TG: Jack and Jill Ch 9 by Vickie Tern, femdom, wife, M/F, M/M 

Vickie Tern's stories are archived at 
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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

9.  Chapter



I must say about Jill, it didn't take her long to put me through her
crash program in "womanhood." What she had in mind for me was that I
develop the habits and tastes and reflexes of a twenty dollar whore, to
make me into a promiscuous slut as quickly as possible.

She did it in a few quick thrusts, each one justified with her usual
enthusiasm and backed by her iron will, and I was so bewildered and
trusting I went along with each, and did whatever she asked.  It never
occurred to me that her notion of womanhood for me could be called
peculiarly narrow, that she herself didn't really subscribe to it, nor
any woman we had ever known.  It may be she wanted to drown out the
last of my masculinity, any residual shame I still felt that I was a
woman, by making me behave shamelessly, by getting Jane to fuck and
suck anything in pants so relentlessly that Jack could find no place to
hide.  It may be that she was simply being vindictive, degrading me for
her own amusement.  But she could certainly be persuasive!  She had
already pushed me further than I meant ever to go, especially with the
hormone bath that had turned me -- not altogether unwillingly -- into a
girl with a prick.  I was in unknown territory.  I had no choice but to
trust that she knew better than I did what I needed to do next.  She
was never in doubt.

For a few weeks she called me nearly every night to warn me she'd be
home late from the office, and that I should be prepared to meet her at
the front door.  I did as she asked.  Night after night, her car
arrived, her footsteps clicked up the walk, her key opened the door,
she rushed past me, and she slouched down on the couch with her knees
spread apart, and said "Jane, you slut, clean me, suck me out!"

And that first night and all those following, that's what I did.  It
was obvious that just before coming home she was finding some way to
get herself laid over and over.  Her panties were usually in her purse.
When I knelt and lifted her skirt, her pussy hairs were always matted
with something sticky, and when I began to lick her slit, gobs of semen
would squeeze or trickle out.  She was filled with cum, overflowing
with it.  It was often the same person, but often different men --
after three or four days nursing all that cum from her cunt I could
taste the difference.  A few times she came home with a three or four
man orgy in her, different flavours overflowing from different depths
of her cunt, and I was half the night cleaning her out.  She always
assumed that I was addicted to the stuff, because real women were, and
that she couldn't supply it and I couldn't slurp it fast enough.  So I
acted as if I were.  This doubled her pleasures, I assumed, first when
she was getting herself laid somewhere, and then at home, while I was
lapping and licking her out, and she'd come repeatedly on my mouth.  I
wanted to please her, and I still couldn't raise a decent erection for
her, so I tried to be grateful that she was sharing her men with me,
and that our oral sex with me was passionate, at least on my part.

Then we sort of double dated for a while.  That is, we went together to
a bar where, she said, men and women were usually available to each
other.  She instructed me to dress for it.  The first night I put on a
brief silver mini sheath with spaghetti straps and a hemline just below
the curve of my ass, and crotchless panties.  The panties were always a
risk, because I douched or did an enema just before we went out, so
with my loose asshole I was often damp down below.  When I mentioned
this to Jill she was delighted, and added a little bath oil to my
douche fluids, so I would seem so hot I was already lubricating down my
leg.  For these outings four or five inch heels and net stockings were
routine, and I slathered on the eye makeup and lipstick.  When I saw
myself in the mirror I would have given myself a hard on if I'd been
able to have one.  The first night Jill settled into a booth with a
blond man named Sam she seemed to know from somewhere else.  They
sometimes disappeared somewhere, and then reappeared with Jill's hair
mussed a bit, and disappeared again, then just seemed to sit quietly
together and talk.  I wondered if Sam's was some of the cum I had eaten
out of her.  I sat at the bar, watched this man with my wife (because
that's how I still thought of her even though she'd decided we were now
only girlfriends), and turned away a few men who offered me drinks.
Jill motioned me over.

"Is something wrong, honey?" she asked.

"I don't know, I said.  Oh, Jill, I think I'm a little bit jealous.  We
were married for so long.  And now Sam has you, and I..."

"And you're a woman who can have any man in this place, Jane.  And
that's what you need!  To be well-fucked!  Then you won't think about
silly things any more!"

She instructed me to sit at the bar and agree to do anything anyone
proposed, so I could sample all the variations there were and gradually
get to know what I liked.  I would explain to them that my pussy was
unavailable because of the time of month, but that I would swallow
every drop of their sperm because I could never drink enough of it, and
that I loved taking it in the ass (as indeed I did by then, if the
invader was Jill's dildos or Jill's fist and wrist).

So I sat there, and in the next two hours I was served five drinks and
finished three of them, and I gave three blow jobs -- one of them right
there at the bar, by the wall, partly covered by a man's jacket.  And I
was butt fucked four times, once rather sweetly by a very nice man who
clasped my tits and hugged me to him and gently rolled his penis round
and round in my buttocks, and kissed by neck.  That was lovely.
Another time by the same man twice, who didn't even slow down after his
first climax, but rode my ass on to a second.  I went home leaking all
over my beautiful dress, and Jill reminded me to take condoms and
tampons to the bar when we returned the next night, and a butt plug to
close the door when I was ready to stand up and go home.  So I did, and
I spent most of that next evening groping and sucking and grinding my
ass into any number of men.  I really lost count.  I set up in a booth
in a back room, and Jill and Sam looked in on me sometimes, and Jill
smiled encouragingly whenever I came up for air and headed back to the
bar to pick up another stud, or she winked at me as if I were having a
good time.  I didn't want to disappoint her, so I winked back.  But I
felt a little cheap.

By the second week word had gotten around that there was this girl in
this bar who gave head and cunt as if there were no tomorrow, and there
was practically a line out the door of men trying to get in to buy me a
drink.  Jill mostly just sat there, though sometimes she took Sam home
with her afterward and they disappeared into what became again our
former bedroom.  The fourth week Jill and Sam really did set me up as a
whore.  They rented a nearby motel room, and signed up all of my
regular bar customers on the half-hour, and they told their friends.  I
lay on the bed all night with my butt up in the air getting reamed, and
my breasts getting groped, or my clients sat on the bed while I knelt
and cocksucked whatever came into my mouth.  Those weeks I saw a lot of
pricks, all shapes and sizes and flavours and fittings, and a lot of
odd behaviour in the men attached to them too.  But it all became
routine.  My mind wandered.  Fucking and sucking from dusk to dawn
seven days a week, after a few weeks there are no surprises left.

In fact I was swallowing so much semen each night that I began to gain
weight, and some of my clothes no longer fit me properly.  This amused
Jill, who joked that this was a funny way to be look pregnant, but for
me it was serious.  I loved my size twelve dresses, even though they
required that I diet all the time.  "Jill," I finally asked her after
the sixth week on my back or my knees servicing fifteen or twenty
pricks each night, "Am I a woman yet?  This isn't me.  I'm a one-woman
woman.  Or if you insist on it I'm a one man woman.  But not this.
Can't I at least develop a relationship with some one person, the kind
you have with Sam?  I loved being with Carl.  I'm beginning to remember
even Tom fondly.  Can't I just be a woman with a boyfriend?" I started
to cry.  "I want to be loved!" And then I broke down and couldn't stop.

Jill took me in her arms and held me close, for the first time in a
long time it seemed.  "Darling, darling Jane," she cried out.  "A
boyfriend!  Yes, we will certainly look for one.  But you have had to
learn for yourself what the past weeks have taught you.  Now you know
that physical relationships are only just that, that your feelings and
desires must be involved or all the sex in the world is meaningless.
Isn't it?  A woman needs romance, a companion for her heart, and she
can give her body most lovingly only to the man who has already
captured her heart.  We'll find you such a man, dear!" It sounded
specious to me, Jill moralizing about true love after she had converted
me into a hooker, but I didn't care.  I needed somebody to love me.

The next night Jill invited me on a threesome with her friend Sam,
dinner and a movie.  I dressed as carefully as if Sam were my own date,
and I must say our conversation sparkled all through dinner.  I had
finally learned to control my flute-like femme voice, and to gesture in
a flip, loose wristed feminine way, and I was happy and animated and
felt marvelous.  I must also confess, I liked Sam, and wanted him to
like me in case he and Jill should ever fall out.  I flirted
shamelessly, and it felt wonderful.

From then on I went out only on proper dates.  Sometimes I dated
friends of Sam and sometimes men I met shopping or doing errands.  If
we came to sex, and it usually did, it was because we both wanted to,
though I was always flying the rag as far as they were concerned, and
needed to be taken from behind or with my legs on their shoulders.
These men were always far nicer than the ones in the bar or in the
motel.  I would blow them gently, and they were considerate of my
feelings, and were amused by things I said, or thought me cute, and
some of them felt protective of me, and some I just loved to fold in my
arms while they suckled sweetly on me like little babies.

I told Jill how I felt about them, how I appreciated being treated
decently, not just used, and how my heart swelled up when I thought
about one or another sometimes, how pleased I felt when I saw them at
the door.  Jill nodded, and hugged me, and we had another good cry.  It
was true, she said, men could be so awful but they could also be so
marvelous.  They felt so beautiful.  This may be what Jill wanted me to
know about men, I thought.  Now I could look forward to meeting more of
them.  And I did, quite a few, though I never got really serious with
any the way Jill seemed to be with Sam.

When I brought men home we used my room, and when Sam stayed over with
Jill they used the room we'd formerly shared together when we were
married.  As the memory of that marriage faded out of our relationship
we became more and more like sisters, and we looked more and more for
privacy from each other.  Sometimes we could hear each other making
love, but not usually.  We respected each other by closing our doors.
One morning Jill forgot, or Sam forgot after visiting the bathroom.
And this brought on another radical turn in my life.

We had double dated, me with a current boy friend, nothing serious,
though he had the knack of kissing my body as if he were worshipping
me, and I felt exalted whenever we were together.  We had spent the
night as couples do, and the next morning I let him out the front door
with a tender kiss and a promise to call soon.

On my way back to my room to wash up, I passed my former bedroom with
Jill.  The door was ajar, and I could hear quiet, serious murmuring
just inside.  I paused.  Jill and Sam were talking, Their voices
sounded strange.  Not strange, exactly, but relaxed, intimate, serious
yet casual.  I realized that Jill had not spoken to me like that since
that moment in our marriage when she first found out I crossdressed,
and we had ceased to be a loving couple.  With Sam Jill seemed natural,
easy, friendly, companionable.  Everything she had been saying to me
sounded made up, overly enthusiastic, or forced by comparison.

"Then when will you tell him?" Sam's voice asked.

"Her." Jill replied.  "Her.  Her legal change of name and sex just went
through last week.  I haven't told her that yet either.  She needs to
sign the final papers.  Then I'll tell her."

"Do you think she'll make any trouble?  She's dumb, but she's not
stupid."

"She hasn't so far.  But I'm not worried.  She gave me her power of
attorney long ago.  And she gave me her word she'd do anything I asked
her to do, unconditionally.  Remember, when all this started, right
after we first met and made love?  I told you I had an effeminate
husband back home who'd slept with his secretary, and that he was
paralyzed with guilt, and that I'd put him into the deep freeze until I
could decide what I wanted to do with him?  I was ready to divorce him
then and marry you, Sam, but you agreed that first we should thaw him
out and have some fun with him?  He agreed then to follow every order I
gave him, and he's been true to his word.  Or lately, she's been true
to hers.  At every step we've had no problem talking her into going
along with whatever I've had in mind." Jill paused, then went on in a
reminiscent frame of mind.  "Sucking all that semen out of me for
weeks, just to get her used to the taste so she wouldn't balk when we
really put her to work!  I'll never figure out where you collected it
all each day."

"I've got friends who owed me favours," Sam said, "And jerking off into
a bottle seemed to them an easy enough way for them to pay me off.
Anyhow, a lot of that stuff was mine, remember, and I didn't need a
gravy baster to put it where your so-called husband found it."

"No, you didn't," Jill said affectionately.  "Anyhow, there she was,
already agreeing to anything, even begging me to piss on her.  So how
could I not?  Then she actually let us turn her into a human scum-bag!
Whoring for weeks or months!  I told you she would!  You still haven't
paid me the ten dollars you owe me for that one.  But she did it!  She
really is still the old Jack with tits, isn't she, still the wimp I can
talk into doing anything!  And to think I once married him!"

Some of Jill's professional enthusiasm now entered her tone of voice.
"What say, Sam, will you take on another ten dollars that I can get her
to cut her balls off?  I'm sure I can do it.  I know I can!  Twenty
dollars if I get her to beg me to let her do it, OK? I'll make that my
parting gift to her, that she herself pleads with me to cut off all
chance of ever becoming a man again.  Not that Jack ever was much of a
man.  He doesn't know it, but even now his impotence is still
reversible.  Partially reversible, anyhow."

"Well look, Jill," Sam said, his voice persuasive in its turn.  "OK,
you married an asshole, and you've fucked him up the ass, which is what
assholes deserve.  I even fucked him up the ass, one of those nights in
the motel, and he never even bothered to notice!  Stupid shit!  OK.
We've both had lots of fun by now.  We've turned his mouth and ass into
garbage cans.  He waddles around all day in high heels.  He's a man
with bags hanging off his chest who can't get it up any more.  You
could probably get him to hang by his thumbs all day in a closet,
waiting for you to come home.  I don't doubt it.  He's so fucked up now
he's too easy!  Quit playing with him.  Forget about castration.  Get
him to sign the papers, and we'll be done with him.  He's not a bad
guy, for a queer!  He does give good head."

"You ...  animal!  How would you know?" Jill's voice turned almost
musical, and I realized she was talking to Sam with deep affection.  I
felt jealous, and deeply sad, all at once.

"Hey!" Sam said laughing.  It sounded as if she was groping him
somewhere ticklish.  "No, seriously, can you tell him soon that you're
through with him?  I want us to be married!  I really do.  It's been
how long now, over a year you've been putting me off just so you could
play these mind fucking control games with your husband?  At least by
now he should be an ex-husband!  So he wasn't the man you thought you
married?  So what?  I am!  There's nothing pansy about me, and you know
it!  Dump him and let's get our lives in gear.

"When the papers are finalized, love.  Only another few days.  When
Jack becomes Jane on paper, our marriage is annulled.  A legal woman
can't be married to a legal woman in this State.  But there's been lots
to do.  I've only just finished transferring the balance of his
property to my name, including that huge inheritance from his uncle
that he doesn't even know about.  The dumb prick!"

"He isn't a prick any more, Jill.  He's hardly even got one, thanks to
you." Sam started to snicker, amused by his recollections.  "You've had
your fun.  Remember when he limped and flounced out of his car with his
sore ass the morning after he first got fucked, and you praised his
grand conversion to womanhood, and you practically told him what you
were going to do to reduce him to whimpering jelly, and he bought it
all?" Jill began to chuckle at this.  "And remember the way you
described it, his sorrowful sad eyes big as dinner plates when you got
him to stick his butt way out in the air for the doctor, to get it so
loaded with hormones that he couldn't see straight for days, and still
can't think straight?  That mean-tempered lawyer in you really found
someone you could fuck over more thoroughly than anyone anywhere has
ever been fucked over before, and you couldn't resist!  Your own
husband!  And he collaborated with you at every turn!  Stupid shit!"
Now the two of them sounded like an old married couple sharing old
jokes.

There was a pause.  Then Sam asked, "After he signs those papers, do
you mean to kick him into the streets to sell his ass for rent money?"

"No, I'm not that mean," Jill answered Sam in a teasing tone.  "I'll
leave him a little something for his lipsticks and panties and tampons
and things, his little necessities." She giggled.  "He's a grown girl.
He'll be grateful, you watch.  Are you sure you don't want to bet
twenty I can't get him to plead with me to cut off his balls in token
of our undying love?  On his knees?  I'll make it tougher.  I'll throw
in his prick too.  And I'll make the appointment with the surgeon right
now, cut it all off one week from today, and I guarantee you he'll go
like a lamb to the slaughter with tears of gratitude pouring out of his
eyes and ruining his mascara.  A bet?" Sam stayed silent.

She giggled some more, and then turned serious again.  "There's no
problem with him earning some kind of a living.  All he wants is to
keep himself in panty-hose.  He can always go back to computing I
suppose.  Of course by now he might prefer to earn his living selling
blow jobs.  Imagine, swallowing so much sperm he was gaining weight!
Can you believe it even now?  Maybe we should set him up in a one-girl
call-girl business, and collect a management fee for our trouble.  I'm
sure I could talk him into that.  But how would you know that he gives
good head?" Her voice became muffled, and the bedsprings squeaked a
little, and Sam gave a small groan, and didn't answer.

I stepped away as quietly as I could, and went back downstairs to the
kitchen.  I was still in my pink lace wraparound, and as I reached for
the coffee pot it fell open, and my breasts were exposed.  They sagged
a little, but they were pert enough.  I kind of liked the way they
stuck out.  They weren't bags at all!  They were mine!  I was kind of
glad to have them.  I glanced at my reflection in the mirror by the
back door, and I liked what I saw.  Even in the morning, fresh out of
bed, I wasn't too bad looking -- in fact, I thought, I'm sort of cute.
I loved the way Marianne was doing my hair these days.  I repressed an
urge to go back upstairs and fix my makeup before anyone else came
down.  Instead I sat down with a cup of coffee, and began to think.  A
half hour later the coffee was cold, and I still hadn't drunk any of
it.

Jill and Sam came downstairs.  Jill winked at me in her conspiratorial
way while Sam was occupied splitting an English Muffin, and I
remembered that as far as she was concerned, the two of us were now
girlfriends who each took pleasure in the hunks of meat we brought
home.  I smiled at her.  She smiled back.  Then I smiled at Sam.
"Sam," I said to him.  He looked up.  "Last night was just wonderful.
A marvellous surprise!  We should do it again."

Sam looked a little startled and bewildered, and glanced at Jill
quickly before turning back to me.  I had wanted to shake him up a
little, and I did.  "I guess we could arrange another double date,
Jane," he said, recovering as best he could.  He glanced at Jill again.

"Just what I'd like!  How's this Friday night, sixish, for drinks and
things before we go out for dinner?"

"Fine," Sam said.  "OK with you, Jill?  Can you take care of it?  Can
you have everything ready for Jane by then?" I understood what he was
really asking her, and I wondered how many clues like this I had been
ignoring.  Maybe hundreds.

"Six this Friday is good," Jill said.  "I'll be ready.  Then Saturday
we can do what we've been planning the way we've planned it."

They didn't mind talking about running off together under my very nose!
"Oh," I said, "Just one more thing.  Bring a friend.  Maybe someone who
owes you a favour?"

"Sure," Sam said, a little uncertain.  He looked at Jill again.

Jill looked back steadily.  "Didn't you tell me you about a guy who was
a professional football player until a few years ago, a big bruiser you
just took into your firm?" Jill asked.  "Why don't you ask him?" I
heard her.  She was proposing that Sam find a big-prick stud to stretch
out my asshole one last time, so I'd sign the papers and the two of
them could get their future under way.

Sam relaxed.  "Good idea," he said.  "He hardly knows anyone in this
town.  You'll like him, Jane."

"Wonderful!" I said.  "Then it's settled.  I'll see you then, Sam.
I've got to go fix my hair." And I left them to their breakfast.

That Friday Jill came home from her office a little late.  I was
entertaining Sam and his friend in the living room.  I had just served
them drinks, and was telling them a bawdy story when she came in the
back way and called out "Jane, are you there?"

"Yes, honey," I called back.  "The boys are here too."

"Hi, guys," she shouted.  "I'll be with you in a minute.  I'm all ready
for our big night -- I changed at the office.  Jane, can we talk for
just a second?"

I walked into the kitchen, and Jill stared at me.  I was wearing a
bright red dress with a princess neckline cut so low my cleavage was
fully visible, and my upper breast curves hung out practically to the
nipples.  The dress was one I had bought when I was still developing my
bust and my fanny, and it was a little tight on me.  The overall effect
was of a girl about to bust her buttons, or of a well-packed sausage
spilling over at each end.  Just the right amount of sexy vulgarity.
And it had done just what I wanted it to do.  Sam had taken one look
and turned away, a little ashamed that he'd brought a business
associate over to date such a broad.  But his associate Art had bugged
out his eyes and then couldn't take them off me.  He still couldn't
speak straight.  He was well set up for his role in the evenings
proceedings.  He had one thing only on his mind.

"Jane, are you sure about that dress?"

"I think it's fine, dear.  What did you want to tell me?"

"Oh, nothing important," she said.  She gestured at a half-dozen papers
she had spread out on the kitchen table so that mainly, only their
signature lines were visible.  "Some things you still need to sign,
leftover from Jack's business.  Let's get them out of the way, and then
have some fun with our fellas." She handed me a pen.

"I'll sign them, Jill.  Don't worry.  I've given it a lot of thought.
You've done so much for me, and I am grateful to you.  I love you, I
guess, still, despite everything.  We were once married, and I suppose
legally we still are.  For now." Jill looked up at me sharply.  "But
first you have to do something for me."

Jill was bewildered, but reached to regain the initiative.  "What are
you talking about?  Of course we love each other.  What is it you want
me to do?"

"Sam's friend in there is named Art, and he's about 300 pounds of solid
muscle and gristle.  From the bulge in his pants -- that's why I wore
this dress, honey -- about 100 pounds of him is hanging between his
knees."

Jill interrupted with routine enthusiasm.  "Oh, how wonderful for you
darling!  He's ...."

"No, Jill," I interrupted.  "Just listen.  For once, just listen.  I'll
sign those papers.  I'll sign them the moment I see something."

"See what?" I realized that in all these years, I had never negotiated
a deal with Jill, bargained so that each of us could get something we
wanted.  I had proposed things for the two of us, and she had accepted
or rejected them.  But I had never set conditions.  She sensed there
was something new happening here.

"What I want to see is your Sam going down on Art and blowing him until
the cum drips out of the corners of his mouth, and out of his nose, and
maybe out of his eyeballs and ears.  And I want to see Art drilling his
prick into Sam's ass.  I want Sam to be wearing a bra when it happens.
I want it to happen tonight, now, before we go out to dinner.  I want
to see you arrange for this to happen, and I want to know that's what
you're doing right from the beginning.  You are one of the world's
great manipulators of people.  I want to admire your technique."

Jill just looked at me, taking my measure.  I had her full attention.
I went on.  "I was no match for you.  I'm a wimp, and besides, I wanted
to please you even when you were walking all over me.  I was a nice
guy.  Now I'm a nice girl.  I'm still easy for you.  But now I want to
see you humiliate someone else.  Someone you admire and respect.  I
want to watch your future husband become a darling little cocksucker
just like me.  I'm sure you can arrange it.  I'm sure he'll do anything
for you, just as I did.  Then I'll sign those papers."

Jill looked at me steadily.  "Jane," she said, "There's more to you
than I've credited you.  How long have you known?"

"Not long.  A few days.  I should have known from the moment you first
started working on me, but I was so eager for you to let me dress up I
guess I didn't want to know.  Don't misunderstand me.  I don't resent
what you've done to me just because you knew you could.  If I hadn't
wanted it too, I wouldn't have done it.  I am grateful.  What I'll do
from here on in I don't know, but that's not your problem.  Your
problem is to get Sam into a bra and make him swallow Art's meat at
both ends, and to get Art willing to do it.  Then you'll get what you
want.  And I'll be satisfied.  And we'll each get on with our lives."

Jane continued to look at me, her gaze unwavering.  She scarcely paused
for thought, and then said, "All right then, Jane dear.  I understand.
You want your little pound of flesh.  Sam is all man, and you don't
want me to marry a man who's all man.  I got you to suck cock and take
it up the ass whenever I snapped my fingers, so now you want Sam to do
it, and every night Sam and I are together you want me to know he's
done it.  All right.  I'll fix it.  Maybe it'll take a half-hour.  Not
much more.  I'm hungry.  I want to go to dinner.  Go in and refresh
their drinks.  Pour a lot into Art, if he's as big as you say.  And
send Sam in here.  You don't mind if Sam knows about your little
scheme, do you?"

"Oh no!  It'll be more fun for me if Sam knows what knowing you is
costing him.  But I don't think Art should know.  I want to watch you
twist him around the way you did me.  Besides, he looks pretty straight
to me.  If he thought Sam wanted to go down on him maybe he'd wipe the
floor with him.  Maybe he's never poked anyone's asshole.  But he has
to know afterward that it was Sam."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," Jill said.  "No problem, girlie.
Go wave your tits in Art's face and give him something to drink, dear
darling Jane." She said "Jane" as if she were swinging a sledge-hammer
at me.  "Shake that shapely ass at him.  Do you still keep a tampon
wedged in there somewhere, princess?  Does your fuck hole still stretch
big enough to satisfy an elephant?  Send in Sam."

Finally, I had gotten to her!  I loved it!