Entries Tagged 'Shemale Sex Stories' ↓

Kate heard the bell ring from downstairs and dashed to the

mirror. The reflected image betrayed no flaws. The lipstick was

red and thickly applied, giving the pouting lips a playful glow.

The green eyes were right too– the dark eyebrows thinly plucked,

the long lashes batting with plenty of body and dark promise, the

eyes themselves clear, bright and green as polished emeralds. No

eyeshadow though– the Teacher thought that eyeshadow on Kate

gave a too-mature look and Kate was only sixteen. Cheeks were

smooth, with a complexion that was clear but for the inevitable

freckles of an Irish redhead. Delicate fingers dabbed tempting

perfume on pulse points and behind pink earlobes as the face

observed itself. Kate drew back the healthy mane of thick auburn

hair into a manageable ponytail, the practised hands smoothing

down the errant tresses into the big bowed red ribbon.

Too girlish? Kate wondered, then left the bow in place. Teacher

liked the girlish look and Kate always strove to make the Teacher

happy. It was the only way to get by from day to day. The sight

check continued as Kate inspected the skimpy garments that

clothed the small, lithe teenaged body. They weren’t as sleazy

as what Kate might be made to wear, that what for sure. The

others had to wear such slutty things– crotchless panties,

garter belts, fishnet stockings and open-nippled brassieres.

Maybe I ought to be grateful, thought Kate. What looked back in

the full-length mirror wasn’t too slutty. Just a matching bra

and panty set, pretty bright blue. And they weren’t silk or

anything– just Hanes For Her. The panties were French-cut and

rested high on the hips, clinging tightly to Kate’s curvy tight

midsection and butt– simple and perfectly appropriate for a girl

of sixteen. And the bra wasn’t some bullet contraption. Not

that Kate could fill that out, with an embarrassingly small set of

32A breasts. No, the bra was just a soft blue cotton thing

without wiring or teasing lifts. All it did was cover the small

pert things and give them a little definition and the smallest

shapely lift. All in all, Kate looked just like any average-to-

cute looking high school girl in her undies. No cheerleader, but

not desperate for a boyfriend either. And certainly not some

streetwalker. No, there was nothing unusual with what stared back

in the mirror, was there?

There was if the starer was really a boy, Kate thought bitterly.

The little cock thrummed in the chastity belt defiantly, if

impotently. But the crafty construction of the Teacher’s

equipment refused to let the small cock out of its imprisonment.

No surprise– it hadn’t for eight months, ever since it had been

locked on. Kate sighed, then banished the taboo thoughts. The

Teacher had once explained to Kate the simple, too-obvious fact

that it didn’t do any good to think such thoughts.

“These thoughts, they don’t make you feel good, do they? And

your situation certainly isn’t going to change, so it doesn’t do

you any good, does it Kate?” Teacher was always so clear in his

explanations, everything so darn unarguable.

“Well, no sir,” Kate answered simply. But a frown broke

involuntarily over Kate’s lips, the kind that came even when ever

effort was being made to behave, to accept.

“Kate, your thoughts are not APPROPRIATE for a proper young lady.

You are a pretty, well spoken girl with a very pleasing attitude

most of the time. Now, I will see a happy smile on your face

now– frowns will give you wrinkles and don’t do a thing for

boys.”

And so Kate smiled brightly, especially at the mention of boys.

Boys, boys, boys. Everything was about boys and being

appropriate. And there was the real desire to act appropriately

and an all-the-time fear lurking deep down of boys NOT being

attracted to Kate, Kate’s smile, Kate’s face, Kate’s body,

everything Kate.

And now it was the Time. That was why Kate felt so nervous, so

flighty, so scared. Kate remembered a time when thinking wasn’t

so hard, so difficult. The drugs and hypnosis and physchological

training and disciplining had all forced changes on Kate in the

last eight months, robbing the subject of independence of thought

or even trying to think.

“Pretty girls don’t think– they just smile, Kate. Understand?”

the Teacher had told Kate, who replied with a big bright smile.

Oh yes, Kate understood. Especially after a question had been

asked. It had been a simple one– “Why are you doing this to

me?” and the answer had been an injection. Hours later, Kate

awoke nervous and silly and without any thought other than to

NEVER, EVER to ask a question like that again.

After that, the rest seemed to come in a rush. The dressing

lessons, the make-up lessons, the manners lessons, the hygiene

training, the constant body-shaping aerobics exercising, and all

the rest. All of it was accepted without questioning of any kind

by Kate. Questions would mean big words, big thoughts that

weren’t appropriate for a girl like Kate.

There were conversations, though. With the Teacher. He would

ask questions and the answers would seem to spring out of Kate’s

mouth, words that came so easily that they seemed to be put there

by the Teacher himself. And once Kate had dreamed that there

were words that broke the silence of sleeptime, words that Kate

would use when awake. But that must have been a dream indeed.

“Do you like math, Kate?” the Teacher would ask.

Kate would cast eyes down, smile foolishly. The auburn mane

would shake “no” and Kate would giggle. “Math is just for boys,

Sir.”

“Do you like sports, Kate?” The voice was so calm, so reassuring.

Kate always knew when the right answers were coming out.

Again, the long auburn hair shaking. “Sports are so icky, Sir!”

“But I bet sports interest you a little, doesn’t it Kate?”

Kate grinned. “Football is fun– to watch, I mean. Not to play.

Football players are so handsome.” Was that answer right?

The Teacher smiled. “But you wouldn’t like to play football,

would you Kate?”

A vapid giggle and a shake of that straight long lustrous auburn

hair.

“What would you like to do, Kate?” the voice asked curiously.

Kate folded the small hands, unconsciously checking the pink

polish of the three inch nails. “Well, Sir, I would like to make

myself pretty with the makeup you gave me and bake cookies for

boys, just like I learned.”

The Teacher patted the auburn hair and Kate knew that the right

answer was given. “Of course you would my dear, and so you

shall.”

There were more conversations like that. As the weeks went on,

Kate learned what were the right answers and what were the wrong

answers. Also learned were the things that mattered most– like

keeping nails polished, keeping dress hems from rising too high,

to keeping hair arranged perfectly. Learning when to smile

brightly and when to listen respectfully. Discovering how to

walk like a lady in the high heels Kate was given, careful always

to walk by swinging the hips, not bending the knees. How to keep

arms up and always away from the body. Oh, it was all so very

important, the Teacher said. Otherwise, people would be so

disappointed in pretty Kate and we wouldn’t want that would we?

Oh, no, Kate mused, I know I wouldn’t want that! Because when

Kate didn’t give the right answer, it didn’t take the Teacher

long at all to take Kate over his knee. The teenager hated

waiting while he yanked up the skirt and peeled down the panties.

It seemed to take forever as he raised his hand and then let it

fall hard and fast on Kate’s bare smooth butt. The number of

spanks depended on just how wrong Kate’s answer was. At first,

the answers were painfully wrong. But after awhile, Kate

learned, really learned, to give the right answers.

Because you couldn’t just pretend to give the right answer. The

Teacher seemed to know just what was in Kate’s head (again those

voices at night drifting in and out in the dark!) and if the

right answer wasn’t given without so much a second’s hesitation,

gosh, Kate was soon looking at the floor as the Teacher began

“correction.”

Oh, but the bell was ringing, the little tinkling bell outside.

Kate had to hurry, to make sure everything was right. The First

Time was ever so important, the Teacher said! Kate nervously

checked the legs and underarms for hairs missed in shaving, the

eyebrow not perfectly straight, the uneven patch of too-dry skin.

Oh, it was maddening, all the details you needed to be aware of

when you were a teenage girl! Especially for the First Time!

And gosh, when you had been a boy to start with, it took extra

work, like the Teacher said!

Downstairs, in another part of the Teacher’s gracious suburban

home, two men spoke. One, a distinguished looking man of perhaps

fifty smoked a pipe and thoughtfully listened to his guest. He

wore an expensive well-worn herringbone jacket which he

frequently investigated for more pipe tobacco. The man speaking

was handsome, thirty, and in a good mood. From his casual dress,

well-defined physique and confident demeanor, he might have

passed for a polite bouncer at a successful and upscale

nightclub.

“So,” the younger man continued, flexing an arm, “the subject is

prepared to your satisfaction?”

The older man grinned reassuringly. He nodded, the pipe never

leaving his mouth.

“I see. Well, tell me, what should I look for in terms of

problems or deviations from what you said I should expect?” The

younger man pressed, deliberately if delicately. His numerous

negotiations in Asia had taught him the necessity of bringing up

all details before closing a deal.

The older man hooked his thumbs into the lapels of the English

herringbone. He liked to wear it in the late afternoons in the

Fall on days like this. It was a pleasure wearing a jacket like

this. Maybe that’s why it seemed so appropriate to what he did.

Looking in the other man’s eyes, he answered the question for the

hundredth time. He could calm all their fears by now by

patiently explanation almost by rote.

“Well,” he began slowly, “Kate has been disabused of any notion

that ’she’ is a boy. The chastity belt allows her to relieve

herself, but doesn’t allow for arousal. This will cause her pain

as I suspect arousal will occur at some future time,” he skipped

over this as a feral gleam escaped from his guests eyes, “but she

will learn to accommodate it.”

“How?” demanded the guest sharply. All questions must be

answered.

“Why, through three factors, actually. First, pharmacologically,

her body chemistry has been altered. This was necessary in order

to begin the growth of her breasts. There is now more estrogen

that testosterone in the blood mix and she is now capable of

generating her own estrogen rather than injections. This

alteration will stymie penile arousal while igniting the

physchological factor.”

“Which is?”

“Which-” he paused, clearly perturbed by being interrupted and

showing so,” has been implanted through neural nets and hypno-

physchosis. These processes have supplanted many natural

impulses and behavior vis a vis the male and female gender.

Kate’s value system has been rearranged so to speak, the blocks

of values previously held now in a different pattern, this having

been effected through the nets and hypno-processes.”

Rather than interrupt again, the younger man shook his head in

confusion.

The older man smiled. “All this means,” he waved his hands as if

to wave away the confusion, “is that whereas eight months ago

Kate was a boy, with all the natural inclinations and desires of

a fifteen year old boy, he is now she, a sixteen year old girl–

with all the inhibitions and feelings of a teenage girl.”

“All?” pressed the other with a wicked smile.

“Oh, yes. Well, most. It is impossible to erase all the male

identity. But that is why the Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs is

such an important concept for you to understand in this regard.

You’re familiar with it?”

The man scratched his head. “I can tell you the price of

microchips in Singapore, but I confess, it has been awhile since

I was back here at Elgin, sir. I don’t recall what it is, but it

sounds familiar.”

The older man’s eyes rolled in disappointment. “We take such

care in devising this cirriculim for you boys, but–ah, well!

Maslow was a clinical physchologist who discovered that within

each of us is a series of needs which we need to satisfy on our

way to self-actualization, a term which basically means complete

satisfaction with our existence.

The basics are, as you would expect, food, shelter, clothing, and

the like. Next comes what we would think of as physical

pleasure, then wealth and power and so forth. Well, in Kate’s

mind we have displaced the importance of female values with that

of male values. She now values female values as basic survival

values but is attracted toward male attributes in order to self-

actualize. Understand now?”

The quizzical look on the younger man’s face was the silent reply.

“Very simple, you see. Kate finds absolutely none of the mystery

she used to find in things she has been trained to think are

female– things like beauty, grace, the desire to please, the

urge to attract. Those things are lower values, essentially the

price she pays for being what she is now– the price of

admission.”

Comprehension dawned quickly on the business executive’s face and

he nodded for the academic to continue.

“What she secretly longs for and values are what she has been

taught are male attributes– strength, confidence and sureness

of purpose, even selfishness.”

“So she what you’re saying, if I get it, is that Kate isn’t some

prima donna beauty queen now, right?”

“Oh, far from it! She’s attractive, to be sure, but she doesn’t

perceive her beauty to have any value in isolation from a male.

None of what she has to offer has any value without a male to

please with her charms.”

“And there isn’t any boy left in her?”

“There will be a marginal amount, but that is where the third

factor comes into play.”

The man gestured with his finger. “I was going to ask you about

the third. Aren’t the first two sufficient?”

The Headmaster’s eyes widened. “I haven’t educated and trained

juveniles this long without discovering that old fashioned

discipline works as many wonders as modern physchology and

medicine!”

“Very good, I see,” replied the guest. “Well, that takes care of

the subject’s physical, emotional and mental well-being. What

about the legal implications of all this?”

The Headmaster handed him a sheaf of papers in a manila folder,

which his guest slowly paged through as the older man explained.

“The subject is a scholarship student whom the Academy took on as

part of a program with the local authorities. The subject has no

known family, had been hosted by a number of foster homes, and

was dangerously close to being remanded to a county facility for

juvenile delinquents, when accepted here. As a result, the

subject was placed under the legal auspices of the Academy. The

subject was delighted to be here.” The older man smiled archly.

“No surprise there, of course. Were you aware that this is one

of the most exclusive boy’s preparatory schools in the nation?

We can count seven presidents who prepped here and our scholastic

achievements are too numerous to mention. Why our SAT average–”

The younger man cut him off. “Sir, with all due respect, you

forget I prepped here. I am well aware of the Academy’s well-

deserved reputation. Please, please just continue,” he added

smiling.

The older man shrugged. One of the problems of dealing with

youngsters all day was that you could easily forget how to deal

with adults! He chuckled. “Of course, of course. My apologies!

Anyway, it was reported back to the proper county offices and

social workers that the subject was not fitting in well, that in

deed, was causing difficulties for our other students.

Naturally, the social worker who came to investigate the

subject’s disappearance was quite disgusted. When given the

chance to get a first-class education all on scholarship, without

the county having to spend a dime, the fact the subject ran

away was enough to put the whole program into question.”

The younger man was taken aback. “Then you’ve canceled the

program to take these students on scholarship?”

“Not at all,” the older man reassured him. “I reluctantly agreed

to continue the program, which delighted the social worker to no

end. Do you know that the county spends over thirty thousand

dollars a year to– ah, but I am digressing. Back to the point.

Yes, the program continues, but now only under the condition that

the Academy not be plagued by constant visits from the Social

Services Office or regular reports. Elgin Academy graciously

extended the program to accept these hardship students under the

condition that the only nuisance the county be allowed to ask for

is a copy of the subject’s diploma upon graduation.”

The younger man chuckled. “Well, how very convenient,

Headmaster. And how very profitable!”

The older man smiled in shared confidence. “Isn’t it, though?

And with regard to that, I must thank you for your kind

contribution.” A grateful hand was offered, which the executive

took.

“Say, Headmaster, could you turn on the monitor in Kate’s room

like you did the last time I was here?” There was a slight jump

in his deep voice as he made the request. Like a kid taking a

peek at a Christmas present, he thought in guilty excitement.

The prep school headmaster nodded indulgently. “By all means.

Let us see what the dear is up to.” He pulled a key from his

jacket pocket and unlocked the door of the wallmounted wood

cabinet behind him. The opened door revealed a dark monitor.

the academic punched in a code on the monitor console and the

monitor expanded into a technicolor square.

“She’s so damn cute!” The businessman looked at the small figure

on the screen with rapt attention. “And she’s got a figure now–

that was just starting the last time I was here!”

“Yes, Kate is filling out. As I’ve said before, she won’t ever

be a Dolly Parton. In fact, what she’s got is probably all

she’ll ever have, though I haven’t had the heart to break it to

her. Funny, that. At first, she required quite a bit of coaxing

to get her to wear her training bra. She was so– obstreperous.

‘Why do I have to wear a bra?’, ‘I don’t like having breasts’,

‘I’m really a boy’ and all the rest. So ridiculous. But in

time, she’s accepted them, more than that I would say! She’s

been measuring herself every day, becoming ecstatic if she grew a

micrometer! Always reading articles in her copies of Sassy and

Seventeen about breast size and so forth. Look at her– even

now, she’s obsessed with them!”

The screen gave a clear view of what the Headmaster was referring

to. Kate cupped her small breasts, lifting them and looking at

herself in the mirror. Then she dropped her hands and thrust her

chest out like a cadet, an unsatisfied look on her face.

“So damn cute!” repeated the younger man roughly. Then,

recovering himself a bit, turned to the Headmaster. “Sort of

looks like Jodie Foster, don’t you think?” He asked the question

self-consciously, almost self-congratulatory.

“Of course she does, Edgar. After all, that’s what you told me

you wanted in a niece– a thin redhead with a pale complexion,

sharp pretty features, slim hips, small breasts– all you asked

for. I believe you mentioned Jodie Foster as Kate’s physical

model, did you not?”

“Yeah, well I think you’re right.” The younger man’s eyes

narrowed. “Quite a babe that Jodie Foster. Anyway, what has she

been told again?”

“That her uncle is coming for her today and he wants to see how

much his niece has developed. That the last time you set eyes on

her, she was very, very young. That her long-lost uncle is a

very successful businessman who works in Asia. And that if she

is ‘mature’ enough, you’ll take her with you when you go back to

Asia.”

The exec’s eyes were fixed on the feminine figure primping on the

monitor. “It’ll be wonderful to take her over there. The life

of an expatriate is a lonely one and as I mentioned, the AIDS

epidemic is getting quite virulent. It was obvious to me some

eight months ago that the usual company with which I indulged

myself was just getting to dangerous. Risky. Still,” his brow

creased, “to be honest, even now I wonder if a real girl wasn’t

the way to go.”

Headmaster shook his head. “Too expensive, even for you, Edgar.

Besides, I’m sure she please you– except for the genital switch,

there’s not a lot of difference now. And girls are far more

difficult to train. Besides this way you’re helping your alma

mater. Your ‘contribution’ pays off in two ways– it is tax-

deductible plus you enjoy the benefit of a pretty, well-bred

young companion. How else can you both save yourself a great

deal of money, make our library expansion possible and gain such

a delightful traveling partner?” He pointed at the monitor with

his pipe.

Edgar looked sheepish. “I’m so pleased to help the Academy. The

library needed the new wing, Headmaster. I’m honored to be a

part of the continuing success of the school. And delighted to be

part of your special extracurricular program, sir.”

The academic pulled on his herringbone lapels and smiled broadly.

“Anything for an alum of old Elgin! You know this program has

done wonders for our fundraising. It is because of such

supporters like you that our special education program works so

well. Do you remember your classmate John Worthington?”

The younger man nodded. “Good old Jack! How is he? I heard

he’s the youngest ambassador ever appointed to France!”

“Oh yes, we’re quite proud of him at Elgin, as we are of you– I

saw you on the cover of BusinessWeek touting you as the country’s

hottest portfolio manager in the Far East. Anyway, John is going

to France and along with his wife and young son, he is bringing

along a nanny, a certain young lady of seventeen named Samantha.”

The guest tried to trap a chuckle with his hand. “You’re not

suggesting old Jack–”

The Headmaster smiled in amusement. “Let’s just say Samantha, a

lovely brown-haired thing, used to be a young street ruffian

named Sammy or something! Too bad we can’t ‘help’ more of our

former students this way, the school needs so much work.”

“Why not simply ask more alums if they’d be interested?”

The Headmaster shook his head. “Believe it or not Edgar, most

tastes run to the rather ordinary. It takes a very special

person to appreciate a delicacy like Katie or Samantha. And the

gymnasium does need so much repair. I think our basketball team

can have such a superlative season. Ah, but funds are lacking!”

Edgar shrugged. “How much would you need to do a complete

repair?”

The older man scratched his graying head. “Perhaps two million–

at least one.”

Edgar smiled widely. “If Katie is half of what you promise

she’ll be, I think we can find that money, Headmaster!”

“But Edgar, are you offering to donate–???”

“Please sir, I’m successful, but not that successful. However I

have an idea. I’ll call you next year– by that time I’ll know

if it’s feasible.” On that mysterious note, the guest turned

intently on the older man. “I’d like to see what I have bought

now, if that’s all right.”

The Headmaster nodded and pushed a button at his desk. Upstairs

Kate heard the bell again, loud and insistent. “To let her know

her ‘uncle’ is coming up to see her,” the Headmaster explained.

As the two men approached the small locked door, the Headmaster

pressed some small items into the other man’s hands. He put his

hand on the other man’s arm, the powerful biceps bulging under

the casual sports jacket.

“I’ll let you two get acquainted. She’s dressed precisely as you

wished– a pleasant deviation from the usual norm, I must say.

Take as long as you like of course, the she can dress. Her bags

are packed and you can leave with her any time you like. If you

have any problems, contact me at once.” The headmaster gave him

an understanding smile. “The initial training can be sticky, but

she is waiting for you. And as much as she is afraid of you–

and will probably continue to be– she is just as secretly

excited about being your ‘niece’ and everything that goes with

it. Good luck old man, and see you at Homecoming next year.”

With that, the older man walked down the stairs.

The younger man looked at the items in his palm. There were two.

One was a square plastic package that was labeled “Stud Condom–

Ribbed For Extra Pleasure”. The other was a tiny key with a

small tab. It read simply “Kate.” He placed the key carefully

on his keychain, then opened the door.

Kate stood facing him, head bowed but green eyes looking

anxiously at him. Her hands and arms nervously covered her

chest, then with a forced jitter, dropped to her side, exposing

her blue cotton brassiered chest. She chewed her lower lip, then

with a supreme effort, smiled sweetly for her guest.

“Hello, Uncle Edgar. I’m so glad to see you.” The words were

offered like a gift that the giver knew, just knew, wasn’t good

enough, but had to try anyway.

Uncle Edgar closed the door behind him and gestured for Kate to

approach him. With head bowed, she carefully walked over to

present herself to him, her hips swaying slightly, her hands

raised and away from her hips.

“Aren’t you going to give your Uncle a big kiss when I’ve come

from so very far away to see my pretty niece?” he chided her.

She smiled brightly at the compliment then and hoped, just hoped

that she would never ever make her new uncle mad. He seemed so

handsome and so nice. She threw her thin arms up and around his

broad shoulders as best she could (he was so tall!) and, closing

her eyes as taught, offered the red painted pouting lips up for

him to take as he wished. And even as she had hoped it would all

be nice for the First Time she met HIM, she felt his hands

roughly reach down and squeeze her butt hard, then cup her little

breasts. And she was afraid, afraid even though deep in her

beating heart she felt a new warm and dark thrill flowering.

This wouldn’t be the kind of First Time she had expected at all,

as he pressed her down to her knees. She thought, this is a

different kind of First Time, even as he placed her hands on his

thighs and forced the pink nailed fingers around his trouser

zipper. And years later, even after her Uncle Edgar had taught

her so much more, when she thought back to the First Time, Kate

would shiver in terror and delight.

Hong Kong, six months later

Laughter from downstairs. Katie (Uncle Edgar liked ‘Katie’

better than ‘Kate’ so she was now officially ‘Katie’) listened to

the male guffaws without interest. Uncle Edgar had so many

guests over all the time. Anyway, they kept him busy. There was

so much entertaining in Asia. Uncle Edgar said it was part of

doing business. They had been at it for a couple of hours now,

long after the cook and maid had served dinner, cleared the

dishes and left for the night. Katie could smell the cigarette

smoke and the clink of cocktail glasses from the party going on

below, now and then the karaoke machine with the accompanying

Chinese voices.

Anyway, it occupied Uncle Edgar’s time which was o.k. with Katie.

She would have been in bed much sooner (Uncle’s Rule #9: lights

out at 9:00 pm) but his mind was on his guests right now. Maybe

he had even forgotten what day it was, Katie hoped fretfully. So

Katie continued to read quietly, hoping to finish the magazine

she was reading. It was an English copy of “Teen Babe” magazine.

She couldn’t pick up a word of Chinese which wasn’t taught to her

anyway, so she was always excited when Uncle gave her a copy just

in from the overseas packet. She was engrossed in reading an

article called “When To Tease And When To Please,” all about

dating tips. She had been reading it all night, over and over

again. It had just the most super advice, like:

Tease Tip #1 Boys love it just scads when a girl wears tight

pullovers! But remember,

Please Tip #1 Your bra should be easy for him to take off once

he gets underneath that sweater!

Katie blew on her drying red nails and carefully turned the

magazine page and continued reading.

Tease Tip #2 Boys like it when you ask them to do things for

them because you can’t– ‘you’re just a girl’, but

Please Tip #2 Boys don’t like it when you ask too much. Don’t

be a ’space’– remember your place!

Too much reading at one time was beginning to bore her. She

flipped the cover over. A beautiful blonde girl stared up at

her. The model was so hot-looking (’inappropriate thought’ the

teacher would say! and Uncle wouldn’t say anything; he’d just

take poor Katie over his knee!). But Katie couldn’t help it and

slowly the limp cock stirred. Katie blew on her fingers again and

rolled onto her flat, trim tummy, squashing the growth before the

troublemaker began rubbing itself raw against the metal mesh of

the chastity belt. She emptied her mind of the thoughts then

re-addressed the cover consciously. Yes, the model was pretty.

Yes, Katie bet she had many boyfriends. Once again she was just

another girl, nothing more. The stirring stopped and Katie was

grateful. It was happening less and less but it never went away

entirely. It caused her too many problems. She blew on her

nails again.

“Katie!” It was Uncle Edgar! “I know you’re awake! Get down

here– I want to introduce you to some guests!”

She frowned. “Uh, Uncle, I’m not really dressed,” she pleaded

lamely through the door.

“Now!” Uncle Edgar boomed.

Katie rolled off the bed. She had on a pair of black cotton

panties and a tight cropped red tee shirt that rode high over her

midriff. She grabbed her pink silk kimono top and slipped into

it, tying the waist knot of the sash tight. It only accentuated

her lovely curved hips but Katie was not aware of this as she

sashayed down the steps, obediently smiling.

“Yes, Sir?”

The two Asians were seated on a wide leather couch. One was

older, the other a younger more protege-looking type. They spoke

to each other in rapid, excited Mandarin, smiling and gaping at

her. Her uncle sat across from them in an arm chair. He patted

his knee.

She kept her head bowed and minced over, seating herself daintily

on his knee. His arm encircled her waist, finding a home right

under the band of Katie’s panty’s thin elastic band. Her hands

folded over one another and rested on top of it.

Edgar switched to Mandarin now, though he knew Katie wouldn’t

understand it.

“My little whore, Katie! You like gentlemen?”

The protege smiled widely at first, but held his tongue as the

older Chinese gave a more neutral expression.

“Pretty like your American actress Jodie Foster. But like the

actress, her breasts are small.”

“It can be arranged that they are larger, whatever your needs are

we can accommodate, I assure you!” Edgar patted his ‘niece’s’

knee. Katie squirmed. “Bigger if you like. This one is mine

and I prefer her this way.”

The Chinese nodded, then matched his protege’s smile. “In this

case, I see possibilities. Certain Hong Kong businessmen would

enjoy such a pretty dove as your– niece. And your supply is

secure.” It was a shielded question, not intended to imply

disbelief but to signal it.

Edgar nodded and slapped Katie’s thigh, bringing a brief red rise

from the pale skin. “Mr. Chang, there are more where Katie came

from. All I need is your ordering information and I can

guarantee delivery within eight months. As well as guarantee of a

volume of at least two million US dollars.”

The older Chinese nodded and rose. The younger man did likewise.

As if on pre-arranged cue, the two bowed.

“You have been a most gracious host and your proposition has been

well-received. May I trouble to ask one last question?”

Edgar offered open palms. “Anything, Mr. Chang.”

“Why you do this? You are most wealthy and prosperous. You not

need to trade in these goods.”

Edgar bowed and walked the two to the door. As he showed them

out, he answered. “School pride, Mr. Chang. Chalk it up to an

old b-ball player for Elgin Academy.”

The two Chinese shook their heads, unsure of what the round-eyes

meant, but smiling politely as they bid goodnight. Edgar closed

the door and turned to his niece.

“You probably thought I had forgotten what day it is, didn’t

you?”

Katie’s false smile dissolved. Abruptly, she stood up, hands

folded in front of her. “Uh, no sir. You never forget.”

“Too bad for you, huh Katie?” He took a last swig from his

highball and placed the empty glass on an end table. Then Uncle

Edgar pulled out a sheet of paper from the breast pocket of his

suit jacket and looked it over, holding his hand in his chin as

he contemplated the typed words. He reseated himself in the

armchair. Katie unwillingly positioned herself, standing in

front of her seated uncle.

“Friday, as we both know is Review Day. Since you’re a maturing

girl of sixteen and a half, it is important to make sure you are

growing up correctly. And there are some interesting things on

the list this week. So let’s review the notes I have on you,

Katie. Ah, a note from your teacher, Mrs. Lee at the English

School. It seems you had a run in your stockings on Monday–

very unladylike. Can you explain this?”

Katie remembered– she had bumped up against a desk leg and it

had put a small run in her white stockings. It hadn’t been that

bad. She had repaired it with her nail polish as she had been

taught in the Girl’s Lavatory and hoped her instructors hadn’t

seen it. She had been wrong.

“It was a small run, Uncle Edgar. And if you let me wear

pantyhose, I could have borrowed some from a friend,” Katie

whined.

Uncle Edgar waved the explanation away brusquely. “We’re NOT

going to have that discussion again. Proper young ladies like

you wear stockings and garters– NOT pantyhose! The next thing

would be pants for God’s sakes!” He laughed at that ridiculous

concept. “Next year we can talk about possibly letting you wear

thigh highs, but for now, you’ll be more careful– understand?”

Katie swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Fine.” He marked the list. “Three spanks for that

indiscretion. Now, I have a note from Ms. Ky, your gymnastics

instructor, that you have received a C- on your half term

routine. Why?”

Katie pulled the kimono tight. “I can’t do splits, Uncle. the

girls can–”

“You mean the OTHER GIRLS can, but you can’t. You’re a girl too,

remember Katie?” His eyes bored into her and she nodded.

“Yes, Uncle, I mean the other girls. But I can’t because of–”

That answer was clearly unacceptable, because Uncle Edgar waved

silence on her. “You’re not practicing enough. You WILL learn

to do a split properly, learn to do the uneven bars and learn to

do cartwheels and flips. You will find that your chastity belt

will allow you to do all this. If not, we’ll see a doctor about

making you physically able to do this. Are we clear?”

Katie grimaced. “Yes, Sir. But,” she smiled brightly, “I did

get a B on my math quiz!”

Uncle Edgar smiled. “Yes, but what good will that do you, Katie?

You’re a girl and girls like you will never be good in math–

it’s a fluke. Besides you spend too much on math. I’m taking

you out of that class. I want you to learn French instead.

Won’t that be fun– French is the language of romance, you

know!”

Katie answered with a doubtful smile.

“Now, a C- deserves, oh, five spanks. Next, I see Mrs. Wong says

when she took you to Kowloon to help her shop, she noticed a

chipped nail!”

Katie nodded, accepting the blame. “yes, Sir. I know I must

keep better care of my nails.”

“Let me see them now,” commanded Uncle Edgar.

She presented her hands, palms down. He held her soft, small

hands, examining hem for flaws. But the nails were a perfect set

of hot pink well-shaped long finger nails. “Since they are in

good shape, just one spank. Now let’s see, we have a total of

nine spanks for this week! Well, very good Katie! That is three

less than last week! Congratulations!”

Katie grinned proudly. Last week’s no-nos had really put the

fear of God into her. Her butt had really paid a price. Fine,

she would only get nine. She could live through it, as long as

there was hope that some day she wouldn’t have any, that someday

she wouldn’t be a she any more! She had hooked her thumbs into

her panties to pull them down and present herself for her weekly

correction, when Uncle Edgar wagged a finger.

“Not yet, sweet thing. There’s one more I left off– because

it’s so especially naughty.”

Katie sucked in a breath as he pulled out a small piece of pink

paper.

“A sheet from your diary, missy. You see, I was reading through

it the other day to make sure you were putting down all your

little thoughts like you’re supposed to and I noticed a page had

been ripped out. I wondered, why would Katie rip a page out–

had she written something inappropriate? But I couldn’t find it.”

He shook his head in mock gravity. “Well, as your uncle, I had

to get to the bottom of it. So I asked Ms. Chan the housekeeper

if she had seen anything like it. And do you know what she told

me?”

Katie’s eyes had widened into watery half-dollars, ready to spill

frightened tears. She nodded sadly.

“Of course you do, because you gave it to her to pass on. Here–

is this yours?” He unfolded the note and handed it to his niece.

Katie regarded it ruefully. What had she been thinking to have

done this?

To Anybody’s Attention,

Please help me! I am being kept as a sex slave by a crazy

businessman named Edgar Stiffington in Hong Kong. He has had me

turned into a girl named Katie and tells people I am his niece,

but I am really a boy! I don’t remember my real name because of

the things they have done to me and I look like a girl, but I am

really a boy! Please help– he makes me do things I don’t like

to do and he punishes me if I don’t do them the way he likes!

I know this sounds crazy, but if you can read this, then you have

to help me!

Uncle Edgar gently pulled the page out of his niece’s hand and

tore it into tiny pieces of confetti. “Too bad Mrs. Chan can’t

read English. Too bad she couldn’t understand what you were

trying to tell her. Oh well– you’ll just have to be punished

for this bit of misbehavior. Too bad. I think eleven spanks are

in order for this– for an even twenty. Go on Katie, you know

what to do.”

Twenty! She hadn’t had that many for many months! But she had

been bad, very, very bad, and she knew she deserved it. Because,

tonight she realized that she WAS Katie, WAS a sixteen and a half

year old girl, and she WAS and would ALWAYS BE her uncle’s

plaything. With a genuine penitence, she slipped off her kimono

top and pulled down her black cotton bikini panties. Trembling,

she draped herself over uncle’s knees. She could already feel

the hard cock underneath his trousers coming to life.

Edgar looked at the nude pale moons in his lap. As he always

did, he effortlessly unhooked Katie’s training bra, pulling the

straps back and leaving her back bare except for the innocent

freckles. Before raising his open palm, he fingered the soft

wires that ran up between her cheeks and around her waspy waist.

A slight tug on it brought a moan from Katie. He grinned.

“Your troublemaker, Katie– it’s what leads you straight into all

this naughtiness! Imagine– you a boy! Why you’re just the

prettiest, sexiest little niece an uncle like me could ever

have!” He raised his palm and dropped it hard on Katie’s rump.

“Bad little girl! I’ll teach you not to think you’re a boy!”

And so the correction continued. And after it was over, her

uncle taught Katie just how to be a good little girl. He was

such a thoughtful man.

For more stories try taboostories.com or
sex-story-sites.com’s erotic porn stories.

 I first met Vicki about 7 years ago when we were both 23.  She hired in

to the company where I worked, but we had very little initial contact.

Vicki was fairly plain, not too pretty; a typical female engineer.  I was

not drawn to her, for she was definitely not my type.  She was 5′4″.  Her

short hair was dirty blond.  Her almost non-existent breasts were 34

inches, and her hips were slightly hefty.  My girlfriend Amy, however, was

5′7″, had long brunette hair, a 40-26-36 figure, and loved sex.  There

just wasn’t much reason for me to be interested in Vicki.

 Our company has about 10,000 employees, and our department over 200

people amassed in a large office area, so Vicki and I did not have any

opportunity to get to know one another that first year.  The only times

that we spoke, we started a fake/hostile relationship, always giving each

other a hard time.  But that was just her nature.  During this time I

became engaged to Amy, and we planned to marry in the fall of 85.

 During the summer of 85, we ended up as engineers in the same section.  A

desk next to me became vacant, and Vicki ended up sitting there.  Quickly

we became friends, still always giving each other a hard time.  Still I

felt no great attraction for her in a sexual manner (besides the natural

male curiosity), and our relationship soon began to turn into a

brother/sister interdependence.  Both of us are only-childs, so the

experience was kind of unique for us. Vicki clearly let me know that she

found me in no way attractive in a sexual manner.  While I felt the same,

the more that she pointed this out to me, the more she became attractive.

 Amy was never jealous of Vicki.  First of all, Amy is not the jealous

type, but second, Amy knows my taste in women, and Vicki clearly did not

meet the mold.

 On schedule, Amy and I married in October of 85.  Vicki came to the

wedding, bringing one of her first dates in months.  Vicki rarely dated,

and was a self admitted virgin. Meeting her, you would understand.  She

really looked like the kind of girl who would become a lesbian, controlled

by some butch partner.  However, she was straight, and I could tell she

really longed for a boyfriend.  I even tried to set her up with a few

friends of mine, but I think she felt uncomfortable dating my friends (as

though they might tell me something behind her back).  Because of this,

none of her dates ever got serious, and she was not a first-date kisser.

 Since she did not go out much, Vicki would always end up doing things

with my wife and I.  I know that she felt like a third wheel, so we always

tried to invite her to group activities where there were other single

people.  A bunch of us even went to Disney World together in the spring of

86.  We took over three rooms in the Contemporary Resort and had a blast.

 Finally, around Christmas of 86, Vicki started to go out with Rick (we

quickly dubbed them Rick & Vick).  Rick was a little older than her, and

had just broken up from a serious relationship, so he was not in any hurry

to rush into anything again.  This casual approach to their relationship

put Vicki at ease, and by the fall of 87 they were truly in love.  Vicki

never revealed the exact date, but I think she lost her virginity about

October of 87 to Rick.

 Rick was very good for her.  Vicki’s self-confidence really began to

build.  She started working out at a health club, she bought better

clothes (even purchasing a few mini- skirts which were just coming back

into style), and she really started to wear the make-up well.  A new

hairstyle complemented her change, and she really began to attract some

attention.

 The time spent working out really helped her figure. Her slightly

pear-shaped behind became the talk of our department as it metamorphosized

into a tight, shapely ass. Her waist size became nice and tiny.  Her

clothes were not so plain anymore.  While not sexy by any means, they did

fit her better, and were of brighter colors.  Jeans and slacks definitely

fit her better, and she knew it.  More than once I gasped aloud when she

bent over in front of me.  Of course she would pretend to get mad and

angry with me, but I knew that she enjoyed the attention.

 Her make-up and hairstyle really made her look beautiful.  Vicki’s hair

was now a lighter blond, and it had grown shoulder-length.  She never

failed to turn a head.

 And then came the breasts.  Vicki started on “THE PILL” in the summer of

88.  Her hormones began to react, and by Christmas of 88 she had gone from

34 to 38 inches.  We’re talking the difference between bumps and breasts

here.  It was as though she had gone through puberty at 26.  Once again

she became the talk of the department, and I actually became quite proud

of the fact that she spent all of her free time at work with me.  Guys

would actually ask me what my secret was.

 But Vicki and I still remained just best friends.  Our relationship had

not changed much, except that she did not need my company outside of work.

Rick (who became her husband in July of 89), had his own set of friends,

and they usually did things with them.  Rick and I were not necessarily

comfortable together, and usually avoided the situation.  I’m an engineer

and kind of a computer geek, where Rick is an office manager and a

Raiders’ fan, and little else really matters.  But I like him; he is

definitely good to Vicki, and very good for her.

 Vicki, being a virgin up until Rick, was clearly faithful.  While I joked

at sex with her a few times, she still quickly let me know that it would

be impossible.  I know that she didn’t really take me seriously anyway.

Our brother/sister friendship continued.

 In 1990, Amy and I had a daughter.  One year later, almost to the day,

Vicki had a daughter as well.  This gave us even more to talk about as we

compared notes, exchanged clothes, and talked about such wonderful things

as diapers and rashes.  And one thing both Amy and Vicki had in common was

breast feeding.

 My wife, Amy’s breasts had grown to 44 inches over the summer of 1990.

It was really amazing, but they were always so sore and tender that Amy

could not breast feed, let alone withstand me playing with them.  She had

to use an electric pump to get the milk, and feed our baby with a bottle.

Here were two marvelous mountains of flesh which were as untouchable as

sacred Indian ground.  One of my favorite sex acts was tit-fucking, but

Amy definitely could not stand to have my cock between her tits.  Oh well,

the breast feeding only went on until Thanksgiving.  Quickly her breasts

returned to their original 40 inches.

 Vicki however, was amazing.  Those breasts which had been 34’s in 1983

were now over 46 inches.  The change was incredible.  Vicki is shorter and

thinner than my wife, and her tits were now larger than my wife’s had

been.  The contrast with her tiny body was unbelieveable. She now measured

46-23-34.  When she came back to work after her maternity leave, it was

quite a pleasure to see her try and fit into her pre-pregnancy tops.  Her

tits were just enormous, and I just couldn’t help but stare at times.

 Vicki seemed to take this rather well.  Although she constantly

complained about their huge size and enormous weight, she only seemed to

be flattered by my attention.

 On one particular day, she arched her back and stretched, her breasts

sticking out for what seemed like miles.  This immediately drew my

attention.  A poor button gave up its life and popped off, flying across

our cubicle. We both completely cracked-up laughing.  “My god Vicki.

They’re incredible!  I think I would have died if I was as close as that

button too.”

 She just laughed some more and shook a threatening finger at me.

 Vicki would always disappear right after lunch as she went to our

company’s medical department to pump the milk from her gigantic breasts.

I always volunteered to go and guard the door for her, or to hold the

pump, but she would just shake her head and call me a pervert.  After

pumping, the milk would be stored in her purse-sized ice chest.

 This went on all summer until September of 1991 (I write this less than a

month after IT happened).  Vicki and I were assigned to go out of town

together on a business trip.  Both of us are trainers for our department’s

CAD-CAM system, so we were sent to a CAD class in Alabama.  The class was

on a Monday and Tuesday, so we planned to fly out on the Monday morning

red-eye, and return on Tuesday evening.  This way she would only have to

be gone from her daughter about 40 hours.  She had gotten ahead in pumping

milk, so her husband had a good supply to take care of their daughter

until Vicki returned.  Since a woman cannot turn off the milk supply,

Vicki planned to bring the pump with her and pump on the trip.  This milk

would then be discarded since it would be too difficult to carry back on

the plane.

 Vicki and I really started to look forward to our trip together.  It

would be really nice to get away from our spouses and children (mine was a

holy terror by this time). We would also get to spend some non-work time

together.  We took the usual ribbing from our co-workers and our spouses,

but no one was serious.  Vicki and I had been friends for so long;

certainly if anything was going to happen, it would have happened by now.

Right?

 We arrived in Alabama right on time.  Since I had been here before (and

since it is kinda the male thing to do), I rented the car and we made it

to the class with time to spare.  The class lasted until 3:00, and we

skipped out of the afternoon lab so we could check in to our hotel.  Vicki

also needed to pump, after which we would explore the town. It was

incredibly hot for September, so we really wanted to get out of our good

clothes.

 Our rooms were in the same wing of the hotel, opening out into a common

hall.  The were typical rooms with double beds, a dresser, a nightstand w/

bible, a table, and two chairs. The T.V. was at least 15 years old, and

being in the bible belt, there was no adult channel.  Oh well, I’d live.

It would only be one night.

 At 5:30 I knocked on her door.  After the usual “just a minute” she

opened it.

 ”WOW!” I exclaimed.  She was wearing a tiny jean miniskirt and hot pink

tee-shirt which was overstuffed with those two gigantic watermelons.  Her

huge maternity bra was clearly visible under the thin material.  I could

only imagine what this outfit would look like braless.

 ”Watch it”, she responded sternly.  “It’s just too hot to wear anything

else.”

 ”I’m watching it!”

 She shot me a dirty look and started down the hall towards the parking

lot.  Her legs looked great, and her small, tiny figure looked gorgeous.

Once again, because of the heat, she wasn’t wearing hose.  And with her

left-over summer tan and fit-and-trim legs, she didn’t need them.  I only

wished that I could see more of her ass.  Transfixed I followed her.

 We spent our government per-diem at a Chinese restaurant, and found a

small mall to walk around in (which was thankfully airconditioned).  There

just wasn’t much else to do in this mid-sized town. We found two theaters

in the mall, so we ended up seeing Terminator 2 (I for the third time).

Vicki’s husband just wasn’t into those types of movies so it was her first

time.  When the movie got out, it was 10:30 so we headed back to the

hotel, pausing briefly to get ice-cream at a very packed Dairy Queen which

had been trying to close since 10:00.

 We said goodnight and parted in the hall.  I turned on the T.V., hit the

john, and sat back to watch the news.  At least they had CNN.  I quickly

called my wife, told her I was still alive, and she assured me that she

and my daughter were as well.  Nothing exciting had happened since 4:00

that morning, so we quickly said goodbye.

 After this full day, I failed to realize how tired that I was, and

quickly dozed off while watching David Goodnow on CNN Headline.

 About 15 minutes later the phone in my room rang.  “Hello?” My heart was

racing after being abruptly awaken.

 ”We need to go out.” It was Vicki, and she was speaking in her distressed

voice.

 ”What?”

 ”I need to get something.”

 ”What?” I repeated, slightly annoyed.  She was always pulling crap like

this.

 ”I dropped the pump on the bathroom floor and it broke.”

 ”I’ll be over in a second.” I was still dressed and merely walked the few

steps down the hall to her door and knocked.

 ”Just a minute.” God she was so predictable!  I could hear her putting

clothes back on.  She opened the door and was dressed as before, but I was

just too tired to care.

 The broken pump was on the sink in the bathroom. A plastic funnel covers

the breast, and it had broken into about 20 different pieces.  Without it,

the pump could not build up suction and was therefore useless.  The pump

itself, as well as the collection bottle was undamaged.

 Vicki had moved to the desk/dresser and was looking through the Yellow

Pages section of the phone book. “I called several places already, but

none of them are open this late.”

 ”Where would you buy one anyway?”

 ”Well, K-mart or Ventura normally.  Or a drugstore. But this town

completely closes by 10:00.”

 I picked the bed that Vicki was not using and stretched out with her

suitcase.  Meanwhile, she tried every single drugstore in the book.

Nearly a quarter of them were open late, but only the pharmacies.  No one

had a breast pump.

 ”Dang!” she exclaimed (hard language for her).  “Who else would sell

them?”

 ”Oh, like I would know,” I replied.  “Can’t you hold off until morning?”

 ”No way.  It hurts like crazy now.  It was murder getting through the

ice-cream.” But I knew she’d do anything, suffer any pain, for ice cream.

 ”This isn’t something that a 7-11 would sell.” I thought back to my own

experiences with breast pumps.  I had only seen them at one place besides

a store.  “You could call a hospital.  They could probably use your milk.”

 She smiled and snapped her fingers.  “Good idea.”

 The next barrage of phone calls lasted until midnight.  Basically they

went as follows:

 Hospital one had no maternity ward.

 Hospital two accepted donations, but only during the day shift, and only

from women who had been checked out by their lab.  Vicki stressed that

this was an emergency, so they connected her to the emergency room clerk.

The clerk told her that pumping was not considered an emergency, but since

she was from out of town they would do it.  She would have to pay $417.00

(cash) or get authorization from our company’s insurance.

 Hospital three was a trauma center.

 Hospital four repeated hospital two, except it was over $500.00.

 Call five went out to our insurance company (whose 24-hour number our

travel itinerary thoughtfully had printed on it).  Basically, to them,

breast pumping was not an emergency.  Authorization refused.  Vicki

insisted that she speak with a supervisor, who happened to be a doctor.

He also refused explaining that a mistake on her part (such as breaking

her pump) was not going to be insured, especially for $417.00.

 Between us we had $100.00, the hospitals wouldn’t take a check, and

neither of our bank cards would work anywhere in this town.  The hotel

wouldn’t cash anything larger than $50.00, and there were no Easy-Ed’s 24

hour check cashing centers.  Even the Western Union was closed until 6:00

am.

 Already I could see that the breast pads in her maternity bra were

soaked.  Dark circles were appearing on her shirt at the tips of her huge

tits.  “Vicki, can you use your fingers to force the milk out?”

 ”No, that just doesn’t work.  It gets the milk started, but it won’t do

well enough.” She was still scanning through the phone book, I think

nearly on the verge of tears.  “Maybe I should call my doctor.  He could

talk to the insurance company.”

 ”Well, all you really need is a baby.”

 ”Great,” she glared at me.  “Where am I going to find one of those?”

                            Part 2

 ”I’ll volunteer,” I replied half jokingly.  The joke suddenly sent

signals to my groin and I stared openly at her breasts.

 ”Right.”

 ”Well, you could wait until your tits exploded.” She turned back to the

phone book.  “Listen Vicki, I’m serious. I’d do it for you.”

 ”Yeah, I’m sure you would.”

 ”Well, problem solved then.”

 She actually looked as though she considered it for a moment, then

replied:  “No way, you’d enjoy it too much.”

 So might you, I thought.  “You’re running out of choices.  Besides, I’d

promise not to enjoy it.”

 She laughed at that.  “Right.”

 ”No one would ever have to know, and tomorrow morning we’ll buy you

another pump.”

 She paused for a moment.  “Just what are you purposing that you do to

help me?” As if she didn’t know.  “Nurse?”

 ”Babies aren’t the only ones with suction.  It’s not like a sex act or

anything.”

 She was quiet again and went back to the phone book for several minutes.

A hand went up to rub the side of one throbbing breast.  “If I agreed to

this, how would we do it.”

 ”I take it Rick has never tried this before?” I myself had only once.

Amy’s breasts were just too sensitive to allow it.

 ”No, don’t be gross.”

 ”Why is it gross?  Your baby does it every day.”

 ”That’s different.”

 ”How?”

 She paused again.  I could see the engineer’s mind looking for

alternatives, but I had given her an easy way out of the problem, and it

was getting critical.

 ”You wouldn’t tell anyone?” she asked.

 ”Who would believe me?”

 ”If Rick were to find out…”

 ”There’s no way he could find out.  This isn’t something to feel guilty

about.  We’re friends Vicki, I think maybe our friendship could survive

this.”

 ”I don’t want you to touch me.” She said.  “How would we do this?”

 ”You would sit on the bed, and I’d put my head in your lap.”

 ”I can’t sit like that, I’ve tried it while feeding before.  I have to

have my back against something.” The headboards on these beds were made up

of shelves, and clearly could not support someone’s back, and the pillows

were too small to be of any use.

 ”Then I’ll sit on a chair, and you sit facing me on my lap.” I couldn’t

fight the erection groin in my jeans, I only hoped that she wouldn’t see

it.  At this, I got up and told her to stand up.  Between the frustration,

the pain, and her exhaustion, Vicki seemed to give in.  The chair for the

desk had no arms, so it would work perfectly.  I moved it into the center

of the room, between the two beds’ footboards.

 She looked at me sternly and said:  “I’m only doing this because I’m in

incredible pain.”

 ”So am I.  I’m only thinking of you.” I couldn’t hold back an ear-to-ear

grin.

 ”Right.” She moved over to the desk lamp and shut it off.

 ”You don’t need to turn the lights off,” I said taking my seat.

 ”Wrong.”

 Hotels have about a million different lights in the rooms (none of which

are bright enough to do any good).  She moved to the entryway to turn off

that light, then the two headboards, then the nightstand, and then the

hanging light over the table.  She also made certain that the drapes were

together.  She did, however, leave the bathroom light on.

 Next she took her shirt off, but all I could see was her silhouette

against the drapes.  I realized that she was opening the nursing flaps on

the gigantic bra, and removing the nursing pads (these round funky pads

that soak up milk when a woman starts to “leak”).  She moved to me,

hesitated a moment, then straddled my lap placing her hands on the back of

the chair to either side of my head.  I could make out the outline of her

gigantic breast protruding from the bra, but it was too dark to see the

nipple.  She started to move her breast towards my mouth.  “Let me do

this,” she commanded. I was only happy to be here.

 I felt her right nipple press against my lip.  As I opened my mouth I

felt a high pressure stream of warm liquid hit the back of my throat.  I

moved forward until my lips circled her nipple and pressed firmly against

the flesh.  A gasp escaped her lips as the pressure was released.

 The milk was very warm, but being body temperature, I almost couldn’t

feel it in my mouth, but I could definitely taste it.  Breast milk is very

sweet, and really not too bad.  As I sucked on her breast I could feel the

nipple harden between my lips and I couldn’t help but tongue it a few

times.  Each time she gasped, but didn’t pull back. The breast was also

getting very warm, a side-effect of producing milk.

 By this time I had a full erection, but she sat back near my knees and

couldn’t feel it; and in the dark she couldn’t see it.  I didn’t let it

worry me.  I just went with the feeling.

 As I continued to nurse and lick her nipple she started to slightly

squirm until at one point she pulled her breast completely away.  “What’s

wrong?” I asked.

 ”Sensitive.” She replied.

 ”Am I hurting you?”

 Her voice turned to a whisper.  “No, it’s just sensitive.” Even in the

dark I could tell that she was blushing.

 ”Well, you can’t run away,” and with that I slipped my hands around her

tiny waist and pulled her towards me.  My mouth made contact with the top

of the gigantic bra, and I followed her curves back down to naked flesh.

I then extended my tongue, licking my way back to the nipple; she actually

moaned aloud.  I pulled her even closer and I felt her come in contact

with the bulge in my jeans.  Due to the fact that she had on a miniskirt,

only the thin material of her tiny panties separated her from my jeans.

My cock pressed hard against her as I continued to nurse.

 Obviously feeling my erection, she tried to pull away, but I had her

firmly about the waist.  The movement only accented her squirming, and I

intensified my sucking and tongue action.  Her large left breast kept

hitting my right cheek, soaking it with leaking milk.  Within only a few

moments her attempts at escape became gentle rubbing against my bulge.

The milk became thicker, and I knew this breast was about done.

 As the right breast went dry, my hands went up to the back of her bra.  I

had trouble unhooking the six hooks, but I finally managed to remove it.

She didn’t say a word.  As I took my lips away from her nipple, I pulled

the bra forward, and down her arms.  Running my hands up her stomach to

her chest, I cupped both enormous breasts.  I guided her left breast to my

mouth and began to nurse again. My left hand toyed a moment with her spent

breast, and with her nipple which was nearly 1/2 an inch long.  She

started to rub her crotch against my cock again, and I could only imagine

that her panties must be soaked.  I couldn’t smell her however due to the

aroma of the milk.

 As I started to quickly tongue the left breast, and tug gently on the

nipple of the right one, Vicki began to intensify her movements.  Within a

few moments her hands left the back of the chair and wrapped around my

neck forcing my face hard against her enormous breast.  Suddenly the

movements became a bucking, and she started to moan loudly, an orgasm

coming upon her.  I continued to suck but her jerking became frantic and I

lost her breast which then sprayed my face with milk.  She continued to

moan and rub her cunt against my cock.

 The next thing I knew, two gigantic breasts were hitting me in the face

as she stood (while still straddling me) and leaned forward.  A hand

touched my crotch and traced its way up to my zipper.  In seconds her hand

was fishing through my open fly, and soon pulled my throbbing cock out.

“Please,” is all she said.

 Why she was asking me, I don’t know, for I really didn’t have a say in

the matter.  Using her right hand, she moved the crotch of her panties

aside.  Using her left, she grasped my cock and guided it against her hot,

moist pussy. I felt the lips of her cunt spread open, and then she sat

down, engulfing me it a very warm, velvety vice.

 ”Oh God,” I exclaimed.

 ”Please,” she repeated.  “Suck me.”

 I quickly found her breast again and continued to suck. Now her movements

were up and down on my cock, and she continued to moan loudly.  I could

clearly feel the lips of her pussy around my shaft as she fucked me.

Within seconds she had another orgasm and I followed immediately.  It

hadn’t even taken 30 seconds from the time I entered her. I came in her

cunt for at least a minute while she thrashed about, and while I continued

to nurse.

 Despite the incredible sensitivity in my cock, I stayed in her and

continued to suck.  She merely sat still and breathed hard.  I could feel

her heart beating through her breasts and against my lips.  As this breast

started to go dry, she began moving up and down on my cock again, which

had never lost more than half of its erection.  Soon I was hard again, and

she was moaning.  Since the breast was now dry, I moved back to the other

one and began to lick the nipple.

 ”Yes!”  She moaned.  “Lick me.”

 I continued to lick her, alternating from breast to breast.

 ”Fuck me Vicki, come on, fuck me.” I said to her.

 She increased her pace and moaned louder.  “Yes….fuck….”

 Noting that this talk seemed to turn her on, I tried some more:  “Come on

Vicki, fuck me.  Ride my cock.  You’re fucking ME Vicki.  Do you like

fucking my cock with your cunt?”

 ”Yes…” is all she could say.  Her head was back and she was using all

of her energy to move up and down.  “…I <pant>…want IT again <pant>.”

 ”You want to come on me again?  You want to come on my cock?”

 ”Yes…<pant>”

 ”Then grind your pussy against me.  Feel my cock in your cunt.”

 This took her over the edge and her hips moved in a blur as she came on

my cock again.  She was just too wet, so I really couldn’t feel her that

well, and the speed was wrong for me, so I didn’t come with her.  Instead,

I lifted her up (still attached to my cock) and moved to the bed. She went

down back first, with me on top, her legs straddling my waist.  I pulled

out and took off my clothes, then quickly removed her panties, leaving her

in only the tiny mini-skirt.  I grabbed her ankles and spread her legs

wide apart, then re-mounted her.  My cock sunk down to the hilt, and I

could clearly feel my balls against her ass. She moaned still again.  I

couldn’t believe I was finally fucking Vicki, and that she was so turned

on.

 In only a few more strokes I could tell that she was fairly numb, so I

changed my attack.  I pulled out of her and moved up to straddle her huge

chest.  Clearly perplexed she looked at me with questioning eyes.  I

reached down to her gigantic tits and rapped them around my hard, wet

cock. After I began to fuck her cleavage, Vicki got the idea and replaced

my hands with hers.  My only regret is that I couldn’t see too well in the

darkness.

 Her tits were very firm.  I could feel every inch of my cock sliding in

and out between them, dwarfed by her gigantic tits.  Vicki actually moaned

slightly as she gave in to the illicit and unknown feelings that she was

having, and I could see that she was rubbing her nipples with her index

fingers while cupping her breasts, pushing them together.  She also was

grinding her hips at the air, so I reached back and inserted a finger into

her cunt and found her clit with my thumb.  After only a few more minutes

of watching this, I came again, soaking her neck.  While she didn’t come

again, she was too tired to care.

 She got up to go to the bathroom dropping her skirt on the floor.  I was

asleep before she returned.

 The next morning I awoke to find her beside me, still asleep.  Dried milk

covered part of my face and chest.  I could hear a vacuum cleaner down the

hall, and its sound had slowly awoken me.  I turned to stare at Vicki.

The blanket only covered her from her tiny waist down, so for the first

time I looked upon her magnificent breasts in the light of the morning

sun.  She lay slightly on her side, facing me, so that her right breast

lay on the sheet, and her left breast lay on the right one.  A man cupping

both hands together might be able to encompass a small part of one

enormous breast.  The skin was very tight, almost artificially smooth,

with purple veins barely exposed thought the flesh.  The nipples were

light brown, almost pink, and now lay flat against the breast.

 Her beautiful blond hair was sprawled upon the pillow, and her lips

slightly parted in a smile as she slept.  I watched her for about a

minute.  Her breathing did incredible things to her breasts and I began to

feel an erection once again.

 I checked my watch and found it to be 10:15 am.  Neither of us had set an

alarm.  We were already over two hours late for the class - oh what the

hell!

 The sounds of the vacuum seemed to be coming closer, so I quietly slipped

out of bed and placed the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door, ignoring the

complimentary Wall Street Journal.  Opening the door made the vacuum sound

even louder, and the latch made a horrible click, but Vicki only rolled

onto her back and sighed.  Her huge tits gave in to gravity and spread

slightly to either side.

 I crept back into bed and carefully covered her right nipple with my

mouth, barely touching her flesh.  Slowly I worked my tongue across the

nipple and began to build up a suction.  Just as milk began to flow, Vicki

awoke in a haze and moaned aloud.

 I pulled my lips away for a second (getting sprayed with milk from the

built-up pressure), and said:  “Good morning.”

 She didn’t even try to resist, she just began to moan again.  As I

continued to nurse, she started to squirm.  I slowly used my right hand to

brush her left breast, then followed the curve of her body down into the

sheets.  I moved my hand over her flat stomach, past her bush (lightly

touching the hair), and began to rub her inner thighs.  By the time I had

emptied the right breast, she was violently moving her hips, trying to

bring her clit in contact with my hand.

 As I started to roll her towards me, so that I could reach her left

breast, Vicki completed the roll and landed on top of me.  I felt her hand

grasp my cock again as she inserted me into her soaking pussy.  This

caused the blankets to slide down her back and fall to my knees, and for

the first time I had a partial view of her brown bush (well, I knew she

wasn’t really a light blond).  Her hand continued to hold the base of my

cock as she fucked me.

 Her eyes were closed, her back was arched, and her tits obscenely hung

down in front of my face.  They almost competely covered her chest.  Using

her free hand, Vicki placed the left breast against my face without

opening her eyes.  Taking the hint, I sucked the nipple into my mouth and

was immediately rewarded with a flow of milk. She leaned farther forward

and placed her hand on the headboard to hold herself up.  The other hand

had moved to my balls and was gently rubbing them.

 Up until now, my hands had a hold of her tiny waist, but I slowly moved

them down to her gorgeous ass and used them to accelerate her movement.

This seemed to really turn her on, so I slowly slid a finger down the

crack of her ass until I touched her hole.  The gasp was noticeable.  I

moved my finger on down to where my cock plunged in and out of her.  I

traced her pussy lips with my finger, and then touched my shaft which was

covered with her juices.  Now wet, I slowly inserted the tip of my finger

into her ass as I continued to suck on her tit.

 It sort of shocked me, but Vicki pressed hard against my finger, pressing

it deep into her rectum, at the same moment taking my cock extra deep into

her cunt.  She screamed aloud, shook slightly, and collapsed on top of me

in orgasm, her breast somehow staying in my mouth.  I then started to

come, filling her again with my load.  She sighed loudly in pleasure as I

slid my finger out of her ass.

 As our orgasms wound down, I continued to nurse until her breast was

empty.  For the first time, she kissed me directly on the mouth, tasting

her own milk.  We kissed like this for nearly five minutes.  As long as I

live I will never forget the feeling of her tongue against mine, her

gigantic breasts pressing into my chest, and my cock in her pussy, growing

stiff once again.  She moved her hips slightly, acknowledging the

developing erection within her.

 Moving like a cat, Vicki kissed down my chin, over my chest (sliding off

of my shaft), and down to my stomach, her breasts tracing a path until

they came in contact with my come-covered cock.  Without even hesitating,

my sweet innocent Vicki engulfed my cock, eagerly devouring her own cunt

juices and my come.  Those beautiful lips slid slowly up my shaft until

just the tip of the head was exposed, and then she would slide my cock

back into her mouth.  After continuing this for about five minutes, I was

as hard as I had ever been.  She then took my cock from her mouth and

began to lick up and down the shaft like it was an ice cream stick, her

tongue lingering on the head.  She would then trace the entire length down

to my balls, and even slipped one of them into her mouth.  I was going to

come quite soon.

 Sensing this, Vicki began to suck my cock again, furiously licking at the

shaft.  Staring down at her bobbing head, huge swaying breasts, and

overall nakedness, I shot another load into her mouth.  I couldn’t have

had much come left at this point, but what there was she quickly

swallowed.  My cock was incredibly sensitive this time, and I had to make

her stop.

 ”I can’t believe you’ve made me come four times this quickly Vicki.  I’ve

never been this turned on in my life.”

 She smiled, obviously proud of herself.  “I can’t believe you made me

come so many times either,” she replied.

 ”I guess we’re gonna miss class.”

 I laughed.  “It looks like it.”

 We then moved to the shower, both too sexually exhausted even for any

groping.  All we did was kiss.  And passionately we kissed (especially for

two people who had not yet brushed their teeth).

 I had to dress to go back to my room, and found that my shirt was covered

with dry milk, and that the area around the fly in my jeans was covered

with dried cunt juice. However, in the few steps back to my room, no one

noticed. I retrieved my paper and put up the DO NOT DISTURB sign.

 My room had not yet been done up by the maid.  It was then that I

realized that the maid would know that we were checking out today, and

would wait to do our rooms until after we left.  The DO NOT DISTURB signs

were most likely meaningless.  Oh well, better safe than walked in on.

 By 11:30 we had dressed and checked out of the motel. I had done the best

I could to clean my shirt and jeans so that Amy would not notice the

stains when I returned home. I usually did my own laundry anyway, so this

would probably not be a problem.

 Once I had loaded the luggage into the trunk, we got in the car and

kissed across the console.  I realized how carefree we could be while in

another city.  “I thought you didn’t like me in a sexual manner, Vicki.”

 She smiled and looked away.  “I thought I didn’t either.  But last night

I realized that I’m…”

 ”That you’re what?”

 She turned back and the tears started to flow.

 ”That I’m in love with you.” With that she started to cry.

 I chuckled and tried to hold her, the console again getting in the way.

“I’ve known that I was in love with you too for quite a while.  Why are

you crying?”

 ”I’ve cheated on Rick…”  More sobs.

 I was quiet for a while, realizing that the guilt was hitting her.

“Vicki.  While we’re together, our love creates a universe just for you

and me.  We’re not quite like lovers, we’re not quite like brother and

sister, and we’re not quite like friends.  We have something different

now, something good and special.  In no way should it interfere with our

other relationships.  It’s just between you and me.  My love for you does

not in any way lessen my love for Amy.  Likewise, when you go home, what

happened here has nothing to do with Rick anymore than it has to do with

your aunt Martha.”

 Her crying stopped and she laughed.  “I don’t have an aunt Martha.”

 ”An uncle Bill?”

 She nodded.

 ”Okay, …any more than it has to do with your uncle Bill.”

 Within a little while she was happy again, and we got through lunch

without too much trouble.  We then drove around some more until time to

check in at the airport.  We talked about everything, except our night

together.  We even bought her a new breast pump, which she ended up using

around 5:30 than evening at the airport.

 ”I could do that you know,” I offered.

 ”I know.” She actually smiled.  “But I think I’ll use the bathroom, and

you’re not allowed in there.”

 ”Okay, fine.”

                            Part 3

 The flight back was uneventful and we returned to work the next day.  She

explained that the night had gone really well.  The only thing that she

felt guilty about was not feeling guilty.  Over a private lunch at a

Wendy’s we talked about it.

 ”I had no problem.” She told me.  “I guess your private universe speech

made some kind of sense.”

 ”Good, I didn’t want you spilling your guts and having Rick tear me

apart,” which was definitely within his capabilities.

 ”Well, if you remember,” her voice was a whisper, “I’m the one who made

all of the advances.” She blushed furiously.

 ”Yes.  I remember.  But I did come up with the suggestion of substituting

for your pump.”

 In a Spock-like look she replied:  “The only logical solution.” She

turned her head slightly and raised an eyebrow.  Leaning forward, she

whispered again:  “Besides, when you suggested it, I was so turned on I

could hardly think straight.  I don’t know why, but something snapped

inside of me at that moment.”

 ”Yes, and I snapped inside of you later.”

 She blushed again.

 When we got to the car, on impulse I pulled her to me and kissed her

hard.  In seconds we were all over each other.  I began to massage her

huge breasts, and shortly her overstuffed blouse had rings of milk forming

on them.

 ”I’ve soaked through the pads,” she said.  “You’ll have to drop by my

house so I can change.”

 ”No problem.” I smiled to myself.

 She noticed the smile and replied:  “And nothing is going to happen.  We

have to get back to work.”

 ”No problem,” I repeated.

 After we reached her house and stepped inside, I turned her to me and

kissed her again.  She didn’t even pretend to resist.  As I frenched her,

I slowly undid the buttons on her blouse and was soon removing her

enormous bra.  I then placed my hand in the center of her back and forced

her backwards, arching her back.  This thrust her tits upward, and I

quickly sucked the right one into my mouth.  I began to drink her milk

once again.

 Soon we moved to the couch and I continued to drain her breast while

kneeling before her as she sat on the edge of the cushion.  Meanwhile, my

fingers rubbed the crotch of her slacks as she moved against my hand.

When the breast was empty, I unbuttoned her slacks and pulled them off of

her, taking her tiny panties, shoes and socks with them.  I spread her

legs wide, and for the first time looked at her gaping cunt in daylight.

The lips were still closed, but the juice running from them was evident.

As I attacked the other breast, my fingers went to work, starting from her

ankles and moving up her legs.

 As I reached her crotch, Vicki began to moan again.  I slowly opened her

lips and inserted two fingers into her cunt.  I continued to work them in

and out for the ten minutes it took me to drain her breast.  By this time

she was nearing an orgasm.

 Kissing down her stomach, I moved my lips to her clit. You would have

thought that I shot her the way she jumped. Within seconds her fingers

were in my hair, and she pressed my mouth hard against her cunt.  I

removed my fingers and replaced them with my tongue, sliding it as far up

her juicy pussy as I could.  I sucked her clit, licked her cunt, and moved

down to tongue her ass.  All of these actions had her bouncing up and down

on the couch cushion.

 My fingers were completely soaked, and they had nothing better to do, so

I inserted my index finger into her asshole.  This really got her bucking,

so I invader her with both fingers.  She forced herself up and down,

fucking her ass with my fingers.  This kept my tongue moving from cunt-

lips to clit.  In only a matter of seconds she came again.

 I was so incredibly turned on by this point that I practically ripped my

clothes off.  Lying before me was an incredible blond still grinding her

hips in post-orgasm. Her hair was tossed wildly on the back of the couch,

and those giant tits swayed erotically from her movement.  Her legs were

spread wide apart, and her cunt was gaping open.  Juices and saliva ran

down to the crack of her ass.  My cock was rock hard and she spread her

legs wider when she saw it.  I have never seen such a look of hunger on

someone’s face.  I’m sure that mine mirrored hers.

 I again knelt before her and slid my cock deep into her cunt.  I could

clearly see her lips spread to take my shaft, and I felt the tightness of

her hole.  As I withdrew my length, I could see her pussy lips cling to my

juice-covered cock.

 ”Look Vicki, look and see me fucking you.”

 Her eyes came open and she looked down to where we were connected.  “Look

at my cock fucking your cunt.”

 She began to moan with each thrust, but her eyes remained riveted to my

shaft.  Realizing that her vantage point did not actually let her see the

penetration, I slipped my hands under her knees and lifted her legs,

forcing her cunt higher, and causing her huge breasts to roll up and down

with each thrust, like waves of water.  She now had a pretty good view of

my cock pistoning in and out.  “Touch my cock, Vicki.  Feel how much juice

is on it.”

 Vicki lowered her hand to my cock and used her fingers to trace from my

pubic hair, down my wet cock, and to her clit.  Without any coaxing, she

began to furiously masturbate, rubbing her clit wildly.

 ”That’s it, play with your cunt.” I was sweating bullets by now.  My cock

was incredibly hard, but I had come so much in the last two days that I

knew I could hold out for a while.  “Come on, finger your cunt.”

 Vicki’s only reply was with moans.  I pushed her knees back towards her

shoulders even further, allowing even deeper penetration.  At the same

time, her ass was brought higher in the air, and I again inserted my

fingers into her backdoor.  As I fucked her pussy, I wiggled my fingers

 Just as she was about ready to come her chest began to flush.

Recognizing this sign, I pulled out of her, fingers and cock.  Her eyes

went wide in panic, and her fingers stopped moving on her clit.  However,

before she could form a question, I slid the entire length of my cock up

her cunt- juice lubricated ass.  The tightness was incredible, but there

was so much come on my cock that I went in to the hilt.

 For a second I thought that she was going to get mad, but as I began to

pump in her asshole, she started to move her fingers once again.  “What

are you doing?” she asked innocently.

 ”I’m fucking you in the ass Vicki.  Use your other hand to play with your

cunt too.”

 Her right hand worked over her clit, while her left moved down to her

gaping pussy.  Soon she had two fingers plunging deep inside.  This action

brought her arms against her body, forcing her tits together, making them

appear larger than ever before.  If this were not enough, she now arched

her spine, head back and eyes closed.

 ”Oh God,” she moaned.  “Please fuck my ass.”

 Finally she had said something really crude; words which I never thought

to hear from Vicki.  But then I never expected to see this lust on her

face, those huge tits swaying wildly with my thrusts, her fingers all over

her cunt, or my cock thrusting in and out of her anus.

 ”Do you like my cock in your ass?”

 ”Yes, please fuck me.”

 ”Fuck you in the ass?”

 ”Yes, fuck my ass.”

 ”Have you been fucked in your ass before?”

 ”No…fuck…ass.” She started to breath really heavy. The thought of

what she was doing was driving her nuts.

 ”Then I’m the first man to fuck your asshole?” She nodded, eyes still

closed.  “And you like playing with yourself, showing me how naughty you

are.  Fingers deep in you cunt.”

 ”Yes,” She pulled her left fingers from her cunt, and spread the lips

open.  “Look at my cunt,” she ordered, and then slowly slid the fingers

from her right hand into the gaping hole.  “Look at me finger myself.” And

with that she came.

 Her orgasm built slowly.  Muscles started to twitch in her thighs, and

her back arched even further to where her entire weight was supported by

my hands on her legs, and the top of her head against the couch.  This

drove my cock into her ass to the hilt, and it was only seconds before I

would come too.

 ”My cock is going to come inside your ass Vicki.” As I said this, her

orgasm reached full force.  My come erupted into her rectum and her whole

body shook as though in seizure.

 ”I’m coming in your asshole,” I moaned.

 She screamed.

 I fell back onto the floor on my butt, panting frantically, dropping

Vicki onto the couch.

 Several minutes later we came down from the feeling enough to speak.

“Why is it so good?” she asked between breaths.

 ”Because we’re not suppose to be doing it,” I replied.

 ”It’s illicit and you love it.”

 ”And I love you.  I can’t believe I let you do that,” she said referring

to her introduction to ass fucking.

 ”If it upset you I won’t do it again.” I smiled.

 ”We’ll see.”

 And so we have.  Vicki and I have continued our “nooners” every Tuesday

and Thursday since the trip.  I don’t know where this will lead, but for

now our relationship has only gotten stronger.  Neither of us has a desire

to leave our spouses.  One of our remaining goals is to fuck at work,

which would be very difficult to arrange, and could definitely land us in

the unemployment line.  But we’re thinking up schemes.  I’ll let you know.

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sex-story-sites.com’s erotic porn stories.

My hair was a sort of dirty blonde in color, and as Jenny gradually began to take

over from Jimmy, we let it grow to shoulder length, and Mummy started teaching me

how to take care of it.  Among my pictures from that time is a portrait of me in

long hair with little ribbons on either side.

Mummy wanted a photographic record of this entire project.  “If you keep on being

a girl, you’re going to want these pictures so you’ll remember how you started

out and how you looked then.  And if you don’t keep on, I’m going to want these

pictures as a way of remembering the sweet little game we played for a while.”

I already knew in my heart that, however sweet, this was no game, and it was

going to last longer than a while.

I remember when Mummy took that picture, because I was so pleased when it came

out.  It showed nothing but my head and shoulders, so although I was wearing a

dress when she took it, you could only see a touch of flowered fabric and a lacy

collar.

But even so, I look like a girl in the picture.  There is something about the

face.  I think the way I thought about myself was showing in my eyes.  By the

time she took that picture I was already thinking of myself as a girl all the

time.  It was only when I took baths (I had given up showering as too boyish) and

when I put on my panties in the morning that I was reminded that I was,

biologically, a boy.

And those reminders, I should say, began to grow irksome.  My little penis and

balls reminded me of rough cotton underwear and rough boy clothes I used to have

to wear and, above all, of the terrible life I had led as a boy.  And as the

years passed, I came to think of them as the things that were preventing me from

achieving complete girlhood.

Mummy’s schooling continued through all the grades.  It was a happy time.  By her

example, she taught me to love learning and to regard our studies as a treat.

And having seen the products of our public schools, I think the instruction I got

from Mummy was far superior. So often she would find out what course materials

they were using in the public schools, look at them, shudder, and go off and find

better ones herself.

And her schooling in girlhood continued, too, but at a reduced level, since it

was getting to be second nature to me.  After a year of training, she judged that

I could safely go out, and we would take walks together afternoons.  That gave me

a chance to meet other girls my age, study how they behaved, and adopt some of

what I saw myself.  When I was ten, I started running errands for her– getting

some of the groceries and taking things to the cleaners.

IV.

Those were years of happiness and contentment.  But when I reached the age of 12,

a new threat loomed on the horizon.

Puberty.

Mom had explained to me about sex.  With her usual thoroughness she had gotten

books from the library for me to read, but most of the information came from her.

 I found out about babies, and about what men did to beget them.

My first thought was how much I would like to be a mother.  Mummy didn’t laugh

when I told her this, bless her.  But she did explain that it was impossible, and

she took me back to the books and the anatomical drawings to show me why it was..

I wasn’t satisfied.  I might never be able to be a mother, but I had no interest

whatever in being a father.  By this time I felt so completely at ease as a girl

(a rather pretty girl, I might add, which helped a great deal) that I had come

unconsciously to assume that I was going to be a girl for the rest of my life.

The thought that I would grow a beard and that my penis would start to get bigger

filled me with dismay.  I didn’t want a bigger penis; I wanted breasts.

The more I thought about this, the more upsetting it was, and I started to brood

over it.  Life in those years was so sunny and happy that I used to go about the

house singing quietly as I did my studying and my housework.  But now, under this

new threat, I was more subdued days, and Mummy must have noticed that.  And

sometimes at night I would cry into my pillow at the thought that my life as a

girl would come to an end.  One evening after dinner, Mummy found me silently

weeping over my books.

“What’s the matter, Dear?” she asked me.  She seemed almost as distressed as I

was.

Having to say it out loud was too much, and I started to bawl. Finally, I got it

out: “I don’t want to have to stop being a girl. I don’t want to be a father.  I

don’t want to be a husband.  And I don’t want to grow a beard.  If I can’t be a

mother, can’t I just be an old maid?”

I smile, remembering the poor little girl-boy who said that (s)he wanted to be an

old maid, but, as always, Mummy refused to laugh at me.

“But, Dear, you were only going live as a girl temporarily, so you wouldn’t have

to deal with other boys.  It’s bound to come to an end sooner or later.  What are

you going to do in high school?”

“I don’t want to go to high school,” I said, sniffling.  “Not if I have to be a

boy.  I hate boys.  I hate the idea of being a boy. I don’t want to be Jimmy, I

want to be Jenny.  Jimmy’s *dead!*”  I started to cry uncontrollably again.

“Four…years of happiness,” I wept, “…four years of being your little

girl…and now….THIS!” I pointed between my legs.  “I wish that had never been

there.  I wish it would just…shrink, or drop off, and leave me in peace.”

By this time Mummy was crying, too.  But she calmed down before I did, and she

said, “It’s not going to go away, Jenny.  But…well, let me see whether there’s

anything we can do.  I don’t want to hold out any promises, but…well, let me

just see.”

I didn’t know what she meant.  But Mummy was the one sure thing in my life, the

one person who could heal all my wounds and solve all my problems.  She would

think of something.  She always did. Clinging to that hope, I stopped crying and

managed to get to sleep.

Two weeks later, Mummy announced that we were going to see a doctor. The doctor

was in a different town, and we had to take the bus to get there.  During the

trip, Mummy was very mysterious; she didn’t say anything about where we were

going or why.  But she had the air of someone with a happy secret, not a

threatening one.

When we got there, the doctor turned out to be a woman.  “Dr Madison, this is

Jenny,” Mummy said when we were seated in her office.

Dr Madison–not her real name–was a middle-aged, gray-haired woman. She had

bedside manner in spades; I took one look at her and liked her from that moment.

She was warm and pleasant and inspired immediate confidence.  It struck me that

this was the one other person on earth I wouldn’t mind knowing about Jimmy.

That was good, because she started asking me about Jimmy right away. Gradually,

very gently, she got me to tell her the same story I’ve told you: about my

miserable boyhood, about the experiment we had tried, about how successful it had

been, about how deeply I loved being a girl.

“Jenny’s having to face manhood now,” Mummy put in, “and she’s distraught.  I

found her the week before last crying her eyes out, and she said she wished she

wouldn’t have to be a man.  That’s why we came to see you.”

Dr Madison looked straight at me.  She intended her remarks for my mother, but

she talked to me; this was typical of the way she treated her patients: with

respect as well as kindness.  And she never once called me Jimmy.

“Jenny, I don’t know how much we can do.  Your body is going to produce hormones,

chemicals that affect the way you grow and the way your body develops.  Those

will be male hormones and you will grow up to be a boy, just as your mother’s

told you.

“Now, it’s true that there is a procedure called hormone replacement therapy.  It

means taking pills that suppress and replace the male hormones so that their

bodies become more like women’s.  In your case, because you would be starting

before puberty, the female hormones in the pills would make you develop as a girl

instead of a boy.  Do you understand me?”

Understand her!!  My heart was pounding.  Mummy had done it again, pulled off

another one of her miracles, like the miracle of making me a girl, the miracle of

schooling me at home.  And now she had found this wonderful doctor.  It must have

shown in my eyes.

“But there’s a problem, Jenny.  You are still a minor, and the law doesn’t look

kindly on people interfering with the natural development of minors.  There are

laws that regulate just how much we can do, and some of those laws would apply

even if your mother gave her permission.”

“You mean the law wouldn’t let you give me those pills?  You mean,”– I fought

savagely to keep the tears back–”the law could condemn me to live a life that I

hate?  You mean the law would deliberately make me miserable?  What kind of

hateful law is that?

“I want those pills, Dr Madison, those…hormones.  I am NOT going to let the law

or anybody else make me into a boy.  If you won’t do it, I’ll get a knife and

*cut them off,* I swear I will!”

Mummy was aghast.  “You don’t know what you’re saying, Jenny!”

“Perhaps she does know,” Dr Madison replied.  “Children often see much more

clearly than we give them credit for.  And boys have been known to mutilate

themselves when they were in Jenny’s position.”

She went on.  “All right.  We won’t give up right away, Jenny.  But whatever we

do, we mustn’t act in ignorance.  So first, I want you to see a psychiatrist, so

all of us will know just how deep-seated your feelings are.  Your history before

eight years old doesn’t quite match the usual pattern of gender identity

dysphoria.”  She had to explain to me what those words meant.  She went on,

“Then, I want to give you a complete physical examination, and I want to give you

a battery of tests to analyze your body chemistry as well as we can.  Then we can

decide what, if anything, we can do, and try to lay out a course of action.

Therapy, if it seems advisable.  But the psychiatric examination is essential.

Because if we did go outside the law–I’m not saying we will, but if somehow,

let’s say, those pills were just to happen to fall into your mother’s hands–

their effects would be irreversible.  You think now that that’s what you want,

don’t you?”

“Irreversible…you mean, once you’ve changed me I can’t change back?”

“That’s right.”

“I *know* that’s what I want.  I’m a girl now, and my body’s threatening to

change me back.  That’s why I was crying.  I don’t want to be changed back.  I

want you to fix me so I can’t ever change back.”

“That’s what you think now,” Dr Madison replied.  “I need to be assured that

that’s what you’ll think after puberty.  That’s a big change in your life, and we

will need to know what to expect and how to deal with it.”

Now she turned to Mummy.  “If we did this, it would be, frankly, an experiment.

I’ve never treated anyone this young before.  I don’t know whether anybody has.

And I’m very reluctant to do anything to your daughter.  Tampering with young

people’s bodies is tampering with their lives.  In any case, I have no intention

of doing anything until I have the test results back and an evaluation from the

psychiatrist.  Then we’ll see.

“There’s another detail.  Usually we require that a patient live full time as a

girl for a year before we take any action.  For someone Jenny’s age, I would want

longer than that.  But you say she has been living full time for four years, so I

think that may do. I’ll know better once I’ve heard from the psychiatrist.”

In spite of Dr Madison’s cautions and repeated warnings, I left her office

walking on air.  Mummy the miracle worker had done it again.

Dr Madison took care of the physical checkup that afternoon, except for the

hormone assays, which were going to be carried out by a lab. But I had to stay in

town for the interviews with the psychiatrist. There were two of these, the

second a day after the first.  The shrink took me through my childhood and my

life before and after I started dressing.  He wanted to know what my relations

with Mummy were like (wonderful in every way), when my father had died (when I

was four), how well I had known him (not very well), how well I remembered him

(just a face now), what my relations with girls had been like (always pleasant),

what my relations with other boys had been like (uniformly disastrous), and so

on.  Not surprisingly, we talked a long time about my life as a girl.  He had me

stand and walk around and sit down, and I silently blessed Mummy for the training

she had given me.

The third day found us back in Dr Madison’s office.  “The psychiatrist thinks you

would be a safe bet,” she reported, “so the only question that remains is how

your system would react to HRT.”

“HRT?” I asked.  “What’s that?”

“Hormone replacement therapy,” she said, “the treatment I outlined Monday.  Your

tests indicate hormone levels that are normal for a pre-adolescent boy.  That

suggests that if we intervene now, we should be able to sidetrack altogether the

male puberty process that would normally start in a year or so and give you a

girl’s puberty instead.  You’ll have to come back here every other month so I can

monitor how things are going.”

I can’t tell you how elated I was.  Then there was the question of how the proper

hormones could be made available for me.  To protect the people who helped me at

this crucial time, I’m not going to give the details here; let’s just say that Dr

Madison recommended a course of action that worked.

I was on my way!  Dr Madison gave me my first shot of hormones that day, as an

injection, saying, “You don’t know what I’m doing or who did this to you.”  I’ve

never liked needles, and giving the blood sample for the tests had been a

torment, but I actually looked forward to being stabbed by Dr Madison’s needle

full of hormones, I was so keen on my transformation.  Then she gave Mummy a list

of the different kinds of pills I would be taking from then on, together with

instructions for using them.

V.

I’ll tell you right now that the experiment (if that’s what it was) with the

hormones was a success.  I may have been imagining things, but it seemed to me

that the hormones started working right away. I’ve since read that it takes a

week or two, so this must just have been wishful thinking, but I could swear my

nipples began to get sensitive the very next day, and I thought I detected some

breast growth a couple of days after that.

Then Mummy came up with the logical solution: every Sunday night before bedtime,

she passed a tape measure around my chest and recorded the measurement, both

after I had inhaled and after I had exhaled.  A month or so later it occurred to

us to include other measurements as well–height, waist, and especially hips.  I

still have those figures, and I can trace the way I gradually developed into a

real girl over the next three or four years.  I grew breasts, slowly, instead of

a beard.  They weren’t extraordinarily big, but they were cute and perky and had

pretty brown areolas, which I loved.  I would pause and admire them when I was

getting dressed in the morning.  My voice never changed but instead developed

into a pleasing contralto.  My hips widened out naturally; and if my penis didn’t

shrivel away to nothing, as I had hoped it would, at least it didn’t show any

unwelcome signs of growth.

That was another of the good periods in my life.  Just as my body began to

develop as a woman’s body, I was also reaching an age when I could start dressing

as a woman instead of a little girl.  For my thirteenth birthday Mummy gave me my

first garter belt and my first nylons.  I felt so grown up putting on nylons!  At

first, I wore them with everything–dresses, skirts, even under jeans.

I wonder, do genetic girls appreciate their clothes as I did?  Or do you have to

be born a boy to realize how wonderful they are?  Do they take the same pleasure

in silky, delicate underwear, in fluffy, frilly dresses, in colorful fabrics, in

ribbons and ruffles and lace?  Or is wearing those gorgeous things just part of

the day’s work to them?  For me it was a sensual delight, and getting dressed

every morning was a celebration of the clothes I put on and of my growing

femininity.  I still don’t take these lovely things for granted.

I remember once Mummy found a record of a song from an old musical comedy.  The

song was “I enjoy being a girl.”  She bought it and brought it home as a joke for

both of us.  We laughed, but that song spoke to me.  I learned it off by heart,

and sometimes when I was getting dressed, or maybe just doing homework or tidying

up our apartment, I would sing it softly to myself, “I adore being a girl.”

Yes, I did wear jeans and a T-shirt occasionally, and sneakers, and, thanks to

the growing effect of the hormones, and to Mummy’s careful tutelage, I was as

fully a girl in those as I was in any dress.  But the dresses were so lovely…!

And the fabrics themselves…has anybody ever noticed how nice and feminine their

names are?  I used to get dreamy just thinking of their

names…cashmere…chambray…

chenille…cretonne…lame’…organdy…pique’…velvet…satin…

tulle…tarlatan.  And taffeta! …what ordinary, “normal” man ever has the

opportunity, the good fortune, to wear taffeta?  The poor sap would probably be

embarrassed to tears.

It was the same with makeup.  Mummy had to restrain me here because, like most

young girls, I tended to overdo it.  But I would sit at my vanity (yes, Jenny had

a vanity in her room now) and imagine myself like the lovely Myrrhina in a poem

my mother used to quote, who sat at her vanity

With eyelids closed as soft as the breeze That flows through gold flowers on the

incense trees.

The only problem was that when I closed my eyes, I couldn’t see the effect of the

eye shadow I had put on.

The hormones had another effect on me: I started noticing boys.  I had never had

any even remotely gay tendencies before that (I hated boys too much!), and

although I’ll never know for sure, I don’t think I would have if I had had to

grow up as a boy.  But now I was turning into a thoroughly heterosexual girl.  I

looked like a girl, I acted like a girl, and I thought like a girl; and suddenly

I began to notice things about boys, things I liked to look at.  Their lean

flanks.  Their arms.  Their shoulders.  Their butts.  The little lump–and

sometimes not so little–in the front of their jeans.  The denim tended to wear

in that spot, and as a result that interesting area would be graced by a little

highlight.  And I liked to watch the slight unconscious swagger that that lump

seemed to put into their walk, on every one of them, even the wimpiest–so

different from my own feminine walk, which by now was second nature.

The plan was for Mummy to continue homeschooling me until my junior year in high

school, but my development went faster than Dr Madison had anticipated, and I

started going to the public high school in my sophomore year.  The first thing we

found out was that I was in advanced standing in nearly every subject.  Don’t

tell me home- schooling doesn’t work!  By this time also, Mummy’s lawyer had

managed to get my birth certificate and other records changed from James (male)

to Jennifer (female).  He regarded this procedure with prim and stiff-lipped

disapproval, but Mummy could be very emphatic when her mind was made up, and he

ended up having to carry out our wishes.

With me in high school and no more homeschooling to do, Mummy took a job.  The

medical bills had been high and we had had to retrench; Mummy’s administrative

skills soon had her earning a nice salary and we were living better than ever

before.

In high school, I started dating boys.  I was glad not to be a boy myself, but

nevertheless I found the creatures fascinating.  I liked the hardness of their

bodies and the way they looked at me.  I liked kissing them, and I liked to watch

their lips when they talked.  I liked another kind of hardness, too, as I found

out the first time I put my hand inside a boy’s pants.  I couldn’t let him into

my pants, of course, because of what he’d find there (darn!), but I fell back on

the old time-of-the-month excuse and had a grand time giving him a blow job–my

first ever.  A penis was a fine thing, I decided, as long as it wasn’t on MY

body!

VI.

I finished high school as Jenny, and I started college as Jenny.  I applied for,

and got, a scholarship that was generous enough that we would actually be able to

get some money ahead.  And then, the first Summer after my eighteenth birthday, I

told Mummy I wanted to finish the job.

“What do you mean, Dear?” she asked.  I think she knew.

“I mean I want surgery.  I don’t need these things–” I pointed between my

legs–”I don’t like them, and I want to get rid of them. I want to be a woman,

not a chick with a dick.”

After a phone conference with Dr Madison, I took the bus to see her and we

talked.  I said that I wished she could have done this right away when I was

still a boy.  She said it would have been out of the question at that age and

that the hormones had been a risky e