Message-ID: <13307eli$9807231509@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern) Subject: {VickieTern} New TG: 6/9 F/m M/M F/f femdom Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories 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: <1998072312010800.IAA02292@ladder01.news.aol.com> {VickieTern} New TG: Dolls 6/9 F/m M/M F/f femdom I'll appreciate knowing what you think of this:VickieTern@AOL.COM Other Vickie Tern stories are archived in http://www.fictionmania.com and http://library.gaycafe.com/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Vickie_Tern I'll appreciate knowing what you think of any of these too, if you can still write after reading them. If you shouldn't be reading this, don't. housemistress of the price of her silence about this lamentable attempted seduction of a young child. To emphasize that she was serious, Diana insisted that the housemistress get out of bed and kneel on the floor between her legs, while Diana herself lolled back on the pillows with her legs spread apart over the bed's edge, her toes just touching the floor. The housemistress's face looked up over Diana's crotch, outraged but unable to think of a remedy. So Diana had her spend the night in that position, and dozed between tongue lickings. By morning the housemistress was well trained to begin by licking the length of Diana's slit, then to nibble Diana's clit gently with her lips and front teeth, while occasionally flicking it or trying to penetrate Diana's still virginal vagina with her tongue. She was instructed to keep doing these things until Diana had orgasmed. Then she was permitted to sleep briefly, her face pillowed on Diana's crotch, until Diana awoke and asked her to resume. After a few nights of this, the housemistress was grateful when Diana allowed her to kneel all night on a pillow. By then she had learned how to bring Diana off quickly and expertly, because her adolescent mistress required that high standard, and also because it increased the lag time for sleeping between the three or four servicings Diana required nightly. She learned to awaken and begin again each time Diana flexed her toes and thrust her mound up into the housemistresses sleeping face. By the end of the week the housemistress was resuming on signal, Diana was amused to notice, in her sleep, and was scarcely disturbed by her new nightly posture and duties. The young football Captain needed different incentives, of course, and Diana provided them. Diana wanted him to take her virginity as a service to her, not for himself, and to feel properly privileged and humble about it. It was not a trophy he could be allowed to dare to boast about even to himself. Diana was by now a slim and beautiful maiden, with budded breasts just noticeable, and delicate lips she usually touched with pink lipstick. One afternoon, while watching a scrimmage at the nearby boys' private school, she seemed to slip on the grass. Immediately the team was deserted while the Captain raced to her assistance. They spoke together on the sidelines just long enough to arrange an illicit meeting that night, each sneaking out of a dormitory and across the common playing field to a nearby grove of trees. That night they were together just long enough for Diana to get laid three times, the first one painful and the second problematic, but the third the justly fabled delight of a girlhood fantasy that for once lived up to its promise, with shrieking multiple orgasms that no way resembled moaning and shuddering her housemistress could coax from her. Boys were better than girls for some things. Then as she came down from heaven to face her partner and saw a foolishly self-satisfied adolescent expression on his face, she thanked him, then began to discuss charges of actual and statutory rape she might bring against him. This brought the Captain to his knees in front of her, and as she directed him he was soon leaning way back on his elbows, his head tilted back so she could straddle his face, eagerly sucking up from her pussy her hymeneal blood, her generous juices, and his own abundant semen. This gave her an interesting idea. So for the rest of the year, like it or not her Captain had a steady date with her, for an hour or so each night of five consecutive nights each month, to use his prick and his cum as a douche to loosen her day's accumulation of clotted menstrual blood and mucous, then to use his mouth to cleanse her thoroughly and return her vagina to its customary sweetness. The much-used housemistress was happy to take those nights off and sleep in her own bed. In this way the Captain learned that no one ever owned Diana, and that his highest function was to please her. By the time he graduated from Prep School she had trained him to feel helpless before any woman who knew her own mind, able to conceive of sex only as a service he should provide without recompense or reward. When Diana passed him on to a girl she knew at the College he attended that Fall, the girl reported back that he was too grovelling to be worth her trouble, and that she had donated him to her sorority for general purpose uses. Once she herself reached College age, Diana found that it was much more amusing to control her sexual partners by manipulating their desires than by direct entrapment or blackmail. By the time her formal higher education ended she had refined her techniques in many ways. Her initial discovery that men were easy to self-entrap was accidental. Early one summer she went to a Tennis Camp to improve her game. She arranged the first day to meet the handsomest of the young instructors, a slim and pale blonde Adonis, for lunch and a mid-day swim on his next day off. On that day off they went to a secluded pond he knew of, by a clearing deep in the woods. He then committed the folly of trying to talk her into swimming with him topless as they changed into their swimsuits. This, he hoped secretly, might lead them in turn to bottomless pleasures. Diana reappeared from behind a tree where she had been changing, wearing a pretty flowered bikini, expecting to be complimented. Instead the young Adonis eyed her with a calculating smile and swung into action. "Take that top off, little girl," he urged in an overripe voice. "You'll love feeling free and natural with the wind on your skin. Trust me!" Diana felt insulted by this crude gambit. Annoyed, she challenged him instead to spend the afternoon with her swimming and sun bathing topped, as she was, to learn for himself how girls sacrifice comfort to maintain respectability. He agreed to placate her, and reached for his shirt to put it back on. No, she told him, fair's fair, they should each have the same kind of top. So she went back behind the tree and emerged holding her black lace brassiere, and offered it to him. Of course he balked. But Diana then turned icy with contempt and made a few references to his apparently fragile manhood, taunting him whether she had uncovered in him some shameful secret desire to wear women's clothing. He denied he had ever felt any such thing, a bra being a bra, nothing more, and relented. She helped him slip the straps over his shoulders and fastened the flimsy lace thing herself tightly behind his back, where he couldn't reach the hooks. He looked a little shamefaced, but she stood back and took his measure with her eyes, noted his pectoral muscles delicately swathed in her lace cups, smiled, and reached to touch one of his nipples through the material. "Just like mine," she said. They both laughed, and he relaxed. Things seemed promising, he thought, if a little kinky. Then for the next six hours they played delightedly, in the water and out under the clear blue sky and hot sun, nibbling on their sandwiches and occasionally on each other, and dozing under the sky. Diana's skin was well tanned from a Spring vacation in Bermuda, so she didn't bother with sun block. He had brought a bottle, but somehow felt it would be wimpy to spread it on himself when she wasn't using any, so he set it aside. He altogether forgot about his pale skin as he explored and stroked and kissed the selected areas of Diana's body she permitted him access, her neck and shoulders, and the front parts of her thighs, and one breast. But Diana didn't forget. She saw to it he remained in the sun the whole time, and turned him toward it like a basting chicken on a spit. His skin turned pink, then a deeper pink. By mid-afternoon the air turned cooler, and Diana suggested they think about returning. She went back behind her tree to change back into her t shirt and shorts, and reappeared bra-less, pretending to be surprised and amused that he was still wearing his damp bathing trunks and was still struggling to reach the triple bra hooks in the center of his back. She unhooked it for him and stood back to admire her handiwork. Her Adonis was now deep pink except where the bra had been. The outlines of thin white straps rose over each shoulder and a bra band was branded in white across his back. On his chest appeared the white scalloped outline of two bra cups, one for each pectoral muscle bulge, his nipples in the center of each surrounded by a filigree of pink and white skin in near-perfect reproduction of the bra's delicate lace rosettes. He was appalled when he saw this tattoo, but Diana was delighted. She told him it would last the summer, and would turn eventually from pink to tan, but would never blend with the rest of his chest no matter how much he tried to tan the bra-whitened areas. She told him it served him right. She then suggested that the next time they dated she would provide him with matching lace panties to swim and sun bathe in, so he could have a matched set. He quickly learned what Diana already knew, that for the next six weeks he was hers. She knew no normal American male would ever want it known he had worn a brassiere even for the noble and manly purpose of seducing a girl who had challenged him to wear one. He took to swimming in a T-shirt even on the hottest of days, for fear of being seen in his suntan bra. Sometimes when they were perspiring freely on the Tennis Court and there were others listening Diana would call to him to take his shirt off so he could feel natural and free, and feel the wind on his skin. She added different items to his daytime underwear wardrobe. A week later they went swimming together again, and this time she insisted he wear the promised matched pair of black panties with lace rosettes instead of his swimming trunks, worn all day in the sun along with the same black bra worn to deepen its tan lines and her grip on him -- this was the price she exacted from him for letting him kiss her between the legs that day. Then, to finally let him fuck her, she bought him a panty-for-each-day-of-the-week set and took possession herself of all his shorts and briefs, so he'd have no choice but to wear them. Then she spot checked, that on Tuesdays for example he was wearing the cute powder blue flowered bikini emproidered "It's Tuesday, so Kiss Me!" and on Sunday, the pink tap pants embroidered "Every Sunday Tell Me how Pretty I Am!" A few weeks later, since she already held his reputation in her hand, she had no problem dressing him up in a padded bra, a T shirt reading "Secretly I'm a Princess," cute shorts, strappy sandals, lipstick, and mascara, to go shopping with her in a nearby mall. She showed up for their date dressed in an oversized pair of men's jeans and a workshirt, with her hair brushed boy style to one side. Then she challenged him whether he was man enough to wear a complete cross-gendered outfit the way she was, and he agreed before he realized she didn't mean him to wear another pair of jeans and another workshirt. He never did work out that their mutual daring was radically unequal, women in pants being a common sight, and men in skirts somewhat more rare. But he knew by then never to question her sense of fair play. So he let her feminize his appearance, and he tripped and strolled his way through the mall as requested, taking short steps, periodically turning to her and clasping his hands together in excitement, as ordered, a stiff erection bulging the front of his flaring girlie shorts the whole time. She took due note that a summer with his manhood being teased by a girl had in fact brought out an effeminate streak in him, and that his effeminacy turned him on. It amused her that this was so. That night she allowed him a sixty-nine position in their lovemaking, telling him this was what women do, gently, kissing and nibbling his penis for the first time, but as if it were a clit, mouthing and licking only the head. He went wild. His lovemaking that night had a desperate, even frenzied element in it, as if he were trying to relocate some lost male center of himself. She helped him to find it again by mounting him and then, before she let him pump her from below her in throes of helpless eroticism, she refreshed his lipstick and mascara, fondled his breasts, and called him her darling girl. She returned home from Tennis Camp with an essential truth of far great value than never to waste your second service by lobbing the ball, namely that men will endure any amount of humiliation in order to avoid being humiliated, that some even crave humiliation because they feel guilty about their own desires. Find what men are ashamed of, she took due note, and get them habituated to it, and they are yours. For the remainder of her College years she exchanged confessions of secret shame with each new date, her own confession usually of some trivial occasion in her childhood, theirs whatever embarrassing desire or event she could then talk them into enacting or re-enacting, and they were hers. A few years out of college she came into her inheritance, and found that for the rest of her life she could afford nearly any amusement she fancied. She kept herself busy running several scientific, charitable, and environmental foundations, attempting to spend her share of her father's money on good causes faster than it earned even more of itself, and for the most part failing. While the militant feminist movement argued confrontationally for greater access to male power and privilege, she acquired and redistributed much more male power and privilege much more seductively. To do her bit for the feminist movement she seduced other women's husbands, then honed to a knife edge the agonies of guilt those husbands felt for betraying their wives, then informed their wives that she was handing over to them a powerful weapon for destroying their husbands, the news of their husband's infidelities. She then helped the wives do whatever they wished with these hapless males. The least imaginative wanted and got a divorce, and others equally unimaginative wanted and got reconciliation based on the old status quo. But some others looked to convert their formerly macho males into various kinds of wimps under their thumbs. Some wanted to enslave them to do their least bidding, to lick their shoes, or their spittle, or their lovers' pricks while these were still sticky with mixed cum, or to lick their own assholes while still ripe from doing a dump. Some in revenge wanted to fuck five other men while their unfaithful husbands watched helplessly, and some wanted five other men to fuck their husbands into an effeminacy to be endured as an act of contrition, while their wives watched and gloated. These things could all be arranged, and Diana arranged them. But after a while she began to run out of husbands. It was time, she thought, to find one of her own. ***************** Then Gene appeared as if from nowhere. It was at a summer lawn party in the Hamptons, and the hostess, her college roomate from years back, grinned broadly at Diana as she brought them together. "Diana, this is Gene. Gene, Diana. You two have a great deal in common. You both like power. You're both movers and shakers, and you both know how to make men do whatever you want!" And she turned away, laughing uproariously at her little joke Diana's first impression of Gene was of overwhelming maleness. A vigorous self-confidence poured out of him. Gene reached out and took slow possession of Diana's hand as if it were a continent, as if he were already having his way with her. He squeezed it gently, irresistibly, and then he partly opened his own hand so she could withdraw it if she wanted. She didn't. She couldn't. Amazed, she looked at what was formerly her hand, thin and long and pale in his large relaxed grip, her red fingernails touching his wrist. He closed his other hand over it, so it was now a kind of bird in a cage. Then she looked up at him, and saw heavy black brows hanging over his ironically amused eyes, a dark, handsome jaw already in need of another shave, full lips carved into a smile like those found on Greek statues of athletes, a large head capped by dense waves of black hair, and wide shoulders spreading his cashmere sports jacket like a thin sweater. She saw he was also studying her intently for longer than was necessary, and decided that this was his standard ploy with girls who interested him. Nevertheless, it worked. Instinctively, she covered his two hands with her own other hand, caressed his briefly with her fingertips, then surrounded and gripped it. She forced herself to look into his eyes with the devastating force and assurance she reserved usually only for only very important potential donors to her various charities. They said nothing for a moment, gazing into each other's eyes and minds. He flinched first. He looked down at his hand encased in both of hers and said, "I'd better hand these back to you." But he couldn't. She now held him as he had held her. She waited a split second longer, until he knew this, then released his hand and finally pulled her other hand free. His own suddenly felt empty. Then as if without thinking, she reached up and touched the dense blue shadow on his chin with her fingertips, testing for herself how rough an hour or so's growth of beard could feel. A faint uncertainty crossed his face. Then satisfaction. Good, she thought. I bet that self-confident handshake gets lots of girls. But now I've got him, and he'll have to hang it out to dry. Diana took his arm and wrapped both of hers around it, twined her fingers into his, and gently turned him back toward their hostess. "Now that we've met, we're leaving," she told her not-altogether-astonished old friend. The genuinely astonished man on her arm was too busy replaying in his head what he had just heard to object to it, or to question her. So they left together. Two months later they were married, on the same lawn, with most of the same people attending. Gene was exactly what Diana had wanted. He too had independent means, but he was also an architect whose partner kept busy designing town houses and country estates for friends. This got him out of the house on those mornings when an early golf game didn't. He was comfortable with himself, uncomplicated, forceful when he wanted to be, easily taking charge when no real thought was required, and inclined to do whatever she wanted whenever a situation really needed thinking through. He had an elaborate office in town where his partner, a workoholic named Michael, and various draftsmen and engineers drew up plans for things and modified other things, a whole floor in a downtown building, and he went there every morning. He'd supplied the initial capital outlay, and there was little more for him to do there. While Michael often worked late into the evening, Gene as often spent afternoons playing a few sets or rounds with friends who also had more money than ambition. She loved showing off such a hunk of man when they went to parties, concerts, or dinners, his dark good looks and manly proportions a worshipful and attentive backdrop for her own slim elegance. Wherever they went and no matter what circle she joined, whatever the animated talk in any of the fashionable living rooms and country clubs they frequented, he was always in attendance upon her, bringing her drinks, looking thoughtful when she seemed to defer to him for an opinion, and then looking pleased when she articulated it and called it his. She was the envy of all the women in her set. Within a few years, of course, Diana was bored down to her bones. Her work consisted of doling out large sums of money, then seeing they were well-spent, and this required many of her skills and all of her knowledge. But after years of being courted by worthy causes she found no thrills, flattery, or challenges in the prospect of more of the same old same old. It wasn't dull work. In fact it was rather challenging, even intricate in the way it required that she bring people of many different temperaments and interests together, to try to locate their mutual interest in conceiving and completing one or another project. But it was no longer absorbing. When some glitch or crisis arrived by telephone, she knew how to deal with it almost mindlessly almost before she had set down the receiver. end 6/9 (c) 1998 by Vickie Tern May be archived if made freely available. Not if not.  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