Message-ID: <53633asstr$1145553004@assm.asstr.org>
From: PleaseCain@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} [deirdre Fest - Muse] "Sucker" by Vickie Tern, 8/13, TG, Femdom, humiliation, W
Lines: 372
Date: Thu, 20 Apr 2006 13:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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[Posted on behalf of Vickie Tern; e-mail address at the end of story.  -- 
pleasecain]

{ASSM}Deirdre Homage (Muse). "Sucker" by Vickie Tern, TG, Femdom,
humiliation, Wife, F/M M/M. 


                               viii.

The next morning she still felt especially pleased by my reaction
to my first fucking.  I hadn't been allowed to cum, of course --
she wanted to keep me horny for Bruce -- but I'd pushed back into
Mr. Dildo quite a few times after a while, she reminded me, the
last times feverishly.  

I was pleased with myself too, because it was all new and
pleasurable, even though I couldn't tell why I was doing any of
this, exactly, any more.  I would do this thing with Bruce whatever
it was, creditably, I decided.  Because Debbie had extracted
promises from me, and I meant to keep them?  Because Debbie
apparently needed an excuse to be with another man, and now I was
that excuse. and I wanted to please her?  Because if Bruce actually
was the great lover she seemed to think him, I'd love doing it with
him? 

With that thought, I realized that she'd actually done it!  Changed
my sexual orientation, at least for sex with Bruce.  It was
astonishing, how she had done it.  And also amusing.  I wondered if
anything she'd said was true.  Whether any of it would actually
occur.  If Bruce didn't fuck me now, I was thinking, I'd actually
feel disappointed.

A few days later we were doing our morning exercises.  I was now
wearing a leotard with my breasts held firm in spandex and my
genitals tucked tight between my legs, as trim in the crotch as any
of the other girls, doing some vigorous rhythmic movements in
special high heeled shoes designed for ballroom dancing, Debbie
alongside me as always.  My tendons were stretched by high kicking,
and I was adding a pelvic twist as instructed.  Debbie complimented
me on the femininity of those gestures, how supple my body seemed,
as if ready to wrap around anyone's.  We'd just begun another
number when the front door chimes sounded.  

Debbie broke off to answer it, deal with it, and get back to our
morning routine.  Then she returned. 

I didn't notice until my dance number ended and I turned to get a
towel to wipe perspiration off my face.  Debbie was leaning over 
the back of a chair and confiding something to another woman who 
was sitting in it quietly and  watching me!  Another woman!  
Marcie!  My God, it was Marcie!  From way across town -- why was
she here?  I'd slept with her for a week for God's sake!   Marcie
and Debbie knew each other?  Did she recognize me?  Did she know
that I'd once been a man, did she think that now I was some kind of
wannabe femme faggot!  I couldn't speak!  It was too late to hide!

"You look wonderful, Samantha!" she said before I could fully
register that she was real, not a hideously humiliating
hallucination.  "Debbie told me everything!"  

I was shocked by that, but then she went on, "I do admire what
you're doing!"  Her eyes sparkled.  

Debbie beamed as though the compliment had been directed toward
her.  "Samantha, meet my friend Marcie," she said.  "From that
Ikebana class I took.  Flower arranging, remember?  We hit it off
the moment we saw each other!" 

"Marcie!" I repeated.  Shocked!  She sees me like this!  What can
she be thinking!?  Did she tell Debbie anything about us?

"You were right, Debbie," Marcie continued.  "She looks absolutely
precious!  I think you'll really enjoy her this way!"

Debbie saw my consternation, though she remained utterly impassive,
her expression implying nothing.  "Don't fret, Samantha honey," she
said in a syrupy velvet voice that told me immediately that she
expected my very best behavior.  "It was time for a few people to
know that you're now finally becoming the woman you have always
thought you were.  And doing it quickly to avoid all the problems
of a lengthy transition.  Marcie knows I'm standing by you, helping
you in every way I can.  And she's offered to help too!"  A glint
in Debbie's eye told me I should go along with this or I'd be dead
meat.

I was still speechless.  Instinctively I tried slouching back in a
kind of John Wayne wide-gaited, defiant sprawl, as if to say,
"Yeah, well I'm dressed a little odd, but I'm still a guy, got any
problems with that?"  But my high heels wouldn't allow it.  Instead
they tilted me forward, with one foot decorously posed in front of
the other, knee bent, as if I were helpless and pleading.  When I
opened my mouth, all I could squeak was "A few people know?"

"Samantha, as a woman I'm sure you can appreciate this," Marcie
continued.  "I was telling Debbie only a few days ago about a
problem I've got with my husband, that he's so depressed about his
birthday coming up.  His big four oh.  And she told me about the
problem she's had with you and about how the two of you have been
working it out.  And it came to both of us all at once how we could
both help each other out, if you're willing to cooperate!"  

Debbie fixed a hard gaze on me.  I replied in my own mellifluous
voice, the equivalent of Debbie's, "Of course, Marcie.  Anything! 
How can I help?"   

"It's a very big favor, and I'm a little embarrassed to ask it, but
Debbie told me it would be a favor to you too.  I'm sure that
you'll want to accommodate me.

A threat to tell Debbie about us?  "What, Marcie?  Tell me!"

"I want to give Gabe a special present!"

"'Gabe?'  That's lovely!  What present?"

"You!"

"What!!?"

"For a whole evening!  To do things he wants to do with a woman
that I don't like doing, that we never do together.  So at this
particular time of his life he won't feel he's being deprived."

I was bewildered.  "Give me to him for an evening?!  To play
scrabble, or watch football on the TV, or something?"

"Oh you dear innocent girl!  No, it might have been that before you
... came out of yourself, but not now.  I mean sexual things with
him!  It would do a lot to make up for ... a time I neglected him
for a week, when was it, a year of so ago?"  

Debbie's face remained inexpressive.

"Mainly, I don't know why, but he's always after me to take him
into my mouth.  And to receive him in ... my other end too.  You
know!  I don't like even thinking about it!  I was telling Debbie,
and she told me you were like that too when you were still
pretending to be a man, asking her to do special things all the
time.  And now that you're a woman you still like the idea, but
from the other side!  That you'd be happy to do those things with
a man now!"  She smiled.  "In both ends!"  She smiled more broadly,
confidently, now that we were all of us girls together.  "And that
you've been practicing those very things!"    

"That's certainly true," Debbie said brightly.  "She's been using
her mouth and her rear end on a pretend penis, to see how she likes
it!"  She looked at me with an approving gleam,  "She's gotten 
quite used to it.  In both ends."

"Yes, so you tell me," Marcie said .  Then she turned to me again. 
"I've thought maybe I'd hire a professional sex worker to service
him.  You know, a whore.  But Gabe is such a sweet dear, and that
seems to me so ... impersonal, after all!  And then Debbie tells me
that you'd just love to do it!  That you're eager to experience
everything women can do with men just as soon as possible!"

"That's right, Marcie," Debbie echoed in that mellifluous,
authoritative tone I could never dare contradict.  "Once she
decided to quit trying to be a man and decided to try attracting
them instead, she's been a changed girl.  I couldn't keep her away
from Vita's.  Isn't that hairdo fantastic?  And Sandra's done
wonders for her figure too, as you can see.  And she's loves oral
and ... other kinds of penetration with male-shaped objects.  I
think she's about ready for the real thing!"  All the while her
eyes informed me to agree or stay silent. 

"She does look just lovely!" Marcie agreed.  "I know Gabe will be
so pleased.  I'm counting on it!  Though I certainly won't tell him
that his little birthday present partner once thought she was a
man!  Not until the next time I'm mad at him for something."

Marcie was telling me that cooperation was my only recourse.  She
was one of those well-endowed wives who kept her figure slim and
whose tits therefore seem huge.  She was wearing a sweater that
draped them decorously, so they showed as a mere bulge.  It was
obvious though that she wore no bra today -- her extraordinarily
large nipples poked at the sweater, declaring what they were
unmistakably.  I stared at them, then realized that in my leotard,
my own were declaring almost the same thing!  Also unmistakably. 
Did I look that sexy?

"I'm sure," I told her.  Sure of what?

"Then you'll do it?  I just know you have every reason to want to!"
said Marcie, looking steadily at my crotch, then unwaveringly into
my eyes.  That was true enough.  Also, I was beginning to feel
hypnotized by those two pointy nubs projecting from her sweater,
the way I'd been when we last ... accommodated each other.  I could
feel how desirable they were.  I already knew how desirable they
were.  It was nice having a pair of my own this time, I realized. 
With my own I didn't desire hers in quite the same way.  But it was
hard to say 'no' to her! 

Debbie broke in.  "Marcie, I told you, she'd love to do it.  You
see, the weekend after this one we celebrate Samantha's birthday
too.  Her first birthday as Samantha!  That's when she'll complete
her journey into womanhood.  She has a heavy date with a man in my
office, and they're going away together to a resort for a kind of
honeymoon.  I know that she'll come back a different person!  That
we'll feel much closer about lots of things afterward!" 
She stared at me yet again, lovingly it seemed, this time. I hoped.

I said nothing.  Then, because I thought I thought I should say
something, I asked, "It'll be my pleasure, Marcie.  When's Gabe's
birthday?"

"Oh, I'm so grateful to you, Samantha!  And to you too, Debbie, for
sharing your darling hubbie with me."  

I flinched.

"It's next Thursday," she went on.  "Just before you go off on your
own ... kind of honeymoon.  Is that too soon?  That's his actual
birthday.  They'll be getting him a cake or something at his
office, so he'll be coming home a little later than usual.  That's
why I wanted something more than just a cake waiting for him when
he got home.  Can you come over by eight?  That's when he's due
home."

Why was Debbie encouraging this?  Did she know about our past
history, and now she was using my vulnerability to get even?  Was
Marcie simply amusing herself?  Was it all an awful coincidence? 
"Will you be there?" I asked Marcie.   Was this supposed to be some
kind of kinky three-way?

"Oh no!  I'll just introduce the two of you with the proper
fanfare, so he knows exactly why you're there.  Then I'll come over
here and visit with Debbie for a few hours.  That ought to give you
enough time.  Gabe is good for only two or three climaxes an
evening anyhow!"

"Perfect!," Debbie said.  "Samantha's been dying to get in some
practice!  She has every reason to want to do it right the first
time!"  And it was settled.  

Debbie suggested to Marcie that we should all go down and pour
ourselves a nice cup of coffee and catch up on things.  An
invitation she made clear I couldn't refuse, now that I really was
one of them, one of the girls, about to be initiated as intimately
into their circle as any girl could be.  Marcie went off to use the
bathroom, and Debbie made it all quite clear.

"You'll come too, " she said.  "You need practice just sitting and
chatting with other girls!  Sooner or later we'll be having my
friends over, and I don't want you to embarrass me because you
can't do what every girl's been doing all her life!"  

"Make girl talk, you mean?" I asked.  "With all your other
friends?"  I decided to put my foot down.  "What for!  I'm done
with all this after next weekend!  And why did you tell her I'd
love to have sex with her husband?  This was supposed to be a one
night stand!  One blow job, remember?  More and more keeps getting
added on!"

"You think you're done after next weekend, honey?" Debbie said,
amused.  "Dream on!  That's only the beginning!  That's when your
new life begins!  Your face and figure are your fortune now,
Samantha.  Look at them.  That's what they're like for the next few
months minimally!  Welcome to the foreseeable future!"  

A sly smile, then, "Besides, maybe you'll like what you and Bruce
do.  Maybe you'll want to do lots more of it with other men!  Maybe
I'll have to peel you off them every night!  Or maybe you and
Marcie's husband will hit it off and he'll want to see more of you! 
You never know!  You seem to have made quite a hit with Marcie!"  

She paused.  I couldn't tell if she was being tart or merely
teasing, but that concern flew out of my head with her next
statement.  "Besides, you forget, other people also know about you
now.  And what I've told them will be harder for you to undo than
your curly hair or your permanent make-up or your figure."

I'd forgotten!  She'd mentioned "a few people"!  There were others! 
A sudden pang stabbed my vitals!  "Know?  Know what?  Who else?"

"Well, sweetie, it was only fair to tell the people you work with. 
Your boss.  And the affirmative action officer in your personnel
office had to know that now there's one less man and one more woman
in her company roster.  She was so pleased!"
  
The office!  My life was over!  In ruins!  I staggered and took
hold of the back of a chair until I could recover.  Then I said
just that to Debbie, adding, "How can anyone respect me?"   

"Oh, they think it's just fine!  Your boss hopes you'll have a long
and even more successful career with them in your new gender.  She
wouldn't care if you painted yourself blue as long as you maintain
your sales record.  And all the women in your office admire you for
having the courage to be what you are, I hear.  The men?  Who knows
what the men in your office think?  They tell me some of them
smirked, though no one has actually said anything.  Anyhow, who
cares?  It doesn't matter what men think of you any more, Samantha,
does it?  Except for certain men, those you're interested in.  Of
course if you change back to being a man again, you'll seem to be
insincere, frivolous, playing all sorts of titillating gender games
with yourself.  Then no one will respect you."

That was true, I realized.  I was trapped.  I would need an
elaborate script of some kind I couldn't now conceive for my
transition back to manhood when all this was behind me. 

"Why did you tell people at work, Debbie?  Deliberately?  To box me
in?"

Her eyebrows rose.  "You boxed yourself in, baby.  You've consented
to everything, all of it.  Like it or not, you'll have to be a girl
for some time after you and Bruce hit it off, won't you?  I
couldn't very well let you go back to work pretending you were a
man but wearing a curly hairdo and permanent makeup and those tits 
now, could I?" she said.  "And every move delightfully effeminate,
after all this practice?  You'd disgrace yourself!  So relax and
enjoy being a girl with the rest of us until it all wears off.  If
ever!"   

What could I say?  She was right.  Other people thinking wrongly
that I was some kind of pervert wasn't my worst ordeal in prospect. 
Now there were two cocks to suck, and two ass-reamings to endure. 
Worse still, what if I liked them?!  Mr. Dildo hadn't been
half-bad!

Marcie rejoined us.  And in fact the coffee and girl talk was much
less boring than I'd expected.  I couldn't look at Marcie now
without wondering how she felt being penetrated, feeling a man
thrust himself into her.  Or how Debbie felt.  I'd been that man,
but hadn't ever concerned myself!  All women do it, I consoled
myself, and most of them like it.  No big deal.  

Then when we talked about style, I contributed what I'd read only
the day before about how the summer's ankle length skirts and
dresses would be extending into fall couture this year, unlike last
year, and that it was flattering for tall, thin women especially. 
"It'll look wonderful on you through the fall then, Samantha,"
Marcie said gravely.  "Don't you think?"  She didn't seem to expect
a reply. 

We talked recipes, of course.  "We're both dieting to improve our
figures," Debbie said.  "But Samantha will be in the kitchen a lot
more often than Sam was, of course, when she's completed her little
journey." 

They lamented that Marcie's sister was leaving her husband for
another woman, and after eight years of marriage.  "It's so
unnecessary!" they agreed.  "Look at us, for example!"  

I raised my eyebrows.  Marcie explained, "Women visit each other
all the time openly, the way I'm visiting you and Debbie right now. 
Men tend to visit women secretly because people like to assume
there's something sexual going on, and they love to talk!"  She 
smiled innocently at me.  "Women visit each other for sex, yet 
their spouses never think anything's amiss.  I visit Debbie often, 
and we're seen out together, and no one thinks anything of it.  
So there's really no need for lesbians to get divorces.   When 
girls get together it raises no more gossip than when guys get 
together!" 

Debbie asked, "You mean guys like our husbands getting together?" 
 This started a fit of hilarious giggling between them.  I smiled
faintly.  But it was true.  In their eyes I was now only a former
guy.  A girl.  A done deal.  I was now one of them. 

(End Part 8/13)
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