Copyright 1996,1998,2000 by Vickie Tern

This story is intended only for readers who are lawfully
certified mature, sophisticated, cosmopolitan, and literate. All others fuck off.

BiGirls

by Vickie Tern

 

i.

I sell insurance, industrial, liability, all kinds. I know.
But it’s a living, if you work at it, and it’s a product people need, so they
buy it. If they luck out and it turns out they didn’t need it they feel cheated.
So they figure I’m a sleaze. My wife Jane decorates interiors, stores, homes,
anything. She has good taste, so everyone loves what she does, and they love
Jane too. She gets and gives customer satisfaction without effort, or so it
seems. I know better, and sometimes I help her figure out how to finesse her
problems. Still, nobody knows what she saw in me when she married me. Someone
to come home to, at best. Insurance. Even now, not too many people can guess what
she sees in me.

All day long and lots of nights we’re in and out of different
homes and offices, seeing people and drawing up plans for them. We work
irregular schedules, but we like it that way. We’ve been married a half-dozen
years or so, time enough to get to know each other and get used to each other.
We’re ...well... comfortable. No surprises. No upsets. The usual pattern–house
in the suburbs, no kids yet, Golf and Tennis Club membership, hang out with
other people like us, clients, potential clients, a few friends.

To tell the truth, I’ve played around a little. Without
Jane knowing.

Not deliberately. I’d flirt, and sometimes it would get out
of hand. Charm and flattery is useful in my business, especially when you’re dealing
with a woman. You have to listen to what the prospect says she wants, be
attentive and sympathetic. You’re always selling yourself, you know? With
women sometimes send them little gifts and take them to dinner. Chat them up,
you know? Then when they sign on the dotted line, it turns out they expected
more than a counter signature where the dotted line ends.

But it’s hard to keep things quiet in a small community like
ours, where everyone knows everyone. So I’d never go out looking. Jane might
have noticed. I’d bed down mostly out of town women mostly for one nighters, women
who could appreciate someone companionable and not too bad in bed, but with no
strings. There are lots of motels on the edge of town, and no one was ever the
wiser.

So I never expected we’d end up together like this, Jane and
me, in this whole new kind of marriage. It was all happening under my nose the
whole time, but who knew?

It started out innocent enough. One morning Jane said to
me, “Craig, drop these plans off at Alice’s for me, would you? She’ll be home around
one. I’ve got an appointment then. We’ve got to get this project under way
today, tell her. Gotta go! See you! Kiss!”

And she was gone before I could ask why she didn’t just drop
them off herself, Alice lives only a block or so away. Sometimes she doesn’t think.

Well, I spent the morning making calls and catching up on my
paperwork, then on my way to the office I stopped off at Alice’s. The drapes
were drawn, and I would have thought she and Roy were away for a few days, except
there were cars in the driveway, and in front too. So I rang the bell, and who
answered almost right away but Alice?

But Alice dressed like I’ve never seen her. In a kind of
draped gauzy nightgown with her tits hanging half out, her nipples visible
through the fabric. There was a dark shadow where her bush should be, and probably
was. But I couldn’t take my eyes off those nipples!

“Oh, hi, Craig!” she said. She just stood there in the
doorway. Anyone on the street could have seen her, if there’d been anyone,
though there never is. “You here to see Roy? He’s always at the office this
time of day. You know that.”

“Not exactly, Alice,” I said a little awkwardly. Trouble, I’m
thinking. Big trouble. Don’t do it. But would just a little messing around
with Roy’s wife get me into trouble with Jane? That depends. “Jane asked me to
bring you these,” I told her, and I handed her the package Jane gave me. “She
says get your project going today. Whatever that means.” Then I just stood
there. Finally I looked up at her face. She ‘d been watching me eyeball her
boobs the whole time, and seemed amused. “I better be going,” I finally said.

In reply she swung the door wide open. “Today?” she asked
me in a loud voice. I nodded yes. “She say anything else?” I nodded no. One
tit had come completely free, and it was just hanging out there in the open!

A woman’s voice way back in Alice’s living room called out, “Anyone
we know, Alice? Let’s see her!” Someone entered the far end of Alice’s hallway
from the living room, then stopped stark still, and said, “Well!” Another
woman, completely naked! Wearing nothing, not even the next-to-nothing Alice
was wearing! She was thin, with hip-bones poking like harps on each side of
her flat belly, with ribs clearly visible under huge globes of breasts. I
mean, huge! My god, on such a thin girl, why didn’t she fall over? She shook
a heavy head of black hair back behind her shoulders, and I could see she was
staring at me calmly, not surprised to see me at all, just standing there. Her
mound fully exposed too, curly dark hair in a dark V.

I suddenly realized I knew her. Tim Peterson’s wife, he’s
an accountant, she’s the doctor in that new medical arts building. I’d seen
her a lot at the Club, and I’d been meaning to stop by to see if all her
insurance needs have been met. What was her name?

“I’d better be going,” I said again. “You ladies don’t seem
to have had time to get dressed yet this morning.”

“This afternoon,” said Alice. “You haven’t had lunch yet?
Why don’t you come in, now, Craig, and let’s see what we can fix up on short
notice.”

She stepped to one side, and now the doorway and hallway led
straight back to the thin Peterson woman with the big hair and tits, still standing
and looking at me from the far end. I was still checking out those enormous
boobs when she turned her head and looked back into the living room as if there
were more people in there. Also naked?

“Can you close the door, Alice?” came another woman’s voice.

That one was familiar! Our across-the-street neighbor, “Dottie”
Jane calls her, “the Widder” I call her, her husband having died a few years ago.
She’s some dish! Luscious mouth, huge eyes, curves everywhere, a knockout
dresser. Guys in and out of her house all the time, and now and then someone’s
car spends the night in her driveway. Jane once caught me staring out the
window at her house, and said “Off limits!” in a tone of voice that stopped me
so cold I couldn’t even begin to pretend I didn’t know what she was talking
about.

The Widder’s voice again. “Alice! It’s getting chilly in
here, and we’re all wearing nearly nothing! Come in or go away, whoever you
are.”

“You’d better come in,” Alice said, this time more
commanding than inviting. I stepped inside.

Alice shut the door behind me and gestured me toward her
living room, just past the nude doctor, who’d shifted her weight to one leg and
cocked her hip, and folded her arms under those enormous tits so they bulged up
over her forearms, and was still looking at me steadily. Now even her nipples
were staring at me. I walked toward her trying hard not to look, and when we
were about to bump I turned to walk into Alice’s living room. Then I paused
again!

The place looked like a harem! Everywhere were women’s legs
and arms and bodies! A few women were sprawled on the two couches wearing some
kind of diaphanous something, those wrappers that cover nothing. Another was
doing stretching exercises along the wall, naked, little tits and a thin bush,
but thighs that looked like they could crush a horse. Another was standing
with her back to me, studying some statue on the fireplace mantle, bare except
for thin, high-cut lace panties not quite covering the cheeks of her ass, two
small, pert watermelons perched above her legs. As I looked she glanced at me
over her shoulder, then turned away again. At the end of the room I saw two women
entangled on the floor, one of them moaning aloud. They were having sex of
some sort with each other, and they were not concerned at all to know who had
just walked in. Not anything else either.

“Ladies,” I tried to say politely, though my throat only let
out a yelp at first. “I see I’ve interrupted something. I’d better go.”

“No,” Alice said. “Why don’t you come in and sit over
there, and make yourself comfortable while we decide what to do about you.”

“I’d rather not!” I said, and a little pleading crept into
my voice. Or maybe it was genuine reluctance. “Jane...uh...Jane... wouldn’t
like my being here like this.”

“Craig, sit down!”

“Alice, I don’t think I should, exactly,” I replied. But I
was already walking toward the overstuffed chair in the center of the room, and
I turned and sat down. Now I could see there were maybe nine women in the room
all told, counting the lady doctor in the hallway, and Alice was the most
overdressed of them. A few were utterly nude. A few wore negligees or
wraparounds. One was wearing only a flimsy bra, which left her bush looking
all the more exposed. I didn’t know where to put my eyes, so I tried to look
at Alice. Both of her tits were now hanging free.

“Don’t worry about Jane. We’re all Jane’s friends, and we’re
certainly not going to upset her. No, you’re the problem. You know how it is.
Little boys who see things like to tell other people, and need to be told what
will happen to them if they tell. We certainly don’t want you gossiping all
over town about us.”

Well, I had already decided two things about what I had
stumbled into.

One was that it was what it looked like, some kind of ladies’
sex club. There was still a chance it was one of those lingerie parties women have,
where some saleswoman shows them some naughty things to turn on their husbands,
and they giggle a lot and buy a few. I figured I’d say that’s what I think it
is, at least until I got out of there. But this had a different smell about
it. The women weren’t giggly, they were serious, as if they’d been eager to
get on to something, and I’d interrupted them.

The other thing I decided was that these women looked
distantly familiar. I bet they all belong to our Golf Club. It’s a small
town. I wouldn’t have any real problem finding out who they were. No problem calling
on them, one at a time, to ask them to help me sell their husbands life
insurance, or other kinds of insurance, I was sure. Or I could sell them
insurance. Given what this looked to be, this could be a really good thing, I
decided, if I played it right.

“I won’t tell anyone anything, Alice,” I assured her.

“No, you certainly won’t,” Alice said. “But first off, we’re
going to need some insurance.”

“Exactly!” I said. “I couldn’t have said that better
myself.” She was going to buy my silence without my even asking! But I hadn’t
heard her quite right.

She continued as if she hadn’t heard me at all, “Meg, what
do you think?”

“I’ve already thought it,” a woman on the couch replied.
This was another one with really great tits! She was the one with the
brassiere and the bare beaver, the most delicate lace thing you can imagine. It
barely covered the aureoles surrounding the big nipples on her huge, pendulous
breasts. Maybe it pulled her up a little in front, just a little. “We’re
lucky I came here straight from a shoot. This’ll do fine.”

She held up what I recognized was a state-of-the-art,
high-gadget camera of some kind. That’s who she was, Margaret whatsername, “Portraits
by Meg,” the fashion photographer who did a lot of dress catalogs and advertising
around town. I’d met her at a party, and thought she was a Dyke who probably
played around with her models. Good looking enough. Were these her models?
Now what kind of insurance would she need?

Malpractice? First of all, for her equipment.

“Meg is it?” I began. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you
about a policy....” .

“No, we’ll arrange our own insurance, Craig,” Alice said. “Thank
you.

Are you comfy in that chair, now? Good. Dottie?”

“Gotcha, Alice. Love to.”

Before I knew what was happening, the Widder was kneeling in
front of me, and had unzipped my pants and taken out my cock, and was holding
it in her hand. “No problem,” she said, looking it over. “Not too big at all.”
It was still limp, but I could feel the first stirrings of an erection as she
palmed it gently and then ran her red-manicured fingertips over it. “Not at
all!”

Suddenly she bent down and put it all in her mouth, and
there it was, warm and wet, imprisoned, and I could feel her tongue move. I
didn’t dare move. Then even before it got past its first stirrings and began to
harden up, Meg started to leap and crouch around us like a ballet dancer, her
camera tight against her face, taking shot after shot of the two of us. Me
supposedly getting a blow job. Me actually getting a blow job. I was now as
big and hard as I get, and Dottie was licking up and down the vein on the
underneath part of my cock, then pursing her mouth over my cock head, then
running her lips down me. “Mmmmmmm,” she said as if to encourage me.

Meg talked the whole time. “Higher, Dottie...that’s it...beautiful...just
gorgeous...face away from the camera please...you, Craig is it, can’t you look
a little more pleased, there’s this beautiful woman blowing your horn for
you...that’s it...lift your face higher...not you Dottie...and smile...that’s
OK, that expression will do it just fine.” . I wanted to say, “I’d better go”
yet again, for show, but I couldn’t. I wanted to come. I’ll leave when she’s
done, I thought. And later I’ll get some pictures myself of these broads dressed
up in nothing playing footsie with each other, and it’ll be a standoff.

Meanwhile there was this gorgeous feeling growing in my
cock, and

growing bigger, and Dottie wasn’t slowing down at all. Her
head rose and fell, and she seemed to be trying to suck me inside out.

Then Meg leaned way over me and I saw that those massive
mammaries had come out of their cage and were flopping around. “Open wide,”
she ordered, and I don’t know why, I just did. She stuffed a huge tit into my
mouth and with one hand holding the camera extended an arm’s length away she
clicked off four or five more shots. My eyes bulged, but reflexively I began
to tongue those big nipples, they were the size of the thimbles on my wife’s
sewing table. As she pulled away Meg got a shot of my tongue curling toward
one of them. Meanwhile down below, Dottie kept up the pace, and that ripening
sensation outgrew the base of my cock and moved out over my loins. I began to
clench my ass.

When Meg took her tit back out of my mouth, I groaned “Don’t!”
and I realized I meant it both ways. I tried for a moment to bring my erection
down by sheer force of will. I tried to remember if the Mets had ever fielded
a triple play, or what was on an actuarial table I’d been looking over only
that morning. But all I saw was Dottie’s red lips gliding up and down my
saliva-slicked bone, and my breathing got shorter and shorter. Then I lunged
my hips into Dottie’s mouth a few times and started to come.

The first spurts she swallowed, then the next few she took
on her face, smiling as if delighted, then the rest she gathered into the palm
of her hand. When I was done, she held her hand to my mouth as if she were feeding
me a handful of honey. And I lapped it up! My own cum, out of the palm of her
hand! Salty sweet, was it?

“Got it all?” she asked. I realized she was talking to Meg.
All the while I was rising and spurting, Meg had been clicking away, chatting
us up, building up my climax as if it were her own. “Oh, yes, yes, give it to
her, give me more, more, that ecstatic look again, again please, yes, more,
yes, that drop of cum on your lips glistening now, beautiful, open wider
please, yes, now lick it!” When I’d blown everything I had in me and come down
to earth, Dottie tucked me back into my pants. She patted my crotch as if it
were a pet dog, stood up, and walked away. Meg waved her camera in the air and
said “Yes, yes. Wonderful, Dottie. Got it all.”

I realized I was in serious trouble now. But I thought I
could still handle it. They were only women. “You can’t do this!” I shouted.
“It’s blackmail! It’s against the law! You’ll be arrested!” Threats like
that seemed called for. In fact I couldn’t wait to get out of there and tell
some of my buddies about what had just happened, maybe get one to shoot photos
just like these through an uncovered window, or at least to take a registry of
all these women coming and going. Even one of the blow job photos, if I could
get hold of one, would mean that the Widder Dottie was going to spend a lot of
time on her knees in front of me, trying to save her reputation from ruin!

“No,” Alice said. “It’s blackmail only if, say, we were to
threaten to show these pictures to Jane as evidence that you’ve been getting it
on with Dottie for months now, and that we took them because you’ve been extorting
favors from her to gratify your perverse tastes, in exchange for your silence
about who visits her when. In further evidence there’s that life insurance
policy you sold her last month, threatening to ruin her reputation if she didn’t
buy it.”

“She asked me to ....” I practically shouted.

“Of course she did. She wanted a life insurance policy.
Still, how does it look, with these pictures and that story? But all we want
is for you not to tell anyone anything about what you’ve seen here today. Then
there’s no problem, and no blackmail. Is there?”

I glared up silently. I could still figure something, I
felt pretty sure. Not sure what.

“These pictures of you forcing Dottie to her knees are our
insurance. Moreover, if you try to tarnish the reputations of any one of us
here, if you threaten to tell our husbands about us, we’ll just deny everything
you say, and support each other’s stories. We’ll see to it that no one we know
has anything further to do with you. Or with your insurance company. Who
would believe you, against all of us? Spreading a fantastic cock and bull
story, that you saw us all here naked. You’d be laughed out of business. So
these pictures aren’t blackmail. They’re insurance against your getting
foolish and trying to blackmail us.

“I better go,” I said, one last time.

“In a moment,” Alice said. “Now, Craig, one more thing you
need to know. This group meets bi-weekly, every Tuesday and Thursday
afternoon. Our husbands and the neighbors think we play bridge or something, I’m
sure. We call ourselves the BiGirls. We are all of us bisexual, and we are
delighted to have found each other. As you’ve seen, we enjoy giving pleasure
to each other as well as to our husbands or boyfriends, and we take pleasure
from each other the same way, and we see no harm in it. But our husbands might
not understand. So we don’t want you snooping around here Tuesday and Thursday
afternoons to take pictures of us to use to blackmail us into not blackmailing
you, so you can blackmail us into selling insurance to our husbands. I know
you, you’re as transparent as glass. From now on, when we’re meeting, we’ll
want to know exactly where you are. And that’ll be right here. Safely with
us. Craig, save all your Tuesdays and Thursdays for us from now on. You aren’t
bi, that I know of, but now you’re one of us anyhow. An honorary BiGirl. I’m
sure we’ll enjoy each other. Welcome to the Club! Now you can go.”

As I left Alice’s living room, the couple on the floor at
the far end of the room were still getting it on–I don’t know if they ever even
knew I was there. One had this enormous cock strapped to her!

Alice added as she let me out, “Oh, yes, Craig. You’ll need
to fit in, of course. For next Tuesday’s meeting be sure to shave off all your
body hair. Then use a depillatory. Everything below your eyebrows. We want
you as smooth and ladylike as we are. A little patch of pubic hair will be all
right. It might even look cute.”

“Why so sad? You’re invited to have sex with nine good
looking women twice each week! It isn’t as if you’ve been absolutely faithful
to Jane these past years–we know better, and of course so do you. We’ll help you
with Jane, don’t worry, about where you’re spending your afternoons, or later
on why you can’t get it up with her, when you’re fucked out. So what is there
to feel sad about?”

That night Jane asked me if I’d brought Alice the plans and
delivered the message. I said yes, and didn’t say anything more, and she didn’t
ask anything more.

ii.

I guess Alice had a point. I couldn’t crow to my buddies
yet, and for the moment I wasn’t going to pick up any new accounts from the
husbands, but this was a pretty good deal. Nine women available for fucking in
exchange for not talking now about how they ...uh... otherwise do each other?
What’s to choose? The story would be all the riper when I finally got around
to entertaining my friends with it. I thought about getting some kid to prowl
around with a camera looking for places to peer through the drapes. Get some
insurance for myself. But no. Not yet. First see how this goes. Monday
night after Jane zonked out I took a shower with a razor and a can of shaving
cream, then some Nair, and when I came back to bed I was smooth as a baby’s
ass. In the morning when I woke up, Jane was snuggled up against me, which
doesn’t much happen these days. But she never noticed how I was hairless. Tuesday
promptly at one in the afternoon I was back at Alice’s front door, ready to
boogie.

“Craig! How nice! Right on time! We’ve been talking about
you. Go right on upstairs and change, and we’ll be waiting for you in the
living room. You’ll find your things in the first room on the right, top of the
stairs.”

Alice was wearing that same wrapper that covered her tits
without hiding them. I’d spent some time over the weekend with a Victoria’s
Secret catalogue learning the names for these things. I figured I was going to
be seeing a lot of them, and women always appreciate a compliment on what they’re
wearing. I’d also looked up “naked” in a book of quotations, figuring a little
poetry does no harm, but there was nothing there I could use. Anyhow, I tried
to pay my dues to Alice, so I said “That’s a lovely peignoir you’re wearing.
Chiffon, isn’t it?”

Alice replied, “First room on the right. See you in a few
minutes.”

Well, I checked out the first room on the right, and I got
undressed as far as my underwear. But all there was on the bed was a big
brassiere and someone’s panty girdle. I looked in the closet. Nothing, this
was a guest room. So I picked up the women’s underwear and came back downstairs
wearing my own.

There was Alice in the hallway. She seemed to be heading
into the kitchen, but I was sure she was waiting for me. “You’re not changed,”
she said. “Something wrong?”

“Alice,” I told her, “All I found on the bed were these
things. Nothing for me.”

“Those are for you,” said Alice, looking closely at me, as
if I were a little cracked.

“These are women’s things,” I said.

“This is a women’s Club,” Alice said, still staring directly
at me. “You’re a member, put them on. I see you’ve gotten rid of all that hair.
That’s nice. You’ve probably noticed we have body hair only on our pussies. I
suppose you left some on yours.”

“Yes,” I said, leaving aside for the moment that I don’t
have a pussy.

“But Alice, I don’t wear these things.”

“While you’re here, you do! The women who belong to this
Club dress appropriately. Like women. If your body looked more feminine you
could wear nothing. But at the moment it doesn’t, does it?” She smiled.

“Oh, yes. Come down here with a bare bottom each time, and
then you can put on the girdle. Beryl’s a doctor, so your genitals won’t shock
her, and she’ll have something for you to help you fit in better with us. Beryl?”

Out from the kitchen came the Peterson woman, Beryl, still
naked as she was born. Close up, I could see that her breasts were firm and
solidly planted as well as huge. They really thrust way out, and didn’t hardly
hang down at all! Like road repair pylons with nipples at the tips! She was
carrying some kind of hypodermic needle.

“Don’t worry,” she said, waving it a bit. “Just something
to qualify you to dawdle among us,” she said. “Pull down those panties of yours
and bend over. You like women’s boobs? You don’t seem able to look at anything
else.”

“They’re great!” I said sincerely. I pulled down my shorts
as directed.

She jabbed me, I think. I could hardly feel anything.

“That’s good,” she said. “You can stand up now. Because
starting now you’ll have handfuls. Oh yes, hold out your arm.”

In a couple of swipes she filled a small glass tube with my
blood.

“What’s that for?” I asked. I remembered her name, and
tried to be respectful. So I added, “What’s that for, Beryl?”

“Just to be sure you’re healthy, and that you stay that way.
We care about our members, and we swap a lot of our juices around.”

Well, that seemed fair enough. So I turned back to Alice. “Why
do I have to wear these things?” I asked. “Why can’t I just go naked now.”

“Two fair questions,” Alice replied. “You have to hide your
thingies in that panty girdle for now, because out of sight is out of mind.
Also, no one else here has balls, so yours don’t fit in. Also, the girdle is insurance
you won’t try to use what’s inside in the heat of some moment or other. Women
in this Club do only what women do. As for the brassiere, you’re only an
honorary woman, and we’ll all need to be reminded you’re that much, anyhow,
until you look and behave more authentic. Try to move less abruptly,
incidentally, more gracefully. For a few sessions at least, we’ve agreed you
should think of yourself always as a dainty little girl. Feel the way a little
girl feels, it’ll help. Then gradually you can grow up. The brassiere is for
you to get used to wearing what women wear, while you’re growing up. And
finally, since you ask, it’s insurance against your getting someone to sneak around
taking pictures of us, which would necessarily include pictures of you wearing
a brassiere. A little embarrassing to explain to your friends. We’ll take a
few pictures ourselves of you all dolled up, of course, but then we know that
no one will ever see them as long as you behave yourself. Any other questions?”

I shook my head, stymied.

“Then change and go on into the living room.”

I did. Alice showed me how to hook the brassiere in front
of me and then turn it around. “You’re flat now. If you had to catch up your breasts
in the cups you wouldn’t be able to do it that way,” she said. “You’d prefer
to bend over forward and hook it in back. But for now this will do.”

“Alice,” I said. “I don’t have breasts.”

“You’ll feel as if you do, dear, in time. Just wait. Even
today you’ll see how important they are when women make love to women.”

Feeling as harnessed as a race horse, I went into the living
room. I must say, the women all welcomed me. They hugged me, and asked my
name, and I told them “Craig.”

I guess it was Meg who said, “Still? How original!”

And I’m sure it was Dottie who asked, “Why not a femme name?”

And I replied, “Craig is now my femme name,” because I
couldn’t think of anything else to say. I didn’t know I was supposed to have a
femme name. But they took that to mean something extraordinary, and crowded even
closer and smiled their congratulations.

“Now more than ever, I suppose,” said a tall blonde who
introduced herself as ‘Eden.’ Did they think I now thought I was a woman?
Were they teasing me?

Then a short blonde with a real blonde pussy, practically
bleach blonde, took my hand and led me over to one of the couches. “Never mind
them,” she said. “Mind me!” She slouched down on the couch with her legs over
the edge, and said, “Bring me off, Craig.”

I didn’t know what she meant at first. I bent over to try
to kiss her on the mouth. She turned her head away. “That’s for when you feel
genuinely affectionate, “ she said. “But you don’t feel that way about me,
yet. You will. We will be the most loving of girlfriends before too long, I
can tell. Then kissing will be fine. Maybe we should begin now with some
touchie-feelie. Would you like to feel my breasts? “

I reached for them with both hands, and she caught me by
each wrist before I could get to them. “Just like a man,” she said. “Try now
to be a girl. Think like a girl. Feel like one. Feminine, delicate, pretty,
and then reach with just your fingertips to touch my nipple tips. A little
girl who hopes some day to have a pair of breasts of her very own, just like
them. Just lightly caress them, and desire them. Gently. Ah, that’s it.
Much more like it. Ohh! That’s my girl!”

I found it was easy to imagine myself some sweet young
thing, stroking her gently, lovingly, lightly lifting each boob before going on
to caress more of their smooth, mellow curves, feeling increasing awe and admiration
as I fondled each one. I scarcely heard her murmuring. “Yes,” she was
saying. “’TLC.’ Tender, loving care when you touch me.

Also ‘Tongue licking and caressing’ when we’re into heavier
things.

Would you like to use your tongue?”

Sounded good. I lightly licked each nipple, just once. She
moaned. So I rolled my tongue on her nipples again, and she clutched my head,
so I filled my mouth with her and sucked and stroked and probed. Her body began
to writhe, and suddenly she lifted her head and looked at me almost
ferociously. “Now! Down on me!” she said, and I felt her spreading her legs
wide.

I fell to my knees and went down on her. With her legs
lolling over the edge of the couch and spread wide apart, I could see her labia
peering out from her bush. I held her knees with my hands and tucked my head into
her crotch, face first into her slit as fast as I could. Then I looked at her
and said, “TLC?”

She looked down and said, “If you can say it, you’re not
doing it.”

I started running my tongue up and down on those engorged
lower lips. They were dry at first, but soon grew slick, at first from my
saliva and then from her own juices. She began to taste sweet and creamy, with
a hint of sea food. A delicious woman taste. Soon my lips found her clit,
enlarged into a teeny hard knob, and I started nibbling on it. She let out a
kind of soft sigh and sank deep into the couch cushions. I could feel her
whole pelvis relax as I went in at her a little more determinedly, and then she
began to thrust rhythmically at me, then to rock her whole pelvis up to meet my
mouth. Long strokes with my tongue, beginning way back by her asshole and
finishing by her piss hole, stroke after stroke, my tongue as stiff as possible
while passing by the deep part, where my prick would be if it weren’t snugged
into my girdle. I felt like some cocker spaniel lapping at its mistress, but
so dainty. A little girl cocker spaniel, I guess. It felt good.

Faster and tighter, with the same long stroke, back to
front, and I could feel her thigh muscles begin to tighten. Soon she was like
a stretched rubber band. She croaked out, “caress ... breasts,” so I reached
up around her thighs toward her breasts. Like a sweet young thing, I imagined
myself. Fingertips only, so very delicately. Her slit was leaking juice now,
as I slurped. An odd idea occurred to me, what if her pussy juice was loaded
with hormones, and if I could suck enough of it I’d become a girl myself,
complete with a pussy of my own? Ridiculous, I thought, half the men in the
country would be women by now if so. But it was as if I were under orders, and
I kept slurping. My neck stretched out as I began each sleek stroke, and I
ended each with a little girlish wiggle, thrusting my tongue deep into her. “Oh!”
she said each time, so I kept it up.

She unbent her legs, and then lifted them high up from the
hips, stretching her toes straight to the ceiling. Now I could lean deep down into
her slit, really get my nose in it. Also, I could now easily reach her nipples
from between her legs, so I stroked them. She moaned louder. Her pussy now
fully exposed, I nuzzled even my chin into it. She moaned again, and then
again. She started calling out “More, Craig, oh, yes, more, you precious
little thing!” and her pussy cream turned stronger, more richly flavored as I
licked it up.

A few more long licks finished her off. “Ohhh, doggie,
Ohhh, doggie, Ohhh, doggie!” she kept saying as if in a daydream, pushing her
whole wide cunt into my face and then clamping my head between her outstretched
thighs as she pulsed and pressed and pitched. I couldn’t breath at all, but I
kept probing and lapping as deep as I could. Then she eased off. “Well!” she
said. I waited until she could find her voice again.

“That was just fine, Craig honey,” she said, sounding
throaty. “That’s how girls do it. You’ll make a marvelous lesbian, if you ever
want to take it cuntlapping as a career. Femme hands and a butch tongue, what
a wonderful combination. Oh, darling! Come up here and let me kiss you.”

So I did, and she kissed me sweetly, gratefully, full on the
mouth, not noticing that my face was soaked. “See, now I feel like it,” she
said. She held me around the neck, looking into my eyes with mild affection.
Hers were deep blue, nearly round, rimmed with black lashes, and I saw she was
wearing blue eye shadow. She saw I was admiring her face, and she kissed me
again. “Do you and Jane do this often?”

I’ve learned that when women ask me about my wife, they are
usually telling me it’s time to back off. I delayed a moment.

“You mean, kiss? Oh, sure!” I said.

But her arms remained around my neck, her eyes looking
straight into mine, mild but unwavering. “No, I don’t mean kiss.”

I thought I should be honest. In no time they were all
going to know everything about my sexual practices anyhow. So I told her, “Not
for some time. Not for a few years. At first, yes, our mouths were everywhere
on each other. But a few years ago, I guess Jane just decided she didn’t much
like it. She’ll use her mouth on me now and then, when she doesn’t want me
between her legs for some reason. No problem there. But whenever I try
returning the favor she’ll stop me. Once she said, “It wouldn’t be right,” and
another time, “You’d notice.”

And she wouldn’t explain what she meant. So I quit trying.”

My blonde kept her arms circled on my neck and kept looking
at me, her expression unchanged. She meant for me to go on. Say what? “Now sometimes
when she comes home she’s real eager to make love,” I said. “When I reach down
to put me into her, I can feel that she’s gotten wet even before we’ve begun.
Slick, as if I’d already come in her. So she doesn’t need me down there for
lubrication before we fuck. Sometimes I want to lick up those juices I can
tell are oozing out of her, but she won’t let me, so I just slide right in and
we fuck. There are times she’s so slippery I can barely feel her. But I cum,
and then she mops up the excess with a kleenex. Then we go to sleep. I miss
it. I like the taste of a woman.”

“That’s interesting,” my blonde said, musing. “A few years
now, you’ve been pining away for the taste of us. So we’re doing you a favor.
Well, never mind. Here you’ll find all the pussy you could ever wish for, and
all of it to your taste. I know, I’ve tasted all of it myself. My name’s
Lisa, by the way. I’m married, so you don’t get to fuck me without a dildo. I’m
faithful to my husband. But anything a woman can do to me, you can do.
Cuddle, and kiss. And caress. And cuntsuck. Oh, yes! Drink all of my juice
your heart might ever desire! I hope for a lot more of what you just did, a
lot more. Later on, when you get used to thinking of your penis as a clit and
you won’t need your girdle, I’ll do the same for you.”

A strong voice sounded behind us. “Lisa? Are you finished
with him now?

Don’t use him up. Come over here, Craig, dear, would you?.”

I looked around, and saw Beryl lying back at her ease on the
soft couch opposite us, her firm breasts for the moment aimed straight upward.
I got to my feet, and she sat up just a little, patting the cushions where her
head had just been. I sat down there, and she lowered her head back down into
my lap. Then she asked me, “Craig, have you ever sucked a girl’s breasts while
she sucks yours?”

“No,” I replied.

“Then lets. Let me unhook your bra for you.”

When I leaned over toward her mammaries, she lifted them
slightly toward me, and the nipples on those conical projections entered my
mouth. Her mouth completely surrounded one of my nipples. We were in a
perfect position to suckle each other, in a kind of head and torso 69. I started
to diddle her nipple with my tongue, and heard Beryl’s voice, “Gentle, Craig,
always gentle. Like a little girl nursing on her mommy.”

I did, and it felt wonderful. Her mouth overwhelmed one of
my nipples, then the other, and her breasts began to feel like mine as she
wrapped her tongue on my little nipples and I licked hers, and we tongued each other
as if we were each other’s doll babies. I couldn’t tell our sensations apart.
We pursed our lips on each other’s nipple tips, and wrapped our arms around
each other, and clung together more and more tightly, and kissed each other’s
aureoles, and nibbled each other. But always delicately. I began to get the
strangest squirming sensation in my crotch as her tongue moved on me. I
wriggled and squeezed my legs together, and wondered if I might accidentally
cum without even touching myself. That would be embarrassing.

Beryl seemed to know how I felt. “That’s it, Craig,” she
said. “Never mind your usual male responses. They’ll change. For now just be
a sexy little girl. Dainty and neat, so very ladylike. You’ll find more feeling
builds up between us when we suck on each other like little princesses, layer
of feeling on delicious layer of feeling. The feelings will grow stronger
too. More urgent. You’re going to enjoy them. You’ll be glad to have them.
Now imagine that they’re already like mine.

That was easy, with her lips on my breasts and a rich
yearning sensation filling me, and her breasts filling my mouth. I squeezed my
legs together hard, then again, and that delicious tension built higher and higher,
then suddenly released in a flood. Then I felt a lovely afterglow. “Wow!” I
said in a higher-pitched voice than I’d meant.

Again, Beryl seemed to know how I felt. “Well, well,” she
said. “Lookie what you just managed to do. You’re going to like being a part of
our little group, no question.”

The upshot of that first day was, I had intimacies with four
women, Two asked me to lick their cunts to orgasm, so I did, and Beryl had me
do the same with her fantastic breasts. One asked me to hold her by her love
handle, by which she meant with my thumb in her cunt and my forefinger in her
ass, my palm pressed against her crotch, as she tensed and eased her pussy
against my palm until she’d brought herself off. “That’s all I want today,”
she said, disengaging herself after ten minutes. “Thank you, honey. You’re a
doll.”

Each encounter taught me more about women’s urges and needs,
the different ways I could be gentle, generous, and nurturing of their accumulating
desires until finally their aroused feelings overwhelmed them. Whenever I
tried to take charge, each would stroke my hair, and remind me to try to remain
a little girl as long as possible. “You’ll be a big girl soon enough,” they’d
say.

It was fun. I began to wonder how long it would be before
they’d declare me a lady, fit to fuck them with my built-in dildo and to lie in
their crotches like one adult woman with another. Meanwhile, I enjoyed being a
good little girl.

The last lady I slathered into orgasm with my tongue seemed
so grateful that afterward she plastered her mouth to mine, and sucked my
tongue into her mouth, and clamped my head tight with her arms, and then wouldn’t
let go. Since my mouth was attached to hers, there was nothing else to do, so
I started to lick the insides of her lips, and then to flick my tongue on hers
as if we were duelling with swords. It became quite enjoyable. Still, she
held me. So I began to run my hands up and down along her sides, over that
delicious deep curve where a woman’s waist swings out to curve down again as
her hips. or slopes upward until a caressing hand is filled with a breast. It
was fascinating, her waistline. She paused to make a suggestion, “Think of me
as slippery, wet clay, and slide your hands all over me.” When I did just that
it must have made a difference in the way my hands moved, and she must have felt
it, because she moaned out loud, and my hands then slipped further down on
her. Finally, while one hand was stroking her body, the other had three
fingers deeply buried in her snatch, diddling her to yet another orgasm.

When she finally released my neck and mouth she sighed.
Then she gave me a perfunctory little kiss on the tip of my nose, as if that
sucking French kiss of hers was something else again altogether. “Your hands are
almost as erotic as Meg’s,” she said. “Ask Meg to show you more things to do
with them, before we wear out your tongue altogether. If she’d stroke you, you’d
learn a few things. In return, you can certainly teach her some tricks about
how a mouth fits into a girl’s private parts. Any time you want to live down
there between my legs, Craig, do feel free to be my guest.”

By four o’clock, the ladies of the BiGirl Club were
uncoupling from each other and beginning to drift back upstairs to dress, to
become proper housewives and ordinary clubwomen again. I watched the tall
blonde, Eden, leaning over an upstairs banister for a last word with someone else
down below, her beautifully shaped breasts falling free and her gown flowing
back like a bridal train, and I realized that she was lovely, that I was
admiring her appearance instead of lusting after her. When Lisa appeared
briefly in the front hall in a smart purple knit suit and high-heeled black
pumps, a matching purse slung crisply under her arm, I told her she looked
smashing, without even thinking, and she grinned at me in thanks. “If you’d
like a suit like this one, I can tell you where I got it,” she said. I grinned
back.

All the girls smiled as they passed me going out the door,
and I smiled back at them. I could sense that I had passed through some kind
of initiation ritual, and was now a welcome addition to their number. We were
feeling real affection for each other. I especially loved Beryl for the
exquisite pleasure she’d brought me just by nursing on me, and letting me suck
on her.

But no one had reached into my girdle to give me even the
most perfunctory hand job, and no one had rubbed my crotch. As a result, by four
o’clock I had the worst case of blue balls I have ever had in my entire life.
I couldn’t walk, and I could barely straighten up. Somehow I got dressed again
in the jogging suit I had worn walking from my house to Alice’s. I crouched as
the last women said goodbye to Alice, and I waited to talk to her. “Ta ta,
girls,” they waved at the two of us. “See you Thursday!”

“See?” Alice said. “That’s nice. They’re beginning to think
of you as one of the girls. You are too, I can tell. I was watching you with Lisa,
and then later when Beth had you imprisoned in that clutch kiss of hers. You
use your mouth and your face wonderfully well. That’s where we always want to
feel strength pushing into our crotches. But I’m sure they told you, always
gentle.”

“They all told me to try to feel like a little girl, “ I
said.

“Yes, that’s what we all agreed. But here’s a hint. Always
think of your fingertips as feathers when you stroke with them. Like this.”

Alice fluttered her fingers ever so lightly across my
imprisoned, engorged penis, rubbing the silken girdle fabric so delicately that
an electric charge leaped from her hand directly through my prick to the base
of my spine.

“Oh, God!” I groaned without thinking.

Alice smiled. “I know. I could see by the way you’re
walking. But that girdle doesn’t come off until we’re all sure you’ll control
what’s inside it. In this Club it’s a clit, not a prick, and it’s not to be used
for penetration. If the dear little thing is in trouble, take it home and see
if Jane wants to use it. Later on you’ll be no good to her at all after our
Tuesday and Thursday sessions–we’ll be trying to drain you. Maybe you won’t
function some other nights either as time goes by. But before you go home you’d
better wash all that pussy juice off your face, or Jane’ll wonder what you’ve
been up to. Or whose you’ve been down to.”

Then Alice said, “Oh, yes, Craig. You’ve probably noticed
that we all wear our own intimate underthings here, our own negligees and day
wear. Today’s was loaned to you. Now go buy some of your own. And begin to wear
our kinds of undies all the time, so they feel natural to you, here or away.
Especially bras and panties and girdles. Morning to bedtime. Give Dottie a
call, if you need someone to shop with you and advise you -- she’s offered to
help.”

“Which reminds me. Another thing. From now on you will
want to feel more like one of the girls at all times. To preserve that little
girl feeling until you’ve grown up, and then to feel all grown up. You know. When
you next come up that walk I want to see you looking dainty. Don’t lope. Hold
your head up, and keep your shoulders back as if you had heavy breasts to
support, and keep your thighs tight together as if there were nothing hanging
there to separate them, so your hips swing slightly, and take smart short
steps. And keep your hands above your waistline at all times, and elbows close
to your body. That way there’ll be less shoulder in your movements, and more
wrist. You’ll feel more feminine. You’ll enjoy our little group that much
more. And we’ll enjoy you. Bye now.”

And she gave me a little tweak on my nipple, under my
sweatshirt. I felt it all the way back to the house.

Well, I was so horny that night that when Jane got home I
couldn’t wait to get her into bed. “What’s gotten into you?” she asked when I
started to scurry her under the sheets, smiling steadily. “Not that I mind! Oh,
my, you feel so smooth! Its nice. But what have you been doing?”

I told her I had joined a physical development Club, and had
been advised to shave off all my body hair so it wouldn’t irritate. As body builders
do. All true enough. She just ran her hands over and over me. My cock felt
like a tiger charging at its prey.

We fucked three times, twice that night, and then again the
next morning. Jane was a little slippery before I began, as usual, but by the
time I was finished with her she was soaked, along with the bed sheets, oozing
more cum than I’d ever before managed to spurt into her. Again, I could hardly
feel her, and just slipped in and out until I came. Then came again. I don’t
know if she felt me, either, because she didn’t respond to my pushing into her
by pushing back. But she hugged me close, and she said she loved having such a
sweet, smooth, loving husband. I snuggled into her feeling pleased, very much
like a little girl who has satisfied her mommy.

iii.

I woke up the next morning in a really good mood. All that
pussy, and more to come, and yet I’d been as faithful to my wife as any of the other
BiGirls were to their husbands. And I felt... nice. Jane stirred beside me
and then with her eyes still shut ran her hand caressing down my now-hairless
chest to my prick, which immediately engorged. She smiled, her eyes still
shut.

“How do you want it this morning, sweetie?” she asked.

“Any way you want it,” I said.

“Switch?”

“Sure.” We sometimes played role-switching games, me
underneath being passive and Jane on top pounding on me. She’d suggested it a
few years ago, and I liked it.

“Then spread your legs and lift your knees, girl, and I’ll
climb on top of you and fuck your brains out.”

That kind of talk was new, but it was suitable. And that’s
what she did. She climbed between my legs, said “Wider, babe,” then lifted herself
up to drop down onto my pole so it extended all the way into her its full six
inches. Then looking down on my face, her tits hanging down to brush against
my chest and my mouth, leaning on her elbows, she began to pump. It was odd,
feeling so completely helpless, with her weight on top of me and her arms imprisoning
either side of my body. Steadily, then faster as her own orgasm approached,
then like some machine-driven piston as my own groin began to clutch and tense
up, then explode. Afterward, neither of us could breath at first. Then as I softened
and began to slip out, she said, “You like getting fucked by a guy whose tits
dangle in your face. I could tell. I’ll bet it’s interesting. Well, I have a
busy schedule today. I’ll catch breakfast at the office. Be home around six–we’ll
go out to eat, OK?”

And she hopped off me and headed for the bathroom to take a
shower. Then when I’d just showered and was toweling off, she stuck her head
in and without warning took hold of my cock yet again. It remained flaccid,
spent by our lovemaking, probably hours from recovery for re-use. “Just
checking,” she said. “I’m off now. That was fun, playing the man. You should
play the girl more often.” So, for fun I sprinkled a little of her cologne
onto my hand and rubbed it on my chest, then went in to dress smelling
flowery. But she was gone.

I called Dottie and she invited me across the street to get
measured for my undies. I wasn’t sure I should, but she pointed out patiently
that I should know what my sizes are going in, in which case my bras and girdles
and panties might fit, but maybe not, or else I could try them on there, in
which case they’d certainly fit and I’d have the advantage of the saleslady’s
advice, and also the advice of any other woman who happened to be there. That
persuaded me. She took me into her bedroom, amused by my nervous glances out
the window at our own house, picked up a tape measure, and told me to strip.
Again I balked, and again she had to explain the obvious–underwear is not worn
over outerwear. I stripped naked. She checked my chest below my nipples and
above them and across them, and my waist, and hips, and what she called my
rise, and so forth, and wrote them down carefully, then told me I could dress.
But just like Jane she suddenly took hold of my cock, held it, and smiled at me
while squeezing it slightly. Nothing, no change. She said, “Well, you two had
a busy time last night, evidently. And smell that Cologne, too. Jane really
is putting her brand on you I guess. That’s fine. It’s a pity though that I
don’t get to suck you off again now, as my reward for qualifying you today to
join the Club.”

“Dottie,” I replied, trying to sound chivalrous, but also as
if I was kidding, “I’ll gladly give you a rain check on that.” I was wondering
if I’d be back in action by tomorrow and could drop by Dottie’s for a private
blow job. No, there was another Club meeting tomorrow. Then I might need Jane
again. But it would be nice to start up something with Dottie. Convenient.

“I’m sure you’re kidding,” Dottie said. “I was. BiGirls
only do with each other what girls can do with each other. We have husbands
and boy friends for the other things. No blow jobs. But if you’d gotten hard just
now, I’d have had to ask you to jerk yourself off. A woman’s lingerie
department is no place for a man whose prick is trying to prove it’s a member
in good standing.”

We bought a few brassieres in A and B cups (“We can wait and
‘C’ if we need to” she said), and a few frothy panties, and two firm
controlling panty girdles, and a cheap breast form (when I asked why not a good
one, she quipped again “Maybe you’ll prefer the home-grown variety!”). Then back
to the house to check their fit. They felt fine. I dressed for the rest of
the day in an A cup bra with no breast form, and a pair of panties, both rose
colored. Both felt satiny smooth, I remarked.

“Get used to it,” Dottie said. “That’s how your skin will
feel before long, too, if Beryl’s juice does its thing. Oh yes, Alice told me
one of the girls was offended when you went around bare-breasted bra-less after
your session with Beryl yesterday. Remember to replace it. You’re naked and
indecent without a bra until you have breasts, from now on. Also, as extra
insurance that you won’t look like a man during the club meetings and
accidentally horrify a member, Alice thought you should begin wearing a little
make-up. Just in case. Just a little. Eye-liner, mascara, and lipstick is
enough for now. Maybe some eye shadow, so you can be a woman of mystery. Here’s
some of each to keep in your purse. Oh yes, you’ll carry this purse when you’re
walking to meetings at Alice’s house. Out in the open–don’t be ashamed to be seen
carrying a purse. And walk the way Alice told you women tend to walk. Get
used to it. The make-up and the purse are gifts from me, to make up for my
trapping your cock in my mouth the other day while Meg took pictures. Buy more
make-up without me, at any drug store anywhere, when these are used up. And of
course, you’ll want to watch for lingerie sales at the stores on your own, to
fill in on the little nothings you’ll be needing from now on.”

Dottie saw me to the door, and as I stepped out she checked
the street. Then she stretched up, put her arms around me, and kissed me full
on the mouth, just once. Then she turned casual again. “See you tomorrow, honey,”
she said.

“I’m glad you checked that no one saw us, Dottie,” I
commented, a little edgy. Jane often came and went during the day, or some
neighbor might report to Jane that I’d strayed off limits.

“Well, I was actually checking that the kid I hired to snap
photos of us was ready for that big moment. See him, over there by that tree?
He ought to have taken some pictures through my bedroom window, too, from a branch
of that same tree. I hope so. More insurance against blackmail, love. Like
your underwear worn at all times now, and your makeup worn at least during our
club meetings. In case you ever really do hire someone to snoop on us. You’re
devious, Craig, but so are we, and don’t try to match your deviousness against
women who are protecting their reputations. Not yet. Wait till we’ve leveled
the playing field for you a little more.”

I was glad to get away from Dottie and her cryptic cracks.
That evening when Jane got home from I was still in my bra and panties, and had
no chance to change. So I was still wearing them when we went out to eat. Even
though I was also wearing a shirt, tie, and jacket, the bra I could feel
underneath gave me a feeling that I was gussied up, dressed special. I kind of
liked it. My badge of membership.

I had two scares. One was before we went out, when she told
me we needed to put on our make-up before we left the house, and I got all flustered
about what she could mean. She said, “Why, by ‘we’ I meant me, the way I
always do. Oh, poor baby, did we think that by ‘we’ I meant you in this case?
Give us a kiss!” I muttered something, and she said, “No, dear, you’re not
pretty enough for make-up. Not yet, anyhow. Are you?” I let it go. Then
when we got back home I stripped off my jacket, and she put both her hands on
my shoulders to emphasize a point, and I thought she could feel my bra straps
through my shirt. She didn’t let on if so, but when I winced and pulled back
she told me I was behaving positively girlish.

I soon was. If such a thing is imaginable, attending Club
meetings became the central event of my days. I would never miss a meeting,
and I looked forward to them. Beryl would shoot my butt when I arrived, with
whatever it was I needed to qualify for the Club, and I never asked what it
was. Antibiotics, I supposed. Then we’d divide into pairs of women and
pleasure each other, and then swap partners. Sometimes threesomes. Always,
they urged me to think and feel feminine. We’d talk makeup, and they’d help me
figure my best shades and how to apply them, and clothes. When they told me
about a closet sale at Victoria’s Secret I ran out and I’m afraid bought more
things than I needed, and sexier too. Once I accidentally left some frilly
black lace panties on my bureau, and came in to see Jane holding them up and
looking them over. Thank goodness, after a glance at me she just shrugged and
put them in her own drawer, as if they were a pair she’d forgotten she had.

By the third month my skin had grown as smooth as my
panties, and I remembered Dottie’s cryptic remark about that happening. I
wondered if it was from all the cunt juice I was drinking, or from keeping
myself hairless, but it seemed a small enough price to pay. Jane liked it, and
never questioned it. Nor did she seem to notice when the girls tweezed and
trimmed my eyebrows–she commented only that I looked especially well-groomed
these days, and that looking suave was probably good for business.

Another month or two later, one night in bed Jane commented,
“You’re plumping out here and there, honey, especially in the chest, but I don’t
really see any muscle development. What did you say you were doing at this
activities club you’ve joined?” I said some vague things about special
aerobics, and she let it pass. But it was true. I was now wearing my “B” cup
bras, and there was no room in them for the breast forms. I thrust out, and
didn’t dare appear in public without a jacket any more. A few times, when Jane
and I were out to dinner, or at the club, and we ran into another BiGirl, she’d
stare at my chest and grin at me, and I’d smile wanly back. Again, I assumed
it was from all the intimate fluids I was happily lapping up each week, but I
wasn’t going to give up being an honorary BiGirl just because my anatomy was accommodating
to my diet. Oddly enough, without my even hinting blackmail or bribery,
husbands began to call me in to review their insurance coverage, and then to
write some very large policies.

Trying to act like a woman at all times got easier. I had grown
up from little girl feelings, through big girl’s, and I was now being advised
to feel and behave always like a grown up young lady. In fact from the way I
moved, and got into cars, and so on, I realized that I might look like a faggot
to anyone who didn’t know I wasn’t. It didn’t matter to me at all, no more
than the inconvenience of having breasts, but I tried to remember not to mince
around too much.

A Club rule was that a BiGirl who was unoccupied could never
refuse another member’s request, and I soon took to looking over my ladies of the
afternoon like a Pasha, deciding what I wanted to do with each. Anything at
all, as long as it was something a woman could do with another. A lot of what
was wanted was simple cuddling, gentle consolation when a girl felt blue and
just wanted to feel held and loved. I was sometimes one of the women who liked
to slow dance together in a room just off the living room, swaying in each
other’s arms to dreamy music, and gazing into each other’s eyes, until their romantic
yearnings overwhelmed them and they sank to the floor, their mouths and hands
caressing each other passionately, inseparable. Some just wanted to swap
intimate gossip about husbands or boyfriends, to complain or boast, and their
confidences could get pretty embarrassing. Some wanted a lot more. I found
that as my breasts came in, more and more girls began to request my services.
It seems that some had originally resented my advantage, that I had their
breasts to play with but they didn’t have mine, but now they could make up for
lost time. Beryl told me some of my sisters had asked if my breasts could be
grown even larger, and she asked if I’d agree to some supplementary shots to help.
I saw nothing wrong with being the most popular girl on the block, and said
so. So I took on even more of a feminine figure. My waist narrowed, my hips
widened, and my face softened. Jane began to call me soignee as well as suave,
whatever that meant, and we played switch more often than not, on those rare
occasions when we found ourselves both in bed and in the mood.

It turned out that not even fucking was denied me. In an
odd way, I got to hump the girls after all, and a few sometimes wanted my prick
as well as my tongue. Sort of. It was the tall blonde, Eden, who worked out how.
And that was odd in itself, because Eden was the group’s only true Lesbian, who
never asked me to pleasure her because, obviously, she still regarded me as a
man. She was married, so technically she qualified as bi-sexual, but she was
the one who most frequently used strap-on dildos on the other women. The other
women used dildos now and then, but obviously most of them preferred being
girls during their sexual play, and would rather have it done to them than do
it. When I suggested I also use dildos on my fellow clubwomen, Alice said that
sentiment was against it so far, because it might cause me to revert to masculinity,
and as far as they could see I had now become a perfectly lovely young lady, a
joy to take to bed.

Still, once I had noticeable breasts they let me forget
about my bra and girdle during club meetings, though of course they wanted me
to dress more and more like a respectable woman at other times, walking to and from
Alice’s house with my hair fluffed up just enough to be passable, or driving to
town on errands. During our meetings I started to wear maybe only panties or a
pretty lace Teddy, or sometimes nothing at all. Lisa was eager to lick my clit
while I licked hers, and did it as she had promised me she would that first
day. My sex with her remained as delightful as ever. I had long, strong,
orgasms that felt more like clenching than spurting, more like a lady’s than a
man’s, and very little fluid ever emerged. About that time, I noticed that my
erections were becoming fewer and softer. At BiGirl meetings all danger of inadvertent
penetration had ended.

I don’t think Jane noticed–she was terrifically busy with
lots of commissions pouring in on her just about then, and when I managed to
get into her now and then she felt me no more than usual, no more than I felt
her. Nor did she notice my breasts either, it seemed. As often as not we saw
each other in passing, coming and going, and gave each other shrugs and rueful
smiles, and then moved on about our business.

Then one Tuesday Alice took me aside. “I don’t know how you’ll
take this, Craig,” she said. “But Eden has requested that you bottom for her today.”

“What does that mean?” I asked. I was fixing my mascara in
the front hall mirror, and retouching my lipstick before going into the living room,
not listening closely.

“Just that,” Alice said. “She wants to fuck your ass. She
says if you’ll let her, as any true girl should, then you can fuck her cunt after
today, if you’d want to.”

The idea shocked me. I turned away from the mirror, and
looked closely at Alice. “What do you think, Alice?” I asked.

“I think it means you’ve come a long way, Craig. In Eden’s
mind you’ve crossed the line. Eden has put that monster dildo into all of us
at one time or another, and plunged away at us. It’s her thing. None of us mind,
and some of us love it. Getting fucked would be for you another step toward
admission to the Club as a full member.”

“But you’re women. You have vaginas. I have only my
asshole.”

“You’re naive, Craig. First of all, Eden puts that thing
where ever she wants, even into her husband she tells me, to forestall his
putting his thing into her. Secondly, there are some women here who prefer
anal sex to vaginal, because they think their husbands should have exclusive
use of their pussies. You wouldn’t be unique. In fact, Eden has quite a technique
for breaking in a new girl’s rear. Very understanding. I loved it the first
time she tried it with me, though I myself still prefer her shoving that
monster up my cunt–Roy is a dear hubby, but he can’t begin to match it with his
dingus. But third and most important, I don’t need to tell you, you owe your
sisters whatever pleasure they think they can derive from you, any kind that a
woman can provide another woman. This is well into that category.”

My heart began to beat faster, as I saw I would have to
consent. “Yes,” I said. “Of course I’ll do it. Tell Eden.”

“Tell her yourself when you go into the living room. She’s
waiting for

your answer there. And Craig,”

I paused,

 

“This is a privilege. Think of it that way. None of us
ever dreamed you’d come so far so fast. But here you are.”

“Yes,” I said.

I never felt so small and helpless as when I went into the
living room to begin the afternoon, not as a Pasha but as the lowest of harem
girls, a virgin about to be deflowered. I saw Eden standing in front of the long
couch by the far wall, her usual reaming place for her women of the afternoon.
I saw that she was prepared to give me the full treatment. Black leather
high-heeled thigh boots. A black bustier that pushed her tits far up in front
of her, and black gloves that extended past her elbow, leaving her fingers
exposed. Poking up in front of her crotch like a tower was that dildo I had
glimpsed now and then on its way in or out of some girl’s pussy, It was two
inches in diameter, but it looked thin, because it was over ten inches long.
She was staring at me with her legs apart, her hands on her hips, her eyes
heavily blackened with mascara, and her mouth blood red. Altogether, she was
dominant, domineering, and commanding, and that pole was a staff of high authority.
My heart began to pound, and for the first time since I had joined the Club I
felt frightened.

I went over to her and instinct took over. I immediately
sank to my knees and lowered my eyes, head bowed submissively, waiting.

“Good!” she said. “Now just stay there!”

Five minutes went by. Ten. A half hour. I could sense she
was still there and hadn’t moved. I didn’t dare look up.

“You call yourself ‘Craig’,” she said suddenly. “You took ‘Craig’
as your femme name. Do you have a man’s name now? Is ‘Craig’ also your masculine
name?”

I realized that this was a trick question, and I had better
answer it correctly. I also realized for the first time that the correct
answer was also truthful. “’Craig’ is my femme name, Ma’am,” I said. Where did
I get the feeling I should call her that? “It was once my masculine name. But
that Craig is no longer masculine. I pretend he is, the way he once pretended
I was feminine.”

Eden considered this. “The same way you pretend that you
are not the one when you prefer to be the other. Well, for me you will need a
real femme name. I don’t fuck with half-men.”

“Eve,” I said.

“What?”

“Eve. Eve was made out of a man, in the garden of Eden.”

“Very good, Eve. A little flowery, but apt enough I
suppose. Now we’ll discover how submissive you can be. I will want you to fuck
yourself. To take your own cherry. You can look up at me now.”

I saw that Eden had sat herself down on the couch, her long
dong sticking up out of her crotch at an angle.

“Suck my cock until it is dripping with your mouth’s juices.
Then mount it, facing me or facing away makes no difference to me. Kneel straddling
my legs, and then lower yourself onto it. Then, Eve, we’ll see if the girl
made out of a man is still man enough, and girl enough, to take the full length
and then go for a wild ride!”

She spread her legs, and I crept forward between them, and
took her cock in my two hands. Most of it was still exposed. I bent over and
took its head in my mouth. It stretched my jaw as I opened wide to slide my lips
on it, just a few inches up and down. I did my best to salivate. and the soft
rubber cock head began to glisten.

“Practice making love to this cock, Eve. This cock is your
passageway to full membership in this club. Kiss it. Drool on it. Desire it
even more than you desire to suck pussy.”

An odd request, but I did desire it. I thought I tasted
cum, the same flavor as when, many months ago, Dottie fed me my own while Meg
took pictures. My mouth grew more ardent as I slipped around it, kissing it and
rubbing my tongue all over it. I wanted to take it into me, to fulfill me! So
when I covered it thoroughly with my mouth’s juices I climbed onto the couch,
straddled Eden’s lap facing her, closed my eyes, and lowered myself onto it
until the soft cock-head touched my asshole.

“The moment of truth, Eve. The easiest way is, a few inches
for it to get inside you, and then when you can, take in all the rest all at
once. Or you can wiggle down it like some jazz baby or teenybopper out for the
night in some disco.”

I lowered myself slowly. It pressed against my sphincter
and hurt, and I thought to myself, this will never go in, and I will never be a
woman. Then all of a sudden it slipped through, and the head lodged just inside.
I felt split and just held myself there, for a moment unable to move. Then I
found I could clench my buttocks slightly. Then tighten my thigh muscles on
it. Then slide up and down it, just a fraction of an inch at first, but then
more. When I went down onto it another three or four inches I felt a stab of
pain at first, but at the same time a joyous pressure, I lifted up and the pain
eased, and I lowered again into pure joy this time. In another minute I was
rolling and rocking and bouncing on that staff like some lunatic, feeling a
familiar squirming pressure develop in my groin, intensify, become
excruciatingly beautiful, then surrender itself into a mellow golden haze. It
all seemed over so soon! I fell on Eden’s neck and sobbed like a girl. That’s
what I felt myself to be. She held me and comforted me.

“Yes, Eve. I could tell. It was beautiful for you. You
will love being a woman. A bisexual transgendered woman.” She patted my shoulder,
and tilted my head back, and kissed me on the lips. “Love men the way I love
women,” she said.

A voice behind me, Beryl’s, said, “Well, if you two girls
don’t mind, Craig, or Eve if you prefer, will you lift yourself off that thing
so I can see whether or not it’s done any damage?”

I hugged Eden’s neck and lifted my rear up. As it cleared
the dildo there was a distinct “plop!” sound, and my ass felt both sore and
empty. “It’s fine,” Beryl’s voice came after a moment. “But Eden, next time use
a proper lubricant until you can get enough cum into her to do the job no
matter what. We all love Craig, and don’t want to lose her to some
technicality in your deflowering rites. Well, now that she’s willingly fucked
herself and seems happy about it, you can do it properly to her.”

And that’s what happened. It seems Lisa was waiting behind
me for me to finish myself off, and then for Beryl’s seal of approval. Without
a word she sat down on the couch and spread her legs wide, a twinkle in her eye
and her twat open to the whole room. “Here’s dinner, now, Craig. Never mind
her!.”

“Go ahead, Eve,” Eden said.

I did what I was told, and was on my hands and knees between
Lisa’s knees lapping her up like a doggie when I felt that same now-familiar pressure
of the soft cock knob on my sore asshole again. Then a lunge, and the whole
dildo slithered in, lubricated with some thin slippery substance. Then out,
and then in. Each thrust against my bottom pushed my face further into Lisa’s
pussy, and she grunted, then thrust back, until finally the three of us were
locked in a glorious pushing and pulling and thrusting and licking rhythm that
ended in an even more glorious orgasm for me than the first time. A few more
slurps and Lisa was over the hill also.

When Eden pulled out, a warm liquid began to ooze down my
leg. I reached down and wiped some onto my finger, then sniffed it. Cum?

“That’s right, pet,” Eden said. This dildo can squirt like
the real thing you used to carry between your legs. I thought for your first real
ass reaming you should finish with the real thing squirted into you and then
left to dribble out. Your next cock sucking will also get you the same reward
for meritorious service. Never mind whose. I have my sources. And now that
we know you are not a man, and there’s no doubt that enough of you is a woman,
you can do me now.”

Well, Eden unstrapped the dildo and lay down on an arm of
the couch, and I struggled into the harness. Then when it was firm on my
crotch, she unsnapped her bustier underneath and reached to massage her pussy
until it became wet. It already was. So I pushed it into her, and with longer,
slower, more lingering strokes than my own short cock had ever allowed me, I
brought her up and over, then up and even higher to another peak, and then
began again until she cried out in a weak voice. “Enough, Eve. You can go all
day with it, I know, but I can’t. Thank you, dear!”

As we dressed and prepared to go home, me by now wearing a
ladies’ jogging suit better fitted to my wider butt and protruding chest, Eden showed
me how the dildo was constructed. “You can see it’s hollow, with a tube
leading through to the piss hole just like the real thing. That’s where I can
put a condom load of cum for re-squirting, if I wish. Or you can put in your
soft prick and bind it here, so you can feel some of the pussy pressures on
this better, bigger prick wrapped around it. Think of a dildo like this as a
huge, thick rubber, strap-on condom. All of the Club’s dildos have this
feature. I have a feeling you’re going to be in big demand here, fucking and
getting fucked, now that your ass and your prick have both been broken in.”

iv.

A few weeks later the BiGirls celebrated the sixth month of
my honorary membership by taking me to dinner and a show. “Buy yourself the sluttiest
outfit you’re willing to wear,” Alice said, “And we’ll all go have a fun
evening. Just us girls. I’ll get you a wig–dark black, straight hair, I
should think, in a cute bob with long bangs. It’ll be your full first night
out in public as a girl, won’t it? No fear, we’ll surround you. Go get your
nails done at least–I’m sure Jane won’t mind that much, anyhow. All part of
her new, sleek, suave, husband.”

So I went in to our local beauty salon and got my nails
done, pale pink instead of the clear coats the attendant wanted to give me as a
man. I felt like flashing them at everyone, they looked so nice when done. Then
to a mod clothes store, where I found a micro-mini skirt made out of a strip of
red leather, and to balance it off a black angora sweater, soft and fuzzy but
tight enough to show my boobs clearly. Tons of junk jewelry, gold bangles on
both wrists, multiple chain necklaces, and some big hoop earrings–really
brassy. High black fish net pantyhose–I wanted thigh highs, but the saleslady
insisted I was too tall for them, the tops would show below the little red
mini. I thought that would be wickedly slutty, but she told me coldly I’d be
raped or arrested for prostitution before I’d gone a hundred yards. And then
five inch heels on black strappy shoes. The lady sitting next to me where I
was being fitted for the heels kept asking if I was an actor or a performer, or
if I needed them for a costume party. So in the end I told her my girlfriends
wanted to give me a night out to thank me for giving them so much sexual
pleasure, and I needed sexy shoes to pick up guys for them and spread the
wealth. Then she stopped asking.

Everyone gathered round when I came downstairs at Alice’s
place fully dressed in my black Angora and red mini and gold bangles and
dangles, heavily made up especially around the eyes. Alice produced the wig,
and it was just darling, cute as could be. I loved it, it was really “me”. We
left Alice’s house giggling and gossiping and teasing each other, and kept it
up through dinner at a local Chinese restaurant, getting especially hysterical
when I tried to use the Men’s room and some horrified young woman blocked my
way because her date was in there, and she thought I wanted to turn a trick
with him.

My sister BiGirls started talking about whether I was more
female than male these days, or whether I was neither or both. Meg raised a
toast “To Craig’s cock and balls, his lost causes,” and I blushed. Dottie asked
if they were lost or just mislaid, and everyone groaned. Lisa commented that I
was so much nicer now that I had breasts, something for them to kiss while I
was kissing theirs. She said she could hardly wait for me to get my danglers
turned into a vagina. “Craig would be so much more cute with pussy lips for us
to kiss,” she said. “Isn’t it time?” Eden couldn’t see how a cunt would add
much. “She’s got such a sweet tush right now, and it wriggles so prettily when
I’ve pushed something way up into it.” Alice said that surgery for me was “not
in the arrangement,” whatever she meant by that, but between me and Jane, “because
Jane has a half-interest in Craig.” When dinner ended they were still teasing
me about whether Jane had ever been more than half-interested in me, or whether
her half included one complete testicle or half of each, or included the first
three inches of my cock or the last three, with anything left over declared no
man’s land.

We moved on to the next event, front row seats at a beefcake
strip show, the “Percherons.” These were five heavily muscled male dancers
who shook and stripped and jiggled and stripped some more, until finally what
was left to imagination was covered by only a teeny triangle of satin on a
G-string. This pouch was quickly knocked askew by women thrusting five dollar
bills into the G-string, and then there was their equipment on full display!
One by one the men came to bump and grind in front of me as the guest of honor
of our group, and I must say, they were hung! Two of them rotated their cocks
not a foot from my face, heavy balls slapping against their thighs, the longest
pricks I had ever seen. They seemed to hang half-way to their knees, as thick
as fire hoses. For the first time in my life I felt my own genitals to be altogether
inadequate, negligible, and I tried instead to feel pleased that the BiGirls
loved me for my tongue and my dedication, not for what was between my legs. I
wondered how Jane really felt about me.

“How’d you like to get that thing erect in your mouth and
down your throat?” Meg asked everyone?

“It’d never fit any throat I’ve ever seen,” Beryl said with
some wonderment, even awe.

“You know anywhere it would fit?” Alice asked. “It might be
worth a try!”

We went to a night club afterward, and sat around several
tables, while the girls resumed talk of surgery to bring me the rest of the
way.

“If Craig did go the distance,” Lisa argued, “Then she’d be
eligible for full membership in the club, not just an honorary membership. She’d
be a girl who likes girls.”

“Only if she were married to a man,” said someone else.

“There’s another way,” said Doreen. Doreen was a
dark-haired beauty with magic hands who had joined the club after me, but had
quickly become everyone’s favorite. “There’s another way for Craig to keep his
balls but still be bisexual, and in that way earn a full membership..”

Everyone thought for a moment what that way might be. “Oooh!
Do you think he would?” Dottie asked? She was quick! “Say, with somebody real
special, like one of those Percherons? Would you, Craig?”

“We’re a girl’s club,” I replied, trying to avoid an answer.
“Sex with men doesn’t qualify.” One of those Percheron fire hoses was in my imagination’s
eye at that moment, and I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. To really
belong, would I make love to it? Would it be any different really from wetting
down Eden’s dildo, or fucking it?

They called on Alice for a parliamentary judgment. “Craig
is a special case,” she said, speaking slowly and thinking her way through it.
“But I think that if she did what women do with men, then with the fact that she
already does with us what women do with women, she’d be eligible for full
membership as a BiGirl. She’d be doing everything we do. Why not?”

“Then let’s get her a man!” said Meg.

At that point the party got a little hazy. All of the girls
had been drinking, and as some of them started approaching single men on my behalf,
they were misunderstood and swept up onto the dance floor themselves. Then
married or not, some started disappearing into the parking lot with their
partners, returning disheveled.

A tall young man leaned over me and asked me to dance. I
looked up frightened. This wasn’t in the cards. I glanced at Dottie, who was still
at my table, and she signalled that one dance was unavoidable, but then we’d
go. So with my heart beating I let him lead me to the dance floor.

It wasn’t easy. This guy was putting the make on me from
the moment I put my arms on his shoulders–he had picked a slow dance. I had a twisted
feeling in my stomach–there was something perverse about it. A man was not a
dildo strapped to a girl. I was not gay. He pulled me against him and began
to twist his body against my breasts, and to my horror I felt my nipples harden
in response–if he touched one of them, would I melt, the way I did when one of
the girls fondled me? He did touch one, ever so lightly, and his hand
lingered. Then at the same time he pulled my groin into his, and even through
our clothing he began to rotate his meat into me. I could feel it, and my knees
were getting weak. I was in a man’s arms, and in very little more time I knew
he would be in my mouth or my ass if I didn’t do something. But what? He touched
my other nipple, and I grew weaker. This was not what I had bargained for!

“Craig, we’ve got to go!” There was Lisa. She had seen the
look in my eye, broken away from her man, and come to rescue me.

“Craig?” said the man. “That’s a funny name for a girl.”

“He’s not a girl,” Lisa said. “He’s a guy in drag. And he’s
my very special boy friend. So I’d appreciate your backing off.”

“A guy in drag? I don’t believe it! I don’t go for guys!
Just look at her.”

“Should we show you his balls?” Dottie had joined us and was
tugging on my arm while I stood there dazed by what I had just felt. The man
was really attractive! But before he could respond she and Lisa had me spirited
away, planted me in Dottie’s car, and headed us home.

“Will Jane make a problem, you coming home looking like a
foxy lady?” Dottie asked me. “You can change at my house. Of course coming
home in a skirt is probably better than coming home in any of the flimsy things
I’d lend you.”

“No, Jane’s out of town on business,” I said. “Thanks
Dottie. Thanks Lisa. I need to think about all this.”

“You do that,” Lisa said. “And you might ask Jane about it
too, before you do anything more than think about it, especially just to get
even. Otherwise it’s cheating. You remember that I don’t believe married people
should cheat.”

I remembered she’d said that, but maybe because it was late,
I couldn’t make sense of anything else she’d just said. So I just said good
night.

After that outing, all of the girls thought it was important
for me to think of Craig as a girl, not a boy. It was the only way I could eventually
become a full BiGirl like the rest of them. A few of them scheduled little
dinners or trips to the movies now and then, with me wearing a dress, well-made
up, wearing my wig, to build my confidence in my femininity. It did. They’d
take me shopping, and my taste in clothing improved, and I began to build up a
darling wardrobe. I’d wear it even when the Club wasn’t meeting, skirts and
blouses during the day and cocktail dresses late afternoons or evenings if Jane
was due to be out of town. And they allowed me to wear all kinds of sexy
underwear during our Tuesday and Thursday afternoon meetings, as long as it
didn’t get in the way.

So it happened that one afternoon a month or so later, I was
in a threesome with Lisa, who was sucking on my clit as if through a straw, and
with Meg, who was squatting on my face while I licked her pink pussy lips and
was getting ready to French kiss her deep slot. I was wearing a bra, and tap
pants, and as it happens heels and stockings and a garter belt as well, because
I’d just come directly from a marvelous dress sale at Talbot’s, and wanted to
show some of the other girls my prize purchases. Lisa was so horny she’d
barely given me time to get my dress off before she leaped me. I heard the
front door open, and women’s voices gush greetings, then heard them come down
the hallway.

Near the opening to the living room I heard Alice’s voice
say “Jane, it’s been quite a while! Are you finally finished balling Desmond?
Have you come to take Craig back? Will you be staying this afternoon?”

I heard Jane’s voice. “No, I can’t stay but a moment,
Desmond’s waiting for me in the car. But yes, it’s over. I promised him this
whole weekend together, just the two of us, and then that’s it. Our business together
is done. We’ve now redesigned every last motel in town. Every last place
ordinary people can go to fuck except us, because the managers all know us and
all have big mouths. Desmond’s just been transferred to the West Coast with a
big promotion. So that’s that. No more need for us to use our house any more,
so there’s really no more need for you to keep Craig out of our way. I just
stopped by to tell you. Thanks for all your help, really.”

“Is that you under there, Craig? Hi, Meg, no, don’t bother
to get up! Craig, you look so cute dressed like that, no wonder the girls
adore you! I’ll be back Sunday night. I’ve left your dinners in the freezer, all
labelled, no problem, but maybe someone here will want to feed you. It sure
looks like it at the moment.”

“You’ve done a marvelous job on him, girls. I owe you all!
Next week when I’m back, when I’m meeting with everyone regularly again, I’ll
be sure to give each one of you special reason to know how grateful I feel. Alice,
it’s time Craig knew a few things, don’t you think? Would you explain them to
him? It might help. Gotta run! Kiss, kiss! Bye now!”

Meg sat down even more firmly on my face, by which she let
me know what my responsibilities were however I may have felt at that moment.
I writhed furiously into her pussy, and it must have felt incredible for her,
because a few minutes later her whole body seemed to go into spasm, and she
rolled off me without a word, and just lay there trying to recover her breath.

My darling Lisa just looked up and said, “We’ll finish this
another time, dearest,” and waited while I finished off Meg. Then she kissed me,
and I kissed her back while tears were starting out of my eyes. “See, didn’t I
tell you how we’d be kissing when we really meant it?” she asked. I nodded,
and kissed her again, and she kissed me again. I noticed the other girls were
heading upstairs to change. Our meeting was just about adjourned.

I went upstairs and stripped naked. I couldn’t bear to wear
any of my sexy underwear, or the beautiful green sequinned dress I’d come in,
but all there was in the closet was my women’s jogging suit, so I put it on, and
a pair of flats someone had left that fit, and I went downstairs to wait for
Alice to bid everyone goodbye until next week. The last to leave was Beryl,
who looked at me a little worried. I looked back at her to assure her I’d be
all right, and she looked at me more closely. Then, barely satisfied, she left.

I settled with Alice in the living room, now only an
ordinary living room, not in one of the soft chairs or couches but at a table
way to one side, where we could both lean our elbows and pound our fists if it
came to that.

Alice began.

“Isn’t Jane a dear? We all miss her. But I guess a little
under a year ago, maybe less, she fell for this guy Desmond, who has renovation
contracts for most of the motels in this part of the State, practically, and
she wanted to spend her afternoons with him instead of us. Which is fine.
Most of us are satisfied with our husbands, but sometimes it’s fun to flirt
with other men a little. Lead them on, you know where. And then there’s no
harm if you’re careful, and if your husband never catches on. Jane used to say
you never seemed to notice anything as long as dinner was on the table promptly
at 6:30.”

I just sat there, in my jogging suit, breasts protruding a
little, aware that my cock was curled between my legs and hadn’t been hard in
months. I realized I hadn’t bothered yet to wipe off my eye makeup. I hoped
it wasn’t smudged.

“Well, Craig, maybe you didn’t know it, but Jane became a
BiGirl a few years ago, soon after one of your lady friends phoned her asking
if you’d ever found one of her earrings. At first she just went wild. When
she found out how you’d been making your crotch available to every saleswoman
or female client who came through town, she started making hers available to
any contractor who’d give her a decent discount, or any wallpaper designer who
wasn’t an outright flaming faggot, or any client with a restaurant, or any
trucker with a bulge in his balls she saw knew how to unload a crate of dishes
gently.”

“Well, she found out fairly quickly that your cock wasn’t
that much, and that even guys not much bigger than you were a lot more exciting
because, well, they were excited by her. She cruised the singles bars, and
after a while she found four or five guys way better endowed than you who were
available whenever you were selling insurance somewhere, or maybe balling some
insurance company lady somewhere. And she joined our little group. She wanted
to try women too, she said. Women are more concerned, and understanding, and
caring, she said. And that’s certainly true.”

“It was about then she decided not to begin her rare fucking
sessions with you by letting you taste her pussy, the way you do with all of
us, Craig dear. We love you for it, because your tongue is magic. You are one
of the world’s great tonguefuckers, though you didn’t know it then, and she
doesn’t know it yet. She’d come home loaded with the jism of whoever she’d
been with that afternoon, and sometimes she’d never even bother to shower when
she got home reeking of him. She didn’t want to share any of it with you. I
thought she was being a little selfish, but she said it was her cum, from her
efforts and her pleasure, and held snug in her pussy. Not for you. ‘Let him
get his own,’ she’d say.”

“You’d never notice anyhow. Lots of times, she said, you’d
put your thing right in there when she was way stretched out by some hulk and still
pouring out his jism, and you never seemed to care. You must have thought you’d
gotten her exceptionally excited, she guessed.”

“Then when she’d say that, she’d laugh. ‘Craig? Excite me?’
she’d say, and then she’d laugh again. She’d never let you lick her for
another reason too, of course. Because then even you might guess someone else had
got his spunk in there ahead of yours. Until after you’d come inside her.
Then maybe she’d let you. But by then you’d usually lost the urge to have any
kind of sex at all with her. ‘Old one-shot,’ she’d call you.”

“When she joined us she’d settled down to fucking just a few
of her studs, though she’d cruise the night clubs some times, and take guys to her
car when she was in the mood. But then came this wonderful opportunity to
re-design practically every motel in this part of the State, lobbies,
restaurants, meeting rooms, bedrooms, everything. Who could refuse? Along
with this opportunity came this guy Desmond, apparently unmarried, apparently
half his body weight in his cock and half of the rest in his balls. Who could
refuse him?”

“So your wife has been fucking Desmond for a long time now,
full time since construction started more than six months ago. Whenever they could.
Once the projects were actually under way they realized they had no discreet
places convenient for an afternoon quickie. Desmond is too well known in the
trade, and Jane got to be too well known. So she asked us to keep you away
from your place two afternoons each week, at least. We thought, sure, why
not. You could take her place meanwhile, until she decides to come back to us.”

“Maybe you don’t know you’ve already tasted Desmond’s jism?
That’s what Eden loaded her cock with that afternoon when she fucked you with
her ten inch dildo. Remember the way the tip tasted? Remember the juice oozing
out of you after she’d fucked your ass while she was cramming you into Lisa’s
cunt? That was Desmond. The same juice that’s been creaming your wife’s cunt
for a long time now, that your prick’s been sliding around in. Eden thought it
might be nice for you two to share the taste, that it might bring you closer
together, somehow. Jane didn’t want you to have the pleasure at first, but
when Eden pointed it would be like you sucking your own wife’s lover’s cock and
not even knowing, she thought it would serve you right.”

“Craig, I know this is a hard time for you. But understand.
We all love you. Whatever happens with Jane, we want you to know you’ll always
be one of us, in our hearts and memories. An honorary BiGirl. And whatever
happens with Jane, we hope some day we can welcome you all the way as one of
us, without any reservations.”

v.

Well, Jane came back from her long weekend with Desmond, and
remained distant for a few days, thoughtful and a little wistful. Was she thinking
about the lost love of her life? Her lost Desmond? She’d look at me when she
thought I wasn’t looking at her, deeply sad about something, then look away
again. I registered nothing at all.

The third night it emerged, why she was so sad. She tried a
few times to speak, then managed it.

“I went to a BiGirls meeting. The girls tell me you have a
great tongue. Masterful, that its a rare gift. That you’re a genius with it, and
that I’ve missed out.”

I didn’t say anything.

“And that no man has ever been as considerate as you. As
kind, or as generous, when making love. That you really aren’t a man in their
eyes at all any more.”

I remained silent. I couldn’t tell where this was going.

“Did the girls tell you about me?”

“Alice did.”

“Everything?”

“I think so.”

“Everything starting a few years ago?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“And?”

And I went back to my insurance contracts, whatever I was
working on just then. That night, she tried to cuddle. She stroked my bare, smooth
chest, and both of my breasts, and snuggled in, but then she may have had a
sense of the enormity she’d committed, that her husband now had breasts,
because she pulled back. For a few more days she could stew in her juice, I
figured. She’d had me stewing for a few years not even knowing, and then she’d
set me up swallowing and shooting up the girl juice that would change me for
life, not even knowing that, just so she could get royally laid over and over
by some big prick of a client, and get his business, which she deserved anyhow.

Not that I minded the change in me. I loved it, now. But
wives aren’t supposed to use their husbands like this. If they have a problem,
they are supposed to try to talk it out. Sure, she married an insurance-mongering
asshole, a gladhander, a sexist schmuck. Maybe no one could talk to me about
anything, then. But she was a grown-up. No matter how much of an asshole I
was, she married that asshole with her eyes wide open. She looked at me and
she told hundreds of people and a man of God, “I do.” She didn’t know what I
was underneath, of course. Underneath I was....

I realized that what I was underneath was what I am now.
That she had brought it out, not meaning to, but that’s what had happened.
That I liked what I had become, and I’d always had contempt for the person I’d been,
same as everyone else, even the buddies I’d wanted to buy, way back, with a
story about how one afternoon I’d suckered a blow job out of a den of lesbian
pervert wives, then sold them all insurance to keep my mouth shut about them.
I’d been a real shit. I started to look sorrowfully at Jane, and sometimes our
unhappy glances would meet half-way. The next night, while she was sleeping, I
reached to cradle her breast gently, and I snugged in against her. But she
didn’t wake up. And in the morning when I woke we were on opposite sides of
the bed, facing away. I don’t think she knew I’d forgiven her, and I still
hoped she’d forgiven me.

That Friday I decided how to deal with it. I showed up for
dinner in my red leather mini and black net stockings, and the black fuzzy
sweater I wore for my big night out on the town, when I almost got laid and officially
certified a BiGirl in fact. And my straight black wig, and all the cheap
jewelry. The same outfit I’d worn to the Percherons, and then to that Night
club where half the BiGirls had disappeared with men who were not their
husbands, and I had barely escaped with my virtue.

“Let’s go out!” I said. “Meet some people. I want to
party!”

She looked at me peculiarly for a long while, and seemed to
make up her mind about something. Then she sat down in a soft chair, solidly,
and put her feet on a hassock. “Why go out?” she asked. “We can party right
here.”

And we did. She leaned back and spread her legs wide open
to me, and said, “Now give me a real, wet, sloppy kiss, girlfriend!” So I
did. I licked her the way a little girl would lick the cunt of an older girl, or
her dearest friend’s pussy, and I tongued her the way a proper young lady would
tongue the most respected of high society cunts, and then the way a starved
whore would do it. I sank my face into her as if I wanted it to disappear and
never re-emerge, and as her loins relaxed and her thighs spread wide, I sucked
and licked and lapped and loved her pussy as if it were the center of my
existence, as indeed it was. Tears started down her face as she felt down
below, with no doubt about it, how her husband loved and desired her, and how
her husband wanted her to come back to him, and again, later, to come yet
again, and then again.

Later that night we were snug in bed together, me in my
babydolls and Jane still naked, and we were still kissing each others’ faces
over and over, still, but getting sleepy finally.

“Craig,” she said. “When you said you wanted to go out and
party. Did you really mean it? I mean, the two of us go to a bar, dance, pick
up guys and everything? Down and dirty? Trips to the parking lot with them?
Maybe bring one or two back here? The whole works? Like I did a few years
back, when you were out of town or working late? Like I’d done lots of nights
when you wanted to go down on me, but I wouldn’t let you, because I was still
filled with some other guy’s cum? Like I’ve been doing even recently, nights
when I wasn’t already being stuffed full of Desmond?”

“Why not?” I asked her. “You never know.” I figured we
could both find out if I really meant it. Then if things worked out, maybe I
would be eligible for full membership in the Club without it costing me my
cock.

I told her that, and she was ecstatic. She threw her arms
around me and wouldn’t let go. “Oh, darling, that would be so wonderful!” she
said. “That’s been my fondest dream. Ever since we were married, I’ve wanted to
share everything with you. Other women, other men, everything. That’s being
truly married, isn’t it? Sharing everything? But I didn’t dare suggest other
lovers to you. Not to you! You were always so proper! And then you started
diddling other women with no thought of me. So I took on other men, and never
shared even a single drop of their cum with you. It was spiteful of me, I
know, but I felt hurt. And then I realized you’d feel hurt too, if you knew
how often I went out to sample other kinds of cocks, and the other men attached
to them. So I couldn’t very well tell you, could I.”

Well, the very next night we went out together, and sure
enough, we picked up two guys and brought them back to the house, giggling
together like schoolgirls the whole time. They must have been baffled by our silliness,
but not later on, when we reached for them and it became plain that we meant
business.

At daybreak, both men left and I came back into our own
bedroom. Jane just looked at me. She didn’t ask anything, but when I gave her
a sly smile she beamed like summer sunshine and held out both her arms. I lay down
gently next to her–my rear end was still a little sore, but so was hers I
supposed, sometimes. She kissed my nipples and sucked on them–and she could
tell immediately that they were a little sensitive too, my guy had really
worked them over. Then for the first time in years, she pushed my head down,
past her breasts–I just managed to kiss their tips as I went by, down past her
navel, down to her sweet, soft pussy. I buried my face in its creamy, silky,
wet darkness. As so often in the last few years, it was soaked. But now I
could smell and taste why, all the jism her man of earlier tonight had left
there, a taste not unlike the sperm I’d been licking and swallowing for hours from
my own partner. I found that I liked the taste of a man the same way I liked
the taste of a woman.

As she clasped my head to her crotch and began to buck her
hips into my face she said, “It was so hard keeping up my affair with Desmond, sometimes.
All he had going, really, was that huge cock and a lot of staying power. He
was a glorious fuck–your little cock was nothing in comparison. In fact
usually when you’d enter me after I’d spent an afternoon with him, I couldn’t
feel you at all. I don’t know how you felt anything. But after a while when I
was fully stretched out by him, he got to feel like any other cock. Good, but
nothing special. What was special about him was all those decorating
contracts.”

“Otherwise, Craig, he was such a bore! No soul, no
sensitivity, no feelings to share with me. I missed you! I missed my
girlfriends. But I had to stay away from the BiGirl Club. I wanted my new
adorable husband to find out everything he could about how girls enjoy themselves,
so at least he’d know how I felt, and maybe begin to feel that way himself, a
little, sometimes. At least to know for example how titties feel when
someone.... Ooooohhhhh! Oh, that’s nice!”

She paused after that small orgasm, and then began building
toward a larger. “They were so right, Craig, when they told me your tongue should
be declared a national monument! What’re you doing now? Mmmmmnnnnn? Have you
any idea what that ...ohhhh... feels like?”

“The other girls just thought I was being a softy
sentimentalist when I asked them to take you on. They said the risks from
exposing the Club’s existence to any man’s dirty mind were too great, and that
you’d never qualify as bisexual anyhow. Meg spoke for the membership, ‘We are
not an educational organization for inadequate husbands. We are here for each
other.’ So I reversed the argument. I told Alice I needed you out of the way
twice each week so I could pump Desmond dry in this very bed, which is what I’ve
been doing. So Alice got everyone to be there for me. ‘You have your affair,
and don’t worry, we’ll keep him busy,’ she told me. ‘Just let us know what sex
you want him to be when we return him to you.’

Well, she never thought you were much of a man. So she wasn’t
too surprised when I told her, ‘Fix his prick so he can’t use it to cheat on me
ever again. But mainly, teach him how women feel about things, so he’ll be
more considerate of my feelings in the future, especially when I bring men home–I
don’t like all this sneaking around. The rest is up to you, I don’t care.’”

“And that’s what they did. And look at you! How can any
woman resist you now? Or any man? And who’d ever have dreamed that you have
this incredible talent with your tongue? You are absolutely the most OOOOOOOAARRGHHHH!
OHHHH! UNHHH! UNHHH! UNHHH! Ohhh! Oh, Craig!”

Jane stopped to catch her breath, and then when she could
she resumed, as I did down in her crotch. “I bet you’re glad now that we did
this to you. I bet next week we’ll all be discussing whose husband to do next,
and you’ll have a full vote! I bet you’ll love helping us turn Roy or Tim both
ways, so they can join the Club too, and then keep you company when you’re
tired of doing girl things with girls, and want to do them with boys, or do boy
things with boys. I’ll bet....”

But now Jane was reaching a really towering climax, and as
she started heaving her whole body at me and screaming her head off at the
ceiling, all bets were off.

 

 © 1996 by Vickie Tern Vickie [email protected]