Message-ID: <29939asstr$987801003@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern) X-Original-Message-ID: <20010420002604.13820.00000247@ng-cj1.aol.com> Subject: {ASSM} Tiny Tim by Vickie Tern 3/9 TG femdom F/m M/M wife Date: Fri, 20 Apr 2001 17:10:03 -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, gill-bates, t4425 New TG: Tiny Tim by Vickie Tern, 3/9 femdom, F/m, M/M, wife iii. It was much like any other day of my previous life. At first. We went to bed at sun-up and slept till early afternoon, as we always did whenever we were out really late. Becky didn't seem to be angry with me any more. When I hesitantly touched her with a toe to see if she'd feel repelled even in her sleep, as often when we'd quarrelled and gone to bed without making up, she moved her whole leg against mine and cuddled. I woke first and made coffee, and when she came down she drank it silently, reading the paper and sharing small news items with me as she always did on any ordinary day. Had it happened at all? It had happened. And she meant to do what she'd do. I went into my study to review my accounts, and I left a long message on my secretary's voicemail clearing my schedule for the next week, so I could stay home. That's what I'd agreed. I had to get stabilized, get my personal affairs in order, get my attitudes and defenses ironclad before I next faced those bastards at the office. What I could do to even the score I had no idea. Minimally, I'd have to endure their gloating by ignoring it. But the fact remained, they'd fucked my wife and she preferred sex with them to sex with me and she'd fed me their cum and I'd swallowed down every last sticky glop of it and we all four knew it and they knew why. Talk about coming out on top? If Kevin saw me and whipped out his dick and asked me to give him a quick pick-me-up, did I want to lick a few drops direct from the source, could I get angry? As manhood goes, what more had I to lose? I already felt emasculated! How could I respond at all? I lined up lists of my customers and theirs and stared at them, looking for some kind of retribution. I was feeling murderous yet helpless. Becky went out shopping during the late afternoon and came home with packages for herself and a small plastic bag filled with Chinese take-out for me. "Here's your dinner," she said. "I've got a date -- I'll be eating out." She smiled to herself. "Don't wait up!" I wasn't hungry. She went upstairs, and I heard her running a bath, and then a long silence told me she was enjoying a long soak as she always did when we were planning a romantic evening. The scent of her perfumed bath oils drifted down to where I was sitting and trying to read. Why hadn't I recognized her usual scent on her breasts when I was sucking them last night? Another hour went by in silence. I went up to see if she was all right. She was sitting at her make-up table, her eyelids heavily, seductively lines and shadowed, applying mascara to what seemed to me exceptionally long lashes that curled up and gave a bright expression to her whole face. She looked almost as wide-eyed as the eyes in those face masks, but much more mysteriously alluring. She let me watch her without comment. "You like?" she said finally, her reflection in her mirror smiling up at me. "I like," I said. I really did. "I just don't like what it's for!" "Oh, I'm not gonna tell you what it's for," she said in a playful sing-song. She seemed to be in a cheerful enough mood! "Not until I get home. Then maybe I'll give you a hint. A taste." She looked keenly up at me in the mirror and saw my distress, and started to smile, but instead made a sudden "Oh!" mouth and began painting it with her lipstick brush. Now she really did look like one of those fucking doll masks, I thought bitterly. Did she plan to suck a cock with those lips? There was nothing I could do or say. We had an understanding. It had a week to go. I saw too that she was wearing new, very provocative lingerie! A black lace Teddy I'd not seen before, the kind that snaps -- or unsnaps -- at the crotch. But neither a bra nor panties. I began to get a hard on. Her eyes flicked down and noticed. "Well well, you like this, don't you,"she said. "Me going out without you for a little adventure of my own. Is that it? Your little kink? The idea of me with another man turns you on? Sweetie, if that's true, you're going to be sooooo hot this week you won't be able to stand it!" "No, Becky," I said earnestly. "It's just that I like the way you look. It's really terrific! That's what's exciting! You haven't taken this much trouble to look this ... sexy since we got married!" "No, I suppose not," she said, now brushing and blending blush into her face powder, still looking at me in her mirror. "What for?" She looked pleased that her little barb had struck home. "But now you'll see a lot of me like this. That little thing of yours is going to be stiff all week I guess. But in your own pants, honey. Not in mine!" I suddenly felt a wave of jealousy sweep through me, and fear! And a foretaste of emptiness! This seductress was my wife! Who would she be seeing tonight? Doing what with him? I caught a quick glimpse in my mind's eye of Becky looking like this but with her legs wrapped around Kevin's naked waist while he shoved a massive pole hard and deep into her, repeatedly pounding her, her head thrown back to the ceiling, her mouth wide open in ecstatic joy. It was unspeakably painful! She watched me closely in her mirror as all sorts of expressions crossed my face. I decided that come what may I had to follow her tonight, wherever she went. I had to know who she was with! What she was doing! Not to break my promise, not to interfere, just to know! Though knowing would be a torment to me, I had to know! That way I'd regain some measure of control over my maddening imaginations! I tried to suppress those thoughts before she could read them. "Where are you going tonight?" I asked her as casually as possible. "With anyone I know?" She wasn't fooled. The tension in my voice was unmistakable. Becky put down her brush and thought for a moment. Then she swiveled around on her little chair and faced me directly. "Tim," she said. "You listen! You better understand this right now! Where and who with is none of your business! This is getting to you, is it? Well good, it should! I want it to get to you! But understand this! This week I'm a free woman and beholden to nobody! You aren't to know who I see or where, and you aren't to try to find out! You aren't to follow me! I want to know you're here when I leave and here when I get back and that you've been here the whole time! You're a married man, you belong home! I'm not married! I can go anywhere! Is that perfectly clear?" I was silent. "I thought so," she replied to my silence. "Your face is so easy to read! Well, I guess I'll have to do it after all. Just remember, you brought it on yourself!" "Brought what? Do what?" Now I was frightened again. What could she have had in mind that was so quickly triggered? I hoped she was just referring to our agreement, but it didn't sound like it. It sounded worse. Much worse. "Fix it so you don't follow me. Fix it so I don't have some moonstruck man crazed with jealousy stalking me and going even crazier when he sees who my friends are and what we're doing with each other, maybe turn violent and injure someone! Fix it so you stay out of my life whenever I'm out with other men!" I remained silent. Again I didn't want to aggravate her further. Or give her any new ideas, or new justifications for whatever ideas she already had. "I guess I'll have to tie you up again," she said. "Like last night. Leave you stretched out flat on your back on the bed, unable to move until I get home." She smiled to herself. "It might be convenient, finding you tied up, face up and helpless when I get home, if things go the way I hope. I could share my pleasures with you again then. That would save me the trouble of douching before I get into bed! You liked eating me out before, didn't you? Maybe not? Well, if you're tied up it won't matter whether you like it or not, will it? You'll do it, won't you my tiny-dicked douchebag with the big ideas about following me! Yes, you will!" And she turned back to her mirror to begin pencilling in the outlines of her lipstick, how to deal with me now settled. Was she mocking me? Did she mean it? I didn't know. I couldn't tell. I didn't like the idea at all! Tied up and helpless for hours? Left with my thoughts? I decided to raise an objection, but so gently she couldn't tell. "Ahh, how long do you expect to be gone tonight do you think, Becky?" It seemed an innocent question, idle curiosity, as if I were just making conversation. I hoped. She caught on immediately! And stared at me. Then said, "You're right, Tim. I don't want to have to think about you lying here helpless and unsupervised while I'm having my fun. I don't want to think about you at all tonight. And my purpose isn't to punish you, just to even the score a little and enjoy myself, just to take a vacation from you, to see what other men are like when I'm out on my own. I guess you're right. I mean, what if you needed to pee, you'd ruin the bed. Or what if the house should catch fire? Or what if I should really luck out and decide not to come back for a few days?" "I promise, I won't try to follow you," I said. "You once promised you'd be faithful to me, and look where that's landed us. Don't fool yourself! You certainly don't fool me!" I was silent again. "I guess I'll have to hire a babysitter," she said. "Somebody who can sit downstairs and know you're up here, and release you if there's some emergency. To untie you if I should call to tell her I won't be home for a few days. That teenage girl who lives down the street maybe. She has a sister too, I recall. One of them must certainly be free tonight. Or surely one of them has a friend who could help us out. I'll phone and see." She actually reached toward the phone alongside her make-up table! Extend my humiliation across the whole neighborhood? Into the prattling mouths of teenage girls? There'd be no end to it then! "Becky, everyone knows we don't have a baby here! The whole neighborhood would know what we're doing!" "That'll be your problem. If we divorce, you can keep the house and stay in the neighborhood and deal with it." So she didn't mind shaming me that way! She didn't expect to share my ruined reputation! I tried a different tack. "Becky," I said. "I have work to do. I have clients to call. They feel free to call me any time there's an emergency, you know that! This isn't fair to them. I can't spend whole evenings or days at a time tied up! I need to be able to answer the phone and get at my files. They trust me with their finances! They depend on me! You shouldn't punish them!" "You're right," she said immediately. And she sat silent a moment, thinking some more. Then she glanced across her make-up table at her own image in her mirror, and said almost to herself, "Of course!" She stood up. "All right, honey, here's how it is! Either I tie you up and swaddle you in diapers and get you a babysitter to sit downstairs in case there's some emergency, and you can pray there won't be any, or else you do exactly what I say right now, no hesitation, and you put your whole mind and heart into it. Which will it be?" "I don't want a babysitter," I said. "I want to be free to move around while you're ... out." "Good, then it's the second option. There's no time for all of it tonight, I'm leaving in twenty minutes. I'll have to trust that what I can do to you in twenty minutes will do the job. I think so. Anyhow, the real pressure isn't on either of us yet. I expect I'll be back home by midnight this time. It's only a first date. A girl doesn't yield up all to a man on a first date. Chances are we'll just feel each other out." She smiled to herself at that, then slyly at me, seeing that it made me uncomfortable. Then suddenly, "Pull over that chair and sit down here and give me your hand." Baffled, I did just that. She looked into my face, suddenly sprightly, amused. Her voice turned light-hearted! "I think this will work out just fine," she almost sang. "It'll be just like when I was a girl and we were having an all night pajama party! It'll be as if we were both getting ready for dates, only I'll go out on one and you'll stay home! It'll be fun! For me, maybe even for you too after all! Some men are strange! Hold that hand flat and very still!" And she opened up a small bottle of bright scarlet nail polish and took the brush and with a few deft strokes on each of my finger nails she colored them bright red. "Other hand," she said. "And waggle this hand in the air delicately until they're dry!" She painted the nails on my other hand also. I was shocked, amazed! What did she have in mind? I stared at my bright red fingernails. "Now your face," she said. I turned toward her. She was all business, but plainly enjoying herself. "I should have thought of this years ago," she said. "Tomorrow morning we'll get it all done properly!" "Get what done?" "Hold still! Open your eyes wide!" She picked up a small bottle of black liquid eyeliner and extract a small-tipped brush from it, and a moment later swiped something cool and wet onto my lower eyelid. "Now close them, not tight!" The same thing on my upper eyelids. "Open again!" she was inspecting her handiwork, and looked satisfied. Then she picked up and twisted a tube, and in a few more strokes she'd put lipstick on my lips. "There!" she said. She looked me over with that impassive evaluating stare women use on each other. "No, more!" Then dipped a small brush into dark blue eye-shadow and aimed it toward my eyes. I closed them. She wiped sone on each eyelid, then spread it. "That'll do it, I think," she said, satisfied. "You don't look at all as ridiculous as I'd expected, you know? You don't look ridiculous at all, in fact. You've never looked much like a man, with that small-boned face of yours, but who'd have thought you'd shape up looking so girly. So effeminate! However, what I think doesn't matter, it's what you think. Take a look at yourself in the mirror. Hold your hands up to your chin, so your nails are part of the picture." I did as she asked. My face looked back at me petulantly, eyes deeply shadowed, my lips red. Faggotty? No, more like an awkward girl pretending to pose for a cosmetic commercial. I glanced at my fingers. The red nail polish she'd put on them was already dry. I wasn't a girl! I was a man who was wearing lipstick and sexy dark eyes and red nail polish! I thrust my hands into my pockets, ashamed. "Good!" she said. "That's what I'd hoped. I'm running a little late, would you hand me my dress over there, honey? That's it, take those hands out of those pockets, there's only us girls here. Very pretty, those red fingernails flashy on that black taffeta. I never noticed how long and thin your fingers are, Tim, we should get you some rings and a bracelet! Carefully, pick that dress up with both hands, by the shoulders, they're padded. Thank you, you're a dear. I think this is going to be fun, you helping me get ready for my dates. I really do need to teach you about make-up, so you can do my face, make me pretty for my men." Another thought struck her. "Of course," she said to herself again. She dashed to her drawers and her closet too quickly for me to see what she was doing, and returned bearing a long sleeved blouse with a high frilly collar, and dangling a brassiere from one finger. "Strip to the waist!" she ordered. I saw what she intended, and nearly panicked. "Becky!" I said, frightened, I couldn't tell why. "Becky, I...." "You nothing!" she said. "I haven't any more time! Strip!" I did. She slipped her brassiere over my arms onto my chest, and clipped it in back. And pulled my pectoral muscles into the cups. Then held out the blouse back to front it seemed, and told me to slip my arms into the sleeves. When she buttoned what must have been 15 or 20 buttons in back, I saw that my reshaped pectorals bulged out in front, easily accommodated by the cut of the blouse. The bulges passed as breasts, sort of. I realized that the blouse hadn't been put on backward, it was a blouse with buttons up the back where I couldn't get near them. "No time for a skirt, but this will do for now I think! Tim, you look just darling! Gotta run! Ta-ta!" She hurried out of our bedroom and started down the stairs. I followed her, very much aware of an odd waxy feeling of lipstick on my lips, and how my chin brushed against the blouse's high ruffled collar. The bra cut in under my arm pits and seemed to hug me. "Becky," I called to her. "What's all this about? Why did you do this to me?" She stopped on the bottom landing and looked up at me. "Lovely!" she said. "You look pretty good, you know? Really! And your lips and your your nails match, did you know that? But here's the deal. You try to follow me out of the house tonight and everyone who sees you will know immediately that you're not a man but something else. I'm sure of it! I'll see to it! I'll make sure the whole neighborhood knows how proud I am that my husband finally decided to let the world know she's really a girl inside! Consider what your friends Kevin and Marshall will say when they hear how you've shown yourself in public! They'll assume that they did it to you, that you enjoyed them so much you decided to be a cum-slurping sissy full time!" I just stared at her. She was right. I was trapped. "You look precious, precious. Shall we show everyone right now? I'm late, but I'd be happy to introduce my new girlfriend to the neighborhood!" Horrified, I just shook my head. She was satisfied. "Well, then. I want you to stay as sweet as you are the whole time I'm out. You don't get to take any off any of your make-up! I mean it! The eyeliner needs a special remover, and if you find mine and try to use it you'll only smear. And anyhow you'd never manage to replace a liquid eyeliner on your own -- that takes lots of practice! Then after you've eaten your dinner, you'll want to refresh your lipstick -- that could wipe off. Be sure you do! Because when I get home I'll want to see your eyes and mouth looking just as lovely as they do now. Just as kissable. Check in the mirror now and then, and fix what needs fixing, honey. That's an order!" And she was out the door. I heard her car disappear down the street. I was so ashamed to risk being seen I didn't dare open the front door to see in which direction. She'd trapped me! That evening I just waited for Becky to come back home. I looked over more accounts and wrote some more memos for my secretary's voicemail. My thin, red-tipped fingers looked strange on the computer keyboard, a lot like a woman's. Like the girls in our office. Becky was right about that. It felt peculiar, watching my pretty, thin, girly fingers fly across the keyboard. On impulse I zipped open my fly and pulled out my dong, then wrapped my manicured fingers around it. It swelled up immediately and satisfyingly. I looked it over with a feeling of grievance. It wasn't all that small! My woman's hand wrapped around it and closed over it and began to pull on it. It felt good. Was this adultery, I wondered as I looked down and saw that hand pulling on me, that strange woman's hand jerking me off? It was exciting! In fact it was so exciting that I rose to a climax and spurted before I expected to, before I could prepare for it, all over my pants! It felt just great! I wiped and blotted as best I could, and then returned to my work. I saw after dinner that my lipstick had indeed wiped off, that it was especially uneven in color on my upper lip, so I went back up to our bedroom room and practiced restoring it. Becky seemed to have taken three strokes maybe, no more, but it took me dozens, and lots of tissues, before I got it sort of right. By midnight I saw I needed a touchup again, but this time two strokes did it. My hand with its red-tipped fingers had learned. Soon afterward, I was reading in our living room when I heard the car in the driveway, and then Becky came through the door. She saw me and came straight over, staring at my mouth and eyes intently. She checked my blouse, with a thoughtful glance at the slight protrusions of muscle and skin her brassiere had gathered up and given shape. "Very good, Tim!" she said. "You're a fast learner. It's a gift, getting that bow on your upper lip shaped right without smearing. How does my lipstick look?" I looked at Becky. Her hair was disordered, barely smoothed back into a semblance of the hairdo she'd had when she left. Her wide-eyed, heavy-lidded, heavy-lashed makeup was a little less emphatic but still more or less there -- she still looked like a seductive doll. But her lipstick was almost gone. What there was of it was a smudge in a corner of her mouth." "You should fix it when you're through with dinner, the way I did mine," I said, grudging her any recognition of what she'd probably been doing." "Oh, I did, honey, we women always fix our lipstick after we've eaten! But that was hours and hours ago!" I felt angry and depressed, but tried not to let it show. I didn't want to cooperate with her. She'd been making out with her date, plainly, and she wanted to rub my nose in it. Though I tried not to dwell on it, the mental image of Becky and some man kissing, smooching, began to drive me wild! My wife kissing another man! And six more days of this to go! "You'll fix my lipstick for me! Come upstairs. Let's see what you've learned." "Becky, I ...!" This was sheer torment! She cracked down on me like a whip! "You nothing, Tim! Not a word! Come upstairs!" I did. She sat down at her table and wide-eyed, turned toward me and waited expectantly. I picked up her lipsticks one after another until I'd matched the shade she was using, a kind of berry. Then with a few strokes outward I restored her upper lip, and in a single freehand stroke the arc of her lower lip. "Press together now," I said. She did, and her mouth looked as good as new. She was surprised and delighted. "Definitely a talent, sweetheart! I married a genius! A Van Gogh! Maybe I should bring you along on all my dates, so you can fix my mouth after each kiss or blow job, keep me looking attractive for whoever the next man to come along!" "Is that what you did, Becky? A kiss or a blow job?" It was saddening to realize she probably had done one or the other. And no longer to revenge herself for my infidelities. It was because she wanted to, and felt free to do what she wanted. She wasn't married. "Did I say so, Tiny Tim? What do you think?" I didn't say anything. She was reminding me not to say anything. "I wish you wouldn't call me that," I said finally. "It's degrading." "Oh, no!" she said. "It's complimentary! It's saying that your little thing is cute, not manly but still, rather sweet. It's sort of endearing, now that I don't feel held back by your limitations any more. Forced to make do with your itsy bitsy teensy weensy peensy penis!" I think she was more than half serious! "But you're right, Tiny honey! We do need another name for you when you're in here fixing your nail polish and lipstick and learning how to look pretty, and fixing me up to look the same way! Looking cute as a button in your blouse and brassiere. You need a girl's name. Girls dont feel degraded by small penises." She paused. Then triumphantly, "Teena! That's it! Teena! Not Tiny Tim but Teeny Tiny Teena!" Whenever I sat silent she raised the ante. And when I complained she raised the ante even higher. I decided to try to accept everything she proposed in a spirit of cooperation, to avoid facing worse. "That's me," I said. "Teena." That satisfied her. "Lie down on the bed now, Teena. I have something for you! No, face up. Arms back. Pretend you're tied up like last night!" I did that. She was going to do my make-up now, again? She pulled her dress up over her head and hung it away. I saw her Teddy was already unsnapped. She saw I saw, and she smiled sweetly at me. "You're wondering lots of things now, aren't you, Teena. Did I wear out my lipstick on his face? His cock? Did he leave anything in my pussy for my housemate to share when I got home? Well, you'll soon know the answers to all these questions." I just lay there. She climbed up and straddled my face, this time with her back to the headboard, facing my feet. Suddenly I felt her haunches stiffen. "What's this, Teena? What're those stains on your pants?" Her voice came as if from a long way away, far above me. I couldn't answer. Her cunt lips were already muffling my mouth. That much was a relief! Her pussy was moist, neat, not slick or soaked or slippery. Her date -- whoever he was -- he hadn't fucked her after all! "Teena, did your pretty manicured hands masturbate Tiny Tim all over your pants? Answer me!" This was insane! But I feared not being responsive, so I opened my mouth. All that happened was that her warm, moist cunt lips pressed down and kissed me. She wriggled, and they smooched me. I tried to nod "Yes" from under her buttocks. The tip of my nose slipped back between her cheeks and now pressed against her anus. That puckered opening felt wet. Not wet, really soaked! Sticky and slippery! Her anus? "Well, Teena, understand this! My husband gave that pitiable penis to me last night, early yesterday morning, not even twenty-four hours ago! And it's mine now! You are not to touch it ever again! I can't stress that strongly enough, I mean it! You touch it again, you seduce my penis again, and my marriage to you is over! I won't tolerate yet another infidelity!" Her voice was almost inaudible, because she was sliding further and further down my face and my ears were being clamped closed by her legs. I couldn't tell if she was feigning anger or was genuinely outraged. But it didn't matter. I got the message! "You've got that penis on loan! If I have to leave you, I'll have it cut off and stuffed and mounted, so other men will see that I mean what I say! I am not joking! It's mine! Is that understood, Teena?" I tried to nod. I couldn't move my head. "Teena?" I tried harder, and as I managed a slight nod my nose wedged up into her anus, a little. It was slippery and wet! God, my nose was inside her anus! "Now lick me, baby!" I heard her say. And she leaned back ever so slightly, and her whole pelvis slid forward. My nose, now slick and wet, nudged out of her asshole and slid between the slippy half-melons of her rear end. Now my lips were pursed onto her pursed anus. I tentatively put out my tongue. Cum! She was trickling cum! Her whole asshole was leaking cum! It was salty, sweet, bitter, after last night's taste-testing unmistakeable! And as my tongue tip worked itself into her asshole part way, I realized that her anus was loose as well as oozing, that the muscle ringing it was soft and distended, stretched out! This was no longer the tight rosebud I'd glimpsed now and then when Becky was fresh from her bath or shower and leaning over to pick something up! This thing was gaping. "That's right! Lick me! Lick him up! There isn't much I don't think! I pretty much emptied him into my mouth first, down into my throat. I don't fuck men on a first date, I told him. But he was so handsome, and that cock of his was so impressive, and his sperm tasted so delicious, that I just had to give him some sort of special treat, especially when he came into my mouth a second time and his cock still wouldn't quit! So I thought of you, how you were here waiting for me, looking pretty for me! How I wanted something I could take back and share with you! So I decided to give him my virginity. My virginal ass!" My heart sank, but what could I say? I pushed my tongue into her rear as deep as I could. Tears started from my eyes. "I know you've asked for it now and then, and I've always said 'no'! I've just never wanted to feel anyone's prick in there. Well, I wanted his. He never asked for it, so that made it my gift to him! And it was very special for me to feel that long, warm tube of his inside me once he got it moving all the way in and then nearly all the way out again. Your little guy would have been easier on me back there the first time, I know. I wished for a moment that I'd asked you to break me in back there for him, to open me a little, to prepare me for serious fucking. But there's no use crying over spilt milk. And when I got accustomed to his thickness he felt ... memorable. I'm sure, now that you've tasted him, that he's special for you too! I almost wish you could meet him! Maybe ...." end 3/9 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. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+