The next spunk he sucked so devotedly out of me was Brian's, his own boss's, the very bank official who had first sent him here. It happened the first day after Jim's total makeover, when without being fully aware of it Jim had committed to dressing and looking like a woman for good, the first day after his three-week full-time crash course in femininity had gotten under way. I thought of telling Jim this to mortify him, that he was sucking his boss's cock at one remove, but I couldn't violate client confidentiality. Then I realized that with Brian's cooperation I could convert Jim completely and irreversibly by the end of the three weeks available. So why shouldn't he suck his boss's cock directly, and enjoy it? Many women do. No news there! I mentioned to Brian that I had this curious transsexual client, a man he had recommended to me who now thought he was really a woman and who thinks semen on a cock tastes like melted ice cream. Brian immediately recognized that it was Jim, as I'd intended, and immediately asked for an introduction to this "lady" who felt so impelled to suck cock. He'd wondered what was happening with Jim because, as he said, Jim's perfume and make-up had been duly noticed by everyone. In fact he'd become something of an embarrassment, fixing his face daily, arranging his hair like a woman's even while he pretended to be a man, so he'd been reassigned to a back office. I asked Brian straight out, would he let Jim suck his cock. He was amused by the idea. He quipped that many employees seem willing in order to secure professional advancement, but even so, he'd have trouble letting a man come near his prick. He thought a bit longer. A man who looked and acted like a woman might be another matter. And a man who was already so much a woman he could never again become a man, why, he'd enjoy being serviced by that kind of woman. Especially -- and he looked at me -- especially if there were no charge for the service. Was I sure that Jim's conversion was now irreversible? I told him that in another week or two it would be, that with his help there could be no going back for Jim ever. What he had to do was quite simple -- audit Jim's books at the bank. But in absolute secrecy, and to do absolutely nothing about whatever he found. Brian looked quite serious when I said this, and was about to refuse. But I added quickly that any irregularities in Jim's accounts would be set straight together with whatever interest was required to convert missing funds into "loans." That I personally guaranteed whatever the sums, as long as they remained confidential. That no one need ever know about them, nor about the slack supervisorial hand that had allowed them even when the employee began acting peculiarly unconventional. That not even Brian's wife needed to know that he had been tipped off to the embezzlement, if any, by a woman who regularly gratifies his need to be whipped. I now looked back at Brian equally seriously. He grinned, and explained that when money has been mismanaged or embezzled, most businesses prefer getting it all back quietly to pressing charges against the embezzler and perhaps thereby giving other employees ideas of their own, and meanwhile needlessly distressing stockholders. Of course the malefactor had to disappear and never reappear again, or Brian would be obliged to order his arrest. I nodded and agreed. Jim would disappear. I then told Bryan that just as banks give depositors gifts of radios or toasters, he would receive a bonus -- no charge for his first few deposits into Jim's mouth, and afterward the two of them would be free to make their own arrangements. Brian might never have to pay for oral sex again. Brian smiled. "I wonder why you're so generous," he commented. Brian was no fool. The next day, while Jim was slurping away at my pussy and drinking up who knows who's cum, and while I was moaning, my mind delightedly dancing through fields of fragrant flowers, I told Jim I had a arranged a special surprise for his next appointment. I told him it would change his life. I told him to try to look as beautiful as he could when he appeared, as feminine as possible. I told him to ask his wife to help him look seductive. That night he laid on the bed a choice, a beautiful, black sequinned, figure-clinging cocktail dress, very classy, and a really racy, silver-threaded, mini-slut dress. Then he tried to find the courage to broach the subject with me. I knew he'd be nervous, so I laced his pre-dinner cocktail with fresh tranquillizers instead of relying as usual on whatever effects were left from his usual morning pills. "I'd like to look especially nice, tomorrow after lunch," he said. "I need to wear something appropriate. Would you help me choose?" I was a teeny bit cruel. "Nice how, sweetheart?" "Seductive," he said, and swallowed hard. "All right," I said. "Then slather on the eye make-up. But 'appropriate? For what? A wedding? Yours? Who's the groom?" I said this unhelpfully while nibbling on the shrimp souffle Jim had made as an appetizer. He was spending more and more time in the kitchen during the week doing fancy things, maybe because he felt guilty that he was deceiving his wife with a paid mistress, maybe because the hormones and the clothing and the role-playing had turned his mind to doing traditional women's work. When he'd confessed that much to his Mistress one afternoon, I'd ordered him to do something special for his wife each day, to show his appreciation for her. He'd started cooking exotic dishes for our dinner each night. That is, in addition to making the beds, vacuuming and dusting, tending to our laundry, clearing up after dinner, and rinsing out our delicate undies. He needed encouragement, not teasing, so I got serious. "I've been wondering when you would want me to see more of your dresses," I commented. "High time, too. There's no reason for you to feel restricted in the way you present yourself here in the house or outside either, just because you used to be a man. I love wearing all kinds of dresses myself. Let's see what you've chosen for this special occasion." Well, of course I urged him to wear the silver mini, which had a teeny open jacket to match and a see-through blouse. A girl dressing up to suck her boss's cock should look like a tart, I reasoned to myself, and I offered to lend him a ton or so of junk jewelry to add to the effect. "With a dress like this," I said, "get yourself a special hairdo. Piled way high, maybe with a rhinestone hair piece on top." The beauty salon operator went all out. When Jim showed at Hospitality House for his tryst with Brian his hair was piled high, his nails were bright red, his new breasts were bulging in their scanty lacy bra, deep cleavage fully visible through his see-through blouse, his silver skirt scarcely covered his crotch, and he wore long legged black net stockings. I must say, Jim was a living sex-pot sex-doll, all pretence of masculine appearance wiped away. I'd experimented with Lesbian sex in college, and the sight of him reminded me of things I'd not myself done with a woman for a while. He entered the room daintily on his five-inch strappy silver slippers, and immediately saw a figure wearing my doll face sitting on my throne at the other end of the room. He approached and then fell to his knees, eyes lowered. But then came a moment's stunned shock, when he saw a long, sheet-covered tent pole rising high out of what he thought was my lap, and then heard my familar commanding voice not in front of him but behind him. "Now what does a pretty girl like you want to do when she sees a handsome prick like that rising in front of her face?" I guess for all the feminizing and the humiliation and scum-sucking, Jim had never expected to go this far! Actually to take another man's cock into his own mouth and suck in it. Before, whatever the humiliating act he had performed, it was in submission to feminine power, deeply fulfilling to a submissive like Jim. But cock sucking was submission to masculine power. It required that all male competitiveness and jealousy in himself be suppressed, and that he find within instead a truly feminine desire to please, to make a man happy. He looked around at me, imploring, seeking my eyes for reassurance and guidance. For the first time in all these many months he looked closely at my face! There was a sudden narrowing of his pencilled-in brows! Did I suddenly look familiar to him? "How dare you look at me!" I shouted, as if enraged. "You klnow what to do, slut! Prove to me that you're a woman!" Well, there was a call for submission to feminine power, mine! His habituation from all those sessions of sucking on my finger and drinking cum from my cunt paid off. Jim immediately turned back to the task at hand, and performed it, and very well, too. He peeled back the sheet and engulfed Brian's long cock half way into his mouth, and began to slide his lips up and down. He still didn't know how to deep throat then, Loretta, so when I saw that his mouth could go no further I just placed those red tipped fingers of his where they could stroke the lower part of his boss's cock while his mouth honored the upper part. His hand looked so tentative, so feminine, so right, wrapped around another man's prick! His fingers looked even slenderer than mine, and his grip seemed so loving! Then his mouth and his hand each did their things. I waited and watched as Brian settled back and then began to thrust his hips and then to hump Jim's mouth. Finally what I could see of Brian's cock lurched and spasmed, and pearly liquid began to seep out of the corners of Jim's mouth. He swallowed as rapidly as he could, and licked the excess off his face and swallowed that. I wondered if the cum tasted familiar. I then said in a kindly way, "Do it again, princess! This is a man, and you're a woman!" Well, discipline tells! I left the two of them in that room together -- I had my other clients, after all -- but I paused at the door to look back. Jim leaned forward and began again, tenderly kissing the tip of Brian's dong and licking the sides, altogether on his own this time. He looked so pretty kneeling there in his silver mini outfit with his red lips wrapped around Brian's cock, his very first cock, trying to bring cum up out of it for the second time! This time he wasn't merely surprised or obedient, he really wanted it! As Brian's meat began to firm up Jim again plunged his rounded lips way down onto it, and again tried to suck up whatever juices he could through it. Gently and lovingly. Brian's second coming soon followed, and when the sticky harvest rose up again into his mouth Jim this time was whimpering and groaning in heat. He loved it! My husband was a natural! As devoted to sucking cock as to lapping cunt! He'd never have known it, but he surely knew it now! Well, Loretta, Brian left soon afterward, with a grin and a wink, mentioning that he'd phone for his next appointment in a few days' time. I went back into the room, where Jim was still on his knees licking his lips. Even as I watched, he straightened his silver mini skirt and arranged it in a neat circle around him on the floor and waited, as if the throne would shortly be re-occupied by another upright stalk and he could again drink his fill. It was time for me to turn his world upside down. I came up behind him and covered his eyes with one hand, mostly so he wouldn't be tempted to turn his head, and pressed the palm of my other hand against his jaw, pushing it down, opening his mouth wide. He recognized my intention and opened wider. I had consulted several of my medical clients about this moment, and a senior psychiatrist at the State Hospital had provided me with exactly the optimal drug I needed. Two large pills. I popped them into Jim's mouth, and like a dutiful girl he swallowed them. Then I sat down on the throne, and kneeling, he stared at me. He saw his wife sitting on the throne, Loretta. I could see it in his eyes even before he said, "You!" in dumbfounded disbelief. His wife was dressed just like his Mistress, her hair pulled back and her eyes blackened and her lips crimsoned. "Where is she?" he added. But as I'd been told, he had swallowed some very powerful fast-acting psychoactive drugs, and almost immediately he began to look confused. Who was "she" -- the Mistress he'd served for now six months or more? His wife? His own image in the mirror? This moment addled him utterly. "I'm here, Jim," I said in my familiar, wifely voice. Then, "I'm here, slut! Do it again!" This last I ordered ferociously, in my most outraged Mistress voice. I placed a huge dildo against my crotch, its rubber balls loaded with gelatinized Gatorade, real cum accumulated in the last day or two, and finally, a sedative. "Suck on this, slut!" In flight from his increasing confusion and bewilderment, Jim leaned forward and began to lick the head of the dildo as he had on Brian's prick. He then sucked on it, his lips riding up and then down again. That became his only reality as his eyes grew more confused and groggy, then glazed. Just before they closed, I squeezed the dildo's balls repeatedly, and jets of warm artificial cum squirted into his mouth. He swallowed it all like the slut he really was, and his head fell forward, and he fell asleep with his cheek snugged up against my mound. He looked so sweet, his hair still almost perfect, his eyes closed but each still beautifully made up, his lipstick smeared in a good cause. I took him home and put him to bed and kept him in a kind of twilight zone for nearly a month, Loretta. The "Sleep Cure" is what the French called it a hundred years ago, when they'd drug mental patients for weeks on end to cure them of their delusions. I was doing it to induce in Jim a delusion that would become his reality, that he was a woman, that he had always been a woman, and that he loved performing his chief obligation as a woman, looking pretty and giving head to men. Two more of those special pills the moment he woke up. Prozac in between, double the dose more often than not. When he opened his eyes, sometimes he'd see a woman who looked like his wife looking down on him lovingly, and sometimes -- after he'd recognized he was home in his own bed -- he'd see his Mistress telling him "Suck!" Followed immediately by cocks, one after another, because he'd then be back in a chamber in Hospitality House dressed like a cheap slut stationed at a waiting-room glory hole, taking on whatever cock came through it. Then dressed in his silver mini with his hair piled high, he'd spend hours making love to Brian's cock. Or someone's cock, someone wearing the Bimbo mask, someone whose cock was fatter than Brian's though nowhere near as long, or was longer, until it no longer mattered whose. At home in his own bed, he sucked for hours on his wife's cock, while she wore the Bimbo mask, ordered and encouraged by his Mistress sitting in a chair and watching them. Hallucinated realities gradually gave way to realities that were not much different. My five Rotarians earned their way back into my good graces by making their pricks available to Jim's mouth any time on short notice, whenever I called their 800 number, and during the next weeks they gathered to gang rape his face repeatedly. Brian's cock was of course available almost any time for more servicing, now that he knew how talented a cock sucker Jim was. In my gratitude I whipped him far more severely than I ever usually whip a client, then fucked him far more vigorously and joyously. He'd cum like a fountain into me, and when I brought it home to Jim still warm and woke Jim up by sitting on his face, he'd begin drinking and lapping as if he'd not stopped from the previous time. During the next few weeks Jim learned to take any long, hard, warm, soft object into his throat unquestioningly, and to tongue and head fuck it until it spurted directly into his belly, if it could. A carrot, a banana, a frankfurter, a dildo, a real cock, they were all the same. Toward the end of this Twilight Training period I'd lighten up on his drugs so he could at least walk and talk like some zonked out little girl, dress him up like a pretty coed, and rent his pretty mouth out to fraternity parties for the weekend. While in college I'd done it once on a dare and had OD'd on all the cum I swallowed the first night, so they had to put me out on the lawn still retching until my date came to claim me. Not Jim! He had a cast iron stomach it seemed. He couldn't swallow enough of it! But boys that age are the same way they always were, Loretta. You remember. You can't trust them. Whatever they'd promised, no matter how many times they'd use Jim's mouth, some of them were always trying to get into Jim's pants too. So I'd always have to stay and watch, and warn them, and finally bring Jim home before the weekend was over. While Jim was still home sleeping, or learning womanly skills, or wandering dazed from cock to cock, Brian's audit was completed. As I'd suspected, there was no way Jim had been paying for my services out of pocket. Our joint savings account had gone before Jim had filled his bureau with bras and panties. A month or so after his first visit Jim had paid out to me our entire life savings -- many thousands of dollars. Then for additional month after month he'd continued to hand my receptionist $1500 of the bank's money weekly, sometimes borrowed on his signature with no hope he could ever pay it back, sometimes just stolen. I'd deposited the money in my own account and said nothing, of course. By the end of the time Jim spent as a slut who woke in the morning, selected his outfit, painted his face, fixed his hair, and then sucked cock all day, more than $55,000 had changed hands. He'd increased his capital debt to the accounts in his charge by $1,500 each week in return for the privilege of masturbating into a panty or kotex in my presence. His wardrobe costs rose many thousands more. Do you know, Loretta, that a few pieces of his lingerie cost him more than all of mine cost me? But of course when a satin and lace nightie fascinated him, I never wanted him to deny himself. That dress he's wearing right now is an original Oscar de la Renta, did you know that, Loretta? He loves to dress well! His boy friends all know that no matter how posh the place they take him, Jim will always fit in. Some of his jewelry is rather valuable too, though it's true, much of it was given to him by grateful admirers, and a lot more he bought with the proceeds from his mouth and asshole. Came the reckoning, I paid Brian's Bank back with substantial interest, and there were no further questions. For months afterward Brian would call Jim for personal services, and Jim would oblige Brian the way women will, but nothing serious ever developed between them -- they remained just good friends. Jim -- or Jamie I should say -- has tried recently to get Brian interested in his ass as well as his mouth, but Brian has always told him "No, I prefer fucking your wife." He says this rather directly, though I've asked him not to. Poor Jim hears him and looks puzzled, but can't put two and two together. He has no wife, he thinks, because he's a woman. The pills of course. For a clincher I took Jim off the sedatives and tranquillizers and anti-depressants and so on for a few days. When he was nearly himself, I could see he was edgy, trying to figure out if his thin arms and curved thighs and women's boobs were his, and where his shirts and pants had gone, if he'd ever had any. Then I hired some burly men to come to the door asking for him and using words like "bank" and "subpoena" and "shortfall" and "warrant" and "ciminal embezzlement" and "arrest." Jim was terrified, and when they'd gone I found him hidden up in his bedroom in his negligee, his face only half-made up and his hair a mess. He knew why they had come, and he could scarcely breathe until their car left. He said that if they saw him they'd recognize him. I doubted it. I pointed out that they were looking for a man, and he'd always been a woman. Still, now was as good a time as any for him to get his nose bobbed and his chin shortened the way he'd always wanted to ever since we were teenaged girls together, best friends who told each other everything. He looked at me strangely when I said that, but as you can see, Loretta, that's what he did. When the so-called bank investigators came back Jim broke down and confessed everything to me. He had paid out our money and the bank's to a woman who had turned him into my childhood friend -- he didn't know why. When his fresh pills kicked in, I asked him if he was sure such a woman ever existed. It seemed improbable, after all, why should any woman conspire to change another woman into a woman? Jim had no answer. He described Hospitality House accurately as a place where they'd given him panties and bras for free whenever he sucked men's and women's cocks. I chided him that he was describing my place of business, well-known to him, not some supposed other woman's. I reminded him that now and then he helps me out there, by sucking cocks or helping me to relax between customers by licking my cunt clean. That explanation made sense to him. Girlhood friends would do that for each other. Loretta, even now he'll stop by to lick me clean whenever he's in the vicinity, shopping or something, and it feels as womderful as ever! He's such a dear! Once he woke up sobbing, and he confessed that in some of his dreams he couldn't tell this supposed Mistress from me, and that once in his dreams he had even imagined that I was his wife, that he had once been a man and had been married to me, and that he had done something bad and that with my help he was hiding out as a woman. I kissed him then, and told him that was sweet, that we were indeed the dearest of friends, and it was as if we were married, and that whenever that apprehension came upon him again he should remember what the doctor told him and take an additional pill. He should always be happy, never afraid of anything. In the not-too-distant future he'd have that operation we've talked about that would remove his imaginary penis and balls from his crotch and reveal the real vagina underneath, just like any other women's. I reminded him he should look forward to it, if only because his vagina will share the strain on his ass when he dates too often and his dates get too manly with him too often. He's gotten used to the idea now, and in fact he likes it. I hired one more investigator last year ago to shoulder his way into the house with a supposed search warrant and go looking for any evidence that any man named Jim had ever lived here. I wanted to know if I'd overlooked anything Jim might stumble upon some day, that might bring back unwanted memories. Jim let him in, but told him calmly that he must have the wrong address. The man finally agreed, after looking all morning in all of our drawers and closets and cubbyholes. There was no Jim. There never was. We were a household of two women, me and Jamie. And that's what we've been for over a year now, and will be for years to come. It's so good of Helen to lend you to us, Loretta! Not many wives would! But you know how things get down here during the winter season. I need all the help I can get right now, and then on top of it to be called away! I'm delighted you can stand in for me while I'm away. Really grateful! She did do a wonderful job with you, Loretta, you know? As her husband you were a decent enough man, but you're gorgeous now! And a dominant, too! That's rare -- you know of course that most males are submissives like Jim when they become women, that's why they're so good at keeping house and sucking cocks and so on. They can't give an order to another man to save their skins. And whip one, or manipulate him to do what you want? Forget it! You must have really wanted to be a dominant woman for the longest time. No? Your wife persuaded you that you wanted to be one, someone like herself, or like me, and then she trained you to it? Then I'm really impressed, Loretta! Especially with Helen! What she did with you was much more difficult than anything I've done, with Jim or with any of the other men who've wanted me to feminize them. Loretta, has Helen ever thought of moving down here with you? Together we could form a partnership, and pretty soon I bet we could be supplying half the brothels in the State with whores. With cock suckers at the very least. There's a military school just outside of town, with all the boys we'd ever want, plenty of them easily turned into girls or catamites just as soon as they confess their little kink to us. Really, any kink at all. Do tell your wife to think about it. Well, Loretta, I've got to get going now. The sooner I'm there, the sooner I'm back. Now that it's time to leave, I really wish now I hadn't promised Brian's wife I'd help her out when Brian wakes up. When he sees what she's had done to that terrific prick of his, and realizes it's gone for good, he's not going to be happy. I've told her it'll take a really big cock inside his new cunt to show him that there's been gain as well as loss, that he won't really quit mourning for his lost manhood until he's been devastatingly fucked over and over again. She says that'll happen in good time, that maybe in fact she'll hire a stud to service both of them for a while. She has a man in mind who'd visit her, sometimes, when Brian was visiting me. She thinks that'll be poetic justice. Anyhow, she wants me to come, she says, because she needs me and I owe her. I owe her because I led Brian into infidelity, she says, whipping him to get him hot instead of just telling her what he wanted, then providing him with several places a married man's prick should never be found, including my vagina and my own husband's mouth. And she finally told me that Brian's now also hiding from bank examiners, only from real ones. It seems I'd given him ideas, or Jim had. Now that she has control of the money, she says, the bank will never see it again, so Brian has to disappear the way Jim did. She's done no more with Brian than I have with Jim, she says, all unsatisfactory husbands being pretty much the same. Only she thought it wiser in his case to castrate him first and then feminize him, instead of doing it the other way around. I couldn't disagree. Finally, she says that I'm more experienced than she is in helping a man become a woman, and friends help each other out. We are friends now, you know, Loretta. I called her for a friendly chat the very first day that Brian told me that now that he knew all about Jim, and how I had tricked Jim, he didn't think he should have to pay my fees for his sessions with me any more. Maybe I'd need to pay him! Well, Brian's wife and I did a lot of talking about that, figuring out what to do with Brian. She's right. Friends help each other. So, Loretta, now you know it all. I've got to be with Brian and his wife for the next two weeks, till he really knows in his heart that he's got only one direction to go now. You have their number if there's a problem. Hospitality House and its equipment and its client list and this house and Jim are all yours now, and thanks in advance for offering to mind them for me. Take good care of them. My receptionist'll brief you on my different clients' special needs day by day, and now you know all about Jim's. Remember to call him Jamie, would you, so he doesn't get confused? And see to it that he gets a cock to suck now and then, if his usual men don't call. He was never really much of a man, I suppose, though he used to imagine he was once a husband at least, poor thing! Even I used to think so, sometimes. I guess he was, in a way. He did do it all for the two of us, for his Mistress and his wife, if you think of it that way. Now of course he knows better. He knows that he and I are each old girlfriends who live together and enjoy each other's company, and share everything, but not our men. Make sure that he takes all his pills every day, would you, Loretta, so he doesn't get himself confused about that? And if you should ever want to try him out for yourself, be my guest!