TG: Jack and Jill Ch 4 by Vickie Tern, femdom, wife, M/F, M/M 

Vickie Tern's stories are archived at 
http://library.gaycafe.com/nifty/transgender/
by_authors/Vickie_Tern

She appreciates any kinds of comment on any
of them,  and usually replies in kind.






If you shouldn't be reading this, don't!




Jack and Jill by Vickie Tern

4.  Chapter



I started walking to the corner and then back, more or less the way
Jill had suggested, trying to think this through.  There I was, finally
on the street dressed like a woman, in full makeup, no place to hide
from anyone who might recognize me, and my heels were clicking on the
sidewalk and I wasn't even aware of it.  It no longer seemed so
important, and I didn't feel at all feminine anyhow.  If I were to meet
some neighbour walking his dog before I got to the corner and turned
back, I realized that I'd just nod and pass by.  This was not good.  I
shortened my stride and tucked my elbows in and waggled my hips a
little -- that ought to remove any suspicions I thought.  In the dark
who could recognize me anyhow?

It began to be obvious that she had planned this whole evening for her
own amusement.  It was revenge for my affair with Darlene.  She knew
that right now I'd be thinking exactly what I was thinking, that there
was nothing for me to do but grit my teeth, make no fuss, follow her
plan, re-enter the house, and make ladylike conversation with her and
her lover, all the while pretending I knew nothing about their
relationship, and seething inside.

No, I then realized, I'm wrong.  She doesn't know I know anything.  She
doesn't know that I saw them together at the front door.  I was
supposed to be out the back door and half a block away.  They were not
going to signal anything to me about their real relationship, I
realized.  She's doing this to get even, for her own private amusement,
and maybe his too.  I'm supposed to come back into the house and have a
friendly dinner the way she set it up, acting like an old girlfriend of
hers helping her entertain a single guy from work.  And I'm supposed to
be as convincing as possible because I'm already a husband worried that
he might try to come on to me, and ready to blame only myself if he
catches on that I'm a man in drag.  That's the scenario.

But does he know about me?  Maybe she told him that her husband was
going to show up in a dress, and that he should try to keep a straight
face and play along, helping her to humiliate me and watching me
humiliate myself?  No, I decided, she's devious, but she wouldn't trust
anyone else to carry on this kind of deception.  She's got special
reason to want to get even with me, and that's why she's doing this.
But he doesn't have any special reasons.  He might even be feeling a
little guilty he's carrying on with a married woman.  She couldn't be
sure that he'd play along convincingly.

I arrived at our front door ready to play along and I rang the
doorbell.  I heard the chimes sound inside the house.  Funny, I
thought, in all these years I've never rung this doorbell.

The door opened, and Jill delivered yet another surprise to me, in a
way a kind of death blow.  "Jane!" she said with enormous warmth and
enthusiasm.  "Come in, come in at once.  Here, let me take your coat.
That's fine, you can leave your purse over there in the hallway, no one
will bother it.  Now come in and meet Tom." I was a little taken aback
-- she was being much too effusive.  A tall, thin, gentle and
capable-looking man with hair just starting to gray was standing just
inside, looking at me with a mildly friendly smile, one hand in his
pocket and the other reaching toward me, strangely at his ease in my
house.

"Jane, this is Tom.  I've told you so much about him I'm sure you feel
you've known him for a long time.  Tom, this is Jane, my best friend.
I'm so glad that you two finally have a chance to meet each other.  The
two people I care most about in the world."

She smiled a beaming welcome at me, and looked up at Tom, and her eyes
actually nearly misted over when she made that last statement.

I was flabbergasted.  But there was more.  She turned to Tom.  "When
Jack died last year," she told him, "in that awful car crash, I don't
know what I would have done without Jane.  She was with me night and
day until I got over the worst of it." She went to Tom's side and then
turned toward me again, still grinning broadly, and put her arm around
Tom's waist.  He in turn reached his long arm over her shoulder and
gave her a hug, then touched his lips to her hair.  He turned back
toward me, still with that relaxed smile, his possession of her
complete.  She acknowledged it by placing her hand over his, still on
her shoulder.  "But I did get over it finally," Jill said,"and I'm so
grateful to you, Jane, for being a true friend during that difficult
time.  Now that I have Tom," she turned to look up at him, and he bent
down and kissed her, and she turned back toward me, "I hope you know I
still treasure you as the dearest of my friends."

She may have meant it.  There I was.  Dead, replaced by another man,
but acceptable to Jill as a woman, as her girlfriend, because the man I
once was was dead.  I felt a flutter in my stomach -- for years I had
wanted her to think of me as a girlfriend, the way Doreen did without
thinking about it at all.  Now, it seems, that's what we are.  Is she
also telling me in her bizarre way that that's all we can be?  "Can I
sit down for a moment?" I asked her in a low voice.

"Come into the living room Jane, dear, please," Jill said to me.  "Tom,
do get Jane a drink -- bourbon on rocks isn't it dear -- while she has
a chance to catch her breath." Tom went over to the glasses and bottles
I'd set out not fifteen minutes earlier, and Jill turned and fired off
at me point blank the most delighted, devastating smile I have ever
seen.  Her eyes crinkled and gleamed, and her mouth stretched across
her face and her lips parted joyously, the same brilliant scarlet as
her blouse.  I near-collapsed into an easy chair, and she said with
great concern, "You don't look well dear.  Is anything wrong?" Then
with Tom out of the room, she threw back her head and started laughing
uncontrollably.

Tom came back with my drink and looked puzzled at my wife -- my former
wife it now seemed, at least as he saw it, that is, my widow.  She saw
his raised eyebrow.  "I'm sorry dear, but Jane is in such a funny
predicament, she tells me.  It's a little hard to explain." She started
giggling again, then tried to smother it.  Her shoulders shaking, she
choked out "Maybe....some...day I can tell you dear." I knocked back
the bourbon in two swallows, Tom took my glass, and with his face
impassive returned to me with the glass refilled to the top.  Jill
turned away.  "I'd better see to dinner," she said, and in a minute,
from the kitchen two rooms away, I heard yet another explosive guffaw.
"We're ready!" she called out.  I drained the second glass, stood with
a slight teeter on my heels, Tom took my elbow, and we went into the
dining room.

Dinner conversation was a little odd.  I was angry with Jill, feeling
set up and trapped all these weeks, even though I guess I deserved it.
In a way I had asked for it.  I was jealous of Tom, with his easy
appropriations of my rights in the house, and my privileges with Jill.
And I was embarrassed for myself, fearful that I'd make some odd move
to raise Tom's suspicions.  Jill meanwhile maintained her displays of
intimate affection with Tom, touching him, gently squeezing his arm
when she wanted to make a point, glancing at him I thought adoringly.
It was all very depressing.  Tom kept refilling my wine glass, and I
kept sipping from it without noticing how much.

But Jill reminded me to count one of my blessings, the one that had
gotten us here to begin with.  I was out as a woman, and passing in
front of a stranger.  "What a lovely skirt Jane," Jill said as we sat
down.  "I remember you'd said you were looking for an occasion to wear
it.  How nice that you're wearing it here, tonight!  I'm so pleased!"

I knew what she meant, and tried to feel grateful to her, and tried to
think of something to say that didn't sound stupid and wouldn't give me
away.  "Thank you" was all I came up with.

But she wouldn't let go.  "And that green print blouse goes so well
with it.  You look just lovely!" She turned to Tom.  "Jane hasn't been
going out much since her divorce...is it two years ago now?" I nodded.

We worked our way through a platter of hor doeuvres, and then some kind
of beef on noodles.  I kept my voice up in femme range, and answered
whenever I had to in monosyllables.  Then to keep from seeming utterly
grouchy I smiled a lot.  At Jill.  At Tom.  At any request to pass the
salt, or the salad.  Tom asked me if I meant to remarry, or was seeing
anyone, and other questions like that, making the kind of polite
conversation people make when they are being hospitable.  I told him I
didn't know, or wasn't sure, no matter what he asked me.  I didn't.  I
wasn't.

I wasn't even sure I'd seen everything Jill had in store for me this
evening.  This seemed an elaborate way for Jill to announce to me that
she was now having an affair, and to gloat over it.  Every time she
kissed him, or leaned over him, she was telling me she didn't need me
for love and affection.  Ok, I heard her.  But why all the preparation,
these different stories, her seeming to please me by planning a dinner
for me to come in in drag, then showing me her lover when I couldn't do
anything about it.  It all sounded like simple spite, and Jill could be
spiteful, but far more than spiteful she was devious.  There was
something else.

What else there was turned up as she cleared the plates and readied the
table for dessert.  "Well," she said, turning toward me, and speaking
in the most gentle, earnest tones I had ever heard from her, "Jane,
I've talked to Tom about it.  He's willing.  In fact, he'd love to do
it."

"What?" I asked.  "Do what?"

"Oh, Jane, I'm so filled with this little surprise gift for you that
I'm not telling it to you properly.  You remember when we were so tipsy
together a few weeks ago, and we were telling each other our most
intimate secrets about our husbands, our former husbands, what they
liked to do with us, and what we liked doing with them, wonderful
things and silly things?"

Tom refilled my wine glass, and then his own.  The world was starting
to swim a little, but I kept my head very still, and it stopped moving.
"Tipsy?" I asked.  "What?"

I had drunk enough so that my voice suddenly cracked out of its
customary high femme mode, where I was trying to keep it, into pure
falsetto.  I had better watch it, I thought.

"You know," she said, smiling encouragingly, as if I already knew where
she was leading this conversation "What you told me you missed most
about having a man in your bedroom, since your divorce." She paused, as
if waiting for me to reply.

I tried to fill the silence.  "You mean snoring?" I couldn't think of
anything else to say.

She smiled indulgently.  "No, not snoring Jane.  Much more intimate."
She grinned.  "Sexier." She looked at me intently.  Then she let her
eyes drift down, until she seemed demure, even too shy to go on.  What
a woman!

"This is so embarrassing for me to talk about, dear, because I've never
done it myself, and don't know that I'd want to.  I don't think its my
kind of thing.  But you remember, when we were talking together and
feeling especially close, and you spoke of it so wistfully, with such
tenderness, with such longing, and such eagerness, that my heart just
went out to you.  I thought, how can I help my dearest friend Jane in
some way, and somehow thank her for all the loving care she's given me?
How can I give you the greatest gift you desire?  And then I thought of
Tom." Jill looked at Tom devotedly.  "And I asked Tom, and he thought
it a strange request at first.  He didn't want to at first.  But
finally he agreed.  For me.  But above all for you." She leaned over to
kiss him, yet again.

Tom broke in, as if he had to reassure me of something.  "It's not
something Jill and I ever do with each other," he explained, "So it's
not a kind of intrusion into our relationship," he commented.  "It's
quite apart from us.  Except," and he looked fondly at Jill, "Jill
asked me to, and I want her to be happy."

I couldn't make any sense of this conversation, but I decided not to
force it.  Maybe it was the wine.  "Oh," I replied.

"Don't worry, Jane," Tom said.  He now spoke with the same gentle,
concerned voice Ellyn was using "I understand how some things are hard
to talk about.  You don't have to say anything at all if you don't want
to."

I held my head very still to hold the room still.

"Tom, you said you'd help Jane past any shyness she might feel.  I hope
you will," Jill said to him, taking his hand and giving it a tight
squeeze.  "Now I'm going into the kitchen, to clean up everything, and
I have a wonderful dessert to prepare.  It'll take maybe a half hour,
longer if it needs to.  You two go into the living room.  I promise I
won't peek."

I was getting a funny feeling about all this, but I kept quiet.  Maybe
it was the wine.

"Jane," Jill said, leaning earnestly over me, "You remember when we
were talking about losing our husbands, what we most missed ?  You said
it wasn't sleeping with him that made you feel most like a woman.  It
was something else.  It was something you did with him you'd never done
for anyone else.  You said it was so satisfying you wished you'd
started when you were still a teenager and all the boys wanted you to
do it.  You were so ashamed to say it.  But finally you did say it!

You said you couldn't get enough of it!  And I've remembered that you
said it, because you were so sweet to me in those months when I found I
had to live alone, and life seemed so unbearable!"

Jill smiled as if through tears.  I stared back, trying to look as if I
understood her.  "Well, Tom is yours for the next half hour or so, and
I want you to do what you said you most loved to do with your husband.
Don't think about me at all." Her voice then took on an edge.  "And
don't disappoint me, or I just don't know what I'll do." I could tell
from her tone she know precisely what she would do.  I had no option.
Then she came out with it.

"You go into the living room and enjoy Tom's cock with your mouth.
Suck on it to your heart's content.  I want you to.  Really.  And I
want you to enjoy the taste of his cum.  I remember how you especially
talked about the peculiar, delicate, complicated taste and feel of a
man's cum, sweet yet salty, creamy yet winey, and how you missed it."
Jill giggled.  "We were so silly that night.  And you talked about the
feeling of control you had over your man, when he was helpless with
desire for you to lick him and throat him, and how when he was in your
mouth you could bring him anywhere you wanted.  About how you missed
that feeling."

And Jill then looked me straight in the eye.  "Jane," she said,
obviously enjoying each word, "This is your big moment.  Tom is yours
for a half hour, or more if you'd like, as my gift to you.  Please take
him as a token of what I think of you.  Tonight I want you to have your
deepest heart's desire.  Be all the woman you can be!  Suck Tom off!
For me!" And she went through the kitchen door and closed it behind
her.

I stood up, and the walls really did swim.  Holding onto the edge of
the table as far as I could, I went into the living room.  There was
Tom already, seated in our big, overstuffed easy chair, legs apart,
smiling to encourage me, both hands outstretched toward mine in
reassurance.  How could I get out of this?  I thought of running
outside, or upstairs.  I thought wildly of claiming I was having a
period.  Did Jill think I was going to give Tom a blow job and enjoy
it?  No, not enjoy it.  That's the point!  I had to pretend to enjoy it
while feeling trapped and demeaned, doing something she herself never
did with me, nor it seems with Tom either.

And I couldn't make a fuss about it.  Not without giving myself away.
I was a little drunk, but that was clear enough.  Which would be more
humiliating to me?  Confessing to Tom that I'm Jill's husband in drag,
and trying to order him out of the house?  Or staying and sucking his
cock?  Which would cost me more?  Which was easier?  My thinking was as
blurry as my vision, but it was clear to me which would cost me my
wife.  I still wanted her back.  I had promised her I'd do anything she
suggested.  This was her revenge, one more ordeal she had schemed for
me because of Darlene.  I would somehow get through it.

I took hold of the soft arms of the chair, one on either side of him,
and leaned on them, and lurched to my knees between his knees.  In a
single swift motion Tom undid his buckle and pants, unzipped his fly,
slipped his pants and underwear out from under him and down to his
ankles, gently put his hands on either side of my head, and pulled my
face toward his crotch.  His cock rose up toward me as I approached,
still tipsy and fascinated and horrified, unable to do anything about
it.  The thing wasn't that impressive in size, but respectable.  To me
at that moment it looked like the Eiffel Tower.  "Jane honey," he said,
"Jill tells me it's been a while since you've done a man, so take your
time.  I'll help you." He leaned back.  "Just put your hands under my
balls and cup them gently, Then kiss the tip of my prick, right where
you see that little drop of clear fluid.  Lick it with your tongue.
That's it.  What does it taste like?"

I thought, here goes nothing, and leaned forward, and touched my tongue
to the tip of his penis, where he had directed me.  "A little salty," I
said, not wanting to say more, wondering if I was going to retch if I
said more.

"That's it," he said, "Think about each taste, each feeling, so you'll
remember.  If you pay close enough attention to everything, your mouth
will remember.  And I want your mouth to remember.  Now, just open up,
and form an "O" with your lips, and slide it over the pinky-purple head
of my cock.  It feels silky, doesn't it.  That's it.  Lift your head up
and tell me how it feels."

"Silky," I said.  I was trying not to notice, to close off my mind, to
put my attention somewhere else.

"Yes," he said.  Now slide your "O" mouth down onto my cock head again,
this time a little further, until you can feel the soft ridge it ends
in, all around.  Do you feel it?  Clamp down a little just below the
ridge with your lips."

I did as he asked.  I felt the ridge with the moist inside of my lips.
I tried not to.

"Now open your jaw wide.  Wider.  We don't want your pretty teeth
interfering with our pleasure, do we.  But keep the "O" nice and tight
below the ridge.  Stay still a moment, and notice how it feels.  Now
pull back against the ridge slightly, then tuck your lips under it
again."

I did that.

"Now slide your lips over the ridge by tightening your lip muscles on
it a little bit, like kissing it all around with your mouth open.  Ah,
that's right.  Let a little saliva lubricate everything.  Lovely.  Now
very gently, make a slight suction with your mouth."

My wet lips slid a little bit down the shaft of his penis as the
suction pulled him into my mouth.  I noticed that his hands on my head
kept up their gentle pressure, so I couldn't back off as the main part
of his penis entered my mouth.

"Feels delicious, doesn't it.  Slide your mouth up and tell me, but do
it slowly, so the "O" stays snug, and when your lips reach the tip,
kiss it.  Aw, that's sweet.  Kiss it again.  Ah.  You feel now that
your lips are empty, don't you, and you want to refill them with
something for your lips to squeeze.  Is that right?  Tell me I'm right,
dear."

His hands twisted each side of my head gently, turning my face up
toward his, and I saw he was looking mildly into my eyes, waiting for
an answer.  I looked back at him, still whirling a little -- that wine.
I couldn't look away.  My mouth was still pursed from kissing his
prick, and I could still feel the his cock-head ridge on my lips, and I
could still sense his pre-cum in my nose when I exhaled.  Would I ever
be able to forget this?

"Oh, God!" I said.

"That's right," he replied.  "It is heavenly, isn't it.  If you'd like,
lick me and kiss me anywhere you want.  From the base to the tip.
Underneath especially.  Yes.  Yes.  That's right.  Now make your little
"O" again and wrap your mouth around me again, and pull me in.  Only
this time, deeper.  I'm getting eager to fuck that dainty little mouth
of yours.  This time we'll go all the way.  But don't worry, I'll tell
you what to do.  I'll remind you what to do."

Before my head went back down on him I started to say something, but it
didn't get very far.  I don't know what I would have said next anyhow.
My head once again facing the tip of his cock, I made my "O" and opened
my jaw just in time as he thrust it back in.

"That's it, dear.  Suck.  Slide.  Again.  If you need to come up for
air every now and then, or to ease your jaw muscles, do.  I'll feel
your head pressing on my hands, and I'll ease off.  Suck.  But each
time you leave my head behind, I want you to kiss the tip.  Kiss it
passionately.  Devotedly.  Lovingly.  Try to stick your tongue into
that little hole at the end.  Slide.  I want to feel you can't get
enough of kissing me.  I want you to know you can't get enough.  I want
your lips to feel they can't wrap tightly enough around me.  I want you
to slide me all the way into your mouth until my tip bumps on the back
of your throat, on your gullet, and maybe slides down into your throat.
Suck.  Press your tongue flat against me and slide.  Lick my head and
down again.  Ah.  More.  Suck.  Again.  Slide.  Now.  Again."

He kept pumping my head against his crotch, slowly and gently, and kept
up his steady chatter, while I formed my "O" and held my jaws wide open
and felt more and more of his meat fit into my mouth, and each plunge
brought my nose closer to the base of his shaft, and sucked him in and
slid him away.  Now and then when I came up, my head would writhe on
his tip as if it were the lips of the most gorgeous woman imaginable,
my lips pressing on him and caressing him and my tongue flicking the
delicate hole at the end until again I opened up wide and took him back
into my mouth, and slid my lips down his shaft as far as I could reach,
and pulsed them at the bottom.  His hands held me and moved me, and his
hips began bucking up toward me, and he was plainly getting hot.  My
nose was now getting down into his hairs, and his cockhead kept
cramming against my throat then backing away, and I worried about
gagging.  I realized that at this angle there was no way I could bring
him all the way in to relieve that pushing at the back of my neck, so I
concentrated on bringing him off as soon as I could.  He pumped me
while I pumped him, and my lips compressed and pulled and puckered and
tightened and loosened around the "O" they formed, and my tongue swiped
his underside on my upswings, and danced over the helmet-shaped head.
I realized irrelevantly that I couldn't have much lipstick left on, and
I realized I should have hauled out a compact to repair my makeup after
dinner.  But I had got too drunk, and this had followed too soon.

I found that except for the back of my throat, it wasn't too bad.  Some
odd sensations, certainly very different.  I took his advice and began
paying attention to the alternating slippery, satiny, bumpy ride my
lips were making.  It was interesting, that sensation, and I did find I
could enjoy my power over him when every now and then he moaned
slightly, and I tried to make him moan again.  If he's turned on
because I seem to love this, I thought, I'm going to seem to love it
like crazy, and we'll get it over with.  I concentrated on satisfying
him, and began to let my fingertips fly over his balls and squeeze them
gently, and sometimes I let them caress the base of his cock.  Every
now and then I gave a kind of pathetic muffled cry deep in my throat,
"Ohhh!", "Oooohhh!", as if I couldn't get enough.  Suck, slide, suck,
slide.

Suddenly he said,"Oh Jane, darling, I'm going to come.  Hold me deep
and start swallowing as fast as you can!  Hold me!  Deeper!  Don't
spill me.  Don't let me spill on the chair, or the rug, or your blouse,
or my pants, or AHH, AHH, AHHH, AHHH!" And hot cum splashed against the
back of my throat with each pulsation.  He shot his load into me, and I
swallowed, and I held him sealed in my mouth and swallowed, and I
reached into my throat with the back of my tongue and swallowed, and I
rolled his thick liquid forward in my mouth and swallowed, and each
time I thought it would overflow my mouth I swallowed.  Meanwhile his
hands crushed my face into his crotch, deep into its hairs, and he
bucked against it, and I couldn't breath.  His climax seemed
interminable.  He kept pulsing.  My mouth filled with something sort of
slick and creamy, a little like mucous, and a little salty, and a
little bit sweet.  Not too bad I thought, as he pulsed on and I kept
swallowing.  I'm surviving this, I said to myself.  I leaned in and
sucked the last of his cum out of him as if his prick were a straw.

He let go of my head, still breathing heavily.  I looked up, and he
grinned at me.  I remembered that I was supposed to be passionate and
conspiratorial and grateful about all this, and grinned back.  Then I
leaned back off my knees and sat down on the floor.  For a moment I
couldn't look at him.  I kept working my tongue around my mouth and
swallowing, trying to get the last squeezes of his cum off my teeth and
out from the crevices of my cheeks, and off from where some of it had
coated my lips.  "You really do love that stuff," he said as he watched
me licking my lips and working my mouth, his breathing almost back to
normal.  I didn't say anything.  "Clean me up, dear," he said.  "Lick
me until you have it all." I got back on my knees and licked his prick,
up and down and all over, then stood up.

"You know Jane, that was pretty good for a first time," he said.  "You
have a talent."

This stopped me for a moment.  What did he mean by "first time"?  What
did he know about me?  Was he in on Jill's plot after all?  But as I
got to my feet I decided he meant my first time with him, which would
matter I suppose if the only blow jobs I'd ever given before were to my
husband.  I realized that this guy was something of an artist, the way
he had talked me down onto him and through it.  If I were gay, or a
real woman, it really would have been enjoyable.  "Thank you.  It was
very special!" I said with as much ardour as I could muster.  What else
could I say?

I thought I'd better say something more, so I added, as if we were now
lovers of sorts, "But won't Jill feel jealous?" It suddenly flashed
over me that I had just been blackmailed by my wife and raped by Tom,
even though I'd brought it on myself.  But I couldn't help it, and now
I was trying to simulate post coital chit-chat.  This was much too
civilized.  I tried to change the subject in my head, and began
wondering what would get rid of his cum-flavour in my mouth.  It really
was rather creamy, and slick in texture.  Gawk!

"No not at all," he said.  "She isn't jealous at all.  This is her gift
to you.  Jill doesn't do oral sex with me.  Now vaginal sex, that's
different." He smiled to himself, and I felt a sudden shock and
jealousy -- he had just admitted to me he was fucking her!  Well, what
else did I think they were doing?  I decided to change the subject .
He was right, of course.  Jill had always been turned off by oral sex,
and after a while I had reluctantly stopped raising the subject.

He pulled his pants back up and sauntered back into the dining room.  I
remembered that I must look a mess, and had better act as if I knew it,
and headed for the bathroom, where I knew Jill kept a lipstick and
hairbrush, maybe more.  It took me ten minutes to get my face back to
some semblance of order after that workout.  Then still feeling a
little frazzled, I headed back into the dining room.

Jill was already there, with our silver coffee pot, setting out bone
china cups with an innocently pleased look on her face.  "Oh, Jane,"
she said, "Here you are.  You look like the cat that swallowed the
canary.  Are you still hungry for dessert?"

I decided not to answer her.  Let her enjoy her triumph.  She set
before each place a desert dish full of a custard of some sort, with
streaks on top.  "See, I promised you a special treat tonight, didn't
I?," she said.  "I want you to feel pampered.  I decided on this Creame
dessert especially for you, when Tom said he'd help you feel like a
woman.  I just finished making it while you and Tom were enjoying
yourselves in the living room.  I thought you'd especially like the
texture, a little sticky, and satiny smooth, and it fills your whole
mouth." She paused, and then added, "Of course some people prefer it
with a dash of salt, to remind them of times gone by.  Would you?"

Then as an afterthought, as she started pouring the coffee, she said
without looking up, "I've been planning this dinner for a long, long
time, down to the last detail.  It seems to be working out beautifully.
I hope you're enjoying it.  Because this isn't the end yet.  There's
more." She looked up at me, and her smile was blissful.  What could I
say?  I'd promised her I'd go along with any of her plans for me.  I
had better be a good sport about it.  She'd gotten me and gotten me
good.  I did wish she'd feel the score was even and settled, so we
could be done now with these games.

No such luck.  When we finished dessert and coffee Jill went over to
Tom and pressed her cheek against his, while she cleared the last
dishes.  He seized her hand for a moment and then let it go.  Things
were now a little unpredictable.  What next?  Should I stay on, and
wait until Tom had to leave, though obviously he wanted to stay?  When
he was gone, could I go upstairs and change into something more
suitable, and assert my dignity, and have it out with Jill?  Or was he
planning to spend the night here, and waiting for me to leave?  I
noticed a stain on my blouse, and I realized it was a dab of his semen,
still a little sticky.  My mouth puckered slightly when I recognized
it.  Jesus!

But Jill settled the matter.  Tom appeared in the doorway holding the
topcoat Jill had given me, and Jill handed me the same purse she had
handed me earlier when she pushed me out the back door.  "Here you are
dear.  I'm sorry you have to leave so soon.  I'll call you tomorrow.
Or you can call me.  I think you'll find everything you need in your
purse; I tucked a few things there." And for the second time that night
I was thrust out of my own house, this time through the front door.
She slammed it closed.

I stood on the front steps, and I noticed that the porch light was
still on, as if still lighting Tom's arrival and mine.  I was wearing a
skirt, and was visible to anyone.  I glanced up and down the street.
No one.  Then the porch light went off.