The Ballad of Annie Greene Part 9
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The Ballad Of Annie Greene - Part 8 free porn video
Bob and Millie by Peggy Sue
I never found out why Arthur left. He started to explain why he was
leaving and I stopped him. Since I was a child I was always suspicious
of 'why' questions. If the answer wasn't simple, it must be a lie.
So I was alone. I didn't feel like sitting alone in coffeehouses - I
would have missed Arthur, and I was determined not to waste time with
useless emotions. I was enjoying masturbating anyhow. So I looked up my
old friend Millie.
Millie was surprised to see me, and she did a double-take to see how
great I looked. She herself didn't look wonderful. She was potentially a
great-looking girl, but she seemed to have lost interest in her
appearance. Her complexion was spotted, she wore little makeup, and her
clothes were blah-colored. After I was there an hour her husband Bob
came home from work. He also had a disinterested look about him, and I
wondered if I had come to the wrong place. They made a great show of
feeling and took me to a very nice restaurant for dinner, so the evening
wasn't completely a wash.
I was surprised when Millie phoned me a few weeks later: "Annie,
something's come up I think will interest you." So I came by.
It turns out that Millie had come across a cache of girl-clothes in
Bob's drawer, and she didn't know what to do about it.
This was interesting indeed.
Little Bob was sitting on a trannie powerhouse that could revitalize
their lives, if they only knew how.
Bob was embarrassed and offended to find me there - a comparative
stranger - handling his intimates. I asked him if he'd dress for me. He
blustered a while, and finally I said: "Look, Bob, you bought these
things because there was something in it for you. Your embarrassment
says there's still something in it. I have some experience with boys who
dress as girls, and I think it's a wonderful thing. Maybe I could help?"
He couldn't imagine how someone could help him with something so
impossible, but he agreed to get dressed.
He came out 15 minutes later in a marvelous combination of beautiful and
dreadful. He had an exquisite fuchsia silk blouse covering an awkwardly
stuffed bra with much too much tit for him. He wore a garish red wig
that looked as though it were made of plastic packaging. His makeup was
delicate and thoughtful, except that his bright red lipstick clashed
with his blouse. He had wonderful dangly earrings with some combination
of gemstones. All this was atop an indifferent gray skirt, and his men's
shoes and socks. His fingernails were a mess.
I asked: "Does your girl-self have a name?"
He shrugged: "Bobbi, I suppose."
I said: "Bobbi, that's a great start, but it could use some work. You
could use some help putting together your outfit and bringing out your
inner beauty."
Millie was taking all this in with a heightened color in her cheeks: "So
you don't think this is some illness that needs a cure?"
"Hell, No!" I said, "When a man finds he can't help turning into a
trannie, it's like finding a gold pebble covered with mud. Until you
clean it up and bring out its inner beauty, it looks awful."
Millie was starting to look more like her old self. Bobbi didn't look so
embarrassed any more. S/he sat down and said "So what does a man do when
he finds himself playing with blouses and makeup?"
I said: "He gets good at it."
It had never occurred to him.
I started talking like a professor: "You've found a secret doorway to
the inner you. Keep playing with blouses and makeup until you find out
what the inner you has in mind."
That's as far as we got that day. I was no longer sorry I'd looked them
up.
We started getting together for dinners and cups of coffee. Bob was
getting a crush on me. That was complicated. Annie the sexpot liked it a
lot - maybe I'd get laid, she thought - but Millie's friend Annie was
very uncomfortable.
One day Bob showed up at my house alone. I wasn't surprised to see him.
He started his move to get me in bed but I forestalled him: "Bob, why
don't you try on one of my lipsticks. I'm sure there's a color and
texture there that would please you."
Bob got flustered. He had come to my house as a creep stalking his
wife's friend. I could see the trannie fighting with the creep inside
him. The trannie won. He said: "Really, could I?"
I showed him my lipsticks. I showed him my eye makeup. He made his face
up wonderfully. I felt like applauding. I said: "You know, we really
ought to get you a proper bra."
Again I watched the trannie fighting with someone inside him. Again the
trannie won. Three cheers for the moral force of the trannie! I said:
"Come on, we don't need Millie, we could go right now." He made as if to
wipe his makeup off, and I stopped him. "No, keep your makeup. It goes
with the bra."
Now he was really flustered. I was talking about taking Bobbi out in
public! Despite his fear, the trannie was lusting for experience.
Besides, the creep was still hoping to get laid. I gave him no time to
object: "Make sure to put the lipstick and a mirror in your pocket,
you'll need to touch it up."
Thus began Bobbi's Real Trannie Adventure.
I could have taken him to a nice place where a pretty and understanding
girl would have fitted him out in no time. But that was too easy. Bob
was too creepy to get such easy treatment. He needed a taste of the real
world. I took him to a hard place.
Mrs. Apple had been running her little lingerie and foundations store
for 30 years. She'd often fitted cruel corsets on misshapen trannies and
she loved the pain in their eyes. She lit up when I walked in with Bobbi
in tow. His/Her delightful makeup and disordered clothes rang her bells:
"Now what have we here, a boy-girl! Does it want a proper corset?"
I fell in with her tone: "It just thought it wanted a proper bra, but I
think it would like to try out your suggestions."
Bobbi started to stammer an objection, and I turned cruel eyes on her:
"Bobbi, if you say a single inappropriate word I promise I'll take you
home and gag you and tie you to the bed." Bobbi looked at me in terror.
"Go ahead, Mrs. Apple, I think we'll only be buying a bra today, but I'm
sure a fitting for a proper corset wouldn't be a waste of your time."
Bobbi's eyes showed her terror and dismay, but she was imagining my gag
stuffed in her mouth. If Bobbi were a real player of
domination/submission games, she would have known that real cruelty
wasn't in my repertoire, so I was making idle threats. Bobbi wasn't a
real player and my bluff held. So Mrs. Apple brought out a corset.
"Here, this one has been tried on by many young boy-girls. I have a new
one for sale if you decided you liked it."
It was a fiendish device. It looked like some prehistoric sea-creature,
with the snaps its teeth and the laces its dripping tentacles. Or it
looked like the kind of medieval torture-chamber where the victim was
locked away and forgotten. Bobbi quailed and shook but took off her
clothes and stayed silent. Mrs. Apple handed her a pair of lacy panties
and we wrapped the corset around her body. It was hard work even to
button the snaps, and then we went to work tightening the laces. Bobbi
could barely breathe. Then Mrs. Apple found a simple skirt and blouse
just to show us the whole effect. I handed Bobbi her lipstick and she
touched up. Then we stood back to look. I couldn't believe how sexy she
looked, even in those indifferent clothes. I took several photos. "What
do you think, Bobbi? You'd wear this corset night and day for, say, a
few weeks. Then we'd tighten the laces and you'd wear it a few weeks
more. By the end you'd have a proper girl's figure. The boys won't be
able to resist you." Poor Bobbi almost fainted at that last one. Mrs.
Apple was enjoying the show. We made Bobbi walk around some more, up and
down stairs. She could barely sit down.
Finally I relented: "No, thank you, Mrs. Apple. I don't think she's
ready for this. It would take courage and commitment, but Bobbi's a
wimp."
Bobbi's face burned at this last remark. I continued: "Let's try a
simple bra for now."
We ended with a delightful simple bra with little padded A cups, just
right for the current size of Bobbi's imagination. I made her keep it on
under her shirt. It looked only a little awkward. I tipped Mrs. Apple an
extra $20 for her help.
Once back in the car, I said: "Go ahead, Bobbi, speak without fear."
"How could you do that? I thought you were my friend."
"You thought I was an easy lay."
That silenced him better than any threat.
I let the professor talk again: "Bobbi, moral codes are there for a
reason. Your moral code says men don't wear mascara and pretty blouses.
When you look at a tube of mascara or a pretty blouse, you're helpless
to resist, so the moral code doesn't apply to you. It's there to be
worked with creatively, but you have to break it."
She looked interested, so I went on: "The moral code says a man
shouldn't lay his wife's friends. When you look at me you're turned on,
but you're not helpless. The moral code applies to you." She looked at
me bewildered. It had never occurred to her.
I took her to Pierre's salon.
"Where are we going?" There was real fear in her voice, but I was
totally in control.
"If you want to go back in the closet and the sexual doldrums, just keep
objecting." She shut up. "We're going to see a friend of mine."
When we walked, in Pierre exclaimed: "Look! Annie has another trannie in
tow."
Indeed I did. Bobbi was made to pirouette and show herself off. She was
still scared from our encounter with Mrs. Apple. Maybe Pierre was
another one. Pierre said: "The face and makeup are alright, better than
alright. Annie didn't do that because it's over her head."
I acknowledged the truth of what he had said.
"The bra looks like something of Annie's work. The hair is hopeless -
only a wig would help. Let's address the disaster of the fingernails."
So we went to work on Bobbi's fingernails. We persuaded her to try a
fuchsia polish that would go with the special blouse she was sure to
wear the moment she got home.
I couldn't do anything about a wig today, Bobbi was already overloaded.
When we got to Bobbi's house, I told Millie about our whole adventure
with Mrs. Apple and Pierre. I told Millie that Bob thinks he's going to
lay me and he needs help forgetting about it. He's still acting like a
typical man, cocky and ignorant. I thought some good strong humiliation
was the right way to handle him. If he made another pass at me, I was
going to do something really mean. Or maybe I'd make good on the gag
threat.
Millie didn't know what to say. She still didn't feel empowered to deal
with this.
Bobbi heard all this conversation but she was still oblivious to the
deep shit she was in. She ran to get the blouse. I went home.
I assume that Bob & Millie had great sex that night - I was never told.
We continued our light socializing, but as long as his cock kept dancing
when he looked at me, I was his tormentor. We were out to dinner and I
told Bob to put on his lipstick. He said he didn't have one with him. He
was a little smug about it. I said: "OK, then we'll have to go buy one."
He looked to Millie with an appeal. Millie turned to me: "Is his cock
still dancing at you?"
I assented. Millie turned to Bob with the first show of anger. It made
her very pretty. "Bob, as long as you still get a hard-on looking at
Annie, you need to be shamed. Do you understand that?"
Bob hadn't accepted that when it came from me, but coming from his wife
it was a different matter.
"You're to carry your lipstick at all times, do you understand? You're
to carry your mascara and everything else you need to make up your eyes.
You're to carry a proper mirror. Whenever anyone gives you the order,
you're to make up your face, no matter where you are. Do you
understand?" He still hesitated. "Bob, if you don't understand this, we
won't be married much longer." At last something got through to him.
"Now let's go home and get the things I require of you." I whispered in
her ear. She nodded to me and continued to Bob: "Get your bra and your
blouse, too, we can go shopping for shoes and stockings."
Now Millie had joined in on the humiliation. Bob was sunk.
Bobbi put on her blouse and bra, but Millie wasn't satisfied. "Go do
your nails too, in that great color that matches your blouse." She
painted her nails. Millie made her do one of them over because it was
messy. I bet Millie was wet from doing this.
Finally, Bobbi's outfit was right and we went to a shoe store.
Millie asked the salesgirl for two pair of tan stockings in Bobbi's
size. The salesgirl assumed a haughty air: "We sell stockings to women
and girls, not to fairies." Bobbi looked upset but Millie shot her a
warning look and she was silent. "Bobbi, if you asked this girl real
nice, she might agree to help you." Bobbi didn't know what she meant.
"Get down on your knees and beg the girl to help this poor wimpy fairy
who doesn't know how to clothe herself."
The salesgirl looked interested. Bobbi got down on her knees. She tried
several times but only when she started confessing herself a wimpy fairy
was she getting any response. She didn't see the salesgirl and Millie
exchanging signals. Out loud, Millie asked the salesgirl: "Is she being
humble enough, or does she have to admit to being a sissy too."
We didn't need the sissy word. She came back in a moment with a garter
belt and two pair of tan stockings in the right size. She also had a
pair of fish-nets and a pair of knee-his for trying on shoes. We agreed
to everything and then went to the shoes.
Other people were in the store, walking by and pointing and jeering at
the sissy wimp. Poor Bobbi was really taking a beating.
We tried on everything from flats to stilettos. We settled on a pair of
flat sandals and a sensible pair of two-inch heels - Bobbi would
probably break an ankle in anything higher. We thanked the salesgirl and
Millie slipped her a good tip.
Bobbi walked out with her great blouse and makeup, her great nails and
tippy shoes, her boy's flannel pants, and her thinning hair. The picture
was still incomplete.
Millie said: "I know a good wig place."
I decided to let them alone and go home. Bobbi looked relieved. Millie
hugged me warmly. She was looking more like her gorgeous self. I was
sure she could handle the rest of this, and anyhow this was her
business, not mine.
A few weeks later, I was invited to dinner at their house. I was met at
the door by a beautiful redhead who I soon recognized as Bobbi. She took
my jacket and seated me, then served me coffee and hors d'oevres. She
was elegantly dressed and coiffed, her makeup was wonderful, she walked
and curtsied like a lady. Better yet, she kept her eyes respectfully
downcast and didn't admire me. Millie had done quick work.
Millie looked splendid. Her makeup was better than mine. I figured that
Bobbi had made her up. She was wearing wonderful colors that heightened
her looks. Her smile was radiant. "Annie, how good to see you. I thought
you'd like to come admire your work."
Bobbi served the dinner she had cooked and cleaned up afterwards. Then
she was allowed to join the conversation as an equal. "Thanks, Annie,"
she said, "I'm comfortable dressing whenever I want. I think I'm fun to
look at even if I don't completely pass, and my boy-self is more
comfortable too. I never stare at Millie's friends any more or build
sex-fantasies about them. I'm grateful for your help."
Annie Greene once more proves herself the true heroine of the trannie
world, and brings forth another happy ending!
When I got home I got a curious impulse to sit still and watch my
breath. After a few moments I swooned.
Bob's crush on me was growing, but so was his fear.
Then I said: "Come on, let's go talk to Millie."
Millie wasn't surprised, but she was angry nonetheless. I said: "Millie,
I'm a fine pussy-eater. Do you think my tongue and your clit could make
friends for long enough to make a real apology."
I was so charming that Millie gave in. She took down her panties and
presented her naked pudendum. I spent nearly a half hour sucking and
licking and nibbling until she collapsed in exhausted joy. She called to
Bob, who had watched the whole thing. "And what will be your apology?"
"I'll wash all the dishes every day for a month, wearing girl's clothes
while I do it."
Millie laughed: "That sounds like a reward, not a punishment."
The ice was broken, but the real sexual apology was deeper than this.
Bob laid me a few more times after this, and I was beginning to return
his feelings. Then Millie crashed our party. Bob and I had foreseen this
event. We quick got Millie out of her clothes and on the bed between us.
I licked her titties and handled her pussy until she was too aroused to
remember she was supposed to be upset. Then Bob drove into her pussy
from behind. She yelled, and then yelled even louder when I pinched her
clit. After a while I rolled off the bed and let the two of them finish.
Millie said: "Bob, you're wearing lipstick!"
So he was. So we had a long talk about fetishes and how a trannie might
work with them.
I said that a trannie's fetishes were like a girl's anatomy, and that a
trannie had just as much right to demand that his sex partner understand
his fetishes as a girl had to demand he understand her anatomy.
Millie wasn't a dope. She was just slow. Once she saw what was happening
she saw well enough. She said: "You mean that if I help Bob with his
dressing it's a sexual act on my part, and that my husband has been
slipping away because I've been letting you do that."
Bingo!
"And you don't really want to take my husband - it's I who've been
throwing him away."
Bingo again.
I had some serious views about Bob's feminization. "Bob's getting too
cocky. There needs to be some serious humiliation practiced or else Bob
will be just another creepy man who had some skill with makeup and
women's clothes. That's not a real trannie in my book. A real trannie is
a boy with a girl's heart, and the clothes and makeup are just ways to
get that heart out in the open and running his life."
Bob asked: "How come you like trannies so much? How come you know so
much about them?"
I wasn't ready for this question and I had to duck. I mumbled something
incoherent and changed the subject.
"Millie, have you ever been really laid? I mean have you ever been
humiliated by your own sexual appetite?" She said no. I could feel she
was intrigued. "I know a man who could help you explore it." Now she was
really intrigued. I phoned Henrico.
"Chiquita, I never thought to hear from you again. Is your friend a
beauty like you?"
"Yes, Henrico, she's a doll. But she's never been really laid and she'd
need some gentle handling. Some of the things you put me through would
be too much for her."
"Si, Chiquita, Henrico is the suave operator. He always knows the lady's
buttons. But one condition: I take care of Millie, but in return I get
one whole day and night with Annie, no quitting no matter what happens."
My pussy was immediately soaked. My head made no objections. I agreed
but Millie went first.
I told Millie to dress hot and gorgeous but sexually accessible - a hot
skirt with no panties, stockings and heels, a tight and sexy blouse,
little makeup, just lipstick and mascara, no perfume. I told her to get
a move-on - she was expected in an hour.
"But what will you and Bob do?"
"Bob and I are going shoe-shopping. I promise we won't do any hanky-
panky."
She'd have to accept this promise - she was going to be busy.
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