The Honor Of Serving My Country - Duty Calls And Booty Calls free porn video

The Honor Of Serving My Country - Duty Calls And Booty Calls By Katharine Sexkitten It was a cold, grey morning outside, the day they unwrapped me. Looking down slowly, after weeks of nervous anticipation, almost dreading what I'd see, I couldn't help myself. My emotions got the best of me and I lost it, crying. Great bubbling tears and sobs wracked me, my eyes instantly so filled with liquid that my own vision of myself was distorted, seeing everything rounded and wavy, like looking at something from underwater. The others in the room mistook my reaction. In between my sobs, I could hear a murmuring of sounds, different people saying different things, to each other, in hushed and whispered and worried words. I heard Smoker's voice, with a defensive tone. "But he asked for tits that big!" The next thing I knew, my Colonel was standing in front of me, our bodies almost touching, his heat and energy surrounding me again, like a comfort blanket. "Jennifer," he said, his voice soft and low and hushed, with the deep resonance of a barrel-sized chest underneath, "tell me what you're thinking." I looked up at him, as ribbons of tears ran down my cheeks, and admired his kindness, his capacity to be gentle, and his genuine concern for me. This man, who'd fucked me better and deeper than any other man, the man who'd convinced me to join the Army and become the best a man like me could be, the man who'd opened up my life and my future and who had given me the chance to determine my own destiny while serving my country, dressed in the uniform that he made look so distinguished, a man and a uniform worth honoring, beaming down his love for me, the man who couldn't imagine how much I had fallen for him. I tried to speak, but nothing came out, which confused me. An unfamiliar voice spoke up to me, and told me to not try too hard at first, that things would be tender and sore in my throat, from the surgery. I swallowed and hummed a little bit, to make any sound at all, and then I said the one thought that dominated me, looking up at him, wonder in my eyes. "I'm beautiful!" My voice was barely-there and yet softer and huskier than I remembered it, and my words were filled with surprise, and delight, and awe, and joy. I heard sighs of relief from all around us. My Colonel smiled, and then beamed, and blew out a chest-full of air. "You had us worried there for a few moments, Corporal." He stepped back, and held out his hands, palms up, which I took to be an invitation, so I slowly put my hands in his, and he spread his arms, spreading mine, and looked me up and down, as I stood in the hospital room, with a small crowd of people gathered around us. I was completely naked. My hair had grown, and was longer and silkier than the last time I'd gazed upon myself in a mirror, the morning of the first procedure, some six weeks ago. After all the operations, to avoid long-term trauma, I was placed in a light medically-induced coma, and my body was allowed almost four weeks to heal. They brought me back to reality slowly, a little bit at a time, and the last two weeks of my memory were spotty, if at all. Splotches of images, random eye-openings for the first few days, and then slow and steady rising awareness of the last few. The medical staff wouldn't let me see a reflection of myself, to avoid any emotional turmoil from a patient seeing themselves before they're fully healed, and fully changed. Even when they were taking me for walks, slow and lumbering at first, amazing new weight on both my chest and my hips, as I gained strength, they took great pains to ensure I didn't see anything, including facial reactions from others. The hallways were always cleared, when I walked. The last three days they'd slipped towering high-heeled shoes on me. The effect, on my calves and thighs and hips and buttocks, was staggering. Probably because of the hip enhancement procedure, I was suddenly using my musculature differently, muscles and tendons and ligaments having new and daring requirements and challenges. My first dozen or so steps were tenuous, that first walk with heels, but after that, I took to swaying motions and slithery-sleek thigh rustles, and it all boded well for things to come. Today was the reveal. All the stakeholders were in the room. Doctors, nurses, therapists, Smoker, Non-smoker. Army people. My Colonel. At the back of the room, by the door, standing guard as always, was Sergeant Rypier. He had a grin about a mile wide. Releasing my right hand, my Colonel used his other hand to slowly spin me around, like a romantic man would spin his feminine partner in a waltz, or a professional ballet dancer would help in a pirouette, which allowed everyone to see all of me. From my hair, to my face, which, when I spun to the first of several tall mirrors set up for me, looked like me, and yet different, like a better me. It hit me that they'd been subtle in the cheekbone enhancement, giving me a much prettier visage with just a tiny change. My lips were enhanced, it seemed to me, and I remembered that every recruit on their first day was told that successful candidates would get bigger lips no matter which direction on the Sissy Spectrum they chose. They'd been subtle with that too. My lips were bigger, and plumper, and just screamed out the word 'kissable', but not grotesquely so, like you see on some women who've just had too much filler, who looked like clowns. I couldn't have been happier! My neck was smooth, no sign of a lump or a scar. My tanned shoulders seemed more rounded than before, more gentle, and then the expanse of my new bosom came into my view, the stark evidence of tumultuous change. Where once were flat pectorals now rose the majesty of breasts. In the mirror, my breasts looked perfect. When I craned my head down, they looked equally as perfect. My first thought, upon seeing my new orbs, the gentle and prominent swell of flesh starting just under my collar bones and curving outward and downward, was that they'd somehow expanded my areolas too, which seemed bigger and rounder and redder and sexier than I could imagine, and instantly made me want to suck on them, and I had to stop myself from palming my new tits and lifting them to my own mouth, my lips and tongue instantly ready to make love to a plump nipple sitting atop a mountain of breast-flesh. If I was in bed with a real genetic woman, I'd clamp my mouth onto one of these nipples in a heartbeat and probably not let go for hours. If I was a Sissy, which is what I am, I'd swoon with delight at them, which is what I did, proudly jutting my chest out, pointing my new sexy jugs at every person in the room, tantalizing them, showing them the results of their work, and how they'd changed boring old me into a feminine sexual creature, and how much I was grateful to them. A nurse approached me with a small hand-held mirror, and held it so I could examine around and under my new boobs, and as I gently turned and lifted them, what was plainly evident was the complete lack of things. No scars, no tell-tale marks of any kind. I had the most beautiful pair of puppies I'd ever seen, and as I breathed they rose and fell, and when I moved, even a little, the weight of them moved independently, and they swayed, like real breasts on real women, and a bazillion thoughts entered my head, all of them revolving around showing my body this way to other people, on beaches, maybe, or in gym change rooms, perhaps, or any adult-only settings, knowing people might be turned on by me, by my bosom. I thought about the look on men's faces, when they would see my boobs for the first time, and how it might affect some of them. I looked into the eyes of my Colonel, and could see how much he absolutely adored me with tits. Sergeant Rypier had moved from his usual position, guarding the room, to be closer, and I could see a huge amount of lust and ardor in his eyes. He wanted to take me, right then and there, I could tell. It was like I had x-ray vision into his soul. He wanted nothing more than to bury his cock in my ass-pussy while suckling and feasting on my breasts. In front of a dozen people, this feminine-looking man with soft facial features and a new impressive set of ta-tas got herself a huge erection, well, huge for me, and the smiles that appeared on the faces of these total strangers was intoxicating to me. I suppose to the untrained observer it might have been disconcerting, or odd in some way, to see a naked human with a significant set of hoo-haws and all the other attributes of femininity AND a raging hard-on, but to everyone in the room, it seemed normal and expected. Several of the male doctors had noticeable lumps in their scrubs. One of the nurses developed an instant case of headlights looking at me, and I was impressed and delighted with her reaction. She had quite a set herself, and I wondered what they looked like without her bra and clothes. Then I wondered if women think those kinds of things about other women, as a general rule. Then I realized that it didn't matter. I was now officially inter- sexed, and I could appreciate and admire women and men. It seemed silly, even, considering the kinds of sexual encounters I'd been having in my life, which were all homosexual, to think I would want to go to bed with a woman, which I'd never really been into before, and yet if that nurse had even murmured her approval I would have launched myself at her right there and then, in front of all those people. That's how sexy she was, and how sexual I was feeling. I wondered how it would feel to gently rub my bare breasts against her bare breasts, nipples on nipples. In my head, I imagined it would feel fantastic. Then I swung my vision to my Colonel, who looked like he was ready to explode. I had to admire his restraint. I knew him well enough to realize that he was bursting at the seams to mount me, to fuck me, to make love with me, to make love TO me, even more than usual, now that I was as near to womanly as I could be. He was itching to take me, to lose himself in my ass, to breed me and seed me. His thoughts betrayed him. As cool and collected as he was trying to act, I knew. Maybe everyone else in the room knew it too, but that didn't matter. I knew that he wanted me, and just that knowledge filled me with pride and love and satisfaction, and justified all the changes I'd been through. I had an effect on some men, before, while I was in my early stages of Sissyhood, near the conservative end of the Sissy Spectrum, all of which was wonderful. Now? I was filled with a kind of joy completely foreign to me, a level of satisfaction I'd never understood previously, even during the glorious weeks of High-heel camp, when I got to live my Sissy dream! This? I now knew what heaven felt like. I now knew what paradise felt like. I now knew what my life was all about, what my destiny was. There was no way on earth that I would go back to how I was before. None. Zero. Zip. Nada. The nurse smiled, and whispered to me that I should, and I quote, "pinch one!", meaning a nipple, which I did, which sent me into the stratosphere, and caused my knees to buckle just a tiny little bit, and a huge river of clear pre-cum oozed out of my pee-hole. I'd never felt anything that amazing before. "All the nerves you had before are still there," she said, quietly, in an instructional way, "and most patients find that their nipples are significantly more sensitive, more than they were before the surgery." I pinched my nipple again, harder, and more pre-cum oozed out of me, and I moaned out loud, and my eyes fluttered, and the other nipple stood up as erect and elongated and turgid, without being touched. I felt like I was on fire. A gigantic shiver ran through my whole body, one that I knew well. It was the one that always happened when I was horny, except this one seemed like it had been amplified to the tune of a thousand times. A few caresses and pokes and prods from the doctors and nurses later, and the order was given for the room to be cleared, except for Smoker and Non-smoker, my Colonel, and Sergeant Rypier. The nurse with the great set of tits who was still flashing huge headlights came up to me and politely instructed me to turn around and bend over. I must have had a slight look of confusion on my face, until she smiled and brought her hand up, where she was holding a fat little five-inch-long butt plug, shiny with lube, and shaped like a freaky kind of mushroom, and then I got it. She slid it into my hungry ass-pussy with ease. When the military boys and I were alone, Non-smoker spoke first. "You have your first assignment in ten days, Corporal. It would be helpful if you studied these as much as you can." He handed me a stack of books, which a quick gander at showed some of them to be about speaking French. "What am I going to be doing?" I asked. My Colonel smiled and spoke up. "You'll be accompanying me to Ottawa, Canada," he said, "in the role of my new wife." It was a contest at that point, of which of the two of us could make the biggest shit-eating grin. I may have won. "New wife? Really?" I couldn't hide my excitement. "And what might my husband and I be doing in Ottawa?" I asked. "Officially?" he asked, and I nodded, "they're listed as NATO requirement meetings, which are conferences that happen literally dozens of times a year all over the western world, all of them boring and unexciting. Unofficially, however," he added, "these are actually the final three days of Sexlympics organizational meetings before the next games, which are in Canada this year." "I'll be going to meetings?" I asked, incredulously. My Colonel shook his head and laughed. "No, my dear," he explained, "sadly I have to attend them, but you don't. You'll have the days to do what any new bride would do, while her husband is busy at work. The touristy things, of course. Have you ever been there before?" I shook my head. "It's Canada's capital, so there's lots to look at. You'll have Sergeant Rypier as an escort, while I'm bogged down in logistical nightmares. But in the evenings, well, you and I are going to have some fun, of course, because we're recent newlyweds! So, as of now, you have ten days to work with the training staff on your wardrobe choices. I expect you'll be bringing more suitcases than me. Plus, we want you studying those books, learning as much French as you can as quickly as you can. Canada's a bilingual country, English and French, and while out west there's not much call for it, in Ottawa at least half the people speak or understand some levels of French, and you having some grounding in it can only help, in some situations. Even if you don't let on that you know, you'll be able to understand what some of the people are saying around you. About you, perhaps." It made perfect sense. Part of the army training we'd all done was self-evident now. Preparation is key, to any endeavour. It saves lives, sometimes. "We'll be going out for dinners, of course," he continued, "after my excruciatingly-painful meetings, and there's a couple of popular nightclubs I know of, so don't forget to pack some sexy evening wear, and your dancing shoes, Corporal!" My heart raced at the idea. "Now," he said, louder, to the whole room, while he began unbuttoning his jacket, "if you'll all excuse us, the Corporal and I have some very important one-on-one Army work to do." They knew what he meant. The first time a man kisses you, after you've had lip enhancement, is indescribably unique. The Colonel's kiss was soft, at first, and gentle, almost timid, and I knew instantly that he was worried about causing me any discomfort, or pain. I slid open my lips and tapped my tongue on his mouth, to let him know that it was safe to proceed. I was good to go. He needn't worry about this soldier. The first time a man slides his hand up from your tummy, and gently cups your breast, feeling its heft and weight, his big forefinger extending up to rub your nipple, distended as it was, is passionately unique. Teen-aged girls know what I'm talking about. I had to stop myself from cumming, right there and then, by quickly grabbing hold of my penis and squeezing it with all my might, shutting off the imminent explosion. The Colonel always knew how to push my buttons, from the very first night in the Fantasy Factory, when I didn't know who he was, on the scratchy carpeted floor of the small cinema, where he wrapped me in his arms and I wrapped my legs around his solid back and he filled me with his cock and fucked me to oblivion. Now, we were familiar lovers in a modestly-unfamiliar setting, what with my surgical changes, which just added to the exhilaration of the moment. We kissed and kissed and smooched and smacked while caressing each other, both of us working together to get his uniform off of him, to get him as naked as I was, and I giggled into his mouth when his pants and underwear hit the floor and his big black throbbing python of a cock snapped up and hit my tender tummy skin, leaving a wet spot just above my belly button, and while he caressed my breasts, enjoying their curves and weight and roundness, I was caressing his shaft, and his balls, big and black and hairy and full of cum for me. He broke our kiss. "I fucking love your tits," he grunted out, in that familiar voice all men get when they're hopped up on sexual energy and can't wait to get going. I moaned my agreement, and used the break in our making out to drop to my knees, looking him in the eyes as my mouth was instantly swallowing his cockhead, and he moaned out loud, his desire filling the room, enough that I was sure the people outside in the hall could hear, unashamedly on his part, and I moaned out my echoing approval. "OH FUCK!" he cried, when I took him all the way into my mouth, his big round helmet jamming into the back of my throat, and he flooded my taste buds with his salty clear essence, which sent all my senses reeling, and while he pressed gingerly to get into my windpipe, I spent the next few seconds swallowing and savoring his pre-cum. DE-LISH!!!! Anyone who says they don't enjoy getting a blowjob is full of crap. For men like me, anyone who says they don't enjoy giving a blowjob is full of crap too. And denying reality. I sucked on the Colonel's cock with a vigor I'd never had before. I couldn't wait to taste his spunk, his goo. I wanted to drown in it. It'd been weeks since I'd had any of his cum in my diet, and I was seriously deprived! My Jism-o-meter was dangerously low! Plus, I knew enough about the man to realize that taking a load from him now meant absolutely no delays in him being ramrod hard again in an instant and ready for the next phase of this meeting. Blowing him now, and swallowing his dreamy cum, wouldn't delay or detract from the immediate aftermath of that. A few seconds for him to collect himself, and slow down his breathing after his climax, and he'd be ready to plumb my depths again. He fed me long ropes of cum. I swallowed every single atom of it, even as he was bucking into my mouth, burying himself in my gizzard, physically forcing my head back with each thrust. I guzzled and guzzled and hummed my approval, and made a mental note that it was way easier to grip onto a cock with my new bigger lips than it was before. Better living through surgery! My new bigger lips felt at home again soon after he'd finished spurting, when he pulled me up from my knees and we were kissing again, his tongue roaming my mouth, trying to find little dribs of himself that I hadn't swallowed yet, so we could pass them back and forth on our tongues playfully. His big hands ran down the skin of my back, and spent a few moments caressing my new hourglass figure, before finally settling on my ass cheeks, where he squeezed and squeezed and then clamped on, lifting me by my buttocks up on to the hospital bed I'd started the day in, and we both shucked and shimmied the sheets and blanket out of the way, and then, as if by nature itself, I settled on my back, and his body weight settled on me, and my legs spread and wrapped around his meaty round ass cheeks, and the tip of his spear touched the back of my left thigh, and then he adjusted and the tip of him touched my sac, all drawn up and ready to explode, and then finally another shuffle and the tip of him seated itself against the base of the butt plug the nurse had inserted, and he grunted and shot a hand down between us and slid the rubbery shaft out of me, generating a satisfied "aaaah" from me, and then he reseated himself . He was at the gates, ready to open me up. His push was measured, and considerate, and loving, and with care and love he filled me with his cock. One slow long thrust was all it took, me moaning out loud the whole time, the most satisfied sound in the world, until I felt his curly pubic hair tickling the soft sensitive skin around my ass-pussy. Eight and some inches of thick black pulsing cock expanded my channel, expanded my insides, and expanded my universe. As full as a human can get, I finally opened my eyes in the midst of my almost-orgasmic reaction, and saw his face close to mine, his nostrils flared like a race-horse in mid-stride, his eyes wide open and intense, his mouth open and the tip of his tongue sticking out at me, beads of sweat on his forehead, and he held himself inside me, fully seated, and used his muscles to flick himself a little, generating huge buzzes inside me, making me moan again, and I ran my hands up and down his back, and pulled with my legs, forcing him to the furthest up inside my body. "PLEASE!" I begged him, trying to get him to begin moving. He smiled, pleased with himself that he was teasing me so. "C'MON!" I begged, "FUCK ME LIKE MY HUSBAND ON OUR WEDDING NIGHT!" That did the trick, and he began. It wasn't the longest fuck we'd ever had, nor the shortest. But it was the most intense, the most urgent, the most passionate, and the most noteworthy. He pounded me, from the start, the air "oomph"ing out of me every time his chest met mine, my new tits absorbing the pressure, creating entirely new levels of pleasure for me, and him too, I suppose. A minute or two of pretty hairy action later, and my Colonel taught me a valuable lesson, about new levels of living, and new aspects of pleasure, when he shoved his transmission into a higher gear, and began pummelling me. As good as things can get, I learned, things can oftentimes get so much better. The fiercest fuck of my life, on the morning of the reveal of my new body, was one for the ages. The pounding he delivered was sustained and life-altering. I lost the ability to think and analyze about a minute or so in. My poor pussy hole was treated to action that was record- breaking, the friction of his cock going in and out at such high speeds and pressure creating new waves of sensorial effects, all of which competed for my attention, and all of which blended into one extraordinary event. I became lost, and consumed, with being fucked. All my powers of intellect, my abilities to discern and describe what was happening to me, all of them disappeared. I was overwhelmed with nothing but raw primitive feelings. The weight of a man on me, the shock of a man in me, the blaring excessive motion of a stiff body part rammed up me. I had had great sex before this, but this was in another league. Holding on for dear life, I spent the next ten minutes out of my mind, gasping and cumming and moaning and cumming and shrieking and cumming and using all of my energies to survive it. Using all of my energies to survive being fucked to oblivion. When his back finally arched, and his voice got loud and his breath caught and he began literally sinking into me by throwing his entire body into the stroke, my mind went into white-out, like a snow storm, and I was only vaguely aware of his cries and shouts and the feeling of wetness that eventually happened, deep inside my innards. I felt him cum. I felt him spew his guts out, into me. If I was a real woman, I'd have been as pregnant as can be. If you've never had a big man collapse on you, who must weight close to two hundred fifty pounds, and crush you to the mattress you're laying on, all while his great pole of a cock is buried inside you, filling you up both physically and emotionally, then you've never lived. If you've never had a man's man fuck you to hell and back, you've never lived. Before he left me to recover, my Colonel opened up a small box that someone had placed on the stand next to my bed. Inside were two rings. One for the man, and one for his wife. He smiled wryly. "We both need to get used to having rings, for the benefit of the mission," he said, and I held my hand up, noticing my nails were longer and shaped and sexy as all get-out, painted with a vibrant grape colored polish, and my 'husband' slid my wedding ring on, which brought real tears to my eyes, and I gazed at my finger with the diamond shining and I blubbered out a "thank you", and then after he kissed me softly and romantically, I slid his ring on his finger, and we kissed again. The promise of things to come. Ten days later, we landed in Ottawa. There were lots of people on the military jet, some in uniform and some not. I wasn't of course, because I was playing my role. Anybody who might be watching, which had been explained to me was always a possibility, would see the loving young white wife of the career military black man, his hand on the small of my back as we walked down the stairs, a soft quick kiss before we got into an embassy limo, which took us straight downtown. I was wearing a black leather skirt, to mid- thigh level, a canary-yellow silk blouse with ruffled sleeves and neckline, the hint of my custom-fit bra underneath, panties and thigh- high stockings, fully made-up to look sexy without being slutty, my hair long and wavy and dancing on my shoulders every time I moved, and a long thick faux-fur winters coat, almost touching the ground, because it was early spring and there was still a chill in the air. The limo took us to the hotel, which was called the Chateau Laurier, and was a block away from the Parliament buildings I'd seen in pictures before. Our suite faced both west and north, so from our balcony we had a lovely view of the austere seat of government and the wide river just behind it. Herb, my new husband, had reminded me that we were to be in our roles every second, so even in our suite our conversations were as man and woman. Just in case anybody was listening. What they would have heard was my husband reminding me that we had an hour and a half until a planned dinner with some VIP's, and after I answered his question about how long I'd need to shower and get dressed for the occasion, he calculated with a huge grin on his face that we had close to thirty minutes of free time left. Eight minutes of kissing and him fingering me with lube-covered digits later, my man surprised me by flipping me onto my tummy, a change from all our previous sex, which had always been in the missionary position, my new breasts squashed down into the comforter of the king-sized bed, and with a few tiny thrusts to tease my opening, and get it used to the idea of a workout, he entered me with one brute push, and I screamed out a short gasp, before his big hand came over my mouth and his big head came down beside mine and he whispered in my ear. "Shhh, my darling," he cooed, "we don't want to shock every guest in the hotel!" I clamped my lips together, which felt different, because of the altered size of my lips, and I moaned into my own mouth, as he slowly withdrew his shaft, until just the barest tip of his cock was keeping my aperture open, and then, without any warning, he entered me again, in another brute push, my whole body jolting in something not quite pain, but pretty damned close, and then he slowly withdrew again. I took a huge breath in, and begged him. "Don't tease me, honey," and I pushed my ass backwards, trying to get him inside me, but not finding satisfaction, "fuck me! Do it! Fuck your wife! Do it now!" Two seconds after that, when he hadn't entered me, I settled my crotch back down on the mattress, and that's when he shoved himself inside me again, and I managed to suppress nine-tenths of my scream, and then the teasing was over, and he started acting like the steam engine of a train, huffing and puffing with his gasps, starting slowly, with long deep strokes, filling my insides, pushing everything in my innards to the side a little bit, and then his piston built up energy and got a little bit faster and a little bit harder, his breath snorting into my right ear, and the train started to move, and then he just kept getting incrementally faster and faster with each stroke, each push into my ass more glorious and bone-rattling than the last, all my concentration focussed on absorbing the blows and the shock of his size and girth and motion while at the same time trying not to literally yell my lungs out, especially every once-in-a-few shoves, when the tip of his cock would pound up against something inside that sent electric shocks radiating through me, moments so much more overwhelming than any discomfort, and then the entire bed began to creak and groan, the force of his fuck continuing to build, until minute after minute after minute of teeth- chattering raw interpersonal communication culminated in a frenzy of pushes from him and a frenzy of cries from me, just barely hanging on, until with one momentous shove I heard him utter a choked kind of sound, like an animal suffering from pain, and he unleashed a torrent of his semen into my body, as I hovered between consciousness and being totally out-of-it. We made the dinner with a minute to spare. Casual was the theme, so I wore a long wraparound denim skirt, with a dark grey turtleneck sweater, made from angora wool, which was the softest material I'd ever felt, and had my hair up in a bun, with just the right amount of makeup to say 'I'm young and sexy and having fun tonight!' Putting blush on my new cheekbones gave me the biggest thrill. It took very little to make them pop, and make me feel like popping. The restaurant was crowded, and loud, and the waitresses all wore little black dresses and high heels and the Maitre'd was in a tuxedo, and the alcohol was free-flowing and me and my new husband acted exactly like who we were. Happy-go-lucky newlyweds, full of zeal and romance and passion, celebrating the good life. After the dinner, we retired. My Colonel had early meetings the next day, so we settled in for the night. I enjoyed a long delicious bubble bath in the soaker tub, put on my sexiest lingerie, a bra/garter belt/panty/stocking set the color of strawberries, and fucked my husband before he drifted off to sleep, riding him in cowgirl, facing him, running my long fingernails through the little tufts on hair on his chest, sighing loudly every time I bottomed out on him, the tip of his cock touching a part of me inside that had never been touched before, generating spasms of energy from me, and a slow moving lava flow of liquid from the tip of my penis, which looked like half-precum and half- cum, until about a minute before he erupted I blew my load all over his belly and chest. His orgasm was so tenacious that he almost bucked me off his body with his tics and gyrations. Luckily, my pussy kept us together. The next morning was clear and chilly, and Sergeant Rypier was my escort for a walk. He and I sauntered south from the hotel, along the Rideau Canal, which is lovely, and after a few yards I slipped my gloved hand in between his arm and his body, holding onto his upper arm like I'd seen women do it my whole life. The air was crisp and cool, and there is absolutely NOTHING like feeling that chill on the bare smooth skin of my upper thighs and bum cheeks, whenever the wind gusted up my skirt. It made me horny as hell. We talked, like any two people. He gave me a brief rundown of his life, how he ended up serving in the military, how he'd discovered his love of Sissies, and how he'd ended up meeting me. It filled in some blanks, I suppose, and I told him some details of my previous life, before I met him that fateful night in the Fantasy Factory. He asked how I was enjoying the married life, with a knowing grin on his face, and I laughed happily and said I'd never known it could be this much fun. He seemed genuine when he said, out of nowhere, "the mission only lasts three days, and then everybody is back to the way we were, Corporal. The Colonel included." I knew what he was getting at. Later in the afternoon, I had a manicure and a pedicure at a luxurious day spa, with the good Sergeant sitting in the lobby, waiting patiently for me. The two ladies who worked on me had minimal English, so I pretended I had no French skills, and I casually listened to them. While I didn't understand a lot of what was said, partially because I'd only been studying for just over a week and partially because they spoke so fast, but I did catch a few words and phrases, mostly about family members and work schedules. I did hear one of them say that I was "tres belle", which I knew meant 'very pretty'. I had to work at not getting an erection upon hearing that. Our dinner was with just one other couple that evening, Herb's counterpart from the Navy and his wife, who I honestly couldn't tell was a Sissy until she very discretely took my hand and slid it under the dinner table and onto her lap, where I didn't have to search long to find a bigger penis than mine underneath some silk panties. I allowed her, Peggy, equal access to my lap. The invite to a nightcap in their room ended up with very little alcohol being consumed. Mostly we fucked like rabbits. Peggy and I were encouraged to do 'the lezzie thing' by the boys, so we did a lot of delicious smooching and touching before stripping down to lingerie and 69'ing on the bed. Her cock fit nicely into my mouth, and being uncut was a pleasure to play with, my tongue going to town over and under the big flappy skin. She came just after I did, each of us ending up sprawled on the bed, gasping for air, and swallowing each other's jism. Hers was sweet, like pineapple. That was all the boys needed, and the next thing I knew I was on my side, facing her, on her side, as our men lay behind us, in the spoon position, and I got to watch his cock go into her ass-pussy, and she got the same view of my Colonel and his rod splitting me. The next day I kissed my husband good bye after our pre-breakfast love- making, and he quietly reminded me that we were happily-married newlyweds and had to keep that appearance up, but with discretion I should make sure that Sergeant Rypier 'enjoyed himself today', which I automatically took in the correct way. He was patient and charming as my accompaniment to a couple of museums, where the spiked heels of my shoes sounded like little cannons on the tiled floors, and then at a shopping mall, where I window-browsed at several ladies wear stores, and simply had to go in to "La Vie En Rose', a lingerie shop, where I had to try on an absolutely mind-blowingly sexy corset they had, in shiny red satin, making sure the good Sergeant got to see me in it, to gauge his reaction, before ending our day back at the hotel. When he asked me, at my door, if there was anything else he could do for me today, I nodded to the affirmative, and ushered him inside. Standing erect just inside the entrance to our suite, I told him I needed him to 'lift something for me', and to give me a couple of minutes first. I swayed into the spacious bathroom, and immediately unzipped my skirt, letting it fall to the floor. My blouse joined it moments later, and then I reached behind me and unsnapped my bra, once again in awe of the feeling of having my breasts supported that way, and at the same time in awe of how fucking sexy it was to feel my breasts released. Then I donned a big white fluffy hotel room terry robe, and walked up to him in the living area, where he was still standing more or less at attention. "What did you need me to lift?" he asked. I opened the robe, letting it plummet to the floor, and then I gently cupped my breasts, the nipples straining at the fresh air and pursed. "These," I said, and smiled at him. "I need you to lift these," and I stretched my breasts towards him. His eyes got big, and then he smiled a wicked smile. "Yes Ma'am." He bent over and put his hands under my boobs, palms up, and he began caressing me, in upward circular patterns, ending at but not quite touching my nipples, which made me squirm in place, my little soldier instantly hard in my panties. I closed my eyes and revelled in the sensations, and verbally sighed when I felt his lips close around my left nipple. When he bit down gently on it, at the same time as squeezing my other nipple with all his might, I moaned and quivered and started shooting squirts of cum into my panties, most of it seeping out and draining downward, gravity taking it wherever it could. The good Sergeant let me shake and shimmy and shoot it all out, and then released my nipples from his delightful torture and put his hands on my hips, pushing me to walk over to the desk, next to a tall narrow window. The curtains were sheers, so they would provide some cover. Bending me over the straight-backed chair, he instantly brought me back to that first night, at the Fantasy Factory, where, after we'd kissed and made out I'd sucked him while he stood in front of me, and he'd practically choked me with his cum, milkier than my husbands', and then he'd immediately stood me up and bent me over the back of one of the theater seats while the boring porn movie played and other men watched and he fucked me, ravenously. Now here we were in my marital suite in Canada's capital, and he was going to do it again. A big finger pulled the string of my panties away from my crack, and his big hands started kneading my butt cheeks, harder and harder, until he finally used a lot of his strength to pull my bum apart, spreading me, and the next thing I knew he sent soaring thrills through me when the wet tip of his tongue went squarely into my hole, forcing me open a little, and getting me lubed. His tongue was a work of art. He slathered me and lathered me and got me as wet as he could, and the sadness I felt when he stopped eating me disappeared when I heard him spitting, and I knew he was lubing himself up, and then his big hands landed on my new curvy hips, and his body settled onto mine, bending himself over me, and his smooth chest landed on my smooth back, and his breathing came heavy into my right ear, and he entered me, seating about half of himself into me in one fell swoop, just like our very first fuck. Allowing me a few moments to adjust to the intrusion, his big hands slid up and down my body, reaching under me to cup and squeeze my breasts, his first chance at the new me, and he moaned his approval several times. It seemed to me that groping my tits inspired him, or enflamed him, because when he'd decided I was open and ready enough he started banging me harder than he'd ever done, which was a lot, historically. The top the chair I was bent over made a wide set of lines in the skin of my belly, like a thick bra strap, which was still noticeable later, when my husband got back from his meetings and wanted to fuck his wife. My Colonel just smiled, putting two and two together in his head, knowing exactly what had happened and where, just from that mark, and he raised his body up, supported by his arms, as he slowly made love to me, and smiled down at me as if he was the happiest man on the planet. He probably was. I didn't cum at all from this fuck, which was fine with me. Just being part of it, just lying there and watching my man do his thing, admiring his body and his energy and his zeal, was reward enough for me. I'm sometimes a verbal bed-partner, and this was no exception. "Fuck me," I cooed, "fuck me good...fuck your wife...mmmmm, your cock is so fucking big...fuck me, baby...fill me with your cock...fill me...mmmmm....god, my pussy loves your cock...so thick....mmmmm....mother of god!....fuck your wife...fuck her!!!" Our last night in Ottawa was spent at a nightclub, in an area of the city called 'The Glebe', which I was told was the artsy-fartsy neighborhood. At first glance, it looked like any other nightclub, but it soon became apparent to me that it was either a themed LGBT night, or the club was a Gay-ish friendly club to begin with. Before we arrived, my Colonel told me what to expect, and gave me some instructions. There was the possibility that a certain person might be there, and if so, then our game plan was to conduct a little bit of intelligence-gathering. With a little slutty subterfuge mixed in. My husband and I danced, and drank, and partied, he in civilian clothes, a suit and tie, and me in my Little Black Dress, which was actually the darkest Royal Blue you've ever seen, with a halter neck, and despite loving them, I chose to go without a bra, which helped me discover a new thrill, which was the feeling of the weight of my breasts, swaying and shaking and moving with my motions, free of any control. Plus, the reactions of some people to my unrestrained boobs was priceless, some men and even some women openly admiring them. Now I knew how women felt whenever I'd stared at them in the past. Ego-filling and satisfying are good words, but it pleased me on levels that were much deeper than that. And, I was wearing the one piece of equipment mandatory for every member of the Sissy Corps. Described to me as a 'gaff', it was a molded form-fitting cover that Sissies wore over their junk, forcing everything in, and giving the Sissy the outward appearance of a smooth pubic mound. No lumpy bits in our panties. Some Sissies could actually push their little balls back up into their body, but I couldn't, so this was the thing to give me the best chance of appearing completely like a genetic woman. It was part of the plan. My heels were tall without being ridiculous, and the DJ at the club was smart enough to play a lot of ballads, allowing couples to clutch and grab and grope often. Herb and I took every opportunity to dance to the slow songs, him holding me closer than close, making out with me, caressing me, romancing me, and me doing all the same things to him. Any casual observer would have to be blind not to see two people in love, and it was equally true that they'd recognize that the tall dark- skinned Black man I was dancing with was probably getting lucky tonight. A couple of hours in, my Colonel leaned over at our table and whispered in my ear. "Don't look, soldier," he commanded, "do it after I finish talking, and do it very discretely. Understood?" I nodded. "Over by the bar is a tall thin gentleman, wearing dark trousers and a white shirt with red tie. That's him." I kissed my husband, and then made it look like business as usual and scanned the area, and saw the man he was talking about. "His name is Ricardo Porto. He's with the Brazilian delegation, not military but definitely government, probably a high-up bureaucrat. Vehemently anti-LGBT, both in politics and in his loud opposition to the HOMO side of the Sexlympics. He's one of those fake Christians, who'll complain about everybody else's morals and then show almost none of his own. Married to a good Catholic wife, he cheats on her with every pussy he can get. To the best of our knowledge he's as straight as they come. Now, of course, Brazilian Sissies and Shemales are some of the finest in the world, although their surgical techniques are a little primitive compared to ours, but again, he's not known to have any interest in that, other than he's always happy to crow loudly when any of his ladies wins something. Now you, well, you're an unknown commodity to him. He has no idea that you're a Sissy, is my best guess. So, are you ready?" I kissed my man again, and our mission began. A few minutes later, we had a bit of a fight. Not a knock-down, dragged-out yell fest, but a controlled argument, loud enough that observers would get the idea. Herb wanted to go home, he was tired. I wanted to keep dancing, and partying. After a few words back and forth, he sighed and shrugged his shoulders and threw a wad of cash on the table, for a cab, and he left. Without a goodbye kiss. Anyone who might be following him, or me for that matter, would think the married couple were having their first spat. I went up to the bar to get myself a new drink. I managed to get the Brazilian to bump into me, just slightly, and made a production out of my drink being spilled, and he fell all over himself to apologize, instantly ordering a new drink from the bartender. I thanked him for his generosity. He took the chance and introduced himself. I watched his eyes go up and down me, settling a little too long on my tits, which I could tell he was completely in love with. "Hola!" I said, after he explained he was from Brazil. "Ah!" he said, a huge smile on his coffee-colored skin, "you speak Portuguese?" I laughed, and shook my head lightly, letting my hair fly around loosely, which I know can entrance some men. It seemed to work in this case. Maybe it was the subdued lighting. "No," I said, and took a coy sip of my drink, mouthing the straw with my red lips like it was a cock, "but it's always been on my bucket list to visit one day." He smiled. "You would love it," he said, his accented voice soft and sexy, "I would be honored to offer my services as a tour guide, should you decide to go. Rio, which is where I'm from, is the most exciting city in the world!" He was flirting with me, openly, and I flirted right back. "Are all Brazilian men so tall and handsome?" I asked, seeing in my peripheral vision that my nipples had become as hard as pebbles. He noticed my little lumps too, although he did his best to not make it too obvious, in case I was the kind of woman who took offence to that. A salami-shaped rise appeared in his snug trousers. "No," he said, and smiled again, and leaned in closer to me, so he could half-whisper, "and not all Brazilian men are as good in bed, either!" He leaned back to see my reaction, which I was expecting, so I made him think that I was the teeniest bit shocked by his words, slightly blushing, but also impressed by them too. "Is that right?" I asked, smirking at him. He nodded. "No word of a lie." He paused. "And again," he said, softly, "I would be honored to offer my services..." I tsked at him and showed him my left hand, and the ring on my finger. "I'm a married woman, mister," I bragged, and gave him the obligatory 'SO THERE' look. He smiled, and leaned in towards me. "And wasn't that your new husband I saw leaving a few minutes ago? The tall older black man?" I sipped my drink, and gave him the look that I was impressed that he was so observant, wondering privately if he'd intended on letting me know that he knew the Colonel wasn't previously married. "He has a busy day of meetings tomorrow and needs his rest," I offered in defense, "and I just wanted to do more dancing." He smiled much more knowingly now, and lowered his voice. "Perhaps having such a young and beautiful wife has worn the gentleman out?" I tsked him again, as any wife would. Then I paused, coyly, and then I looked at him sideways and smiled. "Perhaps." He asked me to dance, and an upbeat song was playing, so I agreed, and we bopped along with a dozen others for two more songs, his eyes quite often glued to my boobs bouncing around, braless and barely contained in the halter, until a gripper came on, slow and romantic, and after feigning a moment or two of discomfort, the idea of me, a married woman dancing with someone not her husband, and then pretending that I was throwing caution to the wind, I accepted his gesture of holding me and slid into his arms, making sure to at least momentarily keep up a demeanor of innocence. Eight bars later he was pressing himself into me, full body, thoroughly enjoying my breasts squashed into his chest, while sliding his hand down to the lowest of my back, and gently pulling, as any guy would do, trying to manipulate the situation so I would press my groin against him and feel his energy. He was at about half-mast, by my guess. It was an impressive lump. I heard him murmur something, and looked up at him to give him the look that I didn't catch what he'd said, and he took my motion as an acceptance of something and immediately his head swooped down at me and his lips covered mine. I feigned surprise, which I wasn't, and shock, which I also wasn't, and gingerly pretended to push him away, but I was just a weak girl to his manly strength, and I succumbed moments later, his tongue slipping in between my painted lips and dazzling me with his length. We swapped spit for a few minutes, until his hand lowered itself onto my ass and squeezed, and he stopped kissing me and whispered into my ear to meet him in the hallway to the washrooms. Then he let me go, and I stood there gasping for air and wondering if any of the patrons of the bar thought I was a total slut. They were probably justified in that impression, if they saw my earlier dancing and groping and kissing with my Colonel. I strutted back to the bar where I'd left my drink, and took a quick gulp, and then pretended that I was just curious and wandering around the club, headed for the back, where the hallway was, and then seeing him there, at the entrance, beckoning to me. When I got up to him, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me, and I had to quick step in my heels to not fall over, and he shouldered the door to the Men's Room open, pulling me in, and once again he was immediately on me, groping me, trying to wrap me up in his arms, his mouth searching for mine, and sometimes finding it, while I put up mock protestations, until I had to wrestle my face away from his and gasp at him to "STOP!" He wouldn't stop. With the absolute perfect amount of timing, the door burst open and in rushed my hero, my savior. My husband. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!? Get off my wife!!!!" The Colonel could play enraged with the best of them. Our Brazilian mark stepped back, and put his hands up in the air, shoulder high, and then gasped and sputtered and finally calmed down and looked sheepish. "Colonel," he started, "I had no idea that..." "BULLSHIT!" Herb yelled, his voice big and bassy and booming, "There's no way you didn't see the ring on her finger!" I looked at my husband and put a scolding tone to my voice. "I showed it to him!" My Colonel turned from me to Ricardo and held up his fist, clenched tight. "Give me one good reason why I don't kick your ass, right here, right now." The man from Rio held his hands up higher, palms out, the internationally-accepted non-verbal signal of surrender. "Forgive me, I lost my head," was the best he could do. A good thirty seconds of the meanest, fiercest stink-eye from my husband later, and the once-swaggering South American loverboy looked cowed, and cowardly. Finally, the Colonel spoke. "And what the hell, anyway? Since when did you switch teams?" Mr. Porto looked confused. "What are you talking about?" A satisfied smile came over his face, and the Colonel's voice got quieter. "You've complained more about the 'HOMO' side of the Games than anyone else, for years! Now here you are, messing around with a Sissy?" Porto shook his head, and his eyes blazed open in shock. "A WHAT?" he asked, shrilly, his eyes switching back to me. My Colonel extended his arm, and I took his hand, and he pulled me gently to stand beside him, and with his free hand he lifted the hem of my dress, and with my free hand I pulled the panties and the gaff they were holding down and away from my body, and my little soldier and ball sac fell out and down, and flopped away from my groin, and I looked up in absolute pride and joy. I watched the man gasp and shake his head. "No no no," he said, meekly. "Oh yes yes yes," I replied, and I looked up at my Colonel. "Darling?" He beamed a grin at me. "Yes, my Sissy Angel?" I pulled my panties up again, and he let the hem of the skirt of my dress fall back down again, and I touched my hand to his chest, and marvelled at the size of him, and how warm he was. "Would you please take me back to the hotel room now and fuck me again? PLEEEEEEAAAAASSSSEEEEE?" With a big shit-eating grin, my Colonel played out our scene. "Again? For the fourth time today? You're insatiable!" Then he looked at the Brazilian and sneered. "You ever come close to touching my wife again, and I'll break every bone in your back, you got that?" An appropriate amount of glaring later, my husband reached for my hand. "Let's get your coat, my Angel." As we turned to leave, I heard a sound, and looked to my left, and saw Sergeant Rypier coming out of the farthest stall. He'd been there the whole time, just in case. The three of us laughed uproariously on the drive back to the hotel. Shaming the man was fun, but more importantly the Colonel had something he could use as dirt on the man, and he promised me within a week people in certain circles around the globe would be talking about the loud anti-gay guy who found himself trying to seduce a Sissy. Was it some sort of important political or moral victory? No. But every little bit counts, I was told, by both my pretend-husband and his Sergeant. People like Porto might lose a little of their focus, a little of their bravado, especially at the next Games, the first time he looks up and sees my Colonel. The first time he looks up and sees me. Our last night in the swanky hotel was spent underneath a pile of soft downy comforters. My soon-to-be-not-husband-any-more got to choose which lingerie he wanted me to wear, after I modeled everything I'd packed for him, and after watching his motor rev up when he saw my new corset, his choice was obvious. As was his horniness. My Colonel made love to me twice, the first time soon after we got back to the hotel and bade Sergeant Rypier a good night, and the second later, after we both had a brief nap, and both of our energy levels had some time to recover. The first time was brilliant, if for nothing else than its sheer ferocity. He was a man possessed, and all of his strokes into me, as he lay with his full weight on me, his mouth clamped onto the left side of my neck, all of them were events that I more or less just tried to endure. Whether it was the game we'd played with the Brazilian, or the built-up ennui of daily meetings needing an escape, or just his normal natural passion, my Colonel was a pile-driver, and no amount of lube could take all the friction away, or all the pounds-per-square-inch delivery. I clamped my eyes shut, and moaned out a cry of half pleasure/half pain each time he slammed into me, and the air seethed out of me as he pulled out, in anticipatory gasps of his next thrust. One of our instructors in High Heel Camp taught us to anticipate the push, figure out the man's timing so as to prepare for each penetration, do everything possible to maintain control of the situation. In this case, all I could do was hold on. I couldn't even escape from under the man, our weight difference being what it is. Our second fuck was much sweeter, full of soft kisses and tender touches, genuine affection in our words to each other as we made love, an honest and intimate exchange of energies, and synergies. And this time my lover made sure that I had a good ball-erupting cum too. The next day, we all returned to base. I was just settling back in to my barracks room, hanging up clothes and telling stories to my roommates, when I received my new marching orders. Training with our national Sexlympics team, in preparation for the upcoming games. I've never been prouder. THE END