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The Game By Cassandra Morgan In the late afternoons, when the sun started to fade, our home was dark and lonely. When I got home from work, it felt lifeless and empty. I walked into the living room, and Zoe wasn't there. I went to the kitchen. Nothing there, either. Zoe was that way. She could be gregarious, the life of the party. But she was happy alone, too, getting lost in her own thoughts, retreating into herself. Finally, I found her in the den, sitting in the big leather chair, flipping through a magazine. Her mood seemed dark, too distant. "Zoe?" I said. She looked up and she brightened. Life came to my wife with that smile. "Tad!" she said, as if she had not seen me in weeks. "How are vee doing? Vee have much to discuss." I grinned. "What's with the accent? You sound like Rosa Krebbs." "Rosa whom? I haff not heard of zis Rosa Krebbs." "Old Bond movie," I said. "Seriously, what's with the Russian accent?" "It is from my homeland in the Ukraine," she said. "I am Madam Luna. I came to America a decade ago with the Russian ballet tour." "Zoe, you're from Akron." "Zat iss my cover story, Tad," She said. "I am, how you say, a double agent." "You went to Reagan High School. You went to the University of Cincinnati. You were an economics major. I've met your parents, Zoe." She smiled. "My true parents are farmers in the homeland," she said. "They are simple peasants, bringing home the wheat before the winter arrives. They vork hard." I grinned. Every now and then, Zoe liked to role-play. So now, evidently, she was a Russian dancer. A diva, I assumed. "So what are you doing in America, Madam?" I said, playing along. "Dancing?" "I am a former ballerina. Vee are touring America. Vee meet the masses of fans vee haff in this country." "I thought you sounded familiar. You were either Nikita Khrushchev or Lady Dracula. 'Vee vant so suck your blood.'" She didn't laugh. She merely looked back down at her magazine. From across the room, I couldn't make out the subject matter of her reading material. "Thaddeus?" she said ominously. "Do you vant to play a game?" I looked at her. My throat went dry. No way in hell did I want to play a game with her. She played too rough. I lost too often. "Um, no thank you. I'll sit this one out." "Vat? Are you afraid? Do you think Professor Plum will beat you up in the library? Are you afraid your little race car won't be able to keep up? Or that your Hippos vill not be hungry?" "You don't play children's games," I said. "Those aren't the games that worry me." "Then what is your problem?" "Zoe..." "Mistress Luna." "Mistress Luna," I said. "You play too rough for me. Remember, you made me spend three months in a fucking diaper with a binky in my mouth. You had a fucking dog's tail sticking out of my ass for another three months, earring Alpo. I'm afraid if I play with you, I'll be swimming in your piss for three months." "You do not like the fluids from my body?" she asked. "Not in my eyes," I said. "Tad. Your attitude is all wrong. Games are fun! They expand the mind. You get to wear costumes. You get to role-play. It isn't about the clothing you wear. It is about the attitude you bring. You play because you are interested. You lose because you lack the mental strength to keep up with me. You lose because you accept surrender." "Well, I'm not playing this time." "Your loss," she said, her accent gone. "I guess I'll have to play a game on my own... with another partner. That can be fun, too." "Zoe, please," I said. "Not this time." "What? You don't want to play, and you don't want me to find a boyfriend? You're kind of selfish, aren't you Tad?" "I don't mean to be," I said. "I'm just afraid of your games. They're too hard on me." "You don't even know what this one is," she said. "Okay, fine. What game is on your mind?" She flipped the magazine to me. I looked at it. "Sissy Quarterly," it said. On the cover was a man in a maid's uniform, on his knees and looking up at a woman. The clothing was a little silly, sure. But the look in his eyes was that of pure worship. He looked at her, enraptured. That look was more important than his dress, more captivating than her leather, more unshakable than than her hands around his throat. I looked at the magazine. It was glossy, expensive. Not the kind you buy off the rack. I flipped through the pages, and there were more sissy pictures, and more, and still more. Men in black dresses and pink ones and a white one. Men being punished. Men doing housework. Women gazing down regally. The clothing in the pictures was predictable: men in the most feminine of maid's outfits. But the photographers had done a wonderful job of capturing the need in the faces of the submissives. These men seemed to crave the control they found from the women. It was a drug to them. A lifeline. "The game is Mistress and Maid," Zoe said. "Superior and sissy. Whipped and the whip. I understand it is great fun. You simply have to obey me. I was born to play the Mistress." "So you see me as one of these ... creatures?" I said. "Not dressed as you are. But if you agree to our game, I have already purchased clothing for you. You will be pretty." I bit my lip. I shook my head. "You will love the surrender," she said. "You will embrace this game, Tadpole. You know that deep inside, you want to play." I dropped the magazine onto the table. I walked to our bedroom. I crawled into bed, despite of the earliness of the evening. I fought for the escape that sleep offered. I had to escape those images. Zoe came to bed about midnight. She undressed, then she looked to my prone body. She couldn't have known If I was awake or asleep, but she spoke to me nonetheless. "Same rules," she said. "Three months. You obey everything I want. Everything. You will not speak of this as a game. To the world, you will be my maid, Tadpole. I'll be the Mistress. If you break a rule, you get spanked. Simple as that." I lay there, my eyes closed, her words burning into my consciousness. Damn it, I would not play this time. She could find herself the boyfriend she had threatened to find. Or girlfriend. But I wouldn't wear women's clothing. It was a trap, and I was too smart to fall for it. Wasn't I? * * I woke up to the pleasant feeling of Zoe stroking me. I stretched. Then I felt the softness on my body. Zoe was dragging a pair of her panties across my erect cock. She would dangle them so they barely touched me, and then she would wrap my penis in them and stroke up an down. "Do you like our game?," she whispered. "No. No games." "Then should I stop?" "No. Please no." She rubbed the panties across my face, down down my chest, back to my crotch. It felt like magic on my erect cock. "You can feel like this all of the time, Tad," she said. "Isn't it heavenly?" "Play fair," I said. "Men like lingerie on their privates," she said. "That's a fact. So just surrender. I want to see them on you. Model for me." I bit my lip. "No, Zoe. I can't." "Well, I won't force you," she said. She rolled over and got out of bed. I looked down at my cock. Why did I stop her? That felt amazing. But three months? Is there any coming back from three months? Three months sounded like a jailterm. Three months can change a life. Three months can change the world. I rolled over and got out of bed. I walked into the bathroom. Zoe was in the shower already. I peed and waited my turn. She opened the shower door. "You are being selfish, Tadpole," she said. "All I want is a little diversion, a small game between a woman and a man. It would not hurt you to wear the clothes. It would not change you to assume the role. It is just ... play." "You want me to be your fucking servant girl," I said. "You want me to wait on you hand and foot." "Well, two hands and two feet. That's just fair. You are submissive. You should be the maid." "I won't do it," I said. I stepped into the shower and put my head under the water. I hoped it would wash away the temptations gnawing at my soul. It was Saturday, and so we lazed around the morning drinking coffee. I read the newspaper. Zoe was still into her magazine. "Did you see this picture?" she said, holding up a photo of a maid in a pink dress as she curtsied. "I think the lighting is perfect in this one. I'll bet the skirt is so soft as it dances around her legs. Can you imagine it, Tadpole? Can you imagine lipstick on your lips? Panties over your dick? I don't see how you can resist." "I can resist," I said, swallowing. "I'm not your pussy boy." "It is too bad," she said. "Would you like a closer look at this picture?" She held up the magazine again. A maid was vacuuming while her partner sat on the couch with a drink. "I like this one, don't you? These are sissy men, Tadpole. They serve their mistresses. You'd like to do that, wouldn't you?" "No..." I said. She shrugged. "Perhaps you will change your mind," she said. "Oh. Someone is at the door." She went to the back door and opened it. I heard voices, and then Zoe came back into the kitchen. With her was a fully dressed maid, the kind that hire out. It was a man, I thought. No, a woman. Shit. I couldn't tell. "This is Yvette," Zoe said. "She's here to do some work for me. I want you to look as she works, Tad. I want you to imagine that you are her." I hid behind the newspaper as she began to wash the dishes. Then I peeked out. Her uniform was gray, and she was wearing an apron and one of those little hats. She was pretty, no matter what her sex was. Her legs were shapely. Her eyes were magnetic. "Sir," she said. "May I take your coffee cup." "Um...sure." "Mistress Luna tells me you are considering becoming a maid yourself. Is that right, sir?" "Uh, no. I'm really not." "That's a shame," Yvette said. "It's a great profession. The work gets easier and easier the more attentive you are. But the uniform is always sexy. Nothing feels better to wear." "I can see that," I said. "You're wondering, aren't you? If I'm a man or a woman?" "Well, a little..." "I was born male," she said. "I'm not male anymore. But do you find me attractive?" "You're lovely," "Would you like to touch my dress? Feel the fabric?It's all right. Mistress said you would." "No, thank you," I said, but my hand was reaching out, touching the hem of her dress. It was a plain dress, a working woman's dress. But still, it was electric to touch. I touched her apron. My hand was shaking as I I touched the edge of her petticoat. "Wait until you wear the panties," Yvette whispered. "And the bra. You will wear them forever." "I don't want to wear them." "You can kiss me if you want," Yvette said. "Most men do." "No. No thank you," I said, standing up. "Do your work. I'll be in the garden." Damn Zoe. This was all part of her game. We didn't hire maids, especially one day after she wanted me to be one. This was part of her play. I passed Zoe in the hallway. "It won't work," I said to her. "Then why are you so hard?" she said, grinning. On second thought, why was I? * * * The next morning, Zoe was bouncing around the living room, singing some song I didn't know. She didn't bring up the game. Neither did I. "Did you like Yvette?" she said. "She was okay," I said. "She works for Emma's Maid Service. You can hire them by the hour. Is that work you'd like to do?" "Of course not." I said. "That's absurd." "I'm sure you're right. It was a silly idea. By the way, Chet is coming over this morning." "Chet? Why would he be coming over?" "Well, if a girl can't play with her husband, she needs some company. Chet is a sweet guy. You two have met, right?" I sighed. "Don't play games," I said. "Chet has been my best friend since college. You know that." "Oh? Is he the one you play golf with? Watch football with? Have oral sex with?" "We play golf. We watch football. We don't have any kind of sex." "You're missing out. He is very ... gifted. The first time I saw it, I thought it was a young man's arm." "When did you see Chet's dick?" "Let me think. When was that? September? October? It was International Dick Day. He let me touch it." I didn't believe her. She made things up to amuse herself. Still, I said "Please don't fool around with Chet." "Fool around? That's a sweet little phrase. No, we won't 'fool around,' Tad. We may fuck, however. Do you want to watch while we do it?" "Why are you so damn mean sometimes?" "I'm certainly not trying to be mean, Tad. I'm just trying to have fun in my one-and-only life. If you won't play with me, Chet will." She moved across the kitchen. She poured herself some coffee just as there was a knock on the front door. She walked across the room and opened it. It was Chet, my friend Chet, my golf-buddy Chet. But he wasn't here to see me. At his core, Chet liked women. Even women who were married to his friends. "Hi, Zoe," he said as he entered. "Hello Tad." "Hello, Chester," my wife said, kissing him on the cheek. "Tad, Chet is here. Say hello." I glared at him. I didn't speak. "Tad! Don't be rude. When Chet comes over to play with you, I'm nice. Now that he's come over to play with me, you can be the same." "Hello, Chet," I said, my eyes downcast. "Hey Tad. You watching the Ohio State game later?" he said. "I don't think so," I seethed. "Why are you here?" "Because Zoe asked me to come over, Tad. She called me, and she said we had something to talk about. I was just being a friend." "Friends don't fuck each other's wives." He smiled. "I wish," he said. "Zoe's a very sexy woman. I don't know of a friendship that could hold up to a woman like that. But she just wants to talk, man. Don't freak." I looked at him, wounded. There was nothing I could say, nothing I could do. I knew that if Zoe allowed it, he would be on her like gravy on mashed potatoes. He had no guilt, no loyalty. "Now, Tad," Chet said. "What is this game that Zoe says you won't play with her? Shit. A woman like that, I'd play whatever she wants." "Would you, Tad? Would you wear a dress? Would you scrub a toilet? Would you be her maid?" I tossed him the magazine. "Would you be one of these sissies?" "Damn, Ted. That's funny shit. Do you think she wants you in a dress because she sees something inside you? I mean, no one ever asked me to wear a dress. Still, what's that they say? A happy wife is a happy life. You could put those clothes on for a day." "How about for three months? How about every damn day. In front of everyone?" "Shit. Zoe, Three months? You want to Tad to dress like a sissy for three months? That's twisted." "It isn't a real game unless it lasts for a while," Zoe said. "It isn't a real surrender otherwise. It's just dress-up. I want commitment. Hell, I'd like six months, maybe a year, but we've agreed our games will last three months." "Geez, Tad," Chet said. "I didn't know. You have a tough decision to make. Do you wear a dress, or watch your wife slip out of one? "Please don't have sex with her," I said. "I know you can. I know she will. But you're my friend. Please don't." "And if I say no, then Zoe will find someone else to fuck her. So it might as well be me. You can at least say your friend did it when you talk about it." "I won't talk about it." "No," Zoe said. "But I will. One last chance. Will you play my game?" "I...I can't." I said. "Very well," Zoe said. "Chester, would you follow me to the bedroom? And please, bring your dick." She took his hand. She led him out of the room. Chet looked at me and shrugged. And then he smiled. * * I didn't follow them. I had no interest in watching Chet's monster-cock penetrate my wife and make me a cuckold. My imagination was torture enough. And if they really were "just talking," well, that didn't concern me, either. Instead, I went into the office. I sat in front the computer to do a little research. I didn't quite know what a sissy was, so I did a google search. As it turns out, there are varied meanings to the term. No, it wasn't the same as a transsexual, or even a transvestite. Basically, it was all about submission, about giving one's control over to one's mistress. The domination was greater mentally. There were some porn sites. I watched grainy videos from a couple of them, but they didn't do a lot for me. The sissies weren't convincing that this was a surrender, a submission. It was just sex. Nothing's wrong with sex, but if a video can't make you feel its story, it's just silliness. I found a website for transvestites. It had thousands of stories. Thousands! The stories were better than the videos, if you ask me. I scrolled through some of the maid stories, There were tales by Vickie and Missy, by Kriz and Janet, by Dee and Bea, by C.C. and Throne. There were far too many to read. But the ones I did scan provided me with nice slices of the lifestyle, mostly told through the eyes of the submissives. They were fantasies and wishes, mainly. They explained a lot to me. There were noises coming from the bedroom. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about it. Zoe often teased about having sex. But it was never out of spite. And had never hinted at sex with each other's closest friends. I imagined her biting her lip. I imagined her scratching his back, the way she does. I had been there for hours, reading and watching, trying to imagine myself doing this for three months, imaging the work, imagining the embarrassment. No way. Three months? Three months was an eternity! Shit. How could Zoe ask me to wear dresses for three months? Still... Three fucking months! On the other hand, was three months really that long? Three months? Hell, that wasn't even 100 days. Three months? That's fall to winter, that's all. Three months? I had seen that on Jeopardy, the gestation period for a leopard was three months. How could I do it? Hell, how could I not do it? Anything beats sitting here and waiting for her to her call out Chet's name! I entertained the notion. It was only clothes, after all, and a little makeup. It was just role play. A costume. Nothing awful. Hell, my penis was hard thinking about it. I walked into the bathroom. I looked at the hollow eyes of my reflection. I picked up a lipstick tube of Zoe's and spread some on my lips. I looked like a clown. I wiped it off. I went to the laundry hamper and picked up one of her bras. I held it in front of me. It looked absurdly out of place. I threw it back in. I tried to imagine myself with long hair. I shook my head. I would never pass, which means that everyone would know. For three fucking months, everyone would look at me and laugh. I was the wimp whose woman dressed him up. I was the pansy. I picked the lipstick back up. I tried to apply it more lightly on my mouth. I still looked like Bozo the clown. "You'll get it," a familiar voice said. I spun. Zoe was standing in the doorway, wearing a robe. Her lipstick was smeared. Her hair was a mess. The after-affects of a good conversation, it seemed, looked a lot like sex. I wiped my mouth quickly. I looked at her, guilty as hell. "I'm was just playing," I said. "I'm sorry." She smiled. "We are more sorry for the things we don't do than the things we do," she said. "Someone smart said that once." I looked at her. "I'm thinking about playing your game," I said. "Think fast," she said. "I might find other players." * * Do you remember your first time? Does a criminal remember the first time he broke the law? Does an alcoholic remember his first drink? Does an evil man remember those first awkward steps toward damnation? I remember. We were standing in our bedroom, and there was a glint in Zoe's eyes -- Mistress Luna's eyes. She had made me shave myself, including under my arms. She had doused me with baby powder. She handed me a pair of black, lacy panties. I stepped into them, and I slid them up my legs. "How do they feel?" Mistress asked. "Close your eyes and tell me." "They feel...cool, slick," I said. "They're a little tight. They feel ... nice." "I'd say you think they're very nice with that little dick of yours," she said. "It's standing at attention. Now here." She handed me a pair of hose. "You'll like these. All you trannies like your hose." I shot her a dirty look. But she was right. The hose felt terrific against my legs. They were dark hose, and they embraced my legs like a lover. If I liked the panties, I loved the hose. She handed me a black corset. I fumbled with it, and she spun me around. She tightened it until I could barely breathe. "How does that feel?" she asked again. "It's ... tight," I said. "It feels like I can't I'm wearing a boa constrictor." "Here," she said, handing me two false breasts to slide into the attached bra. "These are called breast forms. Wear them long enough, and you'd swear they were real. Now, put on your heels and walk across the house. Well glue them later." "But I'm not wearing the dress yet..." "You have to beg me for the dress. You have to go down on your knees and plead with me to let you wear it. For now, put on those heels and walk across the house in your underwear. Walk past the open windows. Go on." I walked through the living room. I wasn't wearing a wig or makeup, so no one looking in would suspect they were seeing the lady of the house. I was a sissy. My boobs jiggled as I walked, and my cock stretched against my panties. I was ashamed, and I was thrilled. I was humiliated, and I was aroused. "Go wash the dishes," Zoe said. "Now." I lowered my head, and Zoe grinned. I walked into the kitchen and began to stack the dishwasher. "No, wench. We wash our dishes by hand. You can wear an apron if you want." I scrubbed a pan while she watched. "Tadpole, do you think the neighbors can see you? Do you think the women are judging you? Do you think the men are touching themselves?" "I...I don't know," I said. "I don't know, madam," Zoe corrected me. "This is embarrassing, madam," I said. "But isn't that part of the fun? Wondering who can see? What they think? How does that make. you feel, Tad? People know you're a sissy. Isn't that exciting?" "I...I guess." "Look, I've asked your sister to come around this afternoon. I think she'll want to see you in your undies. What do you think she will say? Will she laugh? Will she be supportive? Will she tell your mother?" "Please don't bring Rosemary over," I said. "I don't want her to see me like this." "There is one way for her not to see your bra and panties, girl. You know what it is." "I...do?" "Beg me," Zoe said. "Say 'Mistress Luna, please let me wear the dress, and I'll play your game for three months.' Tad, you're the winner here. You get to feel those great clothes for three months. Do you know how many transvestites would want to be in your heels?" I swallowed hard. My head felt light. I could feel my heart beat. "I'll play your game," I whispered. "You win. Please let me wear the dress." "I'm sorry. Did you say something." "Let me cover up with the dress. I'll play your game." She smiled a victor's smile. "You may put on your maid's dress, Tad. You are now in my service." I went to the bedroom. I picked up the short dress, and I stepped into it. Zoe zipped me up. "Now rub your sides," she said. "Now your butt. Now your boobs. Isn't this the best uniform ever?" I looked at the dress in the mirror. It fit perfectly with it's built-in apron. She slid petticoats up my legs then. She worked on my wig, and then on my makeup. She put my lipstick on, and this time, I didn't look like a clown. I looked like a domestic. She put a little cap on top of my head. She giggled. "Sissy Tadpole! No, that's not quite right. How about Sissy Tabby?" "Um...if you wish." "We'll do your nails now," she said. "This red matches your lipstick. Isn't it pretty?" I just started at the mirror. Damn it, I liked the way the clothes felt. I liked the way they looked. I felt like a man under water. "Aren't you glad we played this game, Tadpole?" she said. "Twirl for me. Now curtsy. No, lift. Your skirt. Keep your eyes up. Good. You're going to make a great sissy for six months." "Three," I said. She smiled. "Yes, three. I was just testing you." I looked back in the mirror. The girl there was kind of cute, if the big hands didn't fool you. "Tabby? I think it's time you started cleaning house, don't you?" "Um, yes Mistress Luna." She grinned "This is going to be fun. Put on your heels and get to the kitchen, wench. I want the dishes clean and the floor mopped." And so I trudged toward a feminine future, small, wobbly step by small, wobbly step. I was the maid. The fucking maid. And wasn't that a kick to the crotch? * * Rosemary entered laughing. She might as well have been watching George Carlin in his heyday. She thought my dress was a hoot. She thought my makeup was high frivolity. She thought my heels were a joke well told. She thought my breasts forms were a great sight gag. "My God, Zoe," she said. "You've outdone yourself this time. She's amazing. Curtsy, Tad. Now spin. God, that's funny. My brother is my sister." "She's only here for three months. Should I keep her longer?" "Oh, hell yes. You should keep her forever." I winced. It was embarrassing enough that my younger sister was laughing at me. The prospect of staying this way long-term was crushing. "So, big brother. How long have you been a sissy?" "Just...just today," I said. "No. In your heart, how long have you been a sissy? You move too naturally for it not to be a part of you. You're wrists flop like they're supposed to." "I think she's always been a sissy, Rosemary," Zoe said. "Tad, when we were kids, did you wear my clothes? Be honest. Remember my blue prom dress. You were in it, weren't you?" "No. I never did." "Liar. I would find dresses moved around all the time." "I never did." "Tad?" "Once or twice." She nodded. "Did you blow Billy Williams? I always thought he was sweet on you." "Not once," I said. "I'm not like that." "You are now. You're a girly man. You're in a dress. And it looks good on you." "I wore this dress for a reason," I said. "What reason?" Rosemary said, laughing. "So you wouldn't see my bra and panties." She guffawed. "My Lord! Who's the fag now? Covering up your bra? Tell me: Has Dad seen you? He'll die laughing." "Somehow, I don't think he'll be amused." "I bet he will. Hell, he was in the Army. He must have known fags before." "I'm not a .. .homosexual." "Maybe not. Maybe you're just a girl who likes men. Is that it?" "Rosemary, please. I'm just playing a game with Zoe. I didn't even want to." "Amazing, isn't it, how many guys don't want to but end up in a dress? 'Oh, don't force me to wear that skirt. It would be awful if you made me wear a prom dress.' Who do you think you're fooling, Tad? You're coming out, and I think it's great. I have a big sister now." "I'm still a boy," I said. "God, when is the Gay Pride parade? You can be on the lead float, waving at the crowd, blowing them kisses. Won't that be fun?" "Not really." She looked at me for a minute. "I have a dress that's too big for me. It's red. I think you'd look hot in it. It's tight. Zoe, does she wear regular dresses or just her maid's uniform?" "She could wear your dress to dinner. The guys will love her ass in a tight dress. She can wear it when she goes to the glory hole." "She does that?" "She'll love it. Any dick in a storm. Or in a public bathroom." "Jesus, Tad. Have some dignity. If you're going to be a whore, at least make some money off of it." "There's an idea. Do you think she'd make a good streetwalker?" "With those legs? You're damn right. She could fuck Popeye." "I like it," Zoe said. "Tad, you want to pick up some extra cash? I can see you making$34.25 a night." "Oh," Rosemary said. "Who's going to pay her a quarter?" "Well, all of them will. Right?" They laughed, wicked, evil laughs. The fiercest the dig at my sexuality, the funnier they thought they were. My sister and my wife, the two women who knew me the best, had agreed that I wanted this, that I liked it. And the more I protested, the louder they laughed. A sissy, they called me. I should have hit them with my purse. * * * The next afternoon was a bitch. Neither of us had been very good housekeepers, so there was a pile of laundry and a mound of dust everywhere you looked. I started to work. Every so often, Zoe would yell "Maid! Iced tea!" or "Maid! Cheese and crackers." I was beginning to think her grand "game" was for me just to fetch refreshments for her. In mid-afternoon, however, Zoe walked into the kitchen. "Can you take a break, Tabby?" she said. "That's up to you, Mistress Luna," I said. "Well, I say you can. Here, let me put this collar on you." "A collar, ma'am? Why do I need a collar?" "Well, we wouldn't want you to run away before you're tamed, do we, Tabby?" she snapped the collar and attached a long, thin pink leash to it. She tugged on it to make sure it was strong enough. She nodded. "So now we go for a walk, Tabby?" "A walk? Outside?" "Well, we can't go for a walk through the hallway, can we? Of course we're going outside." "But the neighbors...." "They'll grow to love my sissy," Zoe said. "Just wait til they see her." And so Zoe walked out the front door and tugged on my leash. Reluctantly, I followed her into the sunshine. Our home is a typical suburban home, with paths leading to a nearby park. Zoe took me down the sidewalk, near the park's entrance. We passed Mrs. Whitby, whose jaw dropped. We passed Mrs. Martin, who swore silently at the sight. A little further down the road, Mrs. Butler walked up to Zoe and grinned. "So you have a domestic now?" she said, ignoring my collar and leash. "Yes, yes I do," Zoe said. "This is Sissy Tabby. She's going to stay a while." "She looks familiar..." "Well, of course she does. You've met her a dozen times when she was my husband Tad. That was before her change. She's a sissy now." "Tad had a sex change?" "Wouldn't you change if you were trapped as a guy? Isn't being a girl so much better? But, no, she hasn't had the final surgery ... yet. Not until her breasts grow." "Gracious," Mrs. Butler said. "She sure is pretty." "Yes. Much more than when she was a boy. So do you think the neighbors will accept her?" "I don't see why not. There are a lot of sex changes in Hollywood these days. The fags are everywhere. Wait. Is it okay if I call her a fag? Is that geographically correct?" "You can call her whatever you want. She knows she's a fag." "Personally, I think it's an improvement," Mrs. Butler said. "I always thought Tad was kind of swishy. I wondered about him and the Fed-Ex guy. The big guy with the mustache? You guys sure get a lot of packages, and I thought Tad might be playing with his, if you know what I mean." "Busted," Zoe laughed. "Tad likes her men. I think it's because they have all the dicks." "Oh, you're terrible," Mrs. Butler said. A crowd had started to gather. Mrs. Whitby and Mrs. Martin had turned around and approached us, and then Nick Simmons and Edward Taylor and Toni Morris were around us, asking questions, making comments. Jerry Linwood commented that when the gays got out of the closet, it damn sure seemed to be a big closet. It was mortifying to me. Cars slowed and honked. Drivers yelled things. Pedestrians talked to Zoe about "breaking" me. Leon said that his brother was gay, too. Mrs. Childs asked if I took money to clean other homes, too. Ron Purvis noted that I had "a tappable ass." Max Richards said he'd do it. I wanted to run home. I wanted to dig a hole. Instead, I stood there, on the end of a leash, while all the neighbors who knew me as Tad fawned over me. My God. I was the neighborhood transvestite. Would my neighbors ever think of me any other way. *** To a sissy, the mall is Mecca. We can say we're scared to go, but it doesn't take much of a push to get us there. We started at Victoria's Secret. Don't all of us end up there? Zoe was picking through the panties, finding the frilliest she could find. "May I help you," a young woman asked. "Yes, wed like a bra fitting." "Certainly. Come this way, please." "Oh, it's not for me. It's for him." "Him." She asked. "Really?" "Yes. My sissy husband would like the fitting. She'd like big ones." "Oh. Well, he...she could use the manager's office. I'll get some bras and some breast forms. We'll make a woman out of her." It was humiliating. She brought in forms (a c-cup) and bras and panties. She brought in a nightgown and pink bedroom slippers. She bought six pairs of hose. We bought eight bra-and-panty sets and the nightgown. I wore the forms and a black bra and panty set out. We left and walked to Clare's. Zoe told the lady I needed to be pierced, twice in each ear. She bought me bangles for my wrists, a necklace and a woman's ring. She bought three pair of earrings. We stopped at a shoe store. Then a perfume counter. A wig shop. A dress store. A makeup counter. A purse rack. We went to the food court, and Zoe pointed out the attractive men and tried to guess their penis sizes. I was in the game now. We had spent too much money for me to back out now. Besides, shopping was kind of fun. * * My birthday came a few weeks later, and Zoe planned quite the occasion. She was going to have all our friends and all her coworkers over, and she had even hired a couple of sissies to serve so I didn't have to. That day, she took me to the Kink store near the airport to buy my present. She said she knew just what I needed. We were strolling the aisles, and the other customers were looking at me and smiling. It isn't often you see a sissy on display. She rolled her cart down the first aisle, and she picked up two buttplugs. "These are from your sisters," Zoe announced. "Act surprised when you open them." She stopped and bought a very large dildo. It looked more like a billy club to me. "That's from Chet," she said. "He wants you to forgive him." She grabbed a penis gag. "That's from your mother," she said. "Because you always talked back to her. She picked up a rubber paddle. "From. your Dad," she announced. "He says if he had spanked you more, you might not be a 'shiny-toothed-faggot.' And that's a direct quote." Finally, she got to the second aisle. She picked up an ominous looking thing. "This is from me," she said proudly. "It's your chastity belt. They call it a cock cage." "Do you keep chickens in there?" "Ha. Very funny. You couldn't get the good part of a chicken wing in there. It's for your pee-pee, Tabby. It closes it up and puts me in charge of it." "Oh. It has a lock." "Of course it does. It's part of the locked collection. We're going to buy a corset that locks and heels that lock, and a collar that locks. We're going to buy a penis gag that locks, and a butt plug that locks, and handcuffs that lock. I'll be the key-mistress. I'll jingle-jangle-jingle." "We don't need that, Mistress Luna," I said. "I behave as it is." "Yeah, but can you imagine setting off security at the airport. That will be so much fun. 'Oh, it's a lock. And another lock. You'll have so many locks they'll call you Nessie." "Loch Ness. I get it." "Do you like that leather bra?" "I don't think it goes with my uniforms." "No, dumb-ass. For me. I'd look good in leather." "You look good in anything." She picked up a strap-on. "Would I look good in you?" she asked. "I'm going to get this. Then you're going to get it." I swallowed hard. It looked like something Mike Trout would use to hit a baseball. And it was going to go in my ass. "Mistress, you're too good to me. Don't buy me so much stuff." "Oh. Look. They have earrings in the shape of handcuffs. That's cool. They have a pacifier shaped like a dick. They have t-shirts that say 'I'm a Sissy Because My Mistress Says So.' It's just too much fun." It's odd how quickly you get used to it all. We had been at this for three weeks, and already, my uniforms felt natural. Lipstick felt ordinary. My wigs were terrific. My family knew. My friends knew. My neighbors knew. I was a sissy. It didn't feel like a game anymore. It felt like ... life. I had lost the psychological tug-of-war. Zoe had won again. Me? I never even knew the rules. * * "I didn't fuck Chet," Zoe was saying. "You didn't what?" "Remember when I was trying to get you to agree to the game? Chet came over, and we went in the bedroom, and I came out with my lips smeared and my hair mussed?" "I remember." "That was all a game. We watched a movie. I wanted you to think that I was having an affair with him. I never have." I exhaled loudly. "Thank you, Mistress Luna. That means a lot to me." "Tabby. I'm going to fuck him now." "But you said..." "Tabby, you're a full-fledged sissy boy now. I bet that if I gave up on the game, you'd still wear the uniforms. But it's like we've found the off- switch for that little dick of yours. I have needs, too. And if you insist on being a sissy and cavorting around the house, well, I'm going to need a little something-something." "I can get it up," I said. "I swear I can." "Sure you can. Tabby, have you ever thought about getting a vagina? I'm serious. You don't use that little thing. Why not get yourself a nice pussy you can enjoy?" "I don't want a fucking vagina." "Don't most vaginas fuck?" Zoe said, giggling. "Mistress, you've gotten your way every step. Please dont make me get a puss. Please don't fuck Chet." "You'll love watching it, Tabby. Most sissies like to watch. They like seeing their wives fondled. They like seeing it enter for the first time and slide deep. They like seeing it pump semen into their wives twitching and spewing. They like the way it runs down her legs." "Is this why you wanted to play this silly game? So you could fuck Chet?" "I could have fucked Chet any time I wanted. He's begged me for it, Tabby. He's rubbed up against me. He's a dog in heat, your friend. I don't think he means to be, but he's one of those men who thinks with their dicks. For Chet, those are big thoughts." "Mistress...please." "Oh, stop your whining, sissy boy. If you want, I'll get you a date, too. You can kiss a dick of your very own boyfriend. You can bite the pillow while he fucks your ass." "I don't want that." "Of course you do. You like your butt plug, don't you? You like it when I peg you. You've got a very sensitive ass. That's a good thing for one of your kind. I bet you climax when you crap." "But a real dick..." "...Is wonderful. Plastic can't compare. Latex can't. Oh, Tabby, you're going to love it so much." "I don't want to get fucked," I said. "I understand. But I want to. And I need it. You're the one who surrendered her manhood. You begged me and begged me for those damn hormone pills, and now, you're useless." "I never begged," I said. "You made me." "God, why do I listen to your shit? Go put your penis gag in right now. You're going to wear it the rest of the day no matter who comes over." "Yes, ma'am," I said, surrendering. "I'll get it." "Put it on," she said. "And while your'e sucking it, I want you to rub your cock cage. Remember when you used to get hard? Remember when you were a man instead of a sniveling sissy bitch? Now, vacuum the fucking living room with the gag on." So there I was. I was wearing a light blue maid's uniform and heels. My lipstick was red. My fingernail polished matched. My breast forms bounced as a I walked. My penis gag was too big, and my cage was too tight, and my butt plug was deep into my ass. And, damn, I was happy. * * Chet came over that evening. He smelled of cheap cologne. He had bought grocery store flowers. He walked into the door, and he looked shyly at me. "Nice dress," he said . I curtsied. I was wearing my lavender uniform now. "Please come in, Master Chet," I said. "You're looking very handsome tonight." "Ha. I'm glad you noticed, fag boy. Maybe you can smell my shorts when I take them off to fuck your wife." "That's a kind offer, Master," I said. "God. You used to be my friend. We were naked in the clubhouse. Were you looking at my dick the whole time?" "No, sir. Not the whole time." "So what do you think about this, queer boy? What do you think about Zoe spreading her legs and letting me inside? What do you think about me fucking her brains out." "I think you can give her things I cannot," I said. "I think she deserves to be happy." "God, you are such a gay wad," he said. "I'll bet you'd want to fluff me first, wouldn't you? You'd like to try to fit your lips around it and make like a vacuum cleaner. Tell me: do you think you get to go back to the way it was when your time is up? I don't. I think you've found your calling. I think you're a born cocksucker. A natural maid. It's who you are." "If you say so, Master Chet." "Chet!" Zoe walked into the room. "Give me a kiss! I love that cologne. Did you buy it at Wal Mart?" "It was on sale," Chet said. "Now, Chester. You have a choice to make. Do you want Sissy Tabby to watch? I think she could learn some stuff about pleasing men, but if you're shy...." "I'm not shy. I'd love for the little Tinker Belle to watch me fuck you." "Very well. Come along, Tabitha. And bring a pitcher of ice water, won't you?" I put ice in a pitcher and poured bottled water over it. I went upstairs. Chet and Zoe were naked by now, and they were in a deep kiss. I steeled myself to see without watching, to experience with judging. I went to a distance place and watched as he kissed Zoe's breasts. His cock was large, by any standards, including porn videos. Its head was purple, and its shaft was thick, and when he entered her, she whimpered. He drove it deep into her, then he looked at me and smiled. "Can you do that, sissy?" He pumped her again. "Or that?" He squeezed her ass. "Can you make her move like that?" And on it went. It was bad enough he was screwing the woman I married, but he had an ongoing commentary the entire time. She was moaning, and he was talking, and I was dying. Then I saw her face, aglow, contorted, happy. She bit her lip. And it all changed. Suddenly, I liked that another man was having sex with my wife. I admired his technique. I respected his prowess. He was magnificent on top of her, and she was amazing beneath, and I was captured by the images in front of me. It wasn't a bad thing that my friend was fucking my wife; it was beautiful. He came, and it was thick and plentiful, like someone had knocked over a buttermilk carton. It was incredible how much he came. He filled Zoe, and he coated her public hair, and he drenched her legs. Finally, he rolled off of her. "What are you waiting for, Sissy?" he said. "You going to leave your Mistress like that?" I don't know if he was just taunting me, but he was right. I scrambled over the mattress and began to lap up whatever juices were on her. Hers. His. I licked like a dog that hadn't had water in days, my tongue cleaning her as she lay there. Then I turned to him, and I gently kissed the tip of his cock. I put it in my mouth, and I began to suck off the jizm that clung to him. I licked his pubic hair and his testicles. Then I went back to sucking him. He was clean, but I would not stop. I licked and kissed and sucked. He hardened again, then he spewed into my mouth. It was flaccid now now, dormant, but I kept kissing it. "Thank you, Sissy," he whispered. "Thank you, Master," I whispered. Afterward, I slept in the crook of his arm, and it was the most contented rest I had had in years. I knew my place now. I was hers. And I was his. Damn, this was a good game. * There is a dinner of 1-95 called Eggs. A lot of prostitutes hang out there. A lot of trans girls. And, and yes, a lot of cops. Manny, the owner, gives free coffee and donuts to cops, so they flock there in the wee hours of the morning. It's a friendly joint. The cops kind of look after the girls, and the girls flirt with the cops, and everyone eats bacon. What more could you want. Chet and Zoe dropped me off at Eggs about 2 a.m. I was wearing a white dress and black heels. My wig flowed down my shoulders. I sat on a stool in front of the bar and asked for coffee. "Sure, sweetie," a tired-looking woman said. "You want pie with that? We have the best pies." So I toyed with a slice of apple pie, and I sipped my coffee. "Are you new here?" A voice said. I looked up and into the face of a police officer. "Cooper" it said on the name plate that just above his badge. "Yes, officer," I said. "I heard the pie was very good." "You a working girl?" he said. "Oh, don't worry. No one's going to hassle you here." "I'm just a lost little lamb looking for a shepherd," I said. "Hah," he said. "So tell me about you." I smiled. "I'm just a girl in love with a boy," I said, quoting Notting Hill. "Seriously, my wife dropped me here." He looked at my dress, my hose-covered legs, my heels. "You like to play dress up?" he asked. "Sometimes, officer Starsky," I said. "Don't I look okay?" "You look great," he said. "But some man might take advantage of you." "Well, let's hope," I said. He laughed. "What's your name?" "I'm Tabitha," I said. "People call me Tabby." "Hi, Tabby," he said. "Look, we're all friendly here. No one hassles anyone. Sometimes, an officer needs to release tension, and he steps out to the squad car. So if someone tries to pick you up, they're just looking out for you. Okay." "Yes, officer Hutch." He smiled. "I could show you my squad car if you want," he said. "Really? Could you show me your handcuffs?" "Damn. You are a forward-thinking lady. I like that." "My wife dropped me off so I could make new friends, officer Friday. Do you want to be my friend." "Why don't we go see if my car is stil there." I rose.Everyone looked as we walked out the door. There were a few hoots. He opens the back door of his squad car. I looked at him, then I slid in. He slid in beside me. "You have nice lipstick," he said. "When a man notices a girl's lipstick, he wants to taste it," I giggled. He pulled me to him then, and he shoved his tongue down my throat. He ran his hands down my body, touching my breasts, pushing his erection against me. Damn. He hand't even read me his rights. "Take your pants off," I said. "I want to see." Officer Friendly ripped at his belt. Soon, his pants were around his knees, and his cock was jutting toward the sky. I kneeled down and looked at it. I picked it up and stroked it once, twice. "It's pretty," I said. "Is it supposed to be that purple?" "It's supposed to be in your ass," he said. "Oh, how sweet. You want to fuck me?" "God, yes." "I will if you'll give me your boxers." "What?" "I want a souvenir," I said. "I want your boxers. Or your gun." "You ... you can have my boxers." I kissed his cock. "Tell me about the criminals you caught today." I licked the shft. "Huh? I ..." "Did you catch Dillinger? Manson? What are you doing for the taxpayer's dime, Officer Drebin?" "I ... I caught Hannibal Lecter," he said. "He was having a friend over for a meal." "Ha. That's funny. Who else?" "I...I caught Capone. And the Godfather. And the Joker." "Damn. You really are a great policeman. And you taste nice." "Jeez..." he said. "You want my ass, Officer Tracy? It goes good with donuts." "Yes. Turn over." I twisted around. Getting fucked in a patrol car isn't exactly like a room at the Ritz. But a girl has to make do." "Inspector Cloussea? Would you read me my rights?" "Huh. You have the right to .... rub your own titties. Yes. I like that." I planned to continue to toy with him. But he was a good sort, and he was very good sexually. I got lost in my own game. When we were through, we walked back into the diner. His fly was down. A working girl looked at me and saluted. I grinned. Protect and serve. Isn't that the motto? * * * The next morning, I was drinking coffee. I had served Chet and Zoe in bed, and I had a moment's peace to reflect on my previous night. I accepted it all now, the chores, the clothes, the mentality. Zoe walked into the room and smiled at me. "How are you, Tabby?" she said. "I'm terrific, ma'am. Thank you for asking." "I have a game," she said. "A game within a game." "As you wish, ma'am," I said. She turned her back. When she turned, she had three small glasses, each with a small amount of a white liquid that she had stored in condoms. "I need you to taste this and tell me which one is Chet's," she said. "I have my reasons." "Yes, ma'am," I said. There would be no more arguments from me. I tipped the first glass back. It was salty and warm. Yes, that was sperm. She offered me the second glass. I poured it into my mouth. It tasted much like the first one. "Now, this one," Mistress said. I tipped it back. Damn. The same flavor. "I can't tell a difference, ma'am," I said. "Hmm. Well, they're all Chet. I just thought he had eaten something spicy before he came for the third time. But you think it's all good?" I looked at her, and she was grinning. It was all just a way to force me to swallow the sperm. Again. "i thought they all tasted like clam chowder," I said. "I could make a meal of that and a few crackers." She laughed. "You're getting into our game, aren't you?" "Yes, ma'am. I have to admit that I am." I'll be honest. There were still times I had doubt and fear, times I wanted to tear off this lace and try to be a man. But those were fewer and fewer. I loved submission. I liked being girlie. I liked walking into a neighbor's home and feeling the eyes on me. I even liked my chores. "Good." Zoe said. "You're a pretty good maid. The house is clean. You're attentive." "Thank you, ma'am." "Just one thing, though. I really think you need some work on your cunnilingus skills." I smiled. "Would you like me to practice?" She spread her legs. It was a wondrous sight. "I think that would be good," she said. And it was. * * On Saturday night, Zoe decided we were going to go out to the Dollhouse, a gay-friendly bar on the East Side. She wore a slinky black dress. Chet wore a blue shirt and khakis. And I wore a yellow maid's dress that screamed out what a sissy I was. That was Zoe's plan. On Saturday nights, the sissies flock at the Dollhouse. We looked like Skittles, to tell the truth, lace and frills and pinks and blues and lavenders and whites. Leering men circled the lot of us, and every now and then, some sissy would get plucked away by a cowboy. "Do you want to dance?" a large Latino man asked me. "We just got here," Zoe said. "Give us a few minutes, then ask again. She'll make it worth your while." He left, and I looked at Mistress Luna with grateful eyes. I was in no mood to be pawed in public. "You'll get to him," Zoe said. "But I want to see you dance with another sissy. You would be a same non-sex couple." We bounced as one, we sissies. We shook our asses and jiggled our breasts. We let our skirts ride up like we were at the world's largest hoedown. I felt like a pretty bird in a flock, moving in time to my sisters. Chet laughed. He grabbed a small black women in a pink dress as she minced past. "How about you, sweetheart," he said. "Do you want to dance with my sissy?" She look at me. She grinned and nodded. She had glitter on her eyelids and pink dye in her hair. She opened her arms. I melted inside, putting my arms around her neck, a signal that she could lead. "I'm Keisha," she said. She was taller than I was. "I'm Tabby." I said, looking at her face. Her lips were plump and inviting. Her skin was caramel brown. Her eyes were almond. "Pleased to meet you," she said. "Have you been one of us long?" "Not long," I said. "But I like it." "Me, too," she said. "My boyfriend got me into dresses. And out of them. He's at the bar. Marcus," "It was my wife," I said, nodding toward Zoe. "She said it was a game." "Some game," Keisha said. "The playing pieces all end up in my ass." I laughed. "It's a pretty ass." "Do you play with other sissies?" she asked, looking into my eyes. "I haven't," I said. "But I haven't spent a lot of time around them." "Speaking of games," Keisha said, "do you want to drive your Mistress crazy?" "Always," I said. And she leaned forward and kissed me. She tasted like cherries. She pushed into me harder., rubbing my breasts. Through two skirts, and two pairs of panties, I could feel her erection. Evidently, not all sissies had small cocks. "Oh, my," I said. "Sissy sex is the best sex you can have," Keisha said. "Both parties are so willing to please. They're both so oral, so anal. The lingerie feels great when you rub against each other. And the next morning, you can clean the apartment together." I smiled. She had a soft Afro framing her face, and you could get lost in her eyes. I could feel my fake breasts melt into hers. As if she knew what I was thinking, she smiled. "Mine are real," she said. "I grew them myself." "Mine aren't," I said. "Not yet." "I have a doctor I like. You want his name?" I paused, then I nodded. "I'd like that," she said. She kissed me again. I looked around, and Chet and Zoe had vanished. I was by myself at the bar with no way home. "Keisha," I said. "Where do sissies go when they want to be alone?" "My house," she said. "But you may have to take care of Marcus, too. He likes his sissy boys." I smiled. "Then I like Marcus. Take me home, Keisha." And she did. We had a tender, warm night. We could not stop touching each other, kissing each other. Sure, I sucked off Marcus. Hell, he was the man of the house. Why wouldn't I suck him off? But most of the night was spent with Keisha, touching, caressing, feeling. Fucking. We developed pet names for each other. To me, she was "K-bomb." To her, I was "the white bitch." When she rode my face, itworked for us both. * * I got home the next morning at about 10:00. I had blown off breakfast, so I was certain that Mistress Luna would be angry. But she wasn't. She and Chet were lounging on the couch, and they both grinned when I stumbled through the door. "Look at this. The sissy returns!" Zoe said. "What is that? A glow? Is there a light bulb on in your head," Chet teased. "I had a nice time," I said. "Keisha is very sweet." "Keisha, is it?" Zoe said. "Is my sissy sweet on another sissy?" "I'm offended," Chet said. "The maid made it with another maid." I grinned. "You created me," I said to Zoe. "You know, Dr. Frankenstein made the same mistake. He bolted some boobs on a cadaver, and suddenly, the world had ... Frankensissy." "You're funny," I said. "And you're late. Get to work, bitch. Before I bring out the paddle." And so I started to clean. It felt natural, as if the world was in order. It took me hours to mop, to vacuum, to iron. But I never complained. I just worked. It was who I had become. Finally, that evening, I looked at Zoe. "You know, our three months is up next week," I said. "I know. You won. You won your dresses and your makeup, your cage and your heels. When you get your boobs, those will be part of your winnings, too. Proud of yourself?" "Of course I am," I said. Zoe looked at me. She smiled again. "Now that the game will be over, do you have one in mind?" "Kind of," I said. "Tell me," Zoe said grinning. "Let's see. In this game, I'll be your sissy for three months. You'll be the Mistress. We'll call you Mistress Luna. And I'll get to fuck you and Chet and Keisha and her boyfriend Marcus. And anyone else you decide." "That game sounds familiar," Zoe said laughing. "It's pretty much like this one," I said, "except you use your vibrator on my ass a little more." "I think I'll accept the challenge," Zoe said. "Then play on," I said. "The game is afoot." "Oh, I don't think Chet's dick is a foot. It can't be more than nine inches." "Then we'll just have to make do." Copyright (c) 2019 by Cassandra Morgan