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This story is intended only for readers who are lawfully certified mature, sophisticated, cosmopolitan, and literate. All others fuck off. BiGirls by Vickie Tern i. I sell insurance, industrial, liability, all kinds. I know. But it's a living, if you work at it, and it's a product people need, so they buy it. If they luck out and it turns out they didn't need it they feel cheated. So they figure I'm a sleaze. My wife Jane decorates interiors, stores, homes, anything. She has good taste, so everyone loves what she does, and they love Jane too. She gets and gives customer satisfaction without effort, or so it seems. I know better, and sometimes I help her figure out how to finesse her problems. Still, nobody knows what she saw in me when she married me. Someone to come home to, at best. Insurance. Even now, not too many people can guess what she sees in me. All day long and lots of nights we're in and out of different homes and offices, seeing people and drawing up plans for them. We work irregular schedules, but we like it that way. We've been married a half-dozen years or so, time enough to get to know each other and get used to each other. We're ...well... comfortable. No surprises. No upsets. The usual pattern -- house in the suburbs, no kids yet, Golf and Tennis Club membership, hang out with other people like us, clients, potential clients, a few friends. To tell the truth, I've played around a little. Without Jane knowing. Not deliberately. I'd flirt, and sometimes it would get out of hand. Charm and flattery is useful in my business, especially when you're dealing with a woman. You have to listen to what the prospect says she wants, be attentive and sympathetic. You're always selling yourself, you know? With women sometimes send them little gifts and take them to dinner. Chat them up, you know? Then when they sign on the dotted line, it turns out they expected more than a counter signature where the dotted line ends. But it's hard to keep things quiet in a small community like ours, where everyone knows everyone. So I'd never go out looking. Jane might have noticed. I'd bed down mostly out of town women mostly for one nighters, women who could appreciate someone companionable and not too bad in bed, but with no strings. There are lots of motels on the edge of town, and no one was ever the wiser. So I never expected we'd end up together like this, Jane and me, in this whole new kind of marriage. It was all happening under my nose the whole time, but who knew? It started out innocent enough. One morning Jane said to me, "Craig, drop these plans off at Alice's for me, would you? She'll be home around one. I've got an appointment then. We've got to get this project under way today, tell her. Gotta go! See you! Kiss!" And she was gone before I could ask why she didn't just drop them off herself, Alice lives only a block or so away. Sometimes she doesn't think. Well, I spent the morning making calls and catching up on my paperwork, then on my way to the office I stopped off at Alice's. The drapes were drawn, and I would have thought she and Roy were away for a few days, except there were cars in the driveway, and in front too. So I rang the bell, and who answered almost right away but Alice? But Alice dressed like I've never seen her. In a kind of draped gauzy nightgown with her tits hanging half out, her nipples visible through the fabric. There was a dark shadow where her bush should be, and probably was. But I couldn't take my eyes off those nipples! "Oh, hi, Craig!" she said. She just stood there in the doorway. Anyone on the street could have seen her, if there'd been anyone, though there never is. "You here to see Roy? He's always at the office this time of day. You know that." "Not exactly, Alice," I said a little awkwardly. Trouble, I'm thinking. Big trouble. Don't do it. But would just a little messing around with Roy's wife get me into trouble with Jane? That depends. "Jane asked me to bring you these," I told her, and I handed her the package Jane gave me. "She says get your project going today. Whatever that means." Then I just stood there. Finally I looked up at her face. She 'd been watching me eyeball her boobs the whole time, and seemed amused. "I better be going," I finally said. In reply she swung the door wide open. "Today?" she asked me in a loud voice. I nodded yes. "She say anything else?" I nodded no. One tit had come completely free, and it was just hanging out there in the open! A woman's voice way back in Alice's living room called out, "Anyone we know, Alice? Let's see her!" Someone entered the far end of Alice's hallway from the living room, then stopped stark still, and said, "Well!" Another woman, completely naked! Wearing nothing, not even the next-to-nothing Alice was wearing! She was thin, with hip-bones poking like harps on each side of her flat belly, with ribs clearly visible under huge globes of breasts. I mean, huge! My god, on such a thin girl, why didn't she fall over? She shook a heavy head of black hair back behind her shoulders, and I could see she was staring at me calmly, not surprised to see me at all, just standing there. Her mound fully exposed too, curly dark hair in a dark V. I suddenly realized I knew her. Tim Peterson's wife, he's an accountant, she's the doctor in that new medical arts building. I'd seen her a lot at the Club, and I'd been meaning to stop by to see if all her insurance needs have been met. What was her name? "I'd better be going," I said again. "You ladies don't seem to have had time to get dressed yet this morning." "This afternoon," said Alice. "You haven't had lunch yet? Why don't you come in, now, Craig, and let's see what we can fix up on short notice." She stepped to one side, and now the doorway and hallway led straight back to the thin Peterson woman with the big hair and tits, still standing and looking at me from the far end. I was still checking out those enormous boobs when she turned her head and looked back into the living room as if there were more people in there. Also naked? "Can you close the door, Alice?" came another woman's voice. That one was familiar! Our across-the-street neighbor, "Dottie" Jane calls her, "the Widder" I call her, her husband having died a few years ago. She's some dish! Luscious mouth, huge eyes, curves everywhere, a knockout dresser. Guys in and out of her house all the time, and now and then someone's car spends the night in her driveway. Jane once caught me staring out the window at her house, and said "Off limits!" in a tone of voice that stopped me so cold I couldn't even begin to pretend I didn't know what she was talking about. The Widder's voice again. "Alice! It's getting chilly in here, and we're all wearing nearly nothing! Come in or go away, whoever you are." "You'd better come in," Alice said, this time more commanding than inviting. I stepped inside. Alice shut the door behind me and gestured me toward her living room, just past the nude doctor, who'd shifted her weight to one leg and cocked her hip, and folded her arms under those enormous tits so they bulged up over her forearms, and was still looking at me steadily. Now even her nipples were staring at me. I walked toward her trying hard not to look, and when we were about to bump I turned to walk into Alice's living room. Then I paused again! The place looked like a harem! Everywhere were women's legs and arms and bodies! A few women were sprawled on the two couches wearing some kind of diaphanous something, those wrappers that cover nothing. Another was doing stretching exercises along the wall, naked, little tits and a thin bush, but thighs that looked like they could crush a horse. Another was standing with her back to me, studying some statue on the fireplace mantle, bare except for thin, high-cut lace panties not quite covering the cheeks of her ass, two small, pert watermelons perched above her legs. As I looked she glanced at me over her shoulder, then turned away again. At the end of the room I saw two women entangled on the floor, one of them moaning aloud. They were having sex of some sort with each other, and they were not concerned at all to know who had just walked in. Not anything else either. "Ladies," I tried to say politely, though my throat only let out a yelp at first. "I see I've interrupted something. I'd better go." "No," Alice said. "Why don't you come in and sit over there, and make yourself comfortable while we decide what to do about you." "I'd rather not!" I said, and a little pleading crept into my voice. Or maybe it was genuine reluctance. "Jane...uh...Jane... wouldn't like my being here like this." "Craig, sit down!" "Alice, I don't think I should, exactly," I replied. But I was already walking toward the overstuffed chair in the center of the room, and I turned and sat down. Now I could see there were maybe nine women in the room all told, counting the lady doctor in the hallway, and Alice was the most overdressed of them. A few were utterly nude. A few wore negligees or wraparounds. One was wearing only a flimsy bra, which left her bush looking all the more exposed. I didn't know where to put my eyes, so I tried to look at Alice. Both of her tits were now hanging free. "Don't worry about Jane. We're all Jane's friends, and we're certainly not going to upset her. No, you're the problem. You know how it is. Little boys who see things like to tell other people, and need to be told what will happen to them if they tell. We certainly don't want you gossiping all over town about us." Well, I had already decided two things about what I had stumbled into. One was that it was what it looked like, some kind of ladies' sex club. There was still a chance it was one of those lingerie parties women have, where some saleswoman shows them some naughty things to turn on their husbands, and they giggle a lot and buy a few. I figured I'd say that's what I think it is, at least until I got out of there. But this had a different smell about it. The women weren't giggly, they were serious, as if they'd been eager to get on to something, and I'd interrupted them. The other thing I decided was that these women looked distantly familiar. I bet they all belong to our Golf Club. It's a small town. I wouldn't have any real problem finding out who they were. No problem calling on them, one at a time, to ask them to help me sell their husbands life insurance, or other kinds of insurance, I was sure. Or I could sell them insurance. Given what this looked to be, this could be a really good thing, I decided, if I played it right. "I won't tell anyone anything, Alice," I assured her. "No, you certainly won't," Alice said. "But first off, we're going to need some insurance." "Exactly!" I said. "I couldn't have said that better myself." She was going to buy my silence without my even asking! But I hadn't heard her quite right. She continued as if she hadn't heard me at all, "Meg, what do you think?" "I've already thought it," a woman on the couch replied. This was another one with really great tits! She was the one with the brassiere and the bare beaver, the most delicate lace thing you can imagine. It barely covered the aureoles surrounding the big nipples on her huge, pendulous breasts. Maybe it pulled her up a little in front, just a little. "We're lucky I came here straight from a shoot. This'll do fine." She held up what I recognized was a state-of-the-art, high-gadget camera of some kind. That's who she was, Margaret whatsername, "Portraits by Meg," the fashion photographer who did a lot of dress catalogs and advertising around town. I'd met her at a party, and thought she was a Dyke who probably played around with her models. Good looking enough. Were these her models? Now what kind of insurance would she need? Malpractice? First of all, for her equipment. "Meg is it?" I began. "I've been meaning to talk to you about a policy...." . "No, we'll arrange our own insurance, Craig," Alice said. "Thank you. Are you comfy in that chair, now? Good. Dottie?" "Gotcha, Alice. Love to." Before I knew what was happening, the Widder was kneeling in front of me, and had unzipped my pants and taken out my cock, and was holding it in her hand. "No problem," she said, looking it over. "Not too big at all." It was still limp, but I could feel the first stirrings of an erection as she palmed it gently and then ran her red-manicured fingertips over it. "Not at all!" Suddenly she bent down and put it all in her mouth, and there it was, warm and wet, imprisoned, and I could feel her tongue move. I didn't dare move. Then even before it got past its first stirrings and began to harden up, Meg started to leap and crouch around us like a ballet dancer, her camera tight against her face, taking shot after shot of the two of us. Me supposedly getting a blow job. Me actually getting a blow job. I was now as big and hard as I get, and Dottie was licking up and down the vein on the underneath part of my cock, then pursing her mouth over my cock head, then running her lips down me. "Mmmmmmm," she said as if to encourage me. Meg talked the whole time. "Higher, Dottie...that's it...beautiful...just gorgeous...face away from the camera please...you, Craig is it, can't you look a little more pleased, there's this beautiful woman blowing your horn for you...that's it...lift your face higher...not you Dottie...and smile...that's OK, that expression will do it just fine." . I wanted to say, "I'd better go" yet again, for show, but I couldn't. I wanted to come. I'll leave when she's done, I thought. And later I'll get some pictures myself of these broads dressed up in nothing playing footsie with each other, and it'll be a standoff. Meanwhile there was this gorgeous feeling growing in my cock, and growing bigger, and Dottie wasn't slowing down at all. Her head rose and fell, and she seemed to be trying to suck me inside out. Then Meg leaned way over me and I saw that those massive mammaries had come out of their cage and were flopping around. "Open wide," she ordered, and I don't know why, I just did. She stuffed a huge tit into my mouth and with one hand holding the camera extended an arm's length away she clicked off four or five more shots. My eyes bulged, but reflexively I began to tongue those big nipples, they were the size of the thimbles on my wife's sewing table. As she pulled away Meg got a shot of my tongue curling toward one of them. Meanwhile down below, Dottie kept up the pace, and that ripening sensation outgrew the base of my cock and moved out over my loins. I began to clench my ass. When Meg took her tit back out of my mouth, I groaned "Don't!" and I realized I meant it both ways. I tried for a moment to bring my erection down by sheer force of will. I tried to remember if the Mets had ever fielded a triple play, or what was on an actuarial table I'd been looking over only that morning. But all I saw was Dottie's red lips gliding up and down my saliva-slicked bone, and my breathing got shorter and shorter. Then I lunged my hips into Dottie's mouth a few times and started to come. The first spurts she swallowed, then the next few she took on her face, smiling as if delighted, then the rest she gathered into the palm of her hand. When I was done, she held her hand to my mouth as if she were feeding me a handful of honey. And I lapped it up! My own cum, out of the palm of her hand! Salty sweet, was it? "Got it all?" she asked. I realized she was talking to Meg. All the while I was rising and spurting, Meg had been clicking away, chatting us up, building up my climax as if it were her own. "Oh, yes, yes, give it to her, give me more, more, that ecstatic look again, again please, yes, more, yes, that drop of cum on your lips glistening now, beautiful, open wider please, yes, now lick it!" When I'd blown everything I had in me and come down to earth, Dottie tucked me back into my pants. She patted my crotch as if it were a pet dog, stood up, and walked away. Meg waved her camera in the air and said "Yes, yes. Wonderful, Dottie. Got it all." I realized I was in serious trouble now. But I thought I could still handle it. They were only women. "You can't do this!" I shouted. "It's blackmail! It's against the law! You'll be arrested!" Threats like that seemed called for. In fact I couldn't wait to get out of there and tell some of my buddies about what had just happened, maybe get one to shoot photos just like these through an uncovered window, or at least to take a registry of all these women coming and going. Even one of the blow job photos, if I could get hold of one, would mean that the Widder Dottie was going to spend a lot of time on her knees in front of me, trying to save her reputation from ruin! "No," Alice said. "It's blackmail only if, say, we were to threaten to show these pictures to Jane as evidence that you've been getting it on with Dottie for months now, and that we took them because you've been extorting favors from her to gratify your perverse tastes, in exchange for your silence about who visits her when. In further evidence there's that life insurance policy you sold her last month, threatening to ruin her reputation if she didn't buy it." "She asked me to ...." I practically shouted. "Of course she did. She wanted a life insurance policy. Still, how does it look, with these pictures and that story? But all we want is for you not to tell anyone anything about what you've seen here today. Then there's no problem, and no blackmail. Is there?" I glared up silently. I could still figure something, I felt pretty sure. Not sure what. "These pictures of you forcing Dottie to her knees are our insurance. Moreover, if you try to tarnish the reputations of any one of us here, if you threaten to tell our husbands about us, we'll just deny everything you say, and support each other's stories. We'll see to it that no one we know has anything further to do with you. Or with your insurance company. Who would believe you, against all of us? Spreading a fantastic cock and bull story, that you saw us all here naked. You'd be laughed out of business. So these pictures aren't blackmail. They're insurance against your getting foolish and trying to blackmail us. "I better go," I said, one last time. "In a moment," Alice said. "Now, Craig, one more thing you need to know. This group meets bi-weekly, every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. Our husbands and the neighbors think we play bridge or something, I'm sure. We call ourselves the BiGirls. We are all of us bisexual, and we are delighted to have found each other. As you've seen, we enjoy giving pleasure to each other as well as to our husbands or boyfriends, and we take pleasure from each other the same way, and we see no harm in it. But our husbands might not understand. So we don't want you snooping around here Tuesday and Thursday afternoons to take pictures of us to use to blackmail us into not blackmailing you, so you can blackmail us into selling insurance to our husbands. I know you, you're as transparent as glass. From now on, when we're meeting, we'll want to know exactly where you are. And that'll be right here. Safely with us. Craig, save all your Tuesdays and Thursdays for us from now on. You aren't bi, that I know of, but now you're one of us anyhow. An honorary BiGirl. I'm sure we'll enjoy each other. Welcome to the Club! Now you can go." As I left Alice's living room, the couple on the floor at the far end of the room were still getting it on -- I don't know if they ever even knew I was there. One had this enormous cock strapped to her! Alice added as she let me out, "Oh, yes, Craig. You'll need to fit in, of course. For next Tuesday's meeting be sure to shave off all your body hair. Then use a depillatory. Everything below your eyebrows. We want you as smooth and ladylike as we are. A little patch of pubic hair will be all right. It might even look cute." "Why so sad? You're invited to have sex with nine good looking women twice each week! It isn't as if you've been absolutely faithful to Jane these past years -- we know better, and of course so do you. We'll help you with Jane, don't worry, about where you're spending your afternoons, or later on why you can't get it up with her, when you're fucked out. So what is there to feel sad about?" That night Jane asked me if I'd brought Alice the plans and delivered the message. I said yes, and didn't say anything more, and she didn't ask anything more. ii. I guess Alice had a point. I couldn't crow to my buddies yet, and for the moment I wasn't going to pick up any new accounts from the husbands, but this was a pretty good deal. Nine women available for fucking in exchange for not talking now about how they ...uh... otherwise do each other? What's to choose? The story would be all the riper when I finally got around to entertaining my friends with it. I thought about getting some kid to prowl around with a camera looking for places to peer through the drapes. Get some insurance for myself. But no. Not yet. First see how this goes. Monday night after Jane zonked out I took a shower with a razor and a can of shaving cream, then some Nair, and when I came back to bed I was smooth as a baby's ass. In the morning when I woke up, Jane was snuggled up against me, which doesn't much happen these days. But she never noticed how I was hairless. Tuesday promptly at one in the afternoon I was back at Alice's front door, ready to boogie. "Craig! How nice! Right on time! We've been talking about you. Go right on upstairs and change, and we'll be waiting for you in the living room. You'll find your things in the first room on the right, top of the stairs." Alice was wearing that same wrapper that covered her tits without hiding them. I'd spent some time over the weekend with a Victoria's Secret catalogue learning the names for these things. I figured I was going to be seeing a lot of them, and women always appreciate a compliment on what they're wearing. I'd also looked up "naked" in a book of quotations, figuring a little poetry does no harm, but there was nothing there I could use. Anyhow, I tried to pay my dues to Alice, so I said "That's a lovely peignoir you're wearing. Chiffon, isn't it?" Alice replied, "First room on the right. See you in a few minutes." Well, I checked out the first room on the right, and I got undressed as far as my underwear. But all there was on the bed was a big brassiere and someone's panty girdle. I looked in the closet. Nothing, this was a guest room. So I picked up the women's underwear and came back downstairs wearing my own. There was Alice in the hallway. She seemed to be heading into the kitchen, but I was sure she was waiting for me. "You're not changed," she said. "Something wrong?" "Alice," I told her, "All I found on the bed were these things. Nothing for me." "Those are for you," said Alice, looking closely at me, as if I were a little cracked. "These are women's things," I said. "This is a women's Club," Alice said, still staring directly at me. "You're a member, put them on. I see you've gotten rid of all that hair. That's nice. You've probably noticed we have body hair only on our pussies. I suppose you left some on yours." "Yes," I said, leaving aside for the moment that I don't have a pussy. "But Alice, I don't wear these things." "While you're here, you do! The women who belong to this Club dress appropriately. Like women. If your body looked more feminine you could wear nothing. But at the moment it doesn't, does it?" She smiled. "Oh, yes. Come down here with a bare bottom each time, and then you can put on the girdle. Beryl's a doctor, so your genitals won't shock her, and she'll have something for you to help you fit in better with us. Beryl?" Out from the kitchen came the Peterson woman, Beryl, still naked as she was born. Close up, I could see that her breasts were firm and solidly planted as well as huge. They really thrust way out, and didn't hardly hang down at all! Like road repair pylons with nipples at the tips! She was carrying some kind of hypodermic needle. "Don't worry," she said, waving it a bit. "Just something to qualify you to dawdle among us," she said. "Pull down those panties of yours and bend over. You like women's boobs? You don't seem able to look at anything else." "They're great!" I said sincerely. I pulled down my shorts as directed. She jabbed me, I think. I could hardly feel anything. "That's good," she said. "You can stand up now. Because starting now you'll have handfuls. Oh yes, hold out your arm." In a couple of swipes she filled a small glass tube with my blood. "What's that for?" I asked. I remembered her name, and tried to be respectful. So I added, "What's that for, Beryl?" "Just to be sure you're healthy, and that you stay that way. We care about our members, and we swap a lot of our juices around." Well, that seemed fair enough. So I turned back to Alice. "Why do I have to wear these things?" I asked. "Why can't I just go naked now." "Two fair questions," Alice replied. "You have to hide your thingies in that panty girdle for now, because out of sight is out of mind. Also, no one else here has balls, so yours don't fit in. Also, the girdle is insurance you won't try to use what's inside in the heat of some moment or other. Women in this Club do only what women do. As for the brassiere, you're only an honorary woman, and we'll all need to be reminded you're that much, anyhow, until you look and behave more authentic. Try to move less abruptly, incidentally, more gracefully. For a few sessions at least, we've agreed you should think of yourself always as a dainty little girl. Feel the way a little girl feels, it'll help. Then gradually you can grow up. The brassiere is for you to get used to wearing what women wear, while you're growing up. And finally, since you ask, it's insurance against your getting someone to sneak around taking pictures of us, which would necessarily include pictures of you wearing a brassiere. A little embarrassing to explain to your friends. We'll take a few pictures ourselves of you all dolled up, of course, but then we know that no one will ever see them as long as you behave yourself. Any other questions?" I shook my head, stymied. "Then change and go on into the living room." I did. Alice showed me how to hook the brassiere in front of me and then turn it around. "You're flat now. If you had to catch up your breasts in the cups you wouldn't be able to do it that way," she said. "You'd prefer to bend over forward and hook it in back. But for now this will do." "Alice," I said. "I don't have breasts." "You'll feel as if you do, dear, in time. Just wait. Even today you'll see how important they are when women make love to women." Feeling as harnessed as a race horse, I went into the living room. I must say, the women all welcomed me. They hugged me, and asked my name, and I told them "Craig." I guess it was Meg who said, "Still? How original!" And I'm sure it was Dottie who asked, "Why not a femme name?" And I replied, "Craig is now my femme name," because I couldn't think of anything else to say. I didn't know I was supposed to have a femme name. But they took that to mean something extraordinary, and crowded even closer and smiled their congratulations. "Now more than ever, I suppose," said a tall blonde who introduced herself as 'Eden.' Did they think I now thought I was a woman? Were they teasing me? Then a short blonde with a real blonde pussy, practically bleach blonde, took my hand and led me over to one of the couches. "Never mind them," she said. "Mind me!" She slouched down on the couch with her legs over the edge, and said, "Bring me off, Craig." I didn't know what she meant at first. I bent over to try to kiss her on the mouth. She turned her head away. "That's for when you feel genuinely affectionate, " she said. "But you don't feel that way about me, yet. You will. We will be the most loving of girlfriends before too long, I can tell. Then kissing will be fine. Maybe we should begin now with some touchie-feelie. Would you like to feel my breasts? " I reached for them with both hands, and she caught me by each wrist before I could get to them. "Just like a man," she said. "Try now to be a girl. Think like a girl. Feel like one. Feminine, delicate, pretty, and then reach with just your fingertips to touch my nipple tips. A little girl who hopes some day to have a pair of breasts of her very own, just like them. Just lightly caress them, and desire them. Gently. Ah, that's it. Much more like it. Ohh! That's my girl!" I found it was easy to imagine myself some sweet young thing, stroking her gently, lovingly, lightly lifting each boob before going on to caress more of their smooth, mellow curves, feeling increasing awe and admiration as I fondled each one. I scarcely heard her murmuring. "Yes," she was saying. "'TLC.' Tender, loving care when you touch me. Also 'Tongue licking and caressing' when we're into heavier things. Would you like to use your tongue?" Sounded good. I lightly licked each nipple, just once. She moaned. So I rolled my tongue on her nipples again, and she clutched my head, so I filled my mouth with her and sucked and stroked and probed. Her body began to writhe, and suddenly she lifted her head and looked at me almost ferociously. "Now! Down on me!" she said, and I felt her spreading her legs wide. I fell to my knees and went down on her. With her legs lolling over the edge of the couch and spread wide apart, I could see her labia peering out from her bush. I held her knees with my hands and tucked my head into her crotch, face first into her slit as fast as I could. Then I looked at her and said, "TLC?" She looked down and said, "If you can say it, you're not doing it." I started running my tongue up and down on those engorged lower lips. They were dry at first, but soon grew slick, at first from my saliva and then from her own juices. She began to taste sweet and creamy, with a hint of sea food. A delicious woman taste. Soon my lips found her clit, enlarged into a teeny hard knob, and I started nibbling on it. She let out a kind of soft sigh and sank deep into the couch cushions. I could feel her whole pelvis relax as I went in at her a little more determinedly, and then she began to thrust rhythmically at me, then to rock her whole pelvis up to meet my mouth. Long strokes with my tongue, beginning way back by her asshole and finishing by her piss hole, stroke after stroke, my tongue as stiff as possible while passing by the deep part, where my prick would be if it weren't snugged into my girdle. I felt like some cocker spaniel lapping at its mistress, but so dainty. A little girl cocker spaniel, I guess. It felt good. Faster and tighter, with the same long stroke, back to front, and I could feel her thigh muscles begin to tighten. Soon she was like a stretched rubber band. She croaked out, "caress ... breasts," so I reached up around her thighs toward her breasts. Like a sweet young thing, I imagined myself. Fingertips only, so very delicately. Her slit was leaking juice now, as I slurped. An odd idea occurred to me, what if her pussy juice was loaded with hormones, and if I could suck enough of it I'd become a girl myself, complete with a pussy of my own? Ridiculous, I thought, half the men in the country would be women by now if so. But it was as if I were under orders, and I kept slurping. My neck stretched out as I began each sleek stroke, and I ended each with a little girlish wiggle, thrusting my tongue deep into her. "Oh!" she said each time, so I kept it up. She unbent her legs, and then lifted them high up from the hips, stretching her toes straight to the ceiling. Now I could lean deep down into her slit, really get my nose in it. Also, I could now easily reach her nipples from between her legs, so I stroked them. She moaned louder. Her pussy now fully exposed, I nuzzled even my chin into it. She moaned again, and then again. She started calling out "More, Craig, oh, yes, more, you precious little thing!" and her pussy cream turned stronger, more richly flavored as I licked it up. A few more long licks finished her off. "Ohhh, doggie, Ohhh, doggie, Ohhh, doggie!" she kept saying as if in a daydream, pushing her whole wide cunt into my face and then clamping my head between her outstretched thighs as she pulsed and pressed and pitched. I couldn't breath at all, but I kept probing and lapping as deep as I could. Then she eased off. "Well!" she said. I waited until she could find her voice again. "That was just fine, Craig honey," she said, sounding throaty. "That's how girls do it. You'll make a marvelous lesbian, if you ever want to take it cuntlapping as a career. Femme hands and a butch tongue, what a wonderful combination. Oh, darling! Come up here and let me kiss you." So I did, and she kissed me sweetly, gratefully, full on the mouth, not noticing that my face was soaked. "See, now I feel like it," she said. She held me around the neck, looking into my eyes with mild affection. Hers were deep blue, nearly round, rimmed with black lashes, and I saw she was wearing blue eye shadow. She saw I was admiring her face, and she kissed me again. "Do you and Jane do this often?" I've learned that when women ask me about my wife, they are usually telling me it's time to back off. I delayed a moment. "You mean, kiss? Oh, sure!" I said. But her arms remained around my neck, her eyes looking straight into mine, mild but unwavering. "No, I don't mean kiss." I thought I should be honest. In no time they were all going to know everything about my sexual practices anyhow. So I told her, "Not for some time. Not for a few years. At first, yes, our mouths were everywhere on each other. But a few years ago, I guess Jane just decided she didn't much like it. She'll use her mouth on me now and then, when she doesn't want me between her legs for some reason. No problem there. But whenever I try returning the favor she'll stop me. Once she said, "It wouldn't be right," and another time, "You'd notice." And she wouldn't explain what she meant. So I quit trying." My blonde kept her arms circled on my neck and kept looking at me, her expression unchanged. She meant for me to go on. Say what? "Now sometimes when she comes home she's real eager to make love," I said. "When I reach down to put me into her, I can feel that she's gotten wet even before we've begun. Slick, as if I'd already come in her. So she doesn't need me down there for lubrication before we fuck. Sometimes I want to lick up those juices I can tell are oozing out of her, but she won't let me, so I just slide right in and we fuck. There are times she's so slippery I can barely feel her. But I cum, and then she mops up the excess with a kleenex. Then we go to sleep. I miss it. I like the taste of a woman." "That's interesting," my blonde said, musing. "A few years now, you've been pining away for the taste of us. So we're doing you a favor. Well, never mind. Here you'll find all the pussy you could ever wish for, and all of it to your taste. I know, I've tasted all of it myself. My name's Lisa, by the way. I'm married, so you don't get to fuck me without a dildo. I'm faithful to my husband. But anything a woman can do to me, you can do. Cuddle, and kiss. And caress. And cuntsuck. Oh, yes! Drink all of my juice your heart might ever desire! I hope for a lot more of what you just did, a lot more. Later on, when you get used to thinking of your penis as a clit and you won't need your girdle, I'll do the same for you." A strong voice sounded behind us. "Lisa? Are you finished with him now? Don't use him up. Come over here, Craig, dear, would you?." I looked around, and saw Beryl lying back at her ease on the soft couch opposite us, her firm breasts for the moment aimed straight upward. I got to my feet, and she sat up just a little, patting the cushions where her head had just been. I sat down there, and she lowered her head back down into my lap. Then she asked me, "Craig, have you ever sucked a girl's breasts while she sucks yours?" "No," I replied. "Then lets. Let me unhook your bra for you." When I leaned over toward her mammaries, she lifted them slightly toward me, and the nipples on those conical projections entered my mouth. Her mouth completely surrounded one of my nipples. We were in a perfect position to suckle each other, in a kind of head and torso 69. I started to diddle her nipple with my tongue, and heard Beryl's voice, "Gentle, Craig, always gentle. Like a little girl nursing on her mommy." I did, and it felt wonderful. Her mouth overwhelmed one of my nipples, then the other, and her breasts began to feel like mine as she wrapped her tongue on my little nipples and I licked hers, and we tongued each other as if we were each other's doll babies. I couldn't tell our sensations apart. We pursed our lips on each other's nipple tips, and wrapped our arms around each other, and clung together more and more tightly, and kissed each other's aureoles, and nibbled each other. But always delicately. I began to get the strangest squirming sensation in my crotch as her tongue moved on me. I wriggled and squeezed my legs together, and wondered if I might accidentally cum without even touching myself. That would be embarrassing. Beryl seemed to know how I felt. "That's it, Craig," she said. "Never mind your usual male responses. They'll change. For now just be a sexy little girl. Dainty and neat, so very ladylike. You'll find more feeling builds up between us when we suck on each other like little princesses, layer of feeling on delicious layer of feeling. The feelings will grow stronger too. More urgent. You're going to enjoy them. You'll be glad to have them. Now imagine that they're already like mine. That was easy, with her lips on my breasts and a rich yearning sensation filling me, and her breasts filling my mouth. I squeezed my legs together hard, then again, and that delicious tension built higher and higher, then suddenly released in a flood. Then I felt a lovely afterglow. "Wow!" I said in a higher-pitched voice than I'd meant. Again, Beryl seemed to know how I felt. "Well, well," she said. "Lookie what you just managed to do. You're going to like being a part of our little group, no question." The upshot of that first day was, I had intimacies with four women, Two asked me to lick their cunts to orgasm, so I did, and Beryl had me do the same with her fantastic breasts. One asked me to hold her by her love handle, by which she meant with my thumb in her cunt and my forefinger in her ass, my palm pressed against her crotch, as she tensed and eased her pussy against my palm until she'd brought herself off. "That's all I want today," she said, disengaging herself after ten minutes. "Thank you, honey. You're a doll." Each encounter taught me more about women's urges and needs, the different ways I could be gentle, generous, and nurturing of their accumulating desires until finally their aroused feelings overwhelmed them. Whenever I tried to take charge, each would stroke my hair, and remind me to try to remain a little girl as long as possible. "You'll be a big girl soon enough," they'd say. It was fun. I began to wonder how long it would be before they'd declare me a lady, fit to fuck them with my built-in dildo and to lie in their crotches like one adult woman with another. Meanwhile, I enjoyed being a good little girl. The last lady I slathered into orgasm with my tongue seemed so grateful that afterward she plastered her mouth to mine, and sucked my tongue into her mouth, and clamped my head tight with her arms, and then wouldn't let go. Since my mouth was attached to hers, there was nothing else to do, so I started to lick the insides of her lips, and then to flick my tongue on hers as if we were duelling with swords. It became quite enjoyable. Still, she held me. So I began to run my hands up and down along her sides, over that delicious deep curve where a woman's waist swings out to curve down again as her hips. or slopes upward until a caressing hand is filled with a breast. It was fascinating, her waistline. She paused to make a suggestion, "Think of me as slippery, wet clay, and slide your hands all over me." When I did just that it must have made a difference in the way my hands moved, and she must have felt it, because she moaned out loud, and my hands then slipped further down on her. Finally, while one hand was stroking her body, the other had three fingers deeply buried in her snatch, diddling her to yet another orgasm. When she finally released my neck and mouth she sighed. Then she gave me a perfunctory little kiss on the tip of my nose, as if that sucking French kiss of hers was something else again altogether. "Your hands are almost as erotic as Meg's," she said. "Ask Meg to show you more things to do with them, before we wear out your tongue altogether. If she'd stroke you, you'd learn a few things. In return, you can certainly teach her some tricks about how a mouth fits into a girl's private parts. Any time you want to live down there between my legs, Craig, do feel free to be my guest." By four o'clock, the ladies of the BiGirl Club were uncoupling from each other and beginning to drift back upstairs to dress, to become proper housewives and ordinary clubwomen again. I watched the tall blonde, Eden, leaning over an upstairs banister for a last word with someone else down below, her beautifully shaped breasts falling free and her gown flowing back like a bridal train, and I realized that she was lovely, that I was admiring her appearance instead of lusting after her. When Lisa appeared briefly in the front hall in a smart purple knit suit and high-heeled black pumps, a matching purse slung crisply under her arm, I told her she looked smashing, without even thinking, and she grinned at me in thanks. "If you'd like a suit like this one, I can tell you where I got it," she said. I grinned back. All the girls smiled as they passed me going out the door, and I smiled back at them. I could sense that I had passed through some kind of initiation ritual, and was now a welcome addition to their number. We were feeling real affection for each other. I especially loved Beryl for the exquisite pleasure she'd brought me just by nursing on me, and letting me suck on her. But no one had reached into my girdle to give me even the most perfunctory hand job, and no one had rubbed my crotch. As a result, by four o'clock I had the worst case of blue balls I have ever had in my entire life. I couldn't walk, and I could barely straighten up. Somehow I got dressed again in the jogging suit I had worn walking from my house to Alice's. I crouched as the last women said goodbye to Alice, and I waited to talk to her. "Ta ta, girls," they waved at the two of us. "See you Thursday!" "See?" Alice said. "That's nice. They're beginning to think of you as one of the girls. You are too, I can tell. I was watching you with Lisa, and then later when Beth had you imprisoned in that clutch kiss of hers. You use your mouth and your face wonderfully well. That's where we always want to feel strength pushing into our crotches. But I'm sure they told you, always gentle." "They all told me to try to feel like a little girl, " I said. "Yes, that's what we all agreed. But here's a hint. Always think of your fingertips as feathers when you stroke with them. Like this." Alice fluttered her fingers ever so lightly across my imprisoned, engorged penis, rubbing the silken girdle fabric so delicately that an electric charge leaped from her hand directly through my prick to the base of my spine. "Oh, God!" I groaned without thinking. Alice smiled. "I know. I could see by the way you're walking. But that girdle doesn't come off until we're all sure you'll control what's inside it. In this Club it's a clit, not a prick, and it's not to be used for penetration. If the dear little thing is in trouble, take it home and see if Jane wants to use it. Later on you'll be no good to her at all after our Tuesday and Thursday sessions -- we'll be trying to drain you. Maybe you won't function some other nights either as time goes by. But before you go home you'd better wash all that pussy juice off your face, or Jane'll wonder what you've been up to. Or whose you've been down to." Then Alice said, "Oh, yes, Craig. You've probably noticed that we all wear our own intimate underthings here, our own negligees and day wear. Today's was loaned to you. Now go buy some of your own. And begin to wear our kinds of undies all the time, so they feel natural to you, here or away. Especially bras and panties and girdles. Morning to bedtime. Give Dottie a call, if you need someone to shop with you and advise you -- she's offered to help." "Which reminds me. Another thing. From now on you will want to feel more like one of the girls at all times. To preserve that little girl feeling until you've grown up, and then to feel all grown up. You know. When you next come up that walk I want to see you looking dainty. Don't lope. Hold your head up, and keep your shoulders back as if you had heavy breasts to support, and keep your thighs tight together as if there were nothing hanging there to separate them, so your hips swing slightly, and take smart short steps. And keep your hands above your waistline at all times, and elbows close to your body. That way there'll be less shoulder in your movements, and more wrist. You'll feel more feminine. You'll enjoy our little group that much more. And we'll enjoy you. Bye now." And she gave me a little tweak on my nipple, under my sweatshirt. I felt it all the way back to the house. Well, I was so horny that night that when Jane got home I couldn't wait to get her into bed. "What's gotten into you?" she asked when I started to scurry her under the sheets, smiling steadily. "Not that I mind! Oh, my, you feel so smooth! Its nice. But what have you been doing?" I told her I had joined a physical development Club, and had been advised to shave off all my body hair so it wouldn't irritate. As body builders do. All true enough. She just ran her hands over and over me. My cock felt like a tiger charging at its prey. We fucked three times, twice that night, and then again the next morning. Jane was a little slippery before I began, as usual, but by the time I was finished with her she was soaked, along with the bed sheets, oozing more cum than I'd ever before managed to spurt into her. Again, I could hardly feel her, and just slipped in and out until I came. Then came again. I don't know if she felt me, either, because she didn't respond to my pushing into her by pushing back. But she hugged me close, and she said she loved having such a sweet, smooth, loving husband. I snuggled into her feeling pleased, very much like a little girl who has satisfied her mommy. iii. I woke up the next morning in a really good mood. All that pussy, and more to come, and yet I'd been as faithful to my wife as any of the other BiGirls were to their husbands. And I felt... nice. Jane stirred beside me and then with her eyes still shut ran her hand caressing down my now-hairless chest to my prick, which immediately engorged. She smiled, her eyes still shut. "How do you want it this morning, sweetie?" she asked. "Any way you want it," I said. "Switch?" "Sure." We sometimes played role-switching games, me underneath being passive and Jane on top pounding on me. She'd suggested it a few years ago, and I liked it. "Then spread your legs and lift your knees, girl, and I'll climb on top of you and fuck your brains out." That kind of talk was new, but it was suitable. And that's what she did. She climbed between my legs, said "Wider, babe," then lifted herself up to drop down onto my pole so it extended all the way into her its full six inches. Then looking down on my face, her tits hanging down to brush against my chest and my mouth, leaning on her elbows, she began to pump. It was odd, feeling so completely helpless, with her weight on top of me and her arms imprisoning either side of my body. Steadily, then faster as her own orgasm approached, then like some machine-driven piston as my own groin began to clutch and tense up, then explode. Afterward, neither of us could breath at first. Then as I softened and began to slip out, she said, "You like getting fucked by a guy whose tits dangle in your face. I could tell. I'll bet it's interesting. Well, I have a busy schedule today. I'll catch breakfast at the office. Be home around six -- we'll go out to eat, OK?" And she hopped off me and headed for the bathroom to take a shower. Then when I'd just showered and was toweling off, she stuck her head in and without warning took hold of my cock yet again. It remained flaccid, spent by our lovemaking, probably hours from recovery for re-use. "Just checking," she said. "I'm off now. That was fun, playing the man. You should play the girl more often." So, for fun I sprinkled a little of her cologne onto my hand and rubbed it on my chest, then went in to dress smelling flowery. But she was gone. I called Dottie and she invited me across the street to get measured for my undies. I wasn't sure I should, but she pointed out patiently that I should know what my sizes are going in, in which case my bras and girdles and panties might fit, but maybe not, or else I could try them on there, in which case they'd certainly fit and I'd have the advantage of the saleslady's advice, and also the advice of any other woman who happened to be there. That persuaded me. She took me into her bedroom, amused by my nervous glances out the window at our own house, picked up a tape measure, and told me to strip. Again I balked, and again she had to explain the obvious -- underwear is not worn over outerwear. I stripped naked. She checked my chest below my nipples and above them and across them, and my waist, and hips, and what she called my rise, and so forth, and wrote them down carefully, then told me I could dress. But just like Jane she suddenly took hold of my cock, held it, and smiled at me while squeezing it slightly. Nothing, no change. She said, "Well, you two had a busy time last night, evidently. And smell that Cologne, too. Jane really is putting her brand on you I guess. That's fine. It's a pity though that I don't get to suck you off again now, as my reward for qualifying you today to join the Club." "Dottie," I replied, trying to sound chivalrous, but also as if I was kidding, "I'll gladly give you a rain check on that." I was wondering if I'd be back in action by tomorrow and could drop by Dottie's for a private blow job. No, there was another Club meeting tomorrow. Then I might need Jane again. But it would be nice to start up something with Dottie. Convenient. "I'm sure you're kidding," Dottie said. "I was. BiGirls only do with each other what girls can do with each other. We have husbands and boy friends for the other things. No blow jobs. But if you'd gotten hard just now, I'd have had to ask you to jerk yourself off. A woman's lingerie department is no place for a man whose prick is trying to prove it's a member in good standing." We bought a few brassieres in A and B cups ("We can wait and 'C' if we need to" she said), and a few frothy panties, and two firm controlling panty girdles, and a cheap breast form (when I asked why not a good one, she quipped again "Maybe you'll prefer the home-grown variety!"). Then back to the house to check their fit. They felt fine. I dressed for the rest of the day in an A cup bra with no breast form, and a pair of panties, both rose colored. Both felt satiny smooth, I remarked. "Get used to it," Dottie said. "That's how your skin will feel before long, too, if Beryl's juice does its thing. Oh yes, Alice told me one of the girls was offended when you went around bare-breasted bra-less after your session with Beryl yesterday. Remember to replace it. You're naked and indecent without a bra until you have breasts, from now on. Also, as extra insurance that you won't look like a man during the club meetings and accidentally horrify a member, Alice thought you should begin wearing a little make-up. Just in case. Just a little. Eye-liner, mascara, and lipstick is enough for now. Maybe some eye shadow, so you can be a woman of mystery. Here's some of each to keep in your purse. Oh yes, you'll carry this purse when you're walking to meetings at Alice's house. Out in the open -- don't be ashamed to be seen carrying a purse. And walk the way Alice told you women tend to walk. Get used to it. The make-up and the purse are gifts from me, to make up for my trapping your cock in my mouth the other day while Meg took pictures. Buy more make-up without me, at any drug store anywhere, when these are used up. And of course, you'll want to watch for lingerie sales at the stores on your own, to fill in on the little nothings you'll be needing from now on." Dottie saw me to the door, and as I stepped out she checked the street. Then she stretched up, put her arms around me, and kissed me full on the mouth, just once. Then she turned casual again. "See you tomorrow, honey," she said. "I'm glad you checked that no one saw us, Dottie," I commented, a little edgy. Jane often came and went during the day, or some neighbor might report to Jane that I'd strayed off limits. "Well, I was actually checking that the kid I hired to snap photos of us was ready for that big moment. See him, over there by that tree? He ought to have taken some pictures through my bedroom window, too, from a branch of that same tree. I hope so. More insurance against blackmail, love. Like your underwear worn at all times now, and your makeup worn at least during our club meetings. In case you ever really do hire someone to snoop on us. You're devious, Craig, but so are we, and don't try to match your deviousness against women who are protecting their reputations. Not yet. Wait till we've leveled the playing field for you a little more." I was glad to get away from Dottie and her cryptic cracks. That evening when Jane got home from I was still in my bra and panties, and had no chance to change. So I was still wearing them when we went out to eat. Even though I was also wearing a shirt, tie, and jacket, the bra I could feel underneath gave me a feeling that I was gussied up, dressed special. I kind of liked it. My badge of membership. I had two scares. One was before we went out, when she told me we needed to put on our make-up before we left the house, and I got all flustered about what she could mean. She said, "Why, by 'we' I meant me, the way I always do. Oh, poor baby, did we think that by 'we' I meant you in this case? Give us a kiss!" I muttered something, and she said, "No, dear, you're not pretty enough for make-up. Not yet, anyhow. Are you?" I let it go. Then when we got back home I stripped off my jacket, and she put both her hands on my shoulders to emphasize a point, and I thought she could feel my bra straps through my shirt. She didn't let on if so, but when I winced and pulled back she told me I was behaving positively girlish. I soon was. If such a thing is imaginable, attending Club meetings became the central event of my days. I would never miss a meeting, and I looked forward to them. Beryl would shoot my butt when I arrived, with whatever it was I needed to qualify for the Club, and I never asked what it was. Antibiotics, I supposed. Then we'd divide into pairs of women and pleasure each other, and then swap partners. Sometimes threesomes. Always, they urged me to think and feel feminine. We'd talk makeup, and they'd help me figure my best shades and how to apply them, and clothes. When they told me about a closet sale at Victoria's Secret I ran out and I'm afraid bought more things than I needed, and sexier too. Once I accidentally left some frilly black lace panties on my bureau, and came in to see Jane holding them up and looking them over. Thank goodness, after a glance at me she just shrugged and put them in her own drawer, as if they were a pair she'd forgotten she had. By the third month my skin had grown as smooth as my panties, and I remembered Dottie's cryptic remark about that happening. I wondered if it was from all the cunt juice I was drinking, or from keeping myself hairless, but it seemed a small enough price to pay. Jane liked it, and never questioned it. Nor did she seem to notice when the girls tweezed and trimmed my eyebrows -- she commented only that I looked especially well-groomed these days, and that looking suave was probably good for business. Another month or two later, one night in bed Jane commented, "You're plumping out here and there, honey, especially in the chest, but I don't really see any muscle development. What did you say you were doing at this activities club you've joined?" I said some vague things about special aerobics, and she let it pass. But it was true. I was now wearing my "B" cup bras, and there was no room in them for the breast forms. I thrust out, and didn't dare appear in public without a jacket any more. A few times, when Jane and I were out to dinner, or at the club, and we ran into another BiGirl, she'd stare at my chest and grin at me, and I'd smile wanly back. Again, I assumed it was from all the intimate fluids I was happily lapping up each week, but I wasn't going to give up being an honorary BiGirl just because my anatomy was accommodating to my diet. Oddly enough, without my even hinting blackmail or bribery, husbands began to call me in to review their insurance coverage, and then to write some very large policies. Trying to act like a woman at all times got easier. I had grown up from little girl feelings, through big girl's, and I was now being advised to feel and behave always like a grown up young lady. In fact from the way I moved, and got into cars, and so on, I realized that I might look like a faggot to anyone who didn't know I wasn't. It didn't matter to me at all, no more than the inconvenience of having breasts, but I tried to remember not to mince around too much. A Club rule was that a BiGirl who was unoccupied could never refuse another member's request, and I soon took to looking over my ladies of the afternoon like a Pasha, deciding what I wanted to do with each. Anything at all, as long as it was something a woman could do with another. A lot of what was wanted was simple cuddling, gentle consolation when a girl felt blue and just wanted to feel held and loved. I was sometimes one of the women who liked to slow dance together in a room just off the living room, swaying in each other's arms to dreamy music, and gazing into each other's eyes, until their romantic yearnings overwhelmed them and they sank to the floor, their mouths and hands caressing each other passionately, inseparable. Some just wanted to swap intimate gossip about husbands or boyfriends, to complain or boast, and their confidences could get pretty embarrassing. Some wanted a lot more. I found that as my breasts came in, more and more girls began to request my services. It seems that some had originally resented my advantage, that I had their breasts to play with but they didn't have mine, but now they could make up for lost time. Beryl told me some of my sisters had asked if my breasts could be grown even larger, and she asked if I'd agree to some supplementary shots to help. I saw nothing wrong with being the most popular girl on the block, and said so. So I took on even more of a feminine figure. My waist narrowed, my hips widened, and my face softened. Jane began to call me soignee as well as suave, whatever that meant, and we played switch more often than not, on those rare occasions when we found ourselves both in bed and in the mood. It turned out that not even fucking was denied me. In an odd way, I got to hump the girls after all, and a few sometimes wanted my prick as well as my tongue. Sort of. It was the tall blonde, Eden, who worked out how. And that was odd in itself, because Eden was the group's only true Lesbian, who never asked me to pleasure her because, obviously, she still regarded me as a man. She was married, so technically she qualified as bi-sexual, but she was the one who most frequently used strap-on dildos on the other women. The other women used dildos now and then, but obviously most of them preferred being girls during their sexual play, and would rather have it done to them than do it. When I suggested I also use dildos on my fellow clubwomen, Alice said that sentiment was against it so far, because it might cause me to revert to masculinity, and as far as they could see I had now become a perfectly lovely young lady, a joy to take to bed. Still, once I had noticeable breasts they let me forget about my bra and girdle during club meetings, though of course they wanted me to dress more and more like a respectable woman at other times, walking to and from Alice's house with my hair fluffed up just enough to be passable, or driving to town on errands. During our meetings I started to wear maybe only panties or a pretty lace Teddy, or sometimes nothing at all. Lisa was eager to lick my clit while I licked hers, and did it as she had promised me she would that first day. My sex with her remained as delightful as ever. I had long, strong, orgasms that felt more like clenching than spurting, more like a lady's than a man's, and very little fluid ever emerged. About that time, I noticed that my erections were becoming fewer and softer. At BiGirl meetings all danger of inadvertent penetration had ended. I don't think Jane noticed -- she was terrifically busy with lots of commissions pouring in on her just about then, and when I managed to get into her now and then she felt me no more than usual, no more than I felt her. Nor did she notice my breasts either, it seemed. As often as not we saw each other in passing, coming and going, and gave each other shrugs and rueful smiles, and then moved on about our business. Then one Tuesday Alice took me aside. "I don't know how you'll take this, Craig," she said. "But Eden has requested that you bottom for her today."