Showing posts with label New York Swingers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York Swingers. Show all posts
Thursday, July 16, 2009
NORTH CAROLINA SWINGERS
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Running late, I paid the cab driver and hurried into the little downtown bar to meet my client Amanda. This morning we started her divorce with a settlement agreement that was good for her and she insisted on buying me drink this evening. I had heard rumors that she forced her husband into wife swapping and sex games but took no head.I responded to her wave from the end of the long mahogany bar noticing she had changed from her plain attire from the morning into a rather daring short dark skirt that showed off her lovely legs atop heels with straps. Her blonde hair was braided high contrasting my short black hair. Also in contrast was the fact that next to her I looked like what I was, her 40 yr. old lawyer in a business suit and very conservative length skirt. She had ordered me a martini that I thankfully sipped as we chatted about the earlier events. I started to decline a second drink but she insisted. What the hell. Although I already felt the first. Midway through the drink I was feeling real giddy and excused myself to the ladies room rather unsteadily. Inside, I saw myself in the mirror a little glassy eyed but still attractive and unbottomed the top buttons of my blouse as I was getting a hot flush from neck to toe. Was this just drinking on an empty stomach? I lurched out the door and Amanda was waiting and stating I looked a little drunk she guided me out the back door to her van in the parking lot promising to get me home. My head was swimming and went along real embarrassed at my state. She helped me into the captain seat behind the passenger side and we were on the road. I was feeling less in control by the second. I fuzzily saw us pull into a parking garage, empty this time of night and after parking Amanda was suddenly directly in front of me in the back. "What are you doing?" I slurred. "What you want" was the answer. With that, she grabbed the back of my hair and crushed her pouty lips into mine with an open mouth kiss. I was too shocked to resist! Her probing tongue filled my mouth and I felt her hand plunge between my legs under my skirt. Having never been with a woman sexually, other than a college dalliance, I was surprised to feel my legs spread and grind my hips into her probing fingers. My pussy seemed to have a will of its own and I could feel its starting gush. At this point i started to believe all the wife swapping and swinger stories I heard.My whole body seemed to be on fire as she replaced her tongue in my mouth with her fingers covered in juices from my hairless pussy. I found myself greedily licking her fingers as she explained that I should just enjoy the Ecstasy high and go with it! What? OMG, I'd been drugged. The little bitch! Angy, I started to struggle but she just sat back into the other seat, and roughly pulled me to my knees by my hair and lifting her legs to reveal her naked crotch, jammed my face into her nether lips. Lick me now she ordered and continued to thrust my face into her wet cunt.
My head spinning, I still struggled until I felt the stinging slap across my cheek. She ripped my blouse open and reached in to twist my nipples painfully. Feeling confused fear, when she again pushed her cunt into my mouth I licked and sucked for all I was worth. A strange feeling was emanating from between my own legs so when she started moaning and squirted jets of warm liquid into my open mouth it seemed natural to swallow all I could. She pushed me onto my back spread my legs and ripping off my plain white panties. The rush of cool air was offset by her rubbing hands and I felt on the verge of passing out. I felt her hands stop their delicious probing as she climbed back into the drivers seat. I found myself craving release and was soon stroking and fingering myself as I felt the van moving. Half conscious, I was dimly aware of her joining me again when the van stopped, and once again that beautiful mouth covered mine as she ripped off the remains of my blouse and jacket, bunching my skirt around my waist. When had my shoes and stockings been removed? At her question, I was stammering to please make me come,please. It was then the side door opened and a vision of a large muscular man entering and unbuttoning his jeans was replaced by her squatting over my face and again smothering me with her pussy. I could feel probing into my cunt when she again was drenching my lips. And then blackness....
I awoke on my couch in the living room of my own house. Groggy, head splitting I sat up, naked, and tried to remember what had happened to me. Stumbling into the kitchen, I grabbed a water bottle to quench my unbearable thirst. I could only think that I must have gotten drunk and I vaguely remembered meeting Amanda, and her offering to take me home. Then a blur of images flew through my head. Was that a drunken dream? I found my clothes in a heap next to the couch and assumed she must have brought me home and undressed me before I had those incredible dreams. I saw a note on the table with the words CALL ME next to a number. I was truly ashamed and embarassed. Then I noticed that my Gucci blouse was ripped apart. At the same second I felt the soreness in my jaw and touching my hair I could smell the clear scent of pussy. I saw another note that said play the DVD! I snatched the remote and on the screen I emerged, in the van with the words "fuck slut" written across my back in lipstick, as I was devouring a very large cock with my mouth. In short order it was gushing gobs of come onto my lapping tongue and I was quite the wanton whore. I was angry, but would call Amanda and plan my revenge. To be continued...
SWINGER STORIES
18 year old's double penetration
Wife's First Swap turns out to be Gang bang
Husband Gets To Ejaculate in wife's Little sister
Faithful Christian Wife, lets Vegas get to her, and 10 inches
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Her Legal Brief
Running late, I paid the cab driver and hurried into the little downtown bar to meet my client Amanda. This morning we started her divorce with a settlement agreement that was good for her and she insisted on buying me drink this evening. I had heard rumors that she forced her husband into wife swapping and sex games but took no head.I responded to her wave from the end of the long mahogany bar noticing she had changed from her plain attire from the morning into a rather daring short dark skirt that showed off her lovely legs atop heels with straps. Her blonde hair was braided high contrasting my short black hair. Also in contrast was the fact that next to her I looked like what I was, her 40 yr. old lawyer in a business suit and very conservative length skirt. She had ordered me a martini that I thankfully sipped as we chatted about the earlier events. I started to decline a second drink but she insisted. What the hell. Although I already felt the first. Midway through the drink I was feeling real giddy and excused myself to the ladies room rather unsteadily. Inside, I saw myself in the mirror a little glassy eyed but still attractive and unbottomed the top buttons of my blouse as I was getting a hot flush from neck to toe. Was this just drinking on an empty stomach? I lurched out the door and Amanda was waiting and stating I looked a little drunk she guided me out the back door to her van in the parking lot promising to get me home. My head was swimming and went along real embarrassed at my state. She helped me into the captain seat behind the passenger side and we were on the road. I was feeling less in control by the second. I fuzzily saw us pull into a parking garage, empty this time of night and after parking Amanda was suddenly directly in front of me in the back. "What are you doing?" I slurred. "What you want" was the answer. With that, she grabbed the back of my hair and crushed her pouty lips into mine with an open mouth kiss. I was too shocked to resist! Her probing tongue filled my mouth and I felt her hand plunge between my legs under my skirt. Having never been with a woman sexually, other than a college dalliance, I was surprised to feel my legs spread and grind my hips into her probing fingers. My pussy seemed to have a will of its own and I could feel its starting gush. At this point i started to believe all the wife swapping and swinger stories I heard.My whole body seemed to be on fire as she replaced her tongue in my mouth with her fingers covered in juices from my hairless pussy. I found myself greedily licking her fingers as she explained that I should just enjoy the Ecstasy high and go with it! What? OMG, I'd been drugged. The little bitch! Angy, I started to struggle but she just sat back into the other seat, and roughly pulled me to my knees by my hair and lifting her legs to reveal her naked crotch, jammed my face into her nether lips. Lick me now she ordered and continued to thrust my face into her wet cunt.
My head spinning, I still struggled until I felt the stinging slap across my cheek. She ripped my blouse open and reached in to twist my nipples painfully. Feeling confused fear, when she again pushed her cunt into my mouth I licked and sucked for all I was worth. A strange feeling was emanating from between my own legs so when she started moaning and squirted jets of warm liquid into my open mouth it seemed natural to swallow all I could. She pushed me onto my back spread my legs and ripping off my plain white panties. The rush of cool air was offset by her rubbing hands and I felt on the verge of passing out. I felt her hands stop their delicious probing as she climbed back into the drivers seat. I found myself craving release and was soon stroking and fingering myself as I felt the van moving. Half conscious, I was dimly aware of her joining me again when the van stopped, and once again that beautiful mouth covered mine as she ripped off the remains of my blouse and jacket, bunching my skirt around my waist. When had my shoes and stockings been removed? At her question, I was stammering to please make me come,please. It was then the side door opened and a vision of a large muscular man entering and unbuttoning his jeans was replaced by her squatting over my face and again smothering me with her pussy. I could feel probing into my cunt when she again was drenching my lips. And then blackness....
I awoke on my couch in the living room of my own house. Groggy, head splitting I sat up, naked, and tried to remember what had happened to me. Stumbling into the kitchen, I grabbed a water bottle to quench my unbearable thirst. I could only think that I must have gotten drunk and I vaguely remembered meeting Amanda, and her offering to take me home. Then a blur of images flew through my head. Was that a drunken dream? I found my clothes in a heap next to the couch and assumed she must have brought me home and undressed me before I had those incredible dreams. I saw a note on the table with the words CALL ME next to a number. I was truly ashamed and embarassed. Then I noticed that my Gucci blouse was ripped apart. At the same second I felt the soreness in my jaw and touching my hair I could smell the clear scent of pussy. I saw another note that said play the DVD! I snatched the remote and on the screen I emerged, in the van with the words "fuck slut" written across my back in lipstick, as I was devouring a very large cock with my mouth. In short order it was gushing gobs of come onto my lapping tongue and I was quite the wanton whore. I was angry, but would call Amanda and plan my revenge. To be continued...
MIAMI SWINGERS
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Detective Schneider pushed the Polaroid picture across the desk toward
Janet Finch. "Recognize her?" he asked, cocking his head. He watched as the
thirtyish schoolteacher picked up the photo with shaking hands. He pursed
his lips, suppressing the smile that threatened to break out. He glanced
around his tiny cluttered office, then looked back at her. Miss Finch had
lowered her face and was staring intently, but he could see she had blushed
bright red.
"I . . . yes, well . . . I . . . uh . . ." she stammered, lost for
words.
"One of yours, right?" Schneider said briskly.
"Yes," she sighed. "One of ours. I know her," she said with a sigh.
"And her name...?"
"Margaret. Margaret Wilson. Not local, ah, not southern I mean. As
you'd guess . . . Parents from Connecticut, I think. But, I'm, well,
shocked. I'd never have thought . . . well . . ." she shuddered, waving the
photo in the air. "With black men too . . ."
"I'm sure. Not very ladylike either, is it? Not the kind of thing
parents sending their daughters to your fine academy would expect . . .
but, well, girls will be girls . . ."
Rather angrily, Miss Finch said: "I can't be everywhere, all the
time." A long sigh. A head teacher is busy, that's certain. But she still
felt guilt about a wayward pupil like this. "I'm sorry. It's not your
fault. I should thank you for telling me. But, what do you propose to do?
Will you want to arrest her? She's so young! Uh, what do you want *me* to
do?"
Schneider gave a controlled smile.
"No, we won't arrest her. Not enough to go on, really. Associating
with bad people isn't a crime in itself, and what she's doing here is,
well, rather naughty, but really just a youthful indiscretion. In some
states, though . . . Look, I hate it too, but these are the 1980s. But,
there's plenty *you* could do, if you put your mind to it . . ."
Miss Finch looked at him. "You think I should confront her?
Discipline her, perhaps?"
"Exactly," Schneider said, sincerely. "And I'll give you our file
on her, just in case there's any argument on her part about what you're
talking to her about. How's that?"
Miss Finch stood up, shakily. "Accepted. Okay, I'll deal with this."
"One thing, then..." Schneider replied, reaching in his desk file
drawer for a fat manila folder, and pushing it across the desk to her.
"Yes?"
"Just tell me what the usual penalty would be for . . . this . . ."
"Ah . . . I don't know," Janet Finch said, shaking her head. "This
is . . .well . . . a quite exceptional case . . ."
"But I'd be right in thinking it would be . . . physical? . .
.Something memorable . . .?"
"Oh, yes, definitely," Miss Finch replied, blushing slightly again.
She didn't feel like telling this plump, fiftyish policeman what had just
crossed her mind. You're going to be damned sorry about this, Miss Dirty
Habits Wilson, she vowed.
He wasn't about to let go. "Are your . . . procedures . . . uh,
private? Or do you make an example of the girl in front of her classmates?"
He already knew the answer.
Miss Finch looked at him sharply. "The usual practice is for . . .
it . . . to, uh, be witnessed," she said quickly. "And sometimes, it's
quite public."
"Oh? So, would *I* be allowed to witness it?" Schneider asked,
managing not to sound teasing.
"No!! Absolutely not!" Miss Finch rejoindered, looking quite
startled at the thought. "I mean, no, I don't think that would be, well .
. . proper. If you don't mind, that is?"
"I mind, but I think I understand. I don't want to spoil things.
But might I send one of my lady deputies? Just to be sure that justice is
done?"
Outmaneuvered, she nodded. "By all means. And it will be."
His chosen deputy is Clara, his lover. A plain, almost dumpy brunette in
her late twenties. Several times a week, she's in his office on her knees
administering a blowjob, or is leaned back over this same desk, her skirt
and blouse up round her armpits, while he ploughs patiently at her, in that
'one good shot' fashion of older guys. Career opportunities are what you
make them, but the pair genuinely like each other.
And, though Miss Finch is not aware of the connection to Schneider
-- not yet -- the amusing thing is that Clara is her own Saturday night
love interest too. Clara's bisexual, reflecting that omnivorous taste that
slightly overweight women tend to acquire. They met at some anti-drug bash
sponsored by the mayor's office, and quickly recognized kindred spirits.
How many nights at the ratty Motel 69 out on the interstate cloverleaf had
Janet unknowingly tasted Schneider's semen while kissing Clara's mouth, or
dutifully licking her clitoris? He chuckled at the irony of it. And at the
way that Clara had helped him set this whole thing up. Manipulating people
was entertaining, any time. But setting up a rebellious teenage girl, an
embryonic doper, and a snotty Yankee bitch at that, for a good humiliation,
that was heaven. It was a combination of luck and cunning that had turned
up this fine heap of evidence against la Wilson. But he would make the most
of it.
His scheme, quite patient in its cunning: to get the young
troublemaker punished as shamefully as could be contrived, to have Janet
Finch use this new submissive relationship to seduce her soon, and then for
her to deliver the girl to Clara's bed. In due course, the young slut would
be his to plough, too. There was maybe even a chance of a foursome, which
had him stiffening as he thought of it. Three juicy eager cunts, at his
command . . .
Later that afternoon, Miss Finch sent a junior girl to summon Margaret
Wilson to her study. She'd quickly gotten over her initial shock at the
arrival of Clara Loudermilk. After all, how many deputy detectives could
there be in this quiet Alabama backwater? Not many. She tells herself she
ought to have guessed. They'd shaken hands politely at the school entrance,
but had kissed rather passionately when the door closed on her office.
Janet told Clara that she had decided Margaret was to be given the
choice of expulsion or a thoroughly good barebottom spanking. Not a daily
common punishment at the academy, but known to the girls as the inevitable
result of serious misbehavior, and not merely a last resort, either.
Clara had agreed this was a good starting place, but then reasoned
with her, explaining how Margaret's offence justified the greatest
severity. Miss Finch, turning a little pale with excitement, listened as
Clara suggested how this should be done, gently touching her a couple of
times as reinforcement. Of course, their own frenzied pillowtalk fantasies
had primed Clara with plenty of ideas, and she had a good sense of what
Janet could be persuaded to accept. They'd spoken about how wayward young
girls need to be taught good manners, and discussed their own childhood
memories and fantasies in prurient detail. Now, they both realized
excitedly, the chance of making some of those fantasies come true was close
to being realized. If only they stood firm. Before Margaret was summoned,
they both vowed to each other that only the utmost severity would serve to
educate her.
Margaret enters, rather shyly. She already guesses what the subject is,
because she's already been confronted by her homeroom teacher about the lie
about visiting her mother. She's told by Janet that they know where she
really was, and that she better have a good explanation. Did they really
know? She's determined to bluff them out, at first. Margaret is a small,
elfin figure, no more than five foot one, with short black pageboy -style
hair, a dancer's poise. She's pale and pretty, but her habits have given
her some fairly pronounced bags under the eyes, a puffiness that talks
loudly of late nights, smoking, boozing. And though she's soft-spoken and
quiet, there's a pent-up energy, an anger, a rebellion that's quick to
flare in her green eyes.
The interview goes quickly: In turn, they ask her to account for her
movements the previous weekend. She sticks with her story about 'visiting
her sick mother.' They snort their disbelief. Clara reads off a list of
places and times, from some stakeout cop's report. Then, Clara produces
several sheets of blurry, washed-out surveillance videocamera still
pictures of her cavorting naked at a pool party at "a notorious local
dopedealers' place." A picture of her disappearing indoors with a nude
couple, her arms dr*ped round both. All this, when she was allegedly
visiting her sick mother.
It gets worse. The photos are rather vague and blurred. Not so a
telephoto shots of her puffing on a fat spliff, or another one of her
sucking just as happily on a guy's cock. And then there's the Polaroid.
She's amazed. Hadn't Andre taken that one, and promised to keep it safe?
Had he given it away? Left it laying around to be stolen? Bastard! It's a
picture of her masturbating, squatting on a table, knees up round her
shoulders, with a group of partygoers watching in semi-interest as she
stretches her labia like chewing gum with one hand, plunges several fingers
of the other deep into her vagina.
Margaret is stunned to have been caught out. She has no excuse.
She's told flatly: "Margaret, this blatant lying of yours is bad
enough. But to have been caught in sexual activities as uncontrolled, as
promiscuous, as wife swapping . . . crazy as this, well, it's an expulsion offense, I'm
afraid . . . . Frankly, it's also something that the police have shown an
interest in. Because of your age, I mean . . ."
'Sgt. Bulldike,' as the girl thinks of her, is invited to comment,
and drones on about the deviant lifestyle of her new friends, their
criminal backgrounds, the parole status of several, the juvenile and adult
record of her boyfriend Andre, which ranges from car theft to assault.
There are even some comments on their possible HIV status, from mixing with
hookers and urban junkie types.
She's quite taken aback. She hadn't guessed how far out these
people were. They just seemed like a bunch of groovers with similar funky
tastes in this C&W whitebread town.
Margaret is not at all happy about the idea of expulsion. This
isn't the first school where she's not fitted in. She'd been sent here
because she'd been too crazy for one in New Jersey. And one in Illinois.
This vanilla-military-flavor Southern academy was the next choice, in the
hope of calming her down.
"My parents will kill me," she says, half to herself, with flat
resignation. "Ah. Maybe so. But you should have thought of that before,"
Clara intervenes.
A long pause, plenty of examination of cuticles, twiddling of
fingers, sighs.
"You can only stay here if you promise to behave properly in
future," Miss Finch finally said. "And, by that I mean impeccably. And, if
you will demonstrate your sincerity by agreeing to submit to disciplinary
procedures, now."
Margaret sees she doesn't have a choice. "Oh," she says,
disbelieving what is happening to her. "I . . . well, I suppose . . . What
are you going to do?"
"Whatever is appropriate, Miss Wilson. Is it 'Yes' or 'No'?"
"Yes, ma'am."
And that means? Margaret soon discovers the truth.
"Very well, young lady. On your feet. And get undressed."
Margaret is blushing as she stands. Should she protest? Why do they
want her to undress?
Miss Finch isn't fooling about. She snaps her fingers. "Strip! Come
on, get on with it."
Slowly, with an air of defeat, avoiding their eyes, Margaret
strips, piling her clothes on a chair. She reveals long slim legs, a flat
tummy, a nicely rounded feminine backside, despite all her exercising. And
then, taking off her bra, small perfectly rounded breasts with pink nipples
hardening in the cool air. And finally, dropping her cotton panties, a big
tuft of tightly curled black pubic hair, covering a bulging mons. The two
older women sneak glances at each other. They like what they see.
Now, she's interrogated about her sexual habits. Who has seen her
nude? Who had she sucked, had sex with? Men, boys. Women, too? It's a long,
long list. Some of the participants are quite close to home, too. Other
girls, a since-departed French instructress. She's red-faced and incoherent
by the time they're through asking. Since the list is so shocking, Miss
Finch walks over and slaps her face, twice. And hard.
"You slut! You bitch! How dare you behave like that! You knew you'd
be caught, eventually! Dragging the academy's name in the dirt!"
Margaret can't reply. She's tearful, apologetic.
She's told she'll have to get a blood test, and a full physical
from the doctor when she visits next. Janet has her own file too. It's
open, and she now comments that Margaret is a leading offender in other
areas, too. Attitude, inappropriate dress, poor hygiene. There are 47
mentions for masturbation offenses, a half-dozen complaints about her
ogling or touching other girls in the showers, several cases of being in
possession of banned magazines, in a school where women's magazines are
thought of as near-pornography. She's wriggling with embarrassment as these
two women stare at her, in what seems total disgust. She's told to hold out
her hands, palms up, and gets a few harsh strokes with the cane to punish
her for being too free with her fingers.
Clara is asked for her handcuffs, and they're put on Margaret,
locking her wrists behind her back to stop her covering herself. Clara gets
up and opens the study door. Margaret is horrified. No, surely they're not
taking her out!
Clara beckons, and Miss Finch gives her a push. "Move it. Follow
Sergeant Loudermilk, please." Margaret has turned white. She can't move.
They grab her, and set off, determined expressions on their faces.
Margaret almost pees with fright, but holds on. She's escorted,
completely nude, on a roundabout walk up and down the school corridors to
the main assembly hall. The corridors are empty because classes are in, but
a few girls on bathroom break burst into astonished laughter as they see
the naked girl being frogmarched past. They tag along. The party stops at
several doorways, and Margaret cowers back, out of view, as the classes are
interrupted by Miss Finch, who asks the pupils to follow, to witness an
exemplary punishment. She gathers up about fifty girls in all, who follow
behind, chattering in excitement. They can see Margaret's bare back, and
know she's totally nude.
A chorus of voices behind her. "Who is she? Oh, her! What did she
do? No!! Really?! What's going to happen to her? A whipping!? Oh wow!
Where?"
Some are shocked, some contemptuous, most are barely capable of
suppressing their giggles of amusement when they see who it is. She's led
up on stage, and is bent over and strapped down on the dreaded,
leather-covered spanking stool. She's whimpering with fright now, but no
one pays any attention. There's too much else of interest. Her legs are
spread so there's about 30" between her knees, and her bare backside is
facing the audience. She's giving them an excellent, uncensored view of her
genitals, her pouting vulva perfectly framed in her thick bush, the bright
pink fin of her clitoris. The pose is even opening the crease of her
buttocks a little. "Girls who are guilty of sex offenses have lost the
right to privacy or dignity," it's announced, as much for the benefit of
others as for Margaret. After all, it's too late for her.
"Miss Wilson, who you all know, has been living under the
misapprehension that the school's conduct rules don't apply to her," Miss
Finch announces. "She has been caught lying, having sexual relationships
with direputable boys, engaging in public nudity, abusing drugs . . . who
knows what else? And her record until today has been very poor. So, we have
only one choice, girls: to beat her severely."
Several canes, leather straps and wooden paddles are produced --
the favorite classroom implements of those teachers Miss Finch has invited
-- plus some similar, well-proven items taken from the locked cupboard at
the side of the stage.
Miss Finch takes up a paddle. She's going to start. But she's not
the only one. She brings the paddle down on Margaret's bare backside with a
noise like a rifle shot. Then gets down to serious business. The chosen
items are used vigorously by teachers and form prefects in turn. It's not a
mild punishment they have in mind, and no one makes any attempt to keep
score. She tries to be stoic and suffer in silence, but they're not having
that. Instead, she gets dozens, even scores of vicious strokes from each
punisher in turn, ignoring her squeals and yelps and pleas, until her
backside and upper thighs are crimson, swollen, bruised, welted, even
bloodspeckled here and there, and she is emotionally drained . . . sobbing
pitifully, almost hysterical.
All through this ordeal, Clara has had a camera out, and has been
using it busily. After a quick trip to the forensic department's excellent
photo lab, she'll have plenty to report back to Schneider tonight. His
intense interest in the secrets of Margaret's body will be quite well
satisfied, she's made sure of that. The photos and her breathless account
of Margaret's ordeal will earn her an especially good fucking, she's sure.
When Miss Finch announces it's over, there are groans of disappointment, a
few shouts for 'more' and finally a long round of appreciative applause.
Margaret is unstrapped and helped up. She can barely stand. She's
told rather gleefully by Miss Finch: "Now, Miss Wilson, we have been rather
easy on you today. But this only constitutes about half your punishment.
You must report after evening prayers on Sunday to make a public
confession, and then to submit to a caning from all the members of your own
class. After all, you have disgraced them, too. They will vote on how many
strokes you deserve, but I hope it will be a suitably large number."
Excited laughter and whispering gives a clear confirmation that this is so.
"There may be other spankings, too, after we have had the opportunity to
review the results of this one."
And then the final indignity. Miss Finch announces: "Since Miss
Wilson so much wants to cavort in the nude, her clothing privileges have
been rescinded until the end of the month."
Margaret gasps. That's three weeks away, at least!
Miss Finch continues: "And that doesn't just mean 'non schoolgirl
apparel' privileges," meaning the school's concession to older girls that
they can have stockings, proper bras, decent shoes. "No, it means ALL
privileges. She'll stay as naked as this, until then." There's more
laughter. "Indoors, outdoors, in class, in the gym, even in front of
visitors if there are any. And it's expected she'll behave impeccably,
because a series of senior girls will be assigned to watch her every second
of the day and night, each armed with a studded belt to control her and
dish out instant correction. If any of you wish to volunteer, see me at the
end of the afternoon lessons."
Turning to Margaret she warns: "The slightest defiance, rudeness,
lack of respect, and you'll earn a further week nude and another good
thrashing. And I don't want to hear any more complaints about you
masturbating or ogling other girls, you little pervert. Understand?"
Sobbing, Margaret is led back to the study, where Clara has left
her bunch of car keys, and can undo the handcuffs. The policewoman takes
the opportunity to check the girl's genitals with a friendly squeeze of her
hand. They are rather damp and fragrant, inviting, even if she's not
intensely, ready-to-come aroused. That's a learned response, Clara knows.
And she expects to be invited to closely follow progress as Margaret is
taught it. Oh yes.
After Clara leaves, kissing Janet goodbye quite shamelessly, the
teacher hugs the well-thrashed girl, staring into her teary eyes. There's a
new attitude already, she decides. Janet gives a little smile of
satisfaction as she feels Margaret push her hips against her. It's clear
now to the teacher that a few weeks hence, their relationship will be quite
different. This sluttish girl is ripe for a dike makeover, and certainly
for bottom status, if the cards are played just right. She kisses her, and
their tongues touch. Janet's fingers find Margaret's nipples. This is going
to be quite easy, but it's going to be fun, she thinks to herself.
Margaret's hands don't try to block her as she slides her fingers down from
her nipples to her belly, then between her thighs. Margaret goes to speak,
she's blushing. But instead their mouths meet again.
Like Clara, Janet gives a little squeeze. Damp hair, definite
warmth. A fingertip between the labia. Oh, wetness. And there's a delicious
scent rising. Margaret anxiously whispers: "Miss? You won't hurt me anyone,
please?"
Janet smiles warmly. "No more than you deserve, you dirty girl."
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Justice Is Done
Detective Schneider pushed the Polaroid picture across the desk toward
Janet Finch. "Recognize her?" he asked, cocking his head. He watched as the
thirtyish schoolteacher picked up the photo with shaking hands. He pursed
his lips, suppressing the smile that threatened to break out. He glanced
around his tiny cluttered office, then looked back at her. Miss Finch had
lowered her face and was staring intently, but he could see she had blushed
bright red.
"I . . . yes, well . . . I . . . uh . . ." she stammered, lost for
words.
"One of yours, right?" Schneider said briskly.
"Yes," she sighed. "One of ours. I know her," she said with a sigh.
"And her name...?"
"Margaret. Margaret Wilson. Not local, ah, not southern I mean. As
you'd guess . . . Parents from Connecticut, I think. But, I'm, well,
shocked. I'd never have thought . . . well . . ." she shuddered, waving the
photo in the air. "With black men too . . ."
"I'm sure. Not very ladylike either, is it? Not the kind of thing
parents sending their daughters to your fine academy would expect . . .
but, well, girls will be girls . . ."
Rather angrily, Miss Finch said: "I can't be everywhere, all the
time." A long sigh. A head teacher is busy, that's certain. But she still
felt guilt about a wayward pupil like this. "I'm sorry. It's not your
fault. I should thank you for telling me. But, what do you propose to do?
Will you want to arrest her? She's so young! Uh, what do you want *me* to
do?"
Schneider gave a controlled smile.
"No, we won't arrest her. Not enough to go on, really. Associating
with bad people isn't a crime in itself, and what she's doing here is,
well, rather naughty, but really just a youthful indiscretion. In some
states, though . . . Look, I hate it too, but these are the 1980s. But,
there's plenty *you* could do, if you put your mind to it . . ."
Miss Finch looked at him. "You think I should confront her?
Discipline her, perhaps?"
"Exactly," Schneider said, sincerely. "And I'll give you our file
on her, just in case there's any argument on her part about what you're
talking to her about. How's that?"
Miss Finch stood up, shakily. "Accepted. Okay, I'll deal with this."
"One thing, then..." Schneider replied, reaching in his desk file
drawer for a fat manila folder, and pushing it across the desk to her.
"Yes?"
"Just tell me what the usual penalty would be for . . . this . . ."
"Ah . . . I don't know," Janet Finch said, shaking her head. "This
is . . .well . . . a quite exceptional case . . ."
"But I'd be right in thinking it would be . . . physical? . .
.Something memorable . . .?"
"Oh, yes, definitely," Miss Finch replied, blushing slightly again.
She didn't feel like telling this plump, fiftyish policeman what had just
crossed her mind. You're going to be damned sorry about this, Miss Dirty
Habits Wilson, she vowed.
He wasn't about to let go. "Are your . . . procedures . . . uh,
private? Or do you make an example of the girl in front of her classmates?"
He already knew the answer.
Miss Finch looked at him sharply. "The usual practice is for . . .
it . . . to, uh, be witnessed," she said quickly. "And sometimes, it's
quite public."
"Oh? So, would *I* be allowed to witness it?" Schneider asked,
managing not to sound teasing.
"No!! Absolutely not!" Miss Finch rejoindered, looking quite
startled at the thought. "I mean, no, I don't think that would be, well .
. . proper. If you don't mind, that is?"
"I mind, but I think I understand. I don't want to spoil things.
But might I send one of my lady deputies? Just to be sure that justice is
done?"
Outmaneuvered, she nodded. "By all means. And it will be."
His chosen deputy is Clara, his lover. A plain, almost dumpy brunette in
her late twenties. Several times a week, she's in his office on her knees
administering a blowjob, or is leaned back over this same desk, her skirt
and blouse up round her armpits, while he ploughs patiently at her, in that
'one good shot' fashion of older guys. Career opportunities are what you
make them, but the pair genuinely like each other.
And, though Miss Finch is not aware of the connection to Schneider
-- not yet -- the amusing thing is that Clara is her own Saturday night
love interest too. Clara's bisexual, reflecting that omnivorous taste that
slightly overweight women tend to acquire. They met at some anti-drug bash
sponsored by the mayor's office, and quickly recognized kindred spirits.
How many nights at the ratty Motel 69 out on the interstate cloverleaf had
Janet unknowingly tasted Schneider's semen while kissing Clara's mouth, or
dutifully licking her clitoris? He chuckled at the irony of it. And at the
way that Clara had helped him set this whole thing up. Manipulating people
was entertaining, any time. But setting up a rebellious teenage girl, an
embryonic doper, and a snotty Yankee bitch at that, for a good humiliation,
that was heaven. It was a combination of luck and cunning that had turned
up this fine heap of evidence against la Wilson. But he would make the most
of it.
His scheme, quite patient in its cunning: to get the young
troublemaker punished as shamefully as could be contrived, to have Janet
Finch use this new submissive relationship to seduce her soon, and then for
her to deliver the girl to Clara's bed. In due course, the young slut would
be his to plough, too. There was maybe even a chance of a foursome, which
had him stiffening as he thought of it. Three juicy eager cunts, at his
command . . .
Later that afternoon, Miss Finch sent a junior girl to summon Margaret
Wilson to her study. She'd quickly gotten over her initial shock at the
arrival of Clara Loudermilk. After all, how many deputy detectives could
there be in this quiet Alabama backwater? Not many. She tells herself she
ought to have guessed. They'd shaken hands politely at the school entrance,
but had kissed rather passionately when the door closed on her office.
Janet told Clara that she had decided Margaret was to be given the
choice of expulsion or a thoroughly good barebottom spanking. Not a daily
common punishment at the academy, but known to the girls as the inevitable
result of serious misbehavior, and not merely a last resort, either.
Clara had agreed this was a good starting place, but then reasoned
with her, explaining how Margaret's offence justified the greatest
severity. Miss Finch, turning a little pale with excitement, listened as
Clara suggested how this should be done, gently touching her a couple of
times as reinforcement. Of course, their own frenzied pillowtalk fantasies
had primed Clara with plenty of ideas, and she had a good sense of what
Janet could be persuaded to accept. They'd spoken about how wayward young
girls need to be taught good manners, and discussed their own childhood
memories and fantasies in prurient detail. Now, they both realized
excitedly, the chance of making some of those fantasies come true was close
to being realized. If only they stood firm. Before Margaret was summoned,
they both vowed to each other that only the utmost severity would serve to
educate her.
Margaret enters, rather shyly. She already guesses what the subject is,
because she's already been confronted by her homeroom teacher about the lie
about visiting her mother. She's told by Janet that they know where she
really was, and that she better have a good explanation. Did they really
know? She's determined to bluff them out, at first. Margaret is a small,
elfin figure, no more than five foot one, with short black pageboy -style
hair, a dancer's poise. She's pale and pretty, but her habits have given
her some fairly pronounced bags under the eyes, a puffiness that talks
loudly of late nights, smoking, boozing. And though she's soft-spoken and
quiet, there's a pent-up energy, an anger, a rebellion that's quick to
flare in her green eyes.
The interview goes quickly: In turn, they ask her to account for her
movements the previous weekend. She sticks with her story about 'visiting
her sick mother.' They snort their disbelief. Clara reads off a list of
places and times, from some stakeout cop's report. Then, Clara produces
several sheets of blurry, washed-out surveillance videocamera still
pictures of her cavorting naked at a pool party at "a notorious local
dopedealers' place." A picture of her disappearing indoors with a nude
couple, her arms dr*ped round both. All this, when she was allegedly
visiting her sick mother.
It gets worse. The photos are rather vague and blurred. Not so a
telephoto shots of her puffing on a fat spliff, or another one of her
sucking just as happily on a guy's cock. And then there's the Polaroid.
She's amazed. Hadn't Andre taken that one, and promised to keep it safe?
Had he given it away? Left it laying around to be stolen? Bastard! It's a
picture of her masturbating, squatting on a table, knees up round her
shoulders, with a group of partygoers watching in semi-interest as she
stretches her labia like chewing gum with one hand, plunges several fingers
of the other deep into her vagina.
Margaret is stunned to have been caught out. She has no excuse.
She's told flatly: "Margaret, this blatant lying of yours is bad
enough. But to have been caught in sexual activities as uncontrolled, as
promiscuous, as wife swapping . . . crazy as this, well, it's an expulsion offense, I'm
afraid . . . . Frankly, it's also something that the police have shown an
interest in. Because of your age, I mean . . ."
'Sgt. Bulldike,' as the girl thinks of her, is invited to comment,
and drones on about the deviant lifestyle of her new friends, their
criminal backgrounds, the parole status of several, the juvenile and adult
record of her boyfriend Andre, which ranges from car theft to assault.
There are even some comments on their possible HIV status, from mixing with
hookers and urban junkie types.
She's quite taken aback. She hadn't guessed how far out these
people were. They just seemed like a bunch of groovers with similar funky
tastes in this C&W whitebread town.
Margaret is not at all happy about the idea of expulsion. This
isn't the first school where she's not fitted in. She'd been sent here
because she'd been too crazy for one in New Jersey. And one in Illinois.
This vanilla-military-flavor Southern academy was the next choice, in the
hope of calming her down.
"My parents will kill me," she says, half to herself, with flat
resignation. "Ah. Maybe so. But you should have thought of that before,"
Clara intervenes.
A long pause, plenty of examination of cuticles, twiddling of
fingers, sighs.
"You can only stay here if you promise to behave properly in
future," Miss Finch finally said. "And, by that I mean impeccably. And, if
you will demonstrate your sincerity by agreeing to submit to disciplinary
procedures, now."
Margaret sees she doesn't have a choice. "Oh," she says,
disbelieving what is happening to her. "I . . . well, I suppose . . . What
are you going to do?"
"Whatever is appropriate, Miss Wilson. Is it 'Yes' or 'No'?"
"Yes, ma'am."
And that means? Margaret soon discovers the truth.
"Very well, young lady. On your feet. And get undressed."
Margaret is blushing as she stands. Should she protest? Why do they
want her to undress?
Miss Finch isn't fooling about. She snaps her fingers. "Strip! Come
on, get on with it."
Slowly, with an air of defeat, avoiding their eyes, Margaret
strips, piling her clothes on a chair. She reveals long slim legs, a flat
tummy, a nicely rounded feminine backside, despite all her exercising. And
then, taking off her bra, small perfectly rounded breasts with pink nipples
hardening in the cool air. And finally, dropping her cotton panties, a big
tuft of tightly curled black pubic hair, covering a bulging mons. The two
older women sneak glances at each other. They like what they see.
Now, she's interrogated about her sexual habits. Who has seen her
nude? Who had she sucked, had sex with? Men, boys. Women, too? It's a long,
long list. Some of the participants are quite close to home, too. Other
girls, a since-departed French instructress. She's red-faced and incoherent
by the time they're through asking. Since the list is so shocking, Miss
Finch walks over and slaps her face, twice. And hard.
"You slut! You bitch! How dare you behave like that! You knew you'd
be caught, eventually! Dragging the academy's name in the dirt!"
Margaret can't reply. She's tearful, apologetic.
She's told she'll have to get a blood test, and a full physical
from the doctor when she visits next. Janet has her own file too. It's
open, and she now comments that Margaret is a leading offender in other
areas, too. Attitude, inappropriate dress, poor hygiene. There are 47
mentions for masturbation offenses, a half-dozen complaints about her
ogling or touching other girls in the showers, several cases of being in
possession of banned magazines, in a school where women's magazines are
thought of as near-pornography. She's wriggling with embarrassment as these
two women stare at her, in what seems total disgust. She's told to hold out
her hands, palms up, and gets a few harsh strokes with the cane to punish
her for being too free with her fingers.
Clara is asked for her handcuffs, and they're put on Margaret,
locking her wrists behind her back to stop her covering herself. Clara gets
up and opens the study door. Margaret is horrified. No, surely they're not
taking her out!
Clara beckons, and Miss Finch gives her a push. "Move it. Follow
Sergeant Loudermilk, please." Margaret has turned white. She can't move.
They grab her, and set off, determined expressions on their faces.
Margaret almost pees with fright, but holds on. She's escorted,
completely nude, on a roundabout walk up and down the school corridors to
the main assembly hall. The corridors are empty because classes are in, but
a few girls on bathroom break burst into astonished laughter as they see
the naked girl being frogmarched past. They tag along. The party stops at
several doorways, and Margaret cowers back, out of view, as the classes are
interrupted by Miss Finch, who asks the pupils to follow, to witness an
exemplary punishment. She gathers up about fifty girls in all, who follow
behind, chattering in excitement. They can see Margaret's bare back, and
know she's totally nude.
A chorus of voices behind her. "Who is she? Oh, her! What did she
do? No!! Really?! What's going to happen to her? A whipping!? Oh wow!
Where?"
Some are shocked, some contemptuous, most are barely capable of
suppressing their giggles of amusement when they see who it is. She's led
up on stage, and is bent over and strapped down on the dreaded,
leather-covered spanking stool. She's whimpering with fright now, but no
one pays any attention. There's too much else of interest. Her legs are
spread so there's about 30" between her knees, and her bare backside is
facing the audience. She's giving them an excellent, uncensored view of her
genitals, her pouting vulva perfectly framed in her thick bush, the bright
pink fin of her clitoris. The pose is even opening the crease of her
buttocks a little. "Girls who are guilty of sex offenses have lost the
right to privacy or dignity," it's announced, as much for the benefit of
others as for Margaret. After all, it's too late for her.
"Miss Wilson, who you all know, has been living under the
misapprehension that the school's conduct rules don't apply to her," Miss
Finch announces. "She has been caught lying, having sexual relationships
with direputable boys, engaging in public nudity, abusing drugs . . . who
knows what else? And her record until today has been very poor. So, we have
only one choice, girls: to beat her severely."
Several canes, leather straps and wooden paddles are produced --
the favorite classroom implements of those teachers Miss Finch has invited
-- plus some similar, well-proven items taken from the locked cupboard at
the side of the stage.
Miss Finch takes up a paddle. She's going to start. But she's not
the only one. She brings the paddle down on Margaret's bare backside with a
noise like a rifle shot. Then gets down to serious business. The chosen
items are used vigorously by teachers and form prefects in turn. It's not a
mild punishment they have in mind, and no one makes any attempt to keep
score. She tries to be stoic and suffer in silence, but they're not having
that. Instead, she gets dozens, even scores of vicious strokes from each
punisher in turn, ignoring her squeals and yelps and pleas, until her
backside and upper thighs are crimson, swollen, bruised, welted, even
bloodspeckled here and there, and she is emotionally drained . . . sobbing
pitifully, almost hysterical.
All through this ordeal, Clara has had a camera out, and has been
using it busily. After a quick trip to the forensic department's excellent
photo lab, she'll have plenty to report back to Schneider tonight. His
intense interest in the secrets of Margaret's body will be quite well
satisfied, she's made sure of that. The photos and her breathless account
of Margaret's ordeal will earn her an especially good fucking, she's sure.
When Miss Finch announces it's over, there are groans of disappointment, a
few shouts for 'more' and finally a long round of appreciative applause.
Margaret is unstrapped and helped up. She can barely stand. She's
told rather gleefully by Miss Finch: "Now, Miss Wilson, we have been rather
easy on you today. But this only constitutes about half your punishment.
You must report after evening prayers on Sunday to make a public
confession, and then to submit to a caning from all the members of your own
class. After all, you have disgraced them, too. They will vote on how many
strokes you deserve, but I hope it will be a suitably large number."
Excited laughter and whispering gives a clear confirmation that this is so.
"There may be other spankings, too, after we have had the opportunity to
review the results of this one."
And then the final indignity. Miss Finch announces: "Since Miss
Wilson so much wants to cavort in the nude, her clothing privileges have
been rescinded until the end of the month."
Margaret gasps. That's three weeks away, at least!
Miss Finch continues: "And that doesn't just mean 'non schoolgirl
apparel' privileges," meaning the school's concession to older girls that
they can have stockings, proper bras, decent shoes. "No, it means ALL
privileges. She'll stay as naked as this, until then." There's more
laughter. "Indoors, outdoors, in class, in the gym, even in front of
visitors if there are any. And it's expected she'll behave impeccably,
because a series of senior girls will be assigned to watch her every second
of the day and night, each armed with a studded belt to control her and
dish out instant correction. If any of you wish to volunteer, see me at the
end of the afternoon lessons."
Turning to Margaret she warns: "The slightest defiance, rudeness,
lack of respect, and you'll earn a further week nude and another good
thrashing. And I don't want to hear any more complaints about you
masturbating or ogling other girls, you little pervert. Understand?"
Sobbing, Margaret is led back to the study, where Clara has left
her bunch of car keys, and can undo the handcuffs. The policewoman takes
the opportunity to check the girl's genitals with a friendly squeeze of her
hand. They are rather damp and fragrant, inviting, even if she's not
intensely, ready-to-come aroused. That's a learned response, Clara knows.
And she expects to be invited to closely follow progress as Margaret is
taught it. Oh yes.
After Clara leaves, kissing Janet goodbye quite shamelessly, the
teacher hugs the well-thrashed girl, staring into her teary eyes. There's a
new attitude already, she decides. Janet gives a little smile of
satisfaction as she feels Margaret push her hips against her. It's clear
now to the teacher that a few weeks hence, their relationship will be quite
different. This sluttish girl is ripe for a dike makeover, and certainly
for bottom status, if the cards are played just right. She kisses her, and
their tongues touch. Janet's fingers find Margaret's nipples. This is going
to be quite easy, but it's going to be fun, she thinks to herself.
Margaret's hands don't try to block her as she slides her fingers down from
her nipples to her belly, then between her thighs. Margaret goes to speak,
she's blushing. But instead their mouths meet again.
Like Clara, Janet gives a little squeeze. Damp hair, definite
warmth. A fingertip between the labia. Oh, wetness. And there's a delicious
scent rising. Margaret anxiously whispers: "Miss? You won't hurt me anyone,
please?"
Janet smiles warmly. "No more than you deserve, you dirty girl."
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"Well you know why Lisa dropped Paul?" It was my sister-in-law,
Susan offering me a tidbit from my wife, Lisa's past. The three of
us were eating dinner one evening and we had had a few beers.
"Susan!" Lisa said it almost as a whine. She looked alarmed.
Naturally I was intrigued.
"Paul wanted to do it with Lisa with himself dressed up as a
woman!" I giggled, wife swapping? but stifled it quickly when I glanced at Lisa. She
was blushing and obviously embarrassed about it. I tried to hold a
straight face.
"Susan, you didn't have to bring that up!" Lisa had recovered enough
to protest verbally. I glanced back at Susan and realized she was
watching me closely, out of the corner of her eye. She quickly moved
her eyes.
"You never told me about Paul." I brought up the subject again on the
way home.
"I.., it isn't *that* weird," Lisa was obviously having trouble talking
about it. I don't know why I tortured her.
"Weird enough for you to drop him?"
"Please, can we drop the subject?" Lisa had found her assurance
again.
"OK by me." I added, innocently, I hoped. I still couldn't believe that
old-fashioned Lisa had been in a situation like that! I could believe
it of Susan--she was something else. She was a flirt and a definite
cock-tease: whenever Lisa wasn't looking, she seemed to be seeing if
she could keep me panting. She was definitely a looker, with long
dark hair and a small, but hard body, and she did get me hard often
enough, but I knew her type.
Well, two nights later, when Lisa was at work, Susan showed up at
our front door and invited herself in when I opened it. Now when
Susan and I are alone, she always teases me all the more. So I was
wondering what she would try this time. One thing: she was dressed
to kill, in tight-fitting jeans and a tight body-suit. Oh, I could just
reach out and touch...
And she wasted no time showing me what I was in for--as soon as
the front door was shut, she grabbed my cock! This was way beyond
anything she'd done before!
"Are you interested?" I was definitely hard. She was grinning at me
and rhythmically squeezing my cock through my pants. I was afraid I
wouldn't be able to control myself. I reached for her, but she
immediately fended my grope with her other hand, dropping a bag on
the floor in the process. In seconds, she had my hands in hers, and
she was holding my hands against the sides of her hips. She was
still grinning at me. She raised my hands so they came up to the
sides of her body.
"I've got something for you to do," she said, and she put my hands
back to my side and picked up the bag. She still had this sly smile.
Then out of the bag, she pulled a dress. For a second I was confused.
Then my jaw dropped.
"I believe you guessed wrong," I returned. But she had dropped the
dress and immediately had my cock in her hand again and was
squeezing and massaging it again. I was going crazy.
"Come on, just try it!" She taunted me. "It'll be fun just to see what
it looks like on you!" She didn't stop working my cock and I was
afraid I might come in my pants. She rubbed her hands up my chest
and started unbuttoning my shirt. She was still smiling at me and
she was undoing my pants in seconds, and was pulling down my
shorts! She had me sitting on the couch and had my shoes and socks
off. Then she had some panties from her bag and she started putting
them on me. I couldn't deny that the silky feeling against my skin
was erotic.
"This'll be great, you'll see," she added. She put the dress over my
head. It was black and obviously made to cling, but she seemed to
have my size. Then she pulled some high-heels out of the bag and
proceeded to put them on my feet. "I got your sizes from Lisa so I
could buy you clothes for Christmas," she said with a giggle. Then
she pulled me to standing and pulled and adjusted the dress. Then
she pulled a wig of long blond hair out of her bag and soon had it on
my head.
"This'll work great," she said and she pulled me over toward a
mirror, almost toppling me since I had no idea to handle the high-
heels. We got to the mirror and I looked at myself and I was in awe.
"Just a little bit of makeup, and you'll be perfect!" I hate to say that
I have a feminine face, but the truth is, I could see right there that I
would have no trouble passing as a woman. And I hardly recognized
myself! She put a bit of makeup on my face and then wanted me to
try the shoes, practicing walking back and forth. In a little while, I
was doing a bit better. In fact, that is how we spent the next hour,
Susan coaching me on walking and movement.
Then she had me just stand in the middle of the room. She went
around behind me and reached around my body and started feeling it
as I just stood there. Her hand went down to my cock and rubbed it.
She started lifting the dress off me, and soon had it off. She told me
to step out of the shoes and then she pulled the panties down to my
ankles and told me to step out of them and she lifted the wig off my
head. Then she reached around and stroked my cock, in long slow
strokes, until it was hard as a rock and sticking a straight out.
"Just a minute," I heard her murmur. The next thing I heard was the
front door and I realized she was gone! I looked around immediately.
The dress was gone! I stood there feeling like a fool, grabbed my
clothes, peeked out the front window to see her driving away and
waving, and headed for the bathroom for you-know-what. I spent the
rest of the night amazed at what I'd done and wondering what I'd do
the next time Susan and I met. I couldn't believe I'd let her do that
to me.
The next night, Susan was back, and I wouldn't let her in. I told her I
wasn't interested and I knew her games and she should go home and
forget it. She insisted on showing me something and handed me a
photograph. It was me in the dress. But without the wig and it was
obvious that it was me.
"Where did you get that?" It was a stupid question to ask, I admit. I
let her in.
"Doesn't matter. There are more." She watched me. I was thinking
furiously.
"Strip." She had obviously waited until she figured I had thought
things through and knew what the score was.
"Listen..." I started.
"No talk, just strip." I hesitated. Then I got undressed. She
wordlessly handed me the bag in her hand and I put on the outfit. She
got out some makeup and started putting it on my face.
"Let's see some more walking, honey," she said when she was
satisfied. She kind of drawled it. "Aren't you cute," she added and
she patted my ass. Then her fingers edged down the crack of my ass.
I couldn't stand it. "OK, we're going out," she said.
"No way."
"Look in the mirror. You're ready. You'll pass easily."
I looked. She was right. "But why?"
"Oh, just for kicks."
"I'm not interested in those kind of kicks."
"Oh you're not?" She sounded like she didn't believe me. "Well, you
don't really have a choice, do you?" I thought of the photographs.
"Just a walk around the neighborhood, that's all." We walked. I was
afraid of people looking at me. I was afraid of people recognizing
me. I was afraid of falling. It seemed like forever. Finally we were
back inside. Her hand was immediately on my cock. "Looks like you
are pretty hard." She smirked at me.
"I.., I can't help it if I respond to sexy women."
"Oh, I'm sexy? Why thank you!" That drawl again. "But I think you
got hard from walking around like that." She kneaded and squeezed
my cock and I was in danger of coming. In fact I did come.
"Oo, you messed up your clothes. You'd better get them off and clean
up!" There wasn't anything else to do. Soon I was naked and I went
into the bathroom. When I came out, she was gone and so were the
clothes. I got dressed again.
Susan was there again the next night and took me for a walk again.
Then she told me to tell Lisa I had to go away on business for a
couple of days. She wouldn't let me refuse and she held those
photographs over me. I ended up lying to Lisa, that Sunday telling
her I was off to the airport to fly off to Boston. Really I drove to
Lisa's. After letting me in her front door, she immediately had me in
a dress and had me practicing. I slept that night in a sheer
nightgown... on the couch. The next day she told me to practice while
she was at work. She took my regular clothes with her. That night,
she told me we were going out to a bar.
"No way," was my automatic response. I should have known better--
there was no stopping her. Soon we were downtown, sitting at a
table, drinking beers when in walks Lisa. I almost choked. Susan
waved to get her attention and soon I realized that Susan had set
this up. She introduced me to Lisa as Jackie and sat there and
grinned. I tried to keep Lisa from getting a good look at my eyes, but
even when I gave up trying, she didn't show the slightest sign of
recognition. We had a few more beers and Lisa and Susan gossiped,
leaving me out of the conversation. Lisa apologized a couple times
to me, for the two of them conversing without me.
Finally, Susan said: "Guess what." She was talking to Lisa.
"What?"
"Jackie is a man."
"Stop it!" Obviously Lisa took it as an embarrassing joke. She looked
at me a little.
"Here!" said Susan, grabbing Lisa's arm. She pulled her arm over her
own lap to me and pushed her hand right to my crotch. Lisa looked
shocked at what Susan was doing, but Susan managed to get her
fingering my cock. She didn't lose her look of shock.
"What do you think?" asked Susan. Lisa looked closely at me. I just
knew she was going to recognize me, but even though she was inches
away and staring right into my eyes, she showed no sign of
recognition.
Finally Lisa said "I'm going."
"No, you're not," returned Susan, laughing. Lisa stayed. I think she
let Susan push her around. There was an awkward silence. Lisa
looked nervous.
"She likes to have her cock sucked." It was Susan talking to Lisa!
"Take her out back and do it." She stood up and pulled Lisa up and
brought her over and put my hand in hers. We stood there. "Go!" Lisa
pulled and I stood up. "Take off all your clothes and kneel in front of
her." She was still talking to Lisa! "And put these on, behind your
back." She handed Lisa a pair of handcuffs!
I couldn't believe it, but Lisa did it. She led me out back and into a
dark corner. She had everything off in seconds, and knelt in front of
me and lifted my dress and pulled my cock over the top of my
panties. She didn't say anything--just did it, exactly like Susan told
her to. Then she put the handcuffs on one wrist, handed me the key,
and stood and turned around with her hands behind her so I could
fasten the other wrist. As soon as I did, she was on her knees again,
and had my cock in her mouth. I couldn't believe it! My wife,
kneeling and sucking my cock. She never did that! Did she know it
was me? There was no indication that she did. She looked so
desperate, sucking as hard as she could. I couldn't help it. I had my
hand behind her head and pushed my cock in. She didn't mind a bit,
but seemed even more excited. She kept sucking and sucking. She
was so excited you would have thought someone was fingering her...
or eating her. Soon I was coming. She swallowed every drop and it
seemed like she couldn't get enough.
I undid the handcuffs and she got dressed and we went back in.
Susan was talking with some guy. She immediately split with him
and told us it was time to go. I just sat there thinking when she
drove me home.
That night I slept in a nightie again, and the next day she had me
practice more. She got home again and after supper we went out.
We stopped at Lisa's and my house and picked up Lisa. She was
wearing a tight sexy outfit that I didn't remember seeing before. We
drove to the local high-school which was just about deserted that
night. Susan took us to the football field. It was empty and dark.
"Take her in there and strip, lie face down on the ground, and let her
push her cock into your ass." Susan was telling Lisa what to do
again. She handed me some K.Y. Jelly.
We walked to the middle of the field. Lisa didn't say anything. She
wordlessly stripped and lay down. I looked down at her. I had never
done her rear before. I knelt beside her, covered my finger with
lubricant, and pushed it into her. I heard her breath catch. Then I
covered my cock and lay face down on top of her. I lifted my dress
and pulled my cock over the waisteband of my panties. I pushed my
cock right against her rear hole. She was holding her breath. The
head entered. Suddenly she was breathing hard. She started pushing
her rear up against me. She reached her hands behind her and pulled
my rear down against her. I could tell she wanted me to fuck it. I
couldn't believe it. Lisa! I fucked and fucked. She moaned, louder,
and finally came. I came in her at the same time.
We lay there for a minute. She didn't complain at all that I was
laying on top of her. Finally I stood up and straightened my dress.
She got dressed. Susan was waiting at the car when we got back,
with a grin on her face. Lisa never said a word as we drove her
home.
That night and the next day was much the same. When Susan got
home, she changed me to another sexy outfit and was really careful
with my makeup. Then we just sat in her living room.
Finally my curiosity overcame me. "Are we going to see Lisa
tonight?"
"Oh, no--Lisa is gone."
"Gone?"
"She went to San Francisco, looking for Paul." My jaw dropped.
"But I'm supposed to be 'back' *tomorrow*." She just shrugged. I
couldn't believe it.
"Paul is married now," added Susan, "but he said he'd take Lisa in if
she's willing to serve his wife too." She had stood up and was behind
me. Suddenly something was in my mouth and fastened around my
head. A gag! I stood and she immediately had my hands fastened
behind my back. She pushed me over an ottoman and had my legs tied
together. Then she was raising my skirt and pulling my panties from
down over my ass. I felt fingers going to my rear hole.
"It's time for you to find out what it *really* means to be a woman."
I heard more noises in the room. I looked around. A guy was there.
He was muscular and huge. He was taking off his pants. I couldn't
stand up--Susan was holding me down.
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Dress
"Well you know why Lisa dropped Paul?" It was my sister-in-law,
Susan offering me a tidbit from my wife, Lisa's past. The three of
us were eating dinner one evening and we had had a few beers.
"Susan!" Lisa said it almost as a whine. She looked alarmed.
Naturally I was intrigued.
"Paul wanted to do it with Lisa with himself dressed up as a
woman!" I giggled, wife swapping? but stifled it quickly when I glanced at Lisa. She
was blushing and obviously embarrassed about it. I tried to hold a
straight face.
"Susan, you didn't have to bring that up!" Lisa had recovered enough
to protest verbally. I glanced back at Susan and realized she was
watching me closely, out of the corner of her eye. She quickly moved
her eyes.
"You never told me about Paul." I brought up the subject again on the
way home.
"I.., it isn't *that* weird," Lisa was obviously having trouble talking
about it. I don't know why I tortured her.
"Weird enough for you to drop him?"
"Please, can we drop the subject?" Lisa had found her assurance
again.
"OK by me." I added, innocently, I hoped. I still couldn't believe that
old-fashioned Lisa had been in a situation like that! I could believe
it of Susan--she was something else. She was a flirt and a definite
cock-tease: whenever Lisa wasn't looking, she seemed to be seeing if
she could keep me panting. She was definitely a looker, with long
dark hair and a small, but hard body, and she did get me hard often
enough, but I knew her type.
Well, two nights later, when Lisa was at work, Susan showed up at
our front door and invited herself in when I opened it. Now when
Susan and I are alone, she always teases me all the more. So I was
wondering what she would try this time. One thing: she was dressed
to kill, in tight-fitting jeans and a tight body-suit. Oh, I could just
reach out and touch...
And she wasted no time showing me what I was in for--as soon as
the front door was shut, she grabbed my cock! This was way beyond
anything she'd done before!
"Are you interested?" I was definitely hard. She was grinning at me
and rhythmically squeezing my cock through my pants. I was afraid I
wouldn't be able to control myself. I reached for her, but she
immediately fended my grope with her other hand, dropping a bag on
the floor in the process. In seconds, she had my hands in hers, and
she was holding my hands against the sides of her hips. She was
still grinning at me. She raised my hands so they came up to the
sides of her body.
"I've got something for you to do," she said, and she put my hands
back to my side and picked up the bag. She still had this sly smile.
Then out of the bag, she pulled a dress. For a second I was confused.
Then my jaw dropped.
"I believe you guessed wrong," I returned. But she had dropped the
dress and immediately had my cock in her hand again and was
squeezing and massaging it again. I was going crazy.
"Come on, just try it!" She taunted me. "It'll be fun just to see what
it looks like on you!" She didn't stop working my cock and I was
afraid I might come in my pants. She rubbed her hands up my chest
and started unbuttoning my shirt. She was still smiling at me and
she was undoing my pants in seconds, and was pulling down my
shorts! She had me sitting on the couch and had my shoes and socks
off. Then she had some panties from her bag and she started putting
them on me. I couldn't deny that the silky feeling against my skin
was erotic.
"This'll be great, you'll see," she added. She put the dress over my
head. It was black and obviously made to cling, but she seemed to
have my size. Then she pulled some high-heels out of the bag and
proceeded to put them on my feet. "I got your sizes from Lisa so I
could buy you clothes for Christmas," she said with a giggle. Then
she pulled me to standing and pulled and adjusted the dress. Then
she pulled a wig of long blond hair out of her bag and soon had it on
my head.
"This'll work great," she said and she pulled me over toward a
mirror, almost toppling me since I had no idea to handle the high-
heels. We got to the mirror and I looked at myself and I was in awe.
"Just a little bit of makeup, and you'll be perfect!" I hate to say that
I have a feminine face, but the truth is, I could see right there that I
would have no trouble passing as a woman. And I hardly recognized
myself! She put a bit of makeup on my face and then wanted me to
try the shoes, practicing walking back and forth. In a little while, I
was doing a bit better. In fact, that is how we spent the next hour,
Susan coaching me on walking and movement.
Then she had me just stand in the middle of the room. She went
around behind me and reached around my body and started feeling it
as I just stood there. Her hand went down to my cock and rubbed it.
She started lifting the dress off me, and soon had it off. She told me
to step out of the shoes and then she pulled the panties down to my
ankles and told me to step out of them and she lifted the wig off my
head. Then she reached around and stroked my cock, in long slow
strokes, until it was hard as a rock and sticking a straight out.
"Just a minute," I heard her murmur. The next thing I heard was the
front door and I realized she was gone! I looked around immediately.
The dress was gone! I stood there feeling like a fool, grabbed my
clothes, peeked out the front window to see her driving away and
waving, and headed for the bathroom for you-know-what. I spent the
rest of the night amazed at what I'd done and wondering what I'd do
the next time Susan and I met. I couldn't believe I'd let her do that
to me.
The next night, Susan was back, and I wouldn't let her in. I told her I
wasn't interested and I knew her games and she should go home and
forget it. She insisted on showing me something and handed me a
photograph. It was me in the dress. But without the wig and it was
obvious that it was me.
"Where did you get that?" It was a stupid question to ask, I admit. I
let her in.
"Doesn't matter. There are more." She watched me. I was thinking
furiously.
"Strip." She had obviously waited until she figured I had thought
things through and knew what the score was.
"Listen..." I started.
"No talk, just strip." I hesitated. Then I got undressed. She
wordlessly handed me the bag in her hand and I put on the outfit. She
got out some makeup and started putting it on my face.
"Let's see some more walking, honey," she said when she was
satisfied. She kind of drawled it. "Aren't you cute," she added and
she patted my ass. Then her fingers edged down the crack of my ass.
I couldn't stand it. "OK, we're going out," she said.
"No way."
"Look in the mirror. You're ready. You'll pass easily."
I looked. She was right. "But why?"
"Oh, just for kicks."
"I'm not interested in those kind of kicks."
"Oh you're not?" She sounded like she didn't believe me. "Well, you
don't really have a choice, do you?" I thought of the photographs.
"Just a walk around the neighborhood, that's all." We walked. I was
afraid of people looking at me. I was afraid of people recognizing
me. I was afraid of falling. It seemed like forever. Finally we were
back inside. Her hand was immediately on my cock. "Looks like you
are pretty hard." She smirked at me.
"I.., I can't help it if I respond to sexy women."
"Oh, I'm sexy? Why thank you!" That drawl again. "But I think you
got hard from walking around like that." She kneaded and squeezed
my cock and I was in danger of coming. In fact I did come.
"Oo, you messed up your clothes. You'd better get them off and clean
up!" There wasn't anything else to do. Soon I was naked and I went
into the bathroom. When I came out, she was gone and so were the
clothes. I got dressed again.
Susan was there again the next night and took me for a walk again.
Then she told me to tell Lisa I had to go away on business for a
couple of days. She wouldn't let me refuse and she held those
photographs over me. I ended up lying to Lisa, that Sunday telling
her I was off to the airport to fly off to Boston. Really I drove to
Lisa's. After letting me in her front door, she immediately had me in
a dress and had me practicing. I slept that night in a sheer
nightgown... on the couch. The next day she told me to practice while
she was at work. She took my regular clothes with her. That night,
she told me we were going out to a bar.
"No way," was my automatic response. I should have known better--
there was no stopping her. Soon we were downtown, sitting at a
table, drinking beers when in walks Lisa. I almost choked. Susan
waved to get her attention and soon I realized that Susan had set
this up. She introduced me to Lisa as Jackie and sat there and
grinned. I tried to keep Lisa from getting a good look at my eyes, but
even when I gave up trying, she didn't show the slightest sign of
recognition. We had a few more beers and Lisa and Susan gossiped,
leaving me out of the conversation. Lisa apologized a couple times
to me, for the two of them conversing without me.
Finally, Susan said: "Guess what." She was talking to Lisa.
"What?"
"Jackie is a man."
"Stop it!" Obviously Lisa took it as an embarrassing joke. She looked
at me a little.
"Here!" said Susan, grabbing Lisa's arm. She pulled her arm over her
own lap to me and pushed her hand right to my crotch. Lisa looked
shocked at what Susan was doing, but Susan managed to get her
fingering my cock. She didn't lose her look of shock.
"What do you think?" asked Susan. Lisa looked closely at me. I just
knew she was going to recognize me, but even though she was inches
away and staring right into my eyes, she showed no sign of
recognition.
Finally Lisa said "I'm going."
"No, you're not," returned Susan, laughing. Lisa stayed. I think she
let Susan push her around. There was an awkward silence. Lisa
looked nervous.
"She likes to have her cock sucked." It was Susan talking to Lisa!
"Take her out back and do it." She stood up and pulled Lisa up and
brought her over and put my hand in hers. We stood there. "Go!" Lisa
pulled and I stood up. "Take off all your clothes and kneel in front of
her." She was still talking to Lisa! "And put these on, behind your
back." She handed Lisa a pair of handcuffs!
I couldn't believe it, but Lisa did it. She led me out back and into a
dark corner. She had everything off in seconds, and knelt in front of
me and lifted my dress and pulled my cock over the top of my
panties. She didn't say anything--just did it, exactly like Susan told
her to. Then she put the handcuffs on one wrist, handed me the key,
and stood and turned around with her hands behind her so I could
fasten the other wrist. As soon as I did, she was on her knees again,
and had my cock in her mouth. I couldn't believe it! My wife,
kneeling and sucking my cock. She never did that! Did she know it
was me? There was no indication that she did. She looked so
desperate, sucking as hard as she could. I couldn't help it. I had my
hand behind her head and pushed my cock in. She didn't mind a bit,
but seemed even more excited. She kept sucking and sucking. She
was so excited you would have thought someone was fingering her...
or eating her. Soon I was coming. She swallowed every drop and it
seemed like she couldn't get enough.
I undid the handcuffs and she got dressed and we went back in.
Susan was talking with some guy. She immediately split with him
and told us it was time to go. I just sat there thinking when she
drove me home.
That night I slept in a nightie again, and the next day she had me
practice more. She got home again and after supper we went out.
We stopped at Lisa's and my house and picked up Lisa. She was
wearing a tight sexy outfit that I didn't remember seeing before. We
drove to the local high-school which was just about deserted that
night. Susan took us to the football field. It was empty and dark.
"Take her in there and strip, lie face down on the ground, and let her
push her cock into your ass." Susan was telling Lisa what to do
again. She handed me some K.Y. Jelly.
We walked to the middle of the field. Lisa didn't say anything. She
wordlessly stripped and lay down. I looked down at her. I had never
done her rear before. I knelt beside her, covered my finger with
lubricant, and pushed it into her. I heard her breath catch. Then I
covered my cock and lay face down on top of her. I lifted my dress
and pulled my cock over the waisteband of my panties. I pushed my
cock right against her rear hole. She was holding her breath. The
head entered. Suddenly she was breathing hard. She started pushing
her rear up against me. She reached her hands behind her and pulled
my rear down against her. I could tell she wanted me to fuck it. I
couldn't believe it. Lisa! I fucked and fucked. She moaned, louder,
and finally came. I came in her at the same time.
We lay there for a minute. She didn't complain at all that I was
laying on top of her. Finally I stood up and straightened my dress.
She got dressed. Susan was waiting at the car when we got back,
with a grin on her face. Lisa never said a word as we drove her
home.
That night and the next day was much the same. When Susan got
home, she changed me to another sexy outfit and was really careful
with my makeup. Then we just sat in her living room.
Finally my curiosity overcame me. "Are we going to see Lisa
tonight?"
"Oh, no--Lisa is gone."
"Gone?"
"She went to San Francisco, looking for Paul." My jaw dropped.
"But I'm supposed to be 'back' *tomorrow*." She just shrugged. I
couldn't believe it.
"Paul is married now," added Susan, "but he said he'd take Lisa in if
she's willing to serve his wife too." She had stood up and was behind
me. Suddenly something was in my mouth and fastened around my
head. A gag! I stood and she immediately had my hands fastened
behind my back. She pushed me over an ottoman and had my legs tied
together. Then she was raising my skirt and pulling my panties from
down over my ass. I felt fingers going to my rear hole.
"It's time for you to find out what it *really* means to be a woman."
I heard more noises in the room. I looked around. A guy was there.
He was muscular and huge. He was taking off his pants. I couldn't
stand up--Susan was holding me down.
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