Entries Tagged 'Shemale Sex Stories' ↓
April 8th, 2007 — 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.
April 8th, 2007 — Shemale Sex 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.
For more stories try taboostories.com or
sex-story-sites.com’s erotic porn stories.
April 8th, 2007 — Shemale Sex 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