Butterfly
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Butterfly Time free porn video
Butterfly Time
By Cassandra Morgan
Pink.
The first thing I thought when I saw him was not that my best friend was
wearing a dress. It was not that he had on high heels. It was not his
cherry red lipstick.
All of those images would flood over me in the next few milli-seconds,
but not yet. I was on sensory overload, and all I could do was think
Pink. Cotton candy pink. Pretty underwear pink. Ceiling insulation pink.
Pink elephants' pink. Vagina pink. Pink.
Saturday night. Dinner party at Patrick and Janice's. There were a few of
us couples. Jason and Eva. Barbara Ann and Mark. Jerome and Rhonda. And
my wife Kelly and I. I'm Matty Thurmon, a 29-year-old accountant from
Cincinnati. And I was not prepared for the sight in front of me.
I saw him and I burst out laughing. This was a gag, right? Patrick was
flouncing in front of the room, his wrists in an exaggerated flop as he
served appetizers to the guests. Around me, others were laughing, and
there were cruel comments. "Fag." "Pussy." "Cocksucker." He was a pinata,
and the people laughing at him were pummelling him with their one-liners.
But it was me who Patrick looked at. For sympathy? His eyes were wounded,
downcast. He didn't look like a man playing a prank.
Kelly looked at me and shook her head. There was amusement in her eyes
too, but she scolded me.
"Why are you laughing at your friend, Matty?" she said.
"It's a joke...right?"
"Is somebody joking?"
"It's gotta be a joke. He's in a dress."
"I'm in a dress, Matty," she said.
"But you're a girl."
"And Pattie is a sissy. Didn't you know? I would have figured that you
knew before anyone else."
This was absurd. All of the old schoolyard taunts came back to me. I felt
a primal urge to call him queer, homo, ass-bandit.
And yet...
There was something else there, too, something I would never admit to
Kelly or anyone else with ears. It was something like ... jealousy. There
for a second, I wished it were ... me.
I looked on as Patrick's lips glistened in the dining room lights. I
noticed his legs, his perfectly toned legs encased in fishnets. I looked
at the curve of his neck, its gentle curve before it turned into his
shoulder. And if I had been given truth serum, I might have admitted that
I wished it was me. He looked desirable. I desired him. More than that,
I came aware, I desired to be him.
Did that make me gay? Curious? Both?
I should fight this. Men would. Men don't kneel or, worse, curtsey, as he
was doing at this moment. But I wondered how his dress felt on his legs.
I wondered how his heels felt. His breasts.
As he passed by Jerome, a big man from work, he let his right hand trail
over his shoulders. And his wife Janice laughed loudest at all at that
one. Janice! There was her husband Patrick, the guy she had married, the
guy she had made vows with, and she was laughing because he was made up
like some over-the-top bimbo.
I kept waiting for the "gotcha." Patrick was a funny guy. He had dressed
like this to make people laugh at him. That had to be it. Brave soul, he
was having a giggle at his own expense. Sure, that was it. I smiled, too.
Big joke, right?
But there was a sadness in his eyes as he moved through the ridicule.
This was just supposed to be a small gathering, an impromptu dinner party
with couples from work. No one had said anything about his dressing like
this. No one had said anything about him flitting through the room with
drinks on a tray, looking .. well, feminine.
His legs were smooth, as if he had shaved them. There were bumps on his
chest -- where did they come from? There was a wig on his head. His eyes
were made up. There was polish on his fingernails. His butt stuck out
like a girl who was, well, trying to make her butt stick out.
"So, Matty, are you next?" Jerome asked me with a knowing smile..
"What do you mean?" I stammered.
"Are you the next sissy to be displayed?"
"Of course I'm not. That's silly."
"Is it?" Jerome asked. ""You'd look good in a dress, I bet. Just like
your fairy friend."
Jerome smiled even more broadly. He patted me on the butt and walked
away. Fine. Walk away. Damn it, this isn't my life. Yes, I'm a smaller
guy. Big deal. We all aren't NFL players! So my hair is a little long.
Kelly likes it like this. It doesn't mean that I was going to change
like, well, like Patrick had changed.
And yet, maybe.
True, I'd always sensed an ambivalence in me. An unspoken desire to be
controlled, to please. I guess it had always been there, through my voice
lessons and my stamp-collecting. When I was a teen-ager, the football
players in my class called me gay. I wasn't. But maybe I was the next
door over?
"Matty?" Kelly said. "do you know what the worst kind of sissy is? It's
one who won't admit she is one. One who is so afraid of what people will
think that she says no to her desires. Janice and I talk a lot, Matty.
She told me the components of a sissy. She was describing you. You know
it."
I shook my head. Not me. No.
"Look at us," Kelly said. "You're small than me, daintier, girlier. I bet
Jason would rather fuck you than me. I bet Mark would rather have a
blowjob. Your lips are cocksucker's lips. Your ass was made to be fucked.
When I call you a sissy, it isn't an insult. It just is. Sissy!"
I felt attacked. I looked at Patrick. He was giggling at something Mark
said. His polished fingers rested on his arm.
So many nights, Patrick and I had hung out a sports bar, or we had shot
hoops, or we had told dirty jokes. He was a man's man. Or so I'd thought.
Now, he was a man's sissy. Now? Now he was half girl. Maybe three-
quarters.
I looked at him. The makeup was a bit garish, not too much. But the lips
were nice. Hips, eyes were nice.
What the hell was I thinking? This was Patrick!
"Do you think she's pretty, Matty?"
"Uh, I don't know," I lied. "What's going on, Kelly?"
"I guess the boyfriend is always the last to know, huh? Janice has
feminized Patrick. Claimed her and made her her sissy. There's no turning
back from that, Matty. He'll be in dresses from now on."
"What? When?"
"Oh, a couple of weeks ago, I think. You know they were into all those
sex games. Bondage. Pain. Pony play. Well, I guess they found one they
liked. Janice is in charge of this marriage now. Patty does what she's
told. She cooks, and she cleans. She wears dresses. Lucky, isn't she?"
"I don't believe you."
"And yet, there she is. Talk to her, Matty. She won't bite. Well, I take
that back. She might bite. But you might like it." She looked directly
at me. "I'm sure you would. You might even bite her back. I'd love to
see that!"
"Everyone is looking at him."
"Her. And why shouldn't people look? She's pretty, don't you think? Look
at those legs, Matty. Look at those lips. Couldn't you get lost in those
lips?"
I looked. I felt a stiffening in my pants. Kelly nodded, saw my bulge,
and looked at me again. Encouragingly!
I looked away from her, at Patrick. He ... she looked good. Erotic,
somehow. Naughty. But this was my friend, this wasn't some girl at a bar.
This was Patrick.
I stood. I walked past everyone and into the kitchen. I leaned against
the oven and waited for him...her to follow me in.
In a minute, she came in.
"Hello, Matty," she said softly. "How are you?"
"Fuck how I am. What the fuck is going on with you?"
"Isn't it obvious, Matty? I've been turned. Everything is different now.
I've been ... improved."
"You're... a girl."
"No, I'm a sissy. Don't you like it?"
"Patrick! I'm stunned. You're in a dress!"
"Yes. I have to say, Matty, I was hurt when I saw you laughing at me. I
guess it's part of the humiliation, though. I just didn't expect it from
you."
"Patrick, I'm sorry I laughed. You look nice. Look, it was just a shock.
I thought you were playing a joke."
He put his hands on his hips. He thrust his breasts toward me. "Do you
think I look like a joke, sweet Matty?"
"How ... how did this happen?"
He sighed. "Remember, I told you that Janice and I were role-playing. I
guess it got away from us. But I swear, Matty, I've never been happier. I
really am a sissy. I guess I always have been. This life suits me. Janice
is a great Mistress, Matty. She really is. That woman can drive me up a
wall. It really didn't take much to get me into this maid's dress. You
should try it."
"Um, no. No thank you, Patrick."
"Pattie," she said.
"Pattie, everyone has seen you. How are you going to go to work now?"
"If I work, and I'm not sure I will, I'll wear a dress. There are a lot
of transgender people now. I'll just be one of them. A sissy doesn't have
a lot of choices."
"Your breasts. Are they real?"
"Why? You want to see?"
"Patr... Pattie. I don't need to see."
And yet, I looked.
"They're breast forms silly," she said, taking my hand and putting it on
one of them. They felt fairly life-like. "I haven't had time to get real
tits yet. But I've started on the pills. I'll have them soon enough.
Janice says that titties are a sissy's pride and joy. Any guy can wear
heels. Or makeup. But only a dedicated sissy has boobies."
The kitchen door swung open, and Kelly stood there, grinning. My hand was
still on Pattie's breast. I jerked it away, as if it was in a fire.
"Oh, don't stop on my account," Kelly said. "You can go ahead. Feel up
your sissy friend."
"I was just... never mind," I said.
Suddenly, I was aware of someone standing too close. Pattie was inches
away. I could feel her breath on my neck. I stepped back. "Matty," she
whispered. "This is overwhelming. Would you hold me?"
"No, that's okay."
She stepped closer still, and pressed her breasts against my ribs.
"Please?" she said.
She rested her head on my shoulder. My left arm encompassed her shoulder
lightly. I patted her back once, trying to get her to separate.
From the doorway, Kelly giggled. "Janice was right," she said.
"Right? Right about what?"
"That you're one, too, baby. There is a reason you two fags became
friends. You're suck buddies! I think that is so cute. Janice is married
to a sissy, and so am I."
"Kelly. I'm not a sissy." I said it loudly. Firmly. But at the same time,
felt a peculiar thrill. I wondered if it was true.
"Now, why does every fucking sissy who has ever been turned say the same
thing? You know, Janice and I went to see a Grand Mistress, Mistress
Alana, and she warned me your first reaction would be to deny everything.
It's only after you've been in the life for a couple of weeks that you'll
grow to love it."
Kelly looked amused. "Think about it! You already fucking bake, Matty!
You clean house! You watch Chick Flicks. You like to shop. Just stop
fighting it, okay? I've accepted it. My hubby is a sissy. It's quite
liberating when you accept it."
"Matty," Pattie whispered. "Would you brush my hair?"
"That's right, Maddy," Kelly said, toying with my name. "Brush your sissy
sister's hair. Maybe you two can do each other's nails. You know what
that's called, it's sissy foreplay. Get yourself all pretty, and then go
out there and suck Jerome's cock."
I backed away from Kelly and Pattie. This was wrong. This was ridiculous.
My wife, the woman who was supposed to love me, had turned on me. She
wanted to change me into some girly dicklicker who was subservient to
her. Did women really like this? Did they want control so bad they would
fit their husband into a dress and put lipstick on his face?
I turned, and against a third wall I saw Janice. She was holding a dress,
which was as pink as Pattie's. It was a glimmering, satiny maid's dress.
I wanted to touch it. I dared not.
"Come on, Madeline," she said. "Stop fighting it. If you think about it,
it makes sense. You've always been soft. You've always been prone to
cooking and cleaning and that supposed girly shit. It's your nature. All
Kelly and I did was buy the clothes."
"It's time, Maddy," Kelly said. "Let Pattie help you."
I felt Pattie's hands on my arm. I turned to look her in the eye. She
lifted my left hand and kissed it.
"We're sissies, Maddy. We've always been sissies. But a caterpillar has
to become a butterfly, sweetheart. Tonight is your butterfly time."
"Feel the dress, Maddy," Kelly said. "You were born to wear a dress like
this. We've got all your accessories in the bedroom. Look, I know this is
a hard step. Acceptance always is. But look around. Everyone who knows
you knows you're a submissive sissy. Do you see anyone saying"No, not
Maddy. She's too much of a man.' Everyone has always suspected Maddy. No
go on."
"You can't make me." Even to me, it sounded like a feeble grade school
retort.
"Of course we can't make you," Kelly said. "It's a free country. But
unless I'm wrong, I think you want to do this. I don't have to threaten
you or bribe you or blackmail you. I can see you, Maddy. You want this
crowd to see you. You want to fall to your knees for whoever desires you.
You want it to be about Maddy and Pattie. Sissies on parade. You want me
to take you to the mall and have everyone look and whisper. You want a
pair of pants around a guys knees and his penis pointing at the sky. It's
okay, baby. I understand. I have ... desires of my own."
Janice walked over over to Kelly and put her hands on her shoulders.
Kelly covered Janice's hands with her own.
"Are you two..."
"Yes, we're ... close ," Kelly said. "That shouldn't bother you too much.
You were never really a man, and I've decided I don't need one. You were
at your best when you were licking, anyway. You certainly didn't have
much of a dick."
Janice kissed her softly, as if to block off my escape. I felt small,
powerless. My wife was a lesbian. My best friend was a sissy. Nothing was
what I'd thought it was.
"Go on," Kelly said. "Kiss Pattie. You know you want to. You've always
wanted to. You didn't want a high-five when the a Patriots won. You
wanted a kiss. You wanted to feel his dick."
Was Kelly right? Was this a part of me? Down deep, had I always been a
sissy? Was it my nature? Was I a butterfly?
"Maddy? It's time. I'm no longer asking you. I'm telling you. Put on the
fucking dress, pussy boy. Just do it."
I reached out. I picked up the dress. It really was pretty.
A tear rolled out of my eye.
"Hush, little sissy," Janice said. "It'll be okay. Would a real man be
crying now? Would he be holding his dress? Would he be holding hands with
Pattie."
I looked down. Sure enough, Patties fingers were interlaced with mine.
She leaned over mand kissed me on the cheek. I turned my face toward
hers, and her sweet lips were an angel's breath on mine. My penis was
screaming now. Her tongue ran gently over my lips. Damn. Pattie could
kiss.
"Sis, let's get you dressed," she whispered. "It's time you saw how you
looked."
I stood. Kelly reached out, and I released Pattie's hand and grasped
hers. I was terrified of this step. Maybe that's what had prevented me
from taking it all these years. I walked out into the living room, and
the two other women smiled at me. Their guys laughed some more and made a
few more comments. They all knew.
Kelly led me to a back bedroom, and whispering encouragement in hushed
tones began to undress me. My shirt. My trousers. My boxers.
My palms were sweating. I felt flushed. I wanted to run. These are the
last things a sissy feels before she opens the final door, before she
kneels and accepts a life of sucking dicks and scrubbing pans and ironing
skirts. Soon, men would fuck me and women would command me and other
sissies would instruct me. I looked at the clothing. It was time.
Oh, I could rave for hours about each article of clothing Kelly then had
me put on. The panties were so cool, so smooth. My penis - and yes, it
was small - strained against them.
My favorite was the bra. Guys might not get that, because a bra isn't as
soft as panties. But a bra hugs your chest, a place where a guy usually
doesn't wear anything. I loved the look of it when Kelly put in breast
forms. They felt maternal, womanly. The straps reassured me that I was
leaving the world of men and entering sissihood. Some guy's undies these
days, in all their colors, are a lot like panties. But a bra is the
girlish of garments.
The hose were like a thousand silkworms holding their threads against
your legs. No article of men's clothing hugs you so tight, so intimately.
Wear hose, and you will never forget you are a sissy.
I pulled the dress up, a cloud of pinkness. It embraced my torso, and
when Kelly zipped it up, I felt as if I was being hugged by womanhood.
All of my protests, all of my pretense was gone. I was no longer who I'd
thought I was, the role-playing me, the guy working in an office and
crunching numbers and going to bars and watching sports. That was never
me. This was always me.
"Do you feel pretty," Kelly asked.
I nodded. I felt ... right.
"Are you ready to tend to the other guests?" Kelly said.
"Yes, ma'am," I said, looking into her eyes.
"Remember. Be proud. You are a beautiful creature of nature There is no
room for shame. Go do what a sissy does."
And so I walked into the living room. As I entered there was murmuring,
and I heard assorted chuckles. I kept my chin upright. This was who I
was. This was what I was.
I brought flutes of champagne into the room. When someone took a glass, I
curtseyed and said thank you. My eyes met Pattie's. She nodded. I winked.
She was my leader. I would follow her.
The last glass of champagne went to Jerome, seated in the couch with his
wife Rhonda. I smiled, curtsied. He gently grabbed my wrist. Rhonda also
looked at me. "You don't have to go, little one," he said. Rhonda reached
over and stroked my leg. "Such a pretty sissy," she said.
I looked at Jerome and grinned. I took a deep breath. It was time to
cross the final boundary.
I sank to my knees, facing him. He reached out and stroked my hair, which
Kelly had tied into long pigtails. He ran his thumb across my bottom lip.
The last bit of resistance left me.
I pulled on his belt and undid it. I unzipped him as the others in the
room looked on. He lifted his ass, and I tugged on his trousers.
His penis stood, large and straight, the knob almost purple. I looked at
Pattie. She nodded.
If you accept that you are a sissy, this is a natural step. I leaned
forward and kissed the tip. It was so soft, considering that his dick was
so hard. I took it into my mouth, and it felt as if it had always
belonged there. I gripped the shaft, then inserted three inches or so
into my lips. Then it was four or five. Then six. Then seven.
And there you had it. I was a cocksucker. Part of me had accepted this
long ago. I bobbed, not seeing, not hearing. Only feeling. I slid my
mouth up and down, and I realized that the loud smacking sounds I was
hearing were coming from me. I tickled his balls. I ran a fingernail
across the opening of his ass.
Then there were other hands on me. I had forgotten about Rhonda, but she
was kissing my neck, my shoulder, my arms. Her vagina was waiting for my
mouth.
I felt another cock probe at my ass, gently, then hungrily. Jason? Mark?
This was turning into an orgy. I had always thought of sex as a private
affair, but as a sissy, I was a peacock, and I wanted to display my tail
feathers! I discovered that there were many dicks in the room, including
the ones the women carried in their purses. There were so many ways to
kiss me, to touch me, to complete my metamorphosis
A sissy isn't just a domestic. Not in the right situation, anyway. There
is so much more to sissyhood than making breakfast or going shopping. A
sissy is one of the ultimate sexual beings of our time. So many partners
can use her, and leave without even a thanks.
But at the end, there is always another sissy. This time, it was Pattie.
She lay on the living room floor beside me, a blanket covering us both. I
reached out, and I touched her stomach. She smiled. I took her dick into
my mouth and nuzzled it. There must be a reason they fit into a mouth so
well.
Across the room, Kelly smiled. This was what I could do for her. I could
put on a show before her girlfriend took her to heaven. I could be her
friend. Surely she was mine. More than a Mistress, more than my wife. She
was my guide. Me? I was her sissy.
This was completeness. This was home.
This was life as a butterfly.
(c) 2015 by Cassandra Morgan
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