The Vagina Monologues

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Tricia and Tony both have their own special relationship with the vagina. When Tony tries to get one, it leads him into all sorts of difficulties.

The Vagina Monologues
Lin Dale

Author's Note: I have turned off comments, but if you enjoy the story, I'd be very happy if you would click on the Good Story button at the end. All events, people and places (apart from Brighton) are fictional. Don't try the things you read here (well, not all of them anyway), or proceed with caution at your own risk!

Tricia's Story

When God designed my vagina, he didn't have the letter G on his keyboard; at least, he never gave me a G-spot. The letters c-l-i-t-o-r-i-s also seemed to get missed out. In fact, when He made me, I think He was somehow thinking of those women in Victorian times, who simply had to lie back and think of England, without all the screams of ecstasy required of modern females.

I can remember thinking all those years ago, when Josh Walker took my virginity, "Is that it?" Certainly, after the build up I'd received from my older sister Patience and my friends, and all that bragging by the boys about the pleasures they could give a woman, the whole thing was a tremendous let down.

The problem was, I think I must have said the words aloud, for Josh got most pissed off, and afterwards spread the word around the other boys that I was a lesbian.

What I couldn't work out was whether there was something wrong with me, personally, or whether the whole thing about female orgasms was a giant con. I tentatively sounded out Patience, and she was totally derisive, and then told all her mates I was frigid.

By the time I met Tony, I had learnt my lesson. He was a junior manager at the insurance company in Bradford where Patience and I both worked as clerks. He'd been sent there from the Head Office in the South, and had this really posh accent. He was incredibly good-looking and all the girls were throwing themselves at him. Now there's two things you can say about us Yorkshire women: subtlety is not our middle name, and that we have more than our fair share of big tits.

Except for me of course. My chest was flatter than an ironing board, and although I had no need to wear a bra, I'd worked out by then that many blokes found bras very sexy. And since I had no need to support several pounds of quivering jellies, I could choose them entirely for their sexiness.

It also meant I could casually undo several buttons of my blouse, without flashing my tits. It worked superbly when I accidentally met Tony in the corridor and accidentally dropped my files as we accidentally tried to go through the same door together. I was immediately on my knees and bending forward to pick up my files, accidentally giving him a quick flash of my left nipple. I heard him gasp slightly as he bent down to help me gather the papers together.

"Thank you," I said, as we got to our feet. "You're new here, aren't you?" As though I hadn't noticed him before! "How are you settling in?"

"I arrived on Monday," he said. "I must say, everybody here seems very friendly."

"If you call slapping their juggs in your face as being friendly," I said with a grin, "then the girls here are friendly." (I told you before that us Yorkshire lasses are not known for our subtlety.) "I'm afraid I can't give you that greeting," I added.

He grinned back. "It can be a bit overwhelming," he admitted.

"Overwhelming," I said. "You'd be suffocated if some of those girls got on top of you."

"Mustn't risk that," he said. "Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

I knew that Patience also fancied him like mad and that if I managed to pull him, she was highly likely to move in on him. So I told her that Tony had mentioned the girl in the pink blouse (Patience was wearing her pink blouse that day) with the huge wobbling jellies, and joked that he'd be suffocated if she got on top of him. She's never forgiven him, which suits me fine.

It all worked out perfectly. Since my initiation with Josh Walker, I'd watched a few movies to hone up my techniques, and I reckoned I could act the part without a problem. That evening, I wrapped my legs around Tony's body, moaned, "Oh God! Oh God!" and "Yes!" and dug my nails into his bum as I reached my 'orgasm'. Tony was hooked.

Three months later, when he returned to London, I went with him and he wangled me a job in the sales department. We got married six months after that.

Tony's story

Of course, meeting Trish all those years ago was the best thing that could have happened to me. I'm now in my mid-forties and still reasonably happily married, with a good sex life and two lovely kids — Simon went off to University last year, and Jenny has just gone. It's been fantastic, watching them grow up, but if I hadn't accidentally bumped into Trish and discovered how much she enjoyed sex, things might have turned out very differently.

I've never told anyone that the reason I volunteered to go to Bradford was because I wanted a safe place to experiment with my sexuality. A place where, even if my secret was exposed, it wouldn't matter. You see, I enjoy wearing women's clothes. I can't explain why, only that I have this very strong urge.

I know there are evolutionary theories as to why men cross-dress: that it's a way in which non-alpha males such as me could put on their glad rags, walk past two alpha males sparring for control of the harem, shag all the females in the harem, and then wave a cheery goodbye to the alpha males, who by now have half-killed each other. (See The Human Cuckoo.) In order to survive, evolution finds weird and wonderful ways around any problem.

The theory certainly explains why we cross-dressers find it so erotic — for this is a prelude to sex and procreation — but the explanation only goes so far. It doesn't explain why so many cross-dressers want to exaggerate their female sexuality: huge breasts, for example, or high heels with short miniskirts; even though these are likely to make their deception more obvious. And it certainly doesn't explain why I want a vagina — but I'll come on to that later.

Obviously, all my cross-dressing habits have been strictly in the closet and, until now, very limited. I still had to look after the kids, even when Trish went off to Bradford for a few days at a time to visit her sister, Patience. (I've always maintained she should have been called Impatience. She hated me on first sight, and after a few attempts on my part to be friendly, we came to mutual agreement that the best thing was to stay away from each other.) Only occasionally would Trish's visits to Patience coincide with the kids being away on a school trip, so I could enjoy myself.

But now, with the kids at university, I've been actively encouraging Trish to see Patience more often, and to stay there for longer periods, which leaves me opportunity to exercise my secret needs. At first, it was simply wandering around the house dressed in Trish's skirts and dresses — it's quite good that she's tall for a woman and I'm short for a man, so we are virtually the same size.

But that was rather inconvenient every time someone knocked at the door, so after a while, I took to simply wearing her underwear beneath her jeans and tee shirt. I still got a tremendous buzz out of it, but as long as I chose clothes which could be unisex, no one realised. It's fortunate that Trish is no curvy woman; in fact, her breasts are slimmer than mine, so provided they didn't show through my shirts, I could go out wearing her AA non-padded bras and no one would be the wiser.

Down below, I would simply tuck away my testicles and use one of her control briefs to keep everything nice and flat, and that was fine for a while. However, it was always a problem when I went to the toilet, since as soon as I pulled down my knickers, things would start popping out, and they would then have to be tucked and packed back in again. How nice it would be, I thought, if I could get a nice vagina which would fit over my male bits and stay in place even when I pulled down my knickers and had a wee.

The more I thought about it, the more obsessed I became by the idea. It got to the point where cross-dressing seemed pointless without a vagina. So, I searched the cross-dressing sites on the internet for a while. The problem was that the only decent vaginas I could find were made to measure and had to come from America, so apart from costing an arm and a leg, I could hardly schedule their arrival in the limited timeslot between Trish departing to Bradford and her return a few days later. Then, a search on Google suddenly revealed a whole new opening (pun intended!). Just try typing in realistic vaginas, and you'll see what I mean.

OK, these are designed as male masturbation aids, but there are dozens of reasonably-priced vaginas on sale from on-line sex aid sites, often offering next day delivery. Ideal.

Well, not quite ideal. The problem is that they are designed to rest on a flat surface whilst the male sticks his cock inside and does press ups on top of it — hardly compatible with my needs. However, I reckoned a bit of surgery on the device could well make it work. On Trish's next trip to Bradford, I bought my vagina and proceeded to slice away at it with a craft knife, until I had something which would sit between my legs, with my penis entering the vagina from the 'wrong' side and resting with the head just perceptible through the vaginal lips so I could piss through it. I tried to fashion the anal passage into a butt plug, which would go up my arse and secure the rear of my vagina in place. However, that didn't really work and I couldn't manage to secure the device in place, so the thing was perpetually falling off my penis, every time I pulled down my knickers.

After a bit more research, I decided that medical adhesive was the answer. I bought a tube of it, along with adhesive remover, and prior to Trish's next trip to Bradford, I practised with it by sticking things to my finger and then using the remover to take it off again. It seemed perfect for my needs, although I have to say, I was slightly nervous about using it on my cock.

Still, needs must. A month later, Trish was off on her next visit to Bradford, and as soon as she was gone, I had out my vagina and my tube of medical adhesive. I trimmed off and then shaved my pubic hairs (I'll come back to that later), and tucked away my balls. Then I spread the adhesive over my groin and anal area, and the shaft of my penis. I slid my cock into place inside the vagina, pushed it into position and held it there for ten minutes. Then I let it go, expecting it to either drop on the floor, or start hurting like crazy.

It did neither; it stayed in place looking for all the world like a natural vagina — well, OK, it did look a little pink and new, but I rapidly solved that problem by sticking my genital hairs, which I'd previously trimmed off, over the surface of my vagina, giving me a lovely bush. In just a few minutes, I was at the point where, to all intents and purposes, my vagina would easily pass close visual examination.

I took a few photographs, delighted with the results of my work. I even had a little wee, although I thought it too sordid to photograph that. I dressed, went out to the shops, and even went into a coffee shop and had a bite to eat.

It was whilst I was in the middle of my Danish pastry that my mobile rang. It was Trish. I answered full of foreboding, since it was unusual for her to ring during the day.

"H Trish. Everything all right?"

"Hi Tony. No, it's not all right. Patience has gone down with some nasty vomiting virus. I've decided to come home straight away."

Shit! Shit! Shit! "Shouldn't you stay and look after her?"

"There's nothing I can do, apparently, and it means I would probably catch it. The best thing is to keep away from her for several days, so I'm on my way home. See you in a few hours. Bye."

It wasn't the end of the world, of course. No doubt Trish would be off to see her again as soon as the virus had gone, but it did mean I had to get straight home and remove my vagina, and pack away all the paraphernalia that went with it. I left my Danish half eaten and drove home.

Tricia's Story

Over the years, Tony and I had a pretty good marriage. We didn't row too much, our two kids were wonderful, and our careers took off. Although Tony's influence helped initially, the company pretty quickly realised just how damn good I was at my job, and I started to make more money in commission than he did on a salary. I changed companies after a year, partly because I didn't want Tony or anyone else drawing comparisons between his income and mine, and partly because I was always concerned that tongues would wag and Tony would hear.

You see, I pretty quickly came to the conclusion that we females have a unique advantage over males, but far too few of us use it properly: our vagina. It's said that men think about sex every seven seconds, although I think that's probably bullshit. But sex is always in the background of their minds; see a woman of shaggable age and they're thinking about it; have a serious business meeting and they're wondering what you look like undressed; ask them to decide between two companies, and they make the decision based upon how much they fancy you.

Whereas, with my particular insensitivity in that direction, I never think about sex except as a commodity which helps me gets things. All right, I keep Tony permanently shagged out so he's not likely to wander off with other women. But I have to say, that's not the only use to which I put my vagina. If sex meant anything to me, then I'd probably feel differently about it; but it doesn't. If sex with a client will swing the deal, then we have sex. If an occasional week away with the chairman of my company helps keep him sweet, then I'll tell Tony I'm off to stay with Patience, and we're all happy. I know that if Tony found out about it, he'd be really upset, but since he doesn't, then as a family we all benefit from my considerable income.

Tony's Story

The adhesive remover didn't work!

I splashed a little more on, waited several minutes for it to do its job, and still it made no difference. If I was upset before, I went into a blue funk now. It would take Trish a couple more hours to drive home from Bradford, and I had a vagina in place of a cock and balls!

I tried even more of the remover, but it had absolutely no affect. I drove down to the local hardware store and bought a tube of their adhesive remover, but in spite of it stinging like crazy, that too made no difference. I drove to another hardware shop, but they only had the same stuff. I was running out of time!

I thought of driving off and checking into a hotel, but knew Trish would immediately suspect I was having an affair, which would be far, far worse.

That thought brought me round. I had to go back home and greet Trish on arrival. Hopefully, I could bluff it through for an hour or so, and then say I was going out for a drink with one of my mates. I'd immediately drive to Casualty and throw myself on their mercy. The plan was fraught with risk, not the least that someone would leak it to the press, which would be an even worse mess than I was already in, but it was all I could think of.

In the event, it went pear shaped as soon as she walked through the door.

"Hello darling," she said, walking over to me with a big smile on my face. "Pleased to see me?"

I've already said we have a good sex life, so her next action was not particularly unusual. She gave me a big kiss, and then slid her hand down to my crutch.

Trish's Story

In a way, I was quite pleased when I discovered Tony was cross-dressing. It certainly didn't bother me, other than having to wash and iron a few of my clothes he'd messed up, and I could cope with that. But it did mean he was keeping his little secret from me; I know that for him it wouldn't equate to my shagging away from home, though it did help to relieve the minor unease I sometimes felt about my deception.

However, I was concerned one day when I'd mislaid a blouse and I searched for it in his private cache, that he thought I didn't know about. There was a vagina! It seemed weird, if you know what I mean, and I thought I ought to try to help him.

Which meant it had to be brought out into the open.

It was easy enough to tell him of my plans for another week with Patience, substitute water for the adhesive remover, and when the day came, to go away for a few hours before ringing him with news of my sister's 'illness'. But I knew that the way I handled things then were crucial.

Tony's Story

She took it all quite well, actually. After pulling down my trousers and gasping in amazement at the vagina which faced her, she started to shake slightly, and I thought, ugh, ugh, she's going to freak out. I'd always had an excuse ready, in case of this ultimate problem. It was one I'd cultivated over the many years I'd been cross-dressing so I tried it on her.

"It's for the book I'm writing," I told her. "I wanted to test out a plot development."

I told her how my protagonist had been framed for murder and had to go into hiding so he pretended to be a woman. As I spoke, she seemed to calm down and accept my words as the truth — she could hardly be expected to understand the real truth. Fortunately, I even had a manuscript prepared all ready to show her, and she skimmed through this for a few minutes, reading bits here and there. But of course, that didn't really cover the reason why my character would wear a false vagina, something she saw through and asked me about.

Thinking on the spot, I replied, "He was going to... er... a naturist resort." The solution had struck me in the face. "He thought that if he walked about naked showing his vagina for all to see, there'd be no doubt about his sex, whereas if he dressed up as a woman, he'd probably be sussed straightaway."

Of course, she'd then raised the objection that he'd have no breasts, to which I responded that neither did she, and no one thought her a man. I thought she'd have been horrified by what I'd been doing, but she thought about it for a minute, and her next words took me by surprise. She told me to strip off so that she could see the results for herself. We went upstairs to the bedroom and I nervously removed my clothes and slipped on my wig.

"So do you think you could pass?" she asked.

I stared at myself in the mirror, and I had to admit it. "No," I said. "I would never pass as a woman like this." I had slim male hips and a broad chest making just enough difference that, in spite of my vagina, I simply looked like a man with a vagina.

She agreed with me, saying that blew a hole in the plot for my book, which I'd forgotten all about. That, I thought, nicely let me off the hook with everything. All I had to do then was to get my vagina unstuck from my genitals, and we'd be back to normal.

"So you'll have to change your plot slightly," she said, before I could speak. "Go back to wearing clothes and go to a hotel instead. With the right clothes and a bit of practice, I reckon you could pass. Also, it would be better if your hero had someone pretending to be a husband with him. I could do that."

"Wha..." I gasped. "You'd pretend to be my... husband and I'd be your... wife?"

"It's more likely to work that way, don't you think?"

Well what could I say? Of course it was, but it had never crossed my mind that she would consider taking part in my cross-dressing activities. She immediately suggested we spend the rest of the weekend in Brighton, dressed as husband and wife.

"You mean, straightaway?" Events were getting out of control.

"Of course," she said, pointing out that she'd already booked the week off work to visit Patience and that I'd also said I might take a few days off to get some jobs done (like spending the week cross-dressed!). Then she started getting bossy about my female conversion, and how I wasn't doing the best to look like an attractive woman. She pulled some hair remover stuff out of a drawer and told me to use it all over my body, after I'd booked a hotel room in Brighton for a couple of nights and packed a suitcase of clothes for her to wear. And I was to make certain everything was properly ironed before I packed it. Meanwhile, she was going shopping for a few things.

Tricia's Story

I had it all worked out how I'd handle Tony and his little perversion, and it all went to pot as soon as I pulled down his trousers and stared at his hairy pussy.

I had never seen anything so erotic! No, I'll rephrase that; I had never seen anything before which was at all erotic. I've seen plenty of hairy bollocks and erect cocks, large and small, and plenty of pretty, naked women in changing rooms; I've even looked at porn on the internet; all of it has left me quite cold.

But as I stared at Tony's hairy pussy, I felt a tingling which ran throughout my body; my blood was surging through my veins; I could feel my forehead throbbing as though it was going to burst; and deep down below, I felt something tickling between my legs.

I was mesmerised by the sight; I wanted to reach forward and touch it; I wanted to lean forward and lick it; instead, I could do nothing except stare, whilst Tony rabitted on about some cock and cunt story he'd cooked up to explain it.

Eventually, the ludicrous nature of his comments got through to me and I poured cold water on them, whilst realising that it gave me the opportunity to turn things around for my own ends. There was a shop in the seedier part of town that I was sure would meet my needs.

Tony's Story

After I'd used the hair remover all over my body, I was fascinated by the improvement it made. I'd always suspected it would make a difference, but in the past I'd known that in just a few days' time, Trish would be returning and asking questions about why my body had suddenly turned hairless. My legs were just fantastic, and even my belly looked more feminine.

Beneath the vagina, I could feel a stirring indicating that someone wanted to come out to play. I put my hand onto my vagina and gave it a little massage, which was exquisite. I might have gone on for a little longer, but I heard Trish's car returning, and hurriedly returned to the ironing board and my packing.

"I bought these for you," she said, handing me a carrier bag. Inside were a slim pair of silicone breasts and some weird-shaped pads. They were hip pads, she said, and she reckoned the breasts and hips would give me a nice feminine shape, without making me too big to fit into her clothes. There was also another bottle of medical adhesive in the bag, and she'd opened it and was about to use it on me when I stopped her, saying the stuff wouldn't come off.

She took no notice, simply saying the remover must have been defective, and in any case, we had all week and there was no need for me to take them off. Within seconds, I had nice boobs stuck to my chest and wider hips. There was no doubt they improved my shape, but being a slightly different colour to my skin, it was obvious they were false.

"Which is why the nudist colony idea would never have worked," she said. "Just to complete your feminine shape," she added, "I bought you some waist cinchers, with matching stockings."

My cock really did want to come out to play when she said that, although I had to pretend I was horrified. "But you always wear tights," I said to her. "You don't wear stockings."

She smiled. "But I am already a woman, whereas you have to think yourself into the role. It's very different being a woman, and you need to understand that. A woman is always vulnerable and you have to appreciate what that is like. So you won't be wearing any tights or knickers. Your skirt might blow up with the slightest puff of wind and men will be staring at your pretty vagina, and thinking about fucking you. How does that feel?"

It suddenly felt bloody scary. "Do we need to go that far?"

She smiled and looked down at my pussy. "You've gone pretty far already, without my input. We might as well see it through." She wrapped one of the cinchers around my waist, fastened it and then started to draw in the laces.

My cock was getting so excited beneath the vagina, but virtually doubled up inside, it just couldn't get a hard on. I fidgeted a bit, trying to find a more comfortable position. If only I could slip a hand down there and rub myself a little.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Stop fidgeting," Trish said. "It's not that tight. I have to draw the laces in a long way yet."

She proceeded to slowly draw in the laces, every now and then, releasing them a little so they didn't get twisted, and all the time I was silently willing her to finish quickly. Eventually, she had tied them off, and before she could move onto the next garment, I told her I had to go to the toilet, and I dashed to the bathroom and shut the door.

I slid a finger inside my vagina, but it quickly came against the engorged head of my penis and couldn't get any further. It wasn't even pleasant, so I pulled out my finger and used the fleshy part of my palm in the same way I often used on Trish to masturbate her. It usually had her writhing with pleasure within seconds, and she'd have an orgasm in less than a minute, but whilst it made me feel even more aroused, I couldn't get to an orgasm. I ground my vagina, round and round, up and down and side to side, and still I couldn't orgasm.

After a while, Trish knocked on the bathroom door and asked if I was all right. I knew I wasn't going to orgasm and I slumped in defeat for a few seconds, before replying to Trish that I was just having a little difficulty in peeing, but I was all right really. I sprinkled a bit of water on my face and washed away the sweat before drying myself and going out to Trish.

"Time to get you dressed, now," she told me. "I've selected a nice summery dress."

I stared at her, suddenly realising she had not only changed into one of my shirts and jeans, but that her face looked different.

"I got it from the fancy dress shop in town," she admitted. "It's a stubble paste. Do you think it looks realistic?"

"You look great," I told her. "I wish I could convert as well as you do."

"We'll put the dress on you, makeup your face and I think you'll be surprised," she said.

Tricia's Story

When Tony arrived at our office in Bradford, his prettiness was stunning, in a Tony Curtis kind of way. Of course, all the jocks in the office thought he was gay and derided him, mostly behind his back, but us girls weren't fooled. He was gorgeous, which is why everyone was trying to pull him.

In the years since we'd first met, I'd kinda forgotten how pretty he still was, but as soon as I finished the makeup and stood back and looked at him, I thought he — no, I must say 'she' — was prettier than I was. Without my self-confidence, she had a girl-next-door look about her, and my heart did a somersault that she was my wife. Does that sound weird? It certainly did to me. We'd been married for twenty years, and he'd been shagging me rotten for twenty-one. Now, I'd fallen in love all over again with a new side of him/her.

"Do you think I'll pass?" she asked.

"You're gorgeous," I replied, and I turned her to face me, took her head in my hands, and kissed her.


We agreed to use a different version of each other's names to avoid confusion, so I became Anthony (quickly abbreviated to Ant) and she became Patricia, or Patty. We swapped credit cards for our joint account, and spent a few minutes practising the other's signature, and hoped no one would ask for photo ID from our driving licences. Then we set off to Brighton, with me driving Tony's car.

As we drove, I did what Tony often did for me, and let my hand wander across from the gearstick onto Patty's leg, and then slip it slowly up her thigh until it was resting against her crutch beneath the dress.

Hell! I thought I was a good actor under such circumstances, but Patty was far better, screwing up her eyes, lifting up her torso and grinding her vagina against my hand. Just like me, she uttered little requests for me to stop, but in a tone that indicated she was enjoying it too much.

I usually simulated an orgasm after a few minutes, just because I found the whole thing so wearing, but Patty continued for mile after mile, the sweat pouring off her face and ruining her makeup. OK, she may have been acting, but I found it very touching that she was prepared to put herself out so much, just to please me. I wandered how far she would be prepared to go, later on, to continue doing so.

We arrived at our motel in Brighton and I checked us in, using a rather gruff accent. Meanwhile, Patty simpered with excitement. Her voice was still quite low in tone, but she seemed to have all the mannerisms of an excited female and the receptionist clearly didn't suspect either of us.

Patty's Story

After Trish — sorry, Ant — had made me up, and I looked in the mirror, I stopped worrying about not looking the part. Instead, I had to concentrate on thinking myself into the part.

Ant decided that I didn't need any stockings to go with my summer dress, so beneath that, I was completely naked from my waist cincher down to my shoes.

Ant had packed my bag whilst I'd been trying to masturbate in the bathroom, so after swapping our credit cards and practising signatures, Ant said it was time to set out.

A sudden pang of fear surged through me at the idea of walking just the few yards to the car, no doubt with the neighbours looking out their windows, but Ant growled at me to get on with it, and with quaking heart I stepped past him onto the drive.

If I'd still been a man, I'd have thought it a windless day, but I could feel the breeze blowing around my legs, my thighs and my bottom.

Thankfully, because Trish was quite tall, none of her shoes had heels more than one inch, but Ant had chosen a pair for me with very spiky heels, and on the uneven drive, I was terrified I was going to tumble over and show my bush to the neighbours.

In fact, I got to the car without incident, but Ant had gone back inside to check everything was turned off, and the car was locked. I had to rummage through my handbag to find the keys to unlock the car, with old Mr Brown walking along the road towards me.

I hurriedly unlocked and got inside, as I normally do. I reached out in order to pull the door shut, and give a nervous smile to Mr Brown, as you do. But his eyes were transfixed on a point below my waist. I glanced down and realised that as I'd brought my one leg into the car to follow the other, the hem of my skirt had got left behind, and it was now hanging down, almost to the ground, and exposing my leg from ankle to buttock. I grabbed at it and pulled it in and across my leg, flushing a bright red as I did so.

Mr Brown gave me a nice smile and said, "Thank you my dear. You have just made the day of an old man so much nicer."

I think I went even redder as I slammed the door. Fortunately, Ant had just got into the car, and he was laughing fit to burst.

"Stop laughing," I told him, "and drive on. It was unfortunate he happened to be coming along just then."

"No it wasn't," he said. "I saw him coming along the road through the window. That's why I pushed you out the door so hurriedly, and then made an excuse to go back inside."

"You bastard," I told him.

"Tut, tut," Ant said. "Ladies do not speak like that. But you've just had your first meeting with someone, and you handled it as any woman might. He certainly didn't have a clue who you really were. But one tip, when you get in a car, as with any other operation, remember a woman has to take care."

I didn't say anything as he started the engine and we drove off, passing Mr Brown on the way, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. The journey was like the agony and the ecstasy — without the ecstasy! Ant slipped his hand onto my crotch, as I often did with Trish. It was lovely at first and I was so close to orgasm, but as he continued to work my pussy, I was never close enough. After a few miles, I knew it was no good continuing; that I was never going to reach that orgasm. I kept muttering, "Stop it. Stop it," to Ant, but he took no notice, presumably because Trish gets so much pleasure out of it when Tony does it to her. So I spent the whole journey writhing on the end of Ant's massaging hand.

Looking on the bright side, if I had ejaculated, it would have covered my dress in semen, so I guess I should have been thankful that never happened. It would certainly have messed up my entrance into reception. As it was, Ant stopped me from getting out of the car when we arrived at the motel, since the sweat pouring down my face had created rivulets through my makeup. He helped me recreate my face, but pointed out that I had to learn to do it for myself, since he wouldn't always be there to do so.

Ant's idea about not wearing knickers worked really well — it made such a difference when I walked into the motel reception and saw the pair of young guys clocking me as my dress floated outwards as I swivelled around, although thankfully there was no breeze to lift it. Even so, it was scary. What if... And if only they knew I had no knickers!

As soon as we'd got into our room, Ant was telling me we had to go out again and find somewhere to give me nail extensions. He brushed aside my objections, and in less than ten minutes we were on the streets of Brighton looking for a decent nail bar.

Thankfully, Ant chose a Chinese nail bar where they barely spoke English, so I didn't have to spend the hours it took talking about girlish things. When I came out, I had long talons which rendered my fingers useless for anything intricate.

As soon as we got back to the motel, Ant said I should shower and prepare for dinner. I asked him if he was going to change and he just shrugged and said he'd go like he was. Just like a bloody man!

I hadn't been able to use the hair remover on my face, so I had another shave - have you ever tried it with nails that could take out an eye — and then Ant was strapping me into another waist cincher — this time a black one with suspenders — giving me the same problem with my cock wanting to be noticed. I willed myself to think about other things, and chatted gaily to Ant about where we were going for dinner, and how we should find somewhere quiet and off the beaten track.

"But I want to show you off," he told me. "That's why you're going to be wearing your little black dress."

I almost shit myself! Trish's little black dress was a stunner which exposed her long legs and (for her) startling cleavage.

"But they'll see my stocking tops," I protested; "and I'll need to wear panties. And surely, they'll see my breast pads?"

"I think your cleavage will be OK with the right bra," Ant said. "And yes, of course everyone will see your stocking tops, and no, you can't wear panties. You'll need to keep pulling down your dress if you're to stop people seeing your pussy, and you mustn't forget that."

So Ant selected a bra for me which squashed my breasts together giving me a great natural cleavage, and then helped me slide the stockings up my legs and secure them with the suspenders attached to the waist clincher. The shoes were rather too small for me but Ant was insistent I had to wear them, and they were incredibly sexy. If anything, the heels were even spikier than the ones I'd been wearing, and I felt incredibly tottery on them. The dress fitted like a sleeve. As I stared at myself in the mirror, my prick once more tried to surge out, but once more was held in place by my vagina.

"What do you think?" Ant asked me, and I told him I felt pretty good. He replied that I needed some accessories, and fortunately had packed several of Trish's necklaces, bracelets and earrings. As he held them against my body, I realised he was right — they really made a difference to how I looked, and we chose the most suitable for me. He clipped the necklace around my neck, and then fumbled with the earrings.

"Ow!" I yelled, at the sharp pain in my ear.

"I'm just making a hole for the hooks to go through," he said. "It's all right. I've sterilised the needle."

"That really hurt," I told him, but he simply shrugged and said that was nothing compared with childbirth, so I could shut up whilst he pierced the other ear.

I had to admit that the earrings, necklace and bracelet made me look even more sexy than before, and especially, I found it quite erotic having the weight of the earrings dangling from my ears.

We walked through the streets of Brighton, heading towards the restaurant area. There were lots of other people out on the streets and many of them stared at the pair of us. A lot of the guys stared at me in a dirty kind of way. I could visualise the thoughts running through their minds: I wouldn't mind fucking that. It's really strange; I'm heterosexual; I don't find men in the slightest bit attractive, yet I was turned on by imagining their thoughts. My poor prick was incredibly confused, and needless to say, very frustrated.

But I noticed the girls were staring at Ant in just the same way, which surprised me. Even with the stubble paste, Ant still had quite a feminine face and I wouldn't have thought it cut much ice with most of the good time girls on the way to the clubs that evening, but there's no accounting for taste. I even saw one girl mouthing to her mate, "Wow! Did you cop a look at him?" and her mate saying, "I saw him first. He's mine."

When we decided on a restaurant, the waiter found us seats in the window. I'd rather we'd had seats inside, but Ant was delighted. You need to get used to being stared at, he told me. That was a laugh, because of the people passing by the window, there were at least as many women staring at him as there were men staring at me. Although it was disconcerting at first, I got used to it after a while, and we both started to enjoy ourselves, especially when he put his hand beneath the table and started fondling my knee. When I thought back to earlier in the day, and the disaster I thought it was going to turn into, I couldn't stop myself smiling.

"What are you smiling at?" he asked.

"What we're doing," I told him. "It's just so bizarre, but I'm tremendously enjoying it. Thank you for everything."

"Let's skip desserts," he replied, "and go back and fuck."

"There's nothing I'd love more," I said, and kept my voice low as I added, "but my cock is unable to come out to play."

"Never mind," Ant said. "You never know what might pop up."


We did skip desserts and make our way back to the motel. Personally, I'd have been quite happy to eat pussy all night long, just to repay Ant/Trish for what s/he had done, and I was a bit surprised when Ant got out a long nightdress for me. He pushed me towards the bathroom and said I needed to prepare for him.

"Prepare?" I asked.

"I've left a douche in the bathroom," he told me. "You'll need to use it."

I grinned at him, sharing his joke. "I'm afraid my vagina is a dead end. My cock completely fills it from the opposite side, so there's no room to flush it out."

"I wasn't thinking of your cock," he said. "I was thinking of somewhere to put this." And he dropped his trousers.

Ant's story

Over the years, I guess I've seen more than my fair share of cocks. I've seen small ones, average ones and large ones. With my particular insensitivity, size hasn't really mattered much to me, except in the way I had to react to it. It's always terribly important to the male that you dote on his cock. Even an average prick has got to be enormous, a tiny prick has to be beautiful, and even the guys with huge pricks - whom you'd expect had no need for ego bolstering - required you be terrified of the bloody thing. I reckon you could shove a pick axe handle up my cunt without too much discomfort, although I've never tried, so my reaction was always an act.

So it remains a complete mystery why, when I entered the sex shop, I told the sales woman I wanted the biggest strap on cock they had. Hell, I'd only just started to contemplate sex as a man, and already I was thinking like one of them. But when the woman realised that not only was I a novice with such devices, but that the recipient would be a virgin in that area, she made me slim it right down to the smallest girth they stocked - about one inch.

I wanted something which really looked like a prick, rather than some brightly-coloured toy; certainly I had no need for a clitoris or G-spot simulator. The woman came up trumps, showing me this nice strap on with a pair of hairy bollocks, and although the shaft was not exceptional size, it had those protruding purple veins around it which always look so obnoxious. I got the ejaculating version, and the woman told me I could fill the bollocks with water, or Greek yoghurt for greater realism, and then use a rubber bulb which fitted inside my vagina to squirt it out.

Now that, I really fancied. I would have put it on there and then, but the sales woman pointed out there'd be no room to fit it inside my skin-tight jeans, so I had to carry it home in a bag. Whilst Tony was pratting about in the bathroom, I filled the bollocks with my large pot of Greek yoghurt, which inflated them almost to the size of tennis balls, and strapped it in place. Even wearing Tony's baggy trousers, my new genitals bulged alarmingly, although Tony didn't seem to notice when he came out of the bathroom so I didn't bother about that any more.

At least, I didn't bother anymore until we arrived at the motel reception, and I noticed the receptionist checking out the bulge in my trousers, as did every woman we subsequently passed on the streets. Inside the restaurant, we were on display in the window, and the problem was accentuated because there were no tablecloths on the tables. Almost every girl walking along that busy road glanced at us in the window, and then did a double take on me, with my 500 grams of yoghurt bulging my bollocks out like balloons.

Talk about a turn on! Well, actually, I'm going to talk about it quite a lot because I've never felt that way before. It's normal for blokes to lust after me, as they do after any half decent woman. In the past, I've just viewed it as a fact of life that women can generally have sex with any man they choose.

Now, their stares combined with the knowledge of what was sticking out between my legs, made me feel incredibly horny. I could give any one of them a good fucking, and unlike most blokes who start to droop after the first ejaculation, I could go on and on until my yoghurt ran out!

Of course, I was with Patty and in spite of the dramatic changes we'd both been through that day, I still loved her very much. But as the desire grew in my loins, I knew that I had to fuck her soon, or I would go crazy. She was wittering about what dessert we would have, and I put my hand on her knee and suggested we return to our motel.

Patty's Story

I couldn't believe that I'd been so preoccupied all afternoon with my own conversion that I hadn't noticed the trouble to which Ant had gone to go along with my charade.

When he pulled down his trousers and exposed his monster prick and enormous bollocks, I felt so incredibly moved I almost cried.

I think as his trousers dropped to the floor, I must have bent over to stare at it properly and Ant suddenly reached out to grab my head with both hands and pull me down so I was kneeling before him.

Now Trish has always been pretty good with her mouth, particularly for bringing an exhausted cock back to life, but she always made certain she was in control when she did so, and I never had any problem with that.

So I just don't know how Ant got the idea of behaving in the way some men do. Knelt in front of Ant with his hands behind my head, I had absolutely no control over what happened. He was going to face-fuck me and I had no choice in the matter.

Staring at his cock, only inches before my face, it was absolutely hideous, and I knew that as a woman I must make my protestations.

"It's horrible..." I started to say, before he pushed the head of his prick into my mouth, cutting off my words. It was so erotic, I almost came on the spot, but I didn't.

He slid his cock right inside, until his hairy bollocks were nestling against my chin, and the head was tickling the back of my throat. It took a steely effort to relax rather than gagging, but I was pleased I managed it. In any case, what could I do? It wasn't even as though I could bite my teeth into it. I was totally powerless. That thought alone almost gave me an orgasm, but it didn't.

Ant withdrew his cock until my lips were encircling the head, and I could suck and lick it. Then he slammed it back inside as hard as it would go, his bollocks this time giving me quite a slap in the face. I knew I was almost there.

I reached behind him with both hands to encourage him by digging my nails into his buttocks. My action spurred him into vigorous action, and he was suddenly thrusting in and out at a tremendous pace and I was being knocked almost silly by his enormous bollocks slapping me under the chin.

On and on he went, and still I hadn't reached my orgasm. I let go his bum with one hand and reached down with the other to pull up my skirt, and start massaging my vagina. Delicious! If I could keep that going for just a minute, I'd be there.

Ant gave an extra large slam to the back of my throat, and then I felt something hot squirting down my throat. I choked.

I guess I'd have bitten Ant's cock off if it had been real. As it was, Ant had the good sense to hurriedly withdraw it and he held it just inches in front of my face.

I stared at it, the semen dripping from the end, wondering how a strap on cock had managed to do that. Then I saw Ant tense, and I knew what was coming (quite literally) and, with Ant's hands still clasping my head, could do nothing to avoid it.

The deluge of semen hit me straight in the eyes and covered my face.

"Agh!" I gasped, and would have said more but another squirt went straight in my mouth. Already choking, it made breathing impossible. I thought I was going to die.

Instead, I had an orgasm.

It was an orgasm like I'd never had before. It wasn't centred, as it usually was, on my cock. After all, that was still doubled up beneath my vagina and certainly wasn't thrusting away inside one (or even inside my hand). Instead, the gooey sensation seemed to spread from my groin throughout my whole body. A heavenly feeling that lasted for minutes, rather than the normal seconds.

"Lick it off," Ant said.

I had to admire Trish's playacting, which was just like that of an evil male. I managed to open one eye - the other seemed to be welded shut by the semen. Ant's cock was still in front of my face and still dribbling semen and still as rock hard as it had been before. I obligingly opened my mouth, stuck out my tongue and cleaned the semen from the end of his cock.

When I had done, I looked up at him as a slave might look at her master.

He stared down at me. "You look a mess," he said. "Get yourself cleaned up."

Fantastic, I thought. Everything that Trish had done since she'd arrived home all those hours ago had been entirely for my gratification. Poor Ant couldn't orgasm with his false prick, whereas if Trish was here, she'd by now be on her third.

Ant pulled me to my feet and roughly pushed me towards the bathroom. There he filled the washbasin, and as I bent over it, he unzipped my dress and let it drop to the floor. As I washed my face, I could feel his prick nestling against my thigh — it was incredibly erotic, and even though I'd just had such a swishy orgasm, I felt ready for more.

But then I could feel something nuzzling against my back passage. With his prick still resting against my thigh, I was uncertain what it was.

"What..." As I made to stand up and turn around, Ant pushed my head back down towards the washbasin.

"Stand still. I told you to clean yourself out, but perhaps it's better if I do it, this time."

I gasped as something went into a place where it shouldn't be. Then I gasped some more as I remembered Ant talking about a douche. I knew exactly what was coming next. I could feel the water squeezing into my bum, more and more of it, filling me right up.

"Keep your buttocks clenched until you sit on the toilet," Ant directed.

You can imagine the next bit — I'm certainly not going to tell you about it except to say I had to do it several times over, and finally I had to take a shower and present myself to Ant in my gorgeous white nightdress.

"Get into bed and await my pleasure," he said.

It seemed quite natural to reply, "Yes master," to which he smirked a bit.

Ant's Story

I give Patty full marks for trying, but she really hadn't a clue how to simulate an orgasm; she simply knelt there in front of me with a stupid smile on her face, dripping with semen — well, Greek yoghurt, actually — she wasn't even digging her nails into my bum as she'd been doing earlier.

On the other hand, I'd had more sexual fun in the last few minutes than in the whole of my life. There'd been something so wonderful about dominating my husband who was pretending to be my wife. The shock on his face as I ejaculated was just out of this world, especially since I think my ejaculating vagina had never been designed for women like me.

You see, I realised pretty early on in life that, as my vagina got stretched to accommodate the larger pricks, I had to ensure I could keep Tony's tiny one happy. A friend put me on to the importance of pelvic exercise, and the various devices you could buy to help strengthen the muscles. She also reckoned it would increase the sensitivity of my vagina, although that never materialised. But I used to pop an exerciser inside me for the journey to and from work, and use the forty-five minute train journey to exercise. I reckon I could now crack walnuts with my vagina. Tony has always delighted that my cunt remained so tight, even after giving birth. So when I squeezed on the rubber bulb with my cunt, the stuff shot out so seriously I thought I might take his eyes out.

Certainly, I could understand now the compelling drive which made men commit rape. One thing was certain, I was going to fuck Patty properly in the next few minutes and nothing she could do was going to stop me.

I pulled her to her feet and took her into the bathroom, shoved the douche up her bum and showed her how to use it. Then I left the bathroom and waited for her to finish, and come to me in her nightdress. Tony had bought it for me as a birthday present and I'd always disliked it. It was a bit like wearing a net curtain: a sheer white gown with slits up both sides, only held together at the waist. As a nightdress, it was completely useless, but now I was on the other side of it, I could certainly appreciate its advantages. As Patty stood before me, she looked more beautiful than she had ever done. It made me feel very, very randy.

Just listen to me: me feeling randy! It was a first, and I was enjoying it.

"Get into bed and await my pleasure," I ordered him.

"Yes master," he replied, which gave me such an intense feeling of pleasure that, for a minute, I thought I might be in the throes of an orgasm.

Patty's Story

As soon as I was in bed, Ant got between my legs, violently grabbing them and spreading them apart and painfully forcing them backwards over my shoulders. I knew my tight little anus was pointing up into the air, ready for an onslaught by that horrible prick. It was the most uncomfortable position I could imagine in which to have sex, but, I guessed, a position that women had to get used to.

"Go easy with me, Ant," I said. "I'm a virgin."

"And I'm going to fuck you rigid," he said.

I knew he was only joking but it sure sounded realistic. "No. Please don't." I whimpered. I could feel his cock positioning itself outside my little hole. There was no way that monster could go inside.

"A-a-a-g-g-h!" I was wrong. Ant simply dropped his body on top of mine, with all his weight focussed on penetrating my hole. "Oh Jesus!" I cried. "That hurt. Please stop it."

Ant grunted, pulled his cock out so the head was again enlarging my little hole, and then he dropped onto me again.


And again. "A-a-a-g-g-h!" I wondered, was it so bad that time?




Nope, it was definitely getting easier.



"Oh yes!" Shit! Why had I said that?

My words seemed to make Ant redouble his effort. He took one arm away from restraining my leg and moved it down to start massaging my clitoris. As soon as he did that, I knew I was going to hit the most magnificent orgasm of all time. I started to scream.

Ant's Story

When Patty simulated her second orgasm, it was even worse than her first. I knew the screams of anguish had been real, and they incredibly turned me on, but with her mediocre second simulation, I knew that my own hopes of reaching an orgasm would once more go unfulfilled.

And then, as I continued to massage Patty's pussy, I found my fingers becoming moist. I glanced down and found they were covered in her semen; she really had reached an orgasm, and I'd assumed it was playacting. I did a double take on my actions: I had fucked Patty into an orgasm. I felt a tingling sensation starting in my groin, and sweeping throughout my body.

"Oh, fuck!" I shouted.

Patty's Story

I was rather sorry that the intensity of Ant's orgasm was nothing like Trish would have had, but Ant was wonderful about it; said it was the best orgasm he'd ever had, although he was obviously lying.

Over the next few hours, I went from one wonderful orgasm to another. I reckon I had more orgasms that night than when I had first met Trish and we'd spent our time perpetually in bed. We must have continued fucking until about five am, when we both fell into a deep sleep.

The sun was shining through our window when we next awoke. Ant was already awake and smiling at my face. I returned him a complicit grin and, in spite of the frustration he must have experienced the previous evening, he gave me an even bigger grin.

We lay for a minute in a mutual bliss, before Ant asked me how it had been and we chatted a bit about our experience. It was strange, but Ant really did appear to have enjoyed himself, even though his orgasms were nothing compared with normal.

But then he totally threw me by saying he had something serious to talk about. Oh shit, I thought, here comes the tirade against cross dressing.

Instead, Ant started talking about Trish's job. How the chairman of her company wanted her to become Chief Executive of one of his smaller companies in Yorkshire, but knew that, in that Yorkshire backwater, the workers simply couldn't cope with having a female boss — most of the specialists would leave, and the company would have lost its most precious asset.

"So your point is..." Except that I could see where this conversation was leading.

"I become a man. I take the job in your name. I'm sure the chairman would go along with it and I think I could carry it through without a problem. It would pay a fantastic salary — enough for both of us to live on. You'd obviously have to give up working, since the income tax people would smell a rat. In any case, it's a long way from London. You could live with me as my wife."

When I said nothing, he continued, "I know this is probably quite a shock to you, and we'd have to fix you up to play the part of the little woman at home. You'll need lots of new clothes and your hair would have to be done properly — perhaps even a breast job — but I'm sure you'd make a superb wife."

When I still said nothing, he asked, "Well, what do you think?"

"I'm a bit of a chauvinist myself," I said. "The husband should make the decisions and the wife has to follow his wishes. Do you really want me to have a breast job?"


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