Message-ID: <43590asstr$1059268203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} Last Summer by Vickie Tern 9/11 TG femdom wife
Date: Sat, 26 Jul 2003 21:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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                             Last Summer

                            by Vickie Tern


                                 ix

In fact he seemed so much a woman, I'd gotten so accustomed to
living with my girlfriend, that I probably did go too far with him. 
I was at Doreen's having my nails done when Doreen came over
between customers and sat down next to me.

"You know, your girlfriend is a knockout, and she's more feminine
than most of the women who come in here.  We talk, and she tells me
how she's doing.  She's a wonderful girl, lots of pzazz, and as
near as I can tell she loves what we're doing to her.  I'm not sure
she'll want to quit in a few more weeks.  But it's a shame!"

"What is, Doreen?  That a perfectly wonderful man is now a
perfectly wonderful woman?  There's no loss there.  I think he's
getting lots out of his little excursion into our territory."

Doreen looked at me intently.  "Not one thing she isn't.  She's way
past sweet sixteen and she's never been laid!" 

I glanced at her, then returned my gaze to my fingertips.  Betsy,
Doreen's manicurist, was laying a fourth coat onto my nails
flawlessly.  I had no idea how she did it so well, in a single
stroke.  But I felt a little annoyed.  "Doreen, he's probably told
you -- I take care of that kind of thing regularly.  Or my dildo
does.  Several times a week.  And he's gotten to love it -- he may
well want me to keep doing it to him even after he becomes a man
again."  I paused.  "And I'm not sure it's your business."

"Honey, I love you both, so of course it's my business.  Listen to
you.  You're calling your girlfriend a "him" even when you tell me
he isn't a man any more, though he'll become one again later on. 
What you need is to make the journey your husband's already made,
to go all the way in your own mind.  Your hubby already has in hers
-- she's a woman, face it!  And you're depriving her of the one
thing every woman looks forward to when she's a girl and is
grateful she's had when she's old."

I was still somewhat irked.  "You mean getting fucked by a real
man?  What's so great about that?"

Doreen suppressed a laugh.  She sat mirthfully looking at me for a
moment and then said innocently, "You tell me, Amanda.  What's so
great about getting fucked by a real man?"

She had a point.  I sat silent, staring at my newly jeweled nails.

"How many weeks is it now -- ten?  more? -- that you've turned your
life and your husband's upside down just so every Saturday you can
get yourself roundly plowed by a real man?  And meanwhile your
dearest girlfriend pretties herself up here and then waits for you
to come home so she can share your leftovers?  All because you
wanted a real man but couldn't just come out and say so even to
yourself." 

I sat silent.  Doreen saw, and turned serious.

"Oh, Amanda honey!  You love her!  Before the summer ends, let her
know she's a woman!  Let her know she's been properly fucked!  At
least once."

I turned an equally serious face back toward her.  "You mean by one
of Craig's friends?  One of the men he brings with him to keep
Cheryl company each time we get together?"

"Why one of Craig's friends?  Don't you think Craig is good
enough?"

"Good enough for fucking, certainly.  But ...."

"Sweetheart. listen!  You're already accustomed to sharing him with
Scottie.  She's told me how deliciously delicate in flavor you are
during the week but how thick and rich and salty on weekends, and
she asked me if that's usual.  I told her yes, it is, with lots of
women.  So now before it's all over with this Craig why not give
her the thrill of her life?  You're clever, you can set it up I'm
sure."  

Maybe she had a point.

"Think how Craig will feel afterward, when you tell him how you've
tricked him into fucking a man.  That you've made him into a pansy. 
Wouldn't that be the ultimate victory you've always wanted?"

I considered.  "It's tempting," I replied finally.  "But wouldn't
that make Scottie a pansy too?  I'm not sure I want to do that to
him."

"How can sex with a man make Scottie a pansy?" Doreen asked me. 
"She's a woman.  That's what women do."

I was silent again.  Doreen was called away by a customer, but
she'd planted the thought, and it lingered.  Was I misconceiving my
dear Scottie?  Was he really so much a she by now that I was
depriving him?  Her?  If a woman, a woman living on borrowed time,
but already more of a woman than even I'd been imagining he could
be?  

All right.  Experimentally I'd let my sweetie graduate from my
dildo to a real cock.  But not Craig's, not yet if ever.  And not
fucking a real cock just yet either.  Scottie needs to be a
cocksucker first, get used to close dealings with male genitals not
his own.  Then we'd see how it goes.  Doreen is right one way, I
realized.  While he's being a girl I shouldn't deprive him.  On the
other hand, if I'm right and he's only acting like a girl, not
being one, if he's still a man down there underneath his panties
and his boobies, then servicing another man would be degrading for
him.  Humiliating.  And I can't inflict that on him, I love him! 
So I have to go slow.  He'll suck only one real cock.  Then we'll
see.

Doreen did make another valid point too though.  If I could trick
Craig into actually fucking Scottie, that would be a terrific coup
for me!  Talk about scoring on him?  I could then mock Craig as a
faggot fudge packer until the end of time.  It could be extra
security for me too, if in the future Craig tried to use our affair
as a bargaining chip in our business negotiations, implying he'd
tell others and that it could get back to Scottie when Scottie is
once again Scott.  If he tried, I'd have a counter-threat I could
make, I could let the world know that he's queer, a man who has
fucked another man.

My love for Scottie overbalanced my desire to screw Craig in this
new way.  So I wouldn't fix Scottie up with Craig.  I'd let Scottie
blow someone else, only blow him, and only a stranger.

A few days later while we were sitting at our respective vanity
tables applying make-up, I opened the topic.

"I love your look now, Scottie.  You look provocative but keep your
always clothes just a bit restrained, so you look available yet
unavailable.  Eager to get close to a man, yet reluctant.  That's
very seductive for a man -- it attracts him and challenges him at
the same time.  I've seen the way they check you out -- a man would
need to be dead not to gaze at you when you go by with your boobs
lifted up perky, leading the way, and your ass undulating under
your skirt and guarding your rear."

"Thank you," Scottie replied.  He wasn't sure where I was going.

"But you've never deliberately flirted with men, have you?  Turned
on the charm, let certain kinds of guys know that you'd be
interested if they were interested in you?  Tried to turn them on?"

Scottie stopped applying his mascara for a moment and just stared
into the mirror.  His lashes had been dyed deep black, but he liked
them thicker and longer, so he used mascara heavily and reapplied
it several times a day.  

"No, Mandy.  What for?  Why should I?"

"Because that's what girls do.  From teenage onward.  It's an
important part of the way we act -- how we get what we want, how we
enjoy ourselves."

He resumed with his eyes.  "Honey, I don't need to.  I have all the
woman I want."

A lovely compliment, but not what I wanted to hear.  "Well, that's
very flattering baby," I said.  "But I'm not talking about
interesting a woman in you sexually.  I mean getting men
interested.

He drooped his eyelids slightly and began outlining his lips. 
Carmine today, I noticed.  Yesterday's was a rose mood, gentle, but
today he feels hot.  Maybe I can use that.  Then he asked, "You
mean getting a man interested in me sexually?"

"Is there some other thing men love most to do with women?"

He put some long dangling earrings into his ears.  The ones he had
that said 'I'm self-confident, and decorated, and looking for
excitement!' to the world.  Whenever he wore them he'd report in
his journal that men tried to pick him up wherever he was, even in
his car at a traffic light.  He had some kind of plan for today.  

"You look especially provocative this morning, honey," I said as if
casually.

"You mean flirty?"  He smiled at me briefly and then his voice got
serious.  A teeny bit pompous.  I loved him when he sounded
pompous!  "Today I want to add to my collection of gambits, the
opening lines guys use when they first speak to women.  So I need
to encourage men, but I don't want to flirt with any of them.  I
don't want them interested beyond a first try at me."

"Well, baby, encouraging a man can be a kind of flirting with him. 
A sincere kind, I suppose.  But there's way more to it than that. 
Every girl flirts as second nature.  She likes getting men excited
by leading them on, letting them think they excite her.  Just for
fun, it's good for her morale.  It's time you did too."

He looked at me and said nothing.  Then out came a big sigh, and he
said, "If you say so." 

"Tonight we'll try our luck at a singles' bar.  I hear a lot of
that kind of thing goes on at the Anchorage.  It's a good place to
check out other people's techniques and see which you can adapt. 
Just for fun!"

"All right," he said.  Then he asked, "Is this for you or for me?" 
He sensed I was up to something, and couldn't figure what.  

"For you, honey.  For your femininity.  And also your book.  But
mainly for fun!"

That evening I changed to a black satin mini, a red nylon blouse,
and the highest heels I had -- not very -- and told Scottie to
dress the same way.  "And long earrings, you already know their
uses, honey.  Tonight we go on the prowl."  Reluctantly, he did
what he was told, and when we left the house we both looked
smashing.

I figured that dressed as we were we wouldn't have much opportunity
to observe others making moves on each other, that we'd quickly get
down to my real purpose.  And we didn't.  We were no sooner seated
than the waiter brought over two glasses of chilled white wine,
then wheeled up an ice bucket with the rest of it.  "Those two
gentlemen over there hope you'll accept this wine, and if you don't
mind they'd like to share the rest of it with you.  But they don't
want to intrude." 

I looked where the waiter had indicated.  Two men about our ages,
not bad looking, holding empty wine glasses.  One raised his to me
with an amusingly mournful expression.  

Scottie tensed at once, and began shaking his head in a panic. 
"Sure, we'd love for them to come over," I said quickly to
forestall him saying anything.  Then as they worked through the
crowd by the bar, I gave him his first advice.   

"You'll love this, sweetheart, it's an all-girl thing, getting
picked up by guys!  So enjoy every moment.  But some quick
pointers.  Stare directly into your guy's eyes and nowhere else. 
Lean forward and wriggle your shoulders a little when you ask him
about himself, as if the very subject turned you on, and ask him
lots of questions.  Be fascinated with his answers.  Smile a lot. 
When he asks you questions, turn them back on him with 'So you
think....' and then repeat the question as if you were answering
it.  But do it pleasantly.  He'll do everything.  You just follow. 
You'll be fine!"

"All right," he said.  "I hope."  He was scared.  The two men slid
in alongside us, and the waiter filled their glasses.  They
introduced themselves.  "Smile" I whispered to him again, and he
did.

Then we settled into a very pleasant evening.  They were nice men. 
Scottie looked wide-eyed at the man next to him, smiled often, and
responded to every one of the man's statements with 'How utterly
fascinating!'  When it was apparent he could handle it I stood and
asked the man next to me to dance, and Scottie then had no choice
but to do the same thing.  Slow music began.  My partner took me by
the waist and pressed me close, his cheek against mine.  Not bad,
it felt a lot like Craig's cheek, and I felt myself moisten ever so
slightly.  When I looked over I saw that Scottie had his hands
properly clasped around the back of his man's neck, still
eyeballing him, but with a trapped look in his eyes.  

I then saw why.  The man had both his hands on Scottie's breasts,
his thumbs and forefingers in full possession of Scottie's nipples
and working them.  Scottie must be terrified and ecstatic at the
same moment, I thought to myself, a little bit amused.  Thank God
his boobs are real, or anyhow, real enough -- he's probably going
crazy, between the humiliation that it's a man who's feeling him up
and the pleasure that man is giving him.  

After a time the man began to stroke Scottie's ass, then pulled him
closer until finally they were dancing groin to groin, Scottie's
well-cached mound rotating against the man's obviously erect prick. 
How my darling felt I can't imagine.  He never stopped staring his
partner straight in the eyes, but now he looked like a deer in
headlights.

We returned to the booth for another drink, then danced again, and
then another drink and more dancing.  Scottie wasn't teasing or
sparkling, flirting in any real sense of the word, he was way too
uptight.  But he did seem to relax a little, get accustomed to
playing his role, or at least reconciled to it, accepting it.  His
smiles seemed more spontaneous, I thought.  By now the man I was
with was resting his hand on my thigh and had inserted a finger
into my crease -- it was time to do something.  When Scottie's guy
tries the same thing, I realized, Scottie will be in trouble.  It
was time to cool them down.  

I signalled for Scottie to accompany me to the Ladies', and once we
were there I explained why.

"Have you ever given a man a blow job, honey?  No, of course not. 
Well, I'm afraid we've got to.  Our guys will be expecting some
kind of token of appreciation for their attentions, and that kind's
the easiest on a girl.  When you do it, just keep looking into his
eyes, and he'll get off in no time.  Pretend to enjoy it.  Better,
do enjoy it.  I do.  I love the feel of your prick in my mouth!"  

And Craig's even more these days, I added to myself, wondering what
new size and shape cock I'd be looking at close range in a few more
minutes.  Then I added, "You've gotten blow jobs enough yourself to
know all the techniques, I'm sure.  You'll be great at it.  Be sure
to swallow!"

"And you'll doing the same thing Mandy?"  He looked appalled for
himself but even more appalled that I could be so calm about having
sex with another man!  Jealous?  The poor dear!  If he only knew! 

"Of course, honey," I told him with a reassuring pat on the arm. 
"But don't feel sad about it -- it won't mean anything to me.  This
is all for you, remember?"  

"Mandy, I .... All right, I don't suppose there's any way out.  But
I don't like taking a man into my mouth" -- he looked faintly
disgusted.  "And I don't like my wife giving head to a total
stranger.  It's ...."

"Oh, would it be all right if I knew him better?  Is that what
you're saying?  Well, don't worry, honey.  No man with a dick in
your mouth is a total stranger.  We'll get through this, and our
marriage will be the stronger for it."  

There, I thought, that confers a certain legitimacy on what's about
to happen, I realized.  My husband's inauguration as a cocksucker
and as a knowing cuckold both, watching me perform an act of
marital infidelity under his very nose just as he was performing
the same act.  I kissed him to reassure him.  His plump lips felt
so good!  His man couldn't possibly complain!

When we returned to our booth we just stood there, making no effort
to sit down.  "It's time for us to go home," I told them.

"Can we accompany you?" my guy asked immediately.  "We'd love to
show ...."

"Before we say goodbye," I continued as if I weren't interrupting
him, "We'd like to find some secluded corner somewhere where we can
show you how much we've enjoyed your company tonight.  Put our
heads together and see if you can come up with something we can
take with us to remember you by."

They almost came in their pants as they interpreted my meaning. 
They glanced at each other triumphantly at this news that we both
wanted to suck their cocks and swallow down whatever emerged.  They
stood up and led the way to their car, way off at the far end of
the parking lot.

"Each of you sit on a car seat, with the door open and your feet on
the ground outside," I ordered. I'd handled lots of dates this way,
all through high school and college, long before I'd met my sweet
Scottie and my promiscuous days had ended.  I'd thought they'd
ended, but this one was for my beloved Scottie.  So there we were
now, kneeling side by side, each of us unzipping a man's pants and
taking out a stiff, erect cock and giving it a few preliminary
licks.  Mine was uncut.  Easy.  I smiled up at my guy and then with
one lunge I deep throated him.  He gasped in surprise, then moaned
in delight, and then his moans became rhythmic.  In under a minute
he unloaded himself down my throat -- I didn't even have to taste
him!  

Scottie was a lot slower.  He was still reluctantly licking the tip
when I stood up and leaned over to watch.  "Into your mouth now,
honey, quickly!" I said.  It appeared I would need to orchestrate
and conduct personally my husband's conversion into a cocksucker. 
Well, so be it.  "Suck just enough to keep it moving further into
your mouth, and round your lips, and slide them up and down as far
as they'll go, again and again.  No teeth!  Keep your tongue snug
against the underside.  That's how!  Now make love to the nice
man's lovely cock!"  

Scottie managed to do all those things.  The man seemed pleased,
and glanced his thanks at me.  "She had a deprived girlhood, poor
thing," I explained to him, and he nodded in sympathy.  Meanwhile
Scottie settled in and bobbed his head over and over on that man's
crotch.  Several people passing us in the dark saw what was
happening at this end of the parking lot, and saw me standing and
watching, paused, then finally moved on.  

Unaccountably, I began to feel a strange elation, as if this
degradation of my adorable husband's male dignity was a kind of
victory.  Did I want to wipe his manhood out altogether?  Watching
poor Scottie kneeling between this man's legs, bowing down
repeatedly to take his cock in and suck on it, this was liberating! 
Yes, I decided, this is my revenge on all those callow boys who'd
insisted I suck them before they'd drive me home.  All those men
I'd gone to bed with hopefully before I'd met Scott but who then
never phoned me back.  Scottie was taking all that resentment onto
himself in order to purge me of it.  He was vicariously atoning for
all the indignities boys and men had thrust onto me and into me! 
And he was doing it for me!  All for love!  Because he loves me!

Yes!  I wanted him to suck Craig, and for Craig to fuck him, this
man I love.  To deliver one last grand final insult to his
masculinity, destroy it altogether.  Maybe when his ass is filled
with Craig's semen I can tell him what he's doing, and with whom,
and what I've done with that same man, and why!  I exulted in the
nastiness of that idea even as I felt ashamed of it!  But my
feeling of power grew.  I watched Scottie bob and suck away on this
stranger's cock and I enjoyed his humiliation, and relished his
sacrificial love for me, almost as if I were a goddess watching him
dispassionately.  I would grant him Craig.  He had earned him.

Eventually the man groaned, and I saw Scottie's eyes widen.  His
"O" shaped lips clamped firm as the prick swelled then spasmed, and
from the strange expression that came on his face I could tell his
mouth was filling with spunk.

"Swallow, honey," I suggested gently.  He did, three or four times
before he got all the sticky stuff down.  Then stood up with his
shoulders slumped.  His blouse had come out of his skirt in front,
but he didn't seem to know it.  A woman would have sensed it and
adjusted her clothing immediately.  Was Doreen wrong?  Was Scottie
still a man who had just had his mouth violated, not a woman?   

"Now wasn't that just lovely?" I asked him, looking for reassurance
of sorts.  No response.  So I turned to the man who had just taken
my husband's virgin mouth, and said  "You looked as if you enjoyed
it too.  Thanks for everything!  It was lovely, all of it.  Tata
boys!"  And I took my dazed Scottie by the arm and walked him off
toward our car.

"It tastes strange," was all Scottie said, licking his still
beautifully puffed-out pink lips, now bare of the bright lipstick
he was wearing that night, running his tongue around them
repeatedly to clear the flavor.  

"That's so sexy!" is all I replied.  "Lick your lips like that
before you suck off a guy and he'll come in his pants.  Ready to go
home now?  Want to go back in and try someone else?"

In reply Scottie silently got into the car and sat waiting for me
to get behind the wheel and take him home.  He'd had enough.  And
as we drove, I decided on a change of plan.  He'd mentioned that
the man's cum tasted strange.  I couldn't risk his discovering that
Craig's cum didn't taste strange, that it tasted the way his wife's
cunt tasted every weekend.  So I couldn't let him blow Craig after
all.  I'd have to arrange for Craig to fuck his ass directly.  

Yet, doing that to my darling hubby, bitching him as Doreen called
it, that seemed so bitchy!  So mean!  Arrange for a man to bugger
Scottie's ass and bring himself to climax in him?  How could I do
that to him, especially since he's still a man in some ways, and
not gay, and not that far into his own womanhood?

By the end of the following week I didn't care.  I could do it
easily.  I no longer minded, because both men had given me grounds,
each unknowingly, each within a day of the other, after which I was
annoyed enough to think, fuck them!  Let them fuck each other! 
They deserve each other!

Scottie hadn't done much, but it incensed me nevertheless.  He saw
an end-of-summer sale advertised by the dress shop where a
salesgirl had asked him back to her place for a fitting, and he
went to it.  They got into animated chat about the virtues of
cotton over rayon, and again she invited him home, reminding him of
her rain check.  When he got there, it turned out her intentions
were as dishonorable as I suspected, not because she knew he was a
man but because she thought he was a woman, and she was a lesbian. 
She locked him in, and insisted that they make out on the couch
before she'd allow him to leave.  They did, and she caressed his
breasts so skillfully that he came in his panties, soaking the
light-days pad he always wore there to keep his genitals hidden. 
He then returned her the favor with his hand in her crotch.  He
retained enough presence of mind to insist then that she release
him, and reluctantly, she did.

When I read that in his journal I was furious.  Not at her but at
him!  He'd been too accommodating!  He was too fickle!  Where was
his fidelity to me?  His body was mine, not hers, and I wanted to
feel absolutely sure that my body was the only woman's body he ever
pleasured sexually!  I suppose I was in denial about my own
responsibility in this, or perhaps I was allowing my ambivalence
about his sexuality to govern -- there was a streak in me that took
pleasure in the prospect of a double perversion, as a woman with
another woman and as a man with another man.  But no matter, I was
enraged!  Fuck him, I told myself!

And then the next afternoon while I was lying stretched out full,
naked on his naked body, waiting the few minutes it took Craig to
recover his erection for another round, plotting how I might now
try to stress him out, Craig made a casually disparaging comment
about a colleague in his office, "a faggot queen," a "fruit" who
made him nervous every time he "minced up to me."   Worse, he'd
decided to promote the gay man over "a girl who's far better
than he is and works real hard too, but I can't have a girl in
charge of an office full of men!"   Then he capped these
offenses -- as I lay there, I decided I wanted to feel his fullness
in my ass the worst way, and when I asked him to push it into me
he made me beg for it (score one for him).  

So when I went home I swore I'd get even.  I'd make him into a
faggot fruit.  He'd fuck Scottie, and score one for me!

When I got home, I called him still at the motel and invited him to
dinner the following Wednesday.  He was surprised, but took it as
somehow one more upscaling in my schemes to get the better of him,
so he had to accept the challenge.  "This isn't instead of
Saturday?" he asked.

"Oh, no!  In addition to Saturday.  We'll see."

"Amanda, aren't you married?  Won't your husband be there?"

"I don't want to discuss my husband," I told him.  "I live with
another woman now."  And I hung up.

end 9/11
VickieTern@AOL.COM

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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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