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Message-ID: <28986asstr$982815003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} NEW TG: Perfect by Vickie Tern 3/10 M/F F/m femdom
Date: Wed, 21 Feb 2001 23:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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NEW TG: Perfect by Vickie Tern 3/10 M/F F/m femdom


This kind of story shouldn't be read by anyone who shouldn't read 
this kind of story.  No exceptions!

(c) 2001 by Vickie Tern.  May be copied to any free archive.  All comment
welcome (VickieTern@aol.com).


                              iii.

The next Monday I went to work at Gayle's Phone-Marketing
headquarters.  It was just as Gayle had said.  The other two
supervisors, Connie and Meg, were already there when Gayle brought
me into the firm's spacious one-room office to introduce me. 
Connie was an older woman, the office manager, smart and chic,
who'd been around the block a few times and was whimsically ironic
about it.  What she says goes, I was told.  Meg was also quick and
sophisticated, enthusiastic about each of her new relationships
with any man or any woman.  They looked me over, and then each gave
me a sisterly hug.  "Remember, you're strictly a woman when you
work with us, Allie!," Connie told me.  "Be sure you park your cock
and balls outside the door when you come in."  

Both were impressed by my voice and my explanation how it got that
way.  

"We'd wondered how some guy named 'Alan' could possibly do this
job, when Gayle first sent us your papers," Connie said.  "We
should have known.  Gayle has that effect on some men."  She
grinned.  Meg nudged her and told her not to tease.  

They showed me various personnel forms for my signature.  Some had
been made out originally to "Alan" or "Allen" or "Allan," and then
in all the spaces changed to "Allie."  "'Allie' stands for 'Alice'
if anyone wants to know, honey," Connie said.  "You've just had
your first sex change operation.  I think it'll be fun having you
here, Miss Alice!  Let me show you the ropes."

I looked over their systems that first day and made a few
suggestions and designed a few changes, then settled in seriously
and began to reshape all of them.  Within a week I'd made their
billing, shipping, receiving, and payroll far more efficient,
practically automatic.  They appreciated me for that.  

Then I began making calls to teach new associates the company's
computer and reporting procedures, and tell the old associates
about the changes I'd made.  They were grateful.

And Gayle was right.  They immediately began to think of me as
family, or as their new girlfriend.  Some unburdened all sorts of
intimacies on me while I made sympathetic noises.  I tried to be
helpful the way women are with each other.  I heard all sorts of
gossip about boy friends and hairdos and kids and their husbands'
infidelities and kinks.  I sympathized with them all about their
burdens, their anxieties, their private demons.  

After a while they began to ask my advice about all sorts of
things, and it could get pretty harrowing.  One woman had been
gang-banged three weekends in a row while her husband watched, that
was how he got off.  Now she wanted to watch her husband getting
gang-banged just before she left him for good -- how could she
arrange it?  "I want to know cum is dribbling out of his ass the
whole month I'm serving him his divorce papers!" she told me.  I
thought a moment, then suggested she trick him into letting her tie
him up.  Then she could invite as many men as she wanted to come in
and use him for as many days as they wanted.  "Maybe he'll want to
see some of them again after the divorce," I said.  "You never can
tell."

Another associate called because she had to exult to someone about
a pair of red leather Napa shorts she'd picked up for a song, what
it had done for her rear end.  And what that rear end had then done
to her boyfriend when he saw her in them.  "They're great!" she
told me.  "I can't keep his face out of my ass now," she said.  I
congratulated her.  I thought about it some, and that night asked
Gayle to let me burrow my face into her beautiful ass.  She did.

Another couldn't resist telling me about her Donna Karen silk
charmeuse top, you know, the full-sleeved style that's coming back? 
She wondered how it would go with her A-line skirt and a bolero? 
I waved to Meg to pick up, and Meg whispered to me what to say.  "A
bolero's perfect with full sleeves, honey," I told her as Meg
mouthed the words.  "It'll give you a commanding look  But the
A-line would make your outfit much too peasant-ish.  Better a long,
severe, narrow skirt that puts your torso on a pedestal!  You'll be
surprised what happens!"  She was.  The next day, she called back
for advice how a husband on his knees could give her head while she
was wearing that long, tight skirt.  "He dropped to his knees when
he saw me," she said.  "But the only thing his tongue could get at
was my shoes!"  She sounded disappointed.  I told her on my own to
open a side seam to the top of her thigh, for a glamorous slit
skirt look.  Meg, listening, was impressed.  I was learning.

Another wanted to know how to meet her customer quota despite
severe monthly menstrual cramps, and with Connie's help I gave her
some good practical advice ("Take a long, slow, hot, delicious,
perfumed bubble bath, dear -- pamper yourself.  No of course a
tampon, not a napkin").  I also provided sympathy ("You poor dear,
I know just how you feel, mine can be terrible sometimes too, it
can go on for days and days").  

A few weeks more and I'd learned a lot, and signalled for Connie's
or Meg's help only  occasionally.  I began to have similar
girl-to-girl conversations with Gayle -- it all seemed quite
natural, and so much fun!  She and Gretchen and I began to go out
together as a trio, giggling and chatting and laughing and
listening to each other's stories while people nearby marveled at
the two women with one man who together sounded and behaved like
three women.  

In fact people who spoke to me in the street or in stores began to
address me as "ma'am," maybe because of a lilt I'd developed
unawares in my speech, or my gestures, or because of the way I
carried myself.  Gayle was charmed that I now moved my head and
hands gracefully, and held them at intriguing angles when I
listened, and that I tended to lift my chin ever so slightly before
saying anything.  All things girls do on the phone and off, she
told me.  She was delighted I had such an instinctive feel for my
new line of work.

One day Meg overheard me handling an especially difficult problem,
a married associate who was turning lesbian and felt so guilty
about betraying her husband with her new girlfriend that she
couldn't call her customers.  "Just relax," I told her.  "Let your
girlfriend make all the moves.  Enjoy them, and both of you
meanwhile try to think of ways you can eventually include your
husband!  If you blindfold him when you're having sex, maybe you
can get him accustomed to all kinds of things he won't even know
about at first!"  

Meg congratulated me.  "It sounds like you're all set to be a woman
yourself now, Allie," she said.  "You're on our side!  There'll be
no surprises!  Have you ever thought about it?"     

I pointed out that nearly everything I knew was theoretical,
imagined, by the book, books Connie gave me to read by day and
Gayle by night.  For example, I knew all the routine ways to blend
the company's eye-shadows and to match them with lipsticks and
blushes.  I knew six ways to achieve a new Fall look, and several
ways a girl can make a man excited enough to cum maybe without even
touching him.  But I could think of nothing practical to say one
day when a young associate called to ask how she could persuade a
young customer who never wears bras that she should own a few
anyhow.  I hadn't the foggiest.

"You don't know?" Meg asked, grinning.  "We should get you a pair
of breasts, honey, then you'd know soon enough!  It's because even
young girls bobble when they're active, jumping around.  And sooner
or later we sag, sooner if we don't have good support.  Shall I ask
Gayle to arrange some implants for you, so you'll know at first
hand?  Either hand or both hands, however you want to hold them?" 


I didn't mind being teased that way.  I liked it.  It meant I was
accepted, that the three of us were a team!  I told Gayle what Meg
had suggested, and she thought it a wonderful idea.  She commented
that it had crossed her mind that it was unfair that she couldn't
enjoy my breasts the way I did hers.  "You're mean, Allie!" she
said.  "Only giving me one thing to suck on when I give you two!" 


I wasn't altogether sure she was joking.

The next morning Connie brought in a box full of panties and bras,
the different brands marketed by our associates.  All sorts of
colors and materials, satin and cotton, nylon and spandex, wisps
and pushups, front-hook, long line, and sports, and erotically lacy
hi-legs, bikinis, and thongs.  And some lines manufactured by
competitors, I saw.

"They're all yours, babe," she said.  "Wear them in good health!"

I lifted an eyebrow at her.

"You know our inventory pretty well, Allie," she continued.  "But
as you said yesterday, it's all theoretical.  Time to get a real
feel for these things.  Here are assorted undies mostly in your
size, but some a little small and some a little large so you can
get to know how these feel too.  The bra cups are all too large for
you right now, of course.  But put on a panty and bra set every
morning anyhow, here if you're embarrassed to show Gayle, so you
know what it's like for a girl to work in harness all day."

I stared at the strange garments uneasily.  What did she mean by
"right now?" I wondered.  "Does Gayle know about this?" I asked.

"I report to Gayle regularly.  There's nothing she doesn't know. 
She knows how pleased I am with your progress so far, how quick you
are to improve your strengths and correct your deficiencies when we
point them out.  I think she's very pleased with you too.  In fact
I know so!"

I got the hint and nodded agreeably.  

"Try this undersized little bra first, and this matching thong.  So
you'll know from tomorrow's set how a properly-fitting bra should
feel, that it doesn't have to bind.  Also so you'll appreciate how
a regular pair of panties feels, one that covers your cheeks
instead of tucking into your crack so you waggle when you walk." 

I took the wispy things and dangled them from one hand.  "Now?" I
asked, a little anxious about all this.

"I don't know why not now," Connie said.  "You go, girl!"

I went to the men's room by the bank of elevators and put them on
under my suit and shirt.  Nothing showed.  The bra felt tight from
the outset, and by the end of the day the band seemed to be cutting
into my flesh!  And all that day Connie and Meg grinned when they
saw me moving about the office, twisting my hips constantly to ease
the pressure of that elastic strap stretched deep between my
buttocks, pressed up tight against my anus.  "Very sexy moves,
sweetie," Meg told me.  "Has anyone ever told you you have a cute
ass?"

"Matter of fact, yes," I replied.  I grinned back at her, but my
face felt strained.

I couldnt wait to change out of those flimsy instruments of torture
when the day's work ended.  But the next day's bra and panties were
so comfortable I forgot to remove them and wore them home.  I had
to anyhow, I realized, all of them, so I could rinse them out by
hand immediately after wearing them the way I'd advised so many
other women.  Gayle said nothing when she saw them drying on a
towel rack in our bathroom.  Nor when she saw the pretty pair I
wore home and rinsed out the following day.  But she complimented
me a few mornings later when we returned from a jog and showered
and then dressed for the day, and we found ourselves in our bedroom
together wearing only our bras and panties.  My set was maroon with
delicate lace edging.  Hers was a chaste white, her bra with wide
support straps for her heavy breasts.  We looked like two women
dressing together casually, roommates, it occurred to me.

"Nice," was what she said.  "Very pretty!  Enjoy them!"  Then
looking more closely, "Are you developing a figure, honey?" 

I looked down at my chest.  "I don't think so.  Some of my bras do
gather up muscle and skin, whatever's there, and then the cups
shape them.  I guess these do look a little like breasts."

"They're darling, Allie.  Really!  Very becoming!  You must be
feeling very proud of them!"  

She reached out and touched a nipple through the satiny material,
and it instantly became a teeny erection.  She smiled and glanced
at me slyly, then as she slipped into her blouse she commented,
"Maybe we really should start thinking about ways to fill you out. 
I'll bet you do enjoy wearing pretty undies.  Most women do.  They
remind us how feminine we are.  How desireable we are."

It hadn't occurred to me before, but all that day whenever I
remembered what I had on underneath, I did enjoy the fact that I
was wearing them.  Gayle was delighted when I confessed it to her
that night.  A few days later I wore another thong bikini, and the
snug band rising tight between my buttocks and separating them
actually felt good!  As I waggled to lunch, both Meg and Connie
lifted their eyebrows and grinned at me.  I grinned back, and
waggled my rear at them even more exaggeratedly.. 

Two weeks later I'd worn all of my undies home, even the undersized
ones, and they'd replaced all of the regular men's underwear in my
drawer.  A few days later a box of various styles and colors of
teddies and slips and camisoles and chemises and bodystockings and
leotards appeared on my desk, in lacy, satiny, and plain cotton
fabrics.  Without comment I took them home and added them to my
morning wardrobe.  Soon after, when Connie set up a half-price
special lingerie sale, I was able to tell each associate I spoke to
what features of each kind they might want to stress to their
various customers, which helped a girl feel cute or naughty or
proper or seductive.  I already knew from the ways they made me
feel when I looked in the mirror each morning. 
              
Connie and Meg and I alternated going to lunch in couples, one of
us always on the phones while the other two went down to the coffee
shop off the lobby to nibble a sandwich or a salad and then bring
one back.  Gayle wanted me even thinner, so we could pace each
other on our morning jogs.  I was already nearly as lean and swift
as she was, though as full as ever in my hips and thighs because of
all the jogging.  My arms were almost as thin as Gayle's too,
because she wanted them that way --she told me that male upper body
musculature always somehow seemed threatening to her.  So usually
a small salad was ample for me.  After two weeks of testing out a
fast-weight-loss diet-drink product we were adding to our website,
I doubt I weighed any more than Gayle.  

So mainly I looked forward to lunch for the talk.  More girl talk. 
Both women spent their lunch times with me briefing me on
everything every girl should know, and I tried to remember it all. 
Some stuff was predictable -- Meg loaned me a book of recipes I
could claim my mother had passed on to her daughter, and I'd dole
out a few when that topic ever came up, along with advice about how
to peel garlic cloves, and to remember to toss freshly cooked pasta
in a bit of oil.  

But there were always surprises.  One of them finally tipped the
balance.

I was in the office alone when the Connie and Meg came back from
lunch to find me talking empty phrases into the phone and turning
pages of fashion books almost at random.  I motioned desperately
for one of them to pick up.  The problem was simple,  A much-valued
customer wanted to color coordinate a retro red evening gown with
this year's make-up, but fashion had shifted from the bright reds
appropriate to that gown to dark wine colors that weren't.  She
wanted a shade of lipstick and blush that could match the dress yet
appear au courant.  Moreover, it had to be kiss-proof even through
strenuous lovemaking, because she and her escort were both married,
but not to each other.  Tell-tale smudging might prove disastrous. 
Connie mouthed me some suggestions and then threw in some
additional helpful hints -- for example, ways a woman can phone her
lover at any time without rousing a wife's suspicions.  The day was
saved, but when I hung up my hands still shook.  

Connie then came over and sat down on the edge of my desk to speak
to me seriously.  "You're comfortable with what you know about
lingerie, aren't you Allie?"

"Yes," I replied.  "I'm also comfortable wearing them."

"Well, Allie, the time has come.  You need to begin wearing make-up
too.  You need to learn more about matching, all sorts of little
practical tricks girls work out for themselves, so you can
extrapolate or transpose them and share what you know with your
associates."

I waited to see what she had in mind.  With make-up, I'd look like
a woman, I was thinking.  No doubt of it.  That's what everyone
will think I am.  I'll have no choice, I'll have to live like a
woman.  And I wasn't ready for that.  Despite my telephone identity
and my professional knowledge of all things feminine, and my
underwear, I was still a man.  

"You're here eight hours every day, Allie, and there's no one here
but us.  There's no one here to see you.  So here's where you can
feel free to practice with the company's products, figure out what
works for you and what doesn't.  Then you can advise others from a
deeper basis of understanding.  Because you'll know more about what
makes a woman look pretty, or glamorous, or whatever effect she's
seeking.  Are you with me so far?"

"So far," I said. 

"All right then.  We understand each other.  Starting tomorrow
you'll wear make-up every day all day, and learn for yourself the
uses and the durability of every line we sell.  Experiment with it. 
Play with it.  The way we all did when we were girls!"  She
hesitated.  Then said, "You'll look gorgeous!  You'll love it!"

I sat there stiffly.  I no longer thought of my new voice as
feminine, just as, well, just as my voice.  I no longer paid
attention to the way policemen or supermarket checkout girls or
strangers reacted when they heard me.  I now related comfortably
with women, and they all sensed it and appreciated it.  The common
bond I felt with them, our voices, the fact that we were hugged by
the same kinds of undies, and shared the same daily concerns, these
had brought out a femininity in me I sort of liked.  I felt more
open and spontaneous and gentle, more free to speak about my
feelings with Gayle, or Meg or Connie.  And it was true, where
make-up was concerned, I'd always felt a little like a fraud when
I gave girl-to-girl advice, even when I knew it was good advice. 
Because for all my sensitivity and understanding, what I knew was
only by the book.

For things like that Meg and Connie had to carry more than their
share.  I couldn't speak from personal experience about lots of the
products we were advising women to buy.  Not about sanitary napkins
and tampons, not about matching dresses or skirts.  But make-up was
the most frequently discussed of all our products, the most
competitive, the most heavily purchased, and the one I knew carried
our highest profit margins.  

"All right," I finally said.  "Let's say I start using make-up.
Daytime only, here.  What's involved, do you think?" 

"Not a lot.  We'll need to get your hair styled properly for the
shape of your face first, so the shapes and shades of the make-up
you need to wear will be obvious whenever you look into a mirror. 
You already know the basics.  When you've adapted them to meet your
own needs, everyone else's needs will make much better sense."

"I don't know..." I said, hesitantly.  Some make-up didn't remove
easily.  One of our lines was practically indelible.  Any color at
all on my face when I was out being a man could raise real doubts
about me whenever anyone looked at me.  True, I was feeling less
and less like a man each week anyhow.  And Gayle didn't seem to
mind!  Far from it, she enjoyed my knowing and caring about her
concerns as a woman.  I'd even begun advising her mother about this
year's fashions during her occasional phone calls -- her entire
bridge club had listened fascinated when she reported on my say-so
that little hats with veils were returning for formal afternoon
wear.

"You don't know?  Well, that's a good enough answer.  I do know, so
that's that!"  Connie immediately stood up.  It was settled, I saw. 
"I'll call Gayle and tell her we think you're ready and it's
necessary, and I'm sure she'll agree," she said.  "You ask her
tonight."

I imagined the scene.  "Gayle, I love my bras and panties, and I
adore my teddies!" -- it was true, I realized, I was beginning to
do just that.  "But it's time I began wearing make-up.  Could I
borrow that darling mocha rose lipstick of yours tomorrow?"  What
would she say?  I realized I already knew.  She'd call Gretchen to
ask her advice about getting me a complete makeover, doing it
right.  She wouldn't mind at all.

"Daytime only, here, like you say, if you're worried about what
people on the street might think, Allie.  You can always put your
face on after you arrive here, and you can always take it off
before you go home.  Though I myself don't think anyone will think
anything.  The sandwich man downstairs already thinks you're a
girl, just from your voice.  A little lipstick or eyebrow pencil
won't change that impression.   Maybe it'll eliminate a little
dissonance, the mismatch between the way you look now and the way
you sound when you speak.  To look a little more obviously feminine
wouldn't be a big step for you.  Your hairdo will carry you over
the edge anyhow, chances are."  

"I'm still dressed like a man," I said, still hesitating but trying
to sound reasonable until I could find a tactful way out of this. 

"Dress any way you like.  Lots of women wear slacks and shirts and
sweaters and jackets and suits to work, same as you.  And as you
know, we all wear big clunky shoes anyhow these days, just like
men's shoes but with just a bit more heel."

"Connie," I started to say..  But she was gone.  It was settled.

That very night I told Gayle what Connie had ordered up, from
between Gayle's legs.  My face between her legs, I mean.  Gayle had
the sweetest, freshest cunnyhole in the world, and once she'd told
me she loved it I couldn't get enough of nuzzling its sweet
delicacy each time we made love, always as a preliminary to the
main event.  I also loved the ripe, fermy smell of her secretions
mixed with my sperm when she asked me to go down on her afterward,
after my cock had lost its vigor but Gayle hadn't yet had enough. 
Anything I sipped from Gayle's pussy was nectar, even my own cum! 


I told Gayle I wasn't sure it was a good idea, my wearing different
kinds of make-up in the office, learning what kinds best enhanced
my own ... ahhh ...appearance.  My beautiful face.  She smiled
delighted as I nibbled her clit, and as her orgasm rose she bucked
her crotch into my face and smeared it with our combined juices and
cried out, "Yes, beautiful, yes, perfect, yes, do it, do it, Allie,
sweet, sweet, Allie!  Ohhhh DO IT!"  Then she breathed deep and was
silent, finally, utterly content.  

I took that to mean she approved my wearing make-up, crossing the
line and no mistake, appearing to the world as a woman.  Only
afterward did I realize that she hadn't necessarily, that she might
have been responding randomly to her orgasm!  That my thinking
she'd approved maybe meant that deep down I wanted her to approve. 
Because it was easier than disappointing Connie and Meg.  Because
what they'd proposed made sense, and Gayle's respect for me
depended on my knowing that it made sense.  I cherished Gayle's
respect above all else.  And her appreciation.  And her love for
me.  

So I supposed she didn't mind, and my impression was confirmed when
I was leaving for the office the next morning and she said, "Enjoy
everything, dear.  I can't wait to see!"  

En route to work, I realized that her last remark meant I'd have to
wear my make-up home.  I'd arrive home looking like a woman.  And
if I did that, I thought, could I explain why not all the time? 
Why not even on weekends?  I did have a lot to learn about the
durability of some of our cosmetics, after all, and about looking
nice in all sorts of circumstances.  Was I ready for this?

When I arrived Meg was already waiting for me.  "Hurry, Allie! 
Your appointment's in ten minutes and it's two blocks away!"  And
she swept me away.  

As we scurried along the sidewalk I asked how she already knew that
Gayle didn't mind, and she flashed me a sidelong glance.  "Oh,
Allie, nothing's accidental in a large organization like this one! 
Connie cleared this with Gayle long before she raised the issue
with you!  Of course!  It's really obvious and inescapable for
someone in your line of work!  Yesterday after you agreed, I called
Gayle and we discussed exactly what changes in your hairdo and so
on would do you the most good!  She called Gretchen, and Gretchen
made a great suggestion we're going to follow out.  The idea is,
we'll enhance your feminine appearance without pushing you way over
into it.  We'll stay near the border, so you can retreat if you
feel panicky.  But we'll go far enough for you to feel committed --
women are all committed to being women, after all, making the best
of how they look.  What you learn from that can translate into all
kinds of practical advice associates can pass on to their
customers."

"Enhance my feminine appearance?" I asked her with a wry smile,
trying to project a manly, dignified reserve.

Another sidelong glance from Meg.  "Oh, Allie, just listen to you! 
You're already more feminine than most girls I know.  You certainly
know more about feminine things!  You're a role model for all those
women who phone you with their problems!  Masculinity is wasted on
someone as sweet and sensitive as you!  Give it up!"

end 3/10
VickieTern@AOL.COM

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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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