An Unfaithful Wife 5/13 One weekend we had another of our odd conversations. "You still imagine you're me, sometimes, don't you, when you're pleasuring Mr. D and your different boyfriends." I nodded. I wasn't being Cassie very often any more. I'd found I was more easily a sweetly submissive girl with some tigerish streaks when I was in a girl mode, not wanting to be myself and yet not some man-loving fag either. That girl sucked Mr. D fairly often. And recently she'd sucked Cassie too when I was between Cassie's legs or under her crotch. Though I didn't tell her that. "If you can imagine you're me, wouldn't you think it's fair for me to imagine I'm you, and treat Mr. D as a boyfriend the way you do? To take my turn sucking on Mr. D? In fact shouldn't I go all the way and fuck myself with him?" I was silent. A little appalled. A lot saddened, I don't know why. And suddenly afraid! Suddenly jealous of Mr. D!? What if Cassie came to prefer that huge thing in her to my comparatively paltry penis? What if she got so mine could no longer satisfy her? What if she was already accustomed to bigger pricks, real ones? Oh, God! My gut writhed in an ecstasy of torment! She saw and immediately relented. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I won't take your man away from you. I know you've gotten rather fond of him. But it is time we moved on. Mr. D does need to feel squeezed by a pussy now and then to stay in condition. That's what he was made for, after all." I was still terrified. We played mind games, yes, but for Cassie to take in that huge cock instead of my own, that was hard. I could only look at her, desolated. "You poor dear," she said softly. "I don't mean squeezed by my pussy. I mean by your pussy! Shouldn't you fuck yourself with him? " I was bewildered! "You're so sweet. Always thinking of my pleasure, or Mr. D's, and never your own. I love you for that! But you do need a proper reward! Not just my pee, though you'll get all I can give you tonight, and I wish I could fill your belly to the brim. But I'm afraid it's undeniable. That girl in you who blows Mr. Dildo, you're most often her now aren't you, she needs to be fucked. She needs to know what a stiff dick in her pussy can feels like. She needs to go all the way to orgasm with one. She needs to feel like a woman." She gazed at me for a moment. "Or maybe it's the boy in you who needs to feel a big man's meat moving in and out of his ass? Maybe it's time for that? For you to go all gay?" She waited. I still said nothing, so she spoke decisively. "Either way, it's a necessary step toward your maturity, and it's time. So tomorrow when we're getting ready for bed, be sure to give yourself an enema. Then use one of my prepared douches. Whatever you'll call it, a girly pussy or a boy's asshole, tomorrow it becomes Mr. D's glory hole, so make it nice and sweet for him." I did, filled with apprehension. The next night I came to bed with my rear end cleansed thoroughly, smelling faintly of Cassie's lemon douche. We made love as usual, and I thought she'd forgotten her plan. But then while she was straddling my face and I was sucking my nightly load of cum out of her and into me, she leaned back and reached between my legs and pushed a finger into my anus, then two more, and then she began to slip them back and forth. They were slick with something. My own cum? "Isn't this nice?" she asked. It did feel strange, as if I were expelling a turd over and over. Oddly, it felt good too. I began to suck and lick her in the rhythm her fingers set, and as she rose to orgasm that became frantic. God! As she orgasmed the rest of my cum into my mouth, my ass was gyrating on her fingers as wildly as hers on my face. Again I thought that would be all. But when I was already nearly asleep, Cassie patted my rear end and whispered, "You look so relaxed now, sweetheart. Maybe it's time. Lift up!" I did, and immediately felt something soft and blunt pushing against my anus, trying to get in. It couldn't, though she left the tip in the cleft of my ass for some time. and I fell asleep trying to clench it with the muscles in my anus. The next morning when I was still half-asleep Cassie tried again, and actually got Mr. D's head into me. I felt split open. The pain was terrible. She waited, kissed me gently, then moved it in another inch. Another pause, then another kiss, and yet another inch. Then another. The pain gradually eased. Finally Mr. D was entirely inside me, and I didn't dare move. I felt crammed full to bursting. Yet -- it was odd -- also comfy. Snug. "There!" she said. "Now you're no longer a virgin! You know how we all feel with a big cock inside us. All of us girls." I held myself rigid with my ass high in the air to relieve the pressure. Then in and out she moved it, and desire began to glow deep inside me. My prick stiffened. In and out, and my treasonable cock began leaking clear fluid. Oh, how wonderful! I stretched out my whole body and let out a little moan, and grasped that cock with the cheeks of my ass to try pull it in deeper, and Cassie squeezed the balls repeatedly, and my bowels filled with warm fluid. It felt so very good. Strangely reassuring. Then as if reluctantly, the soft, massive object inside me withdrew. I missed feeling full. "Thank you, sweetheart," I said, to let her know that this time my pleasure felt pure, not at all perverse. "I like it, you fucking me!" "It was Mr. Dildo fucking you, honey. But tell me, was he fucking a boy or a girl? You? Or maybe me?" I hadn't given it any thought at all. Gay sex still had no appeal, though in imagination I could now submit my body to any man's uses if in obedience to a woman. Mr. D had now fucked me. I was a man, he'd fucked another man. But Cassie wanted a different answer. She'd told me that Mr. D needs pussies, not assholes. That seemed to reveal a preference, as far as she was concerned. Most of the time I did do my daily blow jobs on Mr. D as a girl, a modest, serviceable teenager like the short-haired lacrosse player with almost no tits who'd first blown me. So what she wanted seemed reasonable. "He fucked a girl," I replied. "He was fucking my pussy." "Not my pussy? You weren't me?" "No. I'm my own girl." It was getting sort of true, often enough. I'd try to remember to make it true always. My ass, when a cock approaches, I told myself, is a cunt. And the rest of me is what always accompanies a cunt. I smiled. "I'm a self-made girl." "Oh, I'm helping. Would you like me ask Mr. D to fuck you again soon?" "Yes, please. If he does't mind that I don't dare move when he's all the way into me. He's so big!" "You aren't the first girl to think that about a man, love," she said. "But we all get used to it. You'll see. And a cock gets to be a very special thing to a girl, well worth wriggling over. That's why we all love them." She was right. From then on, whenever I sucked her pussy she returned the favor by fucking mine with the dildo. Almost every night. We found that when my asshole was full of Mr. D and my sphincter muscles were fully stretched out, my cock was always rock hard. Then she'd ride that cock or ask me to mount her and plunge it into her, and if it was morning she'd carry my sperm off to work snug in her vagina. I'd then drain it and her day's accumulated juices when she got home. If she was especially pleased with my tongue she'd request a glass of pale chardonnay at her place at dinner, and place a clear yellow wine at mine. Our supposed genders switched and blended at random after a while. "I'm fucking you," she'd say, whether she was plunging Mr. D in and out of me, or working my pole in and out of her while I lay on my back blissed out. "I'm fucking my girl! I'm your man, fucking his girl! I'm Mr. D fucking Cassie's husband!" "Yes!" I'd respond. "Yes!" I was all of those things. And my penis always lubricated helplessly onto my belly as that monster reamed my ass. I got so I loved getting fucked any way imaginable! It drove me wild. Cassie could feel my excitement from the turbulent way my ass rotated on her dildo when my head was down between her legs gobbling her twat as if starved. *********** That gave her an idea, in fact. One evening I met her at a downtown restaurant for drinks and dinner. I was celebrating, feeling especially good because a client had just signed a generous long-term contract for my services. I'd had two drinks and then most of a bottle of wine with dinner, Cassie holding back because she was going back to the office to work through the files for a major litigation before she could come home herself. Conversation turned to my "progress" as she called it. "You should have been born a girl, Hal," she said as she looked me over affectionately. "But then we wouldn't be carrying on this passionate love affair we're having," I said. "These lovely things you think up for us to do." "Oh, I don't know about that," Cassie said. "I love you when you're a woman in your own mind. And when you're being a woman for Mr. D. Especially then -- you do so enjoy yourself!" "How can you? I'm not at all womanly." I wasn't fishing for compliments. It just seemed unlikely. I felt awkward when I was supposed to be feminine, except when Mr. D's cock was inside me. Clumsy and gawky, whether on the bed or my knees. I felt passive and vulnerable, but never graceful, ladylike. "Oh, part of you's perfect," she said. "I love the way your ass moves, for example, Hal. It's the sexiest thing imaginable when you're getting fucked. Such voluptuous twists and turns!" I almost blushed. "Thank you!" I said. And stared gratefully at her, wide eyed, and flashed her a small smile. I'd once had a girlfriend who did that when she was complimented. Cassie saw and beamed. "Oh, yes!" she said. "I'd love to see more of that. When you're being the girl Mr. D and I both love, when you're feeling more like her at odd times, why don't you make an extra effort to move your whole body in a more feminine manner? To be more expressive as a woman. There's this special way we walk, and sit, and gesture, even just stand. Please, sweetheart? Do you think you could?" I couldn't refuse her. I emptied my wine glass and said magnanimously, "Of course, Cassie honey. Any time!" Her face lit up. "Oh! Then how about all the time? When I'm at the office I'd love to think of you still being ladylike at home, moving about with a certain delicate grace. Not as my lumbering Hal but my lovely Hallie." "I'll still be Hal," I said defensively, feeling a little rejected. "You'll always be Hal underneath," she said. And she leaned over and kissed me sweetly on the mouth, even though we were in a public place. I was moved. "That's the point of all this. I wouldn't have it any other way. Here, I'll prove it. For the rest of this dinner, wherever you place your arms, keep your hands bent up at the wrist just a little, fingers relaxed, instead of letting them droop down." I did. It was deliciously feminine. "Now knees and thighs tight together as you sit. And do both those things for the rest of our dinner here." I did that too. It felt prim. Unaccustomed muscles began to ache after only a minute or so. "See? You're still Hal." I guess I was, though I got increasingly unsure during the next few days. Cassie gave me a crash course in moving like a woman. First, she demonstrated how all beautiful women walk. "Like models in slinky long gowns. The way I walk when I enter a room and know I'm being seen and admired. It's quite feminine. Just put one foot directly in front of the other and use a little hip. And a sinuous glide. It's also very provocative. Whenever I see it it'll remind me how you move when I've got a prick up your ass, and I won't be able to resist you. Neither will Mr. D." "Isn't a walk like that a little faggoty, honey?" I asked her? "Maybe," she replied. "Not necessarily. In a man it would be. Have you changed your mind about your gender when you're getting laid?" "I know what I am," I said, a little worried that she'd lost respect for me. "I may like to imagine I'm a girl, but I know I'm still a man." "Yes, darling," Cassie agreed with mock solemnity. "A man. A man who sucks cock and licks cum and loves it when there's a monster prick pumping in and out of his ass. And wriggles like a sex-crazed slut to prolong the pleasure. That's not very manly, is it?" "I do it for you, honey," I said, miffed at the way she'd characterized our lovemaking. My lovemaking with Mr. D, I had to add. No, none of it was very manly. "Yes, I know. I do appreciate it, too. I love you for it. But you do it for you too, because as every girl knows it's wonderful to feel a prick working in and out of you. You do it for the new girl you're becoming in your own mind. So please? For both of us? All the time, so it gets to be habitual. Move like a girl who's been well-fucked. You are one, aren't you?" So I did, from then on always when we were home together and often when I was alone. I was careful always to smooth an invisible skirt under me whenever I sat down, and always to keep my thighs together -- crossed ankles optional. I began to wear my hair loose instead of in a pony tail, and to toss my head when I needed to clear it out of my face, even though it wasn't even shoulder length. To undulate when I walked, keeping my elbows tight to my body, and my wrists limp or my hands bent upward. It isn't altogether natural for a man with balls between his legs and narrow hips to walk the way women walk, so I had a tendency to overdo it. Sometimes when we were out together at a restaurant or in a mall to see a movie she'd ask me to practice the walk through long parking lots on our way to the car. People stared in passing, and at first I felt embarrassed, but Cassie was always well warmed up and wet when we arrived home, so it always seemed more than worth it. I got accustomed. She loved seeing my hips and rear swivel as I moved about the house, so she bought me an array of stretch jeans and pants to wear to make my figure more visible. And so there'd be no bunching of fabric under them, she bought me some jock strops like thongs instead of the boxer shorts I usually wore. Once some teenage boys whistled from some distance behind us. I thought they were saluting Cassie's beauty, but Cassie set me straight. "You have a marvelous ass in those pants, honey," she told me. "Just like a woman's, round as a bubble and getting moreso. That's one reason why I love to help Mr. D fuck it. Be proud! I'll buy you more tight pants to show it off." And she did. With no pockets. She wanted to get me a purse for carrying my wallet, but I balked at that. I still had plenty of pockets in my jacket. "Well, we'll re-think it when summer comes," was all she said. I now enjoyed sex in a variety of imaginary roles, as a submissive cuckold, a swish gay man, a humiliated husband, a naive teenage girl, as my former girl friends, as a mature cock slut, a sophisticated lady, or as Cassie pretending to be any one of these. All the time excited yet terrified. She added another role too. I loved caressing, kissing, and sucking her breasts, especially when her nipples hardened and extended themselves, so I became her "milky baby." I'd nuzzle her, content to feel her warm, soft breast pressing on my face while she held my head in both her arms. Sometimes she asked me to nurse rather then cunt-lick her evenings when she was watching television or reading, since I'd be licking her pussy later anyhow after I'd cum into her. And she reciprocated. She fondled my chest as a lover might fondle the pink-tipped breasts of a beloved virgin. My nipples got to be even more erogenous than hers. When she caressed them my mind would melt away and my whole body swim in bliss, the sensations extended into a soft penis that lay enraptured in an enchanted sleep, twitching but never awakening. When she sucked on the buds of my breasts I'd go breathless! She'd never done that before -- the sensations were new, yet in themselves worth all our identity-playing. And some weeks later my nipples seemed to anticipate her approach -- they began to project out eagerly into small cones that fit gratefully in her mouth. And the sensations intensified, grew more ecstatic, more erotically arousing even than my cock's. We took to part-way sixty-nining each other, lying across each other, each blissfully nursing on the other's breasts. Sometimes we'd fall asleep nestled in each other's arms and mouths. The days and nights were never long enough! I kept to my work obligations, but except for sex I was getting no exercise, and my body as well as my mind grew soft. During her days at the office Cassie worked with men who were effective, purposive, and persuasive, dealing with important matters. I sometimes worried what she might actually be thinking of me, knowing that all the while I was home in an erotic haze, kneeling to suck off Mr. D, or masturbating, or as she now encouraged me to do, playing with my sensitive titties. I feared her contempt, and I could see my gradual degradation as a man clearly enough through her eyes. Yet all this had begun with her heartfelt declaration of eternal love for me, and she repeated it whenever I seemed especially depressed or, as now and then, irritated by her persistent efforts to humiliate me further. She only wanted me to locate sublime submissiveness in myself, she'd say, to put me in touch with my "inner wimp." "It's a gift of love," she'd explain. "When you can finally surrender yourself altogether to me, you'll possess all of me." I couldn't see how, but I trusted her. And I felt deeply grateful that she'd opened me to all these new experiences. Because she'd been correct. I now lived in an aroused state of erotic ecstasy as well as jealous anguish and -- as I adopted more feminine mannerisms -- fear of exposure. Wherever Cassie might be with other men at work, and whatever she was doing with them impersonally or intimately, she knew that at certain times of day I was on my knees with a simulated cock in my mouth or in my ass, listening to yet another man proposition her on our phone answering machine, seeking a state of mind transcending suspicion of her and anxiety for my marriage. And that pleased her. And pleasing her pleased me. "My love," she'd whisper in the dark in her most deeply affectionate voice whenever we finally settled down to sleep. "My dearest love! I'll never leave you! You're becoming everything I've ever wanted or hoped for!" I wondered what she meant by that. What was I becoming, other than what I'd already become? As always, I fell asleep without answers.