me her permission? If I tell all afterward? But how could I masturbate with her "permission"? Apart from it constituting a confession that I'd done it at all, it would be an acknowledgement that I could pleasure myself only under her orders, that she'd taken charge of my sex life even in her absence.

An hour later, when I'd faxed off my report and felt free for the rest of the day, I decided to grasp my boner. Resentfully, but I did it anyhow. As if under orders. "Yes, Cassie," I muttered to myself ironically. "Now I intend to masturbate! Does that make you happy?" I wasn't happy. Who was she to grant me permission to do something I've done most of my life?

Yet as I finally spurted my load into a handful of kleenex, I gasped "Thank you, Cassie" sincerely and gratefully. Because incredibly, for the first time in my life, it was really good! Altogether guilt free! Uninhibited! No way cheating her of libido or sperm I owed her. For the first time since our marriage I wasn't indulging myself shamefully in the belief that I was depriving her of what was rightfully hers.

That night I told Cassie the truth, that I'd masturbated, and how I'd felt afterward. That what I'd fantasized while stroking myself was what she'd confessed, that she was in her office masturbating her pussy. That I'd seen her legs spread wide, her slit's pink lips and fringe of golden hair fully visible. That her finger was twiddling her clit and then plunging into the orifice. Then that her cum was trickling out of it, and I was licking it off her thighs. It was her cum at first, pouring out of her abundantly. Then maybe mine. Then—I couldn't help it, a dark notion had emerged when I was so near a climax I couldn't suppress it—maybe cum from someone else at her office. Some other man's cum.

She was interested. "Someone else's, eh? And that idea brought you off?"

I ignored her question, instead repeating that I'd loved masturbating with her permission.

She smiled reassuringly, looked at me slyly for a moment, and said nothing. Then, "Any time, baby. But you'll always ask me first, all right?"

And I was trapped! How could I ever? I couldn't! Ask my wife for permission to jerk off? That's so demeaning! Impossible! But now that she'd asked me to ask her, it was equally impossible for me to jerk off without her permission! That would betray her trust!

"All right?" she repeated. She meant it!

"Sure," I said carelessly, as though my thoughts had already turned elsewhere and it was no big deal.

So from then on, for days at a time I went celibate. I'd be desperately horny by the time her car pulled into the driveway. A few times I had to meet her at the door and take her hand and lead her straight upstairs, not a word spoken. She knew.

But also from then on, whenever I licked and then entered her, I was always aware before I began how wet she was, whether lightly lubricated or dripping. That did happen sometimes. When she was soaked I never dared ask how she'd gotten that way. I made that mistake only once, and she'd replied by waving her forefinger at me. As if that were her answer. As if that was her instrument. As if telling me I was naughty to ask.

But occasionally when she was leaving the house she'd tell me she had a crowded schedule, she expected to arrive home late or exhausted. "So feel free to jerk off any time today, Hal baby," she said. "If you feel like it."

On other occasions she'd pause at the door and as if an afterthought, she'd ask me, "Do you want to masturbate today, honey?"

Like a little boy caught with his hands in his pants I'd have to answer in a small voice, "Yes, please," or "No, thank you." She'd then smile, and if I said 'Yes' she'd say, "That's fine. You go right ahead then, sweetie," and if I said 'No' she'd look at me wryly amused, as if she didn't believe me, shrug, then leave.

And that's how it was from then on. Her pussy was mine by marriage I suppose, though I shared my exclusive rights of access with her finger. I hoped only with her finger. But my cock, my main means of sexual gratification, was now completely under her control.

The day finally came when, as she was leaving the house preoccupied with the day's work and obviously intending to say nothing to me about it, when I felt a sudden urge to ask her if I could jerk off today. It was embarrassing. But I did it.

She paused and looked at me intently, thinking. Then she said, "I haven't asked you this, honey, not since that first time I gave you permission. When you masturbate, do you always imagine me pleasuring myself the same way? Or someone else also pleasuring me?"

I was stunned! How did she know? "Sometimes," I had to acknowledge reluctantly. Then because she remained silent, waiting, I replied, "Sometimes someone else."

"Then you go ahead and masturbate all you want today," she replied, obviously satisfied with my answer. "But be sure that each time you're imagining me with someone else. I'd like that. OK? I gotta go!" She kissed the air between us and was gone.

"OK," I replied to the closed door. I felt somehow defeated. Yet also excited, I had no idea why. She'd asked me to cuckold myself in my imagination and like it, that seemed to be why.

That night she made no sexual moves toward me at all. She seemed to know that during the day I'd emptied myself utterly, that I'd beaten my meat over and over. With no guilty inhibitions, with her complete permission, I'd watched her writhe in the arms of other men repeatedly, each time forgiving her so we could both do it again, me masturbate and she fuck yet another man.

A month or so later, Cassie was already in bed and I was getting ready to join her when she burst forth out of nowhere, "Sweetheart, you do know I love you, don't you? That you're the dearest person in the world to me, that the happiest day of my life was the day we got married, and that I never want to leave you, and I think I would die if you ever wanted to leave me? Just curl up and die? You do know that?"

What in the world?

Suppressing my concern, I looked over at Cassie as if casually. She'd been sitting in bed reading, but her book was turned down in her lap. She'd been watching me undress. I suddenly came aware I was stark naked.

"Are you all right, honey?" I asked gently. That seemed ungracious! So I added as quietly as I could, "I mean, what brought that on? I mean, what have I done to deserve that ... accolade?"

As if unconcerned I slipped my nightshirt over my head. I'd always slept in pajamas but recently I'd shifted to nightshirts. Cassie'd given me some a few weeks ago, and then called the Salvation Army and given away my pajamas. They were short, barely reaching my bum. She said she wanted to reach for me whenever the mood struck her, or anyhow, that she wanted to feel she had unrestricted access. Could I deny her? She had reached for me a few times since, and it was wonderful! Our first few years of marriage she'd wanted to be wooed, and she'd lie there like a princess as I kissed her toes or her eyes and then worked my way up or down. But for a while now she'd taken all the initiatives. "Just let me," she'd say. "You be the princess."

I'd lie back in bliss with my eyes closed as she slipped her hand up and down my penis and squeezed it until I grew hard, then mounted me or mouthed me or pushed her boobs into my mouth or pulled my head into her crotch or rolled over onto me or rolled me onto her and into her, all without the slightest restraint. We'd become like one sentient being, one flesh -- her slightest gesture would tell me what she next wanted and I'd perform it devotedly. I loved it that she felt that passionate!

I saw she was wearing her babydoll top, and a glance told me that its matching sleep-panties were still on her dresser. That was a broad enough hint that she expected to reach for me tonight.

She responded not at all to my query, so I answered hers. "Of course I know you love me, Cassie. And you know I love you just as completely"

I'm sure I did. I'm sure she did. There were times when she'd act as if I were still probationary, as if we were still in the early days of our relationship and she still hadn't made up her mind about me, as if her tentative feelings about me were auspicious, promising, but ... well, there are other men, she'll just wait and see about me, and meanwhile, well, I'll do for now, if I contiunue to shape up. In earlier days I never knew if that was how she actually felt or if she was only teasing me, stirring me to renew my courtship of her, to try extra-hard to please her. When I once asked her, she'd smiled and said nothing. Whatever, it always worked. I'd then make extra efforts to meet her needs and desires. Though whenever she slipped into that mood of seeming uncertainty, I was always unsure why.

Not now. Cassie's customary facial expression was sincere and concerned, and now too. Her eyes were moist and she made no effort to wipe tears away. I was the center of her life, she was saying, and she wanted me to know it. "You do know, don't you, that your happiness is the dearest thing in the world to me? Dearer than life itself, I sometimes think!"

This was the strongest statement she had ever made about us. I choked up immediately.

"Yes," was all I could croak. I wanted to ask her, 'Cassie, what's wrong?!' but I couldn't.

"And I know you feel the same way about me. Don't you?"

Finishing on a question? What did she want? Something she was afraid to ask directly? Reassurance of some sort? What?

I said "Yes, of course." Then carefully, I inquired again, "Why do you ask, honey?"

She hesitated for a long time this time as if struggling with herself, though her eyes never wavered from mine. Then she spoke suddenly. "Because I need to ask you some things you might not like. That might make you uncomfortable."

So I was right. But at least it was to ask me things, not to tell me. Ever since we'd talked about masturbation I'd been afraid Cassie might want to say something I couldn't endure hearing, maybe about an affair, about an infidelity that would destroy us as a couple.

"Like what?" I asked. I just stood there in my nightshirt, my genitals and my butt exposed, my voice deliberately kept attentive yet casual, so whatever she said and whatever my reaction, none of it would seem to be a big deal. Though obviously it was a big deal to her and that made it one for me too.

"Like, I want you to tell me for once, really honestly, from the deepest place in your heart, all of the ways you feel when ...oh, I don't want to say it. You'll get mad. Or maybe you'll feel bad I'm even asking."

"No, never," I said. "Ask."

"It's really a whole series of questions, sweetheart. This is only the first one."

I carefully shrugged, as if nothing could faze me. "No problem," I said as reassuringly as I could. I sat down on my side of the bed and then waited, still watching her.

"All right, baby." Her eyes were now wide open, fixed on my face. "I've been wondering about this a lot, lately. You know that men ... ah ... flirt with me sometimes. The way men do. You've seen it, at office parties and things, galas at the Club, social gatherings. Even here in our own house when we're throwing a reception or something, and everyone knows I'm married to you and you're right here being the host, despite that some men come on to me as if you were only some hired servant. Well, sweetie, I want to know—I need to know, really and truly—tell me everything you feel when ... when that happens. When you see guys making moves on me. Everything."

I'd seen a lot of it. Cassie was beautiful when we got married and she'd only gotten moreso. Now she was gorgeous, honey blonde, beautifully groomed, huge wide eyes, teeny chin, a naturally pouting mouth, tall and poised. A doll, a dish. A babe. More rare, a babe with brains, more than one opposing attorney had mistaken her subtlety for naivete and gotten creamed.

When she's dressed and made up for a formal occasion, she's absolutely ravishing. She'll put the last touches on her face, hang a perfect pendant from her neck, and then turn to ask me "How do I look?" as if she didn't know. I'd glance over and see the gleam of pride in her eyes and I'd catch my breath and my heart would lurch. Every time. Hers is the kind of beauty that staggers, even intimidates. Some men find it challenging. They're challenged to possess it somehow. And they keep trying. I knew that.

And not only her beauty, her manner, too. She carries herself confidently, decisively. And then there's that concerned expression. When she speaks, she looks directly into your eyes as if appraising you, maybe reserving judgement, maybe approving, as if large issues and powerful emotions were lurking just beyond that decision. As if she could see things in you that amused her, or gave her a handle on you. Or gave you reason to believe that if you took her hand and led her to a bed, she'd go willingly. Eagerly. As if she'd lead you.

Men fall hard in her presence. I had. Some feel her power and pretend they don't, become evasive, I'd done that too at first. Yet when she approves what she's seeing, that same look becomes a glorious invitation. It says she wants to know you better, maybe even intimately. It's flattering, that look, and it emboldens all but the most timid of men.

Then when they're hooked she flirts with them shamelessly! Twisting her body, glancing sideways, thrusting her boobs forward, smiling in subtle invitation, tossing her head with the same 'come hither' motion she'd used when she first saw me. But then she'd meant it! It turned out she'd made up her mind about me immediately, however seemingly tentative she seemed since. I came to her and joined her and we've not been separated since. I was what she wanted, she told me on our first date. And I wasn't the least bit intimidated. I exulted!

Maybe her flirting is a reflex she isn't even aware of? Maybe. As when she makes me feel I'm still on probation, useful for the time being only. It gives her a feeling of control. And she needs that. She likes it.

I've seen the result often enough. Like at office parties, for instance. She's a partner in a huge law firm where people rarely see each other, so they often hold get-togethers in the name of "collegiality." Spouses attend some, but I doubt Cassie behaves any different whether I'm there or not. She uses parties as informal professional opportunities to mend fences, query policies, check out strategies. She's always working the room. Few people there know me, so from a distance or even standing alongside her I can usually watch what happens as if I were a fly on a wall.

Certain men come foward ingratiatingly almost as soon as they see her. Superbly confident, poised, charming, they bend their faces close to her to share some confidential witticism or compliment. Or proposal. She never backs off or turns away. Instead, she parries gracefully, lifting her chin and shaking her head as though flattered and grateful but she just can't respond right now, this isn't quite the moment, you know, her husband, her obligations, things. But soon. There's always an implicit promise, maybe they can find some more private time to ... locate an understanding. She always leaves them feeling hopeful, though they never know just why.

So they'll often offer her a lift when the party is breaking up, asking if she'd like to pause first for a drink at the Roundabout Bar or the Marriott. or the Oasis just down the street. Even when I'm standing right alongside her. I sometimes wonder if they know I'm her husband but don't care because it doesn't seem to matter to her. Whether she's sending them signals I can't interpret.

Then they'll always call the house later that evening or the next day, always with business to discuss, or more proposals. Cassie wears a wedding ring as I do, the same kind. But these men assume she's available nevertheless—maybe she lives alone or she's separated, or maybe she works mostly at home and her husband's out of town. Or maybe he's away at work and won't ever know. Or she's available because he's a wimp who doesn't matter. They aren't aware that I'm the one who works at home, that Cassie does almost all of her work downtown. That I'm the one receiving all their calls to my wife.

At first it was annoying. I'd answer the phone and the men were always surprised to hear a male voice. Then they'd leave messages for her as if I were only her roommate, or a brother, or a butler, someone who didn't matter, maybe an accustomed cuckold or neutered eunuch. Their tone was always condescending as they instructed me what to tell her, that they were suggesting this time and that place for her to meet them, have I got all that written down?

Women callers would query who I was when asking about Cassie's availability for a double date, but I'd still reveal nothing. Cassie's business negotiations were sometimes tricky and opposing lawyers are often deceitful, so I was under strict instructions never to identify myself as her husband or as anyone else, never to provide callers with any information whatsoever, not even my name. Just to take messages.

I did that, and when Cassie got home she'd leaf through the slips impassively, set several aside, and look up distantly and thank me, her mind already elsewhere. Was I unawares helping her carry on assignations with numerous men? Opening her moist, pink pussy to them and then bowing obsequiously away, as so frequently now in my masturbation fantasies? I wondered. It made me uneasy.

Finally I balked, especially at transmitting to her the exact words of various men's seduction speeches, at serving as their pander. So Cassie got an answering machine and set it up in the hall just outside my study. Then it did the answering aloud, while I eavesdropped like a guilty voyeur at a porn movie who'd sneaked in.

My consulting service has its own number and I'm not that all gregarious, in fact I'm a loner with few friends, and those few out of town. So most of the calls were for Cassie—from clients, co-counsels, legal aides, girlfriends, all straightforward enough. But also, many were from those swarms of hopeful admirers. And on the speakerphone, I'd hear everything.

Cassie's voice on the answering message is husky with desire as it tells everyone who calls, "Hi, Cassie here. I can't talk right now, you know how it is, but I do want to know everything you have in mind, what it is you want. So please tell me!" Somehow she creates the impression that she's in bed with another man at that moment but would rather be with the caller. I suppose it's good for business.

The result is that often every day when I'm alone at my desk doing my calculations, I hear men just outside the door talking to my wife sometimes intimately. Sometimes only asking for a callback. But sometimes right out and open asking for a date, offering her fabulous dinners, concerts, shows, companionship, parties with celebrities attending, weekend resort trips. Always promising incredible experiences she'll never forget. Some of them allude to past unforgettable moments, whether theirs or someone else's I can't ever tell for certain.

I suppose it's flattering that though men find Cassie attractive, she chose me. Still, it's disquieting to listen day after day as they attempt to seduce her with advantages I can't possibly offer.

Worse, several times a day the phone will ring once and then I'll hear clicks, then those same voices repeating their proposals and propositions, then more clicks. That's Cassie picking up her messages from her office. Sometimes I hear her cut them off, cancel them abruptly in mid-pitch. But some she listens until the man has finished his appeal, declaring once again that she'll love it, what he's suggesting, she'll never regret it. Then sometimes there's a pause before the final click. Is she writing down his phone number before clearing the phone for new messages? Or at that moment is she using another office line to call him back?

I feel very peculiar at such times. I try not to listen, but I can't help wondering whether ... whether she ... these are attractive-sounding men offering marvelous opportunities, men of substance and intelligence. I feel strangely stirred. Because Cassie is so terribly attractive. But no. She's my wife. It's a matter of faith. I trust her. I have to trust her. And she loves me.

And she's just told me that yet again, in the most powerfully persuasive words imaginable. Yet here she was sitting up in bed in her daintiest nightie, her eyes moist, asking me exactly how I feel when I see men flirt with her, trying to get into her pants, men who don't know or care that I'm watching and listening. Or maybe it's a special pleasure for them to know the husband is watching while they debauch the wife.

How do I feel when these things are happening? What can I say? That I feel jealous? That's to confess weakness.

"Proud that you're my wife, that's how I feel," I said finally. "I also feel a touch of pity for them, that they can't have you. And I'm glad once again that I've got you. That you're mine."

"And you're mine!" she interrupted, nodding in affirmation. "But go on! There must be more."

I felt challenged, so I dug a little deeper. "I'm annoyed that you might feel annoyed or plagued or insulted by their flirting, because you're a married woman after all. Especially when they're persistent."

"Oh, Hal," Cassie said, sounding a little disappointed. "Of course! I know all that! All very respectable. That's how any decent man would feel. But really, down below these things? How do you feel for instance when I flirt back? You've seen it at parties. I love to flirt. I can't resist teasing anyone, not even you! What then?"

That was a tough one. Because every time I've seen her flirt, seen her toss her head and glance and smile sideways, I'd feel everything I'd just confessed to her, yes. But also something else. A terrible twist in my vitals. A pang of fear. Of jealous anxiety. My God, what if she left me? What if she expected me to tolerate sharing her affections with anyone else?

Then more terrible in its way would follow a thrill of anticipation, even an eagerness to see it happen. And a sense of fatality, of readiness to accept that it must happen. A feeling that it was inevitable for Cassie to seek and find other men. That I should feel pleased for her, and reconcile myself to it. Mostly I could stifle that weird apprehension.. But not always.

I had to formulate an honest answer. But a complete answer?

I played for time. "Maybe I feel complacent when I see the man's no competition for me and you're having a good time toying with him. I know you like to toy with guys. And I like to watch you having fun—you do sometimes glance over at me to share your amusement when someone's spreading it a little thick. I like that. I feel closer to you, times like that."

I was still sitting on my side of the bed, preparing to slip under the covers, seemingly at ease. A long silence followed.

"Honey, listen. I hear you, and I'm glad. But I know there's lots more. You masturbate to other feelings, much more powerful feelings, when you imagine I'm with other men. I know that. I want you to dig deeper, till maybe you're in a place where you don't want to go. This is pretty primal stuff."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean, honey," I said. I hoped I didn't know.

Her face grew firm, thoughtful. She put her fingertips together in front of her. It was as if she were beginning an opening argument to the jury.

"I've beeen talking to my partner Nadine, you've met her, our firm's divorce specialist. She's built her whole practice around the way men feel when other men are sniffing around their mates. I told her I once had a boyfriend who went ape whenever I even talked to another guy. Really crazy jealous. But that you know, part of the craziness was that it excited him? He'd agonize and get angry, but he was always aroused! Cock like a telephone pole. Then at the height of his insecurity he'd pound it into me, if we were alone for a few minutes."

Talk of her previous liaisons made me uncomfortable. "You have interesting coffee room conversations," I said, trying to jest.

Cassie paid no attention. "He got to be a jealousy junkie, he got off on it, and he began to accuse me of all sorts of impossible liaisons just so he could get off on it. I had to tell him about other men I'd been with when we were in bed together, or he couldn't even get it up. Whether I'd been with those other men or not. So I quit with him—it got to be too much. I needed someone gentler and more considerate, less fretful, less demanding. And that was when you walked into my life and changed everything, sweetheart."

"I'm glad," I said. What else could I say? She was circling something. I waited for her to pounce.

"Nadine told me that's a primal animal reflex in males. Because fear and desire and possessive hostility all conflict, making for a crazy mix inside them of horniness and jealousy. Because our species descended from two different kinds of primate with two different sets of instinctsm she says. Some men have more of one kind than the other."

I nodded. An intellectual exercise like this at bedtime was tolerable, if it led to more physical things eventually. It seemed likely. She paused, and then folded her hands on the book still in her lap.

"Nadine says there are monkeys where males and females choose each other and then stay monogamous, like us, or like we try to be. They even share all household chores, like raising babies." She smiled at that.

I smiled back.

"But there are also the great apes, she says, where males fight each other for access to all the females, and the biggest are the ones most attractive to the females and the others get the leftovers."

"I suppose," I said. Where was this going?

"The lesser males accept the situation. They have to. They feel competitive, but they know that if they fight a bigger male they'll get torn limb from limb. So all of the males feel pleased to yield their mates up to the bigger male."

"Adultery City," I said, still trying to keep it light.

"Well, that's what jealousy is in men, according to Nadine. An instinct to defend your access to a mate you've supposedly chosen for life, the way the monogamous monkeys do, yet a fear of inadequacy and a readiness to yield her the better man. To the biggest ape. Even more, not just a readiness, a desire to yield her. To survive by offering her to him. Nadine says men get off on that desire. That's why it blows their minds. They can't accept how they feel, it makes them crazy."

I had nothing to say to that.

"We try to be monogamous, but some men are simply more attractive and all women know it. They want a reliable partner who'll help around the house, so they marry old Joe. Then they have affairs with the strong, attractive guys. Old Joe can't do anything about it, so he learns to ignore it or accept it. Even feel aroused by it."

This was not the most reassuring lesson in cultural anthropology I'd ever heard. I knew what she was saying, but I didn't want to and didn't know why she was saying it. I just sat there quietly on the side of the bed and waited. She sometimes got like this when she was relaxed, lecturing. Also when she was planning something.

"They're conflicting instincts, to fight your rival or surrender to him. To lust for battle or lust to be defeated, Nadine says. Men can't help it. She says that knowing this, she can break almost any man's case if he's trying to divorce his wife for adultery. She can make him crazy enough so eventually he'll sign anything. If the wife's her client and is willing to aggravate his jealousy, she can awaken in the husband so much perverse eroticism that he's fucked up utterly."

I turned now to look at Cassie. "Cassandra," I said. My voice was grave. "What are you driving at?"

"Your happiness, sweetie," she answered. "Because I do love you so very much." And her eyes told me that was the simple truth. She took my hand in both of hers, and rested them on the coverlet.

"Honey, let me ask you a little more directly. Don't you ever feel even the teensiest, weensiest bit jealous when you see me flirting with some other man? Fearful of your own inadequacy? Don't you feel some sort of twisted fight or flight reflex in your tummy? Even though you're sure of me, sure that no man will ever get anywhere with me, and you pity them, and you're annoyed with them, and you're proud of me, and you're glad that I'm having fun, and all that, all those things you've mentioned? Don't you also feel stirred by the possibility that I might actually be unfaithful to you? Excited by the possibility? Sexually, I mean? Doesn't it make you hard? Isn't that why you love to masturbate to the idea?"

We'd never talked about this. Our devotion to each other, our faith in each other's fidelity were so sacred that jealousy was unmentionable, by mutual consent off limits. To confess jealousy implied self-doubt, vulnerability, weakness. Accusation. Cassie was looking at me now with her classic concerned expression, earnest and appraising, yet also with a hint of amusement in the set of her lips and the corners of her eyes. Did she know something I didn't? I tried to see if she was more deeply concerned about something not yet mentioned, since she was looking directly at me and I could see everything. I saw nothing.

Yet I already felt that familiar sharp twist in the belly, a fear that she was about to confess to an affair, to a little lapse, that she'd slept with someone else. That she'd found me inferior. That some other man's cock had been inside her and she preferred him. Repeatedly. Lots of different men's cocks. That she was an eager cock slut. That she's forgotten to mention it to me, but months ago she'd accepted a position as Company Whore, that for months her cunt had been the drooling property of every man in the building and every out-of-town visitor! That she could never get enough.

Oh, God, no! What mad fantasies!

I saw nothing unusual in Cassie's face. I decided not to see anything unusual. I swallowed. We were always honest with each other. She'd specifically asked for honesty.

"Jealous. Am I jealous about you and other men? Yes, sometimes," I said.

Another long silence. "Can you explain that? Say a little more?" Now her voice was low, coaxing, as if she were talking about something terribly important, but talking to a small child who might easily get frightened.

I tried to explain. "Sometimes when you flirt back, you get so intense. Your eyes sparkle and your whole body gets so eager it seems to glow. You look so incredibly desirable! You kind of concentrate on the man as if you were so deeply attracted you want him to take you away and bed you down right then."

I was going to add that I knew of course that she wasn't attracted. But the fact is, at times I didn't know. There was that Christmas party at the Country Club for example, when she looked so incredibly gorgeous as always, so lively, and she danced with so many different men that I lost sight of her for an hour or so. Other wives seemed to be coming on to me as if to distract me while their husbands were screwing Cassie, as if they wanted to even the score by screwing me. And because I had to parry them politely I couldn't break away and go looking for Cassie. Toward the end of the evening I was sure, almost sure, despairingly sure, that she'd already gone off with someone else who even at that moment was twisting her whole body onto his ten inch dick. That I'd be going home alone.

I relived that terrible moment. Again my heart felt squeezed by the anguish of losing her.

Cassie was watching my face closely, and saw, and relented for a moment. "Oh, sweetie," she said. "You look so pained! But I just told you, and it's true, it's true! I'll never leave you, never!" Then as if to distract me, she added, "You say, 'him'. Suppose it isn't a 'him' I'm attracted to but a 'her'?"

I suddenly relaxed. "You, flirting with another woman? I've never thought of that. I've never seen it!" She was teasing! Maybe all along?

"You never noticed? Oh, baby, you can't be that naive! Women flirt differently, that's all. We have lesbians in our office. I flirt with them sometimes. And they flirt back if so inclined, we both enjoy the give and take. There's a certain special shimmering satisfaction when you feel attractive to another woman. Men don't feel that way about other men I suppose. Or maybe only gay men do."

"I suppose," I said. "Women do feel more free to be affectionate, to hug and kiss each other and so on. Men don't dare."

"They should dare," Cassie said. "They're missing out!"

Was this what she wanted? For me to start an affair with a man?!

"But all right then, Hal, let's go back to those times when my eyes sparkle and my body is sending messages to some man, and you're feeling jealous. Tell me about it. What's inside the jealousy?"

I sat silent. Maybe if I kept to the surfaces? I was getting terribly uncomfortable. I sensed that there were things here I didn't want to know, nor for her to know. "Anger," I said finally. "Maybe. A little."

"Toward the other man or toward me?

"Toward the other man, if he seemed to be my equal, someone I could take in a knock down drag out battle for your affections. Like one of your apes. I'd never do it, of course, he might be your best client, you'd never forgive me."

"Never anger toward me?"

"Never, sweetie." It seemed strange. I wondered why not. Men murder their wives on suspicion of adultery. Because they're afraid to take on their rival?

That answer pleased her. "My cave man," she smiled. Then she leaned toward me, her eyes alert. "But what if the man isn't your equal, honey. What if he's obviously stronger, taller, more self-assured, more powerful? Richer, cleverer, more handsome?" She paused. "Better hung, with a much bigger cock, men always worry about that? A really heavy package? What if you thought that if I danced just once with him when he was aroused and rubbed my belly against him just once, I'd never want to dance with you again. How would you feel then?"

I tried to swallow but my throat was dry . She wanted honesty. Honesty hurt. I tried to stall. "Honey, why are you asking these ...?"

"Just answer me," she said abruptly, as if I were under cross-examination. Her voice ripped through my feeble evasion. 'I must be cruel to be kind,' popped into my head irrelevantly. Othello said that just before he strangled Desdemona in an insane fit of jealousy. Insane or deceived? This was cruel. How is she being kind?

My answer? I knew how I'd feel. I felt it at that moment. Vulnerable. Lost. Desolated. Inadequate. Helpless. I said finally. "I'd feel terribly vulnerable. Inadequate." I paused. "Helpless, hopeless. Impotent," I added, near tears. "Terribly alone."

She leaned back now. Did I see pity in her eyes now? Was it compassion? No, it was pity. And something worse? I looked away.

"Only a little more now, baby. Please bear with me. You're doing fine. I know it hurts. So, what I understand is, if you saw me flirting with someone you knew was more desireable than you, more of a man, you'd cope by quitting? You wouldn't fight? You'd give me up to him even before there was any reason? As if you'd already lost me?"

I couldn't look up at her. She was right. I was ashamed to confess it, but I already had. I wasn't a great ape, I was a lesser ape. A trusting monkey. I wouldn't fight, I'd turn belly up.

Because I'd know that married or not, Cassie's affections are her own, not mine. That I can't commandeer them. That any woman can betray any man if she chooses, let the Great Ape beget all her babies and Old Joe help her rear them if he was willing to settle for sloppy seconds. That all men are powerless.

That Cassie could love me at all had always seemed to me inexplicable. No more so than at that moment.

"Yes," I said. What a terrible admission! "If you thought he was a better man, and you were attracted to him, I'd give you up to him. It would be humiliating. I'd try to feel happy for you. But what else could I do?"

She ignored my question and again tried to ease me out of my misery. Was she joking? "Suppose it was a woman? Then you couldn't compete at all, could you?"

Now I could barely speak. "No," I whispered. "I couldn't. Not with a woman. Not if you preferred a woman."

"You'd feel the same way? Impotent? Inadequate?"

Why was she tormenting me? She'd just told me she'd love me forever, and confessions like that from Cassie are rare! "Yes. Maybe."

"Ashamed too? Because your manhood was somehow compromised?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"So under either circumstance you'd likely give me up without a struggle?"

"I'd have to, wouldn't I?"

"Even though you love me?"

"Yes," I said. Where was this going? Had I lost her? Was she preparing me for an ultimate announcement? But she'd begun by reassuring me that she loves me, and that positively, absolutely, she could never leave me! I felt bewildered! "Because I couldn't compete anyhow." Then I said defensively, "And also because I love you."

She picked up this last idea and continued calmly. "Yes, there's love, isn't there? Because you love me, you'd feel I deserve someone better than you, isn't that right? You'd want me to have someone better than you. That would be your gift of love to me. You'd console yourself with that noble idea, with your sacrificial devotion to me."

Was she being playful? Was this serious? I'd been sitting slumped on the side of the bed for too long. I withdrew my hand from hers and turned, and got into bed. Slipped under the covers alongside her and leaned back on my pillow. Then turned and studied her face.

I still couldn't make out anything. She was nearly inexpressive. I tried to regain a semblance of dignity. "That's right," I said. "I'd feel nobly sacrificial."

"So if you found out somehow that I was having sex with someone more desireable than you, not just flirting but actually going to bed with him, enjoying sex with him, what you'd feel is not anger but emptiness, loss, sorrow, humiliation, and maybe also a kind of nobility."

"Yes. I suppose." I felt like a fool, saying that.

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry, I really don't want to hurt you, but I need to go on. I love you. No matter what else, I'll never leave you. I know that! You know that too, don't you?"

I swallowed. I could, just barely. "Yes. I do." I did, but somehow it didn't help. "I hope I do."

"Well, remember it. Now a terribly painful question, baby! Please, tell me the truth! This sorrow. This humiliation. Would it be a sweet sorrow? An eager humiliation? A satisfying agony? Maybe you'd feel ashamed that you couldn't keep me, couldn't keep the woman you love, and maybe you'd also feel somehow glad that I'd found someone better? Because that's what you want for me? Is that it so far?"

'Because that's what I want for her'? Talk about a trick question? But it was true. And honorably true. I did love her. She does deserve the best. The better man should win!

"I guess," I said as we both lay back on our pillows. Now I was staring at the ceiling. "Yes."

"So the more I fucked him the more justified you'd feel that you'd given me up to him?" Her voice was now inquiring carefully. "You'd be humiliated that you weren't man enough for me, but also glad for me, that I'm better off, better fucked?"

I was silent now.

"Happier, for my sake, because you'd knew I was feeling happiness you couldn't provide? Happy to be sacrificing your pleasure for mine?"

No more commitments. It was too dangerous. "I guess," I said. "Maybe." And that was all. I was now cold sober and serious. What was this interrogation about? What was she about to tell me?

"When you saw me embracing someone else it would bring you a terrible but also a terribly deep satisfaction, so complete you can't describe it? An irresistible desire to see more? You'd want it to stop but you'd want it to go on and on?"

I had no reply. I couldn't reply. My throat was closed.

"You'd feel ashamed but also aroused? Joyous? It would confirm your own inadequacy, it would take you out of the running, you'd be free of a terrible imperative to fight for your woman? And you'd take your cock in hand and jerk off in desperation but also for joy?"

"Maybe," I said with enormous reluctance. I could imagine such a situation, my wife enclosed in the arms of another man, someone stronger, more confident, more commanding, with his far bigger prick thrust deep inside her as—in an ecstatic trance—she slid slowly up and down on it. I felt my balls shrivel, and a strange, terrible sweetness did indeed invade the pit of my stomach. I'd felt it often enough before, when I'd realize that Cassie was replaying certain phone messages several times. I'd think she was actually considering those men's offers! Then I'd feel that same anguished twist of ecstasy, and I'd masturbate. She'd even told me to! I had to be honest with this woman. I'd sworn to be.

"Maybe?" she asked.

"My God, Cassie! Yes! Yes!" And I actually began to cry. I felt torn open. I couldn't help it.

"It's terrible, sweetie, isn't it? You want me to be unfaithful even though you dread it!" She was nodding in sympathy, but she made no move to touch me, to console me.

"Yes!" I sobbed the word, struggling to regain control.

"Because that's the way you are. That's the way all men are. More often than we think. Only the biggest apes aren't."

"Yes. Oh, Cassie, please don't!"

But she was relentless. "Imagine me naked in some hotel room somewhere, astride some muscular stud with his penis already deep inside me, slowly rotating my pelvis so I can feel how full I am, how packed tight, how unfamiliar that feeling is after the kind of sex you've been giving me. He thrusts himself in deep again and again, and he seizes my hips with his powerful hands and lifts and lowers me on that grand cock over and over and finally plunges it so far in I can't breathe and he spurts and spurts strong sperm into my cunt that race to beget his baby in my womb for you to raise for him! And I love it! Because though I love you, he's superior to you in every way."

Suddenly, with a quick, delicate twist of her thin wrist, she wriggled her hand under the covers and reached for the penis now standing stiff under my short nightshirt. And grasped it gently but firmly. "Yes," she said. "You do want that, don't you? Look at you! You're as hard as you've ever been, aren't you?" Did she sound amused?

Could I deny it? "Yes!" I said

Without releasing her grip on my cock she put her other hand on my cheek and turned my head and kissed me softly on the lips. "Sweetheart, I know," she said, her voice sounding re-assuring. "I've always known, because we're so very close, because we're one person, really! I'd never ask you to confess something so hurtful to your ego if I didn't already know. You know the rule, every lawyer knows it, never ask anyone anything unless you already know the answer. I know you've been there."

"Yes," I said again, helplessly, mindlessly.

"I have a confession to make. I want you to feel that sweet torment, that terrible ecstasy. That twisted delight. I've flirted where you could see, and I've teased you deliberately. You may think the erotic excitement aroused when you think I'm fucking someone else is perverse, unmanly. But you shouldn't, it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's like this erection, undeniable. It's just the way men are. And I want you to feel that deep joy, so powerful it feels like an orgasm. It's one of the sweetest, most intimate, saddest, most joyful, most glorious emotions a man can ever feel, if he can only allow himself to submit to it. Isn't it?"

I had no answer. My eyes filled with tears, and inside her grip my cock lurched agreement. Her hand tightened.

"That's why I encourage men to call me where you can hear, and encourage them to sound as provocative as they are, so you can torment yourself about how I'm responding to them. So you can indulge all your sweet jealous fears to your heart's content. So you can enjoy my illicit affairs even when I'm being absolutely faithful to you."

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't say anything. I nodded mindlessly. It was so bizarre and yet so very real.

"It is sweet, isn't it? The idea of losing me to someone more attractive? Because inside that sense of loss, of helplessness, of shame, is a delight you've never previously acknowledged, isn't there? You've jerked off to it, but never admitted it! Until now? Isn't that right?"

I had nothing to say. My face began to clench as again I fought back more tears.

"But now you can confess those feelings to me, my darling! To the one woman who loves you more than anyone or anything else in the whole world. Who will never leave you. Say it. You do fantasy me in bed having sex with other men, haven't you. You've been there in your imagination, standing by helplessly and watching as they stroke themselves into me and out of me, watching me writhe under them, hearing me moan aloud as their cocks stretch my pussy wider with each stroke. You've seen things like this in your mind's eye, haven't you? Whenever you've masturbated, and other times too?"

And she took my cheek in the palm of each hand, and kissed me again on my mouth, then looked into my face with those wide, concerned eyes of hers and added, "And the idea was always arousing, wasn't it?" She glanced down at my crotch. "You've stroked yourself to climax with it countless times. You've loved it, haven't you? You love it even now."

Oh, God! I looked into her eyes and I couldn't deny it. She had her hand on the evidence! "Y ... yes!" I confessed. "Yes!" again, in a pitiable squeal.

I almost began to cry again, but with a single shoulder spasm I managed to get it under control.

"Often?" she asked. "Do you imagine me that way often?"

"Yes, sweetheart." Then I don't know why I asked it, "Can you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, sweetheart. It means you love me. It means you know I'm desireable and desiring. I love you for that. But mostly I love you right now because you're so strong. I'm so proud of you! Because you're able to confess such a terrible thing to me. Because you're man enough to tell me you sometimes feel like less than a man, much less, and that you can enjoy it. That you can find happiness by sacrificing your manhood to my happiness. It's appealing, isn't it, that feeling? Awful, yet glorious? Arousing? Masturbating to the rhythms of another man fucking me? Tell me the truth!"

I was silent. She took both my hands and looked deep into my eyes. "I know the answer. Tell me anyhow, sweetheart."

A sob escaped me, then another. "Yes, Cassie! I'm sorry!" Now I really felt devastated!

"Ahhh!" she said. "My dearest! And that's not the worst, is it? When we're through, when the man has squirted his sperm into me and I'm no longer whimpering and shrieking in delight at the size of his cock, you sometimes feel a deep need to abase yourself even further, don't you? To bow down and surrender to the superior man, to prove that you only want to serve him and his new woman, the wife he's taken from you. So you fantasize even more, don't you?"

I just stared.

"You want to surrender yourself utterly to both of us," she said. And waited.

Nothing.

"To assure me and my lover that there's no resentment. That you're satisfied, maybe even grateful."

No reply.

"Tell me how!" she said sharply. "When you imagine this, what do you do? Where do you put your face?"

In a small voice, I said, "I lick your pussy. I suck his cum out of your pussy." And then I fell silent.

"Ahhhhh!" she said. As if I'd just done just that. "And what else?" Again sternly, waiting. "What establishes utterly that you are no longer a man? No way competitive with a real man. Tell me what you do next!"

In a nearly inaudible voice I said, "His cock. You tell me to suck his cock. So I ... suck it." I was now beyond feeling anything.

"Yes!" she said, finally satisfied. "You surrender to an urge to suck the cock of the man who cuckolds you. To placate him, to submit yourself utterly to him. You imagine it's because I ask you to, and you want to please me. But it's really because you want to. Because that's how a man surrenders his manhood to another man."

There was a long pause. "Yes!" she said again. She was savoring my confession in her mind.

Then she began talking almost to herself, almost as if I weren't there. "How about imagining me with a woman? Our two bodies sixty-nining, her face in my honey pot, my face in hers? That never occurred to you? That wouldn't be as tormenting I suppose, because then there's no competitive challenge, no threat to your masculinity. Oh, to your male ego maybe, but not to your manhood. Men never measure their egos, but they're always taking the measure of each other's manhood, testing each other. But no man can possibly measure up when a woman desires another woman, can he? He's out of the running. And it's just as well. No contest, no defeat."

She looked at me, knowing I couldn't deny it. "No erotic excitement. No masturbation."

I still tried to control myself, but my breathing was constricted. How could Cassie ever respect me now? I was a self-confessed fantasy cumsucking, cocksucking wimp. A sick deviant.

She pretended not to notice. Instead, she leaned over to kiss me again on the lips. "Thank you, sweetheart, for your honesty," she said. "I know this wasn't easy. You're so very precious to me! I knew all this, or anyhow I guessed it, but I wanted you to know I knew so you'd never deny it to me or yourself, and never feel ashamed of it. To enjoy it! To imagine me in the arms of other men as often as you like, to play with the idea as you play with your penis, and learn to love it! Goodnight, sweetheart. I do love you, I do! Don't worry. No matter what, you won't ever lose me."

She reached down and squeezed my boner once, affectionately, and then she turned away and put her book on the nightstand, and turned out her light. And as I lay there staring at her in the dark, she settled in to sleep as though there'd been no conversation between us at all. There'd be no lovemaking tonight after all? Her interrogation was over?

Not mine. I felt fully awake. And I still had this incredible erection! When I recovered my ability to speak, I asked huskily, "Cassie, what was all this about? Why did you do this to me?"

"For your own good," she said she said quietly in the dark. "Because I love you so very dearly that I want you to be able to accept and enjoy everything your heart can feel, to the very depths of your being. Even to enjoy feeling humiliated. Everything that can possibly make you happy I want for you. And I mean to see that you have it. No matter what."

Oh God, do I understand her? Is this where she was going? "Cassandra, no! Please, God, no! Do you mean ...?"

"No more tonight, darling," she murmured in reply. "This has been difficult for both of us, and I have two court cases tomorrow. But think about everything you've just told me, all those fantasies, and imagine they're actually happening. You have my permission to masturbate if you want to. You've certainly earned it!" And in a moment her breathing was regular.

I lay there. She was right! I still had a raging erection! Just from what she'd forced out of me! From the fact that she knew and approved, even loved me for confessing these sick jealousies, these degenerate fantasies! The ultimate submission of my manhood was an idea she found arousing, and it certainly aroused me!

I wondered for a moment whether I actually should, whether I should grab a few toilet tissues and jerk off helplessly while imagining (oh God!) that there was some other man in our bed, his hips pumping up and down on hers, hers writhing beneath his, the two of them humping each other while her throat made strange singing noises I'd never heard before and I just lay there next to them listening and masturbating. I couldn't resist. I took hold of my cock and wrapped it in toilet tissues and pulled on it while trying hard not to wake her up. I had her permission! She wanted me to do it, she'd said so! Oh, God! More! Humping! I saw her, my beautiful Cassie, her mouth feverish on that man's mouth, her legs wrapped tight around his waist, her heels dug into his back, her hips rolling and heaving under his ...!

I spurted and spurted and spurted! And as I softened and wiped myself, I spurted yet again. And realized I'd been making soft, mewling sounds all through my whole orgasm. Had she heard? I glanced at her. She was smiling slightly, as often when she slept. Her breathing seemed the same. Apparently she was still asleep.

There was more to the fantasy. If I were to take this man's cock in my mouth (unthinkable!), what would his cum taste like? Cassie knew, she'd taken mine into her mouth often enough. But I hadn't. I'd sucked on Cassie's twat for hours before we made love, sometimes just to please her, to make her feel good while she did other things. As foreplay. But never after we made love—it seemed somehow ... perverted. But now here was cum on my fingers. Cum from that man who'd just fucked my wife. I put them into my mouth and licked them. Salty, sticky, lightly honeyed. I thrust my fingers in and out a few times to coat my lips, puzzling out the strange taste. Now I was finger-fucking cum into my own mouth. God, how twisted can you get! I didn't dare open my eyes to see if Cassie was awake after all and witnessing my self-degradation.

As I then started to doze, my loins spent, empty, I entered into a strange reverie. There was a girl in a black slip kneeling between my darling wife's legs with her face deep in my darling's crotch. Maybe one of those women she'd described nursing at her honey pot. My beautiful Cassie stroked her hair affectionately, and at last clutched that woman's head tightly to her quim and arched her back and screamed and screamed in sheer joy! And she was right! The idea of a woman doing my wife wasn't threatening at all.

In fact thinking about Cassie with another woman brought on another stiffie! Half asleep, I grabbed it and pumped myself again, this time avoiding another imaginary cuckolding by an imaginary man. I imagined instead that I was that girl in the black slip, eagerly pleasuring my gorgeous wife with my mouth and sleeping in her bed every night. No matter where my wife went otherwise or with whom, she always returned to me, because I wasn't a man, I was a woman, so I couldn't be measured against any of the many men she fucked. I was different. And I knew how to go down on her because I was a woman myself. Soft and warm, and my breasts were so heavy ....

Again I came, this time directly into the sheets! This time altogether exhausted, I fell asleep in the puddle.

In the morning my prick was too spent to use. It barely stirred when Cassie woke up and kissed me with much greater affection than usual, intimating with a sly grin that now she wouldn't mind making love. I didn't want her to know what I'd done, so I crept down and kissed her mound, and put my tongue into her navel, then went down further and licked her clit. Then sucked on her pussy like that girl in my fantasy, until she grew tense and pushed hard into my face and held herself there, then finally relaxed and pulled away, all the while murmuring "Oh, so good, so good, so good." She didn't usually let herself finish with me still down there. More often than not she'd grow impatient and push my face away and reach for my cock. But luckily, not this time. Did she understand?

"That was so good, darling!" she said as she rolled out of bed. As she leaned over to kiss me, she couldn't miss seeing the semen splotch I'd left on the sheets, the crusted sperm from my second jerkoff. Could she? She said nothing. Only, "So lovely! We'll do this kind of thing more often. Much more often. In fact I want you to suck my pussy every time we make love!"

"Of course," I said. "We've done that."

Her eyes hooded. "Oh, no, I mean after we make love! You'll enjoy the taste, I know that now! I want you to learn to love it. It'll be your very own, so that shouldn't be a problem. And you're so very good at licking my vagina, sweetheart. Your tongue is so gentle and sensitive. It's as if you were a girl yourself and knew what it's like. Whenever you do it, imagine you're a girl licking some other man's cum out of my pussy."

She could read my mind!

An hour after she'd gone to the office and I was at work the phone rang, and after the "Cassie here" introduction I heard a man's voice saying eagerly, "Cassie, pick up if you're there. I've got to see you! You've been on my mind ever since that deposition. It was amazing, what you did to those other lawyers! My, God, I haven't been able to sleep, imagining you were doing that to me! You're beautiful! So I've cleared my whole afternoon schedule so we can have lots of time together. But first let's meet for lunch—I know a quiet place where no one knows us."

I listened, and though I was sure this was a business call setting up some kind of strategy meeting, what else could it be, I again felt jealous anguish, jealous delight. My Cassie?! Doing what with him? Was it possible? Oh, God, what delicious torture. What had Cassie done to me?

Soon after, the answerer clicked and I heard the man's voice and the same message again, and I knew that Cassie was in her office listening to him. I grabbed my penis to relieve the rigidity, and then and there while the man uttered those seductive words I jerked off into the waste paper basket. I knew Cassie wanted me to! Other phone messages came in later that afternoon , but there were no more clicks, Cassie wasn't picking them up. She'd cleared her afternoon schedule to meet with this man? Or was it her two court cases? I no longer knew.

As the other calls came in I tried believing the other men's voices were women's voices, and the calls for me, so I could feel as desireable as Cassie. Some of them were women's voices, but most were so masculine I couldn't pretend. My gut roiled as I heard them all propositioning my wife, or seeming to. I felt so helpless! So I then tried to pretend it was me they wanted, that we were both gay. But that was even more uncomfortable. I then tried to pretend I was Cassie, and I listened to them with disdainful amusement. That felt better. Cassie's secretary called during the late afternoon to tell me that she'd been delayed, she might be a little late getting home. I writhed in delight!

When I told her about what I'd done, how I'd masturbated as she listened to that man's message, Cassie nodded. "I told you that could be an enormous source of pleasure once you stopped repressing your feelings," she said. She asked if I'd ever felt tempted to go just a little bit further, to see what this or that man might be like as a lover by imagining myself in his arms.

"Of course not," I replied.

"If you're now imagining you're me, you should open yourself up to it," she said, apparently seriously. "It can be fun! Deliciously wicked."

Well, to tell the truth, sometimes in my fantasies I did feel a little girlish, demure and desireable despite myself, I told her, flattered by a man's attention. I added that I could understand why she enjoyed it. She smiled at me in a sisterly way. But still, I felt guilty, I continued, because I shouldn't be doing things like that even fancifully. I'm a man, I told her, and married, so sleeping with another man was two-ways debauched.

Cassie shrugged and smiled and nodded, and commented that it was all harmless. "But if it isn't comfortable, this kind of man on man loving, then pretend you're a pretty, unattached woman," she suggested. "It'll expand your horizons." Then with a gleam in her eye she added, "In fact, if you're pretending to be me you should try out a full scale scenario. Accept a date with one of those gentleman callers. Go to dinner with him. Kiss him goodnight, if it's a first date." She paused, then grinned. "Or if you like him, imagine how it would feel for me to wrap my legs around him. Then invite him in and do just that. In your imagination, of course."

I couldn't stand the way that made me feel! Is that what Cassie liked to imagine about me? Did she ever do it herself?

"Can you imagine how I'd feel with my legs wrapped around him?" she asked. And smiled seductively.

At that point I couldn't stand it. I led her upstairs, and we fucked passionately for over three hours.

The next day, while a particularly friendly voice was speaking I did try to pretend I was Cassie, and smiled seductively at his imagined face as Cassie had done with me. I felt a sweet whiff of the pleasure Cassie must have felt in those circumstances. But mostly I just felt strange. I caught myself, and asked myself what in the world I was doing, and then got back to work.

That night as we lay in bed together, I wondered whether I should go down on my sweet girl before making love to her. But what if I found a sticky excess of fluids already down there, salty to the taste and slick to the touch? Afterward was safer, when any such fluids would surely be mine. In the end, nothing happened. I kissed her, we cuddled, and then we slept.

I was waiting to pick Cassie up at her downtown office building while her car was being repaired, when her Law Clerk Clarice came out of the building, glanced around for her own ride, saw me, and came over to chat. We exchanged pleasantries, and then she said something I didn't understand.

"I've got to confess it, I really admire you two," she said. "Both of you. Great careers, both of you going great professionally. Going great personally too. Leaving each other free to do whatever you like if the mood's right, each of you, no strings, no hassles, no jealousies!"

"Thanks," I said. What was she talking about?

"I don't know how you manage," she added. "My Greg would kill me! Or he'd kill someone! If he knew, that is! Or even suspected."

"What?" I asked. "Knew what? Suspected what?"

She glanced at me, then glanced away. "Oh, there he is now. See ya some time!" And she dashed toward another car just pulling to the curb behind me.

Now what did that mean? There again was the old familiar twist in my belly, that sweet fear. Worse, when Cassie arrived and looked in the window at me, I had this ferocious boner! She glanced at my hunched posture and asked, "Are you OK, honey? You look so pained!"

"No, I'm all right," I replied. "It's nothing."

"I hoped you'd say that," she said, looking at me with her usual concerned expression. And then she smiled.

***********

We had another strange session in bed. Cassie was lying there in the dark, and I was lying alongside her, when suddenly she spoke.

"Honey, remember our talk about things that turn you on despite yourself? I've been wondering about other things that also happen in your sweet little head. Like, have you ever imagined yourself having sex with another woman?"

This time I tried to be more guarded, but still, honest. "Yes, of course. Before we were married. But now you're all the woman I want."

"I mean since our marriage?"

Honesty time again. Could I lie? Should I try? What would she think if she even suspected a lie? Honesty was the only policy. "Well, sure," I said. "Being married doesn't turn off a man's lecherous instincts. It's still a stimulus-response kind of thing. What being married does is inhibit a man so he doesn't do anything about it. I don't. I wouldn't ever risk doing anything to hurt you."

"Even if there were no risk? Even if I couldn't ever find out? Or even if I already knew? Even if I approved?"

O wow! I didn't like where this was going, so I said nothing. To avoid answering, I decided to turn the tables. "Those 'if' questions are suppositional," I said. "You lawyers aren't supposed to ask suppositional questions. But I'm not a lawyer, so I'll ask you, would you approve if I was actually unfaithful to you?"

She was silent.

I took silence to mean dissent. I got to feeling jocular, to reverse the genders the way she did with me last time.. "Suppose it was with a man, not a woman? Would that make a difference?

She brightened up. "It might," she said. "Have you? Do you want to?" The idea seemed to interest her!

I didn't know what to think of that, and I didn't want to go there either. So I tried yet another tack. "You asked me a while ago whether I ever imagine you having sex with another man. I admitted I do and how painful it is and you made me confess that it's also exciting. Well, let me ask you. Do you ever imagine yourself having sex with another man? Since our marriage I mean?"

She nestled up close to me and kissed my cheek. "Oh, lovely!" she said. "You're torturing yourself. Just as I'd hoped. Isn't it sublime? Exquisite? You get an erection just thinking about it, don't you? Don't you just love it?"

She was partly right, I was aroused! And she'd avoided answering the question—what did that mean? Did I really want to know what it meant? So I changed the subject yet again. Her gloating—if that's what it was—depressed me, so I asked, "How about women? Do you imagine yourself having sex with a woman?"

"Oh, yes," she said with great certainty, almost singing the words. She sounded eager to hear herself say it, as if an actual memory of it were still sweet. Had she in fact deliberately led me to ask her that question? It seemed so, because now she answered both questions. "Yes, of course! With both men and women."

"Any man in particular?"

"Oh yes!"

"Or woman?"

"Of course!"

"And done anything about it?"

She was quiet for a moment. I'd overstepped. Then, "Oh, sweetie, how can you ask that? You do want to torment yourself! That's so sweet! You do want to enjoy feeling deliciously helpless. You're excited by the idea. Do you also want to know the reality?"

She reached down and wrapped my swollen penis in her soft hand, and tugged it a few times. "Oh, yes," she said to herself. Then, "That's so precious! I love you for it! Well, I want you to imagine me doing it whenever your heart wants to, baby! Cherish every detail! Think 'My wife is making love to a muscular man, and I'm not muscular.' Or think, 'my wife is making love to a soft, smooth woman. and she's smoother and softer than I am.' Oh, my, just look at that erection! I love knowing that you're turned on either way. We certainly need to use this thing right now!"

And without another word she rolled over onto me and mounted me and inserted me into her warm, soaking quim, settled down, then began moving. I expected her to slide me in and out, teasing me by rotating her crotch as she'd often done before. But it didn't happen. Instead, abruptly, she began to pump herself up and down on me as if I were no more than a projecting object of convenience, a chair-mounted dildo useful for getting off. She rode herself almost immediately to one climax and then to another, both of them furious, the second one towering over the first. She'd never before been quite that vehement and—there was no other word for it—impersonal! It was almost as if I weren't me at all, as if I really were a dildo, no more than that. Or maybe some unknown guy she'd picked up to use and then discard ... but no, that was unthinkable!

I tried hard not to imagine her fucking another man. But even with my eyes shut there she was! I saw her vigorously hoisting her hips up and down, rising and falling on this other man's enormous cock. It corkscrewed massively into her, then out. Deep, deep, it went, and she grabbed her breasts and twisted her nipples, and with each hard upthrust of his groin her eyes bulged and she threw her head back and screamed "Yes! Yes!" over and over at the ceiling, more waves of orgasms washing over her! I was appalled, anguished, but then that same helpless joy rose up and overwhelmed me, and as I came into her in gushes I cried out anguishing, "Oh, God! God!"

I then came aware then that Cassie hadn't touched her breasts the whole time, that she'd scarcely made any noises at all, a few deep grunts maybe, and that it had been my cock doing the screwing the whole time. I'd imagined it all. It had been me doing the shouting! Cassie had slowed down to a lazy twisting of her crotch, and was looking down on me with her hands on her hips. She'd mainly watched and listened to me, and she'd smiled as she'd seen how much I was enjoyed the fucking. She knew I'd enjoyed it as someone else, that it hadn't been me under her at all but some much more capable alter ego.

As I softened inside her, she fell forward onto me and stroked my hair and kissed me gently, consolingly, over and over. "Yes," she whispered. "I understand, sweetheart! This is what I wanted for you! Isn't it wonderful? Aren't you so much happier now?"

And then incredibly, she straightened up and crept forward on her knees past my hips, past my chest, and past even my shoulders, her legs pinning my arms helplessly to the bed, her pussy directly over my mouth. "Now suck me, sweetheart," she said. "I want this. You know I want this. And you do too. Suck that man's cum back out of me. Hold it in your mouth and roll it around your tongue, that man's delicious sperm, and then swallow it, and then suck and lick more of it, and taste the flavor and then swallow it. Suck my lover's cum out of me!"

I did. I was helpless. My cum glooped out of her slit and filled my mouth and coated my lips. I swallowed, and looked up. High above her beautiful breasts her sweet face smiled down on me. "That's nice," she whispered as if to herself. "That's so nice. A man's cum, fresh from the source. You love the taste. I want you to. You should."

Then suddenly, "But now let's save some for tomorrow." And she wriggled her quim into my face one last time, then fell to one side, hugged me, and kissed my cum-smeared mouth. "Yes," she said as she dozed off, her head still on my chest, her perfumed hair partly covering my face. "I love sharing everything with you. All of it!"

"Share all of what?" I asked, but she was asleep.

In the morning, I awoke to find we were still wrapped in each other's arms." I kissed her. My bone rose. She reached under my nightshirt to hold it gently. "There's still more of that lover's sperm in me," she said. "Finish it off now."

Could I complain about that? She didn't seem interested in releasing my penis nor in mounting me, so I turned around until my shoulders lay on her hips, and I then dipped my head between her legs. She spread them wide to admit me, then gently closed her thighs over my ears. I was alone in the dark with her pussy. I licked and sucked it, and more cum did came out. Thicker, stronger in aroma. Fishier. I licked, and then realized that Cassie was getting into it again—her hips had begun to rotate, rise, and fall, and finally as her legs clamped tight on my head I felt her spasm. A whole mouthful of dense cum pushed out into my mouth. Rich, salty, fishy, slightly sweet, like thick phlegm. I swallowed it as her legs relaxed, and from the head of the bed I heard a deep sigh of contentment.

As I straightened out she let go my prick, and I realized she'd only held it, not once taken it into her mouth though her mouth was right there, not even pumped it. Only held it. She saw me staring at that hand. It was still curled, holding the memory of it.

"I know what you're thinking," she said. "I didn't suck you or pull you to climax because I love it when you're horny like this. I love it when you feel that satisfying me is more important than satisfying yourself. I love it that you want more. Maybe I should always keep you like this, hard up and eager to please."

She paused. "Well, no, I do love the fucking. But I want you to become a connoisseur of cum, the fresh kind and the overnight kind and the all day kind. There was a difference you could detect, wasn't there? You could tell, couldn't you?"

"Yes," I said.

"Good," she said. "From now on I'll want oral sex after we make love, not before. Sometimes just after, sometimes a day or two after. Sex with me will always mean cum in your mouth for you. I want you to learn to tell the age of any fluids in my cunt by its taste."

"Why, Cassie?" I'd myself been surprised by the difference in flavor and viscosity.

"So you can tell by taste alone when it was I last lay with a lover. If you're going to imagine me with other men, you'll need hints and clues like that to worry about, won't you? What could be more humiliating than sucking and swallowing another man's cum out of your own wife?"

I decided to let that pass. I still had a boner. I pressed it against her.

She noticed, of course. "That excites you, that idea? How about going gay? You'd suck a man's cock if I asked you to, you've admitted that already, but how about everything else? How about the same question you put to me last night? Do you ever imagine yourself in bed with a man, fucking him or getting fucked by him?"

My bone collapsed. My gorge rose. "No," I said. "I'm not a woman."

"Well, that's no obstacle," she said breezily. "Not if you're seeking ways to feel humiliated, not now that we both know that thinking I'm unfaithful turns you on. We need to cultivate other similar shameful secrets in you. Do think about sex with a man, sweetie. It can be really lovely. I know. It's something else we could share. And it would help you understand how I feel about you, how any woman feels about her man." She smiled a secret smile. "I certainly love it, thinking about it and doing it. As you well know!"

"Of course," I said. "You're a girl. It's only natural."

"Natural," she repeated. And she took a deep breath, kissed me, and rolled out of bed to get ready for the day. "If anyone does anything, that makes it natural."

Nothing else was said until she was halfway out the front door. Then she turned and said, "Think about cute guys today, baby. Masturbate with a few in mind. I want you to. I'll ask you about it when I get home tonight. Try to imagine yourself with a guy who has blonde curly hair and a really devastating grin. Try to imagine his penis in your hand while you pleasure him, then in your mouth. Then try to imagine what you'd do with it once it was in your mouth. A few times today! Promise?"

"Cassie!"

"Promise!"

"Well, OK. All right, I will. But I'm not gay!"

"No one's gay till they're gay. How do you know what you are yet? Maybe I should bring you home a dildo to practice with? Or a real man? Remember, you've already confessed that you'd suck another man's cock if he'd just fucked me and I asked you to do it. That sounds a teeny weeny bit gay to me, doesn't it to you? Just try imagining that. Maybe it'll take hold. Who knows?"

As she closed the door, she called out, "If you really can't manage to do a guy as a guy, then do him as a girl! Imagining you're a girl. Imagining you're me, if you must! Works for me!"

She'd asked, and I'd promised, so that whole day I tried. I got very little work done. I tried to pretend that the men leaving those ambiguous phone messages were cute guys propositioning me, not businessmen talking to Cassie. I imagined myself shaking hands with them, chatting with them, dancing with them the way I'd seen gay men dance together, letting one of them feel my ass, then going somewhere private and kissing them passionately, and then unzipping them. And then .... Well, one after another, no go. I couldn't. Not as a man with another man. There were no dark secrets deep within me about other men. I felt disgusted every time I tried to imagine a cock in my mouth whether for his pleasure or mine. Especially a stiff cock pulsing cum into my mouth. Even my own cock and my own cum. And poking into an ass, or getting poked? Not possible.

So I tried to put myself in Cassie's shoes, those high-heels she usually wore to the office, and I tried to imagine myself flirting with her callers the way she did, tossing my head and my wrist, glancing at men sideways as if amused, raising my eyebrows when they propositioned me, driving them wild with delight merely by nodding approval. That was a little better. I jerked off several men that way, but I still couldn't imagine them in my mouth. One guy I conjured up tried to get into my ass all on his own. I just patted his cheek gently and told him that part was off limits.

Then I tried to imagine that the voices on the phone were other women with deep voices, each trying to lure me—Cassie—into a more intimate relationship. That was a little better. Again I felt coy, and a bit shy too, but at odd moments I became genuinely flirtatious. That was a new sensation for me, and sort of nice. It gave me a sense of power. One woman actually left a message that said, "I love everything about you, Cassie. It's time we let our hair down and really got to know each other privately. Tuesday afternoon in my hotel room at one o'clock OK?." I played it over and over, feeling not threatened but pleased, anticipating what we could do together. It got quite hot.

When Cassie got home she said nothing at first, just looked at me quizzically, waiting. Then, "Well? Do we keep our promises?"

I told her everything. "I tried cute guys, but they did nothing for me. Then the men who leave your telephone messages. But I couldn't do them, it made me nauseous. Then I imagined I was you with them, and that was a little better—at least then I could flirt, and feel pleased when they propositioned me."

"Did you try being yourself as a girl?"

"No, only as you."

"Poor baby," she said. "You're too inhibited. You're you, not me. I guess if you must be a girl, you should be your own girl. The voicemail men and women are all my men and women remember, not yours. You don't even know them. I think you should imagine you're you're own girl and then try a few imaginary men on for size. Here, this may help. Just wait a moment."

She went into the kitchen, and I heard the micro beep, and other kitchen noises. Then she returned with a sly grin and said, "I got you this. If as a man you're too repressed to suck off a guy, imagine you're some girl sucking him off. It's play time. Hold this dildo by the testicles and see if anything comes to mind."

And with that she placed an enormous cock and balls in my hand. It was made of a flesh-colored soft plastic, fully erect and indistinguishable from my own except that it was half again as long and much thicker too. With a purple crown, veins running up its length, and testicles attached, the facsimile crotch equipment of a massive man. Now it sat heavily in my palm with the business end pointed straight at my face. And the balls felt warm.

"Go ahead, suck on it, baby," she said softly.

"Cassie!"

"You promised me you'd try! Kiss it first, if that helps."

So I did. It wasn't real, after all. Then I opened wide and took the head into my mouth. It felt like a knockwurst, a fat hot dog. I sucked the end of it and detected a faint salty sweetness. Then I told myself to get to it. For Cassie. She's done me often enough, and she's watching. I slid the thing into my mouth until its soft, satiny crown struck the back of my throat. Then I closed my lips over the shank at about the halfway point, and pulled and pushed it out and in a few times. Licked it some more, then stared at it.

"Oh, sweetheart! What a pretty picture! Whether right now you're a boy or a girl in your own head, you're officially an apprentice cocksucker! Bob your head on it some more, work up a little passion, then squeeze the balls!"

I tried, and finally I squeezed. Amazingly, a sweet, salty, hot creaminess jetted onto the back of my tongue. Like real cum! Cassie smiled and nodded. I squeezed again. It filled my mouth. I stared at Cassie shocked, the cock now stuffed into my mouth like a monster pacifier.

She looked ecstatic! "See, baby? It's a little like your own, isn't it? I made it for you. Salted milk with a touch of honey. That will be your breakfast drink every morning from now on, swallowed fresh from Mr. D's balls here. And your lunch, too! I want you to suck this lovely thing several times every day, until cocksucking is as easy and familiar to you as licking my cunt. I'll help with the basic skills each morning before I go to work, though it's obvious already that you're talented, a natural!"

"Cassie, this is silly! Why do you want me to do this? Just to humiliate me?"

She stared at me, genuinely surprised. "Why yes, baby, that's it exactly! I told you, to humiliate you! To weaken your male instincts and awaken a submissive acceptance of my female sexuality, so that deep down in the most suppressed, darkest, most deviant parts of your being you can locate and live out the richest thrills of your life! I want you to find that place within you and rise from it exalted, and then return there repeatedly. To feel so helpless, so utterly inadequate as a man, so terrified that I might prefer some other man, that you're transfigured into something else. Something abject, pathetic, servile! Something eager to suck even a dildo cock. Ask your penis—it knows! It craves those feelings! I want that uttermost experience for you because I love you! I've told you that repeatedly!"

I bowed my head. I was already in turmoil. There was nothing I could say. My wife wants to accustom me to sucking a cock. An imitation cock. I felt devastated. Utterly humiliated. But there was no denying at the same time that deep inside me, I did feel peculiarly liberated!

"Now try deep throating that penis, honey. You'll need to learn to control your gag reflex to do a proper job. When you get it all the way down your throat, squeeze the balls again, that warm cum is your reward. Then pull the prick all the way out and push it all the way in again. Face fuck yourself. Practice!"

This was insane, yet Cassie was being so matter-of-fact! I was baffled. "Practice? Why? For what?"

"Why? You said it yourself. Maybe so one day you can suck off an actual man's cock if I should ever ask you to, and not disgrace me. Say, a rival's cock, a lover who's just fucked me, one you can't even imagine now! You said you'd do it if it came to that!"

I went numb. "Cassie? You have a lover?"

"Don't I? In your dreams? In your thoughts all day?"

"Cassie! Do you?"

"If I did, think how I'd feel seeing you suck him off. Triumphant? Contemptuous? Think how you'd feel! Can I deny you? You're no way ready, but I want you to think it could happen!" She smiled wide-eyed at me, and nodded in agreement with herself. "I want you ready for it even if it never happens. Starting now, I want you to know you'd do it and feel deeply ashamed that you'd do it, and deeply ashamed that you'd love doing it! You can be a boy or a girl cocksucker in your own head, that's your choice, whichever's more your thing. This is your practice cock. Choose a gender for yourself and make up a personality for when you practice. You know, cute, bright, aloof, angry, dangerous, starved, indifferent. Something. You know how guys are. And girls.

My stomach was knotted up. Yet undeniably, there was this awful, delicious feeling! This thing stands for Cassie's lover? Cocksuck Cassie's lover, and yet don't, because this thing isn't real? My wife is mine, but maybe she isn't mine? Maybe she never has been? I felt a helpless, agonized ... bliss!

She waited.

I'd said I'd try, so I had to. I pushed the penis as far into my gullet as I could, then I squeezed the balls hard a few times. Sprays of sticky, sweetly salty milk went down my throat. Then I pulled the thing out of my face and stared at it. It was glistening from its own juice and my saliva, very life-like. A man's cock, but with no man attached.

I did it twice more, until the balls were empty.

Cassie came over and kissed me. She was excited, breathing hard. "Mmmmm!" she said. "I can taste it on your lips. Delicious! I'm so proud of you! How many men would have the courage? Now come taste the cum in my pussy."

"But there's nothing there now," I reminded her. "Remember? I went down on you again this morning. I cleaned you out."

"That was then. This is now."

My heart collapsed into my belly! What was she saying?! What had she done?! Some other man, during the day ...?

She came over and pressed her palm, against my groin. "Oh, sweetheart!" she said. "You should see the look on your face! Isn't it marvelous, how helpless you feel when you think your wife is screwing some other man and there's nothing you can do? Isn't it excruciating? Look at your prick now, stiff as a broom handle! Come into the living room this moment and do me with it right now, right now, quick, never mind lying down for it, I'll lean over the back of the couch! I need you in me! Fill me full! I need it!"

She pulled me into the living room. I dropped my pants. She bent over the padded back of the sofa, lifted her skirt, spread her legs wide, and pushed out her tush. No panties, when had she shed them? I found her slot and jammed into her and fucked her hard and fast. I was merciless. She grunted each time I slammed her, but made no complaint. A few dozen strokes and my yearnings rose up and overflowed and my prick spouted into her like a fountain! I began to catch my breath.

"Now onto the floor," Cassie said. "Face up! I want mine!"

I dropped down as commanded. She sat directly on my face, her twat covering my mouth, and all that fresh cum immediately poured out into my mouth. Along with a thicker, faintly fishy cum? Older cum? Still from last night? I decided that's what it was.

"Oh, honey, I was so hot!" she whispered to me even while writhing on my face, eyes closed, her face exalted. "All day long I was imagining you flirting with different boys and kissing and sucking their penises. Practically every one in pants who passed my office door! That got me so hot! My panties were soaked by noon, I was dripping so steadily I needed a tampon! And just now when you were actually pushing that big prick in and out of your mouth I almost orgasmed on the spot! You were so busy with your new sensations you never noticed! Did you enjoy them? Don't you love what I'm doing to you? Tell me! No, no joking! Absolute honesty."

I had done everything she'd asked. I'd done it for her, and she was ecstatic that I had done it for her. I enjoyed seeing her reaction. That was most of it. Yet there was a part of me that celebrated this kind of degradation, I couldn't deny that either.

"Yes, Cassie. I do. I do love it."

Within a week that dildo was as familiar to me as my toothbrush. Cassie attached it to the back of a breakfast room chair at about groin height. When I came to breakfast she'd merely gesture at it, and I'd fall to my knees and lavish affection on it, kiss it and milk it and jerk it off all the while sucking it while she watched. And swallow its cum. "I love seeing you like that," she said, beaming. "Breakfast is my favorite time of day."

She was generous with suggestions. I learned to run the flat of my tongue up its underside before closing my lips over it and running those lips up and down its length. I learned that the suction was to hold my lips tight-closed around the cock as I slithered them up and down, to provide the cock maximum sensation, not to pull fluid out of it. I learned to purse my lips as far forward as a Frenchman's to shield the cock from my teeth, and as I sat at my desk during the day I practiced making a plump-lipped "O" over and over.

One morning she daydreamed aloud. "Girls often get their lips filled out with collagen so men can daydream the feel of pillowed circles wrapped around their cocks. Maybe you need puffed lips too? If you're going to be a cocksucker, I want you to be the best, to make me really proud!"

"What do you mean 'going to be'?" I asked, worried whether this actually was more than just a game for her. I got to my feet, my mouth still tasting of salted milk and honey, and looked for the coffee pot.

"Oh, I love that pout! It's so very attractive. Kiss Mr D while you're still making it!" That was her only response.

A few weeks went by. Each morning my mouth became a soft vagina for that dildo while Cassie watched me fascinated and made little suggestions to enhance the erotic play. She sometimes sat alongside me and stroked and played with my hair with her delicate fingers while I concentrated on servicing Mr. D. I loved that. It seemed ... consoling. Sometimes she seemed to be patting a beloved dog. At first that annoyed me, but I learned to appreciate it. It made me feel good.

I got so I could deep-six its entire length down my throat and hold it there for as long as I could hold my breath. Cassie pointed out that sucking cock was not an endurance contest, that Mr. D would prefer a throat and mouth that moves. At night, she'd prove it by taking my own cock into her beautiful mouth, each time reviewing what I'd learned that morning and practiced during the day. Never to the point of orgasm, because my cum was specially designated, first for her pussy, then for my mouth, and finally for my stomach. My cum we shared. Mr. D's was mine alone.

I must say, I felt cheapened and demeaned sometimes, just as Cassie wanted me to feel. Some days the whole exercise just seemed silly. Cassie asked me to spice up the experience by supposedly flirting with a different imaginary man each day, then imagining I was sucking the man's cock while I was sucking the dildo. I asked Cassie if she did that too, if she imagined I was a different man each time she sucked on me. She smiled and said nothing. Each day the delicious unease in the pit of my stomach grew stronger whenever I wondered such things. And Cassie knew it. Some days she'd tell me to jerk off whenever I felt it, especially if it was while pleasuring Mr. D. Other days she forbid me to touch my cock no matter how I felt. Then each evening when she got home I had to tell her everything, everything that had happened, everything I'd felt about it, as if I were a teenage girl fresh back from a date.

Sometimes I'd pretend I was gay, and sometimes that I was Cassie. More often I was one of the girls I'd gone with before I met Cassie. Cassie especially liked that when I told her. She hoped it would change my memories of those girls if I relived our relationships as them, not as me. It did. I even thought about how each styled their hair before a date, and wondered about changing mine to match, so I'd look more attractive for Mr. D.

But most often I was just myself while sucking on Mr. D, and that pleased Cassie most. "My cocksucker hubby," she called me, pleased. I could easily imagine doing other degenerate things with Cassie's telephone callers now. It once crossed my mind that while I was on my knees with that dildo, supposedly pleasuring a caller, Cassie might be on hers at that same moment pleasuring an actual man. I tried not to think of it, but the image kept returning. As I imagined her lips wrapped around some man's thick meat, that delicious unease in my belly would flare up wildly and become jealousy and despair and rage, then die down into a glow of acceptance. If I had her permission, at that point I'd masturbate half-out of my mind. That was what Cassie wanted for me and had granted me. I felt grateful. Sometimes I even craved it.

My mind was where it was all happening. Actually, giving blow jobs to a dildo isn't hard at all. Oral sex is oral sex, a cock is a cock, and something in the mouth is no more than that. What did it matter? I sometimes felt like a real slut, a ten-tricks-a-day whore sucking different men's cocks all day even though they were all Mr. D, and that too I'm sure is was what Cassie wanted for me. It was all practice, preparation. But for what?

Our night-time lovemaking now always ended with an extra orgasm for Cassie, because I always sucked my cum back out of her, exciting her until her cunt would spasm and squeeze everything out. She loved it. Whatever she loved I loved, so I found myself in paradise! She awakened a submissive self within me I'd never known, and I became passionate on his behalf. Some nights I sipped her cunt clear of its accumulated fluids as if I were sipping champagne, in all humility, feeling deeply privileged. One night as she was convulsed by a powerful orgasm I felt a clear warm fluid enter my mouth, thin, lightly pungent but not at all like her cum or mine. I swallowed it as it came, and realized only after three or four swallows that it had to be her pee. She'd climaxed so powerfully she'd lost control of her bladder.

I decided to say nothing. But when she'd recovered her breath and we'd both calmed down, as we were lying quite still next to each other, she said quietly, "You swallowed it all, didn't you!"

I answered only, "Yes."

"I was wondering why the bed wasn't soaked. My sweet piss-boy. Did you like it?"

I was silent.

She leaned over to kiss my cheek with her soft lips. "You're embarrassed to tell me that you did like it, aren't you."

"I liked being useful to you," I managed to say. "And especially intimate—I like having you in me. By that I know I'm special."

"Yes, you are. No one has ever done anything like that for me before. You're my sole Prince of Piss from now on, sweetheart. Only you. Shall we do it again some time?"

What could I say. It wasn't that bad. The odor was light and the taste delicate. And she was impressed! "Yes," I said cautiously. "If you wish."

"As a reward then. Sometimes you'll have it directly from me, you'll never know when, and sometimes I'll serve it to you in a wine glass, I think. It'll always be fresh, darling. Because it's a reward, not a punishment, a token of my special affection for you. A gift from deep inside me in appreciation of our special relationship."

I don't know why, but I turned and kissed her gratefully, then lay back content. Not because she now felt free to piss on me, into me, but because as she'd just said, she thought me special, and I was nowadays often worried about whether I was only one more of her men. If there were any others. She'd already asked me not to rinse my mouth out after I'd licked her clean—she always wanted me to feel and taste her all night and the next morning too. It wasn't just my cum, it was ours. And now another of her fluids blended in with ours. All three together a beautiful symbol of our marriage.

There was a lot of cum for me to swallow. As I sank more and more into delicious subservience, Cassie seemed to be more constantly aroused. She often came home with her panties soaked. "I love thinking about you at home all day with Mr. D in your mouth," she explained. Or "I was imagining that this time there was a real cock in your mouth. It's so demeaning for you! So funky! So tantalizing that I could hardly concentrate on my work! I really must get you a real man's cum to taste, and soon, I worry I'm depriving you. Men are all different, you know. I wonder how I can manage it! Maybe only in a condom?"

She grinned as she saw the effect her teasing was having on me. "You pussy! That erection! You love the idea!" she whispered triumphantly. I couldn't deny it.

When she got home from work, sometimes she couldnt wait for night. She'd toss her purse onto a chair, lie down on the sofa with one foot high on the back and one on the floor, and crook her finger at me wordlessly. Then I'd come drain her. Sometimes she was so juicy it would take me a half-hour or more. "This is all you, isn't it?" I asked her once, marvelling at how much thick fluid her vagina could hold.

"What do you think?" she replied with a mysterious smile. And as pure fear again took over the pit of my stomach, I got rock hard.

One weekend we had another of our odd conversations.

"You still imagine you're me, sometimes, don't you, when you're pleasuring Mr. D and your different boyfriends."

I nodded. I wasn't being Cassie very often any more. I'd found I was more easily a sweetly submissive girl with some tigerish streaks when I was in a girl mode, not wanting to be myself and yet not some man-loving fag either. That girl sucked Mr. D fairly often. And recently she'd sucked Cassie too when I was between Cassie's legs or under her crotch. Though I didn't tell her that.

"If you can imagine you're me, wouldn't you think it's fair for me to imagine I'm you, and treat Mr. D as a boyfriend the way you do? To take my turn sucking on Mr. D? In fact shouldn't I go all the way and fuck myself with him?"

I was silent. A little appalled. A lot saddened, I don't know why. And suddenly afraid! Suddenly jealous of Mr. D!? What if Cassie came to prefer that huge thing in her to my comparatively paltry penis? What if she got so mine could no longer satisfy her? What if she was already accustomed to bigger pricks, real ones? Oh, God! My gut writhed in an ecstasy of torment!

She saw and immediately relented. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I won't take your man away from you. I know you've gotten rather fond of him. But it is time we moved on. Mr. D does need to feel squeezed by a pussy now and then to stay in condition. That's what he was made for, after all."

I was still terrified. We played mind games, yes, but for Cassie to take in that huge cock instead of my own, that was hard. I could only look at her, desolated.

"You poor dear," she said softly. "I don't mean squeezed by my pussy. I mean by your pussy! Shouldn't you fuck yourself with him? "

I was bewildered!

"You're so sweet. Always thinking of my pleasure, or Mr. D's, and never your own. I love you for that! But you do need a proper reward! Not just my pee, though you'll get all I can give you tonight, and I wish I could fill your belly to the brim. But I'm afraid it's undeniable. That girl in you who blows Mr. Dildo, you're most often her now aren't you, she needs to be fucked. She needs to know what a stiff dick in her pussy can feels like. She needs to go all the way to orgasm with one. She needs to feel like a woman."

She gazed at me for a moment. "Or maybe it's the boy in you who needs to feel a big man's meat moving in and out of his ass? Maybe it's time for that? For you to go all gay?"

She waited. I still said nothing, so she spoke decisively. "Either way, it's a necessary step toward your maturity, and it's time. So tomorrow when we're getting ready for bed, be sure to give yourself an enema. Then use one of my prepared douches. Whatever you'll call it, a girly pussy or a boy's asshole, tomorrow it becomes Mr. D's glory hole, so make it nice and sweet for him."

I did, filled with apprehension. The next night I came to bed with my rear end cleansed thoroughly, smelling faintly of Cassie's lemon douche. We made love as usual, and I thought she'd forgotten her plan. But then while she was straddling my face and I was sucking my nightly load of cum out of her and into me, she leaned back and reached between my legs and pushed a finger into my anus, then two more, and then she began to slip them back and forth. They were slick with something. My own cum? "Isn't this nice?" she asked. It did feel strange, as if I were expelling a turd over and over. Oddly, it felt good too.

I began to suck and lick her in the rhythm her fingers set, and as she rose to orgasm that became frantic. God! As she orgasmed the rest of my cum into my mouth, my ass was gyrating on her fingers as wildly as hers on my face. Again I thought that would be all. But when I was already nearly asleep, Cassie patted my rear end and whispered, "You look so relaxed now, sweetheart. Maybe it's time. Lift up!" I did, and immediately felt something soft and blunt pushing against my anus, trying to get in. It couldn't, though she left the tip in the cleft of my ass for some time. and I fell asleep trying to clench it with the muscles in my anus.

The next morning when I was still half-asleep Cassie tried again, and actually got Mr. D's head into me. I felt split open. The pain was terrible. She waited, kissed me gently, then moved it in another inch. Another pause, then another kiss, and yet another inch. Then another. The pain gradually eased. Finally Mr. D was entirely inside me, and I didn't dare move. I felt crammed full to bursting. Yet—it was odd—also comfy. Snug.

"There!" she said. "Now you're no longer a virgin! You know how we all feel with a big cock inside us. All of us girls."

I held myself rigid with my ass high in the air to relieve the pressure. Then in and out she moved it, and desire began to glow deep inside me. My prick stiffened. In and out, and my treasonable cock began leaking clear fluid. Oh, how wonderful! I stretched out my whole body and let out a little moan, and grasped that cock with the cheeks of my ass to try pull it in deeper, and Cassie squeezed the balls repeatedly, and my bowels filled with warm fluid. It felt so very good. Strangely reassuring. Then as if reluctantly, the soft, massive object inside me withdrew. I missed feeling full.

"Thank you, sweetheart," I said, to let her know that this time my pleasure felt pure, not at all perverse. "I like it, you fucking me!"

"It was Mr. Dildo fucking you, honey. But tell me, was he fucking a boy or a girl? You? Or maybe me?"

I hadn't given it any thought at all. Gay sex still had no appeal, though in imagination I could now submit my body to any man's uses if in obedience to a woman. Mr. D had now fucked me. I was a man, he'd fucked another man. But Cassie wanted a different answer. She'd told me that Mr. D needs pussies, not assholes. That seemed to reveal a preference, as far as she was concerned. Most of the time I did do my daily blow jobs on Mr. D as a girl, a modest, serviceable teenager like the short-haired lacrosse player with almost no tits who'd first blown me. So what she wanted seemed reasonable. "He fucked a girl," I replied. "He was fucking my pussy."

"Not my pussy? You weren't me?"

"No. I'm my own girl." It was getting sort of true, often enough. I'd try to remember to make it true always. My ass, when a cock approaches, I told myself, is a cunt. And the rest of me is what always accompanies a cunt. I smiled. "I'm a self-made girl."

"Oh, I'm helping. Would you like me ask Mr. D to fuck you again soon?"

"Yes, please. If he does't mind that I don't dare move when he's all the way into me. He's so big!"

"You aren't the first girl to think that about a man, love," she said. "But we all get used to it. You'll see. And a cock gets to be a very special thing to a girl, well worth wriggling over. That's why we all love them."

She was right. From then on, whenever I sucked her pussy she returned the favor by fucking mine with the dildo. Almost every night. We found that when my asshole was full of Mr. D and my sphincter muscles were fully stretched out, my cock was always rock hard. Then she'd ride that cock or ask me to mount her and plunge it into her, and if it was morning she'd carry my sperm off to work snug in her vagina. I'd then drain it and her day's accumulated juices when she got home. If she was especially pleased with my tongue she'd request a glass of pale chardonnay at her place at dinner, and place a clear yellow wine at mine.

Our supposed genders switched and blended at random after a while. "I'm fucking you," she'd say, whether she was plunging Mr. D in and out of me, or working my pole in and out of her while I lay on my back blissed out. "I'm fucking my girl! I'm your man, fucking his girl! I'm Mr. D fucking Cassie's husband!"

"Yes!" I'd respond. "Yes!" I was all of those things. And my penis always lubricated helplessly onto my belly as that monster reamed my ass. I got so I loved getting fucked any way imaginable! It drove me wild. Cassie could feel my excitement from the turbulent way my ass rotated on her dildo when my head was down between her legs gobbling her twat as if starved.

That gave her an idea, in fact. One evening I met her at a downtown restaurant for drinks and dinner. I was celebrating, feeling especially good because a client had just signed a generous long-term contract for my services. I'd had two drinks and then most of a bottle of wine with dinner, Cassie holding back because she was going back to the office to work through the files for a major litigation before she could come home herself. Conversation turned to my "progress" as she called it.

"You should have been born a girl, Hal," she said as she looked me over affectionately.

"But then we wouldn't be carrying on this passionate love affair we're having," I said. "These lovely things you think up for us to do."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Cassie said. "I love you when you're a woman in your own mind. And when you're being a woman for Mr. D. Especially then—you do so enjoy yourself!"

"How can you? I'm not at all womanly." I wasn't fishing for compliments. It just seemed unlikely. I felt awkward when I was supposed to be feminine, except when Mr. D's cock was inside me. Clumsy and gawky, whether on the bed or my knees. I felt passive and vulnerable, but never graceful, ladylike.

"Oh, part of you's perfect," she said. "I love the way your ass moves, for example, Hal. It's the sexiest thing imaginable when you're getting fucked. Such voluptuous twists and turns!"

I almost blushed. "Thank you!" I said. And stared gratefully at her, wide eyed, and flashed her a small smile. I'd once had a girlfriend who did that when she was complimented.

Cassie saw and beamed. "Oh, yes!" she said. "I'd love to see more of that. When you're being the girl Mr. D and I both love, when you're feeling more like her at odd times, why don't you make an extra effort to move your whole body in a more feminine manner? To be more expressive as a woman. There's this special way we walk, and sit, and gesture, even just stand. Please, sweetheart? Do you think you could?"

I couldn't refuse her. I emptied my wine glass and said magnanimously, "Of course, Cassie honey. Any time!"

Her face lit up. "Oh! Then how about all the time? When I'm at the office I'd love to think of you still being ladylike at home, moving about with a certain delicate grace. Not as my lumbering Hal but my lovely Hallie."

"I'll still be Hal," I said defensively, feeling a little rejected.

"You'll always be Hal underneath," she said. And she leaned over and kissed me sweetly on the mouth, even though we were in a public place. I was moved. "That's the point of all this. I wouldn't have it any other way. Here, I'll prove it. For the rest of this dinner, wherever you place your arms, keep your hands bent up at the wrist just a little, fingers relaxed, instead of letting them droop down."

I did. It was deliciously feminine.

"Now knees and thighs tight together as you sit. And do both those things for the rest of our dinner here."

I did that too. It felt prim. Unaccustomed muscles began to ache after only a minute or so.

"See? You're still Hal."

I guess I was, though I got increasingly unsure during the next few days. Cassie gave me a crash course in moving like a woman. First, she demonstrated how all beautiful women walk. "Like models in slinky long gowns. The way I walk when I enter a room and know I'm being seen and admired. It's quite feminine. Just put one foot directly in front of the other and use a little hip. And a sinuous glide. It's also very provocative. Whenever I see it it'll remind me how you move when I've got a prick up your ass, and I won't be able to resist you. Neither will Mr. D."

"Isn't a walk like that a little faggoty, honey?" I asked her?

"Maybe," she replied. "Not necessarily. In a man it would be. Have you changed your mind about your gender when you're getting laid?"

"I know what I am," I said, a little worried that she'd lost respect for me. "I may like to imagine I'm a girl, but I know I'm still a man."

"Yes, darling," Cassie agreed with mock solemnity. "A man. A man who sucks cock and licks cum and loves it when there's a monster prick pumping in and out of his ass. And wriggles like a sex-crazed slut to prolong the pleasure. That's not very manly, is it?"

"I do it for you, honey," I said, miffed at the way she'd characterized our lovemaking. My lovemaking with Mr. D, I had to add. No, none of it was very manly.

"Yes, I know. I do appreciate it, too. I love you for it. But you do it for you too, because as every girl knows it's wonderful to feel a prick working in and out of you. You do it for the new girl you're becoming in your own mind. So please? For both of us? All the time, so it gets to be habitual. Move like a girl who's been well-fucked. You are one, aren't you?"

So I did, from then on always when we were home together and often when I was alone. I was careful always to smooth an invisible skirt under me whenever I sat down, and always to keep my thighs together—crossed ankles optional. I began to wear my hair loose instead of in a pony tail, and to toss my head when I needed to clear it out of my face, even though it wasn't even shoulder length. To undulate when I walked, keeping my elbows tight to my body, and my wrists limp or my hands bent upward.

It isn't altogether natural for a man with balls between his legs and narrow hips to walk the way women walk, so I had a tendency to overdo it. Sometimes when we were out together at a restaurant or in a mall to see a movie she'd ask me to practice the walk through long parking lots on our way to the car. People stared in passing, and at first I felt embarrassed, but Cassie was always well warmed up and wet when we arrived home, so it always seemed more than worth it.

I got accustomed. She loved seeing my hips and rear swivel as I moved about the house, so she bought me an array of stretch jeans and pants to wear to make my figure more visible. And so there'd be no bunching of fabric under them, she bought me some jock strops like thongs instead of the boxer shorts I usually wore. Once some teenage boys whistled from some distance behind us. I thought they were saluting Cassie's beauty, but Cassie set me straight. "You have a marvelous ass in those pants, honey," she told me. "Just like a woman's, round as a bubble and getting moreso. That's one reason why I love to help Mr. D fuck it. Be proud! I'll buy you more tight pants to show it off."

And she did. With no pockets. She wanted to get me a purse for carrying my wallet, but I balked at that. I still had plenty of pockets in my jacket. "Well, we'll re-think it when summer comes," was all she said.

I now enjoyed sex in a variety of imaginary roles, as a submissive cuckold, a swish gay man, a humiliated husband, a naive teenage girl, as my former girl friends, as a mature cock slut, a sophisticated lady, or as Cassie pretending to be any one of these. All the time excited yet terrified. She added another role too. I loved caressing, kissing, and sucking her breasts, especially when her nipples hardened and extended themselves, so I became her "milky baby." I'd nuzzle her, content to feel her warm, soft breast pressing on my face while she held my head in both her arms. Sometimes she asked me to nurse rather then cunt-lick her evenings when she was watching television or reading, since I'd be licking her pussy later anyhow after I'd cum into her.

And she reciprocated. She fondled my chest as a lover might fondle the pink-tipped breasts of a beloved virgin. My nipples got to be even more erogenous than hers. When she caressed them my mind would melt away and my whole body swim in bliss, the sensations extended into a soft penis that lay enraptured in an enchanted sleep, twitching but never awakening. When she sucked on the buds of my breasts I'd go breathless! She'd never done that before—the sensations were new, yet in themselves worth all our identity-playing.

And some weeks later my nipples seemed to anticipate her approach—they began to project out eagerly into small cones that fit gratefully in her mouth. And the sensations intensified, grew more ecstatic, more erotically arousing even than my cock's. We took to part-way sixty-nining each other, lying across each other, each blissfully nursing on the other's breasts. Sometimes we'd fall asleep nestled in each other's arms and mouths. The days and nights were never long enough!

I kept to my work obligations, but except for sex I was getting no exercise, and my body as well as my mind grew soft. During her days at the office Cassie worked with men who were effective, purposive, and persuasive, dealing with important matters. I sometimes worried what she might actually be thinking of me, knowing that all the while I was home in an erotic haze, kneeling to suck off Mr. D, or masturbating, or as she now encouraged me to do, playing with my sensitive titties. I feared her contempt, and I could see my gradual degradation as a man clearly enough through her eyes. Yet all this had begun with her heartfelt declaration of eternal love for me, and she repeated it whenever I seemed especially depressed or, as now and then, irritated by her persistent efforts to humiliate me further. She only wanted me to locate sublime submissiveness in myself, she'd say, to put me in touch with my "inner wimp." "It's a gift of love," she'd explain. "When you can finally surrender yourself altogether to me, you'll possess all of me."

I couldn't see how, but I trusted her. And I felt deeply grateful that she'd opened me to all these new experiences. Because she'd been correct. I now lived in an aroused state of erotic ecstasy as well as jealous anguish and—as I adopted more feminine mannerisms—fear of exposure. Wherever Cassie might be with other men at work, and whatever she was doing with them impersonally or intimately, she knew that at certain times of day I was on my knees with a simulated cock in my mouth or in my ass, listening to yet another man proposition her on our phone answering machine, seeking a state of mind transcending suspicion of her and anxiety for my marriage. And that pleased her. And pleasing her pleased me.

"My love," she'd whisper in the dark in her most deeply affectionate voice whenever we finally settled down to sleep. "My dearest love! I'll never leave you! You're becoming everything I've ever wanted or hoped for!"

I wondered what she meant by that. What was I becoming, other than what I'd already become? As always, I fell asleep without answers.

We maintained our social lives, what there was of them. I had nearly none by now. Between maintaining my work load and re-habituating myself to serve Cassie's desires, time was in short supply. I'd never been especially gregarious anyhow—I went to other people's houses, and dances or parties at the Club, mainly to accompany Cassie. I had no male friends now, and didn't need any. I'd chat with the husbands of Cassie's friends, feel bored, and wait until she judged it was time to go home.

A Saturday rolled round when it was Cassie's turn to host her all-women's bridge club, and she asked me as usual to help her set up the tables and fix some of the snacks. I did. Usually I'd then leave the house and go to a movie alone or something, so her friends could gossip about husbands and work and recipes and lovers uninhibited by one more mere husband. But this time I was expecting an important fax, so I had to close myself in my study to await it.

I 'd just gotten it and looked it over when I heard a loud crash and thump from the game room in our finished basement where the tables were set up, and then women's voices speaking excitedly, then laughing, using words like "shame" and "pity" in tones as amused as concerned. Then I heard Cassie's voice calling me. I trotted down the stairs to confront an odd sight—the dozen or so women there had returned to their card games, concentrating intently on their hands, but the snack table in the corner had collapsed, strewing plates of little sandwiches and canapes and a bowl of pasta primavera all across the floor. Cassie motioned me over.

"Honey," she whispered. "We can't delay this crucial phase of the tournament long enough to clean up that mess over there. Would you be a dear and do it? And then pick up a party platter and pasta salad from Aldo's down the street, so I'll have something to serve when we next take a break?" She gestured toward the trash and clutter regretfully, but then the woman next to her bid something and she immediately returned to study of her hand and the cards on the table.

"Sure," I said, though she was no longer listening.

For the next twenty minutes I made repeated trips up and down the stairs, carrying plastic bags full of ruined snacks, gathering up shards of serving platters, sweeping residue, setting up a new table, carrying down fresh plates, napkins, and forks, and arranging them as attractively as I could. Then as asked I walked to the small gourmet delicatessen at the end of our street to get more food. On my way back I heard a two tone whistle of appreciation behind me. Shocked, I realized I'd been walking with the hip-rotating wiggle and limp wrists Cassie loved.

I had to keep it up all the way back to the house, of course—give whoever had whistled no satisfaction that I'd heard him, and certainly don't turn around so he could see I wasn't female. But then worse. As I brought down the fresh cold-cuts and salads and arranged them, I realized I'd undulated my rear and moved my arms loose-wristed unawares the whole time I'd been clearing and carrying away the spilled food. And still was. I'd been moving in the extravagantly feminine way I always moved when at home. As I'd passed among these women for the past half-hour or more, my pelvis had been rocking seductively with my butt pushed way out.

"Thank you honey, you're a dear," Cassie said, looking up from her game for a moment. Some of the other women paused to look at me appreciatively too, then returned to their play. One or two smiled at me more warmly than I might expect, and one seemed amused, I assumed because men don't usually lay out plates and napkins and so on with such care. Had any of them noticed my exaggeratedly girlish movements all the while I'd been down here cleaning up?

I asked Cassie that after they'd left.

"How could they not?" she replied absently, adding up columns of small sums related to everyone's standing at the end of the day's proceedings.

I felt a jolt of apprehension—my secret life was now out, known!

"With all that walking and bending down and straightening up again, especially when you were walking up and down the stairs? You were moving like a swimwear model, all slink and wriggle, almost no bones at all for that matter, except for your usual one, and that one's always tucked away when you wear those tight pants. Roxanne asked if you were rehearsing for a night in a gay bar. The other women thought it was cute, though not something they'd want their own men to imitate."

I was appalled. Cassie's friends thought she was married to a queer? Mortified, I could barely murmer, "I'm sorry I embarrassed you, sweetheart!"

"Oh, you didn't," Cassie said, still busy with her pencil, unconcerned. "Only yourself. I explained how come you were that way, and they asked a few questions, and that was that!"

"You explained? What did you explain? What kinds of questions?"

Now she looked up at me, and a sly grin spread across her face. "I told them you like to move like that. That it gives you access to all sorts of new feelings about your body, and you love some of them. That's true, isn't it?"

"I guess," I said. "But think of the disgrace! They'll tell their husbands and so on, and I'll be a laughingstock!"

Now Cassie's broad smile warmed everything in my vicinity. "Oh, sweetheart!" she said. "I hope so! Wouldn't that be wonderful? No more trying to measure up to other men. No more fears about anyone discovering your little kinks—you'd know that everyone expects you to show them, that they're you and need no apology. That you can mince anywhere if you wish, use any gender mannerisms you choose, and feel confirmed in them by everyone else's eyes. I'd think you'd love that, in a way! And of course there's nothing to feel ashamed about. They all thought that walk of yours very attractive. They all said so. And I do too!"

"Attractive to whom?" I asked truculently, feeling utterly lost. "To men?"

"Mainly, who else?" she replied, coming forward to kiss me. Then with her forearms lying relaxed across my shoulders, she looked me directly in the eyes and added, "I don't know how any man could ever resist that ass, the way you move it. We all agree that Mr. D is very lucky! And that you are too, to have Mr. D pay you the attention he does. The ladies all envied you when I brought him down to show them."

"You did what?!!" My jaw dropped! I felt absolutely destroyed!

She ignored my distress. "I told them how you practice being a girl with Mr. D. How sometimes it's an inner gay man, but mostly it's your inner girl, but either way Mr. D helps you feel complete. Then we all had quite a chat about men who would rather be women, and I learned lots of things about my little bridge group. Some of the women intend to buy Mr. D replicas to use on themselves, but not only on themselves."

She kissed me again. "Thank you again for your help, darling. This card party was an enormous success, and all because of you, and we're all grateful. I do love you! Now let's get to bed and finish cleaning up in the morning."

I was so deeply depressed she could sense she hadn't reached me. So she added, "I wonder if there's a way you can do me while Mr. D does you. We haven't tried that yet, have we? It could be heavenly!"

What could I say? We did. It was.

The word must have gotten out. At her next office party I sensed a different attitude toward me. The women who knew I was Cassie's husband looked at me interestedly, surmise lifting an eyebrow here and there, I thought. Some of the men seemed to smirk. I was trying extra hard not to move my hips, because I was wearing a brand new pair of stretch-flannel pants Cassie'd bought me to go with a short form-fit jacket with no buttons, she called it a "bolero." The pants were so tight they had neither pockets nor fly, only a side zipper to preserve their perfect fit around my hips and rounded buttocks and the flattened front of my tucked crotch. "It's very in," Cassie said when I commented that it looked a little fey. "'Metrosexual' they call it. It suits you."

Cassie's law clerk Clarice gave me a delighted high sign from across the room as she checked out my tight pants, then came over to congratulate me once again on my cooperative attitude toward marriage. "It's remarkable how freely you each respect the other's desires. Cassie's never been happier," Clarice said. "And she says it's all your doing! I must say, when married people actually encourage each other to satisfy their own needs as individuals, no matter what kinds of needs, well, that's rare. You must both be very happy."

I thanked her, though baffled by what she meant. Other people heard, and may have thought she meant more than merely my willingness to wear tight pants resembling women's pants and a kind of Spanish dancer's jacket. Again, I couldn't tell what they were thinking.

Other people also went out of their way to tell me how cheerful Cassie seemed lately, how effective in her work, and how she constantly credited me as her "one-person support group." They inquired after my own line of work and asked other questions to ingratiate themselves. One young man said he'd heard good things about me and asked if I was "seeing anyone," which baffled me, because I'd just been introduced to him as Cassie's husband. I supposed he meant new clients. But most people questioned me only pro forma, not interested enough to await answers. Other people already knew the answers and ignored me, or so it seemed. Cassie was now chairing the firm's personnel committee, the one that determines hiring and annual bonus policy, so maybe that was why I was no longer an anonymous bystander? Whatever, I no longer felt anonymous. Instead, I was a little uncomfortable.

Cassie had been off working the room, asking a question here, looking concerned there, smiling and touching people elsewhere. She came up to me as people were beginning to leave to tell me that something had come up, she had to stay on and take care of it, I'd better just go home without her and plan on having dinner alone. "But I'll bring home dessert," she said. "How about a cream pie?"

Did she know what she was saying? "Good," I replied. "But we came here together. How will you get home?"

"Oh, no problem, this man I'll be with will give me a lift when I've taken care of his little problem."

I was sorry I'd asked, and I spent the next few hours home alone in an exquisite state of anguish. When Cassie finally arrived she did indeed have a cream pie with her, a leftover from the snack table at the party. But we didn't get to eat it until the next day, because on her arrival home she immediately threw herself onto the couch with no hesitation, and flung her legs wide open, and said, "Honeybun, eat me!"

And so I did. I knelt between her legs like a courtier and lapped up all the clotted, rich juices that were running out of her. A real cream pie, the other kind? "I've been thinking about you all day," was her explanation as I nuzzled into her twat and scooped out the viscous blebs. "And all through that party. Especially the way you look in those new pants. Even now, when this man I was with told me I'd finally satisfied him and he was ready to sign on as a regular, I thought of you and of this moment, and of your marvelous face pressed so deep in my pussy, and .... Ahhhhhhh! Oh, love! Ohhhh!"

I licked and lapped and guzzled her, now as aroused as disturbed by the thought that I might this very moment be devouring someone else's sperm. Then just as I thought I was detecting that distinctive flavor, when I was almost sure, Cassie let loose and I found myself swallowing mouthful after mouthful of pee. It never stopped! She simply poured herself into my face as she crested on the peak of her second orgasm. "My love!" she cried out. "My beautiful love! Oh, you're wonderful!" And she peed on and on, and I swallowed all of it. My belly swelled with pee and my bosom with pride. I loved possessing so much of her. Meanwhile any evidence of someone else's cum was washed away,

When we were done, I stood up with my face hopelessly smeared, and Cassie smiled at me for the first time since she'd arrived home. "I had a bladder near bursting," she said. "And you swallowed it all? That's really amazing! No submission too low for you, is there, honey?"

I didn't think that remark was respectful. I told her so.

"Well then, get your pretty little ass upstairs," she replied, unconcerned. I decided she'd been drinking. "I've delivered my message to your mouth, and now Mr D needs to deliver another to your pussy."

This was rude, considering how devotedly I'd tried to please her, and I told her so. She immediately apologized. I realized that she might be having the same kind of problem with me I'd been having with myself, seeking to satisfy desires you don't altogether respect.

But I did what she asked of me anyway, and I got my pretty little ass upstairs, because I wanted to. In fact my hips and butt undulated obscenely as I mounted the stairs, because I knew she was watching me, and I wanted to send her a message too. "Oh, God! You sweet darling!" I heard her call out in appreciation from down below. I smiled to myself.

And she delivered everything she'd promised. Not fifteen minutes later all of Mr. D's accumulated messages to my pussy had been delivered repeatedly, and Cassie's pussy was listening attentively to my own prick's declarations. Finally, there was no doubt about the sperm in her—mine. She fell asleep exhausted while I was still licking myself out of her and into my tummy. There was more of me than I'd anticipated.

"Surprise! Look what's waiting for you in the spare bedroom!"

I'd been out buying a new computer screen for my study and Cassie was already home. I'd seen her car in the garage, and when I walked in through the back door I found her waiting for me. Her face was flushed with excitement and she looked altogether delighted with herself. Proud of something, though I couldn't tell what.

"I had a light afternoon today, the first in weeks, so I decided to go shopping. For both of us. For me, a new bathing suit," she explained. "Summer's coming soon, and a girl can't be too well-prepared what with all those chances to wear light clothing or hardly any and be seen. Then I found something just marvelous in the first store I walked into, and I bought it then and there!"

"Really?" I said, my interest in her purchases rising almost to the level of hers once I heard it what it was. She had a fabulous body, scantily clothed or naked. "Go put it on, if you aren't already wearing it under that gray business suit! Show me! What a marvelous surprise!"

"Oh, the bathing suit isn't the suprise," she said. "Though it's more daring than anything I've ever worn before. I don't know how you'll feel about my appearing in it at the Club. Well, yes I do, that's why I bought it! I want it to drive you mad. It's a yellow thong Bikini, just two postage stamps up top and one more below. Very attractive, or anyhow it will be when I'm in it. It's hardly there at all. I thought about all those unattached men who hang around the pool after tennis, those tanned, muscular types, you've seen them, and I thought about you, and then I couldn't resist! It'll drive you crazy! In fact, I've made a plan for my first time wearing it there. You'll stay in the shade and watch. I'll act very demure and proper, even though I'll be practically naked, and I'll circle the pool once and then settle into a chair and stretch out and close my eyes. Then I'll wait to see which one of those tennis studs talks to me first. I bet it'll be Jerry. He's always been a little aloof, but I hear he's gotten much more friendly with the other wives since his own got tired of him tomcatting around and left him. And the gossip since my card party does pretty much have it that you're exploring your gay side and I'm being neglected."

"You don't correct that impression?" I asked. Not that I was anti-gay or anything, but because, quite simply, I'd tried to fantasize being gay and failed even to register as bisexual. I just wasn't. It was only as a woman, or a self-degraded and effeminate but hetero man, that I could deal with those phone calls and with Mr. D.

"Oh, no!" Cassie said. "The girls are all so envious of me now, being married to a man as understanding and solicitous as you are. If they thought you were straight and available they'd all try for a piece of you. And you're much to precious to share!"

I was not happy to hear this. But Cassie was committed to doing this to me, this kind of thing, for my own sake as she said, so I'd feel utterly mortified, then helplessly jealous, then flattered, bound closer to her as I was hooked more firmly by the perverse pleasures of each. And she'd succeeded. She could make me feel fretful and yet peculiarly submissive these days with just a glance, and it was all incredibly arousing. I had to admit it, our sex life since she'd set me on this journey had been fantastic. But if her bathing suit wasn't the surprise, what was?

"I'm looking forward to seeing the bathing suit," I said, quite sure I wasn't, but there was a titillated streak in me eager to taste the humiliation when "Jerry" made his moves on her. "But what's the surprise for me?" I looked around for evidences of something, an empty carton or wrapping paper, and I suddenly realized that Mr. D was missing. His harness was no longer attached to the back of the chair where each morning I bent down to suck him off. Was that my surprise? She no longer wanted me to register in my own mind as a compliant cocksucker? The novelty, her pleasure in seeing me debased, had worn off? Did she intend to wear the harness herself from now on?

"I told you, it's in the spare room! I'll come with you." She looked like a cat with a mouthful of canary, gleeful and utterly unapologetic.

So the two of us together went upstairs and down the hallway to the guest bedroom. The door was closed, which was odd because we always leave it ajar when the room is unoccupied.

"Is someone in there? Is someone visiting us?" I asked her, reluctant to put my hand on the doorknob and intrude on anyone's privacy, even in my own house

"Yes and no. Open the door, honey! It's a present for you."

I opened it and was stunned! Just inside, standing calmly by the bed with one hand resting on the nearby bureau, looking directly at me, was a devastatingly handsome but stark naked man! There was an enormous erection poking out of his pubic hair, a prick rising even higher than his navel! He looked at me impassively, listening patiently as I tried to mutter incoherent apologies for intruding on him, quite untroubled by my disarray as I turned to leave and found Cassie in the way. It took me a moment to realize I was wasting my breath. He wasn't at all bothered or embarrassed. While I tried to back out the door past Cassie, he didn't move, just continue to stare at me with a fixed, friendly expression. His cock remained at full mast, implacable.

It came to me all at once. He wasn't real! He was a dummy! I turned bright red with embarrassment, though I had no idea why.

"Isn't he a darling, honey? And he's all yours! He's your dearest friend from now on. His name's Jerry, same as that guy I hope to see more of at the Club. Maybe soon we'll each have a Jerry in our lives! I can't wait to see you two get better acquainted!"

"Cassie ...! What? ...How?"

"He was in the back room at the swimsuit store, and he caught my eye at once! Handsome? He's brand new, a buff model man intended for exhibition in store windows, you know, dressed in the latest in swimming trunks and coverups and joggers and the like. What woman could ever refuse him? I couldn't resist, I had to have him!"

I began to realize what Cassie had in mind. "Why the erection?" I asked warily. "He's seen too many beach bunnies?"

"No, silly! You know perfectly well what that's for! He's your boyfriend now. You'll live with him, even sleep with him when I tell you to, and you'll suck his cock to make him feel good the same way you did with Mr. D."

Inadvertently I checked out his cock with my mouth in mind. This was more challenging, and more disturbing too. This was a full scale male.

And he'll make love to you, too. He can do it even when I'm not here to help, I'll show you. I tried him out earlier this afternoon, as soon as I got him home in fact. God, an incredible lover! That cock is just marvelous, and so is his whole body! You'll see, you'll just love him. He's a new kind of soft plastic, as smooth and yielding as natural flesh, so he feels real! And I've had him improved. He didn't have that cock when I bought him, of course, they wouldn't sell many bathing suits if he did. So I brought him to the nearest sex boutique I could find and they fitted him out with it, the very latest of "marital aids" as they call them."

It looked much bigger than Mr. D's. I was well-stretched by now, but I still wasn't sure about taking anything like that into myself.

"And then they re-equipped him to be a perfect lover. To feel warm, if you should ever want to snuggle with him, but that's not how he's perfect. Listen, sweetie, you'll love this! His ass is counterweighted and spring-loaded and his torso is pliable. So if you thrust your rump or your groin at him he'll thrust back, really ream you in return with that eternally erect cock. The more excited you get, the more excited he gets!"

My God! A doll that fucks back!

"Better still, he's loaded with a full gallon of the artificial cum the boutique sells fetishists. It's stickier and more authentic than your salted honey and milk. They guarantee you can't tell it in your mouth from the real thing. His balls pump it through that tower of his and into you in just the right amount just about when you get desperately eager and you've gotta have it, and in your passion you hug a pressure point in the small of his back. No more awkward squeezing of Mr. D's balls. Jerry here will always cum when the time's right, the same way you do. Isn't he perfect?"

Cassie seemed to be waiting for a reply. What did she want? Was this what she wanted for me? I couldn't find my voice. Finally, all I could say was, "Yes, Cassie, he's perfect. Where's Mr. D now?"

"Oh, from now on Mr. D will sleep with me whenever you're spending the night here with Jerry. We may do a menage a trois, and I may borrow him now and then for my own purposes, but Jerry's your boyfriend, mainly. So Mr. D's now mine. You wouldn't want me to get lonely and go looking for a real cock to take into our bed when you're in here balling with Jerry, now would you?"

"No." My mind was addled. This was ... this wasn't right! "Ah, Cassie, can we go somewhere and talk?"

"How very dear! Sweetheart! You're already thinking of him as a real man, aren't you? But there's no need! Jerry's now a member of our family! We have no secrets from him.

I didn't know where to begin. "You said you've had him? You tried him out?" I asked numbly. She'd said just that. Why was I asking? Finally, at last, she'd just confessed openly that she'd been unfaithful to me after all, the very thing I'd been suspecting and fearing and yet perversely desiring? But with a clothing store dummy? Was it possible? Why did I feel betrayed and yet excited?

Her voice and manner lost their playful tone, and her concerned, serious lawyer face looked at me. "I don't think you understand yet, honey. You see the head of that cock of his? It's impressive, isn't it? Well, I got your boyfriend home and I saw that pillar standing there and I couldn't resist, I just had to have something that huge inside me. So I took him into our very own bed and I wrapped my legs around his waist and Oh, God! he fucked me nearly to death. For maybe three hours, Hal! The more passionate you get with him, the more passionate he gets! He was magnificent! From now on, you'll be feeling obliged to him, I don't doubt it. Understand me. The tip of his cock is the new head of our family. Your job will be to service and cherish it and to enjoy whatever it offers you in return."

I just stared. She looked back at me in perfect earnestness for a moment. Then her playful manner returned, and she added, "Oh, you'll service me too of course. Because you're still the love of my life, and I still can't conceive of any kind of life without you. But isn't this gloriously humiliating, that you're now second fiddle to a dummy? Jerry is now my personal assistant in helping me achieve the goal that's dearest to me in life, and that's making you the happiest man in the world. Or maybe the happiest woman!"

She walked over to the mannequin and clasped him around his waist, raising one of his arms to rest lightly on her shoulder, and smiled affectionately into his face.

"There'll be nothing indeterminate about the gender of any of Jerry's partners. That prick's too definitive. You'll can end up as either Jerry's boy catamite, a male fuck-toy's fuck-toy walking around with a dazed, happy expression, and an asshole perpetually shiny with KY and vaseline, or else as a voluptuous slut who can't stuff him into her cunt often enough. I myself hope he'll encourage you to settle in once and for all as that sweet girl with the tiger appetites, that feminine self you've been discovering. That you'll stay married to me but keep Jerry as your outside lover, the man you see on the side. I won't mind. That's what he's for. But that's up to you."

I was still too stunned. I couldn't think. I just stood there.

"He's a great fuck, honey," Cassie added confidentially, as if woman to woman. "Trust me, I know! You'll find out soon enough."

"You ... know!" was all I could get out. I was still staggered. She'd fucked this man? No, this doll? This doll with a huge prick? He ... it was my rival?

"Yes, that's pretty heavy, isn't it? I brought you a steady boyfriend and then slept with him first? Well, don't make it more than it is, baby, there's nothing between us. It was just sex—I needed to know if he was good enough for you. Believe me, he is. We'll be sharing him now and then. Understood?"

She paused and waited for a further response from me. There was none.

"Well, seriously, honey, I don't hear you protesting or threatening to walk out on me. And that means you've accepted his place and yours in this household from now on." She grinned. "This is just kinky enough to appeal to you, isn't it? Maybe you should do right now what you've already learned to do in the presence of your betters, when you see a superior cock? Why don't you drop to your knees in front of Jerry and ask him in your sweetest girl voice if you can suck him off."

I still couldn't move.

Cassie's voice became more severe. "We've been over and over this scenario in our imaginations, Hal! Haven't we? A man fucks me. I tell you to suck the cock that's just fucked your wife, to show there're no hard feelings. You do that. See how Jerry's rod is still glistening? Those are my juices on it. I'd just barely unwrapped my legs from him when your car pulled into the garage. We'd been fucking for hours, and I have no idea how many times we both came. Now it's your turn. So on your knees and kiss his tip, if you can reach it. You know what to do. Suck the cock that's still wet from fucking me!"

I had no idea what to do, so that's what I did. Kneel before him and look up. He looked down at me benignly, as if understanding how I couldn't help myself, giving permission. I seized that baton and pulled it down toward my mouth. It was warm. It felt like ordinary skin. I licked the underside. It tasted of Cassie, and also the way I tasted when I sucked myself out of Cassie. But this wasn't me, it was Jerry. Her other lover. His cum, not mine. I was on my knees and about to suck a cock that had just cuckolded me, and I still didn't know if it truly had cuckolded me, if a dummy can ever really cuckold a real husband! This was worse than my worst fear—it was certain knowledge, but also uncertainty about that knowledge. Both!

Moreover, I suddenly realized, it isn't just self-betrayal. Now and then when I eat Cassie I'd be sucking Jerry's cum out of her. Equally humiliating! If find the taste of sperm in there and I haven't recently slept with with Cassie, there'll be no way for me to know whose it is, Jerry's or someone else's. Like it or not, knowing it or not, I now had to share my wife.

I stretched my jaw as wide as I could and barely managed to take the new head of the family into my mouth. Then with effort, with my gullet working all its muscles, Jerry's cock entered my throat, like a swollen cork squeezed to re-enter a bottle. I deep throated him using every technique I'd learned from Mr. D.

It was warm and seemed to pulse. Or was that my pulse? That enormous cock pressed on my throat in every direction at once. I slid my lips over it, pulled them off, and then again licked its entire length. God, it was enormous! Had all this been inside Cassie? How will she even know I'm there the next time I enter her?

"Look up at him, honey. Look imploringly and adoringly into his eyes, so he can look back and reassure you that you're doing just fine."

I did that. Jerry did too. With a strange twist in my stomach, I realized that I was now feeling better about all this, now that he approved. I had my man's permission to pleasure him! Cassie's man, she'd pleasured him first. For hours. But now look at me, I told myself. In front of my wife I'm cocksucking a life-sized doll, a mannequin, a persuasive semblance of a handsome man, no one real, and I'm grateful to him that he allows me!

"Wrap your arms around his hips and his backside, baby. Hug him to you. Love him. You couldn't do that with Mr. Dildo mounted on the back of a chair, so now enjoy the feel of a real body. He won't pull away!"

I did. Somewhow it was much easier when I could hug him close and hold his cock in place deep in my mouth. As I pulled him toward me, he thrust himself closer. I began to writhe and twist my mouth and lick and tongue him downside and upwards and sideways, in a rising crescendo and finally a blind frenzy, and that artificial man was soon fucking my mouth equally furiously, while strange mewing cries came from my throat.

My wife's voice now spoke gently from behind me. "It's time, honey. Raise your arms and hug him around the small of his back just as tight as ever you can. Really squeeze your face into his crotch!"

I did that, and almost immediately hot cum spurted from the tip of that cock, then again and again! It tasted a lot like my own. But it wasn't my own, it was Jerry's. Before I knew what I was doing, I'd swallowed it. More came. I swallowed that. Finally, Jerry was finished. He stopped spurting, though his prick remained as hard as ever.

He was ready to go again. His erection was indestructable!

I let go of his body and remained on my knees a minute or two, my head bowed, trying to comprehend what had just happened. I'd gone berserk! Jerry stood towering over me. I looked up at him, and he looked back understandingly. "Thank you," I told this massive man, not knowing why. "You're welcome," his eyes seemed to answer back.

Cassie was impressed, I could tell by the quiet way she gave me her next instruction. "Now Jerry wants to get laid, baby. Make yourself available. Lie down on the bed and pull him on top of you and spread your legs wide and pull your knees up to your shoulders, if you can. Jerry likes a wide-open asshole. That's my darling. Now, there's KY in the top drawer of the bureau, I'll spread it on him this time, and I'll guide his cock into you too. He's bigger than Mr. D, so you'll need to go very slow the first few times, but you'll soon be dilated enough for him to press on your prostate. Then you can pleasure him and pleasure yourself, and fuck each other, and cum together! And the best of it is, any time you wish! Dozens of times a day, if you wish! All day every day, if that's your pleasure! Isn't this heavenly?"

I didn't know. I lay back on the bed as asked and Cassie tumbled him over me, and I clutched at him. Hugged him, my man. I was still in an hallucinatory fog, an erotic unreality, not quite sure what was happening. I spread wide.

And felt him enter me slowly, slowly, until I was stuffed, stretched, packed full. Then more .... When finally Jerry was buried deep within me I wrapped my arms around his torso and began giving him a ride, pitching and yawing and shifting my weight to push and slide his prick against my prostate, the erotic spot Cassie had once played with Mr. D's cockhead as if it were a delicate musical instrument. Now I was soloing with my arms wrapped tight around my man as I humped him and he plunged in and out of me, faster and deeper. Until finally I exploded, gloriously, with a grand, shrieking wail! And hugged that dear man tight as I climaxed, then felt his own hot cum pulse into my guts.

When I recovered my breath, Jerry was still inside me. I unhooked my asshole from him carefully, and pushed him off.

Cassie was still there, still watching quietly. "Don't you think he deserves a kiss, sweetie?" she asked, by way of reminding me. "Look what he just did for you."

I kissed him full on the lips.

"And now you need to answer me this. Jerry's bisexual, so he doesn't care. But are you? What were you just now, a boy or a girl?"

I thought. "I don't know," I replied. "I just did what I had to do."

"Then for your own sake take turns. Do imagine yourself a gay man with him one day and a sexy woman the next, until you know which is most satisfying for you. Which gives you the greater jolt of humiliated horniness. I want you to be ecstatically happy."

She pulled him off me, and he lay there beside me on the bed, just listening while Cassie explained things to me.

"You and Jerry will make your own arrangements, but just remember, I want you to be as intimate with him, and as often, as you were with Mr. D. In a few more days when you've gotten to know each other better I'll join the two of you. You'll see then that he can fuck me more thoroughly than you'll ever be able to fuck me. He's a superior man, Hal, and if that's embarrassing to your ego you have to bear up and endure it. You can console yourself that you'll always be the one licking him out of me and he can't lick me at all. Because he's all man, all fuck or be sucked, no mouth or rear end to do unto you reciprocally what you do to him. He fucks, you are fucked. As far as he's concerned, you're like me, a mouth and a cunt. One more body he fucks. You might think of yourself as just that, one more woman like me, unless you have an overpowering yen to become a gay man whenever you're with him."

Had I somehow forfeited to Jerry all right to use my penis when making love to my wife? I hoped not. I felt ashamed of this whole event. Here I'd sucked and fucked myself into a frenzy with this sex-doll, and it had been an intense sexual pleasure both ways, and I felt grateful to Cassie for allowing me the privilege, the deluded self-indulgence. As a present to me, Jerry was daring and daft. I didn't know how I felt about him. One thing was clear, though. I would be sharing Cassie's bed with Jerry because she would be sharing my bed with him. Who had more right? It was only fair. What could I say?

"Thank you, Cassie," I told her. "Thank you for my surprise present." I tried to think of something else to say. "I love my new dollie!" I added.

"I thought you would, baby," she whispered to me in all sincerity. "I knew you would."

She did love me, I couldn't doubt it. Jerry was a love-gift. I reached out my arms and she fell into them and I hugged her as Jerry would never be able to hug her, and she hugged me the same way. We were still man and wife.

But I knew, uneasily, that sexually we'd crossed a line. We were a married couple with a male figure servicing us both with each other's permission, and I would be watching her sexual throes with him the way she'd just watched mine. Neither of us could make exclusive claims on the other. Jerry was for practice, as Mr. D had been. Practice for what? Practice for a sexually superior rival who was real? I now had one, and I couldn't even feel jealous of him, because he wasn't real.

It was confusing. I felt diminished somehow. Less important.

What would happen? I'd submit my mouth and body to Jerry, and watch Cassie submit hers, and we'd both look forward to the next time. During the day Cassie would probably pause at her desk and smile to herself, remind herself that at that very moment I was probably sucking Jerry off, or he was lunging into my ass while I hugged him gratefully. That I was well taken care of, sexually. With that in mind, would she then feel free to turn to her own sexual recreations?

This could be a dress rehearsal for the rest of our lives. If Jerry were a live man I'd be feeling anguished, but I couldn't feel much of anything. Well, I did feel a certain curiosity about whether the demeaned feeling I had would last. Whether, after a week or so, I'd still feel ashamed that my wife had made me into a sex toy's sex toy.

Our honeymoon with Jerry lasted a few weeks. It was a glorious period of exalted experimentation, of opening all our orifices in new ways to him and to each other. Then our lives with him settled into a routine. Some nights the three of us would sleep together in our marital bed, and none of us would get much sleep. Some nights Cassie would sleep in that bed with Jerry while I slept alone in the guest room, listening glumly to her shrieks of joy as that prick empaled her—and she'd later come to my bed so I could clean Jerry's cum from her swollen hole. Some nights I slept with Cassie and Jerry slept alone. And some nights I slept with Jerry in the guest room, just the two of us.

I never felt comfortable imagining myself a man when Jerry was fucking me, because not really being gay—well, maybe only marginally—it confused me. As a man I couldn't desire him. But as a girl I loved feeling his cock move in and out of me. I loved gratefully sucking on that wonderful thing of his, and I loved the cum that rewarded my efforts when I'd brought him off. I could even appreciate his impassive handsomeness.

I spent slow, languorous afternoons in his arms, really with him in mine. Sometimes we only cuddled. I was Cassie's husband, but for getting fucked I was Jerry's girlfriend except when Cassie wanted him. As his girl, my hip-swirling walk finally made sense. I'd often walk past him with a seductive waggle just for fun. And tight as they were, I liked my stretch pants because they kept those moves visible. That became the way I walked. Whenever Cassie and I walked into a restaurant or a theater lobby, people would notice and some would smile. I appreciated it, so I'd smile back. If they thought I was a previously closeted fag who'd finally revealed himself—and by now everyone we knew assumed it—it didn't matter. I knew better.

What happened next seemed accidental. It may have been.

We were all three together in our bedroom one morning, Jerry having fucked both of us the previous night. Cassie'd allowed me to fuck her afterward, but obviously only as a labor of love—after Jerry, she usually couldn't tell whether I was inside her or not. I'd awakened first, and was on my knees with my arms wrapped around Jerry's middle, ardently servicing him with my mouth, as I did every morning. His cum was my designated breakfast, and I understood I had to earn it. I was so intent that I was unaware Cassie had awakened, had partially dressed herself, and was now just standing there watching me.

"You've come a long way, baby," she commented as I slid my lips up and down Jerry's pole, my head bobbing on its long length like a feeding bird, my fingers lightly tugging on its base as if Jerry could feel it. "I really must get you a real cock soon, something attached to a real man who can appreciate your skill and devotion. You'll be all the more loving when you're with a good man who loves you back."

"Mmmmm Mmmmmmm," my mouth acknowledged. She often goaded me by implying that nowadays I sucked Jerry's cock because I was was a man-hungry girl. She knew that the implied insult to my gender instincts was exciting. She also knew that my mannerisms with Jerry were almost always more girlish than manly nowadays, that I'd made up my mind. I was sometimes even outrageously flirtatious. She knew it excited me to be called a girl when I was with him,. It reminded me how irretrievably I'd compromised my manliness. What little remained.

I concentrated on bringing Jerry off with a flourish, and as his juices squirted down my throat Cassie applauded. I kissed his tip, stood up, took a mock bow, and cocked my hip flirtatiously, until reality returned and I could realize, 'I'm not Jerry's girl, I'm Cassie's man.'

Only then did I notice what Cassie was wearing.

"A dinner dress, Cassie? And diamond drop ear-rings? You're gussied up rather well for a weekday at the office, aren't you?"

"Am I?" she asked innocently. "Yes, I suppose I am. It seems there's this new client, he's asked me to meet him at Le Cirque after work, you know, that fancy cocktail lounge downtown in the hotel where he's staying. A man with an enormously successful company he's about to franchise out, sporting goods. He leaves town first thing tomorrow and needs a consult. Potentially a very big account. And today wouldn't you know it, I'm overloaded, no time even for lunch. So the meet has to be after hours, without even enough time for me to come home and change first."

All this was likely, Cassie's work did came in lulls and bursts. But she was explaining it to me at too great length. Was her business meeting with this man also a date?

"Oh, honey, I meant to tell you earlier, we'll probably be busy together way past dinnertime. So don't wait for me, just help yourself to whatever's in the fridge, and if I'm late afterward, remember that Jerry will help you pass the time enjoyably. If I luck out we'll finish in his hotel room, that's where he keeps his paperwork—I'll call you from there if I'm running really late, so you won't worry."

I did begin worrying. Was this the day I'd dreaded, when Cassie would move from adultery with our fuck toy to the real thing? Had that day already long since passed? Was I so debased, was I already relegated in this marriage to the role of domestic companion, someone who keeps her pussy well-licked and is rewarded for it by fast fucks from Jerry? These days when I serviced Cassie's vagina I couldn't tell Jerry's cum from my own. If it was Jerry's. And my prick never could measure up to Jerry's—did she use others that did?

I probably looked mournful, because when she looked up from stroking lipstick onto her perfect mouth and saw my expression she seemed surprised. Then she smiled. "Aww, honey, you care!" she said. In a mocking lilt?

And she rose and came forward to kiss me. Her full lips pouted and pressed onto mine, then clung, passionately rubbing and twisting themselves against mine. "Sweetie, I'll be fine!" she murmured, and touched and rubbed my lips with her finger. Then kissed me lightly yet again. "There!" she said. "I need to do this now and then, you know that! We've talked about it." She paused and smiled, allowing time for her words to sink in. "Are you getting that certain feeling again, lover? Oh, I hope so! I do hope so. Do love it! Isn't it exciting? You're imagining that tonight I'll be alone with a man, and he'll be deep inside me, and I'll be making the same sounds I make when Jerry's inside me? That's so delicious!"

My prick rose up utterly rigid. I tried to button my shirt as if casually, as if half-inattentive, but I got it wrong and had to begin again.

"Oh dear," she said, her manicured forefinger now pointing at my erection. "There you go. Just look. Well, there's no time for that now, honey. Later. Tonight, maybe. Especially if you're still wearing the same shade of lipstick you've got on now. It's very attractive! I love it!"

I looked down. My cock was poking straight out, hard as steel. But lipstick? "Lipstick?" I asked. "What do you mean?"

"Look in the mirror. And fix your hair too while you're at it, it could do with a little more care than you give it. I've been meaning to tell you—Jerry's girlfriend needs to take a little more pride in her appearance. With that natural curl it could be very becoming. At least fluff it with your fingers. I'm so jealous of it sometimes!"

She checked her own reflection. There was no reason for her ever to be jealous of anything. She was stunning, as always. She looked ready to step out on a heavy date for the evening, and yet it was only the morning of an ordinary work day! Her mouth wasn't the least bit smeared by our passionate kissing. "Bye, hon," she said, turning and fixing her eyes on my face. "I'll be thinking of you just like this all day! You're my sweet doll! Remember to practice your wiggle walk and your other femme moves." She smiled lovingly. "Bye, Jerry," she added to the mannikin, who was lying there watching us pleasantly. "Be good to my sweetheart!" Then she was gone.

I looked into her mirror. Sure enough, my mouth was the same color as hers. Her fresh lipstick had come off onto me as if she'd applied it to me directly from a tube instead of from her own lips. It neatly followed the outline of my own lips, and made them seem more plump, more deeply engorged, deep red. How had she managed that? Spread it with her finger maybe? And my hair was indeed tumbled in curls over my ears and forehead. I hadn't yet had time yet to brush it back, and that new volumizing hair conditioner she'd just gotten for me had made it into a halo. The effect was ... well, I had to say it, not at all manly. Not at all. In fact it was girlish. If my eyes were darker I would have looked like a girl.

My erection throbbed when I realized that this was the kind of girl I imagined myself when I was blowing Jerry. Here, sort of, was Jerry's girlfriend.

I tried to wipe off the lipstick, but it wouldn't come off. So, off to the bathroom for a more serious effort. Again no, not even with soap and hot water and a washcloth! It was some kind of non-smearing kind, I supposed, and she'd kissed me before it'd had time to set on her own lips, and she'd wiped it on mine, and now it had set on mine too. Luckily, I had no errands to run today, so I didn't need to worry about it. It even survived Jerry's afternoon blow job.

By dinner time Cassie still wasn't home, and I was absorbed in a project anyhow, so I just opened a can of sauerkraut and microed a hot dog and ate at my desk. No carbs, I'd been trying to control some of the flab I'd developed recently. Down fifteen pounds, my waist trim, yet I still was growing softer week by week. I vowed once again to join an Athletic Club and use their machines, to get more exercise.

It was past eleven at night that I began to envision a hunk of a man in a hotel bed, grinning at me as Cassie rode his enormous cock up and down, round and round, never pausing, her eyes also watching me. Then Cassie herself called. "I'm just starting out, baby," she said. "I should be home in a half-hour, forty minutes tops. You miss me?"

I could hear voices chatting in the background. "Yes, of course I missed you. Is anyone there? Where are you?"

"Oh yes, Jason and I are still together, and we've just been joined by another couple for drinks and the final signing. We needed lots of time to get to know each other and work things out, and it was time well spent." She seemed to turn away, because I then heard her say in an almost giggly but muffled voice, "Now stop it, Jason, I'm talking to my husband!" Then to me she said "I'm still downtown, honey, in Jason's hotel room. Were you home all day? Did you and Jerry get it on? I hope so!"

Thoughts tumbled forth. To ease her guilt she hopes so? What was Jason doing? And "Jason"? Not "my client" but "Jason"? In his hotel room? Stop what? My carefully cultivated jealous streak rose up like a rocket, and I answered her resentfully, "Jerry's fine. I had to be home, Cassie. I couldn't go anywhere the way you left me. Your lipstick doesn't come off."

She hesitated, then spoke up in a loud, clear voice. "Oh, sweetie, of course it comes off. I should have told you, I thought you knew by now. You need to cream a really good lipstick off your lips. The same thing with the eye make-up I use, you need a good remover. All really good cosmetics are waterproof as well as smudge-proof these days, so they won't smear during ... intimacies and need less retouching. You've never noticed? Well, I'll show you when I get home, and then you'll know. Just stay pretty a little while longer. I'm sure Jerry won't mind."

I'm sure I heard a giggle in the background, and unmistakeably a man's guffaw and a muffled "Who's this Jerry? -- his boyfriend?". She must have turned away from the phone again, because I heard her say "Yes, but I told you, quiet please!" in the same amused voice as earlier, as if she were sharing their fun despite herself. Then, "I'm still trying to talk to my husband! He needs my advice! He can't get his lipstick off! Do you mind?"

Then back to me. "Are you still there honey?"

"Yes."

"So you looked pretty all day for Jerry? I'm sure he didn't mind one bit. You're a love! I had a good day, it turns out Jason's a hard bargainer, but I managed to soften him up finally. Now I can't wait to see you! Just stay the way you are—you looked so lovely when I left you this morning. Don't even change into a nightie just yet!"

"It's a nightshirt, Cassie, not a nightie! All right."

"Whatever. A nightie's a nightie. You know I love the way you look in all of yours. You sound upset!"

"I am upset!" I whispered into the phone, as if that made the slightest difference at her end. "What must the people you're with think of me?"

"I'm sure it doesn't matter, honey. Just drink some warm milk and take care of Jerry's cock, and you'll soon feel better." I heard explosions of laughter in the background at that! I'm sure of it!

When she got home I was still steaming! "Cassie!" I said as she walked through the door, "Cassandra, was that deliberate? Were you deliberately trying to humiliate me in front of your friends, or your clients, or whatever they were? In front of this 'Jason'"?

She was astonished! "Humiliate you? How?"

"Calling me where those people could hear you, and talking to me as if I wear make-up! And letting them think I wear a "nightie" to bed! A 'nightie' for goodness sake! And your references to Jerry? No one is supposed to know about Jerry! It was so embarrassing!"

She looked pleased. "It was? I hope so."

"Did you have to mention the lipstick?"

Cassie now got her back up. "Well, sweetie, you are wearing lipstick!" she said. "Look at you! It's as perfect as it was this morning! Your lips are just scrumptious! Can you deny it? And you do wear a nightgown to bed, even if you like to call it a nightshirt to preserve whatever shreds remain of your masculinity! And you do suck cock, and you love it, and you do it beautifully, I've seen it often, you can't deny that either! You raised all those issues when you knew I wasn't alone in that room! As if you were proud and wanted everyone to know! Didn't you?"

She was partly right.

"I'm sorry," I finally said.

"If you don't want people to know you wear lipstick, then don't ask me how to remove it when I'm anywhere they can overhear us. Especially if you're worried about seeming to be a man."

Now I really felt bad. "You're right," I said. "I'm sorry I blamed you."

She softened then, and reached out her hand to my cheek. "That's all right, honey. I understand. You aren't feeling much like a man these days. You do spend a lot of time as a girl, what with trying to suck and fuck Jerry but not think yourself gay, and your seductive walk, and the other ways you move. Even those loose-wristed exercises for typists Clarice gave you at our last office party, when she saw how dainty your hand-gestures have become. If looking effeminate embarrasses you, you should have thought of it months ago—did you think no one notices? Do you think anyone confuses you with a manly man?"

She pulled my face toward me then, and kissed me. "I love your hair, too. That color-rinse conditioner did lighten it just as I'd hoped. You really are much more pretty than handsome these days."

"Cassie," I tried to remind her. "I shouldn't be!"

"Why not? Look at the pleasure you get from it! And the pleasure I get. Think about it! There I am in Jason's hotel room while you're getting it on with Jerry, and yet you have this thing that maybe I'm getting it on with Jason. That maybe I find Jason more attractive than you. You love that fear, you know you do, even though you still have trouble accepting it. Oh, honey, give in! Enjoy feeling utterly jealous! Don't imagine for a moment you can compete with a man like Jason! Certainly not the way you are now, my sweet little flouncing cocksucker, my girly husband! Don't even try! Be you! Be even more submissive!"

"I'm a man!" I said. But it lacked conviction. What could I call a man who takes Jerry into his mouth and his rear even when he knows that Jerry's balling his wife?

"Oh? Then why should it matter to you if anyone knows you're wearing lipstick? Or what they think? It's what I think that matters! And I think you're the dearest person in the whole world, whether or not you're wearing lipstick!" She kissed me gently. "Mmmmm!" she said. "Especially when you're wearing lipstick. You look scrumptious! Let's go to bed, shall we? It's been a long day."

I wasn't quite ready. "You were in this Jason's hotel room?" I asked as casually as I could. I couldn't let it go. "Alone?"

She stared at me. "Of course. I go to different places with different men. And I wasn't 'alone,' honey. I was with Jason. Very much so. We had a few drinks at the bar and talked through dinner and then went to his room to explore each other's needs without being distracted. We did finish up by signing some papers."

I began to think I'd made a fool of myself again. Cassie began to grin, and her voice took on a langorous, teasing lilt. She was on a roll. "Just think about it, baby. Jason was a world class bodybuilder, did you know that? There we were in this luxurious hotel room, this gorgeously built man and me, feeling each other out. I raised issues with him, and he took various positions before we agreed on the right ones. Then finally his partner came because we needed a witness for some things, and he co-signed. Then I called to tell you I was about to come!"

She began to twirl herself around the room, her diamond pendants swinging from her ear lobes, her eyes still fixed on mine, chanting, "Oh, darling, just imagine! Jason and I did things together I've never done with anyone, not even with you! I mean, sure, we discussed patents, and contracts, and wage packages, that kind of thing." Then her voice got dreamy. "But we also talked about rates of growth, and optimal sizes for filling existing capacities. I showed him a demand curve, and he countered with a theory of reciprocating slippage. We found we're really a good fit!"

I was by now once again ecstatically anguished, rock hard! Cassie saw, and smiled, and came over, and stroked my penis gently. "Oh, honey," she crooned. "How do you imagine a man and a woman spend their time when they've had a few drinks and finally find themselves alone in a hotel room."

I couldn't say anything. The sweet tension was unbearable. I just had to trust her, that's all. But I asked anyhow, "Did you? Did you ...?"

She kissed me with her hand still on my cock. Her wet lips rubbed against mine. She then clasped my neck with both arms and rubbed her whole body against me, against my strident erection. Then still writhing, she resumed.

"He's very handsome, honey. A hunk, that's how he got started in sporting goods. Tall and strong, O my yes. Much bigger and stronger than you. He has all sorts of muscles rippling under his shirt. He insisted on showing me." She paused for the longest time, as if remembering.

"And?" I said. I couldn't bear it, these confessions of my worst fears. This helplessness. Not that I didn't deserve it. I shouldn't have been so suspicious! But it was anguish. She kissed me again.

"Ah, honey," she whispered seductively. "Don't you love where you are now? Don't you? There's that strange sweetness in your tummy because you're powerless, I can go anywhere I want and do anything I want with other men, and you won't ever even know. Doesn't your penis drool at that thought, the way my pussy does? Isn't it eager for that to happen? Oh, yes, there you are, so rock hard yet so impotent! So huge and yet so helpless!"

She'd never teased me this openly before. She was mocking me! There was a demon in her! What was she doing?

She reached back down and stroked me some more. My cock was now fully engorged. Bursting! "Mmmmm!" she said. "Are you wondering what Jason's prick is like, compared with yours? Do you want to know if I found out?" She looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Do you hope I found out? You do, don't you?"

Why was she playing games with me? Well, I wouldn't play. I had to trust her. I tried to swallow and finally managed it, and then said only "No, honey. If you know, don't tell me. I need to believe you're true to me. I trust you. I love you. Let's go to bed." And I kissed her.

"I love you too!" was what she replied. Whether she was disappointed or reassured that I wouldn't play I couldn't tell. "You know that's why I torment you!"

But that told me nothing about Jason. The old Biblical saying came to me from Sunday School, "faith is the knowledge of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." Or was it the other way around? I'd never before understood it. But that was where I now had to live.

And meanwhile my boner stayed hard. I sat on the bed to wait for it to go down before changing into my nightshirt. And as I sat there, Cassie slowly, seductively took off her earrings and her dress and put them away. Then her slip. When finally she was wearing only her matching bra and panties she paused and posed the way women do when presenting their figures, and looked at herself in the mirror. "I'm getting a little tummy," she said half to herself. "I'll have to give up a few business lunches, or else get more exercise. These undies feel a little snug. There was a time when they fit perfectly."

She looked up at me with a trace of shyness yet also calculation. "Remember how they fit when you first saw these, honey? On our wedding night? White, because I wanted to seduce you with my sultry, virginal innocence. So I made sure I was all white and satiny and lacey and low-scooped? I did seduce you, too. You went wild!"

"Yes," I said. "I remember. And I've never not been seduced by you ever since."

She smiled at the compliment, but even so just stood there waiting for me to say more. I sensed that she'd cued me and I hadn't picked up on it. I held silent. She rotated her hips fetchingly, then her chest, and just waited.

Suddenly I felt what she wanted me to feel. Jealousy. And asked what she wanted to hear. "Honey, why did you wear that bra and panty set today? Why your bridal lingerie. Our lingerie. For a business meeting? Did you plan to seduce Jason the way you seduced me?"

"'Our lingerie' you call it? What a wonderful idea! Yes, you can share it with me. I'd love for you to wear my bras and panties any time you like! We'd feel that much closer. Will you?"

She was staring at me now with that look of intent concern she had when talking to clients. I said nothing.

"You'd drive Jerry wild the way I drove you wild. You know, you should dress more suitably for him, now that you want him to use you like a girl." She waited a moment more, then added, "As for your question, yes, I did. I certainly did."

Now I was going crazy. "Did what?"

"Plan to seduce Jason, sweetheart."

I just stared back. My mind was blanked out, shocked. My cock was now so hard it ached!

She glanced at it, then suddenly grinned and again broke her pose. "I wear this bra and panty set whenever I need special confidence, baby, whenever I need to feel from my skin on out that whatever won me the love of the dearest man I have ever known can win me whatever else I want too. These my are my deal-closing, contract-signing bra and panties. Whenever I wear them, I'm Wonder Woman, I feel I can do anything. And I can! Look what I'm doing to you right now! I planned to seduce you immediately after returning home! And I am!"

She wriggled again, then unhooked her bra and slipped out of her panties. I glimpsed her perfect breasts as she turned and went to her drawer and took out one of her babydolls, a shorty she slipped into that ended in a cloud of lacy fluff floating just above her bush. She briefly dangled from one finger the matching sleep-panty that went with it, then put it back. I knew what that meant. I was sure my prick would explode, it was by now so distended.

But that was my body's eagerness. My mind was still feeling fucked over. She'd all but told me that she'd had sex with that 'Jason,' but she hadn't told me anything. Could I ask her again right out 'Did you fuck that man?' No, I couldn't. She's faithful to me, and that's that. Whether she is or not. She does love me more than anyone else in the world, I did believe that.

But she'd been arousing me and my jealousy both for months. Because she knows it threatens my masculinity, and that puts her in control of my sexual self-esteem. That then I need to please her, to submit to her. And that need's now something of an addiction, I get off on it and I can't do without it.

Then, because she loves me, she wants me to enjoy my jealous rapture to the full. So she makes me even less of a man in my own eyes. She habituates me to girlhood in the service of Mr. D and Jerry, and to bodily moves that persuade everyone we know that I'm gay and she's at liberty. She implies she's had sex with lots of other men, even while I'm eating her out, and she denies nothing and confirms everything, yet nothing. All that drives me wild, into a frenzied, passionate anguish, and she knows it. That's why she does it.

And now she wants to undermine my masculinity still further. With my unwitting collusion she told her new client—maybe also sex partner—that I wear lipstick and eye shadow and have a boy friend named Jerry. Now she's suggesting I wear her underwear too. All to increase my conviction that I'm helplessly unworthy of her, so I can wallow in the bliss of believing not only that I'm a ridiculous cuckold but that I'm an effeminate clown who deserves to be cuckolded.

I felt utterly twisted. My suspicions were as rampant as ever, and so was my cock! Worst of all, now I did wonder what it was like, wearing her bra and panties. Would I feel myself even less of a man? If so, more of a woman? More respectable as a woman? More a fit temptress for Jerry?

Now Cassie was sitting at her dressing table with her breasts poking out perky under her fringed babydoll, her nipples as aroused as my penis. What was exciting her? She glanced over at me, her face as beautiful and blank as a model's, and then said, "Lover, come here and sit beside me now, will you?"

I just sat there on the bed. She sat quietly and watched me.

Then she said in an intense whisper, "You want to believe that you're no longer man enough for me, no longer a man at all. That I now find other men more satisfying? You want to believe that. We both know it. Say so right now. It's true, isn't it?"

She looked at me impassively, waiting for a signal. Finally I nodded.

"Say it!"

"I want to believe I don't satisfy you, I'm not worthy, other men are! Oh, God!"

"Well, go with it, honey! Believe it! Look what it does for you! Look at that erection!"

I glanced at my rigid cock. She saw my eyes move and a slight smile crossed her face. Her body relaxed and her voice changed. She'd won. What she'd won or how was beyond me. In a kindly, matter-of-fact voice, as if she were explaining a third grade homework assignment, she said, "Some men love getting whipped. Some love getting tied up and tortured. You love this kind of torture! It's hell, and despite that, because of that, it's heaven too, isn't it!"

"I ... it's ...." I couldn't go on.

"Now is the moment, sweety. I'm going to be absolutely honest, and you need to be honest too. I want you to accept what's happening to you. All of it. Trust me. I could never whip anyone, but I must torture you this way. You know why. Do what I ask and you'll endure the torments of the damned, but also the joys of paradise. You'll blow your mind. You'll be mine forever and I'll be yours, and we'll be bound together for all time."

I tried one more time. "Cassie, I just want to know ...."

"No, you don't, honey. You don't want to know. Not now. You aren't yet quite enough in love with your own humiliation to really want to know. Not yet. So come here, sweetie? Please? Sit down next to me? Never mind that nightshirt, we're done with things like that. Sit here."

She waited. This was somehow a moment of truth. It was as if our whole relationship, our marriage was at stake. "If not now, never," she added. "But also, after now there's no going back." Did I detect a hint of sadness in that last statement? Of defiant warning?

I couldn't force a crisis. Not now.

I sat down naked at her dressing table alongside my beloved wife in her cute babydoll. We stared at each other in the mirror immediately in front of us, me worried, Cassie expressionless. Yet—I could see from the slope of her shoulders—relieved.

"You see? You're still wearing lipstick. It's almost as fresh as this morning. And it does change your look. Touch up your hairdo a little more, and you'll be a girl."

"So I see," I said. "Should I be?" I asked her beautiful reflection in the mirror. I was thinking instinctively, fearfully, that whatever was about to happen, I should stall it with talk.

She looked at my reflection. "You tell me, honey. I've wanted you to think you're inadequate as a real man, blissfully inadequate, and that's meant you've had to go either gay or a girl in your self-image. You've tried out both for months now, with me and with Mr. D and with Jerry and by yourself. And pretty much decided that you'd rather be a girl than a femme gay—a musclebound leather gay was never an option for you, was it. Am I wrong? If I'm wrong, it's not too late to push you the other way. But you need now to commit, so we can move forward. Which is it?"

I tried to back off. "Mostly, I'm neither. I'm me. But of the two, yes, I feel more natural as a girl than a queer. Now, which of these is the cream I need to remove this lipstick?"

"I'll show you, honey. In good time. But first I want you to see something else. Just how pretty a girl you can be. You got angry when I called you pretty on the phone, but there's no shame in being pretty. It's an achievement! You'll look even prettier when you do a few of the things I do to be pretty. You'll get less self-conscious about it, because it'll feel natural to you, perfectly every day. The way I feel every day. Here, let me try a little eye make-up on you to go with that lipstick."

"Honey, I'm a man. I don't need to be pretty."

"Sweetie, you aren't a man. Not any longer. You don't do any of the things men do. You don't walk the way men walk. You don't fill your mind with manly things, and you don't hang out with the guys. A large part of every day you do girl things. You suck cocks and you spread your legs to get fucked, and you love both, I've seen it! And you're already pretty. You need to make yourself prettier, that's all. Because in about ten minutes, maybe less time than that, I want the prettiest person I know to make love to me. Passionate, devoted love! Wonderful, tender love! I want you to be that person!"

I was hard as iron pipe. "Not the handsomest person?"

She averted her eyes from my eyes as reflected in the mirror, glancing down for a moment, then back up again to stare at me wordlessly. I got the message. I was not the handsomest person she knew.

I couldn't help saying it. "Maybe Jason's more handsome?"

"Handsome isn't why I married you and love you so utterly, sweetheart. It's other things. But I am glad you're worried about Jason. I'm glad for you because that kind of rivalry must be incredibly arousing for you. You're right though—handsome doesn't begin to describe Jason. You're no match at all. So don't try. Just be the best you can be! Be pretty! What I want now is for someone pretty to make love to me."

"I'm ready now!" blurted out of me in a kind of growl.

"Oh, I can see that. Just look at it, that penis is so desperate, the poor thing. But tonight it won't get its wish. Not tonight. Tonight it will yearn to sink itself into me in vain. Tonight it will learn the supreme joys of sacrificing itself and its manly pleasures to womanly pleasure. Tonight you and I will make the kinds of love that only women can make."

I thought I understood what she meant. Reciprocal mouthing. Sixty-nining. We'd done it sometimes, and I loved it. Me licking, kissing, fondling her on her neck, her breasts, her thighs, her sweet clit, and finally thrusting my tongue deep into her slit as far as possible. While she did the same for me, and sucked my cock. The two of us wrapped blissfully in each other.

That was how we'd made love before, when she was in an odd mood and didn't want me to push myself into her and then pound my belly on hers. We'd do everything but fuck. Fantastic!

"Honey," I said mildly. "I'll love making love to you that way. We've done it. I'll kiss and lick your pussy as I always do, and you'll just lie back and enjoy it. You know I love to do that."

"Honey, I want something a little different from those things. I want what Jerry's got, a sweet, innocent girl who loves getting laid and is grateful whenever it happens. The girl inside you who looks up to Jerry and tries to please him and then gets frantically passionate when he responds. Who gets so lost in her own pleasures that she loses her mind with him and even forgets where and who she is. I want her to love me the same way, as an act of adoration, of worship. Of joy!"

That was a very different mind space. Whenever I'd made womanly love to Cassie before I was nevertheless a man, a husband stroking her affectionately, kissing her romantically, and providing all the sultry oral sex she could stand. But Jerry's massive cock was so intimidating, so overwhelming that my own manhood never survived it. On my knees in front of Jerry, looking up as his benign eyes looked down at me, I became a young girl fervent to fulfill her sexual dreams with an incredible man. I'd placate Jerry by first sucking his thing and then lecherously opening my ass wide to it, and I'd gloat how none of the other girls had a man like this, and I'd think myself privileged. I'd die for his approval. And in return Jerry would pump my body and my mind mad with delight.

Could I subordinate myself to Cassie the same way, as if to a superior being? Look up to her and serve her faithfully, devotedly, gratefully, blissed out by the touch of her hand?

Cassie seemed amused to read those thoughts in my face. "That's right, sweetheart," she said. "I want to make you pretty so we can be two women together, you pleasing me while I lie back like a princess! I dream of it sometimes, my lovely darling kissing my pussy passionately while I finger hers. You're almost there. Your hair's naturally curly—we'll just fluff it up instead of brushing it back, and it'll be gorgeously girly. And you're already wearing lipstick. A little eye shadow and mascara and you're perfect. Perfect! I want to see your dark, soulful eyes looking up at me from my crotch when I look down at you. Your woman's eyes. I want to make love to you as if to a lovely young woman, my feminine self, my soul mate!"

Why didn't she want my masculinity? Because she'd gotten all she wanted from Jason earlier? Because I don't measure? To remove me altogether from competition? Maybe. I hoped not. Maybe only for that other reason she once hinted, to try having sex with a woman, or at least with someone who looks like one?

Maybe that's why she'd kept alluding to it when we'd discussed my guilty secrets? Because that's one of her guilty secrets? She's a little bit bi-sexual, or bi-curious? Partially lesbian? Maybe I've been looking in the wrong direction for my rival? Maybe I should have been fearing not affairs with men but with women?

I do get intensely aroused whenever I imagine her with another man—we both know that now. Is she as much aroused when she imagines herself with a woman, but she loves me too much to try sex with anyone but me? So I need to be the woman? Is that what's happening?

Of course! I had to conclude. This way she can explore her lesbian desires and yet not disclose them to anyone, not even to me, and yet also remain faithful to me. This was heartening. She wants to stay faithful to me!

"Say you'll do this for me, honey! Say you'll be a girl for me! Oh, please!"

She'd never asked anything so fervently! But now that I understand her, I was thinking, wearing make-up seems so inconsequential. What's a little blackening and colored powder on my eyes, all so she can imagine ... well, whatever she chooses to imagine?

"Of course I'll be a girl for you, honey," I said a little grandly. "If that's what you want, I want you to have it."

"I want it," she said, and then without losing a moment more she reached for some of the little vials in front of her. "Just sit still for me."

I closed my eyes and felt a brush slide gently across my eyelids, then in the hollows just above them. And moisture encircle each eye—liquid eye liner? And a thin brush sweep my lashes up and almost open. "Your mascara, baby," she breathed. "Oh, you look so gorgeous! Don't open your eyes yet, but feel here what you're already doing to me!"

She took my hand and pulled it over to her bare crotch. She was incredibly wet! Not just moist, wet! Soaked! Eyes still closed, I kissed her mouth, and her lips pursed to kiss me back. We did kiss, sweetly, devotedly. Then she broke off and stood up.

"That's so nice," I said to her. "And you feel so ... wet!"

"Yes, I am wet, darling! It's pussy honey, and it's all for you! Oh, come, you precious thing, my baby girl, I must feel your face down there! I need you to taste me and eat me and fill your belly with me!" She pulled me by my hand all across the room to our bed. Then she fell back, her legs over the side, and in the same movement spread them wide.

I was now staring directly into her drenched cunt, with its pink, glistening lips. Her white thighs were as open to me as the doors of a church. I was amazed by her fervor. "I want you there! Oh, do me! Kiss me there, lover! Kiss me!"

I knelt between her legs, intending first to lick her clit delicately, to pay my respects to it, but suddenly both thighs closed over me and circled my head, pulling my face deep into her wet snatch. My nose squeezed into her gash. I looked up over her mound, and saw her looking at me down the length of her body with her teeth clenched and her eyes gleaming! "Oh, perfect!" she said. "Oh, perfect! Oh, just look at me and keep looking at me, my darling, my darling girl, oh, lovely, lovely, and kiss me, lick me, suck me, oh, yes, suck me, yes! Ooooh! Aaaaaaaghh!"

And before I'd even pursed my lips or extended my tongue, she'd had her first orgasm.

Clamped in as I was, I had no choice, not that I would have chosen to be anywhere else in the world at that moment. I was her darling girl lover. Her devoted admirer. I stared steadily up at her, and she looked down at me and smiled, and groaned, and rolled back her eyeballs and squealed, and threw back her head and cried out "Yes! Yes! That's it! More! More you sweet creature!" I tongued and licked and sucked and kissed her sopping slit, over and over again. Never had my mouth excited her like this! My whole face was drenched, and with each of her spasms more and more love juice came out of her, so slick and sweet, the way it always felt and tasted, and now and then a glop that was thicker and saltier. Was it ...? Was I ...? Was she ...?

My stomach suddenly knotted up.

My brows must shown something troubled, because as she rose toward another grand climax she began to shout "Yes, my sweet darling girl, that's right, that's right, that's what it is if that's what you think it is, and that's the way it is! Suck me, suck all these sweet juices out of me!"

And her legs clamped vise-like around my neck and mashed my face into all that slippery slop in her slot. I sucked and filled my mouth and swallowed repeatedly, trying to breathe in short gasps as she shifted her grip on my head! Then with a tense "Aaaaaaaaah! and then finally a triumphant "Ahaaah, Ahaaaaaaah!" her pussy clenched and throbbed and she gushed more into my mouth. Then no more. And then her thighs relaxed, just a little.

"Oooh!" she then said with almost awed reverence. "Just stay there a little bit longer, my sweet darling, my beautiful girl, only another moment!"

She was coming down now, after the most glorious, wrenching orgasm I'd ever seen. Her thighs loosened. She relaxed. Her breathing almost became normal. Then she draped her legs casually over my shoulders, as if suddenly I'd become merely a pillow or a footstool. "Yes," she said, partly to herself. "Here's where I want you. Forever and ever, always. Just where you are. I'll never ever let you leave me! You are my only true love!"

Now finally able to breathe real air into my lungs, even though my nostrils were still clogged with thick cunt cum, I hoped that's all it was, I suddenly realized that while she was sprawled back on the bed like a princess, exactly as she'd wanted to be, I was still reverently on my knees on the floor in front of her. That I'd been on my knees the whole time she'd ascended into the heavens, that I'd been worshipping her divinity from below. Or worshipping her pussy. Or worshipping those floods of pussy fluid I'd swallowed so avidly. My stomach felt strange.

"Cassie," I said when her breathing had become regular. She was looking down at me affectionately yet dispassionately, as if at a cherished pet. "Cassie, I love it that this was so wonderful for you. But you were gushing!" I hesitated, but realized I had to say it. "Was that all you I was sucking out of you?"

She closed her eyes and spoke into the air. "Oh, the ideas you get in your pretty little head, my darling dollface! My angel! My pretty girly lover! You're wonderful! Come up and lie here beside me, and let's cuddle. I want to look at you!" She lifted her legs off my shoulders and spread them wide alongside me. "But first, give me one last lick and kiss!"

I leaned forward and licked her clit, then planted a chaste peck on it. "Mmmmmm," she said, pleased. Then I climbed up to lie alongside her. My face and hair were pomaded with those slick, sweet, salty, sticky exudations. This hadn't been what I imagined women did with women. Maybe they did.

She began to kiss my sloppy face as soon as my I came in range, licking my cheeks, lips, both eyelids, then again my mouth, licking even as she pulled away to look at me. She didn't mind what it was. So how could I?

"Yes," she said dreamily. "It's all still there. Your eyes are still beautiful! You could wash all that cum off your face and we could both go out to dinner together without either of us retouching anything. Even your lips are still delectably red." And she kissed me again devotedly. "Did you like that, baby?"

"Yes," I answered truthfully. "Not as much as you did, but I especially loved the way you enjoyed it."

She kissed me again gratefully, as if I'd paid her a courtly compliment.

But what was it I'd wallowed in? Better to ask indirectly. "Honey, you were so very wet!"

"For you, honey. All for you!"

That was unthinkable, but I had to persist. "Could it have been Jerry's? I don't see how, but there was so much of it! Like on our wedding night when I'd made love to you three times, and then went down on you ..."—I decided I'd better joke—"to pay my respects."

I hadn't managed to ask a question I hadn't myself answered, so she didn't answer. She seemed not to hear me. Instead she reached down and took hold of my penis, still bone-stiff. Achingly stiff! "Oooh, your clit is still so excited," she said. And she began to pull on it, stroking slowly. "My darling girl needs her orgasm now too. Let me help!" And her hand wrapped tightly around my cock and began to pull it in an even rhythm. Slowly. Out and in. I began to feel pleasure rise up into it.

I didn't want to interrupt, but I was losing concentration, and needed to make one last attempt. "Was it all you I was licking up?" I asked weakly.

"All for you, my lovely angel." And she kissed me again, her hand never losing the rhythm, pulling and pushing my prick, out and in .... "All my gift to you. To celebrate our first night of love as women."

"Yes," I said. "There was so much. And it tasted like ... was it..." I had to come out with it! "Almost like ... you know?" I couldn't!

"Did you love it, my precious?" Her hand kept pumping. "You looked so marvelously happy, licking it all out of me. It was glorious!"

Was that answer a hint?

"It tasted like ...." I tried to be diplomatic but now I could hardly think straight. My mind was fixated. Had she fucked Jason? Was that Jason I'd been drinking out of her? Had she done that to me? Was Jason's seed now planted deep in my belly?

Her hand pumped me and pumped me! I moaned slightly. She smiled and kissed the tip of my nose, and her hand never stopped moving.

I finally decided to play along. "Glorious, yes," I finished my sentence. I had to say it! "Like sperm. Like me when I suck me out of you. Like Jerry. Like some man's!"

"Ohh, there you go, lover, I knew you'd love it. I knew you'd enjoy thinking there was man juice in me. Wasn't it nice?"

And she pumped and pulled and then pressed a whole fistfull of cock against its root. A joyous sensation swelled up alongside that strange feeling in my belly! It grew larger, and began to seep into my groin. I was very near.

*

"Cassie," I gasped. Oh, God! "Cassie, was it sperm? Jason's? Anyone's?"

Her hand never slowed. And now her other hand came up and gently touched the tips of my nipples, one after the other, and flicked them delicately, then again. Her hand was cupping one of my breasts as if I had one. I was melting. My mind was dissolving.

"You do want to believe it, don't you sweetheart! Well, you sweet girl, you've tasted it before. Surely you know. Did you taste a man in there?"

Oh, terrible teasing me, maybe, and now a delicious joy filled my whole groin! Pull, push, pump, in, out! I rose toward climax. And as I began to lose control, arching my back in a tense, all-too-brief visit to paradise, she asked, "Don't you love it? All women love it! You've swallowed it by the gallon now, your own, and Mr. D's, and Jerry's, and it's made you my girl, the girl I love so dearly. Don't you want more? More? A real man's cock? Real fresh cum from a real man's cock? Tell me that's what you want!"

And I couldn't help it! "Oh!" I cried. As I began spurting and spurting and spurting, I could cry out only, "Oh, Yes! Yes, Cassie! Yes!!"

"Yes," Cassie said as I came down, with a satisfied smile and yet something more lurking in her face. "Yes. Yes. I knew you would. You shall have it! All the real cum any girl could ever want. It's time to move on. I have young associates in my firm who'd be delighted to meet you. A pretty young girl like you, if they could believe that's what you are. Each with a different cock, each with its own flavor. You'd love them all."

How did my attempt to confirm a suspicion about Cassie's pussy juice become a request to suck on actual cocks? Was it Jason's? Was it even real? Maybe she'd salted her motherlode with Jerry's goop? It did seem to taste a little different, and different from my own too. Yet it could have been ... anything.

"Oh, sweetheart, look at you, you're still naked! Here, you poor dear, put on your nightie and then let's go to sleep."

Out from the drawer in her bedside table she pulled out a babydoll matching the one she was wearing. "Isn't this sweet?" she asked, smiling happily. "Now we're the same, the dearest of girlfriends, all snug together. Slip this on, love. Lift your arms."

"Cassie," I said weakly as I raised my arms and she dropped the smooth, flimsy nylon babydoll with lacy trim over my head. "I sucked Mr. D and Jerry, because you've wanted me to, and it's been ... nicer than I'd expected. But I don't want to suck a real cock. I'd feel ...."

She lay with her head on my chest. "Yes, darling. I know. It would destroy my sweetheart's manhood utterly, wouldn't it? The humiliation? Unbearable! But even so, you would, part of you wants to, doesn't it? Remember what you confessed to me once?"

She turned her head slightly and began to blow on one of my nipples while she stroked the other under my babydoll. They were more erogenous than ever! An incredible yearning suffused my body! I let out a helpless little squeal.

"The part of you that loves that idea is a girl, becoming more of a girl every day. It isn't my man who sucks other men's cocks. You decided not to be gay, remember? And I honor that decision. It's my girl who wants to suck other men's cocks and learn how to become a woman! I know you'll love them! I've seen you lose yourself with Jerry's cock, sweetheart. The cocks I can find for you aren't as big as Jerry's I'm sure, but probably so much more ... cute! So much more like yours! It would be like sucking your own cock. I know you'll love them!"

My nipples were now erect, poking up through the babydoll nylon like fat nubbins, and Cassie was now dedicating her fingertips to them as if they were clits. They felt marvelous! I could feel my limp cock begin to feel useful again. "You said you would," she continued, stroking my nightie and nipples. "And you will. You love Jerry's, don't deny it. A real man's is so much more satisfying. So smooth and silky. My sweetheart! You'll thank me afterward, see if you don't." And she kissed my nipple right through the nylon, and rested her head gratefully on my bosom. And then almost instantly fell asleep.

A real man's is so much more satisfying? How would she know? Had she ...?

I suddenly realized that wasn't an issue. She'd sucked my cock often enough. That's how she'd knew. Of course. Why hadn't I realize that? Why hadn't I assumed she meant my cock? Could it be because I don't think of myself as a real man any more? Do I believe she doesn't think I'm a real man either? Because she calls me a girl? Because I have such feelings of joy that I'm a girl? Her girl?

What has she been doing to me? This is witchcraft! Making me believe I'm not a real man! Turning me into a girl!

I finally decided that she was arousing that sweet, sorrowful, increasingly intense, jealous fear of humiliation in my belly, the fear of losing my manhood, because she loves me. And what could most likely have made her so wet lately? Me! Of course. She's been turned on by my desire to please her no matter how humiliating! By her ability to turn on that desire! She's right, it is torment. But I do love it! I want more of it!

Without thinking, I dipped a finger into my own cum where it had puddled and soaked into a wet spot on the sheets. And then I licked that finger. The flavor was similar to Jerry's, and surely also to the flavor I'd just found in her cunt. So, is my wife an adulteress after all? Am I a confirmed cuckold? I was sure the aroma and texture were like what I'd just licked out of her. Nearly sure. Perhaps. But maybe not at all.

"My sweet girl," came Cassie's sleepy voice. I looked down and saw that her eyes were open. She'd been watching me. "You do love the flavor, don't you. But that finger will never fill your mouth like a real cock. Just wait."

I didn't respond. She'd confessed nothing. All her hinted sex with other men could still be pretend sex intended to titillate me. Will it stay this way? She wants it this way. It excites her, this power over me. If I don't continue down this path, will she seek out another man, another actual man who is willing to satisfy her kinky desires? Will she abandon her wimp husband? Could I be that other man too? Or another woman? Does she want me to become that other woman? Can I ever escape this silken web?

I had to see where it was she was taking me. Meanwhile I now knew she was right. The more humiliated, the more merely used I felt, the more rapturous! The more joyously ecstatic!

The next morning she kissed me immediately on waking up and suggested we shower together, "like two girls who've just felt the first delicate fingers of love caress them." We soaped each other down and ran our hands all over each other's bodies in child-like delight, the way teenagers do when they first discover there can be such delights. It was a Saturday—we took our time. When Cassie finally went off to dress she handed me her bottle of body lotion and asked me to use it, but first to shave my whole body so I'd feel as smooth and silky as I had under the shower. I did. It felt nice. No problem, though the lotion did smell a bit flowery. A girl's smell, but she wanted me that way. Women like flowery scents, I reasoned, so this way she'll like me all the more.

As I shaved my face I saw that my lipstick and eye make-up were still in place, not even smudged. Experimentally, I fluffed my hair to see the effect. I did look effeminate. No, not effeminate, let's face it, I looked feminine, girlish, and that's what it had pleased her to call me. All right, this was our new pretend game.

I went into the bedroom, and still wrapped in my towel I sat down next to her on her vanity bench. She smiled a greeting at me in the mirror while I looked over all the bottles, tubes, vials, and pads spread out before her.

"Next time wrap your towel higher, baby," she said. "Your nipples are showing. They give me wicked ideas. Have I told you yet how lovely you smell?"

I grinned. She was still teasing me, but that was fine! "Honey, are any of these bottles for removing my make-up?" I asked her.

She put down a large fluffy brush she'd been using to pink her cheeks. "Oh, sweetheart," she said. "You don't want to do that! Not today! Remove your make-up? You look so cute! And we're going out later!"

I looked in the mirror. "Cassie, I look like a girl, done up like this!"

She beamed approval at my reflection. "Exactly! Jerry's girlfriend is now my girl! Full time! From now on every time you go down on me. Every time we make love. Tonight, tomorrow, every time from now on. Sometimes on no notice! So do leave it on, it'll save us a lot of bother. Here, let me show you how to refresh it!"

She picked up a mascara wand, the fresh mascara on it still glistening, and turned toward me.

"Cassie, whenever you'd like me to be your girl and wear make-up, of course I will. But otherwise I don't think so."

"Honey, I'd like you to. I want you to get accustomed to seeing yourself in make-up. To love what you see. So you don't look quite right to yourself when you're not wearing it."

I still felt stubborn. She looked at me with her blank, earnest face, and added, "Honey, I'm trying to help us! I want us to stay together. I don't want to lose you! I'm looking for every conceivable way I can think of to keep you, to make you happier with me than with any other woman in the world. So you'll really and truly be mine! Please?"

That was not quite what she'd ever said before. It was unexpected. My sweet Cassie's voice actually sounded desperate! What was happening?

I thought I'd better talk in a conciliatory manner. "And my looking like a pretty girl will make me happy?" I asked.

"Being one. I know it will!" She sounded vehement.

I looked at her, even more surprised. She then seemed to back off. "Not just because you're already pretty, love, and you wiggle so fetchingly when you walk, and you're already habituated to cocksucking and cuntlapping both, though those are all good reasons why a pretty girl should feel happy. Because you love compromising your manhood! Because you know you're happiest when you're most humiliated and emasculated, and that's when I'm happiest too! And you love making me happy! Are those good reasons?"

She then tried making light of it. "Think of this too. There's also Jerry. He doesn't seem to care whether it's a man or a woman who's sucking his cock. Persuade him to prefer women!"

I pressed her further. "Why does humiliating or emasculating me make you happy, Cassie?"

She was silent. Then, "You know. Because you love it, and I love you. I know deep down you want it, and I want you to have everything you want, so I want to liberate you from whatever denies you what you want. And I have fantasies too. I'd love it if you were more like me, my dearest friend as well as my soulmate. Manly men are everywhere, but a man who sacrifices his manliness because his beloved wants him to? Priceless!"

She looked thoughtful, then added, "And I can't deny it, I like how it feels, being in charge, working my will and my wiles on you. I love it, that I can actually do this to you, change your gender identity in your own mind. Because I can. Because that's how I am." She paused again. "Are those enough reasons?"

I didn't answer her, so she continued.

"People are more complicated than we know. Tell me this. Why do you like to imagine I'm having sex with other men when you don't need to, and you don't know that I do, and you don't want to know, and it's possible or probable that I don't?"

"I don't like to! I hate it! It drives me crazy!"

"Then why do you do it? Because you love being driven crazy? Yes! Because to feel helplessly jealous is a sexual desire as intense as any you've ever felt. You get off on it, that's why you do it. Why would you torment yourself otherwise? There's no evidence. There's no smoking gun."

I was silenced. I saw her point.

"Well, maybe that's why I want you to think it's true that I really am fucking better men behind your back. Because it's exciting for you. Because it's exciting for both of us!"

"And is it true?"

"What do you think?"

I had no answer I could share with her. A long silence followed.

Then Cassie resumed earnestly, "Honey, think of it this way. When you're being a woman for me, you're less of a man. Less deserving of me in your own eyes. That's when it's easier for you to imagine I'd prefer someone who's more of a man. Isn't that so?"

Reluctantly, I had to answer "Yes."

She held out her arms. "That's why I want you to be a woman for me. Not just so you'll torture yourself with your own supposed inadequacy, but to move you past all that stuff into another world altogether! Where it no longer matters! Where you no longer need to imagine anything! You're my own true dear, and I love you with all my heart, and I've told you repeatedly that I'll never leave you and I'll never want you to leave me. But you must accept this. My love for you has nothing to do with your manliness. In any man to man competition with most of the men I know, you'd lose! Think of Jason, with his far better body and more decisive personality. Think of even poor dumb Jerry, with his huge cock and compliant disposition, who does whatever anyone asks him to do. They're both more manly! Honey, don't even try to compete! Don't torment yourself! Yes, be my husband sometimes, but be my girlfriend all the time! You'll love it! We both will!"

My resistance evaporated. And as that happened I became euphoric. I wanted her to close her arms around me. "Cassie," I said. "I don't understand what you've uncovered in me, but all right. I'll do what you want. Whatever it takes!"

She held back a moment. "'Whatever it takes?' Is that what you said?"

"Yes. I trust you. I want what you want."

"Oh, sweetheart!" She hugged me, and I hugged her, and we hugged each other for the longest time. It was so beautiful!

She pulled back suddenly, her eyes sly, also playful. "You know, it just occurs to me, if you're willing to become my girlfriend, you won't need to wonder whether I'm having extramarital sex or not. If I am, I can take you along to watch!"

She was joking. "If you are," I said, "why not take me along to watch just as I am?"

She playfully slapped my cheek. "You just don't understand men, do you sweetheart? The men we're talking about would never allow another man to watch. Suppose one of them wants to take me to his hotel room. Would he want to take another man to? Whereas all a woman needs to say is 'Oh, goodie, do you mind terribly if I watch?' and no man could ever refuse. This isn't love after all, it's sex. Voyeurism adds to the excitement. Another woman watching, what man could resist?"

She was right. And that sobered me up.

"I wouldn't want you to do that, Cassie. Whether I'm watching or not."

"Of course you wouldn't want me to. But you do know I could do it, any time. Just think how you'd feel if I did it while you were watching. Terrible, helplessly lost, I'm sure. All those things we've talked about. You get a hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach just from thinking about it. You probably have one now."

"Yes."

"But you'd also be thrilled beyond belief! You know that! Isn't your cock straining even now at the idea of it? Have you ever felt more vital?"

She knew. She leaned over and kissed me sweetly on the lips, small pecks, over and over. Her downward glance confirmed the obvious, that my prick was rigid to the point of pain. "So beautiful. So helpless. You're almost ready," she said. "Isn't feeling helpless beautiful? Just wait! I promise you, girlfriend, one of these days, if it turns out I'm having sex with anyone other than you, I'll take you along to watch. You will see it, I promise. There'll be no more tormenting yourself with speculations and suspicions. You'll know. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

I didn't know. I just stared at her. Cassie saw the fear, the panic, but also the lurking readiness in my eyes, and nodded. "I promise," she whispered, and she kissed me once again.

Then she turned all business. "Sit down then."

I did. She held back for a moment, doubtful. Then spoke.

"You want tits, honey. Without them you won't feel quite right. You won't look womanly. No matter how pretty you may turn out, I won't feel right about you. Does that give you pause?"

It did, but I hesitated only a moment. If she wanted to buy me breast forms, sure. I'd make a more convincing woman that way. "Yes," I said. "It gives me pause. But I still want what you want."

Cassie was again impressed. Her eyes had tears in them. As I kissed away them away she whispered, "Thank you, darling! I hoped you'd say that! I do love you, I do, I do!"

What could I say after that? I was hers. I'd placed myself altogether in her hands. And she was far from done.

She refreshed my make-up. She wordlessly handed me her white panties, her bridal panties, her deal-closing panties, even though they were still a little stained from whatever she'd done yesterday. With Jason. If anything. I felt a twinge of arousal just thinking about it, and I'm sure that was Cassie's intention. I put them on as if an insignia of rank.

Then came the matching bra from that same set. "Your first bra, sweetheart," she said. "It was my first as a married woman, and now its your first too. I hope you'll be as happy with it as you've made me."

It felt a little tight, but when she pulled my nearby chest flab into the cups, it remained there. I had small mounds on my chest. She studied them. "Yes," she said. And glanced at me and said nothing more.

"No breast forms?" I asked. "No stuffing? You said I need tits, didn't you?"

"No," she said. "No breast forms for you. I want to cop a feel of your nipples whenever I feel like it, and I want you to love the feeling every time. Even when it happens in public. You'll prefer access too. Your nipples are very sensitive. We don't want to cover them with padding."

I couldn't argue. I loved the delicate touch of her fingertips on my nipples. The previous night's play had been heaven.

"Won't I look a little flat-chested then?" I asked. Having finally agreed to be her girl as well as her husband, I felt relieved of the burden of choice. I felt lighthearted. "Doesn't a plain Jane like me need to offer the world unquestionable evidence that I'm a girl so they won't wonder if I'm really a boy in drag? Unquestionable evidence such as tits?"

"Be patient, honey. They'll be there, sooner than you think."

Something in her tone of voice stopped me. She wasn't jesting. She was serious. I looked at her.

"Sweetheart, you just said it. 'Whatever it takes.' And 'I want what you want.' And you meant it, I know you did. I hope so now with all my heart."

"Yes," I said. "I did. And I do mean it." Here comes something serious, I was thinking. The room suddenly seemed still. Neither of us moved.

"Your tits are on the way. You're looking at them now. You're feeling them whenever I touch your nipples. They're growing larger and more sensitive every day, your nipples and your breasts too."

I looked down. It was true. The bra Cassie'd given me had shaped and contained and thrust forward into small mounds what I'd thought was flab. It wasn't. My bra cups were full, and what I'd thought was flab wasn't anywhere elsewhere evident on my chest—my bra cups contained all of it. It hadn't been flab but breasts.

"I'm growing breasts," I said. My voice sounded too deep for a statement like that.

Cassie looked at me, quiet, not quite tense, and nodded. "Yes, you are," she said.

"How?" I asked.

"It came to me when you first started sucking off Mr. D, as one more way you could become what you were ashamed and yet pleased to imagine you were. The cum you've been swallowing contains female hormones. The more cum you've been willing to swallow, the more female hormones you've absorbed. Each squirt of Mr. D's cock and Jerry's has been laced with estrogen and progestin. Lots. You've been willingly swallowing several doses daily for months, and taking more into your ass too, using Jerry's prick as a high-colonic suppository. You're already on your second gallon of Jerry's cum you know. Sometimes for fun I've filled my vagina with it for you, and you've licked that out too. If you'd wanted to be a gay man with your lovers, that would have been different. But you haven't been a gay man. You've been a girl. More of a girl than you realized."

I sat silent. Then, as quietly as I could ask, "Cassie, why?"

"You know why, sweetie. I've told you over and over. Because deep down, with all that male humiliation and pain and outrage and betrayal you love, you really do want to undermine your own manhood. You're happy to be rid of it, with all its obligations and tensions. That's why you do the female things I tell you, why you surrender yourself to me and your own imagined femininity. I want to help you make it real."

That might be true. But it wasn't enough reason. "You want to help me make it real," I repeated, a little annoyed. "Why? Because you love me and want me to have everything I want? That won't wash. You know I don't want it as much as you want it."

"No, honey, you fear it as much as you want it. But there's another reason that has to do with me."

"What could that be?"

"I've told you. You haven't listened. Because I love you more than life itself and I never want to lose you, and this way we can stay together for the rest of our lives."

"Cassie, you've said that before. How does this keep us together?"

"Because you're marvelous. You can change. You have changed already. I can't."

"What does that mean?"

Cassie sat silent, looking at me. Then said simply, "Honey, you're filling a B cup now. Your mother was a C cup, to judge by your family pictures, so that's where you'll probably end up. But you and Jerry have gotten on so well lately, you've swallowed so much of him, that you could end up a D. You'll find all three sizes in your underwear drawer. From now on wear them, for decency's sake when you're out in public. And for your own sake too, or else in a year or so you'll find that your boobs sag below your belly."

She'd changed the subject. I was feeling tricked. I'd made choices, true, but not this one. Not exactly. I had to ask one more question.

"Honey, is this reversible? Do I now have a choice?"

She looked at me, and said simply, "Your body's proportions are set, sweetheart. Those hips, that tush, those luscious curves that already attract so much attention when you wear tight pants and wiggle when you walk. They're yours for life now, as long as you watch your calories. Your softened, feminized facial features -- you never noticed that happening? -- the same. There's breast reduction surgery of course, but that could cost you your nipple sensitivity, and I know you won't want to give that up. So no, it isn't reversible. You could have been a gay man, but there came a time to choose and you felt more comfortable as a woman, and that's what you're becoming. More and more."

She still sounded tentative, as if fearful that I might do something drastic. "You did agree to act out feminine sexuality, you know. And much of what goes along with it. You chose to go along. And you do love it. You can't deny that."

I paused and absorbed the full implications. "This is what you want?" I asked, staring her straight into her face. "You arranged this because this is what you want?"

"Yes," she said, staring straight back. But her voice quavered.

"Because you love me?" I said. This time my voice quavered.

"With all my heart, dearest!" She was near tears. The way she said it, I couldn't doubt she meant it. "More than life itself," she added. I knew she meant that too.

It's a sentimental cliche whenever anyone says it, but this time I thought I might actually be holding a life in my hands. I had to speak very carefully. I felt trapped and humiliated, but that strange glow in my belly betrayed me. Perversely, I couldn't deny it, I was pleased.

"Will I know some day why?" I asked.

"You know already," she replied. "You just don't want to believe what you know."

I couldn't deal with that. Not at all. Not yet. Another long pause.

"The cum I've tasted in you? That wasn't some other man's after all?"

Cassie looked slantwise at me. "I didn't say that, darling."

If I was willing, she intended to continue this game!

"Well," I said. Then silence. I was thinking. I was trying to accept all this as inevitable. What would a real man do if the woman he loved had done this to him? Yes, of course, but what did I want to do?

Preserve what I do have. Go with it. Maybe even enjoy the disgrace. Maybe even exult in it! See what else happens!

My God! And I once called myself a man?

I had to say it quickly or I'd never say it. I did love her, and she was still looking at me hopefully, but anxiously too, frightened.

"Cassie, I can't." Her face started to collapse, so I went on hurriedly. "I don't have a thing to wear. Can you lend me a blouse and skirt, or at least a dress for my morning session with Jerry? We always have breakfast together, you know, Jerry and I. He provides the breakfast."

"Yes," Cassie said. "Oh, yes! Oh, darling, yes! Everything you'll ever want, always!"

And like a tidal river bursting its banks, she rushed formard and flowed all over me, covering me with kisses.

I could only hug her back and say no more. We stared into each other's faces for the longest time. Her mascara hadn't run at all, so probably neither had mine. I knew by her face, without looking into a mirror, that despite all our tears I was still pretty. To judge by the way Cassie was looking at me at that moment, I was radiantly beautiful. As she certainly was.

When we'd done with kissing each other and unfolded from each other's arms, Cassie reached into her closet and completed my outfit with a simple flowered T shirt and a denim skirt. "That's good enough for Jerry," she said. "He's only a man, men never really notice what we're wearing anyhow."

She was in much better humor, at last. "Work your womanly wiles on him, gorgeous," she told me. "Seduce him. I want to watch."

Jerry was now waiting for me in the guest bedroom. His erection when he saw me and I took it into my mouth was no larger, and his climactic cum spurted no more profusely when I hugged him to climax. I swallowed it all, its hormones and my own incipient womanhood, glancing over to where Cassie was watching. I saw that she saw. This time she saw me deliberately committing myself to womanhood, not just fantasying. She saw I'd forgiven her.

For me it was also different. I was no longer a feminized man committed to self-abasement. As I stroked and positioned that cock, I felt more coy and more slyly calculating, and when I began to lick its huge knob I felt oddly triumphant! As a man I'd been Jerry's lover only to comply with Cassie's kinky insistence that I explore my insecurities, and I'd always been a little ashamed of the pleasures I took from him. Sucking Jerry's cock had been a form of performance art, self-enactment as a gay man or as a compliant woman defined as myself, self-abasement for the delusive thrill of it. But as a woman it was different. I was sucking him to express my own sexuality and empowerment, to learn more about how to manipulate men and how to appreciate them. I granted Jerry the privilege of intimacy with my mouth, and I enjoyed his gratitude as it spurted down my throat.

Cassie watched, and could tell it was different for me now. "You'll be perfect," she whispered as I licked the last of Jerry's cum off my lips. "You'll enjoy making men groan whenever you flick your tongue. But now, sweetheart, it's time for Jerry to give you your very first full fuck as a woman."

I was eager to try that too. I pulled off my bridal panties, pulled Jerry down on top of me, and unhesitatingly guided him into me. There then followed a wild time! I humped and gyrated under him, and pushed at his hips in a mad effort to get him to fuck my most sensitive places. He responded to every push with a shove. At my peak, in full orgasm, my ass spasmed repeatedly on his long, fat sausage as that thing squirted more estrogen cum deep into me, into my guts. Then I couldn't help it, I had to crush my lips against his lips and kiss him passionately. This beautiful man had made me a woman! Never mind that he wasn't real! I loved him for the all the pleasure he had given me—nothing else mattered.

I was still recovering my breath when I felt Cassie hand gently stroking my hair. I lifted ny head to press it against her hand, blissfully, like a petted puppy. "You're so beautiful, sweetheart," she said quietly. "You're so much like me."

When she first advised me to wear bras so my new breasts wouldn't sag, Cassie'd also warned me wear them for decency's sake "in public." That had worried me. This transformation and the shame and glory entailed was still a private matter. Except for my forgetful hip-weaving the day her bridge club met, my subjugation and feminizing had happened privately in our own home, indoors. But bras and breasts are visible. To take actual womanhood into the streets or some other public place, to be seen as what I was becoming, that seemed unthinkable.

No longer. When dinner time came around Cassie phoned for a pizza while I prepared a salad. Then when the pizza delivery boy came she happened to be on the phone talking about escrows with a client.

"You get it, honey!" she called out.

"But ...!" I began.

"You'll have to! You're still in full make-up, and your boobs show through the T-shirt. You're a girl! Just fluff your hair and smile at him. Make his day!"

There was nothing for it, I pushed up my hair a few times and opened the door, stood there boldly a moment, then took the box and paid the boy and tipped him. Barely glancing at me, he said, "Thank you, ma'am!" and quickly disappeared down our walk back to his little delivery car.

That was my inaugural appearance in the outer world. My maiden voyage.

When I told Cassie, she was delighted and kissed me. "You've been seen! Your first outing! Now we need a real coming out party!"

"What do you mean?" I asked, afraid I knew just what she meant.

"You need to believe in yourself. That you are what you're becoming. What you seem to be already. The easiest way is to see for yourself that others believe that's what you are." She smiled. "That sounds complicated. What it means is, we all grow into other people's expectations for us, the way puppies grow into oversized feet, and you're growing into your boobs. When others think you're a girl, you'll forget to feel self-conscious about it. When it seems normal, natural, and ordinary for everyone to think you're a girl, that's when you'll truly believe it yourself."

There was something wrong here. "Cassie," I said. "I thought what you wanted for me was humiliation, because along with it comes this perverse joy! Now you want me to accept all this as a commonplace?"

"Only the feminized part of you. I want everyone who knew you to forget you were ever a man, and I want everyone else to assume you're woman. You too. But then it won't be over, love. Remember, you'll still feel aroused and humiliated whenever you suspect I'm having sex somewhere with a real man. In fact you'll feel all the more impotent—if I may use the word—when that happens. Because you won't even be the semblance of a real man any more. A real man's jealousy or indignation or anger won't be anything you can lay claim to any more, so you'll feel all the more helpless and deprived. Maybe envious instead of jealous?"

That hurt. "What do you mean, Cassie? I'm still a real man inside!"

"Are you, sweetie? A real man wearing full makeup and a cute denim skirt and a round rear and a flowered top with little mounds poking out? Swallowing female hormones you suck from a man's prick? If you were any kind of man you'd be mortified to let your wife see you prancing and primping around the house as you do, even though she herself first proposed it. But you're quite at ease with it now, aren't you. No self-consciousness about it at all. Isn't that so?"

It was so.

"Then again, we've been sharing Jerry for how long now? When I see you lying under him with your legs spread wide, moaning and pumping your hips at him frantically, do you think I think you're a real man at that moment? You've rounded a corner, honey. You shouldn't be ashamed to be thought a woman any more. The man in you may have been ashamed—all that threatened male ego! I wanted to get you past that, and you seem to be. Now that you're persuaded you're a woman, or becoming one, you've got no real manhood left to defend, do you?"

I thought I did, but I couldn't let Cassie know that. I was still a little ashamed of the way I looked even though I now took pride in my appearance when Cassie approved it. I looked like a woman, mostly. But my mirror still saw a man pretending to be a woman. I didn't want to be seen by anyone else.

"And I love you this way! I love it when you believe you're a woman. It strengthens you. You yourself pointed it out. Women don't feel insecure about their appeal to other women, the way men do. There's no contest."

That wasn't exactly what I'd said. Or if it was, it somehow wasn't what I'd meant.

"We need to nurture your new belief in yourself. You need to know that others see and accept what you've become. So to finish dinner we're going out for cake and coffee to that lovely little dessert store by the delicatessen at the end of the street. We'll walk, it's only two blocks."

There was an edge in her voice that I recognized—no contradictory opinions tolerated. So I said rather hopelessly, "Cassie, I'm comfortable looking and acting the way I do, and it's becoming the way I am, and I appreciate everything you've done for me that way, but I can't appear in public looking like this!"

A sick fear was taking shape in my gut. I was pathetic enough, pussywhipped into dressing and behaving like this, even thinking that's what I was. But the outside world would see me as a ludicrous freak.

"Of course you can. And you will. You'll be fine. Your make-up is perfect, no retouching needed. Maybe you should change your skirt—Jerry wrinkled it while he was banging you earlier tonight, there are reasons why we undress for sex, and you should know them even if Jerry doesn't. I'll bring you another. Your T shirt's fine—it displays your little breasts quite nicely. So how can anyone doubt you? Would you feel more comfortable if I gave you a push-up bra with a touch of cleavage? You've agreed to live the rest of your life as a woman, so let it all hang out?"

"Cassie! I never said ...!"

But I did wear another skirt, and the push-up bra she brought me enlarged my breasts and gave them a touch of cleavage. We walked out to the sidewalk as she insisted, past lawns and houses like our own, and down the length of our street into the small lighted mall at the far end. She insisted I walk with my chest thrust way out—"You are not a teen-age girl with bad posture," she said. "Don't try to hide inside yourself. Stand tall and be proud, honey."

"I'm a little scared," I told her.

"Of what? Now that you're out, the world awaits. Tomorrow we'll get your ears pierced, maybe your nails done. Commit you so you can't even dream you were once a man. You'll be fine when you know there's no choice, no going back."

"Cassie, there's always choice."

"Not for you any more, sweetheart." Cassie's voice was level and serious. "I needed your cooperation and I've gotten it, and now you're doing this to yourself. Soon all your exit doors will be closed, sealed shut, and then you'll be mine forever, you'll never be able to leave me, no matter what."

I still didn't understand most of that, but since I had no intention of leaving Cassie ever, it didn't matter. I was still apprehensive, deathly afraid the whole time that a neighbor would see us and recognize me. But sidewalks in the suburbs are for kids on bicycles, joggers, children awaiting school busses, cleaning help, and on rare occasion strolling couples like us. We passed no one.

As we launched toward the distant haven of a dessert and coffee shop Cassie reminded me to keep my hips in motion and thighs together, one foot in front of the other, not merely ahead and alongside. It wasn't necessary. I'd had lots of practice for months, and I was so accustomed I hadn't been aware of it even that day Cassie's bridge club got an eyefull. But now, swaying down our long street, fearful of exposure, still wondering why Cassie wanted me this way, I became extremely self-conscious. Without intending to, I overdid it. I swiveled down the street with my rear end wagging to and fro in an obscene invitation to every passerby.

Fortunately, the few who noticed didn't try their luck with me—my proper if attractive companion may have inhibited them somewhat. Cassie was altogether at ease. She maintained a constant girl-to-girl chatter about friends I scarcely knew, a new associate at the office who was seducing his way down the secretarial pool, a contract dispute she was mediating, and her problems shopping for sexy underwear that wasn't whorish to wear on special occasions.

"Such as what?" I asked, as suspicious as always but trying not to let it show.

"We'll find some for you too, honey," was all she replied.

As we crossed into populated areas and into the coffee shop, Cassie congratulated me but also cautioned me. "You're a very attractive young woman," she said. "There's no need to feel ashamed or embarrassed by that fact. Men will approach you, no question of it. If so, for now maintain a polite distance. There's no need to invite their attention. Which is to say, there's no reason for you to wave your hips about quite that openly. Not yet. Wait. Once your ass rounds out a bit more, I'm sure every man who sees you from the rear will be eager to replace Jerry in your affections and your asshole."

"I wish you wouldn't talk about me attracting men," I said. "I'm not not gay, I'm only a girl, remember."

She grinned at that, and I realized what I'd just said. Then she continued. "You'll find out what men think you are. No fear. When it comes time to unveil your full-grown tits and your gorgeous new rear end, you'll surely be there."

Our expedition may have made me a little apprehensive, but it was actually pleasant, uneventful. No one in the little coffee shop glanced up when two young women entered and sat down, me with my knees decorously touching as instructed. The waitress took our order—I gave mine in a squeak—and returned with our cappucinos. We chatted in low voices, Cassie maintaining a steady stream of advice, her tone of voice reassuring, more to keep me calm than to invite conversation, the way a teenage girl speaks to a skittish horse. By the time we got up to stroll home I felt comfortable in this new world, no longer concerned I might be seen as the wrong gender. Whichever that might be.

Then as we left the coffee shop, a man who was just entering held the door open for us. "Ladies," he said, as I passed him by quickly. Cassie took her time, then paused in the doorway, so close that he could neither move nor release the door. "Thank you," she said, looking up at him pleasantly, her face not six inches away from his. "It's lovely to know that a real gentleman lives in this neighborhood!" She had that challenging, intent, flirtatious look I'd seen so often at her office parties.

I was suddenly aware that I was helpless. There was nothing I could do to assert a husbandly authority over a flirtatious wife without revealing myself, without enduring public humiliation. Was this why Cassie had maneuvered me into the streets in a skirt? To free herself to pick up men under my nose while I stood by? To accustom me to helpless passivity and provide me with yet another moment of perverse arousal?

She wasn't finished. "Do you come to this coffee shop often?"

"Every night," he said. "I live nearby. Do you?"

"Yes, we do," she replied. "My friend here and I." She kept her eyes on his, and waited.

The man got the message and drew himself up and suggested we all go back inside. Cassie glanced at me, my face distraught. "Not tonight," she said. "But I'll look for you. I'm Cassie." And she turned toward me, her purpose accomplished.

"Tim Corrigan," he replied to her back. "I'll look for you too. And you are ...?" he asked me."

I felt unaccountably strange. "Hallie," I replied in a breathy squeal, standing very still. It came out sounding quite seductive.

He stood there staring at me we moved on, indecisive whether to proceed inside or to seize the opportunity and follow us. Gentlemanliness prevailed. "Nice to meet you, Hallie," he told me. "And you too, Cassie. I hope we'll meet again," he added as if an afterthought. And he continued on in.

Cassie was amused. "'Hallie' is it now, finally, Hal? You named yourself as if in the last throes of an orgasm. To the first man you meet! Poor Jerry. Fated to die of a broken heart or a neglected cock, whichever comes first."

She was teasing me. I didn't want to sound disturbed, so I had no choice as her 'friend' but to tease her back. "Don't pretend, Cassie! You stopped in that doorway so you could jump his bones then and there!"

"No, honey, it was for your sake," she said seriously. "So you can jump his bones. I've seen you with Jerry, remember. No girl has ever been more hard up for a man than you are! I heard you. Did you feel desireable? Did it feel good?"

I thought only a second, then said "Yes. It did. Very good."

"Yes, it does. Now you know why I love to flirt. The feelings that come with a 'come hither' glance or tone of voice are exquisite. Aren't they?"

I thought especially of my changed attitude toward Jerry, now that I was deliberately looking feminine. "Yes," I replied. "I had no idea."

"Well, I did. I wanted you to delight in those kinds of feelings. Aren't they wonderful?" She turned and kissed me.

We walked home hand in hand affectionately, like schoolgirls or like lovers, not concerned who might see us. My mind was a mess. But my cock had gone turgid, already at half mast. Oh, God, what was I becoming?!

When we got home, Cassie didn't hesitate. Straight onto the living room couch, her jeans and panties off, one leg on the back of the couch, one on the floor, and without a word I dived in. Her honeypot was incredibly sweet, like flowing nectar. I loved it. So did she, several times over before we both paused for breath.

Then as we lay together she told me I couldn't enter her dressed as I was, made up as I was. Nor could she suck me. "I see you as a girl now," she said. "It wouldn't be right," she said.

So she sent me for a condom, then when I was sheathed in it she stroked me to climax, kissing my nose and ears and cheeks over and over the whole time with little affectionate pecks, her hand pumping steadily, never pausing. I throbbed against her fist, and filled the rubber.

She then told me to lie on my back so she could drip the contents of the condom onto my tongue. I didn't want to, but Cassie insisted. "It's too delicious to waste," she whispered. "Never hesitate to swallow cum! At least taste the authentic bittersweet saltiness, and enjoy the slick feel on your lips. Here!"

And she upended the condom. A drool of cloudy fluid began to ooze out. "Stick out your tongue," she said. I did. "Now lick!" she said. I did. "Again!" she said. Out came my tongue, and more of my jism dribbled onto it. "Oh, good," she said. "My sweet baby. Oh, lovely. You dear creature! Don't waste a drop!"

I didn't.

"Better than Jerry, isn't it? And better than mixed with my cum? No hormones mixed in, but now that we're moving on we'll make other arrangements. You can take pills the way other women do. Or take shots, or use a patch."

I was troubled. "You say it wouldn't feel right to have sex with me the usual way, while I'm a girl," I said. "Will it ever feel right?"

"It might, Hallie," she said, watching me. "Are you willing to wear Mr. D when you do me? That's how girls do it."

I had no answer.

"Let's go to bed," she said, kissing me gently on my cum-coated lips. "Just the two of us. Leave Jerry where he is. This has been a very big day for you. We two girls need to hug each other."

I agreed. I felt sweetly sad. Something had been gained, but something had been lost. I needed my wife. When were in bed together, we kissed and then hugged. "You're a sweet darling," she said, her hand stroking my cheek, her lips grazing mine, her breath hot on my face. "I'll never leave you. You're mine for life!"

"Yes," I said. "And you're mine."

No response. She'd fallen asleep.

When Sunday morning rolled around, I felt better, but a little moody still. Cassie could sense it, and made no effort to suggest I wake up Jerry before we did anything else.

"Honey, now will you show me which of these is your make-up remover? I can't find anything labeled like that except your nail polish remover, and I certainly don't want that stuff anywhere near my eyes."

"You're a dear, and I will. Or I would, except that I looked for some yesterday myself, and I guess we're out. We need to buy more. I'll come with you if you like. Who knows, we might meet another nice man like the one who talked to us last night."

"We?" Cassie, this is your idea, not mine! I don't want ...!"

"Oh, sweetheart," she said. "Need I repeat it? When you dress like a woman, look like a woman, and behave like a woman, men do take notice. You know that! You'll simply have to learn to deal with it. This is your life. Live it! I'll go with you. We'll start with the drug store, and then move on."

"What do you mean, move on where?"

"I mean you need cleansing cream and also other hormones. You need to roam, to go out more. Also, there's a woman's special delight, shopping, Malls are open in Sundays, and you said it, you haven't a thing to wear. You need everything. You have those stretch pants, but you need to didplay your body in other ways too, be more proud of it. And also to begin having fun with your fashion sense. Like tights topped by a cute mini, so when you sway your butt you can feel the miniskirt swishing from side to side and the eyeballs of everyone watching doing the same thing.

We moved on, through many stores. Every evening we became only two more women shopping together the way women do, and I stopped worrying. Cassie provided the hormone pills and I started taking them on my own, so my feminizing wouldn't depend exclusively on Jerry's cum. Two weeks later all of my male clothing had been packed away to make room for my new female clothing. That was all I wore now, whether with Cassie or on my own. I spent most of the day in jeans and a T-shirt or peasant blouse, wearing peds and flats, though it pleased me to dress up and feel pretty sometimes when I felt like seducing Jerry. And always, by the time Cassie got home I was stylishly dressed and made up. I tried hard to delight her with my appearance, to try to earn her rare respectful compliments. I was always overjoyed when I succeeded.

Meanwhile I ignored several opportunities to increase my client base, and my consulting settled into relaxed, undemanding, occasional phone inquiries on a retainer basis. I had Cassie's firm on retainer, though they never needed me. Until, maybe a month after my "conversion" as Cassie called it, there came a crisis. At mid-morning Clarice called. "Hal, pick up!" I heard her say through the speakerphone. "Cassie needs you! We all do!"

I'd just finished putting on my face so I'd be pretty for Jerry. Well, really for me, as a point of personal pride, but like most women I pretended it was for a boyfriend who would never notice anyhow. Cassie'd gotten me a subscription to Cosmo so I'd know What Every Woman Knows, and I'd read there that the secret of eye make-up is to use just enough so your eyes look large and innocent, like a baby's, yet sly and knowing, like a bad girl in the movies. And to try to be both. That way a man doesn't feel threatened by your sexuality, yet can feel desired by it. That made sense. I was trying out a wide-eyed vamp look, my hair pinned upswept in a French twist, wearing a pencil-thin faded denim skirt Cassie'd laid out for me, and a see-through blouse, and heels I'd selected myself, when I heard Clarice's call for help and picked up.

"Hal, Cassie says grab any jacket from the front hall closet and come at once, it doesn't matter what, and get over here. Our computer tech quit and may have left a virus behind—one by one our screens are going dark."

"One by one?" I said. "I'll be right there."

I was in the car backing down the driveway when I came aware that for the first time I was driving to a place where people knew me as Hal, and I was wearing high heels, a skirt, a see-through blouse with fully visible lace bra, and the only matching jacket in the closet, Cassie's flower-embroidered denim. And full make-up. And a woman's hair style. When I went walking through malls, no one noticed me, I passed persuasively as long as I kept my hips prim. But now my whole world was about to change. Everyone knew I was Cassie's husband, but done up as her attractive girlfriend? What would they think? The last scrap of my manhood was about to disappear from view. Of other people's belief in my manhood, anyhow.

It was better yet worse. I didn't remind anyone of my former self. Clarice was downstairs waiting to meet me to get me past the guard, and didn't recognize me until I stood in front of her and uttered a deep-voiced "It's me, Clarice." She was momentarily startled, but then her expression narrowed to intense interest. She glanced at the guard desk, then back at me, and took a deep breath, no doubt to restrain an outpouring of questions. "This way, honey," she said, as she would have said to any new secretary or receptionist, to put her at her ease. As we rode up in the elevator, she looked me up and down.

"Is it still Hal?"

"Hallie."

She completed her inspection by noting my newly pierced ears with their keeper posts. "Very nice," she ventured finally. "I love your skirt. You're nicely dressed for support work in a legal office, Hallie, sexy but chic. Sophisticated. You'll like it here. Cassie advises you on your wardrobe?"

"Yes," I said in the medium register voice I'd cultivated for minimal unavoidable use. "She picked out this outfit for me this morning."

"I thought so. Good taste shows. Love your hairdo too. I'd keep that jacket buttoned though. If some of the guys here saw that blouse and those boobies underneath they'd be all over you." She paused. "They're real, aren't they?"

"Yes," I said.

"Your boy friends like them? They want you to look like this? I thought men who date men like their men to look like men. No?"

"As far as I know they do, Clarice. I don't have a boy friend." Was I slighting Jerry? "Not really, anyhow. I dress like this for my own reasons." Cassie's reasons, mostly, I added to myself, but they're mine now.

"Ooooh?" Enlightenment shone all over Clarice's face. "Then you're transitioning?"

"Yes," I said, not quite sure what she meant.

"Honey, I had a brother who did just what you're doing! She had to change jobs after the hormones kicked in, and there were some rocky times afterward, but since her surgery she's been just fine! She's the happiest woman in the world!" The elevator halted, and the doors slid open. As she stepped out she turned back toward me, gestured magniloquently, and said, "Welcome to womanhood, honey! And welcome to the seventeenth floor! You'll love both! The partners and legal staff are on the next floor up, as you know, but that's there and this is here. Down here is support staff, where all the work accumulates. Here is where we do whatever they say. It flows downhill, you know."

A half dozen people gathered around the reception desk overheard her and turned toward us. I'd never met any of them, thank goodness! My humiliation was postponed.

"Bill, Maria, Tina, Everett, Erika, ah, oh, everybody, this is Hallie. Hallie, everybody. I see no one's working. Hallie's come to fix the computers.

"Hi, Hallie," the bright young receptionist with brilliant scarlet lipstick and nails said to me. "I'm the Maria part of what Clarice just said. Cassie said that when you arrive, get you started right away. So I'll take you to the tech's office, and maybe you'll see something." She walked rapidly down the hall and I followed. Her backside weaved in ways as exaggerated as mine had been. Cute.

"How do you come to know Cassie?" she asked without turning around as we navigated a labyrinth of doors and work stations, corridor after corridor.

"We've been room-mates," I replied. This was wonderful, in a way, I was thinking. This is my chance actually to explore what really being female is like. Probably no one on this whole floor is knows I'm a man!

As for the computer situation, I knew the system well enough to have figured what happened while I was still in the car. Not a virus, but a badly networked practical joke. The previous techie had kicked up his heels on departure and left opportunities for overtime pay for his unknown replacement. I could get things going again in very little time I estimated, probably by noon. But then I'd be days and days re-stabilizing each computer in every office so they could be safely shut down again. There were probably hundreds.

"Well, I'll leave you here," she said, pausing in front of a cubby-sized office loaded inside with equipment. "Do you think you'll be free for lunch?"

"Oh, I should be," I said. "But then to get things done right will probably take days."

"Oh, longer I should think. Cassie told Personnel to start you with a year's contract with an option to renew. She wants you exclusive, here every day from now on, just in case. So you might as well get to know all of us. There's a rotating bunch of us girls who have lunch together every day, maybe a half-dozen each time, not always the same half-dozen. The Lunch Bunch. Lots of gossip. You're welcome to join."

"Thank you," I said. "I'd like that very much!" I'd been conceiving myself a girl in my own mind for months, and seen to be one by others for weeks. Now I'd find out how it felt in social situations with lots of give and take! Wonderful! I wondered if I could get away with it. I'd better, I told myself. I felt a flutter in my tummy. I mean my gut.

"I'll come by and get you then at noon. It'll be fun. We'll tell you who's sleeping with anybody at the moment, and where all the bodies are buried. Survival stuff you need to know when some of the guys come by to hit on you. As they will. Are you attached?"

"I don't know," I said. I didn't want to implicate Cassie without a cover story she'd approved.

She smiled, and added, "Obviously not very, anyhow. You're wearing a see-through blouse with no slip. Naughty!" And Maria turned away and was gone.

I sat down at the array of computers the young techie had left behind, booted up, and saw at a glance what he'd done. No problem. The software files had the necessary correction programs, though as anticipated I'd need to change the hardware switches in every computer in the system to keep the same problem from recurring when it was switched off. That might take weeks. I wondered why Cassie had set me up for a year or more.

Only a half-hour later I clicked a command and heard all sorts of muffled cheers emerge from offices and workstations all over the floor, as screens went back on. I then sent a "SySop" e-mail to each cautioning everyone to leave their machines on until I could make adjustments to preclude similar events. Back came a an e-mail warning of risks to the confidentiality of files if machines stay on and hoping the adjustments would come soon. And another telling me how great it was to have a system operator who uses the word "preclude." And there was an IM from Maria saying "!! Hallie!! :-) See you in ten!"

I looked—it was almost noon. Barely time to check my hair—thankfully, the make-up Cassie provided both of us never smeared or needed much refreshing. Then Maria appeared at the door beaming. "Are you as good at everything else too?" she asked.

"Some things I'm still learning," I replied evasively, and picked up my purse, reminding myself to keep my thighs together no matter what!

"Oh? You like to try new things? Then watch out for Denise. She loves new things."

There was a downstairs restaurant where the "Lunch Bunch" met every day, and we were quickly seated.

"Our usual table," Maria explained. "The owner seems to feel he owes us."

"He does indeed," another impeccably dressed doll-faced woman said. "Or I send his wife a compromising picture I took of us once in his office back there, and he knows it. Nothing happened, I'm not into guys, that's the amusing part. But she'd never believe that, and he knows that too, so it keeps this table reserved for us. Hi, I'm Denise. 'Dennie.' You're the new Wonder Woman who just put us all back to work?"

"Hallie," I said, taking her extended hand and smiling back at her. "I do try." I sat down and was introduced to two girls from the typing pool, and ordered a salad. I was almost down to the ultra slim waistline Cassie thought went best with my figure.

They resumed a conversation they'd been having when we arrived. "So what did you decide?" Denise asked one of the typists.

"Oh, I'm having them done," she replied. "A walk-in procedure, no big deal. A week to heal, and I'll feel a lot better afterward."

"That depends on who's doing the feeling," Maria said with a wicked smile. "I wouldn't do that to myself just to give a man more to grab onto."

"I mean my self-esteem, I'll feel better about myself," she said a little defiantly. Then added more shyly, "And collagen implants in my nipples are supposed to increase their feeling enormously. That's what they say. I'll let you know."

That seemed to quiet the group down. Reason enough for breast enhancement, they seemed to think. I could agree.

"Have you ever had boob work done, Hallie," Denise asked. "Judging by their exposure in that blouse, you're pretty proud of them."

"No, they're still growing," I said. Then since that might sound odd for a girl in her mid-twenties, I added, "I just went on the pill, and that fills them out."

"The pill, eh?" Denise commented. "I suppose you have your reasons. You're seeing someone?"

"No, no one. Well, there's one guy, we're friends, but he feels free to act as if I weren't even in the room." That's Jerry, I told myself. And that's me making a clever remark about him.

"Like that guy Cassie sees sometimes," Maria told the assembled, me included. "That gynecologist she's been incorporating."

"In more ways than one," Denise added, grinning.

"Yes, no matter who walks in and sees what they're doing, he doesn't even slow down."

I absorbed this information with a bit of shock. "Don't ...ah, we all see gynecologists?" I tried to ask innocently.

"Yes," Maria said. "But we go to their offices. This guy comes to Cassie's. He's up there three, four times a week."

"In more ways than one," Denise added again.

"For an hour or more each time, with the door closed," Maria finished. "Clarice says that listening to the sounds they make, she has to call her husband to come home early to help her out, and go home early herself, and she says that as often as not she has to help herself out even before it's time to go home."

I sat silent at this news, the old feeling twisting in my belly. Cassie with another man? Confirmed?

"You said you were her roommate once," Maria said to me. "Was she always like this?"

"Not so I knew about it," I said. Treacherously, my prick had began to harden in my panties! My God, how shameful! Cassie was certainly right that I get off on humiliation!

"I bet her husband doesn't know either," Denise said. "Or maybe he doesn't care. I saw him once at an office party. He was real cute, but he was wearing tight pants and pretty obviously waving his ass at the men. Word has it he's gay. Can you blame her for getting it wherever she finds it?"

None of us could. "I saw her gynecologist once," one of the typists said. "Big handsome guy. He could cover any two of us with that gorgeous body. Maybe fill any two of us too."

"Anatomically improbable," Denise said. "Well, I've got to go."

We took our purses and stood up. "My treat," Maria said, leaving some bills. "Tomorrow you can treat me."

"Or me," Denise said, smiling at me, looking me straight in the eyes, and just barely touching my arm. "You do look a treat, Hallie!" And she bustled away.

There was no question of it. Tuned in or not, that was a pass. And from a lesbian. I wondered if it was impersonal, that Denise routinely approaches and flirts with every woman she meets, or if this was going to be something of problem.

Meanwhile I was still absorbing the devastating gossip I'd heard. Was it only gossip? Cassie indeed having an affair? My stomach sank even lower under its heavy burden.

The other two girls went off, flashing white teeth and pleasantries, and Maria took me back up to my closet-sized office. I was beginning to find my way around the rabbit warren of cubbies on this floor.

"On this floor you can get lost," Maria said. "Upstairs, where the lawyers and their associates work, there are fewer corridors and more open spaces, more conference rooms and things. Oh look, you have two more messages. Well, we both have work. See ya!"

As she disappeared I called out in my careful mid-level voice, "I'll come fix you next."

"I can't wait," she called out without turning around. "But unless you mean my computer, you'll have to stand in line!" And she raised her hand and twisted her wrist in friendly farewell.

I sat down. The first message was from Personnel, asking me to stop by to sign some papers before leaving the building today. I couldn't do that until I asked Cassie what was going on, why I wasn't just here on an emergency basis. I'd already done what needed an expert, the rest was routine for any 16 year old. And I had clients. Not many, but they were mine!

As if she were reading my mind, the second note was from Cassie. From Clarice, actually. It read "Cassie's office. 3:00pm prompt. Cassie says with your jacket unbuttoned."

That was odd, but also in a way re-assuring. There were these rumors about my wife and her gynecologist, when weren't there such rumors about women and gynecologists, especially the handsome kind? Did it mean, come prepared to work? Come in a casual mood? Did it mean Cassie wanted to sneak a peek at my breasts? She had taken to caressing my newly extruded nipples when we were in bed, knowing it sent me into the clouds of heaven. Was she telling me to anticipate more of that?

I changed the screen hardware toggles on Maria's computer and a few others down the hall, working counter-clockwise, only a few hundred more to go, when I saw it was nearly three. So I got into the elevator and went up one floor. I'd been there before, so I knew to turn left leaving the elevator, and almost immediately I found myself confronting Clarice at her desk.

"Ah, there you are, honey! Right on time. Jacket unbuttoned, too, they look just lovely. I love a lace-trimmed satin bra on a gorgeous girl! Is that one Olga or Victoria's Secret? Well, never you mind, sweetie, you can tell me later. He's waiting."

"He? Isn't this Cassie's office?" I looked around. Yes, there was her sign on the door.

Clarice stood up. "Go on in, babe. The doctor awaits. Cassie told me that at this point I should make myself scarce. Call if you need me, though I won't be here to hear you!" She grinned at me, picked up a stack of legal papers, went out the archway separating her from the wide corridor, and disappeared around a corner.

I walked in. "Close the door behind you, please," a man's deep voice said. I did, and looked toward the sound of the voice.

No Cassie anywhere visible. But sitting—lounging might be the better word—on the couch just to my right was a large, bronzed, good-looking man, the kind you know was four-letter in college and has never known failure, whether in career or sex or anything else. He was inspecting me good naturedly. Hungrily? I clutched my purse close to me and just stood there.

"You're Hallie, then," he said genially. "Cassie's new little lady. I've been hearing a lot about you!"

I just stood there, a little frightened. This man's presence filled that whole corner of the room. Where was Cassie?

"I'm Dr. Burton," he said, making no effort to get up or to extend a hand. "Alex, you can call me. I've known your wife a long time. We go way back."

"I see," I said.

"No, not yet you don't. You don't see. We're very fond of each other, Cassie and I. Very fond. Don't mistake me, she loves you, she's told you I'm sure that she can't live without you, and I'm sure that's true. She feels for you with a depth and intensity far beyond anything she feels for me."

I tried to think of something to say, and couldn't.

"What we feel for each other is more like affection than love. And more like lust than love too, I have to say. More like a physical craving. She loves you, but she needs to clamp her body against mine and cram me into her as often as possible. She can't get enough. And I feel this powerful need to help the poor woman out. So we go out of our way to see each other, often. She's protected you from finding out for the sake of your self-esteem and your marriage, so you probably don't know that your wife has these ... needs that only certain kinds of men can fill fully. I'm fortunate to be one of them. The only one always in town, what with my practice and all. Other men come and go, but I'm always available. So she sees me most often."

He paused. "Not that you don't satisfy her physical needs too, certain of them. Or rather, not that you didn't once upon a time, until Cassie saw that sooner or later her relationship with you would endanger her relationships with other better men. Much worse, that her relationships with other better men had her relationship with you at terrible risk. Because you might get jealous if you suspected, and angry, and then do something stupid and hurtful like divorce her. Even though like most insecure men you get off on being jealous, it's arousing, it fulfills a deep need in you to feel humiliated But like most men you can't acknowledge it and simply enjoy it. Cassie's had to teach you how to do that—I hear you picked up on the erotic part pretty quickly. So when you finally found out about your wife's daily escapades with other men, you wouldn't mind. So in fact you'd get off on it, maybe love it as much as she does!"

I'd been masturbating to that suspicion for months! Cassie'd set me up so I wanted to believe it!

"Some men can have problems with wives who are highly sexed. They can't satisfy them, and can't live with them, yet can't live without them either. Apparently you're one of those."

"But you can," I said suddenly, resentfully. I'd been hearing out this smug man's speech with rising animosity. "Satisfy women like that, I mean. Live with or without them."

The doctor straightened his shoulders just a bit, and grinned at me. "Oh, my, yes! I've always been able to satisfy any woman's needs. Cassie's been telling me about yours and I've been advising her. You aren't quite as confident as I am. Not quite as capable, not as dominant in your relationships, in fact you prefer to be submissive to your women, don't you. To Cassie, anyhow. In sexual matters you prefer taking orders to giving them. You may resent it, what man wouldn't? But that only makes your surrender more complete. Look how easily you ceded to your wife that most private and precious sexual right, the right to pleasure yourself on demand. To masturbate. She told you she was oversexed and masturbates herself often. Did you restrict or inhibit her or shame her? No, withoin a few minutes you'd agreed not to masturbate yourself except with her permission. Was that a rational response or did it answer to some far deeper need?"

He paused while what he'd just said sank in. "And look at you now. Committed to live as a woman. Cassie hints she may be having sex with other men, and once that suspicion is planted in you it transforms you into a woman who agrees only to have womanly sex with her, never again to fuck her. She even tells you some of the reasons why she's transforming you, why you're agreeing to change your gender, even your body, and you accept it all. Just today you've abandoned your own consulting firm for a less challenging job working for her firm, haven't you? To work for your own wife, in effect, since she's in charge of office personnel. Well, all right, you haven't quite reconciled yourself to it, not yet, not altogether. But you know you will. Tomorrow you'll be lunching again quite happily with the other girls who serve the dominant professionals who work on this floor. You'll be one of them. And if Cassie chooses, you'll be one of them for the rest of your life."

I was now utterly silent. It was true. I resisted the idea, but it was nevertheless strangely attractive. Was that what Cassie wanted?

"This was all Cassie's idea. She thought up the testing and conditioning ideas and situations, that dildo and that modified display dummy, for example, so you could become habituated to your new role as a woman and be grateful for it. I supplied the hormones when it became apparent that you'd want them sooner or later anyhow the way things were going. And when she was most worried that she might alienate you, that she was losing you, I supplied the moral support. And also all the cock she needed when she had to deprive herself of yours, when you reached a stage in your conditioning where you could no longer act as her husband. Where you had to become her lesbian lover and Jerry's wife."

He smiled. "You may not be happy to hear that I've supplied some of the cum you've been swallowing down like a good little girl. Jerry's cum hasn't ever been altogether artificial. In fact you've sampled all of Cassie's lovers by now, you'll have to ask her how many. All that sperm carefully brought back to you in the condoms they used to fuck her, then mixed in with Jerry's. Or brought back warm in her vagina, where it mixed with who knows who else's, maybe even Jerry's. Yours too, until she had to deny you your masculine rights to her vagina so your femininity could flourish."

"Hallie, two things remain and then your manhood will be gone irretrievably. One of them I can provide now—for the other, Cassie has other plans. She insists you lose all trace of that manhood, for fear you might find it somehow suddenly, and it'll assert itself as wounded masculine pride, and then she'll lose you. And though I can't imagine why, she does love you, dearer than life as she says. She can't tolerate that possibility. Greater love hath no woman, than to give up her husband's masculinity, to feminize him against the day he finds out about her infidelities."

He paused to scrutinize me while I simply stood there. "All right," he resumed. "I don't ordinarily do men, but you're scarcely that any more, so I'll allow it. I'll help with one of the things she wants done. I'll allow you to suck my cock. A warm, live one this time, with warm, live sperm your reward if you do it right. Right here, right now. Later you'll do it in my office, probably every other week, you'll have to call for an appointment, when you come in for your hormone injections. Cassie does love you and worry about you, so she's asked me to give you your sustaining hormones by injection rather than by mouth. There are fewer complications. While you're bending over to receive them you can show your gratitude by receiving me at the same time. As Cassie has done so often before. And that will be your payment for services rendered."

He now sat straight up. "Now leave your purse on the desk over there, dear, and come take me into your mouth. Show Cassie how grateful you are that you're now in touch with your most hidden desires."

"She isn't here," I said, grasping at any excuse not to.

"Oh yes I am, sweetie," Cassie's voice replied from my left. I looked. There was a large armchair to the left of the door. I'd forgotten. She'd been sitting in it the whole time, listening. So everything this man had said was true!

I stared,

"Sweetheart," she said. "Suck him off. I'll explain later. Just do it, for my sake. The way you've done Jerry a thousand times. I've been boasting to Alex what a marvelous cocksucker you've become. Now you can show him personally. Kneel down in front of him and let your mouth earn the gratitude and affection Jerry can never show you. Alex's is the superior cock of every woman's dreams, and your most exquisitely tormented dreams. It's fucked me many times and will fuck me many more, I hope. So love it. Kiss it. Suck on it just as we've anticipated you would. This is your most sublime moment, baby girl. Your apotheosis. Do it!"

She came around to where I was standing stolidly, and kissed me. "When I kiss you again, let me taste his cum on your lips. Let me share with you the taste of his cum, lover."

"Cassie!" I began to say. I had my pride, after all!

"Just do it!" she broke in, gently but firmly. "Like a good girl! Do it!"

What could I do? I stepped forward. I spread my skirt and I knelt down. I leaned forward. I unzipped him and took out his magnificent long staff, my God, easily the equal of Jerry's—and I'd thought Jerry's waa an exaggerated fantasy! Could I stop now? I opened my mouth and took him in hand and then into my mouth. I sucked. As I sucked, and licked, and pulled at it, and pushed it into my throat and bobbed my head, I realized that it was like Jerry's down to the last vein. Jerry's was modeled on this one. All my pleasuring of Jerry had been a rehearsal for this moment of authentic revelation, and I'd not known until now. I clamped my lips tight and slid them up and down, and groaned. He did too.

No time at all seemed to pass when suddenly his cock rose up and pulsed and spurted rich semen into my mouth, and I swallowed it, almost all of it. A familiar flavor. "You were right, Cassie," I heard his voice say above me. "He's great! He really puts his heart into it."

Then when I stood up and turned around, there was Cassie. She took my head in both her hands and pressed her mouth to mine, and licked the cum off my lips as she'd promised. Exploring a kind of ecstasy of her own, eyes closed, dreamlike, her tongue roamed the corners and ridges of my lips until saliva was all there was left.

She then pressed her forehead against mine, and stared directly into my eyes, and said in a whisper, "Honey, I know without looking that your cock is rampant. Probably painfully swollen. I want you to relieve yourself. Do you want to relieve yourself?"

"Yes," I squealed, almost pathetically. "Yes, I do."

"There are rubbers in your purse, I put them there this morning before I left. Put one on. You have my full permission to masturbate. But now you need to decide where. You can do it right here and watch Alex fuck me slowly, beautifully, magnificently, and you can time your climax so you cum as we cum, so we all three cum together in what I am sure will be the most satisfying moment of your life. Or if that's too unbearable, you can go straight back to your cubicle, close the door, imagine what we're doing, and cum as quickly or as slowly as you wish, alone with your own thoughts. Which will it be?

My mouth was dry. Which was more humiliating? "Here," was all I could say. I could scarcely breathe it.

She looked at me all the more intently. "Good!" she said. Then, pointing to the chair where she'd sat and watched and listened while Alex enlightened me and I sucked him off, she said "There!"

I sat, and fumbled for the rubbers in my purse. Sure enough, there they were. I pulled up my skirt and released my iron-stiff, painfully swollen cock from my panties and took it in hand, and rolled the condom down on it, and waited.

"Oh yes," Cassie said. "While you masturbate your penis, be sure you squeeze and caress your nipples. You'll have one hand free. You're a girl now, and that will be the best part of it."

Alex then stood and stripped himself naked, his eyes on me the whole time. Cassie looked steadfastly at him and slowly, provocatively, peeled off her own clothing. It was like some obscene ritual, each preparing for the sacrifice of the other and both for my sacrifice. When they were each utterly naked, Alex's marvelous body broad and muscular, his prick ascended yet again, my wife's body rounded, beautifully soft, her tits perfect, Alex stepped aside and Cassie arranged herself comfortably on the couch. Then opened her legs wide, smiling in anticiation at him and glancing at me to be sure I was watching.

Carefully, Alex lay down between those legs, and gently pressed himself into her. All the way. It took a long while for him to enter her, it seemed. She let out an enormous sigh. Now I am a cuckold, I told myself. There is no more doubt of it.

And then the slow stroking and withdrawing began. Mine too, in rhythm with theirs. Their pace slowly picked up, as did mine, until Alex's whole body like some magnificent stallion's seemed to be lunging and plunging into her, Cassie like some incredibly skilled bareback rider clinging to him with her legs, rising and falling with him. The two of them groaned incoherent throat sounds at each other. I clutched first one of my small breasts through my satin bra, then the other, my fingers pinching my nipples as electric shocks passed through them into my groin. My other hand was a blur, pistoning my cock. Finally, as Alex thrust mightily deep, deep into her and pushed her whole body almost out of sight into the seat cushions, their cries became shrieks, and mine did too as my twinkling fingers on my nipples and my flashing fist on my cock pushed me too over the edge. The intensity of my joy and of my humiliation were so great that I passed out.

When I came to and opened my eyes, Cassie and Alex were more relaxed, grinning and looking into each other's eyes with thankful admiration. Not with love, I could see that. Alex kissed Cassie's nose affectionately, and she kissed his playfully. Then she looked over at me, concerned to know if I'd enjoyed it as much as she had. I could see the love in her eyes.

Why me? I'd never understood it. I still didn't.

"Now pull that condom off carefully, sweetheart, you darling girl of my heart, and tip it up over your mouth and drink it down. You know how to do that."

I did it.

Cassie motioned Alex away and spread her legs wide toward me. "Now come taste Alex's cum from out of my brimming bowl. You've done it before. Now do it knowing what it is. Enjoy it for what it is."

I did that too.

Alex sat down in my chair and watched. He was enjoying himself, watching a feminized, submissive man suck his cum yet again, this time out of his own wife's cunt. There was no doubt of that. But I sensed a sadness in him. He was also jealous. There was something between Cassie and me he'd never felt with any woman, and as he was realizing, never would experience.

Fifteen minutes and two orgasms later Cassie disengaged her pussy lips from my mouth by pulling back her pelvis, and said, "That was so very good, dear. I'm so glad you'll be working close by. I'll want to call on you for this often. Now go back to your work. Remember to stop by personnel before you go home, to sign those papers. As Hallie. You're Hallie now and will be Hallie for the rest of your life. My Hallie."

She kissed me gently, tenderly, on my lips. I barely could purse them to kiss her back. "I'll see you at home," she whispered.

Then while Alex stood up, glanced at his watch, and dressed himself, preparing to leave, Cassie picked up her clothes and disappeared into the small powder room just off her office. I waited. When she reappeared almost perfectly attired again, her hair still slightly mussed—as I'd seen it often when she came home from work—Alex had gone. "Still here?" she asked me. She then walked over to her desk, sat down, picked up a file, and dismissed me from her attention.

"Yes," I replied. "This is how I want to remember you as I leave."

She looked up as if indifferent, but then lost control and melted happily into my eyes as I did into hers. We perfectly understood each other.

As I opened the door and walked into the outer office, there was Clarice sitting once again at her desk. She knew everything. She didn't know how I felt about it.

"No one ever said that being a woman was easy," she told me sympathetically as I walked past her. "Just try to remember that in the end, it's worth it."

It was. It had been glorious. I'd surrendered everything, and it was worth it. In a way, I'd come home, arrived at something essentially mine. When I got back to my cubicle I checked my lipstick. Perfect, though my whole face was now glistening with Alex's semen. It didn't matter. Men like to get their rocks off. I'd earned the love of a women who loved me more than her own life, and I loved her with the same impassioned commitment.

I went into the ladies' room to rinse Alex's stuff off, and as I touched up my mascara I realized that I'd never been happier. I was ready to lick anything out of Cassie's pussy in sheer gratitude for this moment. Anything. I adored her! She'd given me the greatest gifts it was in her power to give me. The love of one woman for another, and that other woman's love for her own womanhood.

That evening at dinner I started one of those conversations where I already knew both sides of whatever would be said. "Cassie," I asked. "Why did you call me to handle that computer system malfunction? There were people in the building who could have done as well as I did. There are plenty of people who can re-jump the office monitors -- for me that's three weeks of scutwork, tops.

"Because now that Jerry's taught you everything he can about being a woman and you no longer need him during the day, I wanted to know that you're close by me. That makes me happy. Because it was time you heard and saw how I use my sexuality when I'm away from you, time you replaced your suspicions with realities, and decided whether you can love the real me. I couldn't stand not knowing whether you love the real me. Because I wanted to see you better settled in your own social life as a girl, happier in it, better rounded, safer from temptation, a girl who's frequently hit on by other men he'll never accept, a girl among other girls who think of you only as a friend, never as a lover who might take you away from me. I hear you've already joined a women's lunch group, and that you all had fun gossiping. That's lovely. Do it daily, and you'll soon realize you're not an isolated sex freak but what you are now, just one more girl, well-socialized, enjoying her new life."

She looked at me intently as she added, "Because that's what you are now, honey. You can run from it, but you can't hide. And I love you like this. Just like this. I want you to love it too."

Then she relaxed again. "Also, hiring you seemed to me good for the firm. The system malfunction gave us an ideal opportunity to bring in a woman techie who is highly competent, deserving of everyone's respect, and by the time you've re-done their individual computers, known to everyone."

"Oh?" I asked. "You knew I'd need to visit every computer in every office?"

"Yes, of course. I asked that young techie you replaced to fix up that very accidental shut-down, set to take place the day he left, and he did. I'm pleased. He certainly earned his severance pay bonus. By the end of next week everyone in the firm will know by personal acquaintance that our new techie is a woman in a field where women aren't often seen, and not too bad looking either. You'll be a real person known to many people, part of a workplace team. Not just a concept in your own mind or mine."

I didn't like being manipulated like this. "Cassie, I have my own clients," I said.

"Of course you do. And you can tend to them from your little cubicle at the office—if you'd read your contract before signing it you'd know you've reserved that right. The tech job isn't that time-consuming. Routine maintenance mostly, and putting out small fires, mostly reassuring the very secretaries who will be your new friends. We'll drive in to work and go home together except when I have other engagements. It'll be convenient for both of us."

I had no answer to that.

"I'll love knowing that you're close by, love. You might want to keep a closer eye on me too, now that you know what I do when I'm not working. If you wish, you can watch me get it on with Alex again, or with anyone else who's willing to let you watch. I enjoyed this afternoon more than any other adulterous fucking I've ever done. For the first time I felt altogether free of the fear of you finding out and leaving me. I could never bear that possibility—it subdued so many of my orgasms with other men. But now no longer. You enjoyed jerking yourself off, too, and that added to my pleasure this afternoon. My orgasm was overwhelming! I dedicated it to you as I crossed over the edge and it took possession of me. I do hope for many more now as we grow closer and grow old together. You'll always be the person I'm fucking in my mind, no matter whose cock is in me."

She got up, came around the table, and kissed me. On my lips, hers soft on mine, woman to woman. "I'm going to so love coming home at all hours," she whispered, "Knowing that no explanations will ever again be necessary. Isn't that a delicious thought for you too?

"If we travel together and are known to live together, won't people guess who I am? Your husband? A converted male?"

"Not really. Mostly no. I've told Clarice to let the word out that my husband ran off with a Trucker and is keeping him happy sexually somewhere in the mid-west. That Hallie is my old college room-mate and has moved in with me while she looks for a place of her own she'll never find. Some who saw you at one of our parties may work it out for themselves—you did do some swishing about showing off your new derriere in stretch pants at the last one. But you'll only be seen in skirts from now on. And you hadn't started in with lipstick and eye make-up then, so you weren't being too obvious. And anyhow if they do figure it they'll keep it to themselves. There are advantages to my being head of the personnel committee."

"Then I work for you, now?"

"In effect, yes. You're support staff for me now. As long as we both shall live. I'd love for you to be my personal secretary, in fact, so Clarice can concentrate on her legal work for me, and you can schedule my other needs. You know, like keep my appointment book, remind me where I should be and when, and with which man. I'd love that. But we need your computer skills more I'm afraid. Oh darling, I'm so very happy."

Then came something unexpected. "Now for a surprise. Let's go for dessert to that little shop where you first presented yourself to the world."

I saw no reason why not. It was a mild evening. As we entered, that man who'd held the door open for us, Tim someone, Corrigan, stood up and said, "Ah, there you are. I've wondered if I'd gotten the day wrong."

He then kissed Cassie solidly on the lips. They knew each other? They'd seen each other since that first chance meeting in the doorway? Evidently! Was Cassie on intimate terms with every man she knew? I'd been suspecting a few, but I should suspect all of them? Corrigan then turned and to my amazement took my head in both his hands and held it and kissed me on the lips too. It was my first kiss from a real man, and over before I could register pleasure or revulsion, or anything at all.

"You remember Tim," Cassie said as we seated ourselves. "Tim Corrigan. From the last time we were here." They gazed affectionately, appreciatively at each other. As Cassie had with our Dr. Burton. They too had fucked. I'd probably swallowed his sperm too.

"Yes, I remember," I said as we seated ourselves. Tim looked the same. A distinguished older man in excellent trim. "You promised a surprise. This is a surprise. How did you manage to find each other again?"

"Oh, no problem. There are only two Corrigans listed within walking distance of here. His number was the first I called. We talked for quite a while, and we've met a few times. He's perfect for us. He agreed to everything."

"And what's 'everything'?"

"Everything. You do know what's going to happen now, don't you?"

"No, I don't!"

"I'm going to bring him home, sweetheart. And take him upstairs into our bed. And then he's going to fuck me. And you'll stay outside the door listening and masturbating, enjoying the most excruciating feelings of your life once again, just like this afternoon. I want you to have them again to confirm that you're altogether sensitive to them, fully aware of the agonized joy they provide you. Addicted, I hope. I want you completely, hopelessly addicted, in love with them, so you'll urge me into the arms of other men just to feel them again! That's my dream."

I was silent.

"And then I'll call you in. Tim here is a very special man. He's bisexual. He's my gift to you, sweetheart. He's already agreed to fuck you after he fucks me, to perform the last act needed to eliminate your manhood utterly. That's if you'll suck him to an erection first. To take into your mouth yet again a warm, throbbing man just like Alex, but this time the very cock that has just fucked your wife, still wet from your wife. Remember that fantasy? Tonight it becomes your reality! I want you to. Will you agree to do just that? To take a real man's cock into your mouth and then into your ass when it's just been in my vagina? In that sacred place you've always thought was reserved for you alone, and couldn't bear to know has been filled by others? I need to hear you this time. I need to hear that you'll do this."

The most eerie feelings had arisen in my body. My face was flushed. I could hardly breathe. "Yes," I said. "I will."

"You want to do this?"

"Yes. Yes, Cassie."

"Then say it."

"Yes, Cassie." The words were torn from the unendurable excitement in my bowels. "I want this."

"Say it again, darling. Say what it is you want."

"I want this man to fuck you and then me. I want to suck on him. Oh, God! I want it! I do want it! Oh!" I was in an agony of humiliation. It was unbearable! Unendurable! Excruciating! But also rapturous, and no longer hidden deep inside me like some dirty secret. "Cassie, I...."

"Hush sweetheart. You'll have him. And as often as you want. Tim has agreed to be your Jerry from now on, to let you suck him and to fuck you whenever you wish. Whenever I'm away and you're lonely, or even if I'm at home and you want to be fucked, Tim will be on call. He lives nearby and he's retired, and almost always available. We'll give Jerry away now that he's done his work. Tim will be your new boyfriend, a man you can appreciate who appreciates women. A man you can turn your heart to trying to please, and be delighted to please, who will always show his appreciation when you succeed. So you can be a woman in every sense of the word. No longer playing at it in your mind, but for real."

I was speechless. I looked at Tim. He smiled warmly at me and took both of my hands in his. I felt terribly uneasy. But I understood how much effort had gone into this, and left my hands there. He squeezed them gently, and I gave him a wan smile.

"And to inaugurate this very special relationship," Cassie added. "So in your mind I'll always be part of it any time Tim is fucking you, this first time a real man's warm cock slides in and out of you and you become a real woman, while your cute round ass is high in the air and squrming against him, your face will be between my legs, buried deep in my pussy. You'll be sucking out the cum Tim just squirted into me earlier, and swallowing it down. Then when you're having your first live orgasm as a woman, your tummy filled with Tim's sperm fresh from my cunt, Tim spurting the first of many future loads of sperm into your bowels, at that very moment your tongue will be giving me the sweetest orgasm I will ever have, the first of many I hope to have from you whenever my vagina is filled with some man's sperm and craves your face. All this because I love you so deeply, passionately, utterly."

I was awed by the amount of thought Cassie had invested in this plan. She was silent now, gazing at me with her eyes moist and her face beaming hopefully, waiting for my response. Whatever she was, whatever she had done, there was not the slightest doubt that she wanted my happiness more than anything else in the world, after her own. That she never wanted to risk my leaving her. Could I ever consider leaving her after this?

"I don't think I feel like dessert after all," I told her, gratitude overwhelming my heart and spilling over into my own eyes. "Can't we all just go back home? Right now?"

We did just that.

Cassie was right. No one at the office identified me with Cassie's strayed husband. But one other person found out. I became a regular with the Lunch Bunch, and something of a celebrity as I visited office after office, resetting monitors and cleaning caches. Different girls called me in to teach them new programs and techniques, help them with certain procedures, or under the pretense that I was helping them just chat, giggle and gossip together. Cassie encouraged me to mix with the women support staff this way, to spend time with the secretaries and make their concerns mine. "The best way to learn to be a girl," she said, "is the way we all learned to be girls. From girls."

She was now unconcerned now that one or another would attempt to charm me away from her and into bed with her. I made friends. I listened to sad tales and learned to shriek extravagantly when they told amusing tales. It was a rare morning when I came to work with Cassie, separated from her at the seventeenth floor, and didn't find invitations, appreciative messages, and hopeful calls for help on my computer to fill out my day. I was always helpful.

That made me popular. They asked me one day why I never seemed to have my nails done, and how long it had been since a hair stylist had touched my hair. The upshot was a full Saturday afternoon of pampering in a beauty shoppe, getting a complete makeover. When Cassie saw me she was so delighted she took me straight to bed, and we had two hours of ardent woman on woman love, so absorbed with each other that we barely had time to prepare for our evenings, Cassie with a new law partner she hadn't yet tried out and me with Tim.

I'd frequently be asked if I was free for a blind date, to fill out a foursome with one of the secretaries' boy friends and one of his friends, to "Go dancing, have fun, who knows, maybe you'll like him and get lucky"—that was how they put it. I always regretted I was booked for that weekend. They began not to believe me until I persuaded Tim to go out on a proper date with me and Maria and her current boyfriend, just dinner and dancing and maybe a little smooching afterward. We did, and it was fun! The next day everyone swarmed around Maria to find out what Tim was like, learned that Maria was impressed, and thereafter considered Tim my steady. Which he was. Frequently.

Unattached men and even some of Cassie's married law partners took it upon themselves to lean in on me as they always had on Cassie, grin confidently, tell me how much they appreciated everything I was doing for the firm, and suggest a drink after work. I never accepted, and to forestall other attempts I asked Clarice to let it be known on the partner's floor that Tim was a cover—if they knew of him. That in fact I was a lesbian.

That didn't work out exactly as I'd intended. One Friday afternoon Denise stopped by my cubicle, closed the door, and sat down to watch silently while I finished programming a payroll matrix one of the accountants had requested. I nodded at her, typed, pointed, and clicked rapidly, and then sent it on its way. Then turned to Denise pleasantly enough, to find out what she wanted.

"You're very sweet, Hallie," she said. "I like you. Very much."

I nodded and smiled, pleased to know that. Denise was a clever woman, ruthlessly honest, who could be quite indifferent to traditional manners and virtues when they didn't suit her purposes. Someone to keep on your side. But I was instantly wary.

"Did you do this to yourself," she asked, as if it were idle curiosity. "Did you want it, for your own reasons? Or did Cassie do it to you for her reasons, and you're such a good guy you just went along?"

A pang of fear went through me. "Do what?" I asked as if genuinely puzzled, stalling. "What do you mean?"

Denise didn't choose to reply. She just looked at me as if my questions were beneath me, did me no credit. Then she said merely, "Let's meet after work, shall we? The Oasis has a good TGIF Happy Hour, delicious free hor doeuvres and doubles on all drinks."

"I'd love to," I said. "But...."

"Your room-mate Cassie flew to Bermuda on a business trip this afternoon with that hunk who owns the sporting goods franchise, Jason somebody. Tim's off rock climbing in the Rockies this weekend, something I suppose you don't do or else you'd be with him. The Oasis is a good place for us to begin the evening, then we'll see where it goes. Five-thirty ought to be plenty of time for you to finish here. I know you care about your work, that's one of the things I like about you, so a few minutes later is OK too. See you then."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. She grinned pleasantly, opened the door, and left.

An hour and a half later I joined Denise at a small round table barely large enough to hold our two glasses of white wine. Denise was telling a hopeful man leaning over her to "Fuck off, or else bring your wife, I'm a lesbian," as I sat down. My expression as he left told him that I sympathized, but not enough for it to matter.

"I hear you're a lesbian too," Denise commented, pleasantly enough. "That you like sex with women, and always have. Though not lately."

"I've heard that rumor," I said evasively.

"Hallie," Denise said. "Let me be blunt. I can reach your balls from here, and I have fast hands. You can perform some marvelous ballet moves and astonish everyone here before I stop squeezing those balls and you faint dead away. Or else we can talk like honest friends. I mean it. I like you. I am your friend. Your choice."

A weight fell from my shoulders. I had been pretending so many things and trying to believe them, and now I no longer needed to. Denise wanted to be blunt. I could be too.

"You asked who did it," I said in a level voice. "Cassie did it originally, for her own reasons, though I didn't know it when we began, and I never added it up till it was irreversible. She figured a way to make me want to do it, to go along for my own reasons. She did it for fear I'd leave her if I found out about her men. She probably still thinks it was also for me. In some ways it was. I regret none of it."

"Je ne regrette rien," that's Edith Piaf's line. She sings it defiantly, as if she didn't really believe it herself. I don't believe her, and I don't believe you. What were your reasons?"

"She knew I could be turned on by the fantasy notion that other better men were fucking her. Like lots of men. She cultivated that kink until I accepted it and desired it for the sake of the turn on. Then she got me pretending I'm a woman—during sex at first, later other ways—because then it would make sense to me for her to seek out other men for sex. She'd seem justified even to her pansy husband. Also, I wouldn't feel obliged to do anything about it if I found out it was true. It worked. I got to love the submissiveness and the humiliation both."

"And she used lots of sexual stimulation, traditional and gay, real and imaginary, to condition you, sweeten the pot, so you'd not only accept that you weren't much of a man, she should go elsewhere, you'd love it too?"

"Yes. By the time I found out for fact that other better men were indeed fucking her, there wasn't much manhood left in me to protest with. But I don't mind now. I'm no longer a humiliation junkie. My tits are real, and feel marvelous. My life in my new gender is far more satisfying than my old one—I was a lonely computer nerd stay-at-home with no friends, and now I've got lots. And I have a caring boyfriend who satisfies me sexually, and I do the same for him. Whatever I lost as a man I've gained as a woman."

"Cassie killed off your manhood and gave you a new life as a straight woman, complete with breasts and a boyfriend, so she could keep screwing everyone and his uncle and still keep you? That's it?"

"It looks that way. Yes, that's why. Because she loves me."

"Impressive. So you no longer get off on the fantasy that Cassie is screwing other men. The reality's less exciting, not at all humiliating. It just is. She does it now with your full knowledge and consent. And you're hers for life. Quite an achievement."

"Not my consent. She is as she is. She does what she does. I love her and she loves me, and I can't deny her what she wants. I do wish she'd want no other man but me. But knowing she has other men, well, that was what I once feared and desired, and it emasculated me. Now that I'm altogether emasculated, I can accept it. My femininity turns me on instead. And when I'm turned on, well, that's when I call on Tim. Tim fucks me and I suck him and we talk, and he's a gentleman, and I'm grateful to him because with Tim I don't feel like a total loser. I'm not gay, I get nothing emotional from sex with a man. But my body loves it. It can feel very good, being a woman with a man. Good enough." I paused, then added, "You should try it."

Denise was unflapped. "I see. You mean the sex feels good if you can persuade yourself you're a woman with a man."

The waiter approached, and we each ordered another white wine. She nibbled the edges of a chicken wing, the TGIF snack of the moment. "I assume you're no longer Cassie's husband. You no longer fuck her."

"No. We do oral to maintain my submissiveness and keep my leftover manhood servile, in its place. That's what Tim's for too, apart from the physical pleasure of it. Cassie prefers real men. She says she'd rather not have sex with a woman.

At that Denise guffawed. "Not your kind of woman anyhow, I guess." Then she leaned forward. "Tell me, Hallie. Would you have sex with a woman? She cheats on you with men. Would you cheat on her with a woman?"

"I'm not gay, Denise. I like women. I love doing woman things because that way I'm with women. But I can't have sex man to woman any more, because what woman would have me? And I can't do woman to woman either, except with Cassie, for the same reason."

Denise just sat there with a slight smile on her face. I caught on.

"Denise, I know what you're thinking. But I'm not a real woman in my head. I enjoy the roles, and I take what comfort I can from imagining that's what I am, but down under I'm still a man. I know that. And you're still a lesbian.

"Hallie, I'm a broad. Broad-minded, no restrictions, I call each situation as I see it. And I'm more of a man right now than you were when that's all you were. And you're a lot more of a woman than you think. You're sweet and compliant and passive, inclined to accept whatever life or a dominant woman offers you. Utterly duped, a victim of possessive love, and grateful to have it. So you don't even know yet that there are other kinds of love."

She paused and looked me directly in the eyes, earnestly. "No, keep looking," she said as I turned my eyes away, embarrassed. "Now look here," she said.

And she reached across the teeny table to take my hands and hold them. Just that. I looked down. My heart swelled up. I looked again into her face. Tears came to my eyes. "Denise," I said. "I ...."

"See, honey?" she said softly. "We can be friends. Do things together. I suspect we could find enough to do with each other. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it has." I knew what she meant. A long time since I'd felt relaxed affection, respect, warmth, or friendship that wasn't also calculating, manipulative, or self-protective. Caring, undemanding friendship. I was grateful that my eye make-up was tear-proof.

"You once loved sex with women. I still love sex with women. I can help you become even more of a woman than you are now, and remind you how to love women once again. Do you want to? This is a proposal, not a proposition."

"Yes. Yes, Denise. If you think I can."

"'Denny' to my friends. I know you can, Hallie. I'll prove it to you. I'll call your home and leave a message for Cassie to pick up when she calls in, so she'll know you're all right, you're with me, and then we'll go to my place and see what we can do.

We did. We found what we could do. That was Friday. By Sunday, we'd done it many times.

Denny was careful and thorough in her lovemaking, not at all tentative or exploratory. She showed me some of the refined, delicate, and some of the mind-staggering things women can do with women, pleasure so intense that several times I was near fainting. Instead of being merely pleased with my breasts, she taught me to glory in them. I spent that weekend feeling more luxuriously amorous, more voluptuous, more feminine than ever with Tim. I wanted more of it.

By Sunday morning I found for the first time that I was wishing I had a proper cunt. Neither Cassie, Tim, nor Denny had any use for my cock, and neither did I any longer, and I needed more places for Denny's fingers and tongue to penetrate. I mentioned this to her, and she nodded sympathetically. Then called a gynecologist friend for a referral. A woman gynecologist friend, not Alex—she was adamant that she'd never allow any man's hands near that part of her, much less to penetrate her.

"Mine have penetrated you, Denny," I reminded her.

"You mean yours are a man's hands?" she said as she dialed her phone. "With those slender fingers and that gorgeous manicure? And your sensitive care for my feelings, not just your feelings? Imagine! I've been completely fooled!"

By Sunday evening when I returned home it was clear that we'd be doing this again—I was woman enough for Denny despite all my uncertainties. She'd pronounced me authentic enough, and she wanted me to meet some of her other "special" friends. "I think you'll love them," she said. "And I know they'll love you. You need a life of your own. I'm sure Cassie won't mind."

Early Monday I called the surgeon Denny's friend had recommended and set up a first appointment for later in the week. Then drove in to work. Cassie was due home later in the day, after her week-end-long consultation with Jason. For the first time I felt no twinges of uneasiness that this stud had been invading my wife all weekend, and she'd been wrapping herself all around him. I was happy for her. We loved each other, Cassie in her way and me in mine, but we neither of us possessed each other. Not any more.

I went into Denny's office to tell her that. She was out, but there was a huge bouquet of flowers on her desk, and an e-mail message she'd printed out and left there.

"Thank you, Denise. I'd so hoped you could do it. I've wanted to help her complete her journey for the longest time, to share all my lady lovers with her, my lovely hubby. But she's been so devoted to me, so persuaded that it was her manhood I loved, not her sweetness. Can you imagine? The very manhood that would have climbed on its high horse and left me forever if she'd known what kind of woman she really married, a bisexual nympho who once and forever fell in love with a womanly man whose ego wouldn't let him discover what he was. But now that male ego has self-destructed altogether, and he's a she! My sweetheart at last wants to be a woman who loves women! Kept safe by being one of us! I do hope you're free for a few hours this weekend so I can thank you in our own special way. I'm sure my sweetie will find her own ways to thank you too, especially later, after her surgery. Do see that it's scheduled soon! Kisses! -- Cassie."

There was a PS.

"When I picked up your message, I was so delighted that I played it for Jason several times. You should know how our conversation went after that! I told him, 'My darling's finishing her education as a girl even at this moment. Learning things I couldn't ever teach her. I'd hoped that when she found herself thrown in with the other girls that she'd find her own way. And she has.' And Jason was amazed. 'He was still a man only a few months ago?' he asked? 'She thought she was.' I told him. 'But she knows better now. Let's go back to bed.' 'You're insatiable,' Jason said. 'Yes,' I said. 'Isn't it wonderful?' Denise, it really is! But you already know that. Anyhow, see you soon!"

As I set this message back down on Denise's desk, I didn't feel the least bit betrayed. Nor humiliated, nor resentful. Nor jealous. Just thankful for Cassie. Thankful that no matter what, her love had found a way.

END

© 2004 by Vickie Tern. May be copied freely to free archives.

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