Message-ID: <28985asstr$982811404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} NEW TG: Perfect by Vickie Tern 2/10 M/F F/m femdom
Date: Wed, 21 Feb 2001 22:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

NEW TG: Perfect by Vickie Tern 2/10 M/F F/m femdom


This kind of story shouldn't be read by anyone who shouldn't read 
this kind of story.  No exceptions!

(c) 2001 by Vickie Tern.  May be copied to any free archive.  All comment
welcome (VickieTern@aol.com).


                              ii.

A phone test came almost at once.  One of Gayle's girlfriends
called and I happened to answer.  A simple, sweet "Hello?" produced
immediately, "Oh yes, you must be Allie, of course.  I'm Gretchen. 
Is Gayle there, please?"  Surprisingly, Gretchen wasn't in the
least surprised to hear my voice, and she knew my name.  I wondered
what else she knew.  When I asked Gayle, she told me "Why,
everything, lover!  Gretchen's my closest girlfriend, next to you,
and I hope you'll soon be hers!"  

Though Gayle's words didn't quite chime, my heart rose.  I'd never
had a girl for a friend. 

Some guys called too, and I merely took their messages and passed
them on.  One tried to come on to me, and I hesitated whether to
lead him on in order to embarrass him or just cut him off.  In the
end either way seemed complicated, so I was properly polite, no
more.  It was a little unsettling though, hearing that man's
ingratiating voice inviting me to tease him back.  In fact I did,
a little.  I figured that much would be expected of Gayle's
roommate.  A little daring, a little jesting playfulness.  I felt
strange yet self-assured.  It was like playing a hooked fish.

Then one day came the anticipated call.  Gayle was out shopping,
and it happens I was in a cheery mood when I answered.  Baking
low-fat cookies as a matter of fact, to surprise Gayle with when
she got back.  "Hellooooo?" I said, making the word into five
luscious syllables chanted across a full tonal scale.

An older woman's voice declared immediately, "Why, how lovely!  You
must be Allie!  I'm Gayle's mother, you know, Gayle has told us so
much about you!  How nice to hear your voice!  And how good of you
to keep her company, look out for her, help her with her computers
and everything, she tells us.  You must be such a lovely girl!  And
all alone in this world -- Gayle told us that you've lost both your
parents, you poor dear."  She paused.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," I said, even more afraid of what might be
coming next.  "But that was some time ago."  I remembered that I
was speaking to a minister's wife.  It was corny, but it couldn't
hurt to say it.  "I'm sure they're in a far better place now."

"I'm sure," she said, pleased.  "And I'm sure they're still looking
after you where you are, keeping both you and Gayle from
temptation.  Gayle's father and I pray as I'm sure they do for your
safe passage through all those iniquitous things we hear about in
that city you're in.  Are any of them troubling Gayle, do you
think?"

She was asking me to squeal on Gayle, just as Gayle had
anticipated.  "No, ma'am," I replied.  "No iniquities.  Your
daughter is just fine!  She's an angel!  I love her already."  I
did, too.  "We take good care of each other."  We did, too,
sometimes all night long.

"Yes," her mother said, a little disappointed that I wasn't dishing
dirt but gratified that maybe there wasn't any.  "Well, you be sure
to keep well.  Tell her I called.  I'd like for you to think of us
as your family now, Allie, and for you and Gayle to think of
yourselves as sisters, not just friends.  Sisters watch out for
each other, don't they?"

"Yes, I imagine they do," I replied.  "Thank you, that's sweet of
you."  She hadn't quit.  Instead, she'd promoted me to family spy. 
Well, I couldn't find fault with the impulse behind her tactics. 
Gayle was right.  Parents worry.

"Goodbye now then," she said.  "I'll see you both this
Thanksgiving, in just a few months.  We're all looking forward to
the big event.  Everyone's coming!  All of our family!  It'll be
wonderful to meet you then finally."

Thanksgiving?  Meet her family?  How could I go to a Thanksgiving
family celebration with Gayle ever, as Allie?  Allie's supposed to
be a girl!  One look and they'd know what we were up to, and I'd
have to move out!  It was all over!  "Yes," I said.  "Wonderful!"

"Tell Gayle Chris sends his love!  He's looking forward to it the
same way she is!"

"I'll tell her that."  My mind registered that her father's name
was Chris, and that they considered a family Thanksgiving a big
event. I supposed it was.  But mainly I was overwhelmed by the
terrible realization that we'd be lovers for only a few months
more!  

A moment later common sense returned, and I realized that no such
exposure was necessary.  I'd invent some relative with a prior
claim on my presence for Thanksgiving and send regrets to Gayle's
family.  That was all I needed to do.  No problem.  Maybe I could
even come as a different Allie, the guy Gayle knew from her night
school class.

"Her father sends his love too!" her mother said.

"I'll be sure to tell her, " I said automatically, not yet
recovered from the crazy scare that Gayle and I might have to
split.  Her father sends love twice?  Who was Chris?  She didn't
have a brother, I knew, and until a minute or so ago no sister.  We
had a lot to talk about.

"Allie dear, I'm so pleased you're now part of our family. 
Welcome!  We'll talk more before Thanksgiving.  B'bye!"

She hung up.  "B'bye," I said to myself, staring at the phone for
a moment before clicking it off and setting it down.        

I told Gayle everything when she got home.  She was amused but
unconcerned.  "Don't worry about anything, you sweet darling!," she
said.  "I can handle it!  So now you're my sister?  We're in an
incestuous lesbian relationship?  If only they knew!"

She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed close to me, and
kissed me so very sweetly.  "You can be my girlfriend any day of
the week, all week, baby," she said intensely.  "I'd like that!"

"I like whatever you'd like," I said, not really paying attention. 
"I love what we are.  But who's Chris?  And Thanksgiving's a 'big
event' at your house?"

"Big for Mom, I guess," Gayle replied.  "She's an arranger!  But
don't worry about it, honey!  Parents always make problems.  They
aren't our problems.  Mine once, but not any more.  I've got it all
worked out!  Are these scrumptious cookies really low cal?  You are
such a dear!"

That night, since we were incestuous lesbians, she proposed that we
try making lesbian love just for fun.  "You can be my girlfriend
for real tonight," she said.  "And I'll be yours."  So she sucked
my 'clit' and I licked her pussy, and we fondled and kissed and
tongued each other's breasts, that was all.  But over and over, and
then again.  Each time either of us woke up, that's what we did to
get back to sleep.  In the morning we each declared that the night
had been altogether satisfactory, serene but passionate.  We did it
now and then afterward too, often in fact.  I couldn't have been
happier.

It was odd, though.  Clearly it pleased and amused her to think of
me as her girlfriend.  It was so much less problematic than having
a boyfriend with her parents looking over her shoulder. 

Probably it helped ease some of the guilt she felt that we were
living together, knowing her parents could never approve of it.  Of
course!  There'd been all those little allusions to me as a
possible girl, even the first day we'd jogged together!  I
remembered them now, references to my wanting a bust like hers
maybe, or about showing off my ass.  All part of a little game she
liked to play.  Now she did it routinely, and I realized I'd been
taking it for granted.  She'd compliment me on my grace when I
jogged with her, and she'd warn me to watch my figure when we were
dining together ("a girl's excess calories go straight to her hips,
honey").  And as girls do, we'd touch and hug often, and press our
cheeks together when we met and parted.

Whatever, I thought to myself. What she needs to imagine about me
doesn't change me.  I felt complimented. 

At work though everyone was looking at me peculiarly, from the
moment I first arrived and said "Good morning, everyone" in my new
voice, just as Gayle had requested as a gesture of my devotion to
her.  It was sometimes embarrassing, talking that way in the
office.  But I'd remember her ripe breasts cupped in both her hands
and offered to my mouth, amd my lips closing on those long nipples,
and then I'd have no problem with it at all.  Or I'd remember that
sweet smile on her face when she came down from an especially
deeply satisfying orgasm.  So even though I knew what the whole
staff was thinking when they heard me lilting and lisping
breathily, I didn't care.  

Gayle called me at the office each day that first week, just to
remind me how she was looking forward to the evening, to being
together, just the two of us, or just to tell me how she'd bought
an exquisite satin nightgown "just for you" as she said.  I knew
she was really calling to make sure I was using my feminine voice
whenever I answered the phone.  And she never failed to appreciate
it. "Lovely Allie," she'd say, "You sound so wonderfully girly, my
sweet sexy-voiced darling!  From the way you sound, no one would
dream you weren't a girl!"  

No, I suppose not.  A few customers who knew my old voice thought
maybe I'd developed a cold or something.  Maybe I overdid the
gushing -- one asked me point blank what the hell was wrong with
me.  He didn't pursue it when I told him things couldn't be better. 
But I noticed that everyone at work began to avoid me.  I'd never
been one of the "in" crowd at the office, but now I sensed outright
hostility.  I began to overhear nasty cracks.  I did my work and
turned in my reports, but by the end of the week I realized that I
was coming back to my new home with Gayle as if to a sanctuary.   

That first weekend Gayle held a housewarming party for me.  She
invited all her friends to meet me and hear my new voice, so
there'd be no deception when they called and I answered.  Besides,
they all wanted to meet her new "precious" boyfriend.  They all
thought I sounded just wonderful, unmistakably feminine, and they
admired me for it.  It had to be true love, they said, for me to be
willing to do this thing for Gayle.  

"Not every guy would go swish for a girl," one of the girls at the
party told me.  "You're really something else!"

"Oh, Allie has a long way to go yet," Gayle told her.  "This is
just going girly a little.  He hasn't begun to swish!  But you're
right, as a guy he really is something else!  I'm proud of him."

I finally met Gayle's closest friend Gretchen, who turned out to be
a stunner in her own way, tall, domineering, sultry, and
dark-haired, head of the Art Department of a major advertising
agency with lots of talented people working under her.  "I wish I
had someone like you to live with," she told me.  "Then my
boyfriend would never know I've got another boyfriend at home,
someone I keep as a spare."  

She smiled at Gayle, who smiled enigmatically back.  Now what did
that mean?  Well, they go back a ways, I thought to myself. 
Gretchen was once caught two-timing someone, I'll bet.

An earnest girl's voice behind me disagreed.  I turned to see. 
"Oh, Gretchen, Allie's fine on the phone, I'm sure.  But the moment
your real boyfriend saw him I'm sure he'd know there was something
wrong!  I mean, Allie looks like a boy!  You know?"  

This from a short, earnest blonde girl named Evelyn who had come to
the party with an old home-town boy friend who had just moved to
the city to join her.  They were engaged, Evelyn had announced on
arrival, showing everyone the ring he'd just given her.  Gayle
thought the announcement and the ring were both tacky.  

"Oh, I don't know," the boy friend said tartly.  He sounded pissed. 
Maybe a little jealous that I was getting all the attention?  Maybe
resenting it, thinking that by changing my voice's gender just to
get laid I'd let the male side down?  He sounded disgusted.  "Allie
here looks like he'd be pretty safe with women.  He looks a lot
like he sounds.  Maybe he's already one of the girls?"  That last
he said emphatically eyeball to eyeball with me, a direct,
man-to-man challenge.

More gay-bashing crap, like what I was starting to overhear at
work!  Well, I'd had it!  I squared my shoulders and glared back at
him.  Then hesitated, wondering whether to punch him out right now
or to call him into the corridor first.  

Gretchen stepped between us before a decision could lock us into a
mean-spirited brawl.  

"You're right!  Allie does look as good as he sounds!" she said. 
"A few touches here and there and I bet he'd look exactly the way
he sounds!  So what?  Should he be ashamed to look like a girl,
someone like me and Gayle and Evelyn, like half the human
population?  Does he have to look like an asshole Lord of the
Universe like you?  He isn't ashamed at all, and I think that's to
his credit!  I admire him for it!  He's not a chauvist pig like
lots of men!  And anyhow, what Allie sounds like or looks like is
Allie's business and Gayle's, not yours.  Isn't it?"  

Evelyn's fiance glanced at Gretchen while she stared wide-eyed at
him, and that broke our eye-combat duel.  I looked at Evelyn, who
looked apologetically back at me and then annoyedly at her fiance. 
She quickly led him off toward a snack table in another room.  I
flashed her a rueful grin, signalling no offense taken. 

"Do you think so, Gretchen?" I heard Gayle's voice ask behind me. 
Gayle had witnessed the whole incident!  I was glad of that!  She'd
seen how manly I was, how quick to defend my honor.  But she'd also
heard testimony from Gretchen about how admirable I am, how free of
male chauvinist superiority.  Score two points for me.

"Think what, Gayle?"  Gretchen turned attention toward her.  I
stepped back so they could talk face to face and I could listen.

"That Allie here could look the way he sounds with only a few
touches here and there if need be," she said.  "Because that could
solve a problem I've got at work."

The warmth of Gayle's smile stifled any embarrassed objections I
might have to all this talk of me being touched here and there,
made to look more girlish.  For the moment I was a bona fide hero
to her, a rare man, altogether unashamed to be thought a girl.  I
smiled back non-commitally.

"Because fair employment practices and all that to one side, we
have a job opening that needs a woman.  We advertise that it's an
'equal opportunity' position, but it's definitely an 'affirmative
action' position.  What do you think, Gret?  Could Allie qualify if
he had to?  If the front office ever checked up on us?"

Gretchen not only supervised mobs of photographers and artists and
beautiful models for her agency, she'd taken beauty salon courses
to help design the chic hairdos they wore.  She was often called on
to advise about make-up before they were photographed for picture
spreads. She knew.    

Gretchen glanced at me again.  "You mean make Allie really look
like a girl, not just sound like one?  So if some vice-president
came through expecting to see an office full of women, Allie'd be
wearing his blush and lipstick and the usual protective coloring,
like all the others?  Sure, I see no problem.  His features are
regular, and his nose and chin are small for a man, rather cute in
fact.  He has plenty of his own hair, so he wouldn't need a wig. 
Pin it up like so, and a few dabs here and there, and I bet that in
ten minutes I could hide Allie in plain sight among any group of
women.  He'd never be noticed.  But Gayle, he has a great voice
already!  Why wait?  Why not fix him up right now and be done with
it?  He'd be passably pretty with the right hairdo and the right
morning make-up routines, I'm sure.  His figure isn't too bad even
now, compared with some women I've seen.  We could do things with
it.  No problem!"

"Allie?  Do you think you'd be willing?"  Gayle was looking
directly at me.  Not smiling.  She was actually serious!  She was
making some sort of administrative decision."

I was suddenly frightened, but also annoyed.  At work I was being
hassled for giving away a big piece of my manhood, and now these
two women wanted the rest of it.  "I just don't know, I'd have to
think about it!" I said evasively but firmly.  Speaking in my
now-habituated girl voice, I realized I sounded as if I'd just been
swept off my feet by a proposal of marriage.

Gayle was satisfied.  "I'm just thinking about it too, honey, right
now.  There's no hurry.  I'm not sure yet about a few things.  So
I'll just take that answer as not a 'No!' and we'll just see."  

A week later things at my office suddenly got much more serious. 
My boss called me in and glared at me silently for a full minute,
then asked me what the hell I thought I was doing.  I explained to
him why I was talking like a woman, about Gayle's parents and so
on.  

He was unimpressed.  "You're telling me you're pussywhipped, that's
your excuse?  You've gone queer just so you can shack up with a
piece of ass?  Well, people are complaining.  The women in the
office think you're mocking them, and the men are all mocking you! 
It's bad for the business.  I can't let you near the phones to talk
to customers, they're all asking me what flouncy new product line
we're selling these days.  Maybe you better take the rest of the
week off and think about whether this job means more to you than
some asshole promise you made to some dumb broad!  I don't want to
lose you, but if you can't shape up you're gone!"  And he turned
abruptly away.

I felt flayed!  It was infuriating, and for a moment I considered
whether to quit right there or to wait and continue to torment
everyone by talking in my lovely feminine voice, to force him to
fire me.  Just for the way I was talking?   Outrageous!

When I told Gayle, she immediately advised me to quit and accept
the job she'd had in mind.

"Gayle, you said the job required a woman."

"Well, maybe not necessarily!  Maybe just a woman's voice and the
right attitudes."  

And she explained.  Gayle oversaw Corporate Acquisitions for her
firm, really a holding company with lots of smaller firms.  There
was a Phone-Marketing startup they'd acquired last year, with a
three person office supervising several hundred part-time
"associates" who worked from their homes all over the city,
networked as if they were all together in cubicles.  The firm
needed someone with exactly my background to be the third person. 
Someone to modify the main record and book-keeping systems and set
up sales analyses, and then to walk new associates through the
different computer procedures.  And along with the other two
supervisors, advise the home associates whenever they had problems
with their customers, telling them how to keep their sales pitches
tactful and informal.  That sort of thing.  Personal advice too. 
Exactly what we'd learned in that Inter-Personnel course where we'd
met.

I could begin by working at home myself if I felt uneasy about it,
she said.  But it would be better if I worked alongside the two
other adminstrative supervisors from the outset.  To get their
input before I changed systems around, and also to learn from their
example how best to deal with the associates. 

"You'd be perfect, honey!" Gayle told me.  "You have exactly the
right background, and you have exactly the right voice, too!  It's
not at all like the job you've got now, where it's boring and they
don't appreciate your gifts."

"Why might I feel uneasy?" I asked.  "And what do you mean, the
right voice?"

"Because this time you'd really need to act like a real girl, not
just in the way you talk but the way you think and feel too.  The
associates are all women.  To understand their problems with their
customers you'd need to make all sorts of girl talk with them all
day long, and really enjoy it, the way women do.  You'd hear a lot
about all sorts of things women only tell other women.  And you
might feel uneasy about that, abandoning your male reflexes and
personality altogether all day long, really being one of girls on
the phone while the other two supervisors listen in.  They'd have
to listen at first, to help you sound more authentic.  In effect
they'd be teaching you how to be a woman in everything but
appearance.  You know, I think you'd enjoy it!"

"I see," I said.  "Why are the associates all women?"

Gayle grinned.  "They have to be.  It's a specialty marketing firm
strictly for women's products.  Pantyhose, sanitary napkins,
lingerie, make-up, fashion magazines, you know.  Things only women
use.  The associates' customers are all women.  Women don't buy
things like that from men."

She smiled to herself, then said,  "I think with your empathy
you'll do just fine!  It's a stretch maybe, but you can imagine how
a girl feels when she's wearing her new hot-'n-sexy panty-and-bra
set for the first time, can't you, and then advise our associates
how she'll feel, how to advise their customers.  You'd be better
than most women at it, I'll bet.  Because it would all be new to
you, a fresh challenge!  And you come at it with no set ideas of
your own!"

"Let me understand.  The associates are all women who advise other
women, their customers, who call them to find out what to buy or
how to use something they've already bought, how to use it in some
imaginative new way?  It isn't just that they take orders by
phone?"  

"Exactly!" Gayle replied.  "The associates provide a kind of a
fashion and feelings help line, with flair.  They pitch their sales
while they're being helpful. They're big sisters and wise aunts and
best friends.  They're Ann Landers to the lovelorn and they're
Eloise and Martha Stewart to the housekeepers.  They do all the
work with customers, and you work with them.  Apart from
maintaining the accounting systems, you'll be a kind of clearing
house for whatever they need to know.  And a morale booster. 
You'll design their in-house reporting and ordering protocols and
so on, of course, but mainly you'll keep them motivated, and share
any good advice you get from other associates about what works
especially well.  Things like that!"

I still didn't see why I had to be a facsimile woman when talking
with the associates.  "I can see why you need women at the base
level, working with the customers," I said. "But why do all three
supervisors have to be women?"

"Because of the kinds of associates we've got!"  Gayle sighed. 
"Well, strictly speaking, not all of them.  For some a male
supervisor isn't an issue.  They're the women who do our work but
also take care of elderly parents, or babies, or want to be home
when their kids get home from school.  Or want to schedule their
own time.  Or want to work bare-faced in blue jeans -- a girl can
save hours out of her life for herself each week if she doesn't
have to set her hair and make up her face for downtown office work. 
Not to mention the time and money women spend shopping for 'career
girl' outfits suitable for business.  Lots of those associates are
college grads, smart and under-employed.  They're not our problem."

Gayle smiled, then added, "We direct-deposit a lot of their
earnings into bank accounts with names different from the names
they use at home. So they're likely to tell you all sorts of things
about their lives they don't want their husbands to know!  Some of
it gets pretty racy!"

"All right," I said.  "Then it's the other associates who're the
problems?"  

"Correct.  The others come in two kinds.  One kind is entry-level,
recent high school graduates.  They're young and they advise other
girls their age what to buy and they do very well at it.  Telling
another young girl when a tampon's preferable to a napkin, for
example, and which kinds of tampons.  Even what their new boyfriend
might appreciate by way of a birthday blow job!  You can advise
them how to do that part right, can't you, Allie?"

I said nothing.

"But they're young, and soaked in their own brand-new high-test
hormones.  Some are intimidated by men but most of them are ready
to play the female seducer to any male behind a male voice.  You
know, they flirt instinctively.  They can be all business when they
talk to another woman, but they're easily distracted into silliness
by men.  If their supervisor is a woman, or if they think so, it
makes for far greater efficiency."

That rang true enough.  In college I was a work-study aide on a
University Computer help line for a while.  I found quickly that
lots of girls practice their girl tactics on any guys on the phone
who don't know them.  It can get pretty harrowing when one of them
aims both full-bore barrels at you!  And then if one actually does
develop a crush on you, or on your voice, she can waste an awful
lot of your time.  Some of the girls were probably worth the time,
but who knew?  

I'd often thought about flirting back, but I never did.  I'd have
been fired, they kept stressing that.  On the other hand, one guy
I know actually managed to talk a lot of girls into performing
phone sex for his fraternity brothers.  "They liked doing it, Al,"
he informed me.  "Getting guys off!  They'd challenge each other to
speed and endurance contests, how fast and how often they can get
a guy to cum with a single phone call.  For how long they can
string him along whenever he tries to hang up.  They're
unbelievable!  I tell you, don't let the bitches of this world get
the upper hand ever!  Just try to think of them as pussies with
tits, with mouths that talk too much and don't suck cock often
enough!  Then you'll get on fine."  

I couldn't do that.  I wasn't raised that way, I guess.  I
respected girls.  Maybe that was why I didn't get on too well with
them.

"And the other kind of associate?"  I asked.  "The other kind that
can't handle a male supervisor, I mean?"

"The second kind, right!  They tend to be women returning to the
work force because they've gotten rotten divorce settlements.  Some
of them are looking for another guy to get in bed with right away,
so there's the same problem with them as with the high school
girls.  Only worse, because they know the score.  A sweet guy like
you wouldn't last ten minutes with some of them.  They'd eat you
alive."

"Sounds good," I replied, grinning.  "But I'm not that easy." 

"Coulda fooled me, Allie," Gayle said, grinning back.  "Anyhow,
lots of our divorced women can't tolerate a male voice of any kind,
no matter how helpful!  One of them put it to me this way: 'No male
supervisors ever again, Gayle!  Not ever!  One mother-fucking son
of a bitch-bastard telling me what to do day and night was one too
many for me and still is, and will be, now, whenever, and forever
after, Amen!'"

Gayle paused, then said, "But you've got no problem that way,
Allie.  Your voice is perfect!  Who'd think you weren't a girl,
hearing you on the phone?  With a little re-orienting you'd fit in
perfectly."

We talked some more, and the idea began to sound better and better. 
Challenging!  And I'd get in on all sorts of women's secrets!  

So that Friday I called and told my boss I was quitting, that I was
giving him my week's notice, that I'd been offered work better
suited to my talents.

"I'll bet you've got offers," was all he replied this time. 
"Resignation accepted, and don't bother coming in at all for your
last week, Nancy!  I'm happy to pay you to stay away.  We're well
rid of you!  Your girlfriend put you up to this, huh?  Give him a
kiss for me!"  And he hung up.

That shook me!  I'd never encountered a real bigot before.  But it
was done.  I was well rid of him. 

end 2/10
VickieTern@AOL.COM

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