A Change in Our Marriage

by Sara Girl

02

 

"Wake up, sleepy head," Sara whispered in my ear, pinching my nipples through the satin of my camisole. Just her touch sent shivers up my spine, even as I tried to open my eyes, see the clock.

"What…what time is it," I asked her.

"Nine."

I started to jump up, knowing I was very late for work, but she pushed me back down.

"Remember, we are both sick today," she said, teasing my nipple again, moving behind me, spooning against me. "Well, maybe not too sick," she whispered, running her tongue over my ear. Oh my, this was the way to wake up, even if I was laying here in satin lingerie. As she continued to kiss me ear, she rubbed her crotch into my backside, and I could feel the heat of her, though her tap panties, through my tap panties.

Oh…morning sex, I thought, as I moved my free arm down over my own satin covered ass, guided by her heat, until I reached her dampness.

Rubbing her, moving the loose fabric away from her, I slipped one, then two fingers in her, the heat and wetness sucking them in to her moans. She responded, squeezing my nipples harder, kissing my neck and ear. Finally, her hand worked its way down to the front of my tap panties, and slowly stroked me, eliciting my own moans.

"Oh sweetie," she whispered in my ear, "yes, that's my girl," she stiffened in a mini-orgasm.

I started to try to turn over, to face her, to, well, make love to her. "Lover, what are you doing," she said, as I took my fingers away from her to turn over, "don't stop."

"I thought we could…"

"Oh no, baby," she said, gripping my stiffness, "You're so cute, but it's so little, I don't want, well, you little cocky in me. It's only going to make me want the real thing. Don't tease a girl like that, pretending you have a real cock to give her." Of course, she continued her stroking and rubbing, keeping me aroused, teasing me, humiliating me, engaging me.

I shuddered.

"You don't have a real cock for me, do you my pretty lover," she whispered in my ear, driving her pussy back onto my fingers while squeezing my cock with her hand.

"Sara," I moaned.

"Say it," she cooed, driving me wild, "Say 'I don't have a cock for my wife.'" Her stroking was driving me crazy. Her assault on my manhood continued, degrading me, taking me down, recreating me.

"I…I don't have a cock for my wife," I said, barley audible.

"Louder than that."

"Hmmmm," she moaned rubbing herself on my fingers, "that's my sissy. That's my girl."

"Oh, Sara," I said in a throaty growl.

"Yes, my love, yes, that's my girl. That's what I want, my sissy, my sweet, lovable girl. Now say it again, lover."

"I don't have a cock for my wife," I said, a bit louder, three fingers now furiously working her pussy.

"Yesss," she moaned, furiously rubbing me, "When I want a cock, I'll find a man to take care of me, not a sissy like my lover. I'll find a real man to fuck me."

I was going insane, furiously rubbing her, moving my own hips as her hand worked over me. She knew what her words were doing to me, and I know she loved it, I felt her squeeze as her own orgasms overcame her. And then my own eruption, her desirous end to the teasing.

"Ohhhh, Sarrrrrraaaaaaaa…," I wailed as I literally 'came in my panties.'

Despite her own orgasm, Sara continued to stroke me through my panties and kiss my ear, walking me down from my orgasm. "Oh, God, I love you my pretty girl," she whispered in my ear.

Finally, as before, my libido left me, and that feeling returned. The shame. The hurt. The anger. It all flooded over me.

I was wearing women's clothes. Sara was calling me a girl. She was talking about fucking another man, and saying it like I was not a man. When sexually excited, these things excited me even more. Post orgasm, they shamed me, not in a sexual way, but deep down. I tensed up, mentally retreating inside myself. I couldn't run away, so I ran inside.

Sara ran her tongue over my ear again, and moved her hand, wet with cum, growing cold, on my skin. "Sara," I snapped.

"What's wrong lover," she asked, concern in her voice, "did I push my girl too far?"

I cringed at the word 'girl' now. It turned me on before, but revolted me now. "Please let me get up," I said, needing her to release her grip on me.

She actually squeezed my cock, hard enough to actually hurt. "Don't move. This is an important step. You are lost you libido, and now are ashamed, I know. This is something we need to work on, honey, don't worry. Please, please, just trust me, okay. Roll over onto your back, and just wait."

"Please Sara, I want to get up."

"Honey, please trust me."

I did trust her, even though I felt so bad. I rolled over onto my back, but still felt disgusted. "The secret is to work right through this," she said, quickly moving down my body, quickly pulling out my cock. Small to start with, now deflated, and covered with cum, it was just a shriveled up thing. Sara quickly took it into her mouth, expert cock sucker that she is, and went to work.

The funny thing is this. Having just cum, there was no way I could grow hard again. But I still felt every kiss and lick, and they quickly brought me back around. "This is how women make love, my sweet," she said, tongue bathing my little member. She was trying to work me through the painful part, using pleasure on both ends, a driving force from the beginning through the end.

A few minutes of this, and I was back in heaven. A weird place, considering I knew I could not cum again, but laying there, Sara kissing me like that, rubbing her soft hair, being made love to. "Whose my girl," she asked, pressing onto me with her warm mouth.

"I am, I answered, not thinking.

"And are you my man," she asked, quickly lifting her mouth, then returning to her tongue work.

"No," I answered, knowing everything I was saying, knowing all that implied.

"That's right baby," she said, moving her mouth away, letting me lay there. Waiting a minute or two, letting me stew, she asked me again, "who is my girl."

"I am," I whispered again, shaken with fear, excitement, love, hurt, and desire.

"Not my man, right?"

"No, Sara."

"That's right, baby."

Help Again

 

After laying together for some time, dozing a little, Sara and I got up and showered together. In the shower, she was gentle and loving, tenderly washing me all over with body soap, pampering.

As we dried off, in the bedroom, Sara asked me, "what do you want to wear?"

I looked at her, "you mean my new underwear," I asked? She smiled at the possessive reference.

"Will you," she asked.

"If you want me to."

"No John, that's not good enough. You need to decide. These are not decisions I'm going to make for you, as much as I would love to order you to, I want you to be comfortable."

"Sara, I'm scared," I admitted. "I don't want you to leave me," I said, a tear running down each eye.

"John, this is important for you to understand…look at me."

I met her gaze, barely holding it.

"Why would you think you were going to lose me?"

"You don't want me."

"For crying out loud, of course I want you. I love you, John."

"But, the things you say, about men…"

"John, do you read all those web sites, on cuckolding? I did. Do those women leave their husbands, even in the fantasy stuff?"

"No."

She came closer to me. "John, the person I love is inside here," she touched my forehead, "and in here," she said, touching my heart, "not here," her hand grazed my limp cock.

I closed my eyes, the tears around them.

"But you don't want me, you want a…a real man, as you say."

"You are confusing wants. I want a man, physically, it's really a craving, much like a craving for ice cream. But it's you I love."

"In this," I asked, pointing to the discarded lingerie I had worn to bead.

"Yes, John. Think about it. I love you, the person that is you. The feminine side, the soft side. Trying to be a man, trying to be a woman, whatever. I love you. Watching you dress, seeing the feminine feelings in your eyes, makes me love you even more."

"But, like this?"

"Oh my god, John. Dressing you, kissing you in your lingerie, seeing the feminine side come out of you, it makes me feel…like one with you, like we are joined. We became one. I never felt closer to you, I never loved you more."

"Sara…I…but…"

"John, let me put it this way. The more feminine you are, the more you act that way, think that way, dress that way, the more my heart pours out, feels, loves."

"But, Sara, you admit it yourself, you like men."

"Of course. What women doesn't want a big hard cock inside her. It brings me tremendous satisfaction, it fills a hunger. I love cock. But not men. Emotionally. Physically, I want that satisfaction, but emotionally, I want you."

"But, you still want a man to fuck you. And you don't think of me as a man, do you," I practically spat out, half angry.

"Um, yes, and no."

"So….," I let the question hang.

"Sweetie, let me answer it like this, since you seem so block headed about it." She came closer to me, hugged me, whispered in my ear, half tonguing it.

"Baby," she moaned, "I love you, but answer me, do you want to be my girl?"

She wet my ear. "Do you want to be my woman?"

Her throat growled, "do you want a man to fuck me?" Her hand found my cock. "Does my sexy girlfriend want a big stud to fuck me, to drive his big hard cock into me?" Her hand fondled my little cock. "Does my girlfriend want to dress up so sexy for Sara, and let Sara suck a big nasty cock?"

Her hand was furiously working my cock, her tongue all over my ear. Her other hand was on my ass, then in my crack, then poised on my hole. As she spoke, she pushed her finger into my ass. "Do you want your wife bent over by a man and fucked like a dog," she moaned, squeezing my cock, pushing her finger hard into my ass. "Do you, sissy," she growled.

"Oh God, yes Sara, yes….ohhhhh yesssss," I moaned, exploding for the second orgasm that morning, her finger in my ass making my second one more powerful than the first one.

Giggling, smiling at me, taking a towel and cleaning up the little mess, Sara said, "well, it looks like we both want the same thing, sweetie," she laughed, pushing me back onto the bed and walking into the bathroom.

I was left, panting, shaking, totally spent. And crying, too, as once

again, a tear ran down

The line between fantasy and reality was quickly blurring. The fantasy, in becoming reality, was not quite what I dreamed the fantasy was. Sara was pushing me, farther than I was prepared to be pushed. I was scared, of the unknown, but I could not stop the rush and the thrill.

Sara came out of the bathroom and looked at me, blurry and teary eyed. "And you wonder why I see you as being feminine, not masculine," she laughed, shaking her head. "Crying like a woman when she gets jealous, as if tears and guilt can be used as a weapon."

"Sara, what do you mean," I asked, wiping my eyes.

"I mean, you feel guilty about what we did, about what you asked for, and you are trying to use tears to send that message. That, my feminine husband, is acting like a woman. That, my metrosexual lover, is why you are a natural in lingerie. That, my sissy, is exactly why you are a sissy."

"Sara, you are scaring me."

She shook her head, anger flashed in her pretty eyes, "You know, you are fucking hopeless."

Her anger stabbed at me. "Why, Sara?"

"Oh fuck, do I have to spell it out? John, we've been married for almost four years, right?"

I shook my head, yes.

"If four years, four fucking years, I've yet to have an orgasm when you fuck me. Four fucking years. I'm going crazy, John, fucking crazy. Sure, you lick me like a tramp, but I'm going nuts, here. And now, I finally get you this far, and you are taking it like a girl. I don't know whether to laugh or cry," she yelled at me.

"Get me this far?"

"How long have you been looking at your little web sites?"

"What?"

"Cuckold Husbands. Wives Banging Blacks, Slut Wife, all those?"

"Um, I don't know, six months, maybe," I said, puzzled.

"No, seven months, two weeks, and one day," she said, correcting me.

"I suppose, but…"

"No, exactly. That is when you got the email."

"The email?"

"Yes, dear, the email, remember, titled 'Does your wife fuck other men?'"

"Um, I suppose, but...how did you…?"

"Because I sent it to you, dammit, I went you that email. Shit, I could not take it. Seven fucking months, waiting and waiting."

"You…you sent it?"

She grinned at me.

"But…you…you set me up!"

"I set you up? Oh, no, I simply provided you the opportunity. I opened the door, you are the one who walked through it. You wanted to see what was inside. You stayed inside. No, darling, I didn't set you up, you set your self up."

"But why? Why Sara…why…," I cried, suddenly deeply ashamed to be like this, in lingerie, crying, feminine, scared again. "I thought you loved me."

"John, don't you get it yet. I did this precisely because I love you so much. Do you know how easy it would be for me to simply cheat on you? God knows enough men at work hit on me, and you can't even imagine what it's like at a bar…I'm like fresh fish. Oh, John…John…look at me…if I wanted to fuck another man behind your back I could do it any day, any time. And inevitably, you would have found out, been hurt. Hell, if I didn't love you so much, as sexually frustrated as I've been, I could have just left you for some stud. But John, I do love you. I care about you more than I ever have for anyone. I could never, never, never hurt you."

"But…you do want to fuck another man, Sara."

"Hell yes. Fuck. That's it. I want that, I'm not denying it at all."

I teared up again. "Do you want me to move out?"

"Move out? Are you kidding? Let me finish. Listen, yes, I want to fuck another man. But John, I want to make love to you. I know this sounds like a cliché, but I want to fuck someone, but make love to you. You see, when we make love, when you are feminine, so soft," she shuddered, "my heart goes out, I feel a connection to you so deep, it's like we are one person. It warms me, makes me happy, complete, and to answer you, no, no, no, I never want you to move out, I would give up anything to be close to you, with you." She laughed, "even a good fucking."

"This is what you want from me? This makes you happy," I asked, touching the lingerie I still had on.

"More than you can ever imagine, John. And you know what, it makes you happy too."

"You want this? More of this?"

"More feminine, yes, dear. But again, I want it and so do you. I don't want you to do this just to make me happy. I want you to realize that embracing your feminine side makes you happy too."

"But…I…"

"No, dear. Are you happy when you try to fuck me? You know I don't orgasm.

Honestly, does that satisfy you?"

"No," I said, looking down.

"You know you are failing, and I can tell it frustrates you, doesn't it?"

"Yes," I blushed.

"Of course it does. I can only imagine how it must make you feel. As a man. Unable to satisfy his wife. It strikes me as a failure. Does it you? I know you squirt in me, and I can tell the way you look at me. How do you feel after, when you roll off me?"

"Guilty."

"And," she pushed?

"Ashamed."

"And?"

"Helpless."

"Do you feel like a big stud? The top dog? The king of the jungle, taking the bitch in heat so hard she never forgets who the alpha male is?"

"Sara!"

"Do you? Stud?"

"No, Sara…I'm…I'm sorry."

"I know how you feel John. Those stories on those cuckolding web sites spell it all out, if they are right. You feel like a thief in the night, stealing the crown jewels, hoping not to get caught. You feel like the weakest lion in the pack, like you cornered some poor lioness, hoping to get in a quick fuck before the leader of the pack catches you."

"Sara," I gasped.

"Come on John, we have to work this out, before we go any further. If I'm right, everything will be okay, don't worry."

"But…"

"No buts…are you the alpha male, taking what's yours as the king of the pride, fucking the lioness, marking her as yours, owner , asserting your dominance, or are you the weak link, stealing a quick fuck, too small to ever be the king, hoping he doesn't get caught, getting a scrap when you can?"

She was so right, and we both knew it.

"Alpha male or weak male?"

"Weak male."

"Deep down inside, dear? You do know that, don't you?"

"Yes," I whispered, "but I can try to…"

She cut me off, "No John."

"But I…"

"John. Does the alpha male wear lingerie just so he can make sweet tender love to a woman, just to have the chance to lick her pussy, to worship her body?"

"Well, I don't know."

She was smiling now. "No, John. The alpha male does not wait around to collect some scraps. The alpha male takes what is his. He wants the lioness, so he simply mounts her and fucks her, and leaves her panting, hardly knowing what hit her," she breathed deeply, "ready or not, he gets what he wants, when he wants it."

"He doesn't beg her to let him fuck her, like you do when you want to steal a quickie. He doesn't say, 'please baby, can we tonight?' like you do. He simply takes her when he wants, because he knows she will always want a stud like him."

"To continue this silly lion analogy, dear, the king of the pride never asks the lioness if she wishes to fuck, he simply takes her."

"But you, my dear, not only beg me to fuck, you don't even enjoy it, you feel so guilty about it. And now all you do is look over your shoulder and wonder if the king is going to catch you. Or whether your pretty wife is going to go looking for the king and be taken like a slut. Am I right?"

"Yes," I whispered, my cock now raging hard in the panties.

"And, be honest, you even fantasize about your wife being taken by a real man, don't you?"

"Yes, Sara."

"Silly, silly dear, of course you do, so you don't have to worry any more about it. Let a real man do a real man's job, and let you be who you really are, am I right?"

"Yes," I gasped, unable to believe where this went. I was shocked how far inside my head Sara had gotten. How she knew what I felt, feelings I hardly was able to recognize myself. She was right, of course. I did feel tremendous guilt when we fucked. I knew I was not really doing much for her and it was driving me crazy.

"But John, here is the most important part. I want this for both of us. I know you feel guilty, and that bothers me. John, I love you so, and seeing you suffer makes me suffer. That's part of the reason I hardly ever want to fuck, your pain becomes my pain. Why are we doing this to each other? When we make love, when you embrace your feminine side, we both find emotional and physical pleasure without guilt. When we are 'one' like that, its…pure bliss."

"Oh, Sara, I'm so sorry," I cried, moving to hug her. She opened her arms, and accepted me. "Shhhh," she whispered, patting my head, "come here baby, I know…I know."

Her warmth comforted me. "Sara, I love you."

She smiled, "I love you too." We kissed, a sign of acceptance.

"What do you want from me Sara? I…I don't know…I mean…I don't want a…a sex change."

She laughed. "John, John, my goodness, John, I married a man, not a woman. I'm not a lesbian. I like your little thingy," she smiled, her hands finding me, softly touching me. "This stays, don't worry. But that doesn't mean I don't want you more feminine. In your look, your dress, your mannerisms. I want you to be like a woman in many ways, even though I don't want you to become a woman."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "I could not do that, change like that."

"Honey, I know, I know, and I would never ask that. Now, listen, I know your web surfing habits, dear, I know what you look at, besides those cuckolding web sites."

"You…you mean the…"

"Yes, dear, the crossdressing…honestly…you think that surprises me? Cuckolding is often full of femdom themes, and even transvestite themes. I know you look at that stuff."

"Yes, but…"

"Stop…no buts. Anyway, forget about that for a minute. Go back to your question, about a sex change. You know the difference between a transvestite and a transsexual, correct?"

"Um, yes, a transsexual is really a, well, mostly, a woman, trapped in a man's body. A gender identification error, I suppose. A man who wants to become a woman."

"Yes, John, she is a woman, mentally, but somehow nature stuck her in a man's body. She wants to fix that mistake. She is not confused. She does not feel masculine sometimes, and feminine sometimes. She is a woman. There is no question in her mind. But a transvestite is different. A transvestite only dresses and acts like the opposite sex. A transvestite does not want to 'be' the opposite sex, but merely 'be like' the opposite sex. That's is you."

I saw her point. And I knew it for some time. Yes, I was a transvestite, I wanted to act like a woman, I didn't want to 'be' a woman.

"Yes, Sara," I answered, my head lowered.

"John, look at me…why are you ashamed?"

"Because I feel like I let you down. You married a man and got me."

"John, I didn't 'marry a man' I married you. I married you because I love you," she said, her subtle reference not lost on me. "I want you to be you."

"But you still want a man, Sara."

"Yes, yes, but not to love and be with and share my life. Like the lioness, I want a man to take me, and fuck me and be done with me. I don't want a man emotionally, only physically. And you want that too, don't you."

"Yes," I whispered again, knowing how deeply I did fantasize about that.

"I know, sweetie, I know. But first I want you. Let me run you a bath, sweetie. Relax and feel the warmth of the water, let it wash away your worries, baby, relax."

I undressed, letting the soft lingerie fall to the floor and sat on the bed, while Sara went into the bathroom to run the water. Left with my own thoughts, I realized I was both scared and relieved at once. It's as if, finally, for the first time in my life I did not have to hide. Feelings I had since I was a child were free, at least between Sara and I.

"Ready, dear," Sara called out. I walked into the bathroom, the lights were off, and Sara had lit several candles. The scent from the candles…and looking around, the bathwater, could only be described as some feminine heaven.

"I hope you like your scent," she smiled pointing to a tray of products from Bath and Body Works. Jasmine Breezes, to be specific. Shampoo, conditioner, bath soap, body oil, shaving gel, the whole works.

As I slipped into the tub, the warm water, the bath oil, the scent, Sara's smile, they all overcame me. I relaxed for the first time in my life.

"Now, you relax in there, let the water and the oils soften your skin. And here," she said, handing me the tray, "wash your self carefully, let the bath oils soak into you, the soap, pushing their scent on your skin. And use this, sweetie, I think you know what I mean," she said, handing me a pink razor.

Sara left me to my peace, and as I lay there, I drifted off into a light sleep, the heat, the scent, the oil all relaxing me to my core. I pictured Sara, but with my face, pictured me as beautiful as her. I dreamed of her dressing up, going on a date with a man and going back to his house. As I let my mind wander I felt so at ease about it all.

I looked over at the pink razor, drawn to its power to change a person. Truth be told, I had little hair to worry about. It was pretty easy to shave my fifteen chest hairs. My legs went much better than I thought. I was worried about nicks, but the blade was sharp and though it took some time, I did smooth them out. I thought of Sara shaving, and decided to do what she did. Trimming around my cock took a very steady hand, but I carefully trimmed my bush, and left my balls as smooth as I risked. The same goes for my ass crack. Damn, I thought, that razor does make a difference.

Rinsing off with the shower nozzle, I saw the towels she left. The masculine blue was gone, only pink left for me. With some inspiration, I dried off and took a second towel, wrapping it around my chest, as Sara would. Difficult to do without breasts to hold it up, but I managed and walked into the bedroom, where Sara was sitting on the bed, a few packages around her, watching television.

Sara was dressed too, she must have used the shower in the hall bathroom.

She was wearing some sort of white smock, but I could not quite place it. She stood, smiling at me. She had dressed up, it appeared, black skirt, nylons or hose, heels, her makeup was done up, a flash of gold on her chest, and I placed it. She was in costume, the smock was something a woman working a cosmetic counter at a fine department store would wear. The heavier makeup, mandatory, I'm sure at those counters.

"Are you ready for your make over, ma'am," she smiled, playful, not fully in a "part" but teasing just the same. "I like the towel, that's a nice touch, but it must be hard to keep it in place. We should work on that. I have just the thing."

She picked up a UPS package, and I thought back to yesterday. Breastforms. As if on cue, my towel slipped off my flat chest onto the floor. "Yikes, I'd better hurry," she chuckled, eyeing me.

"Oh, baby, I love it," she cooed, eyeing my smooth body. "Oh, you even did here," she said, taking my soft cock into her hands. "Your little cock is so cute, its really like a big clitty. You know, I should remember that…this little cockette or clitty. Heck there really is not going to be anything to have to tuck away, it's so small."

"But enough about that, we have other things to do."

With that, she opened the UPS box and pulled out two…well…breasts. Okay, I knew they were fake, silicone, they had a dull sheen to them, but their size and shape were amazingly life like. "Oh, John, they are amazing…the weight, holy shit," she giggled.

"Quick, on the bed, on your back, we just have to get these on you," she laughed, pulling out several bottles of solvent and a couple of instruction books.

"Um, you know how to use those things," I laughed nervously.

"The better question would be whether you know how to use them, dear," she quickly retorted, "but yes, I read the instructions on their web site."

She applied the glue, cold of course, to the forms and my chest, carefully, taking her time. I closed my eyes, drifting off again, a far away room, soft, scented, feminine, my escape.

"They take five minutes to set, lover," my wife whispered, "so just lay still." I felt her hair move down my stomach, and I was afraid to end the dream, afraid to open my eyes. Her face rested on my stomach, hair around me, her breasts, through her smock, pressing onto my cockette, trapping it pointing downwards. She nuzzled my stomach, carefully, I assume to avoid messing her make-up. I drifted off into a light sleep.

I felt Sara move off the bed, but I was still a bit sleep dazed. I felt her touch my chest, opened my eyes, to see her using a make-up brush on the two mounds on my chest. She was lightly powdering them, their color becoming mixed with my flesh. I could not tell where my skin ended and the breasts began.

"Touch them," Sara whispered, cupping them in her hands. I moved my hands to the forms, shocked at their feel, so life like. "Oh my," I gasped, as her fingers laced with my own hands, our twenty fingers touching my breasts.

"Okay, okay, stop," she laughed, "are you trying to seduce me, sweetie?"

"Oh Sara," I sighed.

"And you wondered why you had trouble being the man," she chuckled. "Let's get you dressed, shall we?"

Sara went to the closet and got the boxes from Victoria's Secret we bought yesterday. She opened a box and pulled out some white lingerie. "Stand up, let me help you, please," she asked.

I stood; Sara walked behind me, wrapping the white satin bra around my chest. She slipped my arms through the straps, fitting my breasts into the cups, letting the weight move in them. Oh, I was in heaven. I actually had cleavage.

Sara knelt down behind me, "turn around, Miss," she said, in her half sales woman role. "Please step into the panties." As I did, she pulled the matching satin panties up my hairless legs, over my ass. "I think we can easily tuck this little cockette away," she smiled. Every chance she got to reinforce how small I was, she took it. The emphasis was always on the feminine.

"Turn around again, dear," she ordered, moving her hands around my waist. Of course, the matching garter belt. The dangling straps bounced on my thighs and I practically stood up on my tip toe, like I had on heels. The lingerie, coupled with the breasts, moved me in a way I had never been moved before. The feminine feeling was almost overwhelming.

"Are you ready for your first pair of stockings, love," Sara asked from behind me.

"Yes," my voice cracked.

"Good, I'll help you with them, but watch, because you should learn to do this yourself."

Sara took the lead again, and it's a good thing, because the feeling of the white nylons on my hairless legs caused me to darn near pass out. Sara had my psyche nailed perfectly. I felt so feminine.

We continued this, Sara dressing me, each piece of clothing making more and more of a feminine impact on me. Did I want to "be" a woman like a transsexual (who really was a woman)? No, I know I was not a woman. But words can hardly describe how much I wanted to act like a woman, how that feeling was pulling me. I did not want to give up my manhood, I just wanted to make it even smaller, lock it up for awhile.

Sara helped me into a white satin slip from her collection, commenting that there was something else we needed to get me. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I put me feet into the strappy heels she had ordered for me. "These are kind of chunky, dear, I don't want you to fall flat on your face, but you need to walk before you can run. Stilettos will come later." The heels were gorgeous, nevertheless.

An a-line lavender skirt and a white satin blouse completed me for now, but not for good. "We are doing a complete makeover, ma'am, correct," Sara playfully asked.

She led me by the hand across the hall, to her dressing room, where her makeup table was. She was right about the heels, they would take getting used to.

Sitting me at her table, she placed a cape around my shirt to protect my clothes from makeup. I smiled at the swelling my breasts caused. Sigh, 'my breasts'. The thought made me shudder. Sara worked like a champ, doing my nails with something press on, working on my face (OUCH! Plucked eyebrows HURT!); keeping the mirror pointed away from me. Finally, my lips, which felt heavenly when I ran my tongue over them, silky, satiny, smooth.

The final piece to the puzzle was in a box next to her, which Sara pulled out with a big smile on her face. "I assumed you were a blond," she smiled, "because men prefer blonds." She winked at me, and a quiver fluttered through my stomach, at her double meaning. I didn't know if she meant that I would prefer myself as a blond or that men would prefer me as a blond. Shit, what was I getting myself into? Did I care?

Sara stood me up, stepped back, and looked me over. "Holy fucking shit," she said, shaking her head.

"What...don't laugh, please, I know I must look like a freak," I said, self conscious at how I looked and felt.

She laughed, "Look," she said, motioning me over to the full mirror hanging on the closet door.

Well, looking at my reflection, I could certainly admit I was not a freak. Far from it. Far, far from it. Looking back in the mirror was not Miss America, but, Sara was right, holy fucking shit. There was a woman in the mirror. An honest-to-gosh, pretty, long legged blond. There was not a man trying to be a woman looking back at me. There was a woman. Sara came and stood next to me. "Pop quiz. Which one is the man and which one is the woman? Think the odds are better than fifty-fifty?"

"Oh, Sara," I smiled, "you…you are amazing."

She smiled. "Want to go shopping?"

I turned to her, shocked, "are you kidding me? Go out?"

She laughed. "I know, all in good time. But don't lie to me, don't you want to, a little?"

I couldn't deny it. Yes, I did. "Yes, a little," I answered.

"Of course you do, but we'll save that for another time, my love, don't worry. But tell me, be honest with me, how do you feel," Sara asked me as we stood before the mirror, looking at our own reflections.

"How do I feel?"

"Yes, John, how do you feel? Are you revolted by what you see?"

"No, not at all," I answered, staring at myself, amazed at the transformation, shocked at how sexy I actually looked as a woman.

"How do you look, as a woman," Sara asked me.

"Um…" I looked again, smiled shyly, "pretty." It came out as a whisper, because I was really afraid to say it.

"Pretty," she repeated back to me. "That's an interesting choice of words.

Not sexy, but pretty."

"What's wrong with pretty," I asked her?

"Oh, let me put it this way. Name me a man that is sexy," she asked.

"Hmmm, Brad Pitt?"

"Sure, Brad is very sexy," she smiled. "Now, name me a woman who is pretty."

I hesitated. "Umm, Catherine Zeta Jones?"

"Yes, dear, a classic beauty. Now, the hard part, name me a man who is

pretty"

"Um…," I stalled.

"Exactly my point. Men are not pretty, they are sexy. Women are pretty.

But how did you describe yourself, dear, as sexy or pretty?"

"Pretty," I said.

"And how did you describe yourself," she smiled.

"Pretty."

"Yes, sweetie, pretty. You described yourself as pretty because you think of yourself as….."

"A woman," I answered, blushing.

"Yes. Yes. A woman. You want to be and act like a woman, don't you?

Doesn't it feel natural to you?"

"Yes, I suppose it does."

"But, do you want to become one, like I asked before, you know," she made a snipping motion with her fingers.

I recoiled back from her, "No!"

"Oh baby, you are so perfect," she smiled, "because you feel just how I feel, about you, and I love you so much," she hugged me, our breasts touching for the first time, the feeling sending a shudder up my spine.

"Sara, I…," I moaned, moving in to kiss her.

"Sweetie, you're going to mess up your makeup," she laughed, gently pushing me away, "come on, let's go downstairs and get a bite to eat. I want you to walk around, get some practice with your heels, you know." It was not the first time that she would rebuke my sexual advances, and as I later learned, a small part of her greater plan.

We spent the say, two girlfriends, the experienced teaching the less experienced. Walking in heels was a chore, but apparently learnable. What was much more difficult was dealing with fingernails. That was no small chore. It was like I lost my fingers, and had to learn to use them all over again.

At the end of the day, after a day in femininity, we finally retired upstairs to our bedroom. I have to admit, my feet were killing me. Maybe heels were not so easy after all. In fact, my hands hurt a little, from using my fingers in new ways, my shoulders were sore, from the weight of my breasts. My goodness, it was not easy being a woman! Hell, it was not easy pretending to be one.

Sara was amused at that, of course, saying, "baby, its about time you learned what we go through for our men, and you have not even done any of the hard stuff men demand yet. Just wait." Her cryptic references scared me sometimes. The "yet" and the "just wait" made me a bit nervous. If I only knew.

I sat in a chair in our room, careful to cross my legs like Sara showed me. That was something I learned in our "deportment lesson" from the afternoon when we had tea. See, ladies drink tea, she said, not coffee. The lesson was humorous and serious. "What's the most guarded part of a woman's body," she asked me?

Naturally, I didn't know. "Her pussy," she answered for me.

"You see, since a pussy is what all those men want to get into, it's our most vulnerable part. It's the part we hide and protect, of course. We may show off our breasts, or legs, even our ass, but we always hide and protect our pussy," she smiled.

"Okay," I had answered her.

"That means you have to learn to protect your pussy and panties from view at all times, dear," she instructed me, frowning at the way I was sitting, legs apart, like a man. "A woman is most vulnerable when seated, so she keeps her knees together at all times. You will have noticed this, I assume sweetie? You will want to copy the actions of a real woman, dear."

"So, the simple lesson is this, from now on, you will keep your knees together like a girl. If you don't cross your legs, keep your thighs gently pressed together. It will help if you spread your feet and turn your toes inwards. This looks very sexy on a woman - maybe less so on a man. But then, you're not a man are you," she laughed quietly, as I crossed my legs.

"Hmm, did you hear that?"

"What?"

"That soft rasp of nylon as you crossed your legs, your stockings rubbing together. That was good, dear, you are almost a natural at that. Do that around a man with a fetish for pretty legs in stockings like yours and he will hit on you faster than you know."

"Are you going to get changed," Sara asked me, snapping be back to the present from our tea this afternoon.

"Change," I asked?

"For bed, silly. Get out of those clothes and into your pj's," she said, pointing to my drawer with my boxers and tee shirts, my normal 'ready for bed' wear.

I frowned, I suppose after a day dressed like this, I could hardly bear to shed my feminine clothes. Oh, things Sara was doing to me.

"What is it," she asked, seeing and sensing my frown. Heck, I hardly knew, or did I?

"Nothing Sara, I just, I suppose I liked dressing like this," I answered, hand on my drawer.

"Well of course you did sweetie," she smiled at me, an expectant smile.

I opened my drawer to get out a tee shirt and boxers. Should what I found have surprised me? I'm sure it does not surprise my dear readers in the least. Of course, it made sense to me later, and even then. No boxers or tee shirts. No. All gone. In their place? I laugh now typing this. Lingerie, of course.

I dug through the drawer, one part of me looking for my male underwear, even saying it, "Sara, where is all my underwear?" but another part of me taking stock of what was left in place. Bras. Panties. Slips. Garter belts. Teddies, and camisoles and tap panties, and nighties and packages of stockings. From different stores, different tags. Sara had been shopping.

Questions flooded my mind, but first to come out, "Sara when did you get all this stuff?"

She grinned at me. Of course. She had been planning for some time. This was not a spur of the moment purchase. What had she been up to? Shit, it almost scared me, what did she have in store?

"Don't you like your pretty things," she asked, a fake pout on her face.

"Yes, I…I love them," I said, my hands resting on them, unable to pull away, "but…where is my stuff?"

"You mean all the underwear for a man you had in your drawer?''

"Yes, yes," I said impatiently.

"Gone," she grinned, "off to the Salvation Army."

"Sara, seriously," I said, anger flashing in my eyes.

"Seriously, dear, gone."

"Dammit, Sara, I need mens…

She cut me off. "Need what? Boxer shorts? Are you going to dress butch on me? Are you going to wear boxers and a tee shirt to cover your breasts? Men's underwear? Are you going to try again to 'be the man' of the house," she mocked me. Her words stung me again, and she knew it. She planned it.

"Sara…"

"Still think you can be that to me."

My next question conceded the point, because I thought not of how I was a man, but rather a practical consideration. A 'real man' would have said, 'fuck you bitch, where is my stuff.' I thought of the nuts and bolts, not what she was doing to me.

"But, what am I going to wear to work?"

She laughed, catching the implication of my question, and said so, "Oh, not 'I'm a man, I need man's clothes' but instead, a practical question, how do I function as a woman? Are you conceding the point, dear? Admitting you are not a man?"

It felt like she slapped me, rhetorically. She was right.

"Don't worry, dear, go look in your closet, all your suits are still there. You obviously have to try look like a man at work, the lingerie is only for under. Don't forget, the breasts come off, the make up comes off, we can do some things to help you fool people at the office."

I was relieved, I know. I did want to play and impersonate a woman, I did not want to be one. Silly me.

Sara directed me to get undressed, shedding all my pretty clothes from the day, and helping me pick out a nightgown for bed. She said that my breasts flowing around at night would feel funny at first. Normally, I suppose, a woman likes to feel that relief at night, but until I became more accustomed to them, I should wear something supportive to bed. A nightie with a built in bra would do the trick. Pink satin to mid thigh, matching pink panties.

She showed me how to take off my makeup, I guess going to sleep with it on was not only a big no no, bad for a woman's face, but slightly trampy too. Still in the wig, slipping on the satin of the negligee, hairless, boobs sticking out, I still felt as feminine as I did all day. Shocked, still, at what she did.

Sara also undressed, putting on her own bed clothes, a red satin slip and panties. Finishing out night time routine, we slipped into bed, and carefully, Sara moved over to me, whispered in my ear, "I love you so much."

Her words pushed away any unease I was feeling, and I accepted her kiss, feeling her breasts again push into mine. Turning, kissing her neck, with no thought, my crotch came into contact with hers, and my hard cock, little as it was pushed against her through our panties, I felt the heat of her pussy, and I shuddered and sighed.

"John…John…what are you doing?"

"What. Um…I," I was still pushing at her, pathetic, I know, my cock through both our panties.

She sat up and reached over to turn on the light. "I thought this may be a problem."

"What do you mean," I asked, defensively.

"It's the whole transvestite versus transgender thing. You play a woman, act a woman, but, genetically, there is a part of you, the testosterone, that kicks in when you get excited."

"So," I asked, sexual energy still running through my body, even some confidence.

She knew to slap that down. "You honestly think you can be my man, sissy, with that little thing?"

I immediately lost my libido, shuddered, and shrank, lowered my eyes, afraid to meet her gaze.

Her eyes softened, "Oh, sweetie, it's okay, don't worry, I was afraid this might happen, that with a little sexual energy, your hard wired instincts would come out. Wait there," she jumped out of bed, and left the room.

She came back, carrying a bowl full of ice water, and something small in her hand. "You see, you need to learn to channel your sexual energy into pleasing your partner, not worrying about yourself. We are going to have to work on shifting your focus. Stand up."

I did, and Sara pulled down my panties, exposing my cock, still hard. "Awww, the little cocky is so cute," she said squeezing it and lifting the bowl up to me, pushing my cock and balls down into the cold water.

"Shit, Sara, that's fucking cold," I squealed.

"Hold still," she ordered, squeezing hard on my shaft. Within seconds, I started to shrink again, to hardly nothing, I suppose.

Sara took the plastic thing she had in her other hand, and took my cock in hand. She quickly slipped the plastic around me, as I looked on, puzzled.

"What is that," I asked.

"Shhh." She took a small lock from the package and connected it to the plastic.

"Sara, what the fuck?"

"Hmmm, perfect. This my dear, is a chastity cage."

"What the fuck," I shook my head.

She laughed. "A chastity cage, my love, specifically, the CB3000. This little piece of plastic, locked in place, makes it impossible for this little cock to get hard. You see, I suppose the worst thing would be for you to get confusing messages. I'm trying to bring out your feminine side, but your body may revolt sometimes, and try to assert the little bit of masculinity you have. It does this by sending hormones to your cock, making it hard, and trying to make your mind focus of fucking a woman. It's really a primal reaction. Of course, look at you, what woman would even want that."

"So, what we do is trick your own mind and body. When you are feminized, we make it so your little thing here can't get hard. This will focus your mind on the majority of your mind that is feminine, and teach it to ignore that small masculine part. Without the key, the key I have hidden, you cannot take this off."

"But, Sara, how can I, I mean, how can we, you know, how can I make love to you?"

"Sweetie, like a woman, tender, of course, using your mind, your hands, your mouth. The only way I want you, my love, focusing on your womanhood."

"But…"

"Shhh, sweetie, no butts. You have to focus, dear, focus. If you think like a man, you'll start to grow, and since there is no room to grow, it will hurt. You have to learn to forget about this," she touched the cage, "and focus on your mental love making."

"But, how…how can I, I mean, you know, have an…"

"Trust me, dear, there are other ways women orgasm, I'll teach you how my love," she said, pushing me back onto the bed, rubbing my breasts, forcing her tongue into my mouth.

Of course, I immediately started to grow, and even small, I quickly expanded to fill the space in the cage. Oh, it hurt. It was sore. Oh she was right, I had to focus on something else, something soft and feminine, or I was in for a long long night………..

Stay tuned for part three…

What will John's new name be?

Will Sara really cuckold him?

What other evil plans does she have?

Will he go along, and let her take away all his masculinity?

 

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