Nicole free porn video

Nicole by Leigh de Santa Fe Nick Gordon came home early one day to find his wife blowing a strange man in their bedroom. They hadn't heard his approach so when he walked past the bedroom he saw the tableau vivant as though he were glimpsing a pornographic movie. The man was lying on his back on their bed, his legs dangling over the side while his naked wife crouched between his legs, working away at her task with an assiduousness she'd never applied in their own lovemaking. The scene was so vivid, so painful that he found himself shrinking from it and he quickly withdrew from the house in silence. After driving for two hours through the suburbs in numb pain he returned home where he wife greeted him with a wide smile and a kiss. He looked at her as she walked back to the stove and saw the bounce in her step. Her hair wet from the shower, she seemed a portrait of grace and beauty. He bit his lip and retreated to the bedroom where he sat on the edge of the newly made bed and imagined her hasty restoration of order from the chaos of love. At dinner she remained bright and cheerful despite his obvious distracted behavior. He watched TV while she hummed about the house. On his way to bed, they collided in the hallway and she laughed at his absentmindedness. He looked deep into her eyes for a sign of contrition or remorse and found none. They went to bed and he lay awake replaying the awful scene over and over in his mind. The movements of her head, the little noises she made as her tongue ran up and down the length of the stranger's cock. Over and over he watched the 4 second movie until finally at 4:30 he fell asleep and in his dreams he resumed watching it. The next day he came home early again and parked the car down the street from his house. He saw her car in the driveway and walked around to the side of the house, peering discreetly into the high back bedroom window. This time it was his wife who was on her back while the same strange man pushed his cock around the opening of her vagina, prying with a delicacy of a highly trained physician. She seemed to be enjoying it immensely. He felt a pain in his side and slumped down against the white stucco wall. He stayed there for a long time until the sound of car doors slamming startled him and he inched along the side of the house in time to watch them driving off with the man behind the wheel. They were laughing hysterically. That night they played the same dumb show of marital affections. She seemed to be happier than ever and she seemed to him to be more desirable than ever but curiously unattainable in the way that attractive girls in high school were unattainable. He simply didn't measure up. At dinner she said, "I think I'll go visit my sister this weekend. Is that alright with you?" He stared blankly at his dinner plate. "Nick, are you listening?" "Yes. Sure...go ahead," he said, pushing himself back from the table and retreating into the living room. "Well, if you don't want me to go, just say so," she called out after him. He said nothing. It was Friday and she was gone. He came home to the empty house of infidelity, a house that seemed to be filled with the ghostly sounds of lovers. He stood in the doorway of the bedroom and looked in. His wife's head resumed the dramatic bobbing and weaving, the moans of sex filled his ears. The phone rang. It was her sister calling to chat with her. "She's "Oh, where is she?" "I don't know," he said. "You okay? Did you guys fight?" "No." "Well, have her call me." He wandered back to the kitchen and saw a crumpled piece of paper that had missed the wastebasket. It had a phone number on it. "Under the Stars Bed & Breakfast," a voice said. "Where are you again?" he asked. "Monterey." He packed a bag and rented a car and drove for an hour and a half. It was on a quiet street facing the ocean. It was twilight and a light breeze blew the sign for the B&B back and forth. In his rear view mirror he saw them walking back from the beach. She wore a long white summer dress and she looked very happy and relaxed. He was handsome and held her hand like a young lover. They passed him on the darkened street, oblivious to his presence in the car. He watched until they disappeared into one of the bungalows and then he crept out and walked across the iceplant that surrounded the side yard and looked in the window. The blind was drawn but quite unexpectedly it was pulled up and the window thrust open. He heard her say, "Oh, that breeze is delicious. Come and hold me." Then, "Oh, baby, baby." He leaned against the wall and listened to them making love. He began to get hard and he opened his pants and began to rub his cock as the man inside the bungalow thrust into his wife, making her moan with pleasure. They made love for an hour and he stayed with them. As he began to climax a flashlight beam caught him in the eye. The spunk jumped out anyway covering his hands with white glaze. "You want to come out from there with your hands up, sir," a man's voice said. He pulled his pants up and walked out of the sideyeard. Another squad car pulled up, this one with its lights twirling and casting lurid shadows. "Lean up against the wall and spread your legs apart, sir." His wife and her lover appeared in their bathrobes. A woman in curlers was talking to an officer. "He was doing it right there," she said. "Doing what, maam?" "You know what I'm talking about, officer." "Yes, maam." His wife walked over to him. "You sick, motherfuck," she said. The officer pulled her away and her lover took her back inside the bungalow. He could smell the broken ice plant and the salt air of the ocean. He was cited and spent the night in jail. "That was dumb, Nick," his lawyer said. He spent the afternoon walking around Monterey and arrived back home at dusk. She wasn't there. He poured himself a scotch and lay down on the bed. At midnight he heard people in the living room. The bedroom light clicked on and there they were, in each other's arms, laughing at him. "We got you a souvenir from Monterey, Nickie," she said, throwing a box on the bed. "They're called 'Sissypants.' Ray thought you might like to wear them while you listen to him fuck me. Or perhaps you'd rather watch us." He heard Ray mumble something to her and then she said, "I don't give a fuck. He obviously likes it. Don't you, sissy?" she said. He looked over at them. Ray had his arm around her waist. She had a lime green halter top and jeans on. She turned the light off. "Let's go, Ray. Sissypants is no fun." He heard the front door shut with a crunch. Monday morning he showered and shaved. The box was on the dresser. He opened it, put them on and finished dressing. At work he felt the prying eyes of secretaries, the disdain of his colleagues. She was there when he got home that night. She looked good. Her hair was up and her make up was fresh. She wore a black push up bra and a silk half slip. "Ray's taking me out to dinner," she said. "There's a TV dinner in the freezer and some leftovers in the fridge. Oh, and I bought you some new things. Ray and I would like to see you wearing them when we get back from dinner if you wouldn't mind too much," she said as though she were addressing a babysitter. "They're laying on the bed and don't try to talk back because I know you're wearing the sissy panties and I know that you're hard." He went into the living room and sat down in the lazyboy, shrinking into the leatherette as it sank down under his weight. She continued to get ready and then Ray arrived. She kissed him hello. "Don't forget, Nickie. All dressed up," she said as the door closed. He walked back to the bedroom and began to take off his clothes. At 1:30 am they still hadn't returned. He took off the clothes she'd left out for him and went to bed. The next day at work his secretary told him his wife was on the line. "Hi Nikki. Did you dress up? Sorry, we couldn't make it back. Ray wanted to fuck me in a public place so we drove around for hours looking for a suitable spot. He's so impetuous!" "What do you want?" "Nikki, you sound sour. Are you unhappy with your little wifey?" "Listen, I'm working. Tell me what you want." "I want you to be happy, Nikki. That's all." "Great. Goodbye then." "Wait! Write down this number. 493-2298. Bye Nikki." She hung up. He looked at the number. It meant nothing to him. He put it aside and went back to work but half an hour later he found himself dialing the phone. "Exotique. Can I help you?" "I don't think so. What..." "Ah, Mr. Gordon, yes...um I believe you're scheduled for this afternoon at 4:00 pm." "What do you mean scheduled?" The woman on the phone paused and stifled a laugh. "Your wife scheduled you for an appointment, Mr. Gordon." "What sort of appointment?" "Why don't you just come down and find out. We're at 39 Spring Street, Suite D on the 10th floor." "But what..." "Just be there, Mr. Gordon," she said humorlessly. And then she hung up. He looked up Exotique in the phone book. No such business. He tried to call back but the line was busy. It was 2:30. "I'm going to be leaving early today, Janet." "Okay, Mr. Gordon." "Janet, have you ever heard of place called Exotique?" "No, I don't think so. Sounds like strip bar." "Yeah it does. Well, thanks." He left work at 3:00 and drove over to Spring Street. It was an office building. He looked at the directory. Nothing under Exotique. He walked up and down the block until 4:00 and then took the elevator up to the 10th floor. He found Suite D and walked through the heavy mahoghany door. The receptionist looked up with a smile. "Mr. Gordon?" "Yes." "Have a seat, please. Ms. Daring will be right with you," she said smiling broadly. He sat down and then caught himself and said, "Now what exactly .." "Ah, Mr. Gordon, so happy to meet you at last. Barbara Daring." He shook her hand. "Come with me, won't you." He followed the woman down a corridor. She was attractive with shoulder length hennaed hair. Gordon put her age around 35. Her office was large and well appointed with leather chairs and a saltwater fish tank in which large exotic fish stared out at him. Barbara Daring sat behind an expanse of oak and smiled at him. "So...Ray's a better lover than you are." "What?!" "Apparently he's got a great big cock and can't get enough." "What are you talking about? Who are you anyway?" "Your wife thought you needed some help and that's why you're here." "Help with what?" "Mr. Gordon, please don't be difficult." "I don't know what you're talking about." "Alright then. Have it your way. Here are the papers." She pushed a manila envelope across the desk. "That's the Monterey Police Department's report on a certain Mr. Nick Gordon who was caught publicly masturbating outside ..." "So this is blackmail then." Barbara Haring laughed. "No, not exactly. You're free to leave at any time. No money will be asked of you. Of course, if you don't care to follow through with your appointment we'll have to send your file to the personnel manager at Xentro Inc. who might find your exploits a little unsavory for a publicist." Nick stared out the window. He could see a secretary in an adjacent office building bending over a Xerox machine. "What do I have to do?" "Oh, it's quite simple, really. Just follow instructions," she said with a wide grin. "We like to begin classes at the first of the month which is...oh, only two days from now. Here's a packet with your orientation materials in it and a schedule of classes. We conduct all our sessions at night so you don't have to worry about conflicts with work." "You make it seem like night school." "Well, that's what it is, Mr. Gordon." "So may I go now," Nick said sarcastically. "Just one more thing." Barbara Haring stood up and walked over to the window and looked down at the traffic below. "Would you drop your pants, please." "What?" "Just follow the instructions, Nick. That's what it's all about." The room was still except for the sound of a brass buckle hitting the carpet. Barbara Haring glanced back him and laughed. "I thought so. See you on orientation day, Sissy!" "Barbara's a doll, isn't she, Nicky?" his wife said at the breakfast table. He stared at her dully. "Don't sulk, Nicky. You need to get out of the house more anyway. Oh, and don't worry about your 'lab materials.' I've already gotten your stuff." She got up abruptly from the table and patted his shoulder on her way out the door. "Don't forget to depilitate before class. Barbara hates hairy girls." "Ah, Mr. Gordon, good to see you. Won't you come with me. You can do your changing in here and the door to your right will lead you into the classroom. Good luck and congratulations." The comely young woman smiled warmly as she opened the door to the changing room. "Don't worry," she said, "you'll make a good girl." He was not reassured however and he found his hands trembling as he fastened the lacy black brassiere that formed half of his orientation day attire. The other half was a plain black panty girdle with garter straps. The cups of his bra were to remain unstuffed. He paused a long time before turning the doorknob and entering the classroom. When he finally summoned the courage to do so he was surprised to find three other men seated at desks dressed in similar attire. They turned to look at him and then immediately looked down at their folded hands. The room was awash with shame. He took a seat and tried to melt into the chair. "Oh, good. We're all here," Barbara Haring said, entering the room with a flourish. She was wore a tight peach colored sweater and black wool skirt. A lime green silk scarf gave her a breathless quality. Her dark brunette hair fell appealingly around her shoulders and her make up was flawless. She had the kind of fierce good looks you associate with the middle aged Queens of the Cosmetic Counters at an upscale department store. "Now you're all here for Sissy Training so let's not be shy. If you could all introduce yourselves starting with you," she said, indicating a young man in his mid 20s. The young man, handsome, slight, looked stricken. His longish brunette hair was pulled tightly back in a severe pony tail. "I'm David..." he said haltingly. "Oh, no, no, we don't use male names here, dear. Use the name you've been assigned in the orientation packet," Barbara interjected sharply. "Uhm,....I'm Donna." "And why are you here, Donna?" "To learn..." "Learn what?" "Uhm...how to be a sissy." "Very good, Donna. Next." Julie was next. A blonde, his short hair contrasted sharply with his champagne bra and panty girdle set which seemed to fit his slightly pudgy frame figure better than the others. He too was capsized with shame however and could barely squeak out his femme name. "Louder, please," Barbara said evenly. "My name is Julie," the young man repeated. "Why do you want to be a sissy, Julie?" Barbara asked. Julie wasn't prepared for this question. He looked down and flushed even deeper crimson. "Uhm...I don't know....," he said shyly. "Is it because you need to wear a bra anyway?" Barbara laughed. Julie's lip started to quaver but Barbara moved on. "My name is...Boobsy," the third sissy said. He too was slight of frame with full red lips and flashing dark eyes. His brassiere, white and heavily underwired reflected his humiliating name in its size. "How big are you, Boobsy?" Barbara asked. There was a long pause. "I don't know." "You're 36 D cup, dear. Boobsy's wife specified a large bosom for her sissy husband because he's so obsessive about other women's breasts, aren't you Boobsy?" "Yes, Maam." "And now you have a big set of your own, don't you?" "Yes, maam." Nick sank deeper and deeper into his chair but it was no use, Barbara swung around and stared at him with a sweet smile. "And you?" "My name is...Nicole," Nick said haltingly. "Nicole. What a pretty sissy name! Do you like your new bra and girdle set, Nicole?" Nick stared straight ahead. "You don't like it? Well, don't worry. You will." "Well, you're all such shy little girls. But that's to be expected. After all, you're suppose to be shy, aren't you? I thought it might be nice if you were to see some products of our finishing school before we proceed any further," she said, pressing a button under the desk. One of large Mahogany doors opened and three attractive young women entered. They wore cute summer dresses with puffed sleeves and elastic decolletages that displayed the beginnings of a trio of ripe bosoms. Their shoulder length hair was carefully styled. "This is Stacy, Debbie and Carla, all stunning successes of our program." Nick couldn't believe that this three lovely women were actually men. Not only were they convincingly feminine they displayed none of the awkward shame that marked the new sissies in the room. "Carla, tell the girls a bit about yourself." The cute brunette with the girlish bangs stepped forward. "I'm a sissy like you," she said with a voice that though slightly husky betrayed no notion of masculinity. "I like being a girl whenever I can and I know you will too," she looked over at Barbara who nodded to her. Carla's knees dipped and her hands grasped the hem of her white summer dress which she raised like an opening night curtain. A white garter belt framed her pantyless torso and between the white vertical straps hung the residue of her masculinity, still intact and even large by the standards of Italian statuary. While she stood there exposing her origins to the neophytes, she betrayed no trace of shame or worry. Instead she seemed quite proud of enormous contrast between her comeliness and the vestige of her maleness. When she dropped her hem she did so with the drama of a true tease. It was obvious she'd done it many times before. "Thank you, Carla. Stacy, what do you like about being a sissy?" Stacy, a man with model features and ash blond hair styled in an anachronistic but quite fetching flip, stepped forward. His cleavage, larger than the rest, seemed real. "I like giving pleasure and being an object of pleasure," Stacy said in a voice dripping with Kim Novak sensuality. She too took her cue from Barbara and raised her hem to allow the sissies to see that she was 100% real in the male department as well. The smile on her face betrayed the same pride in her depth of impersonation that Carla's had but with an air of sexy threat that sent shivers down Nick's spine. Could he be transformed so completely? Would this blond bimbo's cooing sexuality be his soon? And what about the breasts? Would he be a buxom boy toy too? "Debbie, tell the sissies your story." "I was a bad boy until I became a good girl," the cute black man answered. His thick auburn hair was relaxed and brushed attractively over one bare shoulder. Of the three, he was most convincingly feminine but his curtain raising proved that he wasn't born a woman. "I know you'll like it once you're on your way," he said dropping his hem saucily. "Thank you, girls." The three utterly feminized men exited with knowing smiles directed at the newbies as if to say, "You'll be just like us in no time." Nick wondered in horror if it could be true. The appearance of the trio of lovelies had cast a similar pall of introspection over his classmates. "Are there any questions before we proceed?" Nick raised his hand. "Yes, Nicole?" "Will we be given breasts like those guys?" "Oh, of course, dear. All sissies have breasts," she said with a wide grin. "But I can't have breasts!" Julie interjected with panic in his voice. "Honey, it's too late for that. You already have a bust." "But how will we hide them?" Donna asked plaintively. "Donna, when we're through with you I doubt you'll want to." The sissy known as Boobsy burst into tears. "Oh, don't cry, Boobsy. You're going to be the biggest of them all. Your wife was very clear about that. Now let's move on to other things." The rest of the class was given over to deportment and evincing a feminine manner but little of what Barbara Haring said sunk in. The four were too obsessed about their fate as Barbie dolls to be. Still, Barbara made them walk the walk and talk the talk and by the end of the three hour session an air of comradery based on mutual fear was blossoming among the four. When they left the building in their male streetclothes they still couldn't acknowledge either other or what had gone on in the room on the tenth floor but Nick did manage to smile ever so faintly at Boobsy as he disappeared into a cab. Boobsy looked down in shame. "How was class last night, Nicki? Did you learn all about being a girl?" she said as he walked into the room. "Why are you doing this to me?" "Doing what?" she said, her grapefruit spoon poised in the air. "Blackmailing me." "Oh, that's a little strong, isn't it?" "Strong? She says she's going to make sure we have breasts by the time she's done!" "We?" "Oh, didn't you know? There are three other guys in the class." "Really? Hmmmm, how lovely. So you'll have dress up companions. Isn't that precious! Oh, Nicki, you're going to love it. I bet you're hard right now just thinking about it, aren't you?" she turned to look at him and then quickly pressed her hand to his crotch. He blanched. She laughed and left the kitchen. "Nicole, say your sissy catechism, please." Nick stood in front of the class in his black bra and panty set, his body smooth and hairless. He looked down at the paper on Barbara's desk and struggled to control himself. His mouth was dry, so dry that he knew he couldn't read the speech without moistening his palate. He turned to his tormentor and said, "Miss Haring, may I please have a glass of water first." His classmates looked away in embarrassment for his voice was full of the sibilant S's and daintiness of manner they had all been working on for the past three weeks. Nick himself was shocked at the depth of his impersonation. He sounded not only like a woman, but like a sissy, deferential to the point of obsequiousness with an eagerness to please. So ingrained was Miss Haring's training that he had slipped into SGM (Sissy Girl Mode) at work quite unconsciously in front of a group of co workers and they laughed hysterically at what they thought was his attempt to sound swishy. Only his secretary Janet noticed his startled reaction when he heard them laughing at him. She filed this observation away with a few others odd things she'd seen lately. "Go get a glass of water if you must." Miss Haring looked angry but she was secretly thrilled at how far her troop of sissies had moved from their fearful first steps. Though still shy in their bra and panties, they were slowly gaining a measure of ....confidence? No, not exactly confidence but composure perhaps. Of course, it didn't hurt that their wives had been spiking their food and drink with large doses of Barbara Haring's own natural blend of Chinese herbs and estrogen. They felt so relaxed, so unstressed and when they slept their dreams were sweet tempered forays into an unconscious of untroubled fulfillment. The slow and steady eroticization of their humiliation was unfolding according to plan and now as Nick began to read the painful catechism Miss Haring had written for him, he felt in his fear and pain a kind of poise, the paradoxical sissy stillness in the heart of his anguished soul. "I am a sissy," he read slowly, "As a male I am worthless. My wife's lover Ray is a real man. He satisfies her as I never did. I will never please her as he does. The best I will ever hope to be is a pleasure toy." Barbara Haring clapped from the sidelines as Nick made his way to his seat. "Heel time!" Nick turned to look at his profile in the mirror. He was definitely bigger in front. A wave of panic moved through his body as he looked for other changes. Were his buns more rounded? Was his face softer and more feminine? His body hair didn't seem to be growing back as fast as it did before he'd begun the training. The bathroom door burst open. His hands were still cupped over his burgeoning bust as his wife walked past to retrieve a tissue. "Yes, I've noticed it too. You're changing, honey and not just up front either." She walked out, slapping his butt as she passed his naked body. Barbara Haring's sissification technique concentrated on emotional reconstruction through acting out, feminized vocalization and body movement. She didn't rush into dress up but had her subjects linger in lingerie, working on their sissy attitudes until they practically begged her to go to the next step. After the 12th class clad only in bra and panties with the occasional foray into heels, her coven of queens had come a long way from their first awkward steps in heels. Now as they held their weekly tea time, a rap session in which their femme selves were allowed to come out and converse, she watched just how far the men had traveled across the borders of their gender. Barbara always started the ball rolling conversationally because they still had trouble broaching the topic of their unfolding femininity. "Boobsy, why don't you tell the other girls what got you here." He looked downcast. "I was a bad boy. I cheated on my wife. I picked up women with large breasts in bars," he said in a soft feminine whisper. "And what happened that brought you here, Boobsy," Barbara asked coyly? "I hired a new secretary. Her breasts were very large. I couldn't stop myself. I forced her to suck me off in the underground parking garage. She didn't press charges but she told my wife." He paused. The others drew the simple conclusion. Boobsy didn't look much like a rapist now. Hormones had softened the lines in his face and his lips, already full, now seemed sensuous and unambiguously womanly. Through repeated practice and constant hours of Barbara's badgering, his gestures, the way he demurely crossed his legs, the way he looked to others for approval as he talked, all told a tale of shy girlhood. It was an attitude mirrored and invoked constantly by his three companions in sissyhood. Viewed by a stranger, it was an odd tableau indeed, this quartet of men in lingerie performing a chamberwork of girlishness, slowly coming to terms with this newly defined self that giggled and minced and took a minute but palpable pleasure in adjusting a bra strap when it slid off a bare shoulder. Donna, whose long hair had initially been pulled back in a severe sexless ponytail, now let it hang freely. Occasionally he would throw his head back coltishly to clear it from his eyes like a teenage girl experimenting with the first rituals of seduction. The others hadn't cut their hair since the first class and it was now approaching that crossroads where it would need styling. Barbara had already made plans for that eventuality. Nick worked late the next evening and when he came home he found his wife and his secretary Janet having cocktails in the living room. Janet, a comely brunette in her mid twenties, wore a mischievous smile as her boss walked in the room. Then, in a stage whisper, she said "Is that the sissy?" "Yes, he's probably wearing his panties right now. Ms Haring is very strict about that." They both broke into gales of margarita inspired giggles. "Honey, you know Janet, don't you? She'd probably love to see you model your sissy outfit, wouldn't you Janet?" Janet brought her hand to her mouth but she wasn't trying to suppress her laughter. Nick stormed passed them to the bedroom but his wife called out after him, "Honey, I think you'd better put on your sissy outfit otherwise I'll have to tell Ms. Haring you were a very bad girl." There was nothing but silence from the bedroom. "Nikki, I've laid out your outfit on the bed. If you don't come out here dressed in 10 minutes I'm going to have to report you." She turned and smiled at Janet and asked her if she wanted another drink. Janet nodded eagerly. This was much better than Seinfeld. Fifteen minutes passed. "Nikki, we're waiting out here. Janet says she'll come in after you if you don't come out this minute." The two women exchanged giggling glances and Nick's sad figure appeared in the doorway. He wore a gauzy white peasant blouse with pouffy sleeves and a plunging bodice. His wonderbra cupped his gentle, budding bustine so that just a hint of cleavage was displayed. A short black skirt and black tights with 4" heels completed the ensemble. With his longish hair growing over the nape of his neck he resembled a gamine waitress at a Mexican restaurant. "Well, don't just stand over there. Show Janet what you've learned at Sissy school." Janet's grin widened as Nick took tentative steps in their direction. After nine weeks at the sissy school he was tempted to swivel hip across the room as he done for hours in heels under Barbara Haring's watchful eye but now, in front of his wife and secretary, he felt worse than naked. As he drew near, his red and tear stained face became apparent even in the dim living room light. "Ooooh, did wittle sissy have a cwying jag?" his wife said. "He has a bust!" Janet gasped as the light cast a small shadow across Nick's decolletage. "Oh, yes, of course. Bend over, Nikki and show Janet your tits." "I don't believe it," Janet said incredulously. "Are they real?" "Certainly. Cornfed USDA approved. Ms. Haring believes in better living through chemistry...and Chinese herbs." "Herbs did that?" "Honey, pull up your blouse." Nick stood by the sofa and dutifully pulled the blouse up above his brassiere. His wife unhooked the front of his bra with crisp efficiency and displayed two substantial mounds of flesh. "Touch them," she said to the goggle eyed secretary. She reached out tentatively as though she were petting a questionable dog. "They're so....real!" she said. "Aren't they? Next time you see him he'll be bigger than you." "I'll see him tomorrow," Janet said. "Well, next time you see them, I meant." "Oh, I think I'll be seeing these on a regular basis," Janet said, shifting her hand from one breast to the other. "I've got a little halter I bought from one of those sleazy lingerie catalogs that never fit me but it's perfect for ...." "Sissy Tits?" Janet laughed. "Yes. I'll bring it tomorrow." The door bell rang and Nick started but his wife quickly grabbed his wrist. "Don't go away, now Nikki. Get that will you, Janet?" "Sure." She wobbled unsteadily to the front door and let Ray and another male friend in. "I told you," he said to his friend. "Told him what, honey," Nick's wife asked. "That your husband was a drag queen faggot," Ray said. "Oh, Ray don't be gross," his wife said. She released her hold on Nick and went over to Ray. They kissed passionately. Nick watched as Ray put his hands on his wife's buttocks and squeezed them lovingly. After a minute of heavy tongue action, she pulled away and said, "He's not a faggot you know. He's a sissy. There's a world of difference." The next day Nick had to face Janet at work. She acted no differently than before but late in the afternoon she came into his office unnannounced and said, "You know, I've been thinking. I deserve a raise, don't you think?" "I can't authorize that, Janet." "Can't you? Oh, I didn't know," she said as if dropping the matter. But as she turned to leave she said over shoulder, "You know, Phyllis Rose that gorgeous new blonde in acquisitions said the funniest thing to me this morning. She said, 'What's the story with your boss? He looks so...so weird.' You mean, feminine, I said." Nick winced at the word. "'Yeah, that's it.' she said. I let it drop there but I could pick it up just as easily tomorrow at the coffee break. That would be the most interesting news to hit this company in a long time, don't you think?" "I'll see what I can do," he said, sweat breaking out on his smooth upper lip. "Yes, would you? That'd be so neat." Then she turned back and smiled at him with a strangely sweet look, "I'm going to have fun with you....Sissy." Tears hit the edge of his silver letter opener smearing the reflection of his contorting rage. Rage turned to shock and then to dismay when he realized that he was fully aroused at what Janet's idea of fun might be. He looked at the wall. It was 5:00 pm "Nicole, you're not strutting enough. Strut and wiggle and strut and wiggle. Better." Barbara was moving the sissies through their paces like fillies at the race track. As the walked around her in a small circle, each was required to think "pink" thoughts, forget their inhibitions and free "the lusty tart" within. It was now the fifth month of their classes and they were way beyond a simple burlesque of womanhood. But this evening their subtle gestures, their learned daintiness and proper secretarial demeanor with its perky can do, no nonsense, model of efficiency stride was....out the window. They were hussified tarts tonight and they seemed to love it. They wore their own white shirts, tails out, garter belts, black seamed hosiery falling into 4" heels. As they bumped and ground to Koko Taylor's, "Come to Mama," their black halter tops flashed from beneath their Van Heusen's. They seemed very pleased with their inner girl, the girl now emerging from the man like a butterfly shedding a burdensome shell. With each suggestive thrust of their hips, Barbara laughed to herself at their expert girlishness. They seemed drunk on femininity and in fact they were a little drunk, having downed a few shots of Irish Whiskey before the class. Alcohol had leached some of the tense apprehension from their faces, worry that never quite dissipated. This relaxed quality seemed to shine through the mask of their make up which this evening was tawdry and overdone. Their hair was long enough now to easily assume a feminine look and they had become adept at quickly making their hair go from hip pony tailed businessman to bosomy upswept playmates. When the bunny parade finally ground to a halt, the "girls," for that is how they now perceived themselves, collapsed into their desks, sweat shining through the matte finish on their foreheads but still careful not to crumple into any male postures of exhaustion but instead falling limply, daintily into repose. "Julie, I think you're first, aren't you?" Julie made his way to the front of the class. His lustrous blonde hair grazed his shoulders in a hastily hot curled flip. Thick bangs covered his forehead, giving him a cute oddly chaste look. When he started to speak not even he noticed anymore how deeply he'd transgressed into feminine territory. His voice was low but utterly feminized in the sissy fashion that Barbara Haring had instilled in her pupils. His demeanor was demure, subservient and eager to please "My wife..." Barbara interrupted him harshly. "Julie!" The blonde boy bimbo gave her a frightened look and began again. "My mistress forced me to go to the tanning salon in my brassiere and high cut bikini panties. I went eight times and got this," Julie said unhooking his halter top to display his growing bosom, two perfect ivory triangles against a cocoa sea of skin. He then unfastened his garter belt and slipped off his black panties, revealing the white worm of his sex coiled in the center of his blonde bush. The tan was dark and creamy, essence of California baked beach bunny. "This is the tan the company doctor saw when I went to get the physical required for the insurance plan. My wife, I mean, my mistress knew it would be especially humiliating for me to expose my sissiness to the doctor in such an obvious way. My long hair and bosom was strange enough for people to cope with but this," he said, indicating the stark contrast between the crisscrossed white lines of his bikini top and the surrounding archipelagos of mocha skin, "was proof I was a sissy." He said nothing and I said nothing and a week passed without incident. But then, I was called into my boss's office. I was asked to remove my shirt which I did. I had taped my breasts down and he asked me remove those as well. I felt so humiliated. I'm a 38 B cup now. He wasn't just my boss, he had been a friend that I'd played squash with. And now, I stood before him, my white breasts exposed, my girliness on display. He turned away and looked out the window. 'Perhaps you'd be happier in the secretarial pool?' he said coldly. "Just then his secretary burst into the room. She saw my breasts and started giggling. "I put my shirt back on and left," Julie said quietly. "Monday I start working... as a secretary," he said, his voice catching in mid sentence. He burst into tears and ran to his desk like a little girl. "Julie, I'm so proud," Ms Haring said, ignoring Julie's breakdown. "You'll make a marvelous secretary. We'll have to up your dosage so you'll be extra big for your first day. I'll call your wife and tell her." "Thanks so much for the raise, Mr. Gordon," Janet said, late one afternoon. "I guess the girls will just have to wonder about you. Your secret is safe....for now," she paused for a moment. "Oh, and I just want to say how lovely your hair looks. It's so...Jennifer Anniston." After she'd left, Nick hastily unlocked his bottom desk drawer and withdrew a large round hand mirror. Holding it up to his face, he turned his head to see just how long his hair was. His severe corporate pony tail now curved into space and grazed his back. He stripped off the tie that held it back and shook it out. It fell limply around his face, framing his now girlish face with waifish insouciance. It was a look he found instantly captivating. Turning his head from side to side to examine what he could of his profile, he slipped easily into his feminine persona, thrusting his lips into a bee stung pout and letting his face fall naturally into coy poses of seduction. It was during one of these little pantomimes of desire that the door burst open. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I...interrupt?," Janet said with mock regret as she strode across the carpet. "I'll just leave these here," she said, tossing a sheaf of papers onto his desk. "How much longer can you go on this way," Nick's wife asked him casually at their breakfast torment session. "I mean, your bosom is bigger than mine, Nikki. Aren't people at work talking?" It was true that despite his best efforts to tape his burgeoning bust down when viewed in profile Nick's breast development was obvious to only but the most myopic observers. This was a source of continual worry and shame to him and his wife's taunting remarks hit the sore spot with abrasive accuracy. Tears flooded his eyes and he fled the breakfast table and let the flood loose when he reached the bathroom. He caught his body convulsing with sobs in the mirror and was fascinated despite his own grief at just how much he looked like a woman in a suit. Strands of his now long hair came undone from his tieback and fell into his face, adding an absurdly incongruous girlishness to his suited male self. It was then, caught up in the sobs of sadness and loss of his male self, that he realized how tightly he was trapped between two worlds. He had once been a man, then he had been a man with the trappings of a woman now he seemed to be a woman with the trappings of a man. His wife was no longer a wife but a libidinous roommate who eagerly entertained her lover within easy earshot of his wilting male self. And the male whose body he inhabited at work no longer seemed worth protecting from the secret of sissification. In fact, there was no secret anymore. At least not in the secretarial pool. Janet had spilled the beans at a drunken afterwork cocktail session. No one believed her of course and after a hysterical laugh at the thought of Nick in knickers the conversation moved on to something else. Janet, in her cups, was hurt that her revelation had been glossed over and she immediately began hatching a plan to prove it to them in a more graphic way. For the next week or two she said nothing cruel or overt about Nick's secret life but was dutiful, subservient and helpful in every way. Gradually, he began to forget the fact that she'd seen him and his burgeoning bosom. Their working relationship improved and Nick began to feel that she might be sympathetic to his plight. It didn't hurt that he found little gifts in his desk drawer with sweet notes attached. "Thought you might like this," she'd written on one such offering. Inside the envelope was a shiny silver tube of Shiseido lipstick. He was embarrassed and turned on by her inobstrusive acknowledgement of his "condition." Then one day day she said, "Mr. Gordon, I was wondering if you'd care to come over for dinner Wednesday," she said shyly. Nick was surprised and a little suspicious. "No, I don't think I can," he said. "How about Thursday?" She seemed very sincere. "Well, alright. If..." "If what?" He paused for a moment, embarrassed. "If my wife will let me," he said, looking down at his hands. "Oh, she won't mind. She's got a hon..." She caught herself and stopped short. "Well, come then...6:00 pm. Bring some wine. It'll be fun." He arrived at Janet's at 6:00 sharp and she kept him waiting for a full five minutes before answering the door. "Oh hi," she said in a tone that suggested she'd forgotten about inviting him. Already off balance because of the long wait, this strangely ambivalent greeting made him uneasy. He felt like bolting but she told him to follow her into the kitchen and he obeyed. Janet resumed stirring the mulled wine mixture on the stove and shot him a sidelong glance. "How's your development coming along?" He knew what she was referring to but the directness of the question took him aback. It didn't matter. She continued ahead without him. "I kinda thought you might come as a girl tonight. Why didn't you?" "Oh, uhm...I don't know...I... eh..." "Do you want to dress up? I mean, you can if you want to." His heart began to race. He was sure the color had left his cheeks and returned several times since she began talking. "Ummm, why don't you go into the bedroom and change. I've left some things out that I thought you might like." "Oh, I ...uh..." "Go ahead. There's nothing stopping you now, dear," she said without turning to face him with an ambiguous smile. Nick retired to the bedroom where Janet had laid out his femme wear on the bed. He shut the door and disppeared into the bathroom. An hour later he emerged to find Janet's livingroom filled with girls from the office. Six women, most of whom he had dealt with in one capacity or another sat in a semi circle on the sofa, their faces stunned for a moment and then breaking into nervous laughter. "Girls, meet Miss....ster Gordon," Janet said from her perch in the kitchen. He turned to run back into the bedroom but Phyllis, the stocky blond who worked in acquisitions stood smiling at him in the doorway. "Don't be so shy, dear. We just want to have some fun," she said, snapping a picture and then taking his arm and leading him to the sofa. He sat down as demurely as his fear would allow. The women stood over him, inspecting him and commenting to each other in hushed tones over his transformation. "Don't be afraid. We're not here to torture you, Mr. Gordon," a comely brunette named Debbie said, leaning forward to gaze down at his heaving bosom. "God, your tits are bigger than mine," she said. This comment caused the women to shake with laughter and suddenly Nick realized they were all very drunk. "Take off your sweater, Mr. Gordon," Janet said curtly. This cut the laughter short as the women watched to see whether he would obey. He hesitated a bit too long for Norma, an attractive secretary in her thirties. "You heard her. Take it off!" she yelled impatiently. His eyes found Janet's in the crowd and she nodded at him with a knowing smile. He pulled the sweater up and over his head. When the drunken assembly got a look at his bust heaving madly in a black push up bra a hush fell over the room. He was at least a 36D cup. Catcalls and whistles suddenly erupted and Nick hung his head in deep shame. Norma lept forward and unhinged the front loading bra. "Don't hide 'em, honey. We just want to see your tits!" It sprung open with burlesque drama and suddenly the bouncing chest he had striven to hide for so many months was in full view of every woman he worked with. Though his bosom heaved mightily under the weight of so many lecherous stares he himself felt tiny, insignificant. "I really think it's time Nicky started coming to work as a girl, don't you, girls?" Janet said, circling round behind him. "I think the men would find him quite...interesting but honey, we must do something about your hair. That ponytail bullshit is so passe. I think maybe an Uma Thurman Pulp Fiction coif. Bangs are soooo sexy...and soooo femme." She walked in front of Nick and stroked his limp hair. "You like bangs, don't you, Nicky?" His gaze turned to the floor and her hand slipped under his chin and pushed it up. "You like bangs?" she said with mock sweetness. She didn't wait for an answer but turned back to her audience with a smirk. "Sarah, I think it's time for Mr. Gordon's hair appointment. You're going to be girlified, Nicky. Sarah's going to girlify you." A short blond woman who Nick recognized from Accounting appeared by Janet's side with a tackle box of hair styling gear. "What are you going to do?" Nick asked Janet when she emerged from the kitchen with a chair. "Sit down, Nickie," she said, ignoring the question. "But I have to go to work tomorrow," he whimpered softly "Of course, dear. We're all going to work tomorrow." "Sit down," she said with less good humor than before. "But you can't...." She pushed him backwards and he fell back onto the naugahyde seat. "We can do whatever we like, Nickie. Don't be such a poor sport. Besides, we all know that you really want it." "Want what?" "To be a totally sissified wimp, dear." "No. No...I don't. Please don't do this, Janet. Please..." Janet winced with distaste at his entreaties and nodded to Sarah who responded by plunging a needle into his arm. The last thing he remembered with any clarity was Janet grinning at him contemptuously and then blowing him a kiss as he descended into a torpor that left him with a blurry memory of sights and sounds and smells. In particular, the smell of peroxide, the sound of raucous laughter and the sight of himself, caught in a swaying hand held mirror, a blur of pink plastic rollers and swooning red lips. Slowly, it all began to unwind, the sounds and sights receded and came to a halt and the smell of peroxide gave way to naugahyde and the wet sticky goo of his own sleepy drool against his cheek. The strong smell of coffee filled his nostrils and his sleepy eyes began to focus on his office at work. And the three women who stared at him with wide smiles. "He's up. Get his purse. We'll have to fix his face." Nick sat on the edge of the leatherette sofa in a stupor while the women bustled about assembling his wardrobe. The phone rang and he made an effort to get up and answer it but hands pushed him back on the couch easily and a tall brunette answered the phone. "Yes, she's up. We're getting him ready now. Don't worry..." The brunette paused, turned to look at him and smiled. "...he'll be luscious." "Hi, darling. Are you ready for your big office debut?" the woman said. She seemed familiar and then he finally recognized her as Paula from Accounting. The other two he couldn't place. He stared up at them and they smiled down at him. "God, I can't believe how cute he is," one said. "And that's before we do his face, Nancy," she said. "Yeah, I know. Is it just my imagination or are his breasts bigger than they were last night?" "No, they're bigger by more than a cup size. Barbara prepared one of her special elixirs for Nicole's coming out party." Nick roused himself slightly at hearing Barbara Haring's name. It was only then that he looked down at his heaving bosom captured nicely in a black brassiere. He gasped in dismay. "God, what have you done? I'm so...so..." "Busty?" Paula offered. "Get used to them, dear. You're going to be very popular girl around this office from now on. And those beauties are your primary assets." "But I'm not a woman," he whimpered. "You're not? Girls, does this look like a man to you?" Nancy and the other woman burst into laughter. Paula leaned over him grabbing his tremulous jaw in her hand, "You're a chick now, darling. A chick with a dick. And the sooner you cop to that fact, the happier you'll be, honey." Nick began to weep openly and Paula turned to the unnamed woman. "We'd better get the medicine or we'll never get his make up on." "Right," she said, retrieving a black leather case from her purse. In a moment, a hypodermic needle was shooting a light blue fluid deep into his arm. He fell back on the couch and the tears subsided. "That ought to do it," Paula said. "What is that stuff anyway," Nancy asked. "Oh, just a delicate blend of herbs and spices with an estrogen back. He'll be easier to work on now." And indeed he was. As before his conscious mind with its fretful anxieties seemed to depart his body hastily as the serum pumped close to his heart. In its stead came a deep feeling of security and warmth. His hands cupped his breasts now without any fear or embarrassment but with a sensuous abandonment to the pleasures of his own touch, a pleasure in the voluptuousness that only moments before had horrified him. And now, for the first time since waking, he noticed the golden strands of hair playing about his cheeks and he was seized with an immense curiosity about his looks. What had they done to him? Was he pretty? He knew he was blonde but what did it look like on him? He looked up at the women dreamily. They smiled down at him and then descended upon him with powders and paint, rouge and kohl. And for an hour or more he basked in their attentions, happy to be stroked and brushed and teased and painted like a porcelain doll. All the lessons he'd taken with the girls at Barbara Haring's, all the mincing steps and girlish deportment he'd practiced and studied and then suppressed mightily now came to the fore, taking control of his feminized soul. In one sense he was at peace and yet new tensions were bubbling to the surface, an ache of an entirely new sort. He wanted to be loved as a woman. When the door to Nick's office finally opened the hallway was jammed shoulder to shoulder with secretaries, all of them waiting for Nick's big debut. The first to leave were Paula's assistants and then Paula, a big smile transfixing her face as she threw back her arm with a theatrical flourish to introduce the reticent publicist to the hushed throng. "Here she is girls, Nicole!" Gasps and suppressed giggles greeted the buxom blonde who appeared shyly in the doorway. Most of the women had seen Nick the night before but even these were startled at the transformation Paula and her team had wrought. They had taken the loose ends of Nick's femininity and tied them all together in pretty pink package that spelled sex kitten. The frothy platinum hair, the heaving bosom displayed in a tight and tawdry pink angora sweater, the derriere that begged to be grabbed sheathed in black. Those who had never seen Nick en femme begged their more knowing companions for confirmation. "Is that him?!" "No, honey, that's her." "Does he still have his dick?" "Yes but I can't imagine she'll find much use for it now." "Wasn't he married?" "Still is...but home life just won't be the same after this." Paula pushed the reluctant debutante down the gauntlet of the narrow corridor as the whispers grew into taunts and whistles. "Hey, nice set...for a guy." Nick looked down at this feet, the pointed toes of his heels and the serrated pattern of heels on either side, now impatiently shuffling or stamping as he made his way down the cramped corridors. Though he was at arm's length from his tormentors their jeers seemed like a distant echoing chant as his senses shut down in order to survive the ordeal. Halfway down the gantlet a voice cut through the din of catcalls like someone hitting the rim of a glass of crystal. "Mr. Gordon, could you sign these papers." Reflexively he looked up to see a woman whose name he couldn't place but he knew her from the secretarial pool. "You don't remember me, do you? Loretta Martin. You said I lacked sufficient initiative to take on administrative tasks. Well, guess what, girlie? Here's my initiative." Just then he felt a push from behind and as he tumbled forward Loretta's outstretched leg sent him to the carpet like a falling tree. He managed to break his fall with his hands but his large bust hit first causing him pain on two fronts. The simple animal pain was the lesser of the two. The larger, more encompassing grief was the aching realization of his new vulnerability, of the second class status that his bustline betrayed him to. A long howling mock sympathetic moan went up among his detractors. "Oooohhhhhhh." But their mocking concern soon convulsed into rude laughter as Paula pulled him to his feet and he continued his journey, eyes blurry with tears, face flushed with humiliation. "Like being a girl so far?" Paula whispered as she ushered her protegee to his destination. "This is just the beginning, Nikki." She marched him through the maze of offices until they reached Tim Burden's office. Nick cringed as Paula pushed the heavy mahoghany door open. Tim and he used to play squash together and nominally he was Nick's boss. As they walked in Tim's voice was raised in strident debate with a woman that Nick didn't recognize at first. After brushing the bangs from his eyes he saw it was Janet. She turned to face them and her face broke into a wide grin. "See what I mean..." she said to the perplexed man standing next to her. "You've got to be kidding. That isn't...." "Say hello to your old friend, Nikki," Janet said, her smile still triumphant. Nick turned to run from the room but Paula caught his arm and wheeled him around. "Say hello, Nikki," she said through clenched teeth. Nick looked at the points of his heels. "This is too weird. Janet. I know Nick Gordon. We used to play squash. Now get this woman out of my office immediately." Janet looked at Paula and nodded. Nick felt Paula's hand loosen on his arm and as he pulled away from her he felt his wraparound skirt fall to floor. He bent over instinctively to retrieve it when he felt Paula's thumbs hooked over his black panties. With a decisive jerk of her hands she yanked them down to his ankles. Nick took a step in his heels then teetered for a moment before Paula pushed him over. He fell back on the plush carpeting while Tim rushed from behind his desk in time to see the strange woman's pudenda flopping around like a tormented worm. "What is going on here?" Tim screamed at Janet. Nick flailed around, trying to cover his privates but Paula pinned his arms down tight while Janet stood over him. "Nikki, say hello to Tim," she said in a slow deliberate way. "Hi, Tim," Nick said shyly in voiced pitched in the dulcet tones of femininity. "My God, what's happened to you?" "They've turned me into a...sissy." He turned his head away from Tim's steady gaze. "But you've got...you've got tits!" "Nikki's been attending court ordered sissy classes for some time now, Tim," Janet said, taking Tim's arm. "He walks, he talks, he wears make up and he thinks like a sissy. Now, you don't really think the company wants this slut representing them do you, Tim?" "What? What are you talking about?" "I'm talking about a certain middle manager who might lose his job if the higher ups find out that he kept this...tart in a position of authority." "I can't just fire him." "No one's suggesting that. Just demote him to somewhere he'd be more comfortable...like the secretarial pool." "A secretary!" "No shame in that, Mr. Burden. Listen..." Janet led Tim back to the far corner of the room while Nick watched helplessly as she unraveled her plot beyond his earshot. "I can't believe you're even thinking that." he heard Tim say but that was all. "Nicole, can you come into my office for a moment," Janet said through the intercom. She was smiling broadly when the door opened and Nick appeared in the doorway, the very definition of hesitancy. But he wasn't Nick anymore. He was a buxom woman in a periwinkle wool dress that clung to his woman made body, revealing the contours of a much plowed if well rounded piece of female topography. His hair was no longer a conveniently ambisexual coif which could be femmed or unfemmed with a tug on a hair tie but instead a pile of permed curls, gathered up in back with a black plastic butterfly clasp. It had returned to its original brunette coloring in the months since that night at Janet's. Sinuous tendrils, meticulously styled to approximate spontaneity, framed his face like a saucy schoolgirl and thick bangs reached down to his painstakingly thinned eyebrows. As he approached Janet's desk she heard the faint metallic tinkle of his silvery earrings. "Nice dress," Janet offered with her Cheshire smile. Nick looked down but said nothing. "How big are you these days anyway?" There was a long pause. "38 D," he finally said, eyes not moving from the carpet in front of him. "Gawd, that's overkill, isn't it?" "Men like them big," Nick said shyly. "Yes, I know." She glanced down at her own modest bosom with a wry smile. "Take off your dress. I'd like to see them." With a casualness that signaled a familiarity with this request Nick bent down and pulled the hem of his dress up over his head and then folded it neatly over a chair back. He stood before her in black brassiere and slip, his pendulous bosom heaving tremulously in its nylon prison. "Come here," she said. Her slender hands unhooked his front clasped brassiere and then gave him a gentle push backward so she could admire them. "Big...and beautiful," she laughed. Nick laughed nervously too. "Do you like them?" she asked. Nick's eyes welled. He turned away from her gaze so violently that his breasts jerked and slapped at each other with a faintly audible smack. "I bet men like that too," Janet noted. "They like...everything," the busty creature said, his voice catching slightly. "Yes, I know." "You do?" Janet didn't reply but instead opened a desk drawer and retrieved a video which she slid into a VCR behind her. She then opened a pair of cabinet doors to reveal a large TV screen and punched "Play." The screen fuzzed white noise for a moment and then an image appeared. The camera was placed high, looking down upon a man seated behind a huge koa wood desk. In the foreground stood Nick with his back to the camera, a heap of clothes gathered around his feet. He looked much as he did now, wearing only black panties. The man at the desk beckoned him to step out of clothes pile and he did so, revealing a pair of black fuck me pumps. The man behind the desk, inhaled deeply. "Beautiful," he said. Then he pantomimed the removal of the panties. Nick's thumbs hooked into the elastic and pulled down slowly, teasingly slow until the dull surprise revealed itself. At that instant, the man at the desk emitted a gasp of erotic rapture. His breathing became labored as he fought to keep himself anchored behind his wooden fortress. But now, unbidden, Nick began to approach the desk, swaying from side to side to accentuate the sensuous movement of his various pleasure points. His body was a tank moving across the desert sands of wall to wall carpeting and the little man behind the desk seemed to shrink before its advance and his own helpless lust. The screen then went white for a second and when it came back, the camera angle had shifted from the back of the room to the side. Nick was half sitting, half leaning against the desk while the man knelt before him, shaking like a machine about to explode from its own agitation. "You want it. You know you do. So take it. Suck Mommy," he said softly in that low supremely confident voice that he had never used around Janet. The tape jump cut ahead to a close up of the man's manic mouth, exploring this uncharted territory with innocent eagerness. Another jump cut of Nick's face looking down solititously. "That's a good little boy. You like sucking Mommy, don't you? Don't you?" Nick said through clenched teeth. A muffled murmur of assent. "Don't you? Don't you?!" A rumble of low guttural noises emerged from below, frantic in their acquiescence. Nick's face broke into a wide smile, the tops of his ample bosom shaking at the bottom of the frame. Jump cut to a tight shot of the man's head bent upward, veins in neck pulled tight. His breath is rapid and his lips are trembling. The velvety voiceover..."Tell Mommy what you want." A tear of sweat courses down his cheek as he steels himself. The voice again..."Go ahead. Tell Mommy what you want." The head goes slack for a moment and he begins to sob openly but then stops himself abruptly. "Fuck me, Mommy. Fuck me. Fuck me good, Mommy." His head begins to jerk forward out of the frame and then back, forward and back, forward and back. fin