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From: nostrumo@nienor.IN-Berlin.DE (Nostrumo)
Subject: New TG: The New Secretary   by Amy Brett  (07/11)
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Hi.

  This nifty submission is not included yet, but it will be in next
one during the upcoming weekend. This story is a refelction of the
current jobmarket and conclusions which may occur under strange and
rare situations. So folks be happy if you had a job.

  As usual I DIDN'T write this story and haven't any claim on it. If
you have some usefull hints or some good coments, your mail is then
welcome. Flames, you know, they will be piped to /dev/null.

  If you are an author and wish to remain anonymouns or just try to
avoid the replies to your work. I offer you the chance of posting your
stories and collecting the response for you. This offer only stands for
story postings and for nothing else.

Enjoy the story.

Ciao
	Nostrumo

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> cut here with a sharp knife <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

_The_New_Secretary_______________________________________by_Amy_Brett_ 7



That left only the medium height black sandals that showed my painted
toenails, and bracelet, necklace, and earrings.  I posed for myself and
thought I looked great.

The rest of the girls thought I looked good, too, and Margaret just sat
looking at me with a grin on her face that said, as clearly as she could,
that she was proud of how far I'd come.

A drink relaxed me as I waited for seven o'clock.

                                * * *

I walked up the curving sidewalk through the forest of trees in Bill's front
yard and rang the doorbell.  The house was a single story Tudor styled house
with a gable above the door that made it look more impressive than its
modest size.

The door opened and Bill's eyes rose from my feet to my face, taking
everything in and breaking into a spreading grin.  He wore a pair of tan
cotton pants, moccasins, and a shiny white tee-shirt.  His hair was freshly
washed and casually loose.  I thought he looked great.

"Come in," he said, opening the door the rest of the way for me.  "Welcome
to my humble castle."

"Thanks," I said and went into a nice foyer, the floor covered with red
pavers and large tropical plants sitting in just the right places.

"You look wonderful." He made me believe by the way his eyes almost bulged
as he looked at the cleavage.  "It's all yours, isn't it?"

"Uh huh.  Nothing fake or padded."

"Even your own hair, huh?" I smiled.

"Like it?"

"Very much.  I think you should forget about the wig.  Even at work.  Unless
this is too much work."

"No.  It's easy." I found myself fluffing it in a very feminine gesture.

He took me by surprise by closing the two feet between us, putting his arms
around me, and kissing me.  I accepted his tongue in my mouth almost
immediately.

I thought it was a quick welcoming kiss.  But, as it extended for more than
a minute, I thought it was more than that.  I'd set myself to accept a quick
kiss.  But as I felt it surging through my body, I found my ankle moving up
the back of his leg and feeling the heat of his body against me.  My insides
were vibrating with excitement before he suddenly stopped and looked into my
eyes from a few inches away.

"Welcome," he said.

"Do you greet all your guests that way?" I asked.

He smiled.

"We've got to cook.  Come on." He took my hand and led me into a kitchen
that could have been in House Beautiful.  Nice appliances of all sorts, a
center butcher block island, hanging copper pots, and bubbling pots on four
burners.  "Would you like a glass of wine or a drink?"

"A drink, please," I said.  "Scotch and water, I think."

He went to a countertop cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Chivas Regal,
added ice and cold water from a bottle in the refrigerator, and handed it to
me.

"Would you like to toss a salad or stir the sauce?" he asked.  I chose the
sauce and used the wooden spoon to stir the delicious smelling spaghetti
sauce as I sipped the drink and watched his tear up lettuce, cut up tomato
and cucumber, and pour an Italian dressing over the top to toss in.
Croutons and bacon bits made it look perfect.  I suppose pasta laden salads
or romaine lettuce are more "in" but this was exactly the salad I liked.

"Okay.  Turn that off and put the spaghetti in the pot next door there and
we'll be a few minutes away from eating.  The pasta is in that tall thing
next to the stove there."

When I looked in the tall canister I thought the spaghetti looked homemade.
Just a little more variation in length and widths than manufactured
spaghetti and it smelled different when I put some in the big pot.  It
melted down into the pot slowly and stopped the rolling boil.  I stirred it
all into the water before putting the lid back on.

Expertly, he poured the water off a vegetable (broccoli I learned as he
poured it on a platter and garnished it with cheese), poured the sauce into
a steaming bowl, and, finally, poured the spaghetti into a colander and then
another bowl.

"Can you bring something?" he asked as he picked up the vegetable and sauce.
I grabbed the other two and followed him into a sunroom on the back of the
house with a glass topped wrought iron table set for two.

He pulled out a softly covered wrought iron chair for me and held it as I
sat down.  Then he disappeared only to come back a minute later with the
salad and my drink.

In the few seconds, I had a chance to react to the plants all around me in
the room, the deep green grass of the back yard through tall windows, and
the mass of trees to the sides.  The sun was only slightly above the horizon
and I knew it would set in the time it took us to eat.  He sat down and
carefully opened a bottle of red wine, pouring a little in a wine glass and
swirling it before tasting it.

Damn he's good, I thought as I watched him sniff, taste, and nod to himself
before filling my glass.  The china was very large clean, white enamel with
a silver edge and matching salad plates.  My mouth was literally watering as
I dished out pasta for myself and watched him meting out salad to our
plates.

As I coated the pasta with sauce, he pushed over a silver cheese cup.  "I
grate my own Parmesan," he said.  "It's much better that way."

"You'll make someone a wonderful wife," I noted with a grin.  "Or chef.
I've never smelled anything so enticing."

He just nodded.

We ate almost silently, punctuated with my groans of pleasure, drank the
wine, and watched the sun set as if it were a big screen movie.

He just chuckled with each of my hundred exclamations about the food, the
view, and the wine.  As I finished a massive plate of spaghetti, he left
again and returned with small plates of Brie and a cheesecake.  In spite of
thinking I was much too full, I ate the cheese and two pieces of cheesecake
as well as helping him finish the bottle of wine.

It was almost dark when we finished and he got up.

He led me to a living room that sported another wall of windows into the
back yard, a fireplace, and the biggest screen TV I've ever seen.  We sat on
the couch as he used the remote to start a movie I hadn't seen but had heard
about.  It was a quiet romantic comedy.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said and I took my shoes off and curled my
legs up on the couch as he pulled me over against him.  We watched half the
movie before he turned me so I was laying across his lap, my head on his
arm, and his other hand in the middle of my stomach.

He kissed me again as the sex scene ended and had me panting by the time the
movie ended.  Except for our hard breathing, the house was silent as he
turned off the TV.

For a long time, he kissed me, his hand moving gently on my stomach.  He
didn't stop as his hand explored my naked thighs.  He didn't stop as his
hand stroked and caressed and cupped my breasts under the tee-shirt.  He
didn't stop as he pulled on my nipples and rolled the flesh that hadn't
itched in a month but did then.  He didn't stop as he pressed and
manipulated the spot between my legs and he didn't stop as his finger found
my carefully lubricated asshole.

Finally, after what could have been more than an hour, I couldn't stand it
anymore.

"Please Bill.  I need you to fuck me," I moaned throatily.  "Maybe if I get
on my knees."

"Huh uh," he said.

He stood up and waited for me to take his hand to pull me to my feet.  He
led the way through the house and deposited me at the dark opening of a room
as he went inside.  A soft light came on next to a massive canopied bed in a
room that seemed to soak up the meager light of the bedside light.  I went
to him and his hands went immediately to the hem of my tee-shirt so he could
move it up and off as I held my arms above my head.

He kissed me as he located the zipper on the skirt, lowered it, and dropped
it to the floor.  I started to take off his tee-shirt as well but he
intercepted me, flicking it off over his head as my hands went to the
waistband of his pants.  They dropped to the floor before he tossed the
tee-shirt to the side.

Now he was as excited as I was as he stepped out of his pants and lifted me
onto the edge of the bed.

I scooted up the rest of the way as he took off his underwear, his long cock
dropping out as if to point to me.

I turned over onto my stomach, making myself available to him, but he
crawled onto the bed with me and turned me to face him, his mouth covering
mine as I lay back into the quilt cover and pillows.

Almost wildly, he sucked on my nipples as I moaned and rolled on the bed
under him.  Then he was lifting my legs wide.  He didn't have to use his
hands to find my asshole with his hard cock.  It seemed to find it by itself
and was inside me before I had time to anticipate or to react.

The slow pressure of it further and further into me rolled me onto my
shoulders with my now sensitive nipples pressed into his slightly hairy
chest.  My moan escalated until his pubic hair tickled my newly shaved
pubis.  My ankles locked behind the middle of his back.

He began long, slow strokes that almost removed him from me before extending
into my throat from below.  Or at least that's what it felt like.  He took
it upward slowly slowly increasing the length of the stroke and the speed
until I could hear myself squealing with the pleasure of it.

We came together, growling and moaning and groaning and coming and coming
and coming.  He collapsed covering me completely, my ankles locked behind
his knees.

Obviously, that wasn't the last time he fucked me that night or the only
method.

He fucked me from behind.  Once, when I'd cleaned up our combined messes, I
sucked him and was soon being sucked by him at the same time.

We fell asleep in each others' arms and woke the same way.  He wouldn't take
his arm out from around me until he'd fucked me again in the morning.

He made eggs, bacon, small pancakes, hash browns, and lots of coffee while I
sat, totally naked, and watched.  His dessert was me pressed face down on
his breakfast nook table.

After a shower and thorough cleaning with the bidet in his massive bathroom,
he used his tongue on what he called his "pussy." That was certainly the
first time I ever came that way.



16. Chapter


At our three month checkup, I measured 36 (my old chest size), 24 (a very
tight waist and flat stomach), 37 (with what Bill called "baby" hips and
"the best butt in the business").  I filled out my C-cup lace bras without
help and my hair was below my shoulders slightly.  My nipples were large and
erect most of the time rising from areolas that swelled like breasts on top
of breasts.

My posture had changed to accommodate the new weight distribution, my
shoulders back and back straight.  I did things with my legs naturally that
Bill said turned him on as he watched me from his office and didn't even
think about it.

I'd improved my wardrobe with new additions for every occasion and more than
a little help from Bill, who went on my shopping trips on several weekend
days.

Similarly, Paula had her appointment and displayed her very real B-cup
breasts which had surpassed her "fantasy" A-cup breast forms, and measured a
very cute 34-21-33.  Sleeping with her, now at my apartment, I knew from
experience that her nipples were larger than mine and seemed more sensitive
even though mine were more than sensitive enough.  At least she could drive
me out of my mind licking them and had, on more than one occasion, driven me
to orgasms sucking me.

Michelle, who was still living with Margaret, had earned her B-cups as well
and started dating one of the guys in finance.

After the appointment, Paula told me she thought she might be falling in
love with the doctor's finger and we both laughed.

That afternoon, Bill slowly and seductively stripped me naked and made love
to me in the middle of his soft office carpet until we both came twice.

He dropped my vertical rib knit dress over my head and helped me into my
shoes as I tried to hold the mass of come in my bowels with a handful of
Kleenex.  His "suggestion" was that I forget about underwear and I spent the
rest of the afternoon playing Sharon Stone for him as he looked up my short
skirt and watched my breasts bounce every time I moved.

He insisted that I go out with him that night, dressed exactly as I was.  We
went to one of the very nice restaurants in town, dancing for an hour or so
in a lounge in the hotel, and then to his house.  He had my skirt around my
waist in the car before we got to his house and my dress off before we'd
left his foyer.

If I hadn't run for his bed, the first time would have been in a hallway.

The next morning, we went on a quick shopping trip that gained me the
smallest, tightest white shorts and half tee I've ever seen.  And a pair of
heels that were little more than a few leather strings to provide the most
basic support.

Then, as if it were an attempt to unmask me, he took me everywhere he could
think of to show me off to the greatest number of people.  We went to the
zoo.  We went to the park.  We went to the lake and watched the people water
ski and sunbathe and play frisbee until he decided we should do that too.
He got a particular charge out of throwing high and making me stretch to
catch the whirling disk and at least partially display my breasts.
Certainly to bounce them so much that my nipples were sore from rubbing on
the tee-shirt material.

Daylight in the car sitting in the parking lot, he licked them to do away
with the soreness.  Maybe it even worked.  It certainly seemed to work for
the twelve year olds who walked by and watched, wide eyed.

He got me home by ten but it was only because I insisted on sleeping in my
own bed, so my work clothes would be close, and because we had both had
enough sex to last us.

                                * * *

Bill had to go to a meeting with a big prospective client in Washington, DC.
He asked me to go with him but I knew that I'd be a distraction and so did
he.  He also knew that he wouldn't have much time for us to be alone.  So he
went alone.

Monday, Roger asked Paula to go out with him for the first time on Friday.
They had a relationship that had lasted since the first week we'd worked at
the company.  But they'd never dated.

Paula had been so excited all week that she was like a little girl.  And
then, as far as she was concerned, disaster struck.  Roger's brother came to
town unexpectedly Thursday night.

"Amy?" Paula said at lunch.  "You know that Sam, Roger's brother, is in town
right?" I nodded.  "Well, Roger doesn't want to leave him alone on their
first night together for a long time.  I guess he lives in New York and they
only get to see each other about once a year." I nodded again.

"Well, Roger says that the only way we can still go out tonight is if I can
get somebody to go out with his brother.  I thought that since Bill is out
of town, maybe you'd go out with Sam."

I spent the rest of the lunch telling her why I couldn't, shouldn't, and
wouldn't go out with him.  She came up with different reasoning for each of
my objections and finally did the best impression of a basset hound I've
ever seen.  The big, sad brown eyes did me in.

That, and the first real opportunity I'd had to really dress up.

                                * * *

After work, we raced home and began a mad dash of baths, hair setting,
makeup, and dressing.  I chose black lace panties and garter belt with
sheer, lightly black tinted stockings, and a little black dress with a
halter top and bare back.  Dangly fake diamond earrings, dinner rings, and
bracelet with an ankle bracelet set off the black swede city pumps with
three inch heels.

Paula chose a red silk halter top connected to loose pants, with red panties
and heels so high I felt sorry for her.  Her auburn hair was down onto her
back then.

When the guys picked us up, they looked very professional in dark three
piece suits, white shirts and power ties.

Sam was younger than Roger and where I thought Roger looked the part of a
Chief Financial Officer a little stuffy, only about 5'11" and a little heavy
his brother looked like one of those European soccer stars playing
businessman for a night.

He's probably 6'3" and weighs a nicely shaped muscular 190.  The European
impression comes from long, loose blond hair, a small, neatly trimmed
mustache, and huge smile.  His blue eyes looked me up and down three times
before he said anything.  And that was almost breathless.

"Roger told me you were good looking," he said.  "But he didn't tell me the
half of it." His eyes sparkled.

"Sam should know," Roger said.  "He's one of the best plastic surgeons in
the 'rich' section of New York and if there's a beautiful woman he hasn't
worked on, they just haven't heard of him yet."

I offered a drink before we left but the men decided that we should have one
before dinner and the reservations were less than an hour off.

We got our bags and I shivered with the feel of Sam's hand in the small of
my back as he guided me to the midnight blue Mercedes Roger drove.  The
first time I wondered if this was such a good idea was after Sam had
carefully watched my legs as I got into the back seat and Roger took Paula
in his arms in the front seat and kissed her for long enough that I wondered
if he intended to make the reservation or not.

Sam was as uncomfortable watching them as I was and made a good attempt at
distracting me with questions about work and personal life as we waited for
the car to even move.

Just when I was thinking about suggesting it, Roger put the car in gear and
soon delivered us to the downtown bank building where the restaurant they'd
chosen was.  The glassed elevator they led us to was in the open lobby of
the bank and rose through four stories inside above a guard's head that was
craned upward to look under my skirt the entire time before it seemed to go
through the roof and into the open air above the city.  I found myself
pressed back against Sam just to get away from the vertiginous drop outside
the glass.

I'd heard of the restaurant but had never been to it because it was much too
expensive.  Roger checked on the reservations before leading us all into the
lounge.

The place was moody with low lights set so they didn't reflect in the
magnificent windows that overlooked the city.  The room was long and only a
few tables deep with the long bar at the top of a set of tiers that allowed
everyone a great view.  Two or three couples were dancing to a subdued dance
band at the far end, made up of a muted guitar, keyboard, and drummer.

The crowd, who seemed to all be looking at us, were a mixture of older,
obviously rich people, middle aged businessmen alone or in groups, and a few
younger people on "special" dates.  I noticed three tables where older, gray
haired men sat with young, extremely beautiful women.  Sugar daddies, I
thought.

The guys ordered for us and we talked softly, Sam sharing a little about his
practice and life in New York, while we sipped at drinks.  About half an
hour later, when the maitre 'd told us our table was ready, we made our way
back up the steps and then into the other half of the rooftop that was set
up somewhat similarly but wider and lighted by candles everywhere you
looked.

The table linens were dark red and made the sparkling silver, crystal, and
white china stand out.

We ordered from a huge menu and had our third drinks while we waited.  I'd
had two gin and tonics and, for some reason, thought a martini sounded like
a good idea.  Needless to say, before the salad got there, I was starting to
giggle.  And I never giggle.  I pride myself on not giggling, in fact.  And
when I wasn't giggling on general principles, we were all laughing as Sam
told stories about the old ladies he made beautiful, fading Broadway stars,
up and coming starlets with big noses, and breast augmentations for
strippers.

The food was wonderful, prepared at an open grill above the rest of the
restaurant, and the three bottles of wine Roger got us set it off perfectly.
I thought the wine probably cost about the equal of my weekly paycheck.

Paula had never had Crepes Suzette so we all had them along with an orange
flavored after dinner drink that was good.

After we finished, we went back into the lounge and had a good time deciding
what to order to drink.  Paula and I ended up with drinks that came in
brandy snifters and tasted like orange sherbet but that you could feel go to
your head immediately.

For a while, the band played a mixture of things that were sort of upbeat
and we danced all sorts of dances I've never even thought of trying before.
Sam really knew what he was doing and had me feeling like I was really
coordinated.  He just didn't give me a chance to step wrong because he led
so well.

We danced a couple, sat one out and drank a drink, dance, drank, and got
drunker and drunker, I think.  Even with the exercise.

Then the music changed to slow and sensual and so did Sam's dance style.
There was just something very sensual about having his big hand in the small
of my bare back and rubbing my barely covered nipples across the lapels of
his suit coat.

He talked directly into my ear from a fraction of an inch away, exciting me
with his warm breath.  He held me tight and moved perfectly in sync with the
music.  Everything felt wonderful and looked wonderful.  His leg pressing
between my legs was stimulating.  The hardness I felt against my hip was
stimulating.

When he kissed me on the dance floor the first time, it made the hair at the
back of my neck tingle with excitement and goose bumps run up and down my
spine.  When he kissed me again and his tongue sought my throat, I thought I
might come right there.  By the end of the dance, I was oxygen staved from
my panting.

I think when we finished our drinks and got back into the glass elevator,
his arms around my ribcage from behind and his hardness pressed into my ass,
I would have done anything he wanted.

Strangely, we were kissing as I was turned almost facing backward, leaning
against his knees in the back seat of the Mercedes, when I realized this was
dangerous and that someone else was about to learn the secret I'd kept so
well over the months.

I wondered if I cared as both his hands went under the halter top and
covered my breasts, kneading and squeezing them as I sucked his tongue.  But
I decided it wasn't fair to him to let him go on.  At least without knowing.

"Sam," I moaned.  He kissed my neck under my ear as I turned away from
letting him kiss my mouth again.  "You ...  let me ...  I've got to tell
you."

"Roger told me," he whispered in my ear.

"But " I started.

"He told me all about you and Paula.  And about you and Bill.  I know," he
said, looking into my eyes.  "Remember?  I'm a doctor, too.  If Roger hadn't
said something, I would have seen probably.

"Quite a lot of my business comes off 42nd Street.  I've done several
surgeries for ..." he stopped and looked into my eyes "For beautiful women
to be.  That's what I've always called them.  And you're not a beautiful
woman to be.  You're beautiful, dazzling, now."

He kissed my neck and shoulders and jawline as if to let his words sink in.

"And I'm going to be here for the weekend.  Not for your life.  I know you
are involved with someone and I don't care.  And you shouldn't either."

As that was sinking in, we stopped at a big house in an exclusive part of
town I thought was a few blocks from Bill's and Roger turned off the car and
went around to let Paula out.  He looked over the seat at us and said, "You
guys coming in or do you prefer my back seat?"

Sam slid across the seat as I got turned around, opened the door, and gave
me and hand out.  We caught up with them, Paula leaning on Roger's shoulder
and holding his arm as he unlocked the front door.

"If you'd like a drink or some romantic music, Sam knows where it is.
Right, man?" he said to Sam now.  "You'll excuse us.  We have something to
do."

Paula's heels clicked on the marble staircase that curved up to the second
floor of the house.  Sam grinned at me and led me into a formal living room
as they disappeared.

I don't know what I expected but what happened was beyond anything that had
happened to me before.

He guided me, his hand trembling slightly in the middle of my back, into the
room where he flicked on the lights of four floor lamps around the room.  I
guess I expected a tour of the place or to be led to the long white couch or
any of a dozen other possibilities.

What I didn't expect was that he led me to the back of a heavily upholstered
white chair, moved behind me, and lifted my skirt.

"I knew you'd be wearing black lace," he said as his hands went to my
panties after tucking the back of my short skirt into my garter belt.  My
hands on the back of the chair, I wondered exactly what was going on as he
whisked the black lace down my legs in a quick motion.

I looked over my shoulder in shock.  It had happened so quickly that I don't
think I could have done anything about it.  Even if I wasn't fairly drunk
and very hot from all the stimulation in the car.  As I wondered what I
should do, his hands covered the globes of my ass, his thumbs pulling my
cheeks wide apart.

My hands slipped forward down the back of the chair as I fell forward, his
tongue diving into my asshole.

"Oh!  Ah!  Sam!  My God!" I gasped as his long tongue sought out my
prostate, extending and retreating, extending and retreating until I was
vibrating at the edge of orgasm.

As suddenly as he'd done it, he stopped.  Cross-eyed with it all, I looked
back again and saw that he'd pulled down his suit pants without even
unbuttoning his coat.  His cock was long and fat, dripping from the sheath
of uncircumcised skin.  The tails of his white shirt were open around it as
he aimed it at my waiting hole and, with steady pressure, opened me to it,
retreated quickly, pressed again, retreated and was finally against my ass
and fully inside me.

One more thrust and I would have climaxed.  But he stopped and, bent over
me, unfastened the back of the halter top and pulled it away from my
dangling breasts.  His hands went under my breasts, his thumbs and index
fingers finding my nipples.

As I looked with surprised interest, he did what I don't think very many men
in the world can do.  Holding me back against his chest, he lifted me
upright then free of the chair back, my feet almost a foot above the floor.

He took several steps to one side with me where there was a bare expanse of
interior brick wall and pressed me against it.  My hands at the sides of my
face caught us.  He switched his hands, one at a time, from my breasts to my
knees, holding my legs wide.  I was pressed, the inside of my knees, my
breasts, and my hands, against the cool brick, as he began to piston into me
hard and fast, lifting me with each thrust.

I came hard, splashing the inside of my black skirt, and almost screaming
with the excitement and release of it.  That transmitted to his cock that
spasmed and filled my insides.

He grunted with each blast of hot come into me and held me up before
retreating a little and doing it again.

"Oh my God!" I gasped at the intensity and wildness of our act.  This time,
when he lifted my legs he retreated from my hole before carefully guiding
one foot down to the floor where I could support myself and lower the other
leg.

Still leaning against me, he unzipped the short zipper down my ass and freed
my dress to fall around my ankles.  Never letting me go, he put his arm
around my back, twisted, and had my legs at the back of my knees, lifting me
easily.

He didn't strain in the least as he carried me halfway across the room and
lay me down on my back on the soft rug.  Since I could see what was
happening now, I wasn't surprised at all when he lifted my legs and slid
back into me again.

"I'm going ...  to do ...  your surgery," he gasped between thrusts.  I
wondered what he meant and whether that was the plan right now as his huge
cock tried to cut me in two.

He kissed me as we came together.



17. Chapter


His legs were behind mine, mine spread wide as he explained what he planned
to do to me.

"What you do is make an incision from here to here," he said as his
fingernail traced from a point below the head of my little dick to the front
of my scrotum.  "You remove the cartilage and the testes and vas deferens.
Then, inside the scrotum, you make an incision here." He pressed between my
legs.

"It's almost as easy then as turning the whole thing inside out, putting a
few stitches along the deepest point and nesting the nerve bundle of the
penis in a labial trench."

"Sounds easy to me.  I'm sure there's a kitchen knife around," I said with a
laugh.  He laughed with me.

"Okay.  So it's not so easy but that's the easiest part that any cutter can
do.  Where the art comes in the part I've founded my business on is the
cosmetic.  Moving a little fat into this area and this area to build up a
perfect labial trench, reducing the clitoral surface to a believable size
while maintaining the full nerve bundle, building the vaginal sheath to the
proper size and shape, and finally building a believable labia minora with
this material." He was playing with my balls.

"So would it be big enough for this?" I said, taking his big cock in my hand
and stroking him.

"As big as you want.  If you want one big enough for an eighteen incher
though, you're going to loose some skin from your hip or buttocks."

"How long does it take?"

"The surgery?" I nodded.  "About three hours if you're as good as I am."

"And before you get out of the hospital?"

"Couple of days but you'll probably want to stay in bed for a week if you've
got someone to take care of you."

"Before it's usable?"

"Another week if you don't mind a little pain mixed with your pleasure," he
chuckled.  "Realistically?  Probably a month from the first cut.  The better
and faster the surgeon, the faster the recovery.  And I'm the best."

"Did you take lessons from Mohamed Ali?"

"I am the greatest!" he mimicked.  "But I am.  Hands down.  I've done it a
dozen times and, so far, I haven't had a single long term trauma."

"Meaning nobody's been out for a week?"

"Meaning that nobody's felt real bad for long and the nerve bundle is
preserved.  Some surgeons screw up the nerve bundle so bad there's either no
feeling left, it's misplaced, or it's to sensitive or not sensitive enough."
He took a deep breath.

"But you'll get to see first hand before I do you," he added.

"What?"

"Yeah.  This is sort of a busman's holiday.  I have the weekend to visit
dear old Roger and then Monday morning we make sweet little Paula all the
woman she's ever wanted to be."

"What!" I exclaimed.  "Does she know that?"

"Of course.  I've had this trip planned for a while but the timing was
around the operating theater availability Monday.  She and Roger have been
talking to me for weeks, more or less."

I wondered why she hadn't told me about it.

"Anyway.  Right now, I have something else in mind."

"What's that?" I asked.

"First I'm going to suck your tits until they're sore and then I want to see
what my dick looks like when I fuck them." I gulped.

"Can I go to the bathroom first so I don't mess up Roger's carpet?"

"Yeah.  But leave it good and slippery," he said with a chuckle.  "I'll mix
you a drink while you're gone."

"Okay.  But am I going to have time to drink it?"

"Maybe later."

                                * * *

Monday morning, Bill was back and I told him about Paula.  Since, he said,
it would take him a while to get his feet back on the ground, he told me to
go to the hospital and see how it was going.  When I got there, Roger was
already there waiting and, within fifteen minutes, Sam came out in his green
outfit.

As soon as he took off his mask, I could tell it was all going to be okay.
His smile went from ear to ear.

"She's okay?" I asked.

"Of course.  The Picasso of plastic surgery has performed," he said.

"I would have rather you'd said Michelangelo," Roger said.

"What, you didn't want three of those cute little tits?  Now you tell me."

"Can we see her?" I asked.

"About half an hour.  I waited until she came out of the anesthetic so she's
awake.  But it'll take a few minutes before she's ready for company.  Even
you guys.  And then it can only be a few minutes cause she needs some
sleep."

He sat and talked to us in all too graphic detail, telling us about the
surgery.  Then a nurse came out and said she'd been moved to a room and was
awake.

When we went into the room, she tried to sit up a little and winced but a
smile came quickly.  Sam took her wrist and looked at his watch to check her
heartbeat as Roger took her other hand.  I kissed her and asked how she was.

"I think I'm okay.  Ask Sam," she said.

"You're better than okay.  You're perfect," he said.

"Right now, I don't feel anything.  That even includes my legs."

"That's from the block we gave you.  Waist down for another couple of hours.
But it'll come back like gangbusters and when it does, the nurse will give
you a couple of pills.  Some sleep will take care of the rest of it."

"You said well, that I'm perfect."

"Of course.  Just like I told you.  Most girls have to depend on mother
nature.  Mother Sam makes pussies to order.  Everything in its place and a
place for everything.

"Most girls hope for some feeling down there and it varies from too much to
too little.  A lucky percentage have just the right amount.

"And some girls have clits that are the perfect size or maybe a little large
to allow the maximum pleasure.  All my girls have nice large ones you can
get your fingers around."

We laughed.

"Some girls have a puss you could drive a truck in but can't feel a normal
guy.  Some have one so small and tight that it's an effort to take anyone.
My girls are just right.  Tight enough to give you a thrill and deep and
flexible enough to take what's necessary."

He turned to Roger and I.

"I'll warn you that about two hours from now, she's going to feel like
somebody kicked her.  Hard.  And that'll probably last for a while, though
it will lessen as the day wears on.

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