I kept my eyes downcast, typical for me in the presence of a pretty woman. Stare at the ground, or better yet, at their feet, if they wore nylons and heels. Today I was fixated on Melissa's white stockings, her white strappy sandals, fantasizing about kneeling before her and worshipping her feet. Fucked up fantasy, of course, as if Sara would ever let that happen. As if Melissa would ever let that happen.
I happened to look up from her beautiful feet and saw her staring at me.
Busted. Great, I'm staring at her feet, imagining myself licking and kissing those dainty, sweet feet, whipped into submission, and I'm busted, caught staring. Fucking great.
I blushed, but quickly realized she was not looking me in the eye, not staring me down for staring at her or lusting at her. I traced her gaze to my chest.
To my chest!
She was staring at my chest. Immediately the two words flooded into my brain: c cup. C cup. C cup. That's all I thought, c cup. My blush quickly deepened, and for all practical purposes, I might as well had DD cup tits, not little A cup tits. She knew and saw my growing chest. I don't think I could deal with that at work, my two worlds were colliding together.
"Melissa, listen, I," I started to blurt out some explanation, hoping to head of a huge fire storm.
"Coffee?"
"Coffee," I repeated her question. What the fuck was she talking about?
"Spill coffee on your shirt?" she asked in an understanding tone.
I looked down. Sure enough there was a big two inch coffee stain right in the middle of my chest. Coffee on my shirt. She was just staring at the coffee on my shirt. I almost yelled out, "there is fucking coffee on my shirt," I was so relieved that it was not my breasts she was staring at, but at the same time I realized that there was a problem here. If this kept up, at some point in the future I was going to be riding the elevator and it would not be coffee that someone was staring at. This was going to be a problem.
Of course the whole day was a problem. On the one hand, Sara's talk this morning about breasts, about my breasts, made me feel incredibly self conscious. All day, all I could think about was my A cup breasts, my soon to be C cup breasts. But worse, so much worse, was the coffee. Because of the giant coffee stain on my shirt, people spent all day staring at my chest.
I almost laughed out loud at one point when a co-worker of mine, a male co-worker, kept talking to me but staring at my chest. Is this what women go through, I wondered, when their male colleagues stare at their tits all day?
When I got home, Sara was already there, ready to go out to dinner. She looked marvelous, of course, but then, when didn't she? Actually, her outfit reminded me a little of her dress when we met Steve at the club. Little black dress (though not a halter dress like before), black nylons, strappy heels. Just the sight of her excited me, the scent of her intoxicated me. My wife was quite a woman.
"Ready?" she asked when I dropped off my briefcase.
"This is just you and me, right?" I asked her
She laughed. "Yes, John, just you and me. Husband and wife. Enjoying a nice dinner out. Seriously, nothing more than I want to spend time with you. That's okay, right? A wife wanting to spend time with her husband," she smiled.
The smile that launched a thousand ships, I though. "Of course, Sara, I'd like nothing more."
"Well good, lets go then, we have reservations at six."
We found ourselves in a secluded corner of a dark restaurant, candle lit, quiet, a perfect romantic setting, really, and it was nice to just chat over drinks before dinner. Chat about this and that, nothing heavy. Looking at her, talking with her, it reminded me why I loved her so much. Beyond the kinky sex, beyond the bizarre things, in the simple quiet moment, I just basked in the glow of our friendship.
"Love, are you happy," Sara asked me after the waiter brought our salads. "I mean, really happy?"
"Happy, Sara, I guess, why?"
"Well, we are doing some very bizarre things, not unheard of, but certainly beyond the realm of a normal marriage. And, I guess I just want to make sure you are happy."
The funny thing was that I knew I'd never been happier in my life. Apprehensive, yes, jealous, of course, but happy? Totally.
"Yes, Sara, I am."
She smiled, returned to her salad, and to mundane, safe conversation.
While the waiter was clearing our plates, I jumped when I felt something brush my leg. "Shhh," Sara whispered. It was her foot, I realized. I felt her foot, her foot without her heel, bare foot and stocking, sneaking under my pant leg, finding my own leg, tugging my sock down carefully, then brushing on my nylons, Sara's nylons on my own nylons.
Sara leaned over the table, "God, I just love a girl in nylons," she said
My eyes sparkled.
"Are you sure you're happy?"
"Yes, Sara," I smiled.
"Would you like another glass of wine," the waiter asked me.
"Um..." my breath caught in my throat. Oddly enough, it caught in my throat at the same time Sara's stocking covered foot caught in my crotch, pressing me through my pants, through my panties.
"Yes, please," I choked out, eyes quickly moving to Sara who just gave me an innocent, 'what's wrong' smile, before moving her foot away.
We talked about our jobs, Sara's going well, mine too, though I wanted to also mention my lingering problems at the office, the problems I felt about breasts, and really about my place there. She wanted to save that discussion for another time. "Don't worry, lover, I know your concerns, and we will talk about them, okay?" She went on to discuss just things in general, a musical we wanted to see was coming to town, movies that were out -- idle married couple conversation.
Over our main course, though, Sara did turn a bit more serious.
"Julie, you haven't set up a date with Steve for me yet," she said, looking down at her food.
I didn't answer, felt a growing pit in my stomach, and concentrated on my dinner as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
"I've waited and waited, but nothing," she said, pressing the topic.
"I know," I answered, mouth tight.
"Is there something wrong?" she asked, putting her fork down.
"What?" I said, hurt. "Just can't wait to leave your boring husband at home so you can go have fun with some guy." As soon as the words came out of my mouth I regretted them. They were much too harsh. But maybe it was something that had to be said, I don't know. "Sara, I'm sorry," I said, looking up at her.
"John, is that really how you feel? That it's a trade, you for a man? That I'm replacing you? Honestly, do you?
"Sara, wait, no, no, that's not how I feel."
"Is it too much for you? All this? Or just something specific?"
"I don't know," I said, though I did.
"Do you want me to stop? We've talked about this before. I will, you know."
"No, Sara, I..."
"Do you want to stop dressing up, stop being Julie?"
That was an unexpected question. No, I didn't. No matter what else Sara or I did, I knew I was a crossdresser through and through. I didn't want to give that up.
"No," I finally said.
"Will you?"
"What do you mean, Sara?"
"Will you stop?"
"Stop dressing?"
"Yes. If I can't handle that anymore, John, will you? Will you, for me?"
I thought about that for a full minute. "Sara, I don't know if I could, to be honest. I've tried in the past, I've purged my things, I've sworn off it, but I always come back to it."
"Yes, I understand," she said, "but would you, would you try, if I asked, if I couldn't take it any more. I know it would be hard, and I understand you would want to, you'd even do it sometimes, a relapse, I suppose, but would you give it up for me?"
"Yes," I whispered, to the woman I loved above everything.
She smiled, melting me. "Lover, so would I. If you wanted me to, I'd stop all this right now. Forget about Steve, about other men, about anything but you
. I'd hate it, don't get me wrong, it's something I want so bad, and I'm not sure I'd be able to stop forever, but I'd try, if you wanted me to. Honestly, I would...I will." Her eyes were tearing up.
"But," she continued, "the thing is, I don't think you really want me to, do you? It's something else, something...I think I've pushed you too far, again, or that sometimes I forget about your submissive side. Be honest, why haven't you called Steve? Because you don't want me to go out with him, or because you..." she paused, seemed to have a thought jumble into her brain, "because you want me to do it."
"Sara..."
"Of course! I'm so blind sometimes, of course you want me to do it. I suppose that is some strange part of the thrill of cuckolding to a husband like you. The sexually charged wife, seeking out another man. It's really about a level of domination and submission. Tell me, am I right? Do you want me to stop or is it just that you want, need me, really, to take the lead?"
Waves of jealousy rushed through my brain, images of Sara and Steve, ones that I'd witnessed and ones that I imagined.
"Sara ..." I sighed.
"Yes, lover, yes, you want me to call Steve, don't you? You can't possibly do it yourself, but you certainly don't want me to stop, do you?"
"No," I gulped.
"Unzip your pants," she said, eyes locked on mine.
"What?"
"You heard me," she said, a command rising in her voice, one that did not invite questions or protests.
I did as asked...no, as ordered. "Good, now, put your hands on the table, palms down...don't move them."
I suddenly jerked, contact, her foot, her sweet nylon covered foot, touched my crotch, quickly snaked its way inside my pants, pushing against my satin panties. Sara's upper body looked completely normal, hands reaching for her wine, smiling. From afar, I caught the eye of the waiter, looking over at us with a bored expression, seeing a Sara quietly talking to me, seemingly engaged in a romantic conversation with her husband, a scene he had seen a thousand times. Not knowing what evil words were coming out of the woman's mouth, what evil deeds she was doing under the table cloth, all hidden in plain view.
Her foot, nylon on satin, found and teased the front of my panties. "Julie, what's that? What do you have in your panties?" she whispered at me. "Why is your clit growing?" she cooed."
Growing? It certainly was.
"I'm right, then, aren't I? You don't want me to stop, do you? You don't want me to stop any more than I want you to stop dressing? You actually want your sweet wife fucking another man," she whispered, smiling, foot pressing into my crotch, the sexual excitement beginning to run through my body.
"Oops," she smiled, pulling her foot back, massaging instead of pressing, but continuing her teasing, "I said 'another man'. How silly of me. Another man? I meant to say 'a man', of course." Sara again pressed her foot into my crotch. "Because you know you are not a man, don't you, Julie."
"No, Sara," I gulped. How did she keep her face so impassive, masked, hidden to the casual observer?
Sara released the pressure on my crotch as she took a bite of her meal, a sip of wine. She then pressed again, "Because my sissy husband is not a man, are you?"
I didn't say anything.
"Are you a man," she continued, pressing harder, mixing sexual pleasure with real pain.
"No," I croaked.
"Do you want me to call Steve for you," she smiled?
"Yes," I gasped, giving the only answer I could.
"Do you want me to go out on a date with him?"
"Do you want me to fuck him?"
"Oh, Sara, please...yes," I moaned quietly, hoping she would stop, hoping she would never stop.
And as quietly as if she was asking me if my dinner tasted good, "do you want him to use a condom, or do you want him to cum deep inside me?"
"Please Sara," I begged.
"Condom," a hard press of her foot, "or cum," another hard press of her foot.
"Sara!" Things were getting blurry for me.
"Condom or cum," she said. Salt or pepper, wine or beer. "Pick."
"Cum," I gasped, mouth dry, needing a drink, afraid to move my hands from where Sara ordered them to stay.
"Hmmm, cause you want me to come home filled, don't you? Dripping. You want me to make you beg to lick it up, sissy, like a good cum sucking sissy husband should?"
"Please, Sara."
She laughed. "Please yes, because you want to suck a man's cum from my pussy, or please no, that is disgusting?"
Massaging me through my panties, knowing me as she did, was there really any question?
"Please yes," I begged her.
"Good girl," she smiled, removing her foot from inside my pants. "Do you like the wine," she smiled, holding up her glass, "drink."
I quickly gulped down the glass of pinot noir, not even tasting the wine, simply using it to try to quench the fire inside me.
She looked at me, the smirk gone, genuine emotions in her eyes, "I love you," she whispered, completing her dominance of me.
We had to have dessert. I mean had to. I took me almost half an hour till I could get up from the table without drawing attention.
We rode home in silence, apparently both lost in our own thoughts, though my eyes kept moving, drawn to Sara's legs, her long, toned nyloned legs. Creature of habit, I think.
When we got home, I meekly went upstairs, hoping Sara would either stay downstairs and watch television, or come up and quickly fall asleep so I could masturbate and get all the tension out of me. I was, however, in for another surprise from her.
"Take your suit off and get on the bed," Sara ordered me when she followed me upstairs.
I went into the bedroom, undressed, down to my lingerie, and felt a touch of self consciousness standing there before Sara, half dressed, while she stood in front of me completely dressed.
"Lie down," she ordered, moving to the dresser, opening a drawer and removing the padded leather cuffs she kept there. Moving to one side of the bed, she leaned over towards me. "Hands over your head, quickly," she growled. I knew better than to say anything now, at this point, she was so far into domineering mode. She quickly cuffed my hands to the headboard, a position I'd become quite familiar with.
I watched her move back to the dresser, reach in, and take out her strap on dildo. My heart leapt into my throat. She walked to the foot of the bed, reached down, lifted her dress over her head, and stood there before me, in black lingerie, a vision of dominant beauty. She reached to her hips, wiggled out of her panties, threw them up, to me, towards my face. They landed on my chest, short of my face, but the smell was overwhelming, the dampness, the musk, the scent of Sara, of sex.
I looked up from the panties, to Sara. She was looking at the dresser, at the dildo sitting ominously there, the ever hard dildo, always big, always ready, always stiff, always wanting to invade.
Sara reached down with her right hand and began rubbing herself, the wetness covering her hand. "I want to fuck you so bad," she growled, still staring at the dildo. Rather than walk to the dresser though, she moved right to the bed, to me, her right hand going to my mouth, shoved it in, made me suck the juices off her hand just to breath.
She kissed my neck. No, that's not right. She bit my neck, attached my neck, my vampire.
She climbed on top of me, her damp pussy resting on my panties, on the small but hard lump inside, humping it, her clit riding it while she continued to bite at my neck. She was ravishing me, she was hungry, an animal, on fire, scaring me.
Then she did something I didn't see coming. I assumed that the dildo was the fucking she intended to do, that she was going to take my ass again as before. Sara, though, had another plan. I always underestimate Sara.
Instead of the big silicone cock, instead of buckles and hardness, Sara reached down to my panties and pulled them down, over my cock, the waistband down around the base, her pussy resting on the tip of my cock.
"Sara, what are you doing, Dr. Nelson...," I protested. Amazingly, I
was actually protesting. I remembered Dr. Nelson's warning. Once I started hormones, my cock could get hard, but not hard enough to fuck. In fact she specifically warned us that I could get hurt, I would not be hard enough to take it, it could bend, hurting me.
Sara said nothing, but slowly, agonizingly slowly, lowered her warm, wet pussy down over my cock. I actually felt it bend a little. Dr. Nelson was right, this could be painful, even dangerous. "Should I stop," Sara whispered in my ear, clenching her pussy as she spoke, squeezing my half hard, half limp cock.
"Ohhhhh," I moaned.
"Do you want the dildo instead," she teased, moving her hips up ever so slightly, squeezing, and lowering herself again just prior to the point where I would have bent and been in pain. "Are you afraid, my cuckold? Afraid your cock is too small and too soft to be inside me?" She rotated a tad to the right, putting a different friction on me.
"Should I get off, lover? You could get hurt, your little clitty might bend," she joked, squeezing again. Sara began to fuck me without fucking me. She didn't move up and down on my cock, but instead rocked back and forth, making friction, bending me slightly, even hurting a little, but also sending wave after wave of sexual energy through my body.
"Don't worry about me, lover," she whispered in my ear, "I'll have Steve's cock inside me next weekend. That's a cock I can ride up and down without worry."
At that moment I exploded, the orgasm that had been building up inside me since dinner, erupted, violently, as I shook, tugged, almost wept. Sara knew, kept whispering, "yes, that excites you love, knowing a real cock will be inside me, inside your wife, fucking me, actually bringing me to orgasm."
We lay there, Sara still squeezing her pussy, squeezing every last drip of cum from me. "I love you," she whispered in my ear. I just smiled, coming down from my orgasm, the energy seeping away, my libido seeping away, shocked by what happened, to tell the truth.
A Change in Our Marriage - The Sissy Cuckold Page 23
