You Can Always Say No -- Chapter 05 free porn video

You Can Always Say No, Ch_ 05 by Cherysse St. Claire ©2007 As they say, time flies... well, you know the rest. We settled into a pattern of functional schizophrenia, acknowledging the existence of both 'Alan' and 'Angie' to cope with the requirements of his career, versus the desires of our private lives. When either one was present, the other was referred to in the third person, if at all. Inevitably, there was a certain amount of 'bleed-over' from one to the other - and 'Alan' increasingly paid the price. It wasn't always a comfortable coexistence for either of us, but it was a workable one. To my delight, Alan had yet to request I remove the chastity. That thought would never have occurred to Angie; the device did not impede her pleasure in the slightest and made her look and feel deliciously feminine. I knew it was physically uncomfortable at times, particularly when I hugged and kissed my husband. His cock did attempt to rise to the occasion, but was thwarted by its dainty, yet effective stainless steel prison. Through continual reinforcement on my part, my sissy hubby came to accept that, for the time being at least, he had no 'husbandly duties' to perform. As time passed, he gave the impression he wasn't even aware it was still there. That pesky 'poison ivy rash' just seemed to hang on and on. If Suzi had been delighted when Alan did not return to remove his nails, she was ecstatic to meet Angie in person when she began accompanying me for weekly touch-ups. Alan's co-workers finally gave up asking about his affliction. Some anonymous prankster had posted a sign on his office door: Leper Colony. Given the sly smiles on the faces of some of the female staffers in his office the day the sign appeared, Alan took it in context and reveled in the joke with them over lunch. I thought it was actually quite humorous when I heard about it. Jason professed he had no room in the budget to hire people specifically for the project on which Alan labored, advising my husband instead to 'be creative'. In response, Alan had marshaled a formidable ad hoc 'staff' of secretaries and P.A.'s who were only too happy to assist him on a time-available basis. He frequently catered in lunch for them all, on his expense account, to facilitate the coordination of individual tasks and times available, as well as just socialize and let off some of the pressure-cooker atmosphere under which they all toiled. It had been one or more of these women who had been responsible for the sign on his door and other light-hearted pranks. They told him he was the best boss they had never worked for. Earlier in our relationship, I had been irked by the way women gravitated, unbidden, towards my attractive husband. I still was, but marveled at his ability to turn that into a business asset, recruiting a viable, if irregular workgroup out of not much more than personality. Any smart manager would envy that. The same budget that prevented hiring people for the project precluded paying overtime for it. Alan was salaried, so he had to make up the difference with his own time. Whenever possible, he limited his late nights to Mondays and Wednesdays, but Jason was notorious for an occasional spontaneous, mid-afternoon "what if we tried this" meeting or memo - and a late Tuesday or Thursday crept into Alan's calendar, while the boss left to do whatever bosses do. I knew what that cost Alan personally, yet he never whined about it. Instead, he always came home with enthusiasm, recounting his day's accomplishments. I allowed the more technical aspects to glide smoothly over my head and rejoiced with him in the excitement of a difficult project coming together. If his 'staff' had a complaint, it was that his long hours and the stress of the project must be adversely affecting their surrogate supervisor's eating habits. They told Alan he had lost too much weight; his suits were beginning to look terrible on his slenderized torso and they were, somehow, feeling like it was their fault. They insisted he either start eating or buy a new wardrobe that looked like he belonged in it. I enjoyed a private smile when I heard that. Jason Miller invited us both to dinner on occasion; a 'peace offering', as he put it, for taking advantage of Alan the way he was. He couldn't have been more complimentary of his Executive Assistant's (the title Alan had chosen for himself at the beginning of the project) work and the amazing progress he was making. The joke was, Jason was spending an inordinate amount of time smoothing ruffled feathers with one executive or another over supposed productivity lost because the man's secretary or P.A. had been unavailable when he needed her - off performing some task for Alan. Even Patti Drake, Jason's own secretary, had been enlisted into Alan's 'Lepers' as they teasingly referred to themselves. Jason effused enthusiasm for Alan's boundless energy, drive, and determination to bring the project in on time. He did lament the longer hours Alan had to put in - time spent away from me - as the project drew closer to the deadline. He also fretted the same observation the other staffers had made, that his assistant had lost a noticeable amount of weight. Jason hoped I wasn't holding it and the lost 'quality time' against him personally. It wasn't that Alan looked bad, he contended; far from it. Alan now radiated an inner glow that seemed to be infecting everyone who worked with him. In spite of the petty grousing from the executives, the office was, overall, a brighter, happier place to be on a daily basis. My hubby's boss promised me faithfully; even if they didn't win the contract, he would not forget the sacrifices my husband and I had made to advance his company. Of course, he couldn't conceive of Alan's efforts as being anything but an unequivocal victory. If he, Jason, could do anything to ease the burden on us, anything at all, say, digging into the office 'discretionary fund' to buy Alan a new suit or two.... I couldn't help but smile (I was smiling a lot lately). Here was a successful entrepreneur, well on his way to becoming a gazillionaire, who remembered the people that helped him realize his dreams. He gave me hope that the future of Business was not as bleak as the Bernie Ebbers and Ken Lays of the world made it appear. Although Jason professed we were not there to 'talk shop', the project seemed never far from their minds whenever the two were together. Sitting between them, my head darting back and forth to catch the rapid-fire exchange of ideas and data, was a bit like watching a tennis match between two superbly-skilled athletes - or, perhaps, a glimpse of what it was like with Bill Gates and Paul Allen in the early days of Microsoft. It was only natural for me to point out; an aggressive media campaign, designed to bring the virtues of Miller Avionics into the public consciousness, could not help but benefit his cause, particularly if there were taxpayer dollars involved. I used my most effective 'closer' on him. "It's not just a case of 'money talks'," I pronounced with a practiced confidence. "Talk is money, makes money when wielded effectively. That's what I do." The entrepreneur was enchanted with the idea and asked me to follow up with him at my earliest convenience. *** Outside of business hours, Alan went away and Angie came out to play. She was done; perfection to the nth degree. Dependant on her mood, her makeup, hair and attire might be a little more subdued or really 'out there'. I'm not sure which of us was more excited at the prospect of her scurrying home from work to make herself ravishing for me. By that time, her hip and derriere prosthetics had arrived. If she had any complaints about the additional time and effort involved in application and makeup, she didn't voice them. What she did voice threw me for a complete loop. It had been a particularly tortuous day on the job, followed by a nasty commute home on the parking lot that was our local freeway in the afternoon; two separate accidents, plus their respective Gaper's Blocks. I was not a happy camper as I stepped through our front door. That lasted about thirty seconds. "Hi Hun-nee!" Angie gushed as she scampered up to me, heels clicking across the marble foyer, throwing her welcoming arms around my neck and hugging me. "How was your day?" I was too stunned to hug her back. It wasn't what she said, but the way she said it. The breathy, lilting, higher-pitched quality of her voice was a perfect compliment to the overdone 'Angie' who welcomed me home. I grasped her arms and pushed her back, glaring at her warily with my 'Okay, what's the deal?' stare. She giggled, her eyes alit. "Do you like it?" she tittered. "Faye has had me working with a voice coach, someone she knows from the movie industry. She told me not to tell you, that we should wait and keep it a surprise. Beverly - that's my coach- says we are just about there and I could 'take it for a spin' for you. Lately, it's been so difficult not to give it away. What do you think?" My nether regions were doing my thinking at that moment and they were pleading to start the bilge pumps. Damn the girl! No matter how evil my day had been, she always had me thinking of sex the moment I walked through the door. "You sound so... natural," was all I managed to squeak out. It was true. She was not speaking in some contrived, patently-phony falsetto. Rather, it sounded utterly appropriate for her, in a Marilyn Monroe/Jayne Mansfield/Jennifer Tilly sort of way. Even as I thought the comparison, Angie blushed, fluttering her eyelashes. "Well, I still need a little help," she confessed. "There's this spray Beverly gave me that tightens the cartilage in the larynx, causing the vocal cords to pull taut. The effects last several hours if you don't push your voice too hard. Still...." "Enough, Wench," I growled teasingly. "Too much information. That is the sexiest thing I have heard since 'take me to bed or lose me forever'." "Take me to bed or lose me forever," she chimed enthusiastically, extending her arms to me. "That's a no-brainer," I affirmed, grasping her hands firmly and leading the way. *** I sometimes had trouble believing our relationship had come as far as it had so quickly. There were similarities to the best of the downloaded stories from the Internet, as well as some glaring differences. No, we did not spend all that much time shopping. No woman is that obsessive, except perhaps Paris Hilton and there is nothing real about her, anyway. No, I had no intentions of transforming my sissy hubby into my full-time domestic servant and handmaiden. We did indulge ourselves in a few French Maid fantasies, but mostly split the household chores equitably as we always had. If I decided to go the servant route, I would contact an agency. Likewise, my 'baby' was too damn good to waste in a bonnet and diaper, languishing in some outsized crib. Infantilism? Sorry; that was just wrong for us. Angie was at the shop most Tuesday and Thursday evenings while I took care of the things I had to. As one might expect, people noticed the amazing resemblance between Faye and her new 'student' - and Faye was quick with a response. She told all who asked Angie was her nearly-eighteen-year-old daughter - exactly the age Faye's own child would have been, had she survived. If any mentioned they hadn't known she had a daughter, Faye admitted she had made mistakes earlier in her life. As a result, Angie's father, who didn't approve of Faye's flamboyant lifestyle, had been granted primary custody of their child. As Angie had recently come of age, she had reached out to her mother to reconcile. The girl had blossomed under Faye's nurturing, embraced her mother's attitude towards life wholeheartedly and now wished to join her in the 'family business'. The striking similarity between them, plus Angie's youthful countenance beneath all the makeup, made the fabrication believable. Other than Faye and myself, the only individuals who knew differently were the two co-workers she enlisted to talk to Angie that first Saturday. They were enchanted with the way Faye's 'baby girl' was developing and enthusiastically joined the plot. The three of them gave me a 'credit' in their storyline; I was the trusted friend and confidant who had acted as go-between and brought mother and daughter together. I thought the cover story was delightful- and potentially useful. Faye told me 'our girl' had finished her Introductory and Intermediate phases in record time and was now working on her Mastery level courses. Angie had actually begun working on those evenings and some weekends, doing consultations and makeovers in her 'internship'. By the time she got home, she was gushing with enthusiasm about this or that client and how she had made the woman look her best ever. I gushed too, but for a different reason. One would think, after a while, I would begin to take it all in stride, perhaps even become a bit blas? about it all. Nothing could be further from the truth. Each time my Angie shimmied up to me and held out her arms, it was like seeing her for the first time - and feeling that same electric thrill. It seemed so improbable this siren was also the husband whom I loved just as dearly, the one who was even then assembling a multi-million- dollar contract bid. Lately, they were so radically different in appearance and demeanor, it was almost as though they had become two distinct individuals. Perhaps they had, in a way. At work, Alan bore a terrible burden; no less than the future of his company and, inevitably, his own career. Everyone has their preferred escape mechanism from that kind of pressure. Some climb inside a liquor bottle every night. Some overeat; that's why they call it "Comfort Food". Others do drugs. Still others take their frustrations out on their spouses and/or others around them, often spitefully, sometimes violently. For the most part, Alan eschewed those self-destructive behaviors. Instead, he sought refuge in Angie, the sometimes brainless bimbo (at least, that was part of the act) who existed solely to be as beautiful, feminine and sexy as she could be, pleasure me in any way she could, and be pleasured in return. When taken in that context, Angie's sometimes vapid, hedonistic behavior made perfect sense, right down to acceptance of her own chastisement; the greater the pressure on Alan, the greater his need to get away from it all - and Angie's need to assert herself. I could hardly complain; look what I received in return. Angie was more attentive to my sexual and emotional needs than ever, taking me to heights that made K2 and Everest seem like anthills. More than a little of that ecstasy was me, lost in the fantasy and having no desire to find my way out. Our expanding toy collection was superbly crafted, expensive, and worth every penny. On more than one occasion, I raised a painful and embarrassing lump on the back of my head from banging it repeatedly against the headboard of our bed. Angie was just as proficient at shredding an occasional sheet or pillow with her talons as I claimed her pussy for my own. Each experience was better than the last, but like any junkie, I was always looking for that next, higher high. *** Humans are inherently social animals. It is not desirable to spend every night at home (nor work or class), no matter how drop-dead gorgeous and sexy your significant other may be. I had made the development of Angie's social skills - and exposure - a priority. If she craved 'escape', what better way than to be seen and accepted by others as the vamp she wanted to be? I wasn't about to deny; the thought of taking my little chippie out on the town and showing her off kept me in an advanced state of arousal. She was already an accomplished 'mall rat', so the progression to more adult venues - theaters, restaurants, concerts (no, no mosh pits), night clubs and dance clubs - was a rapid one. When we went out together, I drove. There were control issues, of course, but there was also the matter of Angie having to show Alan's driver's license if, God forbid, we got pulled over. Why court disaster? For the same reason, I tended to take us places where I was already known, or where two attractive young women would be admitted, unchallenged, for their appeal to lots of young, impressionable, free- spending guys. From the clubs' perspective, that was just good business. I could, and did, appreciate that. I was elated with the reactions my girlfriend elicited, not unlike those of your typical porn star. The svelte, tr?s chic, A-cup urban party girls hated her, period. I expected that, even relished it. After all, I was making my honey over for me, not them. Not every man gave her an approving once-over, either. Most of those were with their wives or girlfriends. The men who did pay attention - either unburdened with a mate's disapproval or undeterred by it - cast frequent, surreptitious glances our way or just stared, mouth agape. You could have re-built Noah's Ark with all the freshly-raised wood they sported. That gave me a perverse thrill, like going shoe shopping and coming home with a pair of total 'Come Fuck Me' pumps. Of course we got hit on; why do you think I took us to places like that in the first place? I love being the center of attention. With Angie by my side, there was no way we could be anything but. We drank, danced and had a good time. I encouraged her to dance with guys. She was hesitant at first. After all, interacting with a boy that way for the first time is an intimidating step in any girl's life. I took the lead for both of us, as I always have. Finding a couple of interested guys was easy. Getting her dance partner to snuggle up behind her, do a nice, slow, sensual bump-and- grind was easier still; I just got behind him and did the same. My partner made it four in a row. Once things were going nicely, I broke my partner and I off so I could dance facing Angie, keeping my eyes on her and her alone. My partner was free and easy with his hands, which was certainly a turn-on. It was an even bigger turn-on to see Angie's partner doing the same. I kept a close watch on his hands, making sure he wasn't getting too close to something we probably didn't want revealed to complete strangers, but the aroused expression on my lover's face was priceless to me. I willed her with my eyes to understand I was cool with it, and she should be cool with me and my dance partner, too. Ulterior motive time; I wanted Angie to get used to flirting with men - and men flirting with me, right in front of her. Humiliation was the furthest thing from my mind. If we were to survive as a couple - and I wanted with all my heart for us to survive as a couple - she would have to get used to the fact that men were going to find both of us attractive and wouldn't think twice about putting the moves on one of us with the other right there. With the right attitude, it could be a fabulous time for us both. As I had taught my husband so long ago: I came with you, I leave with you; anything that happens in-between is strictly business - in this case, sensual business. On that first night, the ensuing sexual romp when she and I returned home was off the charts. Others were to follow. After returning home from one such evening, I had performed my nightly ritual and was coming out of the bathroom, on my way to a much needed night's sleep. Angie was sitting at the vanity, gazing into the mirror. She didn't seem in any hurry to remove her prosthetics or makeup; a cardinal rule Faye had taught her. She just sat there, absentmindedly caressing one breast - much as her dance partner had done earlier that evening. That gesture, plus the absent, slightly dejected look on her face, spoke volumes - and I got the message. I stood behind her and massaged her shoulders. She nuzzled my arm with her cheek, covering my hand with her own. She smiled at me in the mirror, although I detected a touch of sadness around her eyes. "Get cleaned up, then come to bed," I urged, smiling suggestively. "Leave the 'body' on 'til morning. I want to feel it as I snuggle up to you." The simple act of spooning had never felt so tender. Angie slept like a baby. In fact, I half expected to look down on that angelic face and spy her sucking her thumb. I, of course, had perverted visions of her sucking a much larger appendage. In contrast, I don't think I slept a wink, my mind ablaze with a whole new scenario in our lives, engendered by that simple, forlorn gaze on her face before the vanity mirror. *** My weekly luncheon with Faye the following afternoon was a seminal one. "She told you that?" Faye gasped, mouth agape. "Donna, that's marvelous!" "Not in so many words," I averred. "It was more in the way she looked; I just sensed it. I think a little of you is rubbing off on me." "Oh, Donna, I am thrilled for both of you," Faye gushed. "It's about time, too. I've seen the same look in her eyes and was going to mention it to you. I know exactly who to contact. She's an old friend I met through the 'scene'. She's not into it to the extent you and I are, but she is certainly supportive. If you will allow me, I will give her a call." "Do it," I urged. "I didn't get a wink of sleep last night, just thinking about it. How long do you think this will take?" "I will call Shelby right after lunch," Faye avowed. "I think you should meet with her first. Depending on her schedule, we should be able to set that up quickly. I would be happy to go with you and make introductions." "Yes, do," I breathed, relieved. "I want your moral support on this one. I was going to ask you anyway." Faye took my hands in hers. "Then it's settled," she pronounced confidently, winking. "Shel and I have always gotten along like a house on fire. She teases me about my personal style, but trusts my judgment. I have no doubt she will adore you. Meeting with Angie after that will be a formality, but I just know she will be okay with it. Damn, I haven't been this excited since Terri won Miss...." The stunning blonde paused in mid-sentence, her eyes staring into space. In a few moments, she returned from her private reverie. When she saw me appraising her, she actually blushed; a first between us. "Terri Tunney was one in a million, like Angie," she explained. "It had been a couple of years since my baby died. I had thrown myself into my work - and started doing makeup on the T-girl pageant circuit on the side. I suppose I had always been fascinated with that scene. Let's face it, that's what I do; transform ordinary, even plain women into extraordinary ones. Perhaps there was even a little 'domme' in me, something that got off on the idea of transforming sissy boys into ravishing beauties. "Terri was all of that, and then some. 'Terry' was the mousiest little button-nosed, freckle-faced, red-headed boy you could possibly imagine, like something out of Huckleberry Finn. You could almost picture the straw hat and tattered-hem clam-diggers. He was even from a small town on the Mississippi. How ironic was that? "His dreams were anything but small. He had always wanted to be a girl, and not just any girl; he wanted to be famous, glamorous, like a movie star. He made his way here like so many others, chasing that dream. I met him at his first pageant; a little local thing sponsored by a bar in 'Boys Town'. I was there to do makeup for another contestant. Terry looked so lost, with those big green puppy-dog eyes, so I offered to do his, too. You would not believe the stunner that emerged as the makeup went on. She was still rough around the edges, talent- and comportment-wise. Even so, she took third place..." Faye snapped her elegant, graceful fingers for effect. "... just like that. "I kind of adopted her after that, taught her about makeup and hair, how to carry herself, all the little feminine things that we do. Remember that fast-food commercial: 'I soaked up Philly like a sponge'? That was Terri; she channeled 'girly-girl' like nobody's business. Going full-time was a given; I had thought of her as a girl since that first night, seeing her out on stage with all those people applauding. I actually had to burn all her boy clothes to get her to admit it to herself. "I'm not sure when or where I fell so hard for her, but I made a pass and she responded; God, did she respond! It was like a Fourth of July fireworks spectacular that just went on and on. I moved her in with me right after that. Our relationship went on for nearly two years. She did make-up with me by day and worked every night on improving her 'presentation' for the next pageant. I introduced her to Beverly Martin, the same voice coach I have Angie working with now. Terry took dance and singing lessons, too. Our relationship was magic. No guy, certainly not my baby's father, ever did for me what Terri did. "Did she... how do you put it... transition?" I asked, genuinely intrigued with this glimpse of Faye's past. "Mostly," Faye answered, dreamily recalling some fond memory. "She couldn't do her gender reassignment surgery while she was still competing; that's against pageant rules, not to mention the expense. In all other respects, she was fully female - and I mean fully. Two years of hormone therapy, plus some other little 'scene' tricks, had given her a body teenage girls and some Hollywood starlets would kill for. "Donna, when I saw her walk into a room, my heart started pounding. I had to remember to breathe, to blink my eyes, to think. Forget about whatever had been on my mind at the time; that was a lost cause. When I saw guys ogling her, I was proud. I never worried about one of them taking her away from me. There just aren't that many who would risk social censure for a T-girl. "When I noticed other women giving her the once-over, I got... insanely jealous. I've actually heard women say they were so infatuated with their boyfriends, they wanted to scar their men's faces so other women wouldn't find them attractive. I wanted to go the other way, making Terri so outlandishly femmy, every other woman would feel threatened by her. I encouraged her to get 'body' like mine and she was thrilled with the suggestion. We were saving money for her boob job. Does any of this make sense to you?" "Oh yeah," I agreed, nodding my head sagely. "Believe me, it makes perfect sense." "I kinda thought it might," she surmised, squeezing my hand. "Faye, what happened to you and Terri?" I inquired. "Why aren't you two still together?" Her face paled. She stared a hole in the tabletop for a long time before looking up. "We made the big time," she began quietly. "Terri won a preliminary for Miss Continental; that's the granddaddy of all the T-girl pageants, their Miss America. They gave her a tiara and this big trophy; a brass figurine atop a marble base. I got to hold it for a while; the thing weighed a ton. There were spotlights, music, a bouquet of roses and a couple hundred people applauding and cheering. You should have seen her cry! I cried, too. When she finally realized we were going to Chicago that Labor Day weekend to compete in the nationals, I about had to pry her off the ceiling with a crowbar. "I was emotionally spent after the excitement of the pageant itself, not to mention the jubilation after. Plus, I had an early call the next morning for a film. I went home to get some sleep. Terri was too jacked up. She grabbed her trophy and went out to party with her friends. That was the last time I saw her. I filed a missing persons report, with photo, after the twenty-four-hour waiting period; then, nothing. "The police found her - what was left of her - in an alley behind a downtown dance club. I guess she stepped out for a breath of air with some guy and he didn't like what he found under her skirt. They made a tentative ID by her hair color and physical description from the missing persons report; her fingerprints weren't on file anywhere and the photo was useless. I got a call three days after she disappeared, asking who her dentist was. Donna, I can't begin to describe how sick in my heart that made me feel. It turned out there were just enough teeth left to make a positive match. They never did find her purse - or that damn trophy. I heard later they suspected it might have been the murder weapon; a 'crime of passion', they called it. That was before hate crimes were recognized by law." I felt an icy hand grip my heart. This time, I squeezed her hand in support. "How did the case come out?" I asked sincerely. "Case?" Faye snorted derisively. "You need a reality check, Sister. The 'official inquiry' was closed the same week it was opened. No arrests were made, no charges were filed, no donuts were left unfinished. Forget about the 'leads'; I don't think a single chair went cold. She got a three-line obit in Section D of the Times; end of 'case'. That's the way things work in the Scene." "So you lost another baby," I intoned softly. My companion nodded. There were tears in my eyes. Faye's were running down her cheeks. God, what more could happen to this woman? Then I thought about the dance clubs I had taken my sweetie to.... "That could have been my Angie," I mumbled, stunned. Faye squeezed my hand again and forced a smile. "We'll just have to make sure it never is," she pronounced resolutely, "for both our sakes, not to mention hers." Faye was as good as her word. She and I met with Shelby Fairchild the following afternoon. I was glad to have my friend with me. Although I hid it well, I was a nervous wreck. After all, Shelby held our future in her hands. I needn't have worried. She was a southern gal with a smile and personality as big as all outdoors. We got along famously, just as Faye had predicted, chatting like old friends right up to the end of our session. Faye and I stopped at a nearby sidewalk bistro afterward. We sipped chilled Chablis as we mapped our strategy. I couldn't help but remember my high school commencement ceremony. Our rather unremarkable principal uttered that classic, lame exhortation: "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." That had never been more true than now. As my friend and I parted, each of us to return to our jobs and make arrangements, I was tingling with excitement. *** "Can't you tell me where we're going?" Angie wheedled in her best little-girl voice, clinging firmly to the overhead bar. She had learned early on I was a soft touch when she played me that way. She wasn't the slightest bit hesitant to employ it now to get what she wanted. Not this time, Girlie! "I told you, it's a surprise," I confirmed, yanking hard on the black satin corset's laces for emphasis. "You like surprises, don't you?" I tied off the laces at last and tucked them into the webbing, more to discreetly hide them from view under her clothing than prevent Angie from reaching them. I wasn't worried she would try to loosen them; not anymore. Faye and I had been figure-training her since that Wednesday night she surrendered herself to me. It was no wonder the girls at her office had noticed how badly her male suits draped on her body. We had wondered all this time if any of them would notice the corset, garters, stockings and enhancer-stuffed bra under the suit. I had already had all her pants re-tailored to nip in the waistlines as much as could be done. We had had to abandon Alan's belts, replacing them with reasonably-masculine-looking ladies belts that would cinch down tightly enough to keep the pants up. I now marveled at the twenty-two-inch corseted waistline proudly displayed before me, exaggerating even more the swell of her hips, tush and bustline. She wore it all so effortlessly now; barely an afterthought, like the chastity. "Honey, you know I love your surprises," she gushed breathily, lowering her thick, curly lashes in a 'bedroom eyes' tease. "I know! We're going to that new club Mom told us about, aren't we? What's the name again? Neo? I've been dying to check it out. That's why you had me do your makeup heavier tonight, isn't it?" I adored that hushed, breathy tone in her voice, for which the corset's steely grip was responsible. It made the similarity between Angie's voice and Marilyn Monroe's all the more striking. "Could be," I hinted with a coy smile and wink. "Mom said this was a special occasion and requested us to share it with her." "Mom is going to be there with us?" she chirped. "Oh, Honey, that's perfect!" The fact was, the three of us - Faye, Angie, and myself - would be making the scene at the new 'in' venue later that evening. The advanced word was, Neo was a decadent delight; throbbing Techno beat, subdued lighting, tall, recessed booths and niches, shrouded in the gloom of the night, lending themselves to privacy - for whatever pleasure the patrons wished to pursue. The buzz was, away from prying eyes, that could be just about anything. The club offered special theme nights throughout the week to draw a broad spectrum of club- goers. Wednesday was Ladies Night - with a special emphasis on special 'ladies', as well as those who admired them. For the occasion, I had requested Angie give me the 'Glam' look and she had responded with joy. She had gone a little over-the-top for her own look - okay, more than a little - but it was just right for her and I certainly wasn't going to complain. Of course, all of that would come later. We had another stop to make first. "Oh, wow," she gasped. That's Mom's dress." It was indeed the zebra-print creation Faye had been wearing when we met her. I held it open for Angie to step into. "Mom said she wanted you to wear it for her tonight," I explained, shimmying the thin, shiny fabric over her plush curves. "She told me it was a mother-daughter thing; that she wanted to see her little girl all grown up, looking just like Mama." "This is just so good, I can't stand it," she gushed. "I love this dress! It is just so wicked." My sissy hubby hugged me tightly around the neck. "Okay, enough!" I exclaimed with mock severity. "We have to finish getting you dressed so we can get out of here - and don't you dare cry! We don't have time to shovel out that mudslide." With a little effort, I shoehorned Angie into the shiny, unyielding fabric and managed to zip the zipper up. The garment gripped her voluminous curves like a thin rayon cocoon. The sleeveless little number's deeply-plunging neckline revealed her cavernous cleavage almost to her areolas. The narrow waist and tight, over-the-knee skirt emphasized the sprayed-on look, outlining every ridge and cross- hatched lace of the corset beneath. I positioned the two-inch-wide gathered straps just off her shoulders, coming to rest on her upper arms, in a nod to screen sirens from years past. In the same vein, the sheer, jet black stockings with reinforced toe, French heel and back seam caressed her shapely lower limbs like a gossamer whisper. Angie's black patent sandals had inch-wide straps that criss-crossed over her instep, plus the slender ankle strap that cinched it into place. My lover balanced effortlessly on the shoes' two-inch platform soles and pencil-thin six-inch heels. I completed the picture with long, dangly black lacquered teardrop earrings, a matching multi-tiered necklace, and four outsized black lacquered bangles on each wrist that clacked together as she moved. Everything, even the most subtle nuance, fit her perfectly, all bathed in an essence of hairspray and perfume. But for the darker blonde hair, she appeared to be a teen-aged Faye standing before me, in the flesh. In essence, she was. My own black sequined sheath showed off the swell of my breasts, the inward curve of my natural twenty-four-inch waist and the flair of my hips and firm butt. The hem ended just above mid-thigh - just below the dark welts of my sheer, seamless stockings. The black sequined shoes had been pure kismet; found separately from the dress, in a different store on a different day. I knew the moment I saw the sexy little five-inch pumps they would be a perfect match. I accessorized with a single-strand diamond-and-gold necklace with matching drop earrings. A few spritzes of Shalimar and I was good to go. We filled our respective clutches - Angie's black patent and my black sequined - with our makeup essentials, perfume spritzers, mini- Altoids tins (we both liked Cinnamon) to keep our breath kissing sweet, and cell phones. Angie was about to transfer her wallet from her day purse when I stayed her hand. "Just take your ID, Baby," I purred. "Realistically, you won't even need that, will you? Tonight is my treat; you are my date. Revel in it." I air-kissed her, not wanting to muss our lipstick. She removed her ID from her wallet and inserted it in the inside pocket of her clutch, then returned the wallet to her day purse. I removed the house key from my key ring, replaced the ring in my own day purse, put the solitary key in my clutch, then picked up my cell phone and called for a taxi. "We're not taking the DB9?" Angie asked, puzzled. "We can't fit all three of us in my car, Sweetie," I pointed out. "Besides, I would like to have a couple or three cocktails tonight. We'll take a cab to Mom's place, then go on from there. That way, I can give my 'date' the undivided attention she deserves." She hadn't even offered to drive her BMW, which had plenty of room; such was the depth of her conditioning. "Honey, it's still so early," Angie pointed out. "If we're going to a club, we'll be the only ones there. Are you sure you want to leave so soon?" "Positive," I assured her, "and you will be, too, when we get where we're going." Faye was out the front door with the first beep of the taxi's horn. As she strutted proudly down the sidewalk of her building, I couldn't help but admire her. This was classic Faye; a shocking pink four-way- stretch spandex knit dress with deeply-scooped neckline, long, off- the-shoulder sleeves and a hemline that could best be described as there, if the wearer didn't wiggle around too much. Admittedly, that was a lost cause where Faye de Castro's hydraulic hips and pneumatic, braless boobs were concerned. With a dress like that, she had to have been wearing pantyhose; a no-no in Faye's fashion lexicon, unless they were the crotchless variety. Long crystal chandelier earrings with matching multi-tiered necklace, seven-strand tennis bracelet and five-strand ankle bracelet sparkled in the available light. Her lips, talons and toenails matched the dress flawlessly. The pearlescent-white-over-sky-blue shadowed eyelids were a departure from her customary darker tones, but with the broad swaths of black eyeliner and showgirl lashes, her Baby Blue orbs were anything but demure. Completing the 80's-retro look, her shimmering platinum mane was a mass of fluffed-up curls, draping over her shoulder blades. Well, why not? I thought. The timing is right. Maybe we're ready for a comeback. This entire package shimmied seductively our way atop pink patent ankle-strap sandals with clear Lucite platform soles and six- inch Lucite heels. Delightfully, "act your age" was simply not in this minx's vocabulary, which made her so much fun to be with. Faye slid into the rear seat opposite me, positioning Angie between us. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds as she beheld her 'little girl', all grown up. "Baby, you look sensational!" she effused, hugging Angie. "Mama is so proud of you." Faye and I clasped hands and exchanged air kisses. "Are we ready?" Faye questioned, her eyes dancing. "As ready as we can be," I responded, winking and smiling coyly. Angie looked at me, then at Faye. She stared straight ahead, obviously pouting, arching her left hand, palm down, over the top of her head - indicating the path of our conversation. I slipped my arms around her shoulders and held her close to me. "Relax, Sweetie," I expressed. "Don't take it that way. I couldn't give away the surprise until your mom was here to share it with us. This involves her, too. Now, what is the one thing you want more than any other?" "You mean, other than world peace, universal happiness, Net Neutrality, and a Democrat in the White House?" "Smart Ass!" I chided derisively. "Yes, other than those things." She didn't hesitate a moment. "To be happily married and devoted to you for the rest of my life." Okayyyyyy, way to make my heart take a flying leap into my throat! "S-sweetheart," I stammered, misty-eyed, "you managed to say the one thing that was guaranteed to leave me speechless - as you always do. That is just one of the countless reasons I love you to pieces and always will. This one time, I was actually looking for something a little more... selfish." "I - well...." She turned her head away from me to stare out the window into the twilight. Faye smiled, placed her index finger under Angie's chin, lifting her face until their eyes met. "Tell her," she commanded. "I know you are thinking it. I see it in your eyes every night, just as Donna did. Admit it; if not to us, to yourself." Faye pushed gently with her hand, pivoting Angie's face towards mine. She met my gaze for a moment, then looked down. "I want... more," she murmured softly. "D?j? vu," Faye purred, winking at me. I placed my hands on her cheeks and lifted her face to look me in the eye once again. "What do you mean, Baby?" I crooned. "What more do you want? You can tell me. Haven't we been able to tell each other anything?" She was struggling with it. I could actually see the words in her eyes, trying to come out, yet she seemed incapable of putting voice to them. I knew why, too. It was as Faye had just alluded to; she was having trouble admitting it - to us and herself. Epiphany. Inspiration. Perfect Moment. My entire life had been leading to this person, this place, this instant in time. My husband - smart, self-reliant, strong, proud, defiant - had joined me in a voyage of discovery, beginning that magic night before our wedding. In the course of that journey, we had fought, maneuvered, negotiated, reasoned, cried, ranted and loved. In the process, we had re-defined our perceptions and expectations of each other and ourselves. Little by little, Alan's tough, defiant fa?ade had eroded, exposing the soft, compliant, accommodating soul within. It was nothing I had robbed him of or ripped from him. We had sparred, as two wolves might vie for hegemony over the pack. In the course of that struggle, he had recognized me as the Alpha and he, the Omega. The overstated, yet ethereally-attractive result of that realization sat next to me now; expectant, hopeful, needy. Angie knew full well what she wanted; so did I. She didn't, couldn't voice her desires because she understood it was not her place to do so; it was mine, as leader of the pack. Confessing she 'wanted more' was a flirtation, an opening gambit; she was lowering the last of her defenses and offering her throat, as I had once envisioned. It had been too soon then. I hadn't realized - Alan probably hadn't, either - such intense intimacy required a period of courtship, just as any good, lasting relationship did. That time of adjustment and accommodation was now over. I had only to step up and take her proffered flesh in my mouth. I couldn't believe this incredible timing; tonight of all nights. It was enough to make me believe in Synchronicity. "It's difficult for you, isn't it Baby?" I cooed, gazing deeply, knowingly into her eyes. "You want so much, so very much, yet you are afraid to express the words. You feel so small, inadequate, to make such a request of me, but without it, you feel so incomplete, unfulfilled. It's all right, Sweetie. I know; I have always known. "Let me be the one, Baby. Let me be strong for you, for both of us, as I have always been. I will say the words for you and as I do, I will purge you of your doubt, shame, and fear. You want... release, once and for all, from the burden of constraints and unreasonable expectations a cruel, uncaring society has heaped upon you since birth. You yearn to be free to express yourself, visually, physically and emotionally, in the manner that makes you feel good about you. That role they assigned you to, that person they demanded you become doesn't exist, never did, and never will. It clung to you awkwardly, draped clumsily over your essence like one more ill-fitting suit. "Slough it off, Sweetheart. Shed that uncomfortable, unsightly skin and reveal the young, vibrant, alive soul it sought to suppress. This is the 'you' you were born to be. This is the skin the whole, wide world should see, and appreciate, and know in their heart of hearts; this is where you belong. I can see it in your eyes, Baby; can you see it in mine? I have known forever you and I were destined to be here, now, this way. I would not have missed this for the world because you are my world. "The past is the past; we will neither dwell in it nor mourn its passing. We will move forward, you and I, and never look back. In so doing, you will leave behind that burden, becoming that which you covet most, for all to see. You have my blessing, my unequivocal support, and my undying love. I want this for you. I know you want it, too - don't you?" She didn't say yes. She didn't say no. She sighed; deeply, emphatically, gently resting her head on my left shoulder and her left hand on my right. I put my arm around her possessively, smiling at Faye in triumph. She acknowledged my smile with her own, willing me with her eyes to understand how proud she was to take part in this moment. Angie gazed up at me, adoringly. I had never before in my life beheld such... unconditional love as I did at that moment. It felt great to be alive, in love, and in the company of such fabulous soul mates. ***