Message-ID: <26007asstr$967180219@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern) X-Original-Message-ID: <20000824144314.20748.00000484@ng-fo1.aol.com> Subject: {ASSM} Sucker by Vickie Tern 5/11 TG Femdom Date: Fri, 25 Aug 2000 01:10:19 -0400 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: RuiJorge, IceAltar, newsman {ASSM}Sucker by Vickie Tern (5/11) TG Femdom Wife F/M M/M The following story contains explicit descriptions of sexual behavior, several kinds. It should not be read by those too young to do so lawfully or by others who do not enjoy such stories. The young don't listen, the others sometimes need to be reminded who they are. - o - o - o - That settled, whatever it was we'd settled, I asked Debbie what our plans were for the morning. She looked surprised. "Didn't I tell you? We're going to Vita's in about an hour. Then we'll have lunch out. Your first excursion into the public eye as a girl. We'll be two women out together enjoying a bite to eat -- it'll be such fun! You'll find that when other people think you're a woman, and you know they do, it'll be easier for you to believe it yourself. Especially when other women think you're a woman, because we're all a kind of universal support and reassurance group for each other. So it'll be good for you. Like the exercises, it'll help you develop a feminine self-image." "I guess." "What we'll really want of course is for you to feel more like a woman when men think you're a woman. For you to develop that part of your feminine self-image too! To feel shivers or to glow when you know a man's admiring you. A little flirting with those brutes can be lots of fun!" She smiled now, and looked up at me wickedly. "That'll take a little longer for you to get into. But maybe not. Maybe we'll both be surprised! Are you sure you never wanted to kiss a fella or toy with his affections?" Now she grinned broadly, openly teasing me. After all, what was flirting, when I'd already committed to heavy duty sex with Bruce? A kind of sex, anyhow. I nodded. "I'm sure. Though I suspect that when you're finished with me I won't be so sure. Who's Vita?" "Our hairdresser. Mine, now ours. You'll need a cut and perm and styling, if you're to escape the drudgery of setting your hair every night and then sleeping on rollers. I promised you last night, remember?" "A perm? Is that necessary? It sounds so ... permanent." I wanted to cooperate, but I was a little worried about overdoing this kick Debbie was on. I had a life to live after this month of trying to be a girl who was being trained to be a cock sucker. "Of course a permanent. With a perm, hair holds its curl better, and soft waves last longer. What I have in mind for you is a crown of curls, and waves bordering them at the neckline, very simple, comb it with your fingers or brush it upswept for sophisticated evening wear. Easy to care for yet flexible. I think your hair is just long enough." "But will it come out? Can it be undone afterward?" Debbie's face turned serious, a warning sign that I'd overstepped myself. "Anything can be undone afterward, Sam. Even marriages, when people don't keep their promises to each other. You should be thinking 'A perm? Marvelous! I'll look so pretty afterward!' Suppose you say that right now." I did. "Good. One day at a time, remember? Later is later and afterward is afterward. Right now you're a girl, and girls expect to remain girls all their lives. Don't they?" "Yes," I said. "Now suppose you get dressed so we can do your hair and make-up and show you to the world." I decided to keep quiet. She'd do whatever she meant to do, that was coming clear. The clothes she'd laid out for me were simple: a wide denim skirt gathered to a shaped waist band -- she called it a "yoke", and told me to learn the language of fashion as soon as possible -- and a pink, lace-trimmed blouse with a boat neck, with a powder blue cardigan to match the skirt. She herself was wearing slacks and an oversized sweater, nothing feminine at all. I wondered why she wasn't giving me the same for my first day out, but I didn't dare ask. I suppose it was part of her "all or nothing" approach to my re-education as a female. I mentioned that. She replied, "That's right! I know who I am, Samantha. You obviously don't yet know who you are! By the end of today there'll be no confusing you with a man, not by me, maybe not even by you. That's my intention! Not that I ever really did confuse you with a man!" I flinched. There was a gratuitous insult, implying what about our marriage? What did she mean?! She saw I was hurt by that crack, that even though I was supposed to be a girl, I wasn't there yet. So she then added more gently, "I'm sorry, that wasn't necessary. But do try to think you were always a girl, never a man, honey! Remember, you aren't quite the real thing. Soon. The more like a girl you dress, the more likely it is that people will be persuaded that's what you are, and the less they'll wonder about little manly oddities in the way you behave. Here, put these on first." She handed me a stretch girdle with removable foam pads on the hips and over the cheeks, tight in the crotch, no concession whatever made to male genitals. I looked at it. Here was an instant figure! Then she handed me a heavy-duty padded bra. "We'll take out the foam pads in the girdle and bra later," she said. I asked her why? "If we visit Sandra after Vita, you won't need them," she replied. This was incomprehensible, but Debbie was already annoyed by my foot-dragging, and she was in charge, so I went with it. Somehow, I'd expected something flimsy, wispy, some pretty feminine nothings for my first undies, and I said so as inoffensively as I could. For the first time she grinned. "Sweetheart, you'll have plenty of those when you've got pretty feminine somethings to put in them. Today you'll need firm support, things that really grip and shape you. Trust me." Did I have a choice? I sat down at her dressing table and she swiftly undid the rollers. It was miraculous! Three strokes of a hairbrush and my hair uncoiled into springy, swooping waves piled high on my head, no sign of a curl. "That's very nice," I volunteered timorously. "I didn't know that's what hair rollers did." "It *is* becoming," Debbie agreed, looking at my sculpted hair in the mirror. "But too much trouble. And if someone were to use it to guide your mouth where he wants it, it wouldn't look neat any more. Later when the hairdo I have in mind for you grows out, you can try this one again if you like. That'll be up to you." I didn't like the sound of that reference to 'later,' but decided she meant only what she'd said earlier, that I'd decide things for myself again when this month's ordeal ended. She quickly stroked lipstick and eye liner on me -- "Your face will be remade at Vita's," she said. I didn't look half bad, I must say! She then made up her own face much more carefully, adding mascara, blush, and other cosmetics I have never thought she needed -- her bare face always looked beautiful enough to me. I told her that, and she beamed, but then told me coquettishly to watch her do her makeup in order to learn how. An amusing thought! She then handed me open sandals and a purse, and said, "There! Now to go meet the world! Remember, when you walk, glide. Flow. Don't stride. You'll pass. But if you don't, they're wrong. You're a woman no matter what anyone thinks, right?" I glimpsed myself in the mirror. "I guess so," I said, astonished. My eyes looked bigger, my lips cuter, and my face smaller under the swirling waves above it. When I went out the front door with Debbie I was a conflicted mess of bravado, cringing fear, modest pride that I looked as good as I did, and a twinge of sadness at something I seemed to have lost or misplaced somewhere back at the house. vi. Debbie drove. Other drivers and their passengers glanced at us from time to time, but saw nothing wrong, and I began to relax -- this was not a day for feeling humiliated after all. We had to park a block away from Vita's and walk among many other pedestrians. I glided, elbows at my sides, and it went fine. "Don't make eye contact with men," Debbie advised, noticing that I was checking out the passers-by to see if they noticed me. "Lots of them won't leave you alone once you look them in the eye. But with women, feel free. We all understand each other." It was true. I smiled at one, then another, and they both smiled back. That never happened to me when I was a man. They'd have frowned, most of them. Maybe looked for a cop! She introduced me to Vita, who handed me off to a young woman in a purple smock named Allison and went off to chat with Debbie for a while. Then Vita returned. "Debbie's gone shopping and arranging other things," she said. "But we know what you want. Just relax and enjoy being pampered!" Then she disappeared. During the next several hours young girls came, did things to me, and disappeared, but I never saw Vita again that day. Allison seemed to be in charge. She seemed a little hostile. I said so to her. "Mister," she said. "I shouldn't say this, and Vita would kill me if she ever found out. But I don't know why you're doing this. It does seem to me an invasion of womynspace, and I resent it. I mean, why do you men have to colonize and appropriate even the way we look and dress? I told her that my wife wanted me to look and dress like a woman, and I had agreed to do it. "Really? Why in the world would any woman want you to do that?" I decided a frontal attack was the only way to deal with this feminist. "So I'll look like a girl when I go down on a man she knows, to suck on his cock. Which I've agreed to do because that's what she wants." Allison was silent for a long time. Then finally, "Wow!" she said. "That's some penance! You must have done something really bad, you and maybe that man too! I mean, to get two birds with one stone! Humiliating both of you, making you do that. I've got to admire a woman like that!" I decided not to straighten her out. I wasn't sure I should explain to her that it was all so my wife would agree to suck on my cock. She wouldn't approve, even given the price Debbie had exacted from me. Allison cut and snipped and rolled and sprayed and poured onto my hair carefully and thoughtfully, while a manicurist came and went, then a "colorist," then someone who punctured my ear lobes and hung a small hoop in each. Then a make-up artist came, and spent a long time doing my lips and eyes. I said nothing. I was determined not to worry the short-term, long-term implications of dyed hair and pierced ears. I reconciled myself to whatever Debbie had decided -- she was in charge for now. I no longer wondered how I'd return to my normal appearance afterward. I'd manage. Now was not the time to feel concerned. Later. "There you are," Allison said finally, whipping a pale purple sheet off me and turning me toward the mirror. "I told everyone what your wife is doing to you, and they were all impressed. So they've all done their best work on you! It's a wonderful idea! I've got to find a way to get my boyfriend to do that to my ex! He's been two-timing me, and I was just about ready to throw him out! But this is much better! Awesome! First change him, then throw him out! Talk about a kissoff? Well! Aren't you the gorgeous girl now?" I looked into the mirror. I was! Allison had taken my moderate length sandy colored hair and converted it into a cute mop of streaky-blonde curls. And the others had remade my face from the bare skin on out, and added tips to my fingernails and then painted them the color of my lipstick. Even my beard shadow was gone, buried under an invisible foundation and blush. An attractive girl looked at me from the mirror. But after the first shock of recognition -- that's really me? -- I forgot my mirror image. I was suddenly concerned by Allison's assumption that Debbie meant only to humiliate me and Bruce en route to a kissoff. That she wanted to end our marriage! Why? Was Debbie that duplicitous?! "Yes, she certainly is!" I heard Debbie's voice behind me. "She certainly is the gorgeous girl now! You've outdone yourself, Allison! I never thought Samantha would finish that pretty! Samantha, you can't imagine how many marvelous things I've bought for you! I know you'll love them! I can't wait till we get home so you can try them on! But now we need to go to lunch, and I've made a 3:00pm appointment for you at the clinic. Remember, you wanted to look just a little more rounded, a little more appropriate? Well, you're about to get your wish!" Allison's eyes opened even wider when she heard that, but she said nothing. Debbie offered Allison a large tip, and to her astonishment Allison refused it. "I can only admire what you're doing," Allison told Debbie solemnly. "And I wish you every success! You're an inspiration!" As we walked to our restaurant, halfway back to the car, Debbie asked me what that was all about, and I told her. I then asked her if she was doing this to punish me, and maybe Bruce too. Whether this was in fact what Allison assumed it was, a humiliating kissoff! "Do I know everything you're really doing, Debbie?" I asked her, near tears? I asked that last question in a low, intense, and worried voice just as the Maitre D' showed two women to one of his more centrally-located tables, one of them a natural beauty in slacks and one of them elaborately coiffed and made up, wearing a designer denim skirt, each a credit to the attractiveness of his establishment. Debbie waited until we had both ordered, two small salads and two black coffees, and the waiter had left. She then looked at me with tears starting in her own eyes! "Samantha," she said. "I want to be absolutely honest with you. No, you don't know everything I'm really doing. No, I can't tell you until the proper time. But then I will certainly tell you everything! Everything! Soon, I hope! Until then you'll just have to trust me!" She smiled, but now the tears welled up. They overflowed, and a teeny streak of mascara coursed down her cheek. She blotted it with a kleenex and looked at the black stain it left. "Well, look at that," she said. "I'm ruining my mascara. But I can't help it. Samantha, everything I've told you is absolutely true. I can't possibly go down on you until you've done it first to someone else. That's the way I am and that's how it is! And you do need to be feminine if Bruce is to be your man, because that's the way he is. This is not some kind of cruel prank, a 'kiss off.' I do love you. I do want to spend the rest of my life with you. In fact I'm doing everything I can think of to make sure that happens, despite the way I am in some ways. Because if I weren't doing this, it wouldn't happen! You know that I haven't been able to warm up to you sexually. Our marriage was really threatened! But you accepted my challenge with Bruce, and I'm glad, because now I think we can spend our whole lives together. It's much more likely. I hope so!" I was utterly mystified. I suck Bruce's cock, and then she sucks mine, and then we live happily ever after? "I think it's absolutely essential that we be absolutely honest with each other! In a month you'll be a changed man. I know it. An altogether changed man, because no longer a man at all, because that's what you've promised me! And that's when I'll be able to explain everything, not to a husband but to a girl I married for life! I mean to keep my word! You suck off Bruce the way we've agreed, and I guarantee you the best sex you've ever had for the rest of your life. You'll be happy, trust me, and that's what I'll be too! In only a month. Do you believe me?" "Yes," I said, simply. And tears came into my own eyes. She looked so earnest, pleading with me to wait! I had to believe her! I put a kleenex to my eyes too, and then we both started to sob. "This is terrible! We're making spectacles of ourselves! Let's go to the Ladies and get a grip and fix our faces!" Debbie said, rising. I rose too, and remembered to glide as I followed her. Once there we fell into each others' arms and just cried and hugged and sobbed. There was nothing more either of us could say. Then gradually we recovered. We believed each other. There would be no more talk about kissoffs. As Debbie repaired her face in the mirror she looked at me standing alongside and admiring her. My Debbie! Soon to be all mine, our intimacy wonderful, the way it had been this past weekend, but for our whole lives! More than wonderful! Now that I was no longer anxious about our relationship, we were able to make ordinary girl-talk. "Now that's really lovely!" she said, studying me in the mirror. "What Allison did with your hair! I wish my hair had that kind of fullness and body. And it curled so beautifully! Now it'll look pretty no matter how passionate you may need to get with Bruce, no matter how he may grip or twist it when you send him off the deep end! And it'll be so easy to fix -- all you'll need to do when you stand up again is run your fingers through it!" I was studying it in the mirror. My new crop. My crown of curls. If I were a girl, I'd think it looked adorable, because it was! But on me? So unmistakably a girl's hairdo? How could I return to those customers in a month or so for their re-orders? How could I let my boss see me? I was no longer the Sam they knew. I tried to share my concern indirectly. "Honey, it's just stunning. I love it. But it's so feminine! I've never seen a man with this kind of streaky blonde hair, curled and styled like this. This is what girls wear! What will people think?" "Of course you've never seen a man wearing your hairdo! It *is* a girl's style. It looks effeminate? I hope so! It's lovely! Very flattering, Samantha! It'll get you lots of compliments. Anyhow, why do you care what people think? It's what I think that matters, doesn't it? And we've agreed that'll depend on what Bruce thinks. Isn't that so?" How did Bruce somehow get between me and her feelings about me? "I suppose you're right," I replied. She simply wasn't going to concern herself with what I'd have to face later on. So I couldn't either. One day at a time. As Debbie finished and returned all her make-up to her purse, her face once again neat, it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't touched mine, yet it was as perfect as when I left Vita's. But I'd cried too! I'd wiped my eyes. We'd hugged each other tearfully. But my mascara stayed on my lashes the whole time. "Why didn't my face smear like yours?" I asked Debbie as casually as I could. I had an awful feeling that my eye liner and lipstick might have been tattooed on! Would I need to wear this face for the rest of my life? "My eye liner seems to be indelible!" I added in as amused a tone as I could muster, that being my deepest fear. "It is, more or less," Debbie replied. "I asked about tattoos, but they don't like to do them on faces any more. So I told them to use permanent stains instead. They aren't sub-dermal, like a tattoo, unfortunately. Eventually they wear off. They call them "permanent," though they're no more permanent than a permanent wave! Perfect for a few months, anyhow, but in six months it all needs retouching!" "A few months?!" I said, trying to sound pleased by this disastrous announcement. I now had one of those perfect, enameled female faces movie stars seem to have, and it wasn't going to go away soon! "That'll be convenient!" "Oh yes!" Debbie said. "I'm glad you agree. It was the only way to go. There's no time in only a month, three weeks really, to teach you how to apply daytime make-up and then the more sophisticated kinds for evening wear. That can take years. And this is the only make-up that withstands the stresses of serious lovemaking. You'll be rubbing your face in lots of men's crotches soon. Ordinary lipstick can't survive encounters like that, and you'll want to look as pretty afterward as you did before, I'm sure. Especially if your men cum on your face and you'll need to wipe it off without smearing. And anyhow, men don't appreciate seeing lipstick or eye make-up on their penises or their clothes the next day. And neither do their wives, if they have any. Permanent make-up was the perfect solution, it seemed to me. Don't you agree? "Oh, yes," I said. I was ruined! Even pierced ear holes could be hidden or covered, but I'd need to use make-up on top of this make-up in order to resume life as a man. And even "natural" make-up looks artificial, feminine, even at a glance -- that's how they make it. Then when any "natural" make-up wears off, there I'll be with my deep red lips and black-outlined eyes all over again, an effeminate man who thinks he looks like a pretty girl For the first time, I began considering that I might be in this for the long haul, that my girlhood might not be over when Bruce was satisfied and we went home from our weekend in the country with new understandings of each other! Looking like a girl certainly seemed to be extending well past then. I wondered if Bruce's was the last cock Debbie expected me to suck. I wondered if she had longer-range plans she hadn't yet revealed to me. When we left the restaurant, Debbie suggested we walk to the doctor's office a few streets away. It was remarkable how well I blended in. Debbie had to remind me now and then to keep my toes pointed forward when I walked, and to sway my hips by seeming to walk on a line, but no one paid us the slightest attention, except perhaps in passing. We were two young women strolling and chatting with each other. Debbie talked almost non-stop, orienting me to my new gender. "Men offer solutions to problems instinctively" she told me. "That's what they do instead of exchange recipes. But women offer sympathy, not solutions, and that's what other women really want. Men don't like to ask anyone for help -- it implies dependency, weakness, impotence I suppose. But women love to ask, because they know men love to help them. Oh yes, don't talk in falsetto, Samantha honey -- just find a high natural tone with lots of range and then stress your voice a little when you speak. I love the way Allison plucked your eyebrows into that high, high arch -- it looks so delicate and refined." All, I realized, to distract me from asking more questions. At 3:00 pm promptly we arrived at the clinic. The nurse took a blood sample from me and I waited while Debbie went in and consulted. Then I was ushered in. The doctor was a woman of about Debbie's age. In fact, Debbie introduced me to her as her oldest friend Sandra -- they'd been sorority sisters in college, trusted custodians of each other's secrets. "What we owe each other you wouldn't believe!" Debbie said. Doctor Sandra asked me to take off my blouse and bra, which was a little embarrassing, though she didn't seem to notice. She inspected my chest. Then she got to the point. "You'd like your adipose tissue redistributed the way Debbie described it to me?" "Here and there," I said. "Nothing extreme." That sounded like a safe response. She looked at my blood workup. "You have very high hormone readings. It's already begun to increase tissue mass here and there. Have you begun to notice emotional swings? Crying jags, things like that?" I realized that my little session with Debbie earlier today had been the first since my early teens. I nodded, wide-eyed. How could this be? The exercise tapes? The mere fact that I was wearing a skirt? "Any cells I move are likely to multiply themselves as your hormonal processes continue. Then you'll really end up looking like something else! That's what you want?" I said nothing. "He's been on double strength milk shakes," Debbie said. "And also sneaking an extra one each day. Plainly, that's what he wants!" "All right," the doctor replied. "They're remarkable, aren't they, those shakes?" she said to me with a grin. "Brand new! Intended for morning-after contraception! They overwhelm any leftover sperm with so many male hormone blockers and so much estrogen that the sperm isn't just sterile when it gets near an ovum, it's flouncing around wearing bras and panties and trying to screw other sperm! Nothing male survives. Women in the test cohort reported that their bodies and feelings both became noticeably more feminine, and that they felt inclined to use that femininity. They felt increases in sensitivity and libido, both. That's exactly what's wanted in your case, of course. And I can see results already. Look here!" Reaching out, she gently pinched one of my nipples, and I almost swooned! A rich, delicious feeling of well-being suffused me. I was almost breathless. "They're already enlarged, too!" the doctor said to Debbie. "See how the nipples have thickened and begun to stick out? Only three days, and already it's cop a feel and he'll follow you anywhere! They won't need much collagen at all to look pointy. They're absolutely delicious!" "I'm counting on that, Sandra," Debbie replied. "Well, let's get started. Follow me, please." We went into a room lined with gadgets, and Debbie and her friend Sandra went off again. A nurse came in, had me strip and lie down under a sheet, and put an IV in my arm. ""The procedure is safe," she said. "It's been done hundreds of thousands of times without incident. But it's more comfortable done under Versid, the tranquilizer I'm administering just now through this IV. You'll seem to nod off without knowing it, and then wake up without remembering anything. OK?" I nodded. "Good, he's back," the nurse replied. "How're you feeling?" I then heard Debbie say, "You mean, she's back, don't you? Hardly 'he,' now." I looked over, and there was Debbie sitting beside me. It was over? Already? The nurse helped me sit up. Somehow I was dressed again, bra, girdle, skirt, blouse, and all. The bra and girdle still felt full, still padded. Debbie had added even more foam? - o - o - o - End Sucker 5/11 If you are missing a part then this story can be found at www.go.to/furysaga under Vickie Tern's Wives and Girlsfriends Page (c) 2000 by Vickie Tern. May be copied to free archives and accessed from them. But do let me know, VickieTern@AOL.COM  VickieTern@AOL.COM -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+