Sucker 5

My training began at once.  

When we disentangled our arms from one another, Debbie stood back
and looked at me.  "I do so want to wrap myself around you
sweetheart, and never let you go.  But from now on, we both deny
ourselves!  You don't come near me, except maybe to hug me the way
girlfriends hug each other.  You don't come near any climax that
Bruce or the thought of Bruce doesn't excite in you.  I'll get you
a picture of him so you can masturbate looking fondly at him, if
you must.  But only while thinking about him.  You're his,
physically, from now on.  I want you to be so hard up in only one
month that you'll do him rapturously in order to get me ready to do
you!  You'll do him because he wants you to do him, the way you
wanted me to do you!  Because that's what you want to do, because
he's so handsome and you're so much in love with the idea.  I want
you so smitten by him that if he were to ask you to do it, you'd do
a whole barnyard of animals "  She paused, and her face took on a
mischievous expression.  "Or you'd let a whole barnyard of animals
do you!"

"Thanks!" was all I could say to any of that.

"Oh, you'll thank me, honey!  Take my word for it!  You will!  But
meanwhile I need to thank you!  This is better than anything I'd
ever dreamed I'd have when we first got married.  I knew you were
a love!  But a darling husband who lets me remake him into anything
I want?  Into a cock sucker?  Into a Barbie doll?  Into a cock
sucking Barbie doll?  How many girls have one of those?"

Was it too late to retrieve myself?  I needed clarification. 
"Bruce will want me to look like a girl when I do him, I understand
that, Debbie," I began.

"The same as you'll want me to look like a girl when I do you,
Sammy honey!  Isn't that right?  So let's get started"  

"But you want that too?  For me to look like a girl when I do him?"

"That's what I want too.  That's right.  That's what I want you to
be for me too.  Right now, and from now on.  Believe me,
sweetheart, it will not injure our relationship for me to see you
looking like a girl!  It'll make things better in many ways.  It'll
bring us closer, because I'll feel you understand me better as a
woman.  That as a woman you understand me better.  That you're my
husband-wife.  My girlfriend-sister.  I'll love it!"   

"Debbie, what do you mean, 'from now on'?"

"Sweetheart, one day at a time.  I think we can each decide later
what it is we want to see happen later."

That made sense.  

"All right, then," I said.

"All right!" she replied."  Did I hear a trace of elation in her
voice?  "Now, for these next weeks you're a girl.  We'll do
everything we can to make you look like one.  You'll live, talk,
and think like one, and you'll need to forget that you were ever
anything else.  Do you agree?  Can you do that?  Do you see how it
has to be all or nothing, and all at once?"  

"Yes."

"No arguments about whether we're going too fast?  Or too far?"  

"No, Debbie.  I'll do whatever you think best."

"You give me your word on that?"

I thought I'd better be wary.  Limit the agreement.  "For the next
four weeks, yes.  No arguments.  You have my word."

"Good.  So why don't you strip naked right now, honey, and we'll
begin.  Right here.  A girl shouldn't be wearing those clothes. 
They're too mannish."

There was no reaching her.  And no going back.  I undid my belt
buckle.  A minute later I was peeling off my sticky, soaked
underpants and stood naked in front of her.

She was thinking out loud.  "I guess first, we'll need to get rid
of all that hair.  Let's go to the bathroom and we'll depillate
you.  Make your body as sweet and smooth as mine.  Take those wet
panties with you.  In fact, stuff the soaked parts into your mouth
right now.  It'll save on needless conversation and it'll start you
getting accustomed to the flavor."

I looked at the sticky mess of broadcloth in my hands, my
reluctance obvious.

"Sam!  If you won't do what your dearest girl friend tells you,
I'll have to order you to do it as your wife, and then get much
more severe!  For your own good!  You agreed to all this!  And I
like telling men what to do, and I know how to get them to do it! 
By whatever means!  Hold that in mind!  That's how I get things
done at work, and not only at work!"

I started to cram my undershorts into my mouth, not altogether
understanding her.

"Wet places first, please," she said as if she were a schoolmarm
talking to an unruly child.  I took out whatever I'd managed to
shovel into my mouth.

"Yes ma'am!" I said with defiant irony.  Debbie said nothing.  She
simply waited.  

This time I crammed it in cum first.  It was all still tacky, and
not as warm as when it was next to my body. Mostly it was just
cloth, and the sticky stuff was a little like the warm egg whites
I'd tasted from her gravy baster?  A lot like that stuff in the
gravy baster, in fact.  No fishy flavor, but about as slick. 
Saltier?  A bit bitter?  A hint of ammonia or chlorine?  And what
else was there in it, not unpleasant, but unfamiliar?

"You'll get used to the flavor of sperm soon enough, honey," Debbie
said, as if she could read my mind.  "You'll have to.  All sorts of
that delicious cock-cream you're always urging on me.  If you're
good at your new job, that is!"  

Then she added, and I couldn't tell if she was being sincere or
ironic, "Feel grateful whenever you taste it, baby.  Learn to love
it!  A man's semen coating the inside of your mouth or discharged
down your throat will have to seem to you altogether natural,
usual, and customary.  Because it'll mean a job well done.  Every
reason for you to feel proud of yourself.  That's the kind of pride
that makes a girl into a woman -- we'll just have to see what it
makes you!  You heard what the girl in the video said.  Sperm is
your reward for finally bringing your man off!  It's the proof of
the pudding!  It *is* the pudding, isn't it!  Eat and enjoy!  Now
let's get started!"

I couldn't answer her, of course, with my mouth filled with cummy
cloth.  

An hour later I was standing in the guest bedroom looking down at
a nightie she'd laid out for me to wear to bed.  I was a girl in a
man's body, and that was that!  A hairless body.  My skin
was bare everywhere below the eyebrows.  Even my prick and balls
were naked, looking rather lonely and pathetic hanging there as if
a little out of place.  When finally Debbie'd let me take my
cum-soaked shorts out of my mouth, I'd asked her "Why no hair down
there?  No one but you will ever see me there?"  She'd replied
simply, "You never know."

Then she'd had me rub body lotion all over me, to soothe the
irritated skin and help me feel smoother.  "A girl's skin should
feel the way yours felt before your adolescence," she said. 
"You'll get back to that as you develop, but meanwhile you'll need
to use creams and lotions several times each day.

"Develop?" I asked?

"Look your best.  And feel good about the way you look.  Don't
worry about it," she said.  She then sprayed me with cologne.  The
lotions were soothing, and I have to admit that even the
coarsest-feeling parts of my body -- my arms, for example -- now
felt velvety.  But now I smelled like a flower garden.  The way she
always smelled.  I commented on that.

"Tomorrow we go shopping," she said.  "You'll choose your own 
signature scent and then stick with it -- an aroma that seems
fresh during the day but a little heavier and more romantic in the
evening."  Now she was putting my hair up in rollers.  "Your scent
is what your men will remember about you when you move from one to
another.  These rollers?  They're so you can look pretty tomorrow. 
Tomorrow we'll get your hair done so you won't need to sleep
wearing rollers again.  Something as pretty but more practical. 
After tonight you'll appreciate that too."  

"My men?  You mean the guys I'm supposed to practice on before I
get to Bruce? 

"Those too," she replied, distracted.  She was staring at my chest. 
Almost absent-mindedly, she reached out and touched a nipple.  I
jumped.  It was so sensitive!  Erotic desire shot through me!  
"So soon," she said mostly to herself. "Who'd have thought it?  
You do have a talent for this, Sam!"  Then abruptly, "Good 
Night, sweetie!"  

She shut the door.  I slipped the nightie over my head.  It felt
wonderful on my bare skin.  Then once in bed I realized I'd have to
lie almost immobile on my back to keep the hair rollers from poking
into unaccustomed parts of my head.  So I kept real still, and
eventually managed to get to sleep.

When I woke the next morning Debbie was already beside me, sitting
by my bedside, reading.  As I turned my head toward her I felt
those curlers pressing on my scalp.  How did I get into this?  A
chain sequence.  To get Debbie to go down on me whenever I wanted
I had to go down on a guy once, looking like a girl when I did it,
and I had to be good so I had to practice on a few other guys
first.  All in a few weeks.  Thinking of it all at once like that
it seemed a little scary, because it was all new, but it wasn't too
bad a deal I thought, not too difficult.  With a lifetime's reward! 
It will be easier, I thought, if for the next weeks I really try to
forget who I am.  Put my manhood on hold.  Be an actor.  Pretend
I'm a girl who loves to hold a prick in her mouth.

"Good morning, Samantha," Debbie greeted me brightly.  'Did you
sleep well?"

"Samantha," I repeated.  It figured.  "Why yes, thank you," I
replied.  "It's so very sweet of you to ask!  I slept just
marvelously!"  

I thought I sounded like Scarlet O'Hara.  I didn't mean for it to
sound swish ironic, but that's how Debbie heard it.  "It is indeed,
Sam.  Most women are wakeful the first night they try to sleep with
their hair set in rollers, and they look terrible the next day.  
They get used to it, but it's one of the sacrifices they make for
men that men never know about.  One of many.  I think you might
appreciate my concern for you a little more sincerely.  I do love
you, you know.  You may not believe this, but everything we're
doing here is because of that!"

I felt chastened.  "I'm sorry, Debbie," I said.  "A little.  I know
that women are always saying 'How very sweet!' and 'It's just
darling!' and 'How adorable!' and things like that men never say. 
I was trying to fake it, yes.  But it felt good saying it.  Kind of
liberating to be able to say it.  Because it *was* sweet of you to
ask!"   

That pleased her enormously.  "Well, Samantha darling, it's sweet
of you to admit that.  I think there's a chance that this just
might work out.  We're being women full time now, remember, from
now at least until we come back from our weekend at the Avalon, so
there is nothing inappropriate you can do that pertains to being a
woman, and nothing appropriate you can do that pertains to being a
man.  Remember that."

I nodded solemnly.  I wasn't a good enough actor to act out being
a girl, I decided.  Pretending won't persuade anybody.  So I'll try
to do it her way.  

"From now on you'll want to do feminine things with no hesitation,
Samantha, and surrender yourself into them, and feel natural about
it.  Even pleased.  You'll see.  It'll be a little like walking
through a narrow door into a widening corridor leading finally
outside to a different world.  A woman's world.  Liberating
yourself -- your word, baby -- into that world.  I think it's a
wonderful world.  You'll see for yourself.  Today you pass through
the door.  Here, let me show you how to wrap a turban around your
hair so we can do our exercises.  We'll do them naked.  There'll
only be us girls here, right?  You're one of us now, remember
that!"

It felt strange high-stepping and weaving my shoulders and shaking
my bootie and my chest with all those women on the tape, all the
while completely nude, Debbie right next to me doing the same thing
in her deliciously girl way, also nude.  I saw that her slim waist
curved to wide hips with her pussy plumb in the middle, and her
firm-breasts gently bobbled with each hop or twist or step.  The
girls on the tape had the same proportions even though their bodies
were held firm by leotards or tank suits.  

There was a full-length mirror on the wall of our game room.  I
could see that I needed still more fluidity, more grace, in
comparison with the other girls, and I tried harder.  The TV girls
in spandex and Debbie in her skin were all round places and
graceful bulges and cute curves.  By the end of the session I was
beginning to feel vaguely that I was the wrong shape -- too skinny,
straight-as-a-stick, my waistline too large for my hips, my hips
too narrow to swing wide around both sides of my groin the way the
girls' hips did.  And while my shoulders weren't too broad -- they
never had been -- I was flat-chested.  I had none of the
beautifully curving mounds the TV girls showed proudly, nor was my
flesh hanging softly down, yet uplifted to large pink nipples like
Debbie's.  Only jouncing balls and a floppy cock.  I felt somehow
wrong, as far as dancing to the exercise tapes went.  Debbie and
the other girls looked impressive whether standing or moving.  
Neatly composed.  I looked unattractive.

When we were finished and dripping with sweat and heading for the
shower, I commented on it.  "I see I've got to work on my figure,"
I said, a little self-amused.  Debbie, still breathing hard, only
glanced at me and said nothing.  She gave me a plastic bubble 
shower cap to protect my hairdo, still in rollers, but as we were 
getting out and drying off she commented, "You're right.  You might 
be a little more attractive to Bruce if you were a little rounder 
in the right places, that's true.  Certainly you'd be more attractive
to me. And to yourself!  We can't do everything in a month, but I can
speed what's under way already, honey.  Would you like me to?"

What would a female reply to that be?  Could a woman refuse an
offer that was kindly intended?  "I'd like that very much, Debbie. 
You're a dear.  But you don't have to."

"Oh, I really want to," Debbie said with a smile.  "But this time
you better mean it.  Is today too soon?"

"For what, Debbie?"

"To arrange for a little more rounding in the right places."  She
watched me closely.  

My reply was casual, because I'd merely been registering how my
shape compared with everyone else's I'd seen this morning, none of
them male.  My standard of comparison had to be female.  "I don't
mind, if it can get me through this trial period with less hassle,"
I replied.  "Sure!"  It seemed to me that a little more rounding
meant I'd be getting a little more to eat.  At least an honest
second milkshake each day.  I didn't like sneaking the extras, so
far three days out of three.  "Would I be allowed two of those diet
milkshakes?"  

"It's possible.  They'd help.  I have a doctor in mind -- I'll ask
her.  You're showing exceptional response after only three days,
and I don't want any harm to come to you, sweetheart.  But I know
she can also help improve your figure another way, by
redistributing some of your fat cells.  Take a few away from here
and put them there.  Just enough to hint an improvement in your
figure.  If you'd feel much better about yourself I'll arrange it. 
You wouldn't mind?"

"No, of course not."  What harm could there be in that?

"Lovely!" 

That settled, whatever it was we'd settled, I asked Debbie what our
plans were for the morning.  

She looked surprised.  "Didn't I tell you?  We're going to Vita's
in about an hour.  Then we'll have lunch out.  Your first excursion
into the public eye as a girl.  We'll be two women out together
enjoying a bite to eat -- it'll be such fun!  You'll find that when
other people think you're a woman, and you know they do, it'll be
easier for you to believe it yourself.  Especially when other women
think you're a woman, because we're all a kind of universal support
and reassurance group for each other.  So it'll be good for you. 
Like the exercises, it'll help you develop a feminine self-image."

"I guess."

"What we'll really want of course is for you to feel more like a
woman when men think you're a woman.  For you to develop that part
of your feminine self-image too!  To feel shivers or to glow when
you know a man's admiring you.  A little flirting with those brutes
can be lots of fun!"  She smiled now, and looked up at me wickedly. 
"That'll take a little longer for you to get into.  But maybe not. 
Maybe we'll both be surprised!  Are you sure you never wanted to
kiss a fella or toy with his affections?"  Now she grinned broadly,
openly teasing me.  After all, what was flirting, when I'd already
committed to heavy duty sex with Bruce?  A kind of sex, anyhow.

I nodded.  "I'm sure.  Though I suspect that when you're finished
with me I won't be so sure.  Who's Vita?"

"Our hairdresser.  Mine, now ours.  You'll need a cut and perm and
styling, if you're to escape the drudgery of setting your hair
every night and then sleeping on rollers.  I promised you last
night, remember?"

"A perm?  Is that necessary?  It sounds so ... permanent."  I
wanted to cooperate, but I was a little worried about overdoing
this kick Debbie was on.  I had a life to live after this month of
trying to be a girl who was being trained to be a cock sucker.

"Of course a permanent.  With a perm, hair holds its curl better,
and soft waves last longer.  What I have in mind for you is a crown
of curls, and waves bordering them at the neckline, very simple,
comb it with your fingers or brush it upswept for sophisticated
evening wear.  Easy to care for yet flexible.  I think your hair is
just long enough."

"But will it come out?  Can it be undone afterward?"

Debbie's face turned serious, a warning sign that I'd overstepped
myself.  "Anything can be undone afterward, Sam.  Even marriages,
when people don't keep their promises to each other.  You should be
thinking 'A perm?  Marvelous!  I'll look so pretty afterward!' 
Suppose you say that right now."

I did.

"Good.  One day at a time, remember?  Later is later and afterward
is afterward.  Right now you're a girl, and girls expect to remain
girls all their lives.  Don't they?"

"Yes," I said.

"Now suppose you get dressed so we can do your hair and make-up and
show you to the world."

I decided to keep quiet.  She'd do whatever she meant to do, that
was coming clear.  The clothes she'd laid out for me were simple:
a wide denim skirt gathered to a shaped waist band -- she called it
a "yoke", and told me to learn the language of fashion as soon as
possible -- and a pink, lace-trimmed blouse with a boat neck, with 
a powder blue cardigan to match the skirt.  She herself was wearing 
slacks and an oversized sweater, nothing feminine at all.  I wondered 
why she wasn't giving me the same for my first day out, but I didn't 
dare ask.  I suppose it was part of her "all or nothing" approach to my
re-education as a female.  

I mentioned that.  She replied, "That's right!  I know who I am,
Samantha.  You obviously don't yet know who you are!  By the end of
today there'll be no confusing you with a man, not by me, maybe not
even by you.  That's my intention!  Not that I ever really did
confuse you with a man!"  

I flinched.  There was a gratuitous insult, implying what about our 
marriage?  What did she mean?!  She saw I was hurt by that crack, 
that even though I was supposed to be a girl, I wasn't there yet.  
So she then added more gently, "I'm sorry, that wasn't necessary.  
But do try to think you were always a girl, never a man, honey!  
Remember, you aren't quite the real thing.  Soon.  The more like a 
girl you dress, the more likely it is that people will be persuaded 
that's what you are, and the less they'll wonder about little manly 
oddities in the way you behave.  Here, put these on first."

She handed me a stretch girdle with removable foam pads on the hips
and over the cheeks, tight in the crotch, no concession whatever
made to male genitals.  I looked at it.  Here was an instant
figure!  Then she handed me a heavy-duty padded bra.  "We'll take
out the foam pads in the girdle and bra later," she said.  I asked
her why?

"If we visit Sandra after Vita, you won't need them," she replied. 
This was incomprehensible, but Debbie was already annoyed by my
foot-dragging, and she was in charge, so I went with it.  Somehow,
I'd expected something flimsy, wispy, some pretty feminine nothings
for my first undies, and I said so as inoffensively as I could.

For the first time she grinned.  "Sweetheart, you'll have plenty of
those when you've got pretty feminine somethings to put in them. 
Today you'll need firm support, things that really grip and shape
you.  Trust me."

Did I have a choice?  I sat down at her dressing table and she
swiftly undid the rollers.  It was miraculous!  Three strokes of a
hairbrush and my hair uncoiled into springy, swooping waves piled
high on my head, no sign of a curl.

"That's very nice," I volunteered timorously.  "I didn't know
that's what hair rollers did."

"It *is* becoming," Debbie agreed, looking at my sculpted hair in
the mirror.  "But too much trouble.  And if someone were to use it
to guide your mouth where he wants it, it wouldn't look neat any
more.  Later when the hairdo I have in mind for you grows out, you
can try this one again if you like.  That'll be up to you."

I didn't like the sound of that reference to 'later,' but decided
she meant only what she'd said earlier, that I'd decide things for
myself again when this month's ordeal ended.  She quickly stroked
lipstick and eye liner on me -- "Your face will be remade at
Vita's," she said.  I didn't look half bad, I must say!  She then
made up her own face much more carefully, adding mascara, blush,
and other cosmetics I have never thought she needed -- her bare
face always looked beautiful enough to me.  I told her that, and
she beamed, but then told me coquettishly to watch her do her
makeup in order to learn how.  An amusing thought!  She then handed 
me open sandals and a purse, and said, "There!  Now to go meet the 
world!  Remember, when you walk, glide.  Flow.  Don't stride.  You'll 
pass.  But if you don't, they're wrong.  You're a woman no matter what
anyone thinks, right?"

I glimpsed myself in the mirror. "I guess so," I said, astonished. 
My eyes looked bigger, my lips cuter, and my face smaller under the
swirling waves above it.  When I went out the front door with
Debbie I was a conflicted mess of bravado, cringing fear, modest
pride that I looked as good as I did, and a twinge of sadness at
something I seemed to have lost or misplaced somewhere back at the
house.