Synopsis:

Lance Layton's perfect life crumbles around him when he discover's his wife's infidelity. He seeks background information from the beautiful, exotic Dianna - and receives so much more than he ever bargained for.

Story:

Betrayed — Chapter One
By Cherysse St. Claire  ©

She’s having an affair. I couldn’t ignore it any longer; the evidence
was right there on my monitor that Wednesday afternoon. I had felt so…
tawdry — a word I had thought I would never use — hiring the detective
to follow her, follow up on my suspicions. It was as though I was
betraying her, betraying the trust, the faith I had had in her during
our eight-year relationship, the last three as husband and wife. As the
DVD played out on my computer screen, played out the scenes I had
dreaded, I knew my faith and trust had been misplaced.

Susan and I had been high school sweethearts; the convivial, popular
cheerleader and her intense, intellectual, fiercely-competitive
Cross-Country star. She had broken up with Jeff Spencer shortly before
we became an ‘item’. No one exactly accused the
supernaturally-attractive emerald-eyed Redhead of ‘trading down’. In a
culture that demanded performance, the football team was mired somewhere
in the middle of the conference standings. Jeff, a bona fide heartthrob,
had been a talented-enough quarterback. Yet he, more than any other
person, was the focal point of the team’s lackluster performance.
Rightly or wrongly, he carried the stigma of an also-ran. Meanwhile, my
team’s ‘Long Green Line’ held back-to-back-to-back State championships
and I was the undisputed fastest in State history. Still, they clucked,
she had given up a hunk of U.S. Prime for a runner….

“Screw that,” she had cooed dismissively. “I love a winner. You are
going places and I want to go there with you.”

We had attended the same university, lived together our senior year,
then raced to the altar after graduation. We each strove to attain the
promise of ‘going places’ in our respective careers. She was a rising
star in Marketing and Public Relations, while I was on my way to having
my own seat on the Mercantile Exchange. I ran five miles every morning
before work. Susan worked out regularly at her health club. We
maintained our peak physical tone for ourselves and each other, just as
we had when we first met. Throughout, our sex had been magic. I was the
tender, caring lover she had always dreamed of, the one who pushed all
her buttons the way she liked them pushed, the one she wanted to spend
the rest of her life with.

“AND, you are the prettiest boy I have ever seen,” she had added. “That’s
a big plus.”

I wasn’t certain how much of a ‘plus’ that was, but I appreciated the
compliment. We had the idyllic life — or so I thought.

Susan worked in the Publicity Department of the local professional
football franchise. She had a plumb position as an assistant director
for the team’s promotions. Guess who was now the rising star in the
team’s quarterback corps? You got it! After high school, Jeff Spencer
had landed a scholarship with a Division 1-A school that had a real
program. He had been all-NCAA, a runner-up in the Heisman balloting,
Most Valuable Player in two bowl games and a first-round draft pick. Ihad had
qualms about Susan and Jeff being thrown together again, but
dismissed them as silly male insecurity. After all, that had been high
school….

The increasingly-frequent, increasingly-lengthy absences had alerted me
something hade changed in our relationship. When asked, she put it off
on the demands of her career. It was the eye contact, or lack of it,
that fueled my suspicions. She was loving enough when we were together,
but I sensed an air of distance that hadn’t been there before. Something
had insinuated itself into our lives, separating us, and I had
determined to find out what.

That amorphous ‘what’ was now playing out before me. They were together
again, captured on disk by the most remarkable bit of electronic
surveillance I could possibly imagine. In high school, Jeff Spencer’s
masculine physique had made him the object of female desire and male
envy. Now, he was even more impressive: about six-foot-four to my
five-eight, and outweighing me by at least sixty pounds of rock-hard
muscle.

Jeff was not making love to my wife. He was fucking her, banging her
mercilessly like a piece of meat with his thick, ten-inch tool. I could
almost smell the rut of their sex as I watched the video. There was
little doubt Susan was loving every pummeling thrust. I could actually
see her eyes roll up into her head as she came, observe her body
convulse, watch her throat vibrate as she screamed.

Mind you, I was really, really good at making my wife cum. I could
tease her, inflame her, infuriate her for hours with my tongue and
fingertips alone, until she was begging me for release. When I finally
pushed her over the edge, she gripped my hair tightly, thrust my face
deeply into her pussy, and shuddered through her orgasm for a long,
long time. Still, any man knew this was different. I felt intimidated,
angry, betrayed. More than anything else, I felt a sense of loss.

The detective had been exceedingly thorough; worth every penny. Once he
had identified the offending third party, the surveillance had extended
beyond the affair with my wife, tracking Jeff’s habits as well. That
investigation had paid off spectacularly. I shook my head in utter
disbelief as I observed Jeff’s extracurricular activities when he wasn’t
shagging my wanton wife. To put it mildly, he was no more faithful to
her than she was to me.

The thought of violence came to mind and just as quickly departed. I
didn’t hold any illusions about being able to pull off the ‘perfect
crime’. Any temporary satisfaction such extreme measures might render
would be nullified by a lifetime spent in prison. Jeff’s philandering
had revealed a vulnerability that could conceivably be exploited to my
advantage. It would take time to formulate an appropriate plan. For now,
the two cheaters deserved each other.

The lurid scenes of that follow-up surveillance sparked something else
in me; a fascination for a world I had only heard about in vague,
titillating references. It had existed around me since we moved to the
city, yet I had never given it a second thought. Now, faced with it on
the screen before me, I felt compelled to seek this world out. If I was
going to have my vengeance on the pair, I reasoned, this was the place
to start. Besides, what did I have left to lose?

***

My first visit to Ringers was a real head trip. It was Friday night, two
days after my idyllic world had collapsed in ruin. I had had zero
experience with female impersonators in my life. Now, within the
tastefully-decorated confines of the city’s most famous — notorious —
F.I. “show lounge”, I was surrounded by them. The first thing I learned
was, these ‘girls’ are good at what they do. Granted, most of the
performers lip-sync to Pop divas’ recordings rather than sing. Still,
the visual presentations are stunning. As far as the ‘impersonation’
aspect goes, many genetic females would be green with envy over these
faux-femme fatales.

I spotted the girl right away, remembering her from the surveillance
disk. It was as though Raquel Welsh had cloned herself. Now, that
delectable doppelganger was perched on a high-backed stool at the bar,
one stocking-clad leg crossed alluringly over the other, gazing out over
the crowd with casual insouciance. I had difficulty picturing her with
‘something extra’ nestled between those alluring thighs. We struck up a
casual conversation. Her name was Dianna. Absent the heels, I judged her
to be about my own height. I was more than a little nervous. The
gorgeous brunette smiled seductively and agreed to share a drink with
me; the first of several. She was surprisingly approachable. Over the
course of the evening, I found out why.

Through my new acquaintance, I learned two more things about the scene.
First, the term ‘female impersonator’ is woefully out of date. Most of
these girls have long since crossed the line between impersonation and
transformation and have no intention of crossing back. Dianna was a
stunning example of that. Second, I confirmed that many of these girls
made at least a marginal living via the oldest profession — mostly
because no legitimate employer will hire them to do anything more
meaningful.

After several more drinks, we adjourned to ‘someplace more private’
to continue our conversation. Yes, money changed hands; she was good to
give me her time and I wanted to make it worth her while. When she saw
the amount I offered, she smiled bemusedly and declared she was mine for
the evening. All I wanted was conversation. It wasn’t going to be about
sex. I was just gathering information.

She viewed with disdain the picture I had produced from my pocket.

“Oh, him,” she sniffed. “Yeah, I know that freak. He has dated me a few
times — among other girls at the club. At least he’s got the goods — and
knows how to use it.”

“Freak?” I inquired tentatively.

I instinctively feared for Susan’s well-being, in spite of my anger at
what she had done.

“Baby, they’re all freaks,” Dianna maintained. “Fine, upstanding, solid
citizens, pillars of the community — until nobody is watching. They love
to get down ‘n dirty like everyone else, more than most. They’re really
into girls like me, too, but don’t want anyone in their ‘straight’ world
to know. As far as I know, he hasn’t taken it up his punk ass yet, but
he loves to do mine — and take it down the pipe.”

That was more information than I wanted. It wasn’t that much of a
stretch to envision my beautiful companion in the arms of an admitted
stud like Jeff Spencer. It was a stretch to picture the “man’s man”
sucking cock. ‘Freak’ seemed to be an apt description.

Perhaps it was the liquid courage that was clouding my judgment. I found
myself more and more attracted to this sensual siren with each passing
moment. Still, her candor was… unsettling. For all her obvious allure, I
was hung up on the secret lurking beneath. I desired and feared her at
the same time. What did that say about me? Whatever I might have felt
about what she was, I began to have misgivings about myself.

“I’m here,” I pointed out. “Does that make me a freak, too?”

My beautiful companion cocked one eyebrow and smiled with amusement.

“Like you said,” she replied, “you’re here - aren’t you?”

With that, she repositioned herself in my lap and wrapped her arms
around my neck. If I could have seen the pores in her flawless
complexion, I could have counted them. I could smell her
cinnamon-tinged breath and the heady aroma of her perfume. Her prominent
cleavage looked done rather than fake. I wanted to hide my erection,
keep her from finding out how much she was turning me on. She knew
better, and smiled triumphantly.

“You tell me, Sugar,” she purred. “Aren’t you feeling just a little bit
freaky? Before you try to deny it, your friend is telling me yes.”

She ground her bottom into my lap to confirm her point.

The girl’s body was lushly proportioned, to be sure, but she wasn’t all
that heavy. Why was I out of breath? Why was my heart pounding? She
took my confused silence as a tacit admission.

“That’s what I thought,” she continued. “Why don’t we get more…
comfortable? I mean, you’ve already paid for the time.”

The intoxicating vixen removed her hands from my neck and began
unbuttoning my shirt. I willed my hands to seize hers, stop her from
doing what she was doing, what she was going to do. My hands refused to
move. I was caught in the gaze of her big chocolate-brown eyes like a
deer in headlights.
I don’t remember undressing her, nor moving with her to the bed. I
remember lying on my back with her astride me, feeding me a mouthful of
tit. I had always thought Susan’s C-cups were the best of the best.
Dianna’s were bigger, fuller, firmer — and demanded my attention.

That wasn’t all that demanded my attention. I could feel her down there,
feel something big where it had no business being. It snaked its way
around my crotch, rubbing up against my own rock-hard dick. I tried to
put it out of my mind, concentrate on her magnificent titties, but
couldn’t.

“You like that, don’t you, Baby?” she trilled, “me rubbing against you
like that, all up in your business. Your white-bread wife can’t give you
that; no GG can. I’ve got what you need, what you really want.”

I didn’t want this! I just wanted to know what a man like Jeff Spencer
saw in her, why he would even cheat on a prize like Susan for someone
like this. Instead, I was in bed with this, this… ho’, trapped beneath
her, sucking her tits like there was no tomorrow, feeling her fuckpole
rubbing up against my abdomen. The really insane thing was, my cock was
bigger and harder than it had ever been before in my life! What on earth
was it thinking?

Then, she started in on me with her hand. The sensation of her long
fingernails gently scraping the flesh of my inner thigh was exquisite
torture. Before long, those fingers were finding their way higher,
gently caressing my rigid fuckstick. Ohmygod, what a sensation! Dianna
softly encircled my joypole and began to stroke it. I was going out of
my mind with frenzied desire.

The talented T-girl had two hands. While her right hand worked my cock,
her left hand found my right and slowly, firmly moved it into position
on her rock-hard rod. No! No, no, no, no, absolutely NOT! I am not Gay!
I do not want a man! I don’t… I don’t… don’t… Jeezus, this is so hot!

It was almost a relief when she slid down my body and slipped my bone
into her mouth. It was just ‘normal’ sex again, unburdened by thoughts
of my partner’s meaty surprise. Now I knew what it was like to be
ministered to by truly talented lips and tongue! My hands went to her
head unbidden. I just held them there, not attempting to force her face
down on me. It seemed like… the right thing to do, one more connection
between us. Connection? What was I saying?

That ‘connection’ was not long in coming. My fellatrix abruptly pivoted
on my pole, straddling my head with her firm thighs. Suddenly, her
more-than-formidable sex was inches from my face. By that time, I was on
sensory overload. I just stared in awe as her meat dangled in my vision.
Then, she lowered herself to me. I vowed I wasn’t going to do it; I
wasn’t that way. I tried to resist, to keep my mouth shut. The attention
she was giving my dong had my heart pounding and my lungs heaving. Her
firm thighs gripped my head, smothering my nose. I held out as long as I
could, but finally had to open my mouth to breathe….

Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmyg…umpf! I shuddered involuntarily
as my mouth was invaded. If I hadn’t been a little drunk, I might have
spat it out altogether — or worse. She didn’t force herself on me.
Rather, she dipped it in just a little, enough to insert the helmet. My
tongue touched it and recoiled. It was such a revolting, unnatural
feeling. My mind raced. Unnatural? Was it any more natural for Susan
when she had blown me? Was it more natural for Dianna, who was even then
giving me a world-class blowjob? Being here with her, this way, it was
becoming increasingly difficult to think of her as anything but the
beautiful woman she appeared. If I had no problem eating out my wife,
could I reject a woman as attractive as Dianna just because she had an
‘outie’ instead of an ‘innie’?

I tickled it just a little with my tongue. I felt the tremor course
through her body and was encouraged by it. I softly lathed the
underside of the glans with the tip, then swirled my tongue around and
around. She responded by pulling it out a little, then pushed it in a
little deeper. She repeated this again and again, until the tip tickled
my throat. I gagged involuntarily. She pulled back a bit and paused,
then eased forward again. I coughed a little, but it wasn’t as much a
shock this time. Sensing this, the comely courtesan lifted her own mouth
off my joyrod for a moment.

“Open your throat, Sugar,” she cooed encouragingly. “Breathe through
your nose. Don’t fight it. Just let it happen. You know you want it.”

I struggled with myself, attempting to remind myself, convince
myself I did not want it. Yet I did nothing to discourage her oral
assault. No one was more surprised than I when I realized my nose was
being tickled by her neatly-trimmed pubic hair. A bizarre memory popped
into my head; a flashback to my younger days of avid television
watching.

I can’t believe I ate the whoooooooole thing.

I was in no position to see Dianna’s face. I sensed her smile. Perhaps
it was just the way her mouth moved around my cock that made me think it.

The tidal wave of sensations and emotions was just too much to resist. I
was caught up, overwhelmed, swept away in the powerful rush. My vision
blurred. My back arched off the mattress. Blood pounded in my temples. I
heard nothing beyond the intense roaring in my ears. My body spasmed as
every neural synapse seemed to fire at once. I came in quarts, gallons,
oceans — at least, it felt that way.

After a time, the ripples of passion faded. I felt weak as a kitten.
Dianna withdrew herself at both ends, turned around, and lay down atop
me. She kissed me deeply, something she had not done up to that time. As
soon as I opened my mouth to receive her probing tongue, I knew I was in
deep, deep trouble. She hadn’t swallowed! Now, she was pushing the
remnants of my own explosion into my mouth with her forceful tongue. I
struggled ineffectually beneath her, drained of strength from my
previous exertions. In the end, she had her way with me yet again. I
swallowed my own spunk, eyes closed, yet mind wide open to the enormity
of what I had done.

I rolled over on my stomach in shame. I had cum in buckets, but hadn’t
gotten Dianna off. Once again, I hadn’t been able to satisfy my lover. I
couldn’t look her in the eye, afraid of seeing myself, my failure,
reflected there. She stretched out on top, placing her hands over mine.
Her cock was just as stiff as it had been inside my mouth, a constant
reminder of my inadequacy. It nestled in the cleft between my firm
asscheeks. Then, she shifted slightly — and it moved….

“No, no,” I cried out weakly.

She controlled me easily, holding my wrists tightly, spreading my legs
with her thighs.

“Shhhhh,” Dianna whispered in my ear. “It’s okay, Baby Girl. I know
you’re
scared. The first time is always the hardest. I’ll be gentle with you; I
promise. Mama knows what you need. Mama knows best.”

A real man would have resisted. A real man would have bounced her off
the opposite wall, stomped on her head, then walked out in a huff. Then
again, a real man wouldn’t have been in bed with a shemale hooker while
his wife was being fucked stupid by an ex-boyfriend from fucking high
school.

I felt the finger first, coated with cold, slippery goo, making my
insides nice and slick. I shivered a little; from that, and
anticipation of what was to come. The finger was withdrawn. Then, a
much larger presence made itself known against my puckered hole.

“Are you ready, Sugar?” she purred. “Here we go.”

She was gentle with me, just as she had been with my mouth. I felt her
push forward a little, pause, pull back, then push forward yet again.
Even as I tried to relax my body, it felt like her helmet was going to
split me in two. I moaned piteously, just as any virgin does at the
moment she gives up her cherry. The deeper my lover entered me, the
more intense the pain became. As bad as that pain was, it was the shock,
surprise, awe of being taken that way that dominated my thoughts.

In time, she squeezed all of herself into me. I felt ripped apart. The
tempo and intensity of her thrusts increased slowly, until she was
pounding into me. Her balls slapped against my crotch. She dug her
talons into my shoulders, yanking my body towards her in time with her
thrusts.

My shame welled up inside me: shame for not being man enough
to satisfy my wife, shame for being cuckolded behind my back, shame for
not standing up for what was mine, shame for being seduced, then taken
so easily, so forcefully, by a shemale hooker. That shame boiled over,
exploding within my mind in a blinding flash. I screamed — not to stop,
but to fuck me harder. When she came, she flooded my insides with an
intensity I imagined to be equal to my own. The shock of such a deed
pushed me over the edge once more, this time without touching my own
member.

I was completely spent, physically and emotionally. My humiliation knew
no limits. What had Susan called me? The ‘prettiest boy she had ever
met.’ Obviously, a ‘pretty boy’ had no chance against a stud like Jeff
Spencer in her eyes. Just as obviously, the beautiful boy-girl atop me
felt the same way; she had just made me her punk bitch. Self-esteem?
What’s that? I threw on my pants, fumbling frantically with the zipper
and belt, then swept up my other clothes in my arms and fled for the
door. I heard Dianna call out good-naturedly behind me as the door
closed.

“See you again soon… Freak.”

I didn’t go home. I couldn’t; not now, not ever again, not to live,
anyway. I certainly wasn’t ready to face Susan, assuming she was even
home. I got a hotel room that night, took a long, hot, thorough shower,
turned off my cell phone, then crawled between the sheets. I slept, but
in a tortured turmoil commensurate with my waking experience.

***

It was the Week from Hell. Granted, it had actually begun when I fled
Dianna’s apartment Friday night and extended through that long, lost
weekend. On Monday morning, I called the office and took personal time.
Later, when I was certain Susan would not be home, I returned to our
Printer’s Row loft and removed my clothes and personal items. The
building was going condo; thank God I hadn’t signed the conversion
contract yet. I gazed around what had been our — my — happy home one
last time, recalling memories of much better times. Then, I walked out
the door. It closed behind me with a resounding click of finality.

I filed the divorce papers first thing, citing “Open and Notorious
Adultery”. After viewing the DVD, my attorney assured me my case was a
slam-dunk. Divorcing her financially was almost as easy, owing to some
simple precautions I had taken along the way; separate accounts, asset
protection, offshore holdings. With her own income, plus the assets of
her millionaire boyfriend, she would have no need to come after my
assets, much less legal standing to do so. My attorney had quipped all
Susan would be able to do was bend over and spread her cheeks, something
that didn’t appear to be a problem for her. I inwardly shuddered at the
reference. He promised to file the papers with the court clerk before
the end of the day and see to it they were served at her office the next
morning.

My cell phone began ringing around lunchtime Tuesday. Funny; she hadn’t
bothered to call all weekend or Monday to see if I was all right. I
guess she hadn’t noticed I hadn’t come home. Caller ID told the tale. I
summarily rejected Susan’s calls and instructed our office’s
receptionist not to put her through if she called there. My estranged
mate switched tactics, and the cell’s display came up “Private Caller”.
I wasn’t about to be that easily fooled again, and let the calls go to
Voicemail.

On Tuesday afternoon I signed the lease-with-option on a nice
two-bedroom in Streeterville, across the street from North Pier. It had
a breathtaking view of Ogden Slip and the lake beyond. I liked boats
and had always enjoyed watching all the pleasure craft tie up at the
berths in the slip while their owners dined at the adjacent eateries. I
was looking forward to the coming summer. It was nice to have something
to look forward to again.

The next three days were filled with the loosely-organized feeding
frenzy that is commodities trading. After work, there was the
camaraderie of fellow traders and co-workers. The office grapevine had
pronounced something was up between me and my wife and everyone avoided
the subject. The condo was sumptuous, made more so by the furnishings I
equipped it with. The neighborhood was young, gentrified, and hip. The
evening crowds below hustled to and from the surrounding restaurants,
clubs, and shops.

Every night since the previous Friday had been long, lonely, and
tortured. Sex haunted my dreams, just as it had dominated my waking
thoughts, my life, for a week. In my dreams, I was walking naked down
the middle of North Michigan Avenue. The street was lined with people;
my wife and her lover, my friends, co-workers, complete strangers. Sex
was going on all around me and I was powerless to affect its course or
outcome. Everyone mocked me openly.

Through it all, I was aware of one particular pair of eyes watching me
intently, bemusedly, as though I was some form of entertainment — or a
personal plaything. It embarrassed, humiliated me to know those eyes
watched my every move. I hated them, feared them, yet desired them. I
never wanted to see them again, yet couldn’t bear to be without them.
Those eyes were brown, not green.

The call came Friday afternoon.

“How long were you planning to hold out?” Dianna inquired nonchalantly.

“Bitch,” I growled.

“Always,” she deflected gracefully.

“Did you call to rub my nose in it — again?” I asked pointedly.

“Don’t take me there, Lover,” she snipped abruptly. “You could have left
at any time. You didn’t. Don’t even try to tell me I made you do
anything you weren’t willing to do.”

She paused a moment, as if re-considering her words.

“Actually,” she continued in a much more conciliatory tone, “I may have
sent you off on the wrong note the other night. I meet so many fr… I
mean, I have a bad habit of treating all men the way I have been
treated. You didn’t deserve that. You were nothing but nice to me, a
real gentleman. The fact you didn’t leave makes me think I made an
impression on you, too. Am I right?”

There was so much I wanted to say, how I had thought of little but her
for the past week. I couldn’t even put it into words.

“Well, at least you’re not denying it,” the bewitching brunette
summarized. “For what it’s worth, you are the most attractive lover I
have had in a long time. I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but I
have been thinking about you all week. I was wondering; would you
be willing to… let me make it up to you? On the house?”

I couldn’t believe it. Dianna probably had sex with a dozen men or more
a week. Yet, she was thinking about me? She wanted to see me on a
personal basis? I may not have been the most perceptive man on the
planet, but I sensed her offhand comment about it being a ‘freebie’ -
inserting at least an oblique reference to the commercial origin of our
tryst — was as much to mollify her own doubts as mine. For all my
earlier ambivalence, I realized I had been obsessing over her, too. I
couldn’t make the arrangements fast enough.

I was extremely agitated on the drive to her place in Lakeview. The
traffic on Lake Shore Drive was so slow. If that wasn’t bad enough,
parking was impossible in her neighborhood. She buzzed me in and was
waiting at her door when I reached the top of the stairs. She wore only
garter belt, stockings, stiletto sandals, and a floor-length sheer black
peignoir. She was exquisite, head to toe. Her eyes danced and she
flashed an alluring smile.

“Hi again, Sugar,” she purred. “Welcome b…”

I cut her off with a straight arm to her chest. My momentum
carried her backwards, across the tiny studio apartment. To her credit,
she kept her balance beautifully in those skyscraper stilts, right up to
the moment she fell backwards onto the bed. I was on her in a flash,
then had her cock in my mouth a moment later. I teased, tormented,
tortured her with my lips and tongue for over an hour, bringing her to
the edge, then backing off, only to bring her close again. Finally, I
allowed her to shoot her load down my throat. By that time, she was
screaming, thrashing wildly, and pummeling my shoulders with her fists.
It was something like ten minutes before she was able to take a deep
breath and speak.

“Well,” she exclaimed, staring at the ceiling. “So much for idle
chit-chat. Does this mean all is forgiven?”

“Do you have plans for the rest of the weekend?” I countered.

“I guess I do now,” she chirped. “I was going to work. A girl’s gotta
pay rent, you know.”

“Don’t worry about that,” I returned. “I’m good for it.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” she asked cautiously.

“Let’s work on it and see what happens,” I replied.

She raised one eyebrow in that manner I found so attractive. Then, she
began massaging my engorged, aching cock.

“Work on it, huh?” she teased. “Oh yeah, Honey; I’ll ‘work on it’. Tit
for tat — so to speak.”

***

Notes:

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Synopsis:

Lance and Dianna go on a shopping spree for a Valentine's Day dream date. The preparations turn into something beyond Lance's wildest dreams.

Story:

Betrayed Ch. 02
by Cherysse St. Claire  ©

Chapter 2: Shop 'Til You Pop

The sex was torrid and went all night. I worshipped every inch of her
magnificent body with my lips, tongue, fingertips. She did the same to me.
I took her from behind, entered her doggy-style. I fucked her pussy with
long, languid strokes even as I was stroking her meaty clitty with one
hand. I willed her to cum, dared her not to, challenged her to hold out
against the sensual assault that always drove Susan crazy. Dianna did cum;
loudly, passionately, and more than once.

Throughout the night, she teased, taunted, tempted my puckered hole with
her fingertip, searching for an opening in more than the physical sense.
My mind had struggled with exactly that the past seven days. Why had I
allowed it to happen the first time? My shame and humiliation came back to
me, reminding me. I was a cuckold, it said. After last weekend, I was also
a sissy; Dianna's punk bitch. True, I had been a little drunk then and
hadn't seen it coming. Now that she was making the overture once again,
when I was in complete control of my senses and no longer taken by
surprise, what would I do?

Complete control? What a joke! For more than a week, I had been presented
with evidence heaped upon evidence that my personal life was completely
out of my control. Cuckold. Sissy. Punk Bitch. Okay, Lance; get a grip. A
commodities trader deals in options every day. What were my options? I
could continue to fight; that was the American Way. I could persist in my
scorched-earth campaign of spite, malice, and revenge. Susan certainly
deserved that for what she did — but did I? Was I ready to allow my thirst
for vengeance to consume me, even as I sought to devour her? I could just
walk away from everything in my personal life and start over; flip that
old Etch-a-Sketch over, give it a shake, and Presto! Start with a clean
slate. I had my career, a spectacular income, a new home, a future. What
did that future contain?

Again and again, my thoughts returned to Dianna. She was more woman than I
had ever known before in my life. A lot more than ANY woman, Buddy; think
about it.... I hadn't been able to get her out of my mind all week. I
certainly couldn't now, with her body pressed intimately against mine. It
felt good. It felt right. Being with her presented a tantalizing third
option: what if I neither fought, nor ran? What if I just... gave in? She
had certainly indicated she wanted me that way. Hadn't I cum in buckets
that first time? Hadn't she? Had not my surrender to her been the most
intense personal and emotional connection I had had with any human in my
entire life? Where was the harm in just letting go, and seeing where the
current took me? Cuckold. Sissy. Punk Bitch. Those were just words....

I responded to my own soul-searching by spreading my legs just a bit.
Dianna took that cue, then took me.

We watched the sun come up over the lake, then slept like the dead until
noon. It felt good to shower with someone again. It felt better to have
sex in the shower. We reprised our reciprocal roles; she took my meat,
then I took hers. Being with her this way, I didn't feel the guilt or
shame of becoming a 'switch-hitter' I would have felt — had felt - even a
week before.

As we were toweling each other dry, she kissed me tenderly on the lips.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Lover," she purred sweetly. "I generally don't do
holidays because I don't have anyone really special to do them with. Thank
you for making this the most special day I have had in a long time."

Damn! With all I had had swimming around in my head in the past week, I
had completely forgotten what day this was. I didn't even have a card for
her. The thought just suddenly popped into my mind. I somehow knew she
would ask the question and wanted to be prepared for it when she did. I
dashed into the bedroom, grabbed my cell phone, dialed the number I knew
by heart, and started pulling strings....

Dianna followed me into the bedroom a few minutes later, a towel wrapped
around her lush physique. She embraced me and kissed me warmly. Then, she
gazed into my eyes with a twinkle in hers.

"So," she began teasingly, "what's next? I mean, what do you do for an
encore after this?"

"Gee, I dunno," I teased back. "I mean, what can I do to keep a gorgeous
woman like you coming back? I had given a thought to taking you out for
dinner tonight; someplace really nice. I don't know what you have in your
closet, so I suppose I'll just have to take you shopping."

Her eyes lit up like klieg lights at a Hollywood premier. She hugged me so
hard, I thought she would crush my ribcage.

"Oh, Baby," she breathed lustily in my ear. "You know how to push all a
girl's buttons. Let's go get dressed."

Our first task was to retrieve my clothes from wherever they had landed in
Dianna's frenzy to disrobe me the night before. A problem became
immediately apparent as my enchantress gingerly held up my briefs - or
what was left of them - between her thumb and forefinger. They were still
drenched with pre-cum from the long anticipatory drive from the office.
Then, in the heat of passion, she had literally ripped them from my body.
She silently arched one eyebrow quizzically and smiled bemusedly. I
returned the smile and shrugged my shoulders just a little. She laughed.

"I guess I'll just have to do without," I observed.

She pressed her body against mine and gently massaged my cock with one
hand.

"While it would be hot to have you so... accessible inside your pants,"
she cooed, "I think we will try for something a bit more modest for now.
If you oozed that much last night, before you even got here, you would
ruin that beautiful suit today. I promise you that."

She went to her dresser drawer, rummaged around for a moment, then
returned.

"These will do the trick," she chirped with a grin.

I beheld the pink satin bikini panties with ruffled lace trim which she
held against my crotch with two fingers from each hand. My mind swam in a
confused tangle of thoughts.

"That's modest?" was all I could think to say. The look in her eyes was
pure seduction.

"You like the way I look in my panties, don't you?" she asked in a tone of
faux innocence.

I could hardly deny it.

"Well, being with you all day, thinking of you in a pair of my panties
while we shop, will drive me to distraction. That's really hot, Sugar. Do
it just for me... please?"

Just give in, and see where the current takes me....

She helped me into the panties, sliding them up my toned, hairless legs,
and nestling them snugly around my hips. Gazing directly into my eyes, she
reached her hand into the panties, cupped my manhood, and tucked it down
and back between my thighs.

"Now that I think of it," she postulated, "we are probably going to need a
little extra protection. Wait here."

She glided into the bathroom and returned a moment later with several
folds of toilet tissue in her hand. She reached inside my panties and
positioned the tissue under my cockhead.

"There, that's much better," she mused. "We girls always do that to
protect ourselves from leaks."

Removing her hand, she cupped my pantied crotch from the outside and
massaged it gently.

"I have a hunch you are going to be leaking heavily today, Sweetie," she
whispered in my ear. "At least, you will if I have anything to say about
it."

Next, she had me help her into a heavily-boned, lace-up black satin
corset.

"If you are taking me someplace special," she purred, "I want to make sure
I look special. Corseting is so sexy, I just can't help but feel like the
most beautiful woman in the world."

I couldn't imagine her looking or feeling like anything but. After she
showed me how to fasten the front busk for her, she placed both palms
against the wall, leaned into it, and taught me how to pull the laces a
little at a time from the top and bottom, working towards the middle.
After some effort on my part, I had the garment laced as tightly as it
would go, then tied the laces off and tucked them in the way Dianna
instructed.

My companion displayed the most gorgeous hand-span waist I could imagine.
Her full, firm breasts stood out prominently. Her hips and tush were
spread out even more provocatively than before. She made the picture even
more erotic by rolling a pair of suntan stockings up her shapely legs and
attaching them to the corset's garters. She made a show of donning a
semi-sheer black chiffon blouse, waist-length, snug-fitting lavender suede
motorcycle-style jacket and micro-miniskirt, and matching open-toed,
lavender suede platform mules. The high stiletto heels arched her legs and
caused her to thrust out her tush and braless breasts alluringly. The
jacket was left unzipped, yielding a tantalizing glimpse of her prodigious
charms. She made up her face accordingly; a bit heavier than I normally
associated with daywear, but attractively so and totally in keeping with
the personality of this exciting woman. She rummaged around in her closet
for a few moments, returning with a matching lavender suede clutch purse
and an oversized black leather Capezio bag.

"Two purses?" I questioned.

She gave me a quick buss on the lips.

"You're taking me shopping for a dress for tonight, aren't you?" she
inquired bemusedly. "What do you intend for me to do with what I'm wearing
now; throw it out? Forget that, Lover; I adore this outfit. Plus, I think
it looks really sexy on me. Don't you agree?"

At least one part of my anatomy certainly did. She pressed her body
against mine, cupping my angry manhood with one hand. Her silent, knowing
smile spoke volumes. I had to get us out of here before hormones took over
and we had to start from scratch. Makeup essentials and her identification
went into the clutch; her bulky wallet and keys went into the bag. Then,
she flashed me a dazzling smile.

"All set," she chirped. "Let's go. I can't wait."

I'm sure for Dianna, a hot day of shopping meant visiting the little shops
along Clark Street or maybe Century Mall. Her eyes glazed over as we
pulled into the underground lot at Water Tower Place. She affirmed she had
been there before, adored its atrium design, brass and marble ambience,
glass elevators, and seven levels of snob-appeal department stores and
specialty shops, but had never been able to afford much more than looking.
I avowed we would do a whole lot more than that before the afternoon was
over. My black Yves St. Laurent trenchcoat was stored safely away in the
trunk; I wouldn't need it until we returned. I took my companion's arm in
mine and steered her towards the elevator alcove.

Lingerie shopping came first. While Dianna alone might have drawn the
interest of the sales staff, Dianna in the company of a man wearing a
designer suit and tie drew them like flies to honey. My lover allowed the
associates to steer us to the appropriate displays and locate her
preferred styles, sizes and colors. She demurred on their offers of
assistance in the dressing room, avowing her boyfriend was all the help
she needed. Before I could utter a word, she scooped up garments in one
hand, my wrist in the other, and headed for the changing room.

When she said I would be all the help she needed, it was no idle boast. I
was fastening hooks and adjusting straps the entire time. Each time she
tried on a different set, she admired it in the mirror and asked what I
thought. What could I say? She made everything look good. I had originally
anticipated finding something just for that evening, but she found
matching three-piece sets — bra, panties, and garter belt - in Winter
White, Navy, Emerald, Hot Pink, Lilac, Crimson, and Black. She liked them
all so much and they looked so good on her, how could I make her choose
just one?

Of course, my decision was heavily influenced by Dianna rubbing my crotch
suggestively each time she asked my opinion. The sensation of her
ministrations on my satin-and-lace-encased manhood was indescribable. My
cock was so hard, and stayed that way.

"You know," she cooed, "you seem to like me in this corset so much, I just
might have to wear it more often. That, and all those garter belts, means,
I will also need..."

"More stockings?" I inquired, smiling. "I think I can arrange that."

I slipped out of the changing room and located the associate we had been
working with. After a brief interval, I returned to my girlfriend with two
dozen pair of assorted ultra-sheer hosiery. By the time we returned to the
check-out stand, Dianna was wearing a lilac lace underwired push-up bra,
matching bikinis, and Jet Black seamed stockings with French heels under
her outfit. I was sporting a raging hard-on inside my satin panties.

"I'm in a 'red' mood today," she whispered in my ear. "I feel really hot
when I'm with you. Let's find something to match; something scorching."

It took another hour and visits to several high-end retailers to find the
right dress. There were several she liked or I liked. We finally found one
we both liked. It was a dazzling red sequined sleeveless sheath with a
halter neck. The deeply-plunging sweetheart bodice revealed a breathtaking
amount of cleavage. The scooped back just hid the upper edge of her
corset. The hem hugged her thighs tightly, just covering the tops of her
stockings. Dear God, it was exquisite on her!

We spotted the display in the window of a jewelry store. It was a set;
diamond-and-ruby pendant earrings, multi-tiered necklace and multi-strand
bracelet. I looked at her; she, at me. Our shared smile told the tale. It
was my turn to grab her wrist and whisk her inside. The gems were perfect,
exquisite on her. The associate, perceiving a ripe opportunity, withdrew
another box from a drawer beneath the display case and opened it. Within
lay a single-strand diamond-and-ruby bracelet that obviously was meant to
complete the set.

Dianna stared at it quizzically for a moment, then at her other,
un-adorned wrist. I knew immediately what the second span had been
intended for.

"May I?" I inquired of the associate.

"Please," he consented, beaming his delight.

I lifted the delicate strand with both hands, knelt before Dianna's feet,
encircled her trim left ankle and deftly clasped the clasp. She trembled
slightly at the intimacy.

"Oh, Lance," she gushed, "it's perfect — just perfect."

The platinum card was out in a flash and the beaming associate began
tallying the sale. The smile on Dianna's face froze as she watched the
figures add up on the invoice. She grabbed me by my lapels and pulled me
aside.

"They're... real?" she whispered hoarsely. "We can't... I couldn't...."

"So... what," I responded earnestly, "this whole, magical experience
should be fake, just like my sham of a marriage? Dianna, we are going to
do this; if not for you, for me. I'm not expecting you to commit to me for
a lifetime. This whole weekend, starting from when I walked through your
door last night, is shaping up to be exactly that; Magic. When it's over,
I want to be able to look back and say: 'This was real.'"

"But Baby," she protested, "I'm not real. You don't know anything about
me...."

I shushed her with a fingertip to her plush, inviting lips.

"Eyes of the beholder, Baby Girl," I responded softly. "You're real to me.
This moment in time, if only a moment, is real. Let's enjoy it together
and let tomorrow take care of itself."

Her second assault on my ribcage was more impassioned than the first.
Still, she took great care in folding the receipt and insisted it went
safely into my wallet.

The shoes happened by pure serendipity. We were on our way to Mrs. Field's
to buy some Nibblers to tide us over until dinner and saw the exquisite
sandals in the window of a specialty shoe store. They were nothing more
than thin soles and series of narrow, red sequined straps, revealing
rather than concealing the foot and wrapping, then buckling around the
ankle. All of it was perched on pencil-thin five-and-one-half-inch
stiletto heels. Dianna almost ripped my arm out of its socket dragging me
into the shop. There was no question these were the right shoes for the
dress, or that they were ideally suited for Dianna's mesmerizing strut.

My companion was no slouch when it came to makeup. In fact, she could have
gotten a job in Hollywood anytime she chose. Still, this was an afternoon
of pampering, so I had made an appointment for her at the salon next door
in the Ritz Carlton to do her hair, makeup and nails for her. She was
fussy about the right 'look' and insisted on changing into the dress and
heels to achieve the right effect. In honor of the occasion and my
all-too-willing assent, she had the nail technician do a full set in an
ultra-glamour length, ruby-red with gold nail art, and gently curving
downward. Her toenails were done to match. Her street clothes had gone
into her shoulder bag. The jewelry went on, along with a few spritzes of
perfume, and she was done! My already-stunning escort had become an
otherworldly blend of elegance, glamour, and pure carnal desire.

The bewitching brunette insisted on a final 'walk-through' of the mall —
specifically, to show off. We used the enclosed skywalk to return to the
mall, which turned out to be a Godsend. Winter still held its grip on the
Windy City; snow was whipping sideways on the side streets that
intersected Michigan Avenue, as it so often did. I strode determinedly
into the mall, my gorgeous companion in tow, and headed for one final,
impromptu stop.

Don't ever let anyone tell you differently; Silver Fox is stunning on an
attractive brunette. The instant the associate held up the coat, Dianna
began trembling like a leaf in a Nor'easter. She didn't slip into it so
much as the coat enveloped her in its comforting warmth, all the way to
her trim ankles. The glazed look in her eyes was better than Sex; it
lasted longer. She looked down and around, trying to take it all in. When
she lifted the right sleeve, she noted the attached tag and read it. I
steadied her as she shook uncontrollably.

"Baby, you could by a car for this!" she protested.

"Don't be silly," I quipped. "What would a coat do with a car?"

She punched my shoulder for that.

"Besides," I continued, "I already have a car. You don't have one of
these. At least, you didn't until now."

Full-length couturier Silver Fox coat: if you have to ask, you can't
afford it. Look of utter adoration on the face of the recipient:
priceless.

Dianna was torn; whether to wear the coat or drape it over her arm for our
final walk-through. Sheer wretched excess won out. She left it on, open,
and draping slightly off her shoulders to allow a mostly-unhindered view
of what was underneath. Imagine the absolute silence of an empty shopping
mall in the dead of night. Now, picture that same silence on an early
Saturday evening, in the midst of seven hundred gawking shoppers on
multiple levels of an atrium, gaping unabashedly at the vision on your
arm. Okay, it wasn't absolute silence. One could plainly hear the
unmistakable click-click-click of Dianna's heels echoing through the
atrium and an occasional wolf whistle. I can only imagine the exhilaration
she felt at that moment.

There was a polished marble bench against the wall, near the alcove
leading to the public restrooms. My delectable companion placed one
taloned hand on my chest and thrust me back against the wall, right next
to the bench. She spread her fur coat, lifted one sandal-clad foot and
rested it lightly on the bench. She took my right hand in her left and
guided it to her panty-clad snatch. In the meantime, she used her right
hand to massage my own rock-hard, panty-clad bone. She leaned forward,
placing her lips right next to my ear.

"Tell me, Lover," she whispered, "am I the most totally fuckable playtoy
you have ever seen in your life?"

She punctuated her question by darting the tip of her tongue into my ear,
then biting oh-so-gently on my earlobe. The moment, the public venue, the
completely uninhibited display of raw sexual intensity was more than I
could control. My only verbal response was a series of guttural grunts.
The rest of my answer came in a spontaneous flood of jism that filled my
panties. Dianna felt each successive jet with her fingertips. She smiled
slyly and kissed me lightly on the lips.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she smirked. "Now, let's get you into the
bathroom and cleaned up before you stain your suit."

My escort grabbed me by the lapels and unceremoniously dragged me into one
of the two restrooms. The regular stalls were too small to suit her, so
she pulled me into the spacious Handicapped stall at the end of the row
and slammed the latch closed.

"Strip," she commanded, "and hand me your panties."

I took off my shoes, pants and the soiled panties, handing the latter to
her.

"All of it," she barked authoritatively

I hastened to comply, stripping out of my socks, suit coat, shirt, and
T-shirt.

"That's better," she purred smugly.

Dianna pushed me down onto the toilet seat, then straddled my lap. She
held my soiled panties up over our heads, watching the cum slowly settle
towards the edge. The folds of toilet tissue had been no match for the
deluge of creamy spunk from my cock. She shifted her gaze to meet mine.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," she smirked, "that is one very large load. These panties
were really expensive; I would hate to just throw them out. We can put
them in one of our plastic bags and take them home, but not like this.
They would ruin whatever else was in the bag. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have
thought twice about sucking you off and none of this would have happened.
But you just spent a really obscene amount of money to get me looking like
this. It would be a shame to ruin it before you even take me out and show
me off. What are we to do?"

She glanced again at the panties, then at me. Then, she pressed them into
my face, smiling. I silently lapped up, then sucked my cum from within the
panties I had been wearing only moments before. The flavor was slightly
more bitter than Dianna's cum, but not altogether unpleasant. She scooped
up as much of the cum on my cock and in my pubic hair as she could, then
made me lick her hand clean. Then, she leaned over and kissed me deeply,
sharing the aftermath of this most intense experience with me.

"Mmmm, that was wonderful," she intoned melodically. "You are so kinky."

She blotted up the remnants with toilet paper, then dropped it into the
bowl between our thighs.

"That will do for now. But we still have to find you some underwear. What
am I talking about? We have a whole bag of underwear right here!"

She rummaged through one of the bags at her feet for a moment. With a
broad smile, she snatched up the lilac panties she had only recently been
wearing.

"Here we are!" she pronounced triumphantly. Let's see these on you."

Dianna rose gracefully from my lap, helped me step into the new panties,
then slid them up my thighs. She gently tucked my private parts down and
back, added a few folds of toilet tissue, then nestled the panties snugly
on my hips.

"There, good as new!" she exclaimed.

Then, she just looked at me for a moment, lost in thought.

"You know, Baby," she pronounced, smiling mischievously. "I was thinking;
you got me all dressed up for you. Now, I want you to dress up a little
for me. Fair is fair."

"Define 'dress up a little'," I replied.

She traced one fingernail lazily down my naked chest.

"I was just thinking it would be a shame to wear just the panties when it
is part of a complete set," she responded. "This is something I would
really like to share with you."

"Complete set?" I gulped. "You mean...."

Dianna nodded her head. Then, she reached into the bag, withdrew the
matching lilac lace bra and dangled it before my eyes with one finger.

"Aren't I missing something really important?" I asked bemusedly.
"Actually, two things?"

"Indulge me, Sweetie," she responded. "Please?"

Before I had a chance to answer, she spun me around, placed the bra around
my chest, hooked the closure in back, slipped the straps over my
shoulders, then turned me to face her once more. I looked down at my flat
chest and the large, empty bra cups.

"It loses something in the translation," I observed dryly.

"I can fix that," she responded brightly.

She rummaged through her shoulder bag for a moment, the fished out a pair
of lifelike silicone breast forms.

"You carry those around with you in case of emergencies?" I asked
sarcastically.

She shrugged her shoulders just a little.

"Ya never know," she smirked. "I wore these before I got my own titties.
Now..."

"Dianna, I don't think I can do this," I interrupted warily. "I mean, the
lingerie is one thing, but this...."

She kissed me again softly.

"Do it for me, Lover," she intoned breathily. "It won't really show under
your suit, and thinking of you all night, all dressed up for me and me
alone is gonna make me so hot."

Just let go....

"Well," I replied cautiously, "if this is what you really want..."

She hugged me tightly, then inserted the oversized prosthetics in my bra
cups. They fit snugly against my chest wall and filled out the voluminous
bra cups perfectly.

"Oh, thank you Sweetie! You are the sexiest man I have ever met. Now,
let's get the garter belt on you."

In a flash, the matching garter belt was fastened around my trim waist.
The empty garter tabs flopped distractingly against my thighs. I gazed at
my charming escort with obvious confusion written all over my face. That
mischievous smile on her lips spoke volumes.

"Oh, that looks fabulous!" she murmured appreciatively. "I can't wait to
see a pair of stockings on those long, shapely legs of yours."

Clothes or no clothes, I think most guys would have been running for the
exit by that point. I guess I wasn't most guys. This was merely the latest
in an endless stream of erotic experiences with the most bewitching woman
I had ever met.

Dianna selected a pair of black seamed stockings like hers, then taught me
how to bunch each one up into a doughnut, slip it over my foot and roll it
carefully up my leg. She smoothed them into position with the palms of her
hands, showing me how to align the seams arrow-straight. Dianna snaked the
garters through my panties, then showed me how to attach my stocking tops
to the four garter tabs. Then, she stepped back to admire her handiwork.

"Oh, God, that is so hot! You are going to drive me to distraction all
night. Now, hurry up and get your suit on. I'm famished!"

While I was dressing, Dianna scooped up my soiled panties and rinsed them
out in the sink. Returning to the stall, she stuffed them into the plastic
pouch in which the stockings had been packed, resealed the tape, and
dropped them into the shopping bag. Once I was together, she adjusted my
tie, taking time to gently caress my thrusting new tits through my suit
coat. She kissed me lightly on the lips, winked, then led me out of the
stall. She paused at the sink to wash her hands, then freshen her
lipstick. She bent over the countertop, ostensibly to get a better view of
her task in the mirror. I knew full well it was a calculated move for my
benefit. Even through the heavy fur coat, I could visualize her long,
shapely, stocking-clad legs and broad, firm, shapely bottom. I stepped up
to her, pressed my groin against that tempting target, and massaged her
bottom with both hands.

At that moment, a pair of women entered the restroom. While the door was
open, I noticed the torso-in-a-skirt symbol on the door and realized
Dianna had dragged me into the Ladies restroom. I didn't think they could
see my lilac lingerie and stockings under my suit; at least, I hoped they
couldn't. Still, their looks of scorn for my invasion of their sanctum
sanctorum were obvious. Their appraisal of the fetching vamp at the
vanity, allowing herself to be pawed so shamelessly, was no better. Dianna
glanced at me in the mirror and winked in obvious pleasure. She tucked her
lipstick back in her purse, turned, beamed a dazzling smile, and slipped
her arm through mine.

"I think we're done here, Sweetheart," she cooed. "We will leave these
ladies to their business — and wishing they were me right now, with a
lover like you."

We made our way to the parking lot. Dianna strutted regally, like a queen
on the arm of her king. I didn't want to dwell on the irony of that
comparison, nor the fact that my lingerie and bouncing breasts made me
feel anything by kingly. The bags went into the trunk and out came my
trenchcoat. I opened the passenger door of the silver E500 for her. She
slid appreciatively into the seat, looking up at me with a smile that
spoke volumes. After I seated myself, she snuggled up next to me and
gently massaged the back of my neck with her crimson talons, sending
shivers down my spine.

As we made our way up the Avenue through the early-evening traffic, she
furrowed her brow in thought.

"Sugar," she intoned in a seductive tone. "How much time do we have before
our reservation?"

"A couple of hours. Why?"

Her manual ministrations switched from my neck to my inner thigh. I could
almost see the wheels turning in that devious little mind.

"You have indulged me so shamelessly already," she began. "Would you grant
me one more request?"

"I can't imagine not giving you anything you asked for," I responded.

She squeezed my thigh and smiled coyly at that.

"I may remind you of those words at a later time," she trilled. "It's just
that... well, this whole outfit is so perfect, from the skin out — except
for one little detail."

"What would that be, Baby?" I inquired.

"I know this sounds petty," she continued, "but it really deserves a red
corset, not a black one. I know, I know; no one will see it. But you and I
will know, and that you made me absolutely perfect for you, on this most
perfect of evenings."

"It sounds wonderful," I agreed, "but where can we find one this late on a
Saturday?"

"I know just the place," she exclaimed. "He's a specialty custom
corsetiere on the North Side. I get all my corsets from him. In fact, I'm
his favorite model when he does shows. If we can call him, I'm certain he
will be more than happy to see us."

For sheer eroticism, this was something I couldn't pass up. I lent her my
cell phone and she dialed the number from memory. She spoke animatedly to
the person on the other end for a few minutes, then terminated the call
with a smug smile on her lips.

"He will be waiting for us, just as I promised," she pronounced. "I'll
give you directions."

It took a while; the address was a three-flat brownstone in Rogers Park.
The wiry, bespectacled man with the mustache and goatee hugged Dianna
warmly. She introduced me to her friend Paul, who led us to his basement
workshop/showroom.

"You look more ravishing than ever," Paul extolled. "When you described
what you were wearing, I remembered I had something that would be perfect.
You remember; you modeled it for me in the last show."

Dianna's eyes grew as big as saucers.

"It's still here?" she gasped. "I had tried so hard to put it out of my
mind. I loved it! It almost killed me when you told me someone bought it
right off my back."

"The woman who bid for it changed her mind," he replied. "It's been
sitting here for months, just waiting for someone who could do it justice.
To be honest, I always thought you were the one. Ah, here it is...."

'It' was a heavily-boned, butter-soft, lipstick-red calfskin corset with
underwired demi cups. I helped my companion out of her coat, then unzipped
her dress and carefully removed it. Paul took over, helping her remove her
bra, corset and panties, then helped her into the new corset with
exquisite care. I felt no jealousy at his intimate contact; the erotic
appeal of the process was a joy to behold. Her stockings were affixed to
the eight garter tabs. Then, he helped her into the matching thong which
laced at the hips. Finally, he turned her to face me for my approval. She
looked absolutely ravishing in corset, stockings and heels. Her full
breasts were gloriously thrust up and out by the diminutive shelf cups.
Her eyes met mine with tentative hope.

"Please, Sweetheart?" she beseeched quietly. "I know it's a lot, but it
looks so good on me and I couldn't bear to walk away from it a second
time...."

"You had me as soon as I saw it on you," I avowed.

I handed my credit card to Paul.

"Don't bother to wrap it," I said with a wink. "I think she'll wear it."

He left the room to call in the authorization and fill out the sales slip.

Dianna was in my arms in a flash, smothering me with kisses.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet Baby," she gushed. "You are the best! How am I ever
going to...."

She glanced down at the discarded black satin corset, now lying on the
work bench next to us, then looked around in vain. Of course, we had left
her Capezio bag, plus all the shopping bags, in the trunk of the Mercedes.
Then she glanced up at me, a devilish glint in her eyes.

"Come here, you," she growled, as she whipped off my suit coat. In a
flash, she had me down to lingerie and stockings again. Off came the
garter belt and on went the corset before I could utter a peep. Perhaps I
was just too stunned.

"Here, let me help with that," came the male voice behind me. "After all,
I made that for her. I take pride in my work — and those who wear it
well."

I blushed bright crimson at Paul's discovery of me in nothing but lingerie
and thrusting 'breasts'. He seemed completely nonplussed about it, taking
over for my girlfriend and tightening the laces.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," he pronounced reassuringly. "I have
customers of both genders..."

He glanced and Dianna appreciatively and winked.

"... and delightfully in-between. As it happens, you will be much more
attractive in this than most of my male patrons. Dianna certainly knows
how to pick her men."

I blushed again, this time in gratitude.

"Normally," Paul continued, "I would only cinch a first-timer down a
couple of inches. You are already so trim, in such good shape and
obviously take care of yourself, I think we'll try going all the way
down."

I gasped in more than surprise as he cinched off the laces with a final
tug, then tucked them in as he had done with Dianna. It felt like a vise
had closed around my torso, preventing me from drawing a full breath. The
corsetiere tucked the garters through my panties, re-attached them to my
stocking tops, the stood back, next to Dianna, to appraise me with a
critical stare. He stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"You know," he speculated out loud, "you wear it very well. It's a real
shame to hide a figure like that under a suit — at least, a men's suit.
With a little work and some figure-training, you could be a model in my
next show with Dianna."

I was about to stammer out an embarrassed refusal when Dianna leapt to my
side and snaked her arm through mine.

"We would adore that, wouldn't we, Lisa?" she exclaimed, winking at me. "I
approached her on the subject in the car on the way over here tonight. She
is just as excited as I am at the prospect and can't wait to begin her
training. I know what a generous discount you give to your models —
especially the ones who have the customers lining up at the end of the
show, credit cards in hand. A girl can never get too much of a good thing
— isn't that right, Sweetheart?"

I was about to exclaim no way when the subtle pressure of Dianna's
pencil-thin stiletto heel on my instep prompted me to alter my response.

"It sounds... heavenly," I responded carefully.

She subtly squeezed my hand in silent appreciation.

"We're doing our next show at the Hilton, in conjunction with the Mr. Gay
Leather pageant," Paul explained. "That's Memorial Day weekend. Dianna, do
you think you can have her ready by then?"

"No problem," my lover avowed. "You know I have been Drag Mother for a
half-dozen girls working at Ringers. Some of them were real 'rocks' when
they began. Compared to them, my Lisa will be a piece of cake."

I signed the charge slip and receipt, noting the amount with casual
interest. Only six hundred fifty dollars, plus tax? I had spent many times
that on the rest of her wardrobe, including that fabulous coat. She was
worth every penny, and then some. With Paul's expert assistance, we
re-dressed each other. Dianna's newly-enhanced bustline enticingly
overflowed the dress's delecoutage. My own thrusting titties tented the
front of my suit coat more than a little. I had to cinch my belt all the
way to the last notch. Even then, my pants were loose at the waist and
tight at the hips and tush. Paul usurped my prerogative, helping Dianna
into her sumptuous fur. Curiously, I was not the least bit offended by the
unintended slight. It just seemed natural for a gentleman to help a lady
with her coat. A gentleman? Wait a second....

"Let's go to dinner, Lover," Dianna interrupted. "My tummy is screaming
Bloody Murder — and I'm suddenly in the mood for a big piece of meat."

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

Lance and Dianna have their dream dinner. A chance encounter sets Dianna straight on the true nature of things - and sets Lance on a course that will change his life.

Story:

Betrayed Ch. 03
by Cherysse St. Claire  ©

Chapter 3: The Players Take The Field

There are, perhaps, a half-dozen places in the city to get a really good
"big piece of meat" — at least, of the gastronomic variety. Morton's on
North State Street is one of those, and a great place to see and be seen
by everyone who is anyone. We valet-ed the Mercedes, then made our way
inside. There was a moment at the coat check when I thought I would need a
crowbar to pry the fur from Dianna's grasp. I quietly reassured her: a) it
was only for a little while, b) wearing it into the dining area was just
too ostentatious, even for us, and c) it would be there, waiting for her,
upon our departure. She grudgingly assented, like a petulant child.

The hostess checked the reservation list for our name, then excused
herself to check on the availability of our table. After she left, I
leaned over and whispered into Dianna's ear.

"Lisa?" I asked pensively.

Her eyes danced.

"Lisa Layne, to be precise," she returned. I think it's absolutely perfect
for you."

I thought back about all that had transpired in such a short time; the
sex, the lingerie, the breasts, the corseting, the stockings. Now, she had
just committed me to model with her, totally en femme, in front of an
audience.

"Dianna, I don't know if I can...."

She turned fully to face me, pressed her body against mine and kissed my
lips delicately. Meanwhile, hidden from view between our bodies, her hand
massaged my raging hard-on.

"Just tell me to stop and I will," she murmured, fixing my gaze with her
own.

I wasn't certain if she meant stop massaging my cock, stop feminizing me,
or stop seeing me altogether. Was there a difference to her? What had I
gotten myself into? When you got right down to it, was it really all that
bad — or just... different? Who did it actually hurt? My marriage was a
shambles and Susan, my once-in-a-lifetime love, was lost. Then, lightning
had struck twice. This provocative, kinky woman promised a new, different,
and utterly thrilling kind of relationship. Had I really, truly hated any
part of it until now? Was I so willing to throw Dianna away, too?

"I can't," I replied. "I won't."

After I thought about it a moment longer, I continued with more resolve.

"I don't want to."

"You don't want to what, Lover?" she questioned softly.

Just let go....

"I don't want to... stop."

She smiled triumphantly and squeezed my aching cock in appreciation.

"As you wish, My Sweet," she purred.

The patrons and staff at Morton's are no strangers to Grand Entrances.
Still, Dianna turned an entire roomful of heads as we were seated for
dinner. The subdued overhead lighting still managed to ignite her sequined
torso in a subtle flash of lights. Every male eye was riveted to her
exaggerated, undulating, feline strut. She steadfastly avowed that, while
dates had taken her out to dinner many times before, she had never been to
this place, nor caused this much of a reaction before. I found that hard
to believe, coming from a woman as drop-dead gorgeous as my companion.
Still, I couldn't begin to describe how proud I was to have the fabulous
brunette by my side and told her so.

"There you go again, Baby," she murmured, "pushing all the right buttons.
A girl could get used to this."

"I'm counting on it," I smirked, as I seated her, then took my own chair.

She feigned a pique of indignation.

"Do you think you can buy my affections so easily?" she probed pointedly.

I shrugged my shoulders, smiled good-naturedly, and held up both hands,
palms up, in a classic Who, me? gesture. She smiled, winked, then squeezed
one hand in hers.

"Well, it's working," she continued. "Don't stop. I enjoy being pampered
in the manner to which I hope to become accustomed. Seriously, there are
no words to express what this day has meant to me. No one has ever, ever
indulged me this lavishly, whatever their motive. This goes way beyond
Pretty Woman."

"You don't have a fire escape," I pointed out, "and I haven't whisked you
away in a limo yet."

"No?" She countered. "What do you call that little runabout we have been
tooling around in all day? Should I expect to see a 'My other car is a
Gulfstream V' bumper sticker in an attempt to really impress me?"

"Hmmm," I mulled. "Well, if that's what it takes...."

Dianna affected a glare of pure venom, then smiled and took my hand in
both of hers.

"Stop that!" she asserted. "I meant what I said; the lingerie, corset,
dress, heels, jewels, salon, and that fabulous fur... I adore every
stitch, strand, and pelt — and adore you for treating me like a goddess."

"I'm glad you are enjoying it," I asserted. "You wear it all so well."

Under the table, she casually stroked the inside of my leg with her
sandal-clad foot.

"Speaking of which," she smirked, "I am going quietly crazy thinking of
you sitting there in lingerie, corset, and stockings — just for me. Your
big, beautiful titties thrust out so alluringly."

That embarrassed me. I envisioned every other diner in the room undressing
me with their eyes, reveling in my lurid secret. Dianna read my thoughts.
She smiled, shook her head imperceptively, and squeezed my hand
reassuringly.

"No, they can't see them," she confided, "although I would really like
them to. Even without makeup and a dress, you are stunning. I have this
irresistible urge to reach across the table, unbutton your coat, then
unbutton the top three buttons of your blouse, spread the lapels wide, and
show off your deep, luscious cleavage. I want the whole, wide world to
know you are my little bimbo, and that you are doing all this for me."

"Do you really mean that?" I questioned. "I mean, we have known each other
such a short time...."

"A week, a month, a lifetime," she interjected, "it makes no difference.
Lisa — and I will call you that from now on — I have been with dozens,
hundreds of men. None of them, no matter how important, how wealthy, how
big, do to me, for me, what you do. When it's right, it's right; you just
know it. How do you feel?"

"It's... I don't know what to say," I expressed. This is all so new, so...
vastly different than anything I have ever experienced before. I should
be... ashamed, angry, something."

Dianna surreptitiously placed one hand in my lap and massaged my inner
thigh.

"Uh-huh," she cooed. "Then why is your cock so hard, it is threatening to
rip right through your pants?"

I couldn't argue with that.

"That's just it," I replied, searching for the right words. "It is so
daring, wicked, depraved, and... well, scary. As I said, I couldn't get
you out of my mind all week. Since last night, I have been on an
incredible, non-stop thrill ride. All this emotion, yet I hardly know
anything about you. I feel like I want to... inhale everything I possibly
can, to learn what makes you, you. I mean... who were you, before all
this?"

I instantly regretted my words. Her eyes flashed in anger.

"What difference does that make?" she hissed. "I am not that person
anymore. I never really was. I have spent my entire life wishing,
dreaming, scheming, then busting my butt to become who you see before you.
This is who I am, who I have always been in my heart. If there is anything
you don't like about me, Sugar, get out now. I have done all the changing
I am going to do."

It was time to do industrial-strength damage control. I surreptitiously
reached under the tablecloth, up her skirt, found her engorged clit inside
the calfskin thong, and massaged it gently. As I had hoped, the sensuous
hide, rubbing against her sensitive parts, had an erotic effect. Her
breath caught in her throat and her eyes glazed over.

"I'm deeply sorry, Honey," I apologized. "I meant no disrespect. I feel
like I've known you forever, but it's been barely more than a week. I am
just getting out of a bad relationship. I didn't expect to have everything
I have ever wanted — things I didn't even know I wanted — dropped in my
lap so soon. I am desperately afraid the clock is going to strike Midnight
and I will turn back into a pumpkin."

Dianna considered my words for a moment. Perhaps it was the words
themselves, or my tone of voice. Perhaps it was the earnest look in my
eyes.
Whatever the clue, her visage softened. Her whole body relaxed, allowing
my ministrations to have the desired effect.

"I'm sorry, too," she intoned. "I feel exactly the same way. I am just so
used to tricks throwing my past in my face, as though I was something less
than human. I didn't expect you to be the person you are, either.
Sometimes we just get lucky. Now that we have — both of us — I don't ever
want to be without you again."

I felt a huge weight lift from my shoulders. I smiled and squeezed her
hand.

"I just don't see what you see in me," I lamented, "compared to the other
guys you have known."

"Don't worry," Dianna mused, "you will."

"Would you really want me as 'Lisa'?" I inquired.

She squeezed my hand back authoritatively.

"As far as I'm concerned," my companion avowed, "you already are, just as
I have always been the 'me' you see before you. Paul saw that in you, too,
and he is a great judge of femininity - for a man. Kitty has seen to that.
They have a very kinky relationship — just like us. The task before us is
to help the conscious 'you' catch up with the sub-conscious 'you' — that
is, if you are willing."

"How far will we go with this?" I asked nervously.

My lover merely shrugged her shoulders a little and smiled coyly.

"Who knows?" she observed. "I have transformed boys into girls before —
and enjoyed the results along the way. Then, I was doing it to help them
attain their own goals for femininity, just as I had. This is the first
time I have had an emotional stake in the process. There are certain
things you will need to do and learn if you want to model with me. I
already know what to do about that. As for the rest... I honestly don't
know yet how much I — we — will want to do. We will just have to make up
the rules as we go."

Her foot casually stroked my stocking-clad leg under the table in
emphasis.

"I do know," my lover stated with authority, "we have come a long way in a
very short time."

"But what if we go so far that my cock, well...."

I didn't know how to continue that line of thought in words. It was so
extreme. Yet, I knew it was at least a possibility. Dianna's eyes
twinkled.

"Would you like that?" She inquired playfully. "Would you like to be my
soft, submissive little sissy? I can make it happen. I think that would be
sooooooo exciting...."

"No, no, no," I gushed - a little too quickly. "I was just asking 'what
if?' I know I can please you without it, but... well, wouldn't you miss
having a cock fill you?"

My companion turned serious and took a deep breath.

"Listen to me very carefully, Lisa," she intoned. "I don't want there to
be any mistake or misunderstanding between us. If I want cock, I will have
cock. That... won't... change. I am what I am and I will do what I do.
That won't change, either. Cock doesn't define my personal relationships;
it is merely my business. As it happens, it is also a need, like eating
sleeping, and breathing. I can satisfy my needs anywhere. You satisfy my
wants, my desires.

"Your 'equipment', or possible future lack thereof, is inconsequential.
You have already proven beyond doubt you can satisfy me in ways no cock
ever could or ever will. In turn, we have proven I can satisfy your
desires quite nicely. Do not get stuck on stupid about me having sex with
men. They are no threat to you, to us. I may not always be in a position
to tell you about it beforehand. If I'm dating, or see a guy who makes me
ooze, I will have him; that's what I do. I promise I will tell you about
it later — not because I want you to feel jealous or hurt, but because I
want you to be as excited, as turned on by it as I am."

Something she had just said suddenly struck home: Do not get stuck on
stupid about me having sex with men. She hadn't said 'other men', meaning
she no longer pictured me as one — if she ever had. This was all happening
so fast....

"You won't have to date if you are with me," I countered, suddenly feeling
insecure.

"Baby, I don't have to date now," she retorted. "That is the 'man' in you
talking. I could have accepted the offer of any one of a hundred Sugar
Daddies who all wanted me as their 'kept woman'. Every one of them was as
insecure of me as you apparently still are. I will help you get over that.
Right now, you have to trust that this — you — are what I want."

Dinner was exquisite, although I didn't eat much of it. Forget pills,
points, carb-counting and even gastric by-pass. If you really want to lose
weight, try strict corseting. I couldn't hold a tenth of what I normally
eat before I felt sated. The company was sublime, of course. All my
attention was on the ravishing brunette before me, not my plate. All I
could think of was that spectacular body in the firm embrace of the even
more spectacular corset. She was so lush, ripe, nubile, and wanted only
me. Beneath my now-ill-fitting suit, I had been transformed into something
equally lush, ripe, and nubile for her and her alone. Every touch,
gesture, longing gaze punctuated those simple truths.

The look of sheer bliss on Dianna's face as she slipped her arms into the
comforting embrace of her fur coat was a genuine 'Kodak moment'. I bundled
the coat around her, hooked the two inner hook closures, then cinched the
belt. I had not seen such a look of sheer contentment and utter love in a
good, long time. She slipped her arm through mine.

"Ready?" I asked.

"More than words can ever express," she replied. "I need you now!"

We were standing at the valet station, waiting for the valet to bring the
car around. Just then, a brand-new Corvette Z06 pulled up in front of us.
One valet hurried around the front end to stand by the door as it popped
open. The driver exited the coupe and stood to his full height, dwarfing
both Dianna and myself. When he turned, neither of us had any doubt of his
identity. It was Jeff Spencer. The valet captain opened the passenger door
and held his hand out to help the occupant to her feet. Of course, it was
Susan.

The four of us stood still, silently staring. Jeff saw Dianna right away,
then glanced at me. His next glance was at the back of Susan's head. Even
I could read the trace of apprehension in his eyes. Susan's eyes locked on
mine immediately, then shifted to my companion. She took it all in; the
looks, hair, makeup, crimson talons, jewels, and that exquisite Silver Fox
coat. Her jaw clenched so tightly, I could hear her teeth grinding
together. Her pupils contracted to pinpoints. Pure, intense hate radiated
from every pore. Dianna missed none of it. Instinctively, she pulled me
closer to her — marking her territory. Her demeanor was pure Attitude, as
only a T-girl can do.

"Get out of my face, Bitch," she hissed. "You can have your bionic pony
boy. This one is all mine."

"Like Hell he is!" Susan spat furiously.

At that moment, the Benz pulled up behind the 'Vette. I wordlessly pivoted
on my heel, turning my back on my cheating spouse, and led Dianna to the
passenger side.

"Lance! Lance! Turn around when I am speaking to you, you bastard!"

That was all I needed to hear. She cheated on me and was calling me names,
giving me attitude? Fuck that! I tipped the valet, slipped behind the
wheel, slammed the door and pulled out, completely dissing the cunt and
her stupefied stallion. After seeing the expression on his face, I doubted
sincerely Jeff would tell Susan anything probative about Dianna. How could
he, without giving himself away?

Dianna sat trembling; whether from fear or rage, I couldn't tell. We were
silent until we crossed Division.

"Let me guess," Dianna threw out into the air. "That was..."

"...my soon-to-be-ex," I finished. "I moved out Monday and filed the next
day. Now, I won't have the slightest hesitation to end it altogether."

"She cheated on you with... Jeff Spencer," my lover stated carefully.

"Yes," I confirmed.

"How long?" she inquired.

"I'm not sure," I replied. "A few months, at least; perhaps longer. I had
my suspicions, but found out for certain ten days ago."

"Before you met me," Dianna emphasized.

"Before I met you," I concurred.

"But you left her after we were together."

"Yes."

"Did you leave her because of me?"

"I left her because of her. You were the catalyst."

"Explain."

"For eight years, my sun rose and set on my wife. She was my world; I
never considered another woman. When I found out what she was doing behind
my back, I was crushed. I had to just get out, get away. I had heard about
Ringers through a third party. I can't explain why I showed up Friday
night; I just did. I can't explain where I found the nerve to approach
you; I just did. No one was more surprised than me we ended up back at
your place. I honestly did not intend to have sex with you or anyone else
that night.

"When I left your apartment, I felt hurt, humiliated, used, just as Susan
had done. I didn't go home at all last weekend. I couldn't face anyone.
But the damnedest thing happened. I could not get you out of my mind. You
haunted my dreams and my waking thoughts. I know; it's crazy. I don't want
to come across as some kind of obsessed stalker, either. The best way I
can put it is this: you liberated me from my emotional dependency on
Susan. You made me realize I didn't have to stay in an abusive
relationship, that I could have feelings for someone else — and she could
have feelings for me."

"You could have feelings — for someone you perceived to have abused you,"
she rebutted. "Isn't that what they call Masochism?"

"My perception was based on the values of the culture in which I live.
Dianna, I don't want to sound facetious, but you are unlike any woman I
have ever known before. Expressing my desire for you in a physical sense,
and accepting yours for me, requires an adjustment for me. That is all it
is; just an adjustment. For you, what we did together — what we did again
last night — is no different than what lovers of any gender have been
doing as long as there have been lovers. This is all new to me; it took me
until last night to figure it out. That is why I surrendered to you again.
Once I was able to let go of my knee-jerk hetero preconceptions, I
realized that you were expressing your love for me, giving me pleasure,
just as I had pleasured you. That you came with me made it so much
sweeter."

"Thank you," Dianna expressed quietly. "That was beautifully put. You
know, you could have been right the first time. I could just be abusing
you."

"I had a choice to make," I observed. "I chose to believe otherwise. I
will live with the consequences."

"Can you?" She asked pointedly. "There will certainly be consequences of
loving me. We have already spoken of them. You know what I like. You know
what I am like. We — I — need to be clear on this before we go any
further. Can you be in a relationship with me, knowing what it might...
probably will be like?"

I shrugged my shoulders a little in the darkness. I don't know if she even
saw the gesture.

"I really don't know. There are no guarantees for any relationship
anymore. No one knows that better than me."

The exquisite brunette was silent for a few minutes, digesting this new
data. I was afraid she was going to draw the connection between Jeff and
herself and ask for more detail about why I had shown up at Ringers in the
first place. I wasn't ready to deal with that yet. Fortunately, she did
not voice the words.

"It doesn't appear she is over you yet," my lover postulated.

For the first time, I detected a note of uncertainty in her voice. I
abruptly pulled over to the curb and slammed on the brakes. In a fit of
bravura unlike anything I had been feeling for over a week, I grabbed
Dianna's arms and turned her to face me.

"I am over her," I avowed with determination. "Tonight confirmed that. She
and I had been together since Senior year in high school. I was never,
ever unfaithful to her. She repaid my fidelity by shacking up with the
boyfriend she dumped for me. She told me she wanted to be with me because
I was a 'winner' and he wasn't. I guess she decided he was the bigger
winner after all."

"He's big, all right," Dianna agreed. "I don't necessarily call him a
'winner', though."

My lover held me tightly, resting her head against my chest. My faux
titties pressed into the side of her head. She was quiet again, organizing
her thoughts.

"I won't be faithful to you, either," she stated quietly. "I told you that
already."

I anticipated that, and was ready.

"You are better than faithful," I countered. "You have been honest with me
up front. I can now deal with your sexual appetites because we talked it
over, explained our feelings for each other, and I can cope with it. They
call it 'informed consent'. Susan wasn't honest with me, probably hasn't
been from the start. I know she's fucking Jeff Spencer. Who knows how many
there have been before him I don't know about? There is no way to know,
and now and I don't care to. It's over. I have the better woman right
here."

I felt her body swell at the sound of those words; hopefully, with pride.
She sat upright and looked me in the eyes resolutely.

"You would choose me over an exquisite GG like that?" my lover queried.
"Regardless of what you think she's done? I'm a ho' - with a dick instead
of a pussy. What if she feels the same way about cock I do? What if she is
still madly in love with you, but just didn't say the words?"

"There is no 'think' about it," I avowed. "I have seen the proof with my
own eyes. If she is still madly in love with me but needed outside cock,
why didn't she say the words? You did. Words count, Dianna. We are not
mind-readers. Sometimes, words are all we have to know what someone is
truly feeling. If she didn't say the words, she couldn't have given much
consideration to my feelings. That isn't love; that is pure, selfish
hedonism. Would I choose you over her? I already have. Funny; until
tonight, I never realized just how ugly she really is — where it matters
most."

Dianna's eyes were brimming with tears.

"So, you really believe I have been honest with you, unlike... Susan, was
it?"

"Yes, it is 'Susan' and yes, I believe you."

She turned away from me to stare out the passenger window. Perhaps she
didn't want me to see her cry.

"I hope you will remember that," she offered in a small voice. "Turn
right."

"But home is left," I corrected.

"We're not going home yet," she asserted. "Turn right."

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

Lance and Dianna return to Club Ringers - and 'Lisa Layne' is born.

Story:

Betrayed Ch. 04
by Cherysse St. Claire  ©

Chapter 4: Let The Games Begin

I really wasn't surprised when Dianna directed me into the parking lot at
Ringers. It was only a few blocks across town from my new home; a
five-minute drive, if the traffic wasn't killing at the time. Consciously,
it had not been a factor in my decision to take the new place.
Sub-consciously... well, who knows?

"Pop the trunk," she instructed as I shifted into Park.

I complied. She didn't wait for me to get her door. She slid out, stepped
to the rear of the car, fished her Capezio bag out of the trunk, then
closed the lid with a precise click. I guessed she had had experience with
precision-engineered automobiles before. Most people would have slammed
the trunk lid; so necessary with American cars. It occurred to me Dianna
was the type of girl who attracted a more affluent clientele. She had said
she had had her pick of a large number of 'Sugar Daddies' — and turned
them all down. I felt blessed.

She shouldered the bag and took my arm in hers.

"Let's go, Sweetie," she chirped brightly.

"Where to?" I responded coyly.

"Your future awaits," she replied, "but we mustn't keep it waiting another
minute."

We strolled down the sidewalk, my arm linked through hers, past the usual
long line for the second show. The doorman recognized her immediately,
greeted her, and waved us through, much to the muttered annoyance of the
lost souls waiting in line. They were not amused that the "rich bitch and
her husband" were given preferential treatment. "Talent coming through,"
was all the hired muscle said to placate the throng, who were anything but
as we were admitted. We picked our way from the door to the other end of
the room, stopping frequently to greet this bartender, that performer, or
another 'working girl' or 'date'. Everyone knew Dianna by name — another
source of pride on my part, mixed with a touch of awe.

She guided me directly into the performer's dressing room without so much
as a knock on the door. Eight or ten gorgeous 'girls' were in various
stages of dress, from fully costumed to not at all. Dianna paid no mind to
their modesty — or complete lack thereof — any more than they seemed to
mind my presence. Of course, everyone had to drool over my lover's dress,
shoes, jewelry, and especially her fabulous fur coat. They guessed the
source of her newfound beneficence and turned to me appreciatively.

"He's cute," one girl opined, giving me an appreciative once-over. "Sharp
dresser, too, although it doesn't seem to fit him very well. What's his
name, Honey?"

"His name is Taken," my sweetheart replied cattily.

"Is he your latest husband, Dianna?"

"Not for long, Sugar," Dianna responded sweetly. "Girls, meet Lisa Layne.
She is about to become my latest wife. Ladies, a little help, please."

The shrieks and catcalls came fast and furiously. Fully a half-dozen pairs
of hands whisked my coat, shirt, tie, shoes, and pants off in the blink of
an eye, leaving me in my lingerie, standing in the middle of a hen party.

"Not bad, Dianna," another girl clucked. "No wonder the suit didn't fit.
You've already got her in drag. She's got some shape to her."

The girl squeezed one of my fake boobies playfully.

"Oh yeah, she's gonna be a cutie! How do you do it? If you can bottle it,
we'll all be rich!"

"In your dreams, Chantal," Dianna countered with a grin. "I just know how
to pick 'em. I don't chase everything and anything in pants — like some
people I know."

That drew another raucous round of catcalls.

"Now, help me get her dressed and out front," my lover bid them. "We have
to start teaching her the ropes."

"Wait a minute!" I exclaimed.

Dianna turned to me, smiling.

"Wait what, Sweetheart?" she trilled.

"Don't I get to say something about this?"

The seductive siren wrapped her arms around my neck and nuzzled my nose
with hers.

"But Baby, you already did," she pouted. "You told me you didn't want to
stop. You haven't changed your mind already, have you? I would be so
disappointed."

"It's just... I mean..."

Open mouth, insert foot, Bud. It's a little too late to claim you didn't
think she was serious. This isn't the sort of thing Dianna would kid
about, anyway.

"... I would be embarrassed to death if someone recognized me," I
squeaked.

My lover just shook her head back and forth. Her smile was not to be
denied; nor was her gentle kiss on my lips.

"You are so silly!" she proclaimed. "I doubt that would be a problem here,
but your wish is my command. We will just have to make sure no one can.
Who would know more about that than us?"

"What is she gonna wear, Dianna?"

My sweetheart grinned and reached into her shoulder bag.

"This little number right here," she crowed, whipping out her semi-sheer
blouse, suede suit and mules. "She loved it on me this afternoon. Now,
let's see how it looks on her!"

In less time than it took to describe it, I was in Dianna's outfit from
earlier that day. It might not have looked quite as good on me as it had
on her, but I was surprised how good it did look — pleasantly surprised.
Aside from my lack of makeup and hair, I didn't look like a man in a
dress, which I had fully expected. Those previously-mentioned shortcomings
did not last for long.

I was shepherded into a reclining salon-style chair and dropped almost to
horizontal. A salon apron was draped over my body, covering everything
from the neckline down and protecting my clothing from whatever was to
come. Then, they really went to work on me. The cast of 'makeup artists'
changed constantly as girls came and went for their respective sets on
stage. My eyebrows were attacked simultaneously with four or five pairs of
tweezers. Individual hairs were ripped out without mercy or so much as a
by-your-leave. When, at last, they were satisfied, they examined my
complexion for imperfections.

"You are amazing, Sweetie," one girl told me. "Your face is as soft and
smooth as a baby's bottom. I just about need a magnifying glass to see
your pores. No dark circles or blemishes — I can't even find a trace of a
beard!"

"I hate shaving," I revealed, "body hair, too. It trapped sweat and
bacteria and made me smell really nasty after a long run — not to mention
it just felt... creepy to me. I had it all removed by laser as soon as I
started making money."

"And you've never dressed before?" Chantal asked incredulously. "What a
waste!"

That last bit was spoken playfully. They were beginning to warm to me —
and I to them. This whole experience seemed so surreal. Barely a week
before, I had had only a passing awareness of this world. Now, I was being
drawn into it. There were no illusions on my part; had I been by myself,
my good looks, slender physique and charm would have amounted to exactly
squat to them. My connection to my beautiful lover, whom they obviously
held in high esteem, had everything to do with their acceptance of me.

One girl applied a sheer makeup base to give my skin a little color. She
blended it carefully with a fine-pored makeup sponge, then set it with
powder and brush. Blush was added to the hollows of my cheekbones, at my
temples, and under my jawline. Another drew careful strokes on my forehead
above each eye with a soft pencil. My first thought was she might be
accentuating my eyebrows, but it felt she was working well above my
browline.

They took a good, long time on my eyes, starting with thick showgirl
lashes above and below. Shadow came next; a lot of it, judging by the time
it took them to apply it. Liquid eyeliner was painted above and below,
too. My lips felt like they were being outlined by yet another pencil.
Then, they were filled in with a brush dipped repeatedly in what I saw to
be a deep-red lipstick. Once the first coat was smoothed out, a second was
applied. Then came a coat of clear gloss. It was so bizarre to feel, know
what they were doing, but not be able to see it.

"Are you gonna get these cock mittens pumped, Dianna?" Chantal questioned
as she painted my lips.

"Uh-huh," my 'drag mother' intoned. "Cheekbones too — as well as other
parts of her anatomy. All in good time."

Meanwhile, other pairs of hands had pinned my wrists to the padded
armrests. Something was carefully applied to my fingertips. After a few
minutes, several coats of what I suspected was nail polish (once you smell
that smell, you never forget it) was brushed on my fingertips. At the same
time, my stockings had been removed. My toenails were receiving similar
attention.

"We need something for her ears," Dianna pronounced. "Cherá­e, are you
packing tonight?"

A tall, attractive Black girl rummaged through her own shoulder bag and
came up with a pistol-like device.

"Always," Cherá­e proclaimed. "Have gun, will travel. Mild or wild?"

"Wild!" echoed a chorus of voices.

Dianna smiled with amusement, gazing into my face.

"You heard the ladies," she pronounced. "Go to town. I want the best for
my wife. In this case, the baddest is the best. I want her so her own
mother won't recognize her."

In the next twenty minutes, each ear was stung repeatedly by what felt
like a swarm of silent bees. Several pairs of hands were swiping at the
pinpricks with cotton swabs dipped in peroxide. Then something was applied
repeatedly to my ears that added more and more weight to them.

"She needs hair. Who's got hair?"

The cry was echoed around the room.

"I doooooo," chirped a voice clattering down the stairs from the stage
door. "I guess I'm just in time to add the crowning touch. Happy to help."

"You are a doll, Mimi," Dianna complemented gratefully. "I owe you big
time. Knowing how you are about hair, it's got to be special."

"It's special, all right," Mimi crowed. "Showgirl Deluxe, in 'Bleach Bunny
Blonde'. With those Baby Blues of hers, she's gonna be fabulous!"

The chair was pivoted, then tilted upright. I was now facing away from the
mirror. My longish hair was brushed back, then tucked into a tight-fitting
mesh cap. A long blonde wig was fitted over that, then anchored to my head
with a series of bobby pins that were wound around and around locks of my
own hair before being slid into place. A final sharp tug jerked my head
back, but the hair remained firmly in position.

Some kind of choker was wrapped around my neck and fastened in back. It
was tall, and held my head up. A ton of bangles went on each wrist. Rings
were positioned on multiple fingers and toes. My stockings were once again
rolled up my hairless legs. Then, I was helped out of the chair. Two pairs
of palms smoothed out the stocking on each leg, adjusting it just so, then
re-attaching the garters. I felt a single chain double-wrapped around my
left ankle and clipped into place. Each foot was lifted in turn, and
Dianna's fabulous lavender suede mules were positioned on my feet. Even
with all my experience running, it was a real trip to balance precariously
on the balls of my feet, as those high-heeled slippers forced me to do. As
a final touch, I was spritzed liberally with a perfume Cherá­e identified
as Obsession. I had smelled it before on girls I had encountered in the
clubs. Its name was totally appropriate for the reaction it elicited in
the male of the species.

The appreciative oohs and ahhs were thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Done!" Dianna pronounced triumphantly. "Make that: 'done with a Capital
D'. Are you ready for the debut of your extreme makeover, Sweetie?"

With that, she placed her hands gently on my shoulders and turned me
around to face the mirror for the first time. She had been successful in
at least one respect; my own mother would not have recognized the
fantastic, overdone bimbo that stared back at me, red-lipped mouth agape.
I say 'overdone' in the context of the women I saw at work and on the
streets every day. My showgirl stage makeup blended perfectly with the
smiling, happy faces surrounding me at that moment.

My initial impression of the brow work had been correct. The thick,
shapeless brows that had formerly closed in my eyes were gone completely,
replaced by razor-thin, high, penciled-in arches. My eyelids were dark,
heavy-lidded and mysterious, shadowed above and below and blending beyond
the corners. They were heavy-lidded due to the combined weight of the
long, thick, enormously-full lashes that now framed my Baby Blue orbs. An
equally-thick slash of ebony liner defined each upper and lower lid,
extending into sharp points well past the corners of my eyes.

My lips had been outlined in a dark claret shade, intentionally outside
the natural lipline to make them appear fuller. Then, they were filled in
with deep red ('Raven Red' Chantal called it). The final coat of gloss
made them shine like dark cherry ice. My cheekbones appeared fuller and
higher, thanks to the combination of heavy shading below the bone, plus
highlighter above. The same heavy shading at my temples and below my jaw
re-contoured the natural shape of my face, making it appear almost
heart-shaped and fabulously alluring. The whole of it was framed by a mass
of big, loose, blonde curls, so pale as to be almost white, cascading down
my back almost to my waist.

My fingernails were almost obscenely long, square-cut with
slightly-rounded corners, gently curving downward, the same Raven Red as
my lips, and glistening with gold nail art. My equally-perfect
red-and-gold toenails extended outward a bit from the tips of my toes as
well. Chantal called them 'sculptured toenails' and pronounced them all
the rage — perfect for open-toed shoes like the ones I was wearing.

The choker around my neck was eight tiers of tightly-spaced gold chains.
In harmony, there were eight new piercings in each of my ears; a gold ball
stud at the very top of each ear, with a wide gold ear clip at the outside
corner. Four smallish gold rings were clustered in a cascade below the
midline of the outer edge. Finally, each lobe was double-pierced, with a
one-inch loop in the upper piercing and a huge four-inch hoop in the
lower. Gold rings flashed on each of my long, slender, taloned fingers.
There were golden toe rings on two toes of each foot, plus a slender gold
chain double-wrapped around my trim left ankle.

I had never before in my life been so close to cumming from visual
stimulus alone. All right I admit it. As far back as childhood, I had
always wondered: What if I had been a girl, instead of a boy? I had
secretly experimented a little with my mother's and sister's lingerie, but
never taken it further than that; I had never had the nerve to do more.
Now, here I was in full drag — and felt like I had just stepped into a new
plane of existence. If I was turning me on, what effect would I have on
the men in the club? Dianna read my mind.

"The boys will be falling all over themselves to get at you, Girlfriend,"
she exclaimed. "You will even give me a run for the money."

I seriously doubted that. She had 'freshened' her own makeup while her
girlfriends were doing mine. Our faces could have been cast from the same
libidinous mold. With her looks, body, and blatant sex appeal, she could
make a man cum just by blowing him a kiss.

I received a crash course (almost literally so) in how to strut in a
sensual, sure-footed manner in those towering heels. Apparently, Dianna
thought I was a quick learner. After fifteen minutes or so, she handed me
her lavender suede clutch, now containing my cash, but neither ID nor
credit cards ("No one would believe it's you, Sugar."). There were also my
lipstick and gloss, lip brush, compact and powder brush, breath mints,
perfume spritzer — plus a single-use tube of K-Y and condoms!

"I carry those wherever I go," she observed with a wink. "A girl can never
be too prepared."

I looked down at the makeup table next to us and observed the suit, shirt,
and tie I had worn since the day before. My wallet - with credit cards,
driver's license, and all other forms of identification - would be nestled
in the hip pocket of my pants, as always.

"What do we do with that?" I questioned, pointing at it. "Do you think we
can come up with a garment bag, or something similar?"

"A garment bag?" my lover intoned with a smile. "Sure; no problem."

She hefted the coat and examined the label inside.

"Men's Wearhouse, right?"

"Yeahhhhh," I responded cautiously.

"Perfect!" she chirped. "One garment bag, coming right up."

She gathered the pile together, wadded it up into a compact ball, then
stuffed it in her now-empty Capezio bag.

"They'll press it for free," she purred. Then, with a smirk: "I guarantee
it."

She carried the bag in one hand and her red sequined evening clutch in the
other. She slipped the latter arm through mine. She glanced down at the
larger bag, containing my compacted clothes, then back at me, smiling.

"Ritchie will keep this behind the bar for us until it's time to leave. It
will be safer there than in here among the vultures. Now, it's time for
'Lisa Layne' to meet her Brave New World, and vice-versa."

I had never been so completely terrified in my life as Dianna and I
slinked arm-in-arm through the dressing room door and into the main
lounge. I felt a pale imitation of a woman, compared to the one on my arm.
Aside from the Annie Lennox number Dana was lip-synching to on stage, you
could have heard a pin drop as the crowd beheld us. Then again, I will
swear I heard the sound of a few male jaws hitting the floor. The place
had gotten crowded in the interim, as Dianna had told me it always did on
a Saturday night. Surprisingly, there were a goodly number of genetic
females in the audience; in pairs or small clusters, even a larger group
gathered around a couple of pushed-together tables.

"The GG's like to see us, too," Dianna revealed. "They eat up the
performances and how flawless we look — as long as we don't compete for
their men. That larger group is either a birthday or bachelorette party.
From here, they will most likely work their way uptown to see a men's
strip show."

"Do they ever... " I began haltingly.

"Date?" Dianna finished, smiling bemusedly. "Sometimes. A few are closet
lesbians who convince themselves they aren't really making it with another
woman because the girl is hung. Some are just into chicks with dicks, like
the guys who come in here."

"Have you ever dated any of them?" I inquired, out of genuine fascination.

"Sure," my girlfriend chirped enthusiastically. "Their money is as good as
any man's. Besides..."

She massaged my tight, now-shapely tush.

"... I like girls; the sexier, more feminine, the better. I thought you
understood that by now."

I waggled my tush under her hand.

"Am I sexy enough for you?" I asked coyly.

"Oh, Honey," she murmured in my ear, "if you only knew."

With that kind of positive reinforcement, I could really get into this.

I was astonished to spy two empty bar stools, side-by-side, along the
front side of the bar. As we approached, I saw why they stood unoccupied.
In the middle of each was a white placard which read: Reserved in flowing
script. Dianna approached one stool, picked up the placard, draped her fur
over the seat and back rest, then perched regally, like a queen on her
throne. She removed the placard from the other stool and motioned me to
sit. She handed the placards to the bartender and placed the Capezio bag
on the bar.

"Thanks, Ritchie," she intoned with her most sincere smile. "Please take
care of my bag for me, won't you? And do you think you could scrounge up
something special in honor of my girlfriend's coming out?"

I surreptitiously removed two bills from my purse and reached behind me,
holding my hand so only Ritchie could see. He discreetly accepted the
proffered bills, noting Ben Franklin's portrait on both, and winked.

"We have a bottle of Taittinger Blanc de Blanc we save for special
occasions," he informed us. "I think this qualifies, Miss...."

"Lisa," I purred in genuine gratitude. "Lisa Layne. That would be lovely,
Ritchie. Thank you."

"It's an honor to serve you, Miss Lisa."

I turned to face him, placed my hand lightly on his, and flashed him the
most dazzling smile I could muster.

"It's a pleasure to be served by you, Ritchie."

He blushed crimson, stared at his shoes, mumbled his sincerest thanks,
then hurried off in search of the champagne. My lover smiled at me in
admiration.

"You handled that very well," she cooed, "although you still have to learn
not to spend your money. Men will be buying us drinks all night; wait and
see. By the way, you should take Ritchie literally on that 'honor to serve
you' bit. He's very submissive and obviously smitten with you. I think you
just made your first conquest. Have you considered what you might do with
your very own little slave boy?"

I was stunned at the thought. I hadn't really done anything. It couldn't
be that easy, could it? As a male, getting a woman interested in me was
like pulling teeth with a pair of rusty pliers. Were all men as easily
manipulated by a beautiful woman? And just when did I begin thinking of
myself as a 'beautiful woman'?

The Taittinger was as excellent as ever. Even Dianna, a novice with fine
wine, gave it her stamp of approval. It was so nice to find an
establishment that kept such a delicate vintage in the refrigerator,
rather than on top of it. We sipped the bubbly, watched the show - and
drew stares like flies to honey. I lost count of the number of times I
scanned the room and caught eyes darting away guiltily. When I caught a
gaze that didn't turn away, I gave him the once-over. If I thought him
hot, I flashed him what I hoped was a seductive smile. Even a week before,
'Lance' would never, ever have flirted with a man this way. Now, as
'Lisa'... well, I guess Dianna had broadened my horizons.

Men began approaching us not long after we sat down. Dianna deftly fielded
most of their advances. My lover was uncannily accurate at sizing men up,
gracefully dismissing the clumsy come-ons and zeroing in on the ones that
had real potential. I graciously acknowledged interest when it was
directed at me, but generally watched, listened, and learned from my more
experienced girlfriend.

One man in particular carried on a lengthy murmured conversation with my
girlfriend. That she gave him that much time indicated she had sized him
up as U.S. Prime. One look at his freshly-pressed Armani suit, broadcloth
shirt, silk tie and Tissot wristwatch confirmed that. I knew what was
coming and readied myself for it. Dianna stood and turned to me.

"Baby," she offered carefully, "do you remember what we talked about over
dinner?"

I nodded bravely and forced a smile.

"Good," she responded. "Ken and I are going to go next door for a bit and
get... better acquainted. Will you be okay here by yourself?"

She and I both knew what she meant was: would I be okay with her going out
to fuck this man? We had discussed it; at dinner and again in the car. She
had been open and honest about it, pointing out this was what she was and
she wasn't going to change. She had also assured me that no matter how
much or how big a cock she got, she would always come home to me - and
share the details of the men she had had. Susan hadn't done that; instead,
she had snuck around behind my back with one man in particular, then
(finally) come home, pretending nothing had happened. I had professed to
Dianna I would rather be with her than Susan, knowing Dianna would be with
men, sometimes several nights a week. Now, I had to step up and take
myself at my word.

Something else occurred to me. Once again, I was thinking in terms of
Dianna fucking men, not other men. What was happening to my self-image? I
had only to look in the mirror behind the bar to answer that question. I
gazed at the reflection — my reflection - dressed all in lavender suede
and sheer black blouse with a full, fluffy head of blonde hair and
overdone makeup. It wasn't like I had gone down kicking and screaming,
either. How could I possibly still think of myself as a man?

Just let go....

I squeezed her hand reassuringly, even if I didn't feel it myself. My
smile was a bit less forced.

"I'll watch your coat," I said.

It was difficult to read the jumble of emotions in her face. There was
nothing difficult to understand about the silently-mouthed words "Thank
you" she formed with her lips. I thought it had been difficult to accept
Susan was cheating on me. I thought it had been next to impossible to pack
my belongings, walk out that door, leave eight years of mostly happy
memories behind. It was nothing compared to watching my 'Barbie' walk out
that door, alone, followed discreetly a few minutes later by her 'Ken'. I
had to remind myself again she wasn't cheating on me; she had been honest
and up-front about who and what she was and I had accepted her on that
basis. For that matter, we weren't even married yet.

Yet? What are you thinking, Lisa?

I sat there, lost in my thoughts, absent-mindedly stroking Dianna's
fabulous fur. I hadn't really realized just how exquisite a sensation it
was. I switched stools, surrounding myself with the soft, fluffy pelt,
wrapping myself up in it, luxuriating in the sublime sensations. I began
to wonder why I had denied myself this pleasure for so very long? When I
realized the answer, I had to smile. Perhaps it wouldn't be so hard to
change my perspective after all. I just needed the right... stimulation.

"Hi Cutie! Would you like some company?"

I looked up. This time, my smile was warm and genuine.

"Hi Chantal! I would love some."

I turned to Ritchie. He read my mind, instantly producing a third flute. I
poured my new friend the last of the Taittinger, then proposed a toast.

"To... new beginnings," I murmured.

"Here, here," she responded, clinking her glass softly against mine, then
taking a sip.

"Oh my! You have excellent taste... " Chantal exclaimed.

She glanced at the sinfully-expensive fur wrapped luxuriantly around my
body.

"... in so many things," she finished.

I nodded slowly.

"Thank you," I replied in a subdued voice.

"Where is Dianna?" she asked, turning her head from side to side, looking
for my lover.

"A date," I stated simply.

Perhaps it was the way my body tensed, or the inflection in my voice. My
new girlfriend knew immediately.

"Oh, my," she stated quietly. "I know where this is going. Can you talk
about it yet? Do you want to?"

I nodded my head slowly.

"It would probably do me good to get it out, rather than bottling it up,"
I responded. "She and I have already talked about it. I know this is what
she is and she won't change. I accepted that. It's my problem, not hers. I
have no right to play the 'jealous husband' with her."

"I'll say, Girlfriend," my ebony companion snorted. "Have you looked at
yourself in the mirror lately?"

I chuckled.

"I've already been there," I concurred. "I can't believe it myself. It's
not like I was unwilling; at least, not after tonight, and all of you
taking the time to help me."

Chantal squeezed my hand.

"Thank you, Baby," she interjected. "It's sweet of you to say so."

"It just all happened so fast," I continued. "I need time to let my head
to catch up with the rest of me."

The attractive T-girl took both my hands in hers and gazed at me
earnestly.

"Girrrl," she advised, "what you need is to get laid — by the biggest cock
you can find. Not Dianna; you need a man. You can wring your hands and
rationalize and soul-search all you want. Until you get some stud to fuck
you, and find out just how easy it is to find one, you will never get past
where your head is at right now.

"As you said, Dianna is what she is and won't change. I know her, know the
way she thinks, about as well as anyone. She loves to fuck; the hotter,
rougher, nastier, throw-me-up-against-the-wall-and-do-me-right-now, the
better. But that is just sex. When it comes to love, Miss Dianna is a
hard-core lipstick lesbian. She will bring trade home if she has to,
providing she knows she can get rid of him right away. She doesn't want
some guy underfoot all weekend, leaving his dirty, smelly clothes strewn
all over or drinking beer and watching sports on TV all day.

"For what it's worth, Dianna has been bending our ears all week, telling
us about this wonderful, caring, sensitive guy she met — and how hard he
makes her cum. That girl is crazy for you, Sweetie! We've all been saying
'yeah, yeah, we've seen it all before and experienced it ourselves. He's
all lovey-dovey, sensitive and caring in the beginning. Then, the freak
grows fur and fangs at the full moon and rips your head off.'

"When we met you tonight, watched you two make eyes at each other, saw how
you pamper her, and what an exquisitely-beautiful girl you made on the
first attempt, we knew you are exactly the kind of lover Dianna falls hard
for. I don't normally go for feminine men, but I wouldn't mind putting a
move on you myself.

"I once had a manager who told me: 'Chantal, if you can't change the
facts, change your attitude.' So, you will have to change your perception
of your relationship and who you are as a person. You started down this
path, whether of your own free will or Dianna's siren song. Believe me; I
know how persuasive she can be. Now, you have to make a choice: either see
it through to its logical conclusion or get outta Dodge. I know without
asking Dianna is hoping, praying for the former. So are the rest of us.
We've already gotten attached to you, Girl. We want you to stick around.
Believe me; that doesn't happen often around this place."

Chantal glanced at the clock on the bar.

"I have to go get ready for my next set," she announced. "Did any of this
help?"

I hugged her for all I was worth.

"More than you can possibly know," I replied.

She flashed a dazzling smile, showing off about a thousand perfect teeth.

"Good!" she exclaimed. "I meant what I said. We really want to see you
around more often. We want you and Dianna to be happy together, too. All
right, I lied. I hope she will make you miserable and you will dump her
big round butt cold — and I will be right there, waiting to catch you as
you fall. See you later!"

My new confidant made her way back to the dressing room. I mulled over her
words carefully. When Dianna returned from her date, I moved back to my
own stool and allowed her to reclaim hers. Her smile was genuine, but her
eyes were tinged with caution.

"Keeping it warm for me?" she asked.

"And then some," I replied.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head and squeezed her hand.

"Later," I demurred. "Tonight, at home, in bed — with you inside me. That
will be the right time."

She leaned over, placed one hand on my cheek, and planted a warm, gentle
kiss on my lips, in front of God and everyone.

"You really do know how to push all the right buttons," she murmured in my
ear, above the din. "I am so in love with you, I could burst!"

***

I couldn't ignore him. He was tall, attractive, and built like a Greek
god. He had been giving me the eye all evening; one of those that didn't
turn away when my gaze met his. I had winked and smiled at him a bit
earlier. Apparently, he had taken that as an invitation. As he drew near,
Dianna had done her best to divert him to herself, but he was having none
of it. He made straight for my stool and engaged me in conversation. One
thing led to another.

"I was wondering," he intoned thoughtfully. "What would it take to get a
girl like you someplace more... private? I would really like to get better
acquainted.

Time to shit or get off the pot, Girl!

"What did you have in mind, Sugar?" I inquired.

He carefully held my chin between his thumb and forefinger, then leaned
over and whispered directly into my ear.

"You have such beautiful lips," he intoned, gently tracing their outline
with his other forefinger, careful not to smear my lipstick. "I was just
wondering how much it would cost to see them wrapped around a nice, juicy
tube steak?"

Clear, concise, and to the point. I had listened to Dianna field such
requests for the better part of two hours. She had quoted them a steep
price to cull out the wannabes who were just living out their hooker
fantasy without actually planning to go through with it. Real players
would negotiate — and not be deterred by a highball figure.

"Funny you should bring that up, Sugar," I intoned. I've been craving a
tube steak sandwich all night. I know a quiet little spot not far from
here where they serve up good ones for...Seventy-Five?

"Seventy-five?" he voiced in mock surprise. "They would have to be very
good."

"What's your name, Lover?" I inquired.

"Daniel."

I sighed, expanding my chest to show off my boobs, then licked my lips
suggestively.

"You tell me, Daniel," I spoke breathily. "Do you think it's worth it?"

He gave me another once-over, then smiled.

"Oh yeah," he replied. "I definitely think you are worth it. Where do we
go from here?"

Thanks to Dianna, I had my response down pat.

"You are going to be a good boy and go back to your table. I will be
leaving as soon as you do. For obvious reasons, it would not be a good
idea for us to be seen leaving the club together. Wait ten minutes, then
come to the office building next door. Ring the buzzer marked
Two-Seventeen, identify yourself, and ask for Lisa. I'll buzz you in.
Remember: the tube steak special goes for seventy-five up front; no
exceptions. Got it?"

"Oh, yeah, Sweet Thing; I got it."

As Daniel returned to his table, I smiled at Dianna coyly. I had trouble
reading her emotions.

"My big girl is growing up really, really fast," she observed, with
unexpected distance in her voice. "You were taking baby steps only a
couple of hours ago. Now, you are going to have your first date with a
man. Remember everything I taught you and play nice with the big boys.
Jim, the owner, makes the room available to us girls. He owns the whole
building, as well as this club. Be sure to tip him like I told you. If you
are good to him, fair to him, he will be your biggest fan. Now, go — and
be sure to wear a condom."

"I'm just giving him a blowjob, Baby," I assured her. "I'm not fucking
him."

"You wear a condom anyway," Dianna intoned more insistently. "You will
thank me later."

Jim was playing host at the front door, meeting and greeting guests as
they arrived. We had never actually met. The first time I was here, he had
said hello, but pretty much ignored me, as he did with all obviously
straight males. Dianna had told me about him. He was a short, rotund Gay
boy who had a penchant for dressing. In the beginning, he had performed on
his own stage. He had a reputation for sometimes being a tyrant towards
those who worked for him. In truth, he worshipped the girls who performed
on his stage or 'worked the crowd', secretly wishing he could look as good
as they did.

He took one look at me and his eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

"Well, hello, Blondie," he gushed. "Shame on you for sneaking in earlier!
I'm certain I would remember seeing you come through my door."

I held out my hand.

"Lisa Layne," I pronounced. "I'm a friend of Dianna's."

He took my hand and kissed it.

"Well of course you are!" Jim enthused. "Leave it to Dianna to know all
the good ones. I remember her coming in tonight. I'm sorry; I still don't
remember you."

"You would have had no reason to," I admitted. "I was en drab at the time.
This is my first time out. Actually, you could say I was 'born' in your
dressing room a couple of hours ago."

I had no idea how emotional Jim could actually be. He was literally
running around in circles, not knowing what to do.

"Oh my God," he exclaimed, "oh, my goodness gracious. This is your first
time out? And you already look like THAT? And I'm the proud papa? Oh, be
still, my heart. Oh, oh, I'm going to have a coronary. Somebody fetch me
an aspirin! I have to nip this sucker in the bud right now! Dear, sweet
lady, can you dance? Can you sing? Can you at least lip-sync? Can you
roller skate and twirl a baton? I've got to get you up on my stage! Oh,
I'm so excited, I'm beside myself."

"Well, pull yourself together or we'll have to charge you a second cover,"
I jibed gleefully.

The poor dear laughed until he had tears in his eyes.

"Dear girl, will you share a drink with me? This is one of those truly
special moments that must be commemorated."

"Jimmy, I would love to," I responded with all the charm I had in me.
"Could we do it a bit later? To tell the truth, I was just about to step
next door to the employee lounge for a... coffee break."

That was the code phrase Dianna taught me to use. He knew exactly what I
meant.

"YOU GO, GIRL! This is your first night out, and you are already driving
the little boys wild? You are going to be a star, just like Dianna!"

He grasped both my hands in his and held them tightly. I took the
opportunity to transfer the twenty-dollar bill from my palm to his — a
little grease to prime the business pump. He felt the bill change hands
and cranked his smile up another notch.

"Oh, you are definitely a keeper! Go do your date, Girlfriend — and use
protection. I'll buzz you through from here. When you get back, we'll have
that drink. Oh, if I was only twenty years younger — and attracted to
women!

***

Nervous? Who, me? What would I have to be nervous about? Ten days before,
I had been a happily-married, strictly-hetero commodities trader, amateur
athlete, and (I thought) all-around nice guy. Now, I was a maxed-out
blonde bimbo, pacing back and forth across the 'employee lounge',
anxiously awaiting the arrival of her first 'date', wondering for the
umpteenth time that evening what I had gotten myself into. Acquiescing to
Dianna's instructions, I had managed to slip a condom over my raging
hard-on with trembling hands. Getting my 'clit' back into my panties,
tucked back between my thighs, had been nearly impossible.

It wasn't like Dianna had stuck a gun to my head and told me: "you have to
date." If anything, she had spent the last few hours deflecting that kind
of attention away from me — towards herself. Yet, when the choice was
made, she had done nothing to dissuade me, other than acting put-off by my
initiative. Perhaps that was the entire issue; choice. She had never
forced anything on me. She had merely presented a series of options — and
let me choose which way I wanted to go. What was it Chantal had said?
Believe me, I know how persuasive she can be. Was my lover that good, that
she could manipulate me into doing what she wanted without saying the
words? A few minutes ago, I had left with the impression she didn't want
me to go on this date at all. The chime of the intercom almost made me
jump out of my skin.

"Yes?"

"Lisa? It's Daniel. Are you ready for me?"

Upon arrival in the New World, Cortez ordered his ships burned to the
waterline. As the flames lit the night sky, his men knew there would be no
turning back.

I pressed the button.

"It's open. C'mon up."

Burn, Baby, Burn!

Daniel was impressive in more than looks. He was cool about taking care of
commerce right away, freeing us up for some serious pleasure. I think he
liked the way I pushed him down on the bed, then undid his belt and zipper
and yanked down his pants. I was impressed again when I saw the size of
his 'package'. I felt positively girlish in comparison — under the
circumstances, a good thing.

During the course of my marriage, I had learned oral skills that had kept
Susan in orgasmic bliss for hours. With Dianna, I had refined those
skills, learning how to apply them in the way a woman pleases a man.
Daniel was now receiving the benefit of my 'education'. I began with a
long, slow slathering of my tongue on the underside of his penis, from his
scrotal sac all the way to the tip. I gave him little flicks of my tongue
all over, covering ever square centimeter with my lingual attention. I
kissed the tip lightly; barely more than a touch with my pursed lips.
Then, I split my lips, allowing them to just engulf the head of his cock.
I went to work again with my tongue, this time while slipping my lips up
and down his shaft, further and further.

I did not even attempt to make him cum within some arbitrary time limit.
This was a new and wondrous adventure for me. Perhaps it was not one I had
ever envisioned for myself, but I was here, he was here, and I was
determined to see it through. As much as I was enjoying this, I couldn't
help but wonder how much better it might be if that wonderful cock were
fucking my pussy instead of my mouth. My ministrations were obviously
having the desired effect. His breathing became rapid and shallow. His
body began to thrash back and forth. He had grabbed hold of my head with
both hands and was fucking his cock with my face.

Then, he thrust me away forcefully.

"Stop," he gasped. "I changed my mind."

I had really been getting into it. To say I was disappointed would be
putting it mildly.

"Changed your mind?" I retorted, peeved. "Honey, we don't do refunds."

"That's not what I meant," he panted. "I want, need to finish inside you.
How much for that?"

My whole body twitched at the delectable thought. Chantal's words came
back to me:

Girrrl, what you need is to get laid — by the biggest cock you can find.

"Lover, with credit for what you have already paid, that little 'extra'
will cost you an additional hundred-twenty-five."

"If I make it one-fifty, can we go bareback?"

My eyes glazed over at the prospect of being filled to the brim with his
spunk. Just as quickly, my head regained control.

"Baby, I don't know you from Adam yet. My life is worth more to me than an
additional twenty-five dollars. Tonight, we play protected or we don't
play at all."

He slipped me the additional cash. I slipped the jumbo-sized lubricated
condom over his manhood, wet him in my mouth with a dozen or so sucks,
then hiked up my skirt and slipped out of my panties. The entire contents
of the K-Y tube were hurriedly deposited inside my puckered hole. At his
request, I bent over the edge of the bed, holding myself up on my hands.
His spit-slick cock parted my nether lips and slipped into me easily. My
eyes glazed over for real. If Dianna was big; Daniel was huge by
comparison. He worked me like a pro, plowing my field with animal
intensity.

It didn't take long — for either of us. I could feel him tense, feel his
cock grow rigid. The Adonis grabbed my hips and thrust my body back onto
his bar of steel. I was dimly aware of a girl's screams of "Fuck me,
Daddy. Use your slut. Cum inside your ho'. She's nothing but a cheap cum
catcher, a receptacle for your spunk. You know she's been begging for it
all night. Give it to her. Harder. Harder!" I felt his rod begin to gush
like a firehose through the thin latex membrane. That did it for me. My
world shattered into a million pieces and fell away. A thunderous roar
filled my ears. My whole body spasmed from head to toe.

It took a long, long while to pull my fragmented psyche back together, bit
by bit. Some of it, I knew, would never be the same again. I lay there
panting, quivering, unable to move, even as I heard Daniel get up, zip his
pants, express his thanks and leave. As my faculties returned, I realized
that girl's voice exhorting Daniel to use her, fuck her, had been mine.
So, too, had been the primal lust her words had given voice to. Her words,
her lust, were mine. What did that make me?

As usual, Dianna had been right to have me wear a condom. Mine was not
quite as full as the one Daniel had casually discarded, but at the time,
it felt like it should have been. Aside from the obvious, the saving grace
of sex with condoms is the relative ease of cleanup. I snatched up his in
a paper towel and deposited it in the wastebasket, followed by my own.
After checking myself and the bedclothes for spotting (none, thank God), I
rearranged my disheveled clothing, repaired my makeup, then tidied up the
bedspread and pillows for later use. I cast my eyes around the room one
more time, bidding a final farewell to this last vestige of Virginity,
then turned and strutted saucily out the door.

There was a profoundly more exaggerated wiggle to my walk as I slinked
past the patrons to resume my seat next to my Goddess. Part was necessity;
I felt I might walk bow-legged for a week. The other part was pure Drama.
Although Daniel's condom had done its job, the residual slickness of all
that lubricating jelly made me feel he had cum inside me in quarts. I felt
really wicked, returning to my lover with a man's 'cum' filling my love
nest. Baby, I played it for all it was worth for the benefit of the crowd.

I sat a bit gingerly, crossing one leg over the other with the subtle rasp
of stocking-on-stocking that was more felt than heard over the din of the
sound system. I leaned close to her, nuzzled her cheek with my nose, then
whispered in her ear.

"Did you miss me?"

I gently stroked her thigh through her dress to punctuate my implied
intention. Dianna jerked her head around to meet my gaze. Her eyes were
ablaze with emotions I had trouble interpreting.

"Did you have a good time?" she spoke carefully.

"Uh-huh!" I gushed. "Chantal was right. She said I needed a big cock to
put things in the right perspective."

"He fucked you, didn't he?" she spat.

I nodded, beaming.

"Did he ever!" I exclaimed emphatically. "Aren't you proud of me?"

"We're leaving," she hissed with grim determination.

Her coat was on in a flash. Ritchie had taken the cue; the Capezio bag was
on the bar a moment later. Dianna seemed not to notice it at all. She
seized my wrist firmly and propelled herself onto her feet. Thank goodness
my clutch was in that hand. I just managed to grab the bag off the bar
with my free hand before I was yanked off my chair. We made our way to the
door as quickly as the crowd allowed. I stayed our departure long enough
to express my thanks to Jimmy and beg for a rain check on his previous
offer.

We reached the parking lot in record time. The Mercedes was near the end,
immersed in shadow. Dianna unceremoniously threw me face-forward over the
trunk of the car, then stepped behind me, spreading my thighs with her
own. My skirt was bunched up around my waist and my panties at my knees
before I knew it. There was nothing tender in the way she took me.

"Is this good for you too, slut?" she barked, as she pummeled my love nest
with her 'clit'. "Is it as good as he was? Far be it from me to complain
about 'sloppy seconds'. If you want to let some guy — or two or three —
loosen you up for me, that's just fine."

Dianna thrust hard into me in tempo with her words. I had no idea what I
had done to invoke her rage, but that was exactly the right word to
describe her emotion. Her fiery determination almost made up for the
evening chill — almost. Between her adrenaline rush and the full-length
fur she wore, I was sure Dianna was toasty. I had only the thin suede
jacket to ward off the cold — that and the ferocity of Dianna's attack. It
wasn't like she was hurting me physically. Her words had been accurate;
Daniel had loosened me up. Her assault was emotional — and hit its mark.
After my experience with Daniel, and now this, I did feel like a slut. The
truly scary part was, I liked it.

It was that thought that made me cum a second time that evening, even
harder than the first. Dianna came too, flooding my tush with her creamy
spunk. We stood there dazed, sprawled over the trunk of the car, slowly
collecting our senses.

"Why?" I managed to gasp at last. "I did everything you asked. You wanted
to 'show me the ropes', as you put it, and I learned that, too. Why this?
What did I do wrong?"

My attacker pulled out of me, then pulled me up to face her. I could still
read the intense emotion in her expression as we each rearranged our
clothing. It was no longer fury that filled her eyes. She was still angry,
but I somehow sensed it was not at me.

"Drive the car," she said at last.

"But, what..."

"Just drive!"

I fished through the Capezio bag for the car keys, then opened her door
for her. She avoided my gaze as she settled into sumptuous leather
upholstery. After closing her door, I hurried around to my side, got in,
and started the engine. The five-liter V-8 roared to life, settling
quickly to a silky-smooth purr. We were half-way home before Dianna broke
the silence.

"Nothing," she murmured, staring out the passenger window.

"What?" I replied quizzically.

She turned to meet my gaze.

"You did nothing wrong," my companion avowed. "In fact, you did everything
right — more so than I could ever have imagined... or hoped. The problem
isn't you; it's me. I watched you go off with that guy, then return,
looking like the cat that just ate the canary. I was...."

It was a good thing we were both buckled in. I slammed on the brakes hard
enough to put us both through the windshield.

"Jealous?" I gasped incredulously. "YOU?"

"Don't take that tone with me, Missy," she intoned. "I'm human as much as
the next girl. In fact, I'm just now discovering how much. I've never been
in this situation before."

"You've never watched a girlfriend go off on a date with a guy?" I
queried, mystified.

"Not one I really cared about, no!" she huffed. "It's different this time.
You are different. I guess what I'm really trying to say is, the way I
feel about you is different. I saw you with that guy and... I didn't like
it."

First, I did the sensible thing — if you can call shifting a car into park
in the middle of Illinois Street at one AM on a frigid Sunday morning in
February 'sensible'. I unbuckled my seat belt and managed to maneuver my
body across the seat and onto Dianna's lap, throwing my arms around her
neck and nuzzling her nose with mine. All the while, I thanked my good
sense at purchasing the sedan instead of the SL coupe.

"Baby," I purred, "do you have any idea how utterly absurd that sounds,
coming from you?"

"So, it's 'absurd' I've fallen for you like a ton of bricks and I'm not
afraid to admit it?" she snapped indignantly.

"Nooooo," I re-grouped quickly, "it's absurd you think you have anything
to worry about. Daniel was just a guy with a dick. It was a really nice
dick, to be sure, but it was just a dick. You are the one I want, the one
I want to come home to — and haven't we had this conversation already?"

"Don't play word games with me, Bitch," my lover growled. "You know this
is different."

"Different?" I mused coyly. "How? Because we're talking about me, instead
of you?"

"Would you rather we make it about you and Susan?" she sniped.

That hurt.

"That was a low blow, Dianna," I muttered. This is different. Words count,
remember? That fact that we are here, having this conversation, makes us
different. Susan never afforded me that consideration; she just ran off
and did it."

"And if she came to you tomorrow," Dianna inquired, "and said to you the
same things we said tonight, what then? Better late than never."

I stared through those beseeching brown eyes, focused on that scenario in
my head. Then, I closed my eyes and slowly shook my head.

"We've already covered that ground, too," I professed. "That ship has
already sailed. It was quits when I found out about them. Here, together
with you like this, it's doubly so. Over the past ten days — especially
the last sixteen hours — I have had to undergo one continuous,
industrial-strength suspension of disbelief to get to this point. You know
what? It's working. I have jumped down the rabbit hole and am in no hurry
to find my way back — as long as you are here with me. My place is just
down the street and Monday morning is a whole world away. Now, can we put
an end to this insanity, go home, and enjoy the rest of our weekend?"

To emphasize my point, I lightly touched my lips to hers while grinding my
tush into her lap. I guess that was one more 'right button' to push.

"Just drive," she murmured — this time with a twinkle in her eyes.

We were silent as I pulled into the parking garage in the basement of my
building. We rode the elevator up to my floor in continued silence. The
pensive mood was broken as I opened the door to my place and admitted her.
She was captivated by the opulence — opulent to her — of my place. She was
further enchanted by the breathtaking view of the boat basin below and the
lake beyond. A short distance away, cars whizzed across the elevated
bridge where Lake Shore Drive passed over the locks separating the Chicago
River from Lake Michigan.

"This is nice," she offered, staring out into the night. "Very, very
nice."

The words sounded sincere, but there was that touch of distance again, as
there had been before we went to Ringers. I turned her to face me.

"It is," I agreed, "now that you are here. You are the first woman I have
brought here and the only one I want."

"I won't always be here," she corrected. "I told you that."

"Yes you will," I countered, "where it matters most. You will always be
here..."

I pointed to my head.

"...and here...."

I pointed to my heart. Dianna sighed expressively and held me close,
resting her head against my chest once more. I felt tears welling up in
her eyes.

"I don't deserve you, Lisa," she murmured, "but I am going to make it my
business to change that. Count on it."

She slipped out of her fur coat, shrugging off my offer to take it for
her. I thought she was still enamored with the feel of it and wanted to
hold it as long as possible. She located the hall closet, selected a heavy
wooden hanger, draped the coat over it, then hung it with care and gently
closed the door.

"Don't forget to take it with you when you go," I prompted her.

She smiled and shook her head.

"No way. The jewels stay here, too. If I took them back to my place, who
knows what freak or so-called 'friend' would rip them off when my back was
turned? No Honey; they stay right here. That way, I will always have
them..."

She kissed me tenderly.

"...and you to come home to. I will have you to come home to, won't I?"

I kissed her back, passionately.

"You can count on that," I replied, "and thank you."

"For?" she questioned.

"For considering this 'home'. It feels like one, with you here."

She threw me back on the couch and climbed atop me, hiking up my skirt and
unbuttoning my blouse.

"What do you say we have a little 'housewarming party'? Just the two of
us?" she purred. "We have so much to talk about."

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

A not-so-lazy Sunday afternoon and evening. You will never look at Chicago-style pizza the same way again.

Story:

Betrayed Ch. 05
by Cherysse St. Claire  ©

Chapter Five: All You Can Eat

We slept until eleven Sunday Morning, made leisurely love, then showered.
It was decided this would be a casual day for Dianna and Lisa; jeans,
T-shirts, and athletic shoes. With Dianna's help, I still looked good
enough to eat — at least, she thought so. Dianna looked… damn, no woman
had a right to look so sexy in such a sexless outfit. She filled
everything out to perfection, tying off the T-shirt below her boobs to
show off her twenty-two-inch waistline and navel ring. Turnabout is fair
play. I wore her suede high heels the night before. Now, she fit perfectly
into a pair of my Reeboks. Is it scary we wear the same sizes, or kismet?

She attacked my wig with a styling brush and comb, moving errant locks
this way and that, restoring the fabulous 'do to respectability.

"There!" Dianna pronounced triumphantly, "maybe not as good as Angelo
would do, but it will do for today."

"Angelo?" I questioned.

"He does all our wigs, Sweetheart," she informed me. "He's been around for
ages. He used to be the stylist at Broadway Wigs. Now he has his own shop.
We wouldn't think of using anyone else. When this needs to be cleaned and
re-styled, I'll take you to him and introduce you."

We knew neither of us could bear to part with the beautiful hairpiece, so
I made plans to send money with Dianna to reimburse Mimi. My lover assured
me Angelo would be able to obtain the replacement before the following
weekend.

Sunday was another shopping day. First, we went back to the same lingerie
store in Water Tower Place. This time, we purchased lingerie for me. A
stop at the MAC store netted makeup 'essentials' — about two shopping
bags' worth. Dianna promised she would have me a genuine makeup artist by
the time of the fashion show. Who better to teach me than a showgirl who
had appeared on stages all over the Midwest since age sixteen?

Our next stop was the furniture store from which I had furnished my condo.
I purchased a second, matching dresser for Dianna's things in accordance
with our avowal that my home was now her home as well. The same bedroom
collection offered a jewelry armoire and vanity table. We snapped up both,
then paid a premium to have the three pieces delivered that same day.

We motored on to a theatrical makeup and supply store on the Northwest
Side to acquire some special items Dianna professed I would need the
following day. It was a short trip from there to Paul's studio, where I
was measured for additional corsetry I would need for my ongoing figure
training. Upon completion of my fitting, we hurried home to await the
delivery truck, ordering a stuffed pizza from Edwardo's en route. Both
arrived shortly after we did. After having the delivery men array the new
furniture to our liking, I tipped them and sent them on their way. They
looked crestfallen to have to leave, after having feasted their eyes on
the stunning brunette and blonde 'roommates' for a half-hour.

We had a heart-to-heart discussion over pizza, concerning my future.
Dianna admitted the figure training alone, in conjunction with external
prosthetics, plus her makeup and deportment lessons, would probably be
enough to get me by for the fashion show. The word 'probably' had hung
heavily in the air between us. I knew without pressing she wanted more — a
lot more. She had enumerated the options available, both surgical and
otherwise.

Oh, how she wanted me to get a boob job! She didn't say so in so many
words, but I could tell.

"Do you remember Sugar?" she murmured.

I nodded slowly. How could I possibly forget? Sugar also frequented
Ringers. She and Dianna bore more than a passing resemblance. In fact,
some in the past have mistaken one for the other — until they looked below
the neckline. Dianna had full, firm D-cup breasts. She hadn't wanted to go
bigger than that, avowing she liked the "All-American Girl" look. I had
stifled a laugh when she told me that, thinking how much our perceptions
of "All-American" were changing. Sugar, on the other hand, possessed the
kind of fantasy chest that made men's eyes bulge out of their sockets and
pre-cum surge like a river.

Dianna's eyes glazed over and her breathing became rapid and shallow as
she described Sugar's choice of size, the procedure itself, and helping
her friend through her post-op recovery period. My lover's eyes regained
their focus, and she hurriedly added she just thought I should know what
to expect, should I ever decide to go that route. I got the distinct
impression there was — or at least, had been — more going on between the
two than just 'friendship'.

Dianna tread delicately on the subject of hormones. The benefits were
softening of skin and muscle tone, thickening and improved luster of the
hair, development of so-called 'secondary sex characteristics' — boobs,
hips and buns — not to mention increased sensitivity, particularly in the
nipples. There were consequences, too. Some girls experienced hot flashes
and pronounced mood swings. Others claimed the hormones made them sleepy.
There were some medical risks as well, although there didn't seem to be a
high incidence of them in girls our age. Of course, there was also the
potential for loss of male sexual function….

My companion had been massaging my crotch as she related all of this. She
had spoken those last words softly, almost reverently, as she gazed in the
direction of her hand. She lifted her head; her eyes met mine. She leaned
into me and kissed me tenderly. No other words were spoken on the subject,
but she left no doubt where her feelings lay.

There was probably something fundamentally irrational about having a
rational discussion with my paramour about methods to transform me
permanently into a more feminine image. If there was, I didn't see it. At
that point, it was just a discussion; nothing more. Dianna wasn't
insisting on anything; she was merely offering options. To be honest, my
mind was elsewhere at the moment.

Our distraction made us careless. Dianna was taking a bite of pizza and
watching me, instead of what she was doing. A big piece of sausage tumbled
out of the inside and plopped on her bare, taut belly, filling her navel
like a jewel. She laughed and reached to retrieve it, but I was quicker.
My face was there in a flash. I scooped up the errant bit of meat in my
mouth, chewed, swallowed, then gently lapped up the grease in her
bellybutton with my tongue. In so doing, I flicked her belly ring a couple
of times. I felt her body tremble, just a little, when I did that. I
glanced upward and met her eyes. We just stared for a moment, silently.

I took the pizza from her hand and gently dragged the tip across her
belly, smearing tomato and meat juice in a broad swath across her flesh. I
followed with light, delicate laves of my tongue, cleansing her skin where
I had soiled it. She trembled again. Goosebumps covered her soft flesh. I
made my way higher, peeling her T-shirt over her head with my free hand. I
dripped juice on one breast, then the other, licking and sucking each in
turn. She was trembling openly, continuously now, mewing quietly and
holding my head with both hands. I had never before seen her nipples so
erect, straining. Nor had they ever tasted so good!

I had to lay the pizza down. I needed both hands to pull her from the
sofa, lay her on the floor, then peel off her shoes, socks, jeans, and
panties. This time, I left a trail of sausage, pepperoni, onion, green
pepper, mozzarella, and elephant garlic across both thighs. Then, I
feasted my way upwards, alternating from one side to the other, nipping
tenderly at her quivering flesh as I snapped up each delicacy in turn.
Dianna's mews turned to soft moans as I approached the "V" where her
thighs met.

Her magnificent clit stood tall and turgid before me, vibrating with need.
I slathered it generously with rich, tomato-y goop, then set upon this
next hunk of 'sausage' with my mouth as though possessed. Every luscious
lick, nibble, and slurp was a four-star taste sensation, mixed with her
own flowing 'juice'. Dianna was thrashing back and forth wildly, her moans
replaced by shrieks. I had to hold her wrists firmly to prevent her
bucking me off before I was good and ready to release her. From what I
could tell, release was close at hand.

I didn't anticipate the strength the adrenaline rush would give her. She
broke free of my grasp, twisted her body to one side and hurled me towards
the couch at the same time. I landed on my knees, slumped over the
cushions. Dianna was on me in a flash, straddling my thighs and pinning my
body with her own.

"What an exciting dining sensation you have come up with, Sweetheart," she
purred in my ear. "Let's see if it is as good the other way."

She held me down with one hand between my shoulder blades. I heard the
rustling of cardboard behind me. The first tentative drippings down my
spine tickled. They were followed by heavier plops as something more
substantial landed on my skin. The soft, feathery touch of her lips and
the tip of her talented tongue were sweet torture. She began at the nape
of my neck and worked her way downward, alternately licking, nipping, and
sucking as I had done. Moments passed like hours, caught up in the agony
of sensation and anticipation.

She shifted her knees to the inside of my thighs, spreading them apart. A
thick wedge of pizza was dragged between my spread cheeks, sloughing off a
thick layer of juice, sauce, and ingredients. She took her time with teeth
and tongue, slurping up this concoction from her 'bowl'. Her tongue probed
my love blossom, opening it up, making it slick with tomato and meat
juice.

"I am so glad you are not a Vegan," Dianna cooed behind me. "I like my
dinners… meaty!"

She timed her lunge with her words. Her slick, greasy fuckpole mated with
my equally-slick, greasy love nest in one quick thrust. I grunted aloud —
from surprise, not pain. After the previous two days, I was well beyond
hurting from her sexual advances. At the same time, her greasy hand softly
stroked my own rigid love rod.

I raised upright on my knees. Dianna held me close, thrusting in and out
firmly. She continued to stroke my 'clit' with one hand while pinching my
nipples with her other. I felt my heart hammering in my chest. My eyes
focused, unseeing, on some point high on the opposite wall. My entire
being was focused on the points of her triple assault.

"Baby," she murmured, "I can't begin to tell you how much I have enjoyed
dinner. Let me take care of dessert."

Was the torrent of molten lava from her volcano, or my own? I couldn't
tell. Every nerve synapse in my body seemed to fire at once. I jerked
repeatedly, spasmodically, and would have fallen over if she were not
holding me. Then again, Dianna didn't feel all that steady, either. She
held on tight and we somehow managed to remain upright. The slick heat
from within me confirmed both volcanoes had erupted at once.

Her hand covered my mouth. I opened, and was treated to the most
incredible, aromatic elixir of tomato-basil-oregano-flavored cum. I gulped
it down greedily, then lapped the remnants from her palm. I felt her hot
breath in my ear as she gently nipped my earlobe.

"Emeril Lagasse has nothing on you, My Love," she purred. "So, what can
you do with Barbeque?"

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

Lance returns to work - and endures The Seven Levels of Hell.

Story:

Betrayed Ch. 06
by Cherysse St. Claire  ©

Chapter Six: The Seven Levels of Hell

Monday was the most vile, loathsome day of my life — for no earthly reason
other than having to be me. The first thing I had to come to grips with
was who 'me' was that particular morning. 'Lance' had to put in an
appearance at the office. Back to the old routine, go out there and make
the big bucks. F Troop back to normal, Sir! Simple, right? After the most
mind-blowing weekend of my life — as 'Lisa' — it was anything but.
Identity Crisis? Don't even go there! This wasn't the Monday from Hell;
this was Hell — all seven levels of it.

The First Level of Hell was waking up alone. I had taken my beautiful
girlfriend back to her place after our erotic dinner.

"Baby, I have to go to work at the club," she had chided softly, "and you
have to work first thing in the morning."

I offered to accompany her, as I had done Saturday night. She just shook
her head.

"Not this time," she demurred. "This is going to sound really evil of me,
but I don't want you there getting hit on by guys. I didn't handle it well
last night and I don't think I would handle it any better a second night
in a row. I know I'm being such a hypocrite, but this — us - is as new to
me as it is to you. Let me get used to the idea of you being with me
before I have to reconcile you being... well, you know what I mean. I
promise we'll get together later this week, 'kay?"

She had had to return to her life, just as I now had to return to mine. To
emphasize the point she considered my condo 'home', Dianna had neatly
folded and stowed her purchased lingerie, stockings, and corset in her
dresser drawers, then helped me do the same with mine. Her gown, sandals,
and fur coat remained in my closet and her jewels were in my armoire. My
lover admitted the special sense of sharing with me at such an intimate
level — her things together with mine - gave her warm fuzzy feelings. She
had gifted me the suede suit, blouse and mules, observing how good they
had looked on me the night before and pronouncing them a small, inadequate
token of her love for me, which paled in comparison to what I had lavished
on her.

I did my morning roadwork on the empty, pre-dawn streets of Streeterville.
Blocks away, Lake Shore Drive was already filling with the morning crush
of traffic; the blue-collars who punched in at six and seven, as well as
the workaholic white-collars whose ascent of the corporate ladder
superceded a little extra shut-eye. The Japanese no longer had a lock on
the 'salaryman' lifestyle — nor its killing results. I showered — equally
alone, and feeling it — brushed my teeth, dried my hair, then sat down on
my bed and faced the daunting prospect of the coming day.

The Second Level of Hell was dressing for work. A suit and tie? How...
drab. The thought of a cotton T-shirt and briefs was just plain revolting
after a weekend of something much smoother and softer nestled against my
skin. There was also the issue of figure training for the fashion show
Dianna and I would be doing in fourteen weeks. She had admonished me doing
it right was a constant, everyday process, no different than my running.
Dianna had agreed it would be best for now if I did not attempt to wear my
breast forms under my suit. We would allow those around me time to adjust,
even as my body adjusted.

The whole concept of me as a femme fetish fashion model had seemed such a
ghastly joke when she and Paul had proposed it. Now, I hoped I would be
ready in time. No one at the office will notice the black satin corset
under my suit, right? Or the panties? Or the stockings? Or the silk
chemise worn in place of the T-shirt? The suede outfit, plus Dianna's red
gown, sandals, and fabulous Silver Fox coat mocked me as I dressed in my
unflattering business attire. I stared wistfully at the suede mules, then
slipped on my black Florsheimloafers.

The Third Level of Hell was my personal grooming. The earrings — all of
them — had come out the night before. Dianna had filled the holes with
tiny plastic training plugs to keep them open. With a little concealer,
they weren't noticeable unless you were really up close and looking for
them. My plucked eyebrows had to be replaced with prosthetics, attached
with spirit gum. We had purchased both, plus the concealer, at the
specialty theatrical makeup store. No matter how 'natural' they looked, it
now felt unnatural to me to see the low, thick, shapeless male brows. The
beautiful long nails, each attached with a drop of superglue, had been
carefully pried off with an orange stick and put away in the vanity. The
nails underneath were then lightly filed and buffed to some semblance of
normalcy (Ugh! There's that word again).

The Fourth Level of Hell would be making a conscious effort not to swish
in front of my co-workers. I had to remember to move like a man? I had to
concentrate on not making those small, graceful gestures with my hands as
I talked, or reach up to play with my hair or earrings, which weren't
there anyway? Cross one ankle over your knee, sideways, Lance; not
knee-over-knee, in-line. How funny is that? Think Victor, Victoria in
reverse; a man, pretending to be a woman, pretending to be a man.

What was happening to me, to my confident self-image as a man? Had I been
seduced so easily to "the dark side" by this beautiful, mysterious woman?
Or had that image been yet another carefully-cultivated lie, and Dianna
merely the catalyst to release my own latent childhood desires, just as I
had told her she had merely been the catalyst for leaving my wife? Was my
life falling apart — or at long last coming together? So many questions;
so few answers.

Oh, I would put on a good show. That's exactly what it would be; a show,
for the benefit of Management and my co-workers. I would be watching their
eyes intently, looking for some glimmer of amusement, or realization,
or... something. Hopefully, I would see none. Figure this one out; if I
aroused no suspicion, I would feel relieved — and disappointed. Place
index finger between lips, then thrum: beebeebeebeebeebeebeebee....

The Fifth Level of Hell was knowing the prospect of living this schizoid
existence faced me day in, day out, for the indefinite future. Even as
'Lance' walked out the door, Lisa's memories of the night before were
crowding out everything else. While we were making love, Dianna had played
with my nipples with her fingernails. That had felt so good! At the same
time, I had felt her breasts pressing into my back. In the throes of
ecstasy, my mind had played a dirty little trick on me. In it, those
beautiful boobies had passed right through my body and attached themselves
to my chest.

I thought back to our discussion of surgery, hormones, and other avenues
of transformation used by T-girls to achieve their goal. Realistically, I
couldn't consider getting a boob job or any other major, invasive
procedure — at least, not under the rationale of looking more feminine for
the fashion show. Memorial Day weekend was only fourteen weeks away. That
'hard ceiling' precluded the lengthy, involved process of consultations,
lab tests, the surgery itself, then the long post-op recovery. Why was I
even dwelling on it? A couple of weeks before, I would have labeled the
notion 'absurd'. There was also the issue of what to tell my co-workers if
I suddenly showed up for work as a very-obvious D-cupper — or more — not
to mention the other work we were contemplating. Still, the idea was
intriguing....

The Sixth Level of Hell had been waiting for me outside my office building
when I arrived for work. Susan had already tried and failed with
subterfuge, denial, badgering, threats and insults. Now, she was at her
charming best. The short, tight suit beneath the open trenchcoat was just
a little too revealing to be business-chic. The stockings and five-inch
stilettos were a dead give-away. Jeff Spencer wasn't the only one capable
of offering up the Big Play. The mercury-vapor streetlights on LaSalle
Street were superfluous when my wife turned on her smile.

"Sweetheart," she purred, "how are you? I'm sorry to have to corner you
this way, but you left me no choice. Look, I'm really sorry about all
this. I never told you about my little... peccadillo because I knew how
much it would hurt you. I didn't want to do that."

Funny; she didn't say it was wrong of her to have an affair in the first
place. Nor did she indicate she was going to stop seeing Jeff Spencer.

"You made your point, Baby," she continued. "You are still just as
attractive to women as the day I met you. What woman could resist you when
you turn on the charm — especially when you start pampering them the way
you have always pampered me? Let's face it; we are two beautiful people.
We belong together, just as we always have. Can we please put this silly
tiff behind us? Come home to me; I miss you."

She made it sound so reasonable — until you looked past the half-truths
and misdirection. My lawyer had advised me about this possible scenario.
Without re-hashing the Legalese mumbo-jumbo, it came down to this: if I
were to take her back now, knowing what I knew, it would, in the eyes of
the court, be a tacit acceptance of her infidelity. My iron-clad grounds
for divorce would instantly evaporate, leaving me the untenable choice of
allowing her to rape me financially in a continued divorce action, or
reconcile and become her cuckold.

"I miss you, too," I admitted.

That wasn't a lie. It isn't easy to piss away eight mostly-happy years.
Then again, I wasn't about to swallow this most egregious transgression on
her part, whatever her rationale. I wasn't exactly facing my uncertain
future alone, either.

"I promise I will give it careful thought for the next few days and let
you know what I want to do," I finished.

She squeezed my arm and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. I was glad she
did not attempt to hug me. Even through the heavy overcoat, that could
have led to a problematic 'discovery'.

"Thank you, Sweetheart," she cooed. "I know I can't ask more than that
right now. You have always been fair. That is just one of a million
things, big and small, I love about you."

Would someone please get me a shovel? This is getting really deep. She
gently stroked my cheek with her hand.

"I'll be waiting for your call, Lover," she murmured, smiling.

I watched her strut regally towards the curb and her waiting Lexus.
Knowing I would be watching, she tossed in an exaggerated wiggle that
rivaled Dianna's. She stopped abruptly, turning her head to look at me
over her shoulder.

"...and Lance?" she added. "She was lovely, whoever she was. Feisty, too.
You always have had impeccable taste in women."

I wasn't sure if that last compliment had been intended towards Dianna or
Susan herself. Either my wife was a very good actress or Jeff, as I had
surmised, had not revealed Dianna's secret to her. The fact that Susan had
referred to her rival in the past tense was not lost upon me. Fait
accompli; in Susan's eyes, the usurper stood no chance. Her towering
arrogance, heaped atop her other faults, appalled me.

Why would she even bother with this charade in the first place? Together,
the two of them would have everything she wanted; prestige, money,
security, and a big dick. Was she trying to get me back just to prove she
could?I would contact my lawyer as soon as I got to my desk, inform him of
this new development, and have him instruct the investigator to keep
digging.

The usual suspects in the office extended their bright, cheery greetings.
I walked into the wing that housed the offices of the firm's half-dozen
heavyweight traders — myself included. My office was one of the middle
two. Angie, our secretary, sat at a desk on the opposite side, facing my
door. In the two years she had worked for our group, she had been one of
the brightest spots in my business life.

To put it delicately, Angie was a dish: a five-foot, six-inch Latina from
the Northwest Side, with thick, wavy raven hair that shimmered with blue
overtones when the light hit it. She possessed dark, expressive eyes and a
voluptuous body that threatened to rip through whatever tight outfit she
wore on any given day.

That she 'overdressed' for the office, or did her hair and makeup more
expressively than most — by conservative, politically-correct Anglo
standards — was a given, and a delightful daily distraction to the male
members of the staff. If her overfull hips, tush and thighs (at least, the
female Anglo staffers described them as such) swiveled a bit too much to
be considered good office decorum, again, no one in our wing was
complaining.

Employee Relations periodically made noises, circulating memos concerning
"appropriate business attire and personal grooming" — no doubt egged on by
unnamed catty co-workers. Nothing had ever come of it and nothing ever
would on our watch. All six senior traders — with myself in the lead — had
sent a memo to Management, threatening to walk out en masse if any action
was taken against her without cause. Money talks louder than petty
jealousy in our world and the noises stopped. We kept a close watch on
Angie's performance reviews to ensure no 'cause' was ever manufactured.
Call it pandering, chauvinism, or whatever you like; we protect our own,
and we considered Angie one of us. How she dressed, what she did on her
own time, and who she did it with was nobody's business but hers, as long
as the work got done.

Although Angie flirted with all the men she worked for, she had always
flirted with me most of all. I had always, in Bill Clinton's words,
"lusted for her in my heart" and flirted back. What man wouldn't? In my
devotion to Susan, I had always kept it at just that. When my rumored
marital crisis had become fodder around the water cooler the previous
week, Angie had taken it upon herself to distract me from my problems as
best she could. Our secretary had been especially friendly and solicitous
of me — and seemed determined to push the edge of the dress code
'envelope' to the breaking point. Her 'distraction' made me wonder if she
might have more than business continuity in mind.

"Busy weekend, Boss?" Angie chirped.

It was impossible for my spirits not to lift in the presence of that
engaging, infectious smile. The heart-stopping tease was dressed in a
tight white suit whose skirt ended just below her knee. The tight skirt
accentuated her narrow waist and hobbled her gait, causing her to undulate
her tush in an exaggerated manner. The jacket had wide-spaced lapels.
Beneath it, she wore a fuscia silk blouse that was unbuttoned to the "V"
of her lapels. The obviously-braless DD-cup breasts jiggled sweetly as she
moved. Her legs were clad in suntan stockings, dipping to fuscia
ankle-strap pumps with five-inch heels. She placed her hands flat on my
desk and leaned over, affording me an unrestricted view of her chasm of
cleavage.

"Yeah, Ang," I admitted. "I have to say it was a really good one, too."

"I'll bet," she giggled with a wink. "You have that just-fucked glow about
you. A girl can tell."

I almost jumped right out of my chair on that one. Was I wearing a neon
sign around my neck, or what? I decided her comment had been innocent
enough.

"Ya got me, Angie," I confessed good-naturedly. "She was good, too. I
should know better than to try to pull the wool over your eyes."

"Damn straight!" she expressed. "So, not the Ex?"

"No, Angie," I confirmed, "not the Ex."

"Goooood," she purred. "That means there is finally hope for the rest of
us peá³nes."

I reached across the desk, covered her hand with mine, and gazed into
those big, expressive eyes.

"Whatever you may be," I intoned softly, "you are not a peon."

Her eyes seemed to melt — then adopted a more serious appraisal of me.

"Are you eating okay, Lance?" she queried.

"Yeah," I asserted. "Why?"

"Oh, I dunno," the lovely Latina teased. "It's just that you seem to
have... lost weight."

I did flinch on that one. Her smile didn't lose an ounce of sincerity as
she pulled her hand from underneath and placed it lightly atop mine.

"I mean, you still look good," she recovered quickly, "really, really
good. I was just... complimenting you, is all..."

She stroked the back of my hand lightly with her perfect, polished
fingernails.

"... and anytime you are ready to find out 'whatever I may be'," she
murmured, "just let me know."

She pivoted on her toes and made for the door. For the second time in
twenty minutes, I was treated to the sight of a lush, undulating tush
strutting confidently on impossibly-high heels. The fabric of the skirt
was stretched so tightly across her rear end, I could plainly see the deep
crevasse where her lush ass cheeks met. She paused in the doorway, gazed
over her shoulder and winked.

"I'll be right outside your door, okay?" she purred. "But then, you
already know that."

O — kaaaaaaaay! Well, I guess we cleared the air on that issue. Now I had
something else to occupy my thoughts.

The Seventh Level of Hell was the most daunting of all; attempting to
reconcile Dianna's overtly-promiscuous lifestyle with her expressed love
for me. Could I learn to trust Dianna, despite her multiple sexual
partners — especially after Susan had betrayed my trust in her? It boiled
down to the twin matters of honesty and choice. Dianna had been honest
with me up front — almost brutally so. She had offered me a choice; accept
her for what she was, or not at all. But did she accept me?Suddenly
Chantal's words popped into my head:

Dianna loves to fuck... but that is just sex. When it comes to love, Miss
Dianna is a hard-core lipstick lesbian. That girl is crazy for you,
Sweetie!

Having experienced that mindset from the other side and witnessing,
first-hand, Dianna's poignant reaction to my 'date' with Daniel, I knew
exactly what Chantal was talking about — more so than 'Lance' alone ever
could. I had certainly been attractive enough to Daniel — and probably
would be to other men as well. It was a 'trust' issue, all right; trusting
myself to be desirable enough that Dianna could have sex with someone
else, but love me and me alone. If anything was going to sabotage my
relationship with her, it would be my own petty insecurity, not one of her
anonymous sexual partners.

A cold chill gripped the pit of my stomach. Was I holding Susan to an
unfair double standard? The circle came around once more to the issues of
honesty and choice. Had Susan been honest with me about her needs, as
Dianna had? Not even close. Susan had, not an hour before, offered me a
choice, but it was a choice in name only and only because I had forced her
hand. Dianna had even predicted it:

And if she came to you tomorrow and said the same things we said tonight,
what then? Better late than never.

Susan had not said the same things. She had dangled attractive bait before
my eyes; what would, for her, amount to a get-out-of-jail-free card. Any
'contrition', it was clear, was expected to come from me, not her. She had
not even hinted she would end her affair with Jeff Spencer. Fool me once,
shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. If I gave her a taste of her own
medicine, as either Lance or Lisa, she would likely turn around and
divorce me — and take me to the cleaners.

Of course, STD's are an issue when multiple partners are involved, but a
manageable one if proper precaution is taken. Dishonesty is not
manageable. Lack of trust is a plague on all houses. Could I trust Susan
again? No way, José. Could I trust Dianna? Trust has to be earned over
time, but I perceived she had been honest with me. That goes a long way
towards establishing trust.

The rest of the morning went quickly. I was following CNN closely. The
OPEC ministers were meeting in Vienna. I was anticipating them making a
move on oil production. I wasn't sure which way it would go, but I had
committed the company to a hedge position in a dangerous way. There had
been rumors circulating since the previous Thursday of a major new
offensive by U.S. forces in the Sunni Triangle When I heard that, my
instincts had gone into overdrive. I called our people on the floor of the
Merc and issued a buy order for all the Number Two Arabian Crude contracts
they could get their hands on. My job and reputation rested on the
accuracy of my instincts.

At eleven o'clock Monday morning, there was word an errant U.S. air strike
had partially demolished the Imam Ali Shrine in Najaf — the holiest
Shi'ite site in Iraq. Within the hour, there was word out of Vienna; OPEC
would be reducing worldwide production by a combined three million barrels
a day. The price of Arabian Crude futures took off for Mars — and we were
in the driver's seat! By one o'clock, my instincts had netted the firm and
its clients one hundred twenty-five million dollars and the amount was
still rising. All in a day's work. I made a note that it might be a good
idea to invest part of my commission in a hybrid car - and gave a little
chuckle for all those SUV owners who would soon be taking the CTA or
Metrato work.

Angie stuck her head in the door.

"Ready?" she inquired.

"For...?" I questioned, puzzled.

"Lunch!" she gushed. I've been following your latest exploits; we all
have. The word is, Rob Nelson and Jim Grant are about to nominate you for
Sainthood. I'm taking you to lunch before they usurp my prerogative. I may
not get another chance before you leave to start your own firm."

This was news. My commission on this trade would be enough to put me over
the top in my quest to obtain my own trading seat on the Merc. Getting a
seat was very much like joining a country club; you had to be 'sponsored'
by existing members. If Rob and Jim were willing to give me their
endorsement.... Robert Nelson was our Chairman and Chief Executive
Officer. James Grant was President and Chief Operating Officer. They had
started from much the same position I was in now — working for someone
else, then acquiring their own seats. The long hours of empire-building
had taken its toll on both their personal lives. Jim was divorced. Rob had
never married. The company was their wife, Mistress, and taskmaster. They
had reached the pinnacle of success, yet remained salarymen to the core.

"Not to worry," I chirped brightly, "if I leave, I will drag you out the
door with me — kicking and screaming, if I have to."

The comely Latina approached me, smiling coyly. She stood before me, bent
over at the waist, placing her face right in front of mine. She gazed into
my eyes, softly stroking my cheek with one hand

"I like kicking and screaming," she cooed, "but you won't have to drag me
anywhere — unless you are into that sort of thing."

She pulled me from my chair and slipped her arm through mine. In her
heels, she was actually taller than me.

"Are you sure you can afford this?" I asked.

"Absolutely!" she breezed. "The sky's the limit — whatever your expense
account allows."

"Gee, thanks." I responded dryly.

"Shut up and call a cab," she growled with mock menace.

As Yogi Berra said, it seemed like Déjá  vu all over again. Angie suggested
we try Morton's new downtown location on Wacker Drive. The 'in' joke was,
the "T" in the neon marquee was already burnt out. At night, everyone in
the Loop was having a good laugh at the illuminated result. My companion
raised one eyebrow inquiringly when I seconded her order for a Cobb salad.

"I've been eating," I reiterated. "I just haven't been eating right. I
need more roughage in my diet."

"Roughage, huh?" Angie smirked. I'll make a note of that."

With only a modest amount of 'persuasion' by the lovely Latina, I ordered
a celebratory bottle of champagne; nothing ostentatious, just a nice MÅ‘et
Brut. If Angie was concerned I ate less salad than she did, she didn't
comment. We left nothing of the bubbly to waste — and were more than a
little wasted ourselves. I remarked I was going to be a wreck when I got
back to my desk.

"Not to worry," Angie reassured me. "I left word upstairs with Sheila you
would be 'indisposed' the rest of the afternoon. Debbie is subbing for me.
No one is gonna give us flack after this morning. We earned it."

"What you mean 'we', Paleface?" I mocked.

"I mean," she continued, "you did the deal and I, as Morale and Recreation
Officer, have kept your head screwed on straight and your mind in the game
for the past week."

"Oh, you did, did you?" I scolded. "Well, thank you very much for your
dedication. And just how did you save me from myself?"

Angie just smiled coyly, and inhaled — deeply. Her chest expanded
amazingly, like two big, round jiggly balloons that seemingly would burst
at any moment, yet just kept expanding. I stared in rapt, silent
fascination.

"Like that," she responded quietly.

Under the table, her hand was in my lap, stroking the hard-on that had
popped above the waistband of my satin panties. I was scared to death she
was about to discover the corset, garters, stocking tops, or all three.

"That IS a... lovely... suit," I stumbled absent-mindedly. "You wear it...
all your outfits... so... well."

"You really think so?" she murmured. "Thank you, Sweetie! You don't mind
if I call you that here, just the two of us, do you? I mean, you are such
an attractive man.... No, that's not right. You are so young-looking,
slender, smooth, fine-featured — like a really pretty boy..."

Her hand snaked its way from my crotch to my abdomen before I could do
anything to stop her. Her smile lit up the room.

"...who likes to dress up like a really pretty girl. Now, what were we
saying about 'drag' a little while ago? Pretty girls like you always have
a pretty name. What's yours?"

I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me right then. I closed my eyes.

"Lisa," I whispered.

"Lisa!" she exclaimed. "That is so you. I am very pleased to meet you,
Lisa. I get along well with the other girls at work, but they are all
so... white bread — know what I mean? You, on the other hand, are my kind
of girlfriend. I can already tell you are hip, daring, not afraid to
flaunt what you've got, and know what to do with it when the time comes.
I'll bet it kills you to have to dress like this for work, doesn't it?
What you really want is to cut loose and dress the way you really feel,
don't you? With those blue eyes and that fair complexion, I'm guessing you
are a really fabulous blonde — aren't you?"

I nodded silently. How could she possibly know all of that? Thank goodness
the lunch rush was largely over. If anyone had been sitting at a
surrounding table....

"Angie, I'm seeing someone," I murmured.

Her eyes sparkled like black diamonds.

"That's right, Sweetie; you are seeing me — and I couldn't possibly be
more thrilled!This is way cool, mija. I just have to get the full effect.
Check, please!"

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

Lance discovers Hell has an eighth level - which may not be so bad, after all.

Story:

Betrayed Ch. 07
by Cherysse St. Claire  ©

Chapter Seven: The Eighth Level?

Angie kept my arm locked in hers, preventing any attempt at escape. We
caught a cab back to my place. She was even more appreciative of it than
Dianna had been.

"Girlfriend, you live like a queen!" she exuded.

Realizing what she had just said, she giggled.

"Oops! Well, you know what I mean."

She made a beeline for the master bedroom. Her practiced eye did not miss
the jewelry armoire or vanity. She nodded her approval, checking my
dresser drawers, one by one, noting the lingerie and Dianna's corset. She
moved on to the vanity, nodding her head and smiling at the MAC products,
then stepped to the armoire. Her eyes bugged out when she saw the
diamond-and-ruby pieces.

"I'm not even gonna ask," she exclaimed slowly.

I knew what she was implying and nodded my head. She exhaled loudly, then
moved on to the closet. She stood silently, taking in the suede suit, the
red sequined gown — and the coat. She shut the door silently, then turned
to face me.

"Well," she observed, "it's not as extensive as I would have guessed, but
Jesus...."

Her last word came out almost in a whisper.

"I'm kinda new to this," I admitted. "That's why my wardrobe is so
limited."

"Define 'new'," she interrogated.

"Uh, this past weekend?"

"Two days?" she questioned. "Wow, you're just a cherry at this."

"Um, not...exactly..." I corrected.

Her eyes bulged. Then she smiled a Cheshire smile.

"You don't waste any time, do you?" she smirked. "I was right about you,
Lisa. You do know how to use it when the time comes. We are going to
become very, very close friends..."

"But, Angie, I can't..."

"...and no one in the office will ever have to know our secret — if I
don't want them to. Now, Lisa, I want you to get dressed for me. As much
as I might want to see you in that red sequined number, I think the suede
will be fine for now."

I stripped off my male attire, swapped the pink panties for the
freshly-washed lavender bra and panty set, then slipped my boobs into my
bra. Angie re-tightened the corset's laces, cinching them down as far as
they would go - crushing the breath from me. She also directed me to swap
out my suntan stockings for a jet-black pair.

I professed my relative lack of skill at applying makeup. My captor
insisted on doing my 'look' for me, right down to re-applying my eyelashes
and fingernails. During the course of our makeup session, she was
delighted to discover my prosthetic male eyebrows, peeling them away in a
flash, then penciling in the dramatic high, thin arches I had affected all
weekend. Angie was doubly delighted to discover my camouflaged ear
piercings. She pursed her lips and shook her head expressively.

"You are just full of surprises, Lisa," she intoned mirthfully. "It really
must kill you to have to hide all this just to come to work. Just looking
at how beautiful you can be, and knowing how drab you have to be to get by
in your stifling male persona is killing me."

When her task was complete, my face did not present the full-blown
drag/stage look my girlfriends had given me Saturday night. Still, it
reflected a dramatic/exotic Latina flair, right down to the dark claret
outline of my lips with the more vibrant red filler, all covered with a
coat of shimmering gloss. I could not detect a shred of difference in the
look and feel of my glamour-length crimson talons from what they had been
all weekend. Under Angie's direction, I re-applied my jewelry, then
spritzed myself with perfume.

"Looking good, Girlfriend," she assured me. "Now, let's see it with the
hair. Wait a sec; let me work with it first."

When Dianna and I had decided to keep the wig, we had picked up a
professional wig block, styling brush and pick and, of course, hairspray
("A showgirl's best friend, Sweetheart," Dianna had claimed). Angie now
attacked my shimmering mane with the latter three. In less time than I
thought possible, she had 'pumped up the volume' — literally as well as
figuratively — to compliment the dramatic flair of my makeup.

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about," she crowed, then paused and winked.
"I'm also a secretary. Now, let's get this puppy on you, Sweetie. I can't
wait to see."

The elastic mesh cap went over my head first, holding my own longish locks
in place. Angie carefully positioned the wig as Mimi had done, cinching
the elastic Velcro tabs in back. I then did a credible job mimicking my
friends' efforts to anchor my new mane to my own hair with bobby pins.
Angelina's smiling face was next to mine, meeting my gaze in the vanity
mirror.

"Oh, yeah," she murmured. "Now put on the shoes. I want to see The Strut."

My heart was pounding, but no longer from apprehension. I was into it now.
I slipped my feet into the mules. The skyscraper stilettos arched my legs,
thrust out my boobs and tush, and made me feel invincible. I conjured up a
mental image of Dianna flowing across a room in that effortless way she
did. Then, I willed my body to emulate her.

"Oh... YEAH!" the lovely Latina extolled. "Girrrl, that is pure poetry in
motion. Two days, my ass! You were born for this. I'm gonna have to work
hard just to keep up."

The excitement — and champagne — had caught up with me.

"Angie," I pleaded, "I hate to break up this mutual aberration society,
but I really have to pee."

She laughed, nodded, then sat down at my vanity.

"You go ahead, Sweetie," she encouraged. "I'm gonna take advantage of this
fabulous collection of cosmetics and touch up my face."

While I was doing my business, I sorted out the tangle of emotions from
the afternoon. Once I had gotten over the initial shock of discovery and
Angie's blackmail, the whole thing had been an incredible turn-on. I could
not deny I had always been attracted to my beautiful secretary; now, more
than ever. She had given every indication she felt the same way. Where was
she going with this? My instincts told me this was going to be more than a
casual get-together.

Was this being unfaithful to Dianna? No; she had told me there would be
times she would not be able to tell me in advance about having sex with a
man. She would share it with me later, when she saw me again. I could do
the same now, and everything would be all right. Would Dianna be as
jealous of me having sex with a GG as she had been about my 'date' with
Daniel? Would Angie want to penetrate me as Dianna did — in this case,
using a dildo? I wanted to be prepared....

The bathroom was fully-equipped; whirlpool tub, separate shower stall,
double sink. toilet — and bidet. When I had toured the place, I thought it
was a quaint appendage that would sit forlornly in the corner, forever
unused. Now.... The sensation of being thoroughly cleansed by the powerful
jet of water was stimulating and unnerving at the same time. My insides
tingled from the experience, not to mention the anticipation of what was
to come. During my stay in the bathroom, I swore I heard my companion's
voice, talking to... someone.

In my absence, Angie's 'touch-up' had rendered her face and hair as
dramatic as my own. She beamed at me as I emerged from the bathroom and
held out her hand to me.

"Ready?" she asked.

Déjá  vu.

"For...?" I reiterated.

"A celebration!" Angie gushed. "The cab will be here in a few minutes.
There is no way two zorras like us are gonna sit at home, looking like
this. I want all of Chicago to see us tonight. I have never felt so
alive!"

I had to admit; I felt the same way. I gathered up my suede clutch, added
cash, my Driver's License (embarrassing if I had to show it, but at least
it was legal), perfume, compact, and another tube of K-Y. Angie noted the
lubricant, as well as the condoms already in the purse, and beamed.

"Planning on getting lucky tonight, Girlfriend?" she cooed.

"The thought crossed my mind," I admitted coyly.

Angie winked.

"You just might be right," she ventured. "I'm really turned on right now
and you are so hot! This keeps getting better and better."

The cab ride was short, depositing us in front of Ruth's Chris Steak House
on Dearborn. Well, okay; the bar is kinda nice and I might be hungry
enough for a small filet later, but.... Angie wrapped my arm in hers and
hurried us inside to escape the evening chill. We made our way into the
bar. I was musing to myself how long it had been since I had a really good
frozen strawberry margarita. My first had been with Susan, at Fat
Tuesday's in Key West. You remember those historic firsts in your life:
your first kiss, your first date, your first love... your first full-blown
coronary seizure. There, seated at the bar, were Rob Nelson and Jim Grant!

"If we turn around right now," I murmured to my companion, "and leave the
way we came, they might not notice us."

Angie pouted.

"What fun would that be?"

"But you said no one from the office had to know!" I cried.

"If I didn't want them to," she corrected. "Be nice and you will be fine.
I was asked out for a special occasion tonight — and I'm not about to say
'no' to our bosses. They asked me to bring a friend for a foursome. I
can't think of any girlfriend I would rather have by my side tonight — or
one more perfect. Let's go, Mija!"

She tightened her grip on my arm and pulled me forward.

"Angie!" Rob beamed. "You made it in record time. Was traffic that light?"

My girlfriend shook her head, beaming her most radiant smile.

"Nothing to it," she chirped. "We were just over by North Pier. We
actually waited longer for the cab to arrive than it took to get here.
Rob, Jim, may I introduce my girlfriend, Lisa...."

It suddenly occurred to us both she had never asked my femme last name.

"...L-Layne," I stammered, lucky to find voice at all. "P-pleased to meet
you both."

I extended a trembling hand in their direction. Both men were off their
stools in a flash. Jim shook my hand with a gentle touch — as a man would
shake a woman's hand. Rob turned my hand over and kissed the back of it.
He stood transfixed, staring into my eyes as though turned to stone. Jim
just grinned at his partner's distress. At last, Rob shook his head as if
clearing it.

"I'm sorry," he intoned, embarrassed. "Where are my manners? It was rude
of me to st.... I mean, I couldn't help mys.... Damn, Angelina, you were
right. She is absolutely captivating.

Okay, that helped a little. I was still shaking like a leaf in a Force
Five Nor'easter.

"You poor girl!" Rob stated compassionately. "Why don't you women ever
wear coats? You look great, but even if you take a warm cab, you can catch
your death of cold getting into or out of it."

"When some nice Sugar Daddy buys me a fur," Angie hinted, "I'll even wear
it in July."

"Consider it done, Baby Doll," Jim breezed. "Call it a 'perk' of your new
position."

"Angie is getting a... promotion?" I asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Rob replied with a grin, "for services rendered. Didn't she tell
you? We will announce it officially to the whole company tomorrow. She is
coming upstairs to become an Executive Personal Assistant. That's part of
the reason for our celebration tonight."

"Um, congratulations," I offered lamely.

"Thank you, Sweetie," she responded sprightly. "I couldn't have done it
without you."

I wished she would stop dropping hints like that. So far, they didn't seem
to realize who I was. As long as they didn't, I might still have a job the
next morning. I gathered up all my courage.

"Well," I observed, "if this is a celebration, perhaps we should have a
drink. Would it be too much trouble to order me a frozen strawberry
margarita? Make it the big one; I need it."

Ten minutes later, I was already half-way through the frosty, forty-eight
ounce concoction. It went down so easily! After all, it was just a big
Slurpee — with about a gallon of Cuervo. The others were sipping leisurely
at their cocktails. There had been not a single untoward comment or
reference, regarding me. The two executives, particularly Rob, were
actually warming to me as they would to any attractive woman. Fortified
with liquid courage, I was beginning to respond in kind.

"So, uh, Mr. Nelson," I began.

"Lisa, please call me Rob," he interrupted. "This isn't office hours and
'Mr. Nelson' is way too formal for the occasion — and present company."

"Okay...Rob," I corrected myself. "I just wanted to express my personal
pleasure in your choice of promoting my friend Angie. I know she deserves
it and she will be a valuable asset to you and Mr... uh, Jim."

"Thank you, Lisa," Rob responded. "Angie's promotion is richly deserved.
The men in the Major Trades Group give her rave reviews, particularly
Lance Layton. Perhaps Angie has mentioned him to you? She thinks the world
of him."

I stiffened — hopefully imperceptibly — at the mention of my alter ego,
nodding my assent.

"Lance is the real reason we are celebrating tonight," Rob continued. "He
really put us on the map today. He's the best of the best, and loyal to
the core. Did you know he threatened to quit, and take his whole group
with him, because some blue nose in Employee Relations got a bug up her
ass about Angie's sartorial splendor? He was willing to piss away a
six-figure income, plus stock options, for his secretary's honor. I wish
all my people had that level of personal integrity. Jim and I have been
wracking our brains all afternoon, trying to decide on a suitable reward.
Angelina has even offered a suggestion or two, haven't you Angie?"

She smiled from behind pursed lips and nodded. Her eyes twinkled.

"From what I hear," Rob went on, "Angie is lucky to have a good friend
like you. Your unselfish support of her career advancement is just one
more indication of that. The truth is, she won't be working for us."

"She... won't?" I asked haltingly. "Then who will she be working for?"

"Our Executive Vice-President," Jim answered.

"Really?" I questioned with genuine confusion. "Angie never mentioned you
had one. Who is it?"

The two men looked at each other — and grinned.

"Why, you of course," Rob stated matter-of-factly. "Dear Lady, after your
performance this morning, you could write your own ticket anywhere on
LaSalle Street. I'll do anything I have to do to keep you."

He gazed at me with a whole lot more than professional interest.

"Anything. Anyone who can make us one hundred fifty-seven million dollars
and change in the morning, then show up that same evening, looking like a
supermodel for her date with me, deserves her chair in the Executive
Suite."

My internal clock may have been a little off, due to the effects of stress
and alcohol. As nearly as I can figure it, about one-point-five seconds
elapsed between the time Rob uttered those words and I sensed the first
taste of bile in my throat. Strawberry-flavored bile is not cute.

"'Scuse me," I barked, even as I was bolting for the bathroom door.

As I dashed away, I thought I heard Rob inquire: "Was it something I
said?"

The First Commandment states: "Thou shalt worship no god before Me."

Fine; I won't burn in Hell as long as God is a porcelain throne.

***

I heard her voice directly behind me as I knelt.

"Sweetie? Are you all right?"

"Never better," I gasped. "Purging is 'in' these days. With the right
spin, I may make the cover of next week's People."

I felt her right arm wrap gently around my tummy as I coughed. Her left
hand held my forehead. No one had performed that simple, loving act for me
since my mother. I adored Angie at that moment — even as I despised every
fiber of her being.

"What did I ever do," I wheezed, fighting for breath, "to make you hate me
so much?"

"Huh?"

My stomach finally decided it had done enough somersaults. My breathing
returned to normal. I got to my feet, turned around, lowered the seat, and
collapsed on it.

"You set me up," I cried. "You outed me — to our employers! I'm done in
this town. I'll be lucky if I can get a job trading baseball cards in
Buffalo. Why, Angie? Why?"

She just stared at me as though I had sprouted a third eye in the middle
of my forehead.

"Excuse me?" she exclaimed indignantly. "Did I set you up? Of course! How
else could I have gotten you here under these circumstances? As for the
rest, were we sitting at the same table a moment ago? I could have sworn I
heard Rob Nelson offer you a Vice-Presidency. How, exactly, does that
classify you as 'done in this town'?"

"By this time tomorrow, everyone in the company will be convinced I'm some
kind of freak!"

The raven-haired Latina continued to stare. The corners of her mouth
twitched a bit, then curled upwards.

"Oh," she stated matter-of-factly. "Is that all?"

Angie reached down, hiked my skirt up around my hips, then slipped off my
panties. My damn clitty, not understanding how indignant I was about what
my companion had done to me, sprang to full, painful attention. My
companion then unzipped and wriggled out of her own tight skirt — she
wasn't wearing panties - straddled my thighs, then slowly sank onto my
lap, impaling herself on my rigid rod. Her eyes momentarily glazed over.
She trembled and gasped a sigh of contentment as I filled her drenched
pussy.

"Mija," she intoned, "you need a reality check. You are a freak. Your
instincts have consistently made our company profitable and you a valuable
asset, when the other traders guess wrong as much as they guess right.
That makes you a freak. Today, your instincts caught the commodities
market flat-footed, made this company a ton of money, and likely
positioned it as the premiere commodities brokerage in this city, if not
the country. That makes you a freak. In spite of it all, you are the most
intelligent, kind, loyal, funny, down-to-earth man I have ever met,
working in a world of arrogant alpha assholes. That makes you a freak. If
that isn't enough, you are also the most drop-dead gorgeously-feminine man
in this whole damn city. It goes without saying how freaky that is.

"I could have any man in this city. Do you doubt that? Don't! All I have
to do is wiggle my cute, curvaceous ass, and he would be all mine! I know
how the game is played and I don't mind fucking my way to the top. I've
already had Jim Grant - often. I don't love him, but he's a great lay, and
it doesn't hurt to get in good with the guys who can make your career. I'm
gonna have him again tonight, too — and you are gonna have Rob Nelson.

"I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, which Jim revealed to me over
'pillow talk'. The reason Rob never got married has nothing to do with the
long hours he puts in on the job. He is gay - and has an
industrial-strength Jones for beautiful T-girls. When I saw you like this,
I couldn't wait to put you two together. Did I 'set you up'? You bet your
sweet ass I did — and for good reason! Now, you may have 'missed the memo'
a few minutes ago, but he was hard as a rock the moment he saw you. He
wants you so bad, I can taste it. You heard him; he will do 'anything' to
keep you. What he really meant was, he will do anything to HAVE you.

"Do you deserve this Vice-Presidency on your own merits? Of course you do!
Is that enough — in our world? Sweetie, we are not gonna leave anything to
chance. Here is what you and I are going to do. We are going to pull
ourselves together, fix our faces, fluff up our hair, then go out and make
nice with our dates. We are going to enjoy our dinner, laugh at their
jokes, flirt with them, then let human nature and hormones do the rest.

"Tomorrow, we are going to pack your things, move you upstairs, get you
settled into your new life as an Executive Vice-President — and I am gonna
be right by your side, just as I have been every business day for the last
two years. I know how hard you have fought for me in that time. Don't even
dream I won't fight just as hard for you now."

I just shook my head in bewilderment.

"I guess I can chase away the butterflies in my stomach," I began
tentatively. "I may even be able to screw together enough courage to go
back out there. I suppose I should count my blessings; I didn't stain my
suit or blouse. Hell, if you pump enough alcohol into me..."

I stared at the bowl between my thighs.

"...excuse me; back into me, I might even be able to enjoy myself. But
where, oh where am I gonna find the courage tomorrow to put on a suit and
tie, ride up to the top floor, shake Rob and Jim's hands and sit behind my
new desk, as though tonight never happened?"

It was Angie's turn to shake her head, incredulously.

"You really weren't paying attention out there, were you?" she scolded.
"The man said, anyone who could do the things you have done today deserves
HER seat in the Executive Suite. 'Lance' wasn't invited to The Show; you
were. You are a star, Baby Doll, and I have hitched my star to yours.
Together, we are going to ride this right to the top."

"Angie," I inquired seriously, giving myself the once-over, "I really need
to know. Doesn't all this bother you? I mean me, this way. Wouldn't you
rather work for someone more... I dunno, manly? Do you really want to come
with me?

She stared at me without expression for a moment, then glanced down to
where my 'clit' was buried to the hilt inside her pussy. It was really wet
down there. She gazed into my eyes, a smile curling the edges of her
mouth. She leaned forward and kissed me deeply.

"Do I want to come with you?" she cooed. "I guess you missed that memo,
too. Twice. We'll have to do something about your breath, though. I've got
a pack of those little mouthwash-thingies in my purse."

***

We pulled it together (did we ever!) and slinked saucily, arm in arm, out
to meet our dates. I hoped my smile was somewhere near as dazzling as my
girlfriend's. I exuded bravado I didn't feel. This time, I got it right.
We drank cocktails with appetizers and champagne with dinner. I got it
right with Rob, too. I sat on the inside of our circular booth, next to
Angie. Rob was on my outside; Jim on hers.

The conversation — and confidence — flowed more naturally as my
blood-alcohol level increased. I was snuggled up to Rob just as tightly as
Angie was to Jim. After dinner, my arm was linked through his. I touched
the back of his hand lightly with my free hand to make a point during
conversation. Angie and I did laugh at their jokes — which were
surprisingly good and well-told for two guys from the Executive Suite.
Who'd a thunk it?

We walked out of the restaurant with my arm still through Rob's. My head
rested lightly on his shoulder. Was I surprised when he kissed me? Not
really. Was I surprised I sucked his tongue into my mouth like a vacuum
cleaner and held it there? Well, uh... yeah. What scared me most was, I
liked it. Did I think of Dianna? Immediately! I knew what was about to
happen; at that point, it was inevitable. I knew it was the one thing she
still felt uneasy about in our relationship. I knew all the noble things I
should be doing at this moment. I should politely thank Rob and Jim for a
lovely evening, call a cab and go home (I wasn't sure how hard a time I,
Lisa, would have retrieving the Benz from the secured garage at work, even
at this time of night). I should call Dianna, go to her, find her wherever
she was and tell her I loved her truly, madly, deeply. I also knew none of
that would happen beforehand. Angie and I were going home with our two
escorts, 'to let human nature and hormones take their course.' I could
have told myself I was doing it for my promotion or even doing it for
Angie's. If I repeated it often enough, I might even begin to believe it
myself.

Rob's condo in the John Hancock Building had a magnificent view of the
lake to the East and Lake Shore Drive to the North, with the Drake Hotel
in the foreground and Oak Street Beach just beyond. Rob had me up against
a wall with his hand under my skirt almost as soon as the four of us were
in the door. I guess he just had to check out my bona fides. He seemed to
like my 'bona' just fine; his lurched hard inside his pants. Playing the
ever-so-accommodating 'date', I unbuckled and unzipped his pants, then
sank slowly to my haunches, sliding his pants and boxers down as I went,
allowing his tortured tube its freedom. God, did it ever spring at the
chance!

Rob was not huge; certainly not like Daniel. But he was nice and thick and
meaty and stood straight at attention in my face, which was not only a
huge turn-on but an incredibly rewarding compliment. I kissed him right on
the tip to show my appreciation. He lurched again. I gazed upward into his
eyes — and saw The Look. I hadn't seen it all that often. Once upon a
time, it had been in Susan's eyes. Lately, I had seen it in Dianna's. If
you have ever seen it, you know how it makes those butterflies in your
tummy start a'fluttering and makes you do goofy things; sometimes
consciously, and sometimes on auto-pilot....

I sank forward on my knees and rested my hands lightly on Rob's thighs. I
had one serious lollypop staring me eye-to-eye. The tip of my tongue
traced a delicate path along the underside, from the sac all the way to
the tip. A series of little flicks around the head caused the whole of it
to jump numerous times. I traced back along my original route, laving his
balls upon arrival. I sucked each one in turn while lightly massaging his
firm buttcheeks with my long nails. I turned my head and traced back
towards the tip with my tongue along the upper crest, gently lapping off
to each side, first one, then the other, returning to my point of origin.

My second kiss lingered a moment, with my lips ever-so-slightly parted. My
tongue flicked the tip yet again, spreading the pre-cum which, by this
time, was flowing substantially. I parted my lips a bit more, taking the
head only into my mouth, giving it a more playful tongue-bath, round and
round, first one direction, then the other. One hand lightly grasped his
shaft; the other, his balls. I gently stroked the first, while massaging
the second, ever-so-deftly scraping the sensitive skin with the tips of my
nails.

I took more of him into my mouth, stroking him faster at the same time. I
could feel him tremble, feel his hands on my head, holding me, easing me
forward, urging me to take still more of him into my mouth, deeper,
deeper. I released his balls and reached around once more, massaging his
buns. I traced the length of his crack with my middle finger oh-so-slowly,
from the ilial crest to his scrotum, then back to massage his little
puckered hole. He jumped when I hit it with the tip of my nail.

By this time, I was inhaling his raging member up to my hand. I removed my
hand, placed it on his other butt cheek, and inhaled him even deeper,
until my nose brushed his pubic hair. His pre-cum was flowing continuously
now. I sucked my middle finger into my mouth next to his cock, getting it
nice and slick with saliva and Rob's natural lube. I found his love button
again and, with excruciating care, slipped my finger into it, making
certain I did not damage the delicate tissues with my fingernail. He went
off like a bomb, blasting hot jism into the back of my mouth and down my
throat. Knowing how sensitive a man is after coming, I resumed my light
tongue-flicking on his frenulum, holding his butt cheeks firmly to prevent
his escape. I honestly thought the sensations would drive him mad — but
his erection did not go down a centimeter.

Shouts and shrieks from the direction of the bedroom told me the action
was going hot and heavy in there. That was okay; I was up to my tonsils —
and then some — in action right here. It might have been minutes, tens of
minutes, an hour. I lost all concept of time and space. My entire universe
was the cock in my mouth and I was going to explore every last one of its
mysteries.

My universe picked me up and carried me bodily to the sofa, draping me
over the upholstered arm such that my back rested on the overstuffed
cushions and my hips were raised. Bless his heart, he accepted my offered
K-Y. He thrust into me so easily, as though I had been accepting cock in
my pussy all my life, instead of eleven days. I wrapped my legs around his
thighs and matched his thrusts with my own, closing my eyes, arching my
back, and focusing my entire will on simply being.

Something brushed against my hand. I opened my eyes, to be greeted by yet
another hunk of angry man-meat. I reasoned that, in the heat of passion,
slippery concepts such as 'gay' and 'straight' had less meaning than
slippery lips or a drenched pussies. I had not reached the point of doing
multi-million-dollar trades on the commodities market by being slow to
recognize obvious cues. I opened my mouth and accepted Jim Grant up to the
hilt.

I was being pummeled at both ends — and not-so-quietly going out of my
mind. My own shrieks were muffled by the bulging 'cock gag' filling my
mouth. My love nest was stretched and on fire from Rob's thunderous
assault. My own clitty had found a gap between my panties and skirt hem
and exploited it, standing tall. My attention snapped back from my mouth
and love nest to the gently touch of a hand on my cheek. Angie's face
hovered just over my head, upside-down, as she leaned over the near end of
the sofa. Her smile, like her name, was angelic.

"Is that enough 'roughage' for you, Baby Doll?" she cooed, "or would you
like it rougher? You're close to popping, aren't you? And it's such a
bitch to get cum stains out of suede...."

Her head disappeared. Moments later, I felt my skirt raised even higher,
up to my waist, then soft suctioning on my clitty as slick lips and a wet
mouth descended its length. I had no idea how long it lasted, nor where my
endurance came from. The cocks at either end of me thundered their release
in quick succession. I milked every drop from them with mouth and rectal
muscles. When they were at last spent and limp, I focused my attention on
the last remaining member of our 'party'.

There is something to be said about telepathy. Perhaps it was just the
recognition in the glance of one pair of perceptive eyes to another.
Strong hands had the gorgeous Latina impaled on my clit before she knew
she had left her perch on the floor next to the sofa. She was open and
drenched, but neither so much to deny her pleasure from my aching member.
Take pleasure, she did; openly, vocally, enough to raise the dead. Then
too, the lips teasing her nipples and the mouth sucking her tongue out of
her head had much to do with her passion. When she came, she convulsed
violently, spasmodically. I couldn't see her eyes; rather, I sensed from
the feel of her they rolled up into her head. But for the mouth covering
hers, they would have heard her in the next ZIP code.

I thanked them — for everything — and bid them a sweet slumber. They
begged me to stay, but I demurred, claiming I would have a busy day
coming. They mandated it start late, in view of my efforts 'above and
beyond the call', and that I contact Angie before I do anything else. She
took me aside and kissed me so deeply, I thought she would suck my head
inside-out.

"Will you be all right?" she asked, with a voice tinged with concern.

I tilted my head sideways and gave her a screwball look.

"Depending on your definition," I replied, "I may never be 'all right'
again. I think I will recover. From there, I guess we'll just have to take
it one day at a time, won't we?"

She kissed me again. Her smile banished the night's shadows.

"Good answer, Lover," she trilled. "In case I haven't told you in the last
ten minutes, you are magnificent. Call me?"

I had to laugh.

"No," I intoned solemnly, "after this, I'm afraid I'll just have to walk
away from it all and take up the solitary life of a long-haul trucker."

I trapped her fist before it impacted my shoulder and kissed it.

"Yes, I will call you," I continued. "I have to. If I don't, how will I
get the job done?"

"Damn right, Missy!" she exclaimed.

That reminded me of something really important that needed doing.

Getting a cab at that time of night was partly luck, but mostly a matter
of where you were calling from. No cabbie gave a second thought about
picking someone up at the entrance of Big John. My driver was a little
less enthusiastic about the destination in Lakeview, but Ulysses Grant was
always a strong persuader. If I looked to him like a hooker headed home
from a hot 'date' — well, that wasn't completely inaccurate, was it? It
never occurred to me not to tell Dianna everything, whatever the fallout.
I wasn't going to make the same mistakes that had been made at my expense.
The flashback to Jeff Goldblum and The Lost World was almost automatic:

"No, this time you're making all new mistakes."

As the cab rounded the corner, I spied a tall figure walking down the
steps of Dianna's building and heading in the opposite direction. There
was something about the fluid motion of his body that tugged at my memory.
I dismissed it, paid the driver and hurried up the stairs. Fortune was
with me. Dianna's building was older. The closer on the front door was
hydraulic, not pneumatic. In the February cold, the fluid inside must have
had the consistency of axel grease. I caught the door before it latched.
Hooray! I wouldn't have to ring. I hurried up the stairs and tapped at her
door. She opened it, crying. Her tears turned immediately to a look of
genuine horror, as though she had seen a ghost. From the disarray of her
bed and nightgown, I surmised the departing figure had not been a
coincidence. Well, I hadn't been pure as the driven, either. Still, the
thought he had hurt her hurt me — and made me angry. I did not want to
start off on the wrong foot by demanding details which were none of my
business.

"Y-you should have called first," she sniffed.

"I should have called hours ago," I professed, pushing her down on the bed
and kissing her deeply. "Now, I'll have to make it up to you the best way
I know how. This time, it's my turn to talk."

Did I say it was getting deep before? Call Streets and Sanitation; this
time, I'm gonna need a plow...

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

Lisa assumes her new job and life. She learns of the possible plot against her - and hatches a wild scheme to identify the players.

Story:

Betrayed Ch. 08
by Cherysse St. Claire  ©

Chapter Eight: The Noose Tightens

Did I happen to mention everything was moving so fast? People weren't
really surprised Lance Layton took his commission and ran for the door as
fast as he could. There wasn't an employee in the firm who didn't wish
they could produce the same results for themselves. The rumors ran
rampant: he had purchased his own seat and started his own firm; he was
trading through the Internet from his new home in Aruba; his marital
problems had so devastated him, he had quit the business entirely and now
ran a charter boat in Key West (my personal favorite); he had secretly
been Michael Jackson all along, hiding out from the glare of publicity
while attempting to re-build his fortune.

Nor were they really surprised Rob and Jim had 'gone outside' to acquire
their new Executive Vice-President. Lisa Layne had come highly
recommended. She and Lance had been classmates and friendly competitors in
the Finance curriculum at their university, so the gossip went. They had
both gone into futures trading and, according to the departed Mr. Layton,
she had done quite well herself. When he decided to leave the firm, he had
floated her name as his best possible replacement. The two senior
executives had planned to make him their choice for V.P., but valued his
judgment and had tendered her an offer, which she had accepted. Angie had
been proud to come up with, then disseminate, that plum piece of
disinformation. One very real aspect of this move was: Major Trades was
being re-vamped into the "Strategic Trading Group", and its direction
would be the new Vice-President's - my - primary focus.

Another rumor spread immediately, and unbidden; the new Veep was "a real
looker". That rumor probably began in the Transportation Department. I
hadn't known we even had a 'Transportation Department'. Most likely, it
was just three or four guys from Maintenance who had been Shanghai-ed into
going down to the garage, loading Lisa Layne's recently-arrived personal
effects onto carts, then bringing them up the service elevator to the top
floor and delivering them to her new office. She and her Personal
Assistant had been there to supervise the unloading. The guys already knew
Angie. They had been suitably (no pun intended) impressed with Ms. Layton
herself. Add the glowing welcoming memo circulated from the Offices of the
Chairman and President, and everyone accepted the new 'suit' without a
second thought — but not without a second look.

That was Wednesday morning. To preserve the fiction of the 'outside hire'
and thus protect my identity, Angie and I had boxed up all my stuff from
my office Tuesday night, then taken it down to the garage on those same
carts. Employee Relations had fast-tracked the new hire's paperwork after
receiving the memo from Rob. I don't know how the issue of the Social
Security Number had been handled. Angie told me it was best if I didn't
know for now; 'plausible deniability'. Maybe she bought one on the
Internet.

She and I had gone shopping Tuesday afternoon for my new wardrobe. One of
my 'executive perks' was a generous clothing allowance, which came in very
handy. The outfits we purchased were tasteful. Okay, they were largely
tasteful; after all, I was a Vice-President now. With Angie helping me
pick out my apparel, you know there were going to be some delightfully
feminine touches — like... no pantsuits or pantyhose. Somehow, a portion
of my clothing allowance found its way into 'leisurewear'. I even got to
expense my new corsetry — and a few other little 'ups and extras'. Sigh.
The things we must do to get ahead in Business....

At home, Angie boxed up all of Lance's clothes, shoes, and underwear to
make room for Lisa's. She was all set to take it down to Goodwill. I told
her an Executive Assistant did not concern herself with grunt work; I
would have someone pick it up and deliver it. I did - to a storage locker
on North Clark Street, just in case the 'Lisa' thing didn't work out....

The whole girly-girl thing completely bewildered me. I had dismissed my
childhood wonder long ago as exactly that. Now, that wonderment had
sprouted and taken root like a long-dormant seed. It was turning out to be
one of those things you didn't know you were going to like, then suddenly
discovered you really, really do and can't get enough of. It's kind of
like having a compulsion for Hot Fudge Sundaes — without the calories.
Angie loved it. She now had a girlfriend at work with whom she had so much
in common. That her girlfriend was also her supervisor, whom now wrote her
performance reviews, was Serendipity itself. That her girlfriend was
also... well, you get the idea.

Dianna couldn't have been happier for me. Now that 'Lisa' was going to be
around 24/7, she lobbied me heavily to get 'done'. I was tempted, but
worried about the degree of permanence it would attach to this strange new
lifestyle. Was I ready for that? I offered up the thirteen weeks remaining
before the show as a dodge. Would that be enough time? She argued yes, if
we hurried. My lover had been surprisingly understanding about the
'promotion party'. She was not ashamed to admit using sex to get what she
wanted and saw no difference in what I did; it wasn't like I was out
cruising for a new boyfriend. I didn't see the wisdom in pointing out the
'new boyfriend' may have been out cruising for me. I loved her and that
was that.

She was overwhelmed I had thought so much of her, I had immediately hopped
in a cab and come to share it all with her, rather than letting it wait or
not telling her at all. No one before me, she avowed, had ever displayed
such consideration for her thoughts and feelings. She had begun crying
again, and I had to find a creative way to dry her tears and turn her sobs
into shrieks of bliss.

As much as I was learning about her, I still felt Dianna was an enigma. It
wasn't so much what she said as what she didn't say. I had had the
impression before; she was holding something back. I had visited Ringers
and talk to Chantal and the other girls. I learned Dianna, like most of
the girls, held back from everyone, including her friends, to protect
herself from being hurt. Pain — both physical and emotional — was a
constant in their world. I didn't know what she might still be withholding
from me, but hoped it wouldn't damage us both.

***

My attorney called Thursday morning. When I had initiated my proceedings
against Susan, I had specified that my communications to and from him
would be via my cell phone, not through the company switchboard. Although
'Lisa' now had her own cell, I had retained my original one for exactly
this reason. As much as I respected Angie, I didn't want to expose my
'dirty laundry' to her or anyone else in the company. Now, I was glad I
had had the foresight.

The investigator had dug up a goldmine of information which explained a
lot. Jeff Spencer had a major gambling problem. The 'multi-millionaire
star' was in serious debt to the bookies. Susan had been carrying him
financially. Now she too had been stretched to the limit, maintaining the
façade of their star-quality lifestyle. No wonder she wanted me back! So,
which ploy would she use? Live with me, while secretly sucking me dry to
prop up her lover, or tell me it had "all been an awful mistake, and can
you ever forgive me?" - and dump the QB like yesterday's trash? Then
again, if she did dump Jeff, how long would she stay this time before her
roving eye caught sight of fresh meat? No thanks.

There had been another disturbing development. The phone taps indicated a
suspicious pattern of activity between Jeff and another party, presumed to
be female. At first the investigator suspected it was simply one of his
other lovers — one Susan did not know about. The taps recorded
conversation that indicated Jeff was running some kind of sting operation
— and I was the target! The apparent intent was to ruin my personal
reputation in a very public way, allowing Susan to side-step my
allegations of "Open and Notorious Adultery" and clean me out.

It was unknown at that time whether or not Susan was involved in the
set-up, as her voice never appeared in any of the conversations. The
communications were directed to and from a pre-paid disposable cell phone
which the investigator could not trace. He was currently trying to obtain
the cellular records to isolate which cell towers had handled the calls,
to get a better idea of where the third party was geographically located.
In the meantime, the attorney cautioned me to be especially vigilant in my
professional and personal relationships and not involve myself in any
activity which could be turned against me legally and, more importantly,
publicly.

Now he tells me!

This was a conspiracy theorist's wet dream. Jeff's contact was "presumed
to be female." There were a lot of new 'females' in my life of late. Most
of them seemed to be hell-bent on pushing me down a path that was
guaranteed to explode in my face if it was ever made public. That path had
just been institutionalized; 'Lance' was gone and 'Lisa' was a company
executive. Angie had pushed hard, blackmailed me down that road. Then
again, Dianna wasn't exactly trying to talk me out of it, anymore than
were the girls at Ringers. In fact, I met the gorgeous T-girl because she
had 'dated' Jeff. For that matter, this would be just the kind of revenge
Susan would eat up to get back at me for leaving her, even if it was her
own fault.

The conspirators were not necessarily limited to Jeff and one female,
either. That could be just the tip of the iceberg. The firm — that is, Rob
and Jim — leased a skybox at Soldier Field for entertaining current and
prospective clients, politicians, and other notables. Naturally, they were
cozy with the team's management and, on social occasions, player
personnel. It wasn't conceivable they had never met Jeff Spencer, the
team's star. Could they all be in this together?

My employers had taken great pains to be supportive of me through my
crisis with Susan — but dare I take that at face value? Money talks; did
my money — the money I made for them in the course of my work - talk
louder than the team's? I said the team's because they had a substantial
stake in the quarterback's wellbeing. They might not publicly bail him out
of his potentially scandalous problem. That would be a public relations
disaster for both the team and the league. But if they could deflect any
breaking scandal onto another person while helping their 'investment' out
financially, wouldn't they jump at the chance? Who do I trust? Perhaps, as
the cliché goes, I should trust no one.

Key West was looking better all the time.

***

 ¡Qué Diga! What do you mean, a 'fashion show'? Have you been holding out
on me, Mija?"

"I didn't think it was that big a deal, Angie," I responded, embarrassed.
That's why I've been wearing corsets every day. Paul said I would need
figure training..."

"Get outta town!" Angie barked. "Paul C., the corset-maker, wants you to
model for him? I would kill just to meet him, let alone walk the runway
for him. Our paths never seem to cross."

"I can introduce you," I offered. "To tell you the truth, I think you
would be perfect as one of his models — much better than me."

"What do you mean, 'much better than you'?" my assistant challenged. "You
are gorgeous!"

"Yeah," I countered, "but you have the body for it; I don't. Face it; I'm
just not endowed like you. A lot of Paul's creations feature either demi
cups or no cups at all. I would need a heavyweight Hollywood special
effects artist to craft a convincing pair of boobs and a tush for me to
wear that stuff."

"How about a heavyweight Chicago plastic surgeon instead?" the Latina
chirped.

Not her, too!

"Actually," I admitted, "I've discussed that with friends. With only
thirteen weeks to go, I don't think I could be ready in time."

"Thirteen weeks?" Angie questioned.

Then, her eyes lit up.

"Ohmigod!" she gasped. "You're doing the fashion show at the Mr. Gay
Leather Pageant? Oh, Honey; people come from all over the United States,
Canada, and Europe for that. It is one of the biggest gay/fetish events of
the year! Thirteen weeks is plenty of time if we get on it right now. I'll
get on the phone and clear it with Rob. He will eat this up!"

"Do you really think so?" I gushed, with false enthusiasm. "I can't wait."

I gulped — with luck, imperceptibly — and hoped for the umpteenth time I
knew what I was doing.

I had embarked upon a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse. I wasn't one to sit
back and let events run their course, regardless of the outcome. That is
not what commodity traders do. I was determined to discover the nature of
the 'hammer', and who was dropping it on me.

I had my attorney and his investigator on my side. I had not divulged
anything about 'Lisa' to them; at least, not yet. My attorney would have
had a stroke, with such a revelation coming on the heels of the warning he
had just given me. I could not go to The Media. Publicity was the one
thing I was trying to avoid at all costs. If the story did break at this
point, the conspirators would simply crawl back under their rock and
gloat, having accomplished what they set out to do.

I could not go to the police, either. I had learned enough through Dianna
and the girls at Ringers to know cops abuse transgenders worse than
Society at large. In their eyes, 'Lisa Layne, Executive Vice-President'
would appear to be a T-girl scam of epic proportions. At the same time,
Jeff Spencer was an idol to every macho jerk in Chicago — particularly the
ones wearing badges. Chicago's Finest would more likely take Susan and
Jeff's side than mine, unless I could provide iron-clad proof of criminal
conduct on their part.

I would have to draw the conspirators out in the open to obtain that
proof. To accomplish that, I would need to dangle some bait. Hey, maybe I
was in the fishing business after all.

Rob didn't know that heavyweight plastic surgeon personally, but Jim did.
His ex-wife swore by the doctor's work — and she had reason(s) to know.
Rob gave his enthusiastic Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval and Jim made
the call. Chicago is all about Clout; Rob and Jim had it. Yeah, that's
right; Five PM, that afternoon, offices on Superior Street, for the
consultation.

Before I kept that appointment, I needed to get with Paul, A.S.A.P.

I was glad I didn't have to give up the Mercedes when I gave up 'Lance'.
The ploy had been so simple: When Lance decided to leave the firm and get
a fresh start, he had sold it to his 'friend', Lisa. She had been grateful
to forego the hassle of transporting a car from the city where she had
been living. She hadn't been hesitant to tell people around the company
the elegant E500 Sport was a nice 'upgrade' from her Lexus. Angie was
eating up the luxury sedan as we made our way to Rogers Park. I could tell
she was really getting into the perks of the 'Executive' lifestyle.

Paul was as gracious as ever. If he cast a lustful glance at me and the
even more voluptuous Angie, he kept it a discreet one.

"Lisa!" he boomed. "You look absolutely lovely! You really are going to be
perfect for the show. And who is your charming companion?"

"Paul," I began, "this is my friend, Angie. I was wondering if you could
use her..."

"...in a heartbeat," he finished. "She's in. I would be lucky to have her.
We can get started taking her measurements immediately."

"Paul," I went on, "there's something else. Angie... well, it looks like
I'm gonna get some work done in time for the show; a boob job at least,
maybe more."

The growing smile on his face was precious to behold.

"That's fantastic!" he gushed. That's going to put a whole new spin on
what I'll have you model. The possibilities...."

Then, his face fell.

"Aw, crap!" he barked. "I've already started your garments, based on your
existing measurements. I'm at a point where I can still modify the
dimensions, but I won't have any idea what your new measurements will be
until it's too late! Can you give me some idea?"

"Uh, mmmm..." I hedged.

I hadn't thought of that. I was too new at this; I couldn't quote him
numbers. I glanced around the room, hands raised in exasperation.

"Will mine do?" Angie inquired sweetly. Butter would have melted in her
mouth.

Paul's eyes bugged out.

"You can do that in time?" he asked reverently.

Angie grabbed my arm and snuggled up to me.

"I guarantee we can!" she gushed, before I had a chance to say anything.

"Two of you with the same body?" he queried incredulously. "That body?
Dear God; this is a fetish designer's dream come true. With the two of
you, plus D-"

"Yes, exactly," I interrupted hastily. "Would that work out?"

"Work out?" he asked, stunned. "It will only be my best show ever — and
it's Mr. Gay Leather, too. That is always one of my top-grossing shows.
Lisa, my cup runneth over...."

He glanced down at our respective cleavages and grinned.

"Well," he continued, "mine and a few others. Thank you; you made my day.
Now, let's get Angie's measurements."

Pure reflex had caused me to cut Paul off before uttering Dianna's name in
Angie's presence. I could rationalize my action by citing: in a
conspiracy, divide and conquer; never divulge who or how much you already
know. I didn't really know a thing, but I wanted to keep the suspects
compartmentalized. If I had been really truthful with myself, I would have
admitted I didn't want to complicate my life still further by allowing my
two lovers to know about each other. Betrayal begins so simply....

On our way back to the car, Angie seized my head in both hands and speared
my mouth with a searing kiss. I stumbled, arms flailing, at the sudden
onslaught.

"What was that for?" I finally gasped.

"I can think of about a dozen reasons off the top of my head," she
chirped, "but for starters, thank you for going through with this."

"I haven't gone through with anything," I pointed out.

"But you will," she continued, unfazed. "I know you will because I know
you. Whatever you start, you always see it through. That's just one of a
million things, big and small, I love about you, Sweetie."

I flinched when the words left her lips.

Mistaking my suspicion for hesitation, Angie pressed her body tightly
against mine and ground her pussy into me enticingly. She smiled that
alluring Cheshire smile again.

"You do want my body, don't you?" she purred. "At least, you gave me that
impression Monday night."

This was the same double entendre I had experienced with Dianna. If I
denied her one, would she then deny me the other? Why should this matter
to me when I had Dianna? Did I have Dianna? For that matter, did I have
Angie? Beebeebeebeebeebeebeebee....

"Let's go see a doctor about a body," I sighed.

She kissed me softly.

"I knew you would," she murmured. "You are gonna look so delicious with a
pair of full, firm melons, a tiny waist, and a big, round bubble butt,
just like me!"

As I said: tasteful.

***

Dr. Peter Reagan's offices were in one of those gentrified ex-warehouses.
The airy loft-style office was all bright, freshly-sandblasted brick
walls, glossy hardwood floors and doors, comfortable-but-not-ostentatious
chairs and sofas, framed water colors, brass hardware and the obligatory
potted ferns. The high ceilings were criss-crossed with exposed,
freshly-insulated ductwork. It almost looked like a River North Yuppie
bar, rather than a doctor's office. I half expected the doctor to resemble
Butch McGuire, incarnate.

He didn't. Doctor Reagan was in his late thirties and stood about six feet
tall, with a thick shock of dark brown hair, piercing grey eyes that
missed nothing, rugged good looks and a smile that would melt a glacier in
Antarctica.

"Miss Layne, it is a pleasure to meet you," he intoned sonorously. "You
come highly recommended."

"I've heard that," I sighed, smiling ruefully, then added: "Thank you."

The grip from his large hand was so gentle as it took mine, yet I could
easily visualize it crushing bone. I was grateful when he offered us seats
in his office. My knees were having difficulty supporting my weight in his
presence. I knew he knew at a glance, yet his demeanor was nothing but
quiet admiration. I glanced down and noticed he wasn't wearing a wedding
band. Now why the hell would that interest me?

"Angie," he effused. "It's so good to see you again. Everything is going
okay, I trust? They look beautiful!"

I turned my head and gave my companion a
'have-you-been-holding-out-on-me?' stare. She just smirked and shrugged
her shoulders a little.

"I couldn't be happier with them, Doctor," she replied brightly. "I've had
the nicest compliments about them — which brings us to why we are here
today. My friend Lisa adores them so much, she... well, you tell him,
Lisa."

Nothing like putting me on the spot. Suck it up, Baby Girl. Play out the
string in this tawdry little drama. Lull the Bad Guys into a false sense
of security. When they raise their heads - WHAMO!

"I'm so embarrassed to put it this way," I began, "but I am so enchanted
with Angie's breasts, I... want a pair just like them."

"Just the breasts?" Dr. Reagan inquired bemusedly.

I could feel my face flush from the base of my neck to my hairline. Angie
took my hand in hers.

"She is such a sweetheart," the Latina chimed softly, "and so embarrassed
about all this. She's trying to say she wants it all; boobs, buns, hips,
the whole package. We're already working on her waistline."

Dr. Reagan came around his desk.

"May I?" he inquired, as he reached for my torso.

He felt around for a moment. The only sign of recognition of my confining
undergarment was a twinkle in those grey eyes and a trace of a smile on
his lips.

"She's coming along nicely, too," he confirmed. "She obviously has good
tone to begin with. I could probably help the process along with some
micro-liposuction. Rib removal is an option if you are really serious
about an 'hourglass figure'. Might I suggest we take a little off the nose
here..."

He indicated the point to which he referred.

"...to make it more delicate-looking. Also, I could tuck a bit at the
corners of the eyes to give you a more exotic appearance. Of course, I
would also do a trach shave..."

He ran two fingers up my throat.

"...to eliminate that unsightly bump. I could do all of that in a single
surgery. You would be back to work in a week and essentially healed in
four."

"That's... wonderful," I said hesitantly, steeling myself for what came
next, "but what about the breasts and... the rest?"

The doctor perched on the edge of his desk before us, beaming.

"That's the best news," he crooned soothingly, "if you are willing to have
a little faith in me. I am taking part in a clinical study of an exciting
new body enhancement procedure. There is a new media called Perma-Plast
that may make traditional augmentation procedures obsolete. I can craft
your body to any proportions you desire. There would be no incisions,
therefore no scarring and no lengthy post-op recovery. Angie can tell you
what a pain that can be — figuratively and literally."

"It sounds wonderful," I admitted guardedly. "Enhancement without surgery?
How is that possible?"

"Easy," the doctor continued. "Perma-Plast is injected directly into the
areas we wish to contour. It adheres to the surrounding tissue and sets up
its own matrix, mimicking that of the body itself. It is chemically and
biologically inert, unlike traditional silicone, so it does not trigger
the body's defense mechanisms. Nor does it do long-term autoimmune damage.

"Perma-Plast comes in two formulations. One simulates bone; the other,
soft tissue. I would use the first to build up your cheekbones and pelvic
girdle, giving you those hips like Angie's. The second formulation would
give you the breasts, rounded derriere... and lips, if you so desire."

"Yes!" Angie chirped. "Absolutely!"

"All of it can be done on an outpatient basis," Dr. Reagan assured us,
"right here in the office. It builds up gradually, layer upon layer...."

Layers! Layers! Ogres have layers!

"As I said," the doctor continued, "I can contour your body to any
proportions you desire. Of course, you are welcome to undergo traditional
implantation surgery if you prefer. Angie can tell you exactly what to
expect. You will be mostly in bed for the first two weeks, severely
limited in range of motion for a month, and substantially limited for one
more. If that is your preference, I need to know right away so I can put a
rush on the implant order."

I played along.

"I would certainly be willing to forego the pleasure of being knocked on
my butt for two months. I guess I will go for Door Number One. What is the
schedule?"

"We do the blood work and a Perma-Plast skin test right now," Doctor
Reagan pronounced. "That way, we make sure you are not allergic to the
material. The lab work is done right here in the building, so I can have
the results tonight. If you are one of the very small percentage of the
population allergic to Perma-Plast, you will notice a skin reaction by
tomorrow. I can schedule the surgical procedures for Monday morning. We
can have you back on your feet in no time."

One of his nurses drew the blood from the crook of my right elbow, then
popped a tiny amount of Perma-Plast just under the skin of my left forearm
with a hypodermic needle. I took Angie back to the office to have her
report to Rob and Jim that I would be out the following week. I begged off
from a pre-surgical celebration, claiming I really wanted to relax
tonight.

My head was swimming with too much information. Agreeing to the procedures
had been a ploy on my part. If the conspirator(s) believed I was going
ahead with my procedures, they might become complacent enough to tip their
hand. I would have two days to make something happen before I went under
the knife. If I did, I might not have to go through with the surgery at
all. The taps of Jeff Spencer's telephones would tell the tale. Then
again, what proof did I have Jeff's plan to ruin me had anything to do
with 'Lisa'? I hadn't really lied to Angie; I did want to relax, but not
with any of them.

Out of the frying pan.... I called Dianna. She assured me she wasn't doing
anything that night that wouldn't keep, thanks to my generosity with her
rent. I took her to Geja's on Armitage for fondue. The live classical
guitar music had always been one of my favorite, most relaxing
mood-enhancers and I needed that now. Feeding Dianna forkfuls of steak,
chicken, lobster, and fresh-cut vegetables, flash-fried in the table-top
peanut oil fondue pot, was a flashback to the previous Sunday's pizza
seduction.

When it came time for desert — chunks of Angel Food cake, marshmallows and
fresh fruit, dipped in boiling chocolate — I could see the gleam in her
eye that told me she had other ideas for the confection than feeding each
other with fondue forks. Watching her gently lap dripping chocolate from
the cherry I held before her lips was priceless, and worth every penny of
the dinner's cost. Then she delicately grasped the cherry in her teeth and
tugged it away from the fork, as softly as you please....

At least we made it through our front door before we began ripping each
other's clothes off. The bedroom would have to wait. Our surging passions
deposited us on the deep rug in front of the fireplace. The Dura-Flame log
was ignited with a single long-stemmed match. The log was the only
illumination in the room, but not the only thing ablaze. Our first
coupling was not so much sex as a frantic, desperate fuck, fueled by a
yearning born of too many days apart. I felt so... complete to have her
inside me again. It would break my heart if I found out she was part of
the conspiracy. Right now, I wanted to put all that out of my mind. Just
let go....

***

"Baby, do you know a 'Doctor Reagan'?

This was not my preferred method of being awakened on a Saturday morning.
Then again, Dianna could awaken me by asking me how to throw a knuckle
ball and, coming from her lips, I would think it heavenly. Now, if someone
could just teach the Cubs' pitching staff....

"Yes," I replied sleepily. "Why?"

"His office is on the phone," she informed me. "He wishes to speak with
you."

"On a Saturday?" I questioned, accepting the handset and bidding the
receptionist a good morning.

After a moment, the doctor himself came on the line.

"Good morning, Lisa," he greeted in a tone worthy of commercial
voice-overs. "Would it be much of a bother to come into the office this
morning? I would like to review your test results with you before your
surgery Monday morning."

"Is there a problem?" I asked, concerned.

"No," he assured me. "Quite the opposite. Monday is a 'go', as far as your
body is concerned. I just wanted to confirm what we will be doing and get
the releases signed."

"Uh, I suppose I can pull myself together and be there in an hour," I
responded. "Will that be okay?"

"Perfect!" he confirmed. "We'll see you then."

I had filled Dianna in the night before on my upcoming surgery. She had
been excited, to say the least. She asked about my boob job and how big I
was going to go. I relayed to her the information about Perma-Plast and
that my breast enhancement would be an ongoing thing for several weeks.
Her eyes grew as big as saucers.

"You're gonna get pumped?" she gushed. "Oh, Baby, that's wonderful! We
will be closer than ever."

She hugged me so tightly, I thought she would end up behind me, a la
Groucho Marx. She admitted she, too, had gone that route to figure
enhancement — the 'old school' way. Dianna felt this was just one more
intimacy shared between us, a way of proving to her how much I cared for
her. I hadn't envisioned that when I agreed to the procedure — if, in
fact, I went through with it — but was delighted it pleased her so.

We actually arrived at Doctor Reagan's office three minutes earlier than
anticipated. The receptionist ushered us right in. I introduced Dianna and
we took our seats. The doctor reiterated all the tests showed I was
"disgustingly healthy" — lamenting his lack of time for keeping up with
his own workout schedule. He confirmed and reviewed my upcoming rib
removal, micro-liposuction, rhinoplasty, eye tuck and trach shave, having
me sign the necessary forms for each. Dianna fidgeted in her chair,
growing more excited by the moment. Discretion was not her strong suit.

"How soon can you start pumping her?" she blurted out.

We both gazed at her with the amusement of a parent fielding "How many
days until Christmas?" for the umpteenth time. The doctor turned to me.

"Actually, that was one of the reasons I asked you in this morning," he
pronounced. "May I see your arm?"

I extended my left arm for his examination. The almost-imperceptible bump
was still there; otherwise, nothing.

"I couldn't ask for better," he announced. "There isn't a trace of
reaction or rejection."

He winked at Dianna, then focused on me, smiling.

"In answer to her question," he responded, "there is no reason we cannot
begin right now. Would that be soon enough to satisfy you?"

Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves. I wore mine in my throat.
Dianna was crushing me in an anaconda-like death grip. My rib removal
would be child's play; the doctor would merely have to retrieve bone
fragments.

"Shouldn't we wait until after my... surgery?" I questioned hesitantly.

Doctor Reagan shook his head.

"There is no need to," he assured me. "If we do it today, the receptor
sites will already be set up by Monday morning. Besides, none of them will
be the subject of our surgical procedures. There is one more detail; I
would like to get you started on your hormone therapy as soon as
possible."

"Hormones?" I repeated.

"Yes," the surgeon confirmed. "We can do the figure enhancement without
them, but the results will have an angular, artificial cast to them. The
combination of estrogen and progestin will round out your curves, giving
your body a lush, more natural look. Also, they will aid in the
assimilation of the Perma-Plast matrix."

Caught in my own web of intrigue! Suddenly, I no longer had two days to
sound out the conspirators, make them make a move. I didn't have two
minutes.

Last chance, Pal. You can get a little walk-up with a balcony overlooking
Duval Street. You can take the rich tourists out in the morning, fish and
drink beer until late afternoon, then come home and drink yourself into a
stupor at Sloppy Joe's and stagger home, just like Papa Hemmingway. You
can christen your boat "Busted Flush". Just walk away from all of this
now. Even your eyebrows will grow back. If you change your name to Travis
McGee, no one will ever know....

All I had to do was say: "no; let's wait until after the surgery." Then,
when Monday morning rolled around.... The look in Dianna's eyes was the
most hopeful, anticipatory, loving one I had seen in years. Even
suspecting her as I did, I couldn't bring myself to disappoint her. Just
let go....

"Okay," I softly sighed.

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

The game's afoot (long), and 'Sherlock' Layne is on the case!

Story:

Betrayed
By Cherysse St. Claire  ©

Chapter Nine: The Game’s Afoot

The weeks passed; March, April, and into May. I won’t dwell on the
mechanics of the surgery or post-op. Either Angie or Dianna was at my
side almost constantly, but never together. I don’t want to say I
‘juggled’ them, but it was sometimes a delicate balancing act. I was
head-over-heels for Dianna, but couldn’t deny my feelings for Angie.
How could I choose between one or the other? In truth, the choice might
not be mine to make; I might end up with neither.

Dianna, especially, was much more emotional than I had ever seen her
before. She fussed over me, telling me how much she flat-out adored me.
Then she would burst into tears for no reason I could see. Hey, I
thought I was supposed to be the victim of raging hormones around here!
I certainly appreciated her raw display of emotion for me, yet I
couldn’t help but wonder; was there more behind her tears than just
love?

My nose looked… pert — another new descriptor I thought I would never
use about myself. It was still a touch swollen - and numb; they told me
that goes away after about a year. OK, I liked my eyes; sue me.
Everyone else was crazy about them, especially when they were made up.
My cheekbones and lips were both fuller. It was scary to see people I
knew and cared about just stare at me, speechless, captivated. I knew I
would get used to it — I had to get used to a lot of things — but at
the time, it was still new.

The rest of the body was new, too. I had already been wearing a corset
every day before the surgery, so that didn’t make a difference. The
results were different. Angie and I were both on target to have twenty-
inch corseted waistlines by the time of the show. Dianna’s corseted
waist was already eighteen inches - the bitch. Paul was absolutely
ecstatic.

The prosthetic breasts were gone. I was a full DD-cup all by myself;
well, me and Perma-Plast. They looked huge at first; but then, so had
Dianna when I first met her. That was one more thing I was getting used
to in a hurry. It was nice to be able to show off my cleavage — a
modest amount at work and more on my own time. My backside had filled
out just as nicely.

This is one of those little joys women never tell men; only each other.
There had been a few occasions — becoming more frequent with time — I
had walked past some guy in the office or on the street, traveling in
the other direction. In a second or two, I heard a thump or clang as he
walked into a wall, file cabinet or light pole because he wasn’t
watching where he was going. If any woman tells you that doesn’t bring
a smile to her face, she is lying to you.

The physical transition was surprisingly easy. The mental transition —
with the understanding I would not be changing back — was much harder.
It took a while to get beyond the angst and anguish. How could I
abandon all that I had been? I came to realize I hadn’t.
Intellectually, I was still the same person, doing much the same
routine. The packaging was different. The perceptions, both internal
and external, were different. The emotions also were different; in
part, due to the hormones. Over time, my perception on a whole was one
of gain, not loss. Remember that hot fudge sundae? What if you could
eat from it every day, never lose your taste for it, and never gain an
ounce?

Upon returning from Post-Op, I surprised even myself how quickly I
wrapped my mind around work. I had watched CNN and CNBC while I was
recuperating. I had seen some report or other about the continuing
drought in the western U.S. and Canada. As soon as I was up and around,
I booked a flight west to talk to some of the farm groups that had
appeared on television.

I heard first-hand from them how bad the situation really was, minus
the candy-coated coverage the corporate-owned networks had given the
story. I called the office immediately and ordered STG to gobble up
Winter Wheat futures like Pac-Man. About a month later, the Department
of Agriculture announced the harvest would be down about twenty
percent, due to the drought. Harvest gold turned into real gold for us
as the price of Winter Wheat skyrocketed.

Most people had not anticipated how bad the Asian Bird Flu epidemic
would be, nor how it would affect poultry prices here. It was simple;
after having to destroy a significant percentage of its poultry
population, China would need to re-supply itself with untainted
chickens; a lot of them. We bought poultry futures — and made out like
the fox guarding the hen house. Essentially, China caught a cold, the
rest of the world sneezed, and we cornered the market on tissues.

Those trades, on top of the oil deal, had made this a banner year for
our company — and the year wasn’t even half-over. The Christmas bonus
checks were gonna fill everyone with holiday cheer this year and they
were looking at STG as their ‘Santa’. The guys in Strategic Trades were
calling my instincts eerie; Twilight Zone stuff. They claimed it
was like Lance never left; that he cloned himself into me, somehow. I
just smiled and thanked them for the lovely compliment. I didn’t mean
to intimidate them. I had worked with some of them three years; they
just didn’t know it.

I thanked my lucky stars I was so good as a commodities trader; Sam
Spade, I wasn’t. Memorial Day was two weeks away and I didn’t feel any
closer cracking the case than before my surgery. Angie and I were in
rehearsals for the fashion show. Dianna had gone to visit a girlfriend
in Los Angeles, but promised to be back in plenty of time. Paul was
not worried by her absence. As a veteran of previous shows, he was
confident she knew what he expected of her and would “come up to speed”
quickly.

I was grateful for the respite from throwing Angie and Dianna together.
Then again, perhaps I needed to throw them together to force one or the
other to show her hand — if, indeed, either was in league with Jeff
Spencer. No one in my inner circle had given the slightest hint of
being in on a conspiracy. There were no signs coming from outside,
either. Was it all a desperate ruse on the quarterback’s part? C’mon,
Guys; I can’t make the bait any riper, juicier, or more tempting. On
the other hand, maybe I can….

Rob and Jim had one of those society charity things to go to the third
Saturday of the month. The Mayor and most of the City’s movers and
shakers would be there, including those in the various sports
franchises. To the boys, it was a given that Angie and I would
accompany them. In fact, they put it to us exactly that way — at the
Executive Staff Meeting Thursday morning. They were at a loss for our
reaction. What do you mean the invitation took you completely by
surprise? It doesn’t take you three days to get dressed, does it? You
know those guys who go berserk with an assault rifle in the workplace?
I’m beginning to understand…. Anyway, I had more important things to
dwell on at that moment. I didn’t have a thing to wear… or did I?

I must have stared at the dress a hundred times, hanging there in my
closet. You want to talk about guilt? I had left messages for Dianna at
the number she gave me, but she hadn’t called me back yet. Sure, I
could have cruised Michigan Avenue and found something else. My
instincts were nudging me; there was something about this dress and
its connotations to the unfolding conspiracy that made it the perfect
choice. If this be my ‘Maltese Falcon’, let me wear it well….

Oops! Perhaps a little too well. I was now bigger on top than Dianna. I
had gone the whole route; salon, then the red calfskin corset and
matching thong, sheer black hose, the dress itself, and the jewels. I
wouldn’t need the coat; it was unseasonably warm for May (this, in a
city where it is not unheard of to see snow the second week in June,
then ninety-plus degrees by the Fourth of July). I overflowed the
bodice provocatively. The skirt fit my tush snugly, too. Then again, if
I was chumming for sharks, why do half-measures?

Rob looked positively dashing in his black tie and tux. In line with
the marine analogy, he gasped like a fish out of water when he first
laid eyes on me. It took a very stout straight-arm to his chest to
bring him back into focus and away from his all-too-obvious advance.
We were doing the ‘star turn’ all the way; he helped me into the back
seat of the limo, then seated himself next to me. We picked up Jim and
Angie, then sipped champagne on our way to the City Cultural Center on
Washington Street, formerly the Central Library.

“I knew I would see you in that dress sooner or later,” Angie gushed.
“My God, Girlfriend; if you take a deep breath, you’re gonna bust right
out of it, you shameless hussy, you!”

“And this,” I retorted with mock cattiness, “from someone whose body
makes a Donatella Versace original look like Frederick’s of Hollywood?”

Actually, Angie was stunning in the fuscia satin bustier-style sheath.
We had fled the office immediately after the Thursday morning meeting
and found it in the couturier salon at ‘Needless Markup’. Her eyes
glazed over when she saw herself in it in the three-way mirror. Those
eyes filled with tears when she read the price tag. She wept openly
when I put it on my platinum card.

“Listen, puta,” I had teased, “you got me into this mess three months
ago. I’ll be damned if I’m going it alone.”

I had kissed her softly on the cheek to soften the faux blow.

“Besides,” I had cooed, “you deserve it.”

There was more champagne and canapés when we arrived, plus an honest-
to-God string quartet in the main salon and a harpist in the smaller
‘Conservatory’ — what, once upon a time, had been the Reference Room.
This was rare air, even for someone who has been in the corporate
culture for a while. There is something intimidating about rubbing
elbows with people whose last names appear on public buildings and
corporate logos, not to mention packages of hot dogs or bacon. Angie
was already on Cloud Nine and I was working on getting a leg up.

Apparently, we were perceived as some kind of visiting royalty, on loan
to the two investment wunderkind of the hour. Boy, did we get the
double- and triple-takes! Rob and Jim were basking in the glow of
attention they were receiving, both for their achievements and their
choice of companions. Astute politician that he is, even the Mayor had
compliments to pay, citing us as “a shining example of what makes The
Great City of Chicago great.” Considering the direction of his gaze, I
wasn’t sure if he was referring to our investment successes or our
bustlines.

One of the many things I admire about Rob Nelson is his utter
selflessness when it comes to giving credit where credit is due.

“I would love to tell you it was some well-planned grand strategy on my
part,” he began, turning my way. “In fact, it was really…”

He paused in mid-sentence as he felt the increasing pressure of my
stiletto heel on his instep. I shook my head imperceptibly, then hugged
his arm tightly and inhaled deeply, inflating my chest to epic
proportions.

“… a spur-of the moment thing, which I credit to my companion, Lisa
Layne,” he ad-libbed. “She and her friend, Angelina Torres, were
generous enough to take time off from their careers in Hollywood to
visit Jim and myself this past few months and lend their moral support.
You know how it is; when your muse beckons, you follow.”

He’s quick on his feet, too. I like that in a man. I couldn’t have
asked for a better cover story. Since they would not be able to place
our names, faces, or anatomies to any big-budget Hollywood productions,
I was sure our new admirers would rush home that night and check their
other DVDs.

This was not some sudden attack of modesty on my part. I was seeing
other ‘movers and shakers’ — of the gridiron variety - interspersed
throughout the crowd. My instincts had flashed me a warning; this might
not be the best time to take a high profile. Then again, in this dress,
with my push-up corset, I couldn’t help but take a high profile.

As is so often the case in these society affairs — like I would know,
right? — our little group became separated by the dynamics of shifting
conversations and conversationalists. I had spent a goodly amount of
time charming the pants off a group of industrialists (figuratively-
speaking, but not for lack of desire on their part) when I sensed a
body immediately behind mine; not touching, but definitely inside my
personal space. Rob was deft about showing his affection without
appearing overly familiar in such a setting. I smiled and moved a
fraction of an inch closer in response. After a moment I turned….

Okay, you would think by then I would have been used to incipient heart
failure; not so. Jeff Spencer’s eyes were almost as blue as mine. His
had a predatory glint to them, sizing me up like a piece of meat. Even
in my nearly-six-inch heels, I had to look up to him.

“I couldn’t help but notice you are the most beautiful woman here,” he
offered.

Now that was suave — NOT! Are you sure you graduated from high school,
Big Boy?

So this was it. He had picked this time and place — in front of the
city’s elite — to ‘out’ me as a man. Mentally, I judged the vertical
distance from floor to crotch, factored in flexibility, heel height,
plus strength and speed of my up-thrusting knee. Yep; that should
just about do it. Sopranos, here he comes….

“Why, thank you, Sir!” I oozed with appropriate unctuousness. “Have we
met before?”

“I would remember if we had,” he schmoozed back. “Allow me; I’m Jeff
Spencer of the…”

“Of course,” I interjected. “I’ve seen you on TV. I must say, the
camera angles don’t do you justice.”

No, but I will. Just give me an excuse, Sport-o. Your next endorsement
will be for the Vienna Boy’s Choir instead of the Vienna Sausage
Company.

“On the subject of Justice,” he segued….

Here it comes….

“…it’s positively criminal for a gorgeous woman like you to be standing
there with an empty champagne flute. What do you say we waylay a waiter
and rob him blind?

So that’s your game; take me someplace private and apply a little
blackmail, with the implied threat of outing me to everyone who is
anyone. You are slicker than I gave you credit for, Buster. Okay; let’s
play. Perhaps I can get you to give up your partner, too….

“Oh, let’s,” I chirped, slipping my arm through his. “They aren’t being
nearly attentive enough anyway. Perhaps we can shake things up a bit.”

Believe me, the smug smile and undulating tush was all an act. Inside,
I was screaming. The knee ploy was useless at this angle, unless I
could spin on his arm really fast. Godzilla here could crush me like a
grape. On the other hand, if I timed it right, I could skewer his foot
with my stiletto heel and pin it to the floor, right through that
ultra-sheik, ultra-expensive, ultra-thin Bruno Magli. I’ll have you
singing in the upper registers yet, Butch.

Somehow, I didn’t think the waiters were hiding out in the stairwell.
Then again, I hadn’t bought the champagne ploy for an instant. As soon
as the fire door closed behind us, I spun to face him, expecting a
mouthful of fist. Instead, I got a mouthful of… mouth — and tongue. My
arms flailed about ineffectually as I was pinned to the wall.

Oh, no you don’t, you sick sonofabitch! You are NOT gonna have your way
with me, THEN out me to half the city of Chicago! Just lean into me a
little bit more and I will FedEx my reply; absolutely, positively
guaranteed delivery….

He got a handful of tittie, massaging my rapidly-hardening nipple with
thumb and forefinger. That brought everything into soft focus. My
struggles dissipated like so much dust in the wind. My mind was
screeching at this ultimate treachery. What chance did I have to beat
him at this dangerous game when my own body betrayed me?

His other hand was hovering around his crotch, doing… I couldn’t tell
what. Then that hand took my hand and pulled it forward. Oh… my… dear…
sweet… Jesus! Godzilla is right; this guy is a monster! I can’t begin
to explain it; Auto-Pilot kicked in at that exact moment. I sank to my
knees and had him unzipped and exposed — with difficulty — a few
moments later. I actually made him back up half a step so I could face
it properly. I softly encircled it with my right hand and ever-so-
gently stroked its length, all the way to the base. Holding my hand
there, I realized with detached awe my small hand covered little
more than a quarter of its total length!

Don’t even ask what was going through my mind as I inhaled the bulbous,
purplish head. At that point, my thought processes had all the
coherence of a bowl of alphabet soup. That was the only way I could
have gotten that slippery snake down my throat. As I sucked him, one
lucid thought gradually came to the forefront:

There is a just and merciful God, after all!

All I had to do was smile, close my eyes, and take a great, big bite;
Vienna Sausage AND Vienna Boy’s Choir, all in one gulp!

Yeah, right. That was when the next lucid thought hit me. I was about
to maim a hero to tens of thousands of Chicagoans without a shred of
hard evidence (discounting what was in my mouth) of criminal conduct.
Baby, if you don’t think The Media would sniff out my story then…. For
all that certain anguish, I still didn’t have a thing on him other than
my lips and tongue.

God hates me; He really, really does.

The thoughts were coming faster now, on pace with my ministrations to
his cock. Jeff hadn’t given the slightest indication this was his
revenge on me, or even a prelude to it. He hadn’t given any indication
he even knew me. Was he that good an actor? He was treating me like I
was just another of his adoring bimbos. Was it just possible he didn’t
know who I was?

Whether he did or not, Boulder Dam opened its floodgates and dumped a
raging torrent down my spillway. I hadn’t even realized I had been
massaging my own clitty with my other hand. I shuddered through my own
release, barely holding it together as I held him between my lips.
Surely goodness and mercy…. Anticipating either Rob or Angie — or
both — might be in a playful mood that night, I had heeded Dianna’s
long-ago advice and sheathed my clitty in a latex mitten, tucked
discretely back inside my calfskin thong. I could take care of that
little problem later, at my leisure.

We corralled a passing waiter as we strolled arm-in-arm into the main
salon. As we sipped the chilled bubbly, we were immersed in
conversation.

“We really must get together again and finish what we started,” Jeff
intoned in my ear.

“There’s more?” I inquired innocently.

“Oh, yeah, Baby,” he replied, “a lot more. How about next Saturday?”

I shook my head.

“Sorry,” I demurred. “I have a thing planned. I don’t know how long it
will last.”

He nodded disappointedly.

“Actually, I do, too,” he agreed. “Our promotions people have me doing
a publicity appearance at the fag pageant over at the Hilton. I’m gonna
be appearing with some models at a fashion show. I know one of them.
God, I hope the rest aren’t all dogs….”

My face lit up.

“Woof, woof,” I barked playfully.

He gaped at me, astonished.

“You’re kidding,” he gasped. “You?”

I nodded, smiling. Just then, I caught sight of Angie, chatting with a
group on the other side of the room. I extended an exquisitely-
manicured index finger in her direction.

“And my friend there, too,” I purred. “We’re kind of a matched set.”

“Jesus,” he whispered hoarsely. “I think I’ve died and gone to Heaven.
I have some other, more personal business to wrap up there next
weekend. I thought that was gonna be the highlight of my week, month,
and year. Now, with you and your friend there….”

His voice trailed off. He stopped and spun me around.

“We will get together then, right?”

At that instant, I looked over his shoulder and spotted Susan coming up
behind him at full steam. I couldn’t resist. I leaned up and kissed him
softly on the cheek.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I purred.

Susan slipped her arm into his as smoothly as silk. Her smile was
bright, but her eyes were cold as ice.

“Thank you for keeping MY BOYFRIEND company while I was busy,” she
intoned with veiled menace.

I glanced up at his blushing face with a twinkle in my eyes.

“My pleasure,” I smirked, turning to walk away. My hips and tush
undulated as though on rails.

“Will we be seeing you later, Miss…?” she called out behind me.

I looked over my shoulder and winked.

“Lisa,” I giggled. “Lisa Layne. I’m certain you will.”

She was glaring at Jeff with a look that could only mean one thing:
Wait ‘til I get you home.

Angie looked quizzically at the smirk on my lips. Then she glanced over
my shoulder and spotted Susan and Jeff. I thought SHE was going to have
a coronary. She raced to my side, grabbed my arm and led me hurriedly
away, leaning her head close to mine.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” she murmured. “What on earth did
you think you were doing?”

I shrugged my shoulders a little and smiled contentedly.

“Damage assessment,” I chirped. “Either they were very good actors or
didn’t have a clue who I was.”

Angie’s face was right in mine. She was about to give me another piece
of her mind when she stopped — and sniffed my breath. I guess the
champagne didn’t completely mask the odor. She rolled her eyeballs and
shook her head with resignation.

“Now I know you have a death wish,” she moaned, then looked up at me
with a rueful smile on her lips. “Time for some more mouthwash-
thingies. What am I gonna do with you?”

“Anything you wish, Lover,” I whispered in her ear, “but we should
probably wait until later - after this little shindig is over. You know
how people like to talk. By the way, let’s not forget who started me
down the road of living dangerously.”

Susan did see me later that evening. I caught her out of the corner of
my eye, glaring at me from across the room. When a member of the group
I was in shifted to one side and Susan saw I was on Rob’s arm, I
thought her eyes were going to pop out of her skull. She resumed
conversation with various members of her group, glancing in my
direction. A couple of the men smiled and said something or other that
made her flush scarlet. My best guess was, Angie and I had just been
outed for our suspected careers ‘going down in The Valley’. Shortly
after, Susan was dragging Jeff by the arm towards the door.

Later that night, Angie and I ‘starred’ in our own production for two
very appreciative admirers back in Rob’s condo. The sex had only been
better when I was sharing it with Dianna alone. Then again, it was my
attitude that had changed in a major way. I was no longer hunkered down
in a siege mentality. I had made a major breakthrough in understanding
the time and place Jeff would make his move against me. I wasn’t close
to knowing everything, but it was falling into place at last. In fact,
I could actually see where I might have the upper hand for the first
time. Angie’s reaction to my chance meeting with Jeff and Susan had
been a major piece to the puzzle as well. On the one hand, I was
feeling more confident about her. On the other hand….

Forget Sam Spade. Think Sherlock Holmes:

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter
how improbable, must be the truth.

I didn’t like the thought of that at all.

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

Everything that has a beginning has an end. Lisa's fate will be decided - but not all will live happily ever after.

Story:

Betrayed
By Cherysse St. Claire  ©

Chapter Ten: Everything That Has A Beginning…

I would have loved to be waiting at the gate at O’Hare when Dianna de-planed from L.A. that Sunday night. I had to settle for the Baggage Claim Area. Those people working for the Transportation Security Administration have no sense of humor. I guess at eight dollars an hour, they can’t afford one. Then again, the other passengers were treated to quite a show, right there in front of the carousel; the knock-out brunette and blonde hugging and kissing like something right out of a Vivid video.

It was going to be our place that night, not her studio in Lakeview; I wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. She hesitated only a moment, then acquiesced willingly. My lover seemed genuinely relieved at the prospect. She was cuddled up next to me, her arm through mine, the entire trip down the Kennedy Expressway into town. We didn’t utter a word, allowing the nearness of our bodies to speak volumes. I was having a hard time reconciling her reaction to me with the growing body of evidence suggesting she was setting me up for Jeff Spencer.

Dianna was tense, agitated. Whatever the cause, she did not want to talk about it. We were just exiting at Ohio Street when the cell phone rang. It wasn’t my cell; either of them. The ring tone was some downloaded Hip-Hop clip. I glanced down at Dianna’s purse. She stared out the windshield.

“Ignore it,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“But,” I began, “it might be…”

She spun her head to glare at me.

“Ignore it!” she barked sharply. “I am. You have my undivided attention tonight. I will not share you with anyone — especially not Angelina Torres.”

BUS-TED!

Well, not really. Dianna already knew Angie was my Personal Assistant. She also knew I had had sex with the lovely Latina that first night at Rob’s condo because I had told her everything about that afternoon and evening. Since then - and the dust-up over my ‘date’ with Daniel - she hadn’t pressed me about subsequent liaisons, just as I hadn’t probed her about her business. It had been an unspoken agreement between Dianna and myself to spend our time together focused on each other, not externals. Given my conflicted feelings for the two women, I was thankful for that. Perhaps that dynamic had changed in Dianna’s mind.

Once inside our door, the gorgeous shemale attacked me as though she hadn’t had sex in a year. We didn’t so much have sex as engage in a prolonged, frantic fuck, replete with bruised ribs, love bites, pinched, sore nipples, and stretched, aching holes. Afterward, we
lay together, spooned, with me in her arms. We were both shivering; physically and emotionally spent. Dianna murmured into my ear.

“Would you tell me about you and Angie if I asked?”

I continued to stare straight ahead.

“Would you tell me about you and Jeff Spencer?” I responded, taking a shot in the dark.

Behind me, I felt her body momentarily tense.

“I deserved that,” she replied. “Before I say anything else, I have to know; do you love me?

“Yes,” I avowed, “without reservation.”

“Do you believe in me?” she continued.

I was glad she phrased it that way. There is a fine line between ‘believe in’ and ‘trust’ — if only in my own mind. At that point, my answers to the two would probably have been different. Perhaps she sensed that before she worded her inquiry.

“Yes,” I repeated.

“Then believe in this,” she intoned with feeling. “In the three months we have been together, you have become my life, my reason for living. I have never told that to another human — ever. I never thought I ever would. My lifestyle doesn’t lend itself to deep emotional attachments. I got lucky with you — very lucky.

“Do you remember what I told you in the beginning, at the restaurant? ‘A week, a month, a lifetime; it makes no difference. When it’s right, it’s right; you just know it.’ We are right. We belong together. I didn’t know it that first time, when we met at the club. I have known since that fabulous Valentine’s Day weekend, though. Every day, I thank God for sending you to me.”

“I can’t get enough of you,” I affirmed softly. “In the beginning, it was wonderful; just you and me, forget about anything and everyone else. Then, things started getting… complicated. You were with me a lot after my surgery and I loved that. Now that I’m becoming more… well, more like you… and I wanted me to be, I feel like we are drifting
apart. I hardly ever see you as it is. Then, you left for L.A….”

My lover kissed me softly on the nape of my neck.

“You haven’t seen me because I have been trying to stay away from you,” she explained. “It’s not because I don’t love you; it’s because I do.”

“That makes no sense, Dianna,” I complained petulantly. “It’s about you and Jeff Spencer, isn’t it? Look, I know he’s a lot bigger than me — in that way; probably a better lay, too….”

She grabbed my shoulder and pulled me over to face her.

“What did I just tell you?” she scolded. “You are everything I could have ever hoped for in a lover and life partner. If I had my way, you wouldn’t be able to get rid of me. Things HAVE gotten complicated and yes, it involves you and that freak. I don’t even want to know how you know how big he is. I have a feeling the answer would make me sick.

“Let’s clear the air about Mister Jeffrey fucking Spencer, shall we? Ignore that wonder rod of his for a moment. Have you noticed how big the rest of him is, how well developed? He has been on steroids since he started college; he admitted it to me. That is how he got to be such an All-American stud on the football field. Off the field, it was just
the opposite. Oh yeah, he had a nice-sized dick and probably a pretty good set of balls — at one time. The steroids have been fucking with that. He needed the Little Blue Pill just to get it up.

“That all changed a few months before I met you. His white bread girlfriend — your ex-wife — convinced him to get a penile implant! Now, whenever he wants to have sex, all he has to do is pump himself up. I’m sure it feels just fine in your ex’s pussy, but he goddamn tears me apart every time he fucks me.”

“Then why do it?” I wailed. “Why not just kiss his ass good-bye, leave that place, that life if you have to, and come home to me?”

My lover just stared at the sheets for a moment, collecting her thoughts.

“That’s the complicated part, Baby Doll,” she stated solemnly. “I can’t… I don’t want to go into all of it right now. I know that isn’t fair, but I’m trying to protect you. Please don’t press me on it. I can tell you this much. The steroids have fucked with his head, too. You haven’t seen him when he loses his temper; you don’t want to.”

“Dammit, Dianna!” I exclaimed. “Stay away from him. If I even suspect that bastard is beating you, I swear I will….”

“STOP IT!” she shrieked. “That is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you anything. There is just enough ‘man’ left in you to do something really brave, and noble, and stupid. He would pound you into the woodwork like a ten-penny nail, then go out for pizza and beer with the boys. I know what I’m doing, Baby. I’m a big girl now; I can take care of myself.”

“You don’t have to,” I avowed. “WE can take care of you. I’m in this too, remember? I would give it all up — the job, condo, clothes, car, everything - to keep you safe. I have more than we will ever need to live on. We can go anywhere; just walk away from all of it — together.”

Dianna kissed me tenderly on the lips. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“You would do it, too, wouldn’t you?” she sobbed. “You really do know how to push all the right buttons. Just remember you said that.”

Dianna and I showered and dressed together Monday morning. She insisted on taking a cab back to her place; she didn’t want me anywhere near it. I reluctantly kissed her good-bye, then put her in the cab. After that, I went to work. I was an emotional wreck all week. Angie and I had done our final rehearsals with Paul. He told us Dianna had met with him separately. I was excited about — and dreaded — the upcoming weekend. I stayed away from trades completely; I didn’t trust my instincts at all at that moment. I had called Dianna several times — and left messages on her voicemail. She hadn’t called back. I spent most of Friday standing before my window, arms folded under my chest, staring down at La Salle Street.

I didn’t even hear Angie come up behind me around four o’clock. She slipped her arms
around me from behind and hugged me to her. I was grateful for the human contact and
backed myself closer to her.

“You are wasting your time here, Mija,” she purred soothingly. “You are a thousand
miles away right now. Rob, Jim and Shirley are already gone. Most of the staff is
chomping at the bit, ready to bolt for the holiday weekend. What do you say we blow this
pop stand early, too? We’ll go over to North Pier, have greasy ribs and Hurricanes at
Dick’s Last Resort, lick each other’s fingers clean, throw napkins up into the ceiling fan
and insult the other guests like the wait staff does. We can watch the boats dock, pick the
one we like most, accost the owner, and convince him how much cooler he will look
cruising the lake this summer with us laying on his deck, sunning ourselves in our
skimpiest thong bikinis. Then we can go back across the street to your place and fuck our
brains out. Does that sound like a plan?”

Damn it, it did; all of it. God knew, I needed something to break the tension I had been
feeling the last five days. Getting drunk and disorderly on Hurricanes at Dick’s would
certainly fill the bill. We could even add to our growing collection of tulip glasses in the
kitchen cupboard — if we didn’t drop them, staggering across the street to my building.
The thought of having sex with her wasn’t exactly a turn-off, either. Damn me for
thinking that! I had been in bed with Dianna five nights before, telling her I loved her.
Now, I wanted to take Angie home and rock her world — and let her rock mine. Who
would I be betraying? Dianna? Angie? Or both?

I turned to take her in my arms.

“Angie,” I began, “it sounds wonderful; every rum-soaked, rowdy, in-your-face minute of
it. I’m just not sure cheap, meaningless sex with you is such a good idea right now.
Haven’t you ever thought about finding someone who….”

In all the time Angie and I had worked together, I had never seen her burst into tears like
that. She broke free from my embrace and ran from my office, sobbing. I dashed after
her, as fast as my heels would carry me. She had already grabbed her purse and was
locking her desk. I placed my hand on her arm. She jerked hers away, not even looking at
me. This time I grasped both biceps firmly and turned her to look at me. In our heels, we
were almost exactly the same height.

“What?” I questioned firmly.

She struggled to free herself, avoiding my gaze.

“Let go of me!” she shrieked. “Go find some other bimbo to toy with.”

“You are not going anywhere until you tell me what this is all about,” I intoned evenly.

“I can’t believe,” she wept, “that is all I mean to you after everything we’ve been through
and done together. ‘Cheap, meaningless sex?’ So, I was just the little office slut all this
time. I am such an idiot. Well, you are right about one thing; I feel really cheap.”

I uttered the only intelligent thing that came to mind at that moment.

“Huh?”

“If you have no objections,” she hissed, “I’ll just move back to STG Monday morning.
I’ll send Debbie up here to replace me. You’ll like her; she bends over in a light breeze.”

“TIME OUT!” I roared — well, with as much authority as my voice had anymore.

I yanked down, hard, on her arms. She dropped into her chair like a sack of potatoes. I
perched on the front edge of her desk, glaring down at her. She glared right back,
defiantly.

“What I was trying to say was,” I pronounced carefully, marshalling my thoughts as I
went, “haven’t you ever wanted to find someone who really meant something to you?
You made it clear to me, right from the beginning; you could have any man you want.
I’m sorry if this sounds shallow of me, but I’m tired of being just another of your casual
conquests. I know it’s only been three months since I separated from Susan, but I want —
need — something more than that now.”

Angie stared at me, mouth agape, then shook her head as though trying to clear it.

“Let me get this straight,” she growled with equal slow precision. “You thought you were
just another casual fuck to me?”

I nodded. The slap came out of nowhere, stunning me.

“How could you?” she wailed. “As good as you look, as sexy a slut as you have become,
you can be such a man sometimes!”

“What was I supposed to think?” I screamed.

“When I told you I could have any man I wanted,” she screamed back. “You were
supposed to know I meant I wanted you. I have wanted you since the day I first laid eyes
on you — long before I knew there was a ‘Lisa’. Once I found out she existed, I knew I
couldn’t live without you.”

“But you never told me that!” I protested emphatically.

“I shouldn’t have to!” she railed. “Girls are supposed to understand these things.”

I beat the air ineffectually with my fists.

“Words count, Angelina,” I responded, more measured. “I am not a mind-reader, as much
as I try to be. Susan didn’t say the words and look what happened to us. Then again, she
probably didn’t feel them in the first place.”

Déjá  vu.

Angie came off her chair, wiping away her tears. She took my hand and helped me to my
feet, then wrapped her arms around me tightly and put her face right in front of mine.

“I feel them,” she sniffed, “and I’ll say them. I love you. I want you. I need you, as much
as the air I breathe. You are my life. What do you have to say to that?”

I was honest to a fault.

“Words fail me.”

She tilted her head slightly to one side and leaned closer.

“Good answer,” she softly sighed, parting her lips. “Fuck Dick’s. Let’s cut to the chase.”

***

Angie and I spent all Saturday morning and early afternoon in a Hispanic salon on the
Northwest side. My work took a lot longer than hers. My already-bleached hair was long
enough now; she mandated it was time for extensions. By the time the stylist was
finished, my hair was just as long and curly as my wig had been. Although our colors
contrasted like night and day, our styles complimented, as did our makeup and nails.

“I could have done you myself,” my lover assured me confidently, “but I had to get
ready, too. Besides, it’s a lot more fun to watch you get done up for me this way. My
panties are drenched.”

We met Paul and Kitty at their booth in the mezzanine-level vendors’ area at the Hilton
on South Michigan Avenue. As we came up the escalator, Angie and I both gaped at the
far-flung assemblage of fetish apparel and gear; booth upon booth, row upon row,
extending throughout the mezzanine and into the ballroom where the pageant would be
held. He escorted us towards the backstage area while Kitty took charge of the booth.

As we traversed the vendor area, there was a seemingly-endless array of leather and
rubber clothing, shoes and boots, whips, paddles, chains, restraints, dildoes, butt plugs,
vibrators, bondage furniture, even medieval-style iron cages, up to and including an
honest-to-goodness ‘iron maiden’ — minus the spikes. Paul’s was not the only booth
featuring corsets, but as far as I was concerned, it might as well have been. All of it was
brand-new and for sale. The vendors were mostly fresh-faced, intelligent, superbly
knowledgeable about their craft, wares and the market they served — and as matter-of-fact
and enthusiastic about it all as though they were vending hot dogs and soda from a
curbside cart. Angie and I stared at each other and shook our heads sadly - wondering
what we had been missing in our lives all this time.

“And this is all for the boys?” I questioned Paul, fingering an exquisitely-tooled pair of
black patent thigh boots with wicked six-inch stiletto heels.

“Hardly,” he chuckled. “Look around you. You are not the only women here; just the
sexiest.”

“Don’t you dare let Kitty hear you say that,” I teased. “She’ll have you trussed up like a
Thanksgiving turkey all night!”

“Promises, promises,” he sighed.

Dianna was already backstage, applying her makeup. I had dreaded this moment for
months; the two women I adored, coming face-to-face. How was I going to get past this
moment? How would I be able to look either in the eye again?

“Hi Dianna!” Angie beckoned, hugging the beautiful brunette and bussing her lightly on
the cheek.

“Hi Angie!” Dianna returned, a warm smile on her lips. “How’s our girlfriend? Let me
take a look.”

Posing for her was not a problem; I was rooted to the floor in shock. The sensual shemale
examined my makeup and nails, then my hair.

“Nice work,” she commented appreciatively to the Latina. “That ‘do is fabulous. You, or
your daddy?”

Angie shook her head.

“Lupe did it. Papá¡ was busy setting up his booth. He’ll stop by after the vendors’ area
closes.”

I must have looked really stupid standing there, eyeing the two apparently old friends
back and forth. Angie slipped her arm through mine and patted the back of my hand with
her other hand.

“It’s okay, Sweetie,” she chirped. “I’ve known Dianna forever. I grew up in the scene —
kinda like an ‘army brat’. That’s how I got my taste for gorgeous T-girls. Isn’t that right,
Dianna?”

It was Dianna’s turn to kiss Angie on the cheek.

“Until a few months ago,” she purred, “I would have said I’ve never had anyone as
good.”

Angie beamed.

“I know exactly what you mean, Girlfriend!”

Scene… hair… daddy….

“Angelo!” I groaned, holding my face in my hands and shaking my head.

Both gorgeous girls broke out in laughter.

“There’s hope for you yet, Mija,” Angie giggled. “Maybe you’re not such a ‘man’ after
all — although a girl would have grasped the obvious a lot sooner.”

She turned to Dianna.

“Is… everything ready for tonight?”

Dianna winked and smiled.

“Everything.”

“I can’t wait,” Angie gushed.

Can I sit down now? I’m feeling faint….

There were three large trunks under our portion of the makeup table. Each bore the name
of one of Paul’s three models. Dianna’s was already open at her feet. Angie and I each
retrieved our own, then began donning our first costume change. The show was to begin
at five and extend ninety or so minutes, featuring the three of us, plus models from other
vendors. There were so many vendors and models, each of us would have four passes
down the runway in four different outfits. Dianna was doing a special solo finale to close
the show. The final competition to crown the next Mr. Gay Leather would commence at
seven.

I peeked out through the curtain at the edge of the stage. Lance and Susan were seated at
the end of the catwalk. They were the special guest M.C.s who would announce the
models, the outfits they wore, and the vendors they represented. Their presence had
guaranteed press coverage, plus a camera crew from the local independent television
station that televised the team’s games. Gee, no pressure there. If this was, indeed, the
time they had selected to destroy me, they would do so in print and on the ten o’clock
news - for everyone in metropolitan Chicagoland to see.

Sipping piá±a coladas in Fat Tuesdays on Duval Street, clad only in a skimpy string bikini
and high-heeled sandals, would be just as good as the charter-boat thing, wouldn’t it?

It was daunting to stand backstage and listen to the applause the first models were
receiving. The butterflies in my stomach had metamorphosed into vultures who were
thumping away with their wings and picking me apart at the same time. I received my
cue and hit the runway in white calfskin corset, collar, and forearm-length gauntlets with
black patent trim, matched with white calfskin lace-up thigh boots with black patent
scrollwork overlays and five-inch stiletto heels. Dianna had coached me on ‘Attitude’ and
I had it to burn. Look at me wrong and I’ll bite it off at the root!

Angie was right behind me in a purple calfskin corset mini-dress with matching platform
sandals. Dianna followed Angie in a red patent corset combination like mine, with
coordinating thigh boots. The applause from the previous models had continued to wane
as I took the stage. By the time all three of us were on catwalk — just a second or two - the
only sound was the music pounding from the loudspeakers. The seconds seemed like
hours. I could tell Susan remembered me from the previous weekend. She looked none
too pleased to see me again. I couldn’t detect so much as a glint of anything else, but you
never knew with Susan…. It was the silence of everyone else that was really damning.

Code Blue! Code Blue! Get the crash cart. Charge paddles to three hundred. I need one
cee-cee of Eppie, push.

Then I looked at the faces. I don’t think I had ever seen so many bulging eyes and gaping
mouths in one place. The applause began — and swelled to thundering proportions,
overwhelming the sound system and causing the massive central chandelier to rattle. I
had already made my turn and passed Dianna on my way towards backstage. She winked
at me.

Oh, yeah, Baby; JUMP-START that heart!

The applause came quicker and louder with each successive pass down the runway. That
did wonders for my self-confidence.

Gee, if the commodities thing doesn’t work out….

I heard the heated exchange between the third and fourth costume changes. It was coming
from the wings on the far side of the stage. I crept around the back side and approached
the two angry voices; one male, the other female.

“Damn it, you said you would have him here,” the angry male challenged. “I swear, if
you cross me on this, I’ll make you wish you had never been born — in either gender!”

“He is here,” the female spat. “I have him chillin’ ‘til the finale. He doesn’t suspect a
thing. Believe me; no one will ever forget it - just like you wanted it.”

“Yeah? Then where is he? Show me, or I’ll….”

I hurried around the corner and grabbed Dianna’s arm. Jeff had an empty rocks glass
raised in the air, poised over Dianna’s head. It was heavy enough to deliver a crushing
blow to her skull. Then again, if it shattered as he hit her….

“Sweetie,” I urged, “we have to get you changed for the next set. Hurry up now. Hi Jeff!
Nice to see you again.”

“Lisa, WAIT!” he barked. “We need to talk….”

“We’ll hook up after the show, ‘kay?” I cooed. “Right now, I’ve gotta get my girlfriend
here ready for our next pass down the runway. See you!”

I hurried Dianna backstage before either one could utter another word. She pulled me up
short and spun me around. I could tell she was about to ‘read’ me about something.
Whatever it was, I just didn’t have the stomach to listen to it right then. I placed an index
finger to her lips and patted it a couple of times, partly to shush her and partly to buy a
moment or two while I collected my thoughts. Finally, I spoke.

“Just… do what ya gotta do, okay?” I muttered resignedly. “I don’t want you to explain it
to me; just do it. Whatever it is, it isn’t worth you getting hurt for. That would hurt me
more than anything else. I swear to God, if he does hurt you, I will personally hunt the
sonofabitch down and kill him. I don’t care what you say.”

Dianna’s eyes welled with tears. She gently stroked my cheek and brushed my lips with
hers.

“I love you.” She murmured, then turned and ran back to the dressing room.

We had altered the order of our appearance with each pass down the runway. On our final
appearance, Dianna led off in a leopard-print calfskin bustier-style corset with matching
thong, collar, armpit-length gloves and stiletto-heeled thigh boots. Angie followed in a
deeply-plunging shocking pink patent bustier-style corset minidress with sheer black
seamed stockings, perched atop shocking pink patent platform sandals with six-and-a-
half-inch heels. I brought up the rear in the ankle-length hobble version of that style, in
black patent with red patent flame appliqués. The bodice plunged so deeply, if I inhaled
too much, my nipples would pop right out of the top. That wouldn’t be a problem; I was
cinched down to nineteen inches and could barely draw a breath. As I minced my way
down the catwalk in my six-and-a-half-inch red patent stiletto stilts, I was getting light-
headed from lack of oxygen. I couldn’t hear the music over the thunderous roar of the
crowd. We held hands with Paul in our middle and took a bow, then made our way
backstage.

“Hurry up, Dianna,” Paul urged. “You have to get changed and onstage for the wedding
number.”

“Chill,” Dianna reassured him. “I’ve got it under control. You go out front and enjoy it
with Kitty. We’ll take care of everything back here, ‘kay?”

Dianna hustled him off. I was leaning against a post. Black spots were dancing in my
vision. Angie detected my distress.

“You poor thing!” she cooed. That dress must be a killer. Here, let me help you sit down
by the makeup table. I don’t know about you, but I’m parched. Dianna, let’s get us all
something to drink.”

Sure; just sit down. Easier said than done in that dress; it didn’t bend much, if at all. I was
more or less perched on the edge of the chair, unable to stand up or move around much. I
became aware of a cell phone chiming insistently, inside my purse. It was Lance’s phone.
As I answered, I noticed there were about a dozen missed incoming calls.

“Are you all right?” my lawyer exclaimed. “I’ve been trying to reach you for almost two
hours. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I assured him, “everything is fine.”

“You sound funny,” he observed. “Winded. Kinda high-pitched, too.”

“I, uh, just ran a marathon,” I replied. “I’m still trying to catch my breath.”

“Are you someplace really public? Like, a lot of people?”

“Yeah,” I responded warily. “Why?”

“Listen to me very carefully,” the lawyer intoned slowly. “Go home. Lock the door. Stay
there — alone. The investigator intercepted a call earlier between Jeff Spencer and his
contact. She told him everything was ready to go, just as they had planned it. Lance, she
told him she’s scored a hit of GHB. They are planning on drugging you, then doing who
knows what. Don’t eat or drink anything! Got it?”

Angie and Dianna were returning at that moment. Angie carried two champagne flutes;
Dianna, one. My eyes darted back and forth between the two, not believing what they
were seeing.

“I gotta go,” I told him. “I’ll call you later.”

I hung up, flipped the lid closed and slipped it back into my purse. Angie handed me a
flute. I accepted it cautiously, as though handling a snake. She raised one eyebrow
quizzically.

“Anything important?” she inquired musically, glancing toward my just-stowed cell
phone.

“Not anymore,” I replied wearily.

I felt utterly defeated. Both my lovers smiled at me disarmingly. Angie raised her glass.

“Well, what shall we drink to?”

I drew a blank. I don’t think anyone in history has raised their glass and pronounced:
“Here’s to Treason!” I had no intention of being the first. At that point, I really didn’t
give a shit. I just shrugged my shoulders a bit — and chugged the glass. Hmmm; MÅ‘et
White Star, Extra Dry. Well, if ya gotta go…. I idly wondered: what was the current
market value, in U.S. dollars, of thirty pieces of silver - split two ways?

I felt really spaced out, detached, like I didn’t have a care in the world. Dianna was more
beautiful than I had ever seen her before. She was dressed in a black tuxedo waistcoat
with tails, black satin bow tie, and old-fashioned top hat, over a severely-cinched black
patent corset, black fishnet stockings and black patent ankle-strap platform sandals. The
‘bride’ was bent over a bondage ‘horse’ before her, wrists and ankles securely locked,
legs spread invitingly. The wedding dress didn’t fit all that well; I think it was intended to
look cheap, trashy. Then again, the bottom half was flipped up over the back anyway, so
what difference did the fit make? I’m certain the garishly-applied makeup didn’t soften
the image at all, either. The expression on Dianna’s face was so serene, as though she
was realizing the culmination of her greatest wish. I was so accustomed to the feel of her
eight-inch clit inside me, I could clearly visualize every millimeter sliding in and out of
my eagerly-waiting love nest.

The curtain came up to the strains of Billy Idol’s White Wedding. Dianna consummated
her ‘marriage’ with impassioned fury, driving in and out — amid the roar of the
predominantly gay-male crowd. I happened to catch Susan’s face amid all those others.
She was recoiling with a look of horror and disgust. Funny; I thought she would be
relishing this moment of ultimate triumph. Jeff Spencer was certainly eating it up. The
look of sheer joy on his face told me he was loving every thrust. His massive twelve-inch
bionic boner jutted out proudly, angled down between the legs of the horse - as Dianna
plunged into his ass again and again. She was certainly enjoying giving it to him. I
cherished the memory of her in me — and was more than a little envious.

The curtain came down as the music faded. Chantal and Mimi hurried onstage from the
opposite wing, disengaged their friend and hurried her off in the direction from which
they had come. Angie clung to me, holding me up, both of us out of sight in the near
wing. I was, once again, dressed in that lovely lavender suede suit and mules that I loved
so much. If anything, Angie’s white suit looked better on her now than it had that
Monday afternoon three months before.

“Baby,” she cooed in my ear, “the girls are gonna get Dianna out of here. We have to go,
too — right now.”

We slipped out the side door and into the mezzanine proper as the pandemonium
exploded around us. Hotel security and Chicago PD were running in every direction,
searching for the fleeing, scantily-clad ‘models’. So, too, were the photographers and
camera crew who had to make their deadlines. Hell, with a scoop like this, their editors
and producers would hold everything! Meanwhile, two young, attractive — if somewhat
provocatively made-up - professional women slowly made their way toward the
Michigan Avenue entrance. One had obviously had a little too much to drink.

***

I awoke to sunlight on my face. It was streaming in through the east-facing windows of
my bedroom, overlooking Ogden Slip. Angie lay next to me, her head propped up on her
arm. She gazed down at my awakening form, smiling so serenely.

“Good morning, Mi Corazá³n,” she murmured. “Do you feel okay? No ill effects, I trust?”

“I wouldn’t be tossing the word ‘trust’ around so casually right now,” I replied groggily.

Suddenly, the memory of the previous night flashed into my head.

“Dianna….” I exclaimed, sitting bolt-upright in bed.

Angie stayed my moving body with a gentle hand to my chest.

“Safely out of town,” she admonished, then added: “We had to. Every cop and sports fan
in the city is gunning for her right now. This is WAY worse than Hugh Grant and Divine
Brown.”

I stared down at the blankets, puzzled. I remembered everything so vividly — but I
thought, with GHB…. Angie shook her head, reading my thoughts.

“Valium,” she corrected. “Not enough to knock you out immediately. Just enough to
make you… tractable — so I could get you to the car without you making a fuss. I’m
sorry. After that stink you raised about Jeff Spencer beating Dianna, and what you were
going to do about it, we couldn’t risk you doing something impossibly noble like you
always do — and getting hurt really bad. We were trying to avoid that. That is what this
whole thing has been about from the beginning. For the record, Jeff got the GHB in his
drink. I don’t think he will remember a thing — at least, not until he has to take a shit.”

I brought my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and rocked. Angie
put her arms around me.

“You deserve to know everything, from the beginning,” Angie purred soothingly into my
ear. “Dianna told me some parts I didn’t already know. Some of the rest is guesswork,
but I think it’s pretty close. That Friday night at Ringers when you first met Dianna
probably would have been your first, last, and only time together. As she put it, you were
just another ‘freak’ to her then. She had a good laugh at the way you stormed out of her
place afterward.

“Jeff Spencer went to Ringers that night, too — looking to score with her. Susan had been
ranting in his ear all week about how you had left her high and dry — as though you owed
her and her lover a life. He needed a good lay without having to listen to her whining. He
spotted you and Dianna leaving the club — and recognized you immediately.

“He confronted her the next night and fed her some line about you having fucked him
over on some deal or another. He told her he would make it worth her while to ‘play’
you. He wanted her to get in good with you, get you to dress up in girly clothes, then get
pictures of you being fucked in drag by Dianna. She was okay with it at the time. To her,
it was just making a little extra money from one freak fucking over another. Once they
got that ‘dirt’ on you, Jeff and Susan would then be able to blackmail you into dropping
the divorce and go on as before — with them shacking up whenever they felt like it and
you supporting them financially. Just to make sure you were ‘on board’ with their little
scheme, he was planning to beat the shit out of you after he took the pictures.”

“Susan knew?” I growled angrily.

Angie nodded.

“That’s what he told Dianna,” she confided. “Actually, I think she knew what Jeff wanted
her to know. At that point, he would have had a hard time explaining how he knew
Dianna was a T-girl without casting suspicion on himself. Most likely, he told her he had
seen you out with another woman, and that it looked to him like it had been going on for
some time. When she saw you and Dianna outside Morton’s — and saw how beautiful
Dianna was and how lavishly you had obviously pampered her — Susan was ready to
believe you had been cheating on her longer than she had been cheating on you. She was
insanely jealous! Dianna told me she felt on top of the world when Jeff told her that. As
possessive as Susan is, I can’t imagine her just giving up without a fight on a more
personal level. Did I miss something?”

I told Angie about the incident in front of the office that Monday morning. She pursed
her lips, smiled, and shook her head in amazement.

“As much as I hate the bitch,” she murmured, “I’ll give her this; she is a girl after my
own heart. When she sees something she wants, she goes out and gets it. She never
followed up?”

I shook my head. Angie nodded gazing speculatively into the distance. Then, she re-
focused on me.

Again, this part is guesswork on my part. That’s probably the time Jeff dropped The
Bomb. Maybe he told her he had had Dianna followed and found out she was a shemale.
Discovering she had lost you to a ‘man’ would push a woman like Susan right over the
edge. She would have agreed to anything Jeff planned from that moment on. That’s why I
really despise the cunt. She sat back, kept her nose clean, and let Jeff do all the dirty
work. I’ll bet she didn’t even want to know the details - as long as he got the job done.”

“I didn’t sense that Dianna was on board with all this,” I pointed out. “Did I misread her
that completely?”

Angie rested her hand on my cheek and shook her head.

“My dear, sweet Baby,” she intoned. “You have no idea the kind of effect you have on a
woman — especially after she experiences men like Jeff Spencer. He made her call you
that Friday and set up the date that night, to start the scam rolling. After that magical
Valentine’s Day weekend, Dianna was ready to give up The Life completely and camp
out on your doorstep. I would have, too. Apparently, you also set her straight on what the
real situation was between you, Susan, and Jeff. True?”

I nodded my head in agreement.

“The next time Jeff contacted her, she told him he could keep his money and his bionic
dick; that she was keeping you,” Angie resumed. “That’s when things started to get really
nasty. It wasn’t enough that he slapped her around. It wasn’t his first time by any means —
nor his last….”

Angie gazed off towards a corner of the room again, marshalling her thoughts.

“Sweetie,” she continued. “Girls like Dianna have to do… stuff to survive; illegal stuff.
They can’t get regular jobs; no one will hire them. Jeff knew about a public-assistance
scam Dianna had run; not ‘Welfare Cadillac’ level, but serious. He could have dropped a
dime and gotten her sent to prison — in her case, a men’s prison. Do you have any idea
what it means to a T-girl to have her hair shaved off and have to live as a man — and be
the communal fuck toy?”

I shivered.

“I think I have a pretty good handle on it now,” I admitted.

“Poor Dianna,” Angie lamented. “She was in an impossible situation; torn between her
love for you and her fear of a fate worse than death. At that time, she knew nothing of the
kind of connections and clout you had. She perceived Jeff as being the stronger of the
two — and that he could wipe the floor with you. She wasn’t about to let that happen. She
did the only thing she knew how to do.”

“What was that?”

“She knew she couldn’t protect you in your and Jeff’s world — as a ‘man in a dress.’ So
she had to bring you into her world — all the way in. That was one place where she made
the rules and called all the shots. She told Jeff about the fashion show, and how it would
be the perfect time to set you up. He agreed; he loved the public humiliation aspect. That
bought her some time to carry out her plan.

“He had to have told Susan. She would have been the one to set up the publicity
appearance and make certain the photographers and television crew were on hand. Oh,
how they must have been looking forward to destroying you publicly! Of course, all that
time they were expecting to see a man in a dress. I don’t think either one had any idea
you could be so totally transformed, and be so convincing as a woman. Dianna knew —
and knew it was her only way to save both of you from them.”

“I can’t believe your involvement in this was all a coincidence,” I stated flatly.

Angie blushed, staring down.

“It wasn’t,” she admitted. “I knew almost from the start. Remember I told you I grew up
in the scene? I had blown off my date for Valentine’s Day — he kept me waiting once too
often. I went to Ringers to catch the show and chat with some of my girlfriends. I
watched ‘Lance’ and Dianna go into the dressing room — and you and Dianna come out.
Only someone who had been in the scene for a while would have recognized you and
‘Lance’ were the same person. Then again, I had fantasized about you en femme for so
long…. Oh, God; I wanted you so badly at that moment I almost came on the spot! Then,
when you went outside — and that guy followed you — I was insanely jealous.”

“Wait a minute!” I exclaimed. “You acted completely surprised that Monday afternoon
when I indicated I wasn’t a ‘cherry’ anymore.”

Angie winked and beamed a smile my way.

“I sure did, didn’t I?” she cooed. “Pretty convincing, too, if I do say so myself. Anyway,
while you were gone on your ‘date’, I sidled over to Dianna and complimented her on her
new ‘girlfriend’. She gushed about you, went on and on about the day the two of you had
had, how you had spoiled her, how she was falling in love with you, and that she was
going to transform you totally. She didn’t tell me anything about the plot that night. She
was stunned when I told her you were my boss. I offered to help in your transformation
and she couldn’t have said ‘YES!’ any faster.

“You didn’t tell her about your personal interest in me, did you?” I inquired.

Angie shook her head slowly.

“It was wrong of me; I know,” she spoke ruefully. “I had wanted you so long. Then,
seeing you as ‘Lisa’ — something I had been craving all that time…. No honor among
thieves, huh?”

I just shrugged my shoulders a little bit.

“Later,” Angie continued, “after she had had it out with Jeff and he had begun
blackmailing her, she saw the whole thing coming apart. She knew she was going to need
a lot of help — and she confided everything to me. Of course I told her she could count on
me. I don’t know at what point she suspected my motives were about more than my
friendship with her. A girl just knows, Mi Amor. I think by that time she had begun to
believe no matter how much she loved you, she wouldn’t be able to keep you. You were
too deeply entrenched in your world — a world in which she felt she was an outcast. To
her credit, she didn’t begrudge me winning you. Yesterday, she told me if she couldn’t
have you, she didn’t want you in anyone else’s arms than mine.”

Tears were streaming down Angie’s face.

“Did you say to her,” she sniffed, “something to the effect that you ‘would give it all up,
everything, to keep her safe’?”

I stared at the sheets and nodded. Tears were welling up in my eyes, too.

“Baby,” Angie cried, “Dianna asked me to remind you of that. That is exactly what she
did; she gave everything up — including you — to keep you safe. She said it wasn’t much,
compared to what you had done, given, and meant to her, but it was the best she had to
offer.

“Mi Amor, please don’t hate me for what I am about to say. I have never seen anyone
sacrifice herself so selflessly for someone else as Dianna did for you. I love her like my
own flesh and blood for doing it — but I’m not sorry she’s gone. I have wanted you for my
own for so damn long. Now that I’ve got you… damn it, I know I love you every bit as
much, if not more. I just pray to God I never have to prove it that way!”

Angie clutched me tightly, her body wracked with sobs. That made two of us.

***

No official mention was made by the team of the incident at the Mr. Gay Leather
Pageant; nor did any account find its way onto the local news. It was announced Jeff
Spencer was going into rehab for a dependency on painkillers and would probably miss
training camp. Of course, it was all over the Gay community, which meant it was all over
the city. The switchboards at the local radio sports and talk shows were lit up like
Christmas trees for weeks. Later, it would be announced that, with regret, the team was
dropping Jeff Spencer’s contract — presumably, over the ‘morals’ clause.

After that public relations debacle, Susan left the team’s front office, and Chicago, “by
mutual consent”. I guess publicity people are like baseball managers, too; she signed on
with the Miami organization within a week. I suspect the deal had been done before she
even packed her bags. Miami had an up-and-coming QB prospect whom they believed to
be another Dan Marino. Jake Prescott, three years out of USC, had it all; the size of
Bobby Douglass, the stamina of a racehorse, the eye of an eagle, and a rifle for an arm.
All the sportswriters were touting him as The Next Big Thing. Knowing Susan, he
already was.

A few months later, there was a small article on Page Three of the Tribune. Des Moines
police were investigating the shooting death of Jeffrey Glenn Spencer, former football
star and Chicago sports legend, whose body was found in his room in a transient hotel in
downtown Des Moines. Spencer had been attempting a comeback with the Des Moines
Demons of the fledgling Continental Football Association. Autopsy results would be
forthcoming, a police spokesman announced, but a preliminary Coroner’s investigation
indicated the fatal wound may have been self-inflicted….

Angie and I found that boat we liked. We accosted its owner, too — in the office next door
to mine. Rob hadn’t had any idea he was going to buy a boat until Angie and I slinked
into his office and closed the door. She perched on the edge of his desk. I slipped into his
lap, wrapped my arms around his neck, and fed him the pitch exactly as Angie had
presented it to me. Well, not exactly the same way. So, the firm came into possession of a
‘company yacht’ (nothing like Bill Wirtz’s Blackhawk, but nice enough to cruise the lake
and small enough to tie up in Ogden Slip). Rob and Jim had a blast weekends,
hobnobbing with the other Boat People. Angie and I kept up our end(s) of the bargain,
getting fabulous tans on deck and making our bosses look really good in the process.

I didn’t need Angie to tell me where Dianna went. Armed with the Internet and her Social
Security Number — plus the suspicion her trip to L.A. had not been a coincidence — I
tracked her down in West Hollywood. Angie was not thrilled with my proposed trip, but
acquiesced. She knew I needed closure. She also made me promise faithfully I would
come home to her before making any lasting decisions.

I found her sitting on a stool at the bar in Club 7969 on Santa Monica Boulevard. I didn’t
think the place was anywhere near as nice as Ringers, but it had a function and served it.
God, she still looked good! It was as if time stood still for both of us. We spent a long
weekend in bed together, just as it had been before; concentrating on the here and now,
not externals — or the past. Before I left her, I made sure I set her up — with a trust fund,
two-bedroom condo, and car of her own. I wanted her to understand she could be
anything she wanted to be — and not dependent on anyone or anything to achieve it. This
time, I made sure I had her cell phone number, too. When she dropped me off at LAX,
we just kept touching each other, not wanting to break the magic of the moment. The
feeling was still strong, and has been every time I’ve called.

I still have my life and job in Chicago. I won’t deny Angie keeps me happy. There are a
million things, big and small, I love about her. She isn’t afraid to tell me how much she
loves me, either. STG and I have made the firm phenomenally successful; a ‘name
brand’, both on LaSalle Street and worldwide. I’ve made a ton of money for myself, too.
Angie and I socialize publicly (and intimately) with Rob and Jim, but still reserve that
special, very private relationship for each other. We have not gotten married and
probably won’t while we both still work for the firm. We need to keep up appearances at
the office; such a union would lead to some really embarrassing questions we wish to
avoid. If we are being less than honest with our co-workers, I hope we are at least being
honest with each other. Sometimes, I have my doubts.

When she wants me that way, the Little Blue Pill is there to help. Yes, it works for
‘pickled’ T-girls just as well as sixty-year-old would-be Lotharios. She has jokingly
suggested perhaps I should get an implant, too. Then again, she has also suggested I go
the other way entirely - and not in a joking way. I admit that thought has a definite
appeal, but what would that mean to us?

Rob is happy with the status quo but I don’t think Jim is. My instincts tell me he wants
more from Angie. Angie hasn’t voiced any desire to change a thing, but she does enjoy
our little foursomes a lot. Sometimes, when I see the way they look at each other…. Rob
looks at me the same way and Angie doesn’t object — but then, why would she? Lately,
she and I have been ‘honeymooning in Viagra Falls’ less and less. There I go, being a
‘man’ again. We don’t need to, Silly — do we?

Should I have The Talk with her? Do I need to? For someone who has placed such high
stock in the value of words, why am I afraid to ask them? Am I more afraid of the
answers? Why does my life have to be so damn complicated? Then again, maybe it
doesn’t.

There were times, very late at night, when I stood on our balcony, gazing down at Ogden
Slip and the lake beyond while Angie slumbered peacefully in our bed. I imagined myself
on the sun deck at Fat Tuesdays on Duval Street, clad in my string bikini and heels,
sipping a piá±a colada and listening to island music. The sun shown brightly, the air was
hot, and everyone was looking forward to the rain shower that would descend from the
heavens at five PM, as it always did. I could see in my mind the old movie theater a bit
farther down the street, where they now do drag shows. Then I pictured those
mesmerizing brown eyes and wondered if that kind of life would appeal to her. Would
she be willing to do it again; give it all up, everything, to keep me safe, secure, and happy
in her embrace? Would I? As the lawyers say: “asked and answered” — at least, in my
own mind. I ached for her then. I still do.

Just let go - and see where the current takes you.

***

Special thanks to Matt Jones for his timely contributions on Chicago lore, past and
present.

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

Can Kristen please Danny as he does her, and at what price?

Story:

Whatever Your Heart Desires Ch. 01
by Cherysse St. Claire  ©

I had never had a problem with men before I met my husband. I never
allowed men to become a problem. Throughout high school, college, then
after, men flocked to me. Tall or short, muscular or slender, boisterous
or introverted — I attracted them all. I made them crazy with desire for
me — and still do. I am not a saint. I am not ashamed to use my looks,
sensual sapphire eyes, long, shapely legs and killer body to get what I
want. My many admirers have called me everything from "boy toy" to
"sexpot" to "drop-dead gorgeous" to "suicide blonde". I don't mind a bit.
If I ‘used' men along the way to advance my career (real estate), provide
creature comforts, or to just have good, nasty sex, well, they used me,
too. Whenever things started to get too complicated, or when I simply got
bored, I moved on to the next. I offer no apologies and have no regrets.

Then I met Danny Davis. I am not going to sit here and tell you he was or
wasn't my type because my ‘type' had two arms, two legs, and a nice, meaty
cock to fill me up and make me cum on demand; everything else was
negotiable. Danny had all of that, packed on a firm, slender,
five-foot-seven-inch frame. I learned during the obligatory, ritualistic
‘small talk' phase of our mating dance he was a freelance writer. With his
long legs, he had been a natural for Cross-Country in high school and
college. He continued to run after graduation, which, later on, helped
explain his phenomenal endurance. I have a taste for pretty people and
Danny was very pretty, more than any man had business being. Those
glittering, seductive green eyes of his could swallow me up without a
trace. I just had to have him — and did.

You always hear men brag about their ability to ‘go all night'. Danny just
did the deed. As he was ripping the clothes from my body, he purred he
would give me "whatever your heart desires." I desired a lot — and got it.
God, we fucked like animals that first night. He took me in every hole and
every position I could think of. He literally reduced me to a mass of
trembling, babbling, incoherent gooseflesh by dawn. Of all the men I had
had, he was the first to put my needs, my orgasms (I lost count) ahead of
his own. When I finally begged him to stop, that I just couldn't do it
again, he held me in his arms, cuddled with me, while we watched the sun
come up. There was no way I was gonna let this be just a one-nighter!

The days passed. Danny turned out to be a lot more than just a good lay.
He was smart, funny, romantic, spontaneous, unprepossessing. He made me
laugh. He made me cry — happy cry. He made me think. We usually shacked up
in my home, rather than his apartment (let's be real; real estate agents
can afford to live better than freelance writers). He adored my house and
took as much pride in it as I did. Whenever he stayed over, he would
invariably pick up, clean, even vacuum around the house while I was at
work. In any other relationship, that alone would be worth the price of
admission. With Danny, there was so much more. He could even cook, and
didn't mind spoiling me with dinner on the table when I walked in from a
hard day selling homes. Being with him just felt so natural, so right. I
was addicted, and he was my fix….

He teased me relentlessly, shamelessly with his raw sexuality in a
thousand different ways. I say "shamelessly" as though it was a conscious,
deliberate act on his part. The more I got to know him, the more I
believed it wasn't. He appeared to be genuinely unaware of the effect he
was having on me — and on other women I noticed noticing him wherever we
went. They weren't casual glances, either. I know when a tigress is sizing
up a cut of USDA Prime; been there, done that. I am also fully aware of
what said tigress's next step will be. Did I get possessive of this
marvelous hunk of manflesh? Uh-uh, Honey; I got downright territorial!
Imagine me, Kristen Connor, liberated girl-about-town, all but dragging
this poor, sweet, accommodating boy to the altar, just to make certain no
other bitch could get her claws into him!

I warned him up front, before we exchanged vows. As much as I wanted,
needed him in my life, I wasn't going to promise to be a one-man woman.
Then and now, if an attractive cock dangles itself in my face, I am going
to rise to the occasion. I did, too. That first time, it wasn't so much
the pain of betrayal that registered in my husband's eyes as it was the
sense of disappointment. Whatever his personal feelings, he accepted me,
for all my flaws, and never said an unkind word about it. To his credit,
he never had to.

Gradually, I came to realize none of my lovers came close to satisfying me
in the ways Danny did. Sure, I got off - in a purely physical sense. None
of them touched me emotionally, none even tried, the way my husband did.
For all my protestations of wanting and needing him, I finally understood
I loved him, in a way I had never cared about another person in my life. I
didn't give up my trysts completely, but went to great lengths to make
Danny understand they were just sex — almost always a one-shot fling — and
nothing more. There was never a possibility I would want it to be more.
Danny had ruined me for other relationships in the best possible way.

I was deliriously happy for four years. The tension began to rise during
the fifth. It wasn't that the sex had gone bad, stale, or become
increasingly infrequent; far from it. Danny was still the most skillful
(he had had me as a teacher), considerate, attentive lover I had ever had.
Gawd, that talented, tickling, tantalizing tongue of his! He could lave me
for hours, taunting and teasing my nipples, pussy, clit, and all over my
body. He had the lightest, most delicate touch, too — unless he was
pinching, nipping, and sucking my sensitive nipples, which he knew would
launch me into orbit.

The piece de resistance was that eight-inch cock. It had a flaring,
bulbous head and fattened out really big towards the base. When he was
filling me up, he regularly brought me to the most gut-wrenching,
mind-blowing multiple orgasms. I just kept cumming and cumming like there
was no tomorrow. That was because the man was like a fucking machine; he
never stopped.

That was the problem; he never stopped. I know what you are thinking. Are
you insane? How could that be a PROBLEM? Simple. He never stopped because
he never came, not once, in all the times we had intercourse. I couldn't
even make him cum orally — and I am no slouch when it comes to giving
blowjobs! Oh, he could get himself off. He usually did that later on, when
I wasn't around — unless I insisted on being there beside him, sharing it
with him. If I asked him what he had been thinking about when he came, he
invariably replied it was how happy I made him. Yeah, right.

For his part, he never complained, never held it against me, never seemed
to give it a second thought. He didn't have to; I did. I loved my husband,
truly, madly, deeply, and wanted with all my heart to return to him the
gift of sexual and emotional fulfillment he had bestowed upon me. Despite
my best efforts, I was unable to do that. I had never had a problem
getting a guy off before. Now here I was, married to the most incredible,
wonderful guy on Earth, and I couldn't make him cum. For the first time in
my life, I had performance anxiety — and it was making me an emotional
wreck!

I was rushed one morning. Danny had already left for an appointment with
one of his regular clients and would be gone all day. I was running late
for the office. Today was a ‘triple-witching day'; I had to pay the
electric, cable, and cell phone bills. We were set up to pay our bills via
online banking, so I sat down at the desk. Danny had obviously used the
computer that morning, probably to check his e-mail. He must have been
either distracted or in a hurry, as I was at that moment; he had left the
machine up and logged into his account. Danny never did that. He belonged
to the school of thought that you shut down the machine when not in use to
save electricity and prevent unnecessary wear and tear on the hard drive
and monitor, not trusting ACPI to do the job. Since I was in a hurry, I
simply accessed the Internet through his account, rather than logging off
and signing on under my own - a first for me.

I opened the browser, clicked on Favorites, then clicked the link to the
bank's web site. The bill paying took about five minutes. I was about to
close the browser when a thought occurred to me, something that had
subconsciously registered while scanning the Favorites directory tree. I
clicked on Favorites again and there it was; a folder named Dark Desires.
Be honest. Wouldn't you be curious enough to want to know what such a
folder might contain? I was.

After about twenty minutes, I called the office to say I wouldn't be in
that day. After that, I browsed the bookmarked websites for a couple of
hours. Danny had set up the subscription sites for automatic login, so I
was able to surf their content freely. There were several story sites
bookmarked. Some of the story and author links were highlighted,
indicating he had recently accessed them. I read those first. Acting on a
hunch, I browsed Danny's Documents folder next. That provided enough
reading material for several more hours. Eventually, I tired of staring at
the screen. I set up the Favorites and Documents folders to be shared
across accounts, shut down the computer, and went out for some fresh air.

At least, now I knew. That the situation existed, and other women had had
to face it, was not exactly news. I had just never had to confront it
before on a personal level. After reading the stories and browsing
members' forums, I also had a wide spectrum of the reactions of other
women facing similar situations.

More often than not, the first reaction of these women was a sense of
betrayal. I could see their point, but for some reason, could not share
it. Glass houses, I thought at first; I was in no position to cast the
first stone. Unlike me, if Danny was guilty of anything, it was a sin of
omission; something he hadn't revealed about his ‘dark desires'. Other
women had used that easy excuse to gain a sense of moral superiority,
regardless of their own transgressions. I wasn't ‘other women' — and
recognized the cop-out for what it was.

These same women had allegedly responded to their partners' revelations in
a variety of ways. Some were ludicrous and patently fiction. Others were
hateful in a way I could never feel towards the man who had given me so
much. Still others were beyond bizarre. A precious few were genuine erotic
turn-ons. When I recognized the latter for what they were, I realized this
new scenario held at least the possibility of being a positive experience
for both of us.

I had a lot to sort out while I walked. I examined how I felt, how I
thought Danny must feel, what, if anything, I wanted to do about both, and
how that would affect our relationship. Most importantly, I had to examine
what really was important; to me, to us and about us. I could have dwelled
on the subject for days, weeks, months, as had some of the women I had
read about. That I didn't need to should have immediately told me
something about me.

As I approached the house on the return leg of my walk, I had a pretty
good handle on how I felt and how I would approach this. Before I
committed to anything else, I needed to administer a little test. The
garage door was now open. Danny's car was parked next to mine. Before he
had left that morning, we had toyed with the idea of going out for dinner
after I got home from work. Sorry Sweetheart. I have a different agenda
for us right now….

Danny was standing by the coffee table in the living room when I entered.
His suit coat was still draped over his forearm and he had not yet removed
his tie. He couldn't have arrived more than five minutes before. My
husband beamed a smile my way.

"Hi, Sweetheart," he called. "I saw your car. Did you get off er…."

That was as far as he got before I reached him, pressed firmly on his
chest with both hands and backed him across the room, through the doorway,
down the hall, into the master bedroom, and flat on his back on the
spacious California King bed. Without uttering a word, I all but ripped
the clothing from his body. Mine were added to the heap on the floor
moments later. I then licked and sucked his already-semi-hard dick to its
full glory. Still silent and staring intently into his eyes, I climbed
aboard, impaled myself on his fantastic fuckshaft and rode it for all I
was worth.

"So, does this mean you're happy to see me?", he inquired glibly.

"Oooo, yeah, Baby," I purred. "I have missed you so much today. I was a
bad girl, Sweetie. I played hooky, stayed home, surfed the Web and found a
lot of hot Adult sites. I looked at pictures, streamed audio and video,
read stories, and scanned the member forums. It all got me so hot, I
couldn't wait for you to get home to give me some relief."

"What the Hell were you looking at that got you like this?", Danny asked
incredulously.

"Alternative Sex, Baby," I cooed. "Really hot stuff, like I've never seen
before. Man-man. Woman-woman. Threesomes. Gang-bangs. Bondage. There were
even some gorgeous, sexy T-girls."

I could feel his cock lurch inside me. I paused my verbal seduction to
take a deep breath, never breaking stride on his magnificent love pole.

"Sweetie, those girly-boys were so fucking hot," I gushed. "Some of them
had really big tits, tiny, hand-span waists and full, luscious asses. They
looked as good as any of the porn goddesses we watch in the bedroom. They
dressed the same way; real slutty, the way we like. Their cocks were big
and beautiful, too, Lover. Some of them were just like yours. That was
such a turn-on!

"I watched streaming video of T-girls fucking genetic girls, T-girls
fucking guys, and T-girls being fucked BY guys. Gawd, I almost creamed in
my panties right then and there. Baby, please don't be offended by this. I
had this wicked image in my head. It was you, as a T-girl. You had great
big tits, a tiny little waist, full, flaring hips and a big bubble butt.
You were dressed in a scoop-necked, cropped tank top that showed off your
big boobs and belly ring, a tight little leather miniskirt that didn't
even cover the tops of your stockings, and killer high heels, just like
the porn stars wear. You looked like an absolute slut. You were made up
like a slut, too.

"There you were, lying on the bed just like you are now. I was riding your
cock, just like I am now. I was saying to myself: ‘This is so good, this
is so fucking hot, I don't ever want it to end.'…."

I had been fingering myself even as I rode his cock. My finger was
drenched, slick with pussyjuice. I reached beneath me and slowly,
carefully inserted it into Danny's tight, puckered little hole. I worked
it in and out as I spoke.

"Then I thought: ‘Why should I be the only one having fun here? I should
bring home a man, a real stud, and he can do us both. I would love to
watch my baby get fucked by a guy with a great big cock. Better still, I
could bring home two studs. That way, my girlfriend and I could get fucked
side by side'…."

I thought his first blast was going to blow me right to Mars. The
subsequent six were just as intense. My torrid, stream-of-consciousness
monolog had already brought me close to losing my mind. The really wicked
thing was, envisioning Danny as a T-girl, doing the things I had said he
was doing, really had turned me on! His eruption was all it took to push
me over the edge — and it was a long, long fall….

It began in the pit of my stomach, spreading outward with the force and
speed of a tsunami. All I could see was stars exploding behind my eyes.
All I could hear was a roaring in my ears as blood rushed to my brain. All
I could feel was the waves of ecstasy washing over me, engulfing me,
pounding me from the inside out — and Danny's magnificent cock, gushing
its molten lava deep into my pussy. For all the men I had had, for all the
sexual freedom I had enjoyed, I had never before felt so fulfilled, so
empowered, as I did at that moment.

If anyone had seen Danny and me cuddling together in bed, they would have
sworn we were freezing to death. We both trembled uncontrollably, long
after the waves of our shared orgasm had faded, so intense had the
pleasure been. I felt my lover's seed seeping out of me, trickling down
the inside of my thigh. In my mind, it felt like gallons oozing out of my
love nest. I had administered my little test and elicited a positive
response. Positive? How about ‘off the charts'? Whether Danny had ‘passed'
or ‘failed' now depended upon how I perceived the ‘question.'

One point was undeniable; we — both of us — had just experienced the most
intense sex we had ever had. I had anticipated Danny's response to my
verbal seduction; I had not anticipated my own. Gazing into my husband's
gorgeous emerald eyes, I realized there was a side to my own sexuality, in
addition to his, I had never suspected to exist. Of course it would be
Danny, of all my lovers, who would reveal it to me, show me a level of
pleasure I never knew existed. I owed it to both of us to explore it. I
felt butterflies in my stomach as I realized I had just answered my own
question — and charted our course.

We addressed the pile of clothing hastily discarded on the floor, hanging
up or tossing into the laundry hamper as required. Danny helped me change
the sheets as well. The event marked another first for us; that we had to.
We were like teenagers experiencing First Love again. At the time, I could
not possibly have been happier.

We showered together, taking turns soaping and washing each other. We
showered each other in soft, tender kisses and caresses, too. When we were
clean and patted dry, we returned to the bedroom to dress. It was
mid-evening. We both knew we would not be going out again. Simultaneous
glances toward the big bed affirmed where we would spend the rest of the
evening and night — at least, after a little supper. We would dress
accordingly.

A long lowboy dresser extended along most of one wall of our bedroom. It
served us both; Danny on one side, me on the other. He had stepped to his
side, opened the top drawer and reached for a clean pair of briefs. I
intercepted his hand, slipping my naked body between my husband and the
dresser. With a little smile on my lips, I slid the drawer closed with the
backs of my thighs. Taking him by the wrist, I took two steps to my left —
to my side of the dresser. I opened my top drawer, glanced down briefly,
then withdrew a pair of sheer black nylon bikini panties. I slipped two
fingers from each hand into opposite sides of the waistband, then held
them up for my mate's inspection. I raised one eyebrow and smiled,
challenging him with my sapphire gaze.

"Indulge me," I purred.

We were at a crossroads. Our relationship could go either way; down the
same road we had already traveled, or in an entirely new direction. I had
hopes, but took nothing for granted. The choice was his to make. There was
uncertainty in Danny's eyes, perhaps just a touch of fear. I countered
with my smile, exuding a aura of certainty and serenity I did not feel. In
truth, I was just as uncertain and frightened as he.

My love accepted the proffered panties, bent down, slipped one foot
through, then the other. He slowly, carefully raised the panties up his
calves and over his knees. I paused his efforts at mid-thigh, taking the
time to gently tuck his ‘package' between his thighs. If my suspicions
were correct, it would be springing to life again sooner, rather than
later. Until then, I wanted him — her — to present a smooth front. Once
that task was complete, I helped him snuggle the waistband up over his
hips. The tight, sheer fabric clung snugly to his taut, firm buttcheeks.
Through the filmy material, it did appear he had a pussy, rather than a
good-sized ‘clitty' and family jewels.

I chose a sheer red nylon-and-lace peignoir for myself and slipped into
it. I then took Danny by both wrists and led him across the bedroom to my
huge walk-in closet. I slipped into the floor-length sheer red nylon and
lace dressing gown that matched my peignoir, then slipped my feet into red
marabou-trimmed mules with clear Lucite five-inch stiletto heels.
Normally, we were about the same height. In these slippers, I towered over
my husband, lending me just the right air of authority.

I selected a black silk mid-thigh-length kimono and silently held it open
for him. He yielded without a word, turning to allow me to help his arms
into the sleeves. I slipped the smooth fabric over his shoulders and
turned him to face me. Wrapping the two halves around him, I cinched the
belt with a sharp, authoritative tug, holding the wrap firmly in place. I
then stepped forward and kissed my mate lightly on the lips.

"Thank you, Danielle," I purred sensually. "Now, would you accompany me to
the kitchen? I believe we have both worked up a bit of an appetite."

I took ‘her' arm in mine, turned, and made for the door. My stiletto heels
click-click-clicked on the hardwood floors of the bedroom, hallway, living
room and dining room, then the tiled floors of the kitchen. I hadn't
offered ‘Danielle' pause, any opportunity to interject. Nor had ‘she'
attempted to, accepting my authority and ‘her' feminine appellation
without protest. My heart soared. I felt ten feet tall.

We prepared a platter of Cheddar and Jack slices, crackers, grapes and
strawberries. I opened a bottle of Chablis and fetched two wineglasses. We
placed everything on a tray which ‘Danielle' carried as we returned to our
bedroom. I sincerely hoped it would not be obvious my heart was hammering
madly in my chest. We had taken a small first step, but a significant one.
I had no idea how long this journey would last or where it would end, and
would have to make up the rules as we went.

I could sense the danger here. One misstep, a single word misspoken or
taken out of context could lead to disaster. Despite the risks, I was
looking forward to this brave, new future with renewed optimism — for us,
our relationship, and me personally. There was still uncertainty in those
emerald eyes, a touch of fear. Was it just my imagination, or was there
also a flicker of… hope? Only time would tell.

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

Kristen sets out to create his "dream girl" - and hers.

Story:

Whatever Your Heart Desires Ch. 02
by Cherysse St. Claire  ©

I would love to say I had The Grand Plan: How To Transform Your Husband
Into A Ravishing Fem-Toy, A To Z. The fact was, I didn't have a clue. It
wasn't a topic normally covered by the Multiple Listing Service. I really
didn't think the community library was going to be much help, either. I
couldn't even find a copy of Feminization For Dummies in any of the local
bookstores — not that I expected to. I did have the following assets: 1) a
husband I flat-out adored who, apparently, had harbored intense feminine
inclinations for a long time; 2) a newly-discovered penchant of my own to
explore said inclinations for our mutual pleasure (oh yeah, was it ever!);
3) the financial wherewithal to do so; 4) friends I could trust; 5) the
Internet; 6) instinct; 7) Danny's surreal natural beauty and physiology
ideally suited for feminization.

Asset Numbers One and Two were givens. I would incorporate Numbers Three
and Four as needed. Number Five was a Godsend; the best 'library' and
public forum I could ever want. In the days following our initial
'revelation', I became a Web Junkie (away from Danny's presence, of
course; I needed the privacy), beginning with the sites Danny had
bookmarked and expanding my knowledge base from there. In the course of my
cyber-surfing, I met and curried the friendship of a number of
knowledgeable, experienced people — male, female, and in-between — who
knew a lot more about the subject than I did. Through them, I outlined a
general strategy to make 'Danielle' a fem-toy we could both enjoy.

That she would be a fem-toy was a given as well. Why would I want to
create another serious, level-headed, success-driven career woman like
myself? How boring was that? We didn't really need Danny's income,
although I would never dream of denying him the opportunity to do
something he found fulfilling. What I wanted was a sexy, saucy playmate to
help me enjoy my free time, someone who would be fun for both of us. If,
later on, I also convinced him being a fem-toy was more rewarding than
writing the occasional magazine article or essay, there was nothing wrong
with that, was there? At the moment, that was not a pressing issue. I did
not yet know how often we would want to enjoy 'Danielle'. A couple times a
month? Evenings and weekends? Full-time? I would trust my instincts to say
"enough". Of course, all plans are subject to change....

Some of it would be easy. Danny and I had had a mutual taste for kink from
the beginning of our relationship. We enjoyed new porn releases together,
frequently attended "Gentleman's Clubs" together, and had even made
occasional forays to BDSM clubs. As a result, we had identified some
well-defined common traits we liked in 'bad girls'. For the most part,
they represented the complete antithesis of our conservative, white-collar
working lives. I relished the thought of incorporating some of those
traits into my new 'girlfriend'.

Even that might prove to be easy. First, Danny had the 'right stuff'
(Asset Number Seven). If he was too small, slender, and pretty to fit the
image of a "man's man", he was perfect for Womanhood. Our visits to the
bondage clubs had revealed Danny had a nascent submissive streak. I had
occasionally played with it in the past, though not in a serious way. That
was about to change. I was convinced that, with a little effort, I could
transform him into a ravishing sexpot — to our mutual delight.

I realized I was talking as though I had already committed him to
permanent feminization and sissification. Could we just continue to play
'dress-up' and let it go at that? Yes, but I knew my husband and myself
well enough to know we would quickly tire of the contrived, make-believe
atmosphere. We both adored fantasy fulfillment but craved it in a real,
physical sense. Neither of us would be satisfied until this fantasy 'girl'
could be manifested in the flesh in a truly believable way.

I would have to tread a very fine line. This was something Danny wanted;
every instinct I had screamed it. I was in a position to give it to him, a
realization that made my heart soar. I wanted it just as much for me,
although I never would have believed it until that night. My instincts
also cautioned me my beloved would feel he had to resist a real
transformation out of fear of people's reaction to it, if not his own. His
insecurities were baseless. I knew in my heart he would make a
breathtaking woman, but Danny would not believe that until I proved it to
him.

I had read FemDom stories on the Internet and despised the women's
arrogance and total disregard for the feelings of their
spouse/lover/boyfriend. This was the man — person — I loved. The thought
of adopting those abhorrent tactics to overcome Danny's resistance made me
ill, yet I might have to do exactly that to achieve what his heart, and
mine, desired. I would not take pleasure in it, but I would not back down,
either.

While Danny/Danielle — if, in fact, the two co-existed - would continue to
share our marital bed with me, it was a must that 'she' have her own
space, separate and distinct from ours. This was a matter of practicality
and convenience, if no other. Two women, dressing and preparing for their
day or night out, required their own space, to an extent a man and a woman
did not. In a romantic context, that was especially true if they were
dressing for each other, a scenario I had wholly embraced.

I redecorated one of our guest bedrooms for that purpose. In addition to
her queen-sized bed (no pun intended), dressers, vanity, and jewelry
armoire, she would have a roomy walk-in closet and her own bathroom. I
chose the décor and furnishings, opting for a soft pastel lilac with white
accents. I enjoyed making that 'lifestyle choice' for her and looked
forward to making more in the future. Let the games begin!

The single exception I made to the 'separate space' edict was underwear
or, to be exact, lingerie. I learned from my Domme friends on the Internet
nothing is more effective in keeping a sissy-in-training's mind on her new
status than keeping her in the frilliest, femmiest lingerie at all times.
That was the appropriate place to start his transformation, they all
agreed, and it seemed like a scrumptious idea. To insure compliance at
first, the sissy's intimate grooming had to be scrupulously monitored and
enforced by her mistress, meaning me. This would be a new experience for
both of us, but I was determined to be equal to the task.

I adored taking Danny lingerie shopping. We patronized several different
stores, including Victoria's Secret and Frederick's. I allowed him input
on colors and styles, but not the decision he would be wearing feminine
underthings from that point on, regardless of his outerwear. This was our
first test of trust - and wills. I expected heel-dragging, whining, even
an argument. Although I really loathed the idea, I was fully prepared to
do whatever necessary in order to get my way, even if it meant publicly
humiliating him and/or privately spanking him, as my FemDom cohorts had
urged..

Bless his heart, after some initial embarrassment, he assented readily. He
spent around three hours in various fitting rooms, trying on the articles
that the sales associates and I brought him from the racks. In each store,
I confided to the associates that I was panty-training my 'girlfriend'.
Several replied it wasn't their first experience with a 'sissy'. Each
observed 'Danielle' was spectacular raw material to work with. We left
with a fabulous wardrobe of bras, panties, garter belts, camisoles, slips,
and negligees — and an obligation that 'Danielle' return to shop with them
again soon. Danny had been a bit taken aback that his bras were all a
DD-cup, pointing out he did not exactly have the assets to fill them. I
admonished him not to worry; that I would see to it the capacity did not
go to waste.

Another of my edicts — and a personal preference of mine — was, in
addition to her lingerie, Danielle's legs be properly clad in stockings,
not pantyhose. I just feel stockings are sexier and more feminine. Danny
had always expressed the same preference. It was a natural that Danielle
be required to wear them, and she was just as enthusiastic about it as I.
We did go a bit overboard on hosiery, acquiring some three-dozen pair in
assorted styles and colors. It seemed almost an afterthought to get
Danny's ears pierced before we left the mall. We started with two in each
ear, with starter studs in each. I would expand her collection of earrings
after the piercings healed — and probably the number of piercings as well.

Heel training would be an essential element of Danielle's 'education'.
With her long, slim, sexy legs, stilettos would be as natural as the
stockings that would hug her flesh. We went to some specialty stores on
the Boulevard for those. I began with a half-dozen pair, just to get her
used to walking in heels. OK, I kinda threw her into the deep end right
away. Two pair of pumps had flat soles and five-inch heels. Two pair of
ankle-strap sandals had platform soles and six-inch heels. The remaining
two pair were a fetishist's delight; flat soles and rapier-like six-inch
stiletto spikes. Danny and I both liked the look, so 'Danielle' was
outvoted — as if she would really have a problem with it.

It wasn't like she would have to learn to walk in them all by herself; I
would be right there to teach her the delicate, confident heel-toe strut,
undulating her hips in that provocative way men adore. Of course, I
required her to try the shoes on in the store to make sure they fit
properly. After our experience in the lingerie shops, the aura of
authority was easier for me to adopt. It took a bit of coaxing, but I got
Danny to walk around a bit to get used to them. I'm certain it caused him
some embarrassment, but that was only a temporary thing. I was equally
certain the next time he went out in heels, no one would have reason to
think unkindly of him.

That left one final stop for our first afternoon outing. With all of
Danielle's feminine finery, the idea of body hair was repugnant. I had
already had mine removed via ultra-light treatments and had made the first
of several appointments for Danny. I could have settled for shaving,
waxing, or using a depilatory cream, particularly at this early stage of
his transformation. After all, the ultra-light method of hair removal was
permanent. That was exactly the point. This was another test, to see how
committed Danny was to the idea of 'Danielle' — and acceding to my wishes.

I presented it to him in a loving, caring way. It was his choice, I
intoned. If he wasn't comfortable with this so soon, he was free to shave
his body twice a week and his face twice a day to keep his skin smooth and
stubble-free — and endure the nicks, cuts, and razor burn that were part
of the process. Either way, I would require 'Danielle' to be hairless but
for her scalp and eyebrows or there would be no 'Danielle' at all. I knew
what I wanted when it came to my girlfriend's appearance. I was going to
play hardball and made certain Danny knew it. Once again, he readily
acquiesced to my directive. We left the clinic with Danny appearing to be
slightly sunburned — and hairless from his cheeks to his toes.

I couldn't wait to get home to begin putting it all together. Of course,
all the lingerie and stockings first had to be folded and put in drawers —
after I made Danny take all of his male underwear to the trash. The new
shoes were stacked in a shoetree in the closet. The negligees were hung on
hangers. After a shower, I treated Danny to a full-body massage with aloe
to lessen the sting from his hair-removal session. Then it was time to
dress 'Danielle' for our evening's pleasure.

There were two additional surprises for my lover as I prepared her for the
night ahead. I produced a pair of superbly-lifelike silicone breast forms
placed each one in turn against her chest in its proper position, then
marked it. Using a medical-grade adhesive, I attached each breast in its
place. The tone of the breast forms would be a perfect match to her skin —
once the 'sunburn' faded. The feathered edges blended perfectly with her
skin. With a little makeup, there would be no trace of a seam. But for
their size (completely filling her DD-cup bras) and firm, thrusting 'done'
appearance, everyone would believe the breasts were Danielle's own flesh.

The second surprise was a black calfskin lace-up corset. It was one of six
such specially-ordered garments, with more to come. Along with panty- and
heel-training, Danielle would also undergo figure-training to achieve that
perfect hourglass torso that women covet and men drool over. The laces
would not be tightened to the extreme this first time. Her waist would be
reduced about two inches, just to get her used to the feeling of
constriction. The corset's demi-cups cradled and lifted her DD 'breasts',
offering them up for all to see and appreciate.

After tightening the laces and tying them off, I instructed Danielle to
roll up a pair of suntan stockings, roll them up her legs one at a time,
then clip the tops to the garters attached to her corset. Once that task
was completed, I assisted her in buckling on her new black calfskin
ankle-strap sandals with platform soles and six-inch stiletto heels. At my
direction, she slipped a full-length nylon and lace negligee over her
head, allowing it to settle alluringly around her newly-feminized curves.
After painting her lips a deep crimson and a few spritzes of Obsession,
she was ready for me.

In honor of her first true "debut", we enjoyed a light supper and
champagne in bed. It turned into a genuine seduction scene, as we took
turns slipping bite-sized nuggets of smoked salmon or brie on crackers, a
grape, or an occasional strawberry into each other's mouths. We were very
touchy-feely, too, filling our fingertips with each other's flesh when we
weren't offering up tidbits of food. The touching gave way to kissing and
soft, sensual fondling.

I had done FMF threesomes, but never an overtly girl-girl experience.
Despite her origins, I was getting into my 'date' with Danielle as exactly
that — I mean, really getting into it. We spent a long, leisurely hour
pleasuring each other orally and tactilely. I came four times — three at
the behest of her fabulous lips and tongue, the fourth from manual
stimulation of my clit and pussy. She came in my mouth, flooding my
insides with her thick, creamy cum. For all that, the night was young and
so were we.

Once I had laved her to full erection again, I lay her on her back,
climbed atop her, then rode her to the first of several more orgasms for
me. God, I was so hot for her! I teased her unmercifully, squeezing off
the base of her fuckshaft as she approached orgasm, not allowing her to
cum — even as I thrashed in the throes of ecstasy. I had one final,
extra-special surprise for her that night, and wanted her so hot for her
release, she would beg me for it. By the time of my fourth orgasm atop her
— my eighth so far that night — Danielle did exactly that. With a smile, I
climbed off her and prepared myself.

She gaped in astonishment at my strap-on. Danny and I had included dildos
and vibrators in our sex play before, but they were always in me. If I had
thought to try them on my husband before, I might have been able to enjoy
'Danielle' much sooner. I was about to make up for lost time and
opportunity. I had my lover pay oral homage to my cock a good twenty
minutes, getting her used to the idea of having a cock in her mouth like a
good little slut. Then, at last, it was time for the Main Event.

I lubed her tight little puckerhole with one finger and a generous amount
of K-Y. After reaming her really good with one finger, I slipped in a
second, and later a third. My baby was getting nicely stretched out from
my insistent attention. I lubed my cock generously, then slipped a pillow
under her to raise her sex to the optimum position. I lifted her legs over
my shoulders, placed the helmet of my lifelike cock at her entrance, then
slowly, gently entered her virgin pussy. Unknown to her, the mirror image
of the 'double-ender' was nestled deeply in my own pussy.

Oh, how I adored the look of shocked surprise in her eyes! Her lips formed
a perfect "O" as she exhaled forcefully. I stopped a moment to allow her
to get used to this much invasion, wiggled it back and forth just a bit,
then pushed a little more into her. I kept up this technique until I was
buried in her snatch up to the hilt. By that time, the pain that had been
so readily apparent on her face had begun to diminish. I began to fuck her
with long, slow, languid strokes, pulling back almost to the point of
pulling out completely, then thrusting all the way back in. My ears
reverberated with the sound of her moans. My own rising level of
excitement kept pace with hers.

When I felt she could handle it, I began to fuck her faster, harder. At
the same time, I was lightly stroking her engorged 'clit'. Her hips were
bucking, thrusting towards me to impale herself even deeper on my fuck
pole. We came together, screaming our lust for each other. Her clitty,
pointed at her face, was erupting thick, creamy globs onto her lips and
into her mouth. I made certain she swallowed it, wiping up the near-misses
with my index finger, then fucking her mouth with it, having her suck my
finger clean.

We had reduced each other to limp, spent rag dolls. To my way of thinking,
any lingering doubts about the erotic appeal of our revised 'relationship'
had been blown completely away. I worded my question to her along those
lines.

"What will it be, Sweetheart?", I gasped. "Do we proceed from here, stay
where we are, or return to the way we were?"

"Can you be happy with us the way we were," she replied weakly, struggling
to catch her breath, "after what we just shared?"

I smiled what I hoped was a serene smile.

"My Love, I am happy with you, period," I purred. "As to whether or not I
can be content with our former love life after what we just
experienced...."

I tried to keep my face neutral while I searched for the right combination
of words to finish that sentence. Danny was nobody's fool in any
incarnation. He — she - was very adept at reading between the lines.

"That is what I thought," my sweet Danielle surmised. "There really is
nothing left to decide, is there? We have already made our choice."

She turned her head a little, her eyes beginning to brim with tears.

"I just... hope... we made the right one," she finished.

I kissed her then, with compassion.

"I know," I responded. "It's a big step into the Unknown for both of us,
but especially for you. It's got to be really scary, too. Tell me this; do
you still love me?"

She nodded, stifling a sob.

"With all my heart."

"Do you trust me?", I countered.

She nodded again, perhaps with a bit less certainty.

"I have to, don't I? I mean, without that, we really don't have anything."

"What are you afraid of?", I questioned.

A big, fat tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another on the other
side.

"I am afraid," she began, "of making the wrong choice. We have been
together nearly five years and I have cherished every day. If we do this,
we won't be the same as we were. I won't be the same. What happens if you
change your mind about us? I would rather die than lose you over some damn
silly fantasy."

I softly caressed her cheek with the palm of my left hand. I held the hand
up, flashing my wedding band.

"Do you see that?

"Yes," Danni sniffed.

I slipped my right hand under her left, displaying her ring.

"See that?"

She nodded. I placed my left hand over hers, interlocking our fingers.

"That means forever," I replied. "I meant it then; I mean it now. I love
you with all of my heart and I would rather die than abuse your trust. You
have to admit; this has been the best sex we have had, ever. With all of
that going for us, how can it be wrong? The fact that you are getting so
emotional over this — just like a woman — says to me we are making exactly
the right choice. That doesn't seem so 'silly' to me.

"Danielle, as good as the last five years have been — and they have been
very good - this past few days, this night, and what we just experienced
were pure magic. I felt it. I know you did, too. Many people live out
their entire lives without ever experiencing what we just did. I would not
have experienced it, were you not in my life and the person you are. For
us, the magic is just beginning. I promise you; if this doesn't work out,
we will find our way back to a place where we can both be comfortable. Our
love for one another will still be there, regardless. Please, give the
magic a chance — for you, for me, for us."

I believed, and meant, every word I had just spoken. Still, it was a sales
pitch. At that moment, I was the kid in the candy store. I had discovered
another 'guilty pleasure'; I enjoyed being in control, the dominant
partner in our relationship. I still wanted her to have this
transformation for her sake as much as my own, but the idea of being the
one to choose it, to make it happen, gave me chills. As scary as the
thought of actually transforming Danny was, the admission of having these
new feelings was scarier still.

When I wanted something, I didn't take "no" for an answer. Sometimes, I
played dirty.

"Sweetie, just think of how far we have come already."

That wasn't a lie but it was an exaggeration. Other than the permanent
hair removal, everything we had already done was either disposable or
reversible. Wording it the way I did lent the perception Danielle had
already traveled far down the road towards Womanhood when, in fact, she
had barely taken her first few halting steps. It's an old Closer's trick,
kind of like a Magician's slight-of-hand. Still, it is often effective.

I recognized the look in her eyes. It was that same look Danny had had the
night he proposed to me. She was standing on the edge of the cliff,
contemplating the long, long drop. Funny; I was already thinking of her as
'her', before she had committed to anything. That is an old Closer's
trick, too: visualize the sale as a done deal. If you believe it, they
will, too. Then, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I think it was the tears that convinced me. They made her seem so
vulnerable, so... feminine. Danny's latent submissive streak had met
Danielle's newfound girlish perception of herself. The results were very
appealing. In the beginning, I had had to feign my confidence. Now, it was
real. I said nothing. I merely took her slender, long-fingered hands in
mine, smiled serenely, and willed her to submit to me.

She did not say a word. When it came, her nod was almost imperceptible.
Had I not been focused intently on her, I might have missed it. I would
not have missed the visible release of tension in her body and eyes. She
had made her Leap of Faith, stepping off the cliff and trusting me to
catch her, break her fall. I was now free to make the magic happen for
both of us. And I thought I had felt empowered before....

"It's all right, Baby," I murmured. "I have you now."

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

When the fantasy becomes reality.

Story:

Whatever Your Heart Desires Ch. 03
by Cherysse St. Claire  ©

In the afterglow of our lovemaking, Danielle and I had talked long into
the night. I was flush with excitement at the prospect of this exciting
new change in our lifestyle. Our lovemaking had become the most intensely
gratifying of our entire relationship — for both of us, at last — and I
could only foresee it getting better.

Danni seemed more ambivalent. I was concerned about it, fearing she was
already having second thoughts about committing herself to this radical
change. I approached the subject obliquely, preferring not to agitate her
further.

"I know this sounds trite," I teased, "but it was good for you, too,
wasn't it?"

She smiled sheepishly and nodded.

"The best I've ever had," she murmured. "You are a real stud."

We both chuckled at that.

"So, the evening hasn't been a complete bust?" I asked.

My lover briefly glanced down at her overflowing chest.

"I dunno," she teased. "Do you think it needs to be more 'complete' than
this?"

I poked her in the ribs good-naturedly. This was exactly the opening I was
looking for.

"Well," I began with a knowing smile, "I'm sure we could do something to
improve on it. Actually, there are a few things I had in mind. If we are
going to give this a fair chance, we will have to keep at it for a while.
I mean, every day. You already said your schedule is pretty open right
now, right?"

Danni looked pensive for a moment, mulling something over in her mind. She
slowly nodded her head.

"Yessss," she replied, drawing out the response, "I have a few small
projects and one big one already in the pipeline, but it's all
work-at-home stuff to be posted by e-mail. I don't have any face-to-face
meetings scheduled."

I smiled radiantly.

"Wonderful! I have a ton of vacation time accrued. I'll call the office in
the morning. Let's see, this is Tuesday... well, Wednesday now. Why don't
we spend the rest of the week and the weekend together? We'll have some
fun, do girl stuff, and just enjoy each other's company. It will be like
getting to know each other all over again. We've both been under too much
stress lately. Let's live a little! What do you say — just us girls?"

Danni pursed her lips and looked at me, then down at herself. I took her
hands in mine.

"Sweetie," I cooed, " It's okay. Whatever you may think is going on here,
this is all a really, really big turn-on for me. You make a beautiful
girl. With a little bit of work, you could be drop-dead gorgeous, just
like you are always saying about me. If this all seems a little
extreme..."

I squeezed her prodigious boobies.

"... it's because we both like girls like that — remember? I'm fulfilling
your fantasy and mine, too.

"How many times in the last five years have you told me you would give me
'whatever my heart desires,' then done exactly that? I have lost count.
Until now, I have never been able to do that for you. I couldn't even make
my own husband cum, dammit. It's been driving me up a fucking wall! Now,
finally, I have found a way to do for you what you have so unselfishly
done for me, a way that has kicked my libido into overdrive, driven me to
distraction for a week, and has me obsessed with you just as much as the
night I met you. I asked you before and I will ask you again. If you will
just trust me, I will give you what your heart desires — in Technicolor,
Dolby 5.1, and Sensurround."

I kissed Danni frantically, passionately, to emphasize the point. When we
came up for air, she finally smiled a little.

"OK," she replied. "I would really like that."

I hugged her tightly, feeling we had finally made a breakthrough. I just
gazed at her lovingly. She really was beautiful, sitting there in her
negligee. With that body, those exquisite emerald eyes, and her thick,
shiny shoulder-length dark blonde hair, there was no way anyone would
think she was a man.

Until that moment, I hadn't had a clue why I was attracted so strongly to
men with long hair. Most of my really memorable lovers had worn their
flowing locks in a ponytail, as Danny did. Now, it all made sense. I can
still remember the first time I laid eyes on my future husband across a
crowded nightclub. My eyes tracked him like radar as he made his way
across the room — with me in hot pursuit. I have never been shy about
going after something I wanted. The rest, as they say, is history....

After our marathon lovemaking session, then the emotionally-draining
conversation, I couldn't keep my eyes open another minute. Tomorrow would
be a busy day, I mused, and a particularly gratifying one. As I drifted
off to sleep, I dreamed I heard a voice murmur: "If it seems too good to
be true...."

***

We were out the door and in my 500SL at ten o'clock the next morning. I
had dressed Danni myself with tender loving care. She wore the black
leather corset, of course, with her waistline cinched alluringly. Perhaps
it was my imagination, but it appeared we were already seeing results. I
was certain I was lacing her down at least another inch without a hint of
complaint from Danni. I had selected sheer black stockings with French
heels to show off her shapely legs and black lace bikini panties to keep
her tucked-in 'clitty' snuggled up tight in her crack, out of sight. The
stocking disappeared inside black calfskin ankle-strap d'Orsay pumps with
five-inch heels.

Her slinky red silk camisole was deeply scooped in front, showing off lots
of her deep cleavage. The thin material teasingly revealed the outline of
her corset and the thrusting nipples of her braless breasts. The camisole
was tucked into a tight little black lambskin microskirt that covered the
tops of her stockings — until she walked, sat down, or bent over. Danni
thought I had lost my mind. I knew I had; it was all I could do to get her
out the door without raping her on the spot!

I was amazed at how quickly Danni was adapting to those skyscraper heels.
Her strut wasn't perfect yet, but she was really showing promise. I
couldn't wait for some of the men downtown to feast their eyes on her. The
only thing out of sync with her sexy image was above the collar. I hadn't
applied makeup other than a little lip gloss and her long, thick hair had
no shape to it. We would be correcting that situation in short order!

I backed into an empty parking space in front of Eden at ten twenty-five.
Danni turned to me and smiled bemusedly.

"Are you thinking what I think you are thinking?", she challenged.

I grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," I replied saucily. "I said we would do
'girl stuff'. What is more 'girlie' than this?"

"I dunno. Do you really think I should...."

"Oh, shut up," I interjected. "This is something I want and you can't tell
me you don't. I've already made the appointment. Lexi is expecting us."

Her eyes grew as big as saucers.

"You told Lexi?"

"Stop it!", I exclaimed. "She's fine with it. I have been wetting my
panties all week in anticipation of this moment. I told you last night;
you have nothing to be ashamed of."

At that exact instant, two tall, well-built men in suits passed by on the
sidewalk. They appeared as though they had just stepped from the pages of
GQ. With the roof of the silver Mercedes retracted into the trunk, they
couldn't help but get an eyeful of the stunning blonde driver and her
equally attractive, provocatively dressed passenger. They both grinned.
One whistled. I beamed at Danni.

"See? What was I just saying? Even with no makeup and wind-blown hair, you
are a hottie."

"They were staring at you," Danni replied.

I punched her in the arm.

"Bimbo! They were staring at us," I retorted, "and saw exactly what they
wanted to see. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if they were
staring down your top at those titties of yours. Really, you are such a
shameless little tramp!"

"I can't help it," Danni responded with a wink. "I was made that way!"

"Yeah, Baby," I shot back. "And don't you ever forget it. It only gets
better from here..."

I winked at my companion as we walked through the door of the salon.

"... or worse."

***

Alexis Jordan had been my stylist, friend, and confidant since I had
earned my realtor's license and 'moved uptown'. We shared the same head
for business and the same tastes in men and sex. Lexi had invested the
money she earned from her upscale clientele and, in a few years, purchased
Eden outright from her former employer.

We saw each other at least once a week — when I came in to be pampered —
and lunched together or went out for drinks whenever our respective
schedules permitted. We had been enjoying such a lunch the previous week —
the day after my epiphany about Danny. As we grazed on our salads, I
decided the time was right to invoke Asset Number Four — and casually
dropped The Bomb. My raven-haired companion, in turn, dropped her fork and
jaw simultaneously.

"You are going to do what?", she replied incredulously.

I grinned at her conspiratorially.

"You heard right," I smirked. "Honest to God, I wish you could have been a
fly on the wall in our bedroom last night. I thought he was gonna blow his
load right through the top of my head when I told him I pictured him as a
T-girl."

"We're still talking about 'Mr. Magnificent', right?", Lexi responded.
"The guy who really does go all night? He of the talented tongue?
Custodian of the mighty eight-incher? Purveyor of unlimited female
orgasms? He's a sissy?"

"He definitely has latent tendencies," I agreed. "Remember I told you he
has been a dry hump as long as we have been together? Not anymore! Once I
knew which buttons to push, I couldn't turn the fountain off. The damndest
thing is, I had no clue how much the whole idea would turn me on. I
haven't been able to stop thinking about it since."

The esthetician just shook her head sadly.

"It seems like such a waste. Look, if you're bored with him, just give him
to me. I'll put him to work immediately! I can't believe you would trash a
gem like that."

I grinned cattily and shook my head.

"I ain't trashing nuthin', Girlfriend! You know I have a Sweet Tooth. I
won't do anything that would adversely affect my favorite candy cane..."

I thought about that for a minute, envisioning a universe of alternate
scenarios.

"... at least, not yet. I would have to have a really compelling reason to
willingly take away my own candy. I've been reading up on it. There are
plenty of ways to make 'Danielle' Pet Of The Year material without
screwing that up. Aren't you the one who told me some of those girls at
Eve's Rib were three-legged centerfolds?"

Lexi nodded in agreement at my reference to the local T-girl
nightclub/show lounge. I was well aware the raven-haired beauty harbored
'alternative' tastes in lovers as well. I also knew she was no stranger to
the cabaret — nor to the 'girls' who frequented it. She smiled at the
memory of something, probably a previous fling with one of the 'starlets'
of which we spoke.

"Nice legs, too," she smirked. "All three of them. I also seem to recall
urging you to try it some time, but this.... I have to admit; Danny would
be stunning. He is such a pretty boy. All right, Sweetie, you've convinced
me. I'm in - on one condition."

I gazed at my friend speculatively.

"And that is?"

"I get to sample the merchandise when she is done."

I didn't move a muscle. Since I had befriended the stylist, we had shared
secrets, dreams, drinks, and occasional pick-up stud service. I had never
had a reason to refuse Lexi anything — until then. I hid it well. I'm
pretty sure my smile lost barely a trace of its warmth.

"We'll talk later. Whew, that's a big load off my mind. Now, I have to
figure out how I'm going to accomplish the rest. I need to start making
contacts."

Lexi reached out and squeezed my hand reassuringly.

"I think I can help you there, too. I know someone who would be a big
help. I think I can arrange for them to hook up. As for the makeover, do
you think you can have him ready by next Wednesday?"

I nodded enthusiastically.

"If last night is any indication, I could probably have him ready for you
tomorrow if I needed to. Wednesday would be better, though. That will give
us both time to get ready — and in my case, to do some shopping!"

***

"Lexi, this is my new girlfriend, Danielle," I purred. "Didn't I tell you
she is scrumptious?"

As I expected after our lunch of the previous week, Lexi gave Danni the
once-over, head to toe, like she was sizing her up for the kill. 'Desire'
was written all over her face. When we were out at the clubs and she had
set her sights on some studmuffin, I had always thought that look was
cute. Now.... After more than a moment of this silent lusting, she took
Danni's hand and welcomed her.

"Delectable would be a better description. Hello, Danielle. Welcome to
Eden. Kristen, I have the perfect operator for all of Danni's needs.
Celine just joined us this week. I have been trying to lure her away from
the cosmetology school for months and finally succeeded. I think Brady
Ellison is going to lynch me for stealing his best instructor. Hair,
makeup, nails — they just don't come any more skillful or artistic than
Celine. She has a real flair for the dramatic, too. She is definitely the
right choice to work on our girlfriend here."

Lexi turned and peered down the salon floor.

"Celine? May I see you for a minute?"

Danni and I were equally enthralled by Lexi's newest employee. Celine was
a stunning, statuesque African-American siren. She was taller than
Danielle, made more so by the platform stiletto sandals atop which she
glided so gracefully. Her lush feminine proportions would put many of our
favorite porn stars to shame. The woman's face featured big, expressive
chocolate eyes, impossibly high, pencil-thin arching brows, stunningly
prominent cheekbones and the full-beyond-full, plush lips that were the
hallmark of women of her race. Unlike her 'sisters', her nose was
straight, narrow, and delicate-looking. To be honest, she looked 'done' —
superbly so. Her makeup and hair, substantially more dramatic than most
Anglo women would deem appropriate for daytime, were artfully applied and
surreally appropriate for the task of highlighting her exquisite, exotic
features.

"Celine, this is Danielle," Lexi intoned. "And this is her girlfriend,
Kristen."

Celine took my hand first, but barely glanced at me. Her undivided
attention was on her latest client. If Lexi had been sizing Danni up,
Celine was devouring her with her eyes. I can't explain why, but I didn't
feel threatened by Celine the way I had with my friend.

"Hey, Baby," the stunning African purred as she took Danni's hand in her
own. Her voice was as smooth, sultry and provocative as the rest of her.
"It's a pleasure."

Danielle was visibly stunned by her stylist's hands; so was I. To be
exact, it was the nails that captured our fancy. They were the longest I
had ever seen; perhaps two inches from root to tip, square-cut, slightly
curving, with a multi-color polish scheme and plenty of gold nail art.
That's one of those things about Bad Girls that always made Danny and me
drool. I could just imagine what was going through Danielle's mind at that
moment. I wondered how the woman could work with such over-the-top talons.
They were the perfect compliment to this most exquisite woman.

"You ready, Baby Gurrl? I do have some ideas that will have the boys
creaming in their shorts."

I wasn't certain Danni really needed that, but if she could look even a
tenth as good as the provocative esthetician, I would be happy.

I just stared dumbly as the pair made their way to Celine's station. Lexi
smiled as though she were the cat that just ate the canary. When Celine
and Danielle were out of earshot, I turned to her in wonder.

"Where on Earth did you find her? She is magnificent!"

"As I said, she was an instructor at the cosmetology school," Lexi
replied, "among other things. She's really something, isn't she?"

"Oh, yeah," I managed to croak. "She knows the score?"

Lexi smiled sagely.

"No problem," she replied. "She's down with it. In fact, she's really
looking forward to it."

"Aren't we all," I responded dreamily.

Lexi took my hand, smiling.

"Come on," the esthetician offered. "Let's get you started."

At that moment, I rubbed my thighs together, noting the warm wetness
between them.

"Not a problem," I noted. "I'm already started."

Celine was still working when Lexi finished with me. It was around noon.
My girlfriend had no appointments scheduled until three, so we opted to go
to lunch while her associate continued to work her magic. From across the
salon, I could not get a good read on what the operator was doing to
Danielle. Lexi read my thoughts.

"Never mind," Lexi cooed, as she steered me out the door. A Cheshire smile
split her lips. "Danni's in the best of hands. I promise you will love the
results. All of them."

I looked askance at my friend. Lexi paid me no mind as we slipped into the
Mercedes.

***

We returned about ten minutes before three. Celine had just finished her
task and was escorting her client to the front desk. I froze where I stood
as I beheld the approaching apparition who, only a day before, had been
unmistakably male. The hair was longer, reaching about mid-way down her
back. The blazing copper color was the perfect compliment to her flawless
pink complexion and glittering emerald eyes. Her tresses were now a full,
bouncy head of big, loose curls.

Those eyes were now as exquisitely made up as Celine's own. The thick,
furry eyelashes were an immediate attention-grabber. The multiple hues of
perfectly-blended shadow, ranging from dark moss lids to ebony creases to
frosty white highlights, with wide swaths of liner extending well beyond
the corners, added to the exotic allure of those shimmering orbs.

The combination of dark and light blushes made her cheekbones appear much
more prominent than they had been. Her sexy mouth was outlined in Claret
and tinted a deep, glistening red. Her lips looked fuller, plusher, more
kissable than they had before.

Oh God, she had talons now, too! They were not quite as long as Celine's,
perhaps an inch and a half overall. They were polished the same dark
crimson as her beautiful lips and flashed with dazzling gold nail art.
This couldn't possibly be the same 'girl' I brought in four hours before —
could it?

This vision slinked up to me and pirouetted on her heels, giving me a
good, long look at Celine's handiwork. Then she pressed her body against
mine and slowly, casually scraped my inner thigh with those crimson claws.

"Do you like?", she teased. "I'm thrilled with it."

I groaned and nodded weakly. Somebody please turn off the tap inside my
pussy! I made a conscious effort to keep my hand steady as I wrote the
check, barely giving a second thought to the amount. So what if it was
equivalent to the last two months of our electric bill? It was worth it!

Celine and Danni hugged and blew air kisses, so as not to ruin the Black
girl's breathtaking efforts.

"Call me," Celine admonished.

"I will," Danni promised. "Tomorrow."

As we made our way to the door, I had to comment.

"It looks like you made a friend."

Danni looked straight ahead, smiled coyly and nodded.

"Oh yeah," she murmured dreamily. "I sure did."

As we pulled away from the curb, my lover snuggled up to me and resumed
her casual stroking of my inner thigh. I was having difficulty
concentrating on driving.

"So," she breathed in my ear, "what's next?"

I had had a whole mental list of things I wanted us to do this afternoon.
Now, all I could think about was getting her home — and into bed. When I
put the suggestion to her, she pouted her demurral.

"After I got all dressed up and sexy for you? What were you thinking? I
want you to take me out and show me off. I'm too jazzed up to think about
eating, but the least you could do is take me for a drink!"

I wanted to take her all right, but not for drinks. Still, she did have a
point. Danny loved to show me off in public — as much as I loved to flaunt
myself. He had always been so proud of me and wanted everyone to see what
a good thing he had. I adored the man for being so confident in himself
that he could do that. Apart from my occasional flings, I never gave him a
reason to doubt me.

Now the shoe was on the other foot — and I was having a problem with it.
For all our sexual experimentation in the past, both public and private,
Danny and I had never been to a swing club, swapped, or even had a
threesome with another female (Lexi had frequently given me grief about
that). That was my choice, not his. I knew what a good thing I had waiting
for me at home. I knew there were other women who would sell their
firstborn to get their hands on a man like that — and never let go. Say
what you will about hypocrisy; I could never bring myself to share my
husband with another woman. The

very thought of him being in another bitch's arms....

Danni spotted the little sidewalk café we had frequented in the past and
wheedled me to pull into the parking lot. We were seated at a table right
next to the low wrought-iron fence that separated the patio from the busy
sidewalk. My lover expertly crossed one leg over the other at the knee.
The soft, sensual rasp of stocking-on-stocking assaulted my senses. Damn,
she was picking this stuff up fast! I ordered a carafe of blush wine. We
sat, made small talk — and eyes at each other. Danni's right hand rested
atop my left. She gently scraped the sensitive skin on the back of my hand
with her crimson claws. Under the table, she casually stroked my leg with
her high-heeled pump. I was amazed my panties didn't squish as I squirmed,
they were so soaked.

We caused a modest riot in the hour we sat there drinking our wine. Every
guy in sight did a double- or triple-take as he laid eyes on Danielle for
the first time. That didn't bother me. In fact, I was beginning to
understand the thrill Danny had felt whenever he took me out. Let's face
it; men are dogs — well, most men. They are good for a quick, frantic
fuck, but they can't commit to anything more serious than a tee time. I
didn't feel threatened by their overt displays of lust. It was fun to
watch them flirt with my 'girlfriend' — and her to flirt back. I
remembered what I had said the previous week about bringing home a couple
of studs to fuck us both, side by side. Maybe....

I barely minded that, sitting next to her, I felt positively plain for the
first time in my life. She seemed to pick up on that.

"Sweetie," she trilled. "I was wondering.... Celine couldn't do color and
a perm today. She told me that much process all at once, plus the
extensions, would fry my hair. That means I would have to go back to the
salon next week — and struggle with curlers and a styling brush all this
week, which I really don't know anything about. Or...."

I raised one eyebrow, amused.

"Or?"

Danni smiled coyly and continued.

"Or, she's offering to give me lessons privately. Essentially, it would be
the complete cosmetology curriculum; hair, make-up, nails, the works. When
I finished, I would even be ready to take the licensing exam. It would
probably be several evenings a week for a while. She said we could even
start tomorrow. There would be homework, too. Of course, I..."

She cranked her smile up a notch as, under the table, her toe slid
dangerously close to my crotch.

"... would be able to practice on you. What do you think?"

I was barely able to contain my excitement.

"She... could teach you to do all this... for both of us... and you are
even toying with the idea of doing it full-time? Instead of writing?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

Let's see. How did I feel about my newly-minted, drop-dead-gorgeous little
fem-toy embarking on a career change that would almost certainly keep her
femmed to the max, me in control of our relationship, and both of us
deliriously happy for the rest of our lives? Hmmm, let me think about that
for a while... long enough!

"Baby, if you want to give it a try, I would be delighted!", I gushed.

She was clearly thrilled. Then, her whole demeanor changed. It was as if
she had thrown a switch. In the place occupied by a gushing, child-like
little bimbo only a moment before sat an earthy, seductive sexual animal.
She leaned over the table and gazed at my mouth with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Take me home and fuck me stupid," she sighed.

You didn't have to tell me twice.

I didn't know how we made it home in one piece. I only remember her tongue
tickling my ear and those fabulous nails stroking, teasing my inner thighs
and all around my slit. By the time we made it through the front door, I
was a bundle of frayed nerve endings. My pussyjuice was dribbling down my
thighs. My whole body trembled uncontrollably.

We stood next to the big, overstuffed sofa. Danni pulled me close. I could
feel her heat. Her desire was a match for mine. She placed her mouth right
next to my ear. "Cum," she purred, then simultaneously stuck her tongue in
my ear and used the tip of one fingernail to lightly flick my clit — just
once.

That did it. The force and speed of my orgasm caused my knees to buckle. I
fell backward over the arm of the sofa, landing lengthwise on the plush
cushions with Danielle on top of me. My whole body was bucking wildly. She
held me tightly as wave after wave of sheer bliss engulfed me. Afterward,
I lay there trembling in her arms. My heart hammered madly in my chest. I
still couldn't see straight. Danni smiled contentedly.

"Was it good for you?", she teased.

Then, she really went to work. That was only my first orgasm of the
evening. There were so many others....

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

When the reality becomes fantasy; a greater reality intrudes

Story:

Whatever Your Heart Desires Ch. 04
by Cherysse St. Claire  ©

We spent the rest of that long weekend in Fantasyland. We shopped. We
dined. We went out drinking and dancing, just us girls. Can you believe
it? God, what a rush! We fucked; a lot. It was fast, furious, frantic. It
was slow, soft, sensual. We did it everywhere in the house, over the hood
of the car, in the changing room of the boutique where we were trying on
clothes. I can hear the Blue Noses now. "They fucked? That's it? What
about making love, like responsible adults?" Honey, it was all about
making love; everything we did in every moment of every day. I had fallen
in love with Danny in much the same way five years before. Now, I had
fallen in love all over again — with Danielle. You want to talk about
magic?

I grudgingly granted her a few hours with Celine Thursday evening. On the
one hand, I wanted her to learn to be all the woman she could be. The
thought of Danielle committed full-time to this new and utterly erotic
lifestyle kept me constantly wet. On the other hand, I was already wet. I
had the 'itch', and needed her to scratch it. When I saw the results of
that first lesson — the makeup and hair styling which she proudly admitted
she had done herself — I was fervently thankful I had let her go, and that
Celine was there to guide her. Even my lover's voice sounded sultrier,
sexier. She and Celine had obviously worked on that, too. I made her
exclusively mine for the rest of the weekend.

Danni had to kick me out of bed Monday morning to get ready for work. I
did not want to leave her! We split the difference; she showered with me.
After the 'sendoff' she gave me under the jets of steamy spray, my morning
coffee was almost superfluous.

We dressed together after. I lovingly laced her into her corset once
again. In deference to my wishes, she donned stockings and high-heeled
marabou mules, then a long. flowing peignoir and dressing gown, while I
slipped into a blouse, 'sincere suit', and business pumps. There was
something utterly erotic about this role reversal, having my sexy 'wife'
see me off to work in the morning. For her part, she was taking to her new
role as though she had been born to it. I didn't want the weekend to be
over.

"What will you be doing today, Wifey?" I chirped brightly.

She smiled bemusedly, acknowledging her new status.

"I have an article to work on this morning," she replied, "then will spend
the afternoon with Celine."

When I wrinkled my forehead in incomprehension, she giggled, threw her
arms around my neck, pressed her body against mine and kissed me.

"It's Monday, Silly. The salon is closed. The lesson will probably last
all afternoon."

I jumped at the opportunity.

"Why don't I take you out for dinner then?" I offered. "I'll call you
later and we can coordinate the time."

Danni assented readily. I smiled and took her into my arms.

"Sweetie, I just wanted to ask. You are okay with all this, aren't you? I
mean, it's all been so sudden - and so incredibly sexy...."

Danni blushed. The corners of her mouth twitched upward.

"It is overwhelming," she acknowledged with a hesitant smile, "and kind of
scary. Yes, I am 'okay with it', as you put it...."

Her smile broadened with that.

"I just never imagined you would be into something like this, let alone so
strongly. You asked me to give it a fair chance and I will — just for you.
My biggest worry is, what will become of us?"

I smiled and stroked her cheek softly.

"You don't worry about that at all. Your only concern is making yourself
gorgeous for me. I will take care of everything else."

I kissed her softly on the lips to emphasize my point, then turned and
walked out the door. I smirked as I strutted to my car. Just for ME, huh?
You really don't want to admit to me how much YOU want it, do you? In that
case, you little minx, I really WILL take care of everything else.

***

I called Danni's cell at five o'clock. She told me she and Celine were
just finishing up. I invited her to meet me at O'Malley's for a drink.
From there, we could decide where we wanted to go for dinner. She
accepted, noting she hadn't been sure how fancy a place I had had in mind,
and that she had done the 'sexy, sophisticated look' for me. I replied I
couldn't wait to see.

O'Malley's is an Irish pub not far from my office. It is a favorite
after-work watering hole and sometime lunch destination for my co-workers
and me. From my vantage point on the end of the first high-backed booth, I
observed my sweetheart step through the door around five-thirty. Her
smooth, feline strut oozed sensuality. She paused as her eyes adjusted to
the changed light. I rose from my place and stepped forward to greet her.

We hugged and kissed each other lightly on the cheek. I gave her a very
appreciative once-over and beamed my approval. 'Sexy, sophisticated'
indeed! She had worn one of her new suits; charcoal with a subtle pin
stripe. The fitted jacket had widely-spaced lapels and a peplum waist. The
slim, tight-fitting skirt ended at mid-thigh. Her shapely legs were clad
in sheer black stockings, ending in black patent pumps with five-inch
heels. The black crepe blouse was undone to the "V" of the jacket's
lapels. The halves were spread, revealing the deep valley of her cleavage.
Danni's hair looked salon-fresh and as full and fluffy as it had the
previous Wednesday. Her makeup was still provocative, but less dramatic
than it had been the previous five days. Her look was that of a sexy young
secretary who dressed for her boss's pleasure rather than office decorum.
How appropriate!

I took Danni's hand in mine and led her back to our booth. As we rounded
the corner of the high oak backrest, she froze in her tracks.

"Jackie, Beth, Gwen, may I present Danielle, the love of my life," I
purred.

I tightened my grip on Danni's hand to prevent her from running away — or
falling over in a dead faint. The introductions weren't really necessary,
of course. My husband had met Jackie and Beth, both fellow agents, and
Gwen, our secretary, at various office parties and functions. When you
work with a group of people long enough, you just know whom you can
confide in and whom you can't. Of our agency staff, these three were
confidants and co-conspirators on all things personal.

They had all been out "catting around" with me in one nightclub or another
in the past, not to mention frequent after-work "Happy Hour" excursions to
this and other pubs. I knew the most intimate, detailed knowledge of their
love lives; the who, what, when, and how many times. It wouldn't have
occurred to me not to share this momentous change in my love life with
them as soon as I arrived at work that morning. I knew I could trust them
to be 'cool' about it. When I invited them to join Danni and me for
drinks, wild horses could not have kept them away.

'Cool' was an understatement. After the consensus "Oh, my GOD!", all three
piled out of the booth to get a better look, head-to-toe. Hugs and
enthusiastic praise go a long way towards salving a bruised and fragile
ego. After re-seating ourselves — Danni between Gwen and me, Jackie and
Beth on the other side — and two rounds of drinks, my sweetheart felt a
little more like one of the girls.

Naturally, the subject of Danielle and her 'coming out' dominated the
conversation. There were a lot of questions, as I knew there would be. I
hadn't prompted any of it.

My office mates were naturally curious, yet sensitive to the impact of so
emotional a subject on a girl who was 'new to the game'. To her credit,
and my unvoiced encouragement, Danni answered freely and frankly. I could
tell she danced around certain questions — particularly about any
attraction she might feel towards men. The important thing was, she was
facing the issues and her own emotional responses to them — something she
had to do if 'Danielle' was to grow as a person.

I made certain she and I went alone to the Little Girl's Room to powder
our noses. I knew she would have something to say in private, and had a
firm idea what it would be.

She didn't disappoint me.

"How could you do this to me?" she burst out incredulously. "I almost died
of shame!"

"Baby," I responded, "it was never my intention to humiliate you. I can
only say what I have said before; you have nothing to be ashamed of. You
cannot hide in the closet forever. You have to get out, meet people, and
let them meet you. You were fine with Lexi, Celine and the girls at the
salon. You also had no problem with the people at the clubs we went to
last weekend."

"The clubs were different," Danni retorted. "They were all strangers.
These three have known me as long as you and I have been together."

"That is exactly my point," I replied. "These three do know you — as an
intelligent, funny, warm, loving, caring, thoughtful human being. You are
still that person. We just made the 'packaging' a bit more attractive. Our
girlfriends are fine with that, just as Lexi and Celine are. They have
been jealous as Hell of me all this time, jealous of the love I have. From
what I can see, they are even more so now."

"You could have warned me up front," Danni reasoned, "so I could have been
emotionally prepared."

"I could have," I agreed. "Would you have shown up?"

She just stared at me in the mirror as we freshened our lipstick.

"How will I ever be able to face them again as your husband?" she sighed.

I held her close and smiled coyly.

"Why would I ever want you to?"

My sweet Danni sighed again in resignation.

"Do you have any more surprises for me?"

I shrugged my shoulders a bit and cranked my smile up a notch.

"The night is young and so are we."

When we returned to the booth, the topic of conversation turned almost
immediately to dinner. Five grumbling stomachs were not to be denied.
Someone voiced a desire for Steak on a Stick and potato skins. In no time,
we all adjourned to Friday's. Jackie and Beth rode with me; Gwen
accompanied Danielle. My two companions never shut up about my 'new wife'.
They remarked, as others had, how attractive they had always considered
'Danny' to be. Now, they couldn't get over what a gorgeous female he — she
— was becoming. They danced delicately around the subject of our sex life,
wondering how far I intended to take Danielle's transformation? I assured
them that, whatever other changes she had in store for her, that would not
be changing within the foreseeable future. I had been correct in my
earlier assessment of them. At that moment, I could see they were
beside-themselves envious of me.

The three of us arrived first and were seated immediately, much to our
delight. That event is rare enough any time. It is doubly so on a Monday
night during football season. Danni and Gwen arrived ten minutes later.
Danni took her seat next to me and Gwen took the empty chair between
Jackie and Beth. The conversation resumed where it had left off in
O'Malley's. I knew immediately something was wrong. I have always trusted
my instincts and now they were sounding extra alarms. It wasn't anything
either one said, nor the way they looked at each other. Rather, it was the
way they studiously avoided looking at each other that gave them away. It
wasn't hostility; I would have read that in their body language. This was
something else.

The hackles on the back of my neck stood up. I knew Danni inside and out.
I had never had to worry about 'him' cheating on me; he was devoted to me.
Likewise, I didn't expect 'her' to stray for the same reason. Then again,
she was new to the game and an accommodating personality. I knew Gwen was
anything but. She was a man-eater, a sexual predator with a taste for
fresh meat. She seemingly changed lovers more often than she changed her
mind — and loved to try new things. It didn't take a rocket scientist to
figure out who had made a play for whom on the way over.

I stared a hole through my spouse's head. It didn't take long for her to
sense my gaze and meet it. Danni and I share that rare quality that one
can tell with a glance what the other is thinking. She read my unspoken
question with ease. My lover knew full well how I felt about her and other
women. The little smile confirmed my suspicions. The almost imperceptible
shake of her head bespoke: the offer had been graciously declined. Her leg
pressed against mine, with her hand gently stroking my inner thigh,
confirmed her allegiance. Damn, I loved her! I made a mental note; I would
have to keep a closer eye on Gwen whenever Danni was around....

The partisan football crowd was getting rowdy. After a few more rounds, so
were we. I wasn't really surprised when we picked up an 'escort'; five
guys who graciously seated themselves with us, each gifting us with
another round of whatever we had been drinking.

My girlfriends and I were used to this; it happened often when we were out
together. Then again, this was the first time it had happened when my
lover was with me — and she now had an admirer of her own!

Mine was a tall, seriously-muscled, towheaded hunk of manflesh named Ron
Randall. He was a personal trainer (surprise!) at a local health club. I
made no attempt to hide my wedding band and he made no attempt to let it
dissuade him. In the meantime, Danni was distracted by an equally-buff
(same occupation, same club) Terry Kennedy. Hmmm, a gregarious Irish lad,
in search of a fair colleen. If he only knew.... Our three friends were
similarly occupied. It was fun. It was flirtatious. We talked of football,
movies, and of course, Real Estate (that was the salesperson in us). I
would be lying if I said Ron wasn't an attractive man — one that, under
different circumstances, I wouldn't think twice about having. Then again,
Danni and Terry.... I thought briefly of the spur-of-the-moment spoken
fantasy that had started us down this path. It was making me wet.

I could feel the tension rising from my other side. I had never
experienced it before, yet I could sense its source — and cause. Beth
glanced my way, then flicked her eyes towards Danni. She knew, too! Now we
had a problem. I couldn't indulge myself with Ron. There was the obvious
reason, of course, but Beth and Jackie rode with me; their cars were back
at the office. Gwen's car was also parked in the company lot, but it was
apparent she had found her flavor du jour and would likely not be riding
back with Danni. Correction: Gwen would not be riding with Danni no matter
what.

Jackie and Beth were both married but, like me, occasionally had fun on
the side. I silently polled them, eye-to-eye, gauging their intentions.
Both gave little shakes of their head. All for one; one for all. I glanced
at Gwen, who was oblivious to everything but her guy. Well, almost all.

Luckily, the game turned into a blowout. We offered our excuses shortly
after the beginning of the fourth quarter. There was no mistaking the look
of disappointment in Ron's eyes and three others'. Lucky Number Five was a
different story. For no good reason, other than it's what a salesperson
always does, I gave Ron my business card.

"If you decide you're in the market, call me," I offered.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward a bit.

"I just might take you up on that," he replied.

***

I dropped my co-workers off at the office, sticking around long enough to
make certain their cars started and they got underway without incident.
Then I drove straight home. Between my sexy banter with Ron and the
occasional thought towards my 'double-double' fantasy with Danni and two
guys (Ron and Terry? Ron and anybody else?), my panties were soaked. I
could tell Danni and I would have to work on the trust issue a little more
before that fantasy could be realized. My lover's car was already parked
in the garage. The house was dark but for the light streaming from our
bedroom. I thought back to her unspoken, yet heated response to my
flirtations with Ron. This might require some damage control.

"Honey, I just wanted to say...."

WHAM!

My back hit the bedroom wall with enough force to knock the wind from me.
The scent of Danni's Obsession assaulted my senses, even as her lips
assaulted mine. Instinctively, my legs encircled her waist even as my arms
went around her neck. She speared my pussy with her eight-inch clit,
driving the breath from me yet again and pinning me against the wall. In
all the time we had been together, she had never, ever taken me with such
force and passion.

My first orgasm exploded in less than a minute; my second, third, and
fourth in less than five. I am not certain at what point I wound up on my
back on the bed, nor when I rolled over on top, riding her clit. Finally,
the individual bursts of bliss melded together into one continuous river
of molten lava that burned through the night and seared my soul. Through
all of it, she never said a word.

Finally, somewhere between midnight and dawn, she stopped - just as I was
on the ragged edge of yet another giant climax. She was on an upstroke;
her clit was thisclose to being withdrawn from my pussy altogether. I
shrieked my displeasure at this despicable pause at exactly the wrong
moment. Danni just gazed at me with placid eyes.

"You just wanted to say what?"

I glared at her with a look of pure venom.

"Never mind," I hissed.

I dug my nails into her tush sharply and yanked with all my might,
slamming her clit home in my snatch. That was all it took. I was falling
again, and the bottom was nowhere in sight....

***

The weeks slipped away. Danni was in class with Celine Monday afternoons,
plus Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Between corseting and weight loss
(hey, how hungry are you when your stomach and other internal organs are
being compressed four inches?), she had achieved a natural twenty-four
inch waist. Her hips and tush had expanded to a mouth-watering thirty-six
inches. Her luscious body rocked out in a skimpy bikini, not to mention
her other fashions.

Lately, I had been giving serious thought to buying her a boob job. Her
natural ones had swelled along with her beautiful bottom and her nipples
had become erect and sensitive. It was a crime to cover them up with faux
titties, but she looked so good as a really busty babe.

I had been giving a lot of thought to fulfilling that other fantasy. I
wanted to see her with a man, to watch while he took her the way a man
takes a woman — well, within the limits of her anatomy. I knew it would be
a little tricky to find the right guy, but not impossible. In fact, I was
really liking that scenario about two guys, taking Danni and me together.

All right, I admit it. I had been having thoughts about Ron Randall. What
girl wouldn't? He had been calling me regularly at work. It wasn't about
buying a house, either. I had flirted with him, letting him know the
interest was there, but I wasn't ready to see him — yet. I was feeling a
little guilty about wanting to. That was a first for me. In the past,
whenever I saw a guy that made me ooze, I just had him. It was harmless
fun and didn't hurt anyone. Even after I married Danny, my playing around
on the side was never a threat to our marriage. Danny was the man I loved
and I wasn't going to toss him aside for a random hunk of beefcake. I
never broached the subject with him. I didn't want to flaunt it in his
face. I just made it up to him in other ways.

The rules had changed and I had changed them. Now 'Danielle' was the love
of my life. Even though I had convinced myself I was doing it for her,
there had been a big, big dividend in it for me. Neither Danny nor
Danielle had ever, ever cheated on me. She was, in fact, going to the most
extreme lengths any person can to satisfy my 'itch'. She was satisfying
me, to an extent I had never dreamed possible. Still, I was having a
craving for a man — something I had taken away from 'Danny' to create
'Danielle'. That was making me feel a little uneasy. I reasoned: if she
could have a man with me, I wouldn't have to feel guilty, would I?

But Danielle had yet to express the slightest interest in having sex with
anyone but me, let alone a man. She could have had Gwen or Lexi in a
heartbeat. Instincts or no, I might never have tumbled to it. Yet my lover
had already refused one — and told me so - and would certainly refuse the
other if the situation arose. This was frustrating. How do you convince
someone to cheat, and that it wouldn't be cheating if you were there with
them?

The answer was, you don't convince them; you seduce them. The next time
Ron called, I set something up with him for the following Tuesday night. I
told him my 'roommate' hadn't gotten laid in a while and had just quit
trying to find someone. I wanted him to bring Terry Kennedy over to our
place for a 'foursome'. I could almost envision his eyes glazing over at
the prospect.

When I hung up the phone I started making a mental plan. No one knew how
to push Danni's buttons better than me. She would come home from her
Cosmetology lesson, and "the boys dropped by, just to be sociable,
Sweetie. The least we can do is offer them a drink, right?" Once she was
relaxed, I would start caressing her, then kissing her, 'putting on a
little show to make the guys jealous.' Once I got her warmed up, it
wouldn't take any effort at all to get her into Terry's arms — and me into
Ron's. I figured if we had all had a couple of drinks by then, Terry
wouldn't really mind about Danni's secret, would he? Even if he did...
well, I would figure something out. The bottom line was, I would be able
to enjoy Ron without having to feel guilty about it.

The boys showed up at nine on the dot Tuesday night. I really like guys
who care enough to be punctual. This was gonna be a great evening. Danni
would get home around ten, so there was plenty of time. I showed Ron where
the liquor was and told him to fix us a drink while I went into the
kitchen to get the snack tray I had already prepared. Then, we settled
down on the couch, got cozy, and waited.

The next thing I knew, it was late Wednesday morning and the telephone was
chirping angrily in my ear. It was Gwen, wanting to know if I was okay; it
wasn't like me to be this late and not call in. I told her I was sick, and
that I would have to call her back in a little bit. That hadn't been a
lie. My head was pounding. I felt like Death Warmed Over. My pussy and ass
were so sore, they throbbed. What the Hell had I done the night before? I
couldn't remember a thing.

I stumbled into the bathroom and went potty. I wanted to go back to bed,
but knew I had to get up. A good, long, steamy, soapy shower made me feel
marginally better. I wrapped my terry robe around me and cinched the belt
tight, then padded back into the bedroom. Where was Danni? I dimly
remembered we had... company the night before. Ron and Terry. We were
going to have a foursome. We had a drink, then sat down to wait for... A
DRINK! I hurried to the living room. Nothing. I went into the kitchen. The
three glasses were there, in the strainer. I snatched one up to the light
and examined it. The glass was flawless; not a spot, streak — or
fingerprint. I started to get a gnawing feeling of dread in the pit of my
stomach. Where is Danni?

I raced to her bedroom, the one she had never had occasion to sleep in. It
had been my plan she would 'break it in' the previous night, along with
Terry, after I had got the festivities off to a good start. Apparently,
Ron and Terry had had an agenda of their own.

Danni's bedroom was empty, the bed not even creased. Then where was she?

I went back into the living room, thoroughly disoriented. I just stood
there for a moment, collecting my wits — or trying to. Something was
trying to pierce the fog of my confusion, force its way to the front of my
consciousness. It was... a sound, a subdued, high-pitched whine. I looked
around the room and spotted the door to our home office open. As I made my
way to it, the sound got louder. I finally recognized it as the sound of
our computer's hard drive in operation. Danni had left it on again?

No, it hadn't been Danni. The computer was running all right. There was a
new slide show in progress on the screen, starring me — having sex with
Ron and Terry. I had been on my back, then on top, then on hands and
knees, taking first one, then the other, then both at the same time. They
must have used a digital camera on a tripod with remote release or timer.
In each one of the pictures, my face was clear as crystal — and theirs
were turned away from the camera or out of the frame. So, what had they
dosed me with? GHB? X? Whatever it was, they had had a real good time,
then expertly cleaned up after themselves. And I had just washed the
remaining evidence down the shower drain. I smelled a well-rehearsed
set-up. I knew instinctively I was not their first victim. Victim? I had
invited them into my home with open arms. Why had they bothered? We were
going to have sex anyway. I guessed for some guys, it wasn't as good if
the girl says: "yes" — or they weren't taking any chances I might change
my mind. Those bastards! I felt so dirty.

Correction: I had invited them into our home. Where was my sweetheart?
What had those rat fucks done with her? I was just reaching for the phone
to call the police when something on the screen caught my eye. I had to
wait for the sequence to cycle again. Then I saw it, in two different
frames. Danni was standing in the bedroom door, watching what was going
on. My two assailants had been so engrossed in me, they hadn't noticed her
watching all three of us.

Why hadn't she said something, screamed, come to my aid? The sequence
cycled again. I studied her image intently this time. The story was all
there on the two frames. There were two very different expressions on my
lover's face. The first was wide-eyed astonishment. The second was... pure
hate.

For the second time, a knot formed in my stomach. I hurried over to the
dresser and opened her drawers, one by one. All empty. I dashed back to
her bedroom to check her closet filled to the brim with the clothes we had
purchased for her. There were about a half-dozen forlorn, empty hangers
occupying otherwise barren racks.

She hadn't understood. She hadn't realized the creeps had drugged me.
After everything she had been through, everything she had done to please
me, she had walked in, seen me fucking two of the guys we had met at
Friday's - on our marital bed - and thought.... Then again, she had a
point, didn't she? It wasn't like I had been the model of a faithful
spouse. I had invited them with the intent of having sex with them. Yes, I
had intended for Danni to participate — but it hadn't really been about
what she wanted, had it? I hadn't even told her about it. It was going to
be another surprise....

I sat down hard on the closet floor, crossed my legs, planted my elbows on
my knees, then buried my face in my hands. What had I done? I could
picture the scene as clearly as day. She had quietly slipped into this
room and closed the door, fuming in silent rage. I was actually grateful
she had done that. My attackers had not realized Danni had come home. She
had been spared my fate, or worse when they discovered her secret.

Danni had waited until they had finished with me and left. She had cleaned
out her closet, then come into our bedroom to empty her dresser drawers —
while I lay sprawled across the bed, not ten feet away. To her, it would
have appeared I was sound asleep in post-orgasmic bliss.

She was gone. My attackers had had nothing to do with her disappearance; I
had. I cried for a good, long time, then notified the police.

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Synopsis:

One betrayed; the other violated

Story:

Whatever Your Heart Desires Ch. 05
by Cherysse St. Claire  ©

There was no way around it; I had fucked up, big time. First things first;
I did what every rape victim is supposed to do. Detective Dottie Henson of
the police department's Sex Crimes Unit took my report. She escorted me to
the hospital to process a rape kit (neither of us expected anything usable
to turn up after the shower I had taken), plus tox and STD screens (that
thought was chilling).

"Ron" and "Terry" had struck before — several times. They usually dosed
the girl's drink at the bar during the initial pick-up, then took her
somewhere more private, presumably a motel room. I was the second victim
they had 'played' over time. They were slick and methodical. They were not
employed at the health club as they claimed, and none of their previous
'dates' had been given an address or phone number. At that point, the
police could not even be certain what their real names were or if they
even lived locally.

The digital slide show had been a break; Danni's appearance in it more so.
I managed to convince Dottie to keep Danni out of the investigation, at
least for now. She had been ready to put out an 'all-points' for my mate.
Your husband saw you being raped, did nothing to stop it, then disappeared
immediately after? And you aren't at least a LITTLE suspicious? I reasoned
with her. Given my unfaithful past, Danni would have no reason to suspect
what she saw was anything but more of the same — taken to the most
humiliating (for her) extreme yet. That would easily explain her sudden
departure. If I didn't appear in complete control of my senses, well, I
was being fucked stupid and it wouldn't be unusual for me to have a drink
or two — or three — beforehand.

She still wasn't buying it — until I showed her a picture of Danni. It was
one of a series of photos I had had taken of her at one of those walk-in
glamour photography studios in the mall. Danni had been wearing a little
cropped tank top that showed off her cleavage and hand span waist, a
sinfully-short little flare skirt and platform ankle-strap sandals. Her
navel piercing had healed by then and I wanted a portrait that showed off
that cute little jeweled ring. I practically had to catch Dottie's jaw in
my hand and close it manually.

"This is your husband?" she asked incredulously.

"Noooo," I responded with a grin, "this is my wife."

Dottie had just shaken her head and smiled bemusedly.

"OK," she sighed, "I see your point."

She admonished she would still have to interview Danni at the earliest
possible time. He — she, Dottie had corrected herself — was still a
material witness to a felony sexual assault. More to the point, she was in
danger. If we had noticed her in those digital images, the perps would,
too. I hadn't thought of that.

"I'm going to have a unit watch your house for a while," she instructed.

"They wouldn't come back again, would they?" I gasped. "I mean, I can't
testify to anything other than they had been there and I had woken up the
next morning with a headache and sore pussy."

"No, but Danni can," Dottie responded, "and they won't know she's gone.
All they will know is she caught them in the act and would be able to
testify against them. They might be tempted to come back to silence her —
and you, too, if you were there at the time."

I hadn't thought of that, either. It was a chilling concept. So was my
next thought.

"You are going to use us as bait, aren't you?"

Dottie smiled, but not convincingly.

"It might not come to that," she responded, "but we will be watching the
house for now. Kristen, this is the biggest break we have had since this
case was opened. I don't mean to leave you or Danni twisting in the wind,
but if there is any chance we can draw these creeps out into the open, we
need to take it."

The best way to put all this behind me was to immerse myself in my normal
day-to-day routine. Harry, my boss, and the whole agency were solidly
behind me. Harry couldn't understand how my husband could walk out on me
after so traumatic an event. We hadn't told him about 'Danni', so I
reiterated a sanitized version of the same explanation I had given the
police. Beth, Jackie and Gwen were present — at my request — and backed me
up. Harry understood, but still thought of Danny as "unmanly" for allowing
it to happen in our marital bed in the first place. At the time, there was
no way I could argue the point and win, so I let it drop.

It was hard at first; really hard. The initial blood work and all
follow-up testing came back negative for all infectious agents. I was
thankful for at least that much. It didn't bother me to go home again,
either; at least, as far as the rape was concerned. It was still Home and
I would continue to live there. I had plenty of reason to blame myself for
my victimization, but I didn't want to dwell on that, either. What's done
is done.

My trauma was Danni. This deplorable incident had cost me the one treasure
I valued above all others. I had not heard from her since and had no idea
where she was or what she was doing. Our home seemed empty, sterile,
bereft of warmth without her. Sometimes at night, I just wandered
aimlessly from room to room, trying to recapture some faint essence of her
to fill the void in my heart. The thought of seeking out casual lovers to
fill that void revulsed me.

I went to get my hair done, as I always did. That was part of the routine.
Lexi could tell something was wrong with me. I told her everything.
Priests, bartenders and hairdressers; they hear it all. She was really
sympathetic. It had been such an unreal chain of events and had led to
such a tragic end. She hated that I had been assaulted that way. She was
heartened to learn I was coping with it as well as I was — other than the
loss of Danni of course.... Her reaction was not exactly what I had
expected. Certainly, she commiserated with me, but it somehow seemed the
news had not taken her completely by surprise.

As I arose from Lexi's chair, I happened to catch sight of Celine at the
same moment she spotted me. The stunning African-American recoiled as if
stung, hastily turning away from me. That one, brief glance had spoken
volumes. If she had been able to shoot daggers from her eyes, I would have
been dead where I stood. I cautiously made my way to Celine's station,
mentally steeling myself for the miserable, yet necessary, exchange to
come.

"Don't even speak to me," she hissed, busying herself with some trivial
task. "I sure as Hell don't want to speak to you!"

"I have to speak to you," I replied with resolve, "whether either of us
wants to or not. I have to know Danni is all right."

Celine spun around to face me, cold fury in her eyes and voice.

"All right? You come to me after doing what you did, after everything
Danielle did for you, and you ask me if she is all right? No, she is not
'all right'. She may never be 'all right' again. I think she still trusts
me, but that is all the emotion she is willing to invest in anyone right
now. It is only out of respect for Alexis I don't bust your punk ass right
here and now!"

I repeated what I had told Lexi about my assault and why the police
thought Danni was in danger. Whatever mistakes I had made, I didn't want
anyone to hurt her. Celine regarded me warily for a moment. Her face
softened almost imperceptibly.

"You don't have to worry about that," she intoned. "I'll take care of it."

At least I knew someone was in contact with my lover. I had instinctively
respected the Nubian beauty the moment I laid eyes on her. She was
defending Danni as a she-wolf would her pup. As much as it pained me to
not be able to see or talk to my love, I understood she was in good hands.
I tried to string together the right words to say, wishing I had Danni's
talent for it at that moment.

"I know you won't believe this right now," I began slowly, "but I do love
her with all my heart. If the only way I can prove that is to stay away
from her until she is ready to contact me, that is what I will do. I trust
you to take care of her and I know you have her best interests at heart. I
do, too, though I wasn't very good at showing it. Just be good to her,
please — better than I was. She deserves that."

Celine opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it.

"You need to go," she stated without emotion, then turned away.

I did, without argument.

It was the tiniest of breakthroughs imaginable, but a breakthrough
nonetheless. At least I knew Danni was alive. I didn't know where, but was
certain Celine did. Perhaps Danni was living with the Black girl. That
would make sense. She would have turned to the only other person with whom
she felt safe. I said I had instinctively respected Celine from the first
time I saw her. I would have to do so now, setting aside my petty jealousy
of Danni being with another woman.

I did what I set out to do. I went to work and immersed myself in my
normal routine. I sold properties, went to lunch or for after-work drinks
with my friends, then went home. Once in a while, they convinced me to go
out to a club. Of course I got hit on, as was their intention. I was
cordial. It felt good to at least carry on a conversation that wasn't
related to work. I danced some, too. It felt good to hold someone, feel
their warmth. It just wasn't the same. Their petty preoccupations with
sports, their jobs, a new car or boat, and how they had been searching for
a girl like me just seemed so banal.

I actually did take one of them home — once. His name was Stan
something-or-other. He was... a man. That is the only way I can put it. He
was attractive enough and had a nice body. The 'package' was okay, too —
just okay. He fucked me routinely. He came. I didn't. I didn't ever try to
fake it. I was cordial enough afterwards and got rid of him as soon as I
decently could. All the time he was in me, I was comparing him to Danni.
There really was no comparison; Stan lost, hands down.

A couple of months later, a bizarre story was reported on the local news.
Acting on an anonymous tip, police had raided a local motel room and
apprehended two men wanted in connection with a series of sexual assaults
on area women. Also confiscated in the raid were digital camera and video
equipment, plus recorded digital disks allegedly containing evidence of
previous assaults. Upon arrival at the scene, police found the room's door
forcibly opened and the men handcuffed, beaten... and, allegedly, sexually
assaulted. Arraignment was pending their release from an area hospital. At
that time, police had no suspects in the apparent vigilante-style attack
on the pair. Further details would be made available as they were
released....

And then I saw her. Gwen told our little group about a new club, Gotham.
The four of us decided to check it out on a Friday night. The décor was
dark, brooding, and heavily goth-inspired. There were lots of dark little
alcoves and passageways to explore — or get lost in. Danni was on the
dance floor with another girl. Her partner's back was to me, but I
couldn't mistake my estranged mate's gorgeous body and fiery copper
tresses for anyone else.

Both women were dressed like little sluts, with deeply-plunging necklines,
obscenely short skirts and perilously high stiletto heels. They were
dancing really close, into the slow, sensual beat and each other. The
entire room seemed to be fixated on them. Finally, the other girl took the
ravishing redhead's hand in hers and they strolled off the dance floor and
into the corridor. I followed them, picking my way carefully through the
crowd.

I searched room after room, corridor after corridor, trying to catch sight
of the couple again. Had they left? Was that it; one brief glimpse, then
she was gone from my life again? Just as I was about to give up in
despair, I spotted them in a dark, deserted dead-end alcove. They were...
fucking, right there where anyone passing by could see them. The act was
so brazen, so extreme, so blatantly erotic, my pussy started gushing its
juice. Like some lowly peeper, I couldn't help but hide in the shadows and
watch.

I reached under my skirt and began massaging my aching clit with two
fingers, moving in a light, circular motion. I couldn't tear my eyes away
from the erotic tableau before me; two beautiful women, one with a thick,
meaty cock, fucking in public with reckless abandon. Is this what she and
I had looked like? It had to be. The other girl's face was hidden in the
shadows. I had a clear view of Danni's clit pumping in and out of her
snatch. They were moaning desperately, seemingly moments away from
release. So was I. I switched from massaging my clit to plunging the two
fingers forcefully into my love nest, pumping hard in time with Danni's
thrusts.

The three of us came within moments of each other, their shrieks masking
my own moans. My knees buckled at the force of my orgasm. I grabbed for
the wall to steady myself. It was the first orgasm I had had since Danni
left. Despite the tawdry circumstances, or perhaps because of them, it was
an intensely fulfilling one. After a time, the pair composed themselves,
straightened their disheveled clothing, and strutted confidently on, hand
in hand. It was then I caught a good look at Danni's partner. There was no
mistaking that raven-haired beauty. And to think, I had been seated in her
styling couch only two days before, as I did every Wednesday!

For the rest of the weekend, I fucked myself furiously with the biggest
dildo I had, as that scene replayed over and over in my mind. I was
obsessed with it, couldn't get it out of my head. I came, too; savagely,
ferociously, again and again. It was insane. In effect, my 'wife' had
cuckolded me with one of my best friends — and I was getting off on it!
Perhaps it was because of the audacious, in-your-face boldness of the act,
so much in keeping with the character of the relationship Danni and I had
shared. It was almost like she had been fucking me in that dark, secluded
alcove. In a way, she had.

At the office Monday morning, my girlfriends and I discussed our outing.
The other three commented I had suddenly disappeared and wondered what had
happened to me. I replied I had gotten caught up in a hot scene in another
room and wound up going home early — all of which was true. Later, Gwen
pulled me aside. She smiled, hesitantly at first, then with genuine
warmth.

"I hope it was good for you, too," she intoned. "I mean that, Kristen. You
have been a good friend, even when I wasn't. You don't deserve to have
been alone so long."

I wasn't exactly sure what she had meant by that, but I took it at face
value and thanked her.

I had a decision to make. The smart choice was to find a new hairstylist
ASAP. Even if she didn't know that I knew, how could I face Lexi again
after what she did? Then again, how had Danny faced me again all those
times, knowing what I had done behind his back? I had been a lot more to
him than a hair stylist. Lexi had been my friend a long time. Technically,
she hadn't cheated on me, hadn't gone behind my back. Although we were
still married, Danielle was currently fair game — and if she was going to
be with anyone....

I kept my regular Wednesday appointment. Lexi was all smiles as she seated
me in the plush, contoured couch. She was really animated, talking about
anything and everything, yet saying nothing in particular. When she had
finished with me, I rose from the couch, turned, and just looked at her.
She was as animated as before, beaming radiantly. As I continued to
silently gaze at her, the smile faded slowly from her face.

"What?" she asked.

"I was there," I softly intoned. "I watched."

She knew what I meant. She stared at the floor, blushing. Then she looked
at me again.

"I won't apologize," she stated evenly.

"I won't ask you to," I replied.

"What do you want to do now?" she inquired guardedly.

"I want," I responded, glancing at my watch, "to take you to lunch. Can
you get away?"

The smile crept back onto her face.

"I can always make time for a good friend," she chirped.

Understandably, lunch was a little awkward at first. We had gone to the
little sidewalk café, around the corner from the salon, which was our
usual haunt. I had to break the ice somehow, so I simply started with the
first thing that came to mind.

"She looked good," I began. "Actually, the two of you looked good
together."

"Thank you," Lexi spoke hesitantly. "She really does look good, doesn't
she? You gave her the confidence, and Celine..."

She glanced down at the tabletop for a moment, then looked up again.

"How much did you see?"

"I told you. I watched. I was in the alcove with you, in the shadows. I —
I masturbated while I watched her fuck you. I came when you did. That was
hot."

The conversation took off from there. When she asked if I minded, I was
quick to reply "yes", but followed up by pointing out I had no exclusive
rights to Danni at that moment and Lexi had always wanted to find out how
good I had it. She looked at me with a dreamy expression on her face and
acknowledged the liaison in the alcove had been only one of many that
night, and that she had almost not made it to work Saturday morning. When
I commented Danni did know how to satisfy a woman, Lexi beamed.

"I probably wouldn't want her full-time, the way you do," she intoned
enthusiastically. "I mean, I really like men, but, DAMN, Girl, I have
never had another lover who could push my buttons like that!"

When she saw the misty look in my eyes, my friend took my hand in hers and
gave it a little squeeze. She reassured me it was not over between my
lover and me. Danni talked about me constantly, Lexi observed, and
obviously missed me as much as I missed her. Lexi admitted she had related
the details of my rape to my spouse, and how I had set it up to fulfill
the fantasy of Danni and I having sex together with two guys.

Danni revealed how her entire transformation had begun with my revelation
of that fantasy, and that it was a turn-on for her as well. She simply
hadn't been certain at that point how she felt about having sex with a
man.

The issue of my casual affairs had hurt her much more than she let on. She
hadn't said anything about it because she loved me that much and wanted us
to stay together. Danni had believed that, with her transformation at my
behest and in light of how well things had been going in our relationship
as a result, I had finally put all of that behind me. Then, when she had
come home that night and found me in our bed, fucking the two men we had
met at Friday's, she had just lost it.

The revelation of what had actually happened that night had hurt Danni
deeply. She had never wanted anything like that to happen to me. My
estranged spouse felt ashamed she had sat in the next room, doing nothing,
while I had been so callously abused. She felt doubly-ashamed that she had
believed me capable of acting so callously towards her.

It was my turn to stare at the tabletop, in an effort to hold back my
tears.

"She didn't know," I sobbed quietly. "She had no way of knowing. She had
every right to think exactly what she did. She wasn't wrong. I didn't even
bother to ask her if she was ready to do it with me. All I could think
about was how much I wanted that bastard Ron Randall. I deserved what I
got."

Lexi's smile disappeared.

"Listen to me carefully, Kristen," she intoned resolutely. "No woman
deserves what you got. I know it. Danni knows it. You'd better know it.
Even Celine knew it, bless her heart. She and Danni... took care of it
with some of their friends.

My heart skipped a beat at the sudden vision. I suddenly remembered
something from the salon this morning I wanted to ask. I hadn't seen
Celine in the salon that morning. Was she sick? Lexi looked ill herself
when I asked. She replied that Celine would not be working at the salon
anymore. I teased her about losing her to some other big salon, the same
way she had snatched the gorgeous Black girl from the school.

I saw in her eyes that whatever the cause, it was not something to make
light of. I squeezed her hand and apologized, stating that after the way
Celine had helped Danni, both before and after our break-up, I could tell
she was someone really special. "She was the best," Lexi stated simply.
Then, she brightened a bit, relating that her intuition was that Danni
would be on my doorstep tomorrow if she hadn't had something going on at
that moment.

And there it was. That was what I had been afraid of all along. I sighed
resolutely, asking if she and Celine were good to each other, the way
Danni and I had been? If they were, I wouldn't make trouble for them. Lexi
stared at me, shaking her head. She replied she didn't know how I had
gotten that idea, but it had never been that way between Danni and Celine,
that Celine would not have allowed it.

I didn't understand that at all. Danni and Celine were obviously close. I
wasn't able to resist Danni's charms and Lexi hadn't been able to, either.
The entire subject of Celine seemed to be one Lexi wanted to avoid at the
moment, so I just chalked it up to Celine not being into T-girls as Lexi
and I were, and let it go.

Lexi reiterated Danni had something big going on, something other than a
personal relationship, but she was being very close-mouthed about it. The
gorgeous T-girl was still mine, my friend asserted. It was just going to
take some time for the hurt to heal, and for Danni to get her head
straight and finish what she had to do. She really wanted me back, Lexi
avowed. My heart was pounding. I felt dizzy.

"I want her back, too. More than anything."

It was time for us to get back to our respective jobs. We arose from the
table, walked out to the sidewalk, and hugged. My friend scrutinized me
carefully.

"Are we OK?" she questioned.

"More than ever," I responded as I hugged her again.

"Prove it," she challenged.

"How?"

Lexi winked.

"Gotham. Saturday night, for your birthday. You and me. Stop by the salon
before closing. We'll do dinner, then go out — just the two of us."

"It's a date," I replied enthusiastically.