Message-ID: <2084eli$9707151107@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: nostrumo@nienor.IN-Berlin.DE (Nostrumo) Subject: New TG: The New Secretary by Amy Brett (07/11) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.tg,alt.sex.stories.moderated Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <5qfiq7$f5e@nienor.in-berlin.de> Hi. This nifty submission is not included yet, but it will be in next one during the upcoming weekend. This story is a refelction of the current jobmarket and conclusions which may occur under strange and rare situations. So folks be happy if you had a job. As usual I DIDN'T write this story and haven't any claim on it. If you have some usefull hints or some good coments, your mail is then welcome. Flames, you know, they will be piped to /dev/null. If you are an author and wish to remain anonymouns or just try to avoid the replies to your work. I offer you the chance of posting your stories and collecting the response for you. This offer only stands for story postings and for nothing else. Enjoy the story. Ciao Nostrumo >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> cut here with a sharp knife <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< _The_New_Secretary_______________________________________by_Amy_Brett_ 7 That left only the medium height black sandals that showed my painted toenails, and bracelet, necklace, and earrings. I posed for myself and thought I looked great. The rest of the girls thought I looked good, too, and Margaret just sat looking at me with a grin on her face that said, as clearly as she could, that she was proud of how far I'd come. A drink relaxed me as I waited for seven o'clock. * * * I walked up the curving sidewalk through the forest of trees in Bill's front yard and rang the doorbell. The house was a single story Tudor styled house with a gable above the door that made it look more impressive than its modest size. The door opened and Bill's eyes rose from my feet to my face, taking everything in and breaking into a spreading grin. He wore a pair of tan cotton pants, moccasins, and a shiny white tee-shirt. His hair was freshly washed and casually loose. I thought he looked great. "Come in," he said, opening the door the rest of the way for me. "Welcome to my humble castle." "Thanks," I said and went into a nice foyer, the floor covered with red pavers and large tropical plants sitting in just the right places. "You look wonderful." He made me believe by the way his eyes almost bulged as he looked at the cleavage. "It's all yours, isn't it?" "Uh huh. Nothing fake or padded." "Even your own hair, huh?" I smiled. "Like it?" "Very much. I think you should forget about the wig. Even at work. Unless this is too much work." "No. It's easy." I found myself fluffing it in a very feminine gesture. He took me by surprise by closing the two feet between us, putting his arms around me, and kissing me. I accepted his tongue in my mouth almost immediately. I thought it was a quick welcoming kiss. But, as it extended for more than a minute, I thought it was more than that. I'd set myself to accept a quick kiss. But as I felt it surging through my body, I found my ankle moving up the back of his leg and feeling the heat of his body against me. My insides were vibrating with excitement before he suddenly stopped and looked into my eyes from a few inches away. "Welcome," he said. "Do you greet all your guests that way?" I asked. He smiled. "We've got to cook. Come on." He took my hand and led me into a kitchen that could have been in House Beautiful. Nice appliances of all sorts, a center butcher block island, hanging copper pots, and bubbling pots on four burners. "Would you like a glass of wine or a drink?" "A drink, please," I said. "Scotch and water, I think." He went to a countertop cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Chivas Regal, added ice and cold water from a bottle in the refrigerator, and handed it to me. "Would you like to toss a salad or stir the sauce?" he asked. I chose the sauce and used the wooden spoon to stir the delicious smelling spaghetti sauce as I sipped the drink and watched his tear up lettuce, cut up tomato and cucumber, and pour an Italian dressing over the top to toss in. Croutons and bacon bits made it look perfect. I suppose pasta laden salads or romaine lettuce are more "in" but this was exactly the salad I liked. "Okay. Turn that off and put the spaghetti in the pot next door there and we'll be a few minutes away from eating. The pasta is in that tall thing next to the stove there." When I looked in the tall canister I thought the spaghetti looked homemade. Just a little more variation in length and widths than manufactured spaghetti and it smelled different when I put some in the big pot. It melted down into the pot slowly and stopped the rolling boil. I stirred it all into the water before putting the lid back on. Expertly, he poured the water off a vegetable (broccoli I learned as he poured it on a platter and garnished it with cheese), poured the sauce into a steaming bowl, and, finally, poured the spaghetti into a colander and then another bowl. "Can you bring something?" he asked as he picked up the vegetable and sauce. I grabbed the other two and followed him into a sunroom on the back of the house with a glass topped wrought iron table set for two. He pulled out a softly covered wrought iron chair for me and held it as I sat down. Then he disappeared only to come back a minute later with the salad and my drink. In the few seconds, I had a chance to react to the plants all around me in the room, the deep green grass of the back yard through tall windows, and the mass of trees to the sides. The sun was only slightly above the horizon and I knew it would set in the time it took us to eat. He sat down and carefully opened a bottle of red wine, pouring a little in a wine glass and swirling it before tasting it. Damn he's good, I thought as I watched him sniff, taste, and nod to himself before filling my glass. The china was very large clean, white enamel with a silver edge and matching salad plates. My mouth was literally watering as I dished out pasta for myself and watched him meting out salad to our plates. As I coated the pasta with sauce, he pushed over a silver cheese cup. "I grate my own Parmesan," he said. "It's much better that way." "You'll make someone a wonderful wife," I noted with a grin. "Or chef. I've never smelled anything so enticing." He just nodded. We ate almost silently, punctuated with my groans of pleasure, drank the wine, and watched the sun set as if it were a big screen movie. He just chuckled with each of my hundred exclamations about the food, the view, and the wine. As I finished a massive plate of spaghetti, he left again and returned with small plates of Brie and a cheesecake. In spite of thinking I was much too full, I ate the cheese and two pieces of cheesecake as well as helping him finish the bottle of wine. It was almost dark when we finished and he got up. He led me to a living room that sported another wall of windows into the back yard, a fireplace, and the biggest screen TV I've ever seen. We sat on the couch as he used the remote to start a movie I hadn't seen but had heard about. It was a quiet romantic comedy. "Make yourself comfortable," he said and I took my shoes off and curled my legs up on the couch as he pulled me over against him. We watched half the movie before he turned me so I was laying across his lap, my head on his arm, and his other hand in the middle of my stomach. He kissed me again as the sex scene ended and had me panting by the time the movie ended. Except for our hard breathing, the house was silent as he turned off the TV. For a long time, he kissed me, his hand moving gently on my stomach. He didn't stop as his hand explored my naked thighs. He didn't stop as his hand stroked and caressed and cupped my breasts under the tee-shirt. He didn't stop as he pulled on my nipples and rolled the flesh that hadn't itched in a month but did then. He didn't stop as he pressed and manipulated the spot between my legs and he didn't stop as his finger found my carefully lubricated asshole. Finally, after what could have been more than an hour, I couldn't stand it anymore. "Please Bill. I need you to fuck me," I moaned throatily. "Maybe if I get on my knees." "Huh uh," he said. He stood up and waited for me to take his hand to pull me to my feet. He led the way through the house and deposited me at the dark opening of a room as he went inside. A soft light came on next to a massive canopied bed in a room that seemed to soak up the meager light of the bedside light. I went to him and his hands went immediately to the hem of my tee-shirt so he could move it up and off as I held my arms above my head. He kissed me as he located the zipper on the skirt, lowered it, and dropped it to the floor. I started to take off his tee-shirt as well but he intercepted me, flicking it off over his head as my hands went to the waistband of his pants. They dropped to the floor before he tossed the tee-shirt to the side. Now he was as excited as I was as he stepped out of his pants and lifted me onto the edge of the bed. I scooted up the rest of the way as he took off his underwear, his long cock dropping out as if to point to me. I turned over onto my stomach, making myself available to him, but he crawled onto the bed with me and turned me to face him, his mouth covering mine as I lay back into the quilt cover and pillows. Almost wildly, he sucked on my nipples as I moaned and rolled on the bed under him. Then he was lifting my legs wide. He didn't have to use his hands to find my asshole with his hard cock. It seemed to find it by itself and was inside me before I had time to anticipate or to react. The slow pressure of it further and further into me rolled me onto my shoulders with my now sensitive nipples pressed into his slightly hairy chest. My moan escalated until his pubic hair tickled my newly shaved pubis. My ankles locked behind the middle of his back. He began long, slow strokes that almost removed him from me before extending into my throat from below. Or at least that's what it felt like. He took it upward slowly slowly increasing the length of the stroke and the speed until I could hear myself squealing with the pleasure of it. We came together, growling and moaning and groaning and coming and coming and coming. He collapsed covering me completely, my ankles locked behind his knees. Obviously, that wasn't the last time he fucked me that night or the only method. He fucked me from behind. Once, when I'd cleaned up our combined messes, I sucked him and was soon being sucked by him at the same time. We fell asleep in each others' arms and woke the same way. He wouldn't take his arm out from around me until he'd fucked me again in the morning. He made eggs, bacon, small pancakes, hash browns, and lots of coffee while I sat, totally naked, and watched. His dessert was me pressed face down on his breakfast nook table. After a shower and thorough cleaning with the bidet in his massive bathroom, he used his tongue on what he called his "pussy." That was certainly the first time I ever came that way. 16. Chapter At our three month checkup, I measured 36 (my old chest size), 24 (a very tight waist and flat stomach), 37 (with what Bill called "baby" hips and "the best butt in the business"). I filled out my C-cup lace bras without help and my hair was below my shoulders slightly. My nipples were large and erect most of the time rising from areolas that swelled like breasts on top of breasts. My posture had changed to accommodate the new weight distribution, my shoulders back and back straight. I did things with my legs naturally that Bill said turned him on as he watched me from his office and didn't even think about it. I'd improved my wardrobe with new additions for every occasion and more than a little help from Bill, who went on my shopping trips on several weekend days. Similarly, Paula had her appointment and displayed her very real B-cup breasts which had surpassed her "fantasy" A-cup breast forms, and measured a very cute 34-21-33. Sleeping with her, now at my apartment, I knew from experience that her nipples were larger than mine and seemed more sensitive even though mine were more than sensitive enough. At least she could drive me out of my mind licking them and had, on more than one occasion, driven me to orgasms sucking me. Michelle, who was still living with Margaret, had earned her B-cups as well and started dating one of the guys in finance. After the appointment, Paula told me she thought she might be falling in love with the doctor's finger and we both laughed. That afternoon, Bill slowly and seductively stripped me naked and made love to me in the middle of his soft office carpet until we both came twice. He dropped my vertical rib knit dress over my head and helped me into my shoes as I tried to hold the mass of come in my bowels with a handful of Kleenex. His "suggestion" was that I forget about underwear and I spent the rest of the afternoon playing Sharon Stone for him as he looked up my short skirt and watched my breasts bounce every time I moved. He insisted that I go out with him that night, dressed exactly as I was. We went to one of the very nice restaurants in town, dancing for an hour or so in a lounge in the hotel, and then to his house. He had my skirt around my waist in the car before we got to his house and my dress off before we'd left his foyer. If I hadn't run for his bed, the first time would have been in a hallway. The next morning, we went on a quick shopping trip that gained me the smallest, tightest white shorts and half tee I've ever seen. And a pair of heels that were little more than a few leather strings to provide the most basic support. Then, as if it were an attempt to unmask me, he took me everywhere he could think of to show me off to the greatest number of people. We went to the zoo. We went to the park. We went to the lake and watched the people water ski and sunbathe and play frisbee until he decided we should do that too. He got a particular charge out of throwing high and making me stretch to catch the whirling disk and at least partially display my breasts. Certainly to bounce them so much that my nipples were sore from rubbing on the tee-shirt material. Daylight in the car sitting in the parking lot, he licked them to do away with the soreness. Maybe it even worked. It certainly seemed to work for the twelve year olds who walked by and watched, wide eyed. He got me home by ten but it was only because I insisted on sleeping in my own bed, so my work clothes would be close, and because we had both had enough sex to last us. * * * Bill had to go to a meeting with a big prospective client in Washington, DC. He asked me to go with him but I knew that I'd be a distraction and so did he. He also knew that he wouldn't have much time for us to be alone. So he went alone. Monday, Roger asked Paula to go out with him for the first time on Friday. They had a relationship that had lasted since the first week we'd worked at the company. But they'd never dated. Paula had been so excited all week that she was like a little girl. And then, as far as she was concerned, disaster struck. Roger's brother came to town unexpectedly Thursday night. "Amy?" Paula said at lunch. "You know that Sam, Roger's brother, is in town right?" I nodded. "Well, Roger doesn't want to leave him alone on their first night together for a long time. I guess he lives in New York and they only get to see each other about once a year." I nodded again. "Well, Roger says that the only way we can still go out tonight is if I can get somebody to go out with his brother. I thought that since Bill is out of town, maybe you'd go out with Sam." I spent the rest of the lunch telling her why I couldn't, shouldn't, and wouldn't go out with him. She came up with different reasoning for each of my objections and finally did the best impression of a basset hound I've ever seen. The big, sad brown eyes did me in. That, and the first real opportunity I'd had to really dress up. * * * After work, we raced home and began a mad dash of baths, hair setting, makeup, and dressing. I chose black lace panties and garter belt with sheer, lightly black tinted stockings, and a little black dress with a halter top and bare back. Dangly fake diamond earrings, dinner rings, and bracelet with an ankle bracelet set off the black swede city pumps with three inch heels. Paula chose a red silk halter top connected to loose pants, with red panties and heels so high I felt sorry for her. Her auburn hair was down onto her back then. When the guys picked us up, they looked very professional in dark three piece suits, white shirts and power ties. Sam was younger than Roger and where I thought Roger looked the part of a Chief Financial Officer a little stuffy, only about 5'11" and a little heavy his brother looked like one of those European soccer stars playing businessman for a night. He's probably 6'3" and weighs a nicely shaped muscular 190. The European impression comes from long, loose blond hair, a small, neatly trimmed mustache, and huge smile. His blue eyes looked me up and down three times before he said anything. And that was almost breathless. "Roger told me you were good looking," he said. "But he didn't tell me the half of it." His eyes sparkled. "Sam should know," Roger said. "He's one of the best plastic surgeons in the 'rich' section of New York and if there's a beautiful woman he hasn't worked on, they just haven't heard of him yet." I offered a drink before we left but the men decided that we should have one before dinner and the reservations were less than an hour off. We got our bags and I shivered with the feel of Sam's hand in the small of my back as he guided me to the midnight blue Mercedes Roger drove. The first time I wondered if this was such a good idea was after Sam had carefully watched my legs as I got into the back seat and Roger took Paula in his arms in the front seat and kissed her for long enough that I wondered if he intended to make the reservation or not. Sam was as uncomfortable watching them as I was and made a good attempt at distracting me with questions about work and personal life as we waited for the car to even move. Just when I was thinking about suggesting it, Roger put the car in gear and soon delivered us to the downtown bank building where the restaurant they'd chosen was. The glassed elevator they led us to was in the open lobby of the bank and rose through four stories inside above a guard's head that was craned upward to look under my skirt the entire time before it seemed to go through the roof and into the open air above the city. I found myself pressed back against Sam just to get away from the vertiginous drop outside the glass. I'd heard of the restaurant but had never been to it because it was much too expensive. Roger checked on the reservations before leading us all into the lounge. The place was moody with low lights set so they didn't reflect in the magnificent windows that overlooked the city. The room was long and only a few tables deep with the long bar at the top of a set of tiers that allowed everyone a great view. Two or three couples were dancing to a subdued dance band at the far end, made up of a muted guitar, keyboard, and drummer. The crowd, who seemed to all be looking at us, were a mixture of older, obviously rich people, middle aged businessmen alone or in groups, and a few younger people on "special" dates. I noticed three tables where older, gray haired men sat with young, extremely beautiful women. Sugar daddies, I thought. The guys ordered for us and we talked softly, Sam sharing a little about his practice and life in New York, while we sipped at drinks. About half an hour later, when the maitre 'd told us our table was ready, we made our way back up the steps and then into the other half of the rooftop that was set up somewhat similarly but wider and lighted by candles everywhere you looked. The table linens were dark red and made the sparkling silver, crystal, and white china stand out. We ordered from a huge menu and had our third drinks while we waited. I'd had two gin and tonics and, for some reason, thought a martini sounded like a good idea. Needless to say, before the salad got there, I was starting to giggle. And I never giggle. I pride myself on not giggling, in fact. And when I wasn't giggling on general principles, we were all laughing as Sam told stories about the old ladies he made beautiful, fading Broadway stars, up and coming starlets with big noses, and breast augmentations for strippers. The food was wonderful, prepared at an open grill above the rest of the restaurant, and the three bottles of wine Roger got us set it off perfectly. I thought the wine probably cost about the equal of my weekly paycheck. Paula had never had Crepes Suzette so we all had them along with an orange flavored after dinner drink that was good. After we finished, we went back into the lounge and had a good time deciding what to order to drink. Paula and I ended up with drinks that came in brandy snifters and tasted like orange sherbet but that you could feel go to your head immediately. For a while, the band played a mixture of things that were sort of upbeat and we danced all sorts of dances I've never even thought of trying before. Sam really knew what he was doing and had me feeling like I was really coordinated. He just didn't give me a chance to step wrong because he led so well. We danced a couple, sat one out and drank a drink, dance, drank, and got drunker and drunker, I think. Even with the exercise. Then the music changed to slow and sensual and so did Sam's dance style. There was just something very sensual about having his big hand in the small of my bare back and rubbing my barely covered nipples across the lapels of his suit coat. He talked directly into my ear from a fraction of an inch away, exciting me with his warm breath. He held me tight and moved perfectly in sync with the music. Everything felt wonderful and looked wonderful. His leg pressing between my legs was stimulating. The hardness I felt against my hip was stimulating. When he kissed me on the dance floor the first time, it made the hair at the back of my neck tingle with excitement and goose bumps run up and down my spine. When he kissed me again and his tongue sought my throat, I thought I might come right there. By the end of the dance, I was oxygen staved from my panting. I think when we finished our drinks and got back into the glass elevator, his arms around my ribcage from behind and his hardness pressed into my ass, I would have done anything he wanted. Strangely, we were kissing as I was turned almost facing backward, leaning against his knees in the back seat of the Mercedes, when I realized this was dangerous and that someone else was about to learn the secret I'd kept so well over the months. I wondered if I cared as both his hands went under the halter top and covered my breasts, kneading and squeezing them as I sucked his tongue. But I decided it wasn't fair to him to let him go on. At least without knowing. "Sam," I moaned. He kissed my neck under my ear as I turned away from letting him kiss my mouth again. "You ... let me ... I've got to tell you." "Roger told me," he whispered in my ear. "But " I started. "He told me all about you and Paula. And about you and Bill. I know," he said, looking into my eyes. "Remember? I'm a doctor, too. If Roger hadn't said something, I would have seen probably. "Quite a lot of my business comes off 42nd Street. I've done several surgeries for ..." he stopped and looked into my eyes "For beautiful women to be. That's what I've always called them. And you're not a beautiful woman to be. You're beautiful, dazzling, now." He kissed my neck and shoulders and jawline as if to let his words sink in. "And I'm going to be here for the weekend. Not for your life. I know you are involved with someone and I don't care. And you shouldn't either." As that was sinking in, we stopped at a big house in an exclusive part of town I thought was a few blocks from Bill's and Roger turned off the car and went around to let Paula out. He looked over the seat at us and said, "You guys coming in or do you prefer my back seat?" Sam slid across the seat as I got turned around, opened the door, and gave me and hand out. We caught up with them, Paula leaning on Roger's shoulder and holding his arm as he unlocked the front door. "If you'd like a drink or some romantic music, Sam knows where it is. Right, man?" he said to Sam now. "You'll excuse us. We have something to do." Paula's heels clicked on the marble staircase that curved up to the second floor of the house. Sam grinned at me and led me into a formal living room as they disappeared. I don't know what I expected but what happened was beyond anything that had happened to me before. He guided me, his hand trembling slightly in the middle of my back, into the room where he flicked on the lights of four floor lamps around the room. I guess I expected a tour of the place or to be led to the long white couch or any of a dozen other possibilities. What I didn't expect was that he led me to the back of a heavily upholstered white chair, moved behind me, and lifted my skirt. "I knew you'd be wearing black lace," he said as his hands went to my panties after tucking the back of my short skirt into my garter belt. My hands on the back of the chair, I wondered exactly what was going on as he whisked the black lace down my legs in a quick motion. I looked over my shoulder in shock. It had happened so quickly that I don't think I could have done anything about it. Even if I wasn't fairly drunk and very hot from all the stimulation in the car. As I wondered what I should do, his hands covered the globes of my ass, his thumbs pulling my cheeks wide apart. My hands slipped forward down the back of the chair as I fell forward, his tongue diving into my asshole. "Oh! Ah! Sam! My God!" I gasped as his long tongue sought out my prostate, extending and retreating, extending and retreating until I was vibrating at the edge of orgasm. As suddenly as he'd done it, he stopped. Cross-eyed with it all, I looked back again and saw that he'd pulled down his suit pants without even unbuttoning his coat. His cock was long and fat, dripping from the sheath of uncircumcised skin. The tails of his white shirt were open around it as he aimed it at my waiting hole and, with steady pressure, opened me to it, retreated quickly, pressed again, retreated and was finally against my ass and fully inside me. One more thrust and I would have climaxed. But he stopped and, bent over me, unfastened the back of the halter top and pulled it away from my dangling breasts. His hands went under my breasts, his thumbs and index fingers finding my nipples. As I looked with surprised interest, he did what I don't think very many men in the world can do. Holding me back against his chest, he lifted me upright then free of the chair back, my feet almost a foot above the floor. He took several steps to one side with me where there was a bare expanse of interior brick wall and pressed me against it. My hands at the sides of my face caught us. He switched his hands, one at a time, from my breasts to my knees, holding my legs wide. I was pressed, the inside of my knees, my breasts, and my hands, against the cool brick, as he began to piston into me hard and fast, lifting me with each thrust. I came hard, splashing the inside of my black skirt, and almost screaming with the excitement and release of it. That transmitted to his cock that spasmed and filled my insides. He grunted with each blast of hot come into me and held me up before retreating a little and doing it again. "Oh my God!" I gasped at the intensity and wildness of our act. This time, when he lifted my legs he retreated from my hole before carefully guiding one foot down to the floor where I could support myself and lower the other leg. Still leaning against me, he unzipped the short zipper down my ass and freed my dress to fall around my ankles. Never letting me go, he put his arm around my back, twisted, and had my legs at the back of my knees, lifting me easily. He didn't strain in the least as he carried me halfway across the room and lay me down on my back on the soft rug. Since I could see what was happening now, I wasn't surprised at all when he lifted my legs and slid back into me again. "I'm going ... to do ... your surgery," he gasped between thrusts. I wondered what he meant and whether that was the plan right now as his huge cock tried to cut me in two. He kissed me as we came together. 17. Chapter His legs were behind mine, mine spread wide as he explained what he planned to do to me. "What you do is make an incision from here to here," he said as his fingernail traced from a point below the head of my little dick to the front of my scrotum. "You remove the cartilage and the testes and vas deferens. Then, inside the scrotum, you make an incision here." He pressed between my legs. "It's almost as easy then as turning the whole thing inside out, putting a few stitches along the deepest point and nesting the nerve bundle of the penis in a labial trench." "Sounds easy to me. I'm sure there's a kitchen knife around," I said with a laugh. He laughed with me. "Okay. So it's not so easy but that's the easiest part that any cutter can do. Where the art comes in the part I've founded my business on is the cosmetic. Moving a little fat into this area and this area to build up a perfect labial trench, reducing the clitoral surface to a believable size while maintaining the full nerve bundle, building the vaginal sheath to the proper size and shape, and finally building a believable labia minora with this material." He was playing with my balls. "So would it be big enough for this?" I said, taking his big cock in my hand and stroking him. "As big as you want. If you want one big enough for an eighteen incher though, you're going to loose some skin from your hip or buttocks." "How long does it take?" "The surgery?" I nodded. "About three hours if you're as good as I am." "And before you get out of the hospital?" "Couple of days but you'll probably want to stay in bed for a week if you've got someone to take care of you." "Before it's usable?" "Another week if you don't mind a little pain mixed with your pleasure," he chuckled. "Realistically? Probably a month from the first cut. The better and faster the surgeon, the faster the recovery. And I'm the best." "Did you take lessons from Mohamed Ali?" "I am the greatest!" he mimicked. "But I am. Hands down. I've done it a dozen times and, so far, I haven't had a single long term trauma." "Meaning nobody's been out for a week?" "Meaning that nobody's felt real bad for long and the nerve bundle is preserved. Some surgeons screw up the nerve bundle so bad there's either no feeling left, it's misplaced, or it's to sensitive or not sensitive enough." He took a deep breath. "But you'll get to see first hand before I do you," he added. "What?" "Yeah. This is sort of a busman's holiday. I have the weekend to visit dear old Roger and then Monday morning we make sweet little Paula all the woman she's ever wanted to be." "What!" I exclaimed. "Does she know that?" "Of course. I've had this trip planned for a while but the timing was around the operating theater availability Monday. She and Roger have been talking to me for weeks, more or less." I wondered why she hadn't told me about it. "Anyway. Right now, I have something else in mind." "What's that?" I asked. "First I'm going to suck your tits until they're sore and then I want to see what my dick looks like when I fuck them." I gulped. "Can I go to the bathroom first so I don't mess up Roger's carpet?" "Yeah. But leave it good and slippery," he said with a chuckle. "I'll mix you a drink while you're gone." "Okay. But am I going to have time to drink it?" "Maybe later." * * * Monday morning, Bill was back and I told him about Paula. Since, he said, it would take him a while to get his feet back on the ground, he told me to go to the hospital and see how it was going. When I got there, Roger was already there waiting and, within fifteen minutes, Sam came out in his green outfit. As soon as he took off his mask, I could tell it was all going to be okay. His smile went from ear to ear. "She's okay?" I asked. "Of course. The Picasso of plastic surgery has performed," he said. "I would have rather you'd said Michelangelo," Roger said. "What, you didn't want three of those cute little tits? Now you tell me." "Can we see her?" I asked. "About half an hour. I waited until she came out of the anesthetic so she's awake. But it'll take a few minutes before she's ready for company. Even you guys. And then it can only be a few minutes cause she needs some sleep." He sat and talked to us in all too graphic detail, telling us about the surgery. Then a nurse came out and said she'd been moved to a room and was awake. When we went into the room, she tried to sit up a little and winced but a smile came quickly. Sam took her wrist and looked at his watch to check her heartbeat as Roger took her other hand. I kissed her and asked how she was. "I think I'm okay. Ask Sam," she said. "You're better than okay. You're perfect," he said. "Right now, I don't feel anything. That even includes my legs." "That's from the block we gave you. Waist down for another couple of hours. But it'll come back like gangbusters and when it does, the nurse will give you a couple of pills. Some sleep will take care of the rest of it." "You said well, that I'm perfect." "Of course. Just like I told you. Most girls have to depend on mother nature. Mother Sam makes pussies to order. Everything in its place and a place for everything. "Most girls hope for some feeling down there and it varies from too much to too little. A lucky percentage have just the right amount. "And some girls have clits that are the perfect size or maybe a little large to allow the maximum pleasure. All my girls have nice large ones you can get your fingers around." We laughed. "Some girls have a puss you could drive a truck in but can't feel a normal guy. Some have one so small and tight that it's an effort to take anyone. My girls are just right. Tight enough to give you a thrill and deep and flexible enough to take what's necessary." He turned to Roger and I. "I'll warn you that about two hours from now, she's going to feel like somebody kicked her. Hard. And that'll probably last for a while, though it will lessen as the day wears on. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /