tranny ass fucked

that in front of everyone.” Just then Ron gave my hand

another squeeze, and I blushed.

We all laughed as we went through the typical cake-

cutting-and-feeding ritual. Then came the gifts.

dressed like the maid of honor.”

“Oh, no,” Lulu laughed. “I said Carla was your attendant

I’m your maid of honor.”

“But you are the groom!” I exclaimed.

“I can’t very well marry another woman. Remember you’re

the crossdresser in this family, not me.”

“Then who’s the groom?” I was getting worried now.

“Just like a woman to be nervous on her wedding day,”

Lulu said turning to leave. “See you down front. Don’t forget

to say your “I do’s” nice and loud.”

Carla walked over to me, kissed me on the cheek and

said, “You are a very beautiful bride.” Then, barely holding

back the laughter, she added, “I’m sure you’ll make him very

happy. Enjoy your honeymoon.”

she came over to welcome me to the building. We had a cup of coffee and some

cake she brought over, but she had to run. Going to her dance class she said.

I had taken some dance, so I asked about it. Apparently it was right across

the street, and many people from the building went, but she wasn’t sure that I

would like it, but, if I wanted I could tag along. There was a smile in her

eyes that wouldn’t let go. I put on my sweats and followed her.

It was three floors up. I was the only man in the place, and I could tell that

this wasn’t a soft workout for chubbies. Every woman there had a body that was

toned like a 64 Rolls. They wore their leotards with the grace of professional

dancers, flowing through the room. Many wore a wide sash of embroidered fabric

around their hips. They smiled at me. I was glad I wore my grey sweats.. they

were loose where it counted. I smiled back.

Donna introduced me as a visitor. The class started, and I knew what the

problem was.. It was a Belly dance class. I’m all man, and I’m no quitter, so

I got in and did the work. Shimmys, pelvic thrusts, everything. I was pretty

good. The instructor said they’d never had a guy come here twice, but maybe I

could be the first. The gleam in her eye was more challenge than I’d seen from

many a tough guy. I gave her my winning smile, and asked when the next class

was. The way the women looked at me as they left, I knew I’d found a winner.

It was about the fourth week. They had a present for me. I opened the paper

and found a black and aqua lycra leotard, footless tights, a jogbra, dancebelt,

wig, and a length of material for a sash. I had to think fast. This was a

test, and if I wanted to keep the respect of these dames I couldn’t fail. I

went behind the curtain, and emerged, fully dressed. I had done the right

thing. I went through the class looking at myself in the mirror. The leotard

was very high cut and the aqua hourglass pattern on the front gave the illusion

of a female figure. The sash filled out my hips.

I was good that night.. better than ever before. My appearance has helped me

lose myself to the dance. I got compliments.. and a few more phone numbers.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Donna talking to the instructor. She walked

me home.

Donna explained that I had a decision to make. I was being offered admission

to the Slata.. the sisterhood. The first man ever. Most of the women in the

class were members.. it was a society that helped others learn the tricks of

Belly Dancing. Problem was, there were rules. I would have to follow the

dress code at classes. Have to learn the rules. Have to make a costume. Have to

perform in public. And have to go through the initiation.

The Sisterhood taught total release of self during dance. You followed the

rules, you lost the hung up you, found your freedom. She came closer to me,

her face begging for my acceptance. That night I was in. In more ways than

one.

The dress code was clear. No hair on your body. Any where. The hot wax smelled

of honey. A few shots of Jack Daniels, and the sting of my pubic hair being

yanked out was just a deadened hum. Proper makeup. Base, contour, rouge,

shadow, liner. My wig was full and frizzy cascading onto my shoulders. Show

your breasts proudly. Well they were just foam latex over silicone, but they

were mine.

The thin lycra stretched tightly over my breasts, high heels clicking on the

terrazzo floor, I began my journey. The first step was across the street, but

I had no idea how far it would take me.

I just stared at myself in that big mirror. I snapped open the front of my

skirt and slipped it off. My legs looked so bare, covered with nude pantyhose.

My balls were taped up into their sockets with moleskin. A ribbon around its

head pulled my penis back between my buttocks. My hairless pubic area showed

under the tight fabric. My hairless armpits were sensitive to the wind, and I

was almost overwhelmed by the scent of my own perfume. I danced. Every ripple

of my body was visible to all. Every eye was on me. I was sexy as hell. I

wanted to rip off my clothes and dance naked for all the women, to open myself

up and take the sexual heat that pounded trough that place into my body. I was

going to writhe and sweat until my muscles couldn’t move anymore. The warmth of

my skin mixed with the strong musk of my perfume.

Did I dance. As they left, a number of women touched me, their long fingers and

bright nails stroking me through the lycra, damp from sweat so it clung as if

it was glued to me. The places where they touched me heated up, hot and

driving.

The chill city air snapped my leotard cool as Donna and I walked across the

street. Follow me, she said and I did. Into the bar across the street, and down

at a booth. We ordered white wine, and I glowed when I saw the red lipstick

mark on my glass. We were seated where I could see myself in the mirror. I

looked fabulous.

Nature calls. We picked up our purses and wiggled back to the loo. The leotard

slid off my body,still with a cling from the sweat. The panty hose rolled

down, and Donna got behind me to release my cock from it’s home. I had gotten

used to the continual excitement of my buttocks rubbing against my helpless

cock, but when it was freed I looked down through my adhesive breasts to see it

stand out free and proud. Donna took it between her long nailed hands. We’re

sisters now, and sisters share everything. Soon my back arched crazily as she

took it in her mouth.

I thought of the men outside nursing their beers. I looked into the cracked

mirror and saw the red nipples of my foam breasts bouncing. The lipstick tasted

creamy as my tongue circled my mouth. I wanted to cry out as she sucked harder,

her tongue in a frenzy, stroking my glans. My calves ached from the tension

pushing against the 4 inch heels. I came for what seemed like hours.

We caught our breath, did what we had to do, put our clothes back on and

checked our makeup. A couple of guys bought us some drinks and got a little

thigh, but we were going home “alone”.

A good costume takes hours of work. Beaded push-up bra with silicone inserts

that make it all look like me. Scanty panties. A heavy girdle..a beaded, coin

bedecked belt that accentuates the movement of the hips. A thin skirt, veils,

and heavy jewelry. Had to pierce my ears, and the heavy earrings pulled at my

lobes.

When I put it on I was another person. Meena. No last name, no family, no real

life, just a beautiful sexy dancer. I danced with my soul, unladen of worldly

worries. I worried about keeping a perfect tan, about keeping my skin supple,

about if I should get a jewel for my navel. I was a creature of the body and

soul, and my intellect drifted along, released from a need to control my every

move.

Donna and I sat home, practicing our dance, sewing beads, or spending hours

practicing sexual techniques from the Kama Sutra. Our hairless oiled bodies

moved too slowly to see as our souls hovered above and watched.

The initiation took all weekend. All of the initiates were stripped naked. We

were to be cleansed fully. Each of us assumed the position of the dog and the

goddess of all came along to cleanse us. From the front of her robe came a

long hollow dildo. She inserted it deep into the vagina of the first initiate,

and shot a quart of soapy, perfumed water deep into her. Her braething became

deep and heavy, panting with the fullness. I felt the woman next to me receive

the cleansing, her body quivering. They lubricated the dildo for me, and it

sank slowly into my anus. My balls were taped inside my body, and my penis hung

below my hairless pubis. I tensed up as it entered, but changed my focus. I was

being entered by the earth, by all. I was being cleansed. My body began to

quiver, and I felt myself coming to the orgasm that Donna had spoken of. The

water was in my bowels, flushing out the impacted debris of this society. I was

cleaned.

We dressed. For me that meant tying my penis back between my buttocks, putting

on a garterbelt, stockings and high heeled sandals, and slipping into a long

fox coat, lifting my long hair over the collar. The satin lining caressed my

skin and caught lightly on the erect nipples of my latex breasts. My long red

nailed fingertips swept through the luxuriant fur. We were going out dressed

like this, ready to bare ourselves to the world. Donna had the Polaroid camera

to snap the flash pictures.

The fur had no closures.. I was all that held it shut. In the back of the cab

I saw the cabbie stare into the mirror. I let the fur slide open, shut it

quickly as the cab swerved across the street. In the mirror I saw my face with

a huge wicked smile showing white teeth outlined in red lipstick.

Our first stop was the mall downtown. It was all but deserted at 2 AM. I opened

my coat wide and Donna snapped a picture. My eyes were bright red dots, my

hairless body was luminescent against the dark lining, and the lights of the

city shone behind me. I exposed myself to the world, showed that I was not

ashamed of my nakedness.. but was in no hurry to get arrested either!

As we walked the satin rubbed against my body touching and caressing my flesh.

We entered a greek resturant. I didn’t check my coat. I had been there before

to awtch the cabaret dancers, but only in my male clothes. Let them stare I

thought.. I am beautiful! The bartenders jaw dropped, but Donna snapped some

picures with my coat open and we moved on. I saw the bouncer stop someone from

following us as we walked away.. Donna had friends.

We got on a subway and rode to the beach. The photos on the subway were

wonderful, and I let my coat hang open and the air come against my hairless

pubis. My finger strayed under Donna’s skirt to her clitroris. It was dark at

the beach, but I felt powerful, and shed my coat as Donna snapped me

sillouetted aginst the reds, golds and purples of the rising sun.

Just looking at the photographs were a powerful turn-on. I fell to my knees and

put my head under Donna’s skirt and ate her hungrily. We had sex on the beach

under my fur, and went home. I had two more days to go to become the first male

sister.

After a few hours sleep, It was time to dress for my first public performance.

We drew a hot scented bubble bath and relaxed. Donna rubbed my tan body down

with perfumed lotion. The tan lines from the bikini to I wore at the tanning

booth were faint but noticeable. Full makeup went on, from deep contour to

tons of eyeliner. My breast forms that had been removed for the bath, but

tonight all the flesh would be my own. I pulled on the beaded bra, and lifted

my breasts so that they would be pushed into place by the silicone inserts.

Donna ran her hands over my newly formed breasts, and i felt a tingle in my

nipples. Usually we have one of these for both holes, Donna smiled, but you

only need one. She inserted a butt plug deep into my anus. My cock was again

imprisoned between my buttocks, lavishly lubricated to ease the constant

friction when I walked. It held the plug tightly. The panties slipped over

all of this, cut so high that the clefts between my legs and hip showed all the

way up. My pubis was smooth and hairless, so nothing peeked out. The

embroidered skirt went over that.. in belly dancing the positions of the legs

are not always attractive, and the skirt conceals as much as it reveals. The 10

pound girdle went on next, weighing down my hips so that every move of them is

accentuated, so you feel the weight bearing down. The veils covered me. I

slipped on a pair of heeled sandals, my toenails painted the same shade as my

lengthened fingernails, and I was ready.

Walking to the studio was different. I felt my buttocks squeeze my cock, and

the butt plug made me squirm.

Our first performance in public was scheduled for a local mall at the height of

day. A stretch limo had been hired to drive us to the mall, and the we piled

in. I was dressed in pink and purple, but with my sisters in orange, red

,green, in all their shades, we were wildly colorful. The limousine smelled of

perfume and the perspiration of our half naked bodies. We swept through the

crowd at the mall, veils flowing behind us, and went to the central stage. My

heart pounded with adrenaline as I thought of all of those people watching me

be something that I wasn’t. I was a faker in this outfit of chiffon and silk.

There was a mirrored facade on one of the stores, and I saw four beautiful

women making their way through the crowd. I retreated into my mind and

remembered that I was Meena, lovely dancer whose body and talents were meant to

serve and delight. My body loosened as I relaxed and in my next glance in the

mirror I was walking with the grace and fluidity of one born to dance. I

accepted the heat coming from the audience, accepted their visible desire for

me as my due. I was a sister in the dance. I was the object of their

affection, and I embraced it and it made me strong.

We walked to the stage, and the music started. We danced together, and then

each had a solo. We cheered each other on, and the audience joined in. I was

in in ectasy during my solo. I could feel my penis grow in my cleft, forcing

the butt plug deeper into me. As I forced my hips forward in an age old

pantomime pantomime of sexuality. The audience was my partner, and I could feel

them heating up, twitching and throbbing to my unbridled sexuality. We were one

joined, together. There was the wet feel of semen between my buttocks as I wal

walked off stage.

The walk back to the limo was delicious agony. My sensitive penis was wet by

come, and it tingled with every step I took. My hips swiveled wickedly to

accentuate the stimulation. My breasts heaved with every breath and I longed to

touch someone, to have someone touch me. It was the most delicious foreplay I

had ever had.

In the limo I learned that I wasnt’t the only one to have had an orgasm during

our performance. All of us had. We slid the divider between us and the driver

shut.

Clothes came off. I remember having one woman sitting on my cock, and another

sitting on her face. The smell of musk was unbelievable. My brain was unhooked

from my pulsing body. My hands reached out blindly and found a tender nipple to

stroke. Every time I felt myself starting to come, the rhythm changed. My penis

was a mass of nerve endings, sore and hot. I reached up to gab the hops of the

woman above me, and force her down so my tongue could penetrate her deeper.

There was a chain reaction of orgasm, as four voices cried out together. We

lay together in a crumpled mass, and adjusted our breathing to each other.

The car pulled to a stop. We scurried back into our outfits, all the women

reinserting their dildos with a short gasp. As we walked upstairs to the

studio, we knew that now we were sisters, the four of us, bound through the

dance, and though the basic needs of our bodies.

I could tell by the looks that everyone knew what had happened. I suspected it

wasn’t the first time. The knowing smiles were contagious.

We had performed well, and we would celebrate with a fabulous feast. We were

to serve.

All of our clothes were slowly removed. We were told to lie on plastic covered

tables, and we were given slow delicate sponge baths. The warm water tingled on

my hairless skin. There wad the mild tang of disinfectant in the air. Every

part of me was scrubbed with a natural bristle brush. I relaxed , and let the

many hands touch and soothe me.

We were to serve these foods. We were to be human platters, our clean skin

laden with the many tasty dishes.

The food was brought out. Pots full of spicy stews, meant to be eaten with the

fingers or with pita, warm and fragrant. Cool yoghurt dips, flavored with nuts

and essences. Bowls of prepared fruits in a sweet honey sauce. Creamy farmer

cheeses, soft and spreadable.

Each of these was ladled onto us. The contrast in textures, in temperatures,

started my heart to pound. The scent wafted up to my nostrils. I could barely

lie still.

The dinner was invoked. The room was darkened, lit only by candles. The Sisters

filed in, almost 35 of them, all dressed in ceremonial costumes that barely

covered their breasts and genitalia.

As we opened our mouths, wineskins were held over them, and we were given

drink. The dinner started.

At first I felt many fingers touching my body and lifting the food, but as more

wine was consumed, I felt the fiery tongues scrape off the warm food. Teeth

scraped my breasts lightly as my sisters grasped honeyed fruit in their mouth.

I felt my penis rise, covered with a milky sauce. My breathing speeded to a

deep pant as four or five tongues lapped up the yoghurt. My back arched, and I

heard a cry from the next table. I knew that all of the initiates would be

forced to come. I fought the feelings, but to much wine had been poured down my

throat. As I came many fingers grasped my penis and squeezed every drop of

semen out of it, greatly prolonging the delicious agony of orgasm. Even as I

was coming, they licked, bit and touched my body.

There was no rest. Amidst much giggling they set about to make me come again.

By the time they succeeded I was sore and every nerve ending in my body felt

shrieked with pain and delight.

My knees were trembling and weak as I was helped up and lead to the shower.

or rather night of the month that I truly look forward to. Only

twelve times a year, do I allow myself to totally, absolutely

indulge myself. To be a slut! A total tramp! To luxuriate, and

fulfill my desires that have been pent up inside me since the last

month!

To enjoy fully the sexual cravings I have, the cravings I stifle

until that one night on the town when I unleash the sex crazed

lust starved animal passion inside me. The night I go on the

prowl!

I start my day off slowly, savoring in the preparations for the

fuck and suck fest that will transpire before the night is

through. I always take the day off work, and I’m glad no one at

work has caught on to my pattern of ’sick’ days.

I leave early in the morning for Toronto, although it’s only an

hour from where I live, it is big enough that nobody will

recognize me, especially not after I’ve transformed into the slut

that I will become.

I check into a different motel every month, and unpack my ‘tramp’

uniform. Then I begin the transformation. I shed my clothes the

minute that I enter the room, lay on my bed and play with myself

until I’ve had two or three good climaxes while fantasizing about

the forth-coming night.

With my lust temporarily sated, I run myself a luxurious bubble

bath, filled with expensive bath oils and perfumes. As I sit in

the bathroom, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the tub, I start to

shave my legs. Since tonight is my special night I take much more

care than usual, and even take a few minutes with a pair of

scissors to trim my pubic bush. Then I get into the tub.

I can’t help myself now! The sex drive inside me is too strong,

and as I lay relaxed in the warm bubbly water that feels like

satin and silk against my tender skin, I have to masturbate again

and again! My animal urges are hurrying me along now, and my

hands can’t satisfy my needs enough! I shower off and dry myself

quickly.

My need is welling up inside me! I need cock and I need it bad!

I take the time to powder myself liberally, I know it’s going to

be a terrific night! As I apply my favorite perfume, I wonder

what my co-workers would think of me now. I know the names they

use whenever they talk about somebody as cock crazy as I am, and I

wonder how I manage to control the animal passions inside me as

long as I do each month without then guessing my true nature.

I slowly pull on my black nylons, attaching them to my matching

black lace trimmed garter belt. I am wearing a pair of red satin

panties, and as I rub my crotch lovingly, I have to fight myself

from masturbating again. I want to save my climaxes now until I

get downtown!

I don’t usually wear a bra, but I do whenever I wear my ’slut’

suit. I think the extra padding helps me attract more guys this

way. Black satin and lace tickles my nipples until they’re stiff

and I feel so aroused!

Walking around in just my bra, panties and nylons I feel so

sluttish! I carefully apply my make-up, making my eyes look deep

and wanton. Then I pin my hair back and pull my blond wig out of

its container and put it on. The wig is really long and nearly

white blond. The golden curls cascade over my shoulders, and I

wonder why I couldn’t have been born with hair like this instead

of my mousy brown which I keep trimmed short. I inspect myself in

the mirror, turning slowly admiring every curve. I know that many

men are going to be looking at me tonight, and I want to look just

perfect for their fuck fantasies.

Satisfied with my appearance in my dainties, I put on my black

leather mini skirt and my black patent leather, high heel pumps.

I top off the whole outfit with a bright red silk blouse, through

which you can nearly see my lacy black bra. But just in case the

guy’s eyes aren’t quite that good, I leave it unbuttoned far

enough that they can see the lacy frills. Now I am ready for

Yonge Street. I take my small black matching leather purse and

leave the motel.

Look out Toronto, here I come!

It’s just past six when I get out of the taxi near the strip

palaces downtown. Through past experience, I have found it’s a

good place to get picked up. The stores are closed now, and the

only people on the streets are tourists and the night people.

Street musicians are everywhere, trying to hustle a buck, and the

street kids are looking for handouts or trying to bum pocket

change. The hotel trade is good this time of night, since the

hookers don’t come out till much later.

Mostly business men, looking for a cheap thrill from the strip

acts, and a few hours of steady drinking until they have to go

home to their wives and families. I watched one dark handsome guy

in his early forties cross the crowded street. I could tell by

the lust in his eyes that I was turning him on, so as he headed

for the door I wiggled my cute buns over to him.

“Hi good looking” I said in my deepest sultry voice, “Want me to

blow your horn for you?” He looked at me and shrugged then said,

“You sure look inviting babe, but I can’t afford to pay the

piper.”

I put on my best pouting expression and said “I didn’t ask for any

money mister, I’m just a volunteer for the sperm bank and I want

you to make a donation, right down my throat.”

He looked around quickly, and I could tell by the growing bulge in

his pants that he wanted to fuck my pretty face as bad as I wanted

his, no, needed his hot fuck tool between my lips.

I led him by the hand to the alley beside the bar, (a place I knew

so well from previous visits), looked around to make sure nobody

was sleeping behind the dumpster, and dropped to my knees while my

fingers flew at his fly trying to pull that big hunk of cock out

of his pants. It was so hard and so big, that I couldn’t close my

fist around it!

I pulled back the foreskin slowly letting his musky aroma

tantalize my nose before I slipped my painted lips over his shaft.

Oh, he tasted so good! A tangy, zesty flavor, and I started to

slurp my way up and down his pole. I stuck my tongue into his

slit, and the way that his balls contracted in my other hand told

me how much he liked it! His cock head was swelling by the

second, and my head was spinning with desire for his hot cream.

He was my first in a month, and I needed his liquid offering in my

stomach to cool the fire smoldering inside.

I pulled his foreskin all the way forward and let my tongue slip

in between the folds of his skin and his ballooning cock head. I

needed his cum bad, so I started sucking for all I was worth!

“Oh, yeah, suck it baby!” he moaned, “Suck it hard you fucking

slut! Eat my seed, suck my cum, oh fuck! I’m cumming!” He

grasped my head between his hands and shoved his salami down my

throat as his balls erupted and exploded sending blast after blast

of hot, steaming, delicious spunk down my throat. I sucked on his

cock until it started to shrivel in my mouth. I didn’t want to

waste one single drop.

When I was sure he didn’t have anymore to offer me, I let him slip

out of my mouth. I stood up and straightened my clothes and

started to walk away. He called out after me, asking me my name

and the usual bullshit they always do about when can they see me

again and such, but I’m not looking for a boyfriend, and I’m not

available for this kind of thing except one day each month. I

could still taste his cum on my lips, but instead of quenching my

fire, it was burning even hotter. I didn’t need any more friends,

I needed more cock and more cum, lots and lots of cum!

After I turned the corner, I re-adjusted my wig, and put on some

more lipstick. Then I headed for another bar. This time I went

inside and ordered a drink. It wasn’t five minutes before a guy

came over to me and said: “Hey gorgeous, would you like some

company?” I looked him over, and figured him for a junior sales

clerk, the way he was dressed, but he wasn’t bad looking so I

said, “I don’t need any company, but if you have some cum you’d

like to give my mouth, I sure do need some of that.”

He was startled by my remark, but it didn’t take him long to

respond.

“Sure”, he said, “I can spare you about a gallon, but I don’t have

a room close by.” I looked around the bar and noticed that there

were hardly any other women there so I told him to meet me in the

women’s john in two minutes. I went ahead first to make sure

there was nobody in there.

When I found the coast to be clear, I signaled him to come in. As

soon as he entered he wanted to kiss me and feel me up, but I just

brushed his hands away. I didn’t come here for kissy-face crap, I

wanted his prick sliding back and forth between my lips!

I pushed him into a stall, and pulled his pants right down to his

ankles. Then I told him to sit on the water tank while I

straddled the toilet facing his cock. Its size wasn’t very

impressive, but it was growing, and the purple tinge to it told me

that he was getting good and ready!

I licked around his balls first and watched them contract like

little golf balls, hard and ready to burst. I licked my way up

his shaft and was a little disappointed with the soapy taste of a

guy who’s a little too fussy about cleanliness. When I got to the

tip of his cock though, and I tasted a drop of his pre-cum, it

more than made up for everything else. Just a little salty, and

with a hint of garlic is the best way I can describe it.

As I licked his slit, he started to buck and groan, so I clamped

down fast knowing that any second now he would explode and fill my

face with his hot sticky cum. I squeezed his shaft so that when he

blew, it would be much more intense, for both of us!

He yelped when he finally blew his load into my eagerly waiting

mouth, and I used my hand to milk him totally dry.

“Oh, fuck baby. You do that so good!” he said.

I asked him if he was ready for another round, but he said it

would take him a little bit before he could get it up again. Then

he said that he was in town for a convention, and that if I wanted

he would send in one of his buddies while he worked up another

hard for me.

“Sure send him in!” I said, “The more that cum, the merrier I’ll

be.” Well it turned out that he had a lot of buddies with him

from the convention, and I figured I was on about the tenth one,

(being I had lost count past the fourth). I know I’m a cock crazy

slut, but I just couldn’t get enough. I figured I had drank about

forty gallons of hot musky sexy delicious seed and I still needed

more. Then this tall lean guy came in. I told him to sit on the

tank, like all the others, but he lifted me up under the arms,

raised me to a standing position and kissed me! I thought this

guy is crazy! Didn’t he realize that half his buddies had shot

their seed in the mouth he was kissing? But he persisted, and

finally succeeded in getting his tongue into my mouth. He swirled

it there and my head started to spin.

He didn’t try to feel up my tits, he just reached down and grabbed

a hold of my crotch. I did the same to him, and massaged his

stiff prick like he was doing to me.

“Fucking right” he said. “I knew the minute the guys started

talking about the great blows they were getting for free from some

chick who didn’t want anything in return that you had to be a TV

Queen!”

I didn’t say anything but let him raise my skirt and pull out my

own aching rod. It was my turn to sit on the tank, and finally

get my rocks off! He said his name was Jeff, and that he swung

both ways, but that his buddies didn’t know that. It only took a

couple of licks from Jeff’s experienced tongue and then I was

groaning and shooting my seed into his mouth. Jeff kept at me

though, even after I shot my first load, he just kept on slurping

away at my love stick until I came again. It was my turn to kiss

his sticky lips now, and then we traded places. I sucked on

Jeff’s big tool until he let loose with a torrent of hot cream

down my throat!

Jeff asked if he could take me home, but as much as I enjoyed

fucking his face, it was still my night on the town. I left the

bar after sucking off Jeff, thinking I had stayed too long in one

place already. Jeff was pouting, but hey! It’s my night out!

I come here once a month, every month to get my fill of sucking

hard cocks. I have my needs, and one of them is not spending the

night with just one guy. I want as many big hard cocks fucking my

face as I can get. I need as much cream as I can swallow, it has

to last me a whole month, and one guy just can’t give me enough.

But, below the waist is still all male, and really turned on.. by me!
I put on a black garter belt (still the best way to frame my “surprise”), and
rose up a pair of sheer black stockings, slipping them up my tan, smooth legs
and then fastening the hooks mid-thigh. Well, a nice pair of legs is an asset
for a woman like me (hehehe). But still a most unfeminine bulge is apparent!
So, I slip on a pair of tight black panties, slipping my penis into the hidden
pocket, and folding it back under me as I pull the panties tightly to my waist.
There, nice and smooth, and, I’m female!
I pull my favorite Victoria’s Secret black satin chemis, and slip it over
my shoulders, slide it down over my curves, and smooth it into place.
I ease my long hair out from under the straps and then put on a turquoise satin
blouse, buttoning it only halfway up, to show off the black lace underneath.
I slip on a denim mini and tie the blouse tightly at the waist. I shake my head
and flip my hair around. I look especially tasty today and decide to go out.
But first, I need jewelry!
I put on a triple stranded gold necklace, some bracelets and ring, and a big
pair of gold hoop earrings. There. Almost perfect..but, those fingernails
would look better painted. So, I get out the polish, the heated nail dryer, and
sit down to finish my change. Three glossy coats of Snow Orange later..
Babelon! I look fabulous!

As I walk out to the car, the men out in the neighborhood turn and stare,
appreciatively. So, I give them a show, because I love to tease them.
So, I wiggle my hips (a bit too much) and strut boldly, with a smile, over
to my car. I open the door and ease onto the seat, flashing a lot of leg
and garter-top as I slide myself behind the wheel. After a few minutes of
letting the car warm-up, and a lot of fussing in the mirror, I pull away,
smiling at the men as they stare.

The next day was Saturday. Dennis got up at dawn and was already possessed
by the question of what he would wear on his mall spree. He also had to get
out of the house without seeing his father. Around nine o’clock his mother
knocked on the door and delivered his breakfast. “You okay, honey?” she said.
He turned to her and smiled. “Yes, I guess. I’m supposed to go to the mall
today with Debby.”
“That’s great!” she said. “What are you going to . . .”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s wrong with jeans and a sweater?”
“Mom!” he said with exasperation, “It’s not what I’m going to wear. It’s
wearing a bra and stuff out there,” Dennis said. He turned his head to the
window, creating a curvy cameo against the blue sky. His mother put her arm
around his waist.
“It’ll be fine. No one will ever suspect.”
He spun out of her grasp. “No will ever suspect what?” he demanded.
She stepped back in alarm for a brief moment. Then regaining her composure
she said deliberately, “That you’re not a girl.”
“Even though I look like one?”
“Yes, a very lovely girl,” she added.
Tears welled up in his eyes and he said, “I’m scared, mommy.” She hugged
him.
“I know, honey. I know. It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”
An hour later the door opened and Dennis emerged like a shy butterfly. He
wore his old jean jacket over a tight black turtleneck sweater and a pair of
girls’ jeans that Debby had brought him. The jeans were so tight that the
outline of the credit card his mother gave him was clearly visible in his back
pocket. Furthermore, his sweater accentuated his bust in a way that both
embarrassed and excited him. His mother had brushed his hair out and pulled it
back in a ponytail, tying it up high on his head in a more feminine way.
Dennis protested but secretly he liked the way it made him look cute and
little girl-like.
They drove to the mall in silence. Dennis looked out the window and played
with the end of his ponytail. When they arrived his mother said, “You’ll be
fine. Try to have fun with it.” Dennis made an effort to smile. She watched
him walk across the parking lot, losing track of him as he blended into a
crowd of teenage girls headed for the mall.

Dennis arrived at the appointed meeting place early and sat down on a bench to
wait. His breasts felt bigger and more conspicuous than ever and he
unconsciously began to hunch over to hide his curvy, new figure. When he saw
Debby walking across the mall he straightened up a little.
“Hi,” Debby said quietly.
“Hi.”
“You look great.”
“Thanks.” He blushed. “Everything feels so . . . tight.”
“That’s because it is, dear. And that’s why we’re here. Are you ready?”
“Not really.”
“Come on, let’s go get you a bra that fits.” She pulled him up off the
bench and they headed off to the lingerie department at Dillards.
Debby took Dennis back to the dressing rooms, and said, “Wait here. I’ll be
back.”
He sat down and fidgeted, trying not to feel like this was the oddest thing
he’d ever done, trying not to listen to the sounds of dressing dropping and
bras hooking.
Soon Debby returned with several bras, slips and even a garter belt. When
Dennis rolled his eyes she said, “You might like it, you know. Now take off
your sweater.”
He spent the rest of the afternoon taking off his clothes and trying on
others. Debby was having a great time selecting things and then having him
model them for her. Soon he forgot who he was and where he was and began to
look forward to trying on the pretty blouses and skirts that Debby handed him.
By two o’clock he had discarded the turtleneck and jeans and was wearing
black tights, a black denim skirt and a white blouse with puffed sleeves and a
plunging neckline. By three o’clock he had replaced his mother’s low pumps
with a pair of shiny black heels and he carried a small brown leather purse.
He felt more at ease in his new role now and even a little proud of his
figure which Debby never stopped praising. “You’re such a fox,” she’d say or
with mock envy “You’re so stacked. I wish I had your figure.” Dennis couldn’t
help grinning when he heard these compliments. Even though he felt comfortable
walking along side Debby in his new skirt and blouse, he found it difficult to
take the larger step of enjoying his femininity. Debbie sensed that this
shyness might be shed if he could see his feminine loveliness reflected, not
in a mirror but in the eyes of his beholders.
“How about a makeover?” she suggested as they strolled through the cosmetic
section. Dennis hesitated and then thought why not. Moments later an
attractive young redhead in a cream colored lab coat was daubing bright colors
on his cheek and speaking in low soothing tones about contrast and shade.
Dennis found himself enjoying the attention. Especially when Carole the
cosmetician praised his cheekbones or his aquiline nose. When she finished he
swooned at the luscious girl who stared back at him in the circular mirror.
Carole had uncovered or rather created a glittering creature with her brushes
and paint and Dennis was amazed at this new level of transformation. He was
barely begun to admire himself when Debbie said, “Let’s get your hair done
now.”
Dennis went pale beneath his blusher. “Oh, I don’t know. Can’t I just leave
it the way it is.”
“Your hair is lovely but it needs to be trained. Just like your breasts
need a bra for support, your hair needs to be . . . tamed.”
“Tamed how?”
“You’ll see. Come on,” she said, taking him by the arm and leading him into
Hair Designs.
When he left the salon an hour and a half later the ambisextrous pony tail
was gone but you couldn’t really call what replaced it tame. The hairdresser,
obviously delighted to get her hands on Dennis’s thick, abundant hair, had
taken this raw rapunzel and worked his hair into a frothy bouffant. Parted on
one side it now sinuously fell over his face in a dramatic cascade which
culminated at his shoulders in a thick, bouncing wave.
Dennis was mortified when he saw what had been done to him. Debby couldn’t
stop laughing. He looked as though he should be wrapped in ermine and carrying
a chihuahua, a soap opera vixen at a supermarket opening. It was the worst
possible outcome: big, starlet hair which called attention to his burgeoning
femininity. In fact, it was the perfect complement to his glamorous makeover
and a small part of his girlish self was celebrating. The rest of him found
his new look, like his pouffy coif, to be an unwieldy burden, top heavy with
sex.
“You look faaabulous,” Debby said over and over in her best Fernando Lamas
ooze. People were staring at him. He could feel heads turning as he walked
past. And when they reached a knot of teenage boys his composure, already on
shaky ground, completely abandoned him and suddenly he was a teenage girl,
giggling with nervous energy, embarrassed and proud of his beauty, knowing and
innocent. It was as though he’d been handed a scepter that had compelling
power but he had no idea how to control it. And so he passed through the
crowded mall causing small whirlwinds of sexual confusion in his wake.
The two girls made their way out into the silent twilight and fell silent
themselves. Dennis felt his nipples stiffen in the October chill. He drew the
jean jacket tighter.
“How are you going to get all this stuff home?” Debby said finally.
“I guess I should call my mom but I don’t really want to.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. She’s never seen me like this.”
“Yeah. Well, I could call my mom, I guess.”
“Does she know?”
“Not exactly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She knows.”
“Oh, great.”
“Hey, it’s not a big deal.”
Dennis exhaled a bitter laugh. “Okay, well let’s go call her.”

Debby’s mother was not discreet. She gawked, she stared, even her silence
was uncomfortably intrusive and Dennis was glad when they dropped him off at
home. He gathered up all his purchases and went up the walk. His mother opened
the door.
“Is that you?”
“Yes,” Dennis said, bowing his head so that his bounteous hair shrouded his
face in shadow.
“Let me take a look at you. Oh my God!” She reached out to hug him but he
pulled away. “What’s the matter, honey?”
He ran past her up the stairs to his room. When he got there he was shocked
to find the room had been transformed. Gone were the beige curtains, the brown
bedspread and the dresser he’d had since childhood. In their place, were pink
draperies, a chenille bedspread and a vanity replete with a tableful of
cosmetics. A long, rectangular mirror encircled by tiny bulbs completed the
picture. A note was taped on the mirror. It read: “For our new daughter, Mom
and Dad.”
Dennis didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He did neither. Instead the
girl in the mirror beckoned. Finally alone, she demanded his undivided
attention. The androgynous jean jacket fell to the floor like a discarded husk
and her delicate hands covered her decolletage. It was a gesture of
instinctive modesty. Head tipped forward in shy retreat of her own loveliness,
hair spilling over her naked shoulders, she resembled a little girl
simultaneously chastened and adored for wearing Mommy’s good blouse. A
mischievous smile now overtook her diffidence and she swiveled in a three
quarter turn to see just how big her hair was in back and how much space her
breasts displaced in profile. The small smile turned big as she took note of
her own womanly grandiosity. Hands went to hips next and back arched, trailing
her mane down to her waist. The little girl had disappeared. A starlet was
emerging.
“Dennis!” his mother called from behind him.
He wheeled around and felt the free fall of his hair over one shoulder. The
little girl suddenly returned, blushing crimson.
“Are you okay, honey?” she said, unable to conceal an amused smile.
Dennis looked down. His mother gave him hug and it crossed his mind that
his breasts were bigger than her’s. “I’m so proud of you,” she said softly.
Dennis pushed her away.
“Let’s see what you got,” she said, trying to break the tension.
“Maybe later. I think I’d like to be alone.”
“Don’t you want to show your dad . . .”
“No!”
“Dennis, you’ve got to face him sometime. You can’t hide up here for the
rest of your life.”
His glittering eyes flickered with a laser beam of hatred and his mother
beat a hasty retreat. He locked the door, stripped his clothes off and looked
at his body in the full-length mirror his parents had installed on the back of
his door. His body was a conundrum with its voluptuous curves and a big cock
swaying between his legs. He touched it. Not with the manly intent of his pre-
girl years but daintily, gingerly, as though it were a foreign part of his
body, an incongruous artifact of a forgotten time. Amazingly, it sprang to
life in his delicate hand and the sight of his nodding tool in concert with
his swaying breasts aroused him. He began to play with his image in the
mirror. Legs spread and pelvis thrust out, he proffered his stiff rod with one
hand and gathered up a shock of brunette hair with the other while his lips
pouted with babydoll insouciance. It was an arresting image and one filled
with coarse sensuality. Suddenly a wave of enormous shame mingled with a
knowledge of raw, unbridled power swept over him and he lay down on the pink
bedspread to catch his breath. His head was swimming with strange hormonal
drumbeats and even though the blood drained from his cock, his mind retained
the image of the lusty androgyne for a long time after.
“Dinner’s ready, hon,” his mom called out from behind the door.
Dennis stood up and turned to look at himself once again. A strange and
mischievous smile overtook his mouth and he picked up his bra and twirled it
around his finger. Then he put the bra and panties back on, tucking his
maleness demurely between his legs. Pawing through the bags from the mall he
selected the tightest jeans and a red sweater with pearl buttons that
celebrated his new convexity to stunning effect. For shoes he chose a pair of
black heels with ankle straps. Glancing in the mirror he smiled at his kitten-
with-a-whip look, freshened up his lipstick, brushed his bounteous hair over
his shoulders and bounced down the stairs to dinner.
His mother raised an eyebrow as he plopped into his customary seat. He
smiled back at her, spreading his napkin over his lap with careful good little
girl aplomb. When his father finally emerged from his own hiding place he
turned white at the image of his son, whom he had last seen in uncomfortable
transition, as a red lipped little hussy flaunting her breasts like Lana
Turner.
“What’s the matter, Dad?” Dennis said in a breathy, Marilynesque whisper.
“I thought you wanted this,” he said, resting his hands modestly over his
breasts.
His father struggled with his emotions for a moment and then sat silently,
a frozen smile fixed on his face.
“Dennis went . . .”
“I’m Denise now, Mom.”
She nodded in his direction. “Denise went to the mall today.”
“Oh,” his father said, trying to seem interested.
“He . . . she bought all kinds of stuff . . . on your credit card.”
“Oh.”
They ate in silence. Denise watched them carefully. They didn’t look up
once for 10 minutes.
“Look! My nipples are hard,” Denise finally said, nonchalantly breaking the
silence. “What causes that, I wonder?” he said, throwing his shoulders back to
emphasize his bust. His parents looked up for a moment and then down
immediately at their plates. He toyed with a strand of spaghetti for a long
moment and then said, “Look, I’m a girl now. You’d better get used to it
because I have.” He got up suddenly and went back to his room.
“What was that all about?” his father said.
“I don’t know,” his mother said.
“Maybe you’d better go see if he’s . . . she’s alright.”
“Why don’t you. I think that little performance was for your benefit.”
“What do I say?”
“Just accept her.”
“But she’s so . . . whory.”
“Have you looked around lately? That’s the way girls are these days.”
“It’s hard to adjust to him that way.”
“Her. And you’ll just have to try.”
He got up and walked slowly up the stairs.
“Denise, uh sorry, Denise,” he called out. When no response came, he tried
the doorknob and finding it unlocked he opened the door a crack and poked his
head in. Denise was sitting at his new vanity. The sweater and jeans were
gone. He wore only a black brassiere, panties and heels. His hair was piled up
on his head casually in Gibson girl splendor. He turned to look at his father.
In his hand he held a mascara brush. “Hi, Daddy,” he said with a coy smile.
His father eyes dropped to Denise’s expansive cleavage and he withdrew
hastily. “Sorry, I thought you were . . .”
“Dressed,” Denise finished. “But, Daddy, I am.”
Hiding behind the door, his father grew purple with embarrassment and rage.
“Listen, Daddy, I’m not what I was. Physically or any other way. I’m your
little girl now with not so little breasts. And I’m pretty and I like it. So
you better get used to me this way because I’m not changing back again.”
Slowly the door closed and Denise smiled into the mirror for a moment before
resuming the brush strokes of his mascara.

* * *

On Sunday Denise went over to Debbie’s and the two spent the entire afternoon
trying on clothes and making up. He was an avid student, absorbing as much
information as he could about make up, clothes and hair. Debbie was surprised
at the new lack of self-consciousness about his femaleness. Though late in the
afternoon, as Debbie fussed over his hair, he admitted that he was worried
about school.
“Why?”
“Why? I left there six weeks ago as a boy and now I returning with this?”
he said, pointing to the the frothy pile of curls atop his head. “And these,”
he said, cupping his breasts.
“But everyone knows something happened to you.”
“They do?”
“Well, yes. I mean, it was happening before you left, you know.”
“What are they saying about me?”
Debbie stopped teasing his hair for a moment. Their eyes met in the mirror.
“They’re saying you’re a girl now, a beautiful girl.”
“How do they know that though?”
“I told them,” Debbie blurted out.
“What did you say?”
“I said that your body had changed and that you and your parents decided it
was best if you started wearing . . . girls’ clothes for a while.”
Debbie’s matter of factness made Denise blush.
“And I said that you were really pretty.”
Denise sighed, his bosom heaving beneath his blouse. “Do you really think
I’m pretty, Debbie?”
“Shut up, big tits and let me finish your hair.”
“I hate that word.”
“What? Tits?”
“Yes. Do you really think my breasts are big?”
“Oh, you just want to hear me say it. Yes, of course they’re big. 36 C cup
is big, darling. The boys are going to love you.”
Denise looked up at the mirror. “No, they won’t. They’ll think, ‘He’s a boy
who looks like a girl.’”
“How long do you think that will last?”
“Well, I’m not a complete girl, you know.”
“They won’t be seeing that though, will they. And besides how will they
know it’s still there?”
Denise smiled at his reflection. “It’s kind of like being a spy. Like Mata
Hari,” he said, covering his face like a veil with a thick coil of brunette
curls. Debbie casually recaptured them and resumed brushing.
“At least you won’t have to take P.E. anymore.”

* * *

The next day Denise and his parents met with the school counselor, Mr. Belson
and the school nurse, Miss Ashley, to talk about “Denise’s” return to school.
Denise wore a long sleeve ribbed knit dress that revealed the contours of his
new topography with such drama that Mr. Belson had trouble looking at the
statuesque young tart without staring in awe. It pleased Denise no end to see
that the slightest shifts in his posture reverberated throughout Mr. Belson’s
libido like tiny seismic disturbances.
“Denise seems to be adjusting to her new role very well,” Mr. Belson said,
looking first at Denise’s father who shifted uncomfortably in his seat and
then at his mother who beamed with pride at her son’s beauty and finally at
Denise himself whose demure lips opened and seemed to Mr. Belson to mouth the
words, “Fuck me.” Belson turned crimson and then said, “Well, I guess that’s
it unless you have anything else, Miss Ashley.”
“I’m just wondering what bathroom Denise will use,” Miss Ashley said matter
of factly.
“Well, I, uh,” Belson stumbled.
“Why can’t he use the girls’ bathroom?” Denise’s mother asked impatiently.
“She could but I’m afraid of what would happen if she was . . .
indiscreet,” Miss Ashley said, politely correcting his mother’s slip.
“Denise is a lady,” his mother insisted. His father winced.
“Well, I’m sure she is but some of the students know that Denise is not . .
. completely feminine. I would hate to put her in an awkward position.”
“Why don’t we try it for a while and see how it goes,” Mr. Belson
intervened.
Miss Ashley sighed and retreated. The meeting was over.
That night Denise stared at the ceiling and thought about Mr. Belson. “How
nervous he was. He couldn’t take his eyes off my breasts. I controlled him
just by touching my hair or shifting in my chair. These are powerful,” he
thought to himself as he cupped his heavy bosom in his hands. He decided to
experiment more with his new powers and when he appeared at the breakfast
table in the morning, his clothes were even more provocative. He wore an
ultratight v-neck red sweater and designer jeans which left nothing to the
imagination. He hair was tied high up on his head and bounced merrily against
his back in a thick spring-loaded ponytail. His adorable bangs belied his
tantalizing couture. He chose the brightest red lipstick he could find and his
alabaster cheeks were brushed dramatically with pale rose blush. He was ready
to turn heads.
First class was English with Mr. Bostick. The usual preclass din was in
full sway until he appeared in the doorway. Then the heads not only turned,
jaws dropped and tongues fell out as the prettiest boy in school took his old
seat. He waited for Mr. Bostick to make a speech about his return and it
seemed as though that might have been the teacher’s plan until he’d seen the
statuesque boy’s transformation. He was literally speechless before such a
bewitching metamorphosis. Denise breathed a sigh of relief (an event followed
by every male in the room) and felt secure in the knowledge that his imposing
beauty had helped him escape an embarrassing situation.
The rest of his classes followed a similar pattern. The few who weren’t
aware that he’d left school weeks earlier as a boy were soon apprised of the
fact and turned to stare with undisguised wonder. He smiled politely at the
girls and suggestively at the boys and basked in the reflected heat generated
by his homecoming. No one talked to him between classes and he spoke to no one
until he saw Debbie in the halls between classes.
“How’s it going?”
“Not too bad, I guess. Everyone thinks I’m a martian but I don’t care.”
“You’re too beautiful. That’s the problem. They can’t believe someone with
a set like yours was a boy a few weeks ago.”
Denise smiled. “Gotta go.”
“Bye.”
He walked down the corridor feeling the tightness of his sweater against
his breasts, the swish of his pant legs and the clicking of his heels. He felt
good. He felt alive. This feeling stopped abruptly when he pushed the heavy
door into the girls’ bathroom. A mangy quartet of tough girls fixing their
hair and makeup turned to look at him. He smiled and went into a stall and
shut the door. Like most stall doors the lock hadn’t functioned in years and
only gravity kept it shut.
They girls resumed their conversation in stage whispers.
“I don’t think he looks that great.”
“His bra’s gotta be padded.”
“I heard he still had his dick.”
“He’s probably standing over the john right now.”
“Hey, leave the seat down, will ya?” Laughter. They moved to the front of
his stall and began whispering in earnest.
“Hey, Denise.”
“What?”
“We want to see it.”
Silence.
“Come on, Denise, we’re all girls here right?”
Denise tried to move his knee against the door but it was too late. As the
door flew back he stood up hastily and made a futile effort to pull up his
jeans.
“Oh gross!”
“It’s huge!”
Denise tried to cover himself but it was too late. He burst out crying and
made the impromptu decision to cover his face rather than his privates. It was
a bad decision. One of the girls had a polaroid camera and flashed a quick
snap of the pretty girl and the unquestionably large remnant of her manhood.
“You won’t be so haughty after this gets around, Big Dick.”
“See if his tits are real,” one of the girls said. Another girl responded
by ripping Denise’s sweater open, exposing his pert 36 C cup breasts bouncing
in a lacy black brassiere.
The camera whined again capturing the conundrum of Denise’s body and her
anguish at its rude exposure. Denise took his hands from his face to scream at
his antagonists but that only served their interests better when a third
picture was snapped that showed the pretty girl with the bouncing ponytail
revealed, cock flopping and cleavage popping.
This was the picture that went into wide circulation throughout the school
the next day, reaching Mr. Belson’s desk sometime in the late afternoon. It
was a crude xerox of a xerox but Denise was still clearly recognizable.
Curiously, his look of anger had mutated in the copy machine into cartoonish
surprise giving the photo the look of a burlesque postcard, the kind where an
airbrushed cutie loses her bathrobe to an obliging gust of wind. The fact that
much more was revealed than a pair of white buns added a certain piquancy.
What remained in the viewer’s mind after the picture was gone was the
magnitude of both his male and female attributes and, of course, his stunning
face.
The next day when Mr. Belson called Denise into his office he expected a
somewhat chastened version of the vixen he’d met at the parent conference. He
was surprised to find that Denise was unrepentant. He wore a scooped-neck
leotard that exploited the fulsome beauty of his bust and a denim sheath skirt
fit tightly around his derriere. He wore his hair down and it framed his face
in soft waves of kittenish abandon. There was nothing about him that suggested
he had a secret surprise in his panties or that the humiliating events of the
past two days had daunted his hussy image.
“You don’t seem bothered by this, Denise,” he said, holding the picture up.
“I am but I can’t let it show or it will only get worse.”
“So you hide your true feelings.”
“I suppose.”
“Is that wise?”
Denise looked into his eyes. “Mr. Belson, I know I’m a girl now. I have
breasts and a girl’s figure. I also happen to have a penis. Now everyone knows
it. It’s not a big deal.”
Belson stared in awe at the lovely boy/girl’s insouciance. Then he looked
down at the key in his hand and said, “Well, I don’t think it’s wise to use
the girls’ bathrooms anymore. I’m going to give you the key to the faculty
bathroom. Do me and yourself a favor and keep the door locked from now on.”
Denise took the key and headed for the door. He turned round as he touched
the doorknob and said “Don’t worry about me, Mr. Belson. I know what I am.”
Yes, you’re a slut, Belson thought as the pretty boy/girl left.
The next few days were difficult ones for Denise as her notorious picture
circulated throughout the whole school. Taunts of “Big Dick” and “Cock Girl”
were whispered behind her back in the corridors and her old friends, including
Debbie, were embarrassed to be seen with her. She didn’t seem to mind much
during school but at night, as she sat before her vanity, she would burst into
tears when she scanned her lovely image in the mirror and saw her big cock
resting peacefully beneath her tricot panties like a python in repose.
Nevertheless she was determined not to back down and each day her
provocative clothes reflected a “Take No Prisoners” attitude that did little
to let the controversy around her subside. One day she arrived at first period
English class in a bustier and short black skirt with a bolero jacket that
mitigated her delicious cleavage but not by much.
“Denise, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to go home and change,”
the principal had said after calling her into his office.
“Why?”
“I think that’s fairly obvious,” he said, uncomfortably.
“Not to me.”
“You can’t come to school dressed like Madonna and expect to get away with
it.”
“You don’t have to worry about the boys. Not one has even spoken to me
since I’ve come back to school.”
“It’s not just the boys, Denise. It’s . . . everyone,” he said, letting his
own eyes drop for a moment to savor those milk white doves cupped in black
underwired lace. “You’re here to learn not to . . . parade around in your
underwear.”
When his mother pulled up to take him home she feigned shock by his
brazenness. “Denise, you’ve got to tone down. For goodness sake, you look like
a whore,” she said laughing but Denise could tell she took great pride in his
“stop a train” figure.
When they got home he changed into a tight black sweater. “That’s better,”
she smiled. “Much more ladylike.” In fact, it was even more tantalizing than
the bustier but it didn’t get him kicked out of school.
* * *

Belson stood relieving himself in the faculty bathroom when the door lock
clicked and the knob turned. He glanced over to see Denise closing the door
behind her.
“What are you doing in here?” he yelled.
“Don’t worry, I locked the door,” she said, sidling up to him at the next
urinal and unzipping her jeans. He looked straight ahead, his face a pinkish
white as she made water next to him and the perfume of her hair filled his
nostrils.
“Am I embarrassing you, Mr. Belson?” she said huskily.
He stood silently as she studied his face. He could feel her eyes shifting
down to his cock, examining it. After what seemed like an eternity he
finished, zipped up his pants and turned toward the exit. But Denise turned
and stopped him. Her pink nailed fingers shook her big cock in his direction
“Look at it, Mr. Belson. I know you’ve wanted it since that first meeting.
Go ahead. It’s not a snake. It won’t bite.”
“Get out of my way, you little slut.”
“Look at it,” she screamed.
He glanced down.
“That’s it. Not so hard, was it? But it could be. Here, touch it.” She
reached out and grabbed his hand and placed it on the large tube of flesh. His
hand curled around it like a tendril on a vine.
He looked at her. She was never more captivating. The soft brunette hair
that framed her face, the thick bangs that fell just above her wide eyes, the
lovely innocence of her white skin belied the power of her spell, the cruel
womanliness of her demands. She was irresistible. A wave of yielding weakness
passed through him with a visible tremor and pulling her thick root like a
handle, he drew her close and kissed her lips.
As they kissed, she unzipped his pants and her hand slid through the
opening to retrieve his cock. It was hard. She was not surprised.
She pulled back and smiled at him. “Do you want me?” she asked, in a husky
babydoll whisper.
He said nothing but buried his head in her thick hair till he reached her
neck and let his tongue answer with a long kiss that made its way from her
neck to her mouth.
“Suck me, baby,” she said.
Now he pulled back and looked at her with faint apprehension. “You do what
I tell you, baby,” she said, in a soothing maternal voice.
He sank to his knees and looked up at her in helpless supplication. She
smiled down at him and hoisted her tube top and bra up over her breasts,
letting them sway above him like dark shadows. She smiled again. “Go ahead,
baby.”
She guided her big cock to his mouth and drew it across his lips a few
times before they opened and opened and opened and soon it was glistening and
gliding, in and out across his tongue, down his throat, over his lips and
back, swelling with each stroke until it threatened to choke him.
As he fell into the rhythm of the trancelike motion, Denise turned toward
the mirror and studied this strange tableau vivant. Her body now arched over
the supplicant, hands against the tiled wall, breasts spiraling over him like
heavy fruit and he below, shaking the tree by its thick trunk with drunken
abandon. The thrust of her round, white buttocks; the dark, shimmering hair
falling around her head, shaking with each lunge; the pouting, mocking lips,
the raw, redness of her glistening cock. Were these the devices that pumped
the blood to her groin or was it Belson’s unschooled lips, his untalented
tongue? No, it was her and her alone. The juicy vision of her contradictions,
the crucifying beauty of her womanly body and her red male member, the
sweetness of her face and the cruelty of her desire, the mingling of innocent
youth with ravenous lust. The puppet Belson. She smiled at the ease with which
she pulled his strings and her triumphant smile unexpectedly brought forth the
streaming, white gism that flowed out the sides of his mouth and spurted into
his damp hair and fell to the tiles in clotted, milky drops. Before the last
spunk was spilled Denise pulled away from Belson to face the mirror and
grasping her cock with both hands, she took aim at her own deliciously bawdy
image. A final shot, issuing from deep within her groin, arced and hit the
mirror, clouding the reflection of her face with hot, white cum.

–