He, now she, sets out to find how this happened.
I.
I was still groggy when my eyes opened, but I managed to blink a few times and then keep them open. No use, I was still hallucinating. I still imagined I was surrounded by beautiful girls. Each time I opened my eyes there they were. Five or more beautiful, scantily clad young women seated across from me at a big sunny table in a big sunny kitchen. Chatting casually together while eating toast and cereal and drinking coffee. Doing all the usual things girls would do when they're having breakfast together, touching each other, giggling, passing the jar of honey. They all had long, loose, wavy hair, though they were mixed blondes and brunettes, and one of them was redheaded. What seemed odd for girls having breakfast together, they all were wearing lipstick and eye liner, very little but just enough so their faces looked ... as perfect as their long, scarlet-tipped fingernails. Flawlessly beautiful!
Not to be believed!
Not because they were all gorgeous. I've seen gatherings of gorgeous young women like these, during college outings and once when a cousin took me backstage where a whole chorus line was about to go on stage. But none of them looked like these! No way! These girls were practically naked! Wearing almost nothing. Sitting around, all of them in their ... wearing only ... brassieres! Everywhere under their pretty faces I saw delicate satin straps on their dainty shoulders and below those, pink female flesh, transparent lacy cups bulging with abundant breasts. Overflowing, creamy encased globes pushing dark-tipped nipples way forward.
I could have reached out to touch those nipples, they were that close. Yet these girls were sitting around being as nonchalant as if they were wearing bikini swim wear or terry cloth covers by a swimming pool, not their most intimate of undies!
The two immediately opposite me happened to look toward me, then glance at each other, then again look at me. One smiled directly at me as if to reassure me, while the other watched as if merely curious. Two others girls nearby seemed lost in their own thoughts, daydreaming at the crumbs on the plates in front of them. Maybe they'd been talking to each other and then stopped? An utterly naked girl at the far end of the room -- my God not even wearing a bra! -- was curled up on herself, deep in a paperback novel. Maybe she was wearing panties at least -- I couldn't see -- but one naked boob was jutting straight out and staring at me, while the other seemed as absorbed in her book as she was.
The sun shone in. It was a lovely morning. But unlike any morning I'd ever known!
"Well, I see Katie's finally awake," the smiling girl said to the other one, turning her head slightly toward her.
"I guess so," said the other, lifting a cup of coffee to her red lips and sipping, all the while continuing to watch me. "Right on schedule."
'Schedule'? That sounded odd. Not wrong but ... well, odd. My eyes closed again. Heavy. Just to rest, but now my mind stayed awake. The second voice continued in its smooth, soft, flute voice, "This is always such a fun time, you know, Melanie? I remember when ... who was it, Audrey? When Audrey came around ... well, you've never seen anyone so delighted with herself! She couldn't keep her hands off any part of her. She'd become everything she'd asked for."
"Oh, Brooke, Audrey'd always wanted to be the girliest of all girls! She loved everything feminine, so of course she was pleased with herself."
That was the smiling one talking again. Her name was Melanie? She smiled indulgently, then went on.
"Audrey lived in a cloud of perfume as sweet as candy, in her own bubble. Couldn't care less when she finally found out how come and what it all meant. Even after she'd thought about it a while. She once told me why she was so always so happy. 'Which would you prefer, for goodness sake?' she asked me. 'Flogging real estate in some dingy sales office somewhere and getting cheated by the sales manager? Or spending all your time making yourself pretty and enjoying yourself with people who really appreciate you, and actually getting paid to do it?'"
"Well," Brooke replied, "Eventually that stockbroker, whatsisname, the guy who used to visit her here regularly, every week or so, he appreciated her enough to carry her off and make her his one and only. You know what, Melanie? I heard from someone that he knew her from way back and that he'd paid her way here, advanced all the money for her training, specified what kind of girl she should end up as and everything. That he was gay but wanted to appear respectable so he found himself the right kind of boyfriend and then ordered up the whole thing."
"You do hear things," Melanie replied. "I heard something like that's true of Katie too. That she was sent here by some couple who wanted her out of the way until she was completely reformed and rehabituated, and that they paid for the whole thing in advance. And now that it's done, now that she's completely what they want, next week she's going back to wherever she came from to live as her new self for the rest of her life. That's what I hear. Could be, it's happened before."
Brook looked directly at me. I stared back blankly. "It's likely. You know, I'll miss her. I really will. Katie's always been so nice to everyone. Always ready to help out whenever anyone's got a problem. Some guy wants a two-girl sandwich, there she is ready to work with you, under, on top, alongside, suck his cock, whatever, and she never even asks for her share of the fee. She's really so sweet! And I mean all the time she's that way!"
Melanie glanced at me as if I wasn't there. Wherever I was. "Well, Brooke," she said. "Remember, that's how these transitioning girls get conditioned to be. The drugs make them seem simpleminded, eager to please. You know how it is -- our clients like girls who're naive, maybe even a little ditzy, but even so, dedicated to the basic pleasures, you know? Eager to do anything to make a customer feel good. Yes, Katie's sweet, I grant you that, she's a doll. She does sometimes remind me a little of Audrey that way. But Audrey really was a ditz, I don't think she was ever anything else, while our girl Katie here, now and then she's shown she's got a mind of her own. It pops up sometimes. For instance, months ago she insisted that she'd be the one to decide when she'd swallow a man and when he'd squirt into her somewhere else. Can you imagine? 'If I like him maybe he can cum into my tummy and maybe he can cum into my guts,' she told me. 'Maybe neither.' That's what she said, plain and simple and there was no arguing with her. I'm curious to see if that's the real her, now that she's off her meds. We'll soon know." She looked at me again.
"Katie got fussy about that? That's odd. I swallow or squeeze guys off all the time. That's my job, after all, it's what I do! What's the big deal?"
I was almost all the way awake now. This talk was as strange as any I'd ever heard. Yet Melanie and Brooke seemed vaguely familiar, and this kind of talk seemed reassuringly familiar, too, as if it were just more of the same breakfast gossip and chitchat I'd been hearing here every morning. No different from any of the talk on any of the other mornings. The many other mornings.
But how many mornings? And where was 'here'? Had I really been here before this morning?
I mean, Jesus, that's right! It's morning! It isn't last night any more, that's for sure! And this place is not where I was last night, that's even more sure!
My mind began racing, and immediately began to feel addled! I'd better take this slow, I was thinking. This is not the Casino where I sat down last night to play the slots, to kill time while Russell and his buddies were hitting the blackjack tables and Barbara, my wife Barbara, she was upstairs in our room. She didn't care to gamble, she'd said -- she liked only sure things, so she'd stay and finish her novel. And that's what she did. I'd watched Russell play a few hands, then went off by myself to feed coins into the one-armed bandits.
How much did I have to drink last night, for God's sake? I couldn't remember even the first one!
I blinked and opened my eyes again, and this time I looked around. No, no way was this the hotel, or its Casino, or anywhere else I'd ever been! No way would I have forgotten this place!
There in front of me were those same luscious babes, the ones called Melanie and Brooke right across the table in front of me and a few others around me. All variously finishing breakfast. All nearly naked, all stunning women, each with long full hair draped on bare shoulders, falling over their backs or their boobs. All of their boobs soft and generous, rising high above overstuffed brassieres. Except for that girl at the end who wore no brassiere at all. Her abundant breasts hung there, tipped with distended nipples, her shoulders naked, not covered even by a wrap or a dressing gown. She wore nothing!
Everywhere I looked I saw smooth pink flesh and alluring dark eyes and red lips and fingertips. And large, full breasts barely contained in their satin cones. All of them belonging to girls utterly at ease with each other, as unashamed to be underdressed as women would be in a harem, or maybe as suite mates in a college dorm.
How come? I mean, not even my wife exposes her body this casually, not even to me, especially not while she's eating! Certainly not at breakfast! There's always a bathrobe, or a wrapper, or a negligee, or a peignoir she once called one of those things. Even when coming out of the bathroom, a towel! Something!
But these gorgeous women, these babes, they were wearing only different kinds and colors of bras -- smooth, silky, shiny, lace-edged, lace-covered, rosy, pale green, white, flesh-toned. Push-up, demi, full-coverage, I recognized the styles from when I'd been a kid and studied the brassiere ads. No robes or scarves, nothing to preserve even a vague pretense of modesty. Their naked arms and shoulders seemed all the more naked because of those colorful cups on their chests, all of them filled full and spilling over.
Where was I? How did I get here? What was I doing in a place like this with women like this? No way did I dare close my eyes again! Nor did I want to! I did look away for a moment, embarrassed, and then I looked back at them, at Melanie and Brooke in particular. They were still there. There really was nowhere else to look!
I finally noticed yet another girl standing at a kitchen counter with her back to us, apparently waiting for a toaster-oven to go 'ding.' She stood casually, weight on one leg, one hand resting on her out-thrust hip. Dark hair hung down her back almost as far as the band of her scant pale purple panties, the same shade as her pale purple bra strap. Was that what they call a thong, that thin waist band with a thread attached that rose out of the crack between her arched, fully rounded, bubble-shaped buns? Those luscious buttocks? From that I surmised that the others in bras were also wearing matching panties, or maybe also matching thongs. So when one of them stood up at least I wouldn't be facing a bare beaver, wondering what one says to a girl in a bra who's standing in front of you with a bare beaver.
Except for that girl on the end -- was she as bare-pussied as she was bare-breasted?
So here we were. In a place where everyone goes to breakfast wearing underwear and nothing else, and everyone feels there's nothing to hide. Why was I here? There was a faintly floral scent in the air. Body powder or cologne? The natural smell of all that perfumed hair and skin? Probably.
I was now fully awake but still concerned that I was hallucinating. That I was imagining myself in the middle of one of those full color double spread brassiere ads! Maybe I'd fallen asleep at my desk while studying a Victoria's Secret or Playtex catalogue and playing with myself? Maybe I wasn't awake, I was only dreaming I was awake?
I shook my head, which did feel peculiarly heavy, as if I hadn't yet raised it up. Yet I was sitting erect. I reached up to rub my eyes. Then looked yet again.
No change. Yes, there they all were, same as before. Maybe six or seven gorgeous women with perfect faces, their hair impeccably groomed, even their fingernails, clad in nothing but colorful, form fitting undies, naked skin everywhere, lounging relaxed over their coffee and altogether unconcerned that there was a man in their midst and that the man was me! A few were now looking at me mildly, but saying nothing.
The girl in a thong standing at the far end of the table had turned to watch me return to consciousness, and inspected me more intently than the others. I saw she too had magnificent boobs, with a deep cleft between them. My God were huge boobs the price of admission to this enclave? Did Barbara, my wife, did she know I'd somehow ended up here? The girl leaned slightly forward toward me and broadened her smile by way of encouragement. She was encouraging me. Or so it seemed. Was she coming on to me?
"Hi, honey," she said. "You OK? You know where you are yet?"
I tried to speak. At first nothing. Then, "You're all wearing brassieres." I said in an odd, husky squeal.
Wow! How much had I drunk last night? Where was I really? Was this a live photo-shoot for those bra catalogues? A movie set? A sorority breakfast? No, these girls were all past college age, mid-late twenties or a touch more, though they all did seem to be as poised and at ease and as comfortable with each other as if this was just one more sorority. They were old friends and acquaintances sitting around in the kitchen finishing breakfast? Who'd believe this? Was this somebody's joke? Why was I here? How did I get here?
The standing girl's perfect pink lips parted in an even wider smile. "Duh!" she replied gently, and smiled even more broadly. "Yes, we're all wearing brassieres. That's what girls wear. You too, honey! You think we should all go around sagging?"
I stared back at her, unable to reply. My tongue was too heavy.
"You too, honey," she repeated. She seemed to be enjoying my confusion. She stared at me gently but steadily, as if she'd just told me something I should know, something important, and was waiting for me to understand it and reply to her.
Me too? I glanced down at my chest. Sure enough, I was also wearing a brassiere! Mine was a pale salmon shade covered in lace as it curved down and around to hold up my ... they were ... no avoiding it, my generous ... breasts. My God, I had huge breasts jutting from my ...! Bursting out from my bra's confines. Is that what they were? I clutched at them! Soft breasts! More than generous -- they were mountainous! I stared into the deep, dark cleft just under my nose. I had breasts! Big boobs barely held up by a salmon-colored, lacy bra. My God!
"We all need bras for support when we're not being naked for some other reason," she added when she saw no hint of understanding in my face. "All of us! I love yours, Katie. When someone's as well-endowed as you are, the strength of an underwire is practically essential ...."
But I no longer heard her. A streak of fright shot through me and I half rose from my chair. They rose with me! "Ahhhhhh!" I cried out in a high-pitched scream, my heart suddenly pounding. Oh, my God, what is this, are these things real? I reached for them with both hands and hefted them. They were me! I felt my hands lift them! They were real! And heavy? "Ohhhhhhhhhh!" I sounded out yet again, this time as a wail.
I had to be asleep! I tried to stand! Those things really were heavy! They bobbled. I sat down again, still holding them, one on each hand.
The standing girl in pale purple turned to address the other women. "For God's sake, you people," she said in a disgusted tone. "Stop playing games with Katie! That's mean! Can't you see she's terrified?" Then she said to me in a commanding tone, "Just sit back down, honey. Sit!"
That's what I was doing. So that's what I did.
"Good girl!" she said reflexively, as if I were a pet dog, and smiled to herself. Then looked faintly apologetic. "It's all right, honey," she continued. "You're fine. Rest easy. You've been with us a long time now, months and months. You just haven't known it, that's all. Your name is 'Katie' now, whatever it might have been somewhere else long ago. Now that you're really with us, you'll soon understand everything else you need to know. Soon enough!" She nodded, to reassure me she spoke the truth.
"Don't call her a good girl, Gina," the girl reading a novel at the other end of the table commented, not bothering to look up. "She may be good but she isn't a girl."
That girl had thick, brown hair that framed her face and divided to tumble down her back and over breasts that were aimed like missile warheads in their satin casings. "She's still got her penis. So she's really a 'girlyboy,' that's what Mrs. Eliot calls crossovers. That's what he is, I mean. A she male. He's still got boy bits." She sighed, reached out, and began spreading jam on her toast. "Not that they're much use to her any more."
Melanie spoke up. "Oh, her cock works just fine when the right girl offers the right kind of opening. We've all tested it, remember? Anyhow, Mrs. Eliot told us not to call any of our crossover girls 'shales'! It isn't polite! She said we should treat Katie the same as before, same as any of us, 'cause that's what she is! The same way we treat each other!"
This seemed to amuse the dark haired stark nude at the end of the table. "You mean bitch about her all day the way we do with each other?" She put down her coffee cup. "Strictly speaking, she won't be one of us till she's got a cunt like the one they gave Audrey," she stated firmly. "Or the ones we were born with."
"What she's got works well enough," Melanie said. "Pole in front, hole in back. Those gay guys who used them last night had no complaints! Neither do any of the women. Katie gives as good as she gets."
"She'll be one of us when she's fucking her fair share," the nude truculently replied. There was a cynical, slightly resentful edge to her voice. "When she's earning five big ones a night every night of every week, give or take, same as the rest of us."
"Oh, Lara, you're such a grump!" Melanie said. "Don't you know? She's done better than five a night for months! Practically since her conditioning ended, her conversion, whatever they call it, since they put her in with us. She's brought in way more than her costs I hear. That's why Mrs. Eliot says it's finally time for Katie to wake up and smell the coffee and move on -- everything's been paid up in full and more, everyone's been paid off, and what I hear is, her people want her back. I don't know about you, but I'll miss her." She looked at me, concerned. "Are you feeling better now, honey?" she asked me. "Do you remember me? I'm Melanie."
I didn't know what to say. The toaster went "Ping!"
"Here's more toast ready!" said the standing girl in the pale purple bra and thong with the perfect ass.
"I'll take one, Gina, if it isn't too much trouble," a girl to my right said.
Gina took down a plate and gave her a piece of toast, then passed another one over to me. I stared at it and then at her, wide-eyed. My heart was still racing! I mean, I was a man with breasts! A monster! Yet no one seemed to see anything wrong.
Gina's own huge breasts leaned over the table. "Spread some jam on that toast real thick, Katie. Now that you're off your meds you'll want lots of sugar to help you get back to normal. Whatever's normal for you now." She smiled. Reassuringly? "Yes, that's mostly carbs and calories, but you could do with a bigger tush if that's where your carbs and calories happen to settle." She waggled her own glorious buttocks to prove it.
Katie? They were all calling me Katie? That wasn't my name! Close, but my name is Cody. Cody Wilmott. I'm Cody Wilmott. And I'm on an all-expenses paid vacation. I'm on a resort town on a trip my wife Barbara won in some beauty shop raffle. When we arrived we ran into Russell. And his friends. So I went with them to the Hotel Casino. How did I get here? And what about these things on my chest?
I shook my head to clear it. My God, my hair was as long as theirs! I lifted my hands to push it off my face and saw my long scarlet fingernails. They also looked like a girl's! They were a girl's!
Gina turned to the other girls and picked up their argument. "Katie's one of us and that's that! Just look at her. We all have our specialties and she has hers, that's all. She's a girlyboy and that's her specialty, like Melanie says. A chick with a dick, a girl with a little something extra. All set and accustomed, I guess it's been a year now, so it might as well have been a lifetime. You all know she loves her work and she's good at it, that she has lots of steadies who keep coming back and that's the proof. Men and women both. This last week for her will be different only one way. She'll do her job as usual, same way she's always done it. But now for the first time she'll know she's doing it. Maybe she'll really put her mind to it, her own mind, and really enjoy it. Maybe her reflexes will take over and she'll do it despite herself! That's the only difference!" She tossed her head and turned away again to put jam on an English muffin, then emphatically, bit into it.
Brooke mock-pouted. "She's aware of everything now? That's too bad. I preferred her as a bimbo. I mean, when was mindless, I'd ask her to do something for me, anything, and then she'd do it, for hours if I didn't tell her to stop. I mean, anything! It was so delicious!" She wriggled in her seat, remembering.
Gina shot a look at Brooke. "I'm sure whatever anyone asks, she'll be as good at it as she ever was," she continued. "Everyone loves her. Johns and Janes, both kinds of clients, because she's got what they both want. She's more popular than our chief gay guy Nelson, and you know how all of our gay clients dote on Nelson, how they can't seem to get enough of him. Well, months ago Katie and Nelson made up a kind of a team. Nelson would take on the supposed tough guys who come here, the leather and muscle men, and in a few hours he'd reduce them to fairy dust, I mean he'd turn them into real mincing femmy ponces. Then Katie would take them on and remind them again what girls are for, especially girls who are boys, and make them feel like real men again. Then they'd go home to their partners or boyfriends or wives or whoever it is they live with, and they'd feel really proud of what they've done and can do. That they'd learned to love swinging both ways. That's why they always come back for more."
"Sometimes their wives send them here to learn how to really please a woman," Melissa said. "Katie's taught lots of guys how to send someone over the moon. Also how wives can send husbands into orbit, or whoever they're sleeping with. Whatever's wanted."
She and Gina both nodded at me appreciatively, as if they were both reassuring me of something. I could only stare back. What they were saying about this 'Katie' sounded vaguely familiar, not at all disturbing. It was all of it complimentary. Yet strange.
"You know," Gina said. "It's funny. Remember how Katie once turned a guy bisexual in only one night, Max I think his name was? Remember him? No? Well, a friend of his told me just yesterday that Max was talking in his sleep and his wife heard him ask a 'Katie' to suck his dick. She figured out that this 'Katie' was a whore, a piece of ass he'd had on the side, no threat to her marriage but good for intimidating him. Then she heard him ask Katie to fuck his ass 'again' and cum inside him 'again.' Well, that was news! In the end she decided to act furious, so for the sake of peace Max confessed everything. Then what else could he do to calm her down? He went out and bought her an expensive necklace, a peace offering, that was a lot cheaper than a divorce. She accepted it, and to show there was no resentment she went out and bought a strap on to use on him, and also a dildo he can use on himself when she's busy with a boy friend and won't be home till late. Max still comes here now and then for a refresher round with Katie."
I remembered something vague. The name 'Max' brought to my mind an eager little man and a sweet feeling in my cock and my ass both. Yes, we'd fucked each other. 'Katie' was seeming more familiar to me now too.
Melissa agreed. "With Katie any man can have it both ways. No need to choose. Women who don't know their men are bisexual think Katie's only a cunt where their philandering husbands wet their dicks, nothing more, nothing to worry about. They don't dream that Katie's also a fat prick sliding in and out of their husbands' assholes, and that their men love it and keep coming back here for more. Then there are the women who come here for the same thing, because Katie's a woman herself and knows how to make them feel marvelous. She gets proposals of marriage from both sexes, did you know that? Mrs. Eliot's always explaining to her clients that she's already married and that her wife wouldn't want her to marry anyone else. And that anyhow, she's only on loan here -- she still belongs top her wife."
"She's bent some strictly straight guys, gotten them ready for Nelson to work with," Gina added. "You know how Nelson explains it? 'When Katie's dick gets in a crack, Not one of her lovers ever goes back.' Lesbians love her too. You know that Red Hat Club that comes here sometimes, those older women who do a Girls' Night to get fucked every month or so, their men think they're going to see a show or something? It's become a routine. Katie does a slow dance for them -- she's as seductive as anyone now that she has those wide hips -- and then she takes them into her room one by one and ... well, you know. They know too, or if they don't they sure find out! A few of the married ones then send their husbands here to learn how to do whatever it is Katie does, so Katie does it to their husbands and they get to love it too. So they both keep coming back on their own. Some of them think she's a woman who's using a pre-heated strap-on dildo of some kind. Though why anyone would want a dildo that goes soft now and then baffles me."
"Lezzies do get pretty excited about her," Brooke said. "No need to wonder why straight women too -- I mean, hot is hot! Only two weeks ago Penny Garrison, you remember, the auto industry widow? She thought that once she paid her money she was entitled to ride Katie's cock all night. She sure did try! We had to unhook her forcibly and carry her out to a taxi and send her away still wriggling! I mean, Katie had other women and other men standing outside her door waiting their turn!"
Melanie nodded. "I saw them, I thought there'd been a fire drill or something."
Gina took a last sip of coffee. "People do find Katie attractive," she said. "But even when she's just lying around the lounge being voluptuous, hanging out, word gets around. Lots of customers look at her and decide to stay for a second go round, if not with Katie then with one of the rest of us. We all owe her. We will miss her!"
She looked down at me and patted my shoulder reassuringly. My naked shoulder, like theirs, my bra strap tugging on it, like theirs, supporting heavy boobs like theirs. I was one of them. One of the girls. No one seemed to doubt it. Yet even if I was this Katie they were talking about, I recalled little of what they described. I felt like an impostor. Yet, also, I felt comforted. They respected me for being good at my job, whatever that was. Sex work? It certainly sounded like sex work! Was this place a brothel?
Gina then spoke directly to me. "You'll be fine, babe," she said. "You still have those embarrassing things dangling below, but for you that's an advantage. And they're still in working condition -- they still make and squirt prime white stuff your customers can feel proud to carry away in whatever their openings. Men or women, they treat your semen like trophies!"
She grinned to herself, as if recalling something. Then, "So Katie, I know this can be confusing. Just finish your breakfast and we'll talk and pretty soon I'll take you in to see Mrs. Eliot, and she'll explain everything that's been happening to you and what's in store for you. And answer your questions. When you see yourself in a mirror I'm sure you'll have a question or two you'll want to ask her."
She glanced away mischievously, stifling a smile, then back at me. "I'm Gina, by the way. The head whore here. Mrs. Eliot likes to call us 'Personal Service Consultants,' PSC's, that's pronounced 'pussies.' But being a pussy doesn't change what we do, only the fees."
I'd been sitting still, listening quietly while my head was returning to a semblance of its old familiar self. Until I could grasp what was going on. This was someone's idea of a joke? I now looked directly at Gina. I need to take charge of this ... situation somehow, I was thinking. Find out what's happening and what I can do about it. But with this ... these ... these things on my chest? I looked down at them and then hefted them, one in each hand. They were real all right, and heavy, I needed that bra to help me carry them. And my fingernails were red, and long! Women's fingernails!
"I'm sorry," I started to say. "I appreciate what you're ... " and then I stopped short. My hand flew to my mouth. Was that my voice, that high, squeezed, little girl falsetto? "I've ... ooooh, my voice is so different!"
She looked amused. "Is it really? It sounds the same to me, same as for months. Really cute, sweetie. I guess you've been so zonked you haven't listened to yourself. A sweet bimbo sound was what was your sponsor wanted, so that's what you've got. Men love fucking big girls who sound like little girls. A few changes in the shape of your glottis when your vocal cords were being tied off and your jaw was being reshaped, then a bit of training with a voice coach, and now it's perfect! Simple and sweet and clear and innocent! It did take over a month for the fog in your throat to clear up, but the doc was sure you'd be fine and he was right.
"You changed my voice?" The answer was obvious in the high pitched squeal with which my question ended. I sounded like an excited six year old asking for a cookie.
"Not me, honey. The medical people. That was one of your surgical enhancements. One of many. Really, it was a favor to you after everything else they'd already done! Imagine a sweet young dollface like you who sounds like a linebacker gargling gravel. You'd be a freak! But now your voice matches your face perfectly, it's just darling, the voice of a child who hopes some day she'll grow up to be a big girl and then discovers she already has!".
I was still thinking slowly, but even so I'd about decided where I was. Some kind of whore house certainly. A high class bordello offering special services to men, women, and mixed and matched men and women, no doubt for high class fees. One such service, apparently, was feminizing men and making them into whores when paid to do so. This had been done to 'Audrey' and also to me. And how many others? I'd been physically altered, then conditioned, made into a whore in body and soul over a considerable period of time. A year she'd said? Unawares, I'd been trained to give pleasure as a woman or a man to men or to women. And apparently I'd been very good at it. It would appear I've been fucking and sucking a lot of people of both sexes, and they me. Though I now had no memory of any of it. I didn't even know how I felt about it.
The other girls took it all in stride. They'd seen it before. I'd been a man and now I was a 'girlyboy' as Melanie said, that's all. Not the first man turned girl to live and work with them, and probably not the last. I'd been given one of the special services the place offered to people who wanted them and could pay for them. I was a cock with boobs and a cunt. No, no cunt, but an opening further back that could function as one. And had done so.
I wriggled my bottom experimentally. Sure enough, my anus felt different, stretched out maybe, but ... well, reassuring, comfy. It seemed well-adapted for -- yes, fucking. I'd been fucked there many times, I could sense it. My conversion may have been expensive, but apparently my ass had reimbursed the costs. And it had felt good.
I smiled at Gina and then concentrated on spreading marmalade on my toast. I had to think this thing through carefully. How long had I been out of action? Or rather, how long had I been engaging in this kind of action?
And why? Why me? What was this? How come? Arranged how? By whom? Whorehouses provide all kinds of sex-related services for money, but always for money up front. Whoever arranged these alterations of my body and my mind had also arranged for the house to use my services until they were fully repaid for their trouble. What for? Was I now a capitalized business investment? Did they ask whoever runs this place to share the investment against a expected future return for both of them? Did they plan to rent me out, convert me into a call-girl, a fully amortized income-producing property? If so, I knew I'd have a say in it for sure!
So what the hell was this? Why did anyone do this to me?
I'm a lawyer, or anyhow I was one until unawares I took on this older profession -- the old joke has always been that they're the same profession, though I'm sure I gave a lot less satisfaction as a lawyer. Anyhow, I'm accustomed to getting to the point quickly, so I began to concentrate. Follow the money. Who was most advantaged by me turning into a whore and turning tricks? The whorehouse surely -- if they'd advanced the costs of my conversion, they'd paid themselves back with my earnings, with interest. But converting men into women and women into whores seems to be only one of the services they provide, preliminary and incidental to the main source of their income, which is providing sex to 'clients.' They do it for people who want to be converted, apparently, as well as people who want someone else to be converted. But it would work only if kept confidential, so they'd do it only for clients who could be trusted to keep it confidential. Who could these clients be in my case? Who was advantaged?
It had to be some one person or group of people who wanted me out of the way. To change a person's identity is a preferred way to get him out of the way, short of killing him. To change his gender, even better. To make him a whore, better still, because then he could be useful, self-supporting even if he found his new profession distasteful. In this case, whoever had done this to me knew that if I was ever liberated, or if I ever escaped, I'd be reluctant to expose exactly what had happened. I'd feel too ashamed.
Moreover, if I did try to blow the whistle, who'd believe me? I'm now a transvestite with breasts, a whore, a scum bag for hire, a whore house PSC, a 'pussy'. How could I claim I was once a respectable member of the legal community? Especially when I have no memory of the time spent here. Spent how? Apparently whoring, servicing men and women and gays and straights, whoever came my way. No way would anyone believe me! I'd end up in jail for prostitution, or soliciting, or failing to provide a duly appointed officer an adequate bribe. Or for something else. Lunacy, if not chicanery.
Did it really happen? Yes. The girls here had seen it, for them it was just one more of those things that happen, like a sunny day or a broken fingernail. Should I believe them? Yes. Just look at these boobs! I couldn't help but look at them -- they filled my lower peripheral vision no matter where I looked. I couldn't see my crotch or my feet -- they blocked the view!
Think harder! Who might be advantaged by my ... transformation, my absence from my usual haunts, my home and office and so on? Well, there's Barbara, my wife. Our marriage was going none too well when I last saw her. She'd accumulated and displayed all sorts of discontents I'd thought we could straighten out when I finally got less busy. But she knew nothing of whore houses, certainly nothing of this house's special medical services, the sex reversals. Truth be told, she'd never been an especially sexual person at all, not with me nor with the guys she'd gone with before me, before she agreed finally to marry me. Moreover, she was an equal partner in our law firm -- she had nothing to gain from getting me out of the way, removing my income-generating capabilities. I kept the books, and I knew even if she didn't that I billed many more hours, that I brought in much more money than she did! If she'd put me here to be rid of me she'd lost out, at least financially.
All right then, were there any opposing litigants who'd be advantaged by putting me out of the way? None I knew of -- I'd need to check, but I could think of none. Our practice didn't include life and death decisions, not for corporations nor individuals. Just petty lawsuits and contracts. The usual legal stuff, mostly uncontested.
That left my old buddy Russell, the last person to see me as I once was, if I remembered right. So he'd be the first person for me to look up when I got out of here. I'd have to move on him carefully, because he's no fool, and he's a gambler -- he doesn't mind taking chances. As I thought more about it, I saw how he could easily have instigated this whole thing. But why? To get me out of the way so he could make moves on Barb? Yes, he's always admired Barb, and he'd made no secret of that, not even from me. Then to cheat her of whatever money she could gain from my absence? That too.
Yes, Russell was my suspect number one. But as of when?
"Gina," I said in my piping little voice. "If you don't mind saying, how long have I been here?"
She looked at me, evaluating something. "Just about a year," she said casually. "A half-year in the medical wing becoming a girl, and the rest of the time in this building, working with us. Enjoying it I must say, learning your new skills and practicing them. You're now as good at it as any of us, utterly devoted to whatever the cock or cunt you happen to be servicing."
"I see," I said, though I didn't at all.
"It's instinctive," Gina replied, sensing my uncertainty. "You'll see. When the moment comes, you'll always know what to do. Finished with your breakfast? Come along then, Mrs. Eliot told me she wants to see you when you finally come fully to yourself. You'll need to put on a dress first though -- she doesn't like us showing up in her offices in our work clothes, our bras and panties and heels. She won't even accept a cover like a negligee or peignoir. Business is business and proper is proper, that's what she believes. So we'll stop by your room for a suitable clothing. We can talk along the way."
I stood up and looked down and saw for the first time that like Gina I was indeed wearing panties matched to my bra. Also salmon in shade, also lace trimmed. Moreover, I saw that I had a girl's wide hips and narrow waist, and a quick hand-check confirmed that I had a girl's well-rounded buns too! My God! Even if my huge boobs were removed my figure would remain female and nothing but!
But unlike the other girls I had a bulge in my crotch. Again I checked -- a cock and balls, well-contained by tight panties but apparently unaltered. And from what they'd said, functioning! Thank God! That may be the only part of me they haven't altered!
"See ya later, honey," Melanie said, wiggling her fingers cheerily. The others also looked up brightly at me as I left, nodding their farewells and then returning to their own conversations and thoughts. They'd all long ago accepted me as one of them, though I myself hadn't known it. Not as a respectable lawyer but a whore, and very good one too. A fellow worker and colleague, at times a friend. I was a stranger to myself, but not to them. I sighed, realizing they were more right than I was.
II.
"First we'll stop at your room so you can change. I don't suppose you remember where that is?" Gina smiled indulgently. "No matter, just follow me."
As we left the breakfast room we entered a wide, generous hallway, not at all like the hotel corridor I somehow expected. More like the capacious passageways of a palace. This was a huge, luxurious mansion!
I felt odd to be walking through a strange house in only my bra and panties -- and that thought itself felt odd, that they were MY bra and panties. Gina was dressed the same way but seemed unconcerned -- apparently bras and panties were the uniform of the day. My legs looked long as well as smooth, and my calves were subtly curved, and I saw bright red toenails peeking out from the tips of my shoes. The effect was incredibly seductive. I felt myself beginning to harden, and decided to distract myself by asking Gina a question. Any question. "How large is this place?" I inquired.
"When you're dressed, I'll give you the grand tour if you like. The whole compound -- we call it 'the Estate' -- was once a luxury resort. It's quite a few acres, with a pool, tennis, a golf course, a salon, just about everything anyone with money might want when they're in the mood to relax. Including sexual companionship -- that's us, and the primary reason people come here. This is the main mansion, the largest of them, but there are other buildings like this one on the property -- a medical facility, a residence for staff and management, and another building we call the Stud Farm -- that's where the male Personal Service Consultants live and work. Like us they're experts in pleasing people sexually, but their people are those who prefer sex with men. We're the PSC 'pussies' and they're the PSC 'pissers.'"
"Why wasn't I put in with the male PSCs?" I asked. I couldn't bring myself to call them 'pissers'.
A closed-mouth smile crossed her face. "Honey, look at you! You've been shaped and ... ahhh ... re-educated to be a girl. Pretty is what was wanted for you, and pretty you are. And just wait till you see how your reflexes kick in the next time there's a man or a woman lying naked next to you, maybe pushing a finger in and out of your bum. How you'll go wild the way any girl would, and even orgasm like a girl. Anyhow, even as a man you'd never have qualified for the Stud Farm. You'd have had to be handsome and horny all the time, with an outsized cock that's ready, willing and able to satisfy anyone or any thing at any time. Some men are born like that. Not many. And no surgeon can graft a big cock onto someone with a weenie, not one that works, not yet anyhow. The guys who work here can make an eighty year old grandmother feel like a teenage slut on prom night, and then a few hours later outlast a nymphomaniac. Could you even at your best?"
"No." I had to admit it. When I was younger I could go and then go again. Now I needed time to recover. And while my penis wasn't smaller than most, it wasn't larger either. A woman taking a vacation from her husband with me wouldn't find she'd travelled very far.
"But as a girl? You're gorgeous! You can fuck all night and love it! Once you became a girlyboy there was no way could you live with them. Can you imagine what your life would be like if you lived with those guys? They'd be pumping cum into your guts all day long, with no time allowed for the stuff to leak out again."
Gina seemed sensible and inclined to be friendly. I wondered how far I could trust her. "Has your name always been Gina?" I asked. That is, was she too once a man? It was obvious from the crease in the tight panties that disappeared between her legs that she was not a man now. There was a generous camel toe.
She knew what I was really asking and smiled at me. "Yes, honey, it happens I'm really Gina and I always have been. From birth, not just here. I love fucking girl style, and I've been doing it ever since I found out that boys like to do with girls what girls like to do with boys, and I'm one of the best."
Then she paused, intent to make a point. She put both hands on my shoulders. "But you need to be clear about something, honey. You are not a man and you will never will be a man again. You are Katie now, though a Katie with balls and a cock, and given what they've done to you you'll be a Katie forever. So give up on imagining you're a guy. You'll be much better off, you'll feel much better about yourself, if you can start imagining that you've always been Katie. You see your body? Distinctly a girl's, as sultry and provocative a girl's body as a girl's body can get, because that's what the doctor ordered. And you'll never have another. So get used to it."
I stared at her, struggling to find a flaw in what she was saying. Nothing came. She saw, and continued. "I hear you once had a guy's name with a similar sound. Oh yes, 'Cody,' wasn't it? Well, Think of Cody as passing phase in your life, no more than that. A dream. He's gone." She gazed at my large breasts, then directly into my eyes. "You've way outgrown him, honey. And believe me, you're way better off!"
She grinned. "You've already got what most men want, and any time you want it most men will give you what most women want."
I still had lots of questions. I used to cross-examine, so I tried
for "yes" or "no" answers, the kind that are least ambiguous and least disturbing. Beginning with questions to which I knew the answers. Gina, as it turned out, was a friendly witness, and didn't hesitate to elaborate on her answers.
"This is a whore house I'm in?"
Gina winced. "Please," she said. "Not a house, a resort for people who can afford it. As I told you this building is the main mansion and there are three others. Some of the people who live and work here don't see each other for weeks at a time. You were in the medical building for months and months before they put you in here with us and you started earning your keep, and none of us even knew."
"Earning my keep by whoring."
Now she looked severe. "Katie, if you aren't going to be nice, I'm not going to talk to you at all. And you'll find that Mrs. Eliot isn't very good at explaining anything she doesn't want you to know. No, not by whoring. By providing personal services to our clients, to men and to women, personal services including sexual services. By making them feel good. By giving pleasure to people who appreciate our skill and our dedication to their well-being, who also appreciate our confidentiality. We are the best. You are too -- you're so well-trained you probably aren't even aware of the things you'll do when aroused."
I didn't think so, and said as much.
She smiled at me, then continued, amused, "Well, sweetie, for example, do you know that right now you're walking with a very tantalizing sway to your hips? Any man watching your rear end undulate couldn't help but come in his pants. And look how daintily you're carrying your hands? If you were a man you'd be instantly thought effeminate, a faggot, but as a girl you're delightful, adorable. The way you hold yourself, the way you move, men can't wait to sink themselves into you. And women feel good when you sink your cock into them because despite that very cock they can't help but think you're no threat or challenge but instead, one of them, as smooth and curved but with a marvelous heated dildo as an added attraction. A super-special girl! Ahh, here we are. Your room."
She opened a door and we entered a padded boudoir, salmon-colored like my undies, the walls hung with satin. In the middle of the room was a huge bed on a platform backed by an outsized headboard with carved cupids blowing trumpets. The place reeked of elaborated, sexy femininity. Also of heavy perfume.
"Do those trumpets sound a fanfare whenever anyone climaxes?" I asked, in order to show that I wasn't impressed, though in fact I was. I then added, because I had to confess it, "This is way over the top."
"No, the trumpets don't sound. Because given what you do to people in here, no one would ever get any sleep. Take a client into this lair and they're overwhelmed before they begin. Man or woman, they turn to jelly and their inhibitions evaporate, and when they lie down on that bed they're eager to be spread or eaten or sucked or fucked, whatever you have in mind. You have no idea how many hours of bliss you yourself have enjoyed on that bed. Now, over there 's your vanity and a mirror -- sit down and fix your make-up while I pick out an appropriate dress for you."
I did as directed, sat down, and for the first time stared into a mirror.
My God! She was right! There was no Cody anywhere in what I saw! I saw a woman who was very much a woman, adorable, with wide, deep-shadowed eyes that were innocent but with a hint of mischief in them. With a delectably small chin, and a delicately up-tilted nose, and straight long hair falling to brush her shoulders. Her expression looked childish, almost helpless.
Yet, the way I held my head seemed challenging. 'Try me' I seemed to be saying. 'Come hither if you're man enough.' Sultry. Yet also perky, as if I enjoyed everything life and wanted to share the fun with others.
"That's right," Gina said, amused to see me tilt my chin higher to magnify the effect. "You're a little girl domme. Incredibly seductive. Men come crawling toward you begging to suck your pussy, and then feel fortunate when instead you allow them to suck your cock."
My mirrored reflection also revealed that my pale pink lipstick was the long lasting kind, undamaged by breakfast, those two slices of toast and marmalade and that cup of coffee. My lips were as neat as they should be. Maybe coat them, give them a uniform satin look? Since I was already seated I picked up a pale shade of lipstick, close to the one I had on, and deftly gave my mouth a few swift swipes. Now I did look perfect, I saw with satisfaction as I compressed my lips. Thank goodness my eye makeup -- pale eye liner and shadow with just a touch of mascara -- was permanent and wouldn't smudge. I'd have to add to it some evenings, but there was no need to do so now.
Now how did I know that? How come I knew that?
"See?" Gina asked quietly. "As I said, you're beautifully trained, and it's now all instinctual. You can't remember ever touching a lipstick in your life, I bet, but pick one up and you can work magic with only two or three strokes. To you a lipstick is a fairy wand. And I could tell by the way you stared into your eyes that you know they need no attention. We all use long-lasting make-up, stains and tattoos that never come off. We don't want to smudge our customers, leave clues on their cheeks or cocks for their wives to discover."
She went to a closet and took down a pale orange shift with a scoop neckline, not too short, the hem half-way down my thigh. Youthful and cheerful. "Here, this sort of matches your undies, and it'll go well with your heels."
Heels? I looked down, amazed to see that the whole time I'd been wearing heels. Incredibly high heels!
Gina looked amused. "You hadn't noticed your shoes, hon? Just discovered you're wearing them? Five inch open toe stilettos? Sexy? Irresistible? You can see for yourself that from your toes on up you're ... well, elegant. Your insteps curve so far backward they seem to be having orgasms. But that's not my point. Can you guess what my point is?"
"No," I said. "What's your point?"
"Have you noticed how you walk?"
I stopped short, walked toward her, turned to walk toward a full length mirror on the back of a closet door, and then came toward her again. "What about how I'm walking?"
"You are teetering on tippy toes atop stilts strapped to your feet, and yet doing it with a ballet dancer's grace. That takes years to learn, and even so most women can't tolerate heels as high as yours. Yet you're doing it without a thought or a glance. It's second nature to you. Katie may have been in a trance when she walked in them from her room to our breakfast area, but Cody's awake now, and even so, he never noticed."
I looked down. She was right. I hadn't noticed. My high, high heels required extraordinary balance and trained ankles, yet I was walking in them as comfortably as if they were carpet slippers.
"If your bottom wiggles seductively, and your legs navigate easily in those kinds of shoes, and you aren't even trying, imagine how skillfully your lips and tongue will do their job when they're called on to suck a dick. Or how gracefully you bend to open your asshole to that dick, then settle onto it, then squirm until the poor man you're bringing off can't stop cumming into your guts. Or how easily your tongue finds and lifts the hood around a woman's clit, and then oh so delicately touches that little nubbin, and then wraps around it and ... oh, what that's like! Really, Katie, you're so very good at so many things now. You've done them so often and so well during the past months you can't not do them well. And you really do love cock -- that's why guys line up to get into your room and look dazed when they leave."
She looked around. "Let me prove it, just a moment," she said, disappearing into my closet again. "Here," she said as she emerged with her hand held out. "Seen one of these before?"
She was holding out a perfect replica of a penis, a jelly dildo, erect but not too large, no way challenging or threatening. Rather, it seemed inviting, reassuring. Familiar. I leaned toward it. It was smooth, luminous, translucent, a beautiful replica, its surface taut and rippling with folds of skin and veins as if it were a real penis. My tummy felt a peculiar anticipation of something, a yearning. My lips pursed as I leaned further forward.
Gina laughed and hid it behind her back. I looked up at her, disappointed. Yes, up, I was on my knees! I'd gone to my knees to ... to take it into my mouth! To suck on it? Yes, I'd wanted to lick it, suck on it. Desperately!
"See, honey?" she said gently as she helped me back to my feet. "A man sees a dildo like this as an amusing curiosity. But a girl has a special feeling about it. Leave you alone in a room with a cute guy and you'd have no problem at all figuring out how to pass the time. He'd be the one with the problem -- you can be insatiable, you know that? You once nearly fucked a college boy to death, a fraternity make-out king at that. When we finally got him so he could stand up by himself he had to go straight home, and I hear that since then he's found religion and hasn't gone near girls. Boys yes, but not girls."
I tried to calm myself, leaning back against the wall as if relaxed. "For how long have I been like this?" I asked her. "When did I start giving ...personal services?
"How long have you been such a sex pot? From the first day they brought you here to join us. Six months ago, maybe? You were pretty well recovered from surgery by then, your voice and face and figure and so on, and the hormones they'd been shooting into you had given you the complexion of a porn star. You were a beautiful, wide-eyed, innocent Barbie doll. The first month you were here Zena helped you adjust, she's an expert in hypnogogic conditioning. She remade your mind and your instincts and desires the way the doctors remade your body. Taught you all the basics -- make-up and skin care, dressing, movement, posture, chit chat, teasing, flirting, domming, subbing, everything. How to walk with your rear end undulating like a snake in heat. You know.
"No, I don't know." I was beginning to think I didn't want to know.
Gina paused, then grinned. "When you were still a man, or you thought you were, did you ever pose the way you are now, leaning back against a wall with your hands supposedly trapped behind your butt, your chest and pelvis thrust way forward as if daring someone to come at you and shove something into you? Supposedly helpless? The way you are this moment while you listen to me? That's how we tend to stand when we're negotiating a price with a guy. Relaxed yet eager. They can't resist."
I straightened myself at once, and stood erect. Gina continued. "It's an irresistible pose. Give your torso or hips the faintest wiggle when you're like that and men can't wait to drop their pants. Do you think that's accidental? Let's go. It's getting to be time for your appointment."
We started down another corridor. The dress I now wore felt extremely comfortable, moving over my body as my body moved. I liked it. Why should anyone ever want to constrain a crotch in pants? I felt affectionate toward my breasts -- they were me, soft, and they filled out my dress so nicely. So suggestively. How could anyone prefer a flat, hard, bare chest? Well, kissing a flat, hard chest might be fine, but having one?
More hypno-conditioning? Like wanting to lick and suck that dildo, feel it swell in my mouth. Swallow its juices? Was that also conditioning?
"This Zena taught me how to give blow jobs?" I asked as we moved through the corridors.
"No, that was on-the-job training with actual clients, honey. Learn by doing. It seems you have a natural talent. Mrs. Eliot paired you with one of us whenever a client asked to play lucky Pierre. You'd watch and first you'd do whatever we did. Then you'd put your imagination and ingenuity into it and do more than that. You learned incredibly fast. Show you just once how men like their balls licked and in no time you'd have them so ecstatic they'd be licking your balls. You're tireless, Katie! You can lick dripped honey or whipped cream off men or women all day, or do the butterfly flutter on them, or the figure eight with one finger in their anus, or rim them, or straddle them -- you can go on till dawn! You wear out every man you come near!"
"I see," I said. I had no memory of any of this. "And am I still ...ahhh, learning?"
"No, babe, two months ago you were fully certified as a pussy, a fully qualified Personal Service Consultant."
"You mean an accomplished whore, don't you."
Gina glanced at me, hurt. "You still feel resentful, don't you! No. sweetheart, I don't mean that. You need to understand, we aren't ashamed to be 'whores' or 'prostitutes,' people who provide sex for money. But others are, so we don't use that terminology. It's quite hypocritical, really. Everyone on the face of the earth earns their living by providing some kind of service other people want, meeting other people's needs and desires, renting out whatever talents and skills or fingers and bodies they've got. How is a surgeon performing open heart surgery different from a woman performing a blow job? One takes longer to learn, maybe. But both are life-enhancing. Whores are professionals committed to improving the lives of those who come to them for help. So why discriminate? Some people are perverts. They think physical pleasure is bad, so if they hire people to provide them with physical pleasure they feel ashamed. Well, they should be ashamed to feel ashamed!"
I grinned. Gina grinned back, aware she'd said something profound but also silly. "Katie, you have your regular clients and so have I. Yours are mostly gay men but quite a few are straight, and some of them are women who come here for the Stud Farm and then find they prefer a chick with a dick. You've had so many clients and brought in so many fees that you've long since repaid your conversion costs -- there may even be a surplus. I suspect that's why Mrs. Eliot agreed to let you rejoin your old self and return to your sponsors. You're fully trained as contracted, and the Estate employs girls, it doesn't exploit them. There's such a thing as common decency, after all! Ah, here we are."
She turned into a corridor and stopped. I just stood there. "Contracted?" I asked. Was I getting to the heart of this predicament? "Sponsors? Contracted with who?"
She turned back toward me. "Katie baby," she said with deep sympathy. "I haven't seen your paperwork. You want to thank someone? It could be anyone! Maybe a business partner who wanted you out of the way? Friends, because you lost a bet or they were playing a practical joke and didn't know these procedures are irreversible? Wives, to neutralize a husband if he's a tyrant, or make him more understanding of women and their needs? Husbands, to improve a wife's sexual responsiveness? That's not usually good idea, because when a wife returns from here she's pretty adventurous, likely to find her husband boring. Mothers sometimes send grown children here to learn to support themselves, maybe to make themselves eligible for more desirable marriages. Don't you know who sent you here?"
"I didn't know I was sent. I knew nothing at all until a little while ago at breakfast."
This really seemed to amuse her. "Some months ago I heard a rumor that you'd volunteered to come here, that you wanted this change so you'd be more acceptable to your wife and her boyfriend. Better able to service them so they'd be more willing to keep you on."
"Me? My wife? Her boyfriend? That's not possible! She has no boyfriend!"
"Here we are," Gina said, ignoring my last outburst. "Just through those double doors. Mrs. Eliot's expecting you. I'm not dressed properly or I'd accompany you. When you're done you can follow your nose back to your room and then to the lounge -- you'll find them by instinct. Trust all your instincts -- they're well-trained."
She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. "One more thing," she said. "You may think you're cunning and clever and all, but you're really just sweet. And out there in the world not everyone appreciates a sweet girl. You have options. You don't have to leave here. If you'd like to stay, discuss terms with Mrs. Eliot and make your own deal. I'm sure she'll mention that we can always use a well-seasoned talent like yours. I'll be in the lounge."
She turned and left. I watched her go, that gorgeous ass swinging down the corridor, then turned to learn what this Mrs. Eliot could tell me.
She rose as her secretary showed me in. A middle aged woman in a tan suit with bright eyes and short, well-coiffed hair and a professional smile. "Come in, Katie, and welcome -- I do love your dress, salmon is definitely your color!" She motioned me to an upholstered chair alongside her desk. The desk was bare except for a computer screen and a keyboard. Nothing else, no papers or folders, no "In" and "Out" baskets. She was a clean desk executive, the kind who works from the data in her head or on a computer. Not likely to leave paper trails to be disclosed or subpoena'd -- the Estate's records were no doubt kept coded on some inaccessible server somewhere like Thailand or Qatar. I'd learn nothing I wasn't told.
"Katie, I have sad news for us but happy news for you," she said, looking at me pleasantly. "Your sponsors will be here in five days, this coming weekend, and on Sunday you'll go home with them to resume the rest of your life or begin another. They want reassurance that you're ready to join them and fit in. If you do what they expect there'll be no problems. If you don't, if you show resentment for example, they'll consider that their obligations to you have ceased and they'll return you here. I'll then have to ask the Board to consider whether you can be useful here or whether -- since you're resentful and troublesome -- you're best sent somewhere else. Somewhere better able to cope with you, better able to maintain the discipline you require. Somewhere out of the country, out of sight, and out of mind.
Plainly, a threat. Conform or else! "Can you do that, Mrs. Eliot?" I asked in my most bimbo-like voice, almost admiringly, taking care to hide that I did indeed feel resentful and troublesome. She seemed to be regarding me as my 'sponsors' property.
She wasn't fooled. "Yes, we can. You think you're still Cody Wilmott." She paused to watch me absorb the impact of that name. "But Cody Wilmott no longer exists. What was once Cody Wilmott has been expunged, along with all evidences of his existence that could be found. His property has been conveyed to his wife, she tells us. His former wife. That process is now completed, and that's why she gave us permission to wake you up. You have no where else to go. You're entirely dependent on the kindness of your former spouse and -- let me see, just a moment."
She tapped on her keyboard and glanced at her screen. "No, I see she's been our sole correspondent. Her boyfriend apparently left the formalities to her."
So it was Barbara who did this to me. My wife. The whole time it's been Barbara. Why? "Her boyfriend?"
"No harm in your knowing -- she refers to him as Russell. Apparently they've been living together in your old place of residence since you first came here to be treated for severe sexual dysphoria. They plan to continue that arrangement. Yes, I see he moved in immediately after their return from that resort hotel where we found you. They intend to provide you with quite adequate living quarters ... I see, on the first floor behind the kitchen, where you're least likely to disturb them and will be conveniently located to make yourself useful." She smiled. "It has its own back entrance, so you can entertain young men there without your mistress knowing, if you're discreet. I know you'll love that!" She grinned conspiratorially.
The old maid's quarters, so-used by a former owner, used by us for storage. We'd had no need for a maid. My mistress? Barbara? But another question first. "I had sexual dysphoria?"
Her eyebrows rose high up on her brow. "My dear Katie, that's why you're here. Our records show that you've always believed yourself to be a woman, that you've always envied other women their femininity, and that you have always wanted to be as feminine as possible yourself. Our medical and psychological people fulfilled your dearest wish. It took fully six months from the time you first arrived to the time until you were ready to join the other girls as a PSC and develop your new sexuality. Your wife canceled your vaginal reconstruction at the last minute -- let's see, why? Here it is. It seems it occurred to her that if you have a pussy you might lose all interest in hers, and also that this Russell person might come to prefer yours, since you'd be far better skilled in its uses. Also she retains an interest in your penis for occasional use, a sentimental nostalgia as it were, since it's a souvenir of old times. Also there were certain financial savings if she left your lower parts as they were. So your castration and vagina are listed here as something to be determined at some later time."
"And that's why I have a cock and balls and no cunt, though pretty much everything else, a woman's face and figure and voice and ... a woman's sexual desires?" I carefully withheld my anger, my fury, at the liberties Barbara and Russell had taken with me.
Mrs. Eliot smiled. "A bi-woman's desires, Katie. You swing both ways. Both men and women turn you on. That's why you've been so valuable to us. I happened to mention to your wife and this Russell that your conversion would cost them nothing if your genitals were left as they were, fully functional, because we often have a vacancy for someone who attracts and is attracted by either sex. Girlyboys are always in great demand as second wives or as partners for closeted gays -- they don't seem to stay with us very long. We calculated that we could make up the cost of your total conversion by employing you feminized with male genitalia for an additional six months. Take out our fees in trade as it were. They liked the idea that your conversion would cost them nothing if we left your crotch intact. They were also delighted that if we employed you, you'd be away an even longer time, a full year, and that when you returned you'd have both the inclination and the equipment to please both of them sexually."
"It must have seemed to them like sending a child to college on a full scholarship," I said.
Mrs. Eliot caught my point and was amused. "There are advantages for you too, Katie. As it happens, you've shown such enthusiasm that you've paid off your fees in half the time we expected. So you now have a considerable credit on our books, enough to complete your sex-change whenever you wish. We can make a marvelous vagina out of your penis and your scrotum once we empty it. And even then there'll be enough money to do someone else completely. I must speak to you some time about donating that surplus to the needy -- perhaps toward the pro bono service we maintain to provide young men in our armed forces an opportunity to become young women.
Her financial honesty and her apparent patriotism impressed me. Apparently she really didn't know that my manhood had not been surrendered but hijacked, that my sexual conversion had been involuntary. Even so, I resented her unknowing complicity in this scheme of Barbara's and Russell's. It annoyed me that I'd been a helpless victim.
The lawyer in me spoke out. "Suppose, Mrs. Eliot, that when I return to civilization I turn around and sue my wife and her boyfriend and maybe you too, for kidnapping and bodily mutilation, or even worse crimes?"
She sighed, unperturbed. "My dear Katie! Cody is dead. If you instituted a legal procedure in his name one you could risk your own arrest as an impostor. Who would believe you? You have an absurd story to tell. 'I was once a man, but they made me into a woman and a prostitute, and they kept me here perfectly free to roam about or leave, though I didn't, and meanwhile I really, truly enjoyed the sex when they sold me to men and women for money. As everyone will attest.'"
I had to grant that didn't sound very persuasive. Then she raised some additional points.
"Remember too, there are no written records to prove you were ever here. And that our clients include the most influential and responsible members of the local community, none of them likely to favor notoriety. Where would you bring this charge? In what court? Many judges in this and neighboring jurisdictions are known to appreciate our services, and none are inclined to appreciate people who make waves."
All true. I had no recourse under the law. For all I knew, I'd already unawares sucked the cocks of half the judges in town. If any recognized me, they'd only want more.
She smiled. "Silly girl!" she added. "Do you think we could do what we do if there were the slightest chance of legal complications? Prostitution is lawful here where we are. We provide the best medical and psychological services, the best training, and the best whores to be found anywhere, and we also provide perfect confidentiality. That's why we're valued and respected. No, you were sent here for renovation and improvement. That service was provided and paid for. I do advise you to accept the facts, accept the consequences, and seek out the advantages. You have every reason to feel grateful, not resentful."
She smiled even more broadly, this time as one woman to another. "Katie dear, there are many ways an attractive woman like you can enjoy and benefit from her sex appeal. Like Circe, you have the power to turn men into swine, or like Guinevere to inspire them to heroic service on your behalf. You can if you choose make men fall all over themselves in their eagerness to please you. Just look at yourself in the mirror -- you're so seductive that the residual man in you is ready to devote his life to your service, I'm sure. And so he should! The great writer Goethe believed that above all, it's 'the eternal feminine' that leads men to do great things. So enjoy yours!"
She stood up behind her desk -- our meeting had ended. I stood too. She reached to take my hand. I took hers. She then placed her other hand on mine in a kindly, protective way, looked into my eyes, and said. "One more thing. When you leave, you'll be issued a debit card so you can draw on the considerable surplus you've earned. It's your money, after all, unless there should be a problem and we need to deny you were ever here. Then it will be our money."
And she turned away. I was dismissed.
I left feeling subdued, thoughtful. So this had been Barbara's doing, no doubt under the influence of Russell. They were now living together and expecting me to live with them in their servant's quarters, no doubt to serve them in various ways. Well, this we shall see.
III.
Hardly paying any attention to my route, as Gina suggested I followed my nose back to my room to shed my dress, slip on a pair of black thi-hi stockings and a garter belt -- fetish gear no man could resist -- darken my eye make-up, and touch my neck and wrists with an Eau Des Fleurs scent I couldn't resist. All quickly and naturally, unaware how I knew where everything was and how to use them. Fully aware that I was disgracefully and provocatively under-dressed in bra, panties, stockings, garter belt, and high stilettos, my ass open for business as it were, I made my way to where I sensed there was a lounge. Now aware who IO was and why I was here, I looked forward to chatting with the other girls -- all similarly dressed -- and awaiting the day's clients. 'The other girls.' One of the girls, that's what I was, I couldn't argue the point with Mrs. Eliot. So for the first time since I'd come back to consciousness I felt fully myself, at ease, looking forward to whatever might happen. Because now I knew what had happened. And I knew that since there was no going back, I had to go forward from where I was, where I now found myself!
When I arrived, Melanie was showing Brooke a trick with her fingers, "Here's the church, and here's the steeple.". I happened to know the children's rhyme that went with it, and recited it in my little girl's voice, and they were both charmed to hear the last line, especially when with "Open it up, and there's the people" I happened to spread my knees apart.
"True enough, they do crowd around when you open your legs, honey," Melanie commented. "Many are surprised by what they find there and don't find there, but some kneel to worship it."
We giggled and teased each other, and eventually a group of college boys showed up looking shy and hopeful. Several of us left to take them on. Then a young wife appeared who wanted to learn what it is whores do that make men so eager to pay them large sums, then come back to pay them even more. I took her by the hand, kissed her cheek gently, led her back to my room, spread her legs wide apart, and followed my nose into her cunt.
Two hours later I lay absolutely still alongside her, too worn out to manage even one more erection or one more wriggle on a two-sided dildo. She was equally exhausted, but kissed my cheek gently, thanked me for the most educational experience of her life, dressed herself, assured that she could pay for my services and tip me as well all with her Visa, and returned to the lounge. Thereafter back to her husband, who would never forget what I'd taught her and she would teach him. "You're perfect," were her parting words to me. "You're just what I've needed for years!" I realized at that moment that I wasn't just a whore, I was a family counselor who helped hold marriages together.
'That husband'll have breasts of his own in a matter of months,' I told myself as I lay there still recovering from her passionate intensity. "like mine." She'd lain on top of me with my prick deep inside her and begun nursing on my breasts, at first tenderly, then fervently, then mercilessly when she found that nipple stimulation drives me to heights of frenzied fucking that in turn arouse her to stratospheric orgasms. 'And in six months they'll be the best of girlfriends' I decided. Both of them blissful.
That evening I took on two men, one incredibly virile. He kept going in me for a half hour before he came, yet my ass loved it, the sliding in-out rhythms, the twisting wriggles. Heaven! I seemed to know just how to manipulate him -- how to delay him, when to lie still and frustrate him, when to arouse him beyond endurance until with excruciating fervor he filled my guts, spurted and spurted and couldn't stop!
The other was an older gentleman, very courtly, who couldn't thank me enough after he'd fucked me, because on a whim I'd sat on his face and wriggled his nose into my ass, and there he'd discovered that cum can have a satisfying flavor. "My wife will never forget you!" he told me.
The next night I arranged three men into a single daisy chain, each one impaled on a prick with his own prick pushing into the buttocks of the man ahead of him. That achieved, we pretended we were a steam locomotive, starting from standstill and finishing at full speed. Then I arranged them so each had another's prick in his own mouth. Each sucked and were sucked. That required a more much more difficult choreography, more like 7-4-7 than a simple 6-9. Yet, I seemed to know all the practical positions and moves, and when all was arranged and our motions found their rhythm, my feelings were ecstatic! I loved it!
The following evening, my last client fucked me slowly, steadily, hour after hour, till dawn. I was beside myself, and felt a deep, tender passion for him when, at last, we clung together, kissed, then separated. He promised to return next week. I didn't have the heart to tell him that next week he would need to find someone else to fuck, that sadly, I would no longer be here. I didn't have the heart to persuade myself either.
But I was back at work and I loved it.
The next weekend it was dusk, and I was sitting on the mansion porch looking out over the lawn at a few of the other buildings and listening to Gina explain her preference for Bikini cut panties to French cut ("If your belly's as beautiful as your buns, flaunt all three curves!"). That led two of the other girls to marvel that men think that their penises, those shriveled chicken necks that flop around when they're not dangling straight down or poking obscenely straight up, are their most precious possessions. I was about to comment that those chicken necks do have their uses, meanwhile idly watching a woman stroll across the lawn hand in hand with a hunk from the Stud Farm, when I suddenly realized that the woman was known to me. That her name was Barbara. She was my wife Barbara! I sat up straight and stared!
They were a little distance away, but it was Barbara unmistakably! She was laughing as she leaned her cheek against her stud's massive bicep and then -- still clutching his hand -- disappeared with him up the front stairs and into the Stud Farm. No concern for me. Did she even know I was here? Of course, she'd come for me, she was due to take me home tomorrow. Or rather, I'd been told she'd be retrieving me and taking me to the maid's quarters of the house I'd formerly called our home. Yet here she was already! Apparently she'd come a day early to sample the pleasures of the place, and would get around to me eventually.
I took a few deep breaths to calm myself.
"That was Brad, that hunk you just saw heading into Studsville with that woman," Melanie observed, thinking I was watching the man, not the woman. "Have you met him yet? God, he's good! Last winter during the slow season I spent a whole night with him, just to see what a really great fuck could be like. Honey, can you believe I passed out twice? He's big, but that isn't why. It's that he's slow and steady. I mean interminable! He goes in and out, and in and out, relentlessly, until you have to scream. So you scream. The top of your head blows off and you black out, and you come to again, and he's still at it. In and out. Until you feel destroyed! You cum so often you feel you're out of your own body. I hope that woman he's with has lots of stamina. I imagine she does. She looks familiar, like one of our regulars. I'd guess she's been enjoying a lot of Class A dick lately."
"Why do you say that?" I asked as casually as I could, watching the sunset spread a brilliant orange glow across the western sky.
"She's been here the past few days. Didn't you notice her walk just now? Her thighs slipping and sliding together on who knows how much leaking cum, and her pelvis rolling as if there were still a thick dick inside and she can't quit fucking it. While she was walking up those stairs to the front entrance she was having yet another orgasm, I'm sure of it!"
"Brad isn't the only stud she's been with this weekend, only the most recent," Gina said. "She won't quit. I bet by now her cunt feels like mine the morning after that Denver hockey team competed to see who could get me off quickest -- or anyhow, how mine felt when they got to the semi-finals." She looked at me. "Didn't you once belong to her, Katie? That very woman? She looks like someone who was watching you screw a client a few weeks ago. You were hot with him, I will say! That may be when she told Mrs. Eliot it was time to wake you up and send you home."
"We did once belong to each other," I said. The past tense sounded odd -- 'but no longer' I seemed to be saying. Did I belong to her now? If Cody no longer existed, was I still married to her? I was now what she'd made me, but financially she'd already been repaid what I'd cost her to make. What I owed her otherwise remained to be seen. Any which way, she owed me explanations big time!
Again, I drew several deep breaths to calm myself down.
"Well," Gina replied. "This is now. If you were converted to her specifications, she thinks you're hers, anyway. You'll have to work it out with her."
Then unexpectedly she added, "Honey, when you're back living with her again, if you ever feel the urge, call me. Any time. For any reason. Even if that Denver team's come back for another go round with me and I'm fully occupied, if the phone rings and it's you I'll pull back from whoever's in my mouth and take your call."
She was trying to make light of it, but she was serious. She sensed something troubling and was offering help. I nodded, moved. We looked into each other's faces but said nothing. There was no need.
"Two limos coming up the drive, girls," Brooke said, staring in that direction. "Time to go to work." She stood up and high-stepped her way into the building like a thoroughbred horse, her ass rotating in high gear. The rest of us followed.
I'd developed a routine with my clients. There's a softly upholstered easy chair in my room -- I use that for lap-fucking. I'd sit down and then a woman or a gay man would sit on me, facing away, my erect cock sunk into their ass or pussy, whichever was offering itself. Or sometimes a gay or straight man would sit in the chair and I'd suck him and then sit on him, working his cock into me and then twisting my ass like a corkscrew to bring him off a second time. Then as I returned him to the lounge I'd hug him like a war bride and rub my tits all over him, and he'd always tip me handsomely. All in an evening's work. When less than a full fuck or a complicated routine involving bondage was required, I'd
simply ask a client to sit in the chair and get his cock sucked, then thank him and return him. Of course when anyone preferred rolling around with me on my bed I always obliged.
This very Saturday night was my last in this bordello, and I'd been conditioned to enjoy my work and I did. The novelty hadn't worn off. I loved what I was doing and I expected to miss it! I'd just brought back my third john of the evening and was looking about for another when I saw who it would be. He was standing in the middle of the lounge.
It was Russell! My former buddy! My wife's bed-partner! The man who'd made me what I am today!
Most of our clients -- both the men and the women who prefer women -- were inclined to select a girl of their choice, chat with her for a few minutes, then disappear into more private areas. But Russell was too far gone for any of this. He was almost too drunk to stand. He stood in the middle of the room loudly demanding a blow job. When Gina saw me reappear she asked me with her eyes to take him away -- he was disturbing the others. Obviously she had no idea who he was or what fucking him or blowing him would cost me, but I was the only girl free at that moment, and she'd already praised my professionalism. So reluctantly, I took him by the hand, smiled into his face, and led him into my private boudoir.
"You cock-sucking bitch!" he shouted at me at random as I sat him in my overstuffed easy chair.
"I hope so," I said in my little girl voice. "If that's what you want." I unzipped his pants and reached in for his cock. Here was my rival for my wife's affections, the man who had utterly unmanned me. Let's get this over with.
A surprise! The penis I found in there was enormous! It's girth resembled the fat end of a baseball bat, and its length was awesome! I needed both hands to grasp it and pull it out! Then once free of his pants it rose up from his crotch like a flagpole, the head swollen larger than a billiard ball, or maybe a baseball. Or a softball.
"Suck on that, you cunt!" he demanded, lolling back, his eyes shut.
Oh, God, there it was! The same urge I'd felt when Gina'd first put that dildo in my face. And quite a few client cocks since. But this one was magnificent, the finest by far of all of them! Just knowing there was such a penis in the world, my tummy yearned and my nipples engorged -- I yearned to embrace it with my lips, to taste whatever juices I could suck from it. True, it was attached to a bastard, a man who'd betrayed me utterly and stolen all that I'd possessed of greatest value. True, I hated him and hated the impulse. But I just couldn't help it, I wanted to wrap my mouth around it and slide my lips along it. Just once. Then again and again.
So I tried.
I couldn't!
The head was simply too fat to fit my mouth, no matter how wide I opened up. I lifted my head and smiled at Russell's unseeing face, chirped "Just a moment!" in a sprightly way, then ran for a bottle of hand lotion. Returned, spread it on my hands and then between my breasts, put my mouth to the tip of that massive thing, and began to suck away at his pee hole as strenuously as I could, as if it were a soda straw. Meanwhile I pressed my breasts around its base and rocked slightly back and forth so it would slide between them. I'd heard of this -- tittyfucking -- but had not yet done it, not that I knew. Now I did it. Occasionally I took the thing into both my lotioned hands and slid my palms along its groins and veins and ridges, all the while rubbing my lips over the top of his cock head, hoping that would give him some sensation.
For what seemed hours I sucked and licked and rubbed and squeezed and rocked that cock. Had he gone to sleep? Finally a groan from deep inside him, and if possible that prick swelled thicker still. I seized it with both hands as it began to pulse, and huge jets of hot cum splashed inside my mouth. Four, five, six times, I swallowed and still it came. More? I wondered when it would stop, if ever. What if he filled my belly and the spouting went on? An enormous bellow from above, and then mercifully that pulsing stream stopped. "Son of a bitch! Motherfucker!" came a shout from up where his face was. "Now, we fuck, OK?"
Even with my anus distended from frequent use all week, that was a frightening prospect! He stood up suddenly. I was knocked backward onto the rug and before I could recover and brace myself he was on me, wrenching my legs apart, that huge staff pressing into me just behind my balls, just short of my asshole, just where I would have had a vagina if I'd had one. My panties blocked its path. He lunged, and the force against my perineum was severe -- I slid along the carpet on my back maybe a foot. God it hurt! His hips reared back to lunge again! He'd kill me if he should slam into my balls, I was thinking, so I reached down to pull my panties aside and I reared up my own butt to present my asshole to that battering ram, hoping I could guide it into me. Somehow. Better a torn rear end. I closed my eyes.
Nothing happened. He suddenly slumped forward and lay like a sack on top of me. And snored. He was out.
Unable to credit my incredible good fortune, I rolled out from under him and came to my knees, intending to stand up.
"Very good, Cody!" came a woman's voice from behind me. "Saved by the bell!"
Barbara's voice! "But I have to remember, you're Katie now, aren't you? A very lucky ... girl. I don't think there's an opening anywhere on anyone's body that can take Russell in, not without days of stretching. If he'd reached your ass he'd have split you open!"
I turned. There was Barbara in the doorway and that stud Brad standing behind her, both of them naked to the waist. I mean, from their necks to their waists. Brad's arm was draped over her shoulder, its hand holding her naked breast as if it were his. I stared, baffled.
"We were visiting next door when we heard Russell's groaning, and just had to see for ourselves how you were doing," she said. "I know about Russell's ... impetuosity, what he can do with that thing of his, and I do still have some feelings for you. They tell me you're different now, even apart from the ... obvious fact that you're a girl. That you have different kinds of feelings and memories. I should think so -- I mean, you're a real whore now, aren't you? But still, we were married to each other once, and for both our sakes we don't want Russell to know who you are, or anyhow who you once were. He knows my husband went to a place like this and is no longer a man, but he ... just doesn't add things up sometimes."
"Oh?" I said in my baby girl voice. My first word to her in over a year.
"He doesn't even know that we're here to get you. It isn't altogether fair to you, nor to me either, leaving you here to earn a living this way when you could be more useful at home. I don't mean by whoring at home, I mean ... well, you're still a lawyer in a way, I mean, you still know what lawyers know. Russell long ago forgot that my intention has always been to bring you back -- not as my husband of course. I reminded him months ago. 'You bring that bastard back here, he can suck my dick!'" that's what he said. Well, you've done that now, haven't you? So now that's out of the way and if he finds out who you are he can't possibly have any further objection. Nor can you if he insists on using you sexually again once we're home. He's supposed to be mine, but I do have to know that there's no manly pride left in you, that you're all girl now, so if it happens I can't really object. I'm glad you didn't object when he proposed that you suck his dick, that you just went right to it. Devoted to your new profession, are you?"
That seemed to be affectionate teasing as well as mocking in her tone of voice. She was letting me know what to expect? What she expected?
"That's what I do, Barbara," I replied in my teeny voice, still unsure how I should address her. "I've been conditioned to suck cock and now I love it. When I see one I can't not."
"Really? You can't not? I don't believe it! Show me! Brad, would you ...?"
The muscular man standing behind her now stepped alongside and made a quick pass over his crotch with his hands. There, steeply angled, striving up from an opening in his pants, was that penis Malanie'd described. Large but not impossible -- I could handle it, once it was down in my throat. Again that delicious craving swelled up in my belly. My mouth opened and my lips began to curl over my teeth to cushion them, and I crept toward that swollen ... oh, what a lovely tube of meat!
"Enough! My goodness, look at that eager expression! My God, it worked, my darling ex-husband is now a cock-starved slut! Russell's cum not yet settled in your belly and yet you crave more? No, you don't get that cock, Cody! Brad's is all mine until tomorrow! You stay just where you are!"
I paused. She took Brad's hand and looked intently into his eyes and began slinking slowly backward, pulling him along. The back of her legs pressed against my bed and she fell backward onto it. Brad followed on top of her, his own eyes now peering deep into hers.
"Now!" she suddenly shouted, her legs spread far apart, knees high up.
In one single swift smooth motion Brad mounted her and that marvelous tube entered her, slid in deep, buried itself. Then pulled way out, then pushed back in! Faster and faster, as if he was a dog and she was his bitch. Faster still, almost like a vibration! There came a series of piercing shrieks from Barbara, each higher than the previous. And he stopped. I had no idea whether he'd come -- it didn't seem so. But she sure had!
We all held still for a moment while Barbara recovered her breath. Then "Lick that cock of his, would you, Katie?" came from somewhere under Brad's huge body. "Clean it for him?"
Brad immediately pulled out, turned, and sat on the bed alongside Barbara's supine body, his legs slightly apart, his cock still glistening with pussy juice. He said not a word, just looked pleasantly at me. It was gorgeous! I felt that same old craving, moved between his knees, and began to lick it. I felt ashamed to be servicing a man in front of my wife, yet it tasted delicious and she wanted it and I wanted more of it. So I began bobbing up and down over it, and soon it was sliding down my throat while I sucked and sucked.
"My God!" Barbara's voice said, sounding surprisingly gentle. "You can stop now, Cody. I just needed to be absolutely sure before I took you in. You never can tell."
I couldn't face her. "You needed to know what?" came out of my mouth in my high-pitched voice. It sounded a little like pleading.
"That you're obedient to my wishes, and that you really are what you are now, and that you know it too."
I stared at her.
"You're all girl and can't help it. I needed to know that before allowing you to live with us. What are you now?
I saw what she wanted me to say. And like a whore determined to please her client, I said it. "I'm a whore, Barbara. A cock crazy, cock sucking whore. A girlyboy." It sounded as if I was insulting myself with this catechism, though I didn't mean to. So I added as a point of pride, "An expert Personal Service Consultant, a pussy without a pussy, and very good at it too! One of the best. Ask any of the other girls here!" That pleased me.
"If Brad wanted to fuck your ass, you'd let him?"
I looked at Brad's cock, still gleaming, still erect from my deep throating, and all I could say was, "God, yes, I'd love it!"
"You've been unfaithful to me. Very. Are you still my husband?"
A trick question! She wanted me to say 'No' of course. She wanted me to acknowledge that we no longer have a relationship with continuing obligations. She wanted to feel liberated, to hear that our vows had been canceled by mutual consent. I'd have obliged her gladly enough after what she'd done to me. But at this moment I didn't want to give her the satisfaction, so I quickly saw a way around the need. "Well, I'm a cuckold, Barbara," I replied. "You've made me one many times over I guess, and just now you've made sure that I know it. So I must still be your husband. If I'm not your husband, I'm not a cuckold, and where's there any satisfaction for you in that?"
She hadn't thought of that, and was taken aback. But finally the answer satisfied her and her eyes gleamed. "Yes," she said. "You are my cock sucking girlyboy cuckold whore. You do everything I say! That's what you are. In your own eyes and in my eyes too. To me and to everyone else, if I say so. Remember that and you'll do fine."
She stood up and her expression turned inward, milder. "I will want to employ you for other things, Katie, now that you're Katie. I hear you're good at other things. I hope we can work it out."
Did she mean legal work? She decided to leave it at that, and turned abrupt. "We leave this place tomorrow morning at ten. Be outside with whatever decent clothing you own. Your lingerie can be as provocative as you like, if it helps you feel feminine and alluring. But your dresses need to look appropriate for where we live." She glanced at my closet door as if wondering how many stripper gowns and how much slut gear filled it. "I run a respectable household in a decent neighborhood."
She stared at me until she was sure I understood her. Then nodded and turned. "Brad, honey? We can go now," she said. She made a hooking gesture with her head toward Russell.
Her hunk lifted Russell's stupefied body as if a mere pillow and draped it on one shoulder. Then all three left.
And left me with a peculiar feeling in the pit of my stomach., I'd just betrayed myself in front of her, three times. By cock sucking her boyfriend, by watching another man fuck her without attempting to intervene, and then by licking that man's cock afterward. She was my wife! But to her I was something like a pet dog.
I couldn't respect myself. Is that why she wanted me back? She needed a pet dog, and I was conveniently available? 'What does she want with a girlyboy?' I asked myself. Why claim me at all? Was it guilt? Remorse for the way she'd treated me? Regret? She's found she needs me for something other than sex? I'm her fullback, insurance of some kind?
Maybe I'd already been insurance of one kind. I'd taken out a million dollar life insurance policy when we started our law practice together. She might be living on that right now, money borrowed against the proceeds when I'm finally declared legally dead, in addition to whatever she still earns practicing law.
In which case Russell was living off the same money too, I was sure. He'd always been a conniving con man. At one time his accounts of his various schemes had amused me, his plans for emptying rich widows' bank accounts. We'd meet after work and have a beer, and with vast amusement he'd tell me what sort of sucker he'd most recently taken in with what sort of scam. He had no respect for anyone who trusted him. Even this moment Barbara was being conned out of whatever she'd gained from him, with interest -- I was sure of that.
I'd been his sucker too. By accompanying him to that resort hotel a year ago, and just now literally, by sucking him off. I wondered if he'd been too drunk to know. Too drunk, I decided. But it wouldn't have mattered -- to him I was only one more whore.
IV.
He didn't recognize me the next morning either, when I appeared at the front portal in my more provocative undies and a somewhat more respectable decollete dress, carrying my luggage, and carrying as well the debit card Mrs. Eliot had mentioned. I hugged all the other girls farewell and got into the car. I was neither his former buddy nor the girl who'd sucked and tittyfucked him last night, then nearly been raped. I was a whore Barbara had decided to reform, to take home as hired help, and as such he'd stood back and made no effort to help me as I put my own bag into the car's trunk. No one would ever accuse Russell of being a gentleman.
The trip home was uneventful. Russell drove, obviously nursing a fierce hangover, occasionally shaking aspirin directly into his mouth and washing it down with a swig of Perrier, saying nothing. Barbara sat next to him, also silent. They seemed no way companionable. Whatever their lovemaking before this trip, however huge Russell might be, she'd just sampled some world class cock and had to be re-evaluating her relationship with him. Despite common belief, I was well aware that size isn't everything, that without technique it isn't much of anything. That was a cheering thought. More and more of the events of my past six months was now returning to memory, days and nights of fulfilling other people's furtive or perverted fantasies as well as different desires for merely wholesome sex. I marveled at the things I'd done and enjoyed doing! No wonder they'd reshaped my body to resemble a teenager's wet dream. An hour later the car pulled into our driveway. Her driveway -- the house had been conveyed to her by an instrument I'd signed long ago to protect my innocent bride from any need ever to return to her parents, who had thrown her out when she was still young for reasons she'd never divulged. The lawn looked the same. The foundation plantings had been cut much lower. I'd liked them high, as high as the front windows, and since the grounds had been my responsibility that's how they'd been. Barbara preferred to think of foundation plants as a kind of ground cover, so that's what they now were. Things here were now done her way.
Russell immediately disappeared into the house without looking back -- obviously disinclined to help unload luggage. "Good, we can talk," Barbara said pleasantly. "We're here at last. You'll be in that room behind the kitchen, Katie, the one with its own bath. Remember, we used it for storage? The old servant's quarters? Move your things in there. I want to be sure you're changed in spirit as well as body here in your old home as well as at the Estate, so you'll find a surprise in there. A gift from your former wife. Go ahead in and go with your impulses."
Rather mysterious. But I picked up a bag and opened the door, and immediately saw that the room had been redecorated in a simple but graciously feminine style, with flowered curtains on the windows, a chenille bedspread, and fresh wallpaper. Not unsuitably, I was now a woman. But my impulses? They were too conflicted for me to act on any of them. This had once been my house, all of it, and now she expected me to live in the servant's quarters behind the kitchen? I was relieved to be back home, in a way, but at the same time demeaned, downright resentful that it wasn't my home any more.
Then my eyes boggled! A large nude man walked slowly out of the room's small adjoining bathroom. Yes, Good God, a nude man! Utterly naked, and very large, hairy skin and muscular build fully exposed, his stride robust, and as I couldn't help but notice, his cock swollen though not yet fully erect. His balls dangling. He crossed the room and sat down on the bed, then glanced at Barbara. Then simply smiled at me. Invitingly. And sat there.
I was speechless, and set down my bag and just stared at him! Yes, masculine, rather large, even commanding, and well-proportioned. But what was he doing here? What was happening? I sensed Barbara standing just a few steps behind me, watching me. I was amazed, but she wasn't! She'd arranged it!
What was happening came clear quickly when he leaned slightly back, spread his knees wide, and grinned at me. The gesture was invitational, and when I glanced at his crotch I saw that his cock was now fully erect, a tall mast standing up firmly, its tip as high as his navel. Maybe higher. That familiar eager excitement began to grow in my tummy. I knew what it was and resisted.
"Go ahead, sweetie!" my wife said somewhere behind me. "Doesn't he make you feel all wet? His name's Steve, if you need to know."
Wet? As if I had a cunt? My mouth, certainly! But that was enough. Mindlessly, with a small squeal I dropped to my knees between his legs, trying not to drool. Oh the joy of anticipation, and then the joy of fulfillment as that hot, pliant tube of meat entered and filled my mouth! A few minutes later I was gobbling him furiously, sucking and jerking him off, and he was coming, and there was deep satisfaction when he came and I felt his spasms on my lips! And tried to swallow all of it, all that slick, salty cum, all at once. And succeeded! When at last I lifted my head, his cock was glistening yet at the same time softening, soon only dangling again. That had been Barbara's succulent welcome-home treat!
But I felt ashamed. Again I'd sucked off a man in front of my own wife! How could she respect such depravity? I kissed that cock once more despite myself, then licked my lips and stood and turned to look at Barbara. What was this? Who was he? Did he come with the room? The mere sight of a naked man had again aroused in me that familiar overwhelming desire to suck cock? OK, I'd been trained to it. But tempted here, in this house? I felt ... exploited! And looked to Barbara for an explanation.
She was smiling broadly. "Mrs. Eliot was right! You are conditioned to service any man whenever!" She said it with awe and admiration. "I could never do that. Fall on a man's penis and devour him the moment I saw it, and bring him off in almost no time at all? You've got to teach me how you did that! My God, with that talent we could rent you out! You're terrific!"
I suddenly saw what she'd done. This had been a test. To see if once away from the Estate I was the same eager whore she'd seen when she and Brad had walked in on me and ... and Russell. Was my reflex in the presence of any cock the same? Would it always be the same?
Because with that reflex she could control me at any time. Threaten to put me into a room filled with naked men if I didn't behave the way she wanted. I'd spend the rest of my days giving free blow jobs. Happily and tirelessly, I couldn't doubt it.
"I have been rented out," I replied simply. "That's what a whore is, Barbara. But I've retired from that trade. I'll still suck, and fuck too, but only as I feel the desire, not because I'm paid. That's the difference between a whore and a woman who's merely sexually active." That statement dodged the issue, my problem, that I knew I'd been conditioned to fuck or suck any cock anywhere any opportunity presented itself. That I had no choice, not yet anyhow. But it puzzled Barbara just enough to give her pause.
The muscular man rose, smiled at Barbara, and as wordlessly as before he retired again to the bathroom to dress, his mission completed. Then reappeared and left the room altogether. "Thank you, Steve," Barbara said to him, half-distracted, as he disappeared.
"No, thank you, Barbara," were his last words as he disappeared. "And you especially, Katie." I realized I was still on my knees, so I stood up.
"Yes, I was a whore," I repeated. Then a little ironically, "Maybe like that 'Steve' -- you paid him to make his body available to me just now, didn't you? So that's what he is. Thank you for the coming-home gift."
Score one for me.
"You loved it! You loved it the way you love your body now that it's everything you ever desired in a woman!"
I stared at her. There was some truth to that. A lot of truth! Score one for her.
She decided to cut off further discussion. "Katie, just change into one of the uniforms you'll find in the closet there, and present yourself to us in the living room in about an hour, and I'll tell you what we expect for lunch," she said. "Understood?"
She now assumed that as a former whore she had liberated to become a house maid, I would do her bidding? That any form of servitude was preferable to the dishonor of pay-for-sex? Had she been reading old-fashioned novels? She didn't know that people often pay whores to take charge -- I'd been a 'domme' often enough when a client wanted. I owed her nothing and I'd agreed to nothing -- we hadn't even discussed salary. So I didn't reply 'Yes Ma'am' or some equivalent as a new house maid should have replied. Instead I only nodded. Civilly if not altogether respectfully.
But until I knew what she'd done and what she intended and could formulate my own plans, I'd be wise to go along with hers. The 'uniforms' in the closet were brand new and my size, obviously purchased for my use. They were knee length, serviceable, gray cotton dresses with white piping on the collars and sleeves and a self-belt at the waist. No nonsense domestic work clothes, and there were four of them -- this was not expected to be a temporary arrangement. The shoes provided were black, slip-ons with one inch heels, sensible, neither formal nor casual. I slipped into one of the dresses and changed into the shoes, and then as if defiantly I pinned up my hair into the most glamorous style I could manage, slathered on my darkest eye shadow and my brightest red lipstick, and headed for the living room as instructed. I must say, with my hair up and my small chin I looked like a sophisticated baby doll, cute as could be! I glanced in the mirror and decided that I'd screw me then and there if there were some way to do it!
The door to the living room was wide open, saving me the embarrassment of knocking for permission to enter. But having entered, I stood just inside and waited for one of them to speak. Russell was standing near the fireplace, scrupulously paying no attention to either of us. Good! This suggested that the house and its management were still Barbara's. He was a permanent guest here, not a new Lord of the Manor.
"Ah, Cody, my but you look nice. I hoped I'd gotten them in your size. You'll find your work aprons and dress aprons hanging in the pantry, use them as appropriate and I'm sure we'll have no problems. Sandwich fixings are in the fridge, toast the bread first, if you please. Russell likes a beer with his lunch, and as you know I prefer tea. All right?"
She was obviously nervous, trying to taking charge of me all at once, to establish this new relationship after over five years of sharing, of partnership in this very household. Did she feel the slightest guilt about what had been done to me during the past year? I would need to play this cautiously. I nodded and then stood silent.
Russell, true to form a pompous ass, spoke up. "Answer your mistress properly, girl, if you expect to remain in this house for any reasonable length of time."
If he did know who I was, he wanted to dissociate me altogether from the friend he'd betrayed into another identity. I decided though that he thought I was only another one of Barbara's do-gooder projects, an abject whore saved from sin by decent employment. If that was what I was I'd have responded appropriately.
I didn't. In a mild voice with only a bare hint of amusement, I replied, "She may be your mistress, sir, but this lady is my employer and not my mistress. And whether I stay in this house for a reasonable or brief time or no time at all is entirely for her to decide. And me." My little girl tones sounded strange within these walls -- they'd once resonated with my baritone. I waited for both of their reactions.
They both came together. I'd guessed right. Russell had not yet conned his way into partial ownership of the house, nor total domination of Barbara -- it was still entirely hers along with the authority to run it. Barbara turned and glared at him. He saw, and turned to gaze out the window, to examine with enormous care the chimney on the house next door. He counted its bricks, or whatever else, during the rest of our talk.
"I'm sorry, Cody. I know how difficult an adjustment this must be for you. I'd very much like for you to stay here for as long as you choose -- under certain set circumstances, of course, those that I ...."
Time to make a slight concession but also take an initiative. "I'm sorry, Mrs....Mrs. Wilmott is it?" I asked. And then waited. The answer mattered.
She nodded.
No reason to let Russell know who I was if he didn't know, either by allowing her to use my former name or by exhibiting overmuch familiarity with hers. So I chose a formal, respectful mode of address for her, and she accepted it. OK. She still answered to her married name, so apparently we were still married. That meant I still might have certain spousal rights over her, and I was sure, since her speciality was corporate law, that she wouldn't know what those could be. I would use "Mrs. Wilmott" whenever Russell or anyone else was around, though I intended to call her 'Barbara' whenever we were alone, to remind her of our former intimacy and encourage her to let her hair down with me, with someone who was once her house mate and could now be a girlfriend. Not merely her servant.
I'd also learned from that single nod that since she hadn't changed her name, our law practice was probably still "Wilmott and Wilmott," and maybe also some of the business's bank accounts. She'd never had patience enough to bother learning about the business end of our partnership, and Russell probably knew nothing about them either. That could be useful. But now to turn the screw a bit tighter.
"I'm sorry then, Mrs. Wilmott, but my name is pronounced 'Katie.' I hear you once knew a 'Cody' but that he's dead. That's what I've heard, anyway."
That threw her off her stride. She tried to recover. "That's right, ahhhh Katie, he's no longer with us."
"My condolences, Mrs. Wilmott. I've heard he was a good man." Raise in her bosom a touch of remorse for what she'd done to me, perhaps?
"That's what many people think, yes," Barbara replied a little tartly.
Oh? I glanced at Russell. The chimney next door still absorbed him utterly!
'What people think'? So there'd been some sort of well-poisoning taking place in my absence? Even before then? A blackening of my name? If so, since Russell was the sole beneficiary, he had to have been the culprit. I'd have to speak with Barbara in private to learn more. But I'd learned enough for now. Time to curtail the rest of this discussion and fix lunch, then disappear into my new identity as a liberated whore turned respectable domestic servant. My camouflage. Time afterward to decide what to do next.
But first I had to lay out my own terms, to be businesslike even though she didn't know how. "I understand I'm to be available to you from 7:00am until I'm dismissed in the evening after cleanup from dinner, for five and a half days, with a half day off on any weekday convenient to you and a full day each weekend, preferably Sunday, as convenient to you. That I will be maintaining the house in good order but the heavy house cleaning will be performed weekly by an outside service. My wages will be $35,000 a year including two weeks of paid vacation. I will expect to assist you in the preparation of meals, shopping, and so on, but the primary decisions and initiatives will remain yours. Or for $50,000 I'll assume full responsibility for meals and for the entire household, advising you about the costs, attentive to your wishes, in effect managing your home as you would wish so you can devote your full attention to other things altogether. May I inquire which option is preferable to you?"
Obviously Barbara had given no thought at all to such contractual formalities. Had she thought that to escape the life of a whore I'd unthinkingly accept a life of humble domestic servitude? Far longer hours of far less enjoyable work for far less pay? Or for no pay, like the husband I once was, with no husbandly privileges? What could she have been thinking?
"Katie," she said. She seemed self-conscious, as if she were trying to regain the initiative. As if the whole topic only amused her by its irrelevance. "The second option I suppose. I'll appreciate your taking over full responsibility for this house. And in addition ...." She paused and glanced at Russell, who was still scrupulously paying no attention. "In addition I'll want to consult you on certain legal matters too, from time to time. To assist me with certain cases in our law office at least one day a week, perhaps more. That would be at a reasonable hourly rate, though I'd allow you to maintain your own modest client base if you wished, those fees going into the partnership and to be divided at the end of the year.."
She'd said 'our' law office. Certainly not Russell's and hers -- Russell was not a lawyer. And 'the partnership.' So in her mind we were still partners in a weird way -- a partner paid an hourly wage -- and I was being invited to think of it that way. And she needed my help. She'd probably lost some of our clients, and she was probably over her head with others. Moreover, I was still a licensed practitioner! With a simple power of attorney, maybe also a change of name procedure -- maybe even none if she'd neglected to file certain affidavits -- I could resume an adequate professional life. Then when I found out what had gone wrong with my former life, as we lawyers like to say, I could examine the options and take appropriate action.
"Very well, Mrs. Wilmott. I'll be glad to assist you there too, appropriately compensated. Meanwhile, I'll prepare lunch now if you don't mind. May I ask if Mr. ... Russell will be joining you for dinner tonight?" His last name, I knew, was Donahue, but he hadn't been introduced to Katie and I was damned if I'd make the slightest concession where he was concerned.
She turned toward him, her eyebrows raised, and he answered without waiting for her to repeat the question -- of course he'd been listening to everything. "No," he said. "I have ... business that will be keeping me out late tonight, perhaps past midnight. You go ahead without me."
"There's been a lot of that lately," Barbara commented in a carefully neutral voice.
"That's how it is," he explained with a shrug. As if that were sufficient. Barbara turned away from him in a single sharp movement.
We all three knew from that moment that Barbara had a rival! Well! This was not a conversation a maid should overhear, nor an ex-husband either, especially one who might still be married to her. I turned to head for the kitchen, to survey the fridge and the pantry, put together lunch, and lay plans for a dinner for two. I left Barbara staring at Russell, pale perhaps with the realization that her days with him were now numbered. And that no doubt because of him she had no husband to fall back on. Only her maid.
I decided on a dinner with an atmosphere as near as I could get it to our early romantic days, when we were each new to being a man and a woman together, deep in each other's confidence, amused and fascinated rather than annoyed by each other's oddities. When we'd shared all our secrets, or anyhow, most of them. Except that now it would be a tete a tete between two women deep in each other's confidence, each with nothing to hide. Such as why I had been sent to a girl-conversion establishment and whore school. Why she'd made me what I am today.
Lunch was sandwiches and a quickly made cole slaw, the food processor still worked, no problem. Then knowing there was much at stake, I went all out for that first evening's dinner for two. I bought some fois gras during a quick trip that afternoon to a strip mall with a gourmet shop alongside superb wine store, and also two bottles of a Chateau Lafitte from a good year, the best I could afford. The canard a l'orange flambe I made myself. The sauce alone used up nearly every pot in the kitchen, but I washed them myself so the it would seem the miracle it was. I set the table for two. The dining room became the most elaborate trap I have ever baited.
That evening when I called Barbara in from her study for dinner I was determined to remain in the character of Katie, a woman just as she was except that our genitals happened to interlock rather than parallel. I had no problem with that, since I looked and sounded like a woman, with all the mannerisms, and had lived exclusively with other women who were paid professionals at being feminine. I realized that I'd have trouble even beginning to act like a man again if I ever had to -- Gina and Mrs. Eliot had both stated categorically that I couldn't possibly. But as Katie I could quickly set Barbara at ease -- we'd be two girls dining together.
Yet at the same time I wanted to assume all of the intimate familiarity Cody had once enjoyed with her -- I wanted still to be a husband who had gone wherever men go when they cease to be men. She of course would not be Mrs. Wilmott to me when we were alone but rather "Barbara" or "Barb." As for years.
"I'll just change, and then we'll eat," I added as I left her study door. "Give me ten minutes." At the dinner table I wanted us to be dinner companions, not mistress and maid. I needed to find out things. She didn't seem to think it peculiar.
The dresses and blouses I'd brought from the Estate were for the most part provocative, designed to call attention to my breasts, but I managed to find a top that was only suggestive, low-cut but not outright seductive, and I paired it with a pair of black capris that were only tight, not skin-tight. Then for a dressy effect I put on black strappy heels and a thin silver necklace and bracelet. The effect was more formal than I wished -- obviously I needed to go shopping.
I began by telling Barbara just that, asking her advice about the best stores for clothing suitable for occasions like this one and also for "when I come to the office." Her face brightened, and conversation soon flowed easily. She was surprised to learn that my actual conscious experience as a whore had been for less than a week, even though my reflexive experience over many months had habituated me to do the right things under any circumstances. I told her for example, smiling conspiratorially, that the main thing I'd learned as a body-for-hire was how to dominate men.
That immediately intrigued her. "You mean, how to drive a man crazy by denying him our favors?" Barbara asked? "I did that sometimes with Cody. Though all it ever really accomplished was to make him angry, maybe also sulky"
I was glad that her "we" and "our" confided in me as a woman, that she was thinking of Cody as someone else. "No," I replied. "The reverse. More wine? Do have a bit more duck too -- it's fantastic, if I do say so! My dear, we control a man by gratifying his desires as if we were awarding him a rare gift -- ourselves. Then they're so afraid we'll take ourselves back they'll do anything for us. I found only this week that my breasts, especially my nipples, they're fantastically erogenous. That when I allow men to bring me off by nursing or caressing my nipples they think I'm doing them a favor. Can you imagine? A friend of mine at the mansion, Melanie, she told me she could get men to suck their own cum out of her pussy just by persuading them it was a privilege she almost never allowed anyone. A few refuse her, but most feel honored."
"That would have worked with Cody," Barbara responded. "I did honor him that way for a while, though I'm sure he never realized it wasn't always all his own cum. But it never worked with Russell."
What a confession! If other men's cum had not recently been a staple of my diet I'd have been outraged or nauseated. Was she was telling me she'd been unfaithful to me even before Russell? Or was it only Russell's cum she'd fed me from her twat along with my own? We were now turning toward the big mystery -- what did happen a year ago. Why did she collaborate with Russell in my emasculation. "Russell does seem moody, drunk like last night or sober like this morning," I commented.
She grinned. "Yes, you've noticed that, Katie, haven't you? Because he isn't getting his way with me, that's all. He wants me to devote myself to him exclusively, but he won't reciprocate in kind. That's why I especially reminded him yesterday that there are many better men than he is, that I can hire them at the Estate any time! My God, back a year or so ago I thought Russell was something else! I thought that size was everything! It certainly helps! But Brad? And Ken, and Marvin? Those moves of theirs?"
So Barbara's fucking at the Stud Farm these last days hadn't been just to gratify herself and humiliate me. It had been to teach Russell a lesson! I was only incidental to that.
"Your husband did devote himself to you, didn't he?" I asked in a casual way, refilling her glass yet again. "Cody, I mean?" That to remind her of his name, in case she'd forgotten she once had a husband. "Yet you preferred Russell?"
"I'd thought Cody was devoted to me, yes. But a girl can be mistaken about such things. About lots of things!" She looked bitter for a moment, and took two deep swallows of the Lafitte. That was no way to drink a great wine. But the moment had come.
"Tell me about it," I said sympathetically. And looked away from her casually as if it were of only incidental importance. Then looked deep into her eyes as if I understood how important it was to her and was with her all the way.
Barbara took a deep breath. "I didn't intend all this, Katie, not at first. To tell you the truth, I didn't intend any of it, it sort of happened. You know Russell -- all irresistible charm and superb self-confidence, a touch of vulnerability, a hint of gentleness. Yet there's also a hard edge. He can be cruel. Utterly without conscience."
I'd seen that in Russell, when he was persuading a recent widow to put all her money into a non-existing Mutual Fund he was promoting, one of his many scams. When he used his persuasive powers to separate blow hard speculators from their cash, I'd found them amusing. When he used them to take money from people who needed it, that was something else. But he didn't care -- money was money no matter how hard-earned or badly needed. I nodded, not at all amused.
"Katie, that can be an attractively dangerous combination for a woman who's been married for a few years and loves her husband but ... well, you know. Russell was fascinating. Even now I get damp just thinking about him that way. Aren't you, just from hearing me talk about that kind of man?"
I wasn't. She inclined to forget that I don't have a pussy. All this past week even without one I'd been driving men out of their minds, gotten them to desire and pleasure me and react in peculiar ways to everything I did to pleasure them. But even so, men simply didn't turn me on. The sight of a cock did of course -- that was an instrument of pleasure specific to my subliminal training. And women's faces and figures still did. Even Barbara at this moment. Even now.
"The night he got to me was unforgettable. I was working on a financial matter with him, something to do with his brokerage and a new federal statute, and he suggested we take a break. We went to dinner. That's when he told me about all of Cody's infidelities."
"His what?" Had I heard her right? Astonishing! I'd touched no other women since my marriage! Not then, anyhow!
"Cody's infidelities. All the women he'd been fucking behind my back. Their names went on and on, Bea, Mandee, Rhonda, Sara, Janelle, even some Jezebel who actually calls herself Jezzie. Who knows how many others?"
I was livid! Who knows? I know! That bastard! No others! None at all! I'd been scrupulously faithful to Barbara back then, especially because we were going through a bad patch -- she was discontent with me or herself or something, for some reason, and I couldn't tell why. When I'd ask she'd just shake her head and refuse to confide in me. I didn't dare introduce the slightest cause for discontent into our marriage. Plainly, my buddy Russell had been out to alienate us, to move in on me and annex my territory. He knew that Barbara knew little about stock markets and brokerage law and so on. He'd pretended she did so he could consult her. Get to her and lie about me. And he'd done it!
"You believed him?" was all I said.
"I was a little high on the wine we'd had for dinner, just like now I'm afraid. I was so mad at the mere idea of it that I couldn't see straight. Then when we got back to the office he proved it. He showed me the e-mails, how they corresponded with different dates when Cody was supposedly out of town or working late."
Of course. Barbara knew nothing about how easy it is to simulate anything on a computer. Russell knew a great deal about that kind of grifting, and delighted in it, even when it wasn't an especially profitable deception. He'd described a few of them to us as practical jokes.
"Well, I was crushed! That was when he moved on me, and I didn't think it would do any harm just once to move back on him. You know, get even? But Katie, that's when I first found out that no one fucks Russell just once. He's a freak of nature! Unbelievable! You know that, you had his cock in your hands just last night. Both hands! And in the end you had to hug it between your breasts! So much flesh attached to one man -- it's like an elephant's! You remember? A girl needs a real pussy to deal with him, a birth canal, an opening designed to stretch to the size of a baby's head. That anal opening you use for a pussy wouldn't have been any use at all, not for a man like Russell, honey. Believe me!"
"I do believe you, Barbara. Last night I was trying to keep from being battered to death when he collapsed, just in time! You told me that if he hadn't quit I'd have been torn apart, and I believe you. Remember?"
"Of course I remember, Cody. Katie, I mean. It's true! But let me finish. You know what I found out? When he climbs on you and takes his time and finally he's worked his way into you, you can't move at all, and you're stretched out and so full it's heaven!. I just lay there under him, absolutely still, and Katie, I couldn't stop orgasming! Spasm after spasm! I just came and came and came! One climax ended and before I could relax and breathe another began without any effort on my part or his. We didn't move, either of us, for maybe an hour. My back was arched and my head bent way back, and every muscle in my body was in continuous convulsion, absolutely taut and ecstatic. One tense delight. I know I brought him off a few times somehow, maybe because my cunt never stopped throbbing, because when he finally pulled out I found I was absolutely filled to the brim and overflowing with his spunk. The couch cushions under us were drenched, soaked like sponges, and his goop had even oozed down a leg of the couch. And yet more was still pouring out of me! But you know about that, don't you? When he came in your mouth I bet he filled your belly near to busting!"
That must have been the time when she suddenly declared that our office decor had to be changed, the walls painted, the drapes changed, and the couch completely reupholstered. She'd insisted, and she never did explain why! Three full months before I'd gone to the Estate to be transformed. So she'd had three months of infidelity with Russell while I was still around and altogether unsuspecting, meanwhile convinced that I was the one being unfaithful. That would be the three months when she'd seemed unaccountably cool toward me, distant and snappish.
"I wanted him back in me almost at once. But it was getting late and we both had to get home. Tomorrow, I promised myself. Maybe for the whole noon hour. And I had to have a whole night with him as soon as possible, I told myself. Katie, you can't imagine how wonderful it was! I had a whole new interest in life. That monster cock. That thick pole of his. Have you ever felt a mad compulsion like that? Isn't it marvelous?"
I heard her. That he was huge I knew well enough. I'd tried to suck him off and ended up tittyfucking him, but neither my lips nor my breasts were as erogenous as her pussy, so of course I hadn't gotten off on him at all. His one cum into my mouth had indeed given me buckets to swallow, but it was only cum. Like other men's cum, not some magical potion. Delicious in its way, like most men's.
"Then what happened?" I asked as if eagerly. She'd just described my first cuckolding, of many to follow, ending in my near-emasculation. I wanted to hear about that, her supposed reasons for agreeing to send me to the Estate. I was appalled but also perversely fascinated.
"He wanted to know if you ever go down on me, and if so, I should invite you to go down on me as soon as I got home from being with him. He wanted to know that you were sharing in his fucking of me, at least that you were sucking up to him, to his cum anyhow. 'Maybe we can get him used to the flavor,' that's what Russell said. For some reason that sounded generous to me, not at all cruel. I really wanted to share him with you despite your unfaithfulness. Maybe because I felt a little guilty and wanted to make it up to you."
"And did you?"
"Not that night. You were working out of town, or so you claimed, and got home too late, and I'd douched by then. Good heavens, if I'd left him in me I'd have soaked the bed. But the next time I had him in me you did lick me out, some, and the day after that too. You didn't want to -- you weren't very good at oral back then, and you thought I tasted funny. But I insisted and gradually you got better at it. When you began cleaning me out routinely I felt much better about Russell fucking me and you fucking someone else. My pussy had stretched by then too. I could actually move a little when he was inside me. A little."
Her hips writhed in recollection. I could almost see her twisting and swiveling on that monster cock, writhing around with what would have become by then a monster cunt. I refilled her glass with the last of the Chateau Lafitte.
"You never noticed? After two or three weeks with Russell I could hardly feel you inside me whenever we made love. I brought in that huge dildo around then to make up for it, you remember? You fitted your little erect penis into it as if you were fitting a finger into a heavy mitten and then you pushed the whole thing into me, and that dildo would fuck me for over an hour. I must say, you were persistent. I'd orgasm innumerable times. But not you, not even once, because of course you couldn't feel anything. That was how I wanted you to fuck me all the time after that, otherwise not to touch me at all. But after a few more tries you refused. And I called you selfish, remember? That was amusing. The only times you could give me orgasms after that was with your mouth, while Russell meanwhile did right by me every time."
She was peaceably reminiscent as I brought out the creme brulee for dessert. "You know, it was always especially exciting for me whenever you slurped Russell's cum out of me, along with my own of course. You thought you'd made me that wet. Last night when you got it direct from the fountainhead, didn't you find the flavor familiar?" She smiled. Maliciously? Truth was, by last night I'd swallowed so much cum from so many different men I couldn't possibly identify anyone's.
She'd shifted to speaking to me as Cody now, I noticed. Confiding in Katie maybe but deliberately seeking to humiliate Cody? Rubbing it in? It was a kind of vengeance. "He tasted a little like this dessert, that's all," I said, because it was true enough. "Slick. sweet. Same feel in the mouth."
She paused, a spoonful of creme brulee already in her mouth, another in her spoon, and silently considered whether that was so. I was amused to see her put down the spoon. "I've tasted gallons of cum recently, Barbara," I said. "It's always different but always the same -- the fresh scent, the slickness. Kind of nice. Like a vintage wine." But she'd now reminded me of the main mystery, so I continued, "What I don't understand is, how did I end up at the Estate? Why change my sex? Russell wanted me out of the competition for you altogether?"
She just looked at me. "You were no competition at all by then, Cody. Not at all. You were just Russell's cleanup man. No, we sent you to the mansion for the opposite reason, to improve your chances with me. To give me two effective lovers, not just one. It was supposed to be a kind of birthday present for me. That's why I went along with it."
Dumbfounding! "How's that?"
"One day when Russell was showing me more of your e-mails to your floosies I commented that I had no idea what those women saw in you. That I'd have no regrets when I left you and married him."
It had gotten that bad between us? And I'd never known? But this was no time for commiseration or regret. "Was that wise, Barbara? I should think mentioning marriage would send a man like him running!"
"Not Russell. He explained that he understood how I felt, but marriage wasn't at all necessary. That I could have both of you. He told me there was a place where a man could learn all sorts of sexual techniques and tricks, how to use whatever he's got to make his partner happy. But that the training took time, months and months."
I saw what was coming. She didn't mean to get rid of me. She'd meant to remake me as a home improvement project!
"I thought that would be just great! Russell could move in with me and take your place while you were out of the way learning how to please me. No more sneaking around. 'I know a wife who sent her husband there,' he said. 'And when he returned he was an altogether different kind of lover. And their love life hasn't been the same since.' Well, that convinced me!"
So! That confirmed that we were still legally married! That had suited Russell's purposes, and she'd bought it! Valuable information! "Did you know what would happen to me when I went there?" I asked her. "That they make men into women?" Was it possible that this was entirely Russell's scheme to get me out of his way, that Barbara wasn't even complicitous?
"I asked Russell how they do it, and he just replied, 'They teach a man to be more aware of how women feel when a man's making love to her. How to put himself in her place. How to give and receive. Afterward a man's much more understanding.' He never did tell me they do it by converting him into a her. Though it does look like that's what they did with you." She grinned, looking at me, plainly pleased with what she saw.
"In all cases that's what they do," I commented. "In my case except for the genitals. That was a cost-saving option."
She looked at me closely. "Oh, honey, you sound resentful! Have you any idea how really beautiful you turned out? I love just looking at you! How can you mind? You're the best of both worlds!"
"How can I mind if you don't?" I asked evasively. She took that as my answer.
In fact at that moment I didn't know how I felt. It was very pleasant, being a woman, desirable and desired, knowing you're attractive. I did resent that I'd had no say in it, that I'd been coerced into femininity. But here I was, and it wasn't at all bad. I pushed up my hair in back with both hands, and recalled how pleased I always felt when I'd gotten my look just right. No, I didn't mind!
"Russell said they were very thorough in this school for husbands. I wasn't so sure I wanted you to learn some things, not from other women. So I asked, 'He'll learn by having sex with other women?' Russell said not necessarily other women. 'Mostly from other men. He'll learn how to do things women should know, and then he can teach them to you. How to pleasure a man better for example.' That's what he said. He was suggesting that I'd then do those things for him, so he'd be the ultimate beneficiary."
"Well, I thought about that some, and I finally told him I wouldn't mind learning that kind of thing from you. It'd take you away from your other women, for sure. It all sounded reasonable, a win/win situation. If you could teach me how to please a man more, Russell would get something out of it, but you'd gain the most in the long run, so how could you object? Meanwhile, while you were in training I'd have all the more free time to spend with Russell, and that was an attraction. Win-win all around! He did warn me you could be away for as long as a year. I thought that was fine. I happened at the time to be sitting very still on his monster cock and feeling wave after wave of orgasms pass through me, so I saw absolutely nothing wrong with that at all. You know how it is!" She smiled at me.
I did know, though not from Russell. I smiled back at her girl to girl, as if I were thoroughly understanding.
"So I said OK. He warned me that there was no way you'd go voluntarily, that it would be too demeaning for you to accept that your lovemaking needs improvement. 'He'll have to be drugged when he's taken there,' Russell said. 'They have people who can do that.' I thought that would be OK too, it was for your own good after all. One way to save our marriage, sort of. I have your power of attorney of course, the same way you have mine. So I signed the consent forms and Russell set up the resort trip with you along with some of his buddies, and I went along you thought to be with you but actually to be with Russell, and the Estate took care of the rest."
"I guess they did," I said. "I woke up a year later. A week ago. An absolutely lost year, except for who knows how many men I fucked during that time, and women too they tell me. Except for learning all sorts of ways to please people with my body. I have snatches of memories of things that happened, but all of the reflexes and habits. When I relax and go with my instincts, 'follow my nose' as Gina advised me, I can be one hot babe!. "
Unexpectedly, Barbara looked delighted. "Then that lost year wasn't lost to me! And you're now a very pretty woman, don't forget that. That's never a loss! I'm looking forward to finding out what you learned about pleasing people with your body!"
"I guess," I said. Oddly, I was getting more and more in agreement that my womanhood had compensating advantages. I did enjoy it. I loved feeling pretty. Looking into a mirror nowadays was deeply satisfying -- when I saw my dainty face with its large, dark eyes and its full lips, my slim yet curved figure, I felt a sense of completion. Of course that was probably hypno conditioning, but the feelings were real enough. I couldn't go back anyhow. More important, I didn't really want to go back. I had to reach for a further objection. "But I didn't agree to it," I added. "That makes it indecent!"
That did seem to disturb Barbara. "True, you didn't consent to go there, and maybe we were a little mean, sending you there without your consent. But you were screwing all those bimbos without my consent, weren't you? I was trying to save our marriage."
She sounded earnest enough. I could see her point of view.
"And remember, when you went, I had no idea that the way they teach you how women feel is by direct experience. I thought you might end up sort of gay, a little, that you'd feel something of how women feel about men. But that would have been a small price. Then when I looked in on you a few months ago I didn't know what to think! It was amazing! You already looked so pretty, and so happy, just darling in fact. You were having such a good time with both of the men I saw you with, teasing them and running your hands all over their arms and chests, one in your mouth and one in your ass and both of them clutching your boobs! Seventh heaven! You reminded me of me when I first graduated from college and got a job in the city and all sorts of men were after me, and I encouraged some and teased others. They told me there was no reversing what they'd done, that was you now. So I thought about how useful you could be as a woman, how you could take care of the house and everything. And I didn't really need you for male sex, not as long as I had Russell. But I also didn't want to lose your cock as a spare. So I agreed when Russell told me how we'd save money if we delayed your big operation."
"Delayed it?"
"Russell figured that when you got out, you'd resent what we'd done. But that you'd be a lot less troublesome if we could still threaten to cut off your balls when you got out. And you were sure to be troublesome. 'Knowing Cody,' he said, 'I figure it's only a matter of time.' That's one reason why I haven't told him that you're Cody. He thinks you're just one more penitent slut. I doubt he remembers there ever was a Cody by now -- he does take things a day at a time, always scheming about the future, never looking back."
But Russell wasn't wrong. I meant to be troublesome. Now there was this new information! "You visited me there? You saw what they were doing to me? While I was being trained? And you approved?" That was news!
"Katie, I even fucked you while you were being trained. God, that first time, and then when you licked your own sperm out of my pussy, oooooh what a difference! They'd taught you how to curl your tongue yet keep it stiff -- Katie, that was soooo much nicer than any time you'd licked yourself or Russell out of me earlier. And that slithering wriggle when your cock was inside me, oh, I'm wet thinking about it! You're small compared to Russell, but that didn't matter any more -- I was thinking you were a woman, not a man, and for a woman you were enormous! And you did know so much more about how women feel when there's meat moving around inside them! You were just great! I was eager to get you home after that!"
"You saw what I'd become, and you did nothing about it?"
"What was there to do? You were well-conditioned to love what you were becoming. Your 'readjustment' as they called it. Your voice was all squeaky -- I suppose your throat hadn't healed fully yet. You did seem a little simple minded -- you didn't recognize me and you barely responded to your own name, and so on. I'd say you had the attention span of a butterfly. But when I got you alone and hugged you? Oh, you were just marvelous! Passionate? My God, it was all worth it! I mean, you didn't lift me into a steady state chain reaction of orgasms the way Russell's cock does just by being there. But you had orchestrated moves of your own with your cock and your fingers and your tongue and the palm of your hand on my clit and my breasts and the sides of my neck that were ... well sublime! Symphonic? Oh, yes! I thought back then and I think now that it was all worth it. If you don't know that yet, well, you will. I hope so! We'll do it again real soon, maybe when Russell next goes on a trip somewhere!"
I saw now what I was dealing with. Barbara had no sense of the enormity of what Russell had done to both of us. His plan had been to use her for his pleasure -- and hers, I had to grant that -- for as long as his pleasure lasted. And when he felt it was time to move on, to dump her back onto a husband who'd been transformed into something she'd find satisfactory enough yet meanwhile no competition for him at all.
That time was now close at hand. Chances were that Russell was with his next paramour at this very moment, no doubt someone else's girlfriend or wife, and that this new woman was impaled blissfully this very moment on that fire hydrant of his, throbbing through successive orgasms but otherwise unable to move. Like Barbara, altogether unconcerned with the eventual costs.
"Shall we clear the dishes?" I asked her.
"That's what you do, Katie," Barbara said abruptly. "I wouldn't deprive you."
Our conviviality had ended. What she'd wished to say, to confess, had been said. She rose slowly. "This was an incredible dinner, I'd forgotten that gourmet cooking was always one of your hobbies. Thank you. I'll be in the living room, if you plan to serve coffee. When Russell isn't here and it's bed time I may occasionally ask you to join me upstairs, to sample some of the delicious things you've learned. But not tonight -- tonight you probably have too much to do settling in."
Not so. At the Estate my working clothes had been a few flimsy undergarments, and I had few others. Even my make-up was the touch and cover kind, since my basic look was already tattooed or stained onto my skin. I'd settled in already, by tossing the contents of my bags into a few drawers. But Barbara was the mistress of the house, so she alone determined reality. We'd returned to her idea of our proper relationship. Our session had ended
But as I reviewed it, I saw it had been altogether successful as a fishing expedition. Knowing what had happened and why, knowing who was responsible, I could begin figuring out what to do about it and how. Soon, because Russell would probably be leaving her soon. They say that the best revenge is living well, and I intended to live well. But first I wanted a different kind of revenge! The old-fashioned kind.
"Yes, Ma'am," I replied. "The living room. Do you still take cream and sugar both?"
V.
The household needed a lot of attention -- Barbara had never been interested in domestic affairs any more than financial. She'd hired a house cleaning firm to sweep into the place now and then, then sweep out again two hours later leaving the beds and kitchen straightened out, for once, the tile floors mopped, and all the rooms dusted and vacuumed. They came the next morning just after Barbara left for the office. As they worked I could see they were unsure why I was there at all, wearing a maid's outfit. But they did stay the full contracted two hours while I watched them and seemingly supervised, frowning until they'd done a thorough job with whatever. Maintaining the household would be relatively easy, I realized, as long as they did the routine work.
Then I changed and went shopping for proper seasonal clothes, some dressy, some casual, some sporty, feeling quite pleased that my debit card liberated me to spend freely. I'd found I had many feminine reflexes -- as I passed through the house I'd straighten lamps, check my make-up in every mirror, touch my hair, even admire men I saw through the window as they strolled or jogged past. But once in the stores I found myself shopping as I'd always shopped, as men do, not as women do. I looked for items I liked and tried them on for size and purchased them if they did the job well enough, without worrying whether they were the best available for the purpose, without experimenting with different looks, without listening to hear whether they "spoke" to me or to each other or not. Then I moved on. I was not interested in "recreational" shopping, the kind women love, entertaining myself by imagining my life transfigured by each item, trying on different items to try on different ways of feeling, different lives. I'd been transfigured quite enough. The Estate had neglected to condition me for shopping as women shop, so I was finished by noon.
While I was out Russell returned from what had apparently been an all nighter, still wearing the same clothes. As I came into the house from my expedition I heard him on the phone talking to Barbara at the office, loudly congratulating himself that he'd managed to make the first plane back from whatever city his 'business' had been in. Barbara said nothing I could make out from his replies.
After he hung up, he looked me over. "You're a whore. If I asked you to suck my dick, would you do it?" he suddenly asked me.
"Of course, if my mistress approves," I replied tartly. "Do you think it's special?"
He nodded. "Women say so," he said. "'Hung like a horse' is what they say."
He remembered nothing about me. But I thought I'd better make certain. "If it doesn't fit my mouth, it'll fit my cunt," I replied, leaving out the conditional in order to whet his appetite..
"Maybe," he said. "But even for a stretched out whore like you it'd be a tight fit."
So he didn't realize after all that I was Barbara's ex, the old buddy he'd kidnapped and gotten made over into a 'girlyboy' whore, gotten out of the way so he could take over my life with my wife. He'd forgotten? There were so many ways he'd dealt with so many husbands of seduced wives that they'd all blurred in memory? He did indeed think I was a standard whore become a standard domestic servant, one more of Barbara's pet projects.
"If mistress approves, I'll be glad to fuck with you," I added. I allowed a gleam into my eye. "I'd look forward to fucking you up and fucking you over!" I smiled as if invitingly.
It was foolish for me phrase it that way and risk revealing my antagonism. But all that happened was, a gleam appeared in his own eyes and he glanced at my crotch. "I just may hold you to it," he said with a leer. Then, visibly weary from his all-night exercises in some other woman's bed, he went to bed.
All very promising. But now to formulate a plan of my own. I changed to an appropriate business suit -- a mid-knee skirt, very solemn, with a chiffon scarf at my neck to soften the effect -- and then followed Barbara to the office, using a city bus. She was surprised to see me there this first day home, but merely introduced me to her secretary as 'Katie Wilmott, my former husband's sister come to help out,' then disappeared into her office. Plainly, she did hope I'd straighten out things she hadn't understood or bothered to understand, but she didn't want to demonstrate dependence or inadequacy. Not to a secretary -- a new one since I'd left. Not to me either.
After sizing up and approving the new secretary's clothes, hairdo, and style of make-up, and silently approving what I saw, I went into what had been my own office and sat down at my own desk and found it exactly as I'd left it a year earlier. It was a shrine to my lost former self. Then I became my old self.
I quickly found that my boobs blocked a near view of the computer keyboard, and my extended nails required a flat-fingered style of typing, but those adjustments came quickly. In fact I loved such reminders that I was now feminine. I wanted to be feminine! I knew of course that I'd been conditioned to feel that way, but that didn't matter, the feelings were real enough, and pleasing enough. My mind even drifted to what it would be like if I did have a cunt and really could fuck a fat club of a cock like Russell's. I mused for a moment on how it would feel if he actually were inside me. The way Barbara reported he'd felt, or she'd felt, like a stuffed animal shuddering in wave after wave of orgasms? My mind drifted.
But no, that bastard was my enemy, the sleaze who'd destroyed my life, so I cut off all further daydreaming and got to work.
First, I saw that Barbara had left our personal checking and savings accounts unchanged, and I had access to both. So the first thing I did at my own computer was start a 'Katie Wilmott' account -- I was my sister now -- and then log onto our old personal accounts as Cody and transfer most of the funds in them -- not all -- into Katie's. I saw in passing that there had been a few mass transfers of money from them to a 'Russell Donahue' -- fairly large sums, probably 'investments' no doubt as Barbara understood them. Lost money -- Russell had been scamming her too, as he would any other widow. It became clear that Russell hadn't yet pulled off what he surely planned as his valedictory scam, cleaned her out altogether and then abandoned her, leaving her deep in debt. Not yet he hadn't. That, I'd known for a long time, was how he always bid farewell to gullible women as he moved on. Then I hadn't cared -- they 'd gotten laid by a great prick and paid the price, and he'd amused his friends by boasting about it. Now I was one of those women, in a way -- I'd been tittyfucked by him anyhow. And Barbara was about to become another.
I didn't attempt a similar hijack of the Wilmott and Wilmott Office account -- it wasn't necessary. It had accumulated a considerable amount of money during the year I'd been away despite no attention at all paid to receivables. I quickly realized that the deposits duly noted had been automatic retainers Barbara might not even know we were getting. I saw no evidence of anything else happening in that account, and recalled that Barbara never knew even its passwords and pin numbers -- I'd dealt myself with all of those boring details. Probably she'd started a second 'Office' account when she'd couldn't find this one or realized she'd have no access to it until I'd completed my training at the Estate. Until I'd supposedly learned how to be more understanding of women, had paid off my tuition by whoring, and then come to work for her. So that money was already Cody's alone. Mine.
I settled in for a few hours of getting up to speed on current cases, and found several I could suggest I take over. But before I closed down the computer for the day I wrote a half-dozen e-mail love letters to Russell as if from several of his other paramours, each dated during the past year, and sent copies of them to Barbara as if from 'A. Friend.'
I then wrote a half-dozen more e-mails, this time signed by 'Barbara' as if to a variety of imaginary lovers, and wrote a few ardent replies as well, and saved the whole fraudulent correspondence to a CD. Those were for later, to prove to her that such letters are easily faked. I wanted her to be furious with Russell because of A. Friend's revelations, and only afterward understand that the letters exposing my supposed infidelities had also been faked. She had to understand as I did that what Russell had shown her earlier, supposedly from me, had been written by him so she'd open her legs to him the first time. After that first time, he knew, she'd find any number of her own reasons to spread for him.
It had worked. He'd screwed her -- if stuffing a cunt and then lying there squeezed by its successive spasms can be called screwing -- and no further deceptions had been needed. The damage was done. I was one more cuckolded husband he'd put out of the way with his wife's approval. My manhood was, anyhow.
I felt especially satisfied as I logged off -- in only a few hours I'd done a good day's work. Before leaving I went to Barbara's office to discuss a few client matters with her, but she waved me away, so I backed off. She seemed to be concentrating ferociously on something -- A. Friend's e-mails perhaps? I decided that this was not a good time to distract her, and left on my own.
Since there was too little time for me to prepare a proper dinner this time, when I got off the bus I stopped at "Jeff's Ribs" and bought supper for the two of them for reheating as if it were my own special recipe, cooked for hours. It wasn't necessary. By the time I'd set the table and announced dinner, prim in my maid's uniform, Barbara was in the living room discussing Russell's supposed e-mails with him in a low, tense voice. He denied everything, of course. They both raised their voices, and Russell stormed out. So far so good.
I thought that Barbara and I would then sit down together for another peaceable dinner, again more as girlfriends than as maid and mistress. I was about to change into the prettiest of the dinner dresses I'd just bought when Barbara came into the kitchen.
"I'm going out, Katie," she announced. "I'm still furious, never mind why, and I need some distraction! That snake! Leave my dinner in the micro for whenever I return, and don't bother waiting up. You might try checking out the television in your room to see whether it's working, and whether there's anything on tonight that interests you. Maybe go out yourself and try to find some people like yourself and make a few friends. Feel free to invite them to see your new quarters if you like, but remember, no strangers in the house past midnight." She looked at me. "And no whoring for money -- this house is not a brothel! Good night." And she was gone.
She couldn't have been clearer. The main parts of the house were for her and her guests, not me and my guests. If I wanted to hook up with someone and get fucked, feel free, I was a woman after all and shouldn't feel deprived. But she made the rules!
I knew that Russell would soon figure that I'd written those e-mails proving he'd been unfaithful to my wife. So immediately after Barbara left I called Gina. After a long wait she came to the phone, her voice deep in her throat. I apologized for perhaps waking her. She chuckled, told me it was only overmuch deep-throating, and added that the girls all missed me. "Lots of guys have asked for you too -- they say they prefer your magic mouth to all the others."
I told her I missed them too, and was surprised to find I felt sincere about it. My heart really was reaching out to where I knew I'd been welcomed and respected. Here I felt isolated and demeaned. I told Gina that.
She made sympathetic noises. "But we all make our own lives, Katie," she said. "If you don't like whatever world you're in, leave! Try another one somewhere else."
"I just did," I said. "Anyhow, I'd rather change the one I'm in." I then described to her what I was plotting. She listened and agreed to put my proposal to Mrs. Eliot. An hour later she called me back and said it was on, that Mrs. Eliot said to thank me and tell me they'd take care of everything. "Don't give it another thought," she said. "Your house will be watched. Just be sure not to lock the front door, that's the only instruction she gave me." I agreed.
Before hanging up, Gina added, "Maybe you haven't found it yet, honey, but you know that pretty jelly dildo you like? It's in a side pocket of your travel bag along with some KY. Emergency gear for when you fall on hard times with no hard cock. You do sound like a girl who needs to relax. Will you promise to do exactly what I say now?"
Gina'd done what I wanted, so I had to reciprocate. "I will," I replied.
"Good. When you hang up the phone, go directly to your room and lie down on the bed, and spread your legs, and then -- are you listening?"
"Yes."
"Go fuck yourself!" she said. And laughed. "I mean it!"
"I will," I promised again. "Thank you!"
"Leaving you all alone!" she muttered. "What can your wife be thinking? I wish I were there to help! Good night, honey!" And she hung up.
I hung up the phone and did just what she'd asked. It felt wonderful to be lost in my own sensations for once, inserting that dildo into my well-sensitized rear end and rolling my hips in bliss. I'd realized that I'd been so concerned with others' sexual pleasure for so long that I'd taken to ignoring my own. It was nice to indulge with a stiff cock in me. I wondered what a soft, wet, throbbing cunt would feel like. Again I considered trading in my cock for a cunt of my own. Maybe. It would depend on .. events in the near future.
The next day Russell still hadn't returned. I spent time shopping for the pantry, organizing the cooking, and attending to other of my duties as Barbara's house maid. Barbara had returned home quite late the previous night and was sleeping in late, so I canceled the house cleaning service as too clamorous. When she finally did come down to breakfast she found me attending to the essentials myself. I'd prepared Eggs Benedict for her, and as I turned them out of the pan she looked up at me.
"You know, Cody," she said. "You're becoming a treasure. You've worked out so well! I can't imagine what it was I saw in Russell when you were still my husband." A compliment, and intended as one. But obviously a little insincere.
"It wasn't what you saw in Russell, Mrs. Wilmott," I reminded her. "It was what you saw hanging from him." I still resented that Russell had persuaded her to dump me and devote herself instead to his huge prick. That she'd agreed to let the Estate 'improve' my lovemaking, and not objected when she found it was by initiating me into girlhood and prostitution. Much as I'd come to love both girlhood and prostitution.
"Also, please remember that I'm Katie now, not Cody. Irreversibly they tell me," I added. To emphasize the point, I thrust out my chest. My breasts jutted out -- this particular uniform had darts in its fitted bust, allowing plenty of room to display them. They needed plenty of room.
"So I see," was all she said. There was a note of approval in her voice. Then surprisingly, came a confession. "They did right by you. I'd been thinking for a long time that you weren't quite the husband I'd hoped for, and I'd wished you could be a little more like a woman, less of a ... guy, less aggressive and insensitive, more understanding, more like a ... a friend. And now you are. Aren't you pleased?"
That was quite a revelation! Was she saying that I'd been unsatisfactory, that if Russell hadn't come along, another man might have? That I'd have ended up less masculine, more feminized anyhow? I stared at Barbara dumbly. This was new!
"I asked you a question. If you're pleased, say so." She was eyeing me dispassionately now, a mistress instructing her maid in modes of proper response.
All in all I was pleased. I was content as a woman, I couldn't deny it. And I knew it wasn't all conditioning -- my body had its own desires. That dildo up my ass wasn't as good as some of the men who'd been in me, but it did remind me of them, and that was amply satisfying. Clamping your ass muscles on a cock or a dildo when you're cumming and cumming and cumming is a joy beyond description, and I'd never have known that if I'd remained a mere man. Last night had reminded me.
And pleasing men, those masses of muscle, by taking that one
unmuscled tube into your mouth and making it rigid, making it spurt, that was satisfying too. Then again, feeling their hands and fingers caress my full breasts -- any hands and fingers -- that could be heaven! I'd never have known that pleasure if I didn't have breasts.
"Yes, Ma'am. I'm very pleased."
Seeing she'd regained the upper hand, Barbara -- Mrs. Wilmott -- felt she could relax. "These eggs are delicious, Katie. I look forward to your other gourmet specialties in the future. Oh, if you won't be coming to the office today, would you see what can be done to clean out the garage? And Mr. Wilmott left some things in the attic we'll be well rid of, since as we both know he's never coming back. See to it, would you?"
She was asking me to eradicate the last vestiges of me? Why not? I said I would. I phoned the cleaning service to tell them to concentrate on the garage tomorrow, and I called the Salvation Army to carry away Mr. Wilmott's clothes, sports equipment, and books from the attic. True enough, he was never coming back.
I worried that Russell also was never coming back, but two days later when Barbara was at the office he returned to collect his clothes and other belongings, this time to leave for good. Clearly, she'd tossed him out past any further argument, foreclosing any planned last scam on her money and credit.
That didn't prevent him from casting a speculative eye on me in passing. Then a real problem. He eyed me slowly, then proposed that we lie down together then and there. "I hear that's what you do best," he said. "Well, so do I. I guarantee that your pussy will never forget me."
I nodded my agreement and smiled at him, then slowly, tantalizingly, unbuttoned the top button of my maid's uniform. Then the next button. Hoping that somehow Mrs. Eliot had made her arrangements. Could I get away with merely tittyfucking him a second time? This time he was cold sober. No.
"So, what are your specialties, Katie?" he asked, starting to unbuckle his belt. "We have all day!"
Apparently he wanted more than a tittyfuck. Incredible! He'd still somehow not yet put Katie, Cody, those e-mails, and Barbara's recent accusations together. Maybe because he'd been so busy with other women these past few days? Even so, when he saw what I had and did not have down below, he'd suddenly know everything, I was sure of that. When his slab of meat was tumescent he was probably single minded, like most men. But he wasn't stupid.
Thank goodness Mrs. Eliot was as efficient with Russell as she'd been with me. Before his pants reached his knees he was blind sided. The house had indeed been watched almost from the hour I'd spoken to Gina, and his return to collect his clothes had been duly reported. Before I got to the third button on my uniform, an ambulance pulled up in front of the house and two men rushed out and rushed through our unlocked front door. There was a whirl of activity in front of my nose while I gaped, and a moment later three men went back out to the ambulance, one of them on a stretcher. The ambulance and Russell then disappeared up the street, bound for the Estate.
So that was how I'd disappeared from that casino? The role reversal was very gratifying. I immediately called Gina to share the good news, and proposed they make Russell into a masochistic girl subject to whatever any sadistic male client required. Gina's response was that I shouldn't give Russell another thought. "'Leave him to us' is what Mrs. Eliot told me to tell you. 'We'll find ways to use him. It's best you don't inquire further.' That's what she said."
So I stopped worrying about Russell. He was now so much meat.
So did Barbara, apparently. As far as she knew, Russell had simply decided never to return. Given her discovery of his other paramours, those I'd invented and his likely actual ones, she no longer cared.
Now, with Russell out of the way and the household much more orderly in his absence, I had less to do. I began going in to the office several times each week, and a few weeks passed. I picked up on the work fairly quickly and began carrying a substantial burden of it again, paperwork and depositions mainly. I also did some of the interviewing of new clients -- as a good-looking and obviously competent woman I had no problem gaining their confidence as they outlined their problems to me and I proposed likely solutions. Barbara was grateful for my help, and in fact, after my second full day she began to feel free to spend free time elsewhere. Sometimes she didn't return to the office at all. The second week after Russell disappeared, night after night she didn't return home until quite late. Past midnight in fact, and once or twice not at all.
Where she spent that time I didn't discover for a long while, but how she spent it soon became apparent enough. One night she announced a return home by knocking on my door. Katie's door, the door to the servant's entrance behind the kitchen.
"Cody, are you with anyone?" she called out. She persisted in calling me that name more often than 'Katie.' It depressed me to be reminded who I'd once been, but that may have been her purpose. It seemed to please her.
I'd been lying in bed reading, anticipating a session with my dildo after lights out. But I merely replied, "No, no one."
She took this as a license to enter my inner sanctum and did so, slamming the door shut and standing for a moment with the door at her back. I saw with a certain distaste that she'd been out on the town. Her hair was loose and messed and her make-up smeared. She looked ... used. When she threw herself on my bed, pulled up her skirt, and spread her legs wide at me there was no question of it. The hair on her cunt was clotted with cum, and as I stared, more pearly, viscous stuff drooled out of her.
She looked at me slyly. "Haven't seen this part of me recently, have you?" she asked, slurring. "Well, you're the whore here. So eat me!" I looked more closely at the gap between her legs. Under her crotch hair, between bloated, red-irritated folds of skin, opalescent fluid dribbled. Her crack reminded me of an open sewer.
In the old days I'd have eaten her as asked. I often did before we made love, always while her cunt was prim and neat and then at her request, sometimes after I'd cum into it. That had seemed nasty at first, but it had seemed to me only fair that I bring her to one more orgasm when I could no longer bring her off the usual way. So I'd sucked her pussy both before and after, not bothering to glance at her crease before burying my face in it. She'd get into bed and lie back and languorously invite me to begin or maybe conclude our lovemaking by giving her a big smooch down there, and I'd do it.
After a while I came to love it because even before I'd cum in her I'd find she was often already wet down there. Dripping wet sometimes. I thought this testimony to her excitement, how much she anticipated the deep pleasure my tongue would give her as it licked and stroked and then invaded her. And her excitement in turn would excite me. A few years later, even when her subtle discontent with our marriage began to be noticeable, I noticed that she'd still get excited down there. And in its excitement, her pussy was still just as wet. Swollen, puffy, and drooling, in fact. Like now.
Oh God! Of course! Unthinkable, back then anyhow, I was so innocent! But now I'd had a year's experience with all sorts of excretions, and I had to think it! What I'd been licking out of her during those years hadn't been her cum or mine. It'd been someone else's. When our marriage began to seem unsatisfying to her she'd amused herself by bringing someone else's cum home and delivering it to my mouth as if it were hers or mine. And I'd trusted her. I'd lapped it all up and smiled.
Russell's too. But now I realized that Russell hadn't been Barbara's first extramarital excursion -- there'd been others earlier. And I'd unwittingly collaborated. Over and over, when her pussy had glutted itself on some other man's cock and was sated, my mouth had provided the dessert. No wonder she'd agreed with Russell to let the Estate improve my oral skills, among others. It had done just that. But should I betray my former self by demonstrating what I'd learned?
"You've been a busy girl tonight, haven't you?" I said, trying to deflect her attention. Better to jolly her now than confront her. "Was he especially good this time?"
My overture didn't work. "Eat me!" was all she repeated.
In itself that was no big deal. I'd swallowed gallons of sperm from all sorts of projections and orifices in my time at the Estate. But now? From her? No way!
"I'm the house maid here," I told Barbara. "Also a paralegal for Wilmott and Wilmott. I'm not the local food critic. And I'm no one's douche bag. If I suck a cunt it has to deserve it!"
I'm not sure she heard me. "It was so good tonight," she reminisced, just lying there. "Two guys at a time are so much better than one ...."
Then thankfully, she fell stone solidly asleep across my bed. Nothing would wake her -- I tried and failed several times. So finally I left her there on my bed and went up to her room and crawled into her bed -- formerly our bed. Then despite all sorts of new tumbling thoughts, I fell asleep.
She remembered none of any of it the next day, and at breakfast I acted as if nothing had happened.
"I found myself in your room this morning," she commented as I brought her a boiled egg and toast. "Maybe I'd had a little too much to drink. You weren't there when I woke up. You were having a late night somewhere else?"
Was she asking if I'd fucked her and sucked her? Or anyone else? I smiled conspiratorially. "When I saw you asleep on my bed I didn't want to disturb you, so I spent the night ... elsewhere," I told her cryptically but truthfully. I'd made up her bed with clean sheets immediately on waking up, leaving no clue where I'd spent the night.
"Elsewhere. That's nice," she said, sipping coffee. "Was he good? Mine were satisfactory, but lacked ... something. I'm afraid I left a mess on your bedspread though."
We seemed to be back to intimate chit-chat, morning-after girl-talk, though she was seated and I was serving her. "No problem, honey," I replied. "It all washes out."
"See what you can do for my skirt then too, Katie. It's silk, I think. I left it for you to deal with." She sighed. "I should carry tampons I guess, but I figured that now that you're back and available you can clean me out the way you used to whenever I'd gone ... elsewhere. But I guess not last night."
I said nothing. She apparently remembered nothing.
She eyed me steadily. "From now on I'll call when I know what time I'll be coming home, so you'll know to stay up and wait for me."
"Another cup of coffee?" was all I replied.
She nodded, and her thoughts drifted to the day's work. Then, "Can you can get to the office later this morning, Katie? There's a contract issue that needs your advice."
"I'll certainly try," I said. I certainly would. She'd just given me more to think about. Whether or not she'd been a dupe of Russell's, as I certainly had, she'd used Russell and she'd certainly used me to gratify her own desires. Me for some time, Russell maybe from the beginning, from that first time she'd plugged him into her cunt and held still while orgasmic waves passed through her. Had I been unjust to Russell, thinking him the prime architect of the end of my marriage and my masculine identity and sending him off to a fate similar to mine? Who had used who?
Which one of them had first proposed sending me to the Estate for treatment? Which one of them even knew of the Estate earlier, and how? I'd assumed Russell, because of all his womanizing and all his womanizing friends. But was Barbara's story of how I got there the whole story?
VI.
Late that afternoon everything finally came clear.
I went to the office, changed the 'Wilmott and Wilmott" office account Barbara didn't know about into a new "Katie Wilmott, Atty," account, started the paperwork establishing 'Katie Wilmott, Atty' as a P.C., and filed a form with the district court officially changing my name from 'Cody' to 'Katie' with all the rights, privileges, and immunities thereof. Our partnership was dissolved, as far as I was concerned, though she'd have no idea for a while yet.
I then picked up the disk containing Barbara's supposed love letters to various men and their replies, and went in to see Barbara.
Our consultation over her contract issue went quickly, and I then put the disk into her computer and booted it. Cautioning her to say nothing until she'd read them all, I brought up her supposed love letters to other men one at a time. She read them with a certain interest, chuckling once or twice at an occasional impassioned purple phrasing.
Then when she'd seen them all, she looked at me and asked, "So?"
This took me aback. It was not the response I'd anticipated. "These supposed love letters were all written by me as if by you, and attributed to you," I said by way if explaining the obvious.
"So?" she asked again
"Barbara, none of the letters Russell showed you supposedly from me to various women were authentic. E-mail letters are easily forged. He persuaded you that I was unfaithful and that you deserved revenge only so he could get into your pants. He got into them. You took your revenge and agreed to commit me to the Estate, and he saw to it that I was committed. But I wasn't unfaithful!"
"He did indeed," Barbara replied. "He got a lot further into me than my pants. And he felt very good in there, too. I still miss the feeling. But I have to ask you again, so what?"
I said nothing. She hesitated a long while, then as she spoke she watched me closely out of the corner of her eye.
"Honey, I didn't mean to tell you any of this until after I began sleeping with you again, but I guess we need to be truthful right off. When I told you that I took up with Russell because you'd supposedly taken up with other women, I was only trying to spare your feelings. I took up with Russell because I'd heard he was a way better lover than you'd ever be. You've seen why -- how could any girl resist? If you had a cunt you'd know why too by now -- that's why I canceled that part of your ... transformation ... I didn't want to share him that way with you ever."
I nodded to show I understood. Here was a confirmation of sorts.
"I always shared him with you afterward, so you can't complain too much. The very first time I came back to you from his hotel room I knew I had to give you a taste of him, just to be fair. He cums in buckets, as you know, and you eagerly slurped him up in buckets. That was so pleasing to me that I always made sure that afterward you got at least a lick of the action, no matter what."
"I thought that was all you," I said. "Didn't you feel a little guilty, even?" Then I thought, maybe better to say nothing.
"At first. Then I thought, how can I make you less my husband, so I'll feel less bad about feeding you another man's cum. That was when I started slipping a birth control pill into the puddle between my labia just before your mouth got to it. So you could become more like me eventually, and I could think of you as someone more like me, not at all the man I'd married."
She'd put me on birth control pills? Was that how I started down this path toward womanhood? "Every time?" I asked her, shocked!
"Every time I left Russell and came back to you, anyhow. Even when I didn't. God, my pussy was so stretched out sometimes I was afraid your head would disappear inside me, you got so devoted to licking his spunk. Then when I came to reclaim you from the Estate I wanted you to see for yourself how irresistible Russell's cock can be, so you'd understand everything I'd done. And anyhow it seemed only fair to let you taste him direct from the source. So when he was too drunk for it to matter, that was when I sent him to you for a blow job. That last night. When I came into your room with Brad and saw you with your mouth clamped around that cathedral dome of a cock head and squeezing it between your brand new breasts ... it was just so lovely, that sight, I was near tears! I knew then that I'd been right, all my elaborate planning. I felt, 'If this is still my husband, he's forgiven me!' But I never expected that Russell would then try to rape you! That was unforgivable!"
Clear confirmation of what I'd just learned, and utterly unexpected that she'd confess it! Did she felt so confident of her power over me now that she felt she could tell me everything? Was she that naive?
But I'd better keep to the issue, I decided, and be absolutely clear about it. "You knew the whole time that I wasn't philandering with some other woman?"
"Of course I knew! Cody, think! If you'd been with some other woman your sex with me would have been much less demanding and much more imaginative. You'd have come onto me only now and then, but ready to try some new move or other, something she'd inspired or taught you. At least there'd be another woman's scent on your clothes, or better, on your body. But no, intimacy with you was always the sameole sameole, reliable but repetitive. Boring. Can you wonder why I went looking for greater variety."
She smiled warmly and sat back in her chair. "Now you know vastly more about satisfying a woman, I'm told. Mrs. Eliot tells me you know how to please a woman as a man or as a woman, because you've given and received pleasure both, as both. Well, that's what I've wanted from you all along, and now that's what I've got. Really, Katie, you need to get used to the idea!"
I had nothing to say. My planned grand confrontation, my effort to make Barbara feel remorse for what she'd done to me, to show her the error of her ways by proving I'd been unimpeachably virtuous, had shown me only the error of my own ways. She didn't really care. She didn't even care that I now knew what she'd done. And Russell, I now knew, hadn't been her first extramarital partner anyhow. There had been others earlier. She hadn't ever needed forged letters as an excuse to fuck him. Why hadn't I realized that?
A larger question. If Russell didn't dupe her about my supposed infidelities, if I'd been no impediment to her own affairs anyhow, why would Russell want me sent to the Estate? Why did she consent to it? She had consented, knowingly. Mrs. Eliot made it clear that Barbara and not Russell was the Estate's contact person, the one who determined what would become of me.
It struck me. Could my own wife have been the prime mover, the person who'd consigned me to my changed sex, not Russell? If so, why? To ease any residual guilt about screwing other men, the same reason she'd fed me hormones out of her pussy? Rather extreme. To keep me occupied elsewhere while she was fucking Russell? Probably. To teach me to be a more venturesome lover? But then why a woman lover? Why pay the costs of converting me, especially the financial costs? True, I'd repaid them out of my own earnings, but when she'd committed me she'd had no reason to believe I ever could. Her boring husband a high-earning whore? Doubtful.
An answer came as we were driving home from the office, Barbara now casting salacious sidelong glances at me, obviously anticipating at last an evening of sampling my new sexual skills. I was uneasy about that. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction, any satisfaction, now that I knew how extensive her betrayals had been. Yet I knew that given my conditioning, my built-in reflexes, my professional pride in my ability to satisfy any woman or man, once she began with me I'd be unable to stop myself, and she'd indeed enjoy a grand evening getting royally fucked by a woman and also by a man, by a woman who could fuck like a man. As we were driving home she suggested we stop for drinks first. There was this little place she knew where she hadn't been for some time. "There's no reason for you to waste your energy cooking and cleaning up afterward tonight, Katie," she said. "There are other things we want to do. And you need to meet some new people, now that you're a new person. You need to know about this place especially."
I agreed, and ten minutes later we found ourselves in a quiet bar off on a side street, all leather and blonde wood panelling. It seemed an ordinary bar, though Barbara had entered it by swiping a card at the door. A private club? I looked around. There were only women to be seen, at the bar or sitting in the booths. With their heads together chatting, or else standing together and ... waiting.
The bartender glanced up as we entered, then greeted Barbara warmly by name. Barbara nodded back at her. Plainly, this was some kind of women only bar. Maybe a lesbian bar? Plainly, Barbara was a regular here.
"Hi, Bree," she said. "I want you to meet Katie -- I'm proposing her for membership. Katie's been making herself indispensable at work -- she's a real dear. I expect she'll end up equally indispensable at home."
"Oh?" Bree said. "You think some day you'll find she's more than a real dear at work, so you'll want to promote her from real dear to real partner, so to speak? At home too? She's your prime candidate to replace your husband in both places?"
"At work? Maybe, there's been no one else. At home I've had one steady since Cody left me, Russell, the guy with a cock that makes you think you're giving birth in reverse, I told you about him? He moved in when Cody moved out. But he got unreliable, so he's gone too now. Katie's my assistant in all things at the office at present, and I hope soon in all things period. As for my husband, I don't expect to see him again and I'm not looking for another. From now on I live with Katie and seek out other women or men only when I need them."
Bree nodded. "Well, you've always declared that as your preference, home life with another woman. Marianne was in the other day wondering where you've been lately. All of your crowd have been wondering -- Sheryl, Dianne, Karen, all the girls you've gone with whenever you've craved your own kind. They thought maybe your husband had come back and you'd taken him in again."
Barbara just shook her head. "No, he's never coming back," she said. I realized yet again, that was true.
"I personally doubted it," Bree continued. "I told them it was this Russell of yours occupying you so completely that you wanted no time off, not off that thing of his anyway. Or else you were spending more time and money at that place you've gone to for years and years, what's it called? Ever since I've known you, from when you first got to town to start law school? Long before your marriage? What's it called again? Not far out of town, sort of like a sports training camp for athletes, only for sex? You'd always come back glowing, well-reamed you'd say, looking altogether satisfied? What did you call that place again?"
An inspiration struck me. "You mean, 'The Estate'?" I asked.
"That's it. You know about it? You've been there too then, Katie?"
I nodded. "Yes," I told her. "Once."
She started explaining what she meant to me. "Then you know how it is. With Barbara, it's all the time. One day she'll just up and say, 'My husband doesn't have it for me this weekend, and my girlfriends' dildos don't have it either, and I'm in between guys, I need a real man!' And the next day no one would know where she was. Call home and her husband Cody would say she was off on a business trip, I suppose that's what she told him she was doing. Then a few days later she'd reappear and it was obvious that she'd been getting herself thoroughly laid, she'd found a man or a gang of men to pump her full of spunk. More than full, overflowing."
Bree turned to Barbara. "I remember, you'd come in here and tell us how you always saved Cody your leftovers and he'd sip and slurp them thinking it was all you. Janet thought it was mean of you to trick him that way. But you always insisted you were sharing, that male cum has this wonderful feel and flavor in the mouth. That if your husband were only a little more open-minded he'd appreciate it the way you do, as well as the fact that you were sharing it with him."
"That's right," Barbara replied, all the while watching me closely. She didn't appreciate Bree revealing all this all at once -- Bree of course thought I was one of the girls, one more of the girls, so she could speak freely. "If Cody had only been a little more like us I might not have had to arrange for him to become ... a little more like us." She then lapsed into silence.
Bree's next comment was directed to me as Barbara's new associate, as both her legal "assistant" and her house mate. "Katie, you know now if you didn't before that every now and then your employer feels the need to go get herself reamed by men. Slammed by hairy, heavy bodies. She isn't always satisfied with our delicate tongues and breasts and fingers and cunts. She's bisexual, not lesbian like the rest of us. Most of the rest of us. She's been intimate with my whole staff here one time or another -- Marianne, Sheryl, all of them. And since she got married she's had her husband's tongue too, as well as his cock. But now and then she says she craves really heavy-duty cock, the kind they have at this Estate of hers, so she goes off for a day or two to fill herself full of them. You'll need to know that if you don't yet, so you won't mind when it happens."
"Don't we all," I said in all apparent innocence, mainly to encourage her to say more. "Crave a fat cock now and then, I mean."
"Oh yes, certainly. I mean, even straight lesbians like me and the girls I employ here need a stiff dildo now and then, a strap-on to fill us full and give us that wonderful feeling of ... completion. That's how we're built, after all. And Barbara here feels the same way, but now and then she likes her dildos live, hot and throbbing. That's probably why she got married to begin with. Too bad it didn't work out." I was learning more here than I wanted to know. Some extraordinary things. Barbara had been a regular at the Estate even before she met and married me? She was an old established customer? No wonder Mrs. Eliot had been willing to extend her the credit needed to change me over, using my body's unproven earning power as collateral. But more to the point, I wasn't sent there by Russell to get me out of the way! I was sent there by Barbara to learn how better to satisfy her, to become more like her in body as well as mind. And by whoring to learn to enjoy it, and incidentally to pay off the costs of my reconditioning. Maybe even to build up credit Barbara could use for hiring Stud Farm cocks in the months and years ahead?
That was why Russell never suspected that Katie was once Cody, not when I was blowing him, not on the trip home, not since! Not ever! He'd had no idea that Cody was anywhere near the Estate. As far as he knew, Cody was conveniently elsewhere and he was filling Cody's space in Barbara's body and Barbara's bed, and the rest was none of his business.
He certainly knew now about the Estate, I thought with a certain malicious pleasure. If he wasn't drugged out by his mind while they were reshaping his body and reconditioning his desires.
"Yes, too bad," I agreed. And turned to Barbara. "Your husband's cock wasn't enough?" I asked her.
Barbara sighed, and then suddenly relaxed. Altogether. She sat down on a stool and leaned on the bar. It was as if she'd decided finally to let her hair down, or at least her body.
And turned to talk to me directly. "Oh, Katie, I loved Cody's cock! Still do! But it was nothing like the ones I'd gotten accustomed to at the Estate. So I'd go there whenever I felt that kind of special need. The night before our wedding, for example, when Cody was at his bachelor party singing lewd songs and so on, I was at the Estate getting gang shagged over and over, fucked hard enough and long enough for me to be satisfied with only Cody's cock for a long time before I felt the need to betray him and go back. I did want to be an honest woman for at least a month, anyhow. So I'd know what it was like, being married and fucking only one man."
"I see," I said. "I'd had no idea." She got herself gang shagged repeatedly so she could be faithful to me for all of a month? Should I express admiration? Gratitude?
Barbara cast a warning eye on me and said, "How could you know anything about it, Katie?" She emphasized my name. I realized I'd blundered. "You and I hadn't yet met when I first married my husband."
But the secret was out. Bree hadn't known who I was, or who I'd been anyhow. But now she did know. She'd quickly understood. "Oh, honey, I see it all now!" she said to me. Her face was luminous with delight. "So you two are still partners, in a way! Wonderful! Well, Cody, be Katie, because if that's who you are now you're much better off! And I want you to know that as a woman you'll always be welcome here! You'll be getting an entry card in the next mail! Let me get a bottle of champagne!"
I glanced at Barbara, to see if she was annoyed. No, she looked relieved. There'd been so much deception lately. Now, at least here, no more was needed.
She turned to me, now in a mood to tell all. "I've had other occasional lovers," she confessed, while Bree opened and poured the champagne. "Like Russell. But they never turn out to be dependable. It's a real shame that a great cock like Russell's has to come attached to an even bigger prick like Russell, so to get the one into her a girl has to put up with the other."
She sipped, eyes steadily looking into mine. I looked back non-commitally.
"I've always had girlfriends too, of course. I made a new one even on our honeymoon -- Zoe, my hairdresser at that hotel, we spent some wonderful hours together in bed while you were off golfing or something somewhere. In fact I talked Zoe into coming back here to this town with us and I introduced her to the crowd here at Bree's, and she's still my hairdresser. She'll soon be yours too, Katie, I'm sure. Just because a girl gets married doesn't mean she has to stop having sex with everybody. I still like boys, but I also like girls lots. Each kind is different and does things differently, so why should any of us ever have to choose? I never felt the need."
Bree nodded. "Too bad I've never liked what boys do. That's why I never married.".
"Oh, Bree, married life is so convenient! What did that playwright say once, marriage is popular because 'it combines a maximum of temptation with a maximum of opportunity'? And it makes all the other daily things easier too. Of course I didn't look forward to marrying a man -- men get so proprietary, you know? They want you for themselves. I'd rather have married a woman, someone raised to keep house for me and keep herself pretty, someone who's always there when I come home from work, someone who knows all sorts of ways to give a woman sexual satisfaction. Like you now, Katie! Lots of men look for women like that -- I didn't see why I shouldn't. Though I'd never forsake all others when I married her -- I'd still want other women now and then, and other men too of course, the exceptionally gifted men anyhow. But I can sacrifice some variety for security and a stable home life. I'm just that way I guess."
I was now sure I was learning more than I wanted to know.
"Unfortunately, in this State a woman can't marry another woman. So the solution seemed to me obvious enough -- marry a man and feminize him, make him a woman, your companion, housekeeper, and lover all three in one. Then help him get to love it. So no matter how far I roam, I can always come back home again to someone I can depend on. And so can he."
"And that's supposed to be me?" I asked, unable to say anything else.
Barbara seemed not to hear. She was on a roll. "Really, our laws are perverted -- they practically require a girl to take her lawfully wedded husband and turn him into her lawfully wedded wife, and then live happily ever after if by some chance he turns out not to mind. If he finds there are compensations." She beamed approvingly at me. "I married my darling intending to do that, and now at last I've done it, and I do hope she doesn't mind. So far I've heard no objections."
True enough. I'd expressed no objections. What good would they do?
Another mystery solved. I now also understood now why Barbara hadn't thought about wages when she'd consigned me to maid status around the house. Why she'd seemed amused when I mentioned them, and agreed at once without hassling. I was her wife now, and wives don't get paid wages. At least not the kind of wife she'd intended me to be, as submissive to her will as a whore to a client's when submissive is what the client wants. A junior partner who does what she's told. Lick or fuck. Be licked or be fucked.
So now I understood all. But what to do about it?
I reminded myself that I was in the process of quietly taking over the whole office practice, all the accounts, licenses, and certifications. Dissolving our partnership. Barbara would soon find that she was only an Associate there, perhaps only a paralegal, no longer a partner. I'd have to do most of the work, but I'd control all of the purse strings. Meanwhile, I decided, at home it seems best to play at being a dutiful wife. That's what a whore does, after all -- enact her client's fantasies.
Barbara was thoughtful, driving home. Then suddenly said, "Katie, I owe you an explanation. I do hope you don't mind what you've just found out. That I haven't been altogether faithful to you. I didn't want to depress you, or give you any reason to brood about being betrayed or anything like that, so I didn't want you to know that our marriage hasn't been what you thought. And then when you came back from the Estate, I didn't want you to feel married to me at all, and betrayed regularly, and feel grieved, and resent me. So I thought it best to keep you on as a maid, not as a husband or even a wife. Because what the mistress of a house does with her love life is not a maid's business -- maids are expected only to change the sheets the next morning, and wash the mistress's crusty undies, and maybe bring me and my man of the evening breakfast in bed if I'd invited him home for the night. That's what I'd expected you to do for me. In return, you'd of course feel free to find your own lovers to take to your own bed in the maid's quarters, selected from whatever available tradesmen and repairmen and others of your social class you could seduce. I didn't think you'd have a problem."
She sighed, and looked at me, and said, "But now that you know that I've always been ... sexually hyperactive, and you don't seem to mind, that makes everything different. So I've made a phone call." She didn't explain what she meant by that last, and I was afraid to ask. She'd be returning me to the Estate? To whoring? She expected me to live out the rest of my life as a shale whore? I was bewildered.
When we arrived home, she set down her purse, then turned to me and took my hand. Then kissed me on the lips for the first time, and without hesitating she began to lead me toward the bedroom. To make it 'our' bedroom again? To consummate her new marriage to me? Apparently she thought that all now being clear and unambiguous, I'd be willing to perform my part as she'd always wished. One last time?
For the first time since coming to consciousness as a whore a few weeks earlier, I felt like a real whore. Though passionately devoted to giving her pleasure as I'd been well-trained, I was feeling frankly ... used. So it seems that from the beginning I'd been an instrument of her pleasure and convenience, I was thinking. Not mine. Not ours. Hers. There'd been nothing mutual.
But when we arrived at her bedroom -- our bedroom again? -- well, incredible! An enormous surprise awaited me. Steve, that buff man whose cock had greeted my mouth and confirmed that I was indeed a cock-hungry servant girl when I first arrived home, was sitting up in the bed, waiting for us with a welcoming smile! He was utterly naked and his cock was erect, a tall, thick pole rising high above his groin.
"Get undressed, honey," Barbara said to me in a low voice. "He's all yours first. I want you to feel overjoyed that you're a woman, to know that pleasure and privilege intimately. To be made love to, not to have to make love if you don't feel like it. So you'll never want to go back to being a man, or even a pussyless PSC at the Estate. This time it's up to Steve to persuade you, and afterward it's up to me to welcome you to your complete womanhood as only another woman can. So you'll really be as happy to spend the rest of your life with me as I will be with you."
She held me by both shoulders and stared into my eyes. Was there a hint of hopeful uncertainty in hers? "Please, darling?" she asked.
There are worse ways to spend my life, and resenting Barbara, taking petty vengeance on her by withholding myself from sex of any kind was certainly one of them. If I'd learned anything at the Estate, sex is sex. "Do it, honey," Barbara added, whispering. "He's very good. Worth every penny. This time, just pay attention to how he makes you feel, and never mind what you can do for him."
That would be a novelty, anyhow. By now I was mostly undressed, down to my bra and panties and ... and there was this man, and I was feeling ... well, feminine. Deliciously sexy! I wriggled my hips as I walked enticingly toward the bed, noticing that my undulations induced a glazed look in his eyes as well as a spasm or two in that enormous erection in the middle of the bed. When I slipped out of my panties and straddled his rippled stomach, he smiled and reached for my breasts with both hands. A moment later I was bent over him and his whole mouth was working on one engorged nipple buried deep against his tongue, while his fingers diddled, caressed, hugged, stroked, and squeezed the other nipple! This was what they were for! An incredibly erotic sensation spread from them down even to my toes, and I wanted more. I was in heaven!
I groaned deep in my throat, sounding plaintive, desiring. He took this as his cue, placed his hands on my hips, and lifted me forward so I was seated on his chest, almost on his neck. And my cock went into his mouth! As if it were some strange third nipple, his tongue licked it and his lips sucked it, and I came! I came into his mouth! I was beside myself!
I may even have passed out, because when I came to I was on my back and he was bending over me. My legs were draped over his shoulders and the most delicious, marvelous sensation was radiating out of my nether areas, intensifying with each repeated slow thrust of his cock into me. The feeling rose higher. "You're beautiful, Katie!" he whispered. I had never felt more beautiful. The joy in my middle, my belly and my crotch, my ass, mounted and became unbearable, and peaked and exploded, and I heard myself shrieking in unashamed ecstasy.
When I came aware again, he was lying flat on top of me and yet didn't seem heavy, and my arms and legs were wrapped around him, hugging his whole body in gratitude. My breathing gradually subsided. His face smiled down on me. "As often as you wish," he said. "Barbara has bought you a year's gift subscription to me. The same one she has."
When I stood, his cum was oozing out of my rump and down my leg. I'd felt that before often at the Estate, after getting fucked by gay or bisexual men. But then as often as not I'd been concerned with their sensations, not mine, and had even faked my orgasms. But there was nothing fake about what I'd just experienced. As I reached for a tissue to blot myself, Barbara slipped into my place in bed next to him, slid under him, and before her arms wrapped around his neck he was already humping her. I watched that splendid man humping my wife, and hoped only that she was enjoying him as much as I had.
And me again twenty minutes later. Then Barbara again. The bed and our bodies became sticky with saliva and cum, but that only brought us a closer sense of intimacy as we hugged each other, together at last in a grand three-for-all. When both Barbara and Steve stroked and licked on my slackened penis and my engorged breasts and nipples, again I fainted. Or perhaps collapsed exhausted, fucked out.
When I awoke it was morning and I could tell from the feel of the bed that Steve was no longer with us. This time it was Barbara who was on top of me, not Steve. Strictly speaking, she was sitting on my face, and her cunt was rising and falling over my nose and mouth as she rode them like an equestrienne, posting up and down. "Lick me again down there, sweetheart," she was saying. "Oh, yes!" And she came!
A few minutes later she was lying on my body with our breasts crushed against each other, moaning again, "Ooooooh! Ahhhhhhh! Now push into me? Ohhh, that's not much, not much more filling than a tampon, but it does feel so very snug and comfortable."
She came again. But plainly she was near the end of a long chain of sustainable orgasms -- this one happened quietly, more as a peaceable tensing and relaxing of her whole body. A comfortable orgasm, as she'd said. It had been a long night for both of us. I did have the impression I'd been fucked once or twice more in my sleep. By which of them I had no idea, but I had never felt better!
Finally Barbara just lay there, her hair across my face and the pillow, and spoke aloud. "With you every day, and a few locals like Steve, and the Stud Farm, and Bree's girls, I'll be so very happy! I won't ever be tempted by anyone as outsized and crude as Russell ever again. I can be as faithful to you as any woman like me ever could to her beloved. Ahhhh! Yes! Now if you'll suck out all that cum again, mine and yours and Steve's, and then lick all of it off my body, I'll lick yours from your nose to your toes. And you'll know why we women love to keep our skin so smooth! To encourage our tongues, and to rub against each other!"
I did. We did.
By late morning we were both at last exhausted, and I'd altogether reconsidered my status in this household. I no longer felt tentative, resentful, exploited, looking for vengeance and then an opportunity to move on. I felt I somehow belonged. Somehow ... married."
Barbara snuggled against me. Our two nightgowns slid against each other, and against our own smooth skin. "You'll move out of your room into this one, honey," she crooned into my ear. "I can't stand the thought of sleeping here and you not in bed with me. We'll sleep here together. Except for the nights you may want to take a man or a woman into your own bed in the maid's room -- and you should feel as free to do that for your own pleasure as I've always felt for mine. And except for the nights I don't come home. This bed and this bedroom will be for us alone. The nights we happen to spend alone in here will be the nights we renew and reinvigorate our appreciation for each other, pleased that the other one is pleasing herself elsewhere. Knowing she'll always return, because nowhere else is there a life as good as this one.
I nodded. It was true. Nowhere else. And from the way my heart was swelling up toward Barbara in appreciation of all she was, all she'd done for me, I knew that at last my uncertainties were at an end. I did finally appreciate what I'd become now.
The next morning was Saturday, and Barbara left after breakfast to go shopping. Feeling a serenity I had never known, I put on one of my maid's uniforms to straighten the house a little, and then sitting over a late morning cup of coffee, sat back and got on the phone again with Gina.
I told her what had happened. Everything. What I'd found out about my situation. How I'd at last found true happiness in what some would merely call an open marriage, though I thought of it as vastly more -- a populated marriage, perhaps. As open and frequently, delightfully occupied a marriage as Barbara's cunt or my asshole, or our two mouths.
"How lovely for you," Gina said, after listening patiently to me exulting. "You've found your true calling. I've always sensed you were too generous and warmhearted to be charging for your favors, that you'd be much happier giving them away and taking your own pleasure at the same time. That you've been a whore in name but never in your deepest desires, never in your heart of hearts. I'm so pleased to have been a part of your awakening to what you are and can be."
"I want to thank you for it. I had a difficult time at first."
"Yes. I've noticed that it ain't whatcha do, it's the way thatcha do it, as the song goes. In your case, what inhibited you despite your desire was a reluctance to do it at all, because you weren't sure it was really you!"
"Well, now it is me. Me as I have been and as I've become. I won't ever be anyone else."
"I'm glad," Gina replied simply. I knew she was. I'd known she would be.
"Oh," I said. "It suddenly occurs to me. Does Russell still swing that fencepost of his? I'm not as intent as I was that he should get castrated and find out what it's like to be on the other side of the sexual divide. It seems he wasn't the guy who got between me and my wife. My wife was."
"Oh don't worry, Katie. There was never any intention to feminize Russell the way we did you. Cut off that thing of his? It would be like chopping down a national monument. Like demolishing the Eiffel Tower or the Leaning Tower of Pisa. No, the medical wing decided that all Russell needed was reconditioning, to become less interested in himself and more concerned for his partners. To live for his partners. And of course never to know who or where he was any more, no more than you knew for most of the year you were with us. Only what he is, and only to want to be the best of what he is, giving pleasure to others. He'll be a great asset to the Stud Farm when he's ready. A real money earner once our women clients hear he's available. There're quite a few we'll offer free access, the widows and other women he's bilked for instance, because in a sense they've already paid heavily for knowing him."
We chatted happily a bit longer. We were like two girlfriends exchanging news of people we knew, and then we hung up. All was well.
The next week I completed the reorganization of the firm and its books. Wilmott and Wilmott was no more -- Katie Wilmott and Associate, Attorneys at Law, was its replacement. When Barbara found out, she didn't insist on retention even of certain cases and clients that amused her. I offered them and she accepted them, and she was content. She even kissed me, thinking I was giving her a gift of freedom to screw other men even during business hours, because she wouldn't be needed full time at the office any more. I returned her kiss, because by then I was feeling so pleased with my new self and my new life that I could think of it as just that too, a return gift to her for the enormous gift she'd given me of my new identity, womanhood, with all the new pleasures appertaining.
Bree's membership card came, and I found that her bar was much more than a bar, much more even than a club. Gradually I got to know all of the women who worked there, the sex workers, waitresses, and entertainers, and most of the club members as well. All of Barb's women friends became mine, and there were many. It was enormously advantageous, being one of them but retaining a functioning cock as well as my make-do vagina. We were generous with each other, and sincerely appreciative.
I might awaken in one of the side rooms with another member in bed with me, or perhaps one of Bree's hostesses, or several, perhaps after an all night party enjoying each other, or perhaps after an arranged sleepover. And then gradually all of us would dress decently according to custom, and wearing our bras, panties, and heels, nothing more, drift down to breakfast in Bree's large dining room. There we were served scrumptiously from an enormous menu.
The scene always reminded me of that earlier time when I'd awakened to find myself surrounded by provocatively-shaped, gorgeous women in their bras, all having breakfast. It was almost the same scene. But those girls had been working girls, and I'd soon learned I was only one more of them. These on the other hand were all women who gathered here of their own will and desire for mutual pleasure, to have our bodies pampered, unconditionally desired by all parties. And that made all the difference.
The first time I encountered Barbara there at breakfast and she saw me, she smiled widely, and with a gleam in her eye she leaned over and said to me confidentially, "Isn't this lovely?"
"Yes," I said. "It is." Because it was.
"I knew you'd love it," she said. "Let me know when you're finished here with whoever you're with -- maybe we can go home together. Then Monday we can go to the office together too. We have nothing more to hide from each other, darling."
And she leaned over to kiss me before leaving hand in hand with Charlene, if that diaphanously weaving ass I glimpsed as they disappeared belonged to Charlene. I knew Charlene's ass vaguely from an orgy I'd attended a short time earlier. I'd sunk myself into it, in fact.
It was true though. We had nothing more to hide. I was content, even blissful. Barbara eventually awakened to find that she was no longer half of Wilmott and Willmot, only an Associate, that while she'd controlled her own love life for the first years of our marriage without my knowing it, I'd be controlling the family money and income for all our remaining years. She didn't mind. She knew she'd always have whatever she wanted or needed as long as she didn't misbehave.
I didn't think she could misbehave. I couldn't for the life of me think of anything she could do from now on that I could think of as misbehaving. Not anything! We were finally completely married, our troth plighted to one another and our two hearts beating as one. It was deeply gratifying, after all the misconceptions and seeming betrayals, after all the secret lives and plotting, to know that now there were no limits. That at last I could trust her implicitly and absolutely to do whatever she chose to do, and that I could then go do likewise.
Copyright © 2009 by Vickie Tern. May be archived to free archives only, single-copied for personal use, but not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
Comments
In a way
This Vickie's story gives me the most satisfaction - perhaps because it focuses not on the transformation of a desperate-for-love victim, but rather the transformee's path of retaking the life in one's own hands, and achieving happiness. Unlike many other tales, it makes for an upward spiral instead of downward pointing one. It also helped that most possible turns for the worse, and there were not that many, were made in backstory.
Oh, and I think I can guess what was the reason for Barbara's parents to throw her off. And I wonder what she will say when she learn where Russel is.
Faraway
Big Closet Top Shelf
Where you can fool around like you want to and most you get is some bemused good ribbing!
Faraway
Big Closet Top Shelf
Where you can fool around like you want to and most you get is some bemused good ribbing!
Sorry but!
I think they all need lots of Help!
I can't see their relationships lasting past when their eyes are dim & they cannot see, and they have no love in thee!
The story was well written but left an impression of nirvana which can't happen in the circumstances of the story portrayed.
It was wishfull thinking but not reality considering the tone of the story?
Lol
Rita
Age is an issue of mind over matter.
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter!
(Mark Twain)
LoL
Rita
I'm not quite in agreement
I'm not quite in agreement with you. I suggest that marriage is a very unique combination of two individuals who bring their unique personalities together into a unified way. If they can truly accept each other, and love without conditions, they have true unity. All the traditional marriage rules are for those who don't know what they are doing.
If this guy is a lawyer...
...he must have sucked at it! Part of being a lawyer is logical thinking. He's thinking the guy doesn't know who he is the whole time his wife was telling the guy who he is through using his name and negotiating for his legal consultation. I realize his wife told him russell was stupid but that shouldn't just dismiss any notion that he would pick up on it.
Without a doubt he was betrayed. She needed to know what she did was wrong regardless of his adaptation to it.
Vickie Tern Classic...
Hmmmm, where to start. Cody would have never consented to this if given the choice, that being said has managed to become comfortable with the end result being Katie. I'm not so sure I could be as forgiving of what his Wife Barbara has knowingly done on purpose to him. I found the story interesting and griping, needing to know just what happened Cody and by who. I'm kind of wondering what it would feel like to be Katie. Nice Vickie, I enjoyed reading this one hon. (Hugs) Taarpa
Blechhh!
Very unlikely story. A relationship is impossible where no trust can reside and in spite of what the author says he can never be sure she isn't hiding something else from him. And... there is no such thing as unconditional love. If a person is capable of unconditional love they would be unable to hate (think about it).