Dancing Queen free porn video

Dancing Queen By Cassandra Morgan Bruce Springsteen wanted to do it in the dark. Donna Summer wanted to do with someone she loved. Martha Reeves wanted to do it in the street. Dance. It is primal, you know. No matter what your nature, there is an urge to spin and twirl to the the music. David Bowie wanted us to get out our red shoes and dance the blues. Little Eva wanted us to do the locomotion. Lee Ann Woman hoped we dance. And I did. I spun. I twirled. I bounced. I gyrated. I let the music pour over me. It was Saturday morning, my cleaning day, and the ABBA playlist was playing. I had my earbuds in, and I was gyrating around the kitchen. I wasn't the best dancer, but when I was dressed as a female, and I was, I loved it. I was in the kitchen, in my full maid's dress, the way I always was on Saturday's when I cleaned my place. The music played, and I swayed, and my hose rubbed up against each other. I felt the hem of my skirt swish around my legs. My (artificial) breasts jiggled. It was a blend of feminine sensations. I started to kick off my heels, but I liked moving in them, so I left them on. My apron bounded. My pigtails bounced and along with my earrings. It's funny. When I dressed as a man, I didn't particularly like to dance. I'd just stand in the corner and sort of, well, twitch. But dressed as a woman, it was so sensual, so lovely. I grabbed a spatula and acted as if it was my microphone. I shook my ass, feeling my panties. I ran my hands up my sides. I was happy. I had always cleaned my apartment on Saturdays, but six months ago, I caved and bought the maid's outfit. It was a royal blue maid's dress and I had invested in some underwear and some makeup. It was my "me" time. No one was forcing me. I just loved the clothes. Sometimes, I imagined I was dancing with Darcy, my girlfriend. Sometimes, i imagined it was Jason, my best friend. Sometimes, I was a singer in a smoky bar. Sometimes, I was a girl on the dance floor. Sometimes, I was on stage with my stripper's pole. I spun. I tried to twerk and laughed. My necklace bounced on my chest. I felt so wonderfully girly. I always did. I twirled as the song began to fade. I blew a kiss into the air, toward an imaginary lover. I pushed my pelvis forward. I stuck out my ass as if people were looking and shook it again. And then it was over. And the slow clap of my girlfriend came from the entrance to the kitchen. * * Are you'd enough to have heard a needle scratch across a record album? That's how it was. I was stunned, and I stopped cold. I was caught. The shame and embarrassment filled the room. I could not breathe. My eyes darted from door to door, as if i could find a place to hide. I tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come. I stood there in the kitchen in my dress, my makeup heavy, my breasts heaving. I wanted a hole in the ground swallow me up. "I...I can explain," I said to Darcy. "Can you, dumpling?" Darcy was smiling and leaning in the doorway. "I don't know that you need to explain anything, sweetie. You're a girl, and you're wearing high heels. You've even got boobs. You're in a tiny maid's dress.I don't think I need anything explained to me." She laughed, obviously enjoying my discomfort. "It...it was just a lark," I said. "I did it for a giggle. Just to see how it felt." "Oh, sunshine," she said, rolling her eyes. "You were dancing in heels. Very smoothly, I might add. A lot of women can't do that. Your hair is perfect. I didn't realize it was that long. You look comfortable in a dress. You've got on makeup. Fess up now Bobby. Or is it Roberta?" I looked at the floor. Every time, it was the same. My mother had caught me dressing three times. My sister twice. My father once. Always, there was a rush of shame for being caught, and another for being weak, and another for my secret desires. Now, Darcy was returning my coffee maker, and she had walked in on me. The shame was overwhelming. "It's ... Becky," I said quietly. "Becky! Rebecca! Becca! Beck! Beckster!" she said with a giggle. "I love it, girlfriend. Now talk to me. How long have you been Becky?" "Almost all of my life," I whispered. "But this time. It's been three months...maybe four. I only do it on Saturday mornings. I dress up when I clean. That's all. It makes the chores go faster and I ... I like the way it feels." She nodded. "I can see that," she said. "You're very pretty. Tell me: Are you gay? Do you have a special feller?" I shook my head. "I'm not gay," I said. "I've never been with a guy. I just like to wear a dress." "Permanently? Do you want to have a sex change, Becky?" I shook my head again. I felt my tears well up. She walked around me, checking out my hose, my dress, my earrings. She found the little holes in my maid's dress over the zipper, holes that would be used to lock one into the dress. It wasn't locked -- I was here alone, after all -- but she raised her eyebrows. "What are these, Becky?" she said. "They're holes for the locks" I said. "You can lock someone in this dress." "And where are these magical locks, Becky?" "They're ... they're in the bedroom. On the bureau." I She laughed, and she disappeared. She came back out holding the locks. "Come here, girly," she said. She put the locker through the holes and snapped it. She reached down and did the same to my heels. I wasn't getting out of this, was I? "Did you do this as a kid, Becky?" Images poured into my head. Pinks and teals, satins and silks. "Yes," I finally said. "I've always loved the clothes, and the colors, and the underwear. I got caught several times, but I just couldn't stop.. I used to dream that my mother would punish me by making me wear them to school, to the mall, everywhere. She didn't. But I still loved it." "And why wouldn't you?" Darcy said. "The clothes are softer, prettier. They seem to bring out the girl in you. That's not a bad thing. Men can be overrated. They don't smell as good or kiss as good and make love as nicely." We sat and looked at each other, each of seeing something new in the other. In Darcy, I saw acceptance, a lack of judgment. In me, Darcy saw something softer, something more feminine. I think we both liked what we saw. "Becky," she said. I looked at her. "Would you dance for me?" * * That afternoon, we danced. We laughed. We made fun of an old movie where the stars wore dresses but, evidently, no one could tell they weren't men. Later, I finished cleaning my apartment. I made her a sandwich and tea. I ironed. The whole time, she was on my computer, reading the old stories, watching the porn I had saved. She took notes. Finally, she looked up. "Becky?" she said softly. "Yes," I said, stopping my dishwashing. "Becky, I don't now much about this stuff. Are you transgender...or are you a sissy? I'm not sure I get the difference." I blushed. It seems I was always blushing with Darcy. "I ... I don't know," I said. "Growing up, I wore my sister's stuff. There were no uniforms. But this time, I bought the maid's dress. It's complicated. I think being a sissy is about submission. I think being transgender is about wanting to be a woman. So I don't label what I am. When I read stories, I like the sissy ones best. If you think that the key to a sissy is submissiveness, well, I guess I'm a sissy. Maybe I'm both." She looked at me. She nodded. ""I'll help you, Becky, if I can," she said. " I don't know about this mistress shit that i read. They seem like a lot of mean women. But if you'll clean my apartment, too, I'll go shopping for you. Deal? Trust me?" "Always, Darcy," I said. "I appreciate your understanding. You had every right to storm out. A lot of women would." "And more women than you think would think it's kinky their boyfriend is in a dress. I'd like to kiss you when you're wearing lipstick. I like your hair when it's styled I can't wait to play in your panties. But. you have to trust me, Becky. About clothes. About sex. I felt a tingle then. I had never had sex while dressed. The thought of it gave me goosebumps. "Look, Becky. Suppose you liked to dress up like Batman. Or Captain Kirk. Or a confederate soldier. You like to dress up like, what was her name? Hazel? From the old TV show? It's okay. You're sweet, and you're honest, and you care about people. It's okay with me if you like to wear panties." She put her hand on my cheek. She leaned forward, and she kissed me softly, and it was perfect. I was dressed as a woman making out with my girlfriend. It was the perfect pleasure. We touched each other, lightly. We licked each other, softly. She hiked up my hem and pulled down my panties. I licked her repeatedly. I could smell the sex odors overtake our perfumes. It was perfect. * * Sly Stone wanted me to dance to the music. Men Without Hats wanted me to do the Safety Dance. The Beatles were happy just to dance with me. And here I go again. The dance floor was dark as Darcy led me by the hand onto it. It was a gay bar, sure, but that didn't mean I wasn't nervous. It was my first time in public. I had on a white dress, and Darcy had on a blue one. And it was sweet. I felt small, vulnerable, as if my mother would walk into my room and catch me again. My breasts felt large. My makeup felt heavy. Darcy took me in her arms, and I linked mine over her neck. She put her hands on my hips and guided me across the room. It wasn't such a gay bar that a couple of guys didn't check us out. Maybe it was the same sex part of it. Two women in makeup, in dresses, in heels, right down the street from an Outback. Darcy whispered something naughty in my ear and ran her hand across my butt. I laughed at her, and we spun. The music picked up then. Something by Beyonce. We separated and we started to dance, stepping toward each other with our heels, then backing away. Darcy grabbed my hand and twirled me When I was on the dance floor, I had no worries. I didn't worry about the guys looking on and whether they would hurt me. I didn't worry about someone I knew seeing me. I didn't worry about money or work or the price of gas. I just moved. I swayed. I boogied. I threw back my head, and I laughed, just for the joy of laughing. Darcy laughed along. Would life always be this good? * * * The next morning, I woke up naked. I put a fresh pair of panties on. I only had the one maid's dress, so I put it back on. I went to the kitchen and made coffee and toast for Darcy. Then I redid my makeup. I looked at the girl in the mirror. I liked her. Later that day, I drove to Darcy's house. I began to pick up her place at first, then I vacuumed. There weren't many dishes, and there wasn't lot of laundry. I did her floors, and I began to prepare soup and a salad for her lunch. It felt right, doing her chores. I was hers, wasn't I? Was I ready to be a sissy? Was I ready to let my friends, my co-workers, see me? Was I prepared to be a domestic? Around 12:30, Darcy came home. Her arms were filled with packages. She was singing Girls Just Want to Have Fun. I guess it was still on her mind. "Come here, Sugar Plum," she said. She dug into her bag. She brought out two more maid outfits, a basic black and a shocking pink. She brought out a chastity cage and smiled. Then a butt plug and a larger dildo. She brought out a pair of handcuffs. She brought out a box of condoms. She brought out an ankle bracelet with "sissy" written on it. She brought out a nightgown and a pair of breastforms. "Later," she said, "we'll go to the Loft and buy you some dresses for everyday wear. You're going to be in them from now on." I was overwhelmed. I didn't use most of these things. A cage? Who wanted to be caged? A dildo? I had no use for that. More dresses were nice, and the breast forms were a dream. But handcuffs? Really. But Haslam's Adult Emporium, she said, sold a Sissy Package. She told the clerk her boyfriend was a sissy. "Whose boyfriend isn't?" she had responded. In the days to come, she would add to my college. A toe-ring. Earrings. More makeup. More hose. More heels. This had taken over our lives. I could work from home most days, and so I began to dress more regularly. I found I was a happier person. I sang. And, yes I danced. *** True to her word, Darcy had me in dresses afterward. Sometimes, it was a little girl's princess dress. Sometimes, it was an evening gown. But I was almost female, and I loved it. I was never out of heels. I was never without makeup. One day, while I was washing her car (so the neighbors could see), she called me in. She sat me down. "Becky, how do you view me and my role?" Darcy said. "I haven't thought about it, really," I said. "I think you're my teacher, my mentor. I think you're my guide. My lover. My boss." Darcy giggled. "Your mistress?" "If you want to be, Darcy." "I'd love that. Miss Darcy." "I don't know if I can be, Becky. I mean, I'm not the one who turned you. I came along, and you were Instant Sissy. Just add water. I never had to spank you or force you to do anything you didn't want to do. Even now, if I wanted you to blow my neighbor, you would, wouldn't you?" I looked at the floor. I didn't answer. "So here's the deal, Becky. I'll try it, and I'll see if I have it in me. I don't know how much humiliation you need. I don't know how much discipline you need. So we'll wing it. We can both learn. "But I have an idea. I'll give you one do-over a day. If you don't feel like cooking, you don't have to. Just say 'time-out." If I ask you to do mow the lawn, you can always say 'time-out' and get out of it. You get one time out a day, and one only. And if you don't use any for the whole week, you get an extra one for the next week. That takes the pressure off of me and it takes the stress off of you. Sound fair?" Fair? It wounded wonderful. It would a way to discover myself with a get-out-of-jail-free card.. If she wanted me to go to the mall, for instance, I could call time out and pass. No biggie. I could do that. It was perfect. I nodded. I told Mistress it was a deal. She pulled out a makeshift contract ? nothing legal ? and had me sign it. Our new life started like that. I would wash and iron and dusk, but I had a safety net. I couldn?t be pushed too far or too fast. Later that night, however, I was taught my first lesson. I was tired, and I didn?t want to do the laundry. So I called time-out. Darcy scowled, but it had been her deal. ?Fine,? she said. ?But tomorrow, you?ll have twice as much washing.? ?But, I thought a time-out got me out of a chore...? ?Why would you think that, Becky? If the Patriots call a time out on third-and-20 and the play resumes, it?s still third-and-20. Isn?t it? ?Yes, ma'am,? I sighed. ?I?ll do the laundry.? A couple of days later, Darcy?s toilet backed up, and she asked me to clean it from all the goop and poop. I started toward the mess, then I said, rather peppily, ?time out.? She would have to call a plumber. Her sissy had opted out. I was feeling smug. I had beaten the system. I had gotten out of the worst chore you can imagine. Darcy looked at me coldly. She nodded, then went to call her plumber. Then, as we waited for him to show, Darcy called me over. ?It?s time for you to put on your cock cage,? she said. No, I thought. I looked at the intimidating metal, and I wanted none of it. I started to call for my time -out, but i had used it already. I simply stood there as she took off my panties and twisted me into it. The lock sounded ominous as she closed it. It wasn?t nearly as thrilling as some of the stories say. It was a dungeon around my privates. She looked at me, as if to say ?who is smug now??? ?Darcy...Miss Darcy. Can I change my mind? I?ll clean up the toilet.? ?Too late, Becky. I already called the plumber. Now, let?s see how this thing works.? It was a loop her and an insert there and a lock that snapped into place. I felt like I was in dick jail. I tugged on it, but these things are tug-proof. I pulled up my panties, and i covered it, but for the rest of the evening, I couldn?t help but think of the device imprisoning my dick. Did some sissies really like this? * * There is sexual power in a dance. You shake your butt, and your partners eyes jiggle along. You run his neck, and he thinks about you rubbing elsewhere. You grind against him, and he gets erects. That?s the way it was at Moonglow?s, the same club that Darcy and I had visited a week earlier. this time, Darcy had to work late, but she insisted I come alone. I was still getting used to being in public dressed, and so I went. I sat at the bar, nursing a white wine. And then someone had bought me a second glass. And a third. I could get drunk very fast, I decided. Eventually, a man named Isaiah Jefferson asked me to dance, and Followed him onto the floor. I wasn?t going to sit, was I? I liked to dance, and Isaiah was a very, very tall black man. As far as I know, he wasn?t in the NBA, but he could have been. His shoulders were boulders, as they say. I snuggled into him, and we rocked. He wasn?t a great dancer ? there?s a cliche buster, isn?t it? ? but he was warm and strong. He ran his hands across my back, then over my butt. I just looked at him and smiled. ?You have somebody?? he asked me. ?Yes,? I said. ?I do.? ?A black man?? he said. ?A while woman,?I said. He grinned. ?That?s kind of hot.? ?You have no idea.? ?You trans?? ?I am. Does that disappoint you?? ?No, baby. You don?t have lockjaw, do you?? I laughed. ?No, but my butt is off-limits.? ?Too bad,? he said. ?I like me some doggy.? It went that way as long as the song was on. Flirting and bantering, jibes and remarks. I liked Isaiah. I had never been with a man, but he made me consider it. The music will do that to you, too. It?s a aphrodisiac. It?ll get your engine running. When the dance was over, he kept holding me. Then he kissed me softly. ?You come back when you?re free, baby,? he said. ?You?ll like chocolate.? I kissed him back. ?I could develop a sweet tooth.? * * * The next day, I didn?t dare call a time out. with Miss Darcy I was scared. If I didn?t want to iron her clothes, and I begged out of it, she might use the butt plug. If I didn?t want to clean her oven, and I said no, she might use the dildo. If I didn?t want her to pee on me, and I used a time-out, she might have three convicts butt-fuck me. There was always something worse, wasn?t there? I began to forget about the idea of a time-out. I just did what Miss Darcy wanted me to do. If she said clean, there was putting it off. If she said cook, I asked her how many plates to set out. Darcy looked at me as if I was avoiding her optional orders. So she adjusted, too. Her demands got harder. Her humor, her playfulness, seemed to leave her. She announced that on Saturday night, my mother was coming to dinner. On Sunday, we were hosting a dinner party for four couples we knew socially. She would order me to the grocery story, in my dress, to pick up Tampax and ask the clerk how to use it. Every time, I was tempted to call time-out. But I didn?t. I sat by my mother ? she remembered catching me in skirts, and she wasn?t surprised. I served drinks for our friends, including Jason, who kept asking who was forcing me to dress like that. She had me sing ?The Teapot Song? in front of everyone. Every way she could push me, she did. Every chance she could embarrass me, she would. I was her toy, her pet. She kept imagining new ways to humiliate me. My friends would just shake their heads at the sissy. This was who I was, and this was what I was. There was no putting the paste back in the toothpaste tube. I was Becky. She had me flirt with strangers. She had me shop for wedding dresses. She had me dance on amateur night at the transgender strip bar. She had me go to the doctors and talk about breast enlargement. She had me ask for estrogen for my breasts.She had me go to a locksmith and ask about removing my cage. She had me get a tattoo ? ?Sissy boy? in script ? on the small of my back. She mounted me and took my ass with a dildo. She made me go down on her in a public restaurant. It was a game to her. She kept daring me to take a time out. And God help me if I did. * * One day, we were driving around town. She seemed happy for a change., signing and chatting about our lives. I was broken. I sat there in her car, wearing a blue dress and blue heels. My lipstick was red. My nails were done, and my hair was in pigtails. She pulled into a small strip mall and I checked out the stores. There was a Chinese restaurant, and a office supply store, and an electronics repair store.. And there, right in the middle, was a Hypnotist?s Office. My God. I could not be hypnotized. She might make me embrace all of this. She might make me apply for SRS. She might make me club like a chicken. I had lost my dick. I had lost my dignity. Now, I didn?t want to lose my mind. ?Miss Darcy...please, no.? I whimpered. ?What?s that, Becky. Did you say ?time out? Just hold one hand flat and the other upright, as if you were making a T. You can do it, girl.? ?Okay,? I said. ?You win. Time out, Darcy. Please.? She laughed and clapped her hands together. No hypnotist today, Becky. You can go on with your day.? ?Thank you, Miss Darcy,? I said. She pulled out onto the road. I was still shamed, and I had nothing to say. She was driving slowly, then she looked at me and grinned. ?Becky, what plans do you have for later?? ?Well, I have to iron. I used to make dinner. That?s all.? ?Well, there is one more thing,? she said, smiling at me. I need you to suck Jason?s cock.? * * There was a noise in my ears that kept getting louder. I felt faint. I had had thoughts about guys, but I would never let one put his cock in my mouth. I began to sweat. I kept saying ?no, no, no.? ?God, you really are a sissy, aren?t you? Darcy said. ?Hey, sissies give blow jobs. You?ll like it. I bet Jason will like it, too.? We pulled into the driveway, and Jason?s car was there already. We walked in, and he was sitting in the living room watching SportsCenter. He stood and he smiled. He kissed Darcy on her cheek, and he kissed me on mine. I looked at him with hollow, empty eyes. He shrugged, then he smiled. Darcy sat in the big chair in the corner and smiled. I gave her a glass of wine. ?Well...? she said. Jason, my old tennis buddy, my Super Bowl buddy, walked up to me. He lifted my chin, and he kissed me. Oh My God. In some ways, that was worse than what I was going to do. A kiss in intimate. It signifies making love instead of just having sex. He kissed my neck, and his hand was on my tiny breasts. ?You?re such a pretty girl,? he whispered. ?I was surprised before, but only by how sexy you were.? He kissed me on the mouth again, and I tasted his tongue as it snaked inside, It was a Hollywood kiss, a Rick-and-Ilsa kiss, a Rhett-and- Scarlett kiss. Darcy cleared her throat, as if to tell us to stop with the previews and to get on with the movie. Jason pushed lightly down on my shoulders, then, and I went down on my knees. I unbuckled his belt, and then I was eye-to-eye with his cock. ?It?s okay,? he whispered. ?Kiss it.? I touched my lips to it, and I was surprised by how warm it was. It was soft and hard and long and thick and beautiful. I took the bulb into my lips and began to suck gently while my tongue swirled over the tip. ?Don?t rush it, baby,? Jason said. ?Go slow. Make it last.? I tried to take as much as I could, but I gagged. I pulled back, then started again. I licked and I slurped and I sucked. I knew Darcy watching, but it didn?t matter. There was me and my man. He bucked forward, forcing it deeper, Darcy had her cell phone out now, taking pictures as I finished my first blow job. Jason grabbed my pig tails and controlled my head and our rhythm. When he came, I thought I would drown. I had read about swallowing, but there was too much of it. It spilled on to his crotch in huge droplets. After all the fear, after all the apprehension, this occurred to me. I liked Jason?s dick. I liked oral sex with a man. All of my life, I had been repressed. I recognized that I had a crush on Curt in high school, and one on Warren in college. And now there was Jason. And I could not take his dick out of my mouth. ?Stop now, Becky,? I heard Darcy saying. She was laughing. ?You need to stop now, slut-girl. We?ll get you some more dick tomorrow.? I liked the sperm off of Jason?s pelvis. I kissed his cock once more. And I wondered how it would feel in my ass. * * Genesis could?t dance. Neither could the parents of Loggins and Messina. Walk the Moon told me to shut up and dance. Billy Idol wanted to dance by himself. Me? I wanted to dance with Jason. I had never been to a straight dance club dressed as a woman. But here I was, looking across the table into the deep eyes of Jason. ?Becky, I was worried when I first saw you,? he was saying. ?I thought someone had made you do it. But you?re a better girl than you ever were a boy. You?re so pretty you make my eyes hater.? I smiled at him. He was a tall galoot, with nice shoulders and unkempt blond hair. He had a wicked simile and dimples. I wanted to run my tongue over those dimples. On the dance floor, Jason was a beast. He grinned into me, and he turned me and danced with his chest pushing up against my back. It was one of the sexiest dance moves I could imagine, with only a little bit of clothing stopping us from having anal sex in front of the world. That?s what dancing is, you know? It?s sex. It?s foreplay. It?s hips and boobs and bulges and heels and lips. It?s being on a crowded floor, yet feeling like you are one of two people in the room. It?s drums and guitar and bass. Oh, yes. I?d fuck me a bass player. But for now, I was bopping with Jason. Miss Darcy was going to join us, but she didn?t, and it was Jason and I, rubbing and grinding and engaging in musical foreplay. I wondered if Native Americans felt like this during a rain dance, or if cavemen felt like this during a war dance. It was raw, and it was sensual. The couple next to us ? a man and a woman ? kissed on the dance floor. I smiled. Love is so beautiful. So is sex. So is dancing. * * * Later, Darcy walked in on us. I was on the floor, and he was on the couch, and I had his dick in my mouth. He was moving my head slowly back and forth. I was such a girl. I could not remember the last time I wore pants. I could not remember when I didn?t have on lipstick. I had surrendered. I was doing the maid?s work all of the time now. I was the cook. And with Jason, I was the bitch. ?Well, you seemed to enjoy that,? Darcy was saying. ?It was okay,? I said. ?Okay?? she said. ?You were a fucking vacuum cleaner. I thought you were going to bite it off and take it home as a pacifier.? ?Yes, Ma?am.? She giggled. ?Tell me. Aren?t you glad you were out of time outs?? ?Those don?t do me any good, Ma?am,? I said. ?If I call a time out, you just come up with something else. Like the other day, when I wouldn?t kiss that woman at the bar. You made me kiss three men.? She laughed. ?Yeah, I?m a bitch, aren?t I.? ?Darcy...why are you so ...mean ... to me?? ?Oh, Becky, is that what you think? Really? Tell me, Look, real sissies don?t have time outs. They have to do it all, The first time. Every time. It doesn?t matter if Mistress has told you to suck three men or four. It doesn?t matter if she wants you in handcuffs. It doesn?t matter if she asks to to clean the floor with your tongue. ?That time-out shit was a charade to get your attention, to tell you that there are no time outs.. tIt was something to make you evaluate your chores. It was never meant to keep me from humiliating you. If you want, we?ll forget about the time-out shit. Just do what I tell you and you won?t piss me off.? I looked at her, and her words were steel. She wanted things her way. Now. I looked at the floor again. ?Yes ma?am.? * * I adjusted after we stopped the time-outs. There was nothing for a Sissy to think about. A Sissy just did what she was told. That applied to cleaning, and it applied to sex. I had been thinking too much. The key was in the surrender. Did I not want to clean up the toilet? Didn?t matter. Did I want to give Jason a blow job? It didn?t matter. If Mistress instructed me, then I did it. Jason and I were closer than ever. I regarded him as a superior, but not on the level of Miss Darcy. But when you?re a bottom-rung girl, what did it matter. You are a private, and you are surrounded by officers. You salute all the same. These days, Jason liked to peg me almost as he liked his blow jobs. He would spin me and enter me from the rear, because he could get deeper that way. He would have me meet his tennis friends, and we would start love-love, all five of us. I would do all of their cleaning, and all of them had access to me. It was a wonderful, innocent, sexual time. And I became a true sissy, not just one who was playing at it. I was no longer the girl dancing by herself. I was doing a slow-dance with submission. * * Orleans wanted to dance with me. Chic wanted everybody to dance now. The Drifters wanted me to save the last dance. Katy Perry wanted me to dance with the devil. Me? I preferred an angel. Maybe two. I was on the dance floor again ? it seems I always was ? and I was unleashed. It was my wedding day ? my WEDDING day. I wore a long sleeveless white dress, one of the traditional ones. Darcy did, too. We moved like two women, matching each other?s steps, looking into each other?s eyes. Most of the time, she was my superior, but today, we were just brides celebrating our union. Jason moved between us, facing Darcy, then facing me. He twisted. He lifted his arms above his head and shook them. And in the ceiling lights, you could see the light glint off of his wedding ring. Polygamy marriages are a coming thing, you know? Why should someone limit the number of people she loves? Why order the fish or the steak all the time? Three-way marriages aren?t legal. But who cares? Are the marriage nazis going to invade our home? Two months ago, I had walked in on Darcy and Jason in bed. I wasn?t surprised. I loved her. I loved him. Why wouldn?t they love each other? So, instead of getting mad, we all sat and talked about exclusivity. Darcy was my mistress. Jason was my boyfriend. Our bed was big enough for all three of us.Thing of it as an x-rated version of Three?s Company. I took her hand. I took his. And in a small triangle, we swayed. We moved as one. Dancing is a metaphor for life, you know. You try to match each other?s steps. You try to get into each other?s rhythm. You try to imagine that the lyrics mean something special to you. I had a wife. I had a husband. And the band played on. Copyright, Cassandra Morgan