A Change in Our Marriage - The Sissy Cuckold

by Sara Desmarais

  I started to gag, and for the first time in my life, realized why Sara never wanted me to cum in her mouth. It was a shock, a horror, and kind of gross. And that's all before I realized the taste.

  Cum? Oh, fuck. It tasted like cum. Okay, its fucked up enough that I know what cum tastes like, no thanks to her fling with Steve. But, it was coming out of my wife's cock. My wife's cock was cumming in my mouth! (Sure, that sentence alone sums up how fucked up our marriage now was).

  My wife was cumming in my mouth!

  How the hell??? Or better yet, who the hell?

  She would not let me think, she kept thrusting into me, holding me, making me taste it, eat it, swallow it.

  Swallow the cum erupting from her cock. So fucked up.

  "Hmmm, that's a good girl," she smiled, finishing, holding her cock in place for me to lap up the last bit of cum.

  I was terrified to ask her about the cum. Where it came from? Whose was it? But I was breathing heavily, my panties taut from my own cock. The sexual tension, the excitement embarrassed me.

  "As much as I love your new lingerie, Julie, next time ask," she smiled, tucking her cock back into her trousers. "Why don't you finish getting dressed so we can go." Go? I wanted relief...I shook in terror...I wanted to run...and all Sara wanted was for me to get dressed. I hated her. I loved her, with all my heart and soul.

  I put on a dark blue shirt, a blue suit, socks, shoes, tie and twenty minutes later was ready to go. I found Sara sitting back in the bedroom, and was mildly surprised to see she had changed. The black trousers were replaced by a skirt, and dark nylons. Either way, of course, she was a vision of beauty.

  "Ready, love," she smiled, hopping up and grabbing the keys, the power girl off to the office as if nothing bizarre had happened, as if she had not just shot a load of cum into her sissy husband's mouth.

  I followed her to wherever we were going, she did not say. We pulled into a plain office building on the south side of town, which gave me no clue to where we were. She led me to the second floor, to a door that said, "Life by Avondale". No help.

  "Sara, what are we...?"

  "Just wait," she snapped.

  Inside, the waiting room looked like a doctor's office. Well, maybe a therapist, or a psychologist. I wasn't sure.

  "Yes, we are here for the nine o'clock," she said to the receptionist.

  "I'll let the doctor know you are here," she said in that cold medical tone.

  "Doctor," I said to Sara.

  "Can you please be patient?"

  I sat, picked up a magazine, but could not be patient at all. A few minutes later, the door opened, and an attractive brunette came into the room. "Sara, how are you dear," she beamed. Sara stood, as I did, but only Sara walked over and gave the brunette a big hug, a sisterly hug that they held for just a tad longer than was required.

  "Susan," Sara said.

  "I assume this is John," Susan said, looking at me.

  "Yes. John, this is Dr. Nelson, Dr. Nelson, my husband, John."

  We shook hands, but...Doctor? Doctor of what?

  I followed the women back to a room, more a comfortable office, with a couch, a couple of chairs, dark wood paneling. I tried to read Dr. Nelson's diplomas as we walked down the hall, but could not catch them.

  Sara and Dr. Nelson both sat on a leather couch, leaving one of the chairs to me. They were close together, not touching, not inappropriate, but familiar. I could not help taking a quick stare at both their legs when they sat. How manly, I suppose.

  Listening to them talk, it was clear they were old friends from college. I also got the idea that Dr. Nelson knew quite a bit about our marriage, and I sat there mortified at what Sara may have told her, so scared, I was unable to concentrate on their conversation, till I heard the word hormones.

  "Well dear," Dr. Nelson said, "certain doses, for certain reasons, ethically, I have no problem with."

  "Wait, wait," I was suddenly interested, "what...what kind of doctor are you?"

  "Didn't you tell him, Sara? No? I'm a psychiatrist. I treat mostly common adult mental disorders, but I have a small part of my practice focusing on transgender issues."

  "Transgender? Like sex changes?"

  "Well, in some cases, yes."

  "But...I don't want..."

  "Baby, of course not," Sara jumped in. "Susan also can prescribe hormones."

  "Now, what I'm proposing is a series of hormones, both by injection and pill, that will soften the edges, so to speak. They are not something one takes for a full transgender reversal, but rather a sort of half measure. These, for example, will tenderize and enlarge the breast tissue, but will not result in Pam Anderson tits popping out from your chest. An A cup, in some cases, a B. Anything more must be from other drugs, or implants."

  "Susan, that's perfect. He wants some feminine sensitivity around the breasts. What about...um..."

  Yes, my mind screamed, what about???

  "As I said, removal of the male organ is not called for without a whole series of steps, testing, living changes. Ethically, I could not do that, and from what you've told me Sara, it's not called for. However, the drugs will have some side effects. Erections will be more difficult to obtain. They do not have an effect on libido or orgasm, or even sperm production, but increased sexual...well...energy...will not often lead to an erection. He could be aroused and orgasm all without an erection."

  "Are you sure, Susan? I don't want him to lose interest in sex?"

  "Don't worry, Sara, he won't," she smiled. "But lovemaking will be much more...feminine." She halfgiggled. "Just be aware, an erection will at some point be very difficult. You could use Viagra, but more arousal will not be accompanied by erection."

  "Who would even notice," Sara said, looking over at me. Ouch. That stung, especially in front of another woman, a hot woman.

  "Hey now, baby, it's not that bad," I said in my best flirt voice, looking at the doctor.

  "Well, from what Sara's told me, John, it really is 'that bad'. Medically, we consider six to seven...inches...erect, to be normal for an adult male. Five to six inches is considered below average, though not of a medically significant concern. Anything under five, and physically most women could not achieve a normal orgasm with the male. So, as I understand, you are just over four point five fully aroused. While not record-setting, you are certainly well below average, and on the charts only in the fifth percentile. That is, 96 percent of men are larger than you. A simple bell curve, really. For comparison sake, the other side of the bell curve, where a man would be bigger than 96 percent of the men, is 9.5 inches. So, if you were, well, somewhat endowed, you would have to have close to a ten inch cock."

  I sat there, mouth open, shocked to hear these words.

  "I think what Susan is saying, John," Sara giggled, "is that I could get a room of 100 men, and 96 of them would be a better fuck than you."

  "Sara," I gasped.

  They both broke up into laughter. "John, stop, you know size is not everything," Sara said, turning to Dr. Nelson. "He has a little complex about that."

  "I see. Well, the point is that the hormones won't really have any effect since he is already unable to physically have an erection sufficient to bring you to orgasm through penetration," Dr. Nelson, said clinically.

  "Now, we need to do an examination and some blood work before you can start these. Why don't you two come with me, and we can take care of a few things."

  We followed the doctor down the hall to an exam room, and as I walked I felt the garter belt tug on the nylon stockings I was wearing, realizing I might have a small issue here. Fuck. Sara knew where we were going, she could have at least warned me.

  Sara and Dr. Nelson sat down in the only two chairs in the exam room, leaving me to lean on the exam table, too scared to sit up there. I stood, looking at them, waiting for something to happen. They talked, catching up, carrying on, like I was not there.

  "Oh, sorry John, we're waiting for the nurse," Dr. Nelson said.

&n
bsp; The nurse. Well, those two words certainly have inspired a slew of male fantasies, mine included. Of course, they did not involve lingerie, except on the nurse. Nor an exam about hormones to grow breasts, nor my wife and a doctor sitting there.

  I think I actually expected some fantasy vision to walk in all dolled up in a short skirt, her garters showing. Really. I mean, if Pam Anderson herself had walked in, breasts spilling out of her starched uniform top, I would not have batted an eye. I think Sara must have known what I was thinking because when the door opened and the nurse walked in, I swear I heard her snicker when the look of shock came across my face. Pam Anderson? Hell, more like Paul Anderson.

  No, no, she was a she, a woman. But she could have played in the backfield for an NFL team. Big, ugly, without a neck. Dick Butkis in scrubs. Talk about a shattered vision.

  "Could you please get me a set of vitals," Dr. Nelson asked her, turning back to Sara to chit chat about this and that. Nurse Butkis took a blood pressure cuff off a holder in the wall.

  "Please take off your jacket and roll up your sleeve," she said, half asking, half ordering, emotion lacking in her voice, as if working on an animal, not a human. Well, truth be told part of me actually was terrified I was going to have to strip, so a simple sleeve roll was a bit of a relief.

  Nurse Fireplug (her build) efficiently ran through her tasks, blood pressure, oral temperature, pulse, pupils, recording her numbers and I suppose finding a healthy if somewhat mentally fucked up, normal adult.

  Handing the chart to Dr. Nelson, she said I checked out normally and asked about blood work.

  "Could you write up an order for that, I'll have him go to the lab for that. Just leave it up at billing, they can get it there, and thank you, that will be all."

  "Yes, doctor," Nurse Linebacker said, turning, leaving, as unassuming as she'd been coming in.

  I stood up and reached for my jacket, assuming we were done.

  Done? Dear readers, do you really think Sara would have let this situation go without finding some way to humiliate me? I'd assumed so. I also realized that assumption made an ass out of me, at a minimum.

  "I'm sorry, John, we are not quite done," Dr. Nelson said.

  "Oh, I thought that, well..."

  "No, no, the vitals are just the preliminary. The medicine you will be taking is going to cause some small, subtle changes to your body. The vitals and the blood work will give us an idea as to the correct dosage, and help me make sure that your body tolerates the hormones. However, those are only chemical changes. I also have to make sure that you can tolerate the physical changes, and I need to do a complete physical exam to do that."

  "Oh," I said, suddenly nervous at the picture of a complete physical exam from this doctor, especially with my wife sitting there, watching, smirking, enjoying my discomfort.

  "I'm going to need you to undress, please," Dr. Nelson said, crossing her arms, sharing the same smirk Sara had on her face.

  "Un...undress," I stammered, the flash of my attire going through my brain.

  "Yes, undress. Please don't tell me you are one of those macho pigs who just can't bear the thought of being examined by a woman doctor?"

  Macho pig? Far from it, of course. "No, doctor, it's not that, no, I just...I really have to be getting to the office."

  "No you don't Julie," Sara smiled, "you have all morning if you need it." Some help she was, twisting the knife by using my feminine name, and twisting it again, giving away my free morning.

  "Julie?" Dr. Nelson smiled.

  "Yes, Susan, that's the name we use now."

  "Very nice. Do you prefer John or Julie?"

  "Um, it...it really doesn't matter, Doctor," I said, face blushing.

  "Well, John or Julie, which ever, before I can prescribe hormones, I really have to perform an exam," she said, looking to my wife with what I think was a small smile on her face.

  "Baby," Sara said, "if this make you uncomfortable, we don't have to do this, I mean...you can always just go back..."

  There was the choice again. The decision to go forward or stop, back on my shoulders. As much as Sara pushed me, probed my limits, and wanted me to go past them, it was always me making that final call. Part of me wanted to just say "fuck this." No, not to stop what Sara was doing, but to make her tell me what do to. I was being dominated, no doubt about it, but in a way it was all consensual. I was always agreeing to go beyond my boundaries, rather than insisting we take a step back.

  Just as now. There was no way in the world I wanted to undress in front of Dr. Nelson. There was no way I was ready to be exposed as a sissy to someone besides Sara. I knew I was a sissy, of course, but I was not ready to take this step, admitting it so clearly to another, especially to a woman, especially to an authority figure like a doctor.

  But that's just what they were demanding of me.

  And of course, like everything else Sara asked or demanded, everything else I didn't want to do, I would do it, for Sara. For my love, my soul mate, my friend, my wife, my queen.

  I bowed my head, a gesture of acceptance, of submission, set my jacket back down, and hands trembling, began to unbutton my shirt. Dr. Nelson was looking away, and I noticed Sara was too. They were engrossed back in conversation. Maybe. Just maybe, I thought. If I could undress quickly enough, I could be naked, perhaps avoiding the entire lingerie thing. Sure, like that was going to happen.

  "You don't need to get naked," Dr. Nelson said, without turning around, causing me to think, even know, how much Sara had told her. Well, like that's a big surprise, anyway, I mean here we were talking about gender issues, hormones, and the like. I'm sure lingerie was not going to surprise or shock Dr. Nelson at all.

  My hands trembled just slightly more, as I removed my shirt, exposing my white satin camisole. I kicked off my shoes and reached down to take off my socks, feeling the garters tug at my stockings, a last reminder of the degree of exposure I was about to engage in.

  I took a deep breath, pausing before I took the final step, the most revealing, my pants. I unbuckled them, lowered them, my face reddening before either of the women saw me.

  Dr. Nelson turned around, quickly ran her eyes up and down my slender frame, and I waited for the comment, the chuckle, the putdown. I expected it, in some way even welcomed it, that submissive part of me that lived for the humiliation. Surprisingly, though, it did not come. Despite the obvious absurdity of my dress, Dr. Nelson only took a professional attitude.

  "Why don't you sit up on the table, please," she said, in her cool medical tone.

  I jumped up at her voice, sitting, feeling the sanity paper crinkling, the edge of the table cold to the bare part of my thigh between my panties and my stockings.

  "This may be cold," Dr. Nelson smiled, putting her stethoscope to her ears and to my chest. She was right, it was cold, and I jumped. I could feel it through the satin, and let out a tiny yelp, to which she smiled.

  "Deep breaths," she said, her voice still professional, relaxing me. I took several, each inhale and exhale serving in some small way a hypnotic effect, calming me, taking away some of the sting of embarrassment I'd felt when Dr. Nelson saw me in my lingerie.

  "Well, your lungs sound fine, not a smoker, I hear, good for you. That would actually be a problem with the hormones, so good thing," Dr. Nelson said after listening front and back. "Here, head up," she said lifting hers to demonstrate, "let me feel your neck glands."

  "Very nice," she said, feeling around. Turning to Sara, addressing her, she explained, "Only surgery can remove an adam's apple, but the hormones will cause a subtle change. Your husbands neck and glands are not that pronounced, so the effect will be very feminine."

  Feminine. Very feminine. Nothing else, of course, but feminine.

  Without warning, Dr. Nelson quickly moved her hands down to my chest, probing around my nipples with her lithe fingers. "Could you please lift your camisole," she asked clinically, "I want to examine the breast tissue."

  The breast tissue. Her word
s terrified me, if you could believe it. Didn't every crossdresser dream of breasts? I dreamed of breasts, but the reality was as always quite different than fantasy. Breasts? How could I work with breasts? How could I go home to my family with breasts? How could I go out with my friends with breasts?

  I felt Dr. Nelson probing my skin, tugging, pushing, twisting, speaking numbers. "Well, Sara, I'd say that he is almost a perfect candidate in this area for hormones. The skin is soft, the muscle tone present but not at all dominant, the nipples are able to protrude on contact. I'd estimate that we can get a B cup without any concern for side effect and loss of sexual libido."

  "Loss of libido," I piped up.

  "I'm sorry, yes," Dr. Nelson said facing me again. "To get a B cup on some men, the hormone dosage has to be a little higher, and can overcome sexual drive. You would get breasts, but the dosage would be so high that sexual libido would be grossly depressed. Your skin is almost perfect. I can get the breasts Sara wants you to have, but not have to prescribe so high a dose that you will lose interest in sex."

  "A B cup? I...won't that be kind of big?"

  "Big? Oh, my no. To get big, you know a C, well, really a D, you would need implants. Oh, I could do it with hormones, but it would effectively castrate you."

  "But how will I hide that," I practically cried.

  "I'd better answer that, Susan," Sara said. "Why would you want to hide such nice firm breasts," she smiled. I sat there in horror. "I'm kidding, love, please. Listen, with a B cup, and the right bra, you will have a wonderful chest, one guys are sure to stare at. But, a B is still small enough that with another kind of bra, a sports bra, you will be able to hide it under almost any dress shirt, especially dark colors."

  "Sara, I don't know."

  "Come now Julie, are you having second thoughts? This is what you want, isn't it? You know, we could just go to a surgeon, get some D implants, and let you walk around like a bitch in heat. But, don't you see, this way you can still impersonate a man, if the situation calls for it."

  Impersonate? Of course impersonate. Of course she'd used the opportunity to talk to me about breasts, to again reinforce her impression of me. Not a man, of course, not a man. Just someone pretending to be a man.