The plot: A man's wife encourages his erotic fantasies and his emasculation by suggesting to him that she's seeing other men.
The caution: This story depicts sexual acts between consenting adults. Those who are not both of these things should read no further.
The story descriptors: TG femdom wife humil creampie

 

An Unfaithful Wife

by Vickie Tern

 

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!

(continued)

  

  

  

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