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Elective Surgery

Elective Surgery

I awoke slowly, which should have been my first clue something was wrong. Normally, when my eyelids roll up, I’m ready for my day. In addition to being groggy, I discovered I could only move at a sloth’s pace, and that I felt tremendously weak. Lifting my head was beyond my abilities. Moving my feet an inch took immense effort. In addition, I wasn’t in our second floor bedroom, but an examining room on the ground floor of Miriam’s clinic, covered by a starched sheet.

I was scared as hell, imagining I’d had a stroke or something equally ghastly, despite just having turned twenty- three. I recalled all too clearly what sudden illness was like from my childhood. I tried speech, and managed what sounded like a faint gargling noise. Miriam, my live-in lover, loomed into my line of sight, wearing a tender, bright smile, and green scrubs. A surgical mask hung around her graceful throat.

“Relax, my love.” She bent and kissed my slack lips.

“You’re fine. There’s nothing wrong. I took the liberty of giving you a shot a little while ago.” Since she was my physician as well as my mate, the injection itself wasn’t amiss, but the effects were.

She read my befuddlement, stroked my forehead.

“Remember our talk last weekend? Well, I decided to take you at your word.”

There wasn’t anything wrong with my mental faculties. I knew exactly what she was talking about. The subject of sexual fantasies had come up. I remembered the embarrassed, halting confession I’d never shared with anyone, ever. I especially remembered her passionate response and the half-crazed lovemaking which ensued. Once again we’d demonstrated how marvelously we meshed. Even our fantasies complemented one another.

“Murrgh?” Which was supposed to mean, “Take me at my word?”

I’d laughing accused Miriam of being a mind reader more than once during the year we’d known one another. She again proved her capacity for insight by nodding. “And, since part of your fantasy was being helpless to resist, I knocked you out and rolled you down here. Starting to make sense now?”

Too much so. “Nrgh.” I.e., “No!”

Her grin was filled with mischief. “Sorry, love. Too late.”

She showed me another syringe, moved it toward my arm.

“Nightie-night. See you real soon. I love you.”

I didn’t even feel the prick of the needle. An uncomfortable reddish-black darkness rose up to enfold me.

I didn’t feel well. My stomach was unsettled. I was light headed and had a pounding headache. My mouth tasted like it’d been swabbed out with alcohol. Worse yet, my head, arms and legs were restrained. It took a few thunderous heart beats to recall where I was and what I was doing there. My shout was hoarse, but at least it worked properly.

I heard a door open and close, was relieved when Miriam appeared. “Turn me loose.” It was as much plea as command.

“Not yet, hon. We’re through with stage one. It’s going even better than I imagined it would. We’ve got to let you come out from under the anesthesia before you move. Thirsty?” A glass equipped with a straw appeared. “Just a few little sips.”

“Stage one?” I wondered, suddenly aware of how tired I was.

“Yeah. Now get some rest. I’ll take you back upstairs.

I was still totally immobilized, but it was reassuring to be back in her bed. Our bed, that is. I’d moved in four months before, after letting her talk me into quitting my job. My freelance writing – something I’d been pining to do for years – was starting to generate some income and decrease the debt to Miriam I compulsively kept track of.

I felt vastly better. Enough so to be aware of how odd my body felt. I was afraid to guess what that meant. Hurriedly, before I had time to think, I called her name.

“Right here, darling.” Her soft, purring voice came from an invisible spot to my right. Hell, everything but a swath of ceiling was invisible. “I’ve been watching you sleep. I can’t believe it.”

I recognized that tone of voice. She was aroused. I had a real good idea what that meant. The damage was done. I felt a peculiar hollowness within me, anticipation mingled with anxiety. My body tried to grow an erection. There was an odd resistance down there. I wet my lips. They tasted like Miriam. My voice was much more quiet than usual. “I’m okay?”

“Oh, honey, much more than okay.”

“Can I see now?”

She approached me. The look in her eyes – unmitigated desire – eased my anxiety, amplified my arousal. “You’ve got to promise to keep your eyes closed.”

She waited until I agreed. The thirty-odd seconds it took for her to release my restraints were the longest in my life. I was still woozy and weak as she helped me to my feet. My eyes reflexively opened to aid my wounded sense of balance, but her hand was covering them. Smart lady, Miriam.

She positioned me. I was becoming aware of specifics, but when she dropped her hand, my blind, confused self- exploration died.

“Oh my God!” I whimpered.

Two women stood side by side. The brunette in the blue robe was Miriam. The other woman, a striking raven haired seductress, wore a lacy black teddy and seamed hose. Her large firm breasts lunged as she gasped a shocked breath. Her ruby lips and long-lashed eyes were wide with trauma. Her long red nails rose toward her lovely chest. The woman was me!

Miriam was saying something. I struggled to listen. ” . . . took the liberty of dressing you and making you up. I couldn’t wait to see you whole. Do you like it? Is it what you expected?”

My knees became rubber. My head spun. “What have you done to me?”

“Nothing that can’t be undone,” she said hurriedly. Her voice faded and echoed toward the end.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed. The first things I saw were the black stockings clinging to my legs.

“You fainted,” she said worriedly.

“How girlish,” I groaned.

“A joke!” she said with a smile of relief. “You must feel better.”

“I’m not sure what I feel,” I admitted, trying to organize scattered thoughts. “Uh, you were saying something about . . . uh . . . this not being permanent?”

“God, love! You don’t think I’d maim you!”

“No – but you’ve got to admit that I . . . that this looks pretty damned real.”

“Of course it does! It *is* real, as far as it goes. Breast implants and a couple of careful injections around your nipples. A little liposuction to slim your waist – and a tad of the tissue reinserted strategically around your hips. You’re exactly my size now, by the way. Except for your feet, of course. Other than the depilated body hair and plucked brows, I could have you back to your normal self in a day.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I raised a delicate crimson winged hand to hesitantly touch a lock of long black hair. “How about this. It’s not a wig.”

“Nope. I wove add-on hair into yours after I colored it.”

I swallowed mightily, let my gaze drop to my biggest worry. I could feel my male organ, but was nonetheless mightily reassured by the sight of a nearly invisible flesh colored panty girdle clasping my center in a tight grip.

“I can’t believe you really did this to me. It was just a fantasy.”

Her smile was wolfish. She untied her robe, let it fall open, and slithered into bed with me. “Funny, but you don’t sound mad.”

“I’m still in shock.”

“I know the perfect medicine for that. Lay down and kiss me, you sexy bitch.”

She rolled atop me. Her breasts pushing against mine was the most wonderous thing I’d ever felt. And we kissed with even more passion than usual. When she broke the grinding embrace, I’d smeared her with lipstick.

She tasted it with a languid tongue, whispered, “I’ve always wanted to make love with another woman.” Her hand rubbed my girdle. “Especially one equipped with one of these.”

What an evening! Miriam was a madwoman. She freed me of my girdle, made me admire my astonishingly slim waist and full hips before inhaling my swollen penis in a single dive. I ecstatically made love to her fragrant pussy with my mouth until we both achieved stupendous orgasms. I got no rest, though.

“I’ve got to fuck those tits,” she gasped, pivoting, freeing my – *my* – brand new 35C breasts from their flimsy confinement. My enlarged nipples were proud and tall, and I watched, enraptured, as she positioned the left one between her thoroughly lubricated lower lips and fed the tip of my breast inside her. The sight and sensation were indescribable. I toyed with her sensitive back door and clit, careful of my overly long, sharp fingertips. She howled like a banshee and resumed her orgasm, riding my tit until she was wracked by an especially powerful throe and lurched off me.

She collapsed, ending up with her head on my flat stomach. Noting my reborn erection, she gently stroked and kissed it while I ran soothing fingers through her short brown hair. Our breath had barely returned to normal before her nursing on my member became more insistent.

“Cum in my cunt, baby,” she whined urgently. “Fuck me with that pretty clit.”

That was fine with me. I was still too weak to help much. She kept me supine, a position we both loved anyway because it allowed maximum penetration. What was different was the way I felt. Miriam massaged my tits. That, and my hands returning the favor, were inescapable reminders of the dire difference from the norm. It was easy to forget whose cock it was that was fucking whom.

The old, dark fantasy had become reality. I willingly lost myself in it. My orgasm bloomed like a glorious flower and swallowed me. I heard my cry of release begin. It continued, pulse by throb, until I lost consciousness.

I awoke early. The sun was barely above the horizon, and the bedroom was nearly dark. I was nude, the teddy and hose she’d dressed me in a tangled ball beside the bed. Miriam’s hand gently cupped my bare breast. I stared at the vision, waiting to awake from the bizarre hallucination. A growing need to urinate persuaded me that it was no wet dream. I carefully disentangled myself from her naked body and slowly rose to my feet. My breasts bobbed deliciously. My piss hard cock almost evoked a nervous laugh. It didn’t belong with the rest of my body.

I noted subtle changes that I’d been too stunned and drugged to absorb the day before. My center of balance was higher, and the rhythmic sway of my breasts altered it further still.

The tug of the weights on my chest was impossible to ignore. My long, tangled midnight hued hair tickled my shoulders and face.

And the mirror! Jesus! I thought I was ready as I flipped the bathroom light on and carefully raised my eyes. Instantly, I forgot what had been the urgent need to urinate. Nothing could have prepared me for that first clear, undrugged look at what I’d become.

My breasts were masterpieces, despite small aureolae. They loomed, large, soft, proud, and undeniable, compelling a complete reconstruction of my self identity. Even if I strapped them flat under my normal male clothing, I’d always be conscious of their existence. The sweeping concavity beneath them, and the graceful out swell of my hips were equally alien and remarkable. My jeans and slacks wouldn’t fit properly any more.

My rampant penis recalled me to urgent business. Standing seemed, well, pretentious. I felt myself blush as I sat and hid my organ between my legs. For the first time, I noted what Miriam had done to my pubic hair. It was trimmed into a tidy black triangle. Trust her to be thorough with the hair tint. My legs were sleek and hairless. As, I discovered with a hollow thrill, was my entire body below my eyelashes. Never hirsute, it was still a heady rush to have smooth underarms. I laughed softly – a suitably androgynous sound – when I saw she’d painted my toenails as well as fingertips. I wondered briefly, though; she herself rarely wore makeup at all, much less such bright nail enamel, yet she’d painted and dressed me like a temptress as I slept.

My business finished, I once again stood before the mirror. With a guilty glance toward the closed bedroom door, I tucked my penis between my sleek thighs. With that bit of evidence hidden, the illusion was complete. A pretty, though somewhat square featured, well shaped woman posed in the glass. Her hair was tangled from a night of passion. A surge of desire rushed through me. My shiver made my breasts shake. Never in a million years would I have given Miriam permission to do this to me, but I couldn’t deny my gratitude.

Even mundane tasks like brushing my hair and teeth were breathtaking adventures. The hair cascading past my shoulders was hypnotic. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the apparition in the mirror. I might have stayed in there all day had I not heard a noise from the bedroom.

I hurriedly opened the door. Miriam’s eyes were wide, as was her smile. Her gaze was pure caress. “Morning, darling. How do you feel?”

“Hungry,” I said, conscious that my voice sounded awfully male. “Like I haven’t eaten since day before yesterday.”

Her laugh was like wind chimes. “Then we’d better get you fed. No headache? No tenderness or inflammation?”

“No, Dr. Frankenstein. Your creation feels perfectly well.” I slid into bed beside her, tickled the underside of her breast with my nails.

“Umm,” she purred happily. “I’ve created a monster.” She playfully slapped my hand and rolled away. “But if we don’t get you fed, you’ll be too weak for me to, ah, examine you properly.

I turned coy. “And exactly what kind of examination do you have in mind?” I was slightly embarrassed by my feyness.

She went mock serious as she stood and donned her robe as she walked toward the closet. “Complex medical procedures, miss. No need to trouble you with gory details.” She pitched me a peach satin robe.

Suddenly self-conscious, I hid myself in it and followed her to the kitchen.

A light breakfast appeased my hunger. The passage of time appeased my sense of living within an alien body. Human beings are remarkably adaptable. While I was unable, for even an instant, to forget my appearance, I was quickly adjusting to the way it felt.

Miriam leaned back in her chair. “Well, love . . .” Her voice trailed away, her face clouded.

“What,” I interjected, worried. “Is something wrong?”

Her expression cleared. “Not a thing. I was just, ah, wondering what to call you.”

A name instantly leapt to mind. I thrust it away, merely nodded like I was thinking.

She eyed me skeptically. “I saw that. What?”

I couldn’t make myself look at her. “Nothing. Just mulling over the possibilities.”

“Horseshit. Tell me. No secrets, remember?”

Our cardinal rule for relationship. I couldn’t lie. “I, uh, just flashed on my sister.”

Her nod was somber, her gaze direct. “Barbara.” A heavy pause. Her tone was soothing, compassionate. “You still feel like it was your fault?”

“My head knows better, but sometimes, in my heart – yeah, I guess I do.”

“Well, then, Barbara it is, love. She’ll live again through you. Sounds like good therapy to me. Now,” she clapped her hands, “what would you like to do today, Barbara?”

I looked up at her teasing tone. “Do?”

“Yeah. It’s perfect weather for the beach. I’ve got an extra bikini -”

“No way! Jesus, are you nuts?”

“Yeah, but you knew that already. Are you saying you’re ashamed of your bodacious bod, hon?” She leaned forward, grabbed my hands. “You’ve got to go outside sooner or later.”

I tried to persuade myself that I didn’t want to. I tried to believe that I wanted this to be between she and I. But the impulse to smile made my lips twitch. “Too scary. I, uh, I’m not ready for that yet. I might have the body, but my mannerisms are all wrong. Will you kind of show me things?”

“As you wish, my monster. How about this? We spend the day getting you acclimated, then go out to dinner?”

I nodded hesitantly. “Okay – but I reserve the right to renegotiate. If there’s the slightest chance anybody will know -”

“Chicken out, you mean. Believe me, Barb, there’s only *one* way any one will be able to tell you haven’t been of the fair sex all your life.”

I blushed as red as my nails. She cackled with delight and drug me back to the bedroom. “Pick out some clothes, hon. I’m first in the shower.”

My how time flies when you’re having fun – and I was. It took very little persuasion from Miriam to get me to agree to staying dressed as a woman full time over the next two weeks. Beneath my silk and lace, my penis was at least half hard around the clock, unless I’d just had one of my half dozen daily orgasms. I felt like I was living in a sexual daze, and silently prayed it’d never end.

My fiancee had become as horny as I was, and the more flawless my feminization, the hotter it made her. She adored bending down and sucking the breasts she’d given me while we made impassioned love, and took an ever more dominant attitude in our relationship. When she proposed marriage, I tearfully accepted. We joked about who should give whom the engagement ring. The one thing we avoided even thinking about, after those first uncomfortable days, was changing me back. I told myself that this was only temporary, that soon the rush would be gone, and I’d go back under Miriam’s skilled blade. I set no time frame.

She showered me with lacy, racy gifts and took me shopping twice each week. Having been wrapped in and enraptured by my femininity, it became only slightly embarrassing to go out in public, and was less so each time. Miriam had trained me well, and I became unshakably certain that I could pass all but the wisest scrutiny. While out, I favored high necked blouses to obscure my mildly knobby male larynx, and had tutored myself thoroughly on the tricks of transgender cosmetic use. I walked, talked, ate, and sat exactly as a confident, attractive woman would.

Miriam hinted that she had something special in mind for that Friday, the anniversary of our second amazing fantasy week. Over her lunch break, I taunted her by dragging my nipples over hers.

“Please give me a hint, honey.”

“Barb, you little trollop,” she laughed.

I rubbed her groin. “Cheap and easy. Just the way you like them.”

Her eyes lost focus. I’d learned to play her well. Acting the tart for her never failed to push her lust button. I kept stroking her core with my long red nails while I coyly played with the top button of my blouse, opening it. “Look what I put on while you were working. It’s the merry widow you say makes my tits look like offerings to the goddess.” When she tried to grind her lips against mine, I leaned further away. “Give me a hint. Pretty please?”

She grabbed the hand working her clitoris through the white lab coat, twisted it around behind me, pushed my hand toward my shoulder blades. I squealed and stood on tip toe. Her mouth hovered so close to mine I could smell the candy of her breath. “Dress nasty for me, my little slut. Go all out. We’ll have a candlelit dinner catered. It’ll be a night we’ll never forget.”

She took my mouth then. I willingly parted my lips for her tongue and glued my body to hers. When she abruptly ended the embrace, leaving me breathless and weak-kneed, my teasing was done. Something about her aggressiveness always had that effect on me. Cooing docilely, I blotted my lipstick from her lovely face before she went back downstairs to perform the facelift on Mrs. Johnston.

For the rest of the day, my head swam. I spent hours getting ready for her, treating myself to a sensuous bubble bath after depilating my entire body – which was hardly necessary. I’d grown ever more enchanted with the sweet paradox of my nude body and spent a great deal of time pampering it. I’d always been a breast man, and having my own mammaries at hand was heavenly. My nipples had become tremendously sensitive, encouraged by being pinched, rolled and sucked so often – both by Miriam and myself. I’d happily discovered that my lips and teeth could reach them if I worked at it – which I did. We often lay head to foot and masturbated to crashing orgasms for each other. My penis had become *our* penis, a resource to be shared, although I’d begun feeling that it was really more hers than mine. When I played with myself, which I did with a frequency bordering on addiction, it was usually by squeezing and sucking my breasts rather than rubbing my cock.

I’d also begun developing what amounted to a secret fixation with my ass. The first time that Miriam had flicked her finger across my anl bud while we made love, I’d instantly arched into her and screamed as I came. It felt shameful to me to have had such an overwhelming erotic reaction in an area of my body I’d never let myself think of in sexual terms. So, while I never verbally shared this new development with my fiancee, I took every available opportunity to allow her access to my nether regions while we fucked, and she sometimes took advantage of that accessibility. I nearly swooned when she eased a finger inside me for the first time, and started consciously ensuring that my derriere was always clean and fresh for her welcome invasion. That attention to cleanliness was really little more than an excuse to fondle my back door. Pushing fingers into my bowels and fondling my prostate while making love to my tits was almost enough to make me cum without touching my swollen staff.

That Friday, I kept myself on the erotic edge most of the afternoon. I intended to obey Miriam’s instructions to the letter. If she wanted a harlot, I’d be more than happy to provide one for her. Feeling bold and brazen, as I moisturized my body, I turned my back to the mirror and watched as I lubricated my asshole with a deeply probing finger. I bit my lower lip, gasped quietly as I inserted a second beside the first. From the rear, there was no indication of masculinity whatsoever. My enhanced cheeks were high and tight. My tits bounced succulently as I fucked my ass. Even without makeup, my face was an image of pure wanton femininity.

Completely enraptured, I compelled myself to stop and swayed to the bedroom, relishing my loosened hips, and perused my closet for something to match my mood and my love’s desires. It wasn’t hard to find something suitably decadent. The difficult part was choosing *which* revealing outfit to wear. After due consideration, I settled upon a lacy lycra gartered bodybriefer which resembled a basque more than a girdle. It’s aquamarine and black made my gleaming, sleek skin nearly luminous. The garment smoothed my curves, thrust my breasts upward and made for a truly spectacular cleavage without hiding a thing. Even the crotch was ideal. With the snaps closed, my groin was flat, with just the suggestions of an enticing vulva. With them open, my Miriam could make use of the penis she so adored.

I smoothed the turquoise nylons over my long legs and straightened the seams before buckling my feet into open toed stiletto heeled pumps. Just the sight of myself stiffened my nipples, and the best was yet to come. I went to my vanity, tried to control my eagerness, and began work on my face.

As I implied, I’d become adept, if I do say so myself, with cosmetics. I could use my vast palette of colors to paint a living canvas for any occasion, from a refined day of public shopping, to a depraved night of private, raw sex at home. The latter end of the spectrum was my goal that day, and I succeeded admirably. My dark lashes bowed seductively beneath the weight of their mascara, further defined by a generous application of liner. The blue contact lenses and blended shades of eye shadow enhanced the nearly fluorescent hue of my lingerie. I’d chosen a foundation, blusher and powder which softened my angular contours while highlighting my cheekbones. I penciled in a slightly exaggerated outline for my mouth with a rich vermilion, creating a more pendulous lower lip and a more bowed upper, then filled the sketch with a searing, deep red, glossed to a mirror-like sheen.

I studied the results with lusty appreciation. I watched my heavy lips slowly shape the whispered verdict. “Slut.” I savored the word as I pinched my nipples. “Nasty, hot slut.”

Thoroughly immersed in my role, my movements became slow, lethargic, direct expressions of unfettered carnality. I was totally relaxed, despite the relentless throbbing of my tightly compressed penis and warm, moist feeling ass. I had plenty of time for a manicure and to finish working my raven locks into seductive waves framing my haunting face.

I answered the intercom in an unforced, throaty purr without removing my rapt gaze from the mirror.

“Are you about ready for me, Barb?”

“Oh, honey,” I murmured, “am I ever.”

Her tone dropped. “Are you ready for the fucking of your life?”

I laughed sultrily. “If you don’t get up here real soon, I’m going to have to start without you. I *need* it, Miriam. I need it *bad.*”

Her chuckle matched mine. “Oh, you’ll get it, love. All you can handle, and then some.” I cradled the phone, shivering. Whatever she had planned was sure to be good.

I was on my back, arms thrown wide, knees cradling my heaving tits. Two pillows were under my hips. Miriam leered up at me from between my widely spread thighs. We both watched the lubed, cock shaped dildo slide into what she’d dubbed my pussy.

I was past the screaming stage. My slick lips were by then ovaled in moans of shattering joy. My hips rose to meet my invader.

Miriam coached me in raw whispers. “That’s it babe. Take more. Suck it in your pussy. Fuck that big cock, Barb. Fuck it good. Does it make you hot, lover? Does it make you feel good?”

“Yes,” I gasped. “Oh, yes.”

“You like to fuck, don’t you, honey? You like the way a hard cock feels in your tight cunt. You like being my whore, don’t you?” She thrust it even deeper within me. I watched it vanish, inch by inch.

“Ahh! God! Yes!”

“Say it,” she cooed. “Tell me, baby.”

“I’m your whore, Miriam! Oh, do it! Fuck me, bitch! I love it!”

“There’s another cock, baby. Jack it off for me. Make it shoot cum all over those nasty big tits and that slutty face while I fuck you.”

So it was that I first tasted my own fresh sperm, felt it massaged into my tits. I had more later, withdrawn from her cunt by my tongue and smeared red lips. And, later still, a full measure when she bent me double and made me shoot off straight into my gaping lips while she fucked me with another toy, a monstrous strap-on double headed prick.

Unbelievable as it may sound, until that world-shaking night, I’d never doubted my vision of myself as a pure heterosexual. I well understood the difference between transvestism and transexuality. I’d considered myself a frustrated crossdresser blessed with a girlfriend who’d released and loved my fetish as much as I did. But the unparalleled ecstasy of having my cherry ass fucked, of admitting – screaming! – that I positively adored being Miriam’s slut, of crowing in lusty victory as I swallowed my own savory cum – those experiences dramatically altered my opinion of myself.

Awaking that morning after, with a rawly burning sphincter and bite ravaged nipples, I told myself it was just another day. I immediately swallowed some pain killers to block the searing physical agony, and the ensuing wooziness clouded the emotional trauma, as well. I turned away from the questions threatening to overwhelm me, persuaded myself that nothing had changed. I obscured my qualms with makeup, covered my residual maleness with tight g-string panties.

Miriam found me in front of the computer, the screen displaying the results of my search on hormones for the transgendered. Her hands massaged my shoulders as I read. Wordlessly, her hands slid down and cupped my heavy breasts. My lashes fluttered. I quit reading, bent my head back, allowing the warmth to envelope me. She bent down and met my hungry lips.

Later that afternoon, while Miriam was downstairs checking on a tummy tuck, I discovered a prescription bottle parked on my vanity with my cosmetics. It bore Barbara’s full name with instructions to take two capsules three times a day. I swallowed a low thrill with my first dose of hormones. This, too, was only temporary. The effects would diminish as soon as I quit the drug.

A little later, I was on my hands and knees on the living room floor, my tight leather skirt pulled above my waist, with Miriam on her knees behind me, driving her massive cock into both of us while she used my swollen tits for handles.

Two months flew past. It was high summer. I was drinking a little too much wine and eating a few too many tranquilizers. I was Miriam’s whore, and my controlled drug use kept me feeling appropriately slutty. My fiancee made no objection as long as I didn’t get too caried away. I loved the blurry, sensuous heat which never left. I loved the sexy clothes which were displacing the bland, never worn male garb from my closet and dresser drawers. Being a sexy, slightly exhibitionistic woman had become natural. I never questioned my lavish, trashy makeup and revealing clothes. Nor did Miriam, for she guided and inspired me.

We kept one another thoroughly fucked. We sometimes used the organ attatched to my groin for its original purpose, but as often as not preferred our dildoes. While it still achieved impressive erections, it wasn’t nearly as rock hard as before. Except when one of us was masturbating it, sucking it, or had it buried in one of Miriam’s orifices, I kept it tucked away under tight lingerie.

I hadn’t been eating much, and the loss of weight, combined with frequent corsetry, was shaping me wonderfully. The hormones were helping, too. I had to use the depiltory less and less frequently to keep myself perfectly smooth below my eyelashes. My curves were softening slightly, and the texture of my flesh was improving. I still usually used the hair weaves, despite my longer natural locks, but had started relying upon a salon for weekly touchups to my tint, relishing facials and manicures while I was there.

I seldom wore brassieres, preferring to feel the leap of my ever more sensitive – and slightly larger – tits. I can’t deny enjoying the inevitable male attention my nipples attracted as well. I was an undeniable stone fox, with Miriam’s full approval and support.

The joke about who should wear the engagement ring was settled. I did. I’d broken into joyous tears when she’d dropped to one knee and slipped it on my finger. My gorgeous fiancee was seldom seen in dresses any more. She’d begun favoring slacks and jeans and a more severe hair style. We knew that people were beginning to think she was a dyke, but ignored the gossip, as we ignored so many things. At home, she often stuck a completely realistic phallus, complete with testicles, into her slacks. It had a nice little knob which fit her cunt and held it in place. I loved rubbing against her, feeling the perpetual hard-on she had for me. She let me talk her into wearing it sometimes when we went out.

We’d shared an especially decadent Saturday afternoon in celebration of our three month anniversary, and when she told me to dress for a night out, the wicked wantonness I’d just displayed in bed overflowed. I still felt nasty. My red cocktail gown fit like skin, its sequins glowed like fire. The towering heels thrust my much used ass out in invitation. My lips pouted, begged to be kissed. My meticulously drawn eyes invited more sex.

Miriam, equally dressed for a change, took advantage of my slatternliness on the drive to the club she’d chosen, making me smear my lipstick all over her juicy slit while I jacked myself off into a cupped palm. It was an awkward position, but my casual aerobics had limbered me quite a bit. After she’d also cum, she lapped some of my sperm from my hand, then had me lick the rest.

As we refreshed our faces in the parking lot, she explained the rules for the night. “It’s a dance club, and we’ll dance with whomever I decide we should.”

I froze. “With men?”

Her laugh was clipped. “It’s not a lesbian bar, Barb.”

“You’re not going to . . .” I swallowed the words I couldn’t utter.

“What? Fuck another man? Let somebody fuck *you*?”

I nodded, my ears ringing.

“No way, baby. You may be a slut, but you’re *my* slut. I’m the only one who stuffs your cunt – and don’t you forget it.”

I slid closer to her, lay my head on her shoulder and breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

She weighed my left breast. “But I *do* want you to flirt like the shameless bitch you are. Make them hard, honey. Drive them fucking wild.”

I returned the caress. “Will that make you hot, Miriam? Will it make your pussy wet to see somebody dry humping me during a slow dance, or have me mash my tits into a guy’s arm?”

“I’m dripping just thinking about it. How are you going to feel seeing men trying to seduce me?”

“It makes my clit tingle,” I purred. “Well, tramp, let’s go have some fun.”

We did. Almost a lot more fun than we’d planned. I was kissed for the first time by another male. And a second, third, etc. time, as well. Losing my mouth’s virginity was horrible, but I rapidly got used to having scratchy faces rubbing mine, thrusting rough tongues into my mouth, while hard arms squeezed my ass and slab-like bellies crushed my tits. They lit my first cigarettes.

I rested my hand on their knees.

All this at Miriam insistence. But there were things I didn’t confess that I prayed she didn’t know about – and wished *I* didn’t. Like when one of my dance partners grabbed my hand and wrapped it around the cock he’d been grinding into my pubis. His tongue fucked my wet red lips. I let my hand stay where he’d placed it. And the guy blew his rocks in his slacks. I felt his spurts against my palm, my hip.

She had her fun, too. I could plainly see that my sleazy actions weren’t the only things exciting her. The dicks she awoke had their natural effects. It’d been a long while since she’d been pounded by anything hot and stiff. Her lust was clearly visible in her hugely swollen nipples.

I released the immense pressure that’d been building within her during a freshen up session in the ladies’ room. She sat on a toilet while I sucked her to a massive orgasm. Then, for the first time in a week, she stood me before her, with my heels planted wide, and returned the favor, deepthroating my drooping organ with fine frenzy. In the ensuing kiss, she fed some cum back to me.

The trouble came when we decided it was time to go. We literally had to enlist the aid of the bouncer to persuade our most recent partners that we really *did* want to go home alone.

Our remarkable evening out culminated in a frenzied mutual fuck that left us both raw and exhausted. However, my dreams were haunted by the feeling of that stiff dick dumping its load in a stranger’s slacks. I’d done that to him. While awake, I could ignore the impact. Asleep, however, the truth will out.

Two days later, I drove to the salon for my weekly appointment. As always, I went sans the add-in hair weaves. By then, they were really only needed for a little fullness and added length. My natural locks brushed my shoudlers with soft ebony curls. Miriam had decided I should go for an even deeper tint, an obviously artificial blue-black. Since Saturday, I’d been feeling the constant urge for a raunchier look, and I put up no argument. The hue suited me just fine, but was going to require some additions to my array of cosmetics. I need lipstick and eye shadow to match my curved deep vermillion nails. I was traipsing through the mall when it happened.

I’d become adjusted to the continual caress of male eyes when I was out. It was a thrilling awareness, and with Saturday’s wild physical memory of *exactly* the effect I had on males, I found myself unconsciously strutting even more provocatively than normal, despite a silent shame. So, the blonde man’s double take as he stared at me was both complimentary and discomforting. I peripherally noted that he changed course and followed me. I was highly aware of his eyes on my swaying ass.

I’d been hit on a few times, and thought I knew what was coming next. I was mildly surprised, because I’d instantly pegged the guy as gay. His pace increased, and he drew alongside, wearing a weird smile that should have been a clue. I had a frosty smile ready, and a polite rebuff. But his words destroyed my slightly arrogant balance.

His voice was conspiratorial, polite, sincere, and soft. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help noticing that you’re a dresser. I’m a TV myself, and I was wondering if you could give me some tips. I’ve never seen a girl as beautiful as you and -”

My panic was instantaneous and absolute. I fled from him as if from a violent rapist, clattering away in stark terror and creating a scene.

“There, there, it’s okay, love. No harm done.”

“No harm!” I shrieked hysterically. “He saw! He knew!”

I’d interrupted her during office hours, miraculously between clients. She’d been holding me for over two hours as I alternately shivered and sobbed. She was trying to be patient with me, but the strain was showing. “Darling, it’s only the hormones. I warned you about overdosing the way you’ve been doing. We’ll -”

“It’s not the fucking hormones,” I screamed. “It’s me, goddamn it! I’m a fucking pervert! He saw me! He saw *me*!”

She slapped me, not hard, but it stunned me to silence. Her face had gone cold, and her voice was quite calm. “Shut up. Listen to me. It’ll never happen again. You have my word. Do you hear me?”

I nodded, slowly.

“Now take a few slow breaths. That’s it.”

I quit shaking. She held me at arms length, peered into my eyes. “You okay now?”

Again I nodded, sniffed.

She stood, kept her hands on my shoulders. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. You stay right here. Want a drink?”

“Okay.” I smiled weakly at her back. Stiffly, I reached for the bedside tissue, then lay back. I was afraid to relax, afraid the terror would come back. “‘Excuse me, I couldn’t help noticing . . .'” I dug my nails into my palms. “I’m not like him,” whispered. “I’m not.”

I was laying rigidly on the mattress, losing my battle against horror, when Miriam returned. I flung my head onto her lap the instant she sat. “I can’t stand it, Miriam. I can’t.”

She petted my hair. “I know, love. I know. Trust me. Let me take care of it.”

I felt a needle prick my shoulder. I jerked, then lay still. My love was purring soft words in my ear, stroking my inky hair. Her voice warmed me before the drug did.

This time I knew exactly where I was and why. I just didn’t know what. I was again totally restrained. I lay there for hours as my senses alternately focused and faded. I made no outcry. I knew part of what I was feeling and thinking was real, and part of it was dream or hallucination. I had no frame of reference to distinguish between poles, nor any desire to do so.

I could see nothing but an arc of the half lit ceiling, which told me only that it was night. No upthrust of bosom. No sweep of hair. No clue. What had she done to me? Which way had I gone?

For, like a morning flower, it’d dawned on me as I’d awakened that the eerie vow she’d taken, and my acceptance, could have been read in either of two ways. If I was male, there’d never again be That Problem. The same would hold true if I was entirely female.

I could have moved. I could have wiggled my fingers, my toes, flexed my chest muscles. Reason could have prevailed. Instead, I stayed so still that I went numb. Pain sensors were throbbing softly from somewhere within me, but I didn’t want to know where. It didn’t matter.

The sheet and thin blanket were warm weights. I could be aware of each wrinkle and fold, if I cared to. My breaths seemed far between, as if I no longer needed oxygen. My mind felt crystal clear, and just that fragile. I felt a tingling swell ripple throughout me, so overwhelming that left me agape. The wave returned, or resonated at a higher pitch, and it was like my soul had just orgasmed.

I was thrust gently free of my body, like a soap bubble from a wire frame, and wobbled radiantly away. I was both calm and consumed by awe. There was no space for fear. I was free.

There was no space for lies, either. It *did* matter. But, even before I encompassed my body in my sight, I knew. It was no shock to perceive the graceful swells and delightful hollows of the woman on the narrow bed. I cried with joy at her voluptuous beauty, her sleeping perfection. When the healing was done, her long neck would be swan-like and sleek. Her lips and nipples, now slightly swollen by injections, would smooth into their altered shapes. Her new chin would be delicate and dimpled, her new cheekbones high and poud. Beneath the clean bandages at the base of her sternum, where a pair of ribs had been, would be the tiniest waist imaginable. She would be devastatingly gorgeous, indisputably female – despite the lovely little penis/clit still nestled between her sleek, hairless thighs.

That, now, was the only remaining memory of who she’d once been. No idle passer-by could ever again mistake her for a male. Only a lover could know of her special secret. These changes were *not* temporary, and my bliss escalated past endurable proportions. I didn’t exactly hear my cry, but knew that sound was what compelled me back into my body.

Miriam came running in, rubbing sleep from her eyes. The flare of the overhead flourescents were blinding. “Darling! Are you -”

“Oh yes!” I whispered rawly, aware of how sore my throat was, and of the dull throb that accompanied each breath I drew. “I’m fine, love! Thank you!” Even though hoarse, I heard how my voice had changed.

Relief flooded through her. “I was afraid I’d gone too far, that you’d hate me.” Her vision clouded. “When I explain everything, you still might.”

“There’s no need to explain! I understand. I know.”

“But -”

“Please, just take me back upstairs. Put me in our bed and lay beside me.”

I slowly spun in a circle before Miriam’s rapt gaze. “Well?”

It was still a thrill, hearing my own throaty contralto.

She shook her head in wonder. “Are you sure you want to go out dressed that way?”

“I’ve got to be at my best for you tonight, and I’ve already missed two appointments, love. My roots are showing. It makes me look so cheap.”

She laughed with me. “Barb, you’re a living ad for cheap.”

“Well I certainly hope so. What’s the point in being 38-20- 35 if you’re not going to display it properly?” I peered down my expansive cleavage. “*Barbie* is more like it.”

“And I suppose you’re looking for your Ken?”

I swayed seductively to her. She watched my hand move to her groin. Her eyes half closed as I massaged the bulge there. “You’re all the Ken I need.”

“For now,” she purred brushing my permanently pouting lips with hers. “Until tonight.”

My breath was coming quickly, pressing my long nipples even tighter into the tight bodice of the green dress. The tops of my large aureolae were pretty crescents. Her hips were rocking under my crimson clawed hand. I sank to my knees, downed her zipper, freed my end of her luscious latex prick. “Forever, until you tell me otherwise. I’m yours, Miriam. Body and soul.”

“Until tonight,” she repeated. She stared down at me, watching my lipstick smear the full length of her cock as I nuzzled her balls. “A whore’s useless unless she’s shared, Barbie.”

The End

Additional Reading

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may i request permission to speak freely from the heart? upon finishing chapter one of “Girlfriends” by Vicky Tern……oh, my, God…Mistress, i just don’t know what to say. oh my God, this really is home! God in heaven i’m going… Read more “danielle”

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Something to share sweetie?