Message-ID: <43579asstr$1059257406@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern) X-Original-Message-ID: <20030726140408.14497.00000555@mb-m02.aol.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 26 Jul 2003 18:04:08 GMT Subject: {ASSM} Last Summer by Vickie Tern 1/11 TG femdom wife Date: Sat, 26 Jul 2003 18:10:06 -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: dennyw, RuiJorge This is a long one, in which the characters think things through more carefully than in most of mine, to decisions not much different from those in most. Rightly or wrongly. But each in his own way. Or hers. As usual, those who shouldn't be reading these kinds of fictions shouldn't read this kind of fiction. You know who you are. If in doubt, ask around. I'm always curious what people like and dislike about anything I write, and I always appreciate knowing. Please let me know (VickieTern@aol.com). ' Last Summer by Vickie Tern (c) 2003 by Vickie Tern Prologue (i.) When I awoke it was no longer dark, not even dim, the sun was well up. In the warm yellow September morning light I could see the top of my night stand and our bedroom walls and my closet door. And my bureau, and Scottie's chest of drawers. And my dressing table still covered with cosmetics, some still tumbled on their sides and others with lids and caps still open. God since yesterday morning? -- I hoped they weren't drying out. They were exactly as I'd left them yesterday when I was running late to meet Craig and whatever friend Craig had brought for Cheryl, for our last weekly lunch meeting and then our last coupling, as we'd done all summer long, Cheryl and her new man usually leaving first, eager to get to it, then after a certain amount of verbal duelling and sparring me and Craig, straight to the motel where we'd been falling into each other's bodies every Saturday since the summer began. Though yesterday for the last time. Scottie might at least have noticed the mess I'd left and re-capped a lipstick for me or something, but apparently but he hadn't. Maybe it had been a mistake for me to insist he get his own cosmetics and stop using mine? He kept his own dressing table neat enough at all times, as if he hardly ever touched his make-up. I knew better of course -- one of the best times of day was when the two of us were doing our faces together in the morning and talking about all sorts of things, as girls will. And now and then I'd see he'd bought himself something new, maybe a new lipstick to go with a new dress, or a shade of blush better suited to some transient mood. Just like any girl making herself pretty to satisfy herself. He scarcely ever noticed my things these days. Still, that had been the original attention, to get him so preoccupied with his own appearance and his own activities that he wouldn't get concerned how I was spending my Saturday afternoons all summer long, sometimes well into the evenings. Even when it would have been obvious if he'd looked. Maybe without mentioning anything, we'd both agreed that if nothing was said then neither of us had to endanger our marriage by asking questions. Neither of us wanted that. Anyhow, it was all over now. Done. Just as I'd expected all along. This whole mad summer with its sweltering humidity and dripping bodies and heated graspings and couplings and its yearnings and its glorious sex had finally cooled into this crisp, sensible September day. I'd finally used up my passion for that wise ass hunk of man I'd been fucking every Saturday afternoon into the evening, that great body and greater ego I'd taken vast pleasure trying to dominate or undermine. I no longer needed to try. I no longer cared. Now Craig would return to his usual weekend girlfriends, and Scott and I could return to our lives as they were before the summer and this whole thing happened. Which had been fine, understand me, no complaints! We'd return if we could and move on if we couldn't. Scottie'd expressed doubts, and I had my own doubts, but there was no telling. I turned. Scottie was sleeping on his left side as he always did, facing me, one shoulder blocking my line of vision. But I could see the walls of our bedroom on his side too, and his closet door, and the sun's rays streaking toward us around the edges of our drawn blinds, a few dust motes trapped in its rays. Everything still looked the same. A Sunday just like all the other Sundays of our married lives. For the past few months, all summer long, our Sundays had been different because the Saturdays preceding them had been very different. But now, one last session with Scott in our own bed, his pretty mouth licking me pristine of the last of Craig, participating in my affair with Craig without even knowing it. One last delicious orgasm and he'd be released from his promise to me, free to live as he chose. I'd probably bring down his clothes from the attic where I'd stored them to make room for the new clothes now filling his closet. Maybe give away his new clothes, but keep a few of the nicer items for myself. Unless he wanted to keep wearing them. They were his now, and the life that went with them. Maybe today he'd also feel free to speak his mind about my strange demands on him all this past summer. That was worrisome. At least at this moment we were still together, anyhow, and that was simply lovely. I lifted my head and leaned toward my sweet Scottie, wondering whether I should wake him with a gentle kiss on his ear. Maybe nibble the baguette earring I'd bought as a gift, to celebrate his homecoming with his ears pierced. I was touched that it was still his favorite. No matter, now if he wished he could remove them and let the holes close over and heal. As with our pierced marriage too. He was still sleeping peacefully in his favorite nightie, the beige satin lace he'd bought for himself when I'd insisted that he learn to love his nice things, not just accept them as necessities. I sniffed. Sure enough, Lilac Ecstasy. Our perfume. My signature scent ever since some forgotten teenage beau spent a month's allowance to buy me a teeny bottle, and brought it to me adorned with an actual sprig of lilac, so many years ago. Scottie's too for the past three months, because I'd insisted we wear the same scent. That he wear my perfume to keep him reminded whose world he had entered. He'd agreed that for the whole summer it would be my world, not his. I had to smile. Of course I'd always doused myself in Lilac Ecstasy whenever I left the house to meet Craig. Every Saturday. I wanted to keep myself smelling fresh for Craig through all our heavy-duty lovemaking, but also I needed to mask our mingled body odors, the smell of fresh sex with another man, when I came back home to Scottie. I'd wanted Scottie to wear it for the same reason, so he couldn't smell Craig on me. But also for more romantic reasons. Wearing my aroma signified that he was mine, living the way I wanted him. I loved it, knowing that he was walking around all day in a cloud of feminine scent, being feminine, being a lovely girl. It was so sweet to think about. Especially when I was in bed with another man, a powerful man, and his cock was deep inside me. It helped me feel less guilty that I was betraying my husband, if I knew that at that moment he wasn't much of a man anyhow. Then too wearing Lilac Ecstasy all the time would encourage him to stay home doing his own things when I was out doing mine with Craig. That's what I'd first thought, anyhow. A man wearing a woman's scent isn't likely to go around asking people if they'd seen his wife. But that idea collapsed almost immediately, when he began living full time as a woman. Getting Scott to wear my perfume had been the first tactic I'd stumbled onto and adopted when all this began. It was an accident, almost a whim. All the rest came out of it, in a way. If he smelled feminine, why not look feminine too? And so on. But now it was September. The three months' agreement we'd negotiated had run out. Yesterday I'd had my farewell session with Craig, and today Scottie knew that he no longer had to keep the promises he'd made last June. Come to think of it, I'd told him only yesterday that he could stop using that fragrance, that he could wear his more manly after shave if he wished. Yet here he was, still scented with Lilac Ecstasy. Had he splashed on the concentrated perfume instead of dabbing it, or misting the cologne, as I'd shown him way back? And now the perfume had soaked into his skin? Or maybe it was his scented bubble baths? Or the Lilac skin-softening creams he'd included in his nightly beauty regimen for months now? Or his oil treatments at the beauty salon? In a way, that would be amusing. In that case it would be weeks before he stopped smelling of flowers and took on a more manly scent. I sighed. When his Lilac Ecstasy wore off, and his ear-piercings closed, his body would nevertheless always bear some other irreversible reminders of this strange time. There were for example the new lovely smooth feel of his face, and the new curves of his body. I loved them, and I knew he did too! Maybe I should ask him to continue using a skin softener even when he again became a man? If he did choose to become a man again? It would be suitable, because he was now certainly permanently hairless. He'd gone to a two-week all-in-one Electrolysis Institute in a Gender Clinic in Texas a few weeks into our agreement, and he'd returned changed. His face and chest and legs were as smooth as a baby's. Not that I'd ever objected before to the hair on his face and body -- there wasn't that much. But I'd told him early on that since he'd agreed to pretend to be a woman, he could save himself the bother of shaving twice daily, and since he never intended to grow a beard or moustache anyhow he had nothing to lose. It was a painless process -- they put their clients into a kind of twilight sleep and then they did everything the client wanted then and there, for twelve or eighteen hours a day, until it was done. Then the client woke up and went home. I'd made the reservation for him, and while I was at it I'd ordered the other procedures as well. To help him keep his promises, but also to further ease my conscience that I was being ravished by another man and loved it. Off he'd gone. And back he'd come, looking more feminine than even I'd ever imagined. So lovely! Absolutely darling, and all mine! And on my part, no regrets. I have to confess it though, my main reason for sending him out of town then was simply to free up the two weeks so I could go cruising with Craig on his sailboat, so I could have two weeks of fucking that marvelous man night and day, day after day. It had been two weeks of orgasmic rapture, simply glorious, everything I'd hoped, and it had set our affair on an especially exalted level for the months to come. I'd especially enjoyed it, when my cheeks scratched against Craig's wiry beard, and my fingers knitted into the thick mat of hair on Craig's chest, knowing that at that very moment my husband Scott was being made forever smooth, bare, and beautiful for me, completely girlish, that he'd never ever again match Craig's masculine appeal. That was perversely satisfying, I suppose. But whenever I felt a guilty twinge that I'd done that to him, I consoled myself that Scott had never been in Craig's league as a man. When my nose was buried in Craig's crotch hairs as I blew him, it was satisfying that Scott would always be bald down there. Scott wasn't exactly effeminate, not until the summer began and I demanded it of him, but he'd never been a hunk either. I'd married him for his quick mind and his sweet temperament, not for his masculinity. And because I loved him, and he loved me, I'd thought I could live my life without being periodically flattened and stuffed by some muscle bound real man. I was wrong. This past summer proved it. When we returned to port I was finally fully satisfied. Not that I felt sated -- Craig's virility still blew my mind, and we continued to climb all over each other as lovers for two more months. But we both knew then that what we felt for each other's bodies wasn't love. I knew that what I felt for Scottie was love. And Scottie returned home looking quite pretty -- there was no other word for him. He was reshaped, and his face was as smooth and lean as a gorgeous model's. The body creams they'd given him gave a silken feel and glow to his hairless skin. I'd sent them a sissy man and they returned me a gorgeous babe, a whole new hubby! I loved it! My sweet Scottie! Would he return to our marriage as it had been, now that my little digression from it had ended? Could I tell him now what I've really been doing, why I wanted him emasculated for the summer? Was he now enough of a woman to understand and sympathize, or would his injured male ego rule him? Would I still be living with him when he finally stopped smelling of lilac? Would some other woman? Would some other man? I'd find out soon enough. My wonderful Scottie! He'd granted me what I had to have, a three month time out from our usual relationship, and it had been enough. The summer storm within me had moved on. Yesterday's coupling with Craig had been wistful, not really passionate, a kind of appreciative farewell to the pleasure we'd given each other, tender but without yearning. Craig's cock had slid in and out of me yesterday slowly, gratefully, as if it were aware it was for the last time. Now I'd resume my marriage, if Scott was willing. That was up to him. It would be his decision. I'd done what I had to do, and there was nothing more I could do now. I'd made my bed and I was lying in it with the man I'd married and made into a woman. Maybe he'd want to change back, and maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd leave me. Certainly he'd leave me if he knew why I'd made him into a woman. Whatever happened, I could only blame myself. end 1/11 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: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+