Sucker 9

Each morning and evening we writhed and twisted and swooped to our
exercise tapes.  My posture and gestures became increasingly
smooth, dainty, and refined while my midriff thinned out even more. 
Overall I continued to lose weight.  Yet the replanted fat in my
breasts, hips, and butt grew heavier, and my breasts swelled up 
plump until the support of a full figure bra became a necessity, 
especially when I jogged in place.  The planes of my face 
and my body softened and took on curves.  Lunch and dinner still 
consisted of a large glass of hi-hormoned and medicated milkshake 
to help my body become more plausible and my mind more mellow.  
But sometimes also a small salad or fruit salad.

My life settled into a routine.  Mr. Dildo was mounted on a chair
for my convenient access, and each morning I tried to bring him to
orgasm with my mouth no matter how silly it seemed, and each
afternoon I tried to do the same thing with a freshly douched
asshole.  Now and then Debbie asserted her prior claim on my rear,
strapped him on, and mounted and penetrated me.  It got to be fun!  

As expected my maleness eroded rapidly.  I felt timid often, and
experienced some extreme mood swings.  A few times I felt miserable
and depressed that my manliness was harder each day for me
to locate, and might be irrecoverable when the time came.  Debbie
advised me when those glooms hit me to simply go out and treat
myself to something utterly frivolous, a sinfully wicked pair of
panties or a new shade of lipstick I could use defiantly to cover
the permanent red stain on my lips.  I did, and oddly, it worked!  

Some days I'd feel so pleased with my change of life that I'd spend
hours caressing and tweaking my swollen nipples while waves of
ecstasy radiated from them.  My penis was off limits to me -- 
Debbie wanted me to accumulate desire down there until I felt
overwhelmed me and I'd be swept among, ready to perform or submit
to anything no matter how twisted.  But she wanted me to enjoy my
breasts to my heart's content.  The rich rapture each one generated
when touched or fingered surpassed anything I had ever felt in my
cock.  It was strange -- a sensation of deep contentment, gratified
desire, excruciating pleasure, and a breathless exultation that
they were mine!  I felt so very feminine, having them!  I loved
them!  Their shape brought profound satisfaction as my figure
ripened.  Those breasts hanging from my chest seemed so essential 
a part of me, in fact, that soon I couldn't conceive of myself 
without them.  These, I decided, I would keep when I reverted to 
my proper sex.  Even though a bra was now essential to support 
their jouncing and sagging.  So I'd need to wear my bras to work from 
now on, and cover them with oversized shirts somehow.  And never 
wear T-shirts!  Then I could still revel in their size and shape!
I loved my hips and rear too, and lamented that I'd need to leave 
them behind.

It all seemed increasingly worth while.  

Still other days I'd relapse.  I was a man performing an elaborate
charade, pretending to be a girl, all as part of the deal I'd cut
with my wife so she'd finally perform her proper duties as a wife. 
I'd keep my part of the bargain but that was that and that was all. 
Then this nonsense ceases, I told myself.  Whatever I'll need to do
to get back to what I was, I'll do.  No question of it!

That was my state of mind, unfortunately, during the last week of
my training.  Debbie had gone to her office to catch up on work,
and after my morning session with Mr. Dildo I spent the day in my
study phoning new customers for re-orders, listening to their
reactions to things, jollying them, using my old voice instead of
the sweet soft voice Debbie'd trained me to use, feeling altogether
my old self.  I was too busy to keep my afternoon appointment with
the dildo chair.  When Debbie came home I was relaxing in front of
the tube watching a football game, a Cosmopolitan open on my lap,
an article called "Six Ways to Drive Him Wild" forgotten while I
watched a fourth down ground play gain six yards for a first and
ten.

She came in and saw, but said nothing.  I was curled up tight and
snug on the couch, the stretching exercises having given me joints
as supple as they were rounded, slim, rounded, bulging beautifully.
I was wearing tight stretch blue jeans and slipons along with a 
clingy coral sleeveless knit shirt that revealed every curve of my 
bust.  And little drop earrings, my favorites.  My face
might have been looking a little more dramatic than usual -- on
impulse I'd added eye shadow to my indelible eye liner that morning
-- but inside me at that moment I was male, my old self, and
football was football.

"Hi, doll!" I said breezily.  "How was work, OK?"  Then I returned
attention to the game, not waiting for an answer.

She sat down and studied me, my unmistakenly girlish appearance,
the magazine in my lap, but above all my narrowed eyes as I watched 
a quarterback sneak, and she came to a decision.

"Samantha, in just a few days now you'll be trying to satisfy me by
trying to satisfy Bruce, so he won't need to satisfy me himself. 
Won't you?  You have a lot at stake there.  And it's tomorrow you
lend Marcie's husband your mouth and your asshole to use as he
chooses, remember?  As the husband of my friend, and also as an 
opportunity to perfect your skills for the weekend.  You'll want 
to bring your whole heart and soul to it."

"Yes," I replied.  I'd forgotten.  Still in my male state of mind,
I can't say that the prospect pleased me.  

"You'll want to use Gabe well when you do what you've promised to do. 
And of course you'll want Bruce to feel he's really special.  I
know what will help.  Remember how we originally planned for you to
visit a gay bar, for some concentrated experience, so you can learn
about different men's responses to the different things women can
do to them, to educate your instincts?  Free of charge, nothing
personal implied, your anonymous mouth wrapped around different
anonymous pricks?  So you can suck on your first real meat and
swallow your first semen direct from the source?  Acquire a taste
for it?  Make mistakes and correct them, no penalties?"

I just stared at her.  She spoke matter-of-factly.  But was there
a certain vindictiveness underneath?  How dare I watch football
when I'm supposed to be a woman! 

She stared back at me and then said in measured tones, "Checking
out the build on those guys, honey?  That's what you're doing?  Big
shoulders, nice, tight butts?  Powerful thighs?  The packages
between their legs?  Is there any one of them in particular your
heart hankers after?  One you'd lie down for in a second?  All of
them?"

I just shook my head, wide eyed.  But as I watched another play
executed, all I could see now were pistoning thighs and packed hams
and strong arms, any pair of them fit to pry my legs wide open. 
And shove in what?  Now I saw only portable man meat crouching and
running across the field!  They were studs strutting their stuff,
some lithe, some heavy duty.  I groaned.  She'd feminized the way
I look at football with a single remark!  

She saw her ploy had worked by the way I was now looking at the
screen and shaking my head, and she grinned broadly.  "Cheer up,
honey.  Tonight we'll go out and get you a man of your very own,
not as well built, but still, a man.  A few of them.  No more 
feeling hard up for something to slide into your face or between 
your legs.  Starting tonight you won't ever be a virgin again!  
Go drink your girl-juice now, and I'll lay out a pretty outfit 
for you!"

For a few hours after each breakfast and dinner milkshake I always
felt especially mellow and expectant, "like a confident girl
anticipating a good time" was the way Debbie described the effect
she and Dr. Sandra wanted and the additives were meant to create. 
Even so, I was shocked when I got to my room and found on my bed
the scantiest shiny leather mini skirt and flimsiest, most transparent
top, along with thigh-high boots.

"It's a warm night," Debbie said.  "You won't be chilly I'm sure,
and now that your waist is so thin and your hips so broad this
skirt will flare out beautifully.  Tasteful yet wicked!  Go do your
prepping douche and then put these on.   No underwear, love, no bra
and no panties.  Tonight you flaunt it.  When I came home and saw
you watching football, I thought, 'Maybe she's forgotten who she
is?'  Well, after tonight you'll remember!  You'll have lots to
remember!  Heavy make-up!  No purse, I'll drive you there.  Move
provocatively.  Tell the world why you like to watch those
delicious guys thrusting themselves at each other over and over in
public!"

I was nervous when we left the house.  A couple walking
their dog in front of our house stopped and looked at me, mouths
agape, as I waggled from the front door to the car in my highest
spike heels.  Now I was apprehensive but prepared for anything. 
Fatalistic.  I'd committed to all this, I'd agreed to it, now I was
doing it, and there was nothing more to think.  Though after this
weekend, that would be that!

Even so, I was shocked when we pulled into the parking lot of the
Lotus Club and Debbie merely stopped, engine running, waiting. 
Then said only, "Well?  Here we are.  Get out!  I have other things
to do!  Try not to stay out too late!" 

My heart fell into my stomach!  I was momentarily terrified!   "You
won't come in with me?"

Now she really did look smug.  I was trapped!  "Of course not!  I
thought I might, but not now.  You don't need me.  And I don't need
to know how to please men!  Just hold in mind that Bruce will teach
me whatever I need to know if you're not good enough!"

"But how will I get home?  I don't have any money."

"The way any girl gets home when she's been ditched by her date! 
Sweet-talk some man into driving you home.  Feeling dependent on a
man will be good for you.  It'll make you more of a woman!"

I got out, and she drove off.  I turned toward the Lotus Club
entrance with the gravest foreboding.  The only way home was
through that door.

Six hours later I was half pushed out of a car in front of my house
by a guy who was now eager to get home himself.  When I unlocked
the door, Debbie was still up, waiting for me on the other side. 
She must have heard the car and then my fumbling.  I hoped she
didn't hear my sob as I grasped the doorknob of my home, my old
home, and realized that I would never enter it again as what I had
been.  A man who had agreed to look, behave, and feel like a girl
if he could had left the house dressed slut femme.  A bit
racy-looking.  A play-acting girl, pretending to satisfy his wife's
whims even though sometimes getting into it.  But a sperm-soaked,
slattern cock sucker had returned

For real, because that's what I now was.  An worn-down whore. 
Someone who had knelt down in front of many other men as they
arrogantly, triumphantly stretched back and thrust their pelvises
forward, who had bowed and bobbed down before them over and over as
their pricks slid in and out of her mouth.  Someone whose ass had
been used repeatedly too.  With no shred of dignity or self-respect
left.  Mouth coated with cum.  Face and leather skirt crusted with
cum.  Anus gaping and leaking cum down both legs for lack of
panties to collect and puddle it.  A human condom, filled and
tossed away.  A used scum bag.  When the door shut, I couldn't hold
it back any longer.  I began to weep quietly, first deep inside me,
then noticeably.  My manhood was gone.  Utterly lost!

Debbie was standing just inside, studying my face.  Then she threw
herself into my arms, crying out, "Oh, darling, I'm so
sorry!  So very sorry!  I never should have let you go in there
alone!  I never should have deserted you!  Never!  I was so angry! 
So stupidly angry!  Over nothing!  Over your teeny lapse, your wanting
to watch football the way you once did.  I did this to you!  I
left you alone when you most needed me!  And now look at you!  It
should have been beautiful!  And look at you!  Can you ever forgive
me?"

I was past thinking, past the ability to forgive.  Feeling her warm
body so close, feeling her sympathy, I just wrapped my arms around
her, and I buried my face onto her shoulder and started to cry even
harder.  Small gasping, mewling sounds at first, but then they
opened into loud sobs and wails.  She led me toward that same chair
in the game room I'd used to watch that football game, to watch that
tape on sucking cock a lifetime ago.   

Little by little I became aware of her sitting on my lap and
pressing her body against mine and hugging me close.  "I didn't
mean for it to be that bad, Samantha baby!  Was it that bad?  Oh,
Samantha, it was, wasn't it?  Oh, sweetheart, you look so terribly
unhappy!  I have never seen you look so miserable."

"Oh Debbie," I began.  I couldn't go on.  I was too choked.

She took charge.  "Get undressed, Samantha!  Completely!  At once!
Into the shower and into a nightie and into my bed.  You're spending
the rest of the night with me, love!  In my arms!"

I did as she asked, and soon, still numb, had crawled into bed with
her.  Everything looked so dark!  So bleak!  I wasn't a man any
more!  I was a cock sucker.  I was an open ditch.  Some man's
Nancy girl.  Many men's.  My asshole hurt.

"Oh precious baby , precious girl," Debbie said, embracing me! 
"Don't cry, sweetheart.  You're my one true love.  I know it
doesn't seem like that now, that I'm running you over hurdles and
you're jumping them just to please me, and I'm never satisfied! 
But that isn't the case at all!  I do love you.  I do want what's
best for both of us.  My sweet baby girl.  Let it all out.  It
won't be so bad.  I do understand, sweetheart!"

I allowed a racking sob to escape me.  Then another.  Then there
was no holding them back.  "Oh Debbie," I cried out in my anguish. 
"I'm not a man any more!  All I wanted was a little pleasure from
you, and now look!  I'm not a man!" 

"I know dear sweet baby, I know.  You're not a man any more. 
You're better!  You're my girl!  Just think that thought, over and
over -- you're my girl.  Then it won't be so bad.  Girls suck cocks
all the time, and they don't suffer for it.  It's nice.  It's how
they express their femininity.  It's what girls do, isn't it. 
You've said so yourself, often enough!  So just think of yourself
as a girl who sucks cock.  Girls like it.  Didn't you like it just
a little?"

I had to wait a long minute to answer her, and I had to swallow
once or twice.  But I had to tell her everything!  I had to
maintain absolute honesty with my own wife!   In a barely audible
voice I said, "Some.  Some of them!  That's the trouble!  Oh,
Debbie!" 

She embraced me.  "Yes, love.  Of course you did!  From the very
first?  Tell me all about it!"

"None of them at first.  But those tubes kept coming at me, and I
hoped it would get sort of mindless, you know?  Like with Mr.
Dildo?  But each cock was different!  And felt different in my
mouth!  And some of the men were mean and some were nice, really
appreciative.  I liked the nice ones.  Then after a while even some
of the mean ones, if they had really impressive cocks, because, oh
Debbie, I felt privileged to do cocks that big!  And they'd groan
and grunt, and beg for me to bring them off!  There was this
feeling of ... gratification.  Of power!  I did like it!  Then when
they came they'd call me a whore!  By then I guess I was!"

"Why, honey?  You were doing it for love, not money.  How were you
a whore?"

"I don't know!"

"So they were wrong, weren't they?"

"I guess.  Maybe!  When the bartender first saw what I wanted he
told me to use one of the back rooms.  'The guys who want you will
find you,' he said.  'Marlene isn't here tonight.  She's our
regular here.  So you can fill in this once.  I get ten percent.' 
And he handed me two clean bar towels, telling me there were clean
sheets, but I'd need these.  I told him I wouldn't charge.  He was
surprised.  'On the house?' he asked.  'Night on the town, mister? 
You do it for the fun of it?  OK, some of our 'girls' do that too! 
Enjoy!  But keep it down!  Don't disturb the regular customers!' 
I promised I wouldn't, so I didn't.  Even when, even when ...."  I
was stopped by my own deep, racking sob.

"Even when what, honey?"  Her arms were tight around my neck, and
her legs were wrapped tight around my thighs for the first time 
in many weeks.  We were cuddled together as snug as was possible. 
My soft prick was squeezed against her opening, though it never
stirred.

"Oh, Debbie!"  I hesitated, then blurted it out.  "They raped me!"

"Did they?"  Debbie sounded less horrified than I expected.  "Did
it hurt?"

"The first time yes, it did.  He was a lot more rough than Mr.
Dildo, and my saliva on him wasn't slippery enough I guess.  But he
left so much cum in me that the next guy slid right in.  Then it
was ...."

"Then it was what, baby doll?"

"Oh, Debbie!"  I started to cry again.  "It was so easy!  I got so
slippery and stretched out and ... I began to help them!"

"And began to move that sweet ass of yours back against those men
in rhythm?  Because it felt so good?"

"Oh, Debbie!" was all I could reply.  

"You got excited and came yourself?"

I nodded.

"Several times?"

I nodded again.

She understood and hugged me silently.  Sympathy poured from her as
she clinched my body to hers.  But also satisfaction!  I could feel
it.

"Sweetheart, that's terrible!  I feel so sorry for you!  No girl
should go through that her first time!  But now you know what it
can be like, don't you?  Don't you?  Yes!  Well, we'll make it up
to you tonight.  We'll make sure that tonight you'll have a
beautiful experience!  Gabe is a tender, kind, considerate man.  A
real love!  Someone you can enjoy!"

"Debbie!" I sobbed.  "I'm a man!  I'm not gay!  I don't want to
have sex with men!  I feel so ... used!  So inferior!"

"Honey, concentrate on that.  Say it to yourself.  'I'm not an
inferior man, I'm Debbie's girlfriend!  I'm a beautiful intelligent
girl and I'm attractive to men, and I love it when men want to get
close to me.  Say it to me!"

Somehow her words were actually comforting.  "I'm not a man," I
said dispiritedly.  Now that a man -- and how many men afterward?
-- had been in my mouth and in my ass, how could I respect myself
as a man?  "I'm an attractive girl.  Your girl friend."

"And?"

"I like it when men like me."

I repeated that last phrase several times.  It was actually
consoling!  I snuggled up close and she held me close, her smooth
warm skin pressing against mine, her softness squeezed on mine.  I
couldn't tell where I ended and Debbie began.  We were like two
naked women together in bed, for a moment, pressing softly against
each other.  No, I was her husband, a man who had just sucked cock. 


But somehow it was comforting to be Debbie's girlfriend.  In the
morning I'd tell her more about some of the guys who visited me in
that back room.  Old codgers, college kids, tough guys, refined
gentlemen.  All sorts of men went to that gay bar!  One kept saying
'Thank you, Lord!' with every push, and wanted to blow me in return
for his fuck.  But I was all spurted out by then, my groin awash in
cum with more trickling from my gaping anus, and more boy friends
waiting their turn outside the door.  Most never said a word.  One
had a silly, penny-ante ego, and thought he was a superior creature
because my kind of girl had gone down on him and was sucking him
off, when in fact any girl could have had him -- he was easy.  We'd
share a laugh or two about that afterward, about the strange ways
men behave when they're in heat.

Gradually my sobs quieted, and as I fell asleep, I realized I could
have dribbled cum into any of my lovers' mouths if I'd thought of
it.  Made them cock suckers too, at one remove.  They'd have agreed
to let me kiss them, I didn't doubt it for a moment, and that was
all it took!  Then maybe they too would find they couldn't forget
how it tasted and felt on their tongues!  But they'd have deserved
it!  Maybe even liked it.  I guess despite everything, I liked it!