TG: Trust Me! 3 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!



     
                                 TRUST ME!
                               by Vickie Tern



                               III.

     Our dinner was uneventful, and even pleasant.  No, it was
better than that.  It turned out to be delightful, because despite
all of my fears about the way I looked, nothing happened.  The
"first time" experiences accumulated so fast I didn't even notice
many of them after a while, and Monica had to remind me about them. 

     Monica drove to a modest-priced Italian restaurant, and when
I saw it was crowded I protested.  "No, that's what we want, dear,
for you to be out among lots of people who are paying no attention
to you, so you can begin to get used to it.  Just remember we're
ordinary girls out for dinner and a movie, or something, and don't
give it another thought.  Of course if you're still nervous about
the way you look, you're in pants, so you can believe you still
look like a man.  But no one else will.  Joellen did a fine job
with you.  Wait and see."

     As she got out of the car she looked at me again.  "Small
steps, dear, and for the present, one foot in front of the other,
so you sway your hips just a bit.  I think heels might help.  No
more flats or sneakers for the time being.  And you'll need to
carry a purse from now on when we're out together.  For now no one
will notice."

     The Maitre D' came over.  "A party of two, or are you
expecting others to join you?"  Others?!  The thought flashed
across my mind that this whole dinner might be another setup.  A
terrified pang pierced my vitals!  "Monica!" I whispered, not
trusting my voice, pleading.  

     "No, just the two of us tonight," she told the Maitre D'." 
Then to me, seeing my face, she said.  "Don't worry, dear.  I have
other plans altogether." 

     "It will be perhaps ten minutes before I can seat you, ladies. 
Would you like to wait in the bar?"

     I followed her in and sat down on an adjoining bar stool. 
"Oh, my, Andrea, you need to practice everything," she said.  "A
lady does not climb on a bar stool one haunch at a time.  She steps
up on the rail, braces with both hands on the edge of the bar, and
then settles down onto the stool with her legs together.  Like a
lady."  The bartender came over.  "I'll have a vodka on rocks," she
said.  Then she looked at me and waited.  I was on my own.

     "A doub...."  My voice was much too high.  I lowered it a
little, and decided to try gentle and breathy too.  "A double vodka
on the rocks, please."  The bartender turned away.

     "Not bad, dear," my wife said, amused.  "A little like Jackie
Kennedy, but not at all bad.  There are worse models.  Now, see how
many firsts already?  You've been called a lady, you're out and
passing with over fifty people paying no attention to you, you've
learned to sit down at a bar, which can be an essential skill in
the months ahead, and you've used a woman's voice to get what you
want.  Do you think you'll be all right using the ladies' room by
yourself later, or will you want me to come with you?  Try the
men's room now, and you'd cause a riot.  Maybe even get raped. 
Wouldn't that be a first?  From now on, dear, you have to think
about such things."  The bartender set down our glasses, and she
went on.  "Look at that!  My but they're generous here.  And yours
is a double?  Well, I suppose those tranquilizers I gave you back
at the house have worn off by now, so I suppose it's all right."

     "You gave me tranquilizers?  Is that why I haven't been scared
to death of everything you've been doing to me?" I remembered only
at the last second to tone down my voice.

     "Of course, dear.  Do you mind, now that it's done?  I'd never
have gotten you out of the house and into a beautician's chair
without them.  You know that.  And now look at us.  Two girls out
together.  Your dream come true.  Isn't it?"

     "Yes," I had to confess.  My voice was a little husky.  "Thank
you, dear.  But you've never answered my question, why are you
being so nice to me now, after years of hating..."  I hesitated,
and finished lamely, "of not wanting to know about...everything
like this."

     The Maitre d' called out "Jackson, party of two," and Monica
said, "That's us.  Or strictly speaking, that's you, Andrea. 
Andrea Jackson, isn't that sweet?  Easy to remember, too.  I'll
keep my married name of course, and Andrew will too whenever he
needs a name, but Andrea needed a new name.  Do you like it?  It's
her maiden name.  She's not married."  She was teasing me again,
and I didn't know what to reply. 

     As we were shown to the table and the Maitre held out my chair
for me, I slipped in as daintily as I could, and smiled at him, and
sat down.  "But why," I asked again.  "Why now?"

     "Quite simply, because I realized not long ago that a husband
who wants to feel like a woman is what I want.  It's what I need. 
I want you to be look and feel the way you are right now all the
time.  Even more so.  Much more so.  Like I said, I have plans. 
For both of us."

     Her voice had lost all of its teasing banter.  She was quite
serious, and as she turned to look directly at me and continued she
sounded even more serious.  

     "Andrea, do you love me?" she asked soberly.

     "You know I do."

     "Do you trust me?"

     "Yes, of course."

     "Not 'of course.'  I mean really."

     I hesitated, and decided to jump off the cliff.

     "Yes," I said.  "I trust you."  I meant it.  Unequivocally.

     "Good," she said, and she smiled so happily it nearly broke my
heart to see it, she looked so beautiful.  "Then trust me.  You
won't regret it.  I promise.  And we may yet grow old and
feebleminded together."

     "Monica, is this something serious?"

     "Not any more, sweetheart.  Shall we order, and then visit the
ladies' together?"

     "I'd like that," I said. 

     The final "first time" of the night was, when we got home,
Monica asked me to fix my makeup, slip into a short, frilly
nightie, and  make love to her like a woman.  Previously she'd
shown no desire in oral sex, and after a while I'd quit trying to
interest her.  Our sex lives together were fine, I thought.  We
usually fucked gently and devotedly, one atop the other according
to mood, or alongside, and she kissed my mouth, and I kissed her
mouth and suckled on her nipples, and we both came, beautifully,
usually together.  And that was it.  It was wonderful.  I loved it,
and thought she did too.  We had no need for contraceptives or
worries about pregnancy, because Monica had no patience with
children and wanted none, I had no special feelings either way at
the time, and we had both agreed as a condition of our marrying
that I should get a vasectomy.  As I did.  Our sex was always
pleasant, generous, and without anxiety.

     But this time as I kissed the tips of her tits she wrapped her
arms around my head and cried out, "Oh!" so passionately, and then
"Oh!" again and again, that I almost came on her belly.  I'm sure
she orgasmed as I nursed her, and she clasped my head tightly to
her soft, swelling breasts, first one, then the other, then the
first again.  "They're so very sensitive!" she said.  Then she
said, "Let me!" and began to suckle on my teats, small as they
were.  Gradually a strange and exotic feeling seemed to emanate
>from her mouth into my breasts, and she reached down to pull gently
on my penis while she nursed on me.  The feeling grew stronger, and
became my whole body's,  and as she sucked and pulled and licked I
finally came too, in one single grand unclenching, as if all of me
was a single throbbing organ.  

     "Now turn, and lick it up, and lick me, my darling," she
whispered into my ear.  "I want to kiss your clit."

     An exceptional request, but I was enraptured, and turned and
began licking my cum from where it had spread like syrup into her
navel and all over her swelling, smooth, white  belly.  Slowly I
worked down to her crotch.  As my tongue found her clit and my nose
began fucking her slit, I felt my limp penis enter her mouth, all
warm and wet and delicious, and I felt her tongue working over it,
and her lips wrapped around it at the base, pumping, until
half-hard, I came again.  She swallowed my juice with little
squeals as her hips bucked into my face and she came yet again too. 
Afterward we slept wrapped up snug in each other, a sweet tension
spreading through me each time she moved against me.  

     That was how we made love from then on.  It was like falling
in love all over again.  The next morning she asked me to shave and
use a depillatory, and I was delighted to oblige.  Then she looked
so sadly disappointed when I dressed in jeans and a shirt to take
some papers to the office that I faxed them in, then changed to a
skirt and blouse, and as she requested, two-inch heels.  Then
between short sweet kisses, my lipsticked mouth on hers, she told
me I felt wonderful wrapped around her, but she'd like me to use
some softening lotions on my hands, and she'd love for me to begin
a regimen of shots and pills to make my skin just a little smoother
and my body softer, more rounded.  I could deny her nothing, so
that very morning she sent me to a special doctor who told me that
many women and some men prefer their bodies that way.  I was
wearing a skirt and light makeup, as Monica put it, "so we can play
on the street with our little secret."  I felt awkward, a little
silly, but the doctor didn't seem to notice or mind.  The first
shots she gave me induced a kind of euphoria, and when I commented
on it to the nurse she said, "Yes, the doctor puts in just a little
extra so her women patients will enjoy their new selves all the
more.  And to overcome possible nausea or tummy aches from intensive
treatments like yours.  Don't forget to take your pills every day."    

     Each night we made love the way women do with each other.  As
a few weeks passed my skin became smoother, and soon my nipples
became hard and pointy, sticking out from my chest, so deliciously
sensitive that I felt complete only when Monica's lips were wrapped
around them and pulsing gently.  Then it was ecstasy!  She kept my
penis so drained and softened that I couldn't have entered her even
if she'd wished it.  But I'd almost forgotten that I ever had
wanted to.  

     She went in to work daily, as before, seeing clients and
selling real estate, and sitting in her office plotting how to see
and sell even more.  As ever I did all the housework and
prepared all the meals, and faxed in my contracts and figures
whenever I was asked for them.  But now I dressed like a woman full
time.  She was always disappointed when she came home and found me
dressed like a husband and not a wife, so I gave up on being her
husband.  I dieted down to where I could wear some of her prettiest
clothes, denied only her tight, snug outfits, and we acquired some
of my own for me on several afternoons spent shopping at the mall. 
That was a lovely time, giggling together like schoolgirls.  She'd
comment how the boys would love to see me wearing this rather
daring outfit, or that one, and we'd laugh and hug each other.  
She asked me to point out fellas I thought looked especially cute, 
and if she agreed with me we'd speculate how this one was hung, or 
how long that one would last inside one of us, and then giggle really 
wickedly. 

     In fact, Monica seemed to feel sorry for me that I'd had no
girlhood of my own, and she talked to me all the time about hers,
and about some of her friends'.  Everything from how it
felt to shop with her mother for her first training bra to games
played with dolls, to gossip about boys and dates, and curiosity
about sex, and first crushes on guys.  Then in detail that made me
uneasy at first, about her various experiences with men, cock
sucking and seducing them and getting laid, crudely or
romantically, depending upon time, place, and the man she was with. 
Like one intimate girlfriend to another, she'd talk to me about her
experiences and feelings making love with different college boys, 
or with various business associates before she'd met me.  She'd talk
about how cocks feel in a girl's mouth or pussy, even while we were
making love ourselves.  She told me how she had once taken a man into 
her rear end, when he had insisted on it, and found it wasn't too bad. 
"It felt all snug and comfy," she said.  "And that night I swallowed his 
cum at both ends."  

     Sometimes she'd forget herself altogether, and say things
like, "You know how it is, when you run your lips up and down
a huge cock trying to bring a guy off, and his precum keeps
dribbling onto your tongue and tasting sweetly salty, but your jaw
aches and you wish he'd headfuck you and get it over with?"  It was 
as if she were back in college dating, and I was her room mate.  Or, 
"I remember the first fully erected prick I saw -- a huge turkey neck
it looked like, but that royal purple head felt so satiny smooth on
my lips when I kissed it that I didn't care.  Was your first one
like that?"  Or, "Oh, Andrea, have you ever had a really glorious,
delirious fuck, felt filled so completely that the least movement
was rapture for you, and each time he pulled out became a hunger
for him to plunge himself into you again?"  Monica seemed to forget
that I wasn't a woman, and when I reminded her that I could only
imagine such things, she'd cover me with kisses as if trying to
make up to me for my deficient girlhood.  She really wanted to
believe I was her best girlfriend, and to share everything with me!

     Increasingly my pleasure while making love to her, as we
kissed and licked and lapped and sucked and caressed each other, as
women do, blended with her pleasure remembering different men in
her past.  I didn't mind -- I wanted to share everything I felt
with my new sweetheart too.  I once asked her if she'd ever had sex
with a lesbian, and she said "Before we were married, yes.  But
since then, only with you, my darling.  I do hope to straighten you
out soon, though, so you can also enjoy men too the way I do."  Had
she so completely imagined me to be a woman that she had
momentarily forgotten that her wife was a man.  Or was it the other
way around?  It was confusing, but either way it was flattering,
and rather dear.

     Our jewelry, earrings, and accessories we decreed held in
common, and we were each delighted when we saw that one was wearing
what had been the other's.  Sometimes we went to small, intimate
restaurants like two old girlfriends, or to movies.  When for some
reason Andrew had to replace Andrea to visit and deal with
officialdom downtown, or go to the office, I couldn't wait to get
back home and be myself again.  They were months of pure
bliss.