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Liberation By Gingerfred Man Chapter One - The Full Monty of Feminization It all began when I, Chris [Famous Last Name I Must Redact], was 14 and my mother, the famous person, decided that she no longer wanted to be burdened with an "unruly" son. Aside from occasionally showing something less than instant, total obedience to my Mother's demands, I was NOT unruly. But I was a burden. Imagine having to remember your son's birthday or to see him every third or fourth Christmas. Imagine having to have to recruit and loosely supervise servants to take care of me. It was horribly burdensome to Mother. I know that now. Fortunately for her, when I turned 14, another option popped up. An expensive option. Some might say a cruel option. But when it came to me, Mother was not opposed to cruelty as a substitute for neglect. L'Academie des Femmes, a "school" for the feminization of unruly teenage boys, was Mother's perfect solution for me. Just ship me to that "boarding" school and, when they were through with me, I would be on my own. L'Academie des Femmes had a fancy French name, but it was located right here in [City Name redacted] in the USA. It was run by a woman who went by the moniker of Aunt Julia. Not a particularly cruel woman. But not a kind one either. Aunt Julia and her all-female staff had a mission - transform their young charges into femininely stunning masterpieces. There was no physical punishment involved in the training. Aunt Julia was too skilled for that. She used tedium and/or humiliation as punishment for the unruly. And there was no sex involved in the training either. No milkings of sissy penises. No butt plugs or sleepover panty parties with lots of penis kissing. What we mostly did was dress and undress. In fabulous, ultra-feminine lingerie and gowns. Twice a week, when I reached the highest level, I was fitted for wedding gowns. Wedding gowns! And the training we got in cosmetics was amazing. Tedious. Repetitive. But amazing. I knew how to make my face up for any mood or any occasion. And I knew how to dress for any occasion. Any occasion where stockings, five-inch heels, and 1950-1965 dresses would be worn. The hair regimens were equally exhausting. I never had my hair cut during my four years [!!!] there. Styling and restyling my enormous mane was depleting. And I never slept without huge rollers all over my head. It was suffocating, but effective. During my four years at L'Academie des Femmes, we usually had anywhere from ten to 15 boys in training. They called us boys. With masculine pronouns. Never girls until we reached level three. As if we had to "earn" being girls. By the time we reached level three, which for me was early in my fourth year, we had been taking a moderate, but effective dosage of female hormones. No beards. Softer voices. Breasts. Though some wouldn't dignify what I had as breasts. They were the size of a late summer peach. Mostly all puffy nipple. But I couldn't resist looking at myself in the several, full-length mirrors I shared with my roommate and best friend, Tommy. Tommy began his "sentence" at L'Academie des Femmes two weeks after I did. And we took to each other from the beginning. Even when Tommy showed himself to be more accepting of our feminine fate than I was. Tommy made level three a full six months before I did. And, as required, he took a feminine name - Susan. When I finally ascended, I was known as Chrissie. Thus began the best time I had at L'Academie des Femmes. Rooming with Susan. There were still eight or nine full clothing changes, accessory matchings, makeup removal and reapplication, lingerie selection, hair folderol, voice training and all that each day. But then I could share it all with Susan. Who, aside from me, was the prettiest "girl" in the whole 78-year history of L'Academie des Femmes. At night, we could share our penises and our spunk. I was addicted to hands-on (never fellatio!) sex with Susan. And I was addicted to my own beautiful image in our many mirrors. But a part of me still ached for the world I had been ripped from four years earlier. Chapter Two - L'Academie des Femmes in the Rear-View Mirror. We often wondered what happened to the level three trainees who seemed to disappear at around age 18. Had they been sold to an Arab emir for his harem? Were they to be married off to a gay billionaire? Were they recycled for goat food? No one knew where they went or why they left at age 18. On my 18th birthday, I found out. Called into Aunt Julia's office, I was a bit apprehensive about the precipice I was occupying. "You've done well here, Chrissie," my mentor/tormentor said. "But you must go. Your mother can direct where you stay until you're 18, but after 18, that would be kidnapping. So we're liberating you today." My first reaction was joy. Free at last! Free to wipe all the makeup off, get a buzz cut, wear an old sweatshirt, holey jeans and a masculine attitude! But then what? Aunt Julia jumped in with an answer. "It would be cruel to just shove you out the front door after your Academie years, Honey. We would like to offer you six months, fully paid-for, at a halfway house where you can ease into your new life. If it's any incentive, your friend and lover, Susan, will be joining you there in eight days." I blushed. Aunt Julia knew about Susan and me? Of course. She knew all. I agreed, thanked Aunt Julia (did I really do that?) and submitted to the first hug anyone but Susan had given me in four years. Make that 18 years. "Can I say goodbye to Susan?" "That would break protocol, Chrissie, and we don't do that here." I should have known. Not ideal. But we would be together in eight days. As I stood to leave, Aunt Julia tinkled a bell and a door opened. Through the door strode a creature I had forgotten existed. A MAN! And a pretty amazing man. Six feet three inches of handsome muscle. But a face that was kind and gentle as he looked at me for the first time. I couldn't help it. My cock stiffened. Why? I had no idea. The man, concerned with my feelings, tried not to look at my naughty peenie. Aunt Julia stepped in quickly. "I can see that you two will get along just fine. Chrissie, Eric will be your transition coordinator. He will share the halfway house with you for six months or less (as you wish) and he will ensure that you have everything, and I mean EVERYTHING you want or need. Eric was going to give me whatever I wanted or needed? Did that include...? Of course not. Silly me. I didn't need THAT. Not from a man. He was a man. And I was a man - or about to become one again. Soon. Really soon. Before I could rearrange my brain, I was getting into Eric's Mustang convertible, as Eric held the door for me! Just as if I were a lady! Which I was not. But I sort of liked being cared for - even just that. Eric said that it was an hour's drive to my (our) temporary home. He asked me (asked!!) if I wanted to go for a birthday lunch first. I couldn't remember the last time anyone had asked me for permission. I liked that too. But I had reservations. Such as, no one outside of L'Academie des Femmes had seen me dressed as a woman. And I was certainly dressed that way that day. I was wearing what could best be described as a late 1950s pink-with- white-trim, "cocktail dress." With only two petticoats. Pink, seamed, fully-fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings. Pink pumps with five-inch-stiletto heels. And lingerie that included a corset, pink granny panties, and a bra to hold my tiny titties up. My brunette hair was enormous. Yet well-styled. It had to be when one spends at least two hours a day on one's hair's care and feeding. I was terrified that people would laugh at me. And mock me for not only being a drag princess, but one who was 50 years out of date. But in the end, I didn't care! I wanted to see the world I had been missing. So I would take my chances. Eric was delighted. We pulled into a lovely, upscale restaurant. He helped me out and offered me his arm. I blushed. Or was it flushed? Because we were both guys, Eric knew I was a guy, yet he was treating me as a woman. A well-cared-for woman. We entered the dining room and my new life began the moment the ma?tre d' looked at me in stunned silence. Had he made me as a male? Was there spinach in my teeth? No and maybe (I don't remember) He didn't move or speak for a full 30 seconds. Eric let it all happen and then asked politely, "May we have a table for two for lunch, Maurice? It's my niece Chrissie's birthday," That snapped Maurice out of it. Mostly. But there was plenty of what was affecting Maurice to go around. The place held about 20 tables; all but two were occupied as Maurice led us to ours. The occupants of the 18 tables dropped their utensils and put down their glasses and stared at me! At me!! I blushed furiously, convinced that they had all seen through my shallow feminine fa?ade and saw me as a crossdressing perv. But they weren't acting disgusted. I wasn't sure how or why they were acting as they were. When we were seated and Maurice handed us our menus, he leaned over to me and said, most sincerely, "I'm sorry for the way everyone is behaving, myself included, Miss. It's just that, well, we've never seen anyone not only as beautiful as you, but as feminine." So they didn't think I was a crossdressing guy? They thought I was a real woman who was exceptionally womanly. But that wasn't true, so I said, "But I'm not..." Eric jumped in and said, "Chrissie is very humble, Maurice. I agree that she's a stunning beauty. And yet she's very sweet and innocent. Which is the combination that has driven men mad for centuries, eh, Maurice?" Maurice smiled at Eric, then at me. He lingered his smile at me a bit longer than a normal smile-at. Then he left us. Leaving me stunned. I looked over at Eric, who was smiling at me. He knew the effect I would have on people outside of L'Academie des Femmes. And he wanted me to see it for myself. At L'Academie des Femmes, I was never good enough, because I was always reminded that I hadn't been born female. The rest of the world apparently saw me as stunningly beautiful and amazingly feminine. For the first time in my life, it seemed, I was somebody. I was startled. And delighted. Until I remembered that I wasn't really the person they all saw at that birthday lunch. That was just a fa?ade. I was really just a guy named Chris who had played dressup for four years and was getting ready to stop. Wasn't I? Perhaps not immediately. Because all the adoring stares I was getting were fueling my nascent ego. It didn't seem likely that Chris the Guy would be getting one billionth the adoration and admiration that Chrissie the Magnificent was getting. Oh dear. Was I getting a big head ten minutes into my global debut? Eric snapped me back with a "What would you like for lunch, Miss Chrissie?" Lunch. Right. At L'Academie des Femmes, I would be getting a lettuce salad with squeezed lemon juice for dressing. If I ate more, my corset would torment me. My corset was one of my top ten icky issues with L'Academie des Femmes. It hurt. All the time except while sleeping. So imagine my delight when Eric, who actually seemed to understand me and my needs said, "Is eating a real meal difficult for you because of your corset, Miss Chrissie?" I made a pouty face and nodded. Never thinking that corset removal was an option. Let alone a nuclear priority. "Let's order a proper meal for you, then, as they're preparing it, we'll take the corset off you and burn it," Eric said. Was such a thing possible? Eric ordered us both a cheeseburger and fries! Cheeseburgers! Fries! He held my chair for me as I rose and he accompanied me to the ladies room. My first ladies room. He was more comfortable in it than I. Eric locked the door and helped me remove my dress and petticoats. Oh dear. I was wearing just my panties, bra, stockings, heels and corset in Eric's full view. What if he tried something "funny?" He was so big and strong. And I wasn't. But Eric was good to his word. He quickly undid my stays, removed my corset, reveled in my delight, then helped me back into my dress. Eleven minutes after we had left our table, we were reseated. Breathing all of the world's air. Relaxed while the sun was out for the first time in four years. I beamed at Eric. Who was not fully my hero yet. But I judged that a heroic act. I couldn't eat my entire hamburger and fries, of course. 40 percent of each. But it was still delightful. As were 1) the feeling of bodily freedom I felt as we left the restaurant and 2) the hot stares of everyone we passed as we made our way from table to Mustang. Eric was a total guy on the one-hour ride to the halfway house. Talking about himself. He was an Army veteran. Lots of combat time. From a big family. Yadda yadda. I kind of didn't hear it all because I was thinking that my immediate future looked amazingly great. Susan would be joining me...and Eric...in eight days. Woo-hoo on that! Big question. So I asked it. "Will Susan and I be sharing you when she comes?" Eric liked the question. Because he probably thought I wanted him all to myself or something. Which wasn't true. Exactly. "Susan will have her own transition assistant, named Craig. Nice guy. You'll like him." So Susan and I would be living with two hunky guys. And we wouldn't be wearing corsets. Not bad. But Susan and I wouldn't really need Eric and Craig because we would have each other. We arrived at the halfway house at around 3:30 p.m. It was lovely. Two floors. Four bedrooms. Big kitchen. Nice yard. Very private swimming pool. But that wasn't the best of it. My bedroom was spectacular. A bed the size of Rhode Island. Two closets. One huge and filled with every extant, girlish, clothing item except corsets. The other closet was small and outfitted in guy clothes. All was in my exact size. There was a huge vanity filled with cosmetics and perfumes. Many mirrors. A gigantic bathroom with both a quadruple shower and a sunken tub for four. I cried with joy. After two hours of rummaging around the femmy stuff, I noticed that there were no hair rollers. Odd. At precisely 6 p.m., Eric appeared and said that dinner was ready. I gushed about how wonderful my room was. Then I asked him about the lack of rollers. "That torturous time-waster is over for you, Miss Chrissie, if you wish. I've arranged to get you a haircut tomorrow in a feminine style that you can blow dry in the morning in about ten minutes. You'll look even better, trust me." I did trust Eric. So much that I hugged him. Perhaps too closely. Because I felt his iron pipe against me. And I'm sure he felt my boobies on his chest. We weren't lovers. It was a professional relationship. But I was very grateful. I joined Eric for a wonderful, low-calorie, high-flavor dinner, then, as Eric did the dishes, I watched television for the first time in four years. I couldn't remember when I had been happier. When Eric joined me in the TV room, he found me asleep. I guess all the excitement of ending my incarceration caught up with me. It was 9:24 p.m. when I awoke. I was in bed. Wearing a pink babydoll nightie with matching panties. Oh dear! Eric had UNDRESSED ME! And then DRESSED ME! He saw all my "things!" Which at first I considered a violation. Until I realized that Eric was doing his job. Which was to take care of me. So I forgave him. Forty-eight minutes later, I hadn't fallen back to sleep when Eric poked his head in to check on me. "Are you OK, Miss Chrissie?" he asked. Again, I was honest. "Not really, Eric. I feel a little achy and I can't sleep." "I thought that would happen, Miss Chrissie. You and your friend Susan emptied each other's pink purses every night before you slept, didn't you? You need that to sleep. Would you like me to help you?" Did he mean? Oh! I couldn't. It was gay. Although I had been "emptying" with Susan and she was the same gender as I. And it was clear that I needed it. "OK, Yes, please," I said in my girliest voice. Eric smiled, left the room, and returned with a big bottle of something called Slickyboy Masturbation Cream (a Spermbut Industries Product). I think I had just engaged a professional to do my "nighttime relief." Eric gently pulled back the covers, then asked me to lift my hips as he removed my panties. He pulled the little, pink dazzlers to mid-thigh, then touched my achingly-stiff penis. I gasped. And drips dribbled from my peelips. "You have a lovely set of girlish things, Miss Chrissie," my transition technician said. "So pink and pretty. Just like you." I blushed and dripped pre-goo some more. Eric squirted some Slickyboy Masturbation Cream into his right palm and fingers and applied his hand to my arousal. Oh! He knew just what to do with a penis! He skinned me back and drove me half mad with lust as he tormented my slick, exposed glans. So much better than when Susan did it. Though I would NEVER tell her that. I loved her after all. At first, Eric's eyes were fixed on my pink helmet and all the naughtiness he was delivering to it. But then Eric's eyes locked on my eyes. Something passed between us as he stroked me to intense pleasure. I cried out as I shot six huge strings of sperm in his general direction. He didn't duck. He didn't wipe. He kept delivering bliss until every drop oozed out slowly and coated his hand. Then he leaned over, kissed me, closed-mouth, right on the lips, and said, "I hope you can sleep now, Miss Chrissie. If not, please let me know." I felt like saying, "Hey, wait! Shouldn't we do that again now? Just to make sure we did it right?" But I had more heterosexual dignity than that. I shouldn't be doing sex stuff with a man. Not when in six months or less, I would be a man again. Then my thoughts got a little cloudy. I remember thinking that my hair would be a mess in the morning because I hadn't brushed it 100 times and rolled it, and... Then it was morning and Eric was opening the blinds to let in the sun. I blinked at the daylight and blushed at the memory of my moment of gay weakness the night before. It all seemed so sordid in the daylight. Letting a man tug at my penis until I whimpered out a blockbuster of a ballbuster. There would be no more of that! My firm resolution. Uh-uh!! "Did you sleep well, Miss Chrissie?" Eric asked. "Yes, thank you," I said in my best "Don't even think about touching me again" voice. "That's great. Oh. I see you have a morning erection. That must be so painful. May I give you some relief?" "Yes, please," I said instantly. And lifted my babydoll to expose not only my penis and testicles, but also my puffy nipples. OK. Maybe I wasn't totally resolute. "Your breasts are exquisite, Miss Chrissie. If I kiss them, I'm pretty sure that will bring you the relief you need. May I do so?" I gasped out what may have passed for consent. Then squealed as Eric knelt next to the bed and began his indecent, but incredibly erotic, assault on my budding boobies. He licked the tips of each of my nipples with just the tip of his tongue. The pleasure was debilitating. I knew that letting a man perform homosexual acts upon my heterosexual person was a bad thing in the long term. But, hey! Fuck the long term. I was enjoying the moment. So much that I could scarcely hold back my climax. Then he covered my right nipple with his entire mouth. And licked it with his entire tongue. As his right hand skinned my penile knob ever so sweetly. Game. Set. Match. Turn out the lights, the party's over. I actually screamed. Most unmanfully. And pumped out every molecule of sperm within my bodily precincts. Or so I thought. The rogue switched his mouth to my left nipple and licked it hither and thither. As he resumed his assault on my glans. I couldn't cum again for at least 20 minutes or so. Right? Wrong. Eight minutes into Eric's second aggravated assault on my libido I spasmed out a climax more violent, yet drier, than the first. I was a mess. Quivering from my unnatural acts with a man. Spermed all over. Unkempt because I hadn't done anything with my voluminous hair. And ugly, I believed because I was still wearing yesterday's makeup, smeared by sleep. At L'Academie des Femmes, it normally took us three hours to "get ready" for the day. That day would take four or five. I was sure of it. And I was wrong. "I'm so glad you enjoyed that, Miss Chrissie," Eric said. "Please run into the bathroom and pee. Than I'll help get you ready for the day." Huh. What did Eric know about such things? He wasn't a former "victim" of L'Academie des Femmes. I was sure of it. But I played along. Peeing and then presenting myself to Eric. Who washed the makeup and cum off me with two warm washcloths, had me slide out of my bedclothes until I was naked, then slid a sweatshirt, sweatpants and slip-on sneakers onto my surprised body. He quickly fed me scrambled eggs and toast, then he didn't even let me brush my hair before he hustled me out the door and into his car. If I had been a swan at lunch the day before, I was the ugly duckling as the car took off. I noticed that Eric had brought a small suitcase with him. Although one never asked about anything at L'Academie des Femmes, I asked. "Where are we going and what are we doing?" Eric seemed delighted that I had the moxie to ask. "You need a haircut. Not a trim. A haircut that will let you be just as feminine but cut your hair maintenance by 90%. And you need to start wearing clothes that someone in this millennium would wear. "I'm taking you to Aunt Tricia's beauty parlor." That sounded good to me. I needed some beauty stat. Especially if we would follow it with Eric giving me more special relief. I know. I know. I had sort of resolved not to do sex things with a man. But be reasonable. That was before I knew how great it all would be. Anyway, Aunt Tricia was a sweetie who knew just what I needed hairwise. She showed me a bunch of photos of styles until we agreed that the best one for me was a volume bob with sideswept bangs. It was very feminine with a whiff of boyishness. Just like me. And it was easy to maintain. I took a nice hot shower, then put on a robe and settled in for my haircut, manicure/pedicure, and makeup makeover. They faced me away from the mirrors and a good thing. I wanted to be stunned all at once by the beautiful beauty I beheld when they had finished. I wondered what Eric would say when he saw me looking all contemporary. Would he want to ravage me? Ravaging sounded great at that moment, though I still had no idea what that involved. Before I got dressed in the clothes Eric had packed for me, we had a light lunch and I got to chat with Aunt Tricia and her girls. Lovely people. They helped me start to get over my deeply held fears of genetic women that four years at L'Academie des Femmes had imprinted on me. After lunch I dressed for my new debut. Inner layer was a lacy white bra, my first bikini panties, and a ruffled garter belt attached to tan seamed, fully-fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings. Outer layer was a perfect yellow sundress that exposed my creamy shoulders and barely covered the welts of my stockings, and strappy, yellow sandals with a four-inch heel. Aunt Tricia and the girls said I was the prettiest, most feminine customer they had ever had. And I believed them. After 15 magnificent minutes of self-adoration in front of a large, full-length mirror, Eric came up from behind me and began to kiss my bare shoulders. Oh! Why did I enjoy that so much? And why was my penis so stiff and drippy in my new panties. Eric was a bad boy that afternoon, thank goodness. He used his left hand to lift my skirts above my navel and his right hand to skim my panties down to mid-thigh. He kept kissing my neck and shoulders as he slid his iron pipe across my vertebrae and he skinned my poor, overstimulated peener with his very skilled right hand. I almost closed my eyes as I approached the inevitable ecstasy, but I like watching all the goings-on in the mirror. I was so beautiful and feminine! My penis was so red and excited. Eric was so ardent in his kisses. Oh dear! I hoped they didn't charge poor Eric extra for a mirror-cleaning fee, because I sploogeed that one big time. It was the first orgasm by the new me and it was a gusher. I felt ready and willing to be fully ravaged. And I even began to consider that maybe Eric would like me to give him some relief as well. But Eric wasn't planning on any of that just yet. "You look spectacular, Miss Chrissie," my transition coordinator said. "I can't wait to show you off at the DMV this afternoon." The DMV!?!?!? The Department of Motor Vehicles is where joy goes to die. You stand in confusing line after confusing line for hours! I didn't have hours. I wanted my "purse" emptied again and again NOW! But Eric was masterfully insistent. "I want you to get your learners permit today, Miss Chrissie. You need to learn to drive." Oh. That made sense, I guessed. "Will you teach me?" I asked as flirtingly as I could muster. "Certainly, Miss Chrissie." I felt somewhat better. Time with Eric was potential "relief" time. I said goodbye to everyone at the salon and apologized for the mirror and all. Twenty minutes later we entered the DMV. What a depressing place. For the customers. And the civil servants. We were given a number - 86 - and they were "now serving" 32. I spoke up to Eric, "Can't we come back some other time? I want you to take me home and show me things." Eric blinked at that. But he said, we won't be here more than 15 minutes. Just look around." I did. Everyone was dressed like derelicts on casual Friday. Even the staff. I guess I may have stood out dressed as I was. And beautiful as I was. Five seconds later, "Right this way, please, miss," a 50-something man wearing a pocket protector in his well-worn shirt. I looked at my ticket. It still said 86. And they were still serving 32. I looked at Eric. He nodded. Was I being given special treatment because of how I looked? How unfair. How delightful. The man, whose nametag said "Harold," took Eric and me to a private room. He made sure we had comfy seats and he asked, "How may I serve you today, miss?" "I need a learner's permit, sir." "Of course, may I have your birth certificate please?" I looked at Eric. What to do? What to say? The truth. "I don't have my birth certificate with me, sir." Harold smiled. "No problem. We'll just take your word for it. Do you have any ID for your address?" "Not really." "No problem." I told Harold when I was born and gave the halfway house address. Three minutes later, he asked me to look into a camera and smile. I did. "There you are, miss. There's a $50 fee, but we'll just waive that. Do you like your picture? I could take another." "No, this is fine. Wait. This isn't a learner's permit, it's a driver's license." "Of course, miss. I'm sure your companion will teach you to drive well and there's no need to inconvenience you again. Have a wonderful day." Huh? Was that all because I was a feminine masterpiece? It even worked at the DMV? Eric and I stood. "Perhaps you would like to thank Harold with a kiss, Miss Chrissie." he said. Good idea. I laid a nice one on the poor man's lips and even gave him a killer hug. I think he felt not just my hard nipples but my hard penis. Which would give him something else to remember about my visit. I couldn't help giggling as Eric packed me into the car. Was I omnipotent? In certain, make that MOST, situations, the pussy is the world's ultimate weapon. I didn't have one of those. Not a standard-issue one, anyway. But the stuff I did have was working wonders. On the way home, Eric explained his mission as my transition coordinator. "My mission is to give you confidence as you emerge from the muck of L'Academie des Femmes, Miss Chrissie. And also to help you learn about pleasure. How to get it, which we've already begun, and how to give it, which you may begin whenever you feel ready." Oh! Was Eric suggesting that he wanted me to do sex things not just from him, but for him? And even [blush] with him? How did I feel about that? Well. He was a man. And I was a man. Sort of. At least I could be a man once I flushed all the hormones and started dressing manly again. Couldn't I? Touching Eric's penis and rubbing it and all that would be gay. Right? So why did I feel as if I really wanted to see Eric's penis? And kiss his manly lips? Including [blush] his peelips? Oh dear. Eric pulled into the garage and helped me out of the car and into the house. I was frightfully randy and erect. Would we be doing more of that "pleasure" stuff? "I can see that you need relief, Miss Chrissie," the manly man said. "May I help you take off your pretty sundress." I bit my lipsticked lip and nodded shyly. And stood before Eric wearing only my bra, stockings, garters, stilettos, and severely tented panties. Eric stripped to his boxers and sat on the couch. OK. Eric was this big, strong, manly guy who was an employee or a contractor of L'Academie des Femmes charged with "transitioning" victims of Aunt Julia's House of Feminine Horrors. So he should have been more professional and detached about seeing me in my bra, panties, garters, and heels. With my new, freer, more stylish hairdo. And my corset-free body. And my hot-pink mani-pedi. But he was very aroused. He tried to hide it. But the film of cold sweat on his upper lip and his ridiculously tented underpants betrayed him. That was the beginning of my understanding about the effect the sight of me or someone like me wearing stockings, garters and heels had on mortal men. It drove them up a sexual tree. Which made me wonder for the first of many times since then why women (you know, the ones with vaginas) didn't wear that stuff all the time. Really, girls, they make it too easy for us, don't they? Anyway, I pretended to be at Eric's mercy, while he really was at mine. He had me lie on my back on the couch, my high-heeled feet in his lap. The overexcited man lovingly removed each high-heeled shoe and gave my right foot a massage I wouldn't soon forget. A word about me and heels. I love being taller. I'm really good at walking distances in heels as high as six inches. I like how they push my titties forward and my bum back. And generally, they don't hurt my feet. But it sure feels good to get them off and have my foot professionally massaged. And Eric was a pro at that. His massage of my other foot had me a crazy combination of super-relaxed and super-randy. The needle shifted to randy on his next move. The naughty man kissed each toe on my right foot! Through my stocking! Then, and I'm not making this up, he began to SUCK each of my toes! It was incredibly erotic. And by the time he reached the third toe of my second foot, I couldn't help myself. I creamed my panties!!! Which made the rogue quite happy with himself. When I had settled back to terra firma, he put my shoes back on, had me stand and said, "The panties off now, Miss Chrissie." I quivered a bit at that, but I eased the sopping pretties down and stepped out of them without falling. Eric patted the seat next to his. Without hesitation, I complied. And there we were. My penis was bare, so I naughtily asked Eric to remove his boxers so we would be even. He did so eagerly. And there we double were. My first real man-pantyboy kiss was closed mouth and brief. But delicious. He let me savor it for a moment, then we feasted on each other's mouths. Tongues licking each other. Heat! I felt Eric's strong hand on my girlish penis. Stroking it as we kissed. Tickling my testicles. I'm only human. I cried out most unmanfully yet again and drenched his hand, my stomach and my garter belt in a flood of sissy cream. Oh! It was deliciously delightful. Though a bit messy. Scenes from L'Academie des Femmes flashed through my brain. I would be horribly punished for spunking all over my lingerie! Extra time each day in makeup put-on and removal. Extreme corsetry. Miles walking in five-inch heels. But then I remembered that I had been liberated from L'Academie des Femmes. And that Eric was my liberator. Sort of. Close enough. And he hadn't cum, as far as I knew, since my liberation almost 30 hours before. To make Eric cum, I would have to do things that I had always been told were wrong. And "homo." But I was liberated. Even from that. So I touched his cock. Which was the only right word for that monster. It was so big and hot and hard. And it had a nasty blue vein up its right side. His hairy balls looked nasty too. Not like my teeny, shaved bag. I decided that getting onto my knees was the best way to examine it. So I slid between his open knees and measured it with my girlish hands. Three hands and a head in length! And throbbing excitedly at my touch. Was I one of the world's most powerful humans or what? I knew Eric was supposed to be my mentor or something, but at that moment, he NEEDED me to be in charge of his pleasure. I remembered how Susan and I had played with each other's peeners. Where the really sensitive places were. Especially the [blush] arrowhead on the underside of the helmet. Susan and I never really went full "oral." Maybe we were afraid of getting caught, thus separated. But I kissed Eric's arrowpoint. And kissed it again as I cuddled his balls. Apparently, as Eric explained later, the eroticism of just being in my presence had excited Eric to the point where he was on a hair trigger for an orgasm. My penile kisses tripped that trigger way more quickly than he wished. The naughty man's cock twitched and The Flood began. Seven thick spurts of manly sperm flew from Eric's amazing cock. All over my face. And the makeup job I had gotten at the salon. I was a little bummed at that, but Eric had wise words: "If you like, Miss Chrissie, the next time you can cap the knob with your mouth and swallow. Much less messy. But honestly, seeing you with a faceful of my hot sperm, [sigh] you've never been so beautiful." To prove his point, Eric produced a mirror and allowed me to evaluate my cum-enhanced beauty. It was a bit weird to see my pretty face (which I love to admire) coated with man juice. But I guessed I could see Eric's cum as a tribute to my beauty and my sexiness. So one could call the image in the mirror, "Beauty and Beauty's Reward." Already I was learning to rationalize. Eric watched me admire myself for a while, then asked me to stand. "I'm going to suck your pretty penis now, Miss Chrissie. And you're going to shoot your third load of the afternoon into my throat. You'll love it. I'll love it. And I promise I'll swallow." Oh dear! I was about to have my pricklet sucked by a professional. Liberation was getting to be more fun every minute. Having spunked twice already that lovely first full day of liberation, I was able to "endure" a full 23 minutes and 15 seconds of Eric's amazingly erotic assault on my sissy knob before I screamed and creamed. I was weak at the knees as he swallowed every drop. As promised. Being a gentleman, Eric helped me to recover by sitting on his lap. And kissing my mouth with his cum-tasting tongue. It occurred to me at that moment that I was a mess. Dried cum on my face. Disheveled hair. Drooling penis. Destroyed makeup. Eric caught my vibe on that. "Why don't you go take a shower, Miss Chrissie while I get dinner ready? I laid out an outfit you may want to wear." Oh! My Lovmeister was laying out a sexy outfit for me! Did that mean that the day's relief wasn't over? I certainly hoped so. I kissed Eric on the mouth, picked up my soaked panties from the floor, giving Eric a nice view of my bare bum in the process, and wiggled off to my boudoir. Was that a gasp I heard as I exited? I believe it was. I was feeling pretty good about my future as I showered and dried off. I had six months to go back to being Chris the Man. No rush though. Having fun as Chrissie the Babe. Enjoying doing spectacular sex stuff. I dressed in Eric's suggestions before putting on my makeup. His choices told me a lot about his intentions. Pink. That was the theme. Except for the seamed, fully-fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings, which were tan. Pink garter belt. Pink, babydoll nightie that showed way more of my titties than they should have. Pink, mule, bedroom slippers with a four-inch heel and a pink powderpuff. No bra. No panties. Oh dear. I would be DEFENSELESS against Eric's lust in that gear. I couldn't wait. Though I did spend a good half-hour getting my makeup just right. Satisfied that I could stop traffic at the Indianapolis 500, I made my reappearance to Eric. Who was wearing only a pair of Speedo-like underpants. He gulped. I gulped. And waited to be ravaged. No ravaging. Yet. "Please have a seat, Miss Chrissie. I made nice, grilled chicken breasts and a kale salad for us." Grudgingly, I sat. Sex trumps food always. Except when Eric is in charge, I guess. Somehow Eric had made that low-caloric stuff palatable. We ate. We talked. Eric wanted to know all about how I had been treated the previous four years. And he was most empathetic. Which would have earned him more "access" to my body had there been more than the 100 percent I already decided he could have. The neat freak even insisted that we do the dishes before we retired to our evening's diversions. But then we were ready. "Your place or mine, Miss Chrissie?" he asked. I hadn't seen his room yet. So we went there. Big bed. Masculine stuff. Not noteworthy. Eric slid off his underpants and was hairily, gloriously naked. He got into bed and beckoned. I kicked off my shoes and joined him. We lay on our sides facing each other. Kissing. Hotly. Very hotly. Mom was right about me being unruly, I guess. My penis was very unruly. It ached for attention. But got none at first. "I want to introduce you to the pleasures of the anus, Miss Chrissie," Eric said. The anus? My bumhole? Pleasures? I didn't know what he... Oh! He was rubbing my "wrinkle" with the middle finger of his right hand as we kissed. It was VERY nice. He entered my bottomhole with that finger as we kissed. That was NICER! Then he slid down and, with his finger still in my bum, he took my penis into his mouth and worshiped it appropriately. That was even NICER! But not the NICEST. NICEST was next. Eric touched something inside me that I didn't know I had. My prostate. WOWWWWWW!!!!! No fair. Eric was using an Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator on poor little me!!! [See Bugs Bunny and Marvin the Martian for that reference] I never... I couldn't... What the heck...? I screamed out Eric's name! And emptied my designated evening's sperm and half of my strategic sperm reserve into my man's hungry mouth. No wonder he was hungry after chicken breast and kale. But he was really hungry for my spermies. That prostate thing got him fed. After that life-threatening orgasm, I was powerless to resist any disgusting urge that Eric was planning on satisfying via my person. I was glad that he picked a very good disgusting urge. "You're so amazingly beautiful and so sexy that I'm going to die if I don't fuck your face, Miss Chrissie. So just lie there on your back, your head on the pillows, let me straddle your shoulders and open your mouth. Just like that. Good. Oh!" All I needed to do was open my mouth and let him plunge his desperate cock in and out of it. But I was better than that. I tongued the underside of his helmet as he pushed and pulled. I grunted with satisfaction as he satisfied his filthy urges. Still, the cake needed my icing. I reached around and slid two fingers into Eric's bumhole as he fucked my face. That, I think, was the moment that Eric fell hopelessly in love with me. Which was unprofessional. But very nice. I still don't know how I did it, but I swallowed most of the saliva and precum appetizer, then all of the sperm entr?e. Yum! Eric couldn't stop praising me after he returned to the solar system. But he knew that I had regained my randiness during the praise session. And it was anal education night. So he had me sit on his face. On his face. And he tongued my virginal bum for almost an hour. Through two orgasms. Mine. Not his. Though I did give him another full-effort prick sucking when he retracted his tongue from my nether regions. I loved anal love. And we hadn't even "done the nasty" yet. I was wondering whether something in the "nastier" zone was going to happen that night. It wasn't. But I wouldn't have to wait too long for it. Eric carried my exhausted carcass to my bedroom, slid me between the sheets, tucked me in, and gave me a long, tonguey kiss that tasted like...well...you know. It was delicious. Chapter Three must be Day Three I awoke refreshed and randy. With a raging erection that would have gotten me scolded at L'Academie des Femmes. They were still in my rear-view mirror, but fading fast. I was hoping that Eric would reappear for a little bit of that "Last- Night Stuff." But no. I had to shuffle into my huge bathroom alone, wrestle with the age-old challenge of peeing with a hard-on. And consider how far below acceptable I looked as I stared into my bathroom's truth-telling mirror. I decided that I would need at least an hour to reconstruct myself before facing Eric. So I sat at my vanity and assembled my cosmetics for a daytime, girl- next-door-with-a-penis look. And I began. Fifteen seconds later, I stopped. Eric had barged in and was looking at me without permission. "You're already gorgeous, Miss Chrissie," the benevolent liar said. "Don't do any showering or make-up yet. We're going for a swim. Right after we have black coffee and plain yogurt. Your bathing suit is right here, Miss Chrissie. Breakfast in five minutes." I couldn't. A girl must always look her best. I hadn't transitioned back to maleness yet. So I guess I was still a girl. But let's consider this. One isn't "difficult" with someone who performed a cannibalistic ritual on one's anus the night before. Not to mention the stupendous orgasms that person gave one. So I got up, shucked off my night lingerie and considered my bathing suit. It was a bikini. Not really skimpy. But a bikini. Electric blue. The top had spaghetti straps and was tinier than the bottom. Which made sense, since, as I said, my budding boobies were only baseball size, and mostly sensitive nipple. The bottom was made of a more substantial material, especially in the penile area. I had never worn a bikini before. Or any girl's bathing suit for that matter. I wondered if I would still be able to display a feminine illusion in such a skimpy outfit. Just as I wondered what Eric and [blush] other men would think if they saw me naked. The year-long regimen of female hormones had taken my beard and, with corsetry and low-calorie diet had given my body a feminine bent. But was it enough? I would soon find out. I put the suit on. And spent far too long admiring myself. I was sexy as all get-out. And my body was indistinguishable from the beach girls I had seen during my one year as an adolescent male. Eric saw me being narcissistic and did not interrupt. He was doing his job well. Giving me confidence should I choose to remain female. Eventually, I needed coffee and yogurt. And my twice-weekly hormone shot, which I could have refused but embraced all too quickly for someone with alleged designs on a return to masculinity. I beamed as Eric complimented me on my girlish body beauty. After breakfast, we went to the pool in the back yard. The sun felt wonderful. For the first time in four years, its rays were on my body. I swam. I lounged. I prickteased Eric and he prickteased me back. I could see his big boy tenting his speedo. Though I could feel my erection growing, my bikini bottoms didn't tent at all. Eric explained. "I got you those at Timmy's Girlish Secret, the sissy superstore. The material rearranges itself as you erect, so it appears as a small mound, not a stiff prick. Though the pricklength limit is 5.5 inches. No problem for my teeny wienie. And amazing. Eventually, double prickteasing evolves to double prickpleasing. Eric removed my bra and pleasured my titties with his mouth until I was squealing and squirting. I sucked his sissypleaser and swallowed. At which point I hoped we would be moving inside. But no. Eric tossed me a fresh bikini - red with big white polka dots - and said, "We're going to the beach." Beach?!?!?!? What beach!?!?!? I couldn't. I felt so bare. Being in public wearing only that skimpiness was terrifying. But Eric was right again. We had a wonderful two hours of prancing up and down the beach as men's eyes popped out staring at me. It was amazingly arousing. And confidence-building. Though it was a bit difficult because Eric and I couldn't "do things"' there in public. So when he proposed that we go home, I eagerly agreed. On the way home, Eric explained to me that he wanted to "fuck" me very badly. And that, if I agreed, that evening would be the first of many fuckings we would share. Stupid me. I asked him how he could fuck me. Me not having a pussy and all that. He looked at me a bit strangely at first. Then I guess he began to understand how little I knew about the world. When he told me about Mr. Penis visiting Miss Anus at her home and the wonderful, loving reception Miss Anus gave Mr. Penis, I gasped. I was horrified! And ferociously aroused. The perfect combination. "Take all the time you need to get ready for your first fucking, Miss Chrissie. I've laid out on my bed an outfit you may want to wear, but you decide. Have a nice shower or bath. Show me with your cosmetics that you really want me to fuck you. And call me when you're ready." [Gulp] "Oh, and one more thing, Miss Chrissie. I really believe I'm already half in love with you." My heart leaped. As did my cock. And I wondered vaguely about the other half of Eric's love. But no time for sentiment. I had some prettying to do. I controlled the timing of what would happen next. So I drew myself a hot bath and soaked away much of my anxiety about being fucked. I dried my body and my hair, styling it quite nicely. Then I put on the outfit that Eric had recommended. It was very naughty. The kind of thing that says, "That's right. You can fuck me. I want it!" So just right. Black, seamed, fully-fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings, of course, hooked onto a frilly, black garter belt. A black bra that lifted my mini-titties so that I would have actual cleavage. Black bikini panties that I forgot to put on. A diaphanous, black, full- length peignoir. Black, four-inch-stiletto, patent-leather pumps. Hot! Then I set about making myself look extra slutty. Lots of eye enhancement. My first time with false eyelashes. Long ones. Three coats of very red lip gloss. Two spritzes of perfume. I took my time and the results were astounding. I was the long-sought cure to erectile dysfunction personified. And I was soon to lose my anal virginity. Willingly. Eagerly. As a girl. With my man. Pronouncing myself spectacular, I arose from my vanity, checked myself out once more in my full-length mirror, and wiggled my way to the door of Eric's room. Where my anus's fate awaited. But I needed one more moment of reflection before I marched in and surrendered even more of my former masculinity. I knew about the concept of crossing lines and the "you can't go back" nature of some lines. Like Caesar crossing the Rubicon with his Army on the way to seize Rome politically. Or shooting the guy who stole your parking place. My situation was much more serious. I knew that in three days I had already done enough that I wasn't going back to being Chris the Man. Letting Eric cum in my face was a crossed line. Swallowing Eric's subsequent cumloads. Prickteasing beachgoers for two hours. And yes, obviously, surrendering to Eric's male sexuality yet again through the anal sex I was eager to experience. But the big line, I concluded, was how casually I had allowed Eric to shoot me up with female hormones, because I wouldn't risk losing one smidgeon of my hard-earned femininity. That being settled. I drew a breath, let it out and knocked softly on Eric's door. "Who is it?" the wise guy asked. "It's the lady next door. I couldn't sleep and I was wondering if you could read me a story or something," I replied cheekily. The door flew open and Eric drank me in. Grown men aren't supposed to cry, especially before a sex feast. But Eric teared up when he saw my beauty in full battle array. I do love a sensitive man. We just looked at each other for about 30 seconds. He chose an outfit similar to what he wore on the day of his birth. Though he was much hairier and had a far bigger and stiffer prick. I broke the ice. "May I come in?" Eric shook his head to break my spell, smiled and opened the door fully to usher me in. "You're the most beautiful sight I've ever seen," he said quite honestly and accurately. It was true. But his buff, hairy, manly body and Clooney-quality face dazzled me as well. Eric led me to his two-seater couch and sat. I stood facing him, teetering in my big heels. Slowly, I opened my peignoir and slid it to expose my shoulders and my stiff clittie and quivering pink purse. Another gasp from Eric. And another boost to my already skyrocketing ego. I let the peignoir hit the floor and stood before him in black bra, stockings, garters and heels. The bra seemed superfluous, so I unhooked it and tossed it to Eric. He smiled. Then leaned forward and began to lick my prickhead most deliciously. At the time, I couldn't figure why Eric wanted to suck my pink helmet at that critical moment. Not that I'm a psychologist or something, but several men since Eric have begun the first fuck we shared by licking my penis and testicles. Guessing here, but I think it's their way of confirming that, despite all other evidence, I am a genetic boy. Ooops. Did I just do a spoiler? Only if you believe that this story will end (and my life will continue) with Chrissie marrying Eric and we spend the rest of our days in faithful monogamy. Not exactly. Anyway, Eric did lick me to a nice, warm-up orgasm, which relaxed me a bit. And relaxation helps when one is about to attempt a large insertion into a small space. I thanked Eric with a big kiss, then exercised my long-dormant flirting muscle by prancing around Eric's bed a bit, followed by turning away from Eric and looking back at him over my shoulder. "Is this what you want, Eric?" I asked as I pulled my bumcheeks apart and showed him my wrinkle. Point of order here. Deliberate teasing of a male by showing said wrinkle and then not submitting to a full-body fuck is illegal in 19 states. Or it should be. Flames flew out of Eric's nostrils as he leaped across the bed, flung me face down onto the mattress, then devoured my asshole with his entire existence. I screamed with lust and fear at what I had provoked. And I kept squealing as Eric discontinued his savagery and applied something called Spermbutt Anal Lubricant to my inner self. His fingers were feral invaders of my most private place. Which was ok, since I was really enjoying what those Spermbutted fingers were doing to my prostate. I lost track of time and space. At one point, I left my body and hovered over Eric's bed. Observing myself being entered by a massive beef torpedo. Ow! It pinched. But that was it. Eric had prepared me well and I offered no resistance. I gasped with delight as Eric's cock made me a fully-submissive-to-my- man-of-the-moment sissyboy. Each scrape of his big boy on my prostate brought more joy. I had a full anal orgasm two minutes into the historic devirginizing of Chrissie. Another slam-bammer eleven minutes later. The cum oozed rather than leapt from me. But the feelings were considerably more intense. Eric enjoyed himself too, I guess. I was really paying more attention to my own orgasms. Thereby proving that I still had male characteristics. We lay on our backs, kissing and fondling each other's peters. Seeking another round as soon as blood would re-engorge Eric's manly meat. I was so desperate for a second fuck that I would have offered him a transfusion at that point if he needed it. He didn't. We went again. That time I was on my back. Knees up. In total submission to my wild-animalistic man, who had me pinned with his hard, hairy body and punctured with his hard, just-for-little-old-me penis. I was helpless. A mere cum receptacle for a grunting, orgasm-centric, sweaty, overexcited man. It was exquisite! Oh what a night it was! Five, count 'em five, thorough boffings over nine hours of snooze and screw. Each fuck better than anything in my previous life. No going back to masculinity after that, girls. Trust me. Chapter Four - The Next Ten Days Day four through seven of my liberation were momentously momentous. Each day our cocks arose before we did and whoever woke first initiated a delicious fuck session. After that, we showered and cleanly fucked. Then Eric gave me an hour or so of prettying time while he made breakfast and read the sports section or something. When I emerged, resplendent in stockings, heels, short skirt, perfect makeup and lovely hair, I thought another fuck was in my imminent future. But Eric was obviously following some grander plan, because he kissed me sexily each morning, but then fed me a breakfast of black coffee and fruit. By 9:30 each morning, we were in his car. He was teaching me to drive. I guessed it wasn't enough that Harold, the nice man at the DMV, had issued me a license. Eric wanted me to survive my time behind the wheel. I was lethal the first two days, then began to improve. Whoever was funding and/or planning my transition wanted me to have some life skills. Like driving. And fellatio. Another clue that I wasn't planning on going back to the male side was that I insisted on learning to drive wearing four-inch-stiletto shoes - the only kind I really wanted to wear. Every noontime, Eric took me to a different nice place for lunch. Where I got more drooling stares than I did the first day of my liberation. In the afternoon, Eric had me drive to a public place like a museum, a train station, or a market, so I could soak in the public adoration and build my confidence even more. By 4 p.m. each day I was quivering for sex. I NEEDED Eric's cock in my bum. And Eric graciously ensured that I got all I wanted and needed. He would make dinner as I changed into silky, come-fuck-me-now-and- later lingerie. We would eat quickly, then fuck slowly and deliciously. A lovely routine. Which was broken on Day Eight. At breakfast, Eric announced that he and I were going to take a "honeymoon trip" to a lovely B&B 90 minutes away. I knew that on honeymoons, people fucked. So I was all for it. Until something occurred to me, "But, Eric, won't Susan and her 'Eric' named Craig be coming to stay with us tomorrow when she's liberated. I wanted to see her!" Eric calmed my fears on that point. "You're right, Miss Chrissie. Miss Susan and Craig will be moving in with us tomorrow, but we're going to give them a few days for Miss Susan to become 'oriented.' The way you were." True. I was so na?ve way back a week earlier. Better Susan and Craig worked that out. I asked the big questions: "Will we be fucking more on our honeymoon trip?" "We will. No driving lessons and limited excursions." Woo-hoo! And, "When are we leaving?" "As soon as you can get the wedding dress I set up in my room on and I can get into my tux." Double woo-hoo! Woo-hoo, woo-hoo! I was an old hand at wearing a wedding gown, having been "fitted" for several two days each week while at L'Academie des Femmes. I guess they figured that to purge the maleness from the "inmates" they would use the most feminine gear out there - the wedding dress. I remember the dresses as being heavy to wear and tedious to put on and take off. But darn did I look great in them. I looked even better in the ball-gown-style dress Eric picked out for me on Day Eight. We dressed in the same room. He in his deliciously manly tuxedo and me in my white, lacy, sexy underwear, stockings and garters. When Eric was all dressed, he sat and watched me do my makeup over to look more like a bride. I could see the big lump in his pants. But we behaved. At the right time, Eric helped me into my gown, then gasped appropriately at my beauty. Eric had already packed and loaded the Lincoln Town Car as I took the front passenger seat. I pushed the veil aside and looked out at the world as he drove. I felt like the princess of that world. When we arrived at the lovely B&B, the staff made a huge fuss over us "just marrieds" and the other guests couldn't stop staring. At me. Not Eric. The owner's 14-year-old son almost fainted from lust as he carried our bags and escorted us to our room. Eric tipped him well and there we were. Alone. On our "honeymoon." Trying to decipher the means for jettisoning the gown and getting down and dirty. It was a giggling, panting, anticipatory five minutes before Eric was nude and I was in my white stockings with lacy welts, garters and white, pencil-heel pumps. No bra. No panties. Very hard stiffie. We kissed a bit but were impatient to fuck. Though I had to be properly prepared before Eric's sissysplitter entered me. Eric produced an expedient. A 16-ounce squeeze bottle of Spermbutt Anal Lubricant, with an applicator attachment. The applicator (sold separately) was shaped like a six-inch, not-very- thick penis and had holes throughout that expelled Spermbutt Anal Lubricant to the inner regions of those about to be fucked. Brilliant. As I lay on my back, Eric dove in to give my tushie hole a few loving licks, then he entered me with the applicator cap. The naughty boy fucked my pootie with it for a while as he licked and sucked my vulnerable titties. Squeezing out Spermbutt Anal Lubricant as he ran the applicator in and out. Titties being worshipped. Oh! I squealed out my husband-for-the-weekend's name and shot big cumropes toward Eric's titty-licking face. Delightful. But only a preliminary bout. The main event was rubbing against my left, stockinged leg as I shuddered and spunked. Eric withdrew the lubing device and slid two pillows under my hips. I lifted my knees almost up to my ears, pointed my white-stockinged toes and whimpered to be fucked. Eric mounted me, covering my submissive frame with his dominance. And entered me with one potent thrust. Now girls, if there was any doubt among the B&B staff or guests that the people in room seven were a honeymoon couple, it was dispelled when I screamed out my fierce lust at that moment. I was being FUCKED. Really FUCKED!! Eric was a wild beast! Acting out the basest aspects of nature's imprint on his instincts. I was powerless to get away or even slow him down! And his cock's friction was trying to set my prostate on fire! I did the only thing I could do. I squealed and squirted! It was amazing. And so was the rest of our first honeymoon day and night. I decided that night that I did NOT want to get married for a while. A long while. But I loved wearing a wedding dress for my man. And going on a honeymoon. The next morning was equally carnal, but we eventually had to arise and eat something. Followed by a shower (with fucking, of course). Eric suggested that we get dressed and at least take a walk or something while the staff freshened the room. Reluctantly, I agreed. And yes, I did like the stares the guests and staff gave me in my stockings, heels and miniskirt as I walked with Eric around the B&B grounds. True to his word, Eric gave me a nice fuck session on most of Day Nine. Eric seemed to be particularly vulnerable to me in stockings, heels and garters. Black stockings scored highest. Followed by tan. But he liked me in brown, pink, yellow and white too. Day Ten was a pink day. I wore a full, outside-the-fuckroom outfit: white blouse and a pink mini with pink, seamed, fully-fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings and pink pumps. I bothered to go beyond bed clothes because Eric noticed that I needed a manicure and pedicure and he was not about to help me slip my standards. So he dropped me off at a salon in town, prepaid and asked me to walk two blocks to a place he would meet me for lunch. I know that doesn't sound like much, but it was the first time in four years and nine days that I had ever been anywhere alone. I liked it, So did the platoon of men who had, through word of mouth, assembled along my parade route from salon to lunch. It was exhilarating to be openly adored like that. And a bit scary. What if one of those overheated men tried to kiss me? Or lift my skirts? Or pull down my panties? Or [horrors!] tried to bend me over and FUCK me? [phew] Thank goodness I made it to lunch with Eric unmolested. Thank goodness. Mostly. Later, we did an all-pink night too, including a pink babydoll over stockings and garters - an outfit guaranteed to make a man weak at the knees but the only women who would wear such a collection all at once would be a pornstar. Or a pantyboy. On Day Eleven night, Eric went for variety. Nude. Both of us. Except for my cosmetics. Each armed with a 20-ounce squeeze bottle of babyoil. We lubed each other everywhere below the neck. And slithered and slid our way to ridiculous levels of messy ecstasy. How could Eric top that on Night Twelve? Oddly. Right after our watercress and lemon juice dinner, Eric shocked me by DEMANDING that I wash off all my makeup and report back to him in five minutes. I asked why, of course, and he responded by giving me a small slap on my precious bottom. Ow! "Because I said so," my rude partner barked. Was I afraid that a demon had taken possession of Eric and he would be cutting me into bite-sized pieces for the B&B dog? Not exactly. But I didn't like it. Especially since I was sure that there was a legion of men within an hour's walk of where we were who would adore and worship me. What was he doing? Trembling a bit, I washed off all my makeup. Oh no! I didn't look like a boy, exactly. But as someone who was a 15 on a scale of 10, I didn't like looking at a 9 in the mirror. Eric appeared behind me. I was sure he would make some life lesson point or something, then let me fem to the max again. But no. The evil demon within Eric made Eric brush my hair into a style that a boy might wear! A boy! Then he FORCED me to put on a too-big tee shirt to cover my girlish boobs and figure. And a pair of plain, pink, hip-hugger panties. He completed his evil transformation by making me wear black, patent- leather, single-strap, Mary Jane, sissy shoes and white-with-pink- ruffles, turned-over sissy socks. I looked like a sissyboy! Someone who was faking femininity and not doing it well. It was horrible. But it got worse. "Nice look, Chris," Eric said. "Chris?" He never called me "Chris." That was my boy's name. He always addressed me as "Miss Chrissie." The horror continued. "You're a proper, little faggy sissyboy, aren't you, Chris? You've got me all hot and bothered. See how excited my cock is?" He was indeed rampant. He sat and said, Get over here and suck me off, boy. And no swallowing. I want to see it all over your faggot face." Who was that horrible fiend? Where was the real Eric? What would he do to me if I didn't do what he said? I was sobbing from fear and humiliation as I knelt between the meanie's legs and began to lick, suck and kiss his cock in the ways I knew he loved. Despite it all, I was very excited by the new scenario Eric was playing out. And then I wasn't. Evil Eric blew his load, as directed, all over my semi-pretty face. Which I did not like. I could hardly open my eyes and asked Eric for a towel. "Oh no, sissy," Eric said. "Leave that on there so I can see how I've marked my territory. Losing all that liquid has me thirsty. Here's some change. Go get me a soda from the machine by the front desk." What!??!? Go to the front desk wearing what I was wearing????! With a faceful of sperm?!!? I couldn't. But Eric was very menacing. I scooted out the door of our room, crying huge sobs of disappointment and betrayal. Somehow, I managed to get to the soda machine and back without seeing anyone. Though the next day, as I understand it, the B&B staff enjoyed looking at the security tapes. I slid into the room, gave Eric my harshest look and said, "I insist you take me home now! Tomorrow I will make the proper calls and you will be dismissed." Eric laughed. "Why do you think I just did that to you?" So he was faking. "I don't know, but it was mean and horrible." "Yes it was, Miss Chrissie. And I did it because I never want to see that happen to you. Two lessons there. First, you do NOT need to stay with anyone who treats you badly. And second, you must keep up your femininity. If you slip, you'll just be another little sissyboy who some men think is theirs to dominate and abuse. It pained me to do what I did, Miss Chrissie, but it was a lesson you need. Now let me wash your face with this wet washcloth and then let's get into bed and let me show you how I adore you with or without all your full femininity." Eric was still my hero. And a great fucker. Chapter Five - Day Twelve and Susan The next morning at 2 p.m., Eric and I checked out and headed back to the halfway house, where I would be reunited with my L'Academie des Femmes bestie, Susan. I was pretty sure that Susan and her "handler" Craig had been as active on days nine through twelve as Eric and I had been on days one through four. In other words, Susan had lost her corsets and a lot of her hair, had learned to suck cock and had been fucked. Often. But I was still planning to spend that first reunited night with her. Just the two of us. In our frillies. Getting all lezzie with each other. Eric was fine with that. Which I did NOT like. Did he have another date that night or something? I would scratch her eyes out! Anyway, we arrived "home" at around 4 p.m. and Susan and Craig ran out to greet us. She looked amazing! Fully blonde, but with shoulder-length hair. Lovely makeup. Long legs in silky stockings and big heels. I couldn't wait to get her into bed. So we left the men to unpack the car and suitcases and headed for Susan's room. We were down to our stockings, garters and heels very quickly, then spent at least a half hour just kissing and toying with each other's penises and titties. I had almost forgotten how much more bosomy Susan was than I. Not that it mattered. Because I was prettier. She had me very excited and when she took my knob into her mouth and sucked me off, it was very nice. I did the same for her and she said that was very nice as well. Very nice. "No offense, Honey," I said to Susan. "But I need a man." Susan laughed. "I was thinking the same thing, Chrissie." We played with each other's titties and prickies and chatted about the past few wonderful days for another hour, then we got up, put on our heels and peignoirs and left the bedroom. We found Eric and Craig in the family room. Drinking beer and watching football. They didn't seem surprised to see us. "Need some company, ladies?" Craig asked. We giggled and Susan whispered in my ear. I nodded and Susan announced, "Only if I can spend the night with Eric and Chrissie can spend it with Craig." It was true. Susan and I were little sluts. The idea of some "strange" was very appealing to me. And to Craig, apparently, because he flew to my side and was making excellent love to me five minutes later. Did the notion that I was "cheating" on Eric make Craig's cock rubbing my prostate more exciting? Maybe. But having extended my fuck circle beyond Eric, even by just one man, I was ready to see what was out there for me. That longing for stranger "strange" had to wait about a week, during which Susan and I enjoyed a wondrous feast of lust. We traded fuck partners back and forth and the men found that having two "fifteens" like us was even sweeter than exclusivity. We did make one other nice enhancement. On Day Nineteen, Susan and I got extra sluttied up and told "the boys" that we wanted that evening's goings-on to be conducted in the same bed! Imagine the sight Eric and Craig saw when they walked into my bedroom and there we were. Side-by side. On our backs. Black-stockinged legs spread wide. Toes pointed. Titties quivering. Nipples and sissycocks hard and dripping. Pre-lubed, pre-dilated bumholes oozing Spermbutt Anal Lubricant. It was a glorious sight. And a glorious night. Eric fucked me first and my hip was actually touching Susan as Craig fucked her. After we all spunked, we switched men. Susan and I kissed as Craig fucked me and Eric fucked Susan. At that moment I began to believe that my time at L'Academie des Femmes, though horrible, had been worth it. Really worth it. Chapter Six - A world of men The next morning, at 3:30 p.m., we four exhausted fuckers gathered for a "what's next" meeting. Eric began. "These past weeks have been the best of my life. Heck. The best of anyone's life. And I hate to change anything. But Craig's and my long-term mission is to get you, Miss Chrissie and Miss Susan, ready for a life after L'Academie des Femmes. To do that, you'll need to gain experience in dealing with men besides Craig and me." I think Eric was hoping that Susan and I would groan with disappointment. Instead, we looked at each other's cum-soaked faces and giggled happily. That sounded wonderful to Susan and me. Eric cleared his throat and said, "We have to be smart about this, ladies. There are some men out there who will be put off by your sweet penises. They might even want to do you harm when they see them." Ooooh. We hadn't thought that anyone would be that stupid. But Eric was right. Craig jumped in. "And, you don't want to hook up with some narcissistic chauvinist who won't treat you right. You want someone who will adore you. And, of course, has a big cock." More giggles from us girls. "We once thought that sending you out as a unit initially would be best," Eric said. "But that has led to some bad selections by other L'Academie des Femmes alumnae. So tomorrow, you'll each be heading out to your first, carefully selected locations, with a plan, in order to select a man, bring him home and let him fuck you." Ooohh. Susan and I couldn't wait until tomorrow. Though we did give Eric and Craig a fantastic "Last Night of Exclusivity" to remember. After breakfast on Day Twenty-One, Susan and I did our makeup in "girl- next-door-who-still-wants-a-cock-in-her-ass style. You know the look. Then we put on our white bras and panties, slid on our tan stockings and hooked them to our garter belts. We wore pretty tops and skirts that came all the way one inch below our stocking welts. Four-inch pencil heels made us look like college girls on the way to see our professors about improving our grades. Medium slutty with a splash of innocence. You know the look. We were briefed on our individual plans, then Eric escorted me on a two-block walk to our town's main public library. By plan, he didn't kiss me goodbye. Merely peeled off and left me on my own. A place I had scarcely occupied during the past four years and three weeks. I entered the library and moved toward the periodical section. Avoiding eye contact with envious women and lustful men. I browsed the magazines for 20 minutes, letting a number of men in the library gather and pretend they weren't looking at me. When I had toyed with their eyeballs enough, I wiggled over to the non-fiction section, specifically the 900s under the Dewey Decimal System - history. I put on an air of looking both single-purposed and perplexed. Hoping for a Golden Globe later in the year perhaps, but really hoping for what I got. "May I help you, Miss?" I looked up and saw a very handsome, 30-something man wearing a sweater vest, a tie, khakis, and a wedding ring. Perfect. I didn't want a bachelor, who would try to kidnap me and take me to a country where one's vote is suppressed. Wait, isn't that...? No. Focus. He would do. He would definitely do. "Oh dear," I said. "Yes, please, sir. I'm doing a paper on whether Marshall Grouchy should have marched to the sound of the guns and saved the day for Napoleon at Waterloo and I know I should have looked at the catalog online first, but..." "No problem, Miss. My name is Vito. I'm the head librarian. Please let me help you with that." I gave Vito my 500-watt smile and I could see that he was almost creaming his pants already. Over the next half-hour Vito and I dug up 11 books about Waterloo and that Grouchy guy, about whom I knew nothing and cared even less. But it sure sounded good didn't it? Vito kept trying to add stuff so he could, you know, breathe the same air as me. But I finally said, "This is a great start. I'm very grateful, Vito. But, darn it, I still have a problem." Vito, who would have attacked those dragons from Game of Thrones to solve a problem for me, wanted to know all about it. "I walked here today. I live only a few blocks from here, but this is so many books... " Vito leapt up with a solution. "Let me get these checked out for you, Miss. Then I'll be happy to carry the books home for you." I could see Vito praying for my assent. I gave him half of it, right away. "You're so sweet, Vito. That would be amazing. But I just realized that I left my library card home." Another rally from Vito. "No problem, Miss. I'll trust you with these books, of course. Shall we go?" I gave him the full thousand watts that time and we were off. Vito carried all eleven books to the front desk, then stuffed them into a bag, held the door open for me, and we were off. It may have occurred to Vito during our walk to my house that one of his wife's friends may have seen him walking with me and he would have had Hell to pay. But he had apparently decided that any contact with me was worth any future pain. I liked that in Vito. And many other men I came to know. We chatted amiably on the slow, wiggly walk to the halfway house. When we arrived, I saw Vito wrestling with the notion of his next move. Did he ask for my phone number? Ask to help me inside with the books? Ask for sweaty, full-body sex? I helped Vito out. "Could you please help me carry the books in, Vito? Thank you. When we're inside, I'll want to do something nice for you because of how nice you've been to me." Vito's heart leapt. He was imagining the hot, sweaty sex, but knew in his heart that such things never happened. He was wrong that time. I opened the door and Vito followed. Carrying all those books. And running into Eric and Craig. Vito's heart dropped. It was a scam, he thought. And he had fallen for it. These two bruisers were going to rob him. And/or steal his identity. And/or sell his body parts for dog food. But I said, "Vito, these are my uncles, Eric and Craig. They just like to protect me when I'm being nice to a man who is kind to me. They won't bother us." Eric said, "Go have fun, you two. But if my niece tells me you hurt her..." Vito was about to sign a blood pledge that he wouldn't hurt me until I grabbed his hand and said, "Don't worry about them, Vito. I know you won't hurt me. Come on now. Let's go to my room and let me show you how much I appreciate you. You can leave the books." Vito and I flew up the stairs and into my room. He still wasn't completely convinced that he wasn't going to be a dog's dinner, but he settled down and seized the moment when I stripped to my bra, panties, garter belt, stockings and heels. "Aren't you going to get out of those hot clothes, Honey," I asked seductively. Oh yes. He did want to and he did strip to his boxers. Vito had an excellent body. I unhooked my bra and showed him my compact titties. He gasped appropriately. Then came the one last possible impediment to ecstasy. "There's something I didn't tell you about myself that you may not like, Vito. But I think you will like it and you will make love to me until tomorrow morning." I bit my lip and shucked my panties. The big reveal. Watching for Vito's reaction. He looked confused at first. Cognitive dissonance - where the mind doesn't believe what it sees because what it sees doesn't fit. But then he smiled. "May I touch it?" I was wary. He may have been planning to strangle it. But I agreed. He felt my penis all over. As well as my testicles. Assured that they were real, he asked exactly the right question. "May I kiss and lick and suck it?" Good boy, Vito! Vito told me later that mine was the first cock he had ever sucked. And I believed him. But he must have had his sucked many times. And he must have paid attention. Because he was GOOD! He surprised us both by swallowing. Then he surprised me by licking out my bumhole in preparation for fucking me. He did so with a joy that was infectious. Look at what I was capable of doing for mankind, I thought as I felt his tongue spelunking into my love cave. If I hadn't insisted on him using Spermbutt Anal Lubricant on my hole and his cock, he probably would have hurt me, I would have screamed in pain and Eric and Craig would have defenestrated him. Instead, I screamed in ecstasy as Vito gave me a night's fucking worthy of my previous two lovers. I hated to see Vito go in the morning. I took his number and vowed to call him in a week or two. And I probably would do so. Funny thing was, Vito never mentioned his wife, never called her, or expressed any anxiety about walking out on his job in the middle of the day and his marriage overnight. I guess I had that kind of power over man. Speaking of screams and fond goodbyes, Susan's plan had also borne fruit. Which is appropriate, since she had gone to the fruit section of the local market and bagged a male who thought he was being the predator, not Susan. Silly boy. Susan asked him for help getting the groceries into his car, getting the groceries into Susan's house, then getting into Susan. All was accomplished. If Vito had left 15 minutes later, he would have seen Susan giving her overnight date what she called a proper sendoff. On her knees, by the front door, fully swallowed. Lots of giggling and sharing marked breakfast that morning with Eric and Craig. Who gave us a good evening and night that day. Susan and I loved them, of course, but we also loved being able to pick just about any man off the heap, take him home and fuck him. I couldn't wait to see what would happen next. Please tell me what you think at [email protected].