Message-ID: <13309eli$9807231510@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern) Subject: {VickieTern} New TG: Dolls 7/9 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: <1998072312022400.IAA12936@ladder03.news.aol.com> {VickieTern} New TG: Dolls 7/9 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. Her husband became part of this pattern of repetitive days. He was supposedly a hard-driving, energetic man of achievement, but she knew she had married him for his manageability, and because at her age one married, and because he came on so very much male, with his heavy beard, golf, and tennis, with his eye gleaming as his calculations trounced the oppositiuon. At first she was excited to think of him as a trophy, handsome, successful at whatever he attempted, wealthy enough in his own right to be uninterested in her money, the most eligible bachelor to cross into her social set in many years. But he had little wit, and no conversation. He had a direct approach to people that worked or didn't work, while her approaches were always devious and self-amusing, and always worked. He was admirable, she concluded reluctantly, but like all men sooner or later boring. Even sex with him, with his muscular shoulders and arms -- he lifted weights several times each week -- was soon boring. She had to acknowledge he was well hung, with one of the prettier pricks she had seen, not too long but fat as a sapling tree trunk, and with tennis balls hanging beneath where others had golf balls at most. A few hours after she led him away from the garden party where they had just met, and often after they were married, she was impaled and stuffed by his direct linear approach: kiss, embrace, enter her, pump vigorously, come, see that she comes too, and pull out. Then turn and go to sleep. Nothing more. Nothing else. Fun at first, but in all respects too easy. Dull. She returned to the one word that repeated itself in her head after each sexual bout with him, despite his heavy meat. Boring. She found herself daydreaming about old lovers, the ones she had cajoled or intimidated into doing whatever she wanted, especially those she had actually re-made into odd or compulsive sexual creatures, by twisting the shapes of their desires to accommodate her more bizarre fantasies. But beginning an affair with someone else, sex of any kind with anyone else, was impossible now. He was her husband, her partner. He had been faithful to her, thus far, she was sure of it. She owed him her fidelity. Moreover, he was due respect. She knew she could manipulate him. She'd never failed to work her will with any man. But then she would lose all respect for him as a partner in marriage. Then what was merely a boring marriage would really become a prison. She would find herself married to her own puppet, and would need to end it. And she didn't want to end it. He was everything she had married him for, and she was the envy of everyone else because she had married him. She liked things that way. She intended to stay married to him, and to grow old with him. She never wanted to marry any other man. But she needed more than he could provide, and other kinds of things than he could provide. Gradually, one way to deal with her predicament revealed itself to her. She remembered that when she was a little girl, and bored, she had taken refuge in her own imagination, absorbed herself altogether into the life of her dollhouse. She had created a complete, fully equipped household, with a daddy and a mommy and brothers and sisters and relatives and lovers, none of which she herself had in fact, and servants of various kinds, which she had abundantly. Each was a doll ready to do her bidding, and to change and become someone else when her whims changed, or when she ran out of ideas for whatever they were. She remembered that as time wore on and she grew older and saw the possibilities, she would test out new ideas on them, putting daddy into bed with a servant girl, for example, or the handyman, or putting an uncle into intimate embrace with one of the pre-pubescent sons or daughters of the house, or putting mommy into a menage a quatre. Everyone there did what she wanted. That had been fun. So Diana decided to play house with her husband. As her husband he was fully qualified. In fact, when she decided to play dollhouse with him, she decided to bring in other people to play various other dolls along with her and her husband, different dolls for different purposes, or dolls who would willingly play the different roles she required of them. The game would be more fun if Gene didn't know that's what was going on. He himself would be, in a way, a doll. But not a doll to be manipulated. One who was treated with respect. One who freely chose, of his own desires, what roles he wished to play. So, she concluded, if spice were to return to her life, she had to accomplish several things. One was to return to her own uses her main instrument in the manipulation of other people, her pussy, with its various implied promises to people who desired access to it. But she could not give other men access to it, or even the promise of access, unless her husband first gave some other woman access to his prick. She would not be the first to breach their marriage contract, though she knew she would certainly be the second. It was inescapable -- she had to see to it that her husband, of his own free will, fucked some other woman. But a woman of her own choosing, and under conditions of her own choosing, with consquences of her own choosing. She would never risk his running off with someone not of her choosing. Or running off with anyone. Moreover, what she hoped for from her husband's liaison, apart from a necessary justification for fucking other men if she wished or found it expedient, was that some other woman would teach him how to make robust, passionate, and imaginative love to her, so he'd be available to his own wife as a lover she could indeed live with for the rest of her life, perhaps even monogamously. He was not that now. Not at all. Not yet. And she certainly wasn't going to condescend to teach him. One evening, drifting asleep after direct, linear lovemaking with her husband, Diana suddenly snapped wide awake. For the first time in her life, she realized suddenly that someone within her own orbit was living a life she knew nothing about, out of her control! And that someone was her husband! The clue was unmistakable, and she was dumbfounded that she had missed it. Not fifteen minutes earlier, instead of coming in her, then maintaining his ardor and erection until she came (even if his prick started to soften, it was still more than ample for her purposes), he had waited until her orgasm approached, climbed its peak, and then leaped off in full flight. Then, when her gasping had become breathing again, he had asked her "May I come now, please?" And only after she had clutched him tightly to prolong her afterglow, her arms around his neck and her legs around his thighs, and only after she had called out to him in a tense whisper, "Oh, yes, oh, yes!", only then did he explode into her with his own orgasm. Not his usual silent lovemaking at all, with his own satisfaction preceding hers. He attended to hers first. He had been exceptionally considerate this time. More than considerate. He hadn't even asked her "Close?", checking to see if he could play out his own end game and not leave her too far behind, as if for some obscure reason there were doubts whether she'd play out hers at all, as if those doubts ever mattered to him at such a moment anyhow. He knew that she'd just gone over the top. His words were "*May* I come now?" He had asked her permission, and added, as if he were not in charge of his own body, "please." The bastard was fucking some other woman! Not just any other woman, but one who was playing domination/submission games with him, who was training him not to come without her permission! Apparently, at the peak of his own desire for sexual release he had gotten his two women confused -- for the moment, he had actually forgotten which bed he was in. Diana knew the signs, and this one was unmistakeable. In college and occasionally afterward she had trained men to play bondage games that interested or amused her, many such men. An early stage was to control their orgasms -- desperate to cum, they could be conditioned to do anything, to agree to anything, in exchange for a long-sought release. Especially if they had been wrought up to extremes of erotic tension. Then their cumming could be made conditional on many other amusing things. That was how she had conditioned all of her men to kinkiness of some sort. It interested her, seeing how far she could move men from wherever she found them. Impeccably neat gentlemen always ended up her toilets, grateful she allowed them to cum at all, but never until they had opened their mouths wide to her drink her piss or eat her shit direct from its source. Prudes ended up male whores, doing basic training in an actual whorehouse for several weeks before being sent into the streets to find and satisfy customers with specified peculiarities, as if they were participating in some bizarre scavenger hunt, all to please her. For the rest of their lives, some of her former partners would need to be stretched or whipped or humiliated to the extremities of physical or mental discomfort before they could climax. Almost by whim she had brought one man, over only a few months, from a satyr's readiness to ejaculate anywhere on no notice, to numb inability to feel anything unless it was associated with pain, and to require near-blinding agony in order to ejaculate. She then obliged him when he begged her by squeezing his scrotum with all her strength. But then he went out of control and became something of a torture junkie on his own. He mutilated himself while masturbating, as she could see afterward. Then one evening he spent hours pleading with her to crush his testicles with a hammer. Respectfully, on his knees, his forehead pressed to the floor and the hammer offered with both outstretched hands, not daring to look at her, tears streaming from his eyes. And he hadn't been able to hear her when she ordered him to stop it. It was kind of sweet, his dedication to her. But she had realized they were no longer compatible. He had become someone else's problem, not hers, and she stopped seeing him. Gene on the other hand was her problem, till death did them part. A few nights later, Diana confirmed her suspicion. Just as he was rising to a feverish explosion and his loins were pumping ferociously, utterly out of control, straining into her while his dick swelled into a massive discharge, she said in a low, carefully modulated voice, "Not this time" and then waited to see what would happen. There was no waiting at all. Gene immediately withdrew from her, fell to licking her to bring her off, and then despite what had to be a hideous case of blueballs, all that overheated cum still bottled up inside him, he hugged her and went to sleep without complaint. Diana lay there furious, but even more, filled with wild surmise. Then she found that all in all, she was delighted. She felt her life suddenly again grow rich, purposive. She knew she had to identify this woman, whoever she was, and confront her, perhaps defeat her in a direct contest of wills with her husband as the prize, and then secure her husband against any such onslaughts ever again. Here was a project worthy of her attention! She closed her eyes and smiled. Within a minute she was sound asleep. The next day she went to her office and Gene went to his. By the time Gene reappeared on the streets for lunch he was equipped, without knowing it, with two faithful observers who never lost sight of him and followed him everywhere, one an unimpressive young man with thinning hair and an abstracted manner, a computer geek for some local broker, it seemed, and the other a middle-aged woman too plain to tempt strangers, a little plump, but well-enough dressed to be able to shop or take tea anywhere. He never noticed that he was being followed. Meanwhile, Gene's firm advertised for a secretary and for a landscape draftsman, and a reputable employment agency sent over two candidates that same afternoon. Each chatted with the staff for hours about what kind of place this was to work in, what the bosses were like, and each made a luncheon appointment for the next day with an especially compatible new acquaintance, and each arranged to take in a movie with another new acquaintance, so they could share the real poop about things. The secretary was eventually hired and the draftsman wasn't. It didn't matter. By the end of the following week it seemed that they both had to leave town to tend sick relatives, and neither was seen again. Their real work was finished, successfully accomplished. They reported in, and by the end of the following week Diana had the complete story, with photographs and a videotape, everything she had wanted to know and some things she didn't. It seems that before his marriage Gene had routinely skimmed the secretarial staff and filing clerks for sexual favors, that a number had been hired with that understanding, and that some of these were still there. These sometimes still met with him privately in exchange for the gifts Gene gave them (all agreed he was a gentleman). But the gifts were not for additional sexual favors. They were for their silence about his earlier sexual harrassment of them. One had especially missed having his meat in her mouth, or cunt, or ass a few times each week. In her way she loved him. So a few months earlier, just about when Diana was realizing how bored she was with her husband, this especially affectionate filing clerk had flashed a naked ass at Gene from under her mini, and five minutes later was again enjoying the feel of his huge cock stuffing her quim, seated on his lap with her back to him, her hands braced on his desk against his thrusting into her ass. Not in her pussy, because Gene did want to remain a faithful husband it seemed, but up her cute rear end, and then into her mouth to be cleaned off by her prehensile tongue, and then down her throat to be rinsed off. This had become a regular thing between them, until only a month ago. A month ago, it seems, Gene's partner's wife had walked into Gene's office unannounced to ask him about an investment and had nearly fallen over Gene and the filing clerk humping their way around the room doggy style. The filing clerk had leaped up and immediately fled, flashing the bottoms of her cheeks below her miniskirt all the way back to her cubicle, to the amusement of various office staff and one structural engineer, who dated her that very night and had been seen steadily with her ever since. The partner's wife (the investigators' report had her name as "Nicola" though Diana knew it was "Nicole -- close enough she mused, if everything else is accurate), had then shut Gene's office door and they had been alone for a half hour. Then both had emerged, Gene looking chastened and following her through the office, down the hall, into the elevator, and into her car, where he had sat with his head hunched down a little, looking straight ahead while she drove off. That was probably the day he began spending an afternoon or two a week at her house, according to Nicole's neighbors, though they saw nothing improper about this because Nicole's husband Michael usually arrived with him, and the two of them went in together. A newsboy claimed that he once saw the two of them on their knees together in the doorway working their way awkwardly into the front hall while some shadowy person in thigh boots reached behind them to close the door, He had decided that that was not a good moment for him to collect the household's two months of arrears for newspaper delivery. There was, the report went on, a room in Nicole and Michael's house known among some respectable couples, the investigators were careful to point out, as a "dungeon." In fact it was the former game room on the ground floor, where various pipes, electrical lines, hooks, links, chains, and mechanical platforms had been installed, of a kind common where couples practice what the investigators called "Domination, Submission, Bondage, and Sadie's Masochism." Among consenting adults, the report assured Diana, these things happened. It was not unlawful. It was fairly clear what had happened, and Diana only scanned the remaining pages. She was amused to read one secretary's comment that Gene's partner had returned from two weeks in Florida with his neck "clean" while all the rest of him was sun-tanned -- to Diana it was obvious that Michael had spent the vacation in a slave collar and probably naked, and she recalled affectionately her games with that young tennis instructor so many summers ago. Nicole's husband was her sex-slave, probably had been for years -- let's see, they last renovated their house at least five years ago, she thought. Gene had tried to remain true to his wife in his fashion, but not too successfully. He was being blackmailed by some of his former harem girls. And now Nicole also had him, let's say, intimidated into becoming her second sex slave. Diana knew that however commanding his appearance at the Country Club or various Architects Forums, Gene was a natural submissive. That was why she had married him -- he was safe, and could always be brought back into line if he strayed. She had wanted an equal partner in marriage, a man she could respect yet control in all crucial ways. Maybe she had been a little schoolgirlish about her expectations, she thought. She hadn't wanted to come on dominant to him and order him about. Yet, maybe she had been unfair to him in this. Maybe she had deprived him of something he needed. Nicole now had his body whether he wanted to go with her or not, but Diana knew that eventually she'd have his soul as well as his body. His wife had to rescue him. It wasn't too late. Probably he hadn't gone very far with her yet -- enough to get to like some of the discipline, but not yet into the heavy stuff, Diana thought, certainly not yet into total obedience to Nicole's least whim. Obviously, she used his cock whenever she chose, in whatever ways she chose, the way less-capable women use their dildoes. That was already a clear violation of his obligations to her, the unequivocal justification her own liberty needed. Nicole could easily lead him that way, Diana realized, quickly re-assessing what she knew of her husband's partner's wife's personality. As a domme she'd be formidable. But it wasn't too late. And it certainly was interesting. Not at all boring. Diana skimmed the photos quickly and stowed them with the report and the unscreened video in her private safe in her study. She knew what the video contained, maybe some murky long shots of two naked slaves seen through a dining room or kitchen window, and Gene's comings and goings with dates and times duly noted. Maybe it would be useful later. But she had to think without distraction. By the next morning Diana had all her ducks in a row. Above all her husband had to be extricated from this double blackmail by the secretaries and by Nicole, and for the rest of their lives together -- and Diana still meant to grow old with him -- safeguarded against anything similar ever happening again. His architectural partnership had to be preserved, so Gene could retain his dignity and his self-respect, and have something to do days while Diana looked after her own affairs a little more freely than in the past. All four of them had reputations among their friends that had to remain impeccable, beyond any shadow of gossip or tawdry suspicion. She picked up the phone and called Nicole, suggesting a lunch where they could chat about charitable works, and membership on the country club's governing board, and "other things." "It's been so long since we've seen each other, " Diana told Nicole. "And we share so many concerns. We have to talk." "Of course," said Nicole, who knew never to underestimate Diana, and who instantly concluded that Diana somehow had come to know everything. It wasn't from Gene, she felt sure, because Gene had lately been showing up at her doorstep with a certain...er...eagerness, a spring in his step she had been planning to begin converting into far darker desires. But no matter now. "Our husbands are partners. What concerns them concerns us, I'm sure." "Wonderful, Nicole," Diana said. "Longfellow's for lunch then? Tomorrow? Around one? If you have anything else on for afterward, maybe we can be free by two-thirty. Or maybe the two of end 7/9 (c) 1998 by Vickie Tern May be archived if made freely available. Not if not.  Vickie Tern@AOL.COM -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----