Message-ID: <21186asstr$942541801@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern) X-Newsreader: Session Scheduler Subject: {ASSM} A Place of her Own by Vickie Tern 6/10 TG F/m Femdom X-Original-Message-ID: <19991111093907.25568.00000043@ngol02.aol.com> X-To: story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us JMDigest-Score: good -20 Date: Sat, 13 Nov 1999 20:10:01 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: assm-admin {VickieTern} NEW TG: A Place of Her Own 6/10, F/m, M/M etc, femdom This story depicts sexual activity of various sorts among consenting if sometimes also credulous and deceived adults. If you are not a consenting adult don't read it, no matter how credulous or deceived. It's not for you. Not yet. Now and then when the elevator door opened there were two of them, Tracy and one or another woman friend. They'd both ignore me and step past me and go into Tracy's apartment together. Then sometimes I was ordered to follow after, sometimes not. If I followed, I knew I would be spending the evening licking two pussies until one crotch seemed very much like the other, while above me they caressed each others' nipples and kissed each other passionately. I was absolutely forbidden to speak during these sessions, and when I was finally given permission to leave I was forbidden to notice whether her friends stayed on through the night or not. Sometimes they did. I never knew their names. I once asked Tracy timorously if she sometimes came home with men during the week. She looked at me amused and told me that we both would, sooner or later. From then on whenever the elevator door opened I felt apprehensive. Once she called me into her apartment I never knew what to expect. She wanted me naked, she explained, so I'd feel helpless and vulnerable, utterly subject to any of her moods, and also incidentally so she could follow my progress as her hormone regimen smoothed my skin and rounded my body. She was amused to detect lumps immediately behind my painfully sensitive nipples when those glands first began to multiply themselves, widening and thrusting out my areola. "Only three weeks in, and you already have the pouty tits of a teeny bopper," she said. "It's a natural talent! Don't worry about the shape of your nipples or their sensitivity, Andy. When your breasts come in those pointy nipples will level into the soft tissue behind them. And their feel when you caress them will drive you wild!" She noticed even before I did that my buttocks were filling in and rounding out, and she took to calling me affectionately "bubble butt." Our sex on weekdays was a matter of strict subservience. "I like to be in charge, Amy," she explained to me one weekend, when we were speaking together as equals. "I love topping women or men, but especially partial men or women who feel incomplete because they aren't the other. I want to teach the irreducible Andy in you utter submission, subservience and obedience not only to me but to any dominant. To you, Amy, so he'll know for the rest of his life who's in charge, that he's nothing without you, that he must consult and obey and please you in all things. He needs to learn to love obedience to Amy, to crave it, to feel unfulfilled without it. I'd whip him into it, but I'm quite sure he'll never kiss the whip -- he doesn't love pain. Nor even tolerate it. He doesn't even value it enough to offer me his pain as a gift. So it isn't fair to you for me to whip him. But he's easy to train in other ways. And you're both learning how deeply satisfying it can be to please me, aren't you?" She couldn't humiliate Andy by dressing him as a woman, obviously. So she exhibited him as her submissive sex slave to her women friends. Often she would sit and watch television with her legs apart and her pussy fully exposed, while I knelt before her on my knees with my back to the tube, staring raptly at her slit, studying its every fold and crevice and moist gleam from only a foot away. It was like being in church. One of her friends marveled at my self-restraint. "He wants to dive into you, doesn't he," she'd say. "Your Mr. Tits can barely resist eating Miss Pussy." Tracy told me to meditate on her friend's crotch the same way, and I watched fascinated while she spread her twat wide opened and fingered herself, her juices running onto her fingers. "Don't you wish you had one of these, feebledick?" that one taunted me between gasps. I did begin to wonder what it would be like. When she offered me a finger, I licked the juice off it gratefully. My reward for such perfect obedience was to be allowed to smooch their slits once, using plenty of tongue. Sometimes I was allowed to dive in and lick them outright. Once I had to watch wistfully while they reclined together on the couch, their video program forgotten, and ate each other out. "Feeling jealous?" Tracy asked me, lifting her face from between the other woman's legs and looking at me with a grin. "If you had one of these you could be here with me!" Another time a woman wanted to use me as a kind of toilet when she saw how I'd obey anything Tracy ordered. It wasn't easy to obey her at first, and it took several visits before I learned to enjoy it, even to look forward to it. Then she stopped coming altogether. When I asked Tracy why she shrugged. "When I saw your eyes light up the last time you saw her, I knew she had nothing more to teach you. Don't worry. There'll always be other women who'll want to use you that way. No doubt some men too. And when you're Amy, altogether your own woman and accustomed to topping others, and you want to impress your superiority on them utterly, you can order other men to serve you as your toilet. They'll do it. Trust me!" Often she'd tease and terrify me by talking about sex with men. "You can't commit to a full lesbian relationship with me or anyone else, if you mean to end up lez, until you know what you're missing," she said as she installed a butt plug in my rump and made me promise to wear it all the time, awake or asleep, excepting only when I moved my bowels or opened my anus to her dildo. I wore it thereafter whenever I entered and made love to her, and clamping down on it when I went into an orgasmic spasm made for a whole separate experience, as if I were the one being fucked and my ass was milking a cock. Then she installed wider butt plugs in me, shaped and veined like pricks. Then one glorious evening a fat, long, strap dildo that reached deep into my vitals as she stroked it in and out of me. "Face me, your legs on my shoulders," she'd instructed me. "And look into my face gratefully and lovingly the whole time I'm penetrating you. And whenever I fuck you, I want to see intense gratified desire." I looked tenderly at her, then as sensation began to build I felt deep affection, and she saw that. When she came, I came, and nearly passed out. I wasn't surprised when a week of so later it one of her friends used that same monster dildo to fuck me doggy style. It felt so wonderful by then that I could only grunt. I was becoming such a fuck slut! I grew so accustomed to "anal orgasms" as Tracy called them that she tried an experiment. While I was humping her she reached around and removed my "little lover" as she called it from my rear end. My face expressed such emptiness and deprivation that she burst out laughing and immediately plunged two fingers into me. I spasmed marvelously on them. "Oooh, are you ever ready to lose your virginity!" she commented afterward. "I just need to decide who with, and how it can be an especially beautiful moment in your life, one you'll treasure! If you were only Andy I'd send you into the street for a week. But then when you came back you'd think of your mouth and ass as sewer openings, not as a treasured receptacles. I want Amy to remember her first real fuck with affection. I want Amy to know that sex with a man you love can be gloriously romantic, even sublime." I always cooked dinner for the two of us, five nights each week. Sometimes she ate what I prepared and sometimes she ignored it and I dined alone. "Your pleasure should be in anticipating my pleasure," she explained, "whether or not I accept whatever you're offering me." She was always sternly critical of my slightest lapses. A lumpy Hollandaise aroused fury. Yet once when I spent all day preparing a Roast Duck in Cherries and by chance she allowed me to serve her, her first bite was so satisfying she couldn't repress making ecstatic noises. Then looking directly at me she sat forward on her chair and shifted her weight to spread her legs wide apart. I needed no further instruction. I set down my fork and dove under the table. Then for the rest of the meal while she was mouthing and exclaiming over my sauces, I was licking the sauce on the inside edges of her pussy slit. That was sheer joy. I realized I was becoming very much the girl Tracy wanted, eager to become even mores. I went back to CurlyGirly for my weekly appointments, for electrolysis, laser, and wax treatments and touch ups on my makeup and hairdo, and each week came back smoother. One week I decided to take my own look into my own hands and get a tight perm and a no-care curly cap of hair instead of the curved-down-the-neck straight hair Trish had thought best for me. I usually pinned it up, but it was always a bother to remove the pins so they wouldn't scratch Tracy's or her friends' thighs whenever I burrowed between them. Janie wouldn't do it. "Believe me, dear, you need to fuss a little," she said. "It's a bother, looking pretty. But men love long hair. And I know your wife wants you looking romantic, swoony." "I'm not married any more," I told Janie. "And I don't date men." "Well, we'll see," Janie said non-commitally. "For a divorced professional woman you're making excellent progress, honey." One morning a few months later I was feeling sweetly tranquil, sitting with my feet up on the couch in my living room, wearing only panties with a matching bra to support the cute new little tits that were coming along so nicely, wondering when they'd feel less sensitive, working out a flow-chart problem for a chemical plant, when the phone rang. I reached for it and absently said "Hello?" in my breathy flute voice, Amy's. "Amy? Trish. You remember, Trish, don't you honey? Your ex? It's been a while! You sound so genuine! How *are* you, lover?" At that moment I wasn't sure. My hand shook a little. "I'm fine Trish. Couldn't be better. Wouldn't know how. How are you?" End the conversation, I told myself. I don't want to share me with her. Not after what she's done. "Oh, I'm terribly busy, it's worse than I'd anticipated, but it's also so exciting! So many new things to get on top of. This new client's work is more demanding than any of us had expected. Apart from all the involved partners I now have a huge crew working with me full time, and two more Associates signing on soon. They put in seventy to ninety hour weeks, travel often, and complain all the time. But the jobs do get done. The wives with no children got together once to protest to me how they felt deprived of male company, as they put it. So I got together with them one night at a hotel retreat to point our how they could organize sleepovers as if they were still teenagers, and then they wouldn't at all mind their husbands' absences, and wouldn't feel at all deprived. They did just that. I mixed a couple of pros into the social events that weekend, males and females, and they made themselves attractive. Now some of them don't care who they're sleeping with, another wife, their husband, or someone else's. Wives no longer feel deprived -- problem solved. I love it, that I'm so good at what I do!" "That's nice." There was a pause. I didn't want to be reminded how easily she played tunes on other people. Then I asked her "Do you still use my boudoir as a reading room?" Stupid! Almost like asking her "What are you wearing now?" An invitation to reminisce about intimacies! Practically an invitation to phone sex! "O yes, honey, whenever I'm home. Always on weekends. I'm in it now! It's so peaceful. So very feminine. It reminds me of your gentleness and daintiness, so many things missing from my life these days. I never take men here. Well, maybe to the living room for a drink and then the bedroom for a quickie, but that's about it. I miss you." "Tricia, you dumped me!" "Now that's not fair. I offered you what you wanted and you accepted it! You just hadn't thought it all through! Isn't that so? Just answer me this, are you better off now than you were six months ago? Are you happier?" I was. I was no longer a divided self, a standard visible male and also a secret shamed crossdresser. I was now a whole person, or rather two new people really, a capable and companionable professional woman on weekends, and an eager submissive slave during the week. I loved being both. They captured for me the pride and submissiveness of my former male self, and yet also the sociability of my femme personality, my desire to please and nurture. I did what I wanted to do out in the open. Men smiled at me often, and women all the time. The world felt like my family. I had Tracy to try to please, and my own delight when I succeeded. It was nothing like before, trying to live like a male, competent and always challenged, and yet trying to be sweet and loving and womanly too. But I didn't answer her. Why give her the satisfaction? "Poor baby, you know you are. Look, honey, I have some open time this coming Saturday. Shall we meet at the house, say around three? Just drive on in, I'll be expecting you. If I'm not there when you get there, do you still have a key? Of course you do. Honey, I'm dying to see you. Plan to stay an hour at least, longer if possible. I have something on in the evening, so not much more than that, but it'll be wonderful to see you! Bye." And that was that! The dial tone. No time to ask her what for! Tracy wasn't concerned when I told her that one of our usual Saturday afternoons together would have to be postponed. "That's all right, Amy baby. I have someone I need to see, new arrangements to make. But this isn't the weekend yet, and my pussy's feeling lonely. Why don't you make her feel better? First your mouth, and then you can enter her if you can still get it up. This time when you spasm be sure to squeeze your butt plug extra hard. Enjoy feeling your asshole spasm as if it were your penis." I did. The sweet joy I felt in my rear when I orgasmed was now stronger than anything I ever felt in my cock. I loved clamping down on that firm, smooth, soft, jelly-filled yet stiff butt plug. My lover! I wiggled my tush in anticipation! It always felt as though my ass was fucking my own cock, and that both were scumming at once! The route from Madison to "CurlyGirly" was thoroughly familiar to me by now, but the next leg to my former home felt strange. I decided from sheer orneriness to dress down, to travel in Trish's favorite unisex costume, jeans and a T-Shirt. And on a wicked impulse, to wear no bra. Then when I checked myself in the mirror as I was pleased to see I didn't look at all unisex -- my breasts were still pointy and were obviously rounding out, and my jeans now felt a little undersized. On impulse, though it made no sense, I decided I wanted to look really pretty when Trish saw me. So she'd be sorry she'd let me go? To make her jealous? To try to attract her back? I had no idea! I realized with a certain awe that my feelings were shifting -- I wanted to look attractive to my former lover, and attractive no longer meant manly, it meant womanly. The hormones were changing my brain? So I stopped at Janie's to get my hair done and my make-up and nails redone, and I was very pleased with the result. As I pulled into our driveway -- hers now -- I realized that all any neighbors would see now was a casually dressed well-groomed woman getting out of her car. Anyone who'd attended my going away party would assume I was my sister. That part of Trish's plan had certainly worked. Our respectability was secure. Trish met me at the door, also wearing jeans, and gave me a quick kiss. Then as she led the way back to my former inner sanctum, she commented, "You know honey, that's the first time in a long time I've seen you relaxed enough about your gender to wear a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. You're getting enough femininity in at your new location? You no longer need to dress to kill all the time? Yet the rest of you looks gorgeous enough!" She smiled at me. "You know, you're turning out to be a rather lovely girl. I'd hoped so." I realized what she was saying. "You're right. I guess I don't need to go all femmy whenever I can, any more. Because now that's what I am." Then I decided to rub it in, and said, "But I'm always a girl now, hon. These are still women's jeans. See?" I pushed my tush out at her and wiggled it ever so slightly to call attention to the label -- they were Toni Tylers, and it showed the Toni Tyler logo, a cute high-kicking girl burnt into a leather label. "So they are!" she said, a trace of wonder in her voice. I turned to look at her. She was studying my rump, a little bemused. "But it isn't the label that makes a girl's jeans girls' jeans, honey, it's the cut. Narrow in the waist and big in the butt, with a tight swoop under the half-moons to set off any melons a girl may have managed to grow." She looked up at me. "You fill them out nicely. Those buns are very fetching indeed, lover! What man could resist burying his cock in there! Weren't you a little slimmer down there a few months ago? No, I see that if anything your waist is narrower than it had been." She grinned suddenly! "You devil!" she said. "You're going all the way, aren't you! You really are! Hips and breasts! Those are real breasts! They jiggle. And did your nipples always poke out that way? You *love* your new life, don't you! You can't get enough of it! You really are changing your body! Well, Amy, that's just wonderful! I've really got to tell you as a kind of big sister, though, that you shouldn't try to wear T-shirts without a bra any more! It's indecent! Oh, I'm so happy this is working out so well!" She came close to me and almost woman to woman, kissed me on the mouth softly, her full lips pressing on mine. Then rather shockingly she lifted a hand and felt me up! "Yes," she said almost somnolently, "there's no question about these." She pulled away, her face obviously pleased and a little mischievous. "Amy, just between us girls. Have you had your first period yet? Are you a lady yet?" I was embarrassed and decided I might have gone too far with my dressed down, unisex presentation. Or not far enough. "I've been getting a little rounder lately, yes," I said. "It's nice. More appropriate for the way I live these days." "I suppose it is, love," she said. "Your face is softer too. It's kind of sweet looking now." She flashed me a delightful smile. Then dismissed the whole topic, frowned, burrowed down into her lawyer personality, and began to deliver what I recognized was a preconsidered speech! "Honey, I'm delighted that you've adjusted to your new life so quickly. It does look as though I was right, that you've always been more of a transsexual than a transvestite, that you really are a woman in a man's body. And now you're fixing that!" "No, Tricia," I said. She shouldn't feel too self-congratulatory. "I've always felt that I was a man who enjoyed being a woman, and I'm enjoying it now more than ever. I prefer being a woman. So I'm fixing my body to give the man in me extra satisfaction!" "The man in you? Aren't you cruel! Andy's still in there somewhere? He must feel so humiliated! So ashamed of his ineffectual manhood! Can he still get it up? But you don't care, do you? Any more than I cared when I sent you on your way a little faster than you'd intended? Because I knew and now we both know that your greatest satisfactions are not in being Andy?" I couldn't reply. Trish was the lawyer. I'd never yet won an argument with her. "I'm glad that you're quite presentable. Your consulting going well too? Good! You know I'm sure that my rather abrupt treatment of your feelings a few months ago was for your own good. I had to liberate you from your marriage. And I did, didn't I? You can't possibly be carrying a grudge against me now, can you?" She was beginning to steer me out of my former playroom, her sitting room, and through the study and down the hall toward the front door. Giving me the executive's bum's rush. "No Trish. I guess not." "And you're sorry you resented me all these months?" I wouldn't grant her that. "I'm sorry you betrayed me all those years," I said. "So my resentment was inevitable. You know that!" "Yes. But I'm glad we're friends again. Now I have something to ask you. Just this one question and I'll let you go." Her tone turned professional, inquiring. "I haven't told you before, but this manufacturer client of mine Magnum happens to have a major plant in Madison. Maybe you knew? That's where Magnum's R&D is conducted for new product lines. Now, my law firm needs an outside representative there we can call on from time to time, someone with precisely your skills. Able to talk to engineers or financial people and show them easier ways to do things. Someone pleasant to talk to. Persuasive too, if it comes to that." She paused. I knew that whatever she said next was still part of her pitch. "I can't get over it! You're so much nicer since you stopped being that horse's ass Andy. That coward! He hid out from his clients and did their work by e-mail and FAX so he could do drag all day without being seen. Remember? But there's no need for you to do that, honey. You're entitled. And you can be impressive in person -- I've seen it. You've got every qualification we need, or will have I'm sure by the time we'll want to call on your services. So do you think you'll be willing?" Suddenly and unexpectedly, as if on impulse, Trish placed each of her hands on each of my bosoms. My pointy tits. And began gently lifting and kneading them. Slowly, so I could feel their weight in her hands. I hadn't realized they'd grown that much. Her thumbs went back and forth over my nipples and my knees grew weak. I'd not noticed they'd gotten so deliciously erogenous -- I'd been thinking of them as sensitive, hurting. But now they were me. I let out a moan. "Yes," she said reflectively. "Your breasts are coming on so well, Amy. You're just the girl for this job!" She looked up into my eyes and continued to stroke my nipples. "We'll pay you a retainer starting right now, and when you begin we'll provide you an enormous budget for clothes and entertainment, because the consultations will be informal, mostly. Disguised as sociability. You'll smooth things over, straighten things out, unruffle feathers, show people what they should have done in the first place. That's the work! A lovely lady like you who's also a clever engineer is what we need for this, exactly the right person for the job. Just think about it, baby. You don't have to give me an answer now. I'll call you in another month or so. Meanwhile the retainer is yours, whatever you eventually decide. It'll show up in your bank account every week." I moaned again. She absolutely beamed! "I'll take that as a 'yes'! You're as sweet as ever, Amy. So helpless when the right buttons get pushed. Andy was always a tit person, and he still is even though now he's on the other side of such a lovely pair! I'm so glad that we trust each other again, sweetheart." She led me out the front door and then stepped back into the house. Then it was as if a switch were being thrown somewhere. "Honey, it's been very nice seeing you. I'm delighted you could visit. Do come again any time. My regards to anyone we both know. We'll stay in touch." And the door closed. I was standing on the front steps in my jeans and T shirt and gorgeously set hair, my purse somehow under my arm, my breast tips radiating a rich afterglow. I realized that Trish had always intended this to be a business meeting, and I'd signed on to her scheme. Magnum had a plant and did their R&D in Madison? Trish had been coming and going there all this time? She might have looked me up at any time and had deliberately ignored me? Once again I'd been had! vii. I told Tracy about all of this the next day, Sunday, while we sat in a little tea shop after seeing a movie together. How I was worried that Trish had enticed me into another trap. She'd used my transvestism to clear her decks of her marriage when she wanted to invest her time and energy and desires elsewhere in other ways. To dump me out of her life and somehow leave me feeling grateful to her. Now she seems ready to use me to unload business problems she can't manage by herself. Tracy's first reaction was amusement. "So your Trish is into tits too, huh? Well, the way yours are coming in, when she handed you off to me she missed out on a really beautiful pair I'll bet, big time." Then she looked thoughtful. "She asked you to consult for her law firm? To me that sounds promising. It would get you out meeting more people in more kinds of circumstances. One of the pleasures of being a woman is that you can be many things to many people in different circumstances. And dress differently for each! There's still too much of the imprisoned Amy in you. She's right that you don't need to be bottled up any more. You can open an office now and be seen by anyone. Why don't you? Who'd imagine that you're not entitled to your panties and dresses? And you know, she's right about wearing a bra. That's already settled. You'll wear one daily now for the rest of your life. Look at you! And more titty is still on the way!" "She tends to take charge with me," I said. "I'm sure I'd lose a certain amount of independence." "No, Amy, let's not forget, I'm in charge of you. I'm the one who's making you the way you are. And I'll always allow you as much independence as you wish." She grinned complacently. "You just won't wish for any." end 6/10 (c) 1999 by Vickie Tern (VickieTern@AOL.COM, all comments welcomed)  VickieTern@AOL.COM -- If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author. Your comments are their only payment. 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