"Um, sure, I think so."
She went to another table, and gathered up a garter belt. "Large?"
"No, medium."
"Yes, large," I answered, looking away.
"Does you wife need stockings too, for this? We recently received some full fashioned silk stockings. They are kind of expensive, but would be lovely with this set." I thought back to the silk stockings I'd bought her before. Oh, yes, she loves silk stockings. I'm sure she'd love them on her whore, on me.
"You know, she...she loves silk stockings," I choked out. We picked out a pair, in my size, again, of course.
I started to walk to the check out area.
"You know, sir, if I may suggest, I mean...we have a sheer half robe that matches this set almost perfectly. If you pair that with some of these lace fingerless gloves, and these lace socks, it make a very romantic set. I hate to suggest anything to...well...forward, but for a married couple, and a romantic evening, they add a touch of class to the simple bra and panty set."
Shit, coupled with some heels, I'd be just what Sara wanted. A whore. Costumed as a high class whore. I'd be what we both wanted. Irresistible. A terrified, eager, irresistible whore.
It's a good think I had the cage on or I would have went home and masturbated like crazy.
I was able to spend the rest of the afternoon catching up on paperwork at the office, thinking I really should just do this from home. At four, I decided to head home and get ready, realizing I'd need a shower and time to dress for my "client" or my "john".
At home, I decided on a bath, rather than a shower, and used some wonderful bath oil, to smooth my skin. I cleaned all over, including "inside", scented where I could, knowing how a woman should always be fresh. Luckily makeup was getting easier to put on, so I did up my face, my eyes, my lips, taking time to do it right, to impress Sara, my "client".
I wore a straight blonde wig, not wanting to be to "trashy" but still sexy. As I glued on my breasts, I actually fantasized about the day, after hormones, that I would have these for real. A fantasy of dread, and of anticipation, the yin and yang. Red press on nails completed that aspect of my feminization, and I knew I was a vision of beauty, that's what I'd become.
I dressed in the lingerie, wrapping the sheer bra around my breasts, hands shaking ever so slightly. I started to put on the panties and realized that today, unlike at work, the panties had to go over my garter belt. A whore should do nothing that might slow down her client's ability to get to her. So I stepped into the garter belt and ever so carefully pulled the silk stockings up my hairless legs.
Silk stockings. A luxury beyond belief.
Finally, of course, the panties, over my little cock, my poor little cock, trapped in the chastity cage. I slipped the lace ankle socks over my hose, and put on platform heels. The last steps, the matching gloves and the wrap completed my outfit. I stood looked into the mirror, shivered, unable to believe what I'd done.
So easily? So easily I'd sacrificed a night with my wife, a night of using her like a man, for once, of taking her like a slut, of possessing her. She offered herself to me, to be my whore, my prostitute, willing to do anything, and I'd rejected that.
I'd rather submit to her. Not just submit. I'd rather submit to her as her woman. That's what I wanted. Given the choice between man and woman, I'd chosen to be her woman. I was the whore, not her. I was the one offering up her body, not Sara. I was the slut, not my wife. I was the sissy, I knew, unable to enjoy it any other way.
A half our later, I heard the garage door open, Sara arriving home, and hoped quickly onto the bed, posing, waiting for my wife.
I smiled, hoping that when she came in, she would be happy. Of course, I knew she would be. Even though she had offered to submit to me, to be my whore, I knew she wanted it this way, that she always wanted to possess me, not be possessed by me.
Sara walked into the bedroom, looked at me, but said nothing. I sat there, on the bed, waiting for some morsel of approval, or even disapproval, who knows, maybe she wanted to be my whore, but I could read nothing from her face. I wanted to yell out to her, beg her for some approval, but I was afraid to say anything to her, of her reaction.
Sara tossed something to me, it landed on the bed, a key. "That's for the cage. Take it off, but don't touch. I'll be back." She turned and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Part of me wanted to run after her. Did I make the right choice? Please, dammit, Sara, tell me, I wanted to yell. I took off the chastity cage, and immediately my cock sprang to life, filling nicely my panties.
I waited for Sara, afraid to move, afraid to even think, anticipating, wondering, needing her. I looked at the clock. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty.
Finally, twenty-five minutes later, a knock at the door startled me.
"Yes," I called out. The door opened, and what I saw startled me much more than the knock to the door.
Sara walked it. Well, I assume it was Sara. Of course it was Sara, but, fuck, Sara?
Sara, my sweet Sara had undergone a transformation, much like myself. Or, the opposite of myself, really. Where I was feminine, sweet, soft, lingerie clad, made up, Sara had...had become...shit.
Sara walked in the room, dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and tie, wingtips. She was...a man. Her hair was slicked back, she wore no makeup. The clothes fit her perfectly. I thought they might be mine, but the suit fit too well, too tailored. She had gotten this for herself, to do this to herself. Sara had done as well transforming herself into a man as I had a woman.
"Julie? They said you were ready, downstairs, they said just to head on up," she said, masking her voice slightly, lowering it just enough, an octave, maybe. "I have the right room? The girl in the parlor said room 210, that it was unlocked. It was the only room unlocked."
"I'm sorry, I..."
"Unlocked. 210. Julie," she smiled, "that room where girls were already serving a customer, or unoccupied rooms, were all locked, so I couldn't screw it up," she said, standing there, legs apart, arms on her hips, standing there, looking...masculine.
"Sara, I..." I understood now, a little. She was role playing. Whore? Who was to be the whore? Well, it was not just a figure of speech, she was actually role playing, and I was...I was the whore, she was my client, my "john".
"Sara," she said, puzzled, "Steve, my name is Steve."
I think I actually felt the shiver run down my spine. Part of my brain picked up on this quickly, the role playing, but part of me was quickly just as terrified, just as humiliated. Steve? She had to pick that name? Why...why not John or Bob or Tom? Why Steve?
Why the name of the man that fucked her in front of me?
Why the name of the man that cuckolded me?
That's why, of course, that's why.
"I...," I was simply too shocked to answer, to stir. Steve?
"I'm sorry, it's Julie, right," she asked in her deep voice.
"Yes," I gasped.
"I'm just a little nervous," she said, "I've never been to a hook...I'm sorry, to a prostit...I don't mean to insult you...you know, to a place like this before."
"Why...why..." I asked, still stuck on the name Steve. Why that name, I was trying to ask, why not another name?
"Why a...a call girl? Why would guy like me pay for it? I wondered that myself," she...or he...laughed.
"No...I..."
She continued. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little nervous. Well, I mean, first of all, your beautiful, you're so sexy," Sara or Steve smile, "so, I mean..." she blushed.
"But...Steve..." I meant to ask as a question, as in why Steve?
"Yes? Anyway, sorry, I was saying," she stepped closer to the bed, "I don't usually do this, if I want...I'll just date or something, but...I'm sorry, I don't mean to talk so much."
I tried to get into the role, since it was clear that's what she wanted, and I wanted to play too. I reached up to her...or him...I was having trouble keeping it straight, "it's...it's okay, some...men," I choked on the word, "some men are nervous and wa
nt to talk first."
She smiled, took a step closer. "You are right. I'm just nervous. I mean, I've never been to a prostitute before, and I...don't usually get into kinky stuff, but..." she trailed off, "I met this woman and...we...well...anyway, she was amazing," she laughed, "kind of kinky, I don't think this will embarrass you, but we had sex, in a club, with some guy watching."
I felt like I was kicked in the gut, my mouth open.
"Well," she went on, "not just some guy. We had sex in front of her husband. I didn't know it at the time, but the next day I called her and she told me she was married. Not only that, but the guy, who I thought was gay, I mean, he looked like a fag, well, she said he was her husband."
I was shaking now.
"Husband? I mean, I was shocked. Husband? That guy? Fuck, I thought he was just some gay friend of hers. I think he was even wearing make up, it was hard to tell. Anyway she tells me, no, it's true, that was her husband, that they got off like that, when she fucked other men like that. I thought, man, what a kinky bitch, but whatever, she was one amazing fuck, so whatever."
"But...she..."
"Yea, she fucked me with him watching. He didn't say anything anyway, just stared, like he'd lost his mind," she laughed. "I wanted to see her again. See her, hell, fuck her, but she said no, I'm married. I was like, but you already did it...in front of him. She said, no, not that, she wanted to see me, but she wanted her husband to call and set up a date for me and her."
My eyes were so wide open, my mouth and tongue gasping, shocked.
"Now, it's been almost three weeks and I'm going crazy. I don't want to call her and ruin it, I don't want to go out to the bars and run into her and ruin it, but I'm going nuts and need to fuck something...so...I'm sorry, that's a long answer to why I'm here at a hooker."
"But didn't you...didn't she..."
"I told you, she loved it. I guess her husband is, well, doesn't have much of a package," she laughed, "so she wants and needs a real man, to make her cum. Hell, I was only too happy to take care of her, I mean, she was smoking hot, and came onto me like a hooker in heat. Sorry, don't mean any offense."
"A real man," I stupidly asked.
"Sure, you know. You must have had some pretty pathetic guys in here. If you fuck for a living, you have to have men of all sizes, big to small. She said he is smaller than any guy she's ever been with. Anyway, it's been three weeks since I banged that woman, and until she calls again, I guess I just have to be with a hooker," she said leering at me.
She took off her jacket, threw it across the room to a chair. I stared at her shirt. What was there...or not there...her breasts...gone...flat chested...somehow wrapped, I'm sure. Instinctively, I knew what else I'd find.
"You know, you were right," she growled, "all this talk has made me feel better, less nervous...horny," she laughed. "I'm just so frustrated, sexually, I'd love to fuck that Sara, but all I've got available is some whore."
"Why don't you call her," I asked, trying to stall what I knew as inevitable.
"She said her loser husband is going to call me. Listen, what the fuck, I want to bang her again, sure, but I guess I have to wait. It's okay, cause I've got you for the next hour."
"But...you are going out with her again?"
"Sure. But tonight, I'm getting you." She moved onto the bed next to me, put her hands on my face.
I tried to move back, uncomfortable, wanting to talk to her more as Steve, to see what I could learn.
"Wait, what...what about her husband, aren't you worried about him?"
She threw her head back and laughed. "Her little husband? Well, no, I think I have quite a bit more to offer her," she said, grabbing her crotch, "just like I have it for you. Besides, there's something else she told me about him. He's a sissy. Apparently, not only did he look like a fag that night at the club, he actually wears women's clothes, even lingerie to work, under his suit."
"She...she told you that."
"Yep. The day after the club, on the phone, when she told me he was her husband. I didn't believe it, I mean what guy watches his wife get banged by another man. She laughed, said a guy that's not a man himself, and she told me how she has been...what did she call it...feminizing him. She has fake tits for him and everything, wigs, makeup. She said he is really quite breathtaking all dressed up." Laughter. "I asked her if he really was gay, or bi, I guess, whatever. Know what she said?"
"No...what," I asked, not sure if I really wanted to know.
"Not yet." I felt the room chill. What was Sara doing to me.
"Not yet," I whispered?
"Yea, I asked her what she meant by that. She said he, or she, or whatever you call a sissy, was only into women for now."
"For...for now, Sara?"
"You mean Steve," she scolded me, "yes, for now, she said. She is training him, though," she said, her hand on my stocking, teasing my garter strap.
"How," I croaked, captivated by my wife's assumption of the role of her lover.
"Well...I shouldn't really say, she promised me not to tell, but what's the harm, it's not like he is going to be going to a prostitute, and hear it from you. She has been dominating him, you know, assuming control of things. She also said she is going to train him to cock like you train a dog to a leash. She has a dildo, to get him used to cock, for later. Baby steps I guess."
"You mean...she...I don't understand."
"Damn, don't you see? She gets him used to the fake cock, gets her sissy hooked on a cock, even a fake cock, so when she introduces him to the real thing, it's not such a shock."
"The real thing?" My blood ran cold with terror. Just what was she doing? Why...my head was spinning.
"That's what I asked," she laughed, "you're really going to get him to take the real thing? She laughed, said, yea, why, you interested? Ha, I want that pussy of hers, but who knows, maybe her sissy can give me a blow job sometime when he wants the real thing in his mouth."
"The real thing?" My mouth was dry.
"Yep, she said if he is going to dress like a woman, he should suck cock like a woman."
"The real thing," I repeated, dumbfounded, "she wants him to have the real thing?" I could not believe this...what was she saying?
"Yes, lover, the real thing," Sara whispered, her voice higher. Her voice. Not Steve's voice. She answered me, out of character, as my wife, not role playing for that answer. She was answering, just for a second. "A real cock, the real thing," she said.
"But, what...you never...I...not that...real..." the words jumbled out of my mouth. The real thing?
THE REAL THING?
A real cock?
A cock?
"Listen, enough talk," she said, her voice lower again, suddenly Steve again, not my wife, "I only paid for an hour and I want my half and half, I'm not paying for another hour," she said, her brief visit as Sara, my wife, gone, now, Steve, her role, back.
"Half and half," I asked her.
"Yea, duh, you know, half blow job, half sex, quit stalling," she said, grapping my hips, pulling me around. "Let's go," she said sharply, moving to the edge of the bed. She pointed to the floor and obviously wanted me to kneel. A classic cock sucking position, one of power and submission, the sucker, giving the blow job, submissive, kneeling before her lover, the dominant.
She looked down at me, lustfully, "Come on, take it out," she growled. I reached up to her pants, my hands touched the crotch, felt the hardness inside, the cock, my wife, or Steve, offered to me, demanded I take. I unzipped the zipper, my hands reached inside, felt cotton boxer shorts, the cock, the dildo, inside. I reached in the boxers, coming into contact with the cock, Steve's cock, I thought, erotically, half disgusted. It was a different dildo. Bigger than the one Sara had used before, just slightly longer and thicker.
"Yea, that's it, take it out. Ohh," she moaned as I pulled it out, "you are hot, but I can't get my mind off Sara. I want her so bad." I moved closer, the cock in my hands, my mouth open.
"Yes, that's good, bitch," she
snarled, "suck my cock. Hmmm, you're good," she moaned, "but what else would I expect from a girl that sucks cock for a living. You know what I want? Sara hasn't sucked me yet. She promised too, when we...ohhhh," she moaned, "when we talked."
"What," I asked, mouth full of her cock.
"Her on her knees like this, sucking me. I want to cum in her mouth. I want her to swallow it. I want her to go home to her pussy husband with cum on her breath. I want him knowing who his wife submits to, whose cock she craves."
I moaned, sucking on the cock as her words burned into my brain.
"She wants it too, that kinky bitch, I know it. She told me how weird it was whenever she went down on her sissy husband, his underdeveloped cock barely filling her mouth. She said she wants it too...ohhh, yea, keep doing that, massage my balls...she wants it...ohhh," Steve/Sara gasped. I pulled at the dildo, massaging it, and realized it was different...it was not just the cock...there was something else, part of it was inside her, rubbing on her.
Oh my god, as I sucked it, it rubbed inside her, and on her clit. I was getting her off sucking it, she was not faking it, this was true sexual pleasure. I was bringing her to orgasm sucking cock. Steve's cock.
She grabbed my head, pulling her cock, his cock, the cock, into my mouth. "Ohhh," she continued to moan, pleasure washing over her. "Yea, yea, I know that bitch wants to suck my cock. She said the only thing she regretted about fucking me at the club was that she didn't get to taste my cock first."
Shove! The cock pushed into my mouth.
"She said when we go out, she wants to suck my cock right away, she's been masturbating to the thought for a week. She said....ohhh....she said it's been two years since she sucked a real cock," Sara moaned, waves of pleasure washing over her, shaking.
I was concentrating on deep throating the cock, sucking it, pumping at it with my hands, and I almost missed what she said.
Two years?
Two years!
We had been married for almost five years. What did she mean?
TWO YEARS?
I looked up, my eyes wide open, "gggmmmfff," it sounded when I said two years. I choaked.
A Change in Our Marriage - The Sissy Cuckold Page 21