Message-ID: <28985asstr$982811404@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern) X-Original-Message-ID: <20010220102712.20957.00001661@ng-fn1.aol.com> 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: 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, gill-bates 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 -- 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. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+