On Call - Part 3

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On Call
Abigail Tudai
oncall.jpg


Chapter 4

It was Saturday, glorious Saturday, a day when Brad didn’t have to get up and put on a monkey suit and battle traffic to go to a job he no longer enjoyed. Maybe that was where he made his mistake, getting in the rat race to begin with. Perhaps when he was younger and not in debt he could have found someone like Dr. Stanley and just been a side piece. That thought aroused him as it had before.

“I could have always been on call,” Brad mused to himself as he sat in his easy chair pretending to read the paper while his wife got ready for a shift at the hospital. Being someone’s mistress appealed to him; he could be there whenever they needed their sexual desires fulfilled and he wouldn’t have to put up with the day-to-day maintenance that came with having a wife. Or being a wife, he thought.

Brad looked upstairs. “Speaking of wives, what’s taking Helen so long?” He looked at his watch, she wasn’t technically running behind, but his usually ultra-punctual spouse was lingering longer than he would have preferred. He ached for her to be out of the house, to be in her car and puttering down the road. He longed to be free of his male boxers and his conservative flannel pajamas. He desired to be in something soft and delicate that showed off his long legs and clung to his pert firm breasts.

“Would you look at the time,” Helen said as she rushed down the stairs. “Thank goodness there will be hardly any traffic.”

Brad breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Finally,” he thought.

“You got plenty of time,” Brad called out loud, not wanting to tip his hand and appear too eager for her to leave.

“I know. I just hate keeping doctors waiting. You have no idea how temperamental they can be. The littlest things can set them off.”

Brad had to suppress a chuckle. Here it was his wife trying not to set doctors off, and he was eager to leave for the expressed purpose of setting one off in another way. “You do such a great job I’m sure they don’t mind waiting an extra minute or two before they start their rounds. Besides, without you they probably wouldn’t know which patient they were looking after or why.”

Helen smiled. “You’re so supportive.”

“Don’t forget your purse,” Brad reminded. The last thing he needed was for his wife to make an unannounced reappearance and catch him in the middle of transforming into a pretense of her profession. A sexy pretense, but a mockery none the less.

“Thank you. I swear; I would lose my head if it weren't attached sometimes.”

That was a thought, but it was a trick that Brad was unable to master. Losing his head might make life so much better, he pondered as he glanced at his crotch. A little snip, a little tuck, or perhaps a little magic and life could be so much more fun. He wondered what it felt like to have one of those between his legs instead of what nature gave him as some sort of cosmic joke.

“Have a good day, dear,” Brad called out as his wife made her way to the front door.

“You too,” Helen answered and then was gone.

“I was talking to Brandy,” Brad said in a whisper after a long enough pause.

Brad remained in his chair. It was one of those things he did to not draw suspicion. He would pretend to look at the paper long enough and listen for the sound of his wife’s car to back out of the driveway. He always waited ten minutes after he heard the car move off down the road. He didn’t know why ten minutes; it was one of those things he happened to come up with. If a person forgot something, wouldn’t she always be back within ten minutes of when she left? It was silly, but he let the time play out.

Brad squirmed in his easy chair as he watched the seconds count down the last of his ten minute penalty time. A smile came to his face soon as he knew it was safe for him to lose the shackles of his male persona and embrace a side he was continually forced to keep hidden.

Though he was eager for his wife to finally be out of the house, he was in no rush once he knew she would not be back. The best things in life were done slowly; every moment to be savored. Part of the fun of being Nurse Brandy was the enjoyment that came from the transformation. Besides, there was still some time before Dr. Stanley’s wife Elaine would leave for her event. Brad intended to enjoy himself; he always did. Becoming Brandy was one of the good things in life, and there was no need to rush through all the fun.

Brad wasn’t the only thing that arose as he stood from the chair. Just the idea of becoming the person he always thought he should be got his juices flowing. Even though he was closer to being that person thanks to Dr. Stanley’s magic little pills, he often wished that he could make it completely over to the other side.

Brad sighed; there were some things that would probably never be. Though he could explain away his small but firm breasts, having a complete overhaul of the undercarriage was beyond reason. Pills could add to his top, but it would take a scalpel to subtract from between his legs. Life would be so much easier if there was an anatomy exchange program. Two testicles for a pair of breasts seemed reasonable to him.

“Oh well,” Brad thought as he ascended the stairs. “I might as well enjoy what I have and make do.”

The bedroom was already clean, something that he and his wife were real sticklers about. The bed was made and everything put away. The good thing about keeping the room tidy and organized was that it made it easy to keep things hidden because he knew the places his wife would venture. Hidden in the closet, among one of the storage bags that held several large comforters, was his outfit of the day. He carefully unfolded the thick quilted blanket and removed Nurse Brandy’s outfit.

“Soon,” Brad said as he ran a finger over the soft, cool material; his suddenly sultry voice almost cooing.

Though he felt sure that some would rush into getting changed and donning the costume, that was not his style. Becoming Brandy was a process, a metamorphosis. It was something to do painstakingly slow. Besides, becoming Brandy wasn’t him assuming a character. Brad was the façade, the front that Brandy showed the world in order to survive, and now it was time to remove that Brad costume and assume her real identity. She no longer had to be Bruce Wayne or even Batman; she could be herself, but it took effort to make sure the shift took hold.

Brad took his outfit into the bathroom with him. He was on his way to becoming Brandy, but wasn’t there quite yet, and he wouldn’t refer to himself by his true name until the transformation was complete.

The first order of business was to remove Brad from the equation. It started with the pajama bottoms, always. They were a good quality flannel pajama, not too coarse, but when it was time to become Brandy they always started to itch. He lowered the pajama pants and stepped out of them. It was just as if the prison guard had put the key in the lock. His knees quivered in anticipation

Brad folded the pajama bottoms and put them on top of the hamper. There was no reason to be a pig just because he was eager.

Next came the boxers. He shimmied them down, allowing his arousal out in the open. He wouldn’t deal with his five inches of lust just then; it was too soon, and though he was becoming his feminine self, his misplaced rod of flesh didn’t quite bother him as much as he thought it should.

Brad unbuttoned the top two buttons of his pajama top. The girls needed some room to breathe and as he was about to get ready, he tried to embrace everything he could to be as feminine as possible. His breasts were a wonderful gift, one that brought him nothing but pleasure and he liked pleasuring them in return.

“Not yet,” Brad scolded himself. “You aren’t you just yet.”

Brad looked in the mirror. He was closer to being his true self but had a long way yet to go. In just the pajama tops, below his neckline took a more feminine look, and with the pajama top covering his arousal and his long legs sticking out of the bottom, he knew he was blessed more than some other girls.

Brad looked at his face. In his life, he always had trouble growing a mustache and a beard. As a teenager that was a cause for consternation, but in his newly idealized reality he was thankful that his face was smooth and baby soft. It was even more so now that he was taking the “heart medicine.” It did his heart good seeing such a pretty face staring back at him. The only thing that ruined the image that there was a woman in the mirror was the hair. It was always the hair. He worked in corporate law, not the kind of place that embraced men with long hair, even if it were worn in a masculine way.

That would soon be remedied. He went into the linen closet, hidden behind a false back he kept his wig. It was a good quality wig, brunette with highlights. He gave it a quick comb through, making sure the style sat right before placing it on his head.

Putting on the wig was a process in and of itself. First he had to put on the wig cap because there was nothing more embarrassing then having your hair fly off in the throws of passion. Once that was done, then came the nice head of hair. With the aid of a few bobby pins and some time, Brad had the wig in place and was rewarded when he looked in the mirror.

The idea was always to look real, not like a caricature, and when Brad smiled at the mirror, he knew the reflection was that of a real person and not the joke who wore a business suit Monday through Friday while hating everything about that life. The hair was perfect; it came down just over his shoulder, tickling his back whenever he moved his head from side to side. It took some getting used to; it always did, but it was a getting-used-to that he could live with.

Brad made his way to his wife’s makeup table and again was glad that they had almost eerily similar skin tones. A little foundation, a little powder, some eyeliner, some blush, and a shade of lipstick that he called “fuck-me red”, made his drab, dull, male look vanish completely.

Brandy looked into the mirror. She really wasn’t a slutty kind of girl, but on occasion she didn’t mind getting a little wild, especially for a certain doctor. She felt her groin pulsate as she slowly ran her tongue across her shiny ruby red lips.

“I’ve missed you,” Brandy said as she regained her voice. It was a little too high and squeaky for her liking. She tried the line again. “I missed you,” she said a little bit more husky and sultry. Her penis gave a nod of approval as it ached for attention.

Brandy’s whole body ached for attention, and it was coming.

“Coming,” Brandy said and gave a soft feminine chuckle. She might be able to transform her body, but her pubescent dorky humor was there to stay.

Brandy lingeringly unbuttoned the rest of the pajama top and just as slowly slid it off her torso. Her breasts were nice and round and firm. She lifted her hands to remind herself that they were real. She squealed in delight as she gave a loving squeeze, not bothering to be quiet. The sound almost startled her but her own touch reminded her that it wasn’t only what was between her legs that demanded attention. For a moment Brandy sucked on her index finger, making sure it was nice and moist. She knew that in a little while her mouth would be getting even more of a workout, but this time was all about her.

Though Brandy ached to have her man with her just then, there was pleasure to be had alone as well. She took her moistened finger and slowly circled her right nipple with it. Her knees buckled at the sensation and immediately her nipple was as taut as her penis.

Brandy moaned and gave her left nipple similar treatment producing even more moans and strangled squeaks. She wanted to giggle with the pleasure of it and why not?

“Being a girl is so rewarding,” Brandy said as she gave her nipples a little tweak and felt the pleasure surge through her entire body. As the wave came crashing down somewhere in the pit of her belly, she had to hold onto the countertop so she didn’t crumple to the floor in a heap of ecstasy.

“We better keep you two holstered before you do some real damage,” she told her breasts.

From another hiding place, Brandy grabbed a red lace bra with a pattern ithat made the cups look like hearts. It was the perfect fit, even though she was mildly embarrassed when she first went to the bra shop to get fitted for it. Of course, she didn’t buy the red lace bra there, instead, opting for something bland to throw the sales woman off the track. Looking back, she should have done the shopping as Brandy, but she didn’t feel she was at the point of making public appearances. Once she knew the correct size though, she went straight to Victoria’s Secret to buy something delectable.

“I wonder if Victoria’s secret is the same as mine,” Brandy said as she looked down at her arousal. “If so, a lot of guys are going to be surprised.”

Brandy giggled again. She loved her giggle; it was so soft, so feminine, so natural, that it just made her skin tingle and break out in goose bumps.

Brandy was getting to be an expert at putting on the bra, practicing whenever she dared. At first she used to fumble with the clasp and thought she needed to be a contortionist to get it on. Now it was almost second nature. She let her breast sit in the cups, gave them a little lift, and then hooked the bra up behind her as if she’d been doing it since she was a teenager.

Next she grabbed the white garter belt. She knew it didn’t go with the bra, but there were only so many items she afforded herself in her wardrobe, not wanting to draw Brad’s wife’s suspicion. “She’d probably think Brad was cheating on her with another woman, not knowing that he is the other woman,” Brandy told herself as she moved the garter belt into place.

Part of the true joy of being Brandy was the white stockings. They were always a treat, and Brandy thought they really did her legs justice. This was another area that had a bit of a learning curve for her. The first time she put on stockings she thought it was the same as putting on a pair of pants, and she tried to push her entire leg down into them. Now she knew better. She sat on the edge of the bathtub and started at the toe, slowly rolling the material up her legs and finally making it to her thigh. She did this twice, and her body found that agreeable. It was something with the way the material felt and the soft swish-swish sound the stockings made whenever she rubbed her thighs together.

Though the tops of the stockings were elastic and didn’t need it, Brandy still attached the clips of the garter belt. It made her feel oh-so-sexy and feminine that she never dared to do without.

She always followed the same routine. First it the garter and stockings, then the panties. Probably because she knew what her lover wanted and knew that losing the panties was not optional, it was going to happen.

The panties matched the bra. A red lace thong that she slid up her long white stocking clad leg and let the straps go over her hips as the cool material rode between her firm butt cheeks. She was too aroused to place the front in the proper place and knew she would have to deal with that.

“You’ve been a good little clitty,” Brandy spoke to her penis as she grabbed a satin handkerchief. “He-he, hand,” she said as she wrapped her member in the cool, slick material.

She closed her eyes. She knew if she didn’t take care of this part now that she would last barely a minute with her lover and ruin the whole experience. She worked herself back and forth, imagining that her anatomy matched her soul. Her hand glided down towards her groin, and she imagined it was her lover entering her and that she held him in her hand.

In-and-out in an ever-quickening pace as her body arched in pleasure and begged for him to fill her even more.

Harder.

Deeper.

Faster.

Brandy let out a moan as the last of her masculinity was spent into the handkerchief. She panted hard, and it took a moment for her to regain her composure. She washed her hands to be on the safe side and knew that that, too, was a part of the process.

Brandy’s arousal now in control, she could continue. She tucked her flaccid penis between her legs while forcing her testicles into the cavity between her thighs. At last her anatomy was where it was supposed to be if she had been born in the correct body.

Brandy moved the panties to their proper place and marveled at how full the transformation looked.

“All it needed was a hands-on approach,” Brandy quipped as she modeled her feminine body in the mirror. The smile never faded, but she knew she shouldn’t keep the good doctor waiting.

The nurse’s outfit was a short white smock that came down to just about where the garter belt ended. Though her panties were covered when she stood upright, the same couldn’t be said whenever she bent over.

Brandy returned to the master bedroom and slipped into a pair of four-inch heels. She loved the way the heels lifted her butt and made it look as if she did much more exercise than she did. A small nurse’s cap went on top of her head and she was ready.

Brandy picked up the phone and called the number she knew by heart.

“Yes,” the smiling voice said on the other end.

“This is Nurse Brandy,” she said in her sing-song lilt. “I just wanted you to know I was on call.”

“Confirmed.”

Now it was only a matter of time before all her desires, along with other parts of her, would be filled.



HOT EROTIC SCENE COMING NEXT, BRING A COLD GLASS OF WATER

From Abigail:This story is available on Amazon here
for only 99 cents

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Comments

Brandy Is Weaving a Tangled Web

littlerocksilver's picture

I don't see a favorable outcome. They are bound to be caught. There are bound to be two very upset wives. Not good, not good.

Portia

fear of getting caught

Isn't the fear of getting caught part of all the excitement anyway? And what would those wives do if they do catch them? Make them both women? Doesn't sound like a punishment.

I'm a simple girl with a not so simple body

I have suspicions that maybe

I have suspicions that maybe the wives know and are together somewhere else. After all he comments they aren't intimate they aren't old and they both spend weekends out at the same time it is one way it could go.