Sara looked around and spotted a table overflowing with bras, of all colors, the same one from the ad in the morning paper. She steered us to the table, at the same time a saleswoman moved to us.
"May I help you," she asked, smiling at us.
"Yes, we were looking at this bra."
"Well, it's a nice piece, a bit high, price wise, but a wonderful piece. It's lightly padded, but in a way to enhance the figure without being overbearing. All day support, but still very sexy, a great evening piece too," she said, giving that woman to woman smile to Sara.
Sara picked up a black one, examined it, the clasps, the straps. "Yes, it's nice, I'm not sure what else we are getting, but I know I want this."
"Are you about a 34C," the sales woman asked, looking through the assortment of bras.
"Yes, but I need it in a 38C, please," Sara smiled.
"Color?"
"White, please," Sara answered.
"And the matching panties?"
"Oh, yes, a size large," Sara said. The woman looked at us, and I wondered if she knew or if I was being paranoid.
"There's a matching garter, too," Sara asked her.
"Yes, ma'am, there is, this way please," she sauntered off to take us to the garter belts.
"Stockings," she asked Sara?
"White? I assume you will need longs?"
Did she say 'he' or 'you'? I could not be sure.
"Yes," Sara answered, taking two pairs of the stockings. "You know, I think I should get this entire set in black too, with two pairs of black stockings, and four pairs of nude stockings."
While she gathered our things, Sara wandered around the store, me in tow. She picked up some things here and there, sometimes two, camisole and tap panty sets, a teddy. We found ourselves in front of a bridal display, and Sara picked up a boned corset. It was stunning. Satin, laces, garter straps. I saw the tag, size 34. "That's not my size," I laughed, hiding my nerves.
"I know, I wasn't thinking of it for you, dear."
"Well, why would you need a bridal thing," I asked.
"Well, white is pure, virginal, innocent. The first time. That's why brides wear white."
"Yes," I said, confused.
"Maybe something to wear for my first time."
"Your first time what?"
"My first time with...," she hesitated, "Oh, nothing," she smiled, adding the corset and a pair of coordinating panties to the pile.
We paid for the purchases and went home. I was scared and excited, unsure of what we were going to do when we got home, but to my surprise, Sara simply put the bags in her closet.
I wanted to ask her, but I did not want to admit, to her or myself, that I actually wanted to try the bra on.
We went throughout the day, I busied myself around the house, feeling weird, missing the bra I had on before, missing my new one, still in panties. At bedtime, Sara did get out a camisole and tap panty set, in black satin for me, but as weird as it sounds, I still wanted the bra.
In bed, curled in Sara's arms, her fingers resting on my flat chest, through the satin of the camisole, I drifted to sleep, thinking only about wearing a bra."
Wake up, sleepy head," Sara whispered in my ear, pinching my nipples through the satin of my camisole. Just her touch sent shivers up my spine, even as I tried to open my eyes, see the clock.
Part 02
"What...what time is it," I asked her.
"Nine."
I started to jump up, knowing I was very late for work, but she pushed me back down.
"Remember, we are both sick today," she said, teasing my nipple again, moving behind me, spooning against me. "Well, maybe not too sick," she whispered, running her tongue over my ear. Oh my, this was the way to wake up, even if I was laying here in satin lingerie. As she continued to kiss me ear, she rubbed her crotch into my backside, and I could feel the heat of her, though her tap panties, through my tap panties.
Oh...morning sex, I thought, as I moved my free arm down over my own satin covered ass, guided by her heat, until I reached her dampness.
Rubbing her, moving the loose fabric away from her, I slipped one, then two fingers in her, the heat and wetness sucking them in to her moans. She responded, squeezing my nipples harder, kissing my neck and ear. Finally, her hand worked its way down to the front of my tap panties, and slowly stroked me, eliciting my own moans.
"Oh sweetie," she whispered in my ear, "yes, that's my girl," she stiffened in a mini-orgasm.
I started to try to turn over, to face her, to, well, make love to her. "Lover, what are you doing," she said, as I took my fingers away from her to turn over, "don't stop."
"I thought we could..."
"Oh no, baby," she said, gripping my stiffness, "You're so cute, but it's so little, I don't want, well, you little cocky in me. It's only going to make me want the real thing. Don't tease a girl like that, pretending you have a real cock to give her." Of course, she continued her stroking and rubbing, keeping me aroused, teasing me, humiliating me, engaging me.
I shuddered.
"You don't have a real cock for me, do you my pretty lover," she whispered in my ear, driving her pussy back onto my fingers while squeezing my cock with her hand.
"Sara," I moaned.
"Say it," she cooed, driving me wild, "Say 'I don't have a cock for my wife.'" Her stroking was driving me crazy. Her assault on my manhood continued, degrading me, taking me down, recreating me.
"I...I don't have a cock for my wife," I said, barley audible.
"Louder than that."
"Hmmmm," she moaned rubbing herself on my fingers, "that's my sissy. That's my girl."
"Oh, Sara," I said in a throaty growl.
"Yes, my love, yes, that's my girl. That's what I want, my sissy, my sweet, lovable girl. Now say it again, lover."
"I don't have a cock for my wife," I said, a bit louder, three fingers now furiously working her pussy.
"Yesss," she moaned, furiously rubbing me, "When I want a cock, I'll find a man to take care of me, not a sissy like my lover. I'll find a real man to fuck me."
I was going insane, furiously rubbing her, moving my own hips as her hand worked over me. She knew what her words were doing to me, and I know she loved it, I felt her squeeze as her own orgasms overcame her. And then my own eruption, her desirous end to the teasing.
"Ohhhh, Sarrrrrraaaaaaaa..." I wailed as I literally 'came in my panties.'
Despite her own orgasm, Sara continued to stroke me through my panties and kiss my ear, walking me down from my orgasm. "Oh, God, I love you my pretty girl," she whispered in my ear.
Finally, as before, my libido left me, and that feeling returned. The shame. The hurt. The anger. It all flooded over me.
I was wearing women's clothes. Sara was calling me a girl. She was talking about fucking another man, and saying it like I was not a man. When sexually excited, these things excited me even more. Post orgasm, they shamed me, not in a sexual way, but deep down. I tensed up, mentally retreating inside myself. I couldn't run away, so I ran inside.
Sara ran her tongue over my ear again, and moved her hand, wet with cum, growing cold, on my skin. "Sara," I snapped.
"What's wrong lover," she asked, concern in her voice, "did I push my girl too far?"
I cringed at the word 'girl' now. It turned me on before, but revolted me now. "Please let me get up," I said, needing her to release her grip on me.
She actually squeezed my cock, hard enough to actually hurt. "Don't move. This is an important step. You are lost you libido, and now are ashamed, I know. This is something we need to work on, honey, don't worry. Please, please, just trust me, okay. Roll over onto your back, and just wait."
"Please Sara, I want to get up."
"Honey, please trust me."
I did trust her, even though I felt so bad. I rolled over onto my back, but still felt disgusted. "The secret is to work right through this," she said, quickly moving down my body, quickly pulling out my cock. Small to start with, now deflat
ed, and covered with cum, it was just a shriveled up thing. Sara quickly took it into her mouth, expert cock sucker that she is, and went to work.
The funny thing is this. Having just cum, there was no way I could grow hard again. But I still felt every kiss and lick, and they quickly brought me back around. "This is how women make love, my sweet," she said, tongue bathing my little member. She was trying to work me through the painful part, using pleasure on both ends, a driving force from the beginning through the end.
A few minutes of this and I was back in heaven. A weird place, considering I knew I could not cum again, but laying there, Sara kissing me like that, rubbing her soft hair, being made love to. "Who's my girl," she asked, pressing onto me with her warm mouth.
"I am, I answered, not thinking.
"And are you my man," she asked, quickly lifting her mouth, then returning to her tongue work.
"No," I answered, knowing everything I was saying, knowing all that implied.
"That's right baby," she said, moving her mouth away, letting me lay there. Waiting a minute or two, letting me stew, she asked me again, "who is my girl."
"I am," I whispered again, shaken with fear, excitement, love, hurt, and desire.
"Not my man, right?"
"No, Sara."
"That's right, baby." Help Again
After laying together for some time, dozing a little, Sara and I got up and showered together. In the shower, she was gentle and loving, tenderly washing me all over with body soap, pampering.
As we dried off, in the bedroom, Sara asked me, "What do you want to wear?"
I looked at her, "you mean my new underwear," I asked? She smiled at the possessive reference.
"Will you," she asked.
"If you want me to."
"No John, that's not good enough. You need to decide. These are not decisions I'm going to make for you, as much as I would love to order you to, I want you to be comfortable."
"Sara, I'm scared," I admitted. "I don't want you to leave me," I said, a tear running down each eye.
"John, this is important for you to understand...look at me."
I met her gaze, barely holding it.
"Why would you think you were going to lose me?"
"You don't want me."
"For crying out loud, of course I want you. I love you, John."
"But, the things you say, about men..."
"John, do you read all those web sites, on cuckolding? I did. Do those women leave their husbands, even in the fantasy stuff?"
"No."
She came closer to me. "John, the person I love is inside here," she touched my forehead, "and in here," she said, touching my heart, "not here," her hand grazed my limp cock.
I closed my eyes, the tears around them.
"But you don't want me, you want a...a real man, as you say."
"You are confusing wants. I want a man, physically, it's really a craving, much like a craving for ice cream. But it's you I love."
"In this," I asked, pointing to the discarded lingerie I had worn to bead.
"Yes, John. Think about it. I love you, the person that is you. The feminine side, the soft side. Trying to be a man, trying to be a woman, whatever. I love you. Watching you dress, seeing the feminine feelings in your eyes, makes me love you even more."
"But, like this?"
"Oh my God, John. Dressing you, kissing you in your lingerie, seeing the feminine side come out of you, it makes me feel...like one with you, like we are joined. We became one. I never felt closer to you, I never loved you more."
"Sara...I...but..."
"John, let me put it this way. The more feminine you are, the more you act that way, think that way, dress that way, the more my heart pours out, feels, loves."
"But, Sara, you admit it yourself, you like men."
"Of course. What women doesn't want a big hard cock inside her. It brings me tremendous satisfaction, it fills a hunger. I love cock. But not men. Emotionally. Physically, I want that satisfaction, but emotionally, I want you."
"But, you still want a man to fuck you. And you don't think of me as a man, do you," I practically spat out, half angry.
"Um, yes, and no."
"So...," I let the question hang.
"Sweetie, let me answer it like this, since you seem so block headed about it." She came closer to me, hugged me, whispered in my ear, half tonguing it.
"Baby," she moaned, "I love you, but answer me, do you want to be my girl?" She wet my ear. "Do you want to be my woman?"
Her throat growled, "Do you want a man to fuck me?" Her hand found my cock. "Does my sexy girlfriend want a big stud to fuck me, to drive his big hard cock into me?" Her hand fondled my little cock. "Does my girlfriend want to dress up so sexy for Sara, and let Sara suck a big nasty cock?"
Her hand was furiously working my cock, her tongue all over my ear. Her other hand was on my ass, then in my crack, then poised on my hole. As she spoke, she pushed her finger into my ass. "Do you want your wife bent over by a man and fucked like a dog," she moaned, squeezing my cock, pushing her finger hard into my ass. "Do you, sissy," she growled.
"Oh God, yes Sara, yes...ohhhhh yesssss," I moaned, exploding for the second orgasm that morning, her finger in my ass making my second one more powerful than the first one.
Giggling, smiling at me, taking a towel and cleaning up the little mess, Sara said, "well, it looks like we both want the same thing, sweetie," she laughed, pushing me back onto the bed and walking into the bathroom.
I was left, panting, shaking, totally spent. And crying, too, as once again, a tear ran down
The line between fantasy and reality was quickly blurring. The fantasy, in becoming reality, was not quite what I dreamed the fantasy was. Sara was pushing me, farther than I was prepared to be pushed. I was scared, of the unknown, but I could not stop the rush and the thrill.
Sara came out of the bathroom and looked at me, blurry and teary eyed. "And you wonder why I see you as being feminine, not masculine," she laughed, shaking her head. "Crying like a woman when she gets jealous, as if tears and guilt can be used as a weapon."
"Sara, what do you mean," I asked, wiping my eyes.
"I mean, you feel guilty about what we did, about what you asked for, and you are trying to use tears to send that message. That, my feminine husband, is acting like a woman. That, my metrosexual lover, is why you are a natural in lingerie. That, my sissy, is exactly why you are a sissy."
"Sara, you are scaring me."
She shook her head, anger flashed in her pretty eyes, "You know, you are fucking hopeless."
Her anger stabbed at me. "Why, Sara?"
"Oh fuck, do I have to spell it out? John, we've been married for almost four years, right?"
I shook my head, yes.
"If four years, four fucking years, I've yet to have an orgasm when you fuck me. Four fucking years. I'm going crazy, John, fucking crazy. Sure, you lick me like a tramp, but I'm going nuts, here. And now, I finally get you this far, and you are taking it like a girl. I don't know whether to laugh or cry," she yelled at me.
"Get me this far?"
"How long have you been looking at your little web sites?"
"What?"
"Cuckold Husbands. Wives Banging Blacks, Slut Wife, all those?"
"Um, I don't know, six months, maybe," I said, puzzled.
"No, seven months, two weeks, and one day," she said, correcting me.
"I suppose, but..."
"No, exactly. That is when you got the email."
"The email?"
"Yes, dear, the email, remember, titled 'Does your wife fuck other men?'"
"Um, I suppose, but...how did you...?"
"Because I sent it to you, dammit, I went you that email. Shit, I could not take it. Seven fucking months, waiting and waiting."
"You...you sent it?"
She grinned at me.
"But...you...you set me up!"
"I set you up? Oh, no, I simply provided you the opportunity.
I opened the door, you are the one who walked through it. You wanted to see what was inside. You stayed inside. No, darling, I didn't set you up, you set your self up."
"But why? Why Sara...why...," I cried, suddenly deeply ashamed to be like this, in lingerie, crying, feminine, scared again. "I thought you loved me."
"John, don't you get it yet. I did this precisely because I love you so much. Do you know how easy it would be for me to simply cheat on you? God knows enough men at work hit on me, and you can't even imagine what it's like at a bar...I'm like fresh fish. Oh, John...John...look at me...if I wanted to fuck another man behind your back I could do it any day, any time. And inevitably, you would have found out, been hurt. Hell, if I didn't love you so much, as sexually frustrated as I've been, I could have just left you for some stud. But John, I do love you. I care about you more than I ever have for anyone. I could never, never, never hurt you."
"But...you do want to fuck another man, Sara."
"Hell yes. Fuck. That's it. I want that, I'm not denying it at all."
I teared up again. "Do you want me to move out?"
"Move out? Are you kidding? Let me finish. Listen, yes, I want to fuck another man. But John, I want to make love to you. I know this sounds like a clich?, but I want to fuck someone, but make love to you. You see, when we make love, when you are feminine, so soft," she shuddered, "my heart goes out, I feel a connection to you so deep, it's like we are one person. It warms me, makes me happy, complete, and to answer you, no, no, no, I never want you to move out, I would give up anything to be close to you, with you." She laughed, "Even a good fucking."
"This is what you want from me? This makes you happy," I asked, touching the lingerie I still had on.
"More than you can ever imagine, John. And you know what, it makes you happy too."
"You want this? More of this?"
"More feminine, yes, dear. But again, I want it and so do you. I don't want you to do this just to make me happy. I want you to realize that embracing your feminine side makes you happy too."
"But...I..."
"No, dear. Are you happy when you try to fuck me? You know I don't orgasm. Honestly, does that satisfy you?"
A Change in Our Marriage - The Sissy Cuckold Page 5