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Subject: {ASSM} A Place of her Own by Vickie Tern 10/10 TG F/m Femdom
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{Vickie Tern} NEW TG: A Place of Her Own 10/10, F/m, M/M etc, femdom
This story depicts sexual activity of various sorts among consenting
if sometimes also credulous and deceived adults. If you are not a
consenting adult don't read it, no matter how credulous or deceived.
It's not for you. Not yet.
x.
Three months later I was fully healed, and Sal and I lived together
in my condo apartment and regularly made love as man and woman.
Tracy's apartment was sold to another couple, the wife a treasure
of gourmet recipes, sprightly advice, and delicious gossip about
everyone else in the building. We became dear friends.
Gradually Sal acted less and less swish -- it was no longer
necessary -- while I learned to act more and more feminine. Our
passion sustained itself. Now and then one of us brought home a
monster cock attached to a hunk of a man, and then we'd both stuff
ourselves with him as if he were a Thanksgiving turkey! Or we
were. Our love ripened.
When Sal's divorce became final we married each other in a small
ceremony. I did wear Trish's gown after all, because I'd wanted to
ever since I first saw her in it, the day we were married. That
had been a hopeless fantasy, but now it finally came true.
Everyone told me I looked lovely! I was so happy! I knew I should
have felt grateful to Trish for all she'd done for me, but we
deliberately scheduled the wedding for a time when we knew Trish
had to be out of town. She'd done more than enough!
I went back to work for Trish's law firm. Sal negotiated a
non-exclusive services contract restricted to Trish's Magnum
operation, and I kept my own clients in a new consulting firm Sal
and I quietly set up. Trish introduced me to a few other people in
the firm as my sister, and no one questioned it, not even those who
had known Andy. Georgy put the make on me and had to be scraped
off several times before a senior partner warned him about sexual
harassment and he gave up. Rumors spread around the company and in
my former neighborhood that Andy was dead, killed tragically in an
industrial accident in Saudi Arabia. Trish and I both wore black
ostentatiously for a few weeks, but our dresses were so fashionable
and mine so provocative that no one who didn't know could imagine
that we were in mourning.
My new work for Trish was what she called troubleshooting, but it
was really fucking and sucking trade secrets out of engineers who
worked for the Magnum Company's competition, and sometimes
persuading Magnum production engineers to cooperate with other
engineers who had better ideas. I offered them certain
compensating satisfactions.
Whatever she asked, I did. It gave her special gratification, she
once told me, knowing that her former husband was now her personal
whore on assignment, ready to sleep with anyone on call from her.
It gave her a special feeling of power, she said. She loved it.
She'd have made me her personal maid and sex slave and not ended
our marriage, she told me one day meditatively, and maybe not even
tricked me all the way into femininity, if I'd been a more
submissive husband to her, more into bondage, more eager to feel
humiliated. She was a control freak, and made no apologies about
it, now.
But she'd detected no masochistic or self-abasing tendencies in me,
and what shame I felt that I wanted to look feminine evaporated
when my first cross dressing convention taught me pride. Now, she
said, ordering me onto various men's pricks by whatever orifice
they chose was enough to satisfy her. She enjoyed calling me in to
brief me for my next assignment, informing me for example whether
the man I was expected to seduce -- sometimes the woman --
preferred me regal or slutty, aloof or eager, and telling me what
she wanted done with them.
Frankly, I enjoyed the work. I liked manipulating various men to
my own purposes. I'd describe what I did with these people to Sal
when I got home, so he could enjoy it too. And as we planned,
little by little our consulting firm signed up the cleverest and
most imaginative of the engineers I slept with, one by one
enlarging our client pool and our ability to service it.
Unnoticed, we became one of the best-regarded new companies in the
industry.
Until one day on a late Friday afternoon Trish called me with an
odd assignment. "Amy," she said. "It seems that there's a new
firm of consulting engineers in town seriously threatening the
Magnum corporation's growth curve. It's headed by a husband and
wife team I'm told. See if you can get into the man's pants and
get their client list from them. Then we can mount an offensive to
recover the clients we've lost and pick up some others. It won't
be hard, once they know that their new consulting firm doesn't keep
client lists confidential."
"I know something about them," I said. "We need to talk. I can
stop by your house tomorrow. Around eleven in the morning? Or
will you still be here in Madison?"
I knew that she spent weekends in the house we'd formerly shared.
This would be my first visit to my former neighborhood since that
Saturday months earlier when Trish had felt up my breasts and first
proposed this job to me, and then expedited my journey into full
womanhood.
I stopped at CurlyGirly en route to consult with Janie. "I need to
be read as a man in a dress," I told her. "I want to blow my cover
to anyone. At a glance. Can you help me?"
"These days it isn't easy with you, honey," she replied. "With all
those hormones doing their things, you have all the right curves
for a woman, and none of the crags. But that tight blouse with big
boobs helps. We'll make them even bigger. The satin mini and net
stockings are perfect. Put a tear or two into the stockings
though. And you'll need stiletto heels, 'fuck me' pumps of the
kind no woman wears any more. Dressed like that on an ordinary
street, no one will think you're real! Never mind your hairdo --
we'll cover it with a Drag Queen wig bigger than a beach ball. No
earrings or eye makeup, but use too much lipstick. That ought to
do it. Can you recall how you used to walk? Slouching, lots of
shoulder?"
"No," I said. "But I'll fake up something."
It amused Janie to put make-up on me emphasizing a broad face and
square jaw. The result was as persuasively masculine as my first
face had been feminine after my first CurlyGirly visit. I hugged
her in gratitude. "Just lovely!" I said.
"No, not at all lovely," she replied, amused. "Remember to lower
your voice."
Arriving in my old neighborhood, I went straight to the local
supermarket. "How are you, Mrs. Svenson," I said to the first
person I recognized. "You remember me? Andy? Tricia's husband?
I went to Saudi Arabia? I'm back now."
She looked at me peculiarly. "You've changed," she said.
"Yes, I'm a girl now. I was away from my wife for so long that I
decided one day while masturbating that I should become my wife.
So that's what I did! Now I don't miss her any more when I'm
away."
"Humph!" she said. "Does your wife know about this? Have you told
her? Tricia?"
"Oh, yes! She encourages me! She loved it when I grew these!"
"She does? She did? Humph!" Mrs. Svenson replied, hurrying to
get away.
A few more chance meetings in the mall, and a few neighbors where
I rang doorbells asking to borrow back tools they'd borrowed from
me, and Andy's reputation and Trish's respectability in the
neighborhood were permanently ruined. It would get back to Trish's
superiors by Monday I was sure, and the Magnum company's board
would know almost immediately afterward that their General Counsel
plays perverted sex games in public with her husband. As Trish had
forecast long before, she would be on another assignment by
Tuesday. Something much more modest than overseeing Magnum
affairs.
When I arrived at my former home, Trish looked at me closely.
"You look like a man in drag," she said abruptly.
"I still am, in some ways," I replied.
"Well, that's no longer my concern. Just be sure you dress
properly on the job, and don't loiter in the neighborhood when you
leave here." She then repeated her instructions to me: seduce the
husband and get their client list, and she gave me their office
address. One of her people had suborned one of our secretaries to
get additional information about Sal and me. I made a mental note
to fire her.
"I know this company, Trish. In fact I'm already into the
husband's pants," I said. "He's very affectionate, but he's very
honest with his wife. He keeps nothing secret from her."
Trish looked surprised. "He does? Then he's a fool. Does he tell
her about you? What you two do together?"
"He doesn't have to. She already knows about me!"
A slow grin spread across Trish's face. "You minx!" she said.
"You're balling both of them together, aren't you?"
"If I fuck him, his wife gets fucked too, Trish. That's the deal.
That's how it is!"
"People never cease to amaze me," Trish said. "They swing? Can we
blackmail them into giving up their client list?"
"It wouldn't work," I said. "I've thought about it. There's
nothing they do they're ashamed of."
"How about sleeping with a transvestite? You could dress
carelessly, the way you are now, and spread the word. Take a few
pictures for evidence. Threaten to post them on the company
bulletin board."
"That might work. I'm trying a threat very much like that on
someone else right now. Spreading the word through the
neighborhood. We'll see if it destroys any reputations." Then I
asked as if it were an afterthought, "Do you expect to be fucked
this weekend, Trish?"
"That's none of your business any more, Amy."
"No. But I bet you will be. I'll call you Tuesday."
I drove directly home and changed into a more appropriate dress and
made my face decent, then told Sal what I'd been asked to do, and
what I'd done.
"You're wicked!" he said. "What if I did that to you! Dressed up
in women's clothes and pranced about the neighborhood ruining our
reputation as a respectable married couple! Even if only your
reputation in this building!"
"What if you did, Sally?" I said in a playful, lilting tone of
voice. I felt an unaccustomed thrill stir deep inside me. He had
a small, thin face. With the right makeup my Sal would look
gorgeous! Would my wedding gown fit him?
"What if you did, honey?" I asked, watching his face closely.
"Would you find it exciting?"
FIN
(end, 10/10)
(c) 1999 by Vickie Tern (VickieTern@AOL.COM, all comments welcomed).
May be copied to free archives, but do let me know!
VickieTern@AOL.COM
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are their only payment. Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is
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