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From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {VickieTern} New TG: Dolls 7/9 F/m M/M F/f femdom
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{VickieTern} New TG: Dolls  7/9   F/m M/M F/f femdom

I'll appreciate knowing what you think of this:VickieTern@AOL.COM

Other Vickie Tern stories are archived in http://www.fictionmania.com  and
http://library.gaycafe.com/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Vickie_Tern
I'll appreciate knowing what you think of any of these too, if you can still 
write after reading them.


If you shouldn't be reading this, don't.  






     Her husband became part of this pattern of repetitive days. 
He was supposedly a hard-driving, energetic man of achievement, but
she knew she had married him for his manageability, and because at
her age one married, and because he came on so very much male, with
his heavy beard, golf, and tennis, with his eye gleaming as his
calculations trounced the oppositiuon.  At first she was excited to
think of him as a trophy, handsome, successful at whatever he
attempted, wealthy enough in his own right to be uninterested in
her money, the most eligible bachelor to cross into her social set
in many years.  But he had little wit, and no conversation.  He had
a direct approach to people that worked or didn't work, while her
approaches were always devious and self-amusing, and always worked. 
He was admirable, she concluded reluctantly, but like all men
sooner or later boring.  Even sex with him, with his muscular
shoulders and arms -- he lifted weights several times each week --
was soon boring.  

     She had to acknowledge he was well hung, with one of the
prettier pricks she had seen, not too long but fat as a sapling
tree trunk, and with tennis balls hanging beneath where others had
golf balls at most.  A few hours after she led him away from the
garden party where they had just met, and often after they were
married, she was impaled and stuffed by his direct linear approach:
kiss, embrace, enter her, pump vigorously, come, see that she comes
too, and pull out.  Then turn and go to sleep.  Nothing more. 
Nothing else.  Fun at first, but in all respects too easy.  Dull. 
She returned to the one word that repeated itself in her head after
each sexual bout with him, despite his heavy meat.  Boring.  

     She found herself daydreaming about old lovers, the ones she
had cajoled or intimidated into doing whatever she wanted,
especially those she had actually re-made into odd or compulsive
sexual creatures, by twisting the shapes of their desires to
accommodate her more bizarre fantasies.  But beginning an affair
with someone else, sex of any kind with anyone else, was impossible
now.  He was her husband, her partner.  He had been faithful to
her, thus far, she was sure of it.  She owed him her fidelity. 
Moreover, he was due respect.  She knew she could manipulate him. 
She'd never failed to work her will with any man.  But then she
would lose all respect for him as a partner in marriage.  Then what
was merely a boring marriage would really become a prison.  She
would find herself married to her own puppet, and would need to end
it.  And she didn't want to end it.  He was everything she had
married him for, and she was the envy of everyone else because she
had married him.  She liked things that way.  She intended to stay
married to him, and to grow old with him.  She never wanted to
marry any other man.  But she needed more than he could provide,
and other kinds of things than he could provide.  

     Gradually, one way to deal with her predicament revealed
itself to her.  She remembered that when she was a little girl, and
bored, she had taken refuge in her own imagination, absorbed
herself altogether into the life of her dollhouse.  She had created
a complete, fully equipped household, with a daddy and a mommy and
brothers and sisters and relatives and lovers, none of which she
herself had in fact, and servants of various kinds, which she had
abundantly.  Each was a doll ready to do her bidding, and to change
and become someone else when her whims changed, or when she ran out
of ideas for whatever they were.  She remembered that as time wore
on and she grew older and saw the possibilities, she would test out
new ideas on them, putting daddy into bed with a servant girl, for
example, or the handyman, or putting an uncle into intimate embrace
with one of the pre-pubescent sons or daughters of the house, or
putting mommy into a menage a quatre.  Everyone there did what she
wanted.  That had been fun.

     So Diana decided to play house with her husband.  As her
husband he was fully qualified.  In fact, when she decided to play
dollhouse with him, she decided to bring in other people to play
various other dolls along with her and her husband,  different
dolls for different purposes, or dolls who would willingly play the
different roles she required of them. The game would be more fun if
Gene didn't know that's what was going on.  He himself would be, in
a way, a doll.  But not a doll to be manipulated.  One who was
treated with respect.  One who freely chose, of his own desires,
what roles he wished to play.    

     So, she concluded, if spice were to return to her life, she
had to accomplish several things.  One was to return to her own
uses her main instrument in the manipulation of other people, her
pussy, with its various implied promises to people who desired
access to it.  But she could not give other men access to it, or
even the promise of access,  unless her husband first gave some
other woman access to his prick.  She would not be the first to
breach their marriage contract, though she knew she would certainly
be the second.  It was inescapable -- she had to see to it that her
husband, of his own free will, fucked some other woman.  But a
woman of her own choosing, and under conditions of her own
choosing, with consquences of her own choosing.  She would never
risk his running off with someone not of her choosing.  Or running
off with anyone.  Moreover, what she hoped for from her husband's
liaison, apart from a necessary justification for fucking other men
if she wished or found it expedient, was that some other woman
would teach him how to make robust, passionate, and imaginative
love to her, so he'd be available to his own wife as a lover she
could indeed live with for the rest of her life, perhaps even
monogamously.  He was not that now.  Not at all.  Not yet.  And she
certainly wasn't going to condescend to teach him.  

     One evening, drifting asleep after direct, linear lovemaking
with her husband, Diana suddenly snapped wide awake.  For the first
time in her life, she realized suddenly that someone within her own
orbit was living a life she knew nothing about, out of her control! 
And that someone was her husband!   The clue was unmistakable, and
she was dumbfounded that she had missed it.  Not fifteen minutes
earlier, instead of coming in her, then maintaining his ardor and
erection until she came (even if his prick started to soften, it
was still more than ample for her purposes), he had waited until
her orgasm approached, climbed its peak, and then leaped off in
full flight.  Then, when her gasping had become breathing again, he
had asked her "May I come now, please?"   And only after she had
clutched him tightly to prolong her afterglow, her arms around his
neck and her legs around his thighs, and only after she had called
out to him in a tense whisper, "Oh, yes, oh, yes!", only then did
he explode into her with his own orgasm.  

     Not his usual silent lovemaking at all, with his own
satisfaction preceding hers.  He attended to hers first.  He had
been exceptionally considerate this time.  More than considerate. 
He hadn't even asked her "Close?", checking to see if he could play
out his own end game and not leave her too far behind, as if for
some obscure reason there were doubts whether she'd play out hers
at all, as if those doubts ever mattered to him at such a moment
anyhow.  He knew that she'd just gone over the top.  His words were
"*May* I come now?"  He had asked her permission, and added, as if
he were not in charge of his own body, "please."  

     The bastard was fucking some other woman!   Not just any other
woman, but one who was playing domination/submission games with
him, who was training him not to come without her permission! 
Apparently, at the peak of his own desire for sexual release he had
gotten his two women confused -- for the moment, he had actually
forgotten which bed he was in.   

     Diana knew the signs, and this one was unmistakeable.  In
college and occasionally afterward she had trained men to play
bondage games that interested or amused her, many such men.  An
early stage was to control their orgasms -- desperate to cum, they
could be conditioned to do anything, to agree to anything, in
exchange for a long-sought release.  Especially if they had been
wrought up to extremes of erotic tension.  Then their cumming could
be made conditional on many other amusing things.  

     That was how she had conditioned all of her men to kinkiness
of some sort.  It interested her, seeing how far she could move men
from wherever she found them.  Impeccably neat gentlemen always
ended up her toilets, grateful she allowed them to cum at all, but
never until they had opened their mouths wide to her drink her piss
or eat her shit direct from its source.  Prudes ended up male
whores, doing basic training in an actual whorehouse for several
weeks before being sent into the streets to find and satisfy
customers with specified peculiarities, as if they were
participating in some bizarre scavenger hunt, all to please her. 
For the rest of their lives, some of her former partners would need
to be stretched or whipped or humiliated to the extremities of
physical or mental discomfort before they could climax.  

     Almost by whim she had brought one man, over only a few
months, from a satyr's readiness to ejaculate anywhere on no
notice, to numb inability to feel anything unless it was associated
with pain, and to require near-blinding agony in order to
ejaculate.  She then obliged him when he begged her by squeezing
his scrotum with all her strength.  But then he went out of control
and became something of a torture junkie on his own.  He mutilated
himself while masturbating, as she could see afterward.  Then one
evening he spent hours pleading with her to crush his testicles
with a hammer.  Respectfully, on his knees, his forehead pressed to
the floor and the hammer offered with both outstretched hands, not
daring to look at her, tears streaming from his eyes.  And he
hadn't been able to hear her when she ordered him to stop it.  It
was kind of sweet, his dedication to her.  But she had realized
they were no longer compatible.  He had become someone else's
problem, not hers, and she stopped seeing him.  

     Gene on the other hand was her problem, till death did them
part.  A few nights later,  Diana confirmed her suspicion.  Just as
he was rising to a feverish explosion and his loins were pumping
ferociously, utterly out of control, straining into her while his
dick swelled into a massive discharge, she said in a low, carefully
modulated voice, "Not this time" and then waited to see what would
happen.  There was no waiting at all.  Gene immediately withdrew
from her, fell to licking her to bring her off, and then despite
what had to be a hideous case of blueballs, all that overheated cum
still bottled up inside him, he hugged her and went to sleep
without complaint.

     Diana lay there furious, but even more, filled with wild
surmise.  Then she found that all in all, she was delighted.  She
felt her life suddenly again grow rich, purposive.  She knew she
had to identify this woman, whoever she was, and confront her,
perhaps defeat her in a direct contest of wills with her husband as
the prize, and then secure her husband against any such onslaughts
ever again.  Here was a project worthy of her attention!  She
closed her eyes and smiled.  Within a minute she was sound asleep.

     The next day she went to her office and Gene went to his.  By
the time Gene reappeared on the streets for lunch he was equipped,
without knowing it, with two faithful observers who never lost
sight of him and followed him everywhere, one an unimpressive young
man with thinning hair and an abstracted manner, a computer geek
for some local broker, it seemed,  and the other a middle-aged
woman too plain to tempt strangers, a little plump, but well-enough
dressed to be able to shop or take tea anywhere.  He never noticed
that he was being followed.  Meanwhile, Gene's firm advertised for
a secretary and for a landscape draftsman, and a reputable
employment agency sent over two candidates that same afternoon. 
Each chatted with the staff for hours about what kind of place this
was to work in, what the bosses were like, and each made a luncheon
appointment for the next day with an especially compatible new
acquaintance, and each arranged to take in a movie with another new
acquaintance, so they could share the real poop about things.  The
secretary was eventually hired and the draftsman wasn't.  It didn't
matter.  By the end of the following week it seemed that they both
had to leave town to tend sick relatives, and neither was seen
again.  Their real work was finished, successfully accomplished.  
         

     They reported in, and by the end of the following week Diana
had the complete story, with photographs and a videotape,
everything she had wanted to know and some things she didn't.  It
seems that before his marriage Gene had routinely skimmed the
secretarial staff and filing clerks for sexual favors, that a
number had been hired with that understanding, and that some of
these were still there.  These sometimes still met with him
privately in exchange for the gifts Gene gave them (all agreed he
was a gentleman).  But the gifts were not for additional sexual
favors.  They were for their silence about his earlier sexual
harrassment of them.  

     One had especially missed having his meat in her mouth, or
cunt, or ass a few times each week.  In her way she loved him.  So
a few months earlier, just about when Diana was realizing how bored
she was with her husband, this especially affectionate filing clerk
had flashed a naked ass at Gene from under her mini, and five
minutes later was again enjoying the feel of his huge cock stuffing
her quim, seated on his lap with her back to him, her hands braced
on his desk against his thrusting into her ass.   Not in her pussy,
because Gene did want to remain a faithful husband it seemed, but
up her cute rear end, and then into her mouth to be cleaned off by
her prehensile tongue, and then down her throat to be rinsed off. 
This had become a regular thing between them, until only a month
ago.

     A month ago, it seems, Gene's partner's wife had walked into
Gene's office unannounced to ask him about an investment and had
nearly fallen over Gene and the filing clerk humping their way
around the room doggy style.  The filing clerk had leaped up and
immediately fled, flashing the bottoms of her cheeks below her
miniskirt all the way back to her cubicle, to the amusement of
various office staff and one structural engineer, who dated her
that very night and had been seen steadily with her ever since.  
The partner's wife (the investigators' report had her name as
"Nicola" though Diana knew it was "Nicole -- close enough she
mused, if everything else is accurate), had then shut Gene's office
door and they had been alone for a half hour.  Then both had
emerged, Gene looking chastened and following her through the
office, down the hall, into the elevator, and into her car, where
he had sat with his head hunched down a little, looking straight
ahead while she drove off.  

     That was probably the day he began spending an afternoon or
two a week at her house, according to Nicole's neighbors, though
they saw nothing improper about this because Nicole's husband
Michael usually arrived with him, and the two of them went in
together.  A newsboy claimed that he once saw the two of them on
their knees together in the doorway working their way awkwardly
into the front hall while some shadowy person in thigh boots
reached behind them to close the door,  He had decided that that
was not a good moment for him to collect the household's two months
of arrears for newspaper delivery.

     There was, the report went on, a room in Nicole and Michael's
house known among some respectable couples, the investigators were
careful to point out, as a "dungeon."  In fact it was the former
game room on the ground floor, where various pipes, electrical
lines, hooks, links, chains, and mechanical platforms had been
installed, of a kind common where couples practice what the
investigators called "Domination, Submission, Bondage, and Sadie's
Masochism."  Among consenting adults, the report assured Diana,
these things happened.  It was not unlawful.

     It was fairly clear what had happened, and Diana only scanned
the remaining pages.  She was amused to read one secretary's
comment that Gene's partner had returned from two weeks in Florida
with his neck "clean" while all the rest of him was sun-tanned --
to Diana it was obvious that Michael had spent the vacation in a
slave collar and probably naked, and she recalled affectionately
her games with that young tennis instructor so many summers ago. 
Nicole's husband was her sex-slave, probably had been for years --
let's see, they last renovated their house at least five years ago,
she thought.  Gene had tried to remain true to his wife in his
fashion, but not too successfully.  He was being blackmailed by
some of his former harem girls.  And now Nicole also had him, let's
say, intimidated into becoming her second sex slave.  

     Diana knew that however commanding his appearance at the
Country Club or various Architects Forums, Gene was a natural
submissive.  That was why she had married him -- he was safe, and
could always be brought back into line if he strayed.  She had
wanted an equal partner in marriage, a man she could respect yet
control in all crucial ways.  Maybe she had been a little
schoolgirlish about her expectations, she thought.  She hadn't
wanted to come on dominant to him and order him about.  Yet, maybe
she had been unfair to him in this.  Maybe she had deprived him of
something he needed.  Nicole now had his body whether he wanted to
go with her or not, but Diana knew that eventually she'd have his
soul as well as his body.  His wife had to rescue him.  

     It wasn't too late.  Probably he hadn't gone very far with her
yet -- enough to get to like some of the discipline, but not yet
into the heavy stuff, Diana thought, certainly not yet into total
obedience to Nicole's least whim.  Obviously, she used his cock
whenever she chose, in whatever ways she chose, the way
less-capable women use their dildoes.  That was already a clear
violation of his obligations to her, the unequivocal justification
her own liberty needed.  Nicole could easily lead him that way,
Diana realized, quickly re-assessing what she knew of her husband's
partner's wife's personality.  As a domme she'd be formidable.  

     But it wasn't too late.  And it certainly was interesting. 
Not at all boring.  Diana skimmed the photos quickly and stowed
them with the report and the unscreened video in her private safe
in her study.  She knew what the video contained, maybe some murky
long shots of two naked slaves seen through a dining room or
kitchen window, and Gene's comings and goings with dates and times
duly noted.  Maybe it would be useful later.  But she had to think
without distraction.

     By the next morning Diana had all her ducks in a row.  Above
all her husband had to be extricated from this double blackmail by
the secretaries and by Nicole, and for the rest of their lives
together -- and Diana still meant to grow old with him --
safeguarded against anything similar ever happening again.  His
architectural partnership had to be preserved, so Gene could retain
his dignity and his self-respect, and have something to do days
while Diana looked after her own affairs a little more freely than
in the past.  All four of them had reputations among their friends
that had to remain impeccable, beyond any shadow of gossip or
tawdry suspicion.  She picked up the phone and called Nicole,
suggesting a lunch where they could chat about charitable works,
and membership on the country club's governing board, and "other
things."  

     "It's been so long since we've seen each other, " Diana told
Nicole.  "And we share so many concerns.  We have to talk."

     "Of course," said Nicole, who knew never to underestimate
Diana, and who instantly concluded that Diana somehow had come to
know everything.  It wasn't from Gene, she felt sure, because Gene
had lately been showing up at her doorstep with a
certain...er...eagerness, a spring in his step she had been
planning to begin converting into far darker desires.  But no
matter now.  "Our husbands are partners.  What concerns them
concerns us, I'm sure."

     "Wonderful, Nicole," Diana said.  "Longfellow's for lunch
then?  Tomorrow?  Around one?  If you have anything else on for
afterward, maybe we can be free by two-thirty.  Or maybe the two of




end  7/9
(c) 1998 by Vickie Tern  May be archived if made freely available.  
Not if not.

Vickie Tern@AOL.COM


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