A Touch Of Mink free porn video

A Touch of Mink By Cherysse St. Claire It seemed like an innocent enough request. "Honey, join me tonight - please? You made me so horny, I can't stand it. I need something really... wicked." Before you get your nose out of joint, 'innocent' has a different meaning for us than most people. It's not like I had never participated in one of Sable's 'booty calls'. Nor would it be the first time something I had done precipitated one of her cravings. I love to watch my beautiful wife fucking one of her studs and she adores having me do so. If that night's bedmate doesn't want an audience, or if one of us is not in the mood to play our little game, she shares everything with me afterwards. That is how our relationship stays strong. This Saturday night was to be one of our 'special' nights. I would be bound to a chair at my wife's bedside, helpless, watching a big, muscular, hung-like-a- horse stud fuck the love of my life stupid. We were both looking forward to it with eager anticipation. *** My enchantress was 'dating' men professionally when I first met her. In fact, that is how we met. I was eighteen, stupid, awkward around women and alone. I was out cruising the streets one night. I had no clue what I was looking for, nor what to do about it if I found it. I was just... looking. She was brazenly strolling out in the street, hustling dates with her girlfriends. Even then, she was the most sensual siren I had ever laid eyes on. The moment she leaned into my window, flashed that mega-watt smile, and asked if I was "looking for a date", I was completely enthralled. I had her - rather, she had me - right there in the front seat of my Mercedes. The sensation of her pierced tongue on my cock was indescribably intense. I came like there was no tomorrow - and was in a surreal, blissful fog the rest of the evening. Sometimes I think I still feel the ripples of that first magnificent orgasm. I had never before met a woman who so completely captivated me from first sight. She was a bit older and a whole lot more worldly-wise. Those were just two more really attractive things about her. It must sound completely insane, but I wasn't willing to let her go, even for a minute. I offered her a totally ridiculous amount of money to spend the night with me and she accepted. I know, I know: Never bring strays home. I couldn't imagine not bringing her home. That was three years ago. She has been with me ever since. Did I say Sable is beautiful? Words cannot do her justice. In addition to her stunning facial features and rich, glistening, chocolate-toned skin, she possesses a dazzling, pearl-white smile and statuesque, magnificently well-endowed body. She has had work done, of course; the best money can buy. There have been other piercings, too; nipple, navel and clitoral rings, plus a 'triangle' through the nerve bundle behind her clit. When she is fucked, the sensations come from the front and rear of her love button, driving her insane with pleasure. My lover firmly believes you can never have too much of a good thing. Who am I to argue? I was pleased to sign the checks and dote on her through her recovery from the various surgeries and piercings. The results have been breath-taking. I could never understand the wags who find fault with making a good thing better - in Sable's case, bounteously, supernaturally better. The love of my life was not about to change her ways just because we became husband and wife. While Sable no longer dates for money, she has used her other-worldly beauty and killer curves to attract and bed an endless array of attractive, muscular, well-endowed boy toys. Why do I put up with it? What should I do, kick her out? I could not even conceive of never again having her in my life. Try to understand. I adore the very idea of Sable fucking other men. My reasons are complex. I am not even certain I understand them, but I will try to explain. I suppose you have already guessed I am not one of those hunks of beefcake that makes my sweetheart's eyes glaze over. She is actually taller than I - at least, she is when she wears a pair of 'Come Fuck Me' skyscraper stiletto heels, which she has every day as long as I have known her. I wouldn't dream of complaining. Those heels make her long legs look sensational. I used to tip the scales at a 'hefty' one hundred forty-five pounds, but I recently lost about ten pounds of that. Sable charitably describes my physique as "sleek". My manly attributes have always been equally unimpressive; certainly not what my wife prefers. OK, I admit it; I am a wimp. It means a lot to me that Sable get what she craves - what I cannot give her. So, I allow her her men - and watch while she does them. We stumbled upon the elements of tying me to the chair at their side and verbal humiliation by accident and discovered they were pleasurable for both of us. At the same time, watching my wife do another man is voyeuristic Valhalla, like having my very own personalized porno show, live and on-demand, whenever I want to tune in. Do I feel threatened by it all? Well, yes, a little. I just wish... I'm not really sure what I wish. How does a guy like me compete with dozens of Mr. Olympia wannabes? None of them are worth thirty million dollars, liquid, plus what I have tied up in the 'family business'. That's a lot more. I made my money the old- fashioned way; I inherited it. I paid a steep price, too. My mover-and- shaker bank-president father died of cancer. As much as she loved me, my mother never overcame his loss and swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. I spent the year after her death padding around a big, well-furnished, but otherwise-empty home, alone. Ritchie Rich, poor little rich boy? That was me. Then, by whoever's grace, I found that one special person to share it all with. Make no mistake; Sable adores the pampered, privileged lifestyle. She certainly cleans up nice; it's easy when you have money. She is intelligent, articulate, warm, funny, the perfect companion and soul mate - when she wants to be. The street-wise slut in her runs deep, as evidenced by her provocative makeup and hairstyle, wickedly-long, curving fingernails, and lurid, explicit wardrobe and jewelry. When she has her head into that mindset, she lapses into the slurring, sing-song, profanity-laced jargon of the streets from which she came. She exudes a wicked, dangerous sensuality from every pore, like the scent of expensive perfume. I'm crazy in love with that side of her and she knows it. It's hard to tell which side of her is reality and which is affectation. Perhaps they are both real; two sides of the same coin. She has me wrapped around her little finger and I know it. She could take me to the cleaners, take everything I have, leave me in her dust and make me love her for it, but she doesn't. Sable enjoys my companionship, our conversations and sharing, caring relationship. Oh, yeah - I also have a gift for long, slow, sensual, deep oral sex that sends her right to Mars and keeps her there. None of her boy toys do that for her, and we both know it. In case you hadn't already figured it out, our relationship - both personal and sexual - is complex and anything but plain-vanilla. Our sex games are the ultimate, perverted expression of our love for each other. Sable adores sharing her wicked, adulterous love life with me, cuckolding me openly and notoriously, flaunting it in my face, shaming me with my less-than-impressive attributes, knowing I love her all the more for it. It amused her to teach me to appreciate the differences in her lovers' attributes. Length was only the beginning. There was also the thickness of the shaft, whether it was straight or curved, the size and shape of the bulbous head and the size of his testicles. Sable was a self- proclaimed "size queen". She loved 'em really big. She also appreciated the seemingly endless diversity of thicknesses and shapes. Under her loving tutelage, I learned to do the same. One of her favorite teases was to take me out to a nightclub with her while she hunted for fresh meat. My loving wife was not ashamed to visually and tactilely examine a prospect's equipment right in front of me. If he measured up, she would grab him by the hand and bid me to follow them. She would take her prospect to some reasonably private place, whether inside or outside the club, and try him out on the spot. If his performance was up to her exacting standards, only then would she take him home with us. I observe in rapt fascination, like a train wreck in progress that I cannot tear my eyes from. Watching these stallions take my philandering slut, use her, have their way with her, and seeing the glazed, stupefied look of utter sexual satisfaction in her eyes is an industrial-strength turn-on for me. The humiliation of knowing I could never hope to satisfy her that way makes it all the sweeter. The rules had always been simple and clear-cut; look, but don't touch (or talk) while she was in a scene. She might talk to me if she wished, telling me how much of a man her lover du jour is, how well he satisfied her, compared to my pathetic excuse for a cock. Her lover, or lovers (Sable isn't beyond bedding two hunks at once), usually got a laugh at her wimp cuckold being forced to watch while a 'real man' filled the wimp's slut wife beyond full. Oh, I could 'touch' plenty - later on, after the guy had had his fill and left. Then, I was invited -commanded - to join her in bed. She further humiliated me by insisting I fuck her cum-laden pussy with my little cock, knowing it is a useless gesture for both of us. My manhood barely made contact with her stretched, slippery hole. She would then tell me she could barely feel me inside her, that I was only good for eating the cum from her pussy - and eat her, I did. Over the course of our relationship, I had made a point to learn to pleasure her orally as she pleasured me. My delighted wife had been more than happy to help, patiently teaching me all the tricks and techniques she used to drive a sex partner wild. She was certainly pleased with the results and so was I. Those other guys don't have a clue what they are missing! My talented tongue and lips never failed to bring her to yet another string of gut-wrenching orgasms. "You missed your calling, Sugar," my mate commented coyly. "You show a lot of promise as a slut." After I had sated her at last, she would lie next to me and jerk me off, telling me how wonderful it was to be fucked by so many strong, well- hung studs, to spread her legs and be filled with a huge cock on demand. Oh, God, that made me so hot! Sometimes she finished me off with that marvelous tongue of hers. When I came, it felt like gallons. I arranged a little surprise for my lover. I had always been infatuated with her erotic pierced tongue. That tongue had driven me to the heights of ecstasy the first time I had 'dated' her and in every blowjob she had given me since. To show how much she meant to me, I decided to take her pleasure to the next level. In what was, for me, an act of incredible daring, I had had my own tongue pierced - actually, double-pierced. It sported twin gold-ball barbells. I had had a hell of a time hiding it from her while it healed. I coyly withheld my oral favors from her, turning it into a little role- reversal game that made her crazy. "Bitch," she complained mirthfully, "if you don' get over here and give me my candy, I'm gonna give that cute little butt of yours such a reaming, you won' walk straight for a week." Finally, the swelling had subsided enough to take my loving wife for a little 'thrill ride'. You could have heard Sable's screams a block away. After her vision cleared and her breathing stabilized, she grabbed my head and held my nose until I was forced to open my mouth to breathe. She got a good, long look at my new hardware, shaking her head with bemusement. "You little slut," she chuckled. "What am I going to do with you? Never mind. I'll think of something. In the meantime, get back down there and put that talented tongue to work." *** That event led to Saturday night; the night the rules - and everything else - changed forever. Derek, one of her regulars, was servicing her. I sat before them, naked, tied to the chair, my eyes glued to their tangled bodies. He was impressive; ten inches, fully erect, and as big around as my wrist. I had always held a special fascination for him and his impressive manhood, one I wouldn't want to explain to any of my friends. It wasn't that I dreamed of being a 'real man' like him. I knew that could never be. As Sable had been quick to point out, my fully-erect four-inch cock was not exactly a world-beater. In truth, that had never been my ambition. In the preceding few weeks, I hadn't been able to get it up at all, in spite of the provocative display of raw sexuality Sable and her stallions served up several times a week. That had fanned my humiliation to no end. It had been frustrating, too. You know how guys always say if they don't have sex for a while, their balls ache? Mine sure did! Sable and Derek had done 'The Nasty' for two hours. He had filled her with so much cum, it was seeping from her pussy in a constant, insistent flow. His semi-soft cock was considerably bigger than my fully-erect one - when I was fully-erect - and was dripping with his cream and Sable's pussy juice. At my wife's bidding, the muscular Adonis released me from my bonds, grabbed me by my hair and thrust my face into Sable's weeping snatch. I ate her out, sucking and licking her clean like a man possessed. All the while, the haughty hunk taunted me, belittling my limp, diminutive 'manhood'. "You like that, don't you, Pussy Boy?" Derek smirked as I cleaned the last of him from Sable's sopping slit. "You eat pussy like a pro. In fact, you are as big a slut as your wife. Do you like to suck cock as much as you like to eat pussy? I've seen the way you look at me. Why don't you show me how you take care of a real man?" With that, he grabbed my head by the hair once more. This time, he pulled me towards him, until my face was mere inches from his still- formidable phallus. I swiveled my eyes towards my wife, hoping for rescue. She looked on with a bemused smile on her overfull lips. Rescue was the furthest thing from her mind. "Go ahead, Sugar. A husband and wife should share everything. I want you to know first-hand the thrill I feel when I suck a man's cock. You already have the skills. That pierced tongue of yours tells me you want to be a good little oral slut. I would love to watch you for a change." I was unaware I wanted anything like that! Derek needed no further urging. He pulled my face closer still, parting my lips with the knob- like, purplish helmet of his tool. "Take it, Pussy Boy," he softly commanded. "Suck it good." My heart was pounding. Perspiration broke out on my forehead. I shuddered involuntarily as what I thought to be a wave of revulsion coursed through my body. I was trapped. There was no escape. They were going to make me to do this.... I opened my mouth and allowed Derek to slide his snake into it. The muscleman jerked involuntarily the first time my twin gold ball studs caressed his sensitive glans. He stroked slowly, pushing his cock a little deeper with each stroke. With each thrust, his cock got harder and harder, bigger and bigger. I was arousing him, just as Sable did! I gagged at first. Gradually, I became used to the sensation. I learned to breathe through my nose as he forced his dick into my throat. The taste was... well, no different than eating out Sable's pussy after one of her dates. The sensation was quite different. One word flashed through my head: cocksucker. There was no escaping it; he - they - had made me a cocksucker. Sable read my thoughts. She had climbed out of bed and now stood behind me, softly stroking my head with her two-inch, curved talons. "That's it, Pussy Boy," she cooed, echoing Derek's new pet name for me. I knew you could do it. All it took was the right... motivation. You are showing real promise as a slut. I am so proud of you! Now, I want to see you make him cum. Swallow every drop like a good little cocksucker!" I wanted so much to please my beautiful wife. My heart pounded madly in my chest as Derek's monster fucked my mouth. I didn't want to admit it, but it was exciting; so torrid, forbidden, carnal. It had never occurred to me the oral skills I used to drive Sable crazy could do the same to a man. That is exactly what happened with Derek. He came fast and hard. I tried my best to gulp it all down, but a little escaped around the corners of my mouth and dribbled down my chin. It tasted so good! "Baby, that was just perfect," my wife purred. "You look so cute with that pierced tongue - and nobody knows how to use it better. That little bead of cum dribbling down your chin is so sexy! I always knew you had it in you. Speaking of which, I think it's time we... widen your horizons." Sable and Derek untied me. "Wait a minute," my wife chirped. "We have to set the proper tone. Here, put these on." With that, she stripped off her babydoll nightie, garter belt, stockings, and six-inch-stiletto 'Come Fuck Me' pumps, then dressed me in her fuckwear. It was even more humiliating to discover everything fit, right down to her fuck-me pumps. "There!" my lover purred. "Now you look more like a slut. I think it's time to put my new cumcatcher to work. Derek, would you like to pop the little slut's cherry?" "I would be happy to." The two of them then helped me onto the bed. They positioned me face- down on my knees and forearms. Pillows were stacked under my tummy, forcing me to thrust my bare ass high into the air. Sable sat before me, propped up against the headboard. She spread her legs wide and arranged herself so my face was in her pussy. "Eat me, Pussy Boy," she murmured appreciatively. "Make me cum. That's all you are really good for. You aren't much of a man, so tonight I am going to have Derek make you his punk bitch. You will like that, won't you? I know you will." Sable grabbed my head with both hands and jammed my face into her slit. I couldn't move, couldn't protest, couldn't do anything but eat. I felt a finger coated with goo slide into my virgin hole and dart in and out, making my slit as slick as Sable's. The finger was withdrawn. I felt a pressure, a monstrous presence at my entrance. I instinctively tensed. "Relax, Sugar," Sable trilled, "don't fight it. It is going to happen anyway. If you resist, you will just make it hurt more. I don't want to hurt you. I want you to feel as wonderful, as sexy as I do. Wait a sec; I have something that will help." "Something" was a couple of hits of Amyl from a small brown bottle she held under my nose. Sable had always been very open about her use of mood-enhancing substances. She avowed they heightened the sensations of sex, making her orgasms even stronger. I had never begrudged her those little pleasures, but had not shared them with her either - until now. The drug made me giddy, light-headed. My whole body felt looser.... Derek entered me slowly. I felt I was being torn apart by his monster dong. He pushed, paused, pushed, paused, entering me a little more each time, then waiting for me to adjust. Between repeated hits of Amyl and the fragrant smell of Sable's pussy, I was becoming woozy. It took a while - and seemed like an eternity - but Derek's cock burrowed its way entirely into my virgin hole. He stroked back and forth, pulling it almost all the way out, then sliding it back in until his bull balls slapped against my thighs. It still hurt, but not as much as before. There was another sensation; one of fullness and... contentment. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from my soul. I had no perception of how much time passed. I focused only on the sopping-wet cunt under my tongue and the huge, hot phallus in my ass. Sable shrieked and shuddered through I don't know how many orgasms. Nothing compared to the sudden flood of Derek's cum gushing into my nether parts. I came spontaneously, without even touching my limp little dick. My vision blurred. I felt faint. There was an intense roar in my ears. My whole existence turned upside-down, then faded to black. When I awoke, Sable and I were alone in bed. She observed me intently, tenderly stroking my head with her long nails. "There now," she cooed. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Sensing the irony of her words, she laughed softly. I was devastated. I looked away, unable to meet her gaze. She placed two fingers under my chin and turned my face toward hers. "You know what I meant." I thought I did. My humiliation was complete. Before, I hadn't been much of a man. She had sought fulfillment in the arms - and loins - of other men. Now, I couldn't get it up at all. She had finally tired of the charade. I had been fucked by one of my wife's lovers while she watched. Watched? She had dressed me in her own provocative fuckwear, orchestrated my debasement, then delighted in viewing the act up close and personal. My ass still burned from the reaming I had taken. My balls ached more now than they had before I came. Even my jaw was sore from having been stretched as much as it had. This had to be our 'curtain call'; her way of telling me it was over between us, that she was leaving me for Derek or one of her other boy toys. I was crushed. On the one hand, I would suck it up, gather together as much dignity as I could, let her go and give her an equitable settlement. On the other hand... how could I go on without her? Even if she didn't leave right away, how could I live with her, knowing what she had already done to me and was preparing to do? How could I face her? Loving her as much as I did, how could I not? For some perverted reason, my experience with Derek made me feel closer to my wife than ever before. If there was only some way to salvage our relationship! Making me feel less of a man had always been part of our games that gave pleasure to us both. I had never felt less of a man than at that moment, so what did I have to lose? I would do anything; humble myself, debase myself, lick her booted feet.... Her panting roused me from my reverie. I realized I had been lightly playing with her genital piercings while lost in thought. My unwitting ministrations had had the appropriate, though unintended effect. Sable's eyes were glazed over. She was tense, fidgeting, panting; all signs of her growing arousal. Ignoring the ache in my jaw, I lowered my face to her snatch and let my tongue take over for my finger. I knew her 'triggers' so well; the pierced, hyper-sensitive clit, the 'triangle' piercing that set the nerve bundle behind her clit on fire, her G-spot, her super-sensitive pierced nipples. She even adored having me invade her rear with a finger while I was assaulting her pussy. I hit them all with my tongue, lips and fingertips, alternating between 'slow and gentle' and 'frenzied and hard'. I brought her close, then backed off. I did it again, then again. I took her right to the edge a fourth time, then held her there for what seemed like hours, not allowing her release. At the same time, I was toying with the puckered entrance to her nether region with one finger, teasing her with delights just beyond her reach. I knew I was getting incredibly aroused, regardless of my limp dick. This time, I was gonna make her beg for it. Of course, that wasn't her nature. "You bitch," she hissed, almost incoherently. Do me now!" With that, she jabbed one long, taloned finger into my ass. The effect was electrifying. I came immediately, lurching forward, jamming my mouth and tongue deeply into her pussy while jamming my own finger into her ass. Her back arched off the bed. Her scream started soft and low, rapidly rising in pitch and crescendo until it shook the walls. She thrashed back and forth frantically, screaming like there was no tomorrow. She just kept coming! One hand clutched the sheet tightly. The other pounded my ass spasmodically with that single, marvelous digit. If I hadn't been so stretched out the night before, that talon would have ripped me to shreds. As it was.... It took a long, long time for us to come down from that one. Sable grabbed my head in both hands, pulled me next to her, and held me tightly, still gasping for air. "I'm not even gonna ask what brought that on," Sable gasped. "Just... thank you. That was the best ever." Damn straight! Would any of your stallions pay as much attention to your pleasure? Would they even try? She became aware of the wet spot on the sheet beneath her thighs. She reached down with one hand and swiped up a wad of creamy white goo. The look on her face was one of pure enchantment. "You came?" she inquired. "Just from me fucking your ass?" "That," I admitted, "and the thrill of making you cum like a house on fire." She held her fingers to my face. "Lick it up," she commanded. "Make them nice and clean." With slow, soft laps, I cleaned every trace of cum from her hand, then cleaned up the remains of the spot on the sheet. The gentle touch of her nails stroking my scalp was all the reward I needed. When I had completed my task, I cuddled up next to her once more. "You are one in a million," she intoned, shaking her head in amazement. Then, her features adopted a more serious expression. "Sugar, we have to talk," she began carefully. "Actually, I have a confession to make. Our whole relationship..." Uh-oh. Don't say it. Quick, think of something before she drops the hammer! I gently placed one finger to her lips, halting her in mid- sentence. "Stop," I blurted out. "I know what you were going to say. I will agree to whatever you want to do. I love you that much." "You know?" she asked incredulously. "How? We were so careful not to let you find out, not to upset you, until we were sure..." This train wreck is leaving the track in a hurry. I've got to act fast. "I just know, OK? I'm not stupid. I've seen it coming for a while now. It won't be easy - for either of us - but I can still make you happy. I just proved that. I want what you want, and will do whatever it takes, as long as we love each other and stay together." Sable sighed deeply and shook her head in disbelief. She kissed me passionately, grinding her pussy into my crotch. Even with such an overt, intense stimulus, my little cock remained limp as a noodle. Traitor! OK, Bud; I'll find some way to make this work without your help. My lover released our lip lock. Her eyes gleamed and she had the most bewitching, seductive smile I had seen in a long time. There might be a chance for us yet.... "That is such a relief!" my lover intoned earnestly. "I was really worried how this might turn out. It could have been so... well, never mind. OK, Baby, we will work through this - together. You are right; it won't be easy for either of us, but especially for you. I'm sure you realize there will have to be some big, big changes in our relationship. I have some ideas that will make the best of it - for both of us. In fact, if you just give it a chance, it might be the best ever. I don't want to go into too much detail right now. The whole thing might be too overwhelming for you to take all at once. I promise: if you trust me, believe in me, and do what I want you to do, however hard it may be to accept, we will be together for a long, long time." YESSSSSSS!!!!! The tenor of her words confirmed, in my mind, she would be 'entertaining' more than ever. I could not yet tell how my level of participation would change. Would it be more, or less? At least she was not going to leave me - yet. We could move forward from there. Sable didn't waste any time initiating her 'changes'. First, she shaved my body baby-smooth - even the baby-fine, thinning blonde hair on my head. A lacy double-D-cup bra filled with foam falsies, bikini panties, stockings and ultra-high heels became a daily fixture in my sartorial splendor. Instead of a garter belt, my stockings were affixed to the garters of a steel-boned lace-up corset. As a final reminder of my new status, she required me to use and enema bag and nozzle to flush my 'pussy' clean and sweet every morning, then fill myself with a large, lubricated butt plug. In the past, I had never made any secret of my appreciation for Sable's style. Drama was her special gift, one she had no qualms about flaunting in the vanilla world around us. Her makeup had always been the perfect sultry, seductive compliment to her hair, clothing, and body. She decreed that would be one more thing we would share. "You've always been so complimentary of my 'look', Sugar," my winsome wife purred appreciatively. "I guess all those 'understated' White girls bore you to death, huh? Well, guess what? Now you have the chance to get up close and personal with what makes me, me. I'm gonna make it my personal mission to make my style, your style." Sauce for the goose.... It became difficult to read my wife's true emotions. She developed almost a schizoid attitude towards me. At times, she seemed affectionate enough. She addressed me with terms of endearment like "Baby", "Sugar", and "Honey", just as she always had. It felt subtly different, though, as if she related to me in a different way. At other times, she was like a complete stranger - or perceived me as one. She demanded changes in my behavior and attitude, driving me to become more and more feminine in movement, speech and attitude with each passing day. Did I say a complete stranger? I may have misspoken. There had been another facet to my wife's personality once, one that sent a cold chill down my spine. During her 'working girl' days, certain of her regulars had wanted, needed more than a blowjob or quick, anonymous fuck. For them, there had been Mistress Diabolique. Early in our relationship, before she had retired from The Life, I had had occasion to meet that Queen Bitch - and had never forgotten her. *** I had been with my lover all afternoon. It had been one of those magic times in any relationship when both just knew it was right. We had spent the time holding hands, touching, kissing, gazing into each other's eyes. Evening was approaching when Sable told me she had a 'session' that night and had to get ready for it. I knew what that meant. As my lover had become more comfortable with me, she had become more and more open about her life and profession, to the point of revealing her dominatrix alter ego. Even so, she had gone to great lengths to exclude me from that part of her life. I felt that was wrong, that we should be able to share everything. I had never had experience with that scene and was fascinated with the prospect. This time, I asked if I could stay with her while she prepared for the scene. She started to speak, then hesitated. I could tell she was torn between her deepening feelings for me and fear of... what, I could not tell. Finally, she acquiesced. "Just be cool about it, 'kay?" she had admonished. "This shit is intense. I get intense to psyche myself up for it. It isn't about us; it's about the scene. Remember that." I sat spellbound as she transformed herself into the Leather Bitch Diabolique. I hate to admit it now, but that was one of the most intensely arousing moments of my life. If she had favored an overdone look before, it seemed a daytime look compared to the intensely-heavy makeup she applied for that night's 'date'. I have never, before or since, been as rock-hard as I was as I beheld her in all her leather- clad glory. I didn't realize she was getting her head into that extreme role, even as she adorned her body and painted her face. In effect, she had become a completely different person in more than just appearance. With reluctance, I realized I had to say good night and leave her to her appointed work. I made the mistake of spontaneously embracing her from behind and kissing the side of her face, as I had dozens of times before when leaving her. The force of the resulting blow bounced me off the opposite wall. She pounced on me in an instant, raining blows down on me with her flogger. The impact of her profanity-laced invective, screamed in my face from inches away, was even more hurtful. "How dare you touch me without first asking permission?" she had shrieked insanely. "Whatever possessed a sniveling worm like you to even think I desired a show of endearment, as though you were my equal?" At that moment, I was genuinely afraid of her. Somehow, I broke free of her and fled. I had stayed away from Sable for a whole month, making no attempt to contact her. The physical blows had healed quickly. The blow to my ego was a different story. I wasn't sure which hurt more; that, or the long, lonely time without her. At last, she had sought me out, confronting me face-to-face. She had apologized profusely, tears streaming down her cheeks. It had all been part of her 'game face', she reiterated, and had nothing to do with us personally. She reminded me she had warned me how intense Domination was for her; that was why she hadn't wanted me around during those times. She would make it up to me, and more, if I would just, please, find it in my heart to forgive her.... To prove her intentions, she gave up hooking and moved in with me. We were married soon after. I hadn't seen 'Diabolique' since - but never forgot her. *** I believed I was seeing her now. She addressed me as "Pussy Boy", just as she had that Saturday night when she had had Derek take my 'cherry'. The words had a cold, peremptory edge to them, just as they would have had for her submissive supplicants years before. This taskmistress brooked neither disobedience nor disrespect. She demanded my most sincere effort and accepted nothing less. I shuddered at the thought 'Diabolique' had returned, and that our re-defined relationship would now be modeled along those lines. Was this all a new and decidedly darker version of the same game we had always played? Was it a game at all? Which persona was reality? Which was affectation? Was there a difference? The scariest question of all was: did I dread the prospect - or embrace it? The changes were difficult to accept. Oh, I could accept her demand to feminize me - but so quickly, so completely? It was a trial to have to make such a radical change seemingly overnight. Her words haunted me: It is going to happen anyway. If you resist, you will just make it hurt more. In this new context, they took on a much more sinister connotation. I surrendered myself to her ministrations and worked as hard as I could to please her, make her desires my new reality. I sensed a profound loss of that special emotional intimacy we had once enjoyed. I felt her slipping away from me - perhaps into the embrace of another? A promise is a promise; if this is what it took to keep her love - even a pale semblance of it.... I had just crossed the living room floor for the umpteenth time, trying to master the art of walking gracefully in six-inch heels. She had always made it look so effortless. I had found out it was anything but. "Do it again, Pussy Boy," she barked. "That don't work for me. Keep your head up, back straight, shoulders back. Roll that boo-tay for me. Y'all should flow like a wave on th' ocean." It just wasn't coming. I was trying so hard to do it right, to please her. The whole thing was all so frustrating! "Yes, Mistress," I muttered. "What did you say?" "Yes Mistress," I said with more conviction. Silence. Then, she was on me in a flash. She placed both hands atop my shoulders and pushed down, hard. My knees hit the bare, hardwood floor with a thump. I rested the palms of my hands on my stockinged thighs and stared at the floor, not daring to move. She cupped my chin in her right hand and lifted my head, until my eyes met hers. The cold glint I saw there belied the bemused smile on her lips. "Say it again," she intoned slowly, with conviction, "like you mean it." "Yes, Mistress Diabolique," I replied, with all the sincerity I could muster. "I am sorry I displease you. I will work harder to get it right." She continued to behold me, silently. Her steely stare and hard countenance made me feel small, like a laboratory specimen. When she spoke, it was with a soft, matter-of-fact conviction that chilled me to the bone. "Good. We understand each other. Now, understand this. You are going to learn how to walk in heels. You are going to learn how to move, sit, speak, act in every way like a woman. You are going to become feminine in every way possible. When I tell you to do something, you are going to comply immediately. When I address you, you are going to respond: 'Yes, Mistress,' just as you did before. Do you understand me, Pussy Boy?" "Yes, Mistress." "And you will obey my every command, satisfy my every desire, indulge my every whim?" "Yes, Mistress." "Good boy! You have pleased your mistress. Now, please her again. Eat my pussy!" "Yes, Mistress." *** From that day on, she dressed, acted, lived the part of 'Mistress Diabolique'. It was deeply disturbing - and compelling - to behold the leather bitch again in all her glory. My body felt crushed within the constricting embrace of the corset. I was dangerously unsteady on my skyscraper stilts at first. Mistress drove me, hour after hour, day after day, teaching me how to balance myself and take shorter, surer steps, placing the heel of my lead foot in line with the toe of my trailing foot. If she perceived me giving anything less than my absolute best effort, I tasted her lash and suffered her verbal abuse. Make no mistake; it hurt to walk in those extreme skyscraper stilts all day. Mistress introduced me to Oxycontin to relieve the pain. Oh, yeah! It did a lot more than that. I felt like I was floating across the room. My taskmistress showed me how swiveling my hips, as women do, was not only a natural result of walking in heels, it actually made the process smoother, more graceful-looking. She even set up a full-length mirror in the living room to make it possible for me to see myself as I practiced in my towering heels. We worked at it all day, every day. 'Sable' came out to play at night. She entertained her other men frequently. I was 'on loan' to her from Mistress. Instead of being the wimp husband tied to a chair, watching, I was the heavily-made-up slut in corset, stockings and heels who sucked Sable's lovers to full erection again and again, cleaned their cocks and her pussy after each use, then was fucked into a stupor. Through it all, I cooperated without complaint. I felt the part, too. By that time, my nipples were really sensitive and fully erect. The chest area around my nipples had become fleshy and distended, too. Sable looked on appreciatively, calling me her little cum sponge, noting what a good little fuck toy I was becoming, and what a thrill it was to watch me blossom into a sordid little slut. You know what? I began to believe it. By the last Thursday of the month, my body was adjusting to the crushing constriction of the corset. I was noticeably steadier in my footing, too. Watching myself strut back and forth across the room, I could actually see myself moving like a woman. My hips swayed without conscious effort! It was a bit unsettling to think I could be so easily feminized in so short a time. It was more unsettling that, of late, Mistress infrequently dropped her steely fa?ade, allowing the Sable I loved to appear. This was one of those occasions. I voiced my distress over how easily she had changed me. She didn't come down on me as harshly as Mistress would have, but her reply was just as distressing. "Let's drop the pretense, Pussy Boy," she smirked. "You are not a man anymore. You never were, really. You showed your true colors that night with Derek. Last night, you were begging him to fuck you. We both know you are a slut like me. You always have been. It's time you became one for real. Don't fight it; you'll lose." For real? "But you made me be a slut," I protested weakly. "Nonsense," she huffed. "You could have said 'no' at any time. You didn't. You didn't want to say 'no', did you? Besides..." She cuddled up to me, kissed me lightly on the lips, and smiled coyly. "... I like you much better this way. Be honest with me. You like it too, don't you?" My head was reeling. Bad Sable. Good Sable. I was so confused. As far as 'Bad Sable' went, this could still be just a perverse, extreme extension of our favorite sex game. Yeah, but... was this a game? It didn't seem like one. Was she testing my limits - or my commitment to obeying her every command? Or was she just setting me up for that ultimate humiliation; robbing me of any trace of my meager masculinity, then leaving me, laughing, for some hugely-hung, muscle-bound stud. How far was she going to take this? Did she really love me, or was she just leading me on, using me, after all? Did I really like being a girl, as she had suggested? I just did not know. I couldn't utter a word. In my utterly confused state, my tongue was tied up in knots. She took that as a tacit admission and beamed in triumph. "I thought so," she crowed. "Sugar, I have always known you were... different than other men. I liked that in you from the start. I fuck men for the sex. I married you for the love, companionship, and that special connection between us - this connection." "Will Mistress be angry at me for being too... familiar with you?" I asked. She smiled impishly. "You have been very good this past few weeks," Sable cooed appreciatively. "Mistress has decided to take a little time off - and given me permission to reward you. C'mon, Girlfriend; let's go get you fixed up." "Go?" I cried. "Go where?" "Why, to get you lookin' good, like you know you should," she chimed in her sing-song street-speak. "Baby, we need to get you some work done. I'm takin' you to my salon to start." "I can't go out looking like this," I whined. "I look ridiculous, like a man in a, a... Hell, I'm not even wearing a dress!" Sable smiled evilly. "Well, then, Sugar," she cooed, "we'll just have to put you in one, won't we? And by the time we get you back from the salon, I promise no one will think you look like 'a man in a dress." Bad Sable? Sable took me up to our bedroom and stripped my out of my bra, corset, and heels. It felt so awkward, so unnatural, standing in stocking feet after wearing heels almost two whole weeks! She went to her closet and removed two boxes, each about eight inches square. Opening one, she removed a life-like silicone breast form and held it to my chest. I jumped involuntarily as firm silicone touched my own flesh. I didn't remember my nipples being so sensitive before. The breast form pressed against my chest looked huge to me, but it was still considerably smaller than my wife's prodigious assets. She moved it around a bit until it was positioned just so. "Yeah, that will be just about right - until we get something bigger," she murmured. She marked its position with a highlighter pen, then repeated the process with its mate. While she was marking their respective positions, I got a good look at my own flat chest. It wasn't flat anymore. Unlike my limp dick, my nipples were fully erect. Even the flesh around them seemed puffy, distended. The soft, concave back of each breast form molded itself to my flesh like a second skin. My wife had me lie down on the bed, face up. She applied a gel-like substance to the back of each breast form, then to the marked areas of my chest. After waiting a bit, she carefully re-applied each breast form to my chest, pressing firmly on both for several minutes. "Wait there, Baby Girl," she purred with a wink. "I'll be right back." She walked to the bathroom and returned a moment later with the hair dryer. She plugged it in, turned it on, then began fanning the breast forms. As I watched, the slightly wrinkled, feathered edges began to tighten. In a few minutes, she switched off the dryer with a satisfied smile. To the casual eye, there was not a trace of an edge or seam. The breast forms appeared to be my own bounteous flesh. If the sight of them was arousing, the sensation of them rubbing against my sensitive nipples was incredible! "There! Now, let's get you dressed." My satisfied spouse helped me to my feet. The new weight on my chest was a bit disorienting. I looked down at my new thrusting mammaries. They were big and full and round, without a hint of sag. They looked fake, but not like cheap falsies that had been stuffed in my bra cups. It was more accurate to say they looked done - like a smaller version of Sable's own fabulous boob job. The corset was re-positioned and laced tight. A black-and-white leopard- print leather halter top was slipped over my head, then zipped up the back. Sable bid me to step into a black lambskin mini-skirt, then smoothed it up my slender legs and zipped it in place. Next, she slipped leopard-print open-toed ankle-strap sandals on my feet and buckled the straps in place. The pencil-thin six-inch stiletto spikes arched my feet and legs into the extreme arch I had become accustomed to. As a final touch, my wife placed a wide-brimmed leopard hat on my bald head, tilting it at a jaunty angle. "All right, Girlfriend," she intoned smugly. "That will do for now. Let's get going." My body may have become accustomed to having the breath squeezed out of it, but that didn't mean it was comfortable. Even after a month, my feet hurt badly from being crammed into the tight shoes and arched into an unnatural angle. A hit of Oxy was taking care of both nicely. I saw myself in the floor-to-ceiling closet-door mirrors. Although I had been parading back and forth in foundations and heels the past twelve days, this was the first time I had seen myself completely dressed. I didn't look bad in the outfit. In fact, even without hair or makeup, I looked... attractive. I had lost another eight pounds (who had an appetite when a corset was nearly cutting them in half?) and now had a really feminine figure and a supermodel's hollowed-out cheeks. At least, Sable in her heels and I in mine were now the same height. Still, I was terrified I would be 'read' as soon as I stepped out the door. I was trembling like a leaf in the wind. Sable read my thoughts accurately. "Poor Baby," she cooed. "You still don't believe how good you look, do you? I'll bet you are afraid to set foot out that door, let alone ride downtown with me to my salon. Tell ya what. Let's do a little something to get this par-tay started right. What do you say?" Good Sable. Sable stepped over to her vanity for a moment, then returned with a familiar mirrored tray. She had poured out a small pile from her stash. Now, she cut it into eight lines with a single-edged razor blade. She picked up the small sterling silver straw and snorted two lines in each nostril, tapping each afterwards to get every flake. Then, she handed the straw to me. "Here you are, Baby Girl," she purred. "This will get you right." Evil Sable! I had never done coke with her before, never had a desire to. She knew that. Then again, there were a lot of things I had never done before this past month. I knew I needed something to quell the jitters enough to get me out the door. Was this another test of my commitment to her? Good Sable or Bad, I loved her. Doing this with her, together, made it feel right; one more thing we could share - if only this one time. One time wouldn't hurt, would it? I took the proffered straw, gingerly placed one end to a line of coke, the other to my left nostril, and inhaled, tracing the length of the line like a vacuum cleaner. I did a second line, then switched the straw to the other nostril and did two more, just as I had seen Sable do. The rush was immediate, intense, and surreal. My head spun and my vision blurred for a moment. An intense feeling of well-being washed over me. Sable beamed. "Ready?" she asked. I smiled and winked. "Then we got places to go, people to see, and changes to be made," she pronounced. She handed me a leopard-print leather clutch to accessorize my outfit. Then, we were down the stairs and out the door. The top and skirt were tight. They creaked provocatively with each step. I felt beautiful, sexy, alive and looked forward to the adventure ahead. Sable drove our 500SL. She was more experienced with the head rush we both felt and how to manage it. She found a parking place on the street just a few doors down from the entrance of Allure, a very fashionable- looking salon that proclaimed itself for "women of color". "Here you are, Sweetness," she cooed. "I bought you a little gift in honor of your 'debut'. I hope you like it as much as I like mine. Now we have something else we can share." She handed me a small box with a bow on it. Upon opening the lid, I discovered a sterling silver coke vial. It was identical to the one I had gifted her with for her last birthday. It had a little silver spoon affixed to the underside of the lid, making it easy to snort a generous hit of coke. We each did a spoonful in each nostril before exiting the car, then sashayed down the sidewalk, giggling like to schoolgirls sharing a deep, dark secret. We entered the salon with a flourish. Sable greeted Sasha, the salon's owner and her personal friend. My wife introduced "Pussy Boy", her husband, pronounced it her wish I go through a 'change of life', and bade Sasha to give me the "deluxe treatment". The whistles and catcalls were deafening. If I hadn't been on a coke high, I probably would have been mortified. As it was, I blushed and yielded to guiding hands. I was led to a plush, padded salon couch. I settled into the cushions and my hat was removed. The couch was reclined and I surrendered myself, physically and mentally, to whatever would come. In a month of intense experiences, this was yet one more. Contrary to my initial rationalization, we had done more coke in the car. Sable's gift to me made it clear she intended this to be a regular part of our new relationship, just as my extreme feminization had become. Doing coke with her once was being conciliatory, sharing the experience. I might have had serious misgivings about doing it twice - if my head had been straight. As it was, it was just one more part of the thrill I was feeling - of being out with my lady, being pampered by the salon staff, and feeling more alive than ever before. My loving wife kissed her fingertips, then touched my cheek. "Sasha and the girls will take good care of you. Be a good girl and do what they tell you. I'll be back in a little while." "Where are you going?" I asked timidly, afraid to be left alone in this unfamiliar environment. Sasha beamed that smile at me; the one that makes me believe everything will be fine. "Oh, I just have to run a couple of errands while they are making you pretty for me," she replied with a wink. "I need to talk to a couple of people and make some... arrangements for our 'Girls Night Out'. I'll be back before you know it." She turned to go, then paused, as if remembering something. She turned to me once more, grinning a Cheshire smile. "I just thought of something," she whispered conspiratorially. "It's been a while since your last hit of Oxy and I'll be gone a while. It wouldn't do to have you squirming in the chair while Sasha and the girls are trying to do their best work on you, so..." Shielding me from view with her body, she gently placed a pill between my lips, then held my chin closed until I swallowed. "There, all better! It you get the urge to do a little blow, they're really cool about it here. Just think of it as a little appetizer. We'll really party later!" She winked, puckered her lips, blew me an air kiss, then turned and left. When my 'afternoon of beauty' was over... well, I'm not certain how to put it into words. My lover had returned in time for the 'Grand Unveiling'. Together, we gazed into the mirror and viewed the results of all the hard work of Sasha and her operators. Sable had been accurate to a fault. There was no way anyone could look at me and perceive me as a man in a dress. My formerly-bald head was now adorned with a mane of thick, tight glistening black curls which cascaded to the small of my back. Sasha confided she had anchored my new hair with a special waterproof, oil- proof medical adhesive that would not loosen until she applied the special remover. Sable confirmed she had used the same adhesive to attach my stunning new breasts. Through the miracles of silicone injection, Sasha had 'pumped' my lips and cheekbones fuller than they had been before. She cautioned me this was a service she provided only to trusted, preferred patrons. The FDA did not approve of it, but she would be happy to provide the service to me as long as I was discreet about it. Sable had plucked and trimmed my eyebrows when she removed the hair from the rest of my body. They looked... OK, but after comparing them to those of the women I met at the salon, I felt they were shapeless. Sasha had added her agreement. "Girl, not everyone is blessed with perfect features. This is one we can easily fix. Leave it to us." My unruly eyebrows - the last of my body hair - had been removed completely with electrolysis. Then, new high-arched, pencil-thin brows had been inked in with a tattoo needle. The repeated pinpricks had stung a little, but Sasha assured me it would all be worth it. My face had been made over for pure drama; thick, furry lashes above and below, broad swaths of ebony eyeliner extending beyond the edges of my eyes, intense, yet perfectly-blended shades of light and dark shadow for my eyelids and blush for my newly-enhanced cheekbones, a dark, glistening shade of Burgundy Cherry for my pumped-up lips. It would take a while to get used to my new talons; dark cherry to match my lips and flashy gold nail art - a perfect compliment to Sable's own. I had never really dwelled on how long and slender my fingers were. Now, my new nails made them look utterly, irrevocably feminine. My open-toed sandals were the perfect vehicle to display my elegant sculptured toenails and golden toe rings. There were golden rings on my fingers, too - and in my earlobes. My ears had been multiple-pierced and sported four sets of concentric golden rings, ending with four-inch hoops in my lobes. The scent of Obsession wafted about me. For my crowning glory, Sasha carefully positioned my wide-brimmed hat on my head at the same jaunty angle as before. The overall effect was way over-the-top. I remembered some of my friends speaking derogatorily of wiggers. I certainly looked like one now. I wondered what those friends would think of me now - not that they would know it was me unless I confessed to them. It was likely they wouldn't believe it then. Sasha's thoughts were in a similar vein. "Sable, there is no way we can call her 'Pussy Boy' now. No one is gonna believe she is a boy unless they pull down her panties, and anyone who gets that close isn't gonna care." "What do you suggest?" my wife inquired. "I am wide open for ideas." "How about... Mink," Sasha offered. "She is soft, sexy, alluring, and utterly feminine, the kind of woman you just want to wrap yourself in and get lost." "Hmmm," Sable pondered. "Sable and Mink. I like it. Thank you Sasha - for everything." Sasha handed me my clutch, which now contained lipstick, gloss, lip brush, pressed powder and blush brush, the little silver vial containing my stash, plus a pick comb to fluff up my shimmering curls. Sable winked at me, a coy smile on her lips. "Shall we go... Mink?" I took a last look in the mirror. I looked so damn good - and felt that way, too! Good Sable, Bad Sable; who cared? I slipped my arm through hers and allowed her to lead me out of the salon, amidst whistles, cat-calls, and admonitions of: "You go, Girl!" The wiggle in my walk was neither subtle nor sub-conscious. Our next stop was the office of Darien Morrissey, M.D., Sable's personal physician. I had met Doctor Morrissey before. She had referred us to the cosmetic surgeon who had performed all of Sable's procedures. In fact, Sable had, only recently, convinced me to make Doctor Morrissey my primary care physician as well. I had been very impressed with her professional, yet caring, personable manner in handling my physical exam six weeks earlier. I remembered she had been very thorough, much more so than any of my previous General Practitioners. *** Darien had called me back a couple of weeks later to schedule a follow- up test. The chagrined doctor confessed one of my original tests had obviously been contaminated in the lab. The result had been too far outside the norms established by my other tests to have been accurate. Just to be safe, she needed to re-test me to clear it up once and for all. It was nothing to worry about, she continued, but the procedure was one of those 'nasty ones' and could be a bit painful.... As far as I was concerned, all tests taken during a physical exam were 'nasty ones'; thinly-disguised medieval torture techniques. The doctor offered me the option of general anesthesia and, like the big baby I am, I took it. She was light and breezy afterward, promising she would be in touch if anything was amiss. I hadn't heard back from her and hadn't given the matter another thought. In truth, my thoughts were elsewhere. Darien was almost as stunning an ebony enchantress as my wife. I certainly seemed to have a fascination with attractive Black women. *** Sable parked the car in the adjacent parking structure and began to open her door. I stayed her arm with one elegantly-manicured hand. A salon full of strangers was one thing; I was a bit hesitant to present myself to our physician - someone who knew us - in this new persona. In truth, I was starting to come down from my emotional and chemically-induced high and feeling less self-confident, despite Sasha's hard work. Sable read me like a book. "Don't be silly, Sugar," she fussed. "We're big girls here. So is Darien. She won't have any problems with it, any more than Sasha and her girls did. Darien is staying late on a Thursday evening just to see us - to see you." "Oh, God," I groaned. "You didn't tell her about this, did you? Why?" "Sooner or later, she would have to know, Sugar," she crooned. "Why not now? It's all for the best. Now, straighten up, fly right, and be a big girl for me. Everything will be fine. You'll see. Perhaps we need to fortify ourselves with a little 'powdered courage'." Bad Sable! Bad, Bad, Bad! I wasn't about to argue. It was bizarre. Until that morning, I had never gotten high on anything other than an occasional bottle of champagne or mixed drink. Now.... Bad Mink! (giggle) We sashayed, arm-in-arm, across the parking level to the elevator and kissed and fondled each other on the way up. We entered Doctor Morrissey's office and presented ourselves to June, the receptionist, trying not to look like the two guilty schoolgirls we felt. "Hello, Mrs. Fabray," June welcomed warmly. "Nice to see you again. And this is..." "Mink," Sable interjected, not missing a beat. "She is here for her first consultation with Doctor Morrissey." June raised one eyebrow inquisitively, smiled, but kept any personal thoughts to herself. She handed me a clipboard, her smile just a notch bigger. "Very well... Mink," she trilled, "if you will just fill out these forms and initial and sign where indicated, Doctor Morrissey will be with you shortly." Some things never change. I filled out the standard medical-history forms as directed. Actually, it was easier this time. Under the energizing, intoxicating influence of the drugs I had taken earlier, I flew through the tedious list in record time. When done, they were exact duplicates of the forms I had filled out six weeks earlier - except for the name and weight, of course. In a pique of daring, I had also checked "Female". Even under the influence, it would have been humiliating to identify myself as "Male" while looking the way I did. There was also a supplemental consent-for-treatment waiver, similar to the one I had filled out for my previous testing. Terrific, I thought, more tests. To stay consistent, I initialed MF in the appropriately-marked places, then signed Mink Fabray on the signature line. I won't say I entered Dr. Morrissey's private office defiantly. Perhaps it was just my wife's bad influence from having been around her so long. Strutting saucily on Sable's arm, high as a kite, dressed and looking like I did, I had... attitude. I perched myself delicately on the chair across the desk from the doctor, then crossed one leg over the other at the knee, with a flourish and rasp of stocking-on-stocking. Sable sat by my side in the second chair, quietly smirking at my display. Darien Morrissey was as lovely as I remembered her. She rose from her chair, greeted Sable warmly, then introduced herself to me as she would to a new patient. The doctor seated herself once more and glanced briefly at my form, smiling at something she saw there. She lifted her eyes to meet Sable's gaze and spoke. "She knows?" "Everything," Sable replied, "just as I told you earlier. She told me so." "How?" Sable shrugged, glancing at me. "She just does," my wife responded. "Call it 'Female Intuition'." I knew Darien was more than professionally acquainted with Sable, but was she privy to our love life as well? Had it been necessary to regale her with tales of Sable's sexual conquests, the possibility she might leave me, and that I knew about it? Who else had my lover confided in - the mailman? "She knows what has to be done?" the doctor inquired. "She is okay with it?" Sable nodded. This was beginning to sound a little hinkey. What had to be done? What did a medical doctor have to do with saving our relationship? What did these two have in mind? I might have said something right then and there if I could have strung a coherent sentence together. My mind was so fuzzy.... "She confided she is willing to do whatever it takes. As you see, we have been working on it like there is no tomorrow." "Aptly put. And she is coming along nicely, I must say," Darien confirmed with obvious appreciation, "and in such a short time. Although it is not my specialty, I can't imagine a better candidate. If I hadn't seen this with my own eyes...." The doctor turned to address me. "So... Mink - that is a lovely name, incidentally, for an equally-lovely woman - do you have any questions or... second thoughts?" Second thoughts about what? I had a feeling we were crossing over from a simple sex game to... what, I didn't know. I might have run from the office in terror - or utter humiliation at the very least - if I didn't feel like I was floating six feet off the ground. I turned to Sable. My lovely wife was gazing at me intently. She reached out, took my hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. Was I with Good Sable or Bad Sable? What if I guessed wrong? I gazed at that face, into those lovely, beseeching eyes. My gaze traveled down her arm to her hand, with its elegantly-polished-and- decorated talons - and then at my own. I thought about that first time with Derek, the brief weeks since, this marvelous day, everything leading up to this moment. I looked down at my feminized body, remembered the sight of this new me in the mirror at the salon, weighed the possibilities - and made my choice. I raised my gaze to meet the doctor's. "None," I replied with a confidence born more of emotion than reason. Doctor Morrissey beamed. So did Sable, but my intuition told me hers was a bit more forced. "Then let's get started, shall we?" Darien offered. This was the most bizarre 'consultation' I had ever had. We met the doctor in her private office, rather than an examination room. She had to know who I really was, yet showed no sign of it, maintained the fa?ade of meeting me for the first time, and interacted with me as though I really was the attractive, if ov