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Games By Cassandra Morgan Molly Givens hated it when the phone rang. It was usually a phone solicitor looking to pull of an easy scam. Sometimes it was a forgotten relative with bad news. Sometimes it was a wrong number. But almost always, it was a pain in the ass. Close relatives, bosses, friends called your cell phone. Hell, Molly didn't even know why they had a landline anymore. But they did. And now it was ringing like an intruder. Molly picked up the phone and turned down the television with her remote. The voice at the other end was muffled, distant. "Mrs. Givens?" the voice said. "This is she," Molly said. "Mrs. Molly Givens? Of 321 Oak Street?" "Who is calling please?" "Mrs. Givens? This is the Cincinnati Police Department. Do you have a minute?" "Of course," she said. "Is everything all right?" "Mrs. Givens .... this is about your husband." "Oh, my God. Is he okay? Has there been an accident..." "He's fine, ma'am," the officer said. "It's just that... I mean..." "What's the problem. Please." "Mrs. Givens, we pulled him over. A routine traffic stop. He had a broken tail light. on his Honda." "Okay. But isn't that just a fine?" "Yes ma'am. A warning this time. But, uh..." "Officer. Please talk to me." "Well, he... he was wearing a dress, ma'am." "A dress? Jordan? What do you mean." Sigh. "A dress, ma'am. A woman's dress. Jordan was dressed as a woman. Makeup. Heels. A blue dress. A wig. He looked good. We probably wouldn't have caught him if not for his driver's license." "Where...where was he going?" "We don't know ma'am. He wouldn't say. But there is a transgender bar on the next block of 42nd, where we pulled him over. We find a lot of ... those people... convene in that neighborhood. Could ...could you come by the Staten Street depot and pick him up? Take him home? She's causing quite a ruckus with our prisoners." "I'll be right there, officer." Jordan Givens sat alone in a cell, looking out through the dim light. The officers had locked him in a cell by himself to avoid trouble. But the other inmates -- drunks and brawlers, mostly -- kept yelling at him and reaching out of their bars toward him. From the sound of it, three of them wanted to marry him. It took 40 minutes for Molly to arrive. She didn't appear to be happy when she arrived. She looked at the small figure in the blue dress, his makeup smeared, tear-stains on his cheek, and it enraged her. "What? Are you a faggot?" she yelled at her husband through the bars. "Were you trying to find another dick to suck?" "Molly, I was just driving around," Jordan said feebly. "Oh, shut up, Jordie," she screamed. "Officer, do you have any prisoners who need a quick blow job? Any detectives who want to fuck my husband in the ass? I think she should be punished, and spanking isn't good enough." The other inmates were louder now, hooting, clamoring for Jordan to come visit them in their cells. Sergeant Kelly looked down, blushing at the outburst. "What is this? Three times this fucking month? Well, this time, I'm your jailer. I'm going to lock you in your maid's dress and take away your keys. To the car. To the dress. To your cock cage. To everything. You'll be a housewife for good, lady. You won't even go the grocery store. If you want to blow someone, you'll blow the UPS driver like everyone else." Jordan lowered his head. "Yes, ma'am," he said softly. "I'm sorry." "Officer, thank you for bringing her in. She's been a bad girl. Did you guys test her dress for sperm DNA?" "Um, no ma'am. We don't check for that." "Well, maybe you should. Get the whores like my husband off of the street with her fake tits and her loose ass. You know, if orange juice came out of a man's dick, my husband would live forever because of all the Vitamin C." "I understand," the sergeant said. "There are a lot of .. alternative lifestyles out there." "Alternate lifestyles? Is that what you guys call homos these days? I cannot believe I married one. From our first date, my mother warned me she got a queer vibe from him. You look the other way while he blows one pizza delivery guy, and you'll never hear the end of it." "I can only imagine, ma'am," the officer said. "So, you guys need some cleaning up around here? My husband is a good maid. He'll polish all your knobs.He'll scrub those little toilets in your cells." Molly looked at a woman officer who, like everyone else in the place, was watching the commotion. "You ever catch your husband in a bra?" she asked. The woman shook her head. "Well, be careful. You'll catch your husband giving a blow job in the tool shed to your next-door neighbor. Ha. In our shed, we have weed- whackers and dick-whackers. We have garden hoes and street hoes. You don't know what it's like until you catch your man -- your big, strong man -- in a green evening gown. The guy lives with his ass in the air and his face in a pillow." "Ma'am...this is just about a broken tail light." "I understand, officer. And I promise you I'll sort this out. Jordie can get her dick at home from now on. She's one lady of the night you don't have to worry about. Fucking glory-hole bitch." Molly grabbed my wrist and tugged me outside the precinct. She was swearing at me every step. She dragged me to the car and shoved me into the back seat. Then she assumed her position behind the wheel. She looked at me. And she started laughing. Softly at first, then uncontrollably. Laughter racked her body. "How was I?" she said. "You were evil," I said, chuckling."Your best one yet. "I was proud of myself talking about the whackers," she said. "It was inspired," I agreed. "But offering me up as a maid was over the line." "They deserved it," she said. "These guys will think about you next time they're hassling the trans girls the way they do, I promise you." "It was a little mean," I said. "Oh, hush," she said "Fix your lipstick." "Yes, ma'am." And she drove home, chuckling all the way. * * Yeah, we play. We have loved our games since we got married. Molly started it, if you want to know the truth. She used to bring her lingerie to the bed, and she would rub it all over my body. It was an easy turn on for a kid who had worn dresses as a teen. I started wearing the clothes. She put makeup on me. She had me try on her wedding dress. Now, it's these outlandish pranks where she convinces an outsider that I'm a renegade husband in a dress. It's often pretty funny. It's usually pretty sexy. It amuses us. It is a kink, okay. Just two people doing role-play. Molly had the stronger personality, but it wasn't like she was cracking a whip and making me call her Mistress. It was just fun. The truth of it is that I loved cross-dressing. The clothes felt terrific. I loved playing her maid. Or her cook. Or her masseuse. I liked being bisexual. Hey, we weren't hurting anyone. We were just playing bedroom games. Hell, if anything, we were stimulating the economy with the purchase of butt plugs and dildos and breast forms. And batteries. Lots of batteries. Hurray for the American worker. Okay, okay. We didn't like a lot of the other kinds of play. We tried Bigs and Littles, but I hated little girl's dresses. We tried pony play, but I was't exactly a stallion, if you want to know the truth. We played bondage, but I found the times I was left handcuffed boring. But put me in a Southern Belle's dress? In a cheerleader outfit? Then I was harder than a foreign language. I loved panties; I wore them all the time. I loved hose and heels. I loved bras. And, yes, I loved being pegged by Molly. For a woman, she was a hell of a man. I didn't care that she kept her dick in a drawer. She could make me crosseyed when she penetrated me. Yeah, we also slept outside the marriage vows. That's what I was doing when I was pulled over by the cops. I was looking for trade. I was trying to find a hard dick. Okay? Hate me if you have to. But I like to shift gears, so to speak. I like to gargle with sperm. And, when the opportunity presented itself, we pulled the leg of the local police. We gave them a story to tell, a cartoon to laugh at. For days, they'd be talking about the woman who discovered that her husband was a transvestite. Molly looked at me. She had a wicked look in her eye. "Lollipop?" she said. I knew what they meant. It meant she wanted me to lick her. She sat in the big leather chair in our living room. I knelt in front of her. I kissed her thighs and tugged down her panties. I ran my tongue ups her slit. She grabbed my head and ground it into her crotch. She was lovely, wet and pungent, sexy and sopping. There was no home like the one between her legs for me. She had a strong taste, a strong odor. But she was energized by my tongue. She would buck like a cowgirl, and she would swear like a sailor, and she would spray her come like a fireman. She was my woman, my queen, and my Mistress. And I could lick as long as she could stand it. * * On Monday, I showed up for work like usual. I worked at a department store, selling ugly shirts to unimaginative buyers. It was a crap job, if you know the truth. Molly worked at a travel agency, which seemed to me like a real job. Still, I had to dress the part. I wore a blue button-down shirt and a pair of brown slacks. Underneath, I also wore panties and a bra. They felt divine. And Molly would get a little more daring as she dressed me. If you looked closely most days, you'd see hose instead of socks. You'd see my panty lines. I wonder if you had every man in the world disrobe, how many of them would be wearing panties? I'm serious. It's a far superior garment to anything that a man has. It's slick and it's smooth and it's form- fitting. Even doing routine chores, it felt sexy. There is something, too, to the deception of wearing women's clothing underneath your own. No one knew. And why would they? It wasn't as if we were going to have a daily underwear inspection. It wasn't as if I was a plumber with my pinks showing when I bent over. Until someone told. It was a Tuesday, as I remember. I was working on the floor, stocking new shirts. It was just before lunch when two figures approached my desk. George Kirby, the boss. And Amy Profit, from human relations. "Can you come with us, Jordan?" George said. So I followed them into a meeting room. We passed a dozen fellow office workers, who watched us as we walked. We walked into the room. George closed the door. I was sitting on a chair in the front of the room. George sat next to Amy. They had stern looks on their faces. "Jordan, is anything going on with you?" George said. "No sir," I said, sitting up. "You can talk to us," Amy said. "We're here to help." "George, Amy," I said. "I don't know what's going on." George looked away. Amy nodded, as if she understood. "Jordan...you're wearing a bra," she said. "A black one." I blinked. "Would it go better in blue? I have one in blue." Amy frowned. She looked at her notes. She looked at George. "Jordan, it isn't about the color. It's that you're wearing women's clothes while at work." "Well, I'm sorry. But aren't you, too." She tapped her pen on the table. "I think you know it's different," she said. "Now, you have to be honest with us," Amy said. "Is this sex fun and games...or is this a transition? Are you becoming a woman?" George interrupted. "Jordan, if it's fun and games...well, you're in trouble. You could lose your job over this. The office is no place for sex play. But if you're transitioning, if you're honest-to-God in the wrong body, well, we're an understanding company. We'll support you every step of the way. We value our transgendered employees." "Can I ...can I have a glass of water?" I asked. "Certainly, Jordan...Ms. Givens," George said, looking at Amy. Amy rose and got me a c up of water out of the water dispenser in the corner. "Jordan, I understand," George continued. "You need to clear your head. Talk to Molly. We can offer you two months of severance play if you decide to leave. Or we can support. you as you become ... you. Why don't you take a few days. Okay?" I nodded. "They're just clothes, Mr. Kirby," I said. "They make me feel pretty." He cleared his throat. He stared out the window. "Is there...is there anything I could do to keep my job?" I said. "Like what?" "Well, I could blow you both. I mean, I couldn't blow Amy. I'd have to lick Amy. But I'd have sex with you both if you'd just let this slide." "We couldn't do that," Amy said as George absent-mindedly adjusted his penis. It was at that moment that Molly rushed into the room. I looked helplessly at Mr. Kirby. "I called her, Jordan," he said. "She needed to know." "Oh, shit," I said. "My God. You just don't quit do you, Tinker Belle? Where are your breast forms? Didn't I tell you never to wear a bra without your falsies?" "I, um, I left them at home. I was trying to be modest." "Modest? Jordan. I can see your bra straps from here. How is that modest? You might as well have worn a prom dress." "Well, it's not my fault you have real boobs and mine come in a box. It's enough to give a girl a complex. Mr. Kirby, would you feel this one? Isn't it too squishy?" Out of reflex, George reached out and touched my breast. "George!" Amy hissed. "None of that." He pulled his hand back. "Look," Molly said. "Jordan bought the bra here. Doesn't that count for anything? Isn't it like an employee discount?" "Mr. Kirby, why don't you look the other way this time?" I said. " I'll wear a dress to work tomorrow, and you can tell everyone I'm having the operation. What was the word you used. That I'm transitioning." George looked at Amy. "You know the backlash we'll have from the transgender community if we fire her. Corporate won't like that." "So what can we do?" "I say we form a special committee to study transgender saleswomen in the work place. We want to give them all the rights of regular employees ... except for going to the bathroom, of course. What do you think of that, Molly?" "I think Jordan needs something to get over this hassle," she said. "Maybe a couple of new outfits. Maybe a bonus. Maybe that new perfume from Taylor Swift. I imagine it's been a trauma." "I just want to be a girl," I said. "Is that so wrong?" "No, baby. They're going to let you wear a dress to work, ok? Just like you've always wanted to." "Thank you, Mr. Kirby. Can I call you Daddy?" George sputtered. "Please don't." I smiled shyly. I walked through the office. By now, I was sure everyone could see my bra. Soon, they'd see my dress. I smiled as I walked out. * * At Mr. Kirby's insistence, I went to my doctor's office late in the week. Her name was Mary Anne Greer. She had diplomas on the wall and a picture of her boyfriend on the desk. I asked the receptionist, and she told me his name was Keith. I had found that out from her receptionist. "Hey, Jordan," Dr. Greer said. "You're a lovely woman. I hope we can make. your soul match your body." "Also, I'd like bigger tits," I said. She cleared her throat. "Well, of course, that comes in time." "Your tits aren't that big," I said. "No, no they aren't. Are you fascinated by breasts?" I didn't answer. I picked up the picture of her boyfriend. "Keith?" I said. "Is that Keith?" "Why, yes. Have you met Keith?" "Oh, everyone at Fleming's knows Keith. He's a cute stud. Do you have him collared?" "Collared?" "You know. D&S play. Do you lead him around the room and rent his mouth out for blow jobs? You could buy a car." "Excuse me?" "He's fun, doc. You've got a good one in Keith. Does he still have his tattoo?" "Well, he has a spider on his hip." "That's the one. It's right above his panties, isn't it?" "Miss Gaven, Keith does't wear panties." "Oh, I'm sure he doesn't." I rolled my eyes. "He doesn't wear bras, either. Right?" Dr. Greer stood up. She walked around her office. "Hey, I wear panties," I said. "Why would I lie about someone else wearing them? We gay people have to stick together." "Keith is gay?" "Keith is a field of Skittles, baby," I said. "We should get together and play. You can peg us both, doc." She blushed. "Jordan? Can we meet again tomorrow? This is all overwhelming." "Okay. I'll wear my black dress. Tell Keith to wear his red one. You can wear whatever you want. Even that .... thing ... you have on. If you've beaten it to death by then. What's that fabric? Naugahyde?" Dr. Greer was still sputtering as I left. * * Later that day, Molly and I swung past Flesh and Fantasies, the adult novelty store on I-95. We walked past the brightly lit stories, not pausing to look at the displays. We had seen them before, the fetish clothing and the books and videos and the handcuffs and the dildos. It was a wonderful store, and normally, I could spend hours browsing. This time, thought, we went straight to the head cashier. "Sir? Sir? We have a problem, sir?" "Yes ma'am?" the clerk said. "My sissy's cock cage doesn't work." "Doesn't...work? What is the program, ma'am?" "Well, I locked her up, and now it won't open. Is she going to have to be in chastity until Star Trek is a real thing?" "Oh...No, I assure you..." "Show him, Jordan," Molly said. I reached down. I grabbed my skirt and lifted it. He could see my pink panties and the outline of a chastity belt. "Wanna see it?" I asked. "Oh...well, I need to examine the lock." So I tugged down on my panties. There was the cage, tiny and shiny, gleaming in the overhead lights. A passer-by stared as he walked past "I'm stuck inside of Folsom Prison," I said. "And time keeps dragging on." "See," Molly said. "The lock is stuck." The truth was, of course, that Molly had switched the keys between the model I was wearing and another model. The keys were identical. This set would fit, but it wouldn't turn to unlock. "See. She's locked up tighter than Butch and Sundance," Molly said. She pulled on the pink tube for good measure. It didn't feel great. "Oh, my," the clerk said. "We don't keep master locks because of privacy." "So what am I going to do?" I said. "I'd say 7-to-10," Molly said. "Time off for no behavior." "I don't want to be caged," I said. "I have a claustrophobic dick." "So what are you guys going to do?" Molly asked. "You sold us a bad cage to lock away my bad sissy." "Um, there is a doctor..." "What? Is he going to amputate my sissy's dick?" "Don't let them amputate my dick, Mistress," I wailed. A crowd was gathering. "She should have tested it first," one man said. "She could call the warden," another guy said. "I think they should wait and let it fall off!" a woman said. "The cage?" "No, the dick!" "Wire cutters would work," Molly said. "Maybe a blowtorch." "Does it matter? It's such a tiny dick." "A mouse dick," the woman said. "Do cockroaches have dicks?" a man asked. "You know, he doesn't get real hard anyway," Molly said. "The cage is a lot harder. By comparison, the cage has a hard-on." "So snip it. The cage will fall right off." "Please don't snip it," I said. "Let's go to a locksmith." "My brother Ralph is a locksmith," the woman said. "He'd get a kick out of this." "He'd get a dick out of it?" "No. A kick. Not a dick." "If he was smaller, he could just slide out of it." "If he was smaller, it would be a vagina." "We could call the cops," Molly said. "Assault with a dead weapon." "Stop it, everyone. This is a my manhood we're talking about." "No. It's your amoeba-hood." The clerk, Mal, fished around in his desk. Finally, he found the business card he was looking for. "This is Dr. Wharton's number. I'm sure he could help you guys...get out of jail." "Well, I never..." Molly said. "You can be sure we'll buy our next cock cage somewhere else. Maybe we'll order it from Shawshank!" Molly huffed. She spun and stormed out of the store. I followed meekly behind. In the car, she handed me the keys. I unlocked myself. And Molly laughed like George Carlin was in the car. * * * On Monday, I went back to work. I was wearing a blue dress and heels. My hair was up. My makeup was good. Except that no one had expected me to come en femme. "Um, it's fine," Mr. Kirby said. "There will be no problem from us." "We can transfer you to the women's department," Amy said. "Why? I'm not man enough to sell men's clothing?" "I didn't mean that..." "'Hi. I'd like to sell you a shirt. Do you need to see my testicles first'." "Why don't you just stay in your department?" Mr. Kirby said. "Why, thank you handsome. Would you like a picture of my ass? That way, you can stare at it all day." "I wasn't staring..." "Oh. Maybe I had a bee on my butt. Were. you looking at that?" "Yes, ma'am...I mean, no ma'am." "It's okay if you were, Georgie. A fine looking man like you. When are you going to call me again?" "You called her?" Amy was incredulous. "I never called anyone," George said. "But you wanted to, didn't you?" I nodded my head until George was nodding along. I grinned. "That's flattering, Georgie," I said. He left in a hurry. I mean, he scooted. I think he passed Usain Bolt on the way. I looked at Amy. "You could call me, too." I said sweetly. "Um, no thanks. Husband. Kids. Man." "Well said," I said. I knew I was pushing it, but I went to the main office. I opened the door. George was sitting behind his desk. "Hey, handsome," I said. "Um, hi," he said. "I thought you and I should have a minute," I said, sitting on his desk. I flashed my legs in front of his face. "My wife will be here any minute," he said. "Does she want to do a threesome?" I asked. "No....I mean...no," he said. "So it's just you and me? Do I have time to suck your dick?" "Um...maybe. I mean no." I learned down and kissed him. I unzipped his zipper just as Mrs. Kirby entered the room. "Eek," I said, gripping his cock. "It's the wife." George tried to stand and zip himself up at the same time. He was off- balance and almost fell. I think he caught his dick in the zipper. He howled and started dancing on one foot. "Do you want me to kiss it, Georgie? Or do you want the wife to do. Or can we take turns." Jeanette Kirby looked shocked. George looked in pain. I tried to look innocent. "Your husband is great in bed," I said. "And he's pretty good on a desk." I walked past her. I looked at George and winked. "See you tomorrow," I said. * * We went to the adult theater that night. We brought a bag of quarters. Inside the first room, there is a glory hole. I'm ashamed to admit that I'd seen it before up close. I knelt while Molly watched me, grinning broadly. Sooner or later, some slid their penis through. It was long and skinny. I leaned forward, and I put whipped cream on it. I licked it up, and I heard a moan from the other room. After finishing, I approached the next dick. This time, I put ketchup and mustard over it. "What the hell are you doing," a disembodied voice said. "I don't want that junk on my junk." "Sorry," I said. "I like hot dogs. It's the great American snack." "But is a hot dog a sandwich?" Molly asked. "No. It's a sex organ," I said. So I slathered the sauces on his penis. "Oh, I wish I was an Oscar Meyer Weiner," I sang. "Huh?" "Sing with me, stud. That is what I'd truly like to be-ee-ee." "This is too fucking weird," the guy said, pulling out. "Guy's no fun on a picnic," I said. Sooner or later, another cock came through the wall. I kissed it gently. Then I poured tobasco sauce over it." The guy howled. Hot sauce burns everywhere, it turns out. I shrugged. I dunked it in a bowl of yogurt to cool it off. Then I kissed it again. "Cause if I were an Oscar-Meyer Weiner," I sang. "Everyone would be in love with me." "Hey," the voice said from the other side of the wall. "Don't stop." * * * For Molly and I, Wednesday nights are cuckold nights. That's when our friend Marcus comes over and makes Molly happy. You might say Marcus and Molly have a deep and meaningful relationship. Well, it's not that meaningful, it's it's real deep. Me? I get to watch. Popcorn is optional. Marcus is a tall black man, and Molly likes him a lot. He satisfies her primal psychological needs, she says. "He fucks my brains out," she says. Marcus, amusedly, is a talker. He loves to chatter as he dominates Molly. "I'm fucking your wife," he'll say to me. "She likes my big dick. See that sperm? That's how a man comes." If you take it the right way, it's endearing. Marcus never puts me down for wearing a dress. It's just who I am. But I dearly love watching him satisfy Molly the way I can't. It's exciting. It's better than sex. Well, almost. After the sex, I clean them both orally. I lick the spew out of her, vigorously, like I was trying to lick paint off the walls. Then I suck Marcus off. I like it. He's extremely hung and deliciously responsive. It occurs to me that it's silly, licking a mans come until he comes again. But it's tasty. This time, though, I had a favor to ask Marcus. I wanted to visit my mother. I wanted him to come and act as my boyfriend. That'll make her pay attention. "Where's Molly," Mom said. "She's off with the Lakers," I said. "But she left me one. Mom, this is a Kobe Bryant. We're in love." Marcus smiled. "You've got a nice son-slash-daughter," he said. "He's got a pretty mouth." Mom rolled her eyes. "So you're a queer who got this one? How many dicks do you need?" "I think the scientists say it's 103,912." "White or negro?" "Negro? What is this? 1956?" "It's the way I was raised. Cochise understands." "Kobe." "Yeah, him. You know I ain't prejudiced." "Not you," I said. "Everyone else cuts eye-holes in their sheets." She rolled her eyes. "Don't blame me, Corbin. I just couldn't keep the little fag out of dresses when he was a kid. I could never keep a lipstick. I don't know what Molly saw in him." "I've told you," I said. "She liked my titties." "Well, Edna," Marcus said. " Molly's gone. And I'm here. So I'm asking you. Can I have Jordan's hand in marriage?" "I think I'm pregnant," I said, holding Marcus's hand. "We're very happy," Marcus said. "Mom." * * Two days later, and we went to Lace and Leather, the old toy land in Cincinnati. We walked to the counter, and there was a saleswoman. "Excuse me," Molly said. "We're looking for a rubber dick." The girl smiled. "You mean a dildo?" "That's it. Something I can fuck my sissy's tonsils with." She looked at me. I smiled. "Well, what size do you need?" "That's the thing," Molly said. "We don't know. We want it about yay deep and about yay big around." "Oh." "You know. A small-to-extra large.." "Well, we have some lovely eight-inchers," she said. "Jordan is a two-incher," Molly said. "Hey!" I said. "I'm almost three." "Needle-dick." she said. "It isn't that my dick is too small. It's that your ass is too big." "Insolent sissy, isn't she," Molly said. She gripped a black-colored dildo. "Can we try this one on?" "Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am. But we don't allow people to try our toys on. No fluids on the merchandise. I'm sure you understand." "Well, how do people know if it fits?" "Usually, they judge off their previous model," the sales clerk said. "If they've had an eight-inches, and they want a little more, they'll go up to a ten. If they want a little less, they'll go down to a six." "Well, we don't have a previous model. Can you measure her throat to see what size dick needs to be parked in there? Maybe she could suck a yardstick." "No, ma'am. I'm sorry. We don't do that either." "Look, let me try one. I'll wash it off. You can even give me an Asian guy model. You know. An itty-bitty one." "Ma'am. That's offensive." "I'll bet it is. I'd much rather have the rapper model." "Ma'am. I'm sorry." "It's okay. Give me the eight-inch model in black." "Yes, ma'am. I'll wrap that up for you." "Don't bother," Molly said. "Jordan will just wear it out." * * We were in a straight bar the next night. It was cowboy night or redneck night or Hi-yo Silver night or something like that. Molly looked at the waitress and grinned. "Could we get two Cosmos?" Molly asked. "One for me, and one for my sissy." "Sissy?" "Yeah. It's my husband. He likes to wear dresses." I smiled. "And makeup," I added. "Okay. But you two need to watch yourself. We have some rough customers in here who don't care for homosexuals." "Oh, she's not homosexual," Molly said. "No," I said. "I'm a faggot Homosexuals have all those damn parades." The waitress' jaw dropped. She scurried off to get our drinks. Evidently, she must have told the bartender, because pretty soon, all eyes were on us. I looked at a mean looking guy in a blue denim shirt. I blew him a kiss. A few minutes later, four men surrounded our table. "We don't like your kind in our bar," one of them said. "Our kind?" Molly said. "Do you mean Republicans?" "Bengals' fans?" I said. "Vegetarians?" Molly said. "College graduates?" I said. "People with all their teeth?" Molly said. "People who don't pick their noses?" I said. "Libras?" Molly said. "Knights of Columbus?" "You think you're funny?" the man asked. "I think I'm hysterical," Molly said. "Jordan here really isn't that funny, but she tries." "Are you leaving or not?" the man asked. "No, we aren't," Molly said. "But if it makes you happy, I'll spank her for blowing the kiss, and we can all be friends." "You'd...spank her?" "I often do. Jordan, pull down your panties." I did. I lay across Molly's lap, my ass in the air. "Can you guys count?" she said.. "Of course we can count." "How high." "Just do it, wise ass." Molly swatted me ten times on my ass. The truth of it is that it smarted. But it was funny watching the cowboys drool through their open mouths. There were a couple of tents in their Levi's, too. Just go to remind you that the Lone Ranger and Tonto weren't platonic. We left the bar that night with Red and Rusty. We played roundup. I think I got lassoed three times and branded once.. * * The next morning, after I had gone down on Molly until she was done howling at the moon, she reached down and touched my head. She kissed me. Then she said simply, "Congratulations!" "Congratulations? For what?" "It's your wedding day," she said. "Again? We've been married three years." "Today, you're marrying Councilman Dan Randall. He's the guy whose been pushing the anti-Trans bills in public." "And I'm going to marry him?" "Til death do you part." "I'm sure we're very much in love." "Oh, You are. Of course, he also loves Sue Ann Richards." "Who?" "His fianc?e. The one he's expecting to marry." And so I put on a wedding dress, complete with a veil. I wore white pumps and very, very nice lingerie. We drove to the church. We entered through the back. And when the wedding march began, there were two of us trying to get into the middle of the aisle. "Who are you?" Sue Ann asked. "Who are you?" I countered. "I'm Dan's fianc?," she said. "No, I'm Dan's fianc?. He said so last night when he was ass-fucking me." "He was working last night." "Of course he was. I think he worked my ass four times." "Slut." "Bimbo." She grabbed me. I'll give her credit. She was a strong woman. We cat- fought for a few minutes. Then Sue Ann stopped and started to cry. "Jesus. He was going to marry us both?" "He was. But I thought that was okay. It would be our permanent three- way, you know? "You'd settle for that?" "Well, it would be nice for me, being transgender and all." "Oh my God, You're trans?" "What can I say? Dan likes dick." "Jesus. Dan!" Dan came running. "What is it, dear?" "You're fucking a transvestite? Again?" "Oh, that. Well, it was just twice. She seduced me. Wait... This isn't Heather. Who are you?" "You've forgotten me already?" "No. I mean, yes. I mean, who are you?" "I'm Joran. I'm the girl who had your dick in her ass last night." "I swear, Sue Ann. I've never seen her face before." "That's because he wasn't looking at my face when he was four inches inside of my butt. I think it was a personal best." "I swear, Dan. You promised you'd stop with the trannies." She spun. She walked out of the church. I followed her out. As I left, however, I tossed my bouquet over my shoulder. Behind me, there were squeals. * * * It was early the next day, and Molly and Jordan were finishing their coffee. Molly reached down and picked up a silver-wrapped package.She handed it to Jordan. Jordan fumbled with the strings, then opened it. Inside was a royal blue maid's dress. There were petticoats and a pair of blue pumps. Jordan grinned. "Who's the mark this time?" Molly smiled. "You are, dear Jordan," she said. "Me? What do you mean?" "I mean, you're going to work at the Hyatt. I got you a you a maid's job. You can practice here at home until you're comfortable." "Very funny, Molly." "Very funny, Mistress. That's what you mean, right?" "Please don't do this," I said. "Ah, it will be fun, Jordie. How many sissies end up as maids? Most of you, I'd say. Now get dressed. And be thankful your boobies are coming in." I wanted to say no. I wanted to run out of the house with my arms akimbo. I wanted to get a lawyer. Instead, I silently put on the dress. "See. That's not bad," Molly said. "Now put this butt plug in. A good sissy needs a plug." I looked at her. I put in the plug.It was dry, and it hurt. But I wasn't going to argue. "Now, Jordan. You aren't very good at cleaning up. You're a lousy cook. You wash dishes okay, but you iron for shit. Well, all of that gets fixed today. Got it?" I looked at her through wet eyes. "Got it?" she repeated. I nodded. "Yes, Molly." "Mistress. I told you." "Yes, Mistress." "Better," Molly said. "Now. I want another cup of coffee, girl. Double- cream." I poured it. "Curtsy," she said. I bobbed up and down. I felt silly. Molly smiled. "Now, no one at the Hyatt knows you're trans. So keep your lip zipped and you'll be fine. Remember. No blowing the guests. If you have to suck someone off, make sure it's a boss, just like everyone else. If you turn hooker and give a boss one blow job a day, that should get you an extra 30 bucks in your check. Cool deal, huh?" I lowered my head. I walked to the door. "Jordan," Mistress said to me. I turned. "Gotcha!" (c) 2019 by Cassandra Morgan