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Super by Gingerfred Man Chapter One - Helping my friends The Kents were about my best friends in the world. They were older than me - in their 30s. I was just 18. They had been married five or six years and had two kids - a four-year-old son, Jorel, and a two-year-old daughter, Lara. Odd names, I know. Mr. Kent said once that the kids were named after his parents. But his Mom and Dad visited them a lot and I knew their names were Jonathan and Martha. Oh, well. Anyway, my Dad knew Jonathan Kent and that's how I met Mr. Kent. Which led to my high-school summer job as a "cub reporter" at the Daily Planet, Mr. Kent's newspaper. I enjoyed the work, but journalism didn't seem like a real career choice for me. Actually, almost nothing did. When I graduated from high school, all I really wanted to do was procrastinate. Notice I said "almost" nothing appealed to me. What I really enjoy is sort of embarrassing. For a guy. A young guy, especially. But you seem to understand, so I'll tell you. I like to take care of kids. And housework. Making things nice at home for people. Nothing deviant or evil. Just plain old nurturing. And I was pretty good at it. Really good. Which is a) strange, b) unmanly and c) the main reason why all that weird stuff happened with the Kents. After that cub reporter fiasco the summer of my junior year in high school, Mrs. Kent began to ask me to babysit. Which I loved to do. And the kids enjoyed as much as I did. Mrs. Kent, who was also a reporter for our newspaper, the Daily Planet, had pretty much retired when Jorel was born. But she was such a forceful person and such a tough investigator that she would occasionally take an assignment from their editor, Mr. White. "Great Caesar's Ghost, Lois," Mr. White would say to Mrs. Kent. "I need you to cover this story, just this story. Can you take a little time off from childrearing to do it for the newspaper and the readers?" Well, Mrs. Kent was one of those people you hear about who have newsprint in their blood. She pretty much took whatever Mr. White threw at her. Mr. Kent was always flying here and there, so, while he loved his family, he wasn't reliable as a childrearer either. That left me. Lucky for the Kents. The kids loved me and I loved the kids. The Kents loved me and I loved the Kents. Things were good. Mostly. Guys my age didn't think being a nanny was cool. So I didn't have friends, really. Girls my age didn't think being a nanny was cool, so I wasn't "getting any." And, let's face it, it was not a career that was going to lead to a successful life. At least I thought so. Things changed a bunch when Mrs. Kent got the "big assignment." It was the opportunity of a lifetime, she first told Mr. Kent and then told me. The USA was attacking yet another axis of evil and she had an opportunity to be embedded with a troop unit. Mrs. Kent loved trouble. And Mr. Kent seemed to be awfully tolerant of his wife's need to live on the edge. He was an "enabler," I guess you would call it. The effect the "big assignment" had on me was enormous. And permanent. The Kents convened and asked me if I was willing to accept my own "big assignment." "Jimmy," Mrs. Kent said. "I'm off to report on our troops' war on world evil. It would be a HUGE comfort to me if I knew that Jorel and Lara were well taken care of while I was gone. It would also be a huge comfort to know that while I was embedded with the troops, Clark wasn't embedded with some tramp in our bed. It may be for three or four months, maybe longer, but would you move in and become a substitute wife and mother for our family?" I wasn't entirely surprised. Except when she told me how much they would be willing to pay me. That was HUGE as well. I remember thinking that Mrs. Kent must have meant "substitute mother," not "substitute mother wife and mother." That was silly. The Kents were my friends. I loved the idea of having my own roost to rule for a while. I accepted. The Kents hugged me. And the adventure began. Chapter Two - Getting Settled Mrs. Kent left on a Thursday morning. It was really sad to see her leave her husband and family. Mr. Kent said something to his wife about "visiting" her when he could, but that was silly. She would be halfway around the world. Anyway, I got right to work taking care of the kids, cleaning and fixing dinner and all. Mr. Kent went off to work. Everything was "normal" until he got home that evening. I had the house in excellent order. Better than Mrs. Kent, actually. The kids were clean and happy. And I had made an excellent dinner. Mr. Kent was exceedingly complimentary when he saw what I had done; I glowed with praise. But then...then...he kissed me. On the cheek. But he kissed me. It was a little peck really. Probably a reflex on his part. What he would do if it were Mrs. Kent. But he didn't apologize or act embarrassed. He just acted pleased. After I fed him and the kids their fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob and chocolate cake, I did the dishes while the kids and their daddy played. After I cleaned the kitchen, I bathed the kids and put them to bed. They seemed happy. Mr. Kent was happy. I was happy. The second odd thing happened, though. When I came downstairs, Mr. Kent was on the couch, watching TV. He patted the seat next to him and said, "You must be very tired, Jimmy. Please sit down." I was tired. And I did sit. A baseball game was on TV. Mr. Kent was sitting in a tshirt and pajama bottoms. I was wearing a tshirt and Bermuda shorts. There was very little room between us on the couch. Mr. Kent closed the distance by putting his arm around me and drawing me closer to him. He put his arm around me! Just companionable, I guessed. Still, it was odd. Then he explained. "Lois and I sit like this at night after the kids go to bed." Oh. That made sense. He was just trying to keep things normal. I relaxed a bit. Though it did seem odd - us both being guys and all. When the game was over, around 10 p.m., Mr. Kent announced that he was going to bed. "You'd better go too, Jimmy," he said wisely. What you do is hard work." I love appreciation. I realized that, in our haste to get Mrs. Kent off to war, I had never asked where I would sleep. It was only a three-bedroom home. Jorel and Lara had their rooms. The Kents had theirs. I guessed I would be on the couch. But Mr. Kent thought otherwise. "Follow me," he said. We went to his room. The one he shared with his wife. With just one queen-sized bed. Was I sleeping on the floor? "We can share the bed, Jimmy. Just as Lois and I do. You work hard. You deserve to sleep well." That all made sense. Except for the part where two guys slept together. But Mr. Kent was so forceful. I know at work they say he's a mild- mannered reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper, but I think he's very assertive. I guessed it would be all right. As long as only he and I knew about it. He pulled back the covers. It was a warm night, so we only had a sheet. He got into bed on the left. I was on the right. Inches beween us. Mr. Kent in only his pajama bottoms. Me in a tshirt and boxers. As unnerved as I felt, I couldn't help but notice that he had a startling physique. Hard muscle on hard muscle. That made me feel even odder. I lay on my back. What would he do? What would I do? The answer was pretty benign. He leaned over, kissed my forehead, and said, "Goodnight, Jimmy. Thanks for everything. You're a lifesaver." Then he rolled over on his side, facing away from me, and went to sleep. Something else was a little odd too. I had never seen Mr. Kent without his glasses. When he took them off to go to bed, he looked oddly familiar. Like someone I had seen in the news. But I couldn't put my finger on it. Oh, well. I wondered about the significance of the kisses. And the bed-sharing. But I was so tired that I went to sleep until the alarm roused me at six. I made Mr. Kent's and the kids' breakfast, tidied up and saw him off to work, again with a peck on the cheek. After a full day of domestic duties, I awaited the man of the house with clean, happy kids and a fine meatloaf meal. Again, when he entered his castle, he was delighted and appreciative. But that time, when he kissed me, he brushed his lips against mine!!!! Were things going too far? I think you know the answer to that one, girls. I was tingling at the praise and at the way Mr. Kent delivered it. At the dinner table the kids and I told him about our day and he described his. It was so Norman Rockwellian. After the kids went to bed, Mr. Kent asked me again to sit on the couch with him. As we watched the Metropolis Metropolitans' baseball game on TV, Mr. Kent put his arm around me and "cuddled" me. No kissing, thank goodness. We sat in silence for a while. Then he said, "Lois and I sat on the couch every night after the kids went to bed. We cuddled and kissed. I miss her so much...[small sob]" I listened with a mixture of pity and terror. I felt sorry for the guy and in mortal fear that he would kiss me or even [gasp] more. "You've been wonderful," he continued. "Better than just a substitute wife and mother. You're like the real thing." That time it was pride mixed with terror. I gasped out a "Thank you." Then I was grateful that we slipped back into silence until bed time. Mr. Kent brushed his teeth, then came to bed, wearing only pj bottoms. He even smelled good. He gave me a small peck on the lips, thanked me, then rolled over and went to sleep. I was OK so far, I thought. But I would be happy when Mrs. Kent returned. Chapter Three - Things evolve Over the next week, we fell into a routine similar to that second night. But the following Friday, things evolved. Sitting on the couch with Mr. Kent on that Friday night, I actually felt comfortable and secure in Mr. Kent's arms. He was telling me something about the baseball game (I'm not really into sports) and I leaned my head up to look at him. I wasn't teasing him or encouraging him or anything, but for some reason, Mr. Kent kissed me. Right on the lips. And it was definitely not a peck. He held the kiss and really leaned into it. Sad to say, I had never been kissed before. So I had no real frame of reference. But it seemed like a great kiss. Though it was the single, gayest, most embarrassing moment of my life. When Mr. Kent broke off the kiss, he saw my distress. And apologized. "I'm sorry, Jimmy. It's just that I miss Lois and you've been such a good wife. And you're so pretty." Pretty? Me? Now I was really embarrassed. And a bit excited. In one of the turning points of my life I said, "That's OK, Mr. Kent. I understand." Well, he must have taken that for encouragement because he started kissing me again. Really nicely. For a long time. I closed my eyes and pretended that I was kissing a girl. That must have worked, because I really enjoyed what we were doing. Then things progressed. Mr. Kent broke off the kiss. "Time for bed," he said. And I never argued with Mr. Kent. He was so big and strong and manly. More powerful than a locomotive. I followed him up the stairs, wondering what fresh terrors faced me. I soon found out. Like always, I got into bed while Mr. Kent brushed his teeth. When he came out, he asked me to get out of bed. As I complied, he rummaged around in Mrs. Kent's chest of drawers. Finding what he sought, he turned and showed me a pretty, floor-length, white nightgown. "This is one of Lois' favorites," he said. "I think you're about the same size. If you're going to be a mother...and wife...you need to dress the part." I couldn't! Terror. Shame. "You really are pretty and I think this will make you prettier. Will you wear it...for me?" I didn't want to. But if it would help me do my job better... My professionalism was at stake. Blushing, I took the nightie into the bathroom. I held it against my body. Mr. Kent was right. I did look pretty in it. I guess I haven't told you about my hair. Probably because it hasn't been a relevant part of the story until now. It's red. Really red. And it's long. Trying to be one of the cool kids in high school, I let it grow to shoulder length. Except when I was shampooing it, I kept a rubber band around it, making a ponytail. Before I put the nightie on, I let my magnificent red mane free. And looked at myself. And wondered. Did it make me look more "professional," as in "substitute-wife-and-mother" professional? Or would Mr. Kent think I looked like a strange visitor from another planet? I took the risk. Reluctantly, but swiftly, I stripped naked, then eased the sweet, silky garment over my head. I felt a wave of something I hadn't felt before. Femininity. It was delicious. But what would my new clothes and liberated hair do to that powerful, aroused man out there? It was time to find out. I emerged from the bathroom. Mr. Kent gasped. "You're beautiful," he said. "Prettier than Lois." Strong words. Then, faster than a speeding bullet, he returned to Lois's chest of drawers, withdrawing a tube of lipstick. "Would you wear this too?" he asked pleadingly. He was so strong, yet so needy. I could deny him nothing. I should perhaps mention one other disturbing detail about the situation. It was unprofessional of me, but I had an erection. A raging, dripping erection. Despite my fear of an unknown too vast to comprehend, I was almost mortally aroused. That was truly unfamiliar, since sex had never been a big thing with me to that point. Or even a little thing. Girls didn't dig me, so I had made it a point not to dig them. Despite normal, raging hormones, I had pretty much ignored sex up to that point I my life. The other times Mr. Kent had kissed me, I definitely felt something. But this was different. Why was the prospect of being Mr. Kent's girlish bed partner so exciting to me? I didn't know, but I was reluctantly eager to find out. It wasn't as if I was doing anything wrong. Mr. Kent was the lord and master of the house and I was there to make him happy. He missed his wife. So he wanted me to girlie-up, cuddle and kiss with him. Reasonable. The right thing. Just kissing. And some nice femininity thrown in to sweeten the pot. Right? That was my plan, but remember, I wasn't in charge of that particular agenda. I was wearing a nightie and lipstick and about to get in bed with a man so virile, he looked as if he could bend steel with his bare hands. The covers were back. Mr. Kent was in bed in just his pajama bottoms. No shirt. Muscles. And [blush] it was VERY clear that he was aroused. Mr. Kent's arousal was as big as his muscles. Should I run, screaming, back to my parents, despite the embarrassment of the nightie and the lipstick, or should I take a chance by getting into bed? If I chose A, this would be a really dumb story, wouldn't it, girls? Mr. Kent was devouring me with his eyes. There I was, hoping he didn't have any "funny" ideas, but it appeared her was ready for the Improv. The first thing he did was pull me into his arms, him on his right side, me on my left. Firmly but gently, he held me. "You're so sweet, Gemma," he said. "So much potential for beauty and femininity. And a wonderful, wife and mother." "Gemma?" He had a girl's name for me? That was even more confusing. But I glowed with the praise, just as he devoured my mouth with his kisses. It was wonderful, really. Except for the little voice in that back of my head that kept saying that what we were doing was immoral and an abomination against nature. But who listens to dumb voices like that? Not when your cock is as hard as mine was. I guess it was inevitable that he would take things up a notch. Thank goodness he did or I would have died that night from blue balls - and so would he. Mr. Kent's left hand gripped my right, bare bottom cheek. He was such a bold lover, how could I deny him such a liberty? I made a sissyish, little moan when he did that. Which was all the encouragement he needed. The bad man laid me on my back and [gasp] raised my nightie above my nipples - exposing me horribly! There it was - a stiff willie - evidence of my lust. No denying the attraction. No holding back. My eyes filled with tears of fear and shame. Mr. Kent kissed my eyes, soothing my fears, saying, "We won't do anything you don't want, darling Gemma. Just relax." I did, a little. Until his strong lips began kissing my left nipple. As his left hand cupped my wrinkled sack. No fair. I didn't know there was so much pleasure in the whole world. After a life of tactile deprivation, I was being assaulted with physical feelings. The silky nightie on my shoulders and neck. The most beautiful man in the world's lips and tongue tormenting my nipple. His fingers teasing and pleasing my testicles and then, [gasp] stroking my popsy!!! Rubbing the oozing, sticky cream all over the oh-so-sensitive head! Moving his lips and tongue to my right nipple, making me gasp and pant and squeal and moan and then...overload. My guts clenched. My eyes opened wide. My nipples erected. And six thick, creamy jets of creamy cum erupted from my tormented pricklet. All over Mr. Kent's loving hand. I saw the gates of heaven, girls. And then the cauldron of the "other place." Mr. Kent would fire me. I had no self-control. I did something ultra- gay, right in front of him. In his own bed. And I was gay! He wouldn't want me around, knowing my gayness. Wouldn't allow me near his children. Would throw me out, probably that night. Boy was I wrong. Just as I was about to sob in mourning of my lost heterosexuality, I realized that Mr. Kent had abandoned my nipples and was [gasp] doing something extra-naughty! He was licking up the lake of cum that covered my stomach, chest and pubic area. Licking it up!!!!! And swallowing it!!!! Was he gay? I didn't know people did what he was doing. Doing so well. Arousing me again, if that was his intention. Then [gasp] doing something far naughtier! He took my limp, drooling peener into his mouth!!!! And began to suck it. And lick it. With occasional licks of my pink bag as well. What was I supposed to do? I decided to just see what came naturally. Which was the right solution all right. Obviously, I had never had my cock sucked. But it's something where experience is not necessary for the experience to be enjoyable. Very enjoyable. Even in a confused, shamed and guilty state, it's fun to have your cock sucked. Mr. Kent was making me all stiff again. Then he had me in one of those pre-dither dithers. I was making squeaky noises and gasping a lot, which he seemed to enjoy very much. Then I got that funny feeling. You know the one. Then I got the funnier feeling, the one that says, there's no turning back - it's about to get messy. I warned him. I did. But he just sucked and licked more nicely. Then my guts exploded again. And I pumped more thick, creamy sperm into my employer's mouth and down his throat. It was incredibly wonderful. Until I began to think about it. Always my downfall. It seemed to me that what had just happened would change our relationship. Usually, pumping semen into someone's mouth alters the way one views another person. Usually. Would Mr. Kent still want me around his children, now that he knew I was a gay little tramp? Even worse - what did he EXPECT me to do to him? Disgusting things? Gay things? Degrading things, similar to what he had just done to (and for) me? I couldn't. I couldn't suck Mr. Kent's cock. Or any man's. Ever. Ick. I couldn't even TOUCH the huge, nasty thing that he was resting against my leg as he held me. Could I even kiss him, knowing that his mouth had just been filled with my sperm? Well, we answered that one, because he moved right in and kissed away. I should have, but I didn't resist. Maybe because he was tweaking my sensitive nipples very nicely as we kissed. His mouth, which I [blush] was exploring with my tongue, tasted a bit different than it had before he consumed two huge loads of my "personal juices." But I didn't die from tasting them. I also began to feel guilty about being insensitive to Mr. Kent's needs. He had that stiffie and, I was sure, a very full bag of balls. Mrs. Kent had been gone. He had been so nice about easing my pain. Maybe I could help him, just a little. The right thing to do. Hesitantly. I extended my arm and brushed my hand against his pajama- covered prick. It was huge! And burning with lust! I pulled my hand back. No way. Uh, uh. But then Mr. Kent praised me again. "Oh, thank you, Gemma," he said. "You're such a caring person. So sensitive." He was so grateful. And so needy. And what I was doing was consistent with my profession, after all. Mr. Kent was lying on his back. Just to observe the proprieties, I disengaged from his embrace, and slipped my nightie back down, covering my nakedness. Then I took a deep breath, and began to unsnap his pajama bottoms. And released The Beast! It was humongous! With a slimy, purple, mushroom knob! A thick, blue vein ran up the right side of its dark tube! Orange-size, hairy balls hung low below the terrifying pole! It was hard as iron. No, steel. He was truly the Man of Steel, at least "down there." I almost lost my courage, but when I looked into his gentle, caring eyes, I knew I couldn't leave him in that condition. Nor could I send him off to "fend for himself" in the bathroom. No true wife, or even a reputable substitute such as myself, could do that. Blushing fiercely and trying (but failing) not to look, I slid my girlish hand onto the burning knob. He moaned. And I felt more powerful than I had ever felt in my young life. This magnificent man was totally in my power. I rubbed the knob gently, spreading around the plentiful goo that was seeping from the peelips. Then I ran my hand up and down the dark shaft, watching him react to my every sensuous touch. This wife stuff was fun so far! I cupped his balls, gently stirring them until Mr. Kent grunted cutely. Then I got to work in earnest, pulling the skin up and down over the mushroom, just as he had done to me. To be an extra-good wife, I resumed my kissing of his manly lips. Kissing. Skinning. More kissing. Gasps and pants from Mr. Kent and then, with a low moan, Mr. Kent shot his sperm so powerfully that a blob of it landed in my ear! I kept skinning and he kept shooting - eight thick blasts that covered his stomach and chest. One thick projectile landed in my hair. Sounds icky, I know. But I didn't freak out or anything. And I didn't lick it all up or anything like that. We were so exhausted that we just fell asleep, right then, and slept through until the alarm rang at six. Time for me, even though it was Saturday, to get up and attend to the kids. Even though I had to wash the sperm from my hair and change into boy clothes first. Mr. Kent stirred a little when I got up. I was afraid he would want an "encore" of the previous night's exertions. I didn't want that. No way. Did I tell you? I decided right then and there that kissing was as far as I would go in the future. And wearing the occasional pretty nightie. And lipstick. And maybe submitting to the occasional "messy tickle" from Mr. Kent. But that was it. Which, of course, isn't how it happened. I got myself washed and dressed, but the darned things that Jimmy had worn all his life just didn't seem right to me for a wife and mother to wear. So I looked through Mrs. Kent's things. I hoped I wasn't overstepping, but I found some lovely white, silky bikini panties and tried them on. Wow! What had I been missing all my life? They felt incredible against my "tender parts" and the surreptitious little stares that an allegedly sleeping Mr. Kent gave me as I pranced around the room in the panties - just the panties - told me I was doing the right thing. I'm ashamed to say that my first panties didn't last long. The combination of the panties' gentle caress, the sight of my lovely self in the mirror and the vivid memories of my recent naughtiness had me gasping and spurting and filling my pretty things with thick, creamy spermies. I changed into my second pair of panties, little black teasers. I left my red mane unrestrained and found a simple, medium- girlish top that fit me, as well as white short shorts. My look was on the girlish side of androgynous. The clunky mule sandals I found pushed things toward girly a bit, but not too bad. It was summer and it was a cool outfit. Cool and a big step for Jimmy. Or Gemma. The kids reaction was amazingly unerstated. "You look pretty, Jimmy," Jorel said. "Yeah," Lara echoed. "Can I have Cocoa Puffs for breakfast?" I didn't know Mr. Kent was awake, but he appeared suddenly and said, "Please call your substitute mother, 'Gemma,' kids. And I agree. She's very pretty." She? Wow. Chapter Four - Routine It's important for a family to have a routine. Our family was finding its routine. I know I'm calling it my family. It sort of was. For a while, anyway. I was taking care of the kids very well and my hunk of a husband even better. Every night, after the kids went to bed, we went to bed. Mr. Kent kissed my nipples and rubbed and sucked my little willie until I spurted several times each night. I kissed his manly lips and rubbed his "big business" until it flooded the sheets and the mattress. I wasn't kissing or sucking the Monster of Metropolis yet, but I was beginning to think that it wouldn't be all that bad a thing. Each day I dressed a little prettier for Mr. Kent. The Friday after our first "wet session," I got up my courage and went for a complete makeover, with make-up lessons and pedicure/manicure. When I got home, I put on stockings for the first time. And a garter belt. Then had to clean myself up because of the naughty mess I made. Stockings were wonderful! I had shaved my legs and even my "private parts," in preparation for my big weekend treat for my "husband." But it was an even better treat for me to see the lovely girl in the mirror wearing tan stockings, black pumps with three-inch-stiletto heels, skirt and top. I was falling in love with Gemma. Was Mr. Kent falling I love with her too? Was I falling in love with Mr. Kent? That Friday night, right before Mr. Kent got home, I reminded myself why I was doing all that I was doing. It was a wife's duty, really. I mean, there he was, out all day, fighting for truth, justice and the American way. It was only fair that the wife does her part to make him happy. And he was very happy to see me that night. I had to remind him to pay attention to the children. The scamp couldn't wait to take me upstairs and have his way with me! The bad boy. [giggle] At eight, the kids were dispatched to bed and I was escorted to the bedroom. The impetuous boy couldn't keep his hands off me. Before I knew it, I was down to my bra, stockings, garter belt and heels. And he was [blush] completely naked!! That was a new element, right there. I had never removed his pjs. Just moved them to get at Big Boy - that fiery monster that was staring at me. My shy eyes were downcast from my naked man. In for a penny, in for a pound, I said to myself and, surrendering to a raging instinct of which I was previously unaware, I sank to my knees and began to implant adoring kisses on my masterful husband's cockhead. He liked that very much!!! And so, to my surprise, did I! I hadn't tasted a man's gooey droolings before - even my own. But Mr. Kent had been swallowing three or four big, hot loads of mine every night and he still looked as if he could leap tall buildings at a single bound. So I lasciviously licked the drools that were issuing steadily from his pink peelips. I kissed those lips and even tongued the opening. His eyes got really wide when I did that. I licked the purple head around and around. And made little noises of appreciation and awe. The kinds of sounds that real men like Mr. Kent really enjoy. And pretty boys like Gemma Olsen love to make for their men. I didn't neglect his heavy ball sack. Oh no. I tickled and caressed the tender flesh as I licked and kissed and sucked the plump mushroom. I even took a few moments to suck each hairy ball as I swirled my tongue around it. Poor Mr. Kent. He told me later that it was the best "blowjob" of his life. And I was a complete novice. Think of the potential. I returned to man's most sensitive knob, giving it little feather kisses from my glossed lips. Then, as with as much girlishness and submissiveness as I could muster, I applied my full focus on making Mr. Kent cum so hard that he fainted. Licking, kissing and sucking Mr. Kent's magnificent weapon. Then, when he appeared close to a magnificent climax, I surrendered to him even more completely. I became a receptacle for his cock, allowing him to "fuck my face" as I knelt before my master. And fuck it he did. I remember thinking what a shame it was that Mr. Kent could never fuck me. Unlike Mrs. Kent, I thought, I didn't have a pussy. All I could offer him, I thought, was my mouth. So I did. Willingly. Boy was I wrong about things. Mr. Kent wasn't thinking about much other than depositing his load in my hot, slurping mouth. With a primal, manly grunt, that was exactly what he did. In huge, wet globs. Salty. Hot. I was drowning in cum. Thank goodness I had taken scuba and remembered to breathe through my nose. I think I actually swallowed about half of that mammoth load of sperm. The other three-quarters drooled out my mouth, over my chin and onto my bra-covered chest. The next time I did that, I noted, I would have to bring a bucket or a mop. Or improve my technique. Despite the messiness, I was quite proud of myself. I had been able to give a good man a considerable amount of pleasure. And my femininity and my enjoyment of that femininity were increasing daily. Mr. Kent gave me even greater pleasure that night than I gave him. Chapter Five - Strange things about our family After I sucked Mr. Kent's cock that Friday night, the ice was pretty much broken between us. We were very lovey-dovey with each other - not in front of the kids, of course. But we stole every moment we could doing very naughty things. I [blush] became an excellent cocksucker. Practice makes perfect and I was getting two or three opportunities each night to "work on my game." Mr. Kent adored me - calling me his precious jewel. One day, about a month after I "tamed the beast" for the first time, he took me to a jeweler to get me something pretty. The jeweler, like most men I ran into as Gemma, was flirting with me - until he saw my "temporary husband's" dirty look. Anyway, I was looking at the stones and, since I'm a redhead, I picked out an emerald. Mr. Kent acted really funny when he saw the green, shiny stone. Wouldn't get near it. Suggested I pick something else, which, of course, I did. Odd. Another odd time was one night we went out as a family to one of those 50s retro diners. The kids loved it and so did I, but Mr. Kent was acting strangely. He had the oddest look when he saw the diner's "phone booth." I mean, what a strange sight these days, But Mr. Kent was actually looking at it, I don't know, longingly. Before the kids were even finished with their burgers, he excused himself. I was only half- watching, but I thought he was headed for the phone booth. A few seconds later, there was an odd breeze in the diner. He didn't come back for about 20 minutes, then there was another breeze. The booth opened and Mr. Kent came out, then returned to us. "Mommy says hi, kids," he said. "And Lois is delighted at our work, Gemma," he added. That was strange too. He acted as if he had seen her, not just spoken to her. And another thing. Mr. Kent told me that he took the train to work. But one morning, he forgot his lunch. Five minutes, I thought, after he had left, I called his office to leave a voicemail message saying he had better go out for lunch. Mr. Kent answered the phone! Not his voicemail. Even though the train ride in was about 35 minutes! Oh, well. Maybe I miscalculated the time. I'll tell you what else was odd. Part of very wife's duties is nagging. So whenever something was broken or messy, I would point it out to Mr. Kent. Unlike almost every husband, he had a really good attitude about it. In fact, every household jib I gave him - I would walk away for a few minutes and it would be done. Complicated jobs! He was a perfect husband. And every family has its oddities. Chapter Six - Full potential as a wife/mother "Look, up in the sky," Jorel said to Lara. "It's a bird," Lara said. "It's a plane," Jorel corrected. "It's your Daddy building you a treehouse, kids," I said to them one lovely Saturday two months into my glorious substitute wife and motherhood. Since Mr. Kent always seemed to work faster when I wasn't around, I went inside to turn the mattress. I had been wanting to do that for some time, since our poor mattress had been assaulted by gallons of cum every night for several weeks. I grumbled a bit when I turned it, since my strong man should be doing the heavy lifting. The heaviest thing I should have to lift was Mr. Kent's cock, I thought. And [giggle] that usually lifts itself. Anyway, I lifted the mattress and made an amazing discovery. Three well-worn, full-color magazines had been hidden between the mattress and the box spring. Smut! My Mr. Kent was hiding his porn in the traditional place for such material. Cattily, I wondered if that was because he wasn't "getting it" from Mrs. Lane as often as he "got it" from me. Then I examined the material. The first thing I noticed was that, of course, the pages were stuck together. So my hero spanks his monkey, I giggled to myself. Then I took a better look. The magazines were all the same. Something called "Panty Boy," magazine. Oh my. Panty Boy? Boys...like me? Who wore women's pretties and sucked cocks? There were so many boys like me that there was a magazine for them? Or about them? Or for men, like Mr. Kent, who lusted after them? That was a revelation. But it was only the beginning. I looked at the top magazine. Dated May 1-15 of that year. Before I became the substitute wife. So he WAS "supplementing" what Mrs. Kent gave him. Or was he plotting his romance of me? The cover picture was of a beautiful girl, about my age. She was a girl, wasn't she? She was lovely. The caption said, "Prom Night Issue." It was a close-up, head shot picture of a girl smiling at the camera. Her lovely, perfectly made-up face was drenched in sperm. And a drooling, spent cockhead was in the upper right portion of the picture. I opened it. And saw a photo story of a boy coming home from high school one day, saying hello to his parents, then going to his room to get dressed for his senior prom -- as a girl. I felt my willie stir as the girl emerged, putting on her make-up, styling her hair, sliding on her stockings and panties and delicious gown and shoes. When "her" date arrived, things got interesting. Mom and Dad took lots of pics and the couple were off to the dance. The girl's date was a very good-looking young man who appeared quite smitten with the girl, whom the magazine called Lisa. By page 8, the setup was complete and the real "meat" of the matter emerged. The girl and Malcolm, her boyfriend, had left the prom and were in a rented hotel room. The boy undressed the girl as he kissed her, stripping himself to naked and Lisa to tan stockings, lacy, white garter belt and white pumps. My eyes were wide as I turned the page and saw - something I didn't imagine in my wildest surmise. The girl was on all fours on the bed. Her cockie was still and her balls hanging free. That was "normal," I guessed. Bu what happened next wasn't. Malcolm was leaning over her, behind her, and he was licking her bottomhole! Licking it!!! And she loved it! I didn't know people did that? Why hadn't Mr. Kent done that for/to me? It certainly looked like fun. And it was shockingly dirty. Maybe he thought it was unsanitary. Maybe he [sigh] didn't love me. Maybe I should turn the page. I did so and saw... I saw... Malcolm was sticking his cock into Lisa's the bottomhole! The one he had just licked! That was impossible. I turned the page. Lisa was still alive. Malcolm's huge cock had entered Lisa's tiny hole. How was that possible? The caption suggested that she was enjoying herself too. It said, "Oh fuck me, Malcolm. Fuck me harder." I turned the page. Malcolm was complying completely with Lisa's wishes. Lisa was cumming her pretty guts out. On the next page, Malcolm was cumming so hard in Lisa's bottom that cum was drooling out of her bottom and migrating to her swollen balls. I closed the magazine. Mr. Kent could fuck me. I could be a complete wife. Just like Mrs. Kent. I looked up. Mr. Kent had been watching me. Was that treehouse built already? He opened his mouth and hesitated. Then he said, "I want to do that with you very badly. But I don't want you to be afraid or hurt." I gulped. If that little tart Lisa could do it, so could I. "Will you lick my bottomhole first?" I asked. "I'll do that part right now, while the kids are at their nap. I shuddered. And squeaked, "Oh, please do," In milliseconds, the rogue was naked and had me down to my stockings and garter belt. We kissed like starving wolves. Then he lay on his back and had me straddle his shoulders, facing away from him. Slowly, I eased my bottomhole over his mouth. I saw heaven, girls. His tongue licked and probed. Every once in a while, Mr. Kent would stop licking and insert one, then two, then [gasp] three fingers into my tiny "pussy." He rubbed and explored and massaged my prostate until I was weeping and cumming. Begging for more. Total emasculation! It was fantastic! For one half hour, Mr. Kent tongued and fingered my asshole, making me cum so hard I slipped into coma - twice. After the second eruption, I leaned over and sucked his cock to a major explosion as he continued to "eat my pussy." Unlike my earlier efforts, I didn't lose a drop of his creamy treasure. Unfortunately, we had to stop, moving very quickly to make ourselves presentable for the awakening kids. Mr. Kent made me cum for a third time,that time in my panties when he kissed me and whispered, "Tonight." I was going to lose my last virginity that night. I was going to be ravaged by a rampant man. Fucked with a stiff truncheon. Stuffed with a mammoth cock. I couldn't wait. Chapter Seven - The Bottom Line The minutes dragged like hours as we waited for the kids' bedtime of eight o'clock. Mr. Kent was looking at me as if he wanted to push the macaroni and cheese off the dinner table, bend me over it, lift my skirt, pull down my panties and FUCK me. And he probably would have if I had given him a smidgen of encouragement. But someone has to be sensible in a relationship and, as we know, girls, that's never the man. I'll admit that I was a bit afraid of what was going to happen to my poor, defenseless bottom after 8 p.m. To reassure myself that Lisa wasn't the only person in the world who could take a baseball-bat-sized cock in her bottom, I sneaked a peek at the other two issues of Panty Boy. In one, a pantyboy bride was being royally bottom-diddled by her new husband, who didn't even wait to get her gown off before he fucked her silly. Men can be so impetuous. I did note how beautiful the pantyboy looked in her wedding gown and wondered if I would ever get to wear one. [sigh] Certainly not with Mr. Kent. I was no homewrecker. Of course, if Mrs. Kent decided to stay in Abbadabbastan for a few more years, that would be OK too. In the other issue of Panty Boy, a lovely little creampuff named Susan was entertaining her physician, right in the doctor's office. He was giving her a thorough prostate exam with his nine-inch cock and she looked to be in fine health as a result. That took the edge off my fear, but my anticipation was so high that I was almost hyperventilating. When I tucked the kids off and went to "our bedroom," Mr. Kent was fussing with a package that he had wrapped for me. He was very eager to give it to me and I was eager to open it. It was MY first lingerie! The other stuff had been Mrs. Kent's. But this was mine. Emerald green (to complement my red hair) bra, garter belt and five- inch-stiletto pumps. Black, fully-fashioned, seamed, reinforced-heel- and-toe stockings. It was a beautiful sentiment. And I loved him for it. And for his big cock and sweet manner. I wanted to put them on for my "breakthrough session" of that evening, but didn't want to engender his impatience. He clearly wanted to fuck me as soon as he could get his cock out of his pants - the impetuous boy. But he showed real maturity by saying, "I want to see you in your own lingerie. And make love to you in it. But let's get clean first." Cleanliness is good. Especially when it involves splashing around naked in a shower with a man who lusts after you and you lust after him. Somehow, we managed to soap each other and kiss and wash and not lose anything from our very-full bags of creamy goodies. We toweled each other off, anticipation building. Mr. Kent sat on the bed, watching me put on my sluttiest make-up, including emerald-green eye shadow. Then he watched me put on my silky treasures, slowly drawing each stocking over my painted toes and up each shaven leg. Hooking each stocking to the snaps of a satin garter belt. Slipping each dainty, stockinged foot into a green pump. I left the bra in the box - giving Mr. Kent freer access to my swollen nipples. All was ready. I took a deep breath. Then I joined my lover on the bed. He had me lie on top of him. Kissing me and rubbing our tortured cocks together in an agony of lust. I felt his finger enter my bottom. He had some sort of lubrication on it and it felt wonderful. We kissed, swapping tongues as he inserted a second finger, then a third. I rubbed my stiffie against his, then cried out and pumped large bursts of sissy cream all over the instrument of my imminent defloration. It was time. "I'm going to fuck you on your back, Gemma - like a woman - because that's who you are to me. It will hurt at first, but I'll be gentle. And I promise you'll adore it." "OK," I said softly. Though what I really wanted to say was, "Enough talk. Fuck me already! Can't you see I need it?" But that would have been unladylike. So I got on my back, lifting my knees as the bride did in that naughty issue of Panty Boy. I watched as my lover lubed up his raging monster with the same stuff he had rubbed inside my bottom. For a brief moment I wondered if those pictures in Panty Boy had been "trick photography" and I was about to be disemboweled. But only a brief moment. I looked up at Mr. Kent. He was so sweet and handsome and gentle. Though I must say that at that moment, had I changed my mind, I wasn't sure he would have stayed sweet and gentle. He was randy!! Steam was coming from his nostrils! I could have closed my eyes, but I didn't wan to miss a thing. I felt Mr. Kent's drooling peelips rub the opening of my anus. That alone was worth the price of admission. He pushed forward, gently, and I felt a tiny discomfort as about half the mushroom head penetrated my love box. My eyes teared up a bit when he got the entire head in. That hurt. But he paused to allow me to get used to it. Then, when I seemed OK, he pressed on - the head and three inches of the shaft were fully sheathed. I cried out - not from pain, really, though there was some. From amazement that there was no tearing or dismemberment. All I heard was a loud "slurping" sound. Another rest to acclimate. Mr. Kent leaned over and kissed my lips, then said. "You're a very brave girl, Gemma. I love you." He loved me!! He hadn't said that before. I liked that. Mrs. Kent or no Mrs. Kent. It would have been nicer, I think, if he had told me at a time when he didn't need my full cooperation so he could satisfy his disgusting, male needs. But I would take it. I also took another three inches of cock. Another pause. More kissing and sweet words. Then the rest of that big, fat prick. All in. To the hilt! And Gemma was still breathing. My little popsy was sagging from the shock of insertion, but as Mr. Kent began to run his "business" in and out of me, I felt a powerful, almost stupefying orgasm building in my little grapes. I wasn't even hard, but he was pushing in and out of me so nicely. It was a moment of pure feminine joy and abject emasculation. I had never been so happy in...unnhhh. Wave after wave of orgasmic fury attacked me. My limp poppet was steadily drooling goo as I cried out. The demons of masculinity were leaving my body as my exorcist began his own orgasm. Filling my bottom, for the first time, with a half gallon of the stuff that made us all. The bad boy didn't even withdraw until he fucked me twice more that evening, making me cum three times, the last time without a drop of semen leaving my body. We went to sleep then, until three a.m., when Mr. Kent took me from behind, leaving me exhausted and sated until six a.m. when he woke me again and had me suck his nasty cock - which I was more than delighted to do. That pretty much describes our evenings for the next two months. It was the best time of my life. Heck, it would have been the best time of anyone's life. Until we got "the call." Mrs. Kent was coming back. In three days. Oh, no, Depths of despair. Woe was me! But the kids were happy. And Mr. Kent was happy, which made me even more miserable. Though I didn't withhold sex from him those three days. Withholding sex from him was withholding sex from me. And I wasn't stupid. We fucked like rabbits with an hour to live. Which was really how we had fucked the whole time since we started fucking. The man was "super" in the sack, which is why I named this story "Super." Why else would I have called it that? And he was super in other ways. Sensitivity-wise, I mean. "I know you think this is the end of the world, Gemma," Mr. Kent said to me our last night together. "I love you and I'll always love you, but, as you know, I'm married with children." How many of us have heard that sad story, eh, girls? "All is definitely not lost, Gemma. Tomorrow, right after Lois gets home, my friend will be coming by to pick you up and take you on a date, so dress pretty." He was fixing me up? How did I feel about that? I asked myself the two most important questions - is he rich and is he cute? Mr. Kent said, "He's very rich and he's very cute." Wow. Mr. Kent did understand girls. He went on. "His name is Bruce Wayne. He's a billionaire playboy who lives in Gotham City. He's definitely ready to settle down. I've been telling him all about you, showed him your picture, and he's half in love with you already. I just know he'll go batty over you." Mr. Kent showed me Mr. Wayne's picture and my cock, which had "spilled its guts" four times already that evening, stiffened noticeably. Mr. Kent laughed. "I knew you would like him. He's very strong and athletic too." Not to mention that we was a total dish. And there was that "billionaire" thing. "Bruce broke off a long-term relationship with a pantyboy named 'Robin' about a year ago. And he's ready to meet the right girl and marry her." A vision of me in a wedding gown flashed through my head. And I imagined myself making hot, steamy, honeymoon-and-after love with the man whose picture I held in my hand. "Bruce always called Robin 'The Boy Wonder,' but in the end, she left him for a flashy guy named Barry Allen. You two are perfect for each other. Lois and I will dance at your wedding." And that was exactly how things happened. Aren't happy endings wonderful? Life is just super! Please tell me what you think at [email protected]