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New TG: Happening, by Vickie Tern Femdom, Wife, M/F, M/M The characters in this story are all adults who think they know what they're doing but don't. If you aren't legally an adult, you aren't even entitled to know what that is. So pretend you don't know, and don't read this story. HAPPENING by Vickie Tern i. Sometimes you're set up to act out a role in your own life, and you don't even know what the script is. For instance, Bill and Stacy live next door, and they've always been decent neighbors, nice people. He travels a lot and works an irregular schedule, a systems analyst of some sort, and she's an artist, mostly home painting big canvasses or gluing odd combinations of things together. The same thing with us, only in reverse -- Cindy's the last to leave her law office most days, and she's often away elsewhere taking depositions and the like, while I'm home this summer trying finally to finish my novel. Otherwise I'm home a lot anyhow -- I teach writing in our local Community College. It's a pretty good arrangement. Cindy's tough-minded, and likes to see other people hop to her tune, and they do because she brings in most of the firm's and the family's money. I listen to students and strays in my classes and try to help them help themselves. I didn't mind at all when Cindy got real busy and I took over more and more of the housekeeping -- shop and cook, make the beds, do the laundry. I soak my socks, grungy because I don't put my shoes on lots of days, and I soak and hand wash Cindy's unmentionables -- her panties get pretty stained sometimes, some woman thing. I do it all. During the semester I'll prepare classes and write all over whatever the students are writing. And otherwise stare at my computer screen, unhappy with what I read there, and stare at the ceiling and try to imagine better. During the summer that's all I do. So I didn't mind at all when Stacy asked us both over for pot luck a few days ago -- only a few days ago? -- and when I told her Cindy was away on a case she said "Well, come by yourself!" I showed up around five for drinks, and when she announced dinner two hours and a lot of booze later she mentioned that Bill was also away for a couple of days. That made me a little uneasy, alone in a big house with an absolutely gorgeous married woman and all that. Stacy really is a stunner -- tall, with a steeply curved body she covers in a loose sweat shirt and not much else, black hair piled high who knows how, and eyes that seem secretly amused when they look at you. But by the second bottle of wine -- a really great wine, Bill could afford to indulge himself that way -- I'd forgotten it was just the two of us. She asked me how the novel was coming, and I told her about this woman character who wouldn't come clear in my mind, a movie actress with a two-timing boyfriend. I don't know anything about actresses, I said. And Cindy and I don't two-time, or even flirt. So I couldn't imagine how she'd feel, her man getting it on with another woman. Or what she'd want to do about it. Stacy told me she'd done performance art, and happenings, where you arrange so other people act out scenarios and don't even know it, but she didn't know much about actresses. She could help me if the character were an artist, she said, and we were now splashing after-dinner Cognac, so I said, "OK, she's an artist." Next thing I knew we were in Stacy's studio looking at art supplies, odds and ends to mention to give things "verisimilitude" as I tell students. So the story seems real. Then we looked at her most recent paintings, all of them huge lush nudes of herself. Some were of her in heat, offering herself to the viewer. God! Next thing I knew we were in Stacy's bed with our clothes all over elsewhere, humping up a storm, and I wasn't being true to Cindy any more, and I didn't care. We went at each other in a frenzy, all night. Stacy was a shrieker when her orgasms hit, and by morning she'd lost most of her voice. I'd gotten used to sex with Cindy, first some caressing, then a prick inside a pussy, and some affectionate kissing afterward, Cindy always in control. Cindy didn't want my mouth down there ever, she said. "It can get pretty messy when I get all excited," she'd tell me, sharing her secret smile with me, and I'd smile back. She wouldn't take me in her mouth either -- in fact once she told me that pricks are ugly, and deserve to be kept where men always want to put them, in dark places. But Stacy wanted it all, all at once. Well, nearly all. She didn't suck cock either, she said, something about a small mouth and jaw. But almost right away she spread her legs wide open to me, and I got my nose and tongue in there, and almost right away she started trickling and squeezing fluids into my mouth, and arching her back, and going into spasms with her whole body, and screaming from the back of her throat. God it was great! There again was that delicious fermy pussy smell, that sweetly salty flavor I remembered from college! I couldn't get enough of her. When I first began to kiss her bush and improvise little rhythms and sequences of worshipful lovemaking with my lips and tongue, Stacy got up for a moment, stroked my head and said "Don't move," put on some music, lay down again, and again offered her crotch to my face. A classical piece, and I found myself diddling, licking, or swirling her clit, nuzzling, rubbing, or lapping her slit, or pressing, poking, and penetrating deep into her pussy along with different instruments, melodies, chords, and musical notations and structures. She held her breath through an entire tongue and nose fugue, absolutely rapt, unmoving, and later as a cadenza swept through her to climax she was shrieking her joy so hysterically I was afraid she'd lose consciousness. But she gestured, gasping, that no way should I lower my baton. I then pushed it deep between her legs, and then again repeatedly. It went on and on. She'd just barely roll her hips around it, and my craving would build until I couldn't tell who was pushing into who. When I'd squeezed myself out, down went my face into her pussy again, and she'd cry out her delight just anticipating how I'd feel snugged in there again. Hours went by before I'd recovered my cock and could go again, but she didn't care. As long as my lips and tongue could reach into her groin, she'd keep pushing that wonderful slit into my face, and we were both happy. "You're a virtuoso," she murmered at one point. "We'll preserve this much of you at all costs!" Then because I was so incredible with my head between her legs, she said, I should have a reward. As a special treat she wanted me to feel my prick tucked up inside her ass! Well, that was something! It was the softest, tightest little place I've ever been anywhere! Incredible! Then once I was inside there was the strangest rippling sensation! She could make her anal muscles feel like an oiled hand pulling and squeezing on my cock, and so much sweetly agonizing pressure built up in my loins that finally -- it seemed -- I came in buckets! It felt like a faucet at the base of my prick opened wide, and some gigantic hand pulling my hips into her. When I spurted I was utterly spent. It hardly mattered that she then made me lap and suck it all back out of her asshole again -- she said she likes a guy who appreciates her no matter what. It wasn't really different from when she wrapped that delicious pussy around my cock and rocked up and down on me, and I spewed and spewed and couldn't stop, and then licked and sucked our juices out from between her legs. She always seemed to be soaked anyhow! I ended up spending the night and most of the next day with my prick deep in her grasping asshole or else her dripping pussy, when it wasn't lying alongside her drying out and gasping for air while I mopped up with my mouth. Usually, once my face was inside her crotch she wouldn't let me out until she'd come herself two, three times at least, and once she went into a rolling seizure that I thought would never quit. I could scarcely breathe. She had thigh muscles you wouldn't believe, and when I was positioned she'd lock my head in place until she chose to release me, and I could have nothing to say about it anyhow. She'd done a lot of horseback riding, she told me. Riding my face was relaxation for her. By late afternoon the next day her voice was gone, and she could only croak her ecstatic outcries, and my cock was a flap of soft skin too drained and sore to stand for any kind of provocation. Finally my face was red and irritated and my lips were puffy, and my tongue hurt, and I needed a breather. The cocktail hour had come round again, so we sat naked and sipped Bill's terrific wine. "You're a real discovery," she said, looking my face over closely. "We want to take care of that mouth. At least get it insured, the way concert artists insure their hands. You're one of the all-time greats!" That pleased me. You like to feel you're good at what you do. So we got back to the novel I was writing, and talked about how the character with the two-timing boy friend, an artist now, might react when she heard about it, about how some women feel helpless but others want revenge. A woman goes to all that trouble to be attractive for her man, Stacy said, to look sexy, and then her man cheats on her. If I were such a woman, she asked me, how would I feel? I had no idea. I didn't even know how much trouble it was for a woman to look sexy. It seemed to me that Cindy wore suits to the office and jeans at home, and only enough make-up to look respectable, and hardly ever even looked at the one or two provocative dresses she bought only at my urging. "There's no need to attract men if you've already enough to provide what you want," she'd tell me, and I'd take it as a compliment. And she'd joke about how clothes only seem to be in the way anyhow when you're eager, the way we were before we were married. Afterward, our lovemaking got tidy and under the sheets, with our clothing first put away where it belonged. "You don't know how a women sets about seducing a man?" Stacy asked me, a little shocked. "How a woman feels when she's sending out signals and getting responses? We have lots of secrets. Hair, make-up, the way we carry ourselves, how we move. How we dress. The different ways we dress for different purposes, revealing and concealing, always promising more. You don't know how it feels to have that kind of power over a man's desires, to tease him along until he'll do anything for you? You don't know? And you're a writer?" That was a challenge. We were finishing our third bottle of Bill's best Moselle, and feeling increasingly mellow. I could even feel a certain stiffness beginning again down below. "Show me!" I said. She looked at me. "I already have," she said. "Now I'll do better than that. I'll fix it so you know how it feels from the inside out, the way a writer should." She was thoughtful for a moment. "You need something on that face of yours anyhow, where it's all irritated. Though your puffy lips do look kissable just as is -- models pay good money for collagen injections to get that wrap-around-the-cock look! Let's go back to the bedroom." Once back there she made me stand straight and perfectly still. She looked me over and especially checked my pecker -- no longer a wilted worm, but no way engorging. "It'll be a while yet, I see," she said. "We've got time. C'mon!" She suddenly grabbed me by that same pecker and began pulling me toward the bathroom, and I shuffled to keep up with her. She practically threw me into the tub. A half-hour later I was in deep trouble. My skin was perfumed and softened from the bubble bath she'd used, but that wasn't it -- that much would shower off. The problem was, I was hairless. Between shaving my whole body and Nair my skin was as ivory smooth as hers. She'd left a little triangular patch around my cock, like hers around her pussy, pointing down between my legs, but she'd sheared the sides to make a "bikini cut" as she called it. "Think how a high-legged bathing suit can give a guy a hard on," she advised me. ""Or lacy, high-legged panties. I'm going to give you a pair to wear." Well and good, but how could Cindy fail to notice? What could I tell her? I might not be able to show myself naked or sleep with her for a week or two. And what could I say to explain that? Then it got worse. Stacy sat me down and tugged away with tweezers above my eyes, relentlessly, then showed me what she'd done with a hand mirror. No eyebrows! Or hardly any! A thin, high, delicate line tapering to nothing! "Now they're shaped," she said. "Well-groomed. With a little eyebrow pencil they'll be beautiful." She saw my expression. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm sure Cindy will have other things on her mind than worrying about your eyebrows." Cindy often said "I'm sure" too, without any basis for feeling sure. Some things are never sure things. But it was too late, now. "I guess that poor dear face of yours is next," she said. "We have to protect it. The way you tuck that nose into a girl, some day it may be declared a national treasure!" Creams on and off, foundation, a powder puff, a sponge of blush, a thin line of liquid eye-liner, a pencil where I once had eyebrows, a wand of mascara on my eyelashes, and then again more mascara. A lip liner pencil, then lipstick that went smoothly onto my swollen lips, and instantly felt better. Then she asked me to close my eyes, and she sprayed my face several times over with something she said would set all that makeup and protect it, so it wouldn't rub off or run easily. I mentioned that all of these emollients and cremes on my irritated face felt soothing, and she said "That's nice. This is for both of us. I love how your lips feel on my lips, the ones down below. And on your face now they're irresistible." As she started to put my hair up in rollers she reached for my cock, which was starting to swell a little, but not yet stiffen. "All in due time," she said. "Wearing women's make-up turns on some men. I've wondered about you. You do leave your hair a little long for a man. Did you ever want to be a girl? You're about to get your wish." She finished setting rollers onto each hair-spray soaked strand, then a few minutes later unrolled them and touched my head here and there with a brush. "There now," she said. "See for yourself what it's like to look sexy. See how it feels." She stood me up and guided me over to the large mirror alongside her bedroom door. I was a little shocked when I saw myself. My body was utterly bare, and my face was now a girl's face. There was scarcely anything visible of the rumpled man who'd come to dinner the previous day. What I saw was what she had said about my new eyebrows. My face was well groomed, neat, suave. Perfect. My reflection looked back at me, a sweet-mouthed girl wide-eyed in her innocence. It seemed wrong that I didn't have breasts. Unaccountably, my cock rose to full attention and then stood there. I turned me on! "That's how a sexy woman feels," Stacy said. "C'mon. Let's enjoy it!" We did. She lay back on the bed, and I dipped my aroused cock into her slick, honeyed pussy again, until we were twisting our groins against each other. She grasped my head with both hands, fingers twined into my curls, and held my face over hers, gently. "Oh, yes!" she whispered, "Yes! You're just lovely!" I picked up the pace and lunged my tongue into her mouth with greater and greater ferocity. "Yes!" she said when she could. She shuddered uncontrollably, then a few minutes later again, before I finally reached my climax and squirted deep into her, and finally we caught our breaths and I dismounted. "You didn't scream this time," I said. "No," she replied. "I'm saving my voice. I'll need it later. But it was just beautiful. You're a doll!" Then she scurried her rear off the edge of the bed, her pussy clear of the sheets, her legs spread wide and her feet braced on the carpet. She leaned back on her elbows and looked at me. "Now eat me, lover!" she almost hissed. "Eat me, you doll-faced beauty! You sweetheart!" "Won't it ruin my make-up?" I asked almost without thinking. Then I realized what I had said and grinned. How thoroughly feminine! "We'll fix it, precious girl!" Stacy said. "Just eat me! Please!" So I knelt between her thighs and did, once again, looking up the whole time into her sleek eyes with what I knew was my own teenage, round-eyed, girlish innocence. She looked down into mine, her mouth set in its mysterious half-smile. My mouth was invisible to her, buried in her snatch, and my tongue was far inside her. Now and then she reached down to smooth one of my curls, or to twist it onto a finger. I sucked my own cum from deep inside her as usual, and it flowed into my mouth almost immediately, and I swallowed it, but she kept me mouthing her clit and tonguing her pussy for a while longer, and her body tensed and shuddered twice more as I slurped and lapped at her, before finally she opened her thighs and released me. She then made my face perfect again, as doll-faced as before. "You beautiful thing," she said. "How can anyone resist you? Don't you feel pretty?" I had to admit I felt pretty good. Stacy then rummaged through an upper drawer in her bureau, tossing lingerie out and muttering "Now where did I put them, that day I found them in our bed. Oh yes, here!" She hauled out a pale blue bra and handed it to me. "This one doesn't fit me. Have you ever tried to wear one of these?" she said. "No way!" I said. "Stacy, that's enough now! What are you doing?" She paused just a moment, dangling from one finger a matching pair of pale blue panties, also of some shiny satiny material, and she said with great deliberation, "We were talking about how a woman feels when she knows she's attractive but her man goes roaming anyhow. You're writing about a sexy woman artist who's been betrayed by her boy friend, and you haven't a clue. You asked me to show you. No more complaints now, or this little lesson ends, and you'll never get your book written!" She glanced down to my lap, where my cock was again still recovering. I realized she was prepared to send me home, and I wasn't finished with this wonderful woman's sweet body. She did have things yet to teach me. "How does this thing work?" I asked her, holding up the brassiere. At first it felt like an elastic band clamped around my chest, but after a few minutes it was more like two hands, each fastened to a breast, each grasping the skin around each nipple and pulling it up into what I saw was a small mound. "Not bad," Stacy said. "It's a beginning, anyhow. Touch the nipples." They hardened, and Stacy smiled, and said nothing. Then the matching hi-leg panties slid slick against my skin and framed the edge of my pubic hair. "Get used to both of them," she told me. "They're a woman's heavy artillery." This was not a moment to tell her I didn't want to. I glanced again in the mirror. Under the inquiring innocence of my face, my body was now challenging, even seductive in that shiny satin bra and those lacy panties. I should reduce my waistline, I thought idly. And she wasn't finished with me yet! "Now lets go to your place. I have no dresses here that fit you, but you're just about Cindy's size I'm pretty sure, so we'll look in her closet!" I started in under the bed and among the tumbled bedclothes, trying to find the pants and shirt and sneakers I'd put on to attend her pot-luck dinner yesterday, and then taken off I couldn't remember where. Nothing visible anywhere. "Never mind," she said. "Wear this." She handed me a velour men's bathrobe, Bill's I guess, to cover my body in its bra and panties when we crossed through our two front yards. I put on the bathrobe and tied it. She shrugged a dress onto her shoulders and tied it around her waist, and suddenly it draped into place on her figure and looked elegant. Then she barely paused to step into a pair of high heels on her way out the door. Once outside, I was very much aware that the face above my men's bathrobe was a girl's face. As long as no one could tell it's me, I thought to myself. "I'd lend you a negligee, but mine wouldn't fit you, I'm afraid," Stacy said, "And anyhow you might get arrested wearing one on the sidewalk." In our house she headed straight upstairs, and when I brought up a pitcher of Margaritas and salt-edged glasses I saw that she had been busy in our bedroom. She'd laid out on the bed a wisp of lace and froth I saw was one of Cindy's slips, and one of Cindy's most fetching cocktail dresses, black silk, cut low in the bodice, long and slinky. Now she was rummaging in our closet for matching heels. "I knew you were about Cindy's size," she said. "There you go, lover. Take off that bathrobe and put these on. We're going out for dinner. We're going to celebrate your new feelings, and maybe some men'll hit on us tonight and we'll both get lucky. You'll need to know how that feels, how married girls are tempted by other men, and how it feels when your own man is tempted! Which reminds me, is that limp thing of yours ready for another dip,, or should we just go?" Out!? In public!? Where men would think I'm a woman? Or worse, would realize I wasn't? My heart leaped up and pounded against my ribs! I was suddenly terrified, and I began to tremble! What is this woman doing?! If my face weren't so heavily covered by make-up, I knew I'd be stricken pale. "Stacy, I can't possibly go out and meet men yet," I said in a tiny voice, trying not to sound helpless. "I'm not pretty enough!" When I realized what I had really just said, a huge rush of blood came to my cheeks, and like any schoolgirl I started blushing! "Your voice is perfect! Keep it that way!" she replied. Then, "That's sweet! You're blushing! It's wonderful for your complexion. I heard you! You do want to feel attractive! Isn't it a wonderful feeling? Let's just freshen you up a bit more!" She leaned over me with more mascara, and while I looked up at her wide-eyed she slathered more on my lashes. Now that we were in my house, mine and Cindy's, I began to feel edgy again. "Not too much," I said. "Cindy'll may figure that something's been going on." "Don't worry about Cindy. Just make a mouth." I opened wide and stretched my lips as instructed, and Stacy stroked fresh creamy red onto my upper lip. "There," she said. "That's one of Cindy's 'kissable' lipsticks. The color won't come off for days, they say. That's what we want. Now press!" I pressed my lips together the way she'd shown me earlier. "Pretty!" she said. "We do want you to feel especially pretty tonight. You just said so yourself. And now you are! Shall we finish that pitcher of Margaritas?" ii. A half-hour later I was frightened to death, but standing very still next to Stacy as the Maitre d' greeted her by name. We were in one of the best restaurants in town, one with pale purple tablecloths and napkins to match, and waiters in wing collars. It was crowded with well-dressed men and elegant women, and all of the women seemed to have long, tapering, graceful fingers tipped in red. I realized mine were no way feminine, and Stacy was amused to see me repeatedly stroke my silken hips, feeling for pockets to hide them in. I clutched tightly the empty purse she had handed me as a prop as we left the house. "My treat, lover" she said. "All my treat!" The Maitre d' found a name on a reservations list. "The private dining room," he said. "Will M'Sieur join you soon?" "No Andre," Stacy replied. "Mine is a different reservation in my own name. I'm here tonight with my friend." "I see," he said, his expression suddenly impassive. He turned and led us to an excellent table in the middle of the main dining room. "Swish, dear," Stacy said to me as we followed him between the tables. "And flap your wrists a lot. Small steps. Push out your breasts as far as they'll go. You're just lovely. Feel lovely. I'll order for us." Those were her only instructions to me in the art of femininity. But I was certainly beginning to know how it felt. Men at different tables eyed my body as I went by them, not once pausing in their conversations. I worried how a woman fends one of them off. Then I smiled to myself. Plenty had fended me off before I'd met Cindy. I nibbled. I was much too nervous to eat anything. I kept glancing sideways in every direction, looking to see if anyone was staring, fearful that someone might recognize me under my lacquered face and curled hair, seeing with incredulity that there was Cindy's husband gussied up in one of her dresses, out on the town with another woman. Once I thought I saw Bill's back rounding the bar and heading for the men's room, and I felt a pang in my vitals. Here I was dining with his wife and pretending to be a woman! He'd have to suspect something. I'd never survive the humiliation! When I looked at Stacy, I saw her looking toward the bar too, with a gleam in her eye. But half the people there looked like half the people I know, and none of them were. I hoped. Once a man Stacy knew paused and stood at our table and made brief small talk, and glanced at me, then left. Then as I thankfully watched him go, another suddenly sat down next to me with his arm over the back of my chair, and leaned toward Stacy to tell her Bill had called him about a big score this trip, and that he was heading home. "I'd heard," was all Stacy replied. The man then looked appreciatively at me, and I looked down modestly from under my crusted mascara eyelashes. I was trembling again! Stacy introduced me as her sister, saying to me, "Sissy, this is Tim, a client of Bill's." "I'm happy to meet any of Stacy's sisters," he said, and he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. He prolonged the pressure of his shaved cheek against mine, and enclosed one of my hands in both of his. I tried to tug away, but couldn't. His after-shave lingered. "You're as beautiful as she is. Will you be in town long, Sissy? I'd love to show you around." Stacy rescued me when I didn't dare reply. Maybe she rescued me. "Of course, Tim," she said. "Sissy loves seeing all kinds of things. But you should know that she's taken." "Well, I'm taken with Sissy," Tim said as he stood up and leaned down, and in a single smooth movement placed one hand gently behind my neck so I couldn't back off and kissed me full on the lips as if he'd aimed for a cheek and missed. He pressed his tongue in on me, licking and feeling for an opening. In my shock I raised both hands to try to fend him off, and was horrified to find he'd placed his crotch just where the back of one hand stroked it and then couldn't move away. He was quite hard! He pressed in on that trapped hand, and then finally released me. "I'm delighted, Sissy," he said with a smile that was almost a smirk. "I'll call very soon." And he weaved away among the other tables. I had held my breath the whole time he was seated, and was now breathless. Stacy seemed to be delighted. "An ardent gentleman does bring out the passion in a girl," she said. "I saw you reach for his cock! But you're not yet ready for that. You look ripe, but you don't quite know enough. You really do need first to feel royally fucked. You will, don't worry." There were no other incidents, and I almost began to enjoy sitting in a fine restaurant with my arms bare, a long silk skirt caressing my knees, my hair curled to look as fetching as any other woman's. I mentioned this to Stacy, and she nodded. "I knew you would," was all she said. We got back to my house relatively early. I found my pecker fully recovered, so we went straight back to the bedroom, and without bothering even to slip off my dress or heels I lifted my skirt and pulled aside my panties and pushed into Stacy yet again. I held back for as long as I could, but all the while it felt like rocketing to another planet. Stacy's voice had recovered its pitch and volume, and again she screamed and shrieked through several orgasms. Then when I finally came, without a pause she twisted and lay back on the bed with both of her legs spread wide over the bed's edge, the side toward the far wall, motioning for me to kneel between her knees between the bed and the wall and once again let her pussy know how affectionate I felt. I did. I snugged in and devotedly French kissed her clit and her slit, licking trickles of my own cum from her lower lips as she squeezed it out of her. She rested each thigh lightly on each of my shoulders, knees tucked behind my neck, and then locked her ankles into the small of my back. Then using only her leg muscles, she squeezed my mouth tightly into her quim. I found I was locked in there, my head immovable, bound and gagged, my tongue trapped deep in that sweet cunt. So I slurped still more cum out of her, along with her own delicate juices. I looked up over her mound and into her eyes, I suppose a little soulfully, with my wide, innocent doll's eyes, my high, thin eyebrows, and my curly hair squeezed and tumbling over my ears. I must really look cute to her, I thought. I saw that this time, as she leaned back on her elbows and looked down at me, she seemed positively triumphant. "Suck on me, darling Sissy," she said. "Suck deep. Think about nothing but our mouths joined into one mouth!" I needed no urging. I continued to look up at her earnestly while my mouth performed heroically, plumbing the last dregs out of her gorgeous pussy and then dancing arabesques and minuets on her clit, and she looked down, satisfied, even gleeful, her crotch alternatively tensing and relaxing into my face. Suddenly the bedroom door opened and light from the hallway streamed onto us! I shifted my gaze. There, framed in the doorway and silhouetted against the light was a woman's figure, standing quite still! Cindy's! The dark apparition held there unmoving, one hand still on the doorknob. I looked at the deep shadowy area under her close-cut hairdo, where her face should be. Blackness. She stood stone still, not even moving her head, and I realized that the light from the doorway had to be full in my face. There I was, curly hair high above Stacy's groin, my mouth crammed deep into her pussy, my nose snugged into her bush, my mascara-coated eyes staring blindly at the black shadow in the doorway, my eyebrows raised, as it were, in supplication. The figure of Cindy said nothing. It just stood there. "NMMMMM, MMMNNNNNNNNNN!" I said as I tried to heave my shoulders, to break loose, to warn Stacy that we had been discovered, to push her to release me. I needed now to stand and take the full measure of this disaster! Surely Stacy saw that light from the hallway was pouring in on our dark privacy. Could she see that black figure looking at us? Stacy's back was to the door, and she seemed if anything to strain her thighs all the more firmly to hold me to my knees, my head clamped even more firmly into the fork of her crotch. The pressure muffled even incoherent cries from far inside my throat. I glanced at her face. She was still looking down at me, and she wore the same triumphant expression, as if she'd just achieved a glorious victory, or a glorious orgasm. Or both. After an eternity, the shadow suddenly cried out a loud, furious "You!" It was Cindy's voice! Then she stepped back into the hallway and pulled the door shut after her with a slam. The room was suddenly dark again. I lurched to my feet despairing! Stacy kept her legs on my shoulders as if reluctant to yield the moment, then almost lazily slipped them off, one at a time, and then relaxed back on the bed, still propped up by her elbows, watching me almost casually. "She meant me when she said that, lover. Not you. But you're going downstairs to plead with her now, aren't you." She spoke in an almost friendly tone of voice. "Fix your lipstick first. You'll make a better impression. I'll gather up my things and be on my way now. It's been fun, my sweet Sissy! Nothing personal, mind you." I hesitated, and now looked down at Stacy, horrified. I realized that as she'd advised it I actually almost did pause to fix my lipstick. Had I gone insane? Should I at least pause to change out of my dress? Cindy's dress? What for? She'd seen me! Her freak feminized husband, his face nursing on another woman's pussy! Time was crucial now! She'd be out the door in another moment, and I'd never see her again, except maybe when my alimony payments came late. What would any lawyer do to an unfaithful husband caught like this, flagrantly performing obscene oral sex on another woman in his own wife's bed. Dressed like a pervert! What couldn't Cindy do? My ruined marriage! Think of the glee in the tabloids alone! My ruined life! "Aaaaaarrrgghhh!" A disembodied cry of despair out of my own throat! No time for that! I vaulted over the bed, long skirt and all, and then raced out of the room and down the stairs, still in my high heels I realized when I was part way down! Cindy's high heels! And flounced and tripped down the stairs! I had to stop her from leaving! I listened for the sound of a car door slamming out in the driveway, a motor starting. Nothing yet! Then when I got to the foot of the stairs and stepped into the living room, I was dumbfounded. There she was, seated on the couch, looking quite calmly at me, not a hair out of place, holding a squat tumbler nearly full of what I recognized was a Perfect Bourbon Manhattan on ice, her favorite drink for unwinding at the end of a day. She was wearing the white blouse she often wore under a tailored suit, one that decorously revealed her femininity, her bra and slip straps, but otherwise revealed nothing. I saw that when she'd come in, she'd taken off her suit jacket and laid it neatly folded across the back of a chair near the fireplace. Its matching skirt was tucked primly under her as she sat there and then, without breaking eye contact with me, lifted her drink and sipped at it. Next to her on the couch, forming a cozy couple with her, sat Bill. He too looked calm, at his ease. In fact he looked at me with a certain bemused curiosity, as if there were nothing much to think about encountering a man in a living room wearing full-scale women's regalia, hairdo and all, lipstick smeared from an hour's passionate lovemaking with Stacy, his wife, his neighbor's wife, having earlier fucked her ass. He too was taking a first sip at a drink, something amber on the rocks. I had a mad thought, that he must have been fixing those drinks calmly while Cindy was upstairs standing still in the doorway, and had handed Cindy hers without comment when she arrived back downstairs to sit and await me tumbling after. Another mad thought, these might even be refills. They may well have been here for a while, drinking their first after-dinner drink and listening to Stacy shriek, waiting for an appropriate moment for Cindy to go upstairs and show herself. There was an ice bucket on the side table directly in my line of sight! Was the ice in it partly melted? Would I be utterly insane to go look? Would it matter? Then yet another mad thought careened out of my head -- I must look a mess -- I do look a mess -- and I realized I really was going crazy. I had to seize the initiative, at least try to contain this catastrophe! "Cindy!" I cried out to her. I decided to ignore Bill altogether. At this moment, with me in a dress and his wife upstairs in my bed, even a simple nod to acknowledge his presence wouldn't serve. "Cindy!" I began again. I had no idea what would next follow, but I knew I'd think of something. I'd have to think of something! I had no opportunity to find out what. "Not another word!" Cindy said distinctly. She looked perfectly calm, but her voice was like ringing steel. I was stopped in my tracks, and just stood there. "Not another word, Sissy!" "To begin with," Cindy then said, her voice still sharp-edged, "you look a mess! I won't have my husband looking like some street tart after a hard night! Go back upstairs and fix yourself up! Don't change a thing, not a thing, do you hear? But arrange your hair properly and fix your face! And get that woman's pussy juice off it! And your own cum, if that's what that crusty stuff is on your cheeks! You're disgusting! Then come back down here. I want to look you over, and maybe tell you how you can save our marriage, and maybe save the rest of your life from ruin, if those things are of any interest to you." Absolutely addled, I went back upstairs. Stacy was still lying on the bed, propped up by pillows, dressed now, looking at me as I came in and awkwardly went over to Cindy's makeup table, where we'd left a few cosmetics. I realized I should wash my face first, carefully so as not to disturb the coatings of cosmetics underneath. "I told you you should fix your lipstick," she said. I didn't reply. I'd been set up, absurdly, ludicrously, utterly set up, and I didn't know why, and I didn't know what to think about it, and I didn't what to do about it. I was fucked! Royally fucked! Stacy had just told me at dinner that I would be, and I hadn't heard a word of it! But right now I had to do what Cindy told me to do or I'd lose everything. I took a moist cleansing tissue and blotted my face, then wiped some smeared mascara off my cheek, then replaced my lipstick as neatly as I knew how. I pressed my lips together to blend it, then blotted it on a tissue, and touched my hair a few times with my fingers, and then went back downstairs. Through the whole ritual Stacy watched me wordlessly. I didn't dare look at her the whole time. "That's better," Cindy said. "I see you decided to wear my black silk tonight. Very becoming. You'd better be careful with it -- its one of my favorites, and I bought it for myself, even though I've scarcely worn it. The same with those heels." "Cindy, listen!" I began. She continued as if I'd said nothing. "Listen closely, because I'm going to say this only once. Tonight you are up the creek, and I have the paddle. Tonight you will take off that dress and those shoes and then without hesitating even to take a sweater from the hall closet you will walk out of this house and I will never see you again. You can keep whatever you're wearing underneath, but you'll take nothing else at all. You'll then get a lawyer, but it won't matter. I'll see to it that for the rest of your life your standard of living is one handout away from starvation on skid row. There's the door. It isn't locked. All you have to do is walk through it." She paused. I knew what she said was true. It was over! Then she said, "But!" I heard her. There was more! Maybe it wasn't over! I stood absolutely still, listening. Bill seemed only half-attentive. He pulled at his drink, and his eyes began to scan our small collection of VCR movie tapes across the room on the bookcase. I waited. I didn't dare breathe. "There is an alternative. Tonight and for the foreseeable future you will beg my forgiveness. Not with words. With a contrite and loving heart. With a desire to make amends. With absolute, unquestioning obedience to my least whim. With utterly selfless devotion to whatever I desire." I didn't understand what she was talking about. Cindy and I had had a sharing marriage. We'd cared about each other, I thought, and we'd always accommodated to each other's desires. Mostly. How was this different?" "I'll ask you to do things you may find embarrassing. Humiliating. Maybe loathsome. I have some in mind. You'll do them. Not reluctantly, but gladly. With no discussion. Do you understand me? Gladly!" I waited a moment. Then I said, deeply depressed, "Yes, I understand you. We've had a two-way marriage. Now you want it one-way or no way. For how long?" She smiled at me with no warmth. "I want it my way, or no way. For as long as there's that door, and you can walk through it and walk away, and let your lawyer deal with me." I heard her. I didn't move. 'This thing you've been doing with Bill's wife, with Stacy. As far as you're concerned it was utterly unprovoked by me or by Bill, by anything we were doing separately or collectively, or by anything either of us had previously done to you, or to anyone else, wasn't it? With no sense of grievance against us? You freely entered into it of your own will, didn't you? While of sound mind?" What could I say? "Yes," I said. "To gratify your own uncontrollable and perverted lust?" "Yes." "And how long has this been going on now?" "Since yesterday." "Since yesterday." Cindy looked me up and down, and a slight smile crossed the corners of her mouth. "She made pretty rapid progress with you, didn't she? In another day or two she'd have had you cruising bars and earning money on your knees or your back. Isn't that true?" I didn't want to contradict her. "Maybe," I said. "Maybe," Cindy repeated. "Maybe it would have taken more than a day or two to transform you from a dull husband into a slut whore, maybe even as long as a week. But I think less, from what I see in front of me right now. My husband the penitent pervert looking sorrowful while wearing one of my best dresses. No, not really penitent. Only sorry he got caught." Suddenly she relaxed and took another sip of her drink. "Bill doesn't make these mixed drinks as well as you do," she said. "Empty this one and make me one of yours, please" I took her glass. I couldn't think! "Bill's glass is about empty. He's drinking scotch and water, I think. Bring him another too." No problem there. That's merely being a host. Though I didn't invite him here this evening, Cindy did. What for? Had he heard Stacy's screaming from next door, and come to inquire? He didn't look like any jealous husband I've ever imagined or heard of, not at the moment. During my interrogation he'd gotten up and walked over to our collection of art books on the bookcase alongside the VCR, and at this very moment he was idly turning the pages of one of them, as if bored. Was that VCR light on? And on the camera above it? Recording what?! "Then go upstairs and change the sheets on our bed. I suppose you and Stacy have been mussing them up. Well, Bill and I are tired. We've had a long day. Send Stacy home, and tell her 'Thank you' from us. She may not understand. You can thank her for yourself too, I suppose, if you feel like it. Then come back down and let us know when our bedroom is ready." I had to take this new revelation one step at a time. First the drinks. I brought them each another drink. Then I went upstairs. Stacy was gone, out the back way I suppose. When I had remade the bed with clean sheets and set my cosmetics apart from Cindy's on the dressing table, I went back down. Cindy and Bill were together again on the couch, but this time Cindy had stripped off her skirt, blouse, and shoes. Wearing only a flimsy slip much like mine, she was curled into Bill's arms on his lap, her legs spilled over onto our couch, holding him close with her arms around his neck. He was leaning over her and kissing her, deep, his tongue apparently way inside her mouth, and her mouth clinging to his. They paid no attention to me. Cindy moaned, and reached down to unzip Bill's fly, and Bill released her mouth and leaned back to unbuckle his pants and lower them a little. Then, my God! What cock flesh! It kept coming! Higher and thicker each moment, a huge pink tube, then it grew to resemble the thick end of a baseball bat! Was that what all this was about? Her hand held it delicately, and her fingers stroked it as if with feathers, and they returned to kissing and tonguing each other. It grew even more huge, already too large for her to close her hand on it, but she stroked and petted it like some familiar, loved domestic animal. A gleaming pearl appeared at its tip. Finally I must have caught the corner of Cindy's eye. This time she acted playful. "Oh, there you are again, my dear. My lovely Sissy dear, in your lovely dress, with your lovely innocent face. Sleep in the guest room tonight, Sissy dear. Or down here if you wish. If you're still in this house tomorrow morning, it will be because you mean to stay on my terms, and we'll discuss more of them." She returned to kissing Bill, and to caressing his cock, no longer interested in me. I turned and went back upstairs into the guest room, and took off my dress and hung it neatly in the guest room closet. I couldn't think. I'd gotten almost no sleep the previous night, I recalled. I don't even remember getting into bed. During the middle of the night I suddenly woke up. It was pitch black, and there was no sound anywhere in the house. I thought of getting up and at least turning on a light, then I thought better of it. I stared into the blackness for a long while. Then I must have gone back to sleep. When I woke up the next morning the sun was already high, and I could hear Cindy in the kitchen. For some reason I thought she'd be angry if I went into our bedroom for a change of clothing, so I came down dressed the way I'd gone to bed. She was seated at the breakfast table holding a cup of coffee in both hands, wearing Bill's velour bathrobe, the one I'd used to cover myself coming from Stacy's house. I must have left it in our bedroom. She was reading the morning paper. She looked up at me. "Well, I see you're still here," she said. "Bill's already gone to his office. Don't sit down. Where did you get that bra and panty set you're wearing? I've been missing them for months." "From Stacy. From her underwear drawer. She said they didn't fit her, but they might fit me, so I could have them." "Yes," Cindy said. "So that's where they've been. I suppose I left them at Bill's a few months ago, that time we were both in a hurry to make a plane. I suppose Stacy found them and figured things out. And bided her time. I've been wondering how she knew." I just stood there, feeling vaguely that I hadn't yet been dismissed. "So she used you to send me a message. That two can play at husband-stealing. To even the score. In fact, to ruin you in the process, to emasculate you in my eyes before she gave you back to me. Cute. She did it, too. I can't think of you as a man now. Look at yourself." She looked up at me, steadily, examining my face for signs of disagreement. I was still absorbing what she had just said. My wife has been fucking Bill for a few months, at least. So Stacy set me up, just as I'd figured last night. She really fucked me! The artist with the two-timing husband turned out to be an actress after all! The whole time I was blissfully dipping into her ass and her cunt and sucking on both, she was getting even with Cindy! But we're all even now, in a way! Not me and Cindy fuck for fuck, there she still owes me, lots of them! Why does she act as if I owe her? "I'd wondered why she wanted to be seated at that center table at Andre's," Cindy continued, now thinking aloud to herself. "In full view of everybody,. Bill saw Stacy perched there center stage the moment we came in, of course, and asked me who you were. I recognized my black silk right away, sitting there with you inside it. Then we both saw you making out with that man in full view of everybody. Have you slept with him yet? No opportunity yet I suppose." She paused for a moment and glanced at me with a gleam in her eye, amused, as if she'd just thought of something else to say but then thought better of it. "I don't know why she didn't just take out an ad," she said partly to herself. "When we pulled into the driveway last night her shrieking could be heard half way down the block. She was obviously taking no chances we'd miss out on knowing what you two were doing." Then Cindy looked up at me directly. "You're here, so you're eager to please me. I'm afraid you get no breakfast -- you slept through it. Now go back upstairs and shower. Your pretty ass is mine, now. Light make-up for today, and you'll have to do something with your hair until we can get you a perm. The bra and panties are yours from now on -- you can wear them one more day, but rinse them out tonight, and maybe tomorrow we'll buy you more. I left out a blouse and skirt for you on our bed -- Bill's bed and mine -- and you can wear my sneakers today until you're properly outfitted, with sensible shoes for what you'll be doing. Then when you're dressed and tidy, unpack my bags and put the dirty clothes in the laundry. Put my panties in to soak." She smiled to herself, still eying me steadily. "You once asked about those dried stains on my panties, and I was a little vague, it's a female thing, I said? I suppose it was. Cum leaking out of me, mostly. You see dear, I've never thought you were much of a man. Almost since we were first married I've been getting myself laid when I could, between classes, in the supply room at the office, wherever I could. Then after I first saw Bill's cock last New Year's, it was wherever and whenever the two of us could arrange to meet, daily when we were both in town. Several times daily. Usually with no chance for me to clean up afterward. So I'd never let you lick me down there when we made love. Even you might have caught on. But now there's no reason why I shouldn't use you the way Stacy did. To judge by what I saw last night, you're starved to suck cum from pussies anyhow. So that'll be one of your duties from now on, and you won't need to put my panties in to soak any more." All this time I just stood there in her lacy slip and pale blue underwear and listened, a little awkwardly, feeling like a fool. I was a fool. But I had to ask. "Cindy, I can't see why you're angry with me. You tell me you've been sleeping around. I've been faithful to you, except for yesterday, and the day before too I guess. So how can you feel I've cheated on you? "You didn't know I was sleeping around," she said, a little bored that it needed explaining. "So you had no excuse. You did it all by yourself. With Stacy's help, of course. But you're thinking about this the wrong way. This isn't a matter of moral or legal equity. Of fair treatment for both parties, what you would call getting even and then calling it quits. No, not at all." She set down her coffee cup and placed both palms flat on the table, and looked up at me with her back arched into a taut bow. This was her lecture and instruction mode. "It's a matter of what I want and what I can get. Now I've got you by the balls, and you've got nothing at all. I have witnesses at Andre's, and up and down the block, including Stacy if I need to depose her, and I have videotape of your statement last night, and I have your ridiculous appearance, and now there's also the fact that you lack the guts to walk away and wait for me to crush you, as I would. I learned in law school, when someone's balls drop into your hand, squeeze." She paused. "Or better, yet, cut them off." I was now very uneasy, but I kept going. "I see now why Stacy got me up to look like this," I said. "To show she could, to use me to mock you. But why do you want me to stay dressed like this? To show Stacy that you don't mind, she did you a favor emasculating me? To punish and humiliate me? To keep me in a kind of subservience?" "My, my! Questions! Those are the last you'll ever ask me, Sissy! From now on, as I told you, you'll do whatever I ask gladly, with your whole soul and no questions at all. But I'll answer these, because you already know the answers. 'Yes' so Stacy understands she's done me a favor, putting you into my bra and panties. 'Yes' to punish and humiliate you for betraying your vow to me to be true and faithful. People don't break their promises to me. 'Yes' to keep you subservient in a way. Not because to be a woman is to be subservient. But because that's what you'll be. Your old life is over! In my eyes you're no longer a man, so we'll see if as a woman you can be sufficiently servile." "There's a fourth reason too. Bill and I discussed it last night after we got back from Andre's, while we were finishing our first round of drinks and waiting for Stacy to finish her screaming. We hadn't figured on Stacy putting you into a dress. Who'd have thought her that ingenious? You're quite presentable, you know. Bill even thinks you're kind of cute. So there's something else I'll expect you to do. You'll find out tonight." "You can walk out any time, dear. Then your... er... inclinations will become part of the public record, and I'll see to it every man in town thinks you've been a whore for some time now. With alimony payments, you'll spend the rest of your life deprived of necessities in order to pay for my luxuries. Or if you actually do decide to become a whore, I'd take no more than a pimp would from your earnings, though no less. You could get your tits blown up, and have a few good years. But that's up to you." She lost interest in me. Her eyes glazed over, and she picked up her coffee cup again and returned to her newspaper. "I think you have work to do around the house, and I have to get to the office now," she said. "Light make-up, remember. I don't want a slut keeping house for me." I felt dismissed. I turned to leave, and she didn't notice. iii. By that afternoon I'd waxed and polished and dusted and washed everything I could think of, and then after a moment's thought set the dining room table for dinner for only two, and a place for myself in the kitchen. Do it Cindy's way. I then went next door to talk to Stacy, to find out what she understood, to look for some less ruinous way out of this predicament. Or at least to get some advance word what Cindy and Bill might be thinking of for me. Maybe work out an alliance -- we both had long-term unfaithful spouses, after all. I was wearing the blouse and skirt Cindy'd laid out of course, and light make-up -- I wouldn't dare not. I found Stacy in her studio, painting yet another portrait of herself nude. "Oh, hi," she said, preoccupied. She only half-listened as I told her how Cindy and her husband had reacted to this brief thing of ours. "Stacy," I said. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me!" "Lust, Sissy dear," Stacy replied. "Sincere lust. That was the most sincere tongue I've ever felt moving inside me." She studied her canvas. "And it was fun! Do you like this? It's for you, you know. Cindy wants to hang it in the guest room, the servant's room from now on, yours, so you'll be reminded why you're there. And, I imagine, so you can have something to look at when you need to masturbate. Otherwise she means to keep you celibate. It's nice to think I'll still be helping you get off!" She blended brush strokes on her portrait's hairy twat, and continued. "She commissioned it from me this morning. Do you like these highlighted skin tones on my labia, their puffy appearance? I was thinking about the way your lips looked after an hour of kissing mine. Puffy, the same way. And I'm rather pleased with the shiny trickle here from my pussy down my thigh. I'm trying to paint myself the way I felt when we ended our affair last night, well-fucked." "Stacy, I'm well-fucked right now!" "Yes," she said, mixing up a swirl of pink pigment, "I suppose you are." "You made a sucker out of me!" She paused and glanced at me for a moment, and then a smile lit up her whole face. "Yes, I surely did!" she said. "You were just wonderful! You have a great talent! Rest assured, it will not go to waste!" She then resumed stroking curves onto her likeness on the canvas. I tried a different tack altogether. "Stacy, what does she have in mind for me?" Now she stopped and studied me closely for a moment. "You do know why Bill decided to live in your house for now, don't you, and to leave me to this one if I want it? "No. But I can guess." "No, you can't guess. It isn't just to sleep all night with your wife, though he will I suppose. Nor to leave me, his unfaithful wife, to my lonely fate. Cindy thinks that's why. But she's no big deal to sleep with, as you should know. And he'll be fucking me anyhow, as usual." "Then why?" She returned to her painting, lifting and lowering her right arm in sinuous sweeping motions, her right breast rising and falling each time. It was a very delicate effect. Her arm and her breast in motion I mean, not what she was painting. She glanced at me again. "If you're going to get hard-ons watching me while wearing a skirt," she said. "You'd better gaff yourself. Try gaffing tape. It hurts but it works. Sanitary napkins in your panties are good too for covering the genital mounds of ladies who sport cocks and balls where they should have smooth pussies." She looked at my erection again. "You've got to soften up and stow it, lover, or else whack off!" I figured our conference had ended. I started back toward the door. "See you tonight!" she said without turning her head. "What?!" "Oh, of course you don't know. I'm in this too!" "In what?" "See you!" she said. She began tipping her portrait's nipples with rosy highlights. Now they looked good enough to eat. Bill came home first and hung his suit jacket in our front hall closet, then settled into the living room with the evening paper. I figured, cover all bets. So I came in carrying a scotch on the rocks for him. He glanced at me at first as if I were furniture. Then he saw the scotch. "Well, that's promising," he said. "Without my even asking. You want me to put in a good word for you with your wife, don't you, for whatever you think she has in mind. Well, I will. Don't worry. What she has in mind, between us, incidentally, is dressing you to look like a woman until you get to believe that's what you are. Among other things. Nice hairdo, uh, Sissy is it? But you could do with some jewelry. Oh, I'd like a splash of club soda with this too, please, and a little more ice." He handed it back to me, and I got him what he wanted. Cindy came home soon after, carrying a package she'd picked up on the way home. A serviceable gray cotton work dress, calf-length, a frilly white apron, black pantyhose, black low-heeled pumps, and a white starched fringe of lace that was supposed to sit in my hair. "Here, dear," she said, looking quickly around. "The house looks lovely. Now put these on, and when it's ready serve us dinner. And remember, whenever you're wearing this uniform, you address me as 'Ma'am' at all times. I'll call you by your given name, which is 'Sissy' and nothing else. Forget your past name and your past life. And for goodness sake, Sissy, it's getting to be dark outside! After five in the afternoon wear more eye makeup, and a darker lipstick! Where's your self-respect?" She then went in to chat with Bill in a low voice. I went to my room to change, and then served them both dinner. It was irritating, seeing Bill lean back in my chair making familiar conversation with my wife while I stood back, occasionally refilling a wine glass or handing one of them a plate. He tried to look up my dress once, amused, I think to tease me. But he was always courteous when he asked for anything. Cindy was blunt and sometimes insulting. I resented it. Other men's cum had been dripping into her panties for years, and I'd been soaking and rinsing it out for her, and she begrudged me my one lapse! But she was right. Justice had nothing to do with it. I was loading the dishwasher when Stacy arrived, and they talked among themselves for a while before they called me in. Bill and Cindy were sitting close together on the couch, being quite affectionate. Bill had his arm around her waist, and Cindy's hand was placed possessively on that monumental bulge in his pants. Stacy was sitting cross-legged in the big easy chair opposite, and when she saw me looking at her she grinned and gave me two quick pussy-kisses with her lips. For a woman who was looking at another woman holding her husband's cock, she seemed remarkably at ease. Everyone did, in fact, but me. They didn't invite me to sit down, so I just stood there. "Ma'am," I said. "First of all, dear," Cindy said. "I want you to know that we all appreciate the remarkable adjustment you've made to your new status, in only a single day. You were never the Lord and Master of this house, but now you are certainly the servant, and we do appreciate that you're trying to please us. It shows what you can really accomplish when you try." She paused. She's right, I suppose, I was thinking. I just fixed and served dinner to a man whose cock is still wet from sliding around inside my wife. But why can't she get to the point? "The point of all this," Cindy continued, "is that there is only one real man in this room at this moment. Stacy and I are agreed on that. You'll do, but next to Bill's your cock is bush league, and your stamina is only average. Stacy and I both have needs we want to have satisfied. Bill has agreed to satisfy those needs, and we've agreed to share Bill with each other. It makes sense. That's where we are now. Bill will fuck either of us whenever he feels like it, or whenever either one of us feels like it." "Where is there room for you in this? Well, first of all, we'll keep you on as a domestic servant, as our maid. You've done all the housework for me all along, so there isn't much new there. But it will now be as a maid, not a man, and now it'll be as a servant to Bill too, and also Stacy, so we need to formalize the relationship." "You are not to think of yourself as our social equal. You may eventually want to develop friendships with other domestics, cooks, gardeners, people in service. We have no objection. Even to an intimate relationship with some male friend after a decent interval, since you'll never get pregnant by him. But I insist on that social restriction among your friends from now on, so you'll remain accustomed to your altered circumstances." "And of course you'll continue to live as a woman, so nothing reminds you of your former life and former privileges as my husband. I'll want that commitment to be irreversi