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Subject: {ASSM} A Place of her Own by Vickie Tern 3/10 TG F/m Femdom
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{Vickie Tern} NEW TG: A Place of Her Own 3/10, 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.
The thought of our separation for an unknown time suddenly seized
her, and she turned and wrapped herself around me. Clutching me
tightly, she said, "Oh honey, do come back and visit often. You'll
always be welcome. I'll miss you, even though I'll know you're in
the best of hands." She grinned maliciously. "Your own!"
Miraculously, my cock began to grow again. Mine, not Amy's, and
not the hybrid who had kept us groping each other all last night.
I entered Tricia again, this time in her wet velvet pussy, and I
pressed my cum and semen splattered belly against hers, and we
worked our hips slowly into a rotating liquid rhythm. This time,
as we made love we looked steadily into each other's eyes, reading
and rereading there each other's love and caring and concern. Not
until we both came, not violently this time but as a beautifully
completed embrace, did either of us close our eyes. And then we
closed them blissfully. We each knew we loved each other, never
more completely than just then.
iii.
I must have been more jet lagged than I realized, because I fell
asleep again. The telephone woke me.
"Honey? You're finally up? You looked so dear sleeping! I've
missed that all week, but I guess I'd better get used to missing it
for a while more. I realized after I left that I may not have been
clear about how you dress tomorrow. Remember that you'll leave
here as Andy, but you'll arrive in Madison as Amy. That's who you
are here, and that's who you'll be there, and no one else. So
leave out a set of clothes for each of you. I've arranged a stop
half-way where you can change over and pretty yourself up. When we
get to Madison my plan is, first stop at the County Clerk's office
and the Courthouse to register some papers and signatures, I'm
setting them up now, and the Motor Vehicle people, I have papers
for short cutting any problems there, so Amy can have her own
driver's license, then the Bank, and finally the real estate people
to show us the condo. They tell me here that there's no question,
that the apartment's a steal, that your sister will love it! Did
I mention that Amy is your sister? Unmarried, same last name, it
saves fuss. It's amusing to think that if Andy ever decides to
have sex with her, it would be incest in a way. There's all the
more reason for Amy to forget about Andy and just do her own thing.
Then, my darling, when the apartment's yours, I'll take myself to
the airport and leave you to begin your adventure. This is really
so exciting!"
"O yes, we're having some people over tonight to give Andy a kind
of going away party. A few friends, neighbors, and associates. So
be sure you're Andy at least this one last time. Take down that
darling hairdo one more time. All right? I'll tell you why later.
I think you'll be pleased. It'll make things a lot easier for both
of us afterward."
She was in her efficient lawyer mode, obviously. Making plans,
being persuasive and yet matter of fact. I trusted her. I wasn't
fully awake. "OK!" I replied.
"Good!" was all she said, and hung up.
All through the rest of the day I packed up Amy's things except her
outfit for her official debut in Madison. And a purse to get her
through the day. Her essentials were still packed and in the car,
a week's worth of selected conference dresses and party gowns.
Most of her wardrobe went neatly into cartons I'd saved from our
move to this house, and then into the car. As I emptied my boudoir
bureau drawers of their lovely little hoards of accumulated panties
and teddies and slips and pantyhose and waist cinchers and so on,
it was exciting to realize for the first time that these were no
longer optional gear. They were my wardrobe. I was cutting off
alternatives. Andy's clothes would remain here.
I made a few discoveries. Some of my sexiest lace panties had
found their way into Trish's bureau drawers. Probably courtesy of
our part-time cleaning help. Some dresses and blouses and skirts
were so unforgivably unfashionable I could never wear them again,
not in public, so even though they were relatively unworn they went
into a box marked for the Salvation Army. I came upon my younger
self, or Amy's, in the form of a stretchy black satin micro-mini,
one of several dresses I'd bought when I liked imagining myself a
slut seduced into unspeakably obscene practices in private dance
clubs. I reluctantly added that to the Salvation Army box, then
took it back, to remind myself that the onetime aspiring sexy whore
of my fantasy life was now actually about to become a respectable
woman full time. My eyes brimmed and my heart nearly stopped with
joy as I realized that. That Trish was not only allowing me to do
this, she'd in fact proposed it! I was humbled and speechless.
As I packed Amy's cosmetics, I wondered what Tricia had been using
all week in my absence. Had she finally acquired her own, now that
she was lawyering like a lady in full regalia. And if so, as her
personal beautician I was curious, what shades had she chosen for
herself? So I went to the bathroom off our master bedroom to see
what was there. Nothing new in the medicine chest. The bed hadn't
been touched last night of course, and it was still rumpled from
her previous nights when I hadn't been there to tidy it up. I
pulled it together, and found a pair of lace panties wrinkled into
the bed sheets. Split crotch panties, really down and deliciously
dirty! Were they mine? Had Trish missed me so much during my week
away she'd taken to wearing even my most daring undies in my
absence. Or had she taken them to bed to remind herself that this
too was part of me. Were they more evidence that she now accepted
Amy for what she was, and me for what I am, after years of
reluctance, then indifference, then mere toleration, and only now
loving support?
No, wait! I'd already packed the only pair of split crotch panties
I owned, acquired originally to wear with my slut outfit. Were
these Carol's? Did Tricia humble herself to lick Carol's lower
regions while Carol never even troubled to undress herself? Or
were they Tricia's, to provide Carol's tongue access to her own
dear little clit?
Or someone else's tongue? I decided not to think about it! It
could drive you mad!
I finally found Trish's own make-up neatly arrayed across the
entire top of her bureau, tastefully chosen shades of all sorts,
pale beiges and roses for daytime and dark mauves and wines for
evening, different shades of eye shadow for different tones and
colors of outfits. Only this past week she had equipped herself
for all sorts of occasions, I thought. No wonder she felt she
could manage without her espoused beautician. There was even a
little cloth zip case sitting there, a travelling kit of
color-coordinated bare essentials, mascara, eye-liner, shadow,
lipstick, blush, and foundation. Inside one of the zipper pockets
was a handwritten note that read, "Love, Greg."
I knew no Greg. They were this season's colors, browns and umbres,
brand new cosmetics, never touched. Some rejected gift one of
Trish's women friends had handed down to Trish now that she was
using make-up? A gift from a boyfriend some secretary had decided
to side-slip as a gift to her boss? Again I decided not to think
about it right now.
Finally everything was packed and out of the house and loaded into
and onto our car, five bags and a dozen boxes of women's things for
Amy, my computer and a box of manuals and disks for my work.
Anything overlooked I could get on my next visit.
My next "visit"! An odd word. This was my home, the place I
returned to from wherever and called home. But when I next
returned it would be as a visitor. As Amy? Obviously, I hadn't
packed to be anyone else! But if I live in Madison full time as
Amy, how can I ever return here? How can I dare let myself be seen
in this neighborhood as Amy, coming and going? Sooner or later
someone would wonder and suspect!
I put the question to Tricia the moment she got home.
"Sweetheart, that's why we're having your farewell party tonight.
Andy has been called away to consult on the construction of a
massive Saudi pipeline and refinery employing thousands of workers
from around the world. He'll be gone for many months, and I'm
happy for him but also distraught. Fortunately, I'll be almost as
busy and exhausted as Andy, organizing my new client's affairs.
That much is true. Now and then Andy's sister Amy will look in on
me to see if I'm all right. She's a lovely woman, a little younger
than Andy and a little priggish, but a dear. Maybe she'll even
stay with me for a few days now and then, Andy?"
What a clever woman!
"That's a wonderful cover story, Trish. But won't Andy be visiting
you here now and then too?"
"Now and then." She looked at me seriously. "I'd thought he would
often, originally, but now I don't think so. Not too often, honey,
or things could get awkward. Among other things your cover will
begin to collapse. And Amy should have complete freedom for once,
unencumbered by Andy. Of course Amy will always be welcome here!"
"She'll want to visit you often, darling!" I told her. Why did I
feel this was a kind of farewell? "You're giving up so much so I
can indulge myself as Amy! I owe you so much! Tell me anything
you want in return and it's yours!" I kissed her and held her
close.
She buried her face in my shoulder, then looked up into my face.
Some mischievous thought had crossed her mind, obviously, and left
its shadow in her expression. But all she said was, "I want you
the way I want you, that's what I want, darling. I'm getting that.
Right now I want you happy! I'll tell you when I want something
else!" We just stood embracing.
And my beautiful wife couldn't have been more affectionate all
evening. Trish had indeed arranged for many friends and
acquaintances to drop by to wish me God Speed, and I thanked them.
Some joked about my future as an enormously wealthy Sheik or a
Pasha, and took note that the Koran allowed me three more wives.
I told them that when I could I'd invite them over to eat lambs
eyeballs and other delicacies, and then asked them earnestly to
look after Tricia. They all agreed. A few of Trish's law partners
and their wives showed up too, people I didn't know. They assured
me I was fortunate in my marriage, and that I shouldn't worry at
all about Trish, she was superb at looking after herself and her
clients both. The usual. We all felt grateful to my sister, who
would look in on Trish now and then and urge her to take care of
herself and not work so hard.
She introduced me to a law partner named Georgy, pronounced with a
hard "G" in the Russian manner, who immediately instructed me to
call him Greg. A large, vigorous looking man with a slight accent
and his hair slicked back as if he were an Andorran or Graustarkian
Prince. He congratulated me on my beautiful and intelligent wife,
and told me how fortunate they all felt to be associated with her.
I told him I appreciated that he felt that way, and on the spur of
the moment, while handing him his second drink and myself my
fourth, I asked him if he was the "Greg" who had given her a
make-up kit.
He seemed puzzled. "Even diamonds are an unsuitable gift for a
wife like yours," he said with old world courtliness. "But last
Christmas I did give the firm's secretaries and all the women
Associates make-up kits. And all the men tie tacks. Why do you
ask?"
I told him I'd seen one on Trish's bureau with a note from "Greg"
and had wondered. He was vastly amused! "It was your wife Trish
who suggested that I give those make-up kits to all the
secretaries, when I asked her what gifts might be suitable.
'Flatter their femininity,' she told me. So I did. With an
affectionate note in each. Some of them thought cosmetics were too
personal a gift, and returned the kits. Trish's secretary I
remember was unimpressed -- she told me that those weren't her
colors. But most of the girls were quite pleased." He winked at
me. "And some still are, if you know what I mean." I grinned and
winked back at him, two men together with manly understanding of
each other. What a sleaze! He clapped me once on the back, and
then we turned to talk to other guests.
Carol was there of course, in an orange cocktail dress with a
skin-tight bodice and a flounced skirt, an available divorcee
surrounded by men who felt flattered whenever she responded
flirtatiously in some way to some quip they'd just made. "Andy
honey!" she called to me as I passed by. She rotated her hips
toward me. "I understand we won't be seeing you for a while! Are
you excited? All packed and ready?"
"Yes," I said a little tartly. "I suppose you'll look after Trish
while I'm gone?"
"Depend on it, dear!" she replied, her eyes gleaming. "I intend to
see to her every need personally, and you know what those are.
Lots of us here want to do just that. Isn't that reassuring?
It'll be especially nice for Trish!"
I glanced at Tricia, across the room chatting animatedly with two
partners who were leaning deferentially over her. I had nothing to
say. Carol moved in for the kill.
"I'm especially looking forward to meeting this mystery woman, your
sister, whenever she visits. Getting to know her intimately. I
saw her once I think, standing in your front door in her house
coat, taking in the newspaper. A lovely woman I recall."
"My sister?"
"Yes, your sister Amy! I've heard so much about her!" Carol
cocked her head back. "I hear she's pretty, and likes being
pretty. And that she's into girls, doesn't even give blow jobs,
not yet anyhow. That'll change, of course. All girls do try men,
you know, sooner or later. Well, don't worry your pretty little
head about her, Andy! Enjoy yourself! I think it's just wonderful
that you're doing this! You're a credit to your sex!"
And she laughed at her own joke, and disappeared again into a swirl
of men eager to impress her.
When the last of the crowd disappeared my heart swelled in my chest
in eager anticipation. Now the adventure really would begin! I
hugged Trish and she hugged me back, her face snug on my shoulder.
Then we went together to our bedroom. When I'd made the bed
earlier I'd left that pair of my panties on her pillow, rinsed out
and dried of course, so she'd know I'd seen them and that I
appreciated it, that she'd wanted to wear a souvenir of me when I
wasn't there. When I saw her staring at them I told her as much.
"Will you wear them to bed every night?" I asked her. "It would be
nice to imagine that you're doing that."
"If you want me to, yes," she replied. "I'll dress sexy for you
all the time you're gone, and I'm glad you want me to. Just
imagine me that way, when you're feeling lonely, sweety! It may
help you through the first few weeks, before Amy gets to know
other people -- she's bound to feel somewhat lonely at first. Did
you leave me any other sexy things to wear?"
She began to kiss me more passionately at that point, and
conversation ceased. Maybe I was imagining another woman, Carol,
in Trish's secret places, or maybe other unimaginable things, but
I found I was frenzied. I can't tell you who went down on who more
frequently that night, or who orgasmed more often, and I have no
idea if Amy was watching me amusedly or jealously, or if it was Amy
and not me who licked out Trish through her split crotch at my
insistence, till she was screaming so loud and so frequently I was
afraid she'd wake the neighbors. I lubricated Trish lavishly with
cum front and rear, and then pushed my cock into both places more
often, apparently, than I later remembered. She told me all this
as she shook me awake to begin the extraordinary day ahead.
As I packed my carry-on bag with a few last-minute odds and ends,
Trish handed me her now infamous cosmetic kit. "Here, sweetheart.
Add this to your collection. Georgy was handing these around last
Christmas, and I ended up with an extra nobody wanted. I can't use
these colors, they're for brunettes like you, not blondes. You've
taught me well, I must say!"
"Thank you," I replied. "But earth tones go with all hair colors."
Then as I opened it as if to see what it was, I realized that I'd
blown my cover -- how did I know they were earth tones? She didn't
seem to notice.
Greg's note was gone, replaced by one that read "Love to my
sweetheart as she begins her great adventure, Trish". She was
flattering my femininity! My eyes overwhelmed with tears and I
swept her into my arms. "This is the most beautiful gift I've ever
received!" I told her.
"They aren't that expensive, honey," she said, struggling against
my embrace at first, then yielding. "They're excellent cosmetics,
but you know, it's a Christmas promotional item!"
"No, you know what I mean," I said.
"Oh!" she said, realizing what I meant. That I was as delighted as
any woman alive to receive a gift telling me that I'm beautiful and
meant to make me even more beautiful. "Oh, I'm glad you're
pleased. I suppose we should both thank Georgy for it. It was his
gift originally. I think he used them to seduce office staff."
"Yes, but the gift itself was your idea. He told me."
"Mmmmmm," she said. "I suppose so. Are you ready to leave now,
honey? I'll go get the car."
Trish drove. I turned to look back at the house where we'd been so
happy, and I realized that I wasn't sorry to leave it. I could
return of course, and I would. As Amy. That house had been Amy's
prison, and now I was setting her free. I was setting myself free.
Sooner than I'd thought, it seems, and in ways I hadn't
anticipated. It was ironic that now Amy was free to come and go as
she chose, and it was Andy who would need to sneak in and out or
else explain why he wasn't at that moment in Saudi Arabia. Even
so, as Andy I never felt closer to Tricia than at that moment.
iv.
Halfway to Madison we skirted the suburb of a fair-sized town,
Trish pulled off the Interstate and pulled into a strip mall of
small local stores -- shoe repair, liquor, a boutique for Wedding
Gowns and another for "ElitePetite" women, that sort of thing. She
parked in front of a "CurlyGirly's Salon."
"How cute!" I commented, looking up at the sign, wondering what we
were doing here. We usually shared the same attitude toward
commercial bad taste pretending to be wit. I assumed that somehow
I'd be changing clothes and identities at a gas station.
"Hop out, curlygirly," Trish said. "This is where it happens. Say
goodbye to your manhood, honey!"
She smiled reassuringly at me, but her voice sounded firm.
"This is where I lose my balls?" I picked up on her statement
playfully. I hoped playfully.
"You bet, honey. You might just as well, for all the good they'll
do you from now on. Girls don't need balls. Here's where you
change your clothes and your looks and your identity. This time
all the way, until the new you clicks into place. Bring Amy's
outfit with you. Right here and now your boudoir girlfriend passes
through her adolescence and young womanhood and replaces you as a
fully grown mature woman. As Amy. Don't be put off by the
location of this shop -- it's nationally known for its work
performing problem makeovers. The women who work here are very
good. They're accustomed to men and women who would rather look
like women and men. I made a lot of inquiries last week while you
were away, and as you'll find out soon I've done some very fancy
legal footwork too preparing this condo idea for you too!"
"All before asking me?" I was feeling a little pushed.
"As my gift to you, sweetheart. My farewell gift, in a way.
You've helped me look prettier, more feminine, and I've learned to
enjoy it. You've been my only husband, and that makes you very
special! I had to return the favor before you disappeared, didn't
I? Should I have wondered what you'd say when I asked you if you
wanted to give Amy an independent life? When I suggested you try
this?"
"No, Trish. I still love the idea. So much I still have
butterflies in my tummy."
She opened her arms. "Give us a kiss, lover!" I did. Twice. And
hugged her, as much for courage as for consolation. Then we went
in together.
There were several women there wearing pale green smocks, and
several others being worked on. The customers were elderly women
getting their thinning hair curled, as everywhere the bread and
butter of the salon trade. A large, friendly woman came forward to
us, also wearing pale green and holding out a pink smock for me.
"You're Tricia, of course. And you're Amy. A new woman!
Wonderful! Well, I want this to be as joyous a coming out as you
can have. I'm Janie. We'll be seeing each other weekly from now
on for your electrolysis and touch ups and so on. I'm sure we'll
get on just marvelously! Have you been to a salon like ours
before?"
"Yes," I confessed. "At transgender meetings. To have my hair
set, and for temporary nails."
"Well, there's nothing temporary about this morning's work, dear.
We start with a permanent. Is this the day you finally become a
ravishing blonde?"
It had never occurred to me! A really radical change. Wild! I
couldn't think. Trish merely said, "She can't. Her clothes and
makeup are all keyed to her hair color as it is. Or close to it."
"Well, another time, if you should ever feel bored with yourself.
That's one way a girl can always give herself a lift. Change her
hair, change her boyfriend. In your case, change her sex! Take
off your clothes over there, honey, and put this on, and we'll get
started. Do you have a boyfriend yet?"
I glanced at Trish. She was highly amused.
"Not at the moment, Janie," I said in the slightly melodic, teasing
voice I used at gender meetings. "I'm still experimenting with
girls."
"Well, you'll get over it I suspect," Janie said. "Most women do.
You can do more with boys. Or strictly speaking, you can get them
to do more for you." She smiled to herself and pulled her
shoulders back, her breasts suddenly jutting way forward. "Yes,"
she said, reminiscing. "The poor dears."
I had a sudden vision of Janie in black leather, looking down with
sympathetic contempt on some naked male slave grovelling at her
feet while he licked them. She was that kind of woman. I felt
glad then that I was a woman too, not a submissive wimp man. I
could at least preserve my dignity
Then to Trish she said, "Wives often want a little girl look for
their husbands to help keep them in line. Their husbands of course
always want to look like debauched sluts. You say though that Amy
is a professional woman? Not a slut or a little girl?"
"Not right now, not yet," Trish replied. "She's not a prude, mind
you. She's just been set free from her marriage, and she's not
averse to playing the field for the time being. With a certain
confidence in her look and her walk. Busy, so let's make her nails
permanent and chip-proof. Some indelible tinting in her make-up
wouldn't be amiss either. So she can wake up in the morning
looking fresh, if there's anyone there to see her." She grinned at
a stray thought. "Make her face kiss-proof!"
"No girl's face is kiss-proof," Janie replied, also amused. "If
it's the right kind of kiss. Nor pussy-proof either. Now just sit
down here Amy honey, and we'll see what we've got. Nice, thick
hair -- you're lucky!"
Two hours later I'd become what Trish had ordered up. I had
breasts glued to my chest and "pussy panties" reshaping my crotch,
holding my balls up between my legs and pulling my prick down
toward a little pee hole in a slit on the very bottom. I realized
that some hapless swain could cop a feel of my crotch now and find
both my slit and a clit -- a little rubber nub -- and never be the
wiser if he didn't press further. I was wearing a pretty salmon
silk blouse with a huge self bow, my Bergdorf tweed suit with a
wickedly short skirt only halfway down my thighs. But sensible two
inch heels, and a single long gold chain. My ears were pierced,
long a secret desire I'd never dared fulfill, and they were filled
with bright gold posts I'd wear until they healed. Then I could
wear any ear rings at all! I looked smashing! I loved it!
"So now I'm a divorced professional playing the field?" I asked
Tricia as I quickly daubed on my own make-up, Janie watching and
for the most part approving. She pointed out that my
now-pencil-thin arched eyebrows needed tinting as well as combing,
and I had to agree. We agreed to disagree about lip liner -- I
thought it unnecessary.
"Yes, honey. I was teasing but I meant it. Amy isn't exactly
married." Tricia spoke carefully as we got back into the car.
"She may have felt she was, but now she's out in this world as her
own person. Otherwise why are we doing this? Forget Andy. I
already have."
She seemed uncomfortable when she heard herself say this, and then
changed the subject. "I love your hair lightened just that much,
Amy. And curved instead of curled. I think that was a good
decision. And it's a nice cut. Up, it would grace any office.
Down, it's quite romantic. Do you remember how to comb it out
either way?"
"Yes," I said. "You insisted that Janie show me." I wasn't quite
finished though. We were now back on the interstate and back up to
speed. "I'd anticipated a short no-frills hairdo, " I said. "Comb
it with your fingers. This cut will take work, pinning it up
evenings or rolling and combing it out each morning. Why did you
want it left long and romantic? For playing the field?" I asked.
Secure in Tricia's love, deep in her loving gift to me of the
freedom to be Amy, I thought I was teasing her.
"You're a single woman, Amy. Why not? Just look at you! You're
gorgeous! Of course for playing the field!" She glanced at me,
then back at the road. The mid-morning traffic had picked up and
needed her attention. "Chin a little large, but make-up handles
that. I'd kill for those cheekbones. Did you diet all this past
week while you were away?"
end 3/10
(c) 1999 by Vickie Tern (VickieTern@AOL.COM, all comments welcomed)
VickieTern@AOL.COM
--
If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author. Your comments
are their only payment. Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is
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