Caught In A Good Romance, 10 Of 10 free porn video

© Copyright 2013, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved. [email protected] Caught in A Good Romance,10 of 10 By Leslie Lowe Chapter 10 The first time Lance and I got together when I returned, I told him what my parents had said and thanked him for being so diplomatic with all of us. "You're a prince!" I said giving him a big kiss in gratitude. "I have to be if my girlfriend is a princess!" he protested. "Not to change the subject, but what are you doing tomorrow night?" "I think I'm off at the usual time, why?" "I got a couple courtside tickets to an NBA game." "Don't you own part of the team?" "Well, yeah. What's that got to do with it?" "I thought you were never going to take me to a game!" I said. "You like basketball?" "No," I said, "but it's a great place to meet celebrities." "God, you're such a fucking girl," he said, shaking his head and smiling at me, beaming down tons of love and affection. "Guilty!" I said. Ralph picked me up the next night right on time, dressed not in his uniform but in casual civilian clothes, apologizing for his boss' absence. It was something about a meeting running late, not the first time this had happened, which never bothered me. "He asked me to dress regular and sit with you until he could meet up with us. You okay with that, ma'am?" "I'd love to be your date for a while, Ralph! A handsome man like you can have any girl he likes, and it will look as if you chose me to be your date." "Hey now, Kim. Don't give an old fart the big head, okay?" "What makes you think I was kidding?" I said, as he drove us to the arena. I would give Lance a few laughs later that night, telling him about flirting with Ralph, who was a very handsome man indeed, but terminally shy with women. In some weird sense, I sort of identified with that, because while I had always found it easy to be friends with girls, any hint of romance in the air had turned me into a shy, blushing wallflower, without the slightest bit of backbone. I suppose I had always needed to be wooed, just like most girls. At halftime--Is it called that in professional basketball?--I was was doing okay, although I missed Lance, despite Ralph's valiant efforts to keep me amused and ply me with food and drinks. Sipping a lemonade, I watched the crowd for celebrities and continued to be totally in awe over the size of all the giant men surrounding us. There was a great deal of activity on the court, with officials in suits milling around, players being interviewed for television, and several entertainments occurring at the same time, such as gymnasts tumbling and leaping over each other and several smiling young people working a car dealership promotion by loading and firing tee-shirts into the crowd. The cheerleaders were dancing in the middle of the court and a band played near the sideline not far from us. At some point, I became aware of a parting in the crowd of cheerleaders. The music stopped, then changed to a waltz, which sounded really weird in that raucous venue. I looked around to see what was up. Then I heard, above the roar, a familiar voice. It was Lance, who stood at center court holding a cordless microphone. "I'm Lance Trotter, one of the owners of your team," he said. The crowd cheered wildly. I had no idea Lance was that popular, but maybe it was the beer everyone had been drinking? "I need a favor," Lance continued. "I need to ask you to bear with me while I make a very important announcement." I looked at Ralph and he shrugged. I was thinking that this announcement must have been the result of the important business meeting that had delayed Lance. Maybe a new coach or player? I hoped it wasn't a problem, and was relieved to see that Lance was smiling and excited, so that it appeared to be something good. I was happy for him. And I was so proud of my handsome boyfriend! Lance stood still, waited until everyone was quiet, and then, with an even bigger smile on his face, said, "Kim, will you marry me?" I saw a screen flash up a live video of my shocked face for thousands of people to watch. I snapped my mouth shut, still in shock, as Ralph stood up and took my hand and helped me step out onto the court. In a half- dazed condition, I took a couple shaky steps. We reached the court and my heels began to click on the hardwood. I now saw Lance coming toward me, his smile wide and his arms wider. I let go of Ralph and just took off running, knowing that the skirt of my short dress was probably bouncing up and looking crazy, but I couldn't think about that, because my man was calling me! Lance met me halfway and I threw myself into his arms, standing on my tiptoes. He kissed me as the crowd roared even louder, with whistles and hoots and horns and bells. He bent down and picked me up and carried me back to center court, then turned us around so we were facing the main side of the arena. I had tunnel vision. I hardly saw anything but Lance's face. I was so proud, so in love with him, so surprised and yes, carried away, emotionally even more than physically. He held me there and put the microphone to his lips and said, "Well, Kim? Will you?" He moved the mic to my lips. "Yes, yes! Oh, yes, Lance! Of course I'll marry you!" The crowd roared, giving us a thunderous standing ovation, while Lance kissed me again and gently put me down on my own feet. We stood there as the proud new engaged couple, with photographers attacking us, flashes going off, television cameras circling, all of them jockeying for position. When the crowd noise had died by half, Lance pulled out a ring with a rock as big as a boy's marble, or so it seemed to this bedazzled young lady who shivered as he slipped it on my finger, to the tune of another ovation. After one more lingering kiss, Lance carried me to our seats, where Ralph became the first to congratulate us by hugging me and shaking his boss' hand. I accused him of being in on the plot, and he laughed and shrugged. All the rest of the game we were surrounded by notables and celebrities, and quite a few nice normal people, wishing us well. All the ladies oohed and aahed over my ring, a gargantuan white diamond, princess cut, presented in an elegant solitaire setting of white gold or platinum, which I just loved showing off. It could have been a rubber band for all I cared; I was just so proud to have any proof at all that I had gotten my man! A television reporter with her video cameraman came by and interviewed Lance. She set him up with all sorts of questions about his wild bachelor days, allowed him to sing my praises and kiss me again on camera, and then hit him with a brutally direct question, obviously the whole point of the interview. "Is it true, Mr. Trotter, that the woman you just kissed several times in front of our television viewers and thousands of your team's fans, the woman you have made your fiance, is not actually a woman, but a man?" I was standing next to him, holding one of his hands in both of mine, and I clinched on it tightly as I gasped at the crudity of her question, then going rigid, hoping immediately that my dismay did not show on camera. "I'd better let her answer that question," he said, smiling, as if the reporter was being delightfully amusing. He turned to me and whispered into my ear, "Just be yourself and tell them the truth. I'm so proud of you that I want everyone to know it all, but it's your call, baby." "What's the question?" I said, also smiling for the camera, while feeling my insides churning with angry butterflies. I tried to stand up straighter, soaking up the feeling of my overflowing femininity, delighted that I had worn this comfy sleeveless cotton dress, in a simple yet very pretty pink print, which showed my cleavage and flared out at my hips. I reminded myself that I was a woman now, and that I was safe with my beloved Lance no matter what happened. The reporter looked at me, put a prissy expression on her face, and said loudly in her deepest anchor voice, "Is it true that you are not really a woman, Kim, but a man?" "I don't know," I said, trying to show my prettiest, most relaxed smile ever. "Lance thinks I am. I feel like I am. But it's true I wasn't born a girl physically. So I still have issues with my body, but doesn't every woman?" The reporter just stood there nodding, stumped. After a few seconds of awkward silence, while I smiled sweetly at her and the camera, the cameraman called her name. Finally, she recovered and began to ask another question, but Lance cut her off, saying, "I think she's answered your question, and we have other people waiting, if you don't mind." Ralph nicely but assertively helped the disappointed reporter and her pushy cameraman out of the way. I hugged Lance and whispered my thanks to him. I felt so happy, so excited, and so blessed, I could hardly think straight, which did not stop me from remembering to call mom and dad to tell them the news. Dad asked to speak to Lance and I listened from the side, and what I could hear over the crowd noise indicated they had seen the game somehow and he was thanking Lance for arranging it so they could watch. So it seemed that everyone on earth had known about this but me! "You told everybody but me, didn't you, Lance? How could you do this to me?" I asked him after he hung up, trying to sound as if I were scolding. "How could I resist you?" he answered. "That's not what I meant, but I like your answer!" "And I liked the look on your face when they put it on the scoreboard." "You are so mean!" I said, hammering his massive shoulder with my tiny fist. "The least you could have done was tell Ralph to alert me so I could freshen my lipstick." "You and your lipstick! You looked great when I said the magic words. Here it is on my phone. I told them to send it to me." He touched the screen and we watched the video of me almost fainting from surprise and joy. "Thank you, Lance. Would it sound vain if I said you were right?" "About what?" "Oh, you are so mean!" I said, hitting on him again until he trapped my arms in a gentle bear hug and kissed me so long and hard I couldn't breath. I felt so adored and oh so feminine! It was beyond anything I had ever imagined. I cried happy tears half the night, off and on, which was fine, because it gave Lance reason to hold me and kiss me even more than usual. # # # What can I possibly say about my wedding, so normal in every way except for the bride? How can I convey with mere words the sheer perfection of this, my most special moment, the pinnacle of any woman's life, rarely described as such now in this age of divorce because so many women would rather not admit that "I do" were the words that began the downhill slide? Incidentally, that certainly has not happened for me. Still, the happy event itself was all a blur to me. A disjointed, disorganized and rather kaleidoscopic view of my wedding is all I can recall. In the days running up to our big day, I was wrapped in a cocoon of love and nurturing, by family, bridesmaids and attendants. Fed like a bird and protected from the press and other prying eyes by squads of hulking security guys, I was treated like a fragile piece of fine china or a spoiled princess. I wanted to help out more with the preparations and do other things to keep busy, but Lance and Samantha had arranged it so that I was not allowed to work but was instead pampered and beautified within an inch of my life. The spa that Samantha and I had frequented in the last few months, often with groups of girlfriends, welcomed me home to milk baths and facials, waxings and perms, finishing off with a manicure and a pedicure with one pretty attendant on my fingers and another on my toes, taking an hour to complete the many coats of polish. Through all these delicious hours of watching these men and women ply their feminine arts, my mother was by my side, finally enjoying the daughter she'd never had--or never knew she had, any more than the daughter herself had known! Samantha and I, just the two of us, made a trip to my cosmetic surgeon. The doctor had me strip to my skin. She then gave me a thorough examination for blotches and blemishes, or signs of stress around my new breasts, finishing with a joyous pronouncement that I was perfect as is and that she therefore would not touch me with a needle or any other instrument, hastening to add a promise to be there for me when the ravages of age one day threatened to rob me of my beauty. "Oh, I just hate you!" Samantha proclaimed to me, making both the doctor and her nurse giggle. As the orchestra began to play in the ballroom where we would pronounce our vows, I could hear the sweet strains of Mozart and Bach from the dressing room. I stood there, surrounded by my bridesmaids. My maid of honor, Samantha, was ordering everyone around, handling last-minute details with my long dress and train, demanding that the makeup artist touch up my pouty red lips one more time, assuring nothing was omitted. "Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue," she said for the hundredth time, thinking out loud. She had declared to umpteen other women at one of my showers that my something old was my "red hot little chili pepper," to my utter mortification and to the raucous delight of all the other girls. My something new was a divine corset in robin's egg blue that gave me an even more feminine shape and the delicious feeling of being tortured for my beauty. My borrowed item was my mother's tiny diamond pendant, so girlish and elegant, so not what my life was now, as evidenced by my something blue, a Tiffany ring given to me by Elliott and Samantha, resplendent with a gigantic rectangular blue diamond surrounded by large white diamonds, set in platinum. A wedding dress is so heavy! Or at least mine was. The pull on my breasts was almost painful, for they were as real as they are for any bride who is fortunate enough to start out with enough money to correct her lack of curves. I had gladly submitted to implant surgery shortly after we became engaged, to look and feel right for Lance, and maybe thinking ahead to the fit of my gown. The weight pulling on my very real breasts was hardly the only problem on the long list of complaints one never hears from a bride, but I got used to it more quickly than I did the way the weight of the dress hurt my poor feet. Pressing down on my pink painted toes playing peekaboo in those ridiculously dainty high-heeled strappy sandals, that dress was almost disabling! Why, oh why, didn't I wait until later to don them? No one could see them anyway, unless they happened to watch the removal of my garter. Why didn't I just wear my Zumba shoes until then? The faces as you walk up the aisle are so perfectly in love with you at that moment! You are forced to believe it's you who's special and not the occasion. Can a bride be forgiven for a dab of self-love? If a woman is planning her wedding, my advice is to choose her maid of honor and bridesmaids carefully. Yes, there are always social obligations involved, but one must find a way to make sure that while the obligations are satisfied there's also a leader among the girls standing up there with you who will make sure the day is yours, the bride's, not the family's or the caterer's or God forbid, the rabbi's. Naturally, Samantha did this for me. It was so easy to choose her, the smartest, most beautiful and most powerful woman I had ever known, and since my husband-to-be was her best client, her every expense for my wedding was deductible! Even for a new girl like me, the joys of a wealthy woman's lifestyle had become routine. Months before the wedding, I had largely lost the ability to appreciate how wonderful it was to have my nails done weekly or to receive attentive pampering any time I wished a makeover or a waxing that transformed me into an object of delight for my man. Yet somehow, the wedding and its preparations recalled for me the weirdness of a boy having three layers of lipstick carefully applied, with no one thinking it was the least bit humorous. To everyone around me, I was just another girl doing her ultimate thing. What made this moment special had nothing whatever to do with my rather odd plumbing. No, I had not opted for the full surgery yet, and Lance was not sure he wanted it anyway, even if I were willing. We had deferred that decision. Frankly, I did not care. I would let my husband decide! Meanwhile, I had been on hormones forever, since I first realized I was home, I had arrived, I was a woman. The cloistered intimacy of the pre-wedding activities--No Boys Allowed!-- had been delicious to me, a person who was not that long ago relegated to the meathead side of life. Not that anyone made much of my history. I was assured repeatedly that I was being pampered and primped in exactly the same way countless ordinary girls had been prepared for their groom-- assuming for the purpose of discussion that each of these ordinary girls was about to become the bride of one of the richest men in the country. Yes, the girlfriends gave me several showers and a bachelorette party. I have to admit that the showers were more fun, being traditional and therefore along the lines of my overly feminine inclinations. Yet I rose to the occasion for the bachelorette party and accepted the dildoes and other embarrassing gifts with the grace of a typical girl of the world, hoping that not too many of the participants would look beyond the obvious to consider what a girl like me might do with these common feminine tools. I didn't mention that my close girlfriends like Samantha had already filled my sex toolbox weeks before. My sources informed me that Lance was also being treated as if he were a young bachelor about to lose his freedom. I wondered if he was teased about his transgendered fiance, but received no gossip about it. I knew from the horse's mouth that Lance was proud of the fact I was not only a boy who had become a girl, not only that I had done it for him because I loved him so much, but also that he had made me what I was, that he had taken a man and turned him into a woman. That's how much of a man he was! He loved to quote the old witticism used so often by fathers with daughters, "Anybody can make a boy, but it takes a real man to make a girl!" And I would have been the last to argue with him, not that he or anyone else gave me the opportunity to do so. My poor father looked so proud as he gave me his arm and began to walk me up the aisle. No wonder! He was a rich man himself now, a newly minted fat cat in his small community, a neighborhood where a hundred thousand dollars saved after a lifetime of labor was a reason to brag, and he a multi-millionaire! I was so glad for him and mom, who waited patiently in front for us, and smiled at me with love, affection and pride that could not have been one iota less than what any devoted mother ever had for the daughter she trained for her glorious moment from girlhood. And finally, as Lance and I stood together and took our vows, I felt as if I were an angel poised on a superheated star, exalted but at home, unstable but secure, knowing that I had been born to be his lover, his mate, his wife and his companion. I almost had an orgasm when he slipped the ring on my finger, and when the minister pronounced us man and wife and bid the groom to kiss his bride, I felt the energy of the ages course through him into me and I knew that if he could impregnate me I might just have his child after all, so spiritual was the moment, so not limited by the realities of the physical world, although I must admit that with men as handsome as Lance and Elliott present--and with Samantha smiling at me as if I were her very own creation, which I suppose I was--it would have taken a fool to believe that the spectacle presented to the senses of all those present was not a very large part of the intoxication I felt. Speaking of intoxication, the reception was a time of dancing and delicious desserts and even more delightful conversation, everyone complimenting and offering best wishes to the beautiful bride--Could this possibly be me?--and congratulating the handsome groom on capturing the heart of such a beauty, and good wishes flowing to all, and all of us floating in rivers of fine champagne. # # # Perhaps I had a bit more of the champagne than my dieting-to-fit-the-dress body was able to handle, because my next clear memory after the many toasts and dances was changing in the main bathroom of the bridal suite in the downtown hotel where the wedding and reception had been held, and where we would depart late the next morning for the airport, where we would board Lance's private jet headed God knows where--I certainly didn't care, knowing that wherever I went with Lance would be joyful, exciting and perhaps challenging. My husband--My husband!--had developed a new interest in travel and had money and time to spare, his business doing so well after the hiring a year ago of a new president, which had allowed him to ascend to chairman and cut back on his own working time. So he was now more than ever available to me, his lucky bride, or as everyone said, maybe he was supposed to be the lucky one? I hoped he would always think so. I slipped out of everything and sponged myself off, not taking the time to bathe, and followed with powder and perfume, one of Chanel's newer, younger fragrances, Chance, which I just loved. I donned my bridal nightgown, which Samantha had insisted was too simple, but which I had selected anyway, saying it was perfectly elegant, asserting myself one of the few times ever with my boss, who was, in fact, usually right. The tiny gown was white, of course, as befitted a virgin bride like me, and short, a sheer chemise design trimmed with Art Deco lace, which had a bra-cup bodice that gave me a bit of support. Low on my hips, the nearly transparent ethereal fabric allowed my matching lace bikini panties to show through. My attire felt softly feminine, not overdone, a metaphor for the kind of wife I hoped to be, and more to the point, the kind of lover I hoped to be. I thought of my mother's advice, and of Samantha's, as I realized the moment of truth had arrived, opening the door to give myself to my husband. My husband! I loved the way that sounded! I went out to find Lance sitting up in bed, the white satin sheet covering but not hiding his manhood, tenting up to my delight, providing a feast for my eyes, reassuring proof of his desire for me. I looked down at him and smiled, saying, "Mmmm!" This made him smile at me, admiring me as I worshiped him and his proud cock. I walked over to his side of the bed and bent from the waist to kiss him lightly on the lips. "I'm your wife!" I whispered. "I still can't believe it. Thank you, sweetheart." "You're more than welcome, darling. You will believe it in a minute. You will know what it's like to be taken by your man and made his woman." "Promises, promises!" I said breathlessly, like a girl in an old movie. I sat on his lap and felt his hardness under my tush. I put my arm around his neck. Smiling, I waited for him to kiss me, and he did not disappoint. "I hope you're not bluffing," I said, when he let me breath. "I so need to be taken. A wedding is nothing but a public seduction if you ask me, now that I've done it in the limelight. I'm so horny!" "Yeah, you right," Lance said, chuckling. "God, I love your sense of humor." He kissed me again, probing or teasing with his tongue just a bit. "I could just kiss you all night," he said. "I could just let you," I said. Lance rolled me over himself and laid me on my back on top of the cool sheet. He adjusted the pillow for me until I said, "That's nice." He lay on his side and stroked my nearest breast lightly with his fingertips. He flipped the sheet off himself and, lifting me with one hand to free my side, pulled it off the bed onto the floor. "Oh my!" I said, the size of his cock scaring me just a bit, so long I was shocked, so big I wondered if my little fingers would go around it. The thing was so much darker than the rest of his skin, as if made to hunt in the deepest night forest. I had felt it through his pants, but our old- fashioned pledge of chastity, a somewhat moral posture adopted more for fun than morality in our case--because I would have allowed him to fuck me months ago--and compulsively honored as we hungered for our wedding day, was paying off so much now, as the sight of him was so much better than the feel. But, I thought, why not both seeing and touching? So I reached out tentatively with my soft, delicate fingers looking amazingly feminine with my fresh kitten-pink manicure, long and lovely nails lengthening them, and I caressed the purple head of his penis with a single fingertip, thinking, could this really be my female hand and could this be my husband and could this throbbing muscle soon be thrusting itself inside me? It jumped, and so did he. "Whoa," he said, "it's been a while. Careful, or it might go off." "I can handle your explosion," I said, my voice husky for a woman, sweet for a man, in another sense sweet for my man. "I want it. Hurt me, baby. Do what you have to do." "Not until you want me so bad you beg for it," Lance said, upping the intensity of his still-gentle stroking of one of my breasts and then the other. "You're so mean to tease me! Oh! Suck them, please, my love," I said, adding, "Ohhh!" as his lips touched one nipple. I felt his strong hands ever so gently tracing the boundaries of my body with more intimacy than he had ever done. I considered with fresh wonder the enormous restraint he had exerted, keeping his commitment all these weeks on so many dates, and never going past second base, and not even that when Samantha, the vixen, had dressed me so transparently that she had made me almost more available to my boyfriend than I would have been in the nude. I gasped at the electric thrill emanating from my nipples as he toyed with them. "I'm all yours now, Lance. Please don't hold back? I want you so much! I want to become a woman, your woman! I want to have your baby." He was sucking and licking and driving me wild. He stopped to reply. "Now I've got you where I want you." "I'm not joking," I said. "It's really the way I feel right now!" "Good," Lance said. "We can adopt if you want to be a mother, Kim. Or we can get a surrogate mother and have one child from each of us." "Really?" My man had this way of suddenly turning serious on me at the oddest times. But I liked the idea. I could see myself holding a little baby--or two of them, a matched set!--with me as a young mother simply being a mom, as I remembered my own mom, and not to neglect my dad, I also saw our children making both of them into doting grandparents who visited often to take the little ones to the park. "Don't try to distract me with dreams, young man!" "Sorry," he said. "Enough time for that later. I've got to fuck your brains out right now." "That's a good boy," I said, almost relieved he was turning into the rutting bull elk I had known him to be most of the time. "But it's not your fault. Just don't let my dreams distract you, sweetheart. Oh yes!" I screeched in delight. "Right there, don't stop!" "You like it when I suck your breasts at the same time I stroke your little clitty, don't you girly-boy?" "Yes, Lance, and my boy pussy wants you inside so much! I'm so thankful you took this sad little man I was and made me into a deliriously happy woman you could love." I was singing his song on purpose, to ramp up his arousal even more, although I found it a turn-on too, proving we were made for each other, destined to be soulmates. "Oh, I know you want it, baby, but you've got to earn it." He said it, teasing me with his voice as his fingers tickled my tiny penis, a penis especially miniscule compared to his, a beautiful contrast that we had felt through our clothes that did not break the boy-girl illusion at all, but enhanced it, proving me to be simply a girl with an aroused clitty, no more like a real man's cock--if one used his as the standard--than a child's toy sailboat wafting in the breeze on a pond is like a massive gray-steel battleship with its guns blazing during a battle on an angry ocean. "Really?" I said. "What do I have to do to earn it, to entice my love to take me as his woman?" "You have to get me ready." "Like this?" I said, lightly teasing his enormous granite cock with the long oval nail of my index finger. "It is ready, I think, if the lessons Mommy gave me about my wedding night were true!" He laughed. "You need to make sure, with those hot lips of yours, baby." Actually, it was Samantha and her girlfriends--now my girlfriends too, all of them!--who had trained me in how to pleasure my man orally. Before they educated me, I had had no idea how important it was to men, never having been one to imagine receiving oral sex, only giving it to an occasional woman, and then feeling shame for being such a sissy, a bottom, who so loved to serve. The girls had laughed at my blow-job naivete, and called me clueless, and immediately made me go out and embarrass myself by buying for my practice in front of them a large black silicone cock--the only one the ladies' sex shop had in the size the girls wanted me to get, which I now saw was too small to compare to my man's monstrous member! So now it was time to test my training on the real playing field. A moment later, Lance was shouting. "Oh yeah, baby! That is so good!" "Shhh!" "I don't give a fuck who hears me! You are so fucking good, Kim!" "Thank you, sweetheart," I said, my words muffled by the tongue movements I was using on my man, making it jerk, making his whole body jerk. "Wait!" he said, patting my head and gently pushing me away. "I'm so close!" "I want to taste you," I said, returning to continue the magic, already feeling the delicious, slippery pre-cum. I felt so powerful, so in control, making this strong man helpless to stop himself from--and he came, shooting into my mouth, down my throat, dribbling over my lips, which I licked and swallowed and wiped with a towel to prevent a bigger mess, for I didn't want it smeared all over my face and melting my eye makeup so I looked horrid when he mounted me like a missionary, which I hoped would be soon. I wanted him so badly it hurt! I wanted to trade the pain of longing for him, pining for penetration, for the pain of actual penetration. I had been dreaming of it so long! By the time I had cleaned him off with my tongue, he was getting hard again. "Already, dear?" I said, with what I hoped was a lascivious smile, for I had never felt more lustful, more eager to be fucked. How could this feeling of coming home possibly be the first time for me? I realized that this is why I had never before found sex that interesting, because I had never been with a real man, let alone a real man like Lance, let alone a real man of Lance's calibre who loved me dearly, enough to give me a fortune just to have me tonight! Did that make me a whore? I asked myself. And the answer came to me emphatically: No, it simply made me a wife, of a rich man! He had taken care of me because he loved me, not because I had seduced him. Right? I had my head resting on his powerful chest, with him on his back in bed now, me lying alongside, touching him with every part of my body I could, the only movement being my delicate pastel fingertips sensuously twining around his cock, which was already growing turgid again, and his enormous balls. "You're so hairy!" I said. "I can shave if you want." "You'd better not! It makes me feel so girlish, the contrast." I licked one of his nipples. "Oh, that's nice," he said in a dreamy voice. "Kim, you are a girl, more than many of the real women I've been with." "I try." "You're a natural," he said, suddenly pulling himself up and exchanging roles with me, towering over me when he came upright on his knees, his cock, once again rock-hard, sticking out over my body like an angry sword. Yet not scaring me in the least, but making me beg. "Fuck me, Lance, please? I want you so bad, baby! I need you inside me." I was whining about needing it, begging for it, and I was not pretending; I totally felt it. I was not acting this role, not in the least. I felt I would die, just wilt and die, if I didn't feel my man inside me in the next few seconds. Lance chuckled and said, "I think you're ready, you hot little bitch." He looked down on me with so much lust in his eyes that I felt consumed already, but I wanted more somehow. He kissed me. I waited for his lips to finish with me, in ecstasy yet desirous of more. When he took a breath, I said, "Yes! I'm your bitch, Lance. Please take me? Plea--?" And my breath caught in my throat, the surprise in my breast electrifying me. For Lance had grabbed my chemise at the bodice with his left hand and ripped it off me, exposing my breasts and clitty and the whole front of me in one stroke, and then he was ripping away my panties and the shreds of all these filmy delights and getting between my legs, and pulling my tiny body up into the air and onto his cock, my legs on his shoulders and his cockhead teasing my boy pussy. "I want to see your face when I make you my woman," he said. "Oh! Mmmmm!" I moaned, my eyes closing with the shocking delight of this position, and I begged him to do it, but he stopped. He stopped! I felt him move and opened my eyes to see that he was only grabbing the tube of lube I had slyly placed in a prominent place on the bedside table, just as big sister Samantha had told me to do. Lance caressed me back there, lubricating my boy pussy, and he took his sweet time doing it. "You're teasing me," I said, my voice greedy, dripping with urgency, wanting him, needing it, and now! "I own you, bitch. You're mine now, baby, so I can do whatever I want with you, and I am going to do it so slowly that you are going to feel nothing but the pleasure only a woman can feel. No pain, lots of gain. I want this to be the best moment of your life. Only the best is good enough for my wife." "That rhymes!" I said. "Aw fuck," Lance said, laughing. "You sure know how to fuck up a man's poetic mood!" "Will you quit stalling and fuck me, Lord Byron?" "Okay, bitch, you asked for it! No more coddling. Here comes the battering ram." "Oh!" I said, feeling the pressure slowly building against the ring of muscle around my sweet spot. "I want you, Lance! Please fuck me? Please?" Despite all the talk, my man continued his slow and gentle progress, first just the slippery tip, then the entire massive head. I groaned and felt the pain, but it was a good pain, a giving pain, a gift I so needed to give my man, and he needed to give me. Gradually he went deeper, soon probing for my prostate and finding it and going beyond, and slapping it hard, giving me feelings I not only had never experienced but didn't know were possible, so much better than the lifeless sex tools. All the practice I had been doing at the insistence of the girls with the big black dildo was paying off. The pain was minimal, despite the size of the surprise that Lance had saved for me in his boxers, and I was loving this, just loving the feeling of being lovingly and profoundly used by the man who had chosen me and made me a woman and now was making me his woman, forever! "Uhhhhh!" I grunted and moaned, as I came with the thought of forever, and again and again. Minutes later, and only after those three sublime female orgasms, I realized that my clitty had not released yet, for it was sticking up proudly, its three inches or so not a mockery of maleness but an homage to Lance's real phallus, now inside me, deep inside me, and "Oh!" I felt the glowing warmth, spreading and filling me as he groaned in ecstasy and let his load go inside me, and my own little teensy thing squirted its bit in harmony with the hot, heavy ejaculation by the only real man in the room, and dribbled on my girlish tummy, as Lance collapsed on top of the tiny little puddle it had left, partly sliding out of my pussy. I rested comfortably under his weight, feeling something glowing inside me and discovering that it was a cozy feeling of being completely owned by my man. "Don't go!" I said, as Lance adjusted his position, which I had feared was an attempt to pull out. "I never will, Kim." And we must have fallen asleep shortly after he made that pledge, which felt so good to hear after he had probed my body in every way a man could a woman's, especially the body of a special woman, discovering all my secrets and even teaching me a few things about myself, chief among them that I was blessed to have the ability to achieve multiple female orgasms! Hours later, Lance woke me with a demand to take his wife again doggy style, and I, feeling rested and eager again to gift him with my body, ready for my man, because I had followed Samantha's wise advice and had sneaked out to prepare for reentry with another enema and a douche, joyfully submitted to another "good, sound fucking" as he named it in his earthy mood. I thanked him for the fuck and later at breakfast chastised him about using such language in the presence of a lady, and he appeared contrite, claiming he had been overcome by my sensual beauty. "Oh, Lance! You make the best apologies ever!" I said, laughing, popping a dainty chocolate-covered strawberry into my mouth before I touched anything else on the table. By this time, we were seated at a resplendent room-service table with Lance in a white hotel terrycloth robe that barely stretched over his muscular shoulders and with me in a pink one that engulfed me. Surrounded by all kinds of delicious foods, the table sparkling with silver and crystal and colorful with fruits and flowers, I was intoxicated by tantalizing fragrances, and yet the beauty of our setting was nothing compared to the bright flame of happiness flickering within my breast. But I so needed something, especially the coffee. The coffee was divine! Having our first cup, I asked Lance if every night and morning was going to be like this and he said yes. "No, really," I said, smiling at my husband. "How long do you think we can keep this up?" "Maybe only for twenty years or so," he said. "I hear that some people get older." "Not me!" I said. "Dr. Sumner promised I'd never get old." She was the cosmetic surgeon who had done my breasts on Samantha's recommendation, and my boss had been so right as usual. "Does she do men?" "No!" I said, "Of course not. Men only get better as they get older." "That's good to hear," Lance said, shoving into his mouth a large hunk of roquefort, his sensuous lips surrounding it as they had my surprisingly sensitive breasts last night. "But Lance, I want you to promise me it's going to be this way every night and every morning, please?" "Hey, woman!" he said, "I hope so. It will be good not to have to jerk off three or four times a day; my arm is sore." "You are so funny!" "Maybe, but I'm being serious now." "That's good news. I hope you can keep me busy." "Aren't you going to continue your career at AMI?" "I was talking about sex, silly," I said. "There you go changing the subject again! But to answer your question, yes, I'll keep working as long as they'll have me. I don't want to be just a helpless housewife." "A rich, pampered one, you mean? Your prenuptial rights attached last night, twice, when I made you my wife and when I took your virginity." "I know, dear. But that money you were so generous with is not what my life is about. You are what my life is about, even if--" "If we were poor and cellmates in prison?" "Especially then!" "So why work a regular job?" "I love Samantha and Elliott, especially Samantha, and I want to continue to learn from both of them, and all the other girls at work. I want to do creative work for the agency, maybe become a director? I know something about film and theater, if not advertising, yet." "It sounds good, as long as you can travel with me to Europe and China when I want you to. I need my trophy wife for business, you know." "Thank you, sweetie. I think my bosses will give me a break from my coffee serving and notetaking to explore the wonders of transoceanic customer relations with one of their best clients." "One of the best?" Lance asked with a grin. "Okay, the best, the one and only, the love of my life." And punctuating my correction, my husband gave me a sexy, lingering kiss, putting his seal of approval on our charmed life and his beloved wife. © Copyright 2013, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved. [email protected]