Hotwife Chapter 3A The Continuation Of My Hotwife s Weekend
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The Sex Wife: Section 2 free porn video
The Sex Wife: Section 2
By Diana Kimberly Heche
Part 3: Mother
The conversation was as chilly as ever. "You're staying out all
night, that's new." Melinda sounded irritated.
"And how, exactly is it that you know what I do with my time away
from you?" I responded with equal chill while never taking my
eyes of the rack of clothing in front of me. The department store
sales woman who was approaching to help, gauged the animosity
between us, and stepped away quietly.
"I needed you to help me out before he left town again. I ended
up doing it ... sleeping with him ... myself." She seemed faintly
proud. I looked at my mother with sharp concern. The more I
understood about what my father had done to "fix" her from having
sex with men again, the more I understood just how dangerous that
was.
"I didn't know," I said apologetically, feeling bad, but knowing
that I had nothing to apologize for. Late night call-ups were
never part of our agreement. I had hours and days like any other
paid worker. "Mom," I was genuinely afraid for her, "you can't do
that any more. We both know it will come out ... badly." By badly
we were dancing around the question of internal bleeding which
could end in my mother's death.
When she looked at me, her eyes were hauntingly desperate. "I was
becoming afraid that if he left for all that time without - being
physical - one more time, his eyes may wander."
I looked at my mother feeling uncharacteristically sorry for her
and this entire insane situation. I wanted to tell her that from
the amounts of semen I had felt this man deposit, it is highly
doubtful he is leaving it anywhere but with me. But a woman, who
had slipped into a form of insanity that allowed our situation to
even exist, was not open to logic based on fluid ounces. And even
if she were, telling her about the sexual habits of her own
husband would just be a slap in the face. I couldn't imagine that
would help either.
I said simply, "I don't believe he's the wandering type." I was
itching to change the subject. I never felt comfortable talking
about our arrangement. I was not comfortable discussing my
personal life either, but between the two, the latter seem the
lesser of two evils, so I answered her earlier inquiry. "A couple
of months ago, I met a guy who is okay with the fact that I am
a..." I paused and whispered the next word, "...guy. We've become
buddies of sorts. We go out to late night clubs and such."
"Late night clubs? You're a few years too shy aren't you? But I
guess you do look much older than when you were a boy." There was
a permanence in the manner in which she made my male alter ego a
thing of the past. She continued in her blunt way, "It's not
sexual is it?"
"NO!" I lied vehemently. But it was. Mike and I had become, to
put it quaintly, an item. It was far more comfortable and relaxed
than I could have imagined, but in most ways it still rang false.
Ever the chameleon, I changed slightly to encompass the party
girl aspect of my time with Mike. And he now treated me more as a
girl. The questions about my being a boy seeing the world through
the eyes of a girl, once ever present, ebbed away directly with
our level of involvement. He seemed able to deal with the concept
of my penis, but only when we were in heated sexual contact.
Afterward or before, it was purposely removed from existence.
Mike furthered this by constantly saying physiologically
impossible things to me like "I bet your wet," and "doesn't that
make your nipples hard?" Much like the sexual arrangement I was
paid to participate in, this one too was turning into mutual make
believe.
Granted, I was happier than I was before, there was no question
about that. But I was no closer to becoming anything but someone
else's projection of reality. I was still a blank page.
My mother watched me carefully with eyes narrowed to a squint.
"Well, I guess that's okay. But could you get a beeper or
something? I won't encroach, I promise but ...you know ...
emergencies"
"I'll think about it Mom." I feared for her. I would consider it.
Knowing my Mom's psyche, or more accurately, having worn my mom's
psyche like my own jacket for months, I could see she was feeling
more insecure just from the choice of store she chose to shop in
today. She was planning to overcompensate with overt sexuality.
There was not a single item in here that would be rated anything
less than "R". She pulled several items from the rack which I
clearly could not wear.
"Mom, Just a reminder. You can get whatever you want, but if your
shopping for me as well, halter tops, and those low riding jeans
can't work." I discreetly patted my hips indicating the foam
rubber, high waistband panties, underneath.
She looked at me, dismayed and disgustedly, as if hearing this
for the first time. Looking into those pale blue eyes, I could
feel her grasp with concrete reality was loosening. I, as strange
as our arrangement was, dealt with our warped reality in
parameters I was used to - by treating it alternately as acting
or a paid job.
My personality of taking on the wants and needs of others, made
it that much easier. But I had never fully thought through the
impact on my mother. Despite our cool aloof relationship and a
hat full of rationalization, what she was doing to her son had to
be leaving scars as deep as any she had felt in her rough life.
All of this coming off of a marriage that I suspect was full of
psychological abuse. The more I thought about it, the more I
realized she has been gone from our plane of reality for awhile.
This was a woman who, after all, thought that getting caught
having anal sex on the floor of her living room with a stranger
was the proper way to communicate her unhappiness with her
marriage.
She walked me outside of the store, and sat me down on a mall
bench. "I want to pay you a lot more money. Right now! Whatever
it takes! I want to wear those clothes in that store for my
husband. And I want you to be able to." I shook my head slowly, I
didn't fully understand.
"I want you to go under the knife for me."
"Knife?"
"Yes. I want you to get breasts. Maybe do something about that
ass or hips or whatever. I need for you to be more attractive."
****
"It's not such a bad idea is it? I mean for that kind of money,
hell I'd do it."
Of course he wouldn't. Very few would, even those who enjoyed and
spent a lifetime dressing as the opposite sex. But I understood
where he was going with this. The more feminine I became in
appearance, especially my nude appearance, the more he could ease
whatever battle his sexuality was undoubtedly fighting in his
head. He and my mother both would have me dramatically altered,
who I was to fit into their particular needs.
I decided to keep it light. I balled up a paper napkin from his
table and threw it at him, "You just want to be able wrap your
hands around some boobs." I feigned offense, "A girl can't help
it if she's flat chested you know."
"You know I don't care." He approached me from behind pressing
against me.
He wrapped his hands on the outside of my blouse around my
silicone breast forms hidden in a highly padded bra. I wasn't
sure if he was making me feel that he was okay with the way I
was, or making a hint that it would be nicer if what he was
grabbing were real. In any case, as I could feel by the hard-on
lodged against the crack of my ass, his immediate message was one
of impending sexual need.
I was not in the mood, I had too much on my mind, but as is the
way of my personality, I felt as though I should please him. Sex
on command, after all, was my stock in trade. But I was
determined to make it quick.
I had him retrieve the lubricant from my purse, and liberally
used it to cover my hand. Lowering his pants to his knees, I took
his hard cock in my hand and slowly ran it up and down over the
shaft. His eyes lit up with excitement as I felt him grow in my
hand. His cock glistened with the lube, stiff and ready. I leaned
over and kissed him hard on his lips.
Satisfied he was properly lubed he placed a hand on my back and
guided me onto all fours onto the living room rug. Reaching
behind I guided his dick into my waiting hole. With wild abandon
he reared back and forth, plunging his meat into my ass, groaning
with pleasure with each thrust of his hips.
He reached around and grabbed my padded breasts. Another hint? He
rarely touched my tits.
Using the floor I pushed back meeting his thrusts, twisting my
body in rhythm so his dick was gripped even harder by the
tightness of my ass. It only took a moment more before he sprayed
sperm into my canal, moaning in release and relief. I marveled at
how efficient that I had become at making men come. I could make
them explode instantly if I chose.
Mike fell back onto the carpet and smiled up at me. Mike was a
man easily above average intelligence, but when he fell into
thought you could see it, and now as his eyes ran across my body
I nearly hear the wheels of his mind humming. It didn't take much
of a leap of imagination to guess what was in that head of his.
I excused myself to the bathroom to clean up. When I re-emerged I
apologized out of tonight's date, telling him I needed to run
some errands for my mother. His face only showed momentary
concern, but a smile quickly returned.
I kissed him on the forehead on the way out.
***
Charles, my mother's husband, had left for his month long trip
this morning so I used my spare key to let myself in the house. I
walked down the long entrance hall calling my mother's name. No
one responded. I walked back to the front door and opened it
noting her car was still in the driveway. I wandered to the
kitchen, helped myself to an apple, and kicked off my heels. They
ached lightly. Even after all these months of expert navigation,
it was amazing to me that my mother could leave heels this high
on all day without a single complaint.
My stocking feet padded lightly on the floor as I headed to the
living room. My apartment, while comfortable could not hold a
candle to the palace my mother shared with her husband. When he
was gone on his business trips, which was quite often, I liked to
lounge around here. I told my mom it was just another aspect of
my role, but the truth was with the home theater, 45-inch
television, the full fridge; I just loved the luxury of it.
I turned the corner and shouted immediately, "Mom!" My hand
released the apple. It rolled soundlessly across the floor.
Mother was lying on half on and half off the couch. Her eyes
looked clouded in a milky glaze, and her complexion was near
gray. She glanced up at me through a deep fog, and mumbled
thickly through her half smile, "I really pleased him this time.
He won't cheat on this trip. I really pleased him..."
Oh dear god. She had slept with him before he left this morning.
She was probably internally bleeding to death before my very
eyes. With a quick wrist motion, I flipped open my cell phone and
dialed 911. I described it as potential internal tears,
absolutely internal bleeding. To my relief, they sounded as
concerned as I felt. They would be here quickly.
"I really pleased him," She said repeatedly in a dream like slur,
"I really pleased him".
***
Zip codes mean everything. And when your zip code falls in this
neighborhood of extreme privilege, ambulances arrive practically
the moment you turn your phone off. The paramedics examined her
quickly and worked furiously, before rushing her to the
ambulance. They assured me that the damage was not as extensive
as it seemed - although it was bad, and there was some shock.
After a few days, she would be hopefully be okay.
I still stood in the living room for nearly an hour. It would be
a few hours before I could see her and I really wasn't sure what
I was going to do in the mean time. I considered calling her
husband to tell him what was going on, but I knew Melinda
wouldn't accept it. But something had to be done. At the very
least he had to know her condition was more grave than she let
on, and the infrequent sex he thought was just very painful to
her, was far more than that.
The pain and insanity of it all, and my life washed over me at
once. I cried like I hadn't cried in years.
***
I shook her hand and sat down. I had only been here a handful of
times, but she seemed genuinely glad to see me. But, I guess that
was her professional demeanor. She played a role just as I did.
I took in the surroundings of the office once again. I noted
approvingly that she had hung a new painting; anything she did to
brighten this place would help. On my first visit, I was
surprised that this room was closer to that of a medical doctor's
waiting area, albeit with scattered furniture and a desk. I had
expected the traditional couch and leather chair like the
psychologist's offices seen so often in television and movies.
I sat on a thinly padded wooden chair covered in patterned cloth,
and crossed my legs casually. Unlike my usual wardrobe of short
skirts and breast exposing tops, on my trips here I dressed in
simple business suits, tasteful blouses, and knee length skirts.
I still wore fairly high heels, partly because I had grown
accustomed to the height, partly because I felt my expertise
walking on them added to my case.
"Hello Melly." Her tone was always even despite her bright face.
"Hello Dr. Branford."
She got straight to business, "I usually take much longer than
this to decide. But it is obvious to me, that you are, for all
practical purposes, a girl. I understand that your surgeon ...
Dr...." she was at a loss for his name.
"Schnelling."
"Dr. Schnelling, like all surgeons are supposed to do in this
situation, would not proceed with the breast implants and
surgical alterations to other parts of your body without my
approval. This is obviously not something one rushes into.
Running it by a counselor to make sure this is the right decision
is the correct thing to do. I admire his ethics; many surgeons do
not require the evaluation. I understand you are going in soon?"
I nodded. This was my last hurdle. "Well I thank you for this," I
said more enthusiastically than I felt. Somewhere in the back of
my mind, during these weeks of sessions I wanted my therapist to
catch me in my lies, and tell me she could see I was doing this
all for the wrong reasons. Other people's reasons, but she
couldn't. I was too good. Even if there was some doubt as to my
underlying motivation, someone who was as accomplished a female,
as I seemed to be, was not going to be denied.
I thought about my mother at home, not yet fully recovered, more
out of touch than even before. This would please her. I thought
about Mike's increasingly dropping more hints that he preferred a
more realistic girl. This would please him.
Me? Was I pleased? I didn't know how I felt. I had lost touch
with my own feelings and center long ago. I just knew that I had
spent this much time as a woman with no end in sight, what
difference would a few changes make? At least, that's how I
thought I felt. I couldn't be sure anymore.
***
I didn't feel nearly as bad as I thought I would, although the
amount of pain I was in was considerable. I felt like someone had
decided to jump up and down on my chest for hours before kicking
the crap out of my sides. I was bruised and very tender, but I
knew that would pass. I realize there was a good deal of
swelling, but my breasts seemed larger than I had imagined they
would be. They felt as though with a single movement of my arm
they would rip right of my tightly stretched skin. I decided to
be careful even as I chastised myself for my silliness.
The nurse was very helpful, but extremely annoying. She yammered
on about the number of "trans", as she called them, who had
similar operations done. I didn't feel like conversation, I felt
like gobbling bottles of Tylenol until I felt better. It would be
some weeks, especially for the hip implants, before it would all
be pain free.
***
Since her injury, I was forced to explain the situation to
Charles, her husband, making him promise not to tell. It was a
strange conversation as
I realized how few words actually had been spoken between us over
the months - words that never transcended the tripe of bad porno
dialogue.
He, for all of the weirdness he had willingly gone along with,
truly loved my mother. He confessed that he only participated in
this farce because she had insisted, and after all this time had
only become comfortable with it mere weeks ago.
Charles agreed that he would brush off my mother's advances, for
her own good. But she took this as a form of rejection and began
to loose her increasingly tenuous grasp on reality. She refused
to accept it was for her health. It was this, and concerns for
her health, that placed me in her husband Charles' confidence
more and more. For both of us it was becoming difficult and
painful to talk with my mother as she slipped further into her
disconnected state. With my mother increasingly out of it,
Charles and I frequently went to dinner and drove around to
discuss her situation. And more often, not related to the bait
and switch game we pretended to play when she was healthy, sex
entered the equation. It was difficult for it not to, as I was
becoming more of a wife to him, and my mother was slowly assuming
the role of an elder parent one took care of.
The situation with Mike had heated up considerably as well. The
changes I made to my body opened doors that we never realized
were closed. Things like roller-blading - I could never wear
shorts before the hips were put in - or going to the beach, all
fell into our lives. With a daytime life available to us, we
existed more as a couple and not just bar fly creatures of the
late night.
Mike, it turned out, was someone who liked being with the "hot"
girl.
Other men's attention toward me made his juices flow. Living in
Los Angeles and having been a boy a year ago, I was never going
to the prettiest girl in every room. But I was pretty. And the
surgery had created a body, which was spectacularly formed and
frequently ogled.
The defining features, judging from the stares, were my breasts.
They were on the outside of a D-cup, very large, granted, but not
freakishly so. But my choice of cover, largely low dipping tank
tops, left little to the imagination. My legs were that of a tall
lean teenage girl, always emphasized by wearing the highest of
heels. Being able to wear shorts for the first time in what
seemed like forever, I became fond of sporting short-shorts with
a hint of my cheeks peeking out of the bottom which show cased my
round bubble like ass.
I too, began to like the attention I received, and subtly became
a show off. But it was filling a need because I had little else.
I was a person who in reality was little more than my shell. It
was not plausible to let anyone get to know the real me, even if
I could say what that real me was.
So, in lieu of anything deeper, my shell became very important. I
began to validate myself by the attention others gave me. It was
for slightly different reasons, but a core of my behavior had
become more like my mother's. The irony was not lost on me.
***
Part 4: Aftermath
Mike rolled me over onto my back. I wrapped my suspender panty
hose clad legs around him, digging the heels of my pumps into his
shoulders. Mike had quite the leg and foot fetish guy, I
discovered, and I wore heels to bed quite a bit. He especially
loved it when I scratched and poked his back with them. Reaching
under my ass he lifted my hips off of the bed slightly pushing
his hard penis against through the opening in the hose onto my
waiting hole. I guided him and squeezed my sphincter teasingly as
he slid inside slowly.
I grabbed his hips and shoved him toward me so I could take in
every inch of his cock. He made a noise of surprise and pleasure
as he began pumping away, transfixed by the by the hypnotic
bouncing of my large implanted melons. He grasped them greedily,
squeezing the round firm mounds in his hand, twisting my nipples,
laughing lustily and joyfully. I slid back and forth with every
thrust, placing a hand over my head to keep it from bouncing off
the wall above the bed. The neighbors would hate that.
But as I slid Mike's cock out of my ass to let him take me from
behind, something cold washed over me, like a winter wind had
entered this warm apartment in the middle of the Summer.
A moment later, in my purse on the nightstand, my cell phone
rang. I never answer the phone when I am doing anything else;
especially sex. But
I somehow knew I needed to get it. Mike made a face of
disappointment, and
I waved him quiet with a broad gesture of my hand.
I dug frantically through my purse, crying even before flipping
open the phone. I took a deep breath and tentatively whispered
"Hello?" A momentary silence on the other end, then Charles spoke
his voice hoarse and hollow,
"It's Melinda.. your mother. Something went wrong. She's dead."
*****
To those in attendance I could only declare myself a "close
friend", although many, including my own father, commented on how
much I eerily reminded them of her. Throughout the afternoon, I
was watched carefully through the corner of eyes. Suspicions and
rumors of my mother's "love child" would last long after talk of
the estranged son, her only child Dennis, failing to show up for
the funeral, faded.
I didn't care what any of them thought. I was too shaken up. All
the coldness that had characterized my relationship with my
mother in the latter portion, and the strange deviancy that
guided it through the final months, was distant and forgotten. My
heart was plainly broken. I missed her.
As my father walked out of the door, quietly so no one else could
hear, I released my anguish, "I know you killed her. Not
directly, but I know what you did." He looked at me puzzled as to
how I knew, his eyes narrowed on the outside of recognition, but
he couldn't quite place me. I turned my back on him and walked
away.
****
It was another two weeks before the inevitable subject was
brought to the fore. After the funeral I had retreated to Mike's
place and spent nearly every waking moment in his care. He
stepped up wonderfully and tried to give me everything I needed
to get through this. I really appreciated him for it.
Charles and I decided that it was too painful for him to see me
for a couple of weeks, and today was the first time we had spoken
since the funeral. There were minor questions of estate and such,
that he needed answers to, but not knowing my mom's affairs half
as well as he did, I turned out not to be very helpful with.
We were sitting on the couch together, he held my hands in his in
comfort.
A television show neither of us was watching blabbed on in the
background.
"I know it's a terrible time to talk about this," he began, "but
I have to know what you're going to do. I mean, about the ...
payments and all you were getting from your mother. Technically,
that was my money she was paying you with."
He took a deep breath. He was obviously shamed to have to be
discussing such matters as money now, but it was something that
had to be done along with the scores of other matters financial
and otherwise that demanded to be wrapped up. "I enjoy your
company greatly. In the last few weeks before... Melinda died; I
felt we had become very close. I know that you've got an
apartment and car and million other expenses. I want to help. I,"
he paused again, "I want for us to get through this together. I
want you to take her place, for a short while. Maybe completely.
I know its bad for me to be discussing this just two weeks since
she left us. But looking over the finances, I understand how this
decision needed to be made soon."
He stood up showing me to the door, "Listen, I won't leave you in
the cold if you say no. You've done more than ... than anyone
would have. I just can't pay ... the sort of sums she was,
unless..." He let it trail off. We both understood what was left
unsaid.
****
He was hurt that I was even considering it.
"What are you going to do? I want you ... need you, here. I've
come to depend on you. I care for you deeply."
What Mike was not going to say was that he loved me. He might
have, I wasn't sure. What we had often felt like love. While I
was sure that the conflict in his mind had eased greatly since my
surgery and I may not be strictly a boy any longer - I was
definitely not a girl. And as much as he joked that I was
everything he needed minus the 28-day cycle, the truth was I was
everything he needed minus a vagina plus a penis. An important
distinction no matter how studiously avoided. Any thoughts of
love he may have had about me brought into sharp relief those
differences.
I understood that Mike cared for me, in part, because the sex was
good and my finances allowed me to hang out all day and be the
party girl with him. I wasn't cynical enough to say he had become
dependent on my over flowing purse, but that could not be
discounted. How would he feel when I couldn't be that girl nor
had that kind of money? When I became more normal, mundane
needing jobs and a place to live. How could he feel when he had
to come to terms with who I was in that situation?
And what about me? Was I in love with him? I didn't think so. I
walked around in a body that I casually had taken on, despite all
its serious consequences, like a coat bought off the rack. I
wiped away a personality and replaced it with one that had little
to do with who I actually was, which at this point, was no one.
Any "growth" that may have happened were nothing more than
adjustments to be more like Mike or Charles wanted me to be. To
give love, you have to love yourself, so the old saying goes. But
I would add, to love yourself, you have to know who you are.
Stepping completely into the role of Charles wife gave me
financial stability beyond my belief. With his encouragement and
resources at my fingers, I could, through surgery and other means
maintain this female form I have taken on. In a very few years, I
was going to lose my natural youthful androgyny and harden into a
man. A man with breasts, hips and face hair. I would need to stop
that in its tracks if I chose to remain a girl. And while I was
at this, I could slowly change my appearance to be someone, who
was not just a carbon copy of my mother, even as I began to find
my own personality.
Of course, there was the concern that he would put me completely
in my mother's mold, to be more like her than before. He did,
after all love her enough to go along with her mad ideas of
making me a girl to begin with.
What would become of me then?
I had much to think about.
****
[to be continued]
Blaze
- 12.03.2020
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