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Bull By Cassandra Morgan The walk of anticipation is a slow one. I moved nervously across the crowded bars, and I felt the eyes of the voyeurs follow my every stop. Someone was trying to get lucky tonight. The man with the blue eyes watched as I approached him. He was nursing a dark drink, and his tie was loose around his neck. He was wearing a light blue shirt and a dark blue blazer that contrasted with his light blond hair. He had some sort of class ring around his right hand. His left hand was beating time with the music of the bar. I walked up to his table and stood there. He turned his face and looked up at me. A small smile creased his lips. "Can I join you?" I asked. "Free country," he shrugged, and straightened in his seat. "Thanks," I said, sitting. "You want a drink?" "I'll have a refill if you're buying. Jack and Coke." I signaled the waitress. She looked at me, then at him. She smiled knowingly. "And you, sir?" "A rum runner," I said. "You know how to make one of those?" "Yes, sir. It's very popular here at Bootleg." I turned to the blond man. "I'm Andy," I said. "Andy Simpson." "Tuck," he said. "Mike Tucker, but everyone calls me Tuck. Should I be giving you my real name?" He laughed. I shrugged. "Why not?" I said. "You might be insane," he said. "You might have an ice-pick in your pocket." I laughed. "No, I'm harmless," I said. "That's what the harmful ones say," he said. "Nasty rain we've been having," I said, changing the subject. "The weather? We're going to talk about the weather." "Sorry. This is kind of ... awkward for me." "I'd have thought you'd be used to it by now. You guys usually are pretty cool about it." "You guys?" "The Rainbow Boys. Gay guys. Hey, I don't have anything against you guys. I'm just not gay. Sorry." "No...no," I said. "I'm not gay either." Tuck looked a little surprised when I said that. He took a sip of his drink. "So you're not here to suck my dick," he asked. "Oh, hell no," I said. "I'm sorry. What gave you that impression." "Well, a guy approaches you in a bar and buys you a drink. What are you supposed to think? I'll bet the waitress thinks you're gay." I shook my head. "A lot of waitresses think I'm gay. It comes with being short." "Sure you aren't? I mean, you ever try it?" "No, Tuck. I never have. I'm married." "A lot of gay men are married, Andy," he said. "I've been hit on by a lot of men who had wedding rings." "That doesn't bother you?" "Hey, my sex appeal is universal," Tuck said. "It's a compliment, in a way. I had a college roommate who was gay. He made a pass or two at me. Just not my thing, you know?" "I know," I said, nodding The waitress was back. She put our drinks in front of us. "The man's drink for you," she said, sliding the Jack and Coke in front of Tuck. "And this...concoction...for you," she said, putting the frozen drink in front of me. She started to leave, then turned. "You two look sweet together," she said. I blushed. "The manager has a cot in his office. You two could go there if you want. It's okay." "No thank you," Tuck said. "I think I'll take the wife home and put her to bed. She can finish her Kool-Aid." The waitress giggled. "Stay safe you two," she said. "Love is beautiful in any form." She walked away. I turned to Tuck. "Why did you do that?" I said. "Just a laugh," he said. "She'll go home and tell her boyfriend about the two fags she waited on, and he'll get all excited thinking about it. What's the harm?" "I wouldn't want to be the wife," I said meekly. "Of course not," he said, rolling his eyes. "If you were the wife you'd be pregnant by the morning." We sat quietly for a couple of minutes. "So if you aren't here to play with my Johnson, why are you here?" Tuck asked. "You see that blonde woman at the bar? The one in the red dress?" "Yeah, I noticed her earlier. She's gorgeous." "That's Megan," I said. "Meg. My wife." "Wow. I wouldn't have figured that. You're playing above your weight. What about her?" I exhaled slowly. My temples started to throb. "She thinks you're very attractive," I said. "She sent me over to ask if you'd join us." * * No matter what you think, cuckolding does not start with the genitals. It does not start in the bedroom. It does not start with the lips. Not even with the proposition. It starts with the brain. It enters your mind as a small thought, maybe a curiosity, and it grows. It starts with a wife who turns from friendly to flirtatious. It starts with acceptance, and it graduates into desire. It goes from thoughts to casual conversations about handsome actors or rock stars. It turns into a forest fire and a wife who suggests that a neighbor is attractive or a friend is funny or a co-worker is sexy. It grows from an idle thought to a screaming headline in your mind. At least, that's the way it was for Meg and I. She was always funny, always the life of the party. And she liked sex. She had a way of touching men on the arm as she talked to them. She had freckles and a loud, bawdy laugh. And there were times when I wondered if she was interested in this guy or that one. The idea of it drove me crazy. And, yes, it aroused me. The mental image of another man on top of her was soon branded in my head, long before it should have been. "Andy, what do you think about adultery?" she asked one night when we were in the living room reading. "It's a sin," I said. "But should it be? I mean, if two people are attracted to each other, should it wreck a marriage if they play together?" "In this society? I'm sure a lot of couples have a situation where one of them strays. But it's still wrong." "Who's to say what's right or wrong. Andy, if you had an affair, I wouldn't leave you." "I guess that's good to know." She looked at me. She pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Would you leave me if I had an affair?" The air left my lungs. Was Meg thinking about fooling around? Was I inadequate? Was there more to this conversation than just passing the time? "Well, that's a hard question, Meg," I said. "I suppose it matters why. And with whom. And how we were doing at the time." "All things being good, though," she said. "If you and I still cared about each other, and we were happy, but I went to bed with someone else, would that destroy us?" I wondered what she was getting to. Did she want to have an affair? Hell, was she having an affair? With whom? "It wouldn't necessarily destroy us, Meg," I said. "I'd try not to let it affect our marriage. Are we talking about one time, a fling? Or are we talking about an affair?" "I haven't decided," she said. "I just think it's time for an adventure." "You're ... you're thinking about this?" I whispered, unable to find the proper volume for my voice, my tone alone would not tell her of the betrayal I felt. She sighed. "I've thought about it," she said. "It wouldn't affect us, baby. We're good. But sex is just sex. People make way too big a deal over it. Why should what happens between me and someone else affect you? A mare can breed with a dozen stallions, and it doesn't change anything. It's just an expanded hug, you know?" "Who is he?" I asked. "He is no one in particular. He is Jamie at my office. He is Ricky, your best friend. He is Jonah, the Fed-Ex guy. He is the guy who played Thor in the movies. My mind kind of wanders," "Ricky?" "Yeah, he's cute," she laughed. "Sue me." "You want all of these guys at once?" "God, no," she said. "I"m not a whore. I just think about all of them at one time or another. But in my mind, the faces change. I'm sorry. Do you hate me?" "I don't hate you. I could never hate you." "Andy, this is my nature, okay? If we don't do this, I know me. I'll have an affair. Maybe two. Maybe you'll find out. Maybe you'll be angry. Maybe we won't get over it. It's better if we're out in the open." I nodded. "So what do you feel, Andy?" she said. I bit my lip. "I find the idea scary," I said. "And erotic. I feel angry. And excited. I feel betrayed. And I want to see it. I want to punch Ricky in the mouth. And I want to see you kiss him. I'm worried. I'm, well, erect." "Why are you worried baby?" "I'm worried you'll like a new guy more than me. I'm worried I'll feel inadequate. I'm worried you'll fall in love. I'm worried you'll divorce me. I'm worried about STDs. I'm worried you'll get pregnant and it won't be mine." "I understand all of that, Andy. Personally, I'm relieved we're talking about it. I'm eager to take the next step. I'm horny, I guess. I'm filled with love for you. And I'm filled with a sense of adventure of trying something different in our love lives. I think if we communicate, if we're honest about what we're feeling, that this will be good for both of us. I'll always think about your needs. I just want you to think about mine." "It's... risky," I said. "Opening a door is risky," she said. "Crossing a street is risky. But, Andy, I slept with other people before we were married. So did we build a wall when we got married? I think we can be happy even if I enjoy other people." "I don't want anyone else," I said. She nodded. "Then it'll just be me. But you have to decide how active you want to be in this. Do you want to know the guy? Do you want me to go to a hotel? Do you want to be a part of it or keep your distance." I paused. This was moving way too fast. "I wouldn't feel right about keeping a distance," I said. "I want you to be safe. You can do it here if you want, I guess. I'll be nice." She smiled. "I know you will. It's in your nature." "Meg?" I said, joking. "Should I buy a gun?" "If you want, Andy. Buy a big fucking gun. And bullets. Don't forget bullets." She laughed. I managed to smile myself. But inside, my stomach was in a blender. * * And so the search began. Meg began to notice waiters, salesmen, even the pizza delivery guys, more than usual. Or perhaps, maybe I just noticed her as she noticed them. She approached Jonah at work, a tall, 40-something black man. But he declined, saying that he was faithful to his wife. I asked Ricky, but Ricky made a face. "Not with my best friend's wife,"he said. She flirted with Edwin, who worked at Best Buy. He seemed eager, but he was only a teenager. Upon further consideration, Meg said no. There was a Susan, Meg's best friend. Meg asked her bluntly one day if she would be her paramour, even though that would alter the rules somewhat. But Susan didn't want to have a lesbian fling. Instead, she suggested they swap spouses, but Meg didn't want me to sleep with anyone else. I know, it sounds hypocritical, but after alI, these were her rules. Then we saw him. Tuck. We were at Digby's, which isn't a fancy bar. He was sitting by himself, in a corner table, and it seemed that he had come straight from work to relax. "Ask him for me," Meg said. "Go ask that man if he'll fuck your wife." "You're nuts," I said. "If you want to fuck around, you could at least send out your own invitations.' "Everyone's looking. I'll die. You go over there and invite him to our table." "Meg, this is your thing." "Well, if you help, it's kind of your thing, too. I need you to screen him for me. To make sure he isn't a woman-beater or a serial killer. Please." "Meg. Do you really want me to ask a total stranger if he'll fuck my wife. Is that what you're saying." "If you really loved me, you'd ask him to fuck me." "Do you realize how stupid that sounds?" "Come on. You're just two guys talking in a bar. I'll watch while you talk. Really. He seems nice enough." And so I got up and began to wade across the bar, through the chairs, past the other customers. I felt exposed, as if everyone in the place knew I was pimping for my wife. Was this the man for her? He seemed tall, but he was sitting down. He had good teeth. There was a small scar on his chin. Could I see him having sex with the woman I loved? What did he look like out of that sports coat? Did he have a large cock? Did he know how to use it? Oh, my God. I was really doing this. I stood at his table and asked to join him. I was erect. Did he notice that? Did he see Meg and I come in together. Moments later, Meg joined us. She took over the conversation, laughing and flirting. I had opened the door, but she had rushed inside. I sat there dazed, the essential third wheel. "Tuck," she said. "How does a girl get your attention?" "Dance with me." "Silly," Meg said. "No one else is dancing." "You and I will be Don't you think it's sexy when a couple dances in a bar that usually isn't meant for dancing? When everyone stares and just knows you're going to have sex later on? On the otheer hand, if we dance, I'll flirt, and when I flirt, you'll shoot me down and then I'll cry myself to sleep." Meg laughed. "I won't shoot you down," she said. He reached out and covered her hand with his. He led her to the jukebox. He took her in his arms, and slowly, they began to sway. Dancing is always a metaphor for sex. And I sat there, alone, a million miles away from them, watching their bodies move together, imagining the steps to come. This was hard. To tell the truth, so was I. * * Tuck followed us home. I guess that means that Meg wanted to keep him. We sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. I was having the hardest time looking Tuck in the eye. Meg wasn't. She had the eyes of a predator, hungry, glistening eyes, raw. desperate eyes. The air seemed thick to me with anticipation, but Meg didn't seem frazzled at all. "Are we going to have an affair, Tuck?" Meg asked, bluntly. "Ha," Tuck said, looking nervously at me. "Are we?" "I think we are. Several times. I'm attracted to you. I think you're attracted to me. Don't mind Andy here. He knows. We've been looking for the right man for me. I like sex. I'd like sex with you." "Just me?" Tuck said. "I don't want a threesome. I don't want Andy to be an equal partner. I'm the alpha here." He looked at me, as if expecting a challenge. "I'm the man." "He won't be a problem. He'll just watch." "Okay. Let's set some ground rules. No one says the word "love." No one hurts anyone else physically. We meet once a week. Friday, let's say. Other times have to be agreed upon by you and me. Sorry, Andy. You don't get a vote." I nodded. "No fourth parties unless everyone agrees," Meg said. "You wear a condom all the time. If Tuck is staying over, Andy, you sleep in the guest bedroom after you watch. No drugs. No bondage. No peeing on each other." I nodded again. I felt like I was Moses learning the New Ten Commandments. With that, Meg stood. She reached out and took Tuck by the hand. She led him toward the stairway, then up, then into our bedroom. Meekly, I followed. They slowly undressed each other. She was shorter than him, and she kept reaching up and placing her palm on his chest. He kissed her, and something inside me screamed. He kissed her again, then looked at me and smiled. "Do you like watching, Ricky?" he said. "Do you want to see her, or do you want to see me? Are you excited? Are you scared?" Of course I was. I watched as they lay on the bed, touching each other as if they were at a petting zoo, caressing, stroking. They didn't go straight for the fun parts. She touched the small of his back. He touched the back of her knee. She kissed his belly button. He kissed the back of her thighs. I watched, transfixed by the erotic beauty. They were a piece of art. They were Gods and Goddesses. He had a flat stomach and a large, thick penis, defined muscles and a small patch of hair on his chest. She mashed her breasts into his chest.She softly bit his neck, and I find myself doubting that she had ever been that frisky with me. Any feeling of jealousy or betrayal had vanished. The woman I love was feeling something glorious, and I was swept up in the moment. I knelt at the foot of the bed, hard, anticipating the moment when he entered her. Then she giggled. She reached down and grabbed something from the floor. "These are for you," she said, tossing me her panties. "Put them for me." "Why?" "Because I told you to." The phrase, she would tell me later, was 'sissy cuckold.' "It's a real thing," she said. "It makes the husband a part of it all. It gives him a role to play. He's the bull. She's the queen. And the cuckold is the sissy." "I don't ... " "Shush," she said. "Put your panties on and then go into the closet. I want you to watch us through the keyhole. I want you to be a peeper." I did. I pulled her damp red panties up my legs, and I closed the closet and felt the darkness. I looked through the keyhole as he made long, sweet love to her. And I rubbed myself through my panties, feeling my erection. Part of me felt low as hell itself, but part of me was above the clouds. A mixture of feelings poured though me. The two of them were amazing. I felt love, and joy, and completeness. I felt empty, and alone, and jealous. I felt aroused, and tantalized, and entranced. When Tuck entered her, I could not see it from where I was. But in my mind, I saw it. I saw his penis slide into her, again and again, filling her, satisfying her. As I watched, Meg moaned. I moaned, too. In a way, it was almost as good as if we were having sex together. * * The next morning, as we shared our coffee and our shame, our bond and our shared newness, only Meg was speaking. Tuck was quiet, observing. I was dazed, embarrassed. "I loved the part where Andy became a sissy," Meg was saying. "That completed the circle for me. Well, the triangle. It gave each of us a purpose. I think we'll keep doing that." "I don't think..." I started. "Be quiet, Andy," she said. "Or should I say Annie. Sissy Annie. From now on, Sissy Annie, you will wear panties whenever Tuck is in the house. He's the man here. I don't think anyone could argue with that after last night. Tuck, you refer to her as Annie, or as Sissy Annie." "I like it," Tuck said, grinning. "We'll make her a sissy, a flamboyant one. I say that every day for the next month, we take Annie another step toward being a a panty boy. What do you think?" "I think that's a marvelous idea," Annie chuckled. "Don't you, Sissy?" "No, I ... " "Oh, come on, Annie. This is all for you. It will enhance your immersion into our new lives. Tell me. Did you like wearing my panties?" "They were okay," I said weakly. "Did you take them off? All night?" "No," I said. "Because you liked them. And it's okay. A lot of sissy cuckolds do. It shows their commitment to their master and mistress. No matter what you see, you'll always know that you're in panties, and it will complete you." Master and mistress? "I'll be honest, Annie," she said. "I liked it. I liked all of it. I liked Tuck inside of me, and I liked knowing you were in the closet watching, wearing panties and a bra." "I wasn't wearing a bra...' I said. "Well, you will be as of today," she said, giggling "This is going to be so much fun. You'll like it, too, Annie. Trust me. Do you trust me?" "Yes," I said. "I trust you." Meg sat on Tuck's lap. "How about you, big boy. You trust me?" "Of course I do." "Then trust me on this: I'm about to fuck your brains out." She kissed him deeply. This time, as I watched them, I felt pride. * * Later that day, Meg handed me a package. Inside it were three bras - white, pink and black - to wear in the coming days. She filled them with tissue, then stood back and looked at me. I felt awkward. I was wearing panties and bra, nothing else, when Tuck came though the door. He laughed at the sight of me. "I told you, Meg," he said. "The first time I saw Annie, I thought she was gay. I thought she was trying to pick me up." "Well, maybe she will, yet," Meg cackled. "Now call her a sissy." Tuck looked at me, still grinning. "You're a sissy, Andy." "Annie." "You're a sissy, Annie," he said. "A real pussy." "You're a fag," Meg coaxed him. "You're a fag." "You would love a dick on your tongue." By now, Tuck was laughing so hard he couldn't get out the worlds. But I got the message. "Say it, Sissy," Meg would say. "I belong to Mistress and Master. I'm a Sissy. I always want to wear dresses. I want to curtsy and have the neighbors see me." I mumbled my responses. But she never let up on me. Over the next few weeks, she left Male Maid magazines around the house. She had me answer the door in my panties. She was always in a good mood about it, and she never followed through on her threats to spank me, but the pressure did not ease. "Why?" I finally said. "Why what, Sissy," she said. "Why...this," I said. "I've given everything. I found you a boyfriend. I surrendered my bed." "You did what you were expected to do, Annie," she said. "First of all, I like the idea of a sissy. I like the idea of this feminine creature mincing about my house and watching me with a man. A real man. Second of all, you were always a submissive. Admit it. You let me have my way all the time. "I know this is all new to you, Annie," she said. "But it's part of the thrill. Women's clothing will remind you of our status in our marriage. It'll turn you on. It'll make sugar sweeter, if you know what I mean. I'll tell you what. Give me three months, 12 Fridays, and if you don't like it, we'll stop. The gifts, the sissy treatment, everything." I opened my mouth. Then I closed it again. "Deal," Meg said, even though I hadn't agreed. "Now, who knows what time it is? She looked at me. "Annie," she said. "It's closet time." * * In those days, they were like zoo animals. They could not get enough of each other. They made love constantly, grinding against each other in sheer delight. They had no modesty, no shame. They were thrown out of the Outback for having sex in the bathroom. I would walk in on them in the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom. Meanwhile, my wardrobe grew. Next came the hose, several pairs of them. Then the heels. Then a pair of premier breast forms. After that came more heels. And two wigs, a blond and. brunette. There were tons of panties and bras and heels and lipsticks and earrings and hose and girdles. During the first awkward steps, I learned this: Being a sissy, a proper one, is more than about the clothes. It's about attitude, and demeanor. It's about the way you carry yourself, and the way you talk to your mistress and master, and the way you walk, and the way you present yourself. It's about acceptance. It's about submission. Also, those little purple pills helped. They were Premarin. Hell, I knew that they were female hormones. There was no deceit, no grinding them up in my orange juice. Meg simply told me that I was going to start taking them, so I did. I always did what she told me to do. Meg kept instructing me, always gently, always supportively. At the same time, she wouldn't allow any retreat. This was our lives now, her with her new boyfriend, me with my new role. She was getting more and more sex, and I was getting less and less (even on the nights when Tuck didn't come over). Yet, somehow, we became used to the routine. "Did you always think you were a sissy, Annie?" Meg asked one day. "I do. I think it was in you all the time. You were just waiting to kneel, to do the ironing, to curtsey. You always wanted to put on lipstick and high heels." I stood there, thinking that maybe she was right. Hell, she was always right. I felt shame in wearing the clothes, and shame in not fighting it harder. Was this a buried desire in me? Did it make my status as a cuckold more erotic? Did peering out of that closet keyhole help make me more and more feminine? Was it watching another man make love better to my wife than I ever had? Was it a combination of both? I had no answers. I just had lingerie. For years, I had been a schoolteacher. But the more immersed I got into subservience, the less likely I was to go back. I would spend my days learning to cook, trying new recipes. I would clean, well, because that's what Meg expected me to do. And I would watch from my closet, kneeling and peeping, as they satisfied each other. In some ways, we had never been closer. We had Tuck to talk about, and we looked through wedding magazines, and we cut out pictures of shoes we liked and put them on the kitchen bulletin board. When I got my heels, I tried hard to learn to walk properly. Three months came and went, and I never said a word about going back. My accessories kept coming. Lipstick one week. A wig the next. Earrings. A corset. And so it went. You can count the passage of time with a watch, or with a calendar. Hell, you can count sunrises. Me? I measured time by what was hanging n my closet. The more colors that hung in there, the better. A necklace, then higher heels, then fingernail polish, then eye makeup. But it was the start of the third week that I more or less graduated. On the Friday night that Tuck came over, he and Meg gave me a silver- wrapped gift box. As I peeked inside, there was black fabric. I pulled it out of the box. It was a short satin dress with white piping. There were fluffy petticoats in the box. If you've ever lived through Halloween, you would recognize it as a maid's outfit. A man can put on panties for playtime, and no one will think twice. He can wear a bra, and maybe it's for a party. But there was nothing like that maid's dress - black with white piping - that screamed subservience. In that dress, my role was established. I had been demoted to servant. I stepped into the dress. Meg zipped me up, then spun me and clapped her hands together. I had never felt more feminine than at that moment. In one of life's metaphors, I came out of the closet. Tuck wanted them both captured on video, so he bought a small hand-held camera, and I filmed them as they made love. It was my job to capture it as he entered her from the rear, or as she straddled his face. It no longer felt wrong to me. It was just ... us. One night, when they had exhausted each other carnally, Meg spread her legs in front of me. I stared at her adoringly. "Annie," she whispered. "I'm all sticky. Will you lick me?" "But ... but there is sperm..." "It's just your Master's juices, Sissy," she said. "Sissy maids clean their ladies. I've read that. It's just part of your job, like cleaning the toilet or ironing my shirts. Come on, girl. Don't dally." And so that became part of the routine, liking that sticky, salty deposit, tasting it, feeling the humiliation as I lapped. Then, after an afternoon of sex, Tuck rolled over until his cock was right in front of my face. "I'll have a little of that, Annie," he said. "I'm..I'm not gay." "Is this the time for labels, Sissy?" Meg said. "Just think of it as a cleanup on aisle four." She gently nudged my head in Tuck's direction. I inhaled. There was no way around this, was there? So I gave it a quick kiss, a peck, really. He laughed, then said "Like you mean it, Annie." Then it was in my mouth, filling it. It was heavy on my tongue, warm. Then he started pumping. My mouth filled with saliva, and when I swallowed it, I made a sucking sound. Tuck swore. Meg laughed. "Annie is a cocksucker," Meg said gleefully. "Look at her go." "Get the camera," Tuck moaned. Meg clambered to the foot of the bed, where I had left the camcorder. She was suddenly a Hollywood director, telling me when to deep throat, when to lick his testicles. Here's the thing. Once you adjust to the idea of it, it isn't horrible. It's just another demeaning act in a series of them. It, too, became routine. They would screw, and I would clean them up. Meanwhile, the gifts kept coming. In the fifth month, I received a coupon for a makeover at Betty's Salon. Now that my hair was longer, I got a set of rollers for home care. I got two packets of dye, platinum blonde for my hair and pink for my highlights. I got a set of girdles. On one monthly anniversary, I received a small, menacing looking contraption. "It's your chastity cage!" Megan said, clapping. "You'll love it." No, I wouldn't. I got a butt plug. I got a penis gag. I got a collar and leash. By now, Tuck was not only staying on Friday but for the whole weekend. He would often come by on Tuesday or Wednesday, too. It felt normal to fetch him drinks as Meg lay in his arms on the couch. I had stopped thinking he was the third party to our marriage; I was the third party now. I was the domestic. I guess it beat being a slave. * * It was two days later, on a Wednesday, when Tuck stayed over. I arose early to make Mistress Meg breakfast, and I was cleaning up the dishes when Tuck walked into the kitchen. "Good morning, Annie," he said brightly. I mumbled a greeting. "What? You mad at me?" he said. "I'm not allowed to be mad, sir," I said. "I'm just busy." "Pour me a cup of coffee, please," he said. "And sit with me for a minute." "SIr, I don't think that would be appropriate." So I sat, nervous, feeling awkward in his gaze. "Annie, do you like this? I mean, you seem to have taken to it," he said. "Sir? I like it just fine." "Be honest, Annie. Please." "I....I mostly like it, Sir," I said. "At first, it was exciting to wear the clothes and play the role. But I guess I was meant for this, you know. My submissiveness is part of me. I guess it always has been." He nodded. "Go on," he said. "You're right. I took to it far too quickly, too easily. I should have fought it harder." "You would have lost," he said with a gentle smile. "You're Annie. That isn't going to change, is it?" "I ... I haven't thought of that." He looked at me, as if undecided whether to ask. Then he did. "Annie, did you like sucking my dick?" I blushed. "I shouldn't say, Sir." "You were good at it," he said. "Better than Meg, even.She tries, but she hates the taste when I come in her mouth. I want to compliment you." "Um, thanks. I guess." "What's the matter, Annie?" "Sir, when I was young, the worst thing you could say about a boy was that he was gay, that he sucked dicks. I fought that my whole life. But it's true. I'm a cocksucker. I guess I always was." "It's okay, Annie. People are different. I'm different. Meg is different." "Meg is wonderful," I said. "She is," he agreed. "She just happens to like sex. That doesn't make her evil. She likes to be charge. That doesn't make her mean. We all have facets of our personalities." "Yes. We all wear masks, don't we?" I said. "We do," he agreed. "Speaking of which, why couldn't anyone tell that Clark Kent was Superman? Because he wore glasses? That's just stupid." I laughed. "I think it's cause he looked so good in tights." Tuck laughed. He was easy company when it was just the two of us. We began to have coffee regularly. We would talk about movies or about music or about the sale at Macy's. I was always the maid -- there was no forgetting that -- but he was a nice man. If anyone had to fuck my wife, I'm glad it was him. * * * As for Meg, she was suddenly the neighborhood hostess. She would invite Nelly from across the street, and the Olsens from down the block. She would bring co-workers home, and introduce them first to Tuck, her boyfriend, and later to me, her maid. At first, I was devastated when strangers started to see her as his. But that became routine, too. The jokes stopped, and the scorn for me eased off. I was merely Annie, the girl in the background. I worked for Tuck and Meg, the power couple. Oh, people knew. We had been popular neighbors. But it's amazing how quickly you adjust to a man in lipstick. I was the background girl, emerging from the shadows to refill a drink or to serve appetizers. My former friends accepted me as a maid. I accepted me, too. Even the gifts changed. Instead of provocative outfits, I got cleaning supplies. A new vacuum. Another iron. Rubber clothes and Clorox for the toilet. Cookbooks. I had read that this had happened to other men, men with dominant wives, men with unique quirks. But a sissy's life can be a lonely one. There was no support group for me. I didn't go to the bars anymore. My friends never came around.Those morning talks with Tuck were my lifeline. Besides that, I just cleaned. And watched Meg make love to Tuck. * * I was ironing one Sunday afternoon when Tuck showed up. Meg wasn't with him, which was unusual. "Hello, sir," I said. "Hey, Annie," Tuck said, sitting in the lounger. He sounded depressed. "What's the matter, Sir?" I said, genuinely caring. "It's ... it's Meg," he said. I looked at him. "I think she's cheating on us?" he said. I almost laughed. She had been sleeping around on me with Tuck for weeks by now. And he was complaining that she was cheating on us? "I'm sure she's not," I said. "She loves you, Tuck." "Poor, naive Annie," he said, shaking his head. "You're so trusting. But Meg is a sex addict, Annie. She's been screwing Larry West from her office. I ... I found a used condom in her purse." "I'm sure she can explain," I said. "Yeah. She's tired of me. She has needs. It's just sex. Meg has a lot of explanations. It comes down to her playing with Larry's dick. She'd fuck a cactus if it was available. I swear, if she wants me to turn into some kind of sissy faggot like you, I'm out of here." "Is...is that how you see me, Tuck? I mean ... Master Tuck." "I see you as my best friend, Annie. I see you as shelter from the storm. I think you're the best person in this house. You're the only person who makes sense here." Who doesn't like being complimented? Tuck seemed to appreciate me. More and more, Meg took me for granted. But this was nice to hear. Tuck walked up. He looked down into my eyes. "You know I really like you, Annie," he said. "Sir...I like you, too. Thank you." "No," he said. "I mean, I really like you. I think you're pretty." He cupped my chin. He leaned down, and I felt his breath on my neck. Softly, his lips grazed mine. "I'm so alone," he said. Then he was kissing me harder, and his hand was on my growing breast. I could feel his penis get harder. "We ... shouldn't," I said. "Not while Mistress isn't here." "Touch it," he said, ignoring me. "Just touch it for a little while." Tuck's penis was thick and erect. Before I could stop myself, I was rubbing it through his pants. I fondled it for a while, the lust and shame coursing through me. Then we were on the floor, and he was on top of me. I had admired his body for a long time, but feeling it was electric. He pushed me downward, and I kissed his shoulder, his chest, his stomach. Then his cock was in my mouth, with my hand still gripping the base. There was no resistance from me, not this time. If he had had three cocks, I would have sucked them all. Twice. * * It's a stunning thing, cheating with the man who was allowing your wife to cheat on you. But Tuck started coming around when Meg was at work - or, I imagine, with Larry. We went from Master and maid to sweethearts. Tuck was the first person to ever peg me. One day, when we were in bed, he rolled me over, and he tugged down my panties, and he rubbed his dick against my butt. Then he spread my cheeks, and I felt a quick burn, and he was riding me. And it was sweet. God, Tuck was magnificent. Why Meg would cheat on him was beyond me. I loved lying in his arms. I loved making love to him. I loved waking him up with a soft blow job. Call me gay; I don't care. It's funny. I remembered the jealousy I felt the first time Tuck had kissed Meg. Now, I felt the same sensation when Meg kissed Tuck. I still thought Meg was gorgeous, but my affections were for that sweet man, her second cuckold. One night, as they were having dinner, and I was pouring drinks, Tuck turned to Meg. "You're having an affair, aren't you?" he said. "Well, I ... Yes, I'm having an affair. Satisfied?" "More than you know," Tuck grinned. "It's just sex, Tuck. Same as with you and me. I'm just scratching an itch. Brian makes me feel something new." "Brian? I thought it was Larry." "Larry is ... over," Meg said. "Brian is my new ... partner." "I've found someone else, too. I think I love her." "Let me guess. Lilly? Mary Jane?" Tuck shook his head. "It's Annie," he said. "Annie? The maid? What a fucking cliche. You're fucking the maid? You're fucking the male maid? Do you guys lay around and suck each other's dicks?" "We make each other happy," Tuck said. "And you ... you whore!" Meg suddenly raged at me. "Who the fuck are you to steal my man." "I used to be your man," I said. "You were never a real man. You were just sniffing after my men. You fucking homo." "I'm not afraid of your labels, Meg," I said. "You will be. You're the fucking maid here, and you're going to stay the maid." "No," Tuck said, "she isn't. She's coming home with me. She's mine now." Meg sputtered. "Then take her. See if I care. You two go and get married. Have children. Get a sex-change operation. I'm done with both of you. Just leave." And I did. The lawyers would have to split up the assets - most of them were Meg's. But I would get to wake up every morning with Tuck. Gee. I wonder what his name rhymes with? Copyright (c) Cassandra Morgan 2020